#still feels unreal to have been part of this project

[heejamas]

OUT OF TUNE ˖ 🎙◞⋆ (PART 3)

pairing: producer!beomgyu x producer!femreader part 1 // part 2 // part 3 <3

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

genre:  enemies to lovers, coworkers to lovers, smut, slow burn, angst with a good payoff // w/c:  22k words warnings: explicit sexual content, mdni!! softdom beomgyu, unprotected sex, drinking, angst, jealously, overworking characters, petnames.

author's note: hi guys!! i finally finished this fic <3 i hope you guys enjoyed reading it as much as i enjoyed writing it <3 i also made a playlist with the songs i mentioned in the fic + a bunch of others that just feel like this story, check it out here <3

Beomgyu had kissed you.

Again. And you had let him. Again.

Except, this time, it wasn’t in a heated argument. It wasn’t in the middle of some stupid, tension-fueled fight where neither of you could tell whether you wanted to kill each other or rip each other’s clothes off. This time, he had kissed you after taking you out. After buying you dinner. After walking you home with his arm wrapped around you, his touch casual, like it belonged there. Like it wasn’t dangerous.

It had been soft. Warm. His lips had brushed against yours like a promise, like something new and terrifying was settling into place between you. And you had kissed him back. Not because you were drunk. Not because you were mad. But because, in that moment, you had wanted to.

Which meant you were completely, irrevocably screwed.

Because Beomgyu had been your rival for months. He had been the thorn in your side, the storm in your sky, the one person in this industry you were convinced you would never— well. Never this. And now, your face was buried in your hands, while Yeonjun grinned at you like he was about to savor every second of this.

Yeonjun grinned, leaning against the kitchen counter with his arms crossed, watching you like he was about to relish every second of this. "Oh, no, no, no. I need to process this properly." You closed your eyes, taking a deep breath, but when you opened them, Yeonjun was still grinning, still watching you like this was the greatest night of his life. "You kissed him," he said, dragging out the words. "Again."

"Shut up," you repeated, but there was no heat in your voice.

Yeonjun ignored you completely, tapping his chin. "And not just anywhere—outside our apartment. Right at the front door. Damn, you guys were desperate."

You groaned again, covering your face with your hands. "I hate you."

"Yeah, yeah," he said, waving a hand. "Now, sit your ass down and start talking."

You sighed but eventually dropped onto the couch, rubbing your temples. "You want the whole story?"

"Obviously."

So, you told him. Not in excruciating detail, but how you and Beomgyu had kissed at work (again), how Seungcheol interrupted, how Yunho and Seungcheol were absolute assholes behind your back, how Beomgyu defended you (which Yeonjun immediately raised an eyebrow at), how you went out for drinks after work, how he walked you home, and finally—

"And then you guys made out in the hallway like a teen drama couple?" Yeonjun finished for you, grinning.

"We didn’t—" you started, then sighed. "Okay, fine, kind of."

Yeonjun cackled. "This is unreal."

You peeked at him through your fingers. "You’re enjoying this way too much."

"Of course I am," he said. "Because this is you—and Beomgyu. Beomgyu. The guy you’ve been complaining about for months. The guy you called your arch-nemesis."

You scowled. "I never called him that."

"You did," he said, smirking. "Twice."

You exhaled, leaning back against the couch. "I don’t know how this happened."

Yeonjun gasped dramatically, clutching his chest. "Holy shit. Someone call Baekhyun—this is bigger news than the album drop."

"Yeonjun."

"No, really, we need a press release—‘Y/N admits she likes Beomgyu after months of acting like she wanted to strangle him in the studio’—"

"I still want to strangle him," you muttered.

"Yeah, but now you also want to kiss him," he shot back.

Your face burned. "I regret this conversation."

Yeonjun grinned, then leaned forward, his voice softer now. "Okay, but seriously? I’m happy for you."

You hesitated, glancing at him. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." His expression was warm now, all the teasing fading into something real. "Look, I know he’s an annoying little shit, but he’s also not a bad guy," Yeonjun continued. "And if he makes you happy—"

You swallowed. "I don’t know if he does yet."

Yeonjun gave you a look. "You literally kissed him at your front door."

You sighed. "Fine. He makes me feel something. I don’t know what yet."

Yeonjun hummed. "Well, whatever it is, just make sure he doesn’t fuck it up."

You raised an eyebrow. "And if he does?"

Yeonjun leaned back, smirking. "Then I kick his ass."

You laughed, shaking your head. "Yeah, sure. That’s definitely gonna scare him."

Yeonjun pouted. "Hey, I could be intimidating."

"You’re wearing pajama pants with cartoon bears on them."

"These are very comfortable," he defended. "But fine, point taken. I’ll get Kai to help."

You chuckled. "Kai wouldn’t hurt a fly."

"Okay, maybe not. But he could guilt-trip Beomgyu into oblivion. That’s almost worse." You laughed again, warmth settling into your chest. Yeonjun grinned, nudging your knee with his. "Hey, relax. I think it’s gonna be fine."

You sighed. "I hope so."

He softened. "And if it’s not, I’m here."

Your throat tightened slightly. "Thanks, Junnie."

"Always," he said, stretching. "Now, I desperately need to sleep."

You nodded, getting up from the couch. "Same."

Yeonjun smirked as you turned toward your bedroom. "Don’t dream about Beomgyu too hard."

"Fuck off," you muttered, flipping him off over your shoulder.

His laughter followed you down the hall. And as you crawled into bed, burying yourself under the covers, you realized, tonight hadn’t gone the way you expected. Not even close. But somehow, for the first time in a while, you weren’t mad about it.

The next few weeks passed in a blur. Days bled into nights, hours slipped through your fingers like sand, and before you even realized it, the album had started coming together, really coming together.

The instrumentals were finalized. The production was polished. The members of ENHYPEN had begun recording their vocals, each of them bringing something alive to the tracks that you had spent months obsessing over. Heeseung is a perfectionist, nailing his parts with precision but always wanting one more take. Jungwon is a natural leader, making sure the harmonies sit right. Sunghoon takes direction well, and Jake is full of energy, throwing out ideas between recordings. Sunoo brings emotion into every note, Jay hypes up the others, and Ni-ki—despite being the youngest—picks things up faster than anyone. You spend most of your days in the vocal booth, guiding them through runs, adjusting layers, making sure everything blends the way it’s supposed to.

And Beomgyu? He’s there. Not just physically, but in a way you didn’t expect. You don’t even question it anymore, the way he sits at the back of the room, his presence always in your periphery. The way he occasionally throws out suggestions, most of them annoyingly good. The way he watches you work, like he’s trying to figure you out.

There’s no formal arrangement, no spoken agreement. But at some point, without either of you really acknowledging it, you start to rely on him. And outside the studio… there’s that. The moments between work. The coffee he wordlessly hands you when he notices you getting too in your head. The way his hand lingers on your back when he leans in to show you something on the soundboard. The nights when he convinces you to take a break, dragging you to the bar near HYBE, ordering rounds of beer and stealing food off your plate like it’s the most natural thing in the world. The nights when, after a few drinks, his fingers tangle in your hoodie, pulling you close, his lips brushing against yours before he really kisses you, slow, lazy, like he knows you won’t pull away. It’s not something you talk about. Not at work, at least.

But it’s there. And you don’t mind. Because somehow, between all of this, between studio sessions and late-night drinking, between teasing remarks and stolen kisses, you and Beomgyu fit into each other’s lives like you were always supposed to be there.

And then, a few weeks after that night outside your apartment, you finish the album. The final track is mixed, the final arrangement locked in. You sit back in your chair, staring at the screen, your heart pounding. It’s done.

Beomgyu lets out a low whistle beside you. “Holy shit.”

You turn to him, still half in shock. “We actually finished it.”

He grins, knocking his knee against yours. “You finished it.”

You exhale, shaking your head. You almost don’t believe it. And then, the door swings open. Baekhyun steps inside, looking way too pleased. “Perfect timing. I was just about to call you both for a meeting.”

Beomgyu groans. “A meeting? We should be celebrating.”

Baekhyun smirks. “We will. That’s what the party is for.”

You blink. “Party?”

“The album launch.” Baekhyun crosses his arms. “Label event, media coverage, important people. Big deal.”

Your stomach twists. “Oh.”

Beomgyu perks up. “Is it open bar?”

Baekhyun narrows his eyes. “Don’t push it.”

Beomgyu leans toward you, muttering, “It’s totally open bar.”

You snort. Baekhyun claps his hands. “Alright, conference room in five.”

You sigh, powering down your setup. “Guess we’re not celebrating just yet.”

Beomgyu stretches. “Give it time.”

The conference room is packed when you walk in. The ENHYPEN members are already seated, along with some producers, managers, and Seungcheol. You inhale sharply, steadying yourself. You haven’t seen much of him since Beomgyu told you everything. You don’t want to think about it now.

You slide into a seat, and moments later, Baekhyun starts running through final updates, the release schedule, the media strategy, the logistics of the launch party. "Romance: Untold," Baekhyun says, nodding toward you and Beomgyu. "Love the name."

A murmur of approval spreads around the table. "It’s perfect," Heeseung agrees.

"I told you it was better than ‘Files of Romance,’" Jay adds.

Baekhyun smirks. “Told you it was just a working title.”

Beomgyu leans toward you, voice low. “You hearing this? We won.”

You shake your head. “Don’t be insufferable about it.”

“I live to be insufferable,” he whispers.

Before you can respond, Seungcheol speaks. "You know," he muses, leaning back in his chair, "I have to say—Y/N, you really outdid yourself with this album." You blink, caught off guard. Seungcheol’s gaze settles on you, his smile smooth, too easy. “The vocal production, the arrangement, the way everything blends—it’s all sharp. Easily some of the best work I’ve seen from you.”

A few heads nod in agreement. Your fingers tighten slightly against your lap. “Uh. Thanks.”

Baekhyun claps his hands together. “Alright, that’s a wrap. Party’s this Friday—be there, look good, and for the love of God, don’t embarrass me.”

People start filing out of the room, but before you can move, Beomgyu leans closer. “You okay?”

You hesitate, then nod. “Yeah.”

He studies you for a second, then nudges your arm. “Good. Because we have a party to dominate.”

You huff. “That’s not how album release parties work.”

Beomgyu grins. “That’s how we work.” And you have a feeling he’s absolutely right.

The venue was nothing short of extravagant. Dim golden lighting, sleek black-and-gold decor, and a curated guest list that ensured the room was filled with the industry’s best. Label executives, producers, other artists, everyone who mattered was here, celebrating your work.

And you looked good. Not just put-together. Not just presentable. Good. Your dress was sleek—black, fitted, with thin straps and a slit up one side that made walking feel like a power move. Understated but striking. The kind of outfit that made you feel in control.

You hadn’t done it for anyone. Not for the photographers, not for the label executives, and not even for Beomgyu. But the second you walked in, his eyes found you. And you knew. You felt the weight of his stare before you even saw him, the way his gaze flickered down, slowly tracing over you before snapping back up. You pretended not to notice. Pretended you didn’t see the way his fingers flexed around the glass in his hand. Pretended it didn’t make your stomach tighten.

Because tonight, the two of you were professionals. No one here knew. No one had any idea what had been happening between you for the last few weeks—the late nights, the stolen kisses, the way his hands had started finding your waist when no one was looking. And that was how it needed to stay.

"Alright," Yeonjun hummed beside you, adjusting his blazer. "Where’s the champagne?"

You snorted. "Can you at least pretend you’re here for the album?"

Yeonjun grinned. "Oh, I’m definitely here for the album. But I’m also here for free alcohol."

You huffed a laugh, shaking your head. "Come on, let’s find the others."

The three of you wove through the crowd, stopping for brief congratulations from a few producers and label reps. And then, you spotted the ENHYPEN members near the bar.

"Y/N!" Heeseung waved you over, grinning. "We were just talking about you."

You raised an eyebrow, stepping up beside him. "Good things, I hope."

Jay smirked. "Very good things. You did produce our album, after all."

Ni-ki grinned. "I think she deserves a toast."

You laughed. "You just want an excuse to drink more."

Jake nudged you playfully. "Maybe. But you do deserve it."

Your chest warmed at the praise. You had spent so much time working on this album that you had barely stopped to consider what it actually meant, not just to you, but to them. You exhaled, reaching for a glass of champagne from the bar. "Fine. A toast, then."

The guys all lifted their glasses, and Heeseung smirked. "To the best producer we could’ve asked for." The glasses clinked, and you took a sip, letting the bubbles fizz against your tongue. The conversation carried on easily, laughter and congratulations blending into the hum of the party.

And throughout it all, you felt him. Felt his presence across the room, the weight of his gaze every time you so much as moved. Beomgyu was talking to Soobin, but his attention wasn’t fully there. Not when you shifted your weight. Not when you tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. Not when you laughed at something Jay said, tilting your head back just enough to expose your throat. His grip on his glass tightened.

And you smirked to yourself, barely resisting the urge to glance at him. If he wanted to play it cool, fine. So would you.

An hour passed. The room had filled out even more, the energy shifting as people relaxed, drinks flowed, and the excitement of the album’s release finally settled in. You had long since drifted from the bar, making rounds, stopping for brief conversations, keeping up exactly the level of professional distance you were supposed to.

And Beomgyu had too. Until now. Because one moment, you were standing by one of the lounge tables, listening to Taehyun say something about the press coverage. And the next, Beomgyu was there, too close.

His hand brushed against your lower back, just barely, and then his breath was at your ear. "You look so fucking good tonight." Your body locked up. Beomgyu’s voice was low, meant for only you. His fingers ghosted over your hip, a touch so fleeting it could’ve been accidental. But it wasn’t. "I’ve been trying to focus all night," he murmured. "But you keep walking around looking like that." Your throat went dry. "You enjoying yourself?" he asked, still too close.

You exhaled sharply, forcing your posture to stay straight. "I was."

He hummed. "Then I won’t keep you."

And just like that, he pulled away. Left you standing there, heart hammering, skin warm where his breath had touched it. Like he hadn’t just completely unraveled you with two fucking sentences. You swallowed, forcing yourself to refocus on the conversation.

Taehyun smirked. "You okay?"

You shot him a look. "Fine."

Yeonjun grinned, sipping his drink. "Uh-huh. Sure."

You ignored them both. But as you glanced across the room, catching sight of Beomgyu’s smirk as he raised his glass to you. You weren’t making it through this party unscathed.

The bathroom was quiet. A rare moment of stillness amid the overwhelming noise of the party. You took a deep breath, smoothing your hands over the fabric of your dress, grounding yourself before stepping back out into the chaos. But the second you did—

"Hey." You barely had time to register the voice before Seungcheol appeared beside you, his usual easy smile in place. "Didn’t think I’d get a chance to talk to you tonight," he said, tilting his head. "You’ve been busy."

You exhaled. "Yeah, well, it’s a big night."

"It is." His gaze flickered over you, lingering in a way that made your stomach twist. "And you’re looking— good." The way he said it, too familiar, too confident, made something in you prickle.

"Thanks," you said, keeping your tone even. "Hope you’re enjoying the party."

"Oh, I am." Seungcheol’s smirk deepened. "More now that we’re talking."

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes. "We see each other at work, you know."

"Yeah, but work isn’t exactly the place to have fun, is it?" He took a slow sip of his drink, gaze still fixed on you. "I was serious about what I said in the meeting. You really killed it on this album."

"I appreciate that."

"I mean it." His voice dipped, his body shifting slightly closer. "It’s impressive. You’re impressive."

You forced a polite smile. "Thank you."

"You know—" he mused, "you don’t have to be stuck at HYBE forever. You’ve got talent. People notice."

You stiffened slightly. "I’m fine where I am."

"Are you?" He hummed. "Because I keep thinking about how someone like you deserves better than some minor group’s project. You could be working with bigger names."

Your stomach turned. "ENHYPEN’s album is a big deal."

"Sure." He smiled. "But I bet you could be doing bigger things. Better things. Maybe with better people." There it was. The way his words twisted, the implication lurking just beneath the surface.

Your jaw tightened. "I’m good where I am, Seungcheol."

"Of course," he said smoothly, unfazed. "Just saying—if you ever want to get out of there, I’d be happy to—"

"She’s fine where she is."

The interruption was sharp and familiar. Your breath hitched before you even turned your head. Because suddenly, Beomgyu was there. He wasn’t just standing beside you, he was between you and Seungcheol, his body angled slightly, his expression unreadable. But his eyes were sharp, dark, not teasing, not playful.

Seungcheol sighed, exhaling through his nose. "Ah, Beomgyu."

"Seungcheol," Beomgyu said flatly. "Didn’t realize you were so interested in Y/N’s career path."

Seungcheol shrugged. "Just making conversation."

"Right." Beomgyu’s lips twitched, mocking. "Well, we were actually in the middle of something, so if you don’t mind—"

Seungcheol raised an eyebrow. "In the middle of what, exactly?"

Beomgyu smiled. "Leaving."

And before Seungcheol could say another word, Beomgyu’s fingers wrapped around your wrist, firm. And then, he pulled you away. You barely had time to register it, barely had time to breathe before he was leading you across the venue, weaving through the crowd with purpose, his grip never loosening.

"Beomgyu—" you started.

"Not here," he muttered. He pushed open a door. A small, empty lounge. Dimly lit, tucked away from the main event. The second the door closed behind you, he turned. And the energy in the room shifted. His jaw was clenched, his breathing uneven, his fingers still curled around your wrist like he couldn’t let go.

Your breath was uneven, your pulse erratic, and the air in the small, dimly lit lounge was thick, too thick, pressing against your skin like a second layer. The bass from the party outside throbbed faintly through the walls, but in here, it was silent. Beomgyu stood in front of you, his chest rising and falling with controlled, shallow breaths. His fingers were still curled around your wrist, firm, warm, like he wasn’t ready to let go. The look in his eyes was unreadable, dark, searching, brimming with something that made your stomach twist and your throat go dry.

"What the hell was that?" you asked, voice sharper than intended, trying to ground yourself.

Beomgyu let out a humorless scoff, raking a hand through his dark hair, making it fall messily over his forehead. "Are you serious?"

You crossed your arms, standing your ground. "He wasn’t doing anything—"

"He was fucking testing you," Beomgyu snapped. His voice was rough, his jaw tight. "Just seeing how much he could get away with." He exhaled sharply, shaking his head.

Your heart pounded. "It’s not your problem, Beomgyu."

His eyes flashed. "Like hell it’s not."

And suddenly, he was too close. His hand was still on you, his fingers now sliding down, tracing the inside of your wrist like he was trying to memorize the feel of your skin. His breath was uneven, his pupils blown wide, and the air between you was buzzing.

"Do you have any idea," he muttered, voice lower now, almost a growl, "how fucking insane you make me?" Your breath hitched. His fingers twitched, like he was holding himself back. Like he was trying so hard not to do something reckless. "I saw you the second you walked into this party," he murmured. "I haven’t stopped looking at you since."

A shiver ran down your spine. You swallowed, trying to keep your voice steady. "Beomgyu—"

"And then I see him—" His jaw clenched. His grip on you tightened. "Talking to you like he fucking owns you, like he has any right to be standing that fucking close—"

"He doesn’t," you cut in, your voice softer this time. Beomgyu’s gaze flicked to yours. Something inside him shifted. And then he stepped closer. So close you could feel the warmth of his skin. So close that if you moved even an inch, your lips would touch.

His next breath fanned against your cheek. His voice was a whisper, but it wrecked you. "I can’t fucking focus when you’re around," he muttered.

Your stomach flipped. A smirk ghosted over your lips before you could stop it. "Good."

Beomgyu’s eyes darkened. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

And that was all it took. A sharp inhale. A flicker of something dangerous in his gaze. And then he was kissing you. Not soft. Not careful. Desperate. His hands moved to your waist, gripping you like he needed to feel every inch of you against him. His lips parted against yours, deepening the kiss instantly, his tongue teasing along your bottom lip, demanding more. You gasped, and he swallowed the sound eagerly, pressing himself closer.

"Fuck," he muttered against your mouth, his voice ragged, "you taste good."

Your fingers curled into the fabric of his blazer, clinging to him as heat rolled through you. "We—"

"Not stopping," he cut in, tilting your chin up with his fingers before kissing you again, harder, more possessive. His teeth grazed your bottom lip, and the sharp sting sent a spark straight to your stomach. His hands slid lower, gripping your hips firmly, and then, he pressed his leg between yours. Your breath hitched. The pressure made you let out a small, helpless sound escaping you before you could stop it, your fingers curling tighter into his jacket. Beomgyu froze. Then, slowly, he pulled back just enough to look at you.

And his expression changed. The arrogance was gone. The playfulness was gone. His gaze dropped to your lips, still swollen from his kisses, then flickered back up to your eyes. "Oh," he murmured, voice dropping to something dangerous. "Did you just moan for me?"

Your face burned. "I—"

"Fuck." His grip on your waist tightened, his forehead pressing against yours as he exhaled sharply. "That was the hottest thing I’ve ever heard."

Your entire body buzzed. "Beomgyu—"

"Say my name again," he murmured against your lips, voice thick with something else, something darker. "Say it while I make you feel good."

And then he moved his leg. A slow, deliberate shift, just enough to press against the heat between your thighs. Your lips parted, a choked noise escaping before you could stop it. Beomgyu groaned. "Fuck, baby," he muttered, his grip turning bruising. "You like that, don’t you?"

Your fingers dug into his arms. "Beomgyu—"

"That’s it," he praised, his mouth trailing down, along your jaw, to your throat. His teeth nipped at your skin before his lips soothed over the mark, sucking lightly. You whimpered, your head tilting back on instinct. Beomgyu chuckled against your skin, pleased. "So sensitive." He kissed down, past your collarbone, murmuring against your skin, "I bet I could get you falling apart from just this, huh?"

Your stomach twisted at the thought. "We—we’re at a party—"

"I don’t give a shit," he growled, nipping at your collarbone, his hands sliding over your thighs, gripping you like he needed to touch you. "I should. I should be worried about someone walking in, but fuck—" He kissed your neck again, hungrier, more reckless. "I can’t stop touching you."

The world outside ceased to exist. The music from the party became a distant hum, swallowed by the heat wrapping around you both. The dim lighting barely illuminated the outline of Beomgyu’s face, his sharp jawline, the messy strands of black hair falling over his forehead. His fingers were still gripping your waist, his breath shallow, his pupils blown wide. His lips were red from kissing you.

You leaned in, brushing your lips against his again, slower this time, testing. But Beomgyu didn’t hesitate, his hands tightened on your waist, pulling you flush against him, his mouth parting against yours, deepening the kiss like he needed it. Your fingers found the lapels of his blazer, gripping tightly as he walked you backward, lips still moving against yours, until the backs of your knees hit the edge of a small couch. And then, with one swift motion, Beomgyu’s hands slid down to your thighs, gripping them firmly. Before you could process it, he lifted you. A startled gasp escaped against his mouth, but he just smirked, effortlessly pulling you onto his lap as he turned around and sat down, settling you exactly where he wanted you, straddling him.

Your dress rode up your thighs with the movement, exposing the soft skin beneath. Beomgyu’s hands immediately found their place there, fingers pressing into the flesh, holding you tight. His touch was burning. Everything was burning. "You have no idea what you do to me," he murmured against your lips, his voice low, almost wrecked.

You shivered, hands sliding up to cup his face, tilting his chin up slightly before diving back in, kissing him harder this time. He groaned into your mouth, his fingers flexing against your skin before one hand slid up to your back, pressing you closer.

His lips left yours just long enough to move to your jaw, trailing down slowly, deliberately, leaving open-mouthed kisses along your throat. You tilted your head instinctively, giving him more access, and Beomgyu took it, sucking lightly against your skin before soothing the mark with his tongue.

"Fuck," he exhaled, his grip on your waist tightening as you shifted slightly, adjusting your position. The friction made his breath hitch, his hands dig into your thighs. You felt the effect you had on him. And it made something ignite in you. Slowly, deliberately, you rolled your hips against him. The reaction was immediate. Beomgyu let out a low, strangled moan, his fingers gripping you harder. "Shit—"

A slow smirk curled on your lips. "You like that?"

His head tipped back against the couch for a second, his eyes squeezed shut as he let out a shaky breath. "You’re gonna fucking kill me," he muttered.

You leaned in, pressing soft, teasing kisses along his jawline, down the column of his throat, feeling the way his pulse pounded under your lips. Beomgyu swallowed hard, his hands roaming up and down your back, like he couldn’t decide if he wanted to hold you there or pull you impossibly closer. "You're so fucking perfect," he murmured, his voice raw, almost desperate. "So pretty, so fucking good—"

You kissed along the edge of his jaw, feeling the way his muscles tensed beneath you. "You talk too much," you whispered, nipping lightly at his skin.

Beomgyu growled, one hand tangling in your hair as he pulled you back down for another kiss. This one was messy, hungrier, his tongue teasing against yours, his hands gripping your waist like he never wanted to let go. You rolled your hips again, feeling the way he shuddered beneath you. And then, with a frustrated groan, he shrugged off his blazer, tossing it to the side without a second thought. You took the opportunity immediately.

Before he could do anything else, you leaned in, pressing your lips to the newly exposed skin, kissing down the side of his neck, letting your teeth graze over his pulse point before sucking lightly. Beomgyu let out a sharp breath, his hands gripping you tighter. "Fuck," he muttered, tilting his head back, letting you ruin him.

You kissed down his throat, down to the hollow between his collarbones, listening to the way his breath hitched, feeling the way his body tensed beneath you. When you pulled back slightly to look at him, his eyes were hooded, lips swollen, chest rising and falling with unsteady breaths. And fuck, he had never looked better. He looked wrecked. All because of you.

His hands slid up to cup your face again, his thumb tracing your cheek before tilting your chin, making you look at him. Beomgyu’s thumb brushed over your bottom lip, his dark eyes locked onto yours, gaze molten, burning. He held your chin in place for a second longer, like he was savoring the moment, the way you looked, the way your breath trembled against his skin.

And then his hand moved lower. Fingers trailing down the line of your throat, slow, deliberate, like he was testing how far he could go. When his fingers wrapped around your neck, his palm warm against your skin, you felt your pulse stutter. And then, a light squeeze. Not enough to hurt, just enough to remind you who was in control. Beomgyu smirked when he felt the sharp intake of your breath.

"You like that, huh?" he murmured, voice dripping with amusement, his grip firm but teasing. Your lips parted, and before you could even think of responding, he leaned in, his breath ghosting over your cheek. "Of course, you do." Your stomach flipped. You weren’t sure when it had happened, when you had lost yourself so completely to him, but at this point, it didn’t matter. Because his lips were on yours again, and this time, the kiss was even hungrier.

He tilted your head back slightly with his hand still around your throat, deepening the kiss, his tongue sliding against yours in a way that made your entire body ache. You felt his other hand travel up your side, fingers ghosting over your waist, up to your ribs, higher, until his palm was covering your chest, fingers splaying over the fabric of your dress.

A quiet whimper escaped you, and Beomgyu groaned, pressing his forehead against yours as he squeezed lightly, his thumb teasing over your covered skin. "Fuck," he breathed, "you feel even better than I imagined."

Your brain short-circuited. "Imagined?"

He chuckled, the sound low and dangerous. "Oh, you have no idea." His lips brushed against your jaw as he spoke, his words dripping into your skin, each one sending heat straight through you. "How many nights I’ve thought about this. About you, sitting on my lap like this. About how fucking perfect you’d feel pressed against me."

Your fingers trembled slightly as they reached for the buttons of his shirt, your breath uneven. "Beomgyu—"

"I should’ve had you like this a long time ago," he muttered, voice darker now, laced with frustration. "Should’ve made you mine the second I realized no one else was ever gonna be enough."

Your fingers worked through the buttons of his shirt with slow precision, the fabric parting inch by inch, revealing golden skin, firm muscle, evidence of how strong he really was, how much restraint he had been holding onto. Beomgyu’s breath was heavy, ragged, his chest rising and falling with each undone button. His hands stayed firm on your hips, his grip bruising, grounding himself, like he was trying to stay in control.

"Fuck," he muttered as your fingers ghosted over his collarbone, your touch featherlight, teasing. "You’re killing me."

A smirk curled at your lips. "Am I?"

You leaned in, your lips brushing against the sharp edge of his jawline, then lower, trailing soft, open-mouthed kisses down his throat. You felt the way his pulse pounded against your lips, erratic, betraying the composure he was desperately trying to hold onto. "Yes, and I'll make you fucking mine." His voice was rough, dark with something possessive, something unshakable.

Beomgyu ripped the rest of his shirt off, tossing it aside like it meant nothing. And fuck, you had seen glimpses before, the way his shirts fit him, the way he carried himself, but this—this was something else entirely. His body was lean, defined, sculpted by years of muscle memory, of practice, of control. His skin was smooth, warm under your fingertips, his chest rising and falling rapidly as you traced your hands down, over his collarbones, over the faint lines of his abdomen.

"You like what you see, mhm?" he teased, voice dripping with amusement, but his tone was strained, like he wanted to keep up the cocky act but was barely hanging on.

You didn’t answer. You just pressed your lips to his collarbone, then lower. Beomgyu sucked in a sharp breath, his hands trembling against you. You kissed down the center of his chest, slow, teasing, feeling the muscles beneath your lips tense as you moved lower, your hands gliding over his stomach. His breath hitched when you sank to your knees.

Still between his legs, still so perfectly in his space, your hands sliding over his thighs as you settled in front of him. Beomgyu let out a shaky exhale, his head tipping back for a second before he forced himself to look at you.

And fuck, the way he looked at you. Like you were a prayer. Like you were the thing he had been craving forever. His fingers found your hair, curling around the strands at the base of your skull, holding you there, his grip firm but controlled. "Look at you," he murmured, his voice thick with something between reverence and ruin. "So fucking pretty on your knees for me."

A shiver ran down your spine. "Beomgyu—"

"Ask, baby." Beomgyu’s grip on your hair tightens slightly, his fingers threading through the strands, keeping you exactly where he wants you. His touch isn’t rough but it’s firm enough to make your breath hitch. His dark eyes watch you carefully, taking in the way your lips part, the way your fingers twitch against his thighs, craving more.

He hums, his thumb brushing over your cheek, his smirk lazy, knowing. "You want this, don’t you?" You swallow, nodding instinctively, your throat dry with anticipation. Beomgyu clicks his tongue, shaking his head slightly, amused. "Use your words."

You exhale shakily, your grip tightening against the fabric of his pants, your pulse hammering beneath your skin. He’s toying with you, loving the power he holds, and you know it. But you refuse to let the moment swallow you whole. "I want this."

His lips curl slightly, that signature cocky smirk dancing at the edges of his mouth. "Say it properly, baby."

Your stomach tightens. You can feel the weight of his gaze, the control he wields so effortlessly, the sheer enjoyment flickering in his eyes as he watches you squirm. You lick your lips, steadying your voice as you meet his gaze head-on. "I want you, Beomgyu. Please."

Beomgyu exhales sharply, his hand sliding down to cup your chin, his fingers pressing into your jaw just enough to make you tilt your head up to him. His expression shifts—less teasing, more raw, like your words just hit him somewhere deep. "Fuck," he mutters, his voice rasping with unfiltered need. His grip on your chin tightens just slightly before he lets go. "Go on then," he says, voice low, thick. "Take my pants off."

You don’t hesitate. Your fingers move to the button of his pants, undoing them slowly, feeling the heat radiating off his body as you tug the zipper down. You push the fabric down his hips, your hands brushing against the firm muscles of his thighs as you strip him, leaving him in just his underwear.

And then, you kneel back, taking in the sight before you. Beomgyu is a mess of contradictions. He’s laid back against the couch, his arm resting over the back like he’s relaxed, in control—but the way his chest rises and falls a little too fast, the way his fingers twitch at his sides, betray him. His body is tense with anticipation, with barely restrained desire, and the way he looks at you, like he wants to devour you whole, sends a wave of heat straight through you.

Your hands skim up his thighs, slow, teasing, as you lean in, pressing a soft kiss to the sensitive skin just above his knee. His breath catches, his fingers flexing against the cushion beside him. "Please…" you whimper, your voice a delicate plea against his skin.

Beomgyu’s eyes darken, his head tilting down to meet your gaze as his hand moves to stroke your hair, his touch surprisingly gentle. "Please what, princess?" His voice is nothing but a husky murmur, but it sends a shiver down your spine. You don’t answer right away, you let your lips trail higher, kissing along his inner thigh, feeling the way his muscles tense beneath you, his breath shuddering as you tease him.

"Let me…" You murmur, your fingers sliding up to grip his thighs, spreading them wider for you. The sheer power shift, the way he lets you take control, yet still holds all the dominance in his touch, makes you dizzy. You glance up at him through your lashes, your expression caught between innocence and temptation. "Let me… please."

Beomgyu's pupils are blown wide, his lips parted, his body trembling slightly with restraint. And then, his smirk returns, slower this time, almost predatory. "Yes, princess…" His voice is a breathless rasp. "Take what you want."

You don’t need to be told twice. Your fingers hook into the waistband of his underwear, tugging it down with excruciating slowness, your nails grazing along his hips as you strip him completely. Your movements falter for just a second as your eyes take him in, fully bare before you. Heat blooms across your skin, your pulse stuttering as the sight of him renders you momentarily speechless. He’s beautiful.

Not just in the way you always knew, sharp jaw, plush lips, tousled hair falling into his dark, expectant eyes, but like this. Completely exposed, all golden skin and defined lines, every inch of him sculpted to perfection. And big. Your stomach tightens at the realization, heat rushing between your thighs as your gaze instinctively trails down, taking in the sheer size of him. Your lips part slightly, your fingers hovering over his skin, hesitant, almost reverent, like you’re still processing just how much of him there is.

Beomgyu notices. A slow, knowing smirk tugs at his lips, his chest rising and falling with steady, controlled breaths as he watches you. His voice is low, teasing, laced with amusement. "Speechless?"

You nod softly as you lean in, your lips brushing his lower abdomen, pressing wet, teasing kisses along the dips and curves of his pelvis. You feel the way his breath stutters, the way his hands clench into fists at his sides, his self-control slipping with every touch of your mouth.

"Fuck," he groans, his hand flying to your hair, fingers curling into the strands, not pushing—just holding. "You’re playing a dangerous game, baby."

You hum softly, feigning innocence as you trail lower, your lips brushing just beside where he wants you the most. You can feel him tense beneath you, his thighs clenching, his breathing uneven. You look up at him again, your tongue peeking out slightly as you hover just close enough to make him ache. "Yeah?" you whisper, teasing. "What do you want, Gyu?"

Beomgyu curses under his breath, his head rolling back before he drags his eyes back down to you, gaze sharp and burning. His fingers tighten in your hair, his grip firm but not yet forcing, just holding, reminding you exactly who’s in charge. His head tilts down, dark eyes watching you, unreadable yet burning with something wild, something barely restrained. "Use that pretty mouth on me," he rasps, voice rough, commanding. "Show me how bad you want it."

You don’t hesitate. Leaning in, you press slow, deliberate kisses along his length, your tongue flicking out to taste him, teasing, testing. You hear the sharp breath he sucks in, feel the way his thighs tense under your touch. And then, you take him into your mouth. Beomgyu exhales harshly, his head rolling back for just a moment, his fingers flexing in your hair before his gaze snaps back to you, completely fixated on the sight of your lips wrapped around him.

"Fuck, baby," he groans, voice thick with pleasure. His free hand clenches into a fist against the couch, trying to keep himself grounded. "Look at you… so fucking good for me. On your knees, taking me like so well."

The praise sends a shiver down your spine, making you moan softly around him. The vibration of it rips another groan from his throat, his hips twitching slightly in response. "Shit—" he grits out, his grip in your hair tightening as you hollow your cheeks, sucking harder, gripping onto his thighs for support.

You love how he reacts to you, how his breath stutters, how his muscles tense every time your tongue glides over him. You let your eyes flutter open, glancing up at him through your lashes, letting him see the way you’re completely lost in pleasing him.

And he does. His jaw clenches, his lips part slightly as he watches you, his pupils dark and blown wide with hunger. His entire body is strung tight with restraint, like he’s one second away from completely losing control. "Fuck, take it," he groans, his voice nothing but raw need.

Your response is to moan around him again, sending another delicious vibration up his spine. Beomgyu curses under his breath, his hand tugging slightly at your hair in warning. You pull away just slightly, your lips gliding lower, pressing wet, teasing kisses along his base, then trailing further down. Beomgyu shudders the second your tongue flicks against his balls, his head snapping down to look at you. His reaction is primal.

"Shit—baby—" His breath is ragged, his body jerking at the sensation. His grip tightens, his fingers threading deeper into your hair as he exhales a shaky, desperate groan. "God, you’re gonna make me lose my fucking mind."

You smirk up at him, licking slowly, teasing, watching the way his expression twists in pleasure, the way he struggles to keep himself from completely losing control. "Good," you murmur against his skin, eyes gleaming with mischief.

Beomgyu lets out a breathless laugh, but it’s broken by another sharp inhale as you take him back into your mouth, this time moving faster, deeper. His head falls back against the couch, his chest heaving as he fights to hold himself together. But you can tell, he’s unraveling.

"Fuck, princess—" His voice is hoarse, breathless, his control slipping with every passing second. He yanks your hair back slightly, just enough to make you look up at him, just enough to remind you who’s in charge. "You wanna make me come, baby?" he growls, his fingers tangling deeper into your hair, his hips starting to twitch up into your mouth. "Then don’t fucking stop."

Your nails dig into his thighs as you obey, quickening your pace, taking him deeper, sucking harder. The sounds spilling from his lips grow rougher, filthier, his body trembling beneath you. "That’s it—fuck, that’s it, princess—" His voice is wrecked now, completely desperate, his breath coming in sharp, uneven pants.

You can feel it. The way he’s holding back, the way he’s teetering on the edge, barely holding himself together. "I’m so close," he groans, his grip on your hair tightening, his thighs clenching beneath your fingers. His dark, lust-blown eyes lock onto yours, and his next words come out in a low, sinful command—

"Take it, baby. Take every fucking drop." A deep, broken moan rips from Beomgyu’s throat as his body shudders, unraveling completely in your mouth. His grip in your hair tightens for a fleeting second before it relaxes, his breath stuttering as he watches you, watches the way you take it all, how you swallow every last drop without hesitation.

And then you look up at him. Your lips are slightly parted, your tongue flicking out to catch the remnants of him, your eyes filled with something that makes his stomach twist—devotion, submission, something entirely yours.

His head falls back against the couch, his chest rising and falling in deep, uneven breaths, the aftershocks still coursing through him. One hand slides down to your jaw, fingers tracing the edge of your lips, his thumb pressing lightly against your lower one, just enough to part them again. "Fuck," he breathes, his voice still thick, still wrecked. "You were made for this, weren’t you?"

He doesn’t let you answer. Instead, he pulls you up effortlessly, lifting you onto his lap, pressing your body against his. His arms wrap around you, holding you close, his grip firm, possessive, as if the idea of letting you go is unbearable.

"You took care of me so well, baby… " he murmurs, his lips ghosting over your temple before trailing down to your jawline. You feel him smile slightly against your skin as your hands clutch at his shoulders, your body still trembling from the sheer intensity of the moment.

His hands slide down your back, gripping your waist, his thumbs stroking slow, lazy circles into your skin. "So good," he praises again, his voice softer now, dripping with satisfaction. Your lips press against his jawline in response, a soft, lingering kiss, and his chest tightens at the gesture. Beomgyu’s fingers move to your chin, tilting your head up so you can’t look anywhere but at him. His grip is firm, a silent reminder of who’s in control. His gaze burns into yours, something dark and unreadable swirling in his expression. "I told you I would make you mine," he murmurs, his voice dipping into a low, almost predatory growl.

A soft whimper escapes you, and Beomgyu smirks, pleased. He sees the way your thighs twitch in response, the way your fingers tighten against his shoulders, as if you need more, need him. "Gyu—"

"Aww…" He tuts, his tone dripping with amusement. "My eager little princess." His fingers trail down your body, slow, teasing, ghosting over your waist before resting on your thigh. His thumb brushes the sensitive skin just above your knee, his touch featherlight, too light. "You want me that bad, huh?" He teases, his smirk deepening as he watches you squirm under his touch. "You just can’t help yourself, can you?"

His hand moves higher, creeping up your thigh, his fingers a slow, torturous promise. His other hand rests against your lower back, keeping you pressed against him, making sure you feel every inch of his growing need for you. "Are you going to be a good girl for me?" he murmurs, his lips ghosting over your ear, his breath hot against your skin. "Are you going to listen to everything I say?"

You nod quickly, breathless, eager and Beomgyu groans at the sight of you like this, so willing, so obedient for him. "Good girl," he praises, his voice softer now, but no less dominant. His fingers finally slide higher, his palm pressing between your legs, feeling the heat radiating from your core. His lips curl into a slow, knowing smirk against your skin. "Let’s see how badly you want it."

You never imagined Beomgyu would be like this. Dominant. Gentle. Dangerous. From the beginning, you thought you knew exactly who he was—the carefree boy with easy laughter, quick-witted jokes, always playful, always teasing you. But now, here, with his darkened gaze filled with hunger, his touch both possessive and reverent, his voice thick with unrestrained desire, you realize you maybe never really knew him at all.

Not like this. Not the way he strips you down with slow, deliberate hands, unzipping your dress and letting it slip off your shoulders before tossing it carelessly to the floor. Not the way his breath catches at the sight of you in nothing but black lace, his lips parting slightly, his tongue darting out to wet them as if he’s already imagining the taste of you.

“Fuck,” he breathes, almost to himself, his fingers tracing along your waist, pressing into your skin like he’s grounding himself. “You’re so fucking beautiful.” His words sink into you, warm and dizzying, as his lips find your collarbone, kissing, sucking, worshiping every inch of skin he can reach. Every praise, every whispered “perfect,” every quiet groan of appreciation makes your head spin.

And then, your bra joins your dress on the floor, and he loses it. His mouth is eager, starving as he trails wet, open-mouthed kisses down your chest, his tongue flicking over your nipple before he sucks, his hands gripping your waist like he needs to hold onto something. His hands wander lower, gliding down your stomach, mapping out the curves of your hips, his touch featherlight as he slides over your thighs. He teases, fingers barely grazing where you need him most, making you whimper in frustration.

And then, everything shifts. In one swift motion, he pulls you back against him, your back colliding with his chest as he leans into the couch, trapping you in his hold. His arms lock around you, forearms pressing into your ribcage, his legs framing yours, keeping you caged.

His breath is hot against your ear as his lips ghost along your jaw, your earlobe, teasing before his teeth sink into the sensitive skin, making you shiver. He hums, satisfied with your reaction, his voice a low rasp against your skin. “I picture you like this…” His hands trail lower, fingers dancing just above the waistband of your underwear, barely touching. Teasing. “Touching yourself when you think of me.”

A shudder rips through you, your stomach tightening, thighs clenching around nothing. His fingers finally slip inside your underwear, dragging through your slick heat before circling your clit, slow, deliberate, just enough to make you whimper. He lets out a breathy chuckle, lips brushing against your temple. “Is it like this?”

You can’t even answer, your breath stutters as his fingers move, lazy and unhurried, his free hand gripping your thigh, keeping you spread open over him. His hard length presses against your lower back, and the thought of him like this, as desperate as you, makes you whine.

“You like it when I talk about you like this, don’t you?” He whispers against your neck, nipping at the skin before soothing it with his tongue. “When I tell you how fucking good you are for me?”

You nod, words are impossible, lost in the haze of him, in the way he’s playing you like he knows your body better than you do. His fingers work you open, his pace torturously slow. “You’re soaking,” he murmurs, his tone almost in awe, his fingers gliding through your wetness with ease. He presses a slow, teasing circle over your clit, his lips curving into a smirk against your jaw. “Fuck, baby. All this for me?”

You whimper, hips twitching in search of more friction, but he takes his time, dragging his fingers through your slick with excruciating patience. He sinks one finger inside you, slow and deliberate, his breath hitching at the way you immediately tighten around him, moaning softly. “Yes, fuck—”

“There you go,” he hums, voice rich with praise. Your head falls back against his shoulder, a breathless moan slipping past your lips as he moves inside you, curling his finger just right before adding another. He sets a steady, unhurried rhythm, pumping into you, his palm pressing firmly against your clit every time he thrusts deeper.

The pleasure builds steadily, an unbearable coil tightening in your stomach as he continues, fingers fucking you open with perfect precision. His lips stay on your neck, murmuring praises, coaxing out every little sound from you like he’s memorizing them. “So wet, baby,” he groans, his voice raspier now, his own breathing uneven. “Dripping down my fingers—fuck, I could do this all night.”

Your thighs start to tremble, pleasure winding tighter, higher, every brush of his fingers sending sparks through you. “You gonna come for me?” he murmurs, biting down on your earlobe before soothing it with his tongue. “Gonna fall apart just like this?”

You nod frantically, hands clutching at his forearm, desperate for something to hold onto as the pressure inside you nears its breaking point. And then he stops. A broken whine rips from your throat as he pulls his fingers away, leaving you throbbing, aching for release. Your hips jerk, searching for friction, but he tightens his grip on your waist, holding you still.

His lips are back at your ear, dark amusement lacing his voice. “You wanna come, baby?” You nod desperately, frustration clear in the way you squirm against him. His smirk is evident in his tone, teasing, full of control. “Then beg for it.”

A desperate whimper leaves your lips as you try to push back against his hand, chasing your release, but his grip tightens around your waist, holding you in place. You shudder, your pride warring with your need, but the ache between your legs is unbearable, your body throbbing with want. “Please,” you whisper, your voice barely there, breathless.

His fingers ghost over your clit, just enough to make you whimper. “Louder.”

“Please,” you repeat, more desperate now, shifting in his hold, but he keeps you still, his restraint only making you needier.

He chuckles, low and dark, his free hand sliding up to cup your throat, tilting your head back against his shoulder. His lips brush against your jaw, featherlight. “I know you can do better than that, princess.”

You swallow hard, your skin burning under his touch, under his dominance, and finally, you let go. “Please, Beomgyu,” you beg, voice trembling, raw with want. “I need it. I need you.”

His grip tightens just enough to make your breath hitch, a satisfied hum vibrating in his chest. “That’s my good girl.”

And then, he gives you exactly what you want. His fingers find your clit again, rubbing firm, deliberate circles, before slipping back inside you, fucking you open with a pace that has you arching against him, gasping his name like it’s the only word you know. “Careful, baby,” he warns, voice low and taunting. “If you’re not quiet, everybody’s gonna hear how good my fingers are fucking you.”

The realization sends a fresh wave of heat through your body. The muffled bass of the music vibrates through the walls, laughter and conversation hum in the background—but none of it matters. You’re drowning in him, in the way he’s looking at you, in the way he’s holding you like he owns you.

Beomgyu smirks. “Unless you want them to hear,” he murmurs, his voice dripping with amusement. “Wanna let them know who’s making you feel this good?”

His words send a shiver down your spine, your body burning with both embarrassment and excitement. He chuckles, dragging his lips down your jaw, your neck, nipping at your skin before whispering against it. “Go on, then,” he taunts, voice thick with desire. “You gonna scream for me, princess? Come hard for me—tell me who owns you.”

Your only response is a broken moan as the coil in your stomach tightens, every nerve in your body wound impossibly tight. His fingers curl just right, stroking over that perfect spot inside you, his palm pressing against your clit with every movement, dragging you higher, closer.

“Beomgyu—” You choke out his name, legs trembling as the pleasure crashes over you, white-hot and all-consuming. Your entire body clenches around him, a sharp cry spilling from your lips as you come undone in his arms.

He groans, feeling you pulse around his fingers, his own need surging at the way you fall apart for him. “That’s right, baby,” he murmurs, voice rough, hungry. “All mine.”

His fingers don’t stop, drawing out every aftershock, making sure you feel every last bit of pleasure. He watches you with a satisfied smirk, loving the way your body shudders against him, the way your chest rises and falls as you struggle to catch your breath.

“You did so good, princess,” he whispers, pressing slow, open-mouthed kisses along your neck, his fingers still tracing lazy circles over your overstimulated clit, just enough to make your thighs twitch. “So fucking good for me.”

His touch lingers, his fingers gliding over your flushed skin, leaving a trail of heat in their wake. He leans in, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear. “But I’m not done with you yet.”

A shiver runs down your spine at the promise in his voice. Slowly, he pulls his fingers from you, bringing them up to his lips, his gaze locked onto yours as he sucks them into his mouth, groaning at the taste of you. “Fuck,” he breathes, his tongue flicking over his fingers before releasing them with a wet pop. “You’re so sweet, baby.”

His hands find your waist again, flipping you effortlessly so that you’re straddling his lap now, facing him. His eyes are dark, his pupils blown wide with need as he runs his hands down your sides, over your thighs, like he’s memorizing every inch of you.

“I need more,” he confesses, his voice low, rough. “I need to feel you completely.” His hands slide to your hips, pulling you flush against him, and you can feel him—hard, straining, aching for you. “You want that too, don’t you, princess?” he murmurs, his fingers digging into your hips. “Want me to fill you up, make you mine?”

His lips find yours, his kiss deep and all-consuming, stealing your breath, your thoughts, everything. He’s still teasing you, rolling his hips up against yours, the friction deliciously torturous, but not enough. You whimper into his mouth, fingers tangling in his hair, tugging him closer. “Please.” His lips curl into a smirk against yours.

He groaned low in his chest, the sound vibrating through you, his breath was shallow, his eyes half-lidded, heavy with need. His hands gripped your waist like they couldn’t bear to let go. "Ride me, princess," he murmured, voice hoarse, laced with the kind of desire that made your stomach tighten. "I want to watch you fall apart for me."

You shivered, heart pounding in your ears as you shifted your hips. The stretch as you sank down onto him was slow, deliberate, breathtaking. His head dropped back slightly, a deep curse escaping his lips as your body took him in inch by inch. You bit your lip at the sensation, your nails digging into his shoulders to keep yourself grounded.

Beomgyu’s hands slid up your thighs, firm and reverent, as though he couldn’t decide whether he wanted to worship you or completely ruin you. "God, baby," he groaned. "You feel so tight."

You moved gently at first, adjusting to the rhythm, the feel of him so deep inside you. But the tension built quickly, each roll of your hips sparking a fire in your belly. It wasn’t just the friction, the heat, the way your bodies fit together like they were made for this. It was the way he looked at you, like you were the only thing that had ever made sense to him.

"Faster," he rasped, his fingers tightening on your hips. "Let go, baby, fuck—"

You obeyed. The sound of skin against skin filled the room as you picked up pace, riding him harder now, chasing the release that curled in your spine. His hands roamed your body like he was trying to memorize you, palms smoothing over your waist, thumbs brushing your nipples, fingers threading through your hair as he pulled you down for another kiss.

"You’re so fucking beautiful," he whispered into your mouth, like it was the only truth he knew. You leaned into him, your hands braced against his chest, your forehead resting against his. His eyes never left yours, even when the pleasure threatened to overwhelm him, even when your moans turned into cries, and his own control began to slip.

"That’s it," he growled, thrusting up to meet you, his voice rough with desperation. "Show me how good it feels. Let me hear you, baby."

And you did. You cried out his name, your body trembling as your orgasm tore through you. Your walls clenched around him, and that was all it took—Beomgyu cursed, his grip bruising as he followed you over the edge, his body shuddering against yours.

For a long moment, you didn’t move. Your bodies were tangled, your breaths uneven, your heartbeats frantic. Then, slowly, you collapsed forward into his chest, your forehead resting against the curve of his neck. And then—

The doorknob rattles.

Your entire body tenses, your breath hitching as your eyes snap open, panic shooting through you. Beomgyu freezes too, his hands still gripping your waist as you both turn toward the door, hearts pounding in unison.

Someone trying to come in. You swallow hard, your mind racing. Shit. Then, voices. Someone outside the door, their footsteps heavy against the floor. “Wait, why’s this locked?” A muffled voice, followed by the sound of someone rattling the handle.

Beomgyu looks back at you, his brows raised slightly, waiting for your call. His lips are parted, his chest rising and falling fast with his still-unspent desire, but his grip on you loosens slightly, giving you an out. You hesitate, your body still buzzing, still needing him. But reality crashes back in like a cold wave, if you stay here any longer, someone will figure it out. You shake your head, exhaling shakily. “We should go back.”

Beomgyu groans, tilting his head back against the couch in frustration. “You’re kidding.”

You bite your lip, already knowing he’s going to make this difficult. “If we don’t, someone’s going to know, Gyu.”

He lets out a deep, exasperated sigh, his hands flexing against your hips. Then, he leans in, lips brushing against your jaw, his voice dropping to a husky whisper. “You know I’m not done with you,” he murmurs, nipping lightly at your earlobe before pulling back just enough to meet your gaze. “And you owe me for this.”

Your stomach tightens at the promise in his voice, at the way his fingers trail one last lingering touch down your thigh before he finally releases you. He watches as you scramble to collect your clothes, his smirk growing when he sees how shaken you still are. He doesn’t move right away, instead, he leans back against the couch, legs spread lazily apart, watching you with dark amusement as he runs a hand through his messy hair. He’s still catching his breath, his lips still swollen from kissing you, his body still burning with the ghost of your touch. And he loves it.

He finally moves, pushing himself up from the couch, stretching slightly before reaching for his clothes. His movements are unhurried, deliberate, as if he’s in no rush to leave the little world you two just created. He grabs his shirt first, then his fingers work at his belt, refastening his pants with ease, like this was just another ordinary moment for him. Except, it wasn’t. Not even close.

Beomgyu's jaw clenches slightly as he tugs his jacket back on, shaking his head like he can somehow rid himself of the frustration pooling deep in his gut. Meanwhile, you move toward the door, pressing your ear against it, holding your breath as you listen for any movement on the other side. Your fingers tighten around the handle, hesitating before slowly cracking it open just enough to peek through.

The hallway is empty. You exhale in relief, throwing one last glance over your shoulder at him. "I’m going first," you whisper, your voice barely above a breath. "Wait a minute before you come out."

Beomgyu tilts his head, studying you, his lips curving into something smug. "Scared someone’s gonna find out what a mess you are for me?"

You roll your eyes, but the heat in your cheeks betrays you. "Shut up."

He chuckles, low and knowing, his eyes still dark with amusement. But just as you turn toward the door, reaching for the handle, his fingers wrap around your wrist, stopping you in your tracks. Before you can react, he tugs you back, firm but gentle, until you’re flush against his chest.

He’s looking at you now, really looking, his gaze flickering between your eyes and your lips, something unreadable swirling in the depths of his expression. There’s no teasing smirk, no playful remark. Just the weight of everything unsaid, everything still buzzing between you like a live wire.

And then he kisses you. His lips pressing against yours like he’s memorizing the way you taste. His hand cups your jaw, fingers sliding into your hair, tilting your head just enough to deepen the kiss. You melt into him instantly, your fingers curling into the fabric of his jacket, clinging. By the time he pulls away, you’re breathless. Dazed.

His forehead rests against yours, his lips still brushing yours as he murmurs, “I’m not done with you.” His voice is low, rough, thick with something dangerous. Your stomach flips, your knees nearly giving out at the sheer promise in his words. But then, he steps back, releasing you, his smirk returning as he watches you struggle to steady yourself. “Now you can go,” he says, voice laced with amusement.

You blink up at him, still caught in the haze of his kiss, before shaking yourself back to reality. With one last glance, one last moment of hesitation, you turn and slip out of the room, carefully closing the door behind you.

Beomgyu exhales sharply, his body finally relaxing as he leans against the door, his forehead pressing against the wood. His fingers drag through his already-messy hair, his eyes squeezing shut for a brief moment. Fuck. He’s so fucked.

He licks his lips, still tasting you, still feeling the warmth of your body against his. His heart is still racing, his skin still burning, and all he can think about is you.

With a quiet groan, he pushes off the door, shaking his head, trying to collect himself. But as he reaches for the handle, ready to step back into the party, there’s only one thought looping through his mind— He needs more. And next time, he’s going to take it.

You stepped back into the party like nothing had happened. Like your entire world hadn’t just shifted in the span of a few stolen moments behind closed doors. Laughter spilled over conversations, and people moved around you, blissfully unaware that your hands were still unsteady, that your lips were still tingling, that your heartbeat was still uneven.

You exhaled slowly, smoothing down your dress, forcing yourself to shake off the lingering haze of him. Then, without hesitation, you made your way toward the bar. A drink. You needed a drink.

The bartender barely glanced at you as he slid a glass across the counter, and you took a sip, letting the cold burn of alcohol ground you. Your fingers tapped against the side of the glass, your mind replaying the last few minutes over and over like a song stuck on loop, his hands, his voice, the weight of his body against yours, the way he had looked at you.

You straightened your shoulders, pushing the thought aside. You had just started convincing yourself that maybe you could pull this off.

"There you are." You barely had time to react before Yeonjun appeared beside you, his presence as effortless as always. He leaned against the counter, eyes scanning your face before narrowing slightly. "You disappeared."

You took another sip of your drink, pretending to be unbothered. “I didn’t disappear. I was just—” You waved a hand vaguely. “Talking.”

Yeonjun raised an eyebrow. “Talking?”

"Yes, talking," you repeated, maybe a little too quickly.

He studied you for a second, then his lips curled slightly, his gaze flickering over your face before settling somewhere lower. "Then why does your lipstick look like that?"

Your stomach dropped. Shit. Your hand shot up to your lips on instinct. Yeonjun just watched, amusement growing by the second as realization dawned on him. "Oh my god," he breathed, eyes widening before he full-on cackled. "Oh my fucking god—"

"No," you blurted, already turning on your heel, "Nope. Absolutely not."

But it was too late. Yeonjun was already following, laughter spilling out of him like he had just uncovered the world’s greatest mystery. "Wait—" He grabbed your wrist, doubling over slightly. "Wait, wait, wait. Oh my fucking god. You were with Beomgyu, weren’t you?"

"Shut up," you hissed, wrenching your arm free, heat creeping up your neck. "People can hear you."

Yeonjun ignored you completely, still laughing as you beelined for the bathroom. "Oh my god, I knew it," he called after you. "I fucking knew it!"

You slammed the door behind you. Your reflection stared back at you in the mirror, lips slightly smudged, hair a little messier than before. You let out a slow breath, gripping the sink. You let out a slow breath, gripping the sink, trying to steady yourself. What the fuck just happened?

Your fingers trembled as you reached for your lipstick, twisting the tube up with a quiet click. You applied it carefully, slow and methodical, as if fixing your makeup could somehow fix the way your heart was still racing, the way your entire body felt like it was buzzing. But it didn’t. Not when your mind kept circling back to him.

To the way he had looked at you. To the way he had touched you. To the way he had sounded, breathless, wrecked, whispering your name like it was something sacred. God. How had you even ended up here? It had always been like this with Beomgyu, hadn’t it? The back-and-forth, the push and pull. The constant teasing, the relentless competition, the stupid banter that never seemed to stop.

And now? Now, you could still feel him, his hands, his lips, the warmth of his breath against your skin. You swallowed hard, dabbing the corner of your mouth where your lipstick had smudged. This wasn’t supposed to happen. This shouldn’t have happened. And yet, when you closed your eyes, all you could see was him.

The party eventually began to wind down. You let yourself blend into the crowd, trying to push away the mess of thoughts cluttering your mind, focusing on the conversations happening around you instead. Yeonjun had reappeared at some point, entirely too pleased with himself, and Taehyun had joined him, both of them now perched on one of the couches, drinks in hand. "You good?" Taehyun asked, raising an eyebrow as you dropped down beside them.

You nodded, even though you didn’t really feel good at all. "Yeah, just tired."

Yeonjun snorted. "Tired, huh?"

You shot him a look. He just grinned, leaning closer. "You were gone for a while—"

"Yeonjun," you warned. He threw his hands up in mock surrender, but the smirk never left his face.

You sighed, sinking deeper into the couch. The music had quieted a little, the energy in the room beginning to fizzle out. People were leaving in waves, slipping out the doors in pairs or groups, laughter and quiet goodbyes trailing after them.

You should go too. And judging by the way Yeonjun was now half-asleep against the armrest, you weren’t the only one ready to call it a night. It took both you and Taehyun to practically carry Yeonjun outside. "He’s not that heavy," Taehyun grumbled, adjusting his grip under Yeonjun’s arm.

You huffed. "Says the guy using me as leverage."

Yeonjun, for his part, was completely useless, mumbling incoherent nonsense as you finally managed to get him to stand on his own two feet. Your taxi would be here any minute. You pulled out your phone, glancing at the time.

That’s when you heard your name. You looked up, spotting Baekhyun a few feet away, standing near the curb, engaged in conversation with another man from the industry. When his eyes met yours, he gave you a knowing smile.

"Get home safe," he said smoothly. Then, after a brief pause, "We’ll have a lot to talk about on Monday."

You blinked. Something about the way he said it made your stomach twist. But before you could even begin to decipher what he meant, he was already turning back to his conversation. You frowned slightly, but exhaustion was already pulling at your limbs. Whatever it was, you could deal with it later.

Your taxi pulled up to the curb. You helped Yeonjun into the car, settling into the seat beside him, finally letting yourself breathe. You sank back, eyes fluttering shut for just a moment.

And then, a feeling. Like someone was watching. You turned your head toward the window. And there he was. Beomgyu. Standing on the curb, hands in his pockets, waiting for his own ride. But his eyes were on you. Your breath caught slightly. He didn’t look away. Instead, his hand moved, slipping into his pocket, pulling out his phone. A second later, your own phone buzzed in your lap. You swallowed, pulse unsteady as you glanced down at the screen.

A message. From him.

[beomgyu]: lmk when you get home

Your chest tightened. You stared at the words for a long moment, lips pressing together. You stared at the screen, your fingers hovering over the keyboard, but you didn’t type anything. Not yet. Instead, you let your phone fall back into your lap, exhaling slowly as you turned to the window again. Beomgyu was still standing there, still watching, still waiting for something you didn’t know how to give him.

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you had been holding, slumping slightly against the seat as the city lights blurred past the window. The weight of the night settled over you. The way Beomgyu had looked at you. The way his voice had felt against your skin. The way he had pulled you in, and then, just as quickly, pushed you away.

You didn’t know what to make of it. Of him. Of anything. So you didn’t think about it. Not now. Instead, you closed your eyes and let the hum of the car lull you into something close to peace, if only for a moment.

You woke up to the sound of your phone vibrating against your nightstand. You groaned, rolling over, face half-buried in your pillow as you reached for it blindly. The screen glowed too bright in the early morning light, your vision still hazy with sleep as you blinked at the notifications.

[beomgyu]: i can’t stop thinking about you

Your stomach dropped. Suddenly, you were very awake. You sat up so fast that your blanket slipped from your shoulders, your heart hammering against your ribs. Your fingers tightened around the phone, as if gripping it any harder would somehow make the words disappear.

I can’t stop thinking about you. You swallowed. No way. No fucking way.

You stared at the message, your body frozen, caught between panic and something you weren’t ready to name. What the hell were you supposed to say to that? Your throat was dry. Your fingers twitched over the keyboard, but no words came. Nothing would come.

But even as you moved, even as you tried to shove the thought aside, he was still there. Still lingering. The heat of his hands on your waist, the press of his fingers against your skin, the way his voice had sounded, low, rough, wrecked, against your ear. Do you have any idea how fucking insane you make me?

A shiver ran down your spine. You squeezed your eyes shut for a second, trying to push it away, but the memories came crashing down anyway.

So you did the only thing you could do. You ignored it. For now. You tossed the phone onto your nightstand, exhaling sharply as you dragged your hands down your face. No. Not now. You needed a second. You needed coffee.

You pushed yourself out of bed, slipping on a hoodie as you padded out of your room, making a beeline for Yeonjun’s. His door was cracked open, the faint sound of groaning filtering through. You pushed it open with your foot, leaning against the doorway. Yeonjun was sprawled across his bed like he had been thrown there, an arm slung dramatically over his face, his blanket half on the floor. His entire existence looked like a hangover. "You alive?" you asked, voice still raspy from sleep.

Yeonjun let out a painful groan, barely shifting. "Barely."

You snorted, stepping into the room. "You look like death."

"I feel like death," he mumbled, peeking out from under his arm. His eyes were bloodshot, his hair an absolute mess. "What time is it?"

You checked your phone out of habit, and your stomach twisted. Beomgyu’s message still sat there. You locked the screen before you could think about it. "Almost ten," you said, crossing your arms.

Yeonjun just made another noise of suffering. Then, with zero warning, he peeked at you again, his voice shifting. "You gonna tell me what’s got you looking like you’ve seen a ghost, or am I gonna have to guess?"

Your heart stopped. "I—" You forced a scoff, too quick. "I don’t look like I’ve seen a ghost."

Yeonjun stared at you. Then his lips curled. "Ah," he hummed, way too amused now. "So this is a boy thing."

Your entire body flamed. "Oh my god, shut up."

He grinned, slow and dangerous. "Wait—wait, is this a Beomgyu thing?"

"I’m leaving." You turned on your heel immediately, making a break for the door, but Yeonjun was faster.

He grabbed your wrist, yanking you back onto the bed with zero mercy. You yelped as you landed next to him, already struggling to get up, but he just slung an arm over your shoulders, trapping you there. "Spill," he ordered.

You scowled, shoving at his chest. "No."

"Spill."

"No."

Yeonjun narrowed his eyes. Then, with a slow, shit-eating smirk— "I’ll start singing."

Your blood ran cold. "You wouldn’t," you whispered. Yeonjun cleared his throat. "Yeonjun, no."

He inhaled dramatically. "OH, I THINK THAT I FOUND MYSEL—"

"OKAY! OKAY!" You slammed a pillow over his face, groaning. "You’re so fucking annoying."

He laughed, victorious, pushing the pillow away. "That’s what I thought. Now talk."

You hesitated. Your fingers curled around the blanket, heart pounding again as Beomgyu’s message flashed in your mind. I can’t stop thinking about you. You swallowed while you showed your phone to Yeonjun, who immediately gasped. You sighed, looking away. "It’s just—" You stopped, frustration bubbling in your chest. "He’s just confusing."

Yeonjun hummed. "Yeah, well. You’re both idiots, so that checks out."

You shot him a look. "Shut up," you mumbled, pushing yourself up.

Yeonjun let you go this time, watching as you made your way toward the door. "You should probably answer him, you know," he called lazily. You didn’t respond. And as you stepped out into the hallway, you definitely didn’t check your phone again. But the words still sat there. Waiting.

You tried to go about your day like normal. Tried. But no matter what you did, he was there. In your head. Even as you made coffee. Even as you scrolled mindlessly through your phone. Even as you curled up on the couch, flipping through Netflix without actually watching anything.

Beomgyu. Beomgyu. Beomgyu. The words on your screen wouldn’t stop echoing. Your stomach twisted every time you thought about it. Because neither could you.

Yeonjun stayed home most of the morning, alternating between dramatically draping himself across the couch and playing games on his phone. But eventually, in the afternoon, he stretched lazily and grabbed his keys.

"I’m going to the gym," he announced, throwing his bag over his shoulder. You hummed in response. You kept your eyes on the TV, even though you weren’t paying attention to a single second of it. "You gonna survive without me?" Yeonjun teased, leaning against the doorframe.

You rolled your eyes. "I think I’ll manage."

He grinned, pushing off the frame. "Alright, if you say so. Try not to combust while I’m gone."

You shot him a glare, but he was already heading out the door, laughing. Your fingers twitched. Your phone was sitting right next to you. Waiting. It would be so easy. You exhaled slowly, staring at it like it might explode. You weren’t the type to text guys. But for some reason, today felt different.

Maybe it was the way he had looked at you before you got into your taxi. Maybe it was the way he had sent that message in the first place. Maybe it was the fact that you couldn’t stop thinking about him too, and it was driving you insane.

Your heart pounded as you grabbed your phone, unlocking it with shaky fingers. You opened your messages. Pulled up his name. Took a deep breath. And typed.

[you]: i can’t stop thinking about you too.

The moment you hit send, your pulse skyrocketed. Seconds passed. The message was read. You held your breath. Waiting. Waiting. But nothing came. Beomgyu didn’t respond. You stared at the screen, heart hammering, but he did nothing. You had no idea what that meant. And somehow, it made you even more restless.

You spent the rest of the weekend pretending you were fine. You weren’t.

Beomgyu had read your message and said nothing, and the longer you went without a response, the worse it got. You tried to distract yourself. Hung out with Yunjin for a bit. Had dinner with Yeonjun. Went on an unnecessary grocery run just to get out of the apartment.

But every free second, he was there. The memory of his hands, his voice, the way he had pulled you so close, like he was scared to let go. And now he was ignoring you? You wanted to scream.

By the time Sunday night rolled around, you had officially given up on getting an answer. Maybe he regretted it. Maybe he had just been drunk. Maybe this was just another one of his stupid mind games.

Fine. If he wasn’t going to respond, you weren’t going to chase after him. Not this time.

Your alarm dragged you out of sleep way too soon, and you groaned, rolling over to shut it off. For a brief second, you thought about skipping work. About calling in sick, or lying about having some urgent errand, or just disappearing off the face of the earth. But no. You had an album to release. And unfortunately, you had to be professional, even when your entire brain was occupied by a certain songwriter. With a sigh, you rolled out of bed, forcing yourself to get moving.

Yeonjun was already up when you entered the kitchen, nursing a cup of coffee with his hair still messy from sleep. "Morning," he mumbled, squinting at you. "You look like hell."

"Gee, thanks," you muttered, grabbing a mug and pouring yourself a cup.

Yeonjun snorted, leaning against the counter. "You excited to go back to work?"

You didn’t answer right away. Instead, you took a long sip of coffee, staring down into the dark liquid. Excited? Not exactly. Dreading it? Maybe.

Because today was Monday. Which meant you’d have to see Beomgyu. And you had no idea what to expect. How the hell were you supposed to look Beomgyu in the eye after everything? After the way he had touched you, held you, whispered filthy things against your skin like he had been waiting to say them? After the way you had felt underneath him, pinned between his hands, his voice praising you, ruining you, claiming you?

You pressed your fingers to your temples, exhaling sharply. Fuck. This wasn’t good. You weren’t some naive idiot who got attached just because someone touched you the right way. But something about him—about this—had been different. And he knew it too.

Which was exactly why he had ignored your message all weekend. And yet, your stomach tightened at the thought of seeing him today. Not with nerves, not with anger, but with something far, far worse. Anticipation. You hated it. You hated how much you wanted to see him. How much you wanted to know if he was thinking about you, too. How much you wanted to know if he regretted it. Or if he wanted more.

By the time you stepped into the HYBE building, the album was practically finished. All that was left was refining the final details. You told yourself that’s what you should be focusing on. Not Beomgyu. Not his hands. His voice. The way he had looked at you like you were something he wanted to ruin. God. Focus.

You made your way through the hallways, nodding politely at a few people who passed, ignoring the slight pit of anxiety settling in your stomach. You weren’t even sure why, until you stepped into your studio. And saw the coffee sitting on your desk.

You froze. There was no note. No explanation. But you knew. Your heart skipped. It was him. You stared at it for a long moment, a lump forming in your throat. It was the same drink you always got. The exact way you liked it.

It was so stupid, so small, so insignificant. And yet, it wasn’t. Because Beomgyu didn’t do things like this. Beomgyu teased you, provoked you, argued with you until you were ready to strangle him. He didn’t leave quiet gestures like this behind. Not for you. You swallowed, your fingers twitching at your sides. Should you text him? Call him out for it? Say something?

Before you could decide, your phone buzzed. A message from Baekhyun.

[baekhyun]: hey, can we talk for a sec?

You let out a slow breath, grabbing the coffee and taking a sip as you sat down. You ignored the way your stomach fluttered. Ignored the way your skin still felt too hot. And ignored the fact that you knew exactly who was responsible for that. You exhaled slowly, staring at the message on your phone.

[you]: sure. be there in a minute.

Sliding your phone into your pocket, you took another sip of coffee, letting the warmth settle in your chest. It didn’t help. Still, you got up, straightened your posture, and made your way to Baekhyun’s office.

When you reached his door, you knocked lightly before stepping inside. "Hey. You wanted to talk?"

Baekhyun glanced up from his desk, motioning for you to close the door behind you. "Yeah. Come in."

You obeyed, taking a seat across from him, studying his face carefully. Something was off. Baekhyun was usually relaxed, even when discussing work, always carrying that effortless charm that made him easy to talk to. But right now, his expression was unreadable, something hovering between serious and hesitant.

Your stomach twisted. "What’s up?"

Baekhyun leaned back in his chair, exhaling through his nose. "Listen… you know I think you’re one of my best employees, right?"

Your eyebrows furrowed slightly. "Uh… thanks?"

"Which is why," he continued, fingers tapping lightly against the desk, "I need to tell you something. And I need you to understand that this is me looking out for you." Your stomach tightened, as you looked at him, letting him continue. He sighed, rolling his shoulders before meeting your gaze. "So, about Seungcheol…"

Your spine stiffened immediately. "What about him?"

Baekhyun hesitated for a second, like he was trying to figure out how to phrase his next words. And then, carefully, he said: "He knows."

Your heart stopped. A beat of silence stretched between you. Your fingers curled around the armrest of your chair, knuckles white. "Knows what?" you asked, voice careful.

Baekhyun gave you a pointed look. "You know what."

Your pulse pounded in your ears. Seungcheol knows. About you. About Beomgyu. Fuck. You swallowed, keeping your expression as unreadable as possible. "That’s… my personal business," you said slowly. "I don’t see how it’s relevant to work."

"You’re right," Baekhyun agreed, nodding. "It’s not. But I’m telling you because I need you to be careful."

You crossed your arms, shifting in your seat. "What does that even mean?"

Baekhyun sighed, rubbing a hand over his face before leaning forward, lowering his voice. "Seungcheol is creative director. That means he has a lot of influence in this company. And for whatever reason, he’s got his eye on you."

A chill ran down your spine. "And that means?"

"It means he’s paying attention to things," Baekhyun said. "To you and Beomgyu. To how you work together, to how you interact. And while I don’t know exactly what he’s thinking, I do know one thing—he’s not the type to sit back and do nothing."

Your jaw tightened. "You think he’ll try something?"

Baekhyun didn’t answer right away. He just watched you, gaze steady, unreadable. "I think he doesn’t like Beomgyu," he said carefully. "And I think he has an interest in you."

You inhaled sharply. There it was. That uneasy feeling in your stomach, the one you had pushed down every time Seungcheol spoke to you. The way his words always felt just a little too… pointed. The way his gaze lingered. The way Beomgyu had told you to be careful. You exhaled through your nose, shaking your head. "I don’t—this is insane. Seungcheol can’t just—"

"I know," Baekhyun cut in. "Which is why I’m telling you first. Just be careful. Be smart."

Your fingers tightened in your lap. You hated this. Hated the idea that someone was watching you like this. That Seungcheol was watching you. That Beomgyu had been right. You swallowed down the irritation curling in your chest. "Got it."

Baekhyun studied you for a moment longer before nodding. "Good." Then, just a little softer, "And Y/N?" You met his gaze. "Whatever this is between you and Beomgyu… make sure it’s worth it."

Your breath caught. Because the thing was— You didn’t know. And that scared you more than anything else.

You didn’t realize how tight your chest had gotten until you were out of Baekhyun’s office, walking quickly down the hall with your arms wrapped around yourself. The fluorescent lights overhead flickered too brightly, the sounds of your coworkers echoing faintly in your ears as your thoughts raced. Seungcheol knows.

Your heart pounded with each step, and all you could think about was Beomgyu—his smile, his voice, the way he touched you like he didn’t care who saw. But he should. Because now, someone was watching. Someone powerful. Someone who didn’t like him.

You paused outside your studio door, forcing yourself to take a breath, to steady your hands before you reached for the handle. When you stepped inside, the first thing you saw was him.

Beomgyu was already there, perched on the edge of your couch, his guitar on his lap. His face lit up the second you walked in, eyes crinkling at the corners as he smiled, really smiled. “Took you long enough.”

Something inside you clenched. The warmth of his expression, the softness in his voice. He had no idea. “I brought you coffee earlier,” he added. “Cause I didn’t know what mood you’d be in, so I just guessed. But, y’know, I’ve been working on my psychic powers.”

You smiled, barely, but it didn’t quite reach your eyes. Beomgyu tilted his head, watching you. “What?” he asked softly. “What happened?”

You shook your head, trying to brush it off. “Nothing. Just��� long meeting.”

He set the guitar aside and stood, taking a step toward you. “Was it Baekhyun?”

You nodded, lowering your bag to the floor. “Yeah.”

“He say something about the album?” Beomgyu’s brow furrowed. “Is something wrong?”

“No,” you said too quickly. You avoided his eyes, moving to your desk under the guise of organizing the notes you’d left behind. “Everything’s fine. He just wanted to go over some deadlines.”

Beomgyu didn’t respond right away. You felt his eyes on you, sharp and searching. “You’re lying,” he said eventually, voice quieter. You froze. He stepped closer. “Y/N…”

“I said it’s fine,” you replied, sharper than you meant to. You heard the way his breath hitched, just slightly, but he didn’t say anything right away. He just looked at you, the softness fading from his face as something more cautious settled there. And that was the worst part.

You didn’t want to push him away. You didn’t want to build walls again. But Baekhyun’s words rang in your ears like a warning bell. Whatever this is between you and Beomgyu… make sure it’s worth it. You weren’t even sure what this was.

Beomgyu stepped back, giving you space. “Did I… do something?”

Your throat tightened. You hated that he asked that. Hated the way he looked almost hurt. “No,” you said, forcing your voice to be gentler. “You didn’t.”

But that didn’t make it better. Because you weren’t pulling away from him, you were pulling away for him. And he could tell. He gave a small nod, eyes flicking away. “Okay,” he murmured, almost to himself. “Let me know if that changes.”

You turned to him then, finally meeting his gaze. “It’s not you.”

His eyes lingered on yours. “Then what is it?”

You didn’t answer. Because how could you tell him that Seungcheol might be waiting for one misstep? That you could handle it, but he might not be so lucky? That you were scared for him in ways you couldn’t say out loud?

So instead, you offered a weak smile and said, “Can we just… work for a while?”

There was a beat of silence. A single breath. And then he nodded, once, slow, as if the word itself cost him something. “Yeah,” he murmured, but his voice was thinner now, stretched tight across something fragile. “If that’s what you want.”

You looked away, unable to meet the flicker in his eyes, the way it dimmed just slightly as he stepped back. The room suddenly felt too quiet. “Guess I’ll head back to my studio,” he said, and this time, there was no teasing in his tone. “Let me know if you need anything.”

And before you could say anything, before you could stop him, he was already at the door. When it clicked shut behind him, the sound echoed louder than it should have. You didn’t move for a long moment. Just sat there, frozen, staring at the coffee cup he’d brought for you, the one you hadn’t touched. Your fingers trembled slightly as you reached for it, but it had already gone cold. Just like everything else.

The rest of your afternoon passed in a blur of contracts and emails. Finalizing track credits. Budget approvals. Lining up promotional schedules. You barely registered the words anymore, your hand moved, your eyes scanned, your mouth replied when someone entered your office to ask for your signature, but none of it stuck. You were on autopilot.

Because your head wasn’t in the album anymore. It was on him. Beomgyu.

You kept picturing the way his expression had shifted when you pulled away. Not in body, but in presence. Like he felt you slipping. Like he already knew that the warmth between you was being swallowed by fear. And it was. You were terrified.

Terrified of what Seungcheol could do. Terrified of how quickly everything you’d built with Beomgyu—through fights, through tension, through music, through moments—could be taken away just because someone with too much power had decided they didn’t like seeing him happy.

And that’s what it was, wasn’t it? He was happy. With you. And you were ruining it. Because your fear was louder than your hope.

You stared at the screen in front of you, realizing you’d been hovering over the same file for ten minutes without doing anything. You blinked hard, trying to focus, but the words blurred, your thoughts spiraling again. What if he gets fired? What if Seungcheol says something? What if this is all your fault?

You buried your face in your hands, elbows pressed against the desk. You couldn’t protect him. You couldn’t even tell him what was going on. And worst of all: you weren’t sure he’d forgive you if he ever found out you knew and didn’t say anything.

You wanted to keep him safe. But not at the cost of this quiet unraveling between you. Not at the cost of pretending you didn’t care.

You pulled your phone from your pocket, hesitating for a long moment before unlocking it. His name sat at the top of your messages, unread, untouched since the night he told you he couldn’t stop thinking about you. And neither could you. But now you wondered if staying silent had already done the damage for you.

It was late, again. The building had gone quiet, long emptied by interns and execs and artists alike. You sat curled in your office chair, arms wrapped around yourself as your eyes stayed fixed on your phone screen. You’d been staring at it for ten minutes before finally giving in.

[you]: are you still at the company?

The reply came quicker than you expected.

[beomgyu]: yeah. why?

[you]: can we talk?

Another pause. Then:

[beomgyu]: sure. you know where to find me

You hesitated only a second longer before standing. You didn’t bother gathering your things. Just grabbed your hoodie, slipped into your sneakers, and made your way down the hallway. His studio door was cracked open when you arrived. You paused outside for a beat, just long enough to collect your breath, and pushed it open slowly.

He was sitting on the couch, hoodie sleeves pushed up to his elbows, legs stretched out in front of him. He looked tired, like the weight of the entire week was pressing down on his shoulders. But when he saw you, he straightened slightly.

Before you could speak, he did.

“Before you say anything,” he said, voice steady but low, “I just want you to know I don’t regret anything.”

You blinked, taken aback. “What?”

He scoffed softly, running a hand through his hair. “It’s fine. I mean, I get it. You’re here to break things off, right? Whatever this is.”

You stared at him, mouth parting slightly. “Beomgyu…”

“I mean, technically, we were never even anything, right?” he went on, tone deceptively light, but his eyes were anything but. “So there’s nothing to end. I guess.”

You stepped into the room fully, closing the door behind you. The soft click echoed between you. “Why would you think I’m here to end things?”

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, hands clasped loosely. “Because you’ve been avoiding me all day,” he said. “Because you look at me like I’ve already done something wrong.” His voice softened. “Because something’s changed. And I don’t know what it is.”

You swallowed hard. “It’s not like that.”

“Then what is it like?” he asked, a little more sharply now. “Because I’m sitting here, trying to keep it together, trying not to push you, and it’s driving me fucking crazy, Y/N. But you’re here. So what is it?”

You opened your mouth, but the words caught in your throat. Because you wanted to tell him. You wanted to say everything: about Seungcheol, about Baekhyun’s warning, about your fear of him getting hurt, losing his job, being targeted just for being with you. But you couldn’t. You couldn’t risk it.

So instead, you said the only thing that came close. “I’m scared.”

Beomgyu’s jaw tensed. “Of what? Me?”

“No!” you said quickly. “God, no. Of everything else.”

“Then tell me,” he said, quieter now. Pleading. “Let me in. Let me help.”

Your arms wrapped tighter around yourself. “I just… I don’t want to do anything that could hurt you.”

“You aren’t hurting me,” he said. “But keeping me in the dark? Not trusting me? That’s what hurts.”

You turned away, pacing a step. “I do trust you.”

“Then tell me what the fuck is going on,” he said, standing now, voice low, but intense. “Because I’m standing here ready to fight for you, and I feel like I’m the only one throwing punches.”

That broke something in you. “I am fighting!” you said, voice cracking. “You just can’t see it.”

“Then show me!” he snapped. “Because right now, it feels like you’re walking away.”

You looked at him. Really looked at him. And there he was, raw, open, hurting. For you. Because of you. And for the first time, you saw the vulnerability underneath all the confidence. The boy who had let himself fall, even when he swore he wouldn’t. Even when he thought you were supposed to be just coworkers.

Your voice came out small. “I’m not walking away.”

Beomgyu’s expression flickered. “Then stop acting like you are.”

Silence fell between you. You stepped forward, just a little. “I’m trying to protect you.”

“I don’t want your protection,” he said. “I want you.”

The words landed heavy between you, honest and unflinching. Your lips parted, eyes burning, heart aching. And even though you still couldn’t say everything, you were closer now. One step closer to crossing that line completely. One step closer to choosing him.

And maybe, he was choosing you too.

You stared at him, breath caught in your throat. Your heart beat so loud it was almost all you could hear. “I want you too,” you said, the words tumbling out so fast they almost didn’t feel real. “God, of course I want you, Beomgyu.”

Something flickered across his face, relief, maybe. But it didn’t last long. “Then what the fuck is stopping you?” he demanded, stepping closer. His voice wasn’t angry, not exactly, it was hurt, raw, urgent. “Because you keep saying you want me, and then you push me away like you don't.”

You swallowed hard, backing up a step, not because you wanted to escape him, but because you needed space to think. “Because I don’t want to be the reason something happens to you,” you admitted, hands clenched at your sides. “Because I don’t want to be the reason you lose everything you’ve worked for.”

His brows furrowed. “What are you talking about?” You hesitated. “Y/N,” he said, voice low now. “Tell me.”

You shook your head once, but Beomgyu moved toward you again, gently but firmly catching your wrist.

“I’m not letting you leave here without telling me,” he said, eyes boring into yours. “I’m not playing these half-truth games anymore. Talk to me. Please.”

You stared at him for a long beat. And then you cracked. “Baekhyun called me into his office this morning,” you said, voice hoarse. “He told me Seungcheol knows.” Beomgyu didn’t move. “He knows about us,” you continued, the word still strange on your tongue. “He’s watching us. And not in a vague way. He’s paying attention. Baekhyun didn’t say it, but it’s obvious—Seungcheol’s pissed. And he’s got power, Gyu. Real power. Enough to make your life hell. Enough to kill your career if he wants.” You finally looked up, eyes shining with barely contained panic. “And I know you think you don’t care, but I do. I care. I care so fucking much it makes me sick. And the thought of being the reason you get hurt—”

“Stop,” Beomgyu cut in. Your mouth snapped shut. His eyes were wild with something sharp and intense, but not at you, never at you. “You think I give a fuck about Seungcheol?” he said, taking a step closer. “You think I’m scared of some overhyped director with a God complex?”

“Beomgyu—”

“No, you need to hear this,” he said, voice lowering. “I’ve worked my ass off to get where I am. I’ve built a name from the ground up. Every credit, every song, every fucking sleepless night—you think I’m going to let him take that from me?” Your breath hitched. “If he tries anything,” Beomgyu said, voice like steel, “I will bury him.”

You stared, stunned. “You can’t say that—”

“I can,” he snapped. “Because he’s not untouchable. And I’m not stupid. I know my worth. And if he so much as breathes in your direction the wrong way again—” He broke off, his jaw tight, breathing hard. Then, more quietly: “He doesn’t get to scare you away from me.”

You opened your mouth to argue, to tell him he was being reckless, that this wasn’t just about pride, that the industry was cruel and unfair and it would never be a fair fight, but the words died in your throat. Because he meant it. Every word.

“I’ve never had something like this,” he continued, softer now. “Never had someone who made me want to try. And I’m not about to lose it because some washed-up director has a stick up his ass and a crush he didn’t get over.”

You blinked. “Wait—crush?”

Beomgyu’s mouth curled into a humorless smirk. “You really think he was complimenting your demos because he liked the reverb?” A beat of silence passed. And then you laughed. Just a little. A short, sharp sound that broke some of the tension in your chest. Beomgyu’s gaze softened. “Look… if this gets messy, we’ll figure it out. Together.”

You looked at him, something vulnerable cracking through your guarded expression. “You mean that?” you asked, voice small.

He stepped closer, cupping your face with both hands now. “I mean it,” he said, with the kind of certainty that made your stomach flip. “I’m not going anywhere, Y/N.”

You closed your eyes for a moment, just breathing him in. Letting yourself believe him. Because you did. God, you did. And even if the world was about to come crashing down around you… at least you wouldn’t be standing in the wreckage alone.

You didn’t realize you were holding your breath until he moved. Slow, deliberate, like a predator who already knew the prey wasn’t going to run. His steps were quiet, but each one pressed the air out of the room a little more. His hand rose to your cheek, fingertips brushing the edge of your jaw. Featherlight, but grounding. Like he needed the reassurance that you were still here.

His thumb swept once beneath your eye, like he could erase everything unspoken. Maybe he didn’t know what to say next. Maybe it didn’t matter. You didn’t speak. Neither did he. Not with words.

But the space between you, that thrum of silence packed so tight it felt ready to burst, said everything. You leaned into the touch, just enough. Just so he’d know. And that was all it took. Beomgyu kissed you again. It started slow, like he was still afraid you’d pull away. You didn’t.

Your hands found his shoulders, clutching at the worn cotton of his hoodie. His mouth moved against yours with purpose. You gasped, and he swallowed the sound, one hand moving down to your hip, gripping tight enough to make you gasp again. He pressed forward, guiding you back a step, then another, until your spine met the cool wall of his studio. A quiet noise escaped your throat.

His leg slid between yours. You froze, just for a moment, before the pressure shifted. Your body reacted before your mind could. Hips tilting down, chasing it, mouth parting around a soft, broken sound. One that slipped out too fast to stop. Beomgyu stilled.

The kiss paused. Just long enough for your eyes to meet. And something changed. His gaze sharpened, lit with something feral and tender all at once. There was something reverent in the way he looked at you. "God, you sound so good," he murmured, leaning in to press another kiss—this time, to your neck. "So fucking good."

His leg moved again. Just slightly. Enough to pull another breathy moan from you, one you couldn’t swallow in time. Beomgyu groaned into your skin, and the sound of it, low, rough, wrecked, made your knees threaten to give. He pressed his thigh up again, firmer this time, and you arched, unable to stop yourself. "Look at you," he whispered, trailing his mouth along your jaw. "Unbelievably hot," he continued, dragging his lips along your collarbone. "Unbelievably mine."

The last part slipped out—quiet, rough, like he didn’t even mean to say it. But you felt it.

And you didn’t stop him. Didn’t correct him, didn’t laugh it off, didn’t pull away like you sometimes did when things got too real, too close. You just stayed there, letting the weight of his hands and the heat of his breath settle over your skin. Because maybe, as terrifying as it was, that was what you wanted too. Not a confession shouted across a crowded room. Not a title slapped on something that didn’t need a name. Just this. Him. The feeling of his forehead resting lightly against yours, like you were something he’d been trying to find for longer than he’d admit.

Beomgyu pulled back slightly, just enough to see you clearly. Your lips were parted, your breathing still uneven, and he looked at you like he couldn’t decide whether to kiss you again or fall to his knees. His gaze softened as he reached up, brushing a few strands of hair away from your face, his fingers slow, reverent.

“I’m not gonna push,” he said, his voice low and steady, like it cost him something to say it. “Not tonight. I just… needed you to know what this feels like for me.”

Your throat felt tight, your pulse erratic beneath your skin. You could only nod, because anything else might have made you unravel completely. But he understood. He always did.

He leaned in again, but slower this time, like he was giving you the space to stop him, to change your mind. You didn’t. And when his lips met yours again, there was no urgency, no hunger, just heat and something deeper. His kiss was soft but intense, all-consuming in its own quiet way. You could feel everything in it, every unsaid word, every fear, every time he’d looked at you across a room and thought I wish I could touch her right now.

His hand slid up the back of your neck, cradling your head like he was afraid you’d slip through his fingers. His other hand stayed at your waist, firm and grounding, pressing you just close enough to make your whole body buzz. And when he kissed you again, slower still, deeper, like he wanted to take his time and learn every part of your mouth, your breath hitched against him, and he sighed into you like he was finally getting a piece of peace he hadn’t known how to ask for.

You broke apart only when breathing became necessary, your foreheads resting together, the silence between you thick with everything that had just passed and everything still left to say.

“I don’t know what happens next,” you whispered, barely more than a breath between you. The words felt like they echoed, even in the stillness of the room. Your fingers were still curled in the fabric of his hoodie, anchoring yourself to something you didn’t know how to define.

Beomgyu didn’t open his eyes right away. He just let his forehead rest against yours, breathing you in like he was still steadying himself. Then, slowly, a small smile tugged at his lips. “Doesn’t matter,” he murmured, voice soft but steady. “As long as it’s with you.”

You blinked, and the warmth that bloomed in your chest nearly cracked you open. He pulled back just enough to see your face, and the moment his gaze locked with yours, something in him shifted. Your eyes were glassy, lashes clumped together with the weight of held-back tears, and he stilled.

“Hey…” he said, gently cupping your jaw. “What’s wrong?”

You shook your head, just slightly. “Nothing,” you whispered. “I just…” You swallowed, but the words pushed through anyway. “I don’t want to lose this. I don’t want to lose you.”

The confession cracked open something between you. His thumb swept across your cheek, like he could catch the tear before it fully formed. “You’re not gonna lose me,” he said, firm but impossibly tender. “Okay? Not over this. Not over them. I’m right here.” You let out a quiet, shaky breath, and he leaned in again, brushing his lips against your forehead. “I’ve got you.”

“I’m serious,” you said, pulling back just a little. “This scares me. You scare me. The way I feel about you scares me.”

Beomgyu blinked, but instead of teasing or brushing it off, he nodded. “Good.”

You furrowed your brows. “Good?”

He smiled, brushing his nose against yours. “Means it’s real. Means it’s worth it.”

You stared at him for a long moment. “I think I’m in trouble with you.”

“Same,” he said with a chuckle, kissing the corner of your mouth. “You ruin me.”

You laughed softly through the tightness in your chest, letting your forehead rest against his again. “Then we’re both ruined.”

“Ruined together,” he said, grinning.

You smiled, lips brushing again, slower this time. The kind of kiss that felt like a quiet promise, not a storm. Eventually, he pulled back, his breath still brushing your lips, his thumb still tracing lazy circles against your waist. “We should go,” he murmured, his voice low and a little rough. “Before staying becomes an excuse not to leave.”

You nodded slowly, still processing the way your body buzzed just from standing this close to him. “Yeah,” you said softly. “Probably a good idea.”

As you moved to turn around, his hand reached past you, grabbing your bag off the floor before you could. He didn’t say anything about it, just slung it over his shoulder like it was second nature, like he’d already decided he was carrying it. You blinked at him. “You don’t have to—”

“I know,” he said, cutting you off gently. “Let’s go.”

You followed him out of the studio, steps in sync, your hand brushing against his once before he took it again without thinking. Not possessive. Just quietly his.

The hallway was dim and silent, the hum of electronics behind closed doors the only sound around you. No one else in sight. The world had shrunk to just the two of you, and it felt oddly comforting. When you stepped outside, the air was cooler than you expected, biting lightly at your skin. He handed you your bag as you adjusted your hoodie, his fingers lingering for a beat too long on yours.

You walked side by side through the empty parking structure behind the building, the silence between you calm now, warm in a way that didn’t need to be filled. Streetlights glowed overhead, casting halos onto the concrete. His knuckles brushed against yours every now and then, and eventually, his hand found yours again like it belonged there.

When you reached the main sidewalk that split toward the metro, you slowed. “This is me,” you said quietly.

He stopped beside you. “No, it’s not.”

You turned toward him, one brow raised. “It’s literally right there.”

Beomgyu tilted his head slightly, eyes steady. “You really think I’m letting you take the train this late?”

You narrowed your eyes, playful. “You letting me?”

He just stared at you for a beat. “Come with me.” His voice was different now, not teasing, not pleading. Just simple. Firm. The kind of voice that didn’t push, but didn’t give room for argument either.

You sighed, pretending to be more annoyed than you actually were. “Fine. But only because you’re being dramatic.”

He smirked. “Dramatically thoughtful.”

“You really think you’re charming, huh?”

“I don’t think,” he said, unlocking his car with a click. “I know.” You rolled your eyes, but your lips were already tugging into a smile.

The drive was quiet at first. Not awkward. Just… peaceful. He had one hand on the wheel, the other resting near the gear shift, his fingers tapping lightly to the rhythm of the song playing low on the stereo. You leaned your head back against the seat, stealing glances at him. The way the city lights shifted over his profile—sharp in some places, soft in others, like the night didn’t know how to settle on him. He looked calm. But there was a tension there too, somewhere in the set of his jaw, in the way he occasionally glanced over at you when he thought you weren’t looking.

You weren’t sure what you were looking for in his face. Maybe reassurance. Maybe confirmation that whatever was happening between you hadn’t been imagined or inflated in your head. That this, whatever this was, wasn’t a detour for him.

When he finally pulled up in front of your building, he didn’t say anything at first. Just shifted the car into park, exhaled, and stared out through the windshield like he wasn’t quite ready to let the moment end.

You turned toward him slowly, the weight of the silence between you suddenly heavier than it had been all night. “Are you sure this is okay?” you asked, voice quiet. “Everything?”

He didn’t look at you right away, but when he did, there was something in his eyes that hadn’t been there before. An intensity, quiet and unwavering. His hand reached across the console without hesitation, resting lightly on your knee at first, then moving up, brushing along your arm, until he was cupping your face with both hands. His palms were warm, steady.

“I don’t think I’ve been more sure of anything in a long time,” he said, voice low, almost deliberate. “I know what this is. I know what I want.” Your breath caught. “I want this,” he continued, his thumbs brushing your cheeks like he needed the contact to stay grounded. “I want you. And I know I haven’t always made that easy to believe. I’ve been… inconsistent. Confusing. Scared, maybe. But I’m not anymore.”

You stared at him, something tugging at your chest, pressing in from all sides. “I want us,” he said. “Not just in the studio, not just in dark corners or in between deadlines. I want whatever this turns into, whatever it looks like. I want all of it.”

The words didn’t feel rehearsed. They weren’t poetic. But they were real. Spoken like someone who had been holding them back for too long. You didn’t respond right away. Just leaned into his touch, closed your eyes for a second. Let yourself breathe. Let yourself believe him.

When you opened your eyes again, he was still looking at you. Still holding you like you were something worth holding onto. And for the first time, you didn’t feel the instinct to back away. You didn’t flinch. You just smiled—soft, small, but true.

And then he leaned in. His hand still cradled your cheek, warm and steady, guiding you toward him like gravity had already made the decision for both of you. His eyes searched yours for half a second longer, like he was still asking for permission, even if he didn’t need to.

And then he kissed you. Slow. Warm. Sure. It wasn’t the kind of kiss that tried to prove something. It wasn’t frantic or messy or fueled by tension. It was honest. Steady. The kind of kiss that said, I meant everything I said. I’m not going anywhere.

Your hand found his jaw, fingers curling gently there, and for a moment, everything outside the car, outside this, just faded. You pulled back first, lips barely brushing as you breathed him in, eyes still closed for just a second longer than necessary. Like you wanted to remember the exact feeling of him, before it got blurred by distance or time.

“Goodnight, Beomgyu,” you whispered, voice quiet but full.

His smile was soft, thumb brushing your cheek one last time before he let his hand fall away. “Goodnight.”

You opened the car door and stepped out into the cool air, the city humming gently around you. The door shut behind you with a muted thud, and you took a few steps toward the building before instinct made you glance over your shoulder.

He was still there. Still watching.

You gave him one last smile.

And when he smiled back, it felt like a promise.

A month and a half passed. And nothing fell apart.

If anything, things settled into place in a way that felt… unfamiliar. In the best way. Not perfect. Not romanticized. Just real.

The album dropped three weeks after that night. It didn’t go viral overnight, didn’t crash any servers or cause mass hysteria. But it grew. Track by track, it moved through the charts with quiet authority. Critics noticed first, pointing out the nuance in the production, the way the songs spoke to each other without sounding formulaic, the restraint in places where others might’ve tried to be louder. And then the fans followed. Not just ENHYPEN’s fanbase, but people outside that world too, people who had no idea who you were a few months ago. Suddenly, they did. And they cared.

They don’t mention you by name right away. But then they do. And then they don’t stop.

You start showing up in places you hadn’t been invited to before. Articles, panels, inboxes. Your name, spoken out loud, attached to the word producer without hesitation. You try not to let it get to your head, but still, something shifts. You stop apologizing for your place in the room. You stop minimizing what you built.

The fans get it, too. Not just the ones who already knew the members and the brand, but others, people who found their way to track three and stayed for the whole album. Messages flood in. Tweets. Edits. Comments. Most of them are kind. A few aren’t. But it doesn’t matter. Because the music worked. You worked.

And Seungcheol is quiet now. Whatever threats he thought he could make, whatever moves he had lined up, none of them stand a chance against the numbers, against Baekhyun’s support, against your name finally meaning something too loud to ignore. After the album release, he tries to slide one snide comment into a meeting. You don’t even have to look up, Baekhyun handles it before you can blink. You never hear another word from him. Not directly.

And through all of it, Beomgyu is there.

He doesn’t hover. He doesn’t push. He never once corners you into a conversation you’re not ready for. But somehow, he’s always there. At the end of a long day, when your brain is fried and your feet ache from standing in the booth too long, he’s there—jacket in hand, keys dangling from his fingers, already unlocking his car before you even ask.

He takes you home every night. It’s not a discussion anymore; it’s routine. He doesn’t even bother saying “let me take you,” not since the second week. You just pack your things, walk out, and find him leaning against the passenger side door like he’s been waiting for you for years. Sometimes you talk during the ride. Sometimes you fall asleep, head tilted toward the window. He never minds. He always waits until you’re inside your building before driving away.

He buys your favorite snacks when he does coffee runs. Knows when you need space before you even realize it yourself. He never makes a scene at company events, never touches you in public beyond brushing his hand against your elbow or leaning in a little too close when he wants to say something only you should hear. But there’s something about him that always feels oriented toward you. Like no matter where he is in the room, some part of him is paying attention.

You don’t define it. Neither does he. Maybe because if you did, it might collapse under the weight of expectation. Or maybe it’s because this, whatever this is, feels strong enough without the scaffolding.

And you don’t ask what it means. You don’t need to.

Until one night, when you're both at a company event.

It’s formal, but not suffocating. A celebration dinner for the division’s latest wins. The ENHYPEN album is still holding steady on the charts, streaming numbers better than anyone projected. You're being introduced to people, smiling politely, answering questions about upcoming projects. Beomgyu is somewhere nearby, talking to someone from publishing, a glass of something dark in his hand, shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows in that way that makes you forget what you were saying for half a second.

Later, you find yourselves standing near each other, sharing the same plate of appetizers like it’s second nature. One of the senior assistants—someone who works more with Baekhyun than you—passes by, gives you both a quick once-over, then smiles, too casual to mean anything serious. “You two are such a cute couple,” she says with a wink, already walking away.

The words hit you differently than they should.

You glance at him. He’s still chewing, eyebrows raised, like he’s not sure he heard it right either. Then he swallows and looks at you. And smiles. Not in a smug way. Not teasing. Just soft. Like maybe he liked the way that sounded. You feel the heat crawl up your neck.

“She didn’t mean anything by it,” you say, maybe a little too quickly.

“I know,” he replies. And then, after a pause, he adds, “Still kind of nice to hear.”

You don’t know what to say to that. So you laugh. Quietly. Shake your head like it’s nothing. But your stomach twists a little, and not in a bad way.

When the event wraps up, you both walk out together, the night cool on your skin. He doesn't say anything about the comment again, but when you stop by the curb and he opens the passenger door for you, his hand brushes yours just a little longer than necessary. And later, when you're almost home, he glances at you sideways while stopped at a red light.

“You know,” he says, voice low, careful, “I don’t mind if people think we’re together.”

You turn to him slowly. “Yeah?”

He nods, slower this time, turning to look at you more fully. “It’s not wrong,” he says again, but now there’s no hesitation in his voice. “Actually… it kind of feels right.”

There’s something vulnerable in his tone, bare, honest, but not scared. Just open. The way he’s always been with you, when you really let yourself see it. He isn’t hiding behind charm or sarcasm or the easy smirk he uses when he doesn’t want to say what he’s really thinking. He’s just here, right in front of you, choosing not to hold it in.

You meet his gaze and let yourself soften. Let yourself admit it too. “I think so too,” you say. “It feels right.”

He smiles, slow, wide, unguarded. The kind that starts small but stays longer than it should, like maybe this whole time you were bracing for something that never needed to come.

The rest of the ride is quiet, but no part of it feels uncertain anymore.

When he pulls up in front of your building, the car slows to a gentle stop. You undo your seatbelt, expecting the usual goodnight, the steady little ritual you’ve settled into without saying. But before your hand can reach the door, his fingers curl around your wrist, light but purposeful. You glance back at him.

His expression is unreadable for half a second. And then he tilts his head, his eyes scanning your face like he’s trying to memorize it all over again. “We make such a cute couple,” he says, tone casual, but it lands somewhere deeper. Before you can react, he leans in and kisses you. Just once. Just a press of lips to yours, soft and full of the kind of warmth that makes your heart ache a little.

Then, as he pulls back, he adds, more softly now, like it’s just for you—

“Because you’re such a cute girlfriend.”

You don’t respond right away. Just stare at him, blinking, the words settling over you like sunlight through a window. And strangely, it doesn’t feel like anything changes. It just clicks into place. Like the word had already been there this whole time, quietly waiting its turn.

You smile, then laugh under your breath, because of course that’s how he’d do it, slipping the label in with a kiss and a grin, like he knew you'd say yes before you even said anything at all. “Okay,” you whisper, still smiling. “Okay.”

But when you move to say goodbye, his hand catches yours again. He doesn’t say anything at first, just leans across the console and kisses you once more. And then again. And again. Not deep, not rushed, just soft little presses of his lips against yours, like he’s making up for all the kisses he hadn’t known he was allowed to give until now. One lands at the corner of your mouth. Another against your cheek. Then your jaw.

You laugh again, quiet and warm, and he just keeps going, brushing his nose lightly against yours like he doesn’t want to stop touching you.

“I’m happy,” he says, suddenly. It’s not dramatic. Not a confession. Just a truth he needed to say out loud. “I’m really fucking happy.”

You look at him, blinking slowly, your heart doing something unsteady inside your chest. “Me too,” you say, and you mean it. Every syllable. “I didn’t think I would be. Not like this.”

He smiles, so softly you think you might forget how to breathe. You glance out the window for a second, then back at him. The night’s quiet, and the street’s empty, and something inside you doesn’t want to let this end yet. “You wanna come up?” you ask, voice low. Then, a little lighter, “Yeonjun’s not home. He’s out tonight.”

Beomgyu blinks once. Then grins. “Are you inviting me to a sleepover?”

You roll your eyes, but you’re smiling again. “You’re unbearable.”

“And yet,” he says, already reaching for the door handle, “you keep saying yes.”

The two of you step out into the cool air together. This time, when he grabs your hand, it’s not cautious or quiet. It’s natural. Like it’s always been there.

You lead him toward your building, and the silence between you feels full, not of tension, not of hesitation, but of all the moments that got you here. Steps that built slowly, carefully. A connection that never needed to be rushed to mean something. He walks a little closer than he needs to. His thumb brushes over your knuckles every few seconds like he’s still making sure you’re real. And you let him. You don’t say anything, don’t tease him for it. Because honestly, you kind of need to make sure he’s real too.

You unlock your door. Let him in. And in the minutes that follow, when he drops his bag by the couch and toes off his shoes and wraps his arms around you in your kitchen like it’s the most normal thing in the world, you realize something. You genuinely liked Beomgyu.

It didn’t happen all at once. That’s what you keep thinking. It wasn’t a spark or a kiss or a single moment that flipped everything. It was a slow shift. A gradual realignment. Like something quietly tuning itself inside you, one frequency at a time. And now, lying in bed next to him, watching the way his lashes rest against his cheeks as he sleeps, peaceful, unaware, you realize just how far from the beginning you are. And how far you’ve come.

You think about how it started. The tension. The miscommunication. The friction of two people trying not to see each other too clearly. You think about the late nights, the studio lights buzzing overhead, the silence between you and him, how it used to feel heavy, and now it just feels safe. You think about how many times you almost said too much. How many times you stopped yourself. How many times he didn’t. And then, how he did.

You think about the way he whispered the word girlfriend like it was a natural conclusion, not a surprise. Like the truth had already existed between you, and he was just giving it a name. Because by then, it didn’t scare you anymore. Because by then, you’d stopped questioning what it meant, or how fast it happened, or whether it was supposed to look a certain way.

Because by then, it just felt right.

He shifts beside you, barely awake, and instinctively reaches for your hand. His fingers find yours without hesitation, even in sleep. You smile into the darkness. Because it’s not about the label. It never was. It’s about the feeling. The choosing. The quiet knowing.

You think about how, for so long, you felt out of tune. Like no matter how hard you worked, something was always off. Too loud in the wrong places. Too soft where you needed strength. Like you were always trying to blend into a harmony that never made space for you.

But now, with him, there’s no effort. No strain. Just this quiet, steady rhythm—imperfect, unpolished, but undeniably yours.

author's note: hi 🫶 i finally finished this fic. honestly, thought it was gonna live in the “part 2 and never more” graveyard forever lmao. but here we are. if you’ve been reading since the beginning, thank you!! really. i know this one took its time, had its messy timeline and all, but if you made it to the end, just know i love you a little extra now.

thank you to everyone who read, liked, commented, messaged me about part 1 and part 2. you made me want to come back to this story and give it the ending it deserved 🥹 i also made a playlist with the songs i mentioned in the fic + a bunch of others that just feel like this story, check it out here <3

i hope the ending made your heart feel warm. or at the very least made you want to kiss a problematic but kind-hearted music producer called choi beomgyu.

until the next story 💿

taglist: @czennieszn @iyoonjh @shycreationdreamland @beomsdoll @whatblop @cbgtopia @enhaloveeee @hyunj00 @jnysaln @woncheecks @soobinslvr13 @kejingken @v1shwa-xo @yeovnjin @c1eod1n3 @etherealid7 @naeyerys @stwq2349 @gaonashi @usuallyunlikelyfox @jisungooner @bluecaet@i-am-not-dal @human-misery @jungkooks-right-toe @shihoinyoruichifan-blog @taeandpuppies @90steele @femaleetitan @c-ssiop0eia @beomgyusluver @gumjun @starbear15

[risskia]

SUMMARY: University AU where Caleb is one of MC's professors, 1.7K words

WARNINGS: NSFW 18+ MDNI, rough classroom sex, fluff and smut, aftercare

A/N: This fic is pretty smutty but Caleb and MC also high-key fall in love with one another

── .✦

Professor!Caleb who can’t help but notice you in his lectures. The way your eyebrows scrunch up when you’re having trouble understanding a concept. When you’re raising your hand and asking him questions he’s struggling to really process anything because he can’t stop staring at you, with your wide-eyed expression and soft parted lips and the torrent of dirty thoughts that fill his mind.

Before he knows it, the front of his pants are all too tight. It’s your fault that he has to rush to his private office afterwards, hips bucking furiously as he furiously fucks into his closed fist, soft moans falling from his parted lips. Chanting your name as he cums so hard he sees stars, his head thrown back in pleasure. His cock is still throbbing afterwards, a shade of angry pink from all the stimulation. His face is red and he’s still breathless from his high. Why is he so attracted to you? He has never felt this way about a student , of all things…

Professor!Caleb who is popular with the students. They wave him goodbye as they leave the class. A group of girls crowd around him, gushing and giggling nervously. Professor Caleb smiles good naturedly but is quick to dismiss them as you walk up to him. He notices you immediately and the way your lips are trembling. His expression immediately shifts to one of genuine concern.

“Hey. What’s the matter?” he asks gently, leaning down to look at you. You’re clutching your stack of papers in your arms, avoiding his gaze out of embarrassment and guilt.

“I… about the graded project…” you fumble to find the right words. “I’m… I’m so, so sorry, sir, I know it’s due next week and all, but I’ve been so busy and I… things keep on coming up and I lost track of time. I swear, I’ve been trying to get started…but I don’t understand the concepts, I really don’t.” tears are threatening to well up in your eyes and you blink them away. 

Professor Caleb just stares at you. He swallows thickly. He’s trying to not think about how he can just bend you over the desk and fuck you right now as he forces himself to focus back on the current situation. Instead, he opts to say in a polite tone, “Which part of the concept do you not understand?”

You open your file, fishing out the lecture papers and flipping to the page with the confusing topic. Professor Caleb peers over your shoulder. Fuck, you smell so good. If given the choice though, he’d fuck you until you’re branded with his own scent.

Professor!Caleb who spends the next few hours in the empty classroom with you, forcing himself to be professional with his teachings. He keeps a respectful distance, though his gaze lingers a little too long sometimes—on the curve of your shoulder, the way your brow furrows in concentration, the soft sound of your sigh when the frustration starts to build again. Still, he says nothing. Just adjusts his glasses, leans over your desk, and quietly explains the concept again. And again. And again.

He’s patient, methodical, but unrelenting. He doesn’t let you skip ahead or brush things off.

By the time the session ends, your brain feels fried and your hand aches from writing. The sun has dipped lower, casting warm gold light across the floor. You’re slumped over the teacher’s desk, cheek pressed to your arm, eyes half-lidded.

Professor Caleb stands nearby, nervously fixing his tie, watching you with an unreadable expression. After a beat, he clears his throat and gently places a hand on your shoulder, his touch warm and steady.

You turn your head and smile up at him, tired but soft. In the golden light, he looks unreal—hair glowing like firelight, violet eyes catching flecks of amber, mouth slightly parted like he might say something. But he doesn’t. 

But it lingers in the air between you like the sunbeams painting the room.

“Thank you so much, Sir, I don’t know what I’d do without you,” you say softly. Caleb stills for a beat, almost imperceptibly.

“Anytime,” he replies, adjusting his tie again and pushing his glasses higher up on his nose bridge. “Please don’t be too hard on yourself. The other professors speak highly of you.”

You laugh, and he smiles faintly before excusing himself to grab coffee.

When he returns, the classroom is dark with the faint moonlight. You’ve fallen asleep at his desk, cheek resting against your folded arms, breathing steady. Caleb stands there, coffee forgotten, eyes fixed on you. His brows pinch together. You look so peaceful, so unaware of the war brewing inside him.

The next morning── .✦

You wake slowly, bleary-eyed and disoriented. The soft creak of the old desk beneath you follows as you sit up, groaning as your back protests in pain. Your limbs ache from sleeping hunched over, and you stretch sluggishly.

Something slides off your shoulders—a heavy warmth you hadn’t noticed until it was gone. You blink down at the sleek black suit jacket now pooled around your waist. Caleb’s suit jacket.

Your brows lift in surprise. Did he…?

You hold it up, brushing your fingers over the fine dark material. It’s warm, faintly wrinkled, and still carries the subtle, clean scent of him—something woodsy and refined. It clings to your clothes, your skin. Your face heats up before you can stop it. Gentlemanly. Of course he is. But you still can’t stop the flutter in your chest as you fold the jacket neatly, holding it close for just a second longer than necessary.

Professor!Caleb, despite his usual composure, finds himself growing a quiet soft spot for you. He watches you during lectures—making sure you're following along, subtly adjusting his pace if your brows knit in confusion. Sometimes you stay back, happily chattering about some event you were at and how much you enjoyed the art fair that you had gone to that week. Caleb listens and makes the occasional snarky comment that has you giggling and blushing.

Professor!Caleb who cannot believe that he’s currently making out with you in yet another empty classroom, after weeks and weeks of holding himself back. He’s famished and he ravishes you now. You’re whining into his ear, tugging at his tie.

He looks at you with desperation, and something…raw and primal. His hand finds the side of your face as he reattaches his lips with yours, and his other grip the plush of your ass, dragging you closer to him on his lap.

Professor!Caleb who’s rough and relentless when he is no longer restraining himself. “This what you wanted?” he whispers hoarsely as his fingers skim dangerously close to your aching cunt. You shiver. He’s standing up now, pulling you up and bending you over the desk, pressing your body down hard into the desk, your tits squishing up against the surface. 

“Let’s be honest… boys your age don’t know what to do with a woman like you. You need someone who knows how to touch, how to listen — how to make you fall apart and put you back together again. An older man. Someone who won’t waste a second guessing what you need.”

You moan uncontrollably. 

Professor!Caleb who takes his time with you. He wants you to fall apart for him before he takes you. He’ll make you cockdrunk and beg for his cock.

“P-professor!” you squeal as he drives his slender fingers relentlessly into your pussy. It’s almost vulgar how wet and obscene the squelching noises coming out from your pussy are. Your eyes are rolling into the back of his head as he repeatedly hits that sweet spot inside of you. 

“Aw, look at you. How pathetic.” he drawls. His chest is pressed up against your back. Caleb leans forward, capturing your lips in a sloppy make-out.

“P-please,” you sob, your fingers leaving marks on the wooden surface that is below you from how hard you are gripping it. “Need…”

“Need what? Baby, use your words.” he nips affectionately at the sensitive skin of your neck. You whine again, pressing your bare ass up into his clothed crotch. His breath hitches but he remains firm, pushing you back down on the desk.

“Bad girl.” A hand comes down, hard, on your ass. It stings and you moan brokenly.

“Ungh…fine! Please, I want you inside of me.”

You can feel him smirking into your neck. There’s the soft clinking of belt and zipper before you feel his thick hard length pressing up against your entrance. Caleb groans, low and strained. Flipping you over onto your back, he rubs you using your own slick, with his big cock. Your eyes widen as you stare down at it. Caleb grins, tapping your puffy clit with his cock. Pleasure shoots up your spine. That is the tipping point.

Professor!Caleb who makes you cum without even entering you. You claw at his back, crying and sobbing as he works you through the orgasm. “Cum for me, baby, I know you can. You like it when I hump you like this? You like it when my cock rubs up against your sensitive little clit?” 

He kisses you gently on the tip of your nose. “You’re doing so well for me, pips.”

Professor!Caleb who makes you go dumb on his cock. He’s thrusting into you, gripping onto your waist to keep you in place. You’re incredibly overstimulated and sensitive, having already cummed multiple times on his dick. He doesn’t seem like he’s stopping anytime soon, though. 

Aftercare ── .✦

Professor!Caleb who’s a gentleman and insists that he takes care of you at his place afterwards. You two take a bath together and he helps to clean you, massaging sweet smelling shampoo into your hair and checking for bruises. He wraps you up in a thick soft blanket when he’s done, kissing your forehead softly. He cooks up a storm, and you find out how good soup can taste. You two chatter away over dinner, talking and laughing until you have tears in your eyes. 

You insist on showing Caleb one of your favorite movies as you drag him over to his couch. However, it doesn’t take long before fatigue takes over you. You fall asleep, your head resting on his chest, your body curled awkwardly against him. He winces slightly at the discomfort of the position, but he doesn’t dare move, terrified of waking you up. 

For now, he’s content just holding you, feeling your steady breaths against him.

── .✦

A/N: Thinking about doing a Professor! xavier fic next, what do yalls think ^^

[archivegyu]

masterlist

timing has never been our thing

part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4

The practice room lights had long since dimmed to that late-night fluorescent glow that made everything feel slightly unreal. Seungcheol rolled his shoulders, feeling the satisfying pop of tension releasing after hours of choreography. The room was quieter now, most of the members having filtered out one by one as midnight approached. Only Mingyu remained, sprawled across the floor with his long limbs stretched out like a starfish, chest rising and falling as he stared at the ceiling.

Seungcheol's phone buzzed on the bench where he'd left it.

kkuma's other human

[10:43 PM] Cheol: I'll be late again. Save me some dinner if you can?

[10:59 PM] Her: Already done. It's in the blue container. Don't forget to reheat properly this time.

[11:00 PM] Her: Kkuma misses you. She keeps sitting by the door.

[11:01 PM] Her: I think I do too.

Seungcheol's thumb hovered over that last message. The casual confession stole his breath, not because it was unexpected, but because it was so honest. So simple. The way she'd always been with him, even when he couldn't find the courage to be the same.

He typed out three different responses before deleting them all.

[11:07 PM] Cheol: Will be home soon :))

"You're smiling at your phone again," Mingyu observed, not bothering to lift his head from the floor. "It's painful to watch."

Seungcheol slipped the device into his pocket. "I'm just tired."

"That's not what tired looks like. That's what whipped looks like," Mingyu said, finally sitting up with a groan. "You're texting her, aren't you?"

Seungcheol didn't answer, just turned to gather his things from the bench. The silence was answer enough.

"You know," Mingyu continued, "I could literally feel you thinking about going home all day. Like, mid-practice, your eyes would drift to the clock. You weren't even trying to hide it."

"I was focused" Seungcheol protested weakly.

"Yeah, on getting back to her."

There was no heat in Mingyu's words, just a knowing smile as he stood and stretched, joints popping. "You hungry? I think that chicken place around the corner is still open."

Seungcheol hesitated, fingers playing with the strap of his bag. He thought of the blue container waiting in the refrigerator, of Kkuma at the door, of her waiting up despite how late it was. But another text lit up his screen.

[11:10 PM] Her: Don't rush. I'm working on my project anyway. Just come home in one piece.

"Yeah," he said finally, slinging his bag over his shoulder. "Let's go."

⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆

The night air was cool and thick with the scent of rain that hadn't quite fallen yet. Mingyu drove with the windows cracked, one hand loose on the steering wheel while the other occasionally reached for the fries balanced on the dashboard. They'd ordered too much food: fried chicken and fries and side dishes that spilled out of paper bags, but neither seemed to mind as they pulled into an empty parking lot overlooking the city.

Seoul sprawled below them, a constellation of lights blurring together through the slight fog. Seungcheol took a bite of chicken, savoring the spice as his eyes drifted over the skyline.

"She made dinner," he said quietly, almost to himself.

Mingyu glanced at him. "And you're here eating gas station chicken with me instead?"

"She said not to rush," Seungcheol defended, though his voice lacked conviction. "She's working on her project."

"Right," Mingyu nodded, taking a long sip of his drink. "The one about architectural innovation or whatever, yeah? She's been obsessed with it."

Seungcheol's lips quirked into a proud smile. "She's brilliant. Everyone in her program thinks so."

"And you think so most of all."

"I've always thought so," Seungcheol admitted. Then, after a beat: "I feel like I've watched her grow up. From the kid who'd share her lunch to the woman who's going to design buildings that change the way people live."

Mingyu hummed, thoughtful. "You should've seen her face when you nailed that high note in practice today. She was looking at you like you hung the stars."

Seungcheol's hands slowed, a fry halfway to his mouth. "She came to practice?"

"Yeah, for like an hour. Said she had a break between classes. She sat in the back." Mingyu frowned, turning to face him. "You didn't see her?"

"No," Seungcheol murmured, feeling his chest tighten. "I didn't."

He set the food down, suddenly less hungry. There was a moment of silence between them, broken only by the distant sounds of the city and the occasional rustle of paper bags.

"You ever feel like you missed your chance before you even had one?" Seungcheol asked suddenly, staring out the window.

Mingyu stopped mid-bite. "What do you mean?"

"With her," Seungcheol clarified, his voice lower now. "You ever think about how long I've known her? How many years of my life she's been there? And I still haven't..." He trailed off, shaking his head.

"Haven't told her," Mingyu finished for him.

"Yeah."

"Why not?"

Seungcheol's laugh was hollow. "Timing. It's always been terrible timing." He leaned back in his seat, eyes fixed on the ceiling of the car. "She was with someone. Then I was. Then life got in the way. And now that we're both free... I'm scared it's too late. That maybe I waited too long."

Mingyu's usual playful expression had faded, replaced by something more serious. "If it's real," he said slowly, "maybe timing's just an excuse."

The words hung in the air between them, heavy with truth. Seungcheol felt them settle in his chest, uncomfortable but necessary.

"I'd rather stay close than risk it all," he finally said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I don't know if she sees me the same way. But if I say something and she doesn't... I lose her. I lose all of it. I'd rather hurt quietly than break us."

Mingyu was quiet for a long moment, his eyes focused on the windshield where drops of rain had started to appear.

"You think keeping quiet keeps her close," he said eventually. "But hyung... some things are already changing, even if you stay silent."

Seungcheol turned to look at him, feeling something cold slip down his spine. "What do you mean?"

"I mean," Mingyu said carefully, "that study abroad program she's thinking about. The one in Barcelona for next semester. You ever wonder why she hasn't talked to you about it yet?"

The world seemed to tilt slightly on its axis. "Study abroad?"

"Shit," Mingyu breathed, closing his eyes briefly. "You didn't know."

"No," Seungcheol said, his voice suddenly dry. "I didn't."

"She probably hasn't decided yet," Mingyu rushed to add. "But Joshua said she was looking into this prestigious architectural program. Something about studying under some famous architect and getting international perspective for her thesis project."

Seungcheol swallowed hard, feeling like the air had been knocked from his lungs. "Barcelona is... far."

"Yeah," Mingyu agreed softly. "It is."

The rain fell harder now, drumming against the roof of the car in a steady rhythm that matched the pounding in Seungcheol's chest. He thought of the apartment they shared, of the blue container in the refrigerator, of Kkuma waiting by the door. Of her saying she missed him through a text message because it was easier than saying it out loud.

Just like it had always been easier for him to love her in silence than to risk everything on words.

"I have to go home," he said suddenly, reaching for his bag. "I should be there."

Mingyu didn't argue, just started the car and pulled back onto the road. The drive back to the apartment was quiet, rain streaking the windows and blurring the city lights into smudges of color.

"You know," Mingyu said as they pulled up to the curb, "sometimes I think about what would happen if you just told her. No perfect timing, no grand gestures. Just... the truth. What's the worst that could happen?"

"She could leave," Seungcheol said, hand already on the door handle.

"Or she could stay," Mingyu countered. "She could choose you. She could already be choosing you every day, but you're too afraid to see it."

Seungcheol stepped out into the rain, the cool drops a relief against his heated skin. He leaned down to look at Mingyu one last time.

"I'll think about it," he promised.

Mingyu nodded, his expression gentle. "Good. Because I think she's been waiting for you to catch up for a while now."

⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆

The apartment was quiet when he unlocked the door, slipping off his shoes in the entryway. The lights were dimmed, casting a warm glow over the space. Kkuma didn't come running this time, which meant she was either asleep or—

"Hey," her voice came from the living room, soft and slightly raspy, like she'd been dozing. "You're back."

Seungcheol crossed the room and found her curled up on the couch, her laptop balanced on her knees and Kkuma snuggled against her side. Her hair was pulled back in a messy bun, glasses perched low on her nose, and she wore one of his hoodies: the old gray one he thought he'd lost months ago.

The sight of her made his heart ache.

"I'm back," he said simply, setting his bag down.

She smiled, that small, tired smile that always felt like it was just for him. "How was practice?"

"Long," he said, moving to sit beside her. "How's the project?"

"Long," she echoed, closing her laptop and setting it aside. "But I think I'm finally getting somewhere. The review board seemed impressed with the preliminary sketches."

He nodded, watching as she stretched her arms above her head, the too-long sleeves of his hoodie falling back to expose her wrists. "That's good. You've been working hard."

"Not as hard as you," she said, turning to face him fully. "You look exhausted."

"I'm fine."

"Liar," she accused gently, reaching out to brush a strand of damp hair from his forehead. "You're pushing too hard again."

The casual touch made his breath catch, but he managed a small smile. "Says the woman who fell asleep at her desk three times this week."

"That's different," she protested, though her eyes crinkled with a smile. "I'm a student. I'm supposed to be sleep-deprived and caffeinated."

"And I'm an idol. I'm supposed to be practiced and prepared."

She rolled her eyes, but her expression softened. "Did you eat? I saved you some dinner."

"I did, with Mingyu. But I'll have yours for lunch tomorrow."

She nodded, seemingly satisfied with that answer. They fell into a comfortable silence, the kind that had always been easy between them. Seungcheol watched as she absentmindedly stroked Kkuma's fur, her eyes drifting to the window where rain still pattered against the glass.

"Mingyu mentioned something," he said before he could stop himself. "About Barcelona."

Her hand stilled on Kkuma's back. She didn't look at him right away, and in that hesitation, Seungcheol felt his heart sink.

"It's just a possibility," she finally said, her voice careful. "Nothing's decided."

"But you're considering it."

She sighed, finally meeting his gaze. "Of course I am. It's a good opportunity for my thesis. The kind that could really set me apart when I graduate."

"When were you going to tell me?"

"Soon," she said quietly. "I was waiting for the right time."

"The right time," he repeated, a bitter taste in his mouth. "Timing has never been our thing, has it?"

She looked at him then, really looked at him, with an expression he couldn't quite read. "What do you mean?"

Seungcheol felt the weight of all the words he'd never said pressing down on him. All the moments he'd let slip away because the timing wasn't perfect. All the chances he'd missed because he was too afraid to take them.

"Nothing," he said, shaking his head. "Forget it. It's late."

She reached out, her hand finding his wrist. "Seungcheol."

The sound of his name on her lips had always been his undoing. He looked down at where her fingers wrapped around his wrist, right where his pulse was racing.

"If you don't want me to go," she said slowly, "just say it."

He swallowed hard. "It's not that simple."

"It could be," she pressed. "Just tell me why you want me to stay."

The moment stretched between them, fragile and vital. Seungcheol felt himself at the edge of something enormous, something terrifying and beautiful all at once. He thought of Mingyu's words: Sometimes I think about what would happen if you just told her.

But years of habit were hard to break. Years of keeping his feelings locked safely away, where they couldn't hurt either of them. Where they couldn't change what they had.

"I want you to be happy," he said finally, his voice low. "Even if that's in Barcelona."

Her hand slipped from his wrist, and he immediately missed the warmth. "Right," she said, her voice just a touch too even. "Of course."

She stood then, gathering her laptop and nudging Kkuma gently to the side. "I should get some sleep. Early class tomorrow."

"Yeah," he agreed, watching as she moved away from him. "Goodnight."

She paused at the edge of the living room, turning back to look at him. For a moment, he thought she might say something else, might push him further. But instead, she just offered a small smile.

"Goodnight, Cheol."

He watched her disappear down the hallway, listened to the soft click of her bedroom door. Only then did he let his head fall into his hands, a ragged breath escaping him.

Timing has never been our thing.

But as he sat there in the quiet apartment, rain still falling outside, he wondered if maybe timing had nothing to do with it at all. Maybe it was just him, always standing still while the world moved around him. Always waiting for the perfect moment that would never come.

Maybe some things were worth the risk of imperfect timing.

Maybe she was.

⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆

Seungcheol's phone buzzed on the coffee table, startling him out of his thoughts. He reached for it, expecting a message from one of the members, but instead found her name lighting up the screen.

[12:34 AM] Her: If you asked me to stay, I would.

He stared at the message, heart hammering against his ribs. His fingers trembled slightly as he typed out a response.

[12:35 AM] Cheol: Why?

The three dots appeared immediately, then disappeared. Appeared again. Disappeared. He waited, holding his breath.

[12:38 AM] Her: You know why.

And maybe, finally, he did.

[zarla-s]

We move forward, 'cause we can't go back...

It's the EIGHTH anniversary of Handplates, and the first one after I finished the comic back in July! I decided to dig up a very old wip that I never finished and finally do it. I've always loved WeMoveForward by The Midnight, and I think it applies not only to the comic itself but also this period after it... there's no way to go back to when I was doing it, only moving forward after it's done.

Even more appropriately, since I did this wip, these characters all moved forward even further... even as this sat in my files, they moved forward, in a sense. I don't know, the song gives me a sort of plaintive, longing, bittersweet feeling... it's hard to explain.

I had a very insistent voice in my head that always made me do a Handplates page over the years I was working on it, no matter what happened. I wasn't sure if that voice would ever stop, even when it's done, but it has! It's gotten quieter now, mostly only nagging me about other projects I should be working on (Defrag, the Ace Attorney/Frozen fic, web design, fic ideas, art ideas...) whenever I'm doing something, much like it did before I started the comic.

How I feel about Handplates finishing though is strange. At times it doesn't feel like it's over, even if I don't feel like I need to do another page. At other times I get sad thinking about it and I miss it, and other times I look back on it with amazement that I was able to do it. Sometimes I look back on it and think about what was happening in my life at that time, and sometimes when I look at it it's unreal and it's hard to believe I even did it, like someone else did the whole thing. It's like it's there but it's not, it's present but it isn't. It's a very strange feeling, it's hard to describe or pin down. I know it'll always be with me in some way, but it is strange to be able to focus so much attention on other things without that feeling of having to set aside a few days to do a page every two weeks... not bad or anything, but I'm not used to it still.

I don't know! When I read the comments on the last page a lot of them made me cry, especially those talking about how the comic had been their childhood, and now their childhood is over. It was sad to think that I had a part in something like that ending... but it ends for everyone, no matter what you do. We, you and me, everyone... we move forward, 'cause we can't go back. That line was so evocative for me that I even used it as a chapter title for the penultimate chapter on Comicfury.

I don't know, just nostalgic thoughts! I don't know if that's the right word for it... but thank you to all of you who read it and enjoyed it. Even now I hear from new people coming to it and reading through it again now that it's done. Even if it's finished, it's still new to people just finding it. It's still "living" in a sense. And thanks to those of you who stuck around even though it's done, I appreciate it. |D

(As a note, the Gaster ukagaka has a surprise if you boot him on the anniversary after seeing the brothers, if you haven't done that)

[index] [patreon]

[sscieloz]

New Year’s kiss

Huh Yunjin x best friend!reader

Synopsis: Yunjin isn’t sure of how she’ll tell you about her going back to Korea to debut, but as the deadline to present herself approaches, she doesn’t have much of a choice.

Warnings: dom!yunjin x sub!reader. a little angst and a little smut (rushed bc I rlly wanted to finish this and I won’t be able to tmr).

Word count: 3.3k

Notes: happy New Year! See you in 2024 ^^

—

“Your parents have outdone themselves, this year.” Yunjin says, opening the door to the balcony. The party’s going hard inside the penthouse, but she’s surprised to find you alone, staring at the bright lights of the city.

You give her a small smile, accepting the champagne she hands you. “You know they always go all out. It’s their thing, I guess. Partying.”

As your best friend, she’s fully aware of the pain in your voice. Part of herself wishes she didn’t have to add sadness to your night, too.

“But not yours.” She remarks, nudging you. You laugh, nodding. She knows you well.

“But not mine.” You confirm, drinking from the glass. “What time is it right now, by the way?”

“We still have a few minutes before midnight.” Yunjin answers you, after looking at her phone to check for the time. Only ten minutes until midnight, she remarks. She has ten minutes to tell you the news.

The two of you stay in a comfortable silence after you hum in acknowledgment, one that only comes from knowing someone for so long. You can’t help but notice the way her grip on the glass tightens, aligned with deep breaths and a twitchy, uneasy posture. You let your best friend take her time, though, not pressuring her to answer. Part of you is already aware of what has her so hesitant, anyway.

Perhaps it’s best for her to not talk at all.

Yunjin breathes in, once, twice, before brushing your hair out of your neck, silently trying to get you to look at her. Leaning front to the balcony, you still pretend the city lights are the most interesting thing to ever exist, as if the girl besides you isn’t the only thing who’s ever had your complete attention.

“Y/n.” She calls, huffing in frustration when you only hum, still refusing to acknowledge her. “Y/n, would you please look at me?”

Unable to deny your best friend the simplest requests, you turn your body towards the red-haired. You take her in, fearing she’d go away with a blink: her plumpy lips, her rosy cheeks… her big, expressive eyes, looking at you with such hopelessness it nearly drives tears out of your own. She’s as hurt as you are, you know it as much.

Although, knowing that doesn’t keep you from blaming her.

“I-“ Yunjin struggles to have the words come out of her mouth, choking softly in her own saliva. Her breathing is erratic, and her nails have been deeply bitten, by now. Even though you feel like a cracked glass, threatening to shatter, you manage to grab your best friend’s hand, giving her strength to continue. You’re always caught in that loop, of selfishness and selfness, when it comes to her. The urge to comfort and protect Yunjin while wanting to shut her down, trying not to get yourself hurt. “Source Music called. They want me to be their trainee and debut in their new group, next year. I’ve finished reading the contract copy they sent this afternoon.”

Yunjin was nothing short of surprised once the company had reached out to her, talking about her performance in Project 48 and how they considered her to be a great fit for their upcoming group, Le Sserafim. It felt unreal; unbelievable and too good to be true— she had dreamt about receiving such a call for countless times, wondering when she’d be enough, and it was finally happening. Her agency was into the final steps of negotiation with the company, since the talks have been going nonstop for weeks now. They were starting to get impatient, demanding she flew back to Korea to adjust her contract’s final enclosures. She was supposed to be in Seoul for days now, but Yunjin refused to leave without properly addressing you, her best friend and most feverish supporter, first.

And she’s been trying so hard to talk to you, but the words disappear from her mind each time she intends on doing so. Her palms sweat, her mouth dries out, and she’s suddenly gasping for air, unsure of what to do. She just can’t disappoint you like that. She’s promised not to leave you too many times now.

“I-“ You stop yourself, reminding your brain to be gentle towards your best friend, who looks at you expectantly, like you’re the most precious gem in the world. For that reason, you force a smile to grow on your face. “That’s phenomenal, Jen. You’ll shine bright. It’s what you’re born to do, after all.”

She smiles, feeling the blush adorning her face. Even if she knows you’re not entirely sincere, it’s always nice to be praised by you. Yunjin has always found herself doing the silliest things, just to earn one of your proud smiles or encouragements. She quickly recomposes herself, though.

“Now be truthful. Say what you really mean.” She demands, fixing your hair. Her fingers brush your ear, and it’s hard not to shiver at her touches, always so delicate around you. Loving, caring. Just how she’s always been.

You take a deep breath, closing your eyes as you allow your body to feel how Yunjin always makes you feel: like the fireworks are actually inside your stomach, erupting slowly. Now leaning back completely on the banister, you try your best to keep your voice from quivering. It’s the reason you bite your lip hard, looking up to the stars to prevent tears from streaming down your face.

“I know it’s selfish to say, but y-you just got back.” Your attempts do little to hide your fragile, faltering voice fail, the moment you open your eyes again. Yunjin is playing with her hands, not looking at you either. All in favor of keeping herself from touching you. “I-I thought you had warmed up to BU. You even said you were excited to be my roommate, despite the mess I always make.”

With her decision of enrolling later than most students, her belongings weren’t even fully unpacked, waiting for both girls to come back from winter break to be put into their places. And, despite being devastated about her decision of leaving the K-pop industry, you’ve been noticing how Yunjin has been smiling and engaging more with every passing week, slowly returning to her usual, bubbly self. It was subtle, but you were always there, giving her strength, and Yunjin was starting to enjoy the college experience.

Or so you thought.

Now, with her confession, you were beginning to overthink about how good of a friend you were. Sure, her revelation was something you had been expecting, over the last days; she’d been restless, jumpy—almost sneaky, wordlessly confirming something was wrong. However, hearing her actually say it was entirely different. Your heart hurt, already aching with her future absence, and your cries got stuck in your throat.

“Please, please don’t cry.” Yunjin mumbles, unable to keep herself from touching you. She pulls you close, caressing your hair as you hide your face in the crook of her neck, shoulders moving with your hiccups and cries. She feels so guilty: you’ve been best friends since kindergarten; she shouldn’t be one to bring you pain. “I’m so, so sorry, Y/n. But it’s my dream. I don’t think I’m ready to give up just yet.”

She’s completely right about that, the rational part of your brain knows so. You’re aware she’ll finally get what she’s worked so hard for, and be able to fulfill her passion.

The other part of your brain, however, can’t think past the loud bang inside your head, screaming mainly one thing: Yunjin will leave. Like all the others, she’ll leave you all alone. That’s the only thing you can think of, as you dampen her white tank top with your tears.

You lose track of time, embraced by her cozy arms, and soon your cries are reduced to whimpers. Brushing your nose, you detach yourself from Yunjin, still sniffling slightly.

“When do you leave?” You ask, so focused on the girl staring right at your soul you miss the start of the countdown.

“TEN!”

“On Monday.” She answers, face filled with sadness. She tries to reach out for you once again, but you move sideways.

“NINE!”

“You should’ve said something, anything, sooner.” Yunjin flinches at the sharpness of your tone, along with the way you bring your crossed arms to your chest, seeking protection.

“EIGHT!”

“I couldn’t. I swear, Y/n, I swear I tried so fucking hard to tell you, but every time I tried to it was just…” She’s breathless, representing exactly how she felt whenever she attempted to tell you she was going away.

“SEVEN!”

Yunjin takes two steps closer, trapping your frame between her arms on the balcony. Preventing you from running away, like you so desperately wanted.

“SIX!”

You sigh, defeated, interlocking your hands behind her neck. Her skin feels so familiar, yet completely foreign to you. You wonder how long will it take for you to forget her smell, her mannerisms. Her sweet accent, talking into your ear ever so sweetly. “Is it a good… firm, at least? Will they take good care of you?”

“FIVE!”

“They are, and they will.” She nods, tracing your arms with exquisite touches, almost as if she were afraid you’d push her and leave. “A respected and well-renowned company, I promise you.”

“FOUR!”

You hum, and she’s more than satisfied with your silence, this time— desperate to have even the tiniest bits of your approval.

“THREE!”

Yunjin stares into your eyes, suddenly self-aware of the (lack of) distance between you. She reads your body, looking for any signs of hesitation or discomfort. Instead, she only finds you looking at her behind your lashes, with a pouty gaze.

“TWO!”

“I’m really, truly sorry.” She says, tone serious and regretful, so upset to be hurting you.

“ONE!”

She leans in, brushing your lips. Bringing you in.

“I know.” You say, and nothing else.

“HAPPY NEW YEAR!”

The kiss you share is bittersweet, filled with melancholy and the promise of what you could’ve been, besides best friends. You love each other—always have, in all the ways one could possibly love someone. As best friends, as lovers… you’ve always welcomed Yunjin just as she is: a kind-hearted, caring, loving soul, so attentive towards others. You know the best act of love you could do is let her go, watching her fulfill her dream of being an idol. Still, you’re too flawed to do it that easily. 

So you kiss her, soaking up as much of the girl as you can before she leaves. Your hands grip her jacket, bringing her even closer as you break the kiss, gasping for air. You clasp your foreheads together, not wanting to be parted from her, ever. You feel hot, and surely aren’t thinking clear in the slightest. Perhaps, that is the reason you drag her inside, carelessly bumping into the hundreds of guests until you reach your bedroom.

“Room, now.” You murmur, locking the door from inside. Her lips crash onto yours once again, pushing you onto your bed. She straddles your thighs rather harshly, separating and positioning herself in between them, hands everywhere, applying an overwhelming pressure.

None of you care about being patient, taking off your clothes and well aware of the lack of time there is for you to enjoy yourselves. Her mouth attacks your neck, nibbling and sucking on your skin with increasing pressure, letting herself go along with the sounds that come out of your mouth. Yunjin’s hands still haven’t let go of your thighs, pinching and gripping as her thumb brushes the inside of your skin, conscious of the heat it sends down your core. If all, she’s able to feel you shiver, biting your lip in anticipation. The reaction makes her laugh, her hot breath making itself home against your clavicle.

“No t-teasing.” You whine, jokingly trying to push her off you. Your pleads work, though, as she makes her way down your breasts, licking her lips with hunger.

“Be extra loud for the guests, Y/n.” She says, before latching herself onto your nipple. Her teeth graze through your skin, suckling and pinching your boobs to her liking. She blows on them gently, taking pleasure in the way your body was so responsive to her touches— your back arches, and lustrous moans evade your mouth within seconds. A doll, all hers.

Yunjin’s mouth wanders lower, then, leaving a trail of kisses down your stomach.

“How do you want to cum?” She stops briefly, staring at you with her big eyes, always so expressive, letting you choose.

“M’ want you to stay close, please.” You murmur, pushing her, so your lips can meet again. “Don’t be far.”

“So well-mannered.” She praises, pecking your jaw as her hand cups your cunt, still not where you want it the most. “Fingers it is, then.”

Before you can move your hips towards her hands —all hot, bothered and impatient to feel her inside of you, two of Yunjin’s fingers enter your cunt in a single motion, stretching your walls in ways only she could. You let a high cry, loudly just as you were told to be, as your head drops back, nearly colliding with the wall.

You feel complete, finally: with Yunjin’s marks displayed all over your body, the pressure you feel when she towers over you, yet holding you gently, spreading you out to her liking. And the way she just stares at you, with such lust in her eyes… it makes you feel so loved your heart aches, promptly reminding you she’s not yours at all, nor will she ever be.

You don’t even realize the tears streaming down your face until Yunjin hovers over, patiently kissing each one away. They’re salty reminders of the reality, one where you and her can’t coexist— at least not in the way you both want to: without being an ocean away from each other.

“You'll leave me.” You murmur, letting your voice falter as you distract with yourself sucking hickeys on her fair skin, marking her just as she’s done to you. “Just like the others, you’ll leave me. You promised not to, J. You fucking promised.”

And even though Yunjin kisses you sultrily instead of answering, you both know it’s the truth.

“Shh… It’s okay.” She soothes you, still keeping her fingers in and out of your cunt, now adding a third finger. You gasp, loving the new sensation, and she takes the moment of distraction to guide your wrist down your core, “Here.” She collects enough of your juices, bringing your hand up, all shiny and wet. She’s hypnotized, “Look at how soaked up you are. And it’s all for me, right?”

You nod, still letting a few hiccups escape from your mouth, feeling like you should be shy. Yet, you can’t, not with the way she sucks on your fingers so erotically, making sure they’re all clean before shoving her own inside your pussy again. “Always for you, Yunjin.”

“No.” She says, too fast. Kisses you sweetly, then, before begging. “Never call me that. It’s Jen, to you, Y/n. Just Jen.”

Jen. Just how it always has and will always be.

“Ok.” You murmur, letting go of thinking clearly as her fingers pluck in and out of cunt, so wet the noises echo through the room. She’s going so fast it burns, and it’s the most delicious sensation you’ve felt in so long.

“Say it, then.” She avoids your clit entirely, wanting to drag this moment for as long as possible. Yunjin knows she won’t have you like that, so pliable in her arms, ever again. So she savors it. “Say my name, Y/n.”

And you do, moaning her name multiple times. Her rhythm increases more than you thought possible, and as her thumb circles your clit, barely applying any pressure at all, you cum, letting out a high cry and whimpering her name, orgasm hitting deep in your body. It was already on fire, ever since the kiss you shared on the balcony, but now you truly felt as if you were going to explode.

You’re still clinging to Yunjin as your orgasm fades away, taking your time as the waves of pleasure wear off at their own pace. You stay tangled until all that’s left is the sounds of your breathing, steadying with each passing minute.

Once you’ve both cooled down, you grab your clothes, putting them on in silence. You’re not quite sure of what to say to her. Part of you wants to tell Yunjin of how you’re sure she’ll excel at being an idol— she’s already sweet, talented, and bright, so surely doing so in front of others won’t be an issue. However, you also want to scream in her face: she’s promised to not be like everyone; to be always by your side, present no matter what. Now she’s broken such a promise. It leaves you nauseous, feeling so conflicted.

Thankfully, Yunjin knows you too well. She speaks first, tone hesitant.

“I’m not letting you go, ok? I won’t.” It’s a promise, Yunjin’s determinate eyes announce so as she nods, almost as if to convince herself of the fact.

So you nod, too, even though you know it’s a lie. You’ll take whatever she gives you, always.

She knows you need time to process things. Yunjin is well aware of how you work, and for that reason, she goes for the door as soon as she finishes getting ready, too.

“Jen?” You call, making her freeze her hold on the door.

“Yes, my Y/n?”

“You know I’ll always cheer for you and for your success, right? No matter what.” You tell her, smiling weakly. It hurts, and it takes all of you not to push her back into the bed and fuck her brains over, until she was so fucked out the only thing left in her brain was the thought of staying home, with you.

You don’t, though. You know what’s best.

“Of course I do.” She says, quickly drying off her tears, too. “I love you.”

“And I love you more.” You complete the phrase, just as you’ve always done since elementary school.

And when Yunjin leaves, part of your heart goes with her, too.

-

You only notice the gift hanging on your bedside table in the morning, after waking up with your eyes all red and puffy from crying. It’s a necklace, beautiful and delicate, identical to the one you had found while thrifting at an antique store, weeks prior.

“I’m sorry, young lady, but this is much valuable to me. I don’t even know how it got on the selling pile in the first place. I can’t sell it to you.” The elder had told you, even after minutes of you begging for it.

Your hands felt empty without the heart locket, and it took Yunjin a whole afternoon of pampering and buying you gifts until you’d forgotten about it, no longer bearing a pout.

Now, said necklace sits beautifully in your hands, although it’s slightly different from when you took hold of it, at the shop. Instead of flat, it is now carved with your initial, at the front, and Yunjin’s, at the back.

Without any second thoughts, you grab your phone to text her, even though she’d only see it once her plane landed, in Seoul.

Shine bright, always. You text her, well aware she will.

[midnight-mourning]

*Taps mic* Heard y'all like Moon around here, you're in luck, this one's for you

massive, MASSIVE thank you to @lunarmoves for beta-reading this chapter!!

She put a lot of time and effort into making my BS readable for y'all and it's greatly appreciated <3 <3 <3

Shay also makes really good dca stuff (also sebastian solace but I know very little about the fish tbh) and you should check her out!

Also, happy 200k+!!! We're only 297k from truly becoming the 500k enemies to lovers slowburn of our dreams lmaoooo

But for real I apologize for such a delay with this one. If you'd like to hear my excuses/reasoning they're below the cut, or you can just go read the chapter whatever suits ya ^-^

Tag list (if you would like added please see this post for more info):

@scarletcowboy @beemyhuneybee @fishm0ther @deviouscrackers @elsajoyagent8

@luckyyyduckyyy @zenkaiankoku @jogimote @local-shrub @amarynthian-chronicles

@robinette-green @everlightreader @sinister-sincerely @starredeclipse @dangerva

CW: medical stuff & additionally a bit of unreality mentions

Okay going to try and keep this simple bc I've said parts of it before

So as most of you know, I've been sick for 3 months now

I've now been on two rounds of steroids, and currently on my third round of antibiotics, which are basically keep me fucntional, not improving

besides general discomfort and pain, my memory has been pretty shot at times, I will go through the day and barely remember what I did/what I'm doing/what I need to do

as someone who had brain fog caused by covid a few years ago, this was genuinely a scary experience because ultimately, this has been worse

i've felt out of control of my body, having times where I'm mid thought and then instantly lose it

this is not my normal, I usually pride myself on my memory, so losing it has been incredibly devastating and scary

this was not helped by the fact that the quick care I went to (THREE TIMES for this) basically kind of sort of tried to gaslight me into believing nothing could be done and that it's not an infection

so not only has this entire thing has gotten dragged out so much more, which makes me sad tbh, but I've also felt like I've been going crazy bc it felt like no one was believing me when i said I was sick and not getting any better (including friends, family, coworkers etc, though unintentional on their parts to be fair)

I feel like I've lost three months of my life and coming to terms with that has been, yeah

on top of all that, I'm still in school AND doing grad stuff, and while the school side of things has been okay (thank god), grad's had it's moments, won't get into it but have had multiple issues with my advisor that have been at times just really tough to deal with

Confused spirit got pushed to the back burner, because i quite literally at times could not think, and when it comes to this fic, where there's multiple ongoing plot threads, characterizations, lore, and so on to keep track of, it was just, impossible to me to even consider writing for it

having shorter stuff like promptober, the oneshots and such was great to keep me writing, and also still interact with everyone in the community, plus i had a lot of fun with them so that helped too

this is all to say that I do sincerly apologize for the delay, and at the very least I should've clearly communicated about there being a hiatus, when this all started I thought i'd be down for two weeks max, then as that time kept increasing I just kept putting it off and putting it off because i thought i was going to get better, and then I didn't

I do this for fun and for nothing else, fic writing isn't content (it's engaging with fandom) and i have to remind myself of that sometimes but given that I've been around in some capacity on and off I feel I should've said something in some regard

Having said all that, I'm doing okay now! Still sick, but as long as I'm on meds I'm functional, stuff is getting managable with grad, and hopefully have some fun things coming up irl! Point is, the last three months haven't been the best, but they've been alright, due in part to all the support you all have given me, so thank you for that, can't say it enough :)

Okay, I think that just about covers it, thank you for taking the time to read all of this if you did <3

[agirlsawalittlerose]

This is Me Trying

ModernAU!Aegon x OFC

Fresh out of rehab, Aegon Targaryen is looking for a way back into music when he meets Victoria, a talented but stubborn singer-songwriter who wants nothing to do with his family’s record label. Reluctantly thrown together, they form an unexpected creative partnership, finding common ground in music and shared struggles.

TW: Alcoholism, Addiction, Sexism

MASTERLIST

CHAPTER 24: Seven Wonders - Part 2

If I hope and if I pray, oh it might work out someday - Aegon

After days of feeling like absolute shit, Aegon was—finally—surprisingly chipper that night.

Maybe it was because he’d managed to steal some time in the mix room with Cole that day and finally push forward two ideas he’d been sitting on for the album. Maybe it was because, for once, he didn’t feel like a delusional idiot wasting his time on a project that was technically on hold. Or maybe it was just that he loved parties—and Vic’s excitement about this one had clearly rubbed off on him.

Because, yeah. Even the former king of parties had to admit he was kind of hyped to be at a party thrown by Stevie fucking Nicks.

The only downside in this little pink bubble of positivity was that, after weaving through a sea of fascinating, glitter-drenched weirdos (the kind he loved chatting with, especially with Vic at his side), he’d spotted her.

In a black satin dress, corset-tight in all the right places, the skirt short enough to give him a preview of what he was very much looking forward to later—but, of course, she was talking to Allen.

Aegon thought back to a few nights ago, to the conversation they’d avoided like the plague.

No way in hell he was going to show up like some jealous boyfriend cliché.

Instead, he decided to steal a page out of Allen’s own book—and snuck up behind her.

“Starting to think I like the short hair way too much,” he murmured against the warm skin of her neck, arms sliding around her waist.

He felt her jump slightly, then turn, her face lighting up as she laughed—radiant and just the right amount of tipsy.

“You’re finally here,” she said simply, spinning to face him and pressing a kiss to his lips. She tasted like wine and fate.

“How was the studio?” she asked, smoothing a few rogue strands of hair that had escaped the gel he’d valiantly applied earlier.

“Great! And this place is unreal,” he chirped, practically beaming as he pulled her even closer. The scent of her skin—sweet, familiar, a little like cherry blossom—was the final touch on his perfect little high.

Vic gave him another quick kiss before turning back toward Allen, who had, to his credit, remained politely ignored this entire time.

Aegon dropped a kiss on her hair, a subtle but very deliberate move—he wasn’t going to end the PDA for anyone.

Allen, of course, didn’t look remotely fazed. In fact, he looked amused. “My favorite Targaryen,” he said with a grin.

Vic snorted a laugh.

“Well, the bar is on the floor.” Aegon replied, voice coated in a friendly charm that reeked, just slightly, of diplomacy.

“The prodigal son appears before midnight.”

Aegon gave him a lopsided smile, hands in his pockets. “Trying to make a good impression. Word is Stevie still has people thrown out if they show up late.”

Allen chuckled. “She absolutely does.” He offered a firm, impersonal handshake. “Didn’t have the chance to properly chat.”

“Yeah, I haven’t been around much.” Aegon lied letting the handshake go quickly, the corner of his mouth twitching up. “Studio stuff.”

“Still playing?” Allen asked, like he was confirming something distant he’d heard once in passing.

“Something like that,” Aegon said lightly, but there was a beat of steel under his tone. “Working on a new record.”

“Good for you.” Allen nodded with that vague, managerial encouragement that felt like both a compliment and a dismissal. “That kind of momentum’s hard to come by. Even harder to keep.”

Aegon didn’t rise to it. “Depends who you’re working with, I guess.”

Allen’s grin flickered wider, almost amused. “Too true.”

Vic announced, grinning, losing her balance for a moment. “Anyway, we’ve been brainstorming some changes to the live show—add a string section to Venus, maybe open with Static Halo instead of Grit. I kind of love the idea of starting on something soft.”

Aegon tilted his head, surprised. “You were obsessed with opening on Grit. Said it felt like kicking in the door.”

Vic shrugged, cheeks a little flushed. “I know, but he made a good point. Starting slow might draw people in more. Like... what did you say Ken?” She then asked him struggling with her words.

Allen, sipping his drink. “Hypnotise them. It’s more of a build. A show, not just a set.”

Aegon gave a tight smile. “Right. A whole narrative arc. Epic stuff.”

“Oh—and we’re switching a line in the pre chorus of All You Wanted.” added Vic a little too casually.

Aegon blinked. “What line?”

"Changing it to ‘when the tide comes I’ll take you away’ instead of ‘when the high comes’, ” Vic added, absentmindedly fixing a stray lock of his hair.

But Aegon froze. Let out a short, nervous laugh. Then, catching Vic’s questioning look, he said—dead serious—  

“No.”

Allen blinked. “What do you mean, no?”  

Too casually, too involved for Aegon’s taste.

He was sure that idea hadn’t come from Vic. She would never touch All You Wanted.

Not that line.  

The line that was theirs.  

The line that told their whole story in one breath. Her beer spilled out the window, the coke he never did, that night when they saw each other—really saw each other—for the first time. In a way no one else ever had. No one else ever could.

So, sorry, Mr. Manager of Stevie Fucking Nicks—but no.

“Why do you want to change it? You know what that song is about,” Aegon said, straight up ignoring Allen’s question. He turned fully to Vic instead, trying his best not to let the rising heat in his chest spill onto her—because this reeked of someone else’s script.  

He reached for her hair, gently brushing it back, searching her wine-blurred eyes for a trace of her—not whatever well-dressed savior had planted this idea.

Allen, of course, didn’t shut up.  

“Because opening your debut with a line about addiction, no matter how poetic, when the song has real mainstream potential—honestly? Not the wisest move.”  

There it was. The voice of experience. Of investment. Of strategy.

Aegon felt his fists clench.

“I don’t think that’s totally unreasonable,” Vic said quietly. She looked... disappointed. At his reaction.  

His heart clenched. He loved her so fucking much—but he couldn’t let this go.  

“Let’s go get me a drink,” he said, taking her hand without so much as glancing at Allen. He noticed, of course, that she gave the man an apologetic look and a small, polite nod. That stung more than it should have.

At the bar, though, Vic was the only one ordering.

“You’re having another?” Aegon asked, unable to keep it in. Yeah, maybe Sara’s speech had gotten to him more than he wanted to admit.

Vic snorted behind her glass. “Oh come on, Aegon—are we seriously counting drinks now?” she teased, slipping an arm around his waist.

“No, princess,” he said, trying to match her teasing tone, to soften it. “But seeing as I’m the first dumbass who knows exactly how this shit works, and I happen to love you in a truly humiliating way, I think I’ve earned the right to ask what you’re trying to drown in your palliative.”

He tucked another too-short strand of hair behind her ear.

“You and your bloody palliatives,” she muttered with a crooked smile, taking another sip, brushing off the question.

But Aegon wasn’t letting it go.

“I’m serious. What’s wrong?” he asked, eyes locked on hers, his hands gentle on her shoulders.  

Praying—begging—that maybe, even tipsy, she’d give him a moment of honesty. That she'd let him see clearly just how far Allen had managed to worm his way in under the guise of guidance the next great investment.

“There’s nothing wrong,” Vic lied, bold as hell, and to Aegon it felt like they’d been dragged months back in time.  

He tried to keep his cool.

“You just can’t stand Allen because he asked for your whole team on my album and it meant pausing your project and—”

“Vic, what the fuck are you talking about?” he cut in sharply, actually offended she thought that was what this was about.

He just told himself she didn’t know what she was saying, the wine had probably done its dirty job a little too much.

“I don’t like Allen,” he clarified, jaw tight. “But that’s because he’s flipping you inside out like a fucking sock—and now you even want to change the lyrics to All You Wanted.”

The words dropped like a fucking anvil. Even with the chaos around them, a dense silence settled between them.  

Aegon wondered if her quiet came more from the wine than any kind of realization about what he was trying to say.

But then, suddenly, she flared back to life—pulling away from him just enough to order another glass from the bartender.

“He’s not wrong, Aegon. It’s my first single—the strongest song in my goddamn set—and you know how stupid people are. If I show up talking about addiction, that’s all they’ll ever see.”

Her voice had that kind of steady certainty he recognized too well—only now, it caught him off guard.  

Ironically, it came as she reached for the fresh full glass the bartender slid toward her.

“What the fuck do you care about what stupid people think?” Aegon snapped, frustration boiling over.  

There was no getting through to her. No clear way to show her what he meant, not without changing tack.

So he pivoted.

“The song you sang the night we met,” he said slowly.

Vic finally looked at him, puzzled. He had her attention now.

“What was it about?”

She dropped her gaze. And that was when he knew he’d hit the mark.

“What does that have to do with anything?” she deflected, arms crossing defensively over her chest like a child.

“It has everything to do with it. That night, you wrecked me. It was like getting hit in the head with a fucking brick. That was the moment I knew you were it. That you were a mess—a proper, glorious mess—but you were perfect that way.”

He couldn’t stop. The words were pouring out, raw and exposed.

“You did that with one goddamn song. Because it was real. Because I got it. Because you saw me before I even knew your name. And that’s what real artists do.”

She looked at him again, eyes glassy—and he couldn’t tell if it was because of her state  or if he was actually getting through.  

Maybe both. Fuck if he knew.

“They write what they know. Even when it’s ugly. They don’t rewrite the truth to sell some sugar-coated version of this shitty life.”

His breath was ragged. He couldn’t get it under control, especially not when he couldn’t read the look in her eyes.

“This is the only shot I’ve got, Aegon,” Vic said, her voice lower now, taut with something close to fear. 

“If it goes south, they’re not shelving me until I figure my shit out or sending me to rehab with a PR statement. If it goes south—they drop me. I disappear. That’s it.”

She laughed once, bitter. “You don’t get it, because you never had to.”

Another blow.

Could it be that She’d never moved on from that first night at the pub? That to her, he was still that fucked-up nepo baby?

“You’re right,” he said slowly, deliberately. “It’s not a big deal. Just a song, right?”

His voice stayed light, but he hoped she knew him too well to know what he really meant.

“Oh, fuck off.” She slammed her glass down on the bar. “This isn’t about the song. It’s about you not being able to handle the fact that I’m moving forward.”

His jaw tensed, but he held the smirk like armor. “Is that what you think?”

Vic didn’t look away. Her pulse was pounding. “I think you’re the one who pushed me to sign, and now you regret it." Aegon stopped breathing as the weight of the past weeks hit him.

"I think it’s easier for you to act like I’m just another industry sellout, because then you don’t have to admit the problem’s not Allen. It’s you.”

He stared at her.

For a second, everything stopped. The bar noise, the crowd, the music humming low behind them. All of it just disappeared under the weight of what she'd said.

So she really thought that after everything, he’d just wanted her to fail. That the moment she stood on her own, he’d hate her for it. 

But fuck, he didn’t want to be the villain in her story.

He felt it hit somewhere deep in his ribs. That cold, sinking feeling that came when you realized you’d already lost something, and now you were just watching it rot in real time.

His old toxic ways came back, along with the need to hide somewhere he could feel right—whole—instead of perishing under the pressure of his failures.

He looked at her. Glass in hand, mouth set, eyes too proud to ask him to stay. She wasn’t going to back down. Not now.

Not that damn Vic Dawson he loved so fucking pathetically. 

And he couldn’t stay.

Not when every word out of her mouth had felt like a fucking knife.

Aegon laughed under his breath—dry, bitter.

“Fuck you,” he said. Not loud. Just flat. Final.

He stepped back, his voice quieter now, but cutting all the same.

“You want to talk about moving forward? Fine. Enjoy the view.”

[sonotkari]

On Top

Mo Jihye x Fem Reader

[ Synopsis ]

Jihye loves saving her favorites for last, and the strawberry on top of her shortcake was not an exception.

Fluff

[ Word Count ]

1.2k berry berry short

[ a/n ]

Yes I said I was gonna be on hiatus but ended up finishing this draft that's been collecting dust TT it's been a while since I actually did not run away from my drafts and the typical "written in a short period" so heads up (why do I always give heads up these days... oh well) See you guys, never /ᐠ｡ꞈ｡ᐟ\

To sweet souls who love strawberries, dis for u bae <3

Jihye took a bite of her strawberry shortcake with a satisfied hum, a small smile appearing in sight as you too, followed and took a piece of your chocolate cake, savoring the sweet taste spreading, satisfying your taste buds.

What felt like a forever-lasting week had finally come to an end, and you and Jihye had both been on a tight schedule for so long now, making it hard to find the time to spend some quality time together.

Upcoming tasks and projects every 2 days, and Jihye starting her part-time job at the newly opened cafe by your apartment, made it hard for you to match both timings.

When you were back from uni, Jihye was already off to work, and by the time she was home, you'd be already in your dreams. When Jihye woke up, you were already off to uni, and by the time you got home, she was off to work and it felt like a never-ending saga.

So it still feels almost unreal that you and Jihye were sitting comfortably at the corner of a small cafe, cakes, and cups of hot lattes served in front of two while chattering your hearts out, catching up on the things you had missed.

"Do you eat it first, or save it for last?"

You gazed up to see your girlfriend grinning at you as she let the fork sink in and cut a piece of the cake on her plate.

"Hm?? What are you referring to, Ji?"

"The strawberry on top, silly" 

Your eyes shifted at the big red strawberry placed perfectly on Jihye's shortcake. You then remember a funny little memory of how you committed a bit of a harmless crime by stealing one of Jihye's strawberries back in high school, where the girl would drag you out to every cafe to "investigate" which had the most scrumptious cake in town.

Somehow, you were never fond of strawberry shortcakes. The cream was kinda too sweet, maybe even kinda mushy...? Not knowing specifically why you never got fond of the cake, you wouldn't even try and order it for yourself unless someone insists on giving you a piece.

But Jihye's strawberry shortcake?

The urge to see how she'd look shocked after taking that big red strawberry and how she'd pout like a half-crying puppy was just coming and you couldn't help but swiftly stab the poor berry and quickly take a bite while looking at Jihye, a wicked teasing smile creeping across your face as you do so.

It sank in well that you committed one heavy crime as soon as you saw her actually pout like a lost puppy who just got dumped in the streets. One typical story, but oh why you look at her face. As much as you found it adorable, it was heart-wrenching at the same time.

But it all soon wrapped up well at the end when Jihye had hummed happily, diddle daddling her way out of the cafe with the small white box in her hand, another perfect shortcake sitting inside which you bought for her to pay for the sin you just committed a while ago. 

Recreating that same teasing smile, you raised your fork from the chocolate cake and smirked at Jihye. 

"Is that an invitation?" 

"Ah-" 

Slowly pulling her plate closer, Jihye looked at you with a side longing stare before the both of you burst out giggles and chuckles. You endearingly took glances at your girlfriend happily munching her cake, trying to avoid the center where the so-called "perfect strawberry" was sitting.

Jihye had always saved her strawberry for last, every time she would have a shortcake. It doesn't only apply to that but mostly everything she eats, she saves favorites for last. 

"Saving it for last makes the happy feeling last longer" 

Just like a catchphrase, you remembered how Jihye used to always say that phrase every time you both would go eat, and you were there looking at the girl with her lips curved into a big big smile while savoring the last bit of her food.

As much as the girl was always good with her appetite for food, making it was also one of a million things she had skills with. 

==========

That one time when Jihye had a pretty high fever and felt too unwell to do things, you stepped in for her and did the work around the house. You were capable of what you needed to do to take care of your poor sick girlfriend. Except for one small thing. 

Cooking. 

Your cooking method never changed since you started learning back when you were little.

No instructions, no recipe to follow, no measuring of any sort of kind, just imagination. 

So it wasn't surprising when Jihye woke up to go and get a refill of water in her glass and saw you rushing here and there to the kitchen with a not-so-tidy table and sizzling noise coming from the pot (which is the not-good way of a sizzling sound) 

"You doin' good there Y/nnie??"

"Oh- uhm, hi Ji...!!" 

"Did your "imagination cooking tactics" not work this time??" 

You were trying to make her a rice porridge and in some way (which Jihye will never know where, how, or why) you failed to do so. So now it was her turn to step in and do the mixing and stirring while you were by her side looking a bit guilty that you made Jihye do all that while she was sick.

"I'm not wife material at all" 

"uh- what??" 

A soft chuckle couldn't be helped to escape Jihye's lips seeing you sigh as you repeated your words. 

"Y/n, you literally did everything you could for me today. If it wasn't for you I think I wouldn't even be here standing" 

Jihye says so and takes a spoonful of hot rice porridge, giving it a few blows before carrying the spoon by your mouth as you gladly open up to taste the best porridge you've ever tasted (even this to was meant for Jihye herself) and at the same time wondering how that mess you made a while ago turned into this five star Michelin. 

"Besides" 

She murmurs, gently wiping off the corner of your mouth before smiling softly again. 

"You're wife material to me and that's all that matters, no?"

==========

After some time of recalling nostalgic memories, you look up to see Jihye having her last bite of the cake, but one thing on her plate catches your eye.

"Really saving it for the very last huh??" 

After Jihye took a bite, she looked down at the neatly preserved strawberry before smiling. 

"Mhm. Saving it for last makes the happy feeling last longer"

She says so and takes the strawberry with her fork. But unexpectedly, she held out the fork in front of you. Taking turns looking at Jihye and the strawberry right in front of you confusingly, Jihye giggled at your questioning state before she spoke up.

"Giving my happiness to my dear girlfriend"

"Oh? I thought that was your most prized possession tho??"

You teasingly smirked a bit before outing a chuckle.

"Well, I guess I just love you so so much. So much more than the strawberry on top"

Somehow, you were never fond of strawberry shortcakes. But Jihye's strawberry shortcake? Specifically, the strawberry on top? Well, that might be your favorite one in the whole wide world. 

I act. made a rice porridge and ate it while writing this lmao

[joys-of-everyday]

SJ and the Pitfalls of Toxic Masculinity

Liking women wasn’t shameful in the least, but treating a woman as your savior, shrinking into her embrace in search of self-confidence—Shen Qingqiu needed no one to tell him how incredibly shameful that was. So he would rather die than tell anyone, particularly not Yue Qingyuan.

- Yue Qingyuan and Shen Qingqiu Extra

Hot take: og!SQQ had toxic ideas about masculinity, and it ruined him.

SVSSS is all about the ✨Toxic Masculinity✨ but this seems to be more associated with SY than SJ??? So yeah, lets talk about SJ (my poor meow meow).

There’s actually some subtlety here, because talking about SJ and masculinity naturally involves an interplay between historical and modern views on masculinity in China, which is something that has developed over time and has influences from other cultures (e.g. the west and our views on masculinity). (Interesting thing if you haven't already come across it) I am… not qualified to read the subtleties here.

To note, SJ is coded as masculine… sort of. He’s the head of the scholarly peak, a master of the Four Arts, which is one facet of ideal masculinity in traditional Chinese values. (Fluttering a fan around was very gentleman-like. Although also, expressing your emotions through poetry and copious amounts of tears was very masculine back in the day. 'Traditional masculinity' has and always will be an elusive ideal.) But I get the feeling nowadays ‘scholarly’ has more feminine connotations than ‘martial’, albeit a slightly weaker one than in the west. Also, on the topic of toxic masculinity, certain groups of people Who Shall Not Be Named would like you to believe that Real Chinese Men are stoic warriors and ‘gayness is a western thing’ (my rage is unreal but we will not talk about that).

Anyway, broad strokes, broad strokes.

Arrogance and Insecurity

A big part of toxic masculinity is a need for social recognition, to be the ‘alpha male’ (not an ABO pun and on a side note I literally cannot take anyone talking about alpha males seriously now, for many reasons, but this is the funniest).

SJ is obsessed with his cultivation, but more pertinently, he is obsessed with his reputation. He demonstrates this in a few ways. Firstly, he works his ass off, which is not bad in itself, but he does this to the extent it is detrimental to his health (that grindset lol). Secondly, he projects a certain image with his actions and mannerisms: reading in order to seem intelligent, looking down at people to seem superior etc. Thirdly, he responds to any perceived slights of his ability with violence. (Fighting with LQG is an example, but also drawing a sword on SQH when he pointed out that he was reading an upside-down book.)

Now interestingly, the unanimous vibe that Cang Qiong seem to get from SQQ is that he is ‘arrogant’. When in truth, all of this is compensating for his insecurity.

Shen Qingqiu was overly suspicious, always feeling as if everyone was talking behind his back about how he was still incapable of forming a core, didn’t accept his position, wanted to sabotage him in secret, and so on and so forth.

- Yue Qingyuan and Shen Qingqiu Extra

Sadly, SJ is justified in being afraid of other people’s opinion. His comfort and security rely entirely on his status, which in turn rely on other people’s opinion of his competence. Of course he wants to get to the top – he’s been under other people’s power before, and suffered terribly as a result. Why should he not desperately defend what he has worked so hard for? Yet ultimately it works against him, because when he’s in serious trouble, he hasn’t been able to build the human connections he needs to get help.

The problem is with the system. The idea that having strength allows you to do whatever you want hurts not only the people regarded as inferior, but also creates a collective sense of anxiety for those who find themselves ‘at the top’. Anyone can be kicked down and treated like scum. Everyone is afraid.

Dominance and Bullying

The phrase ‘toxic masculinity is fragile’ quite often, but to elaborate, these kinds of rigid ideas of masculinity are by nature constantly under threat. Because any crack in the perfect shell is regarded as failure, it requires constant, aggressive maintenance, which takes the form of bullying the weak in order to elevate oneself.

SJ’s treatment of LBH is complicated, but here I want to draw attention to a different character – Ming Fan.

SQQ (SY) would have you know that MF is not a bad kid, other than the fact he’s a huge bully to LBH. And in part that comes from jealousy of NYY’s crush on him, but what allows it to happen is the way SJ runs the peak. It's interesting to note that so much of SJ's bullying of LBH happens through MF, whether it be giving him the faulty cultivation manual, giving him chores or physically assaulting him. In doing this, SJ creates a system that firmly establishes himself at the top, likely in order to give himself some semblance of security.

But ironically, this is the very system that SJ has suffered under his entire life, recreated to it's extreme on the peak that he controls. When he was completely under the power of others (QJL, LBH) he suffered. When other people were under his power, he inflicted suffering. He encouraged other people to do the same. Again, the whole thing is a scam! He is putting all of his energy into things that aren't helping him, things that ultimately bring him down.

Real Men Don’t Cry – the Dangers of Emotional Repression

SJ has many, very justifiable reasons in life to be upset and angry. The things he went through are both terrible and extremely unfair. Being angry at everything is not a healthy outlet for these feelings, but he hasn’t exactly been taught an alternative either. On the streets, tears would have gotten him absolutely nothing. Anger at least gave him energy to fight back.

And this destroys him. He is angry at the fact he had no one in his life who loved him, his talents were wasted because of QJL/WYZ, nobody takes his abilities seriously… and with no healthy way of expressing this, he goes onto bully LBH. LBH then returns to destroy him, literally. More subtly, he is unable to express his fear and anxiety in healthy ways, so acts standoff-ish and aggressive to his those around him. As his relationship with them deteriorates, his fear and anxiety increases. Feedback loops.

SJ puts on a mask of anger and stoicism to the point that everyone around him (including himself) is convinced that he is unrepentant and evil. Suppresses and suppresses until it breaks him, until he has nothing – not his comfort, nor status, nor the one that he truly cared for:

He had single-handedly facilitated Luo Binghe’s today, and now who had single-handedly created this outcome for him? Yue Qingyuan was never supposed to have an end like this. In order to come to a decades-late appointment, to fulfill a completely useless promise. A broken sword and a dead man. It shouldn’t be like this.

A Note on Ambivalent Sexism

It’s funny because I think there’s a fandom vibe that SJ was the secret feminist of SVSSS. Don’t get me wrong, I love this in fanfics. Badass feminist SJ all the way. But my honest opinion is that I don’t think that was the case.

More explicitly, I don’t think SJ took women seriously. NYY, for example. Certainly, SJ valued NYY. But the expression of this care involved doting on her, hiding his treatment of LBH from her, and not particularly pushing her to grow. And PIDW!NYY wasn’t implied to be the most mature of the lot. Okay, while we don’t know a lot about PIDW!NYY (narrator unreliable), it’s probably safe to say some distance from SJ helped her a lot.

Another point – the Qiu massacre. SJ killed the men, but not the women. And while this says more about his distaste for men, it also indicates (possibly - I will float this idea but I won't die on this hill) that he straight up doesn’t see any woman as an enemy, or capable of being a threat. Which is possibly a natural conclusion he’s drawn from his experiences (QHT was not very perceptive, or very threatening) but also inaccurate as a worldview.

And his attitude towards the women he sees as saviours? Has the same vibe as ‘it’s so embarrassing to be protected by a girl’.

Okay, so being doted on and not being killed are positives compared to being abused or murdered, but this kind of attitude is the opposite side of the same coin to ‘women are incompetent and inferior’. And when it comes to raising kids, not allowing them to grow can be extremely harmful as well. See e.g. Ambivalent sexism.

Although I do want to mention that I do not think SJ was like… actively misogynistic. I think he genuinely liked women more than men. The point is you can be sexist without realising it.

Conclusions

To conclude, SJ had ideas of success and self-worth associated with toxic masculinity which were instrumental in his downfall.

Masculinity doesn’t have to be toxic. While the Cang Qiong family aren’t exactly the healthiest bunch, YQY’s calm and patient leadership, LQG’s steadfast loyalty, LBH’s ability to cry like a maiden and still be the strongest… these are all traditionally masculine traits that can be very positive. These are also people who can have feminine traits and explore their gender identity without being prissy or weak.

It's the great tragedy of SJ that he had many positive characteristics. He was talented, intelligent, articulate, perceptive, loyal, and caring… under the right circumstances, he could have grown into a great person.

And maybe he still had that chance, right until the end.

[ziploc849]

Another wall of text on my thoughts for episodes 70-78, I’m gonna make a seperate post for 79 and 80 having listened to them already cause there is just. So much.

I wrote all of these notes after listening to the original episode, not any further, so enjoy my thought process though the last quarter of this season!!!

Ep 70: More death discussions, oh joy!! These are the episodes that make me the most uncomfortable, the ones that talk about the nature of death more than just the fact that it exists. I am curious where these books are coming from, if it’s not just Leitner’s involvement that makes them fucked up. Also Not-Sasha’s laptop having “authentication errors” definitely sounds accurate, even the technology can tell she’s not really her.

Ep 71: Another example of a story with a focus on claustrophobia. Most of the ones we’ve heard by now are from people who are very clearly scared/panicked by the occurance, but Karolina was suuuper chill about it all. Even not being afraid of death, as she mentioned. It feels strange to not be at least a bit perturbed by the idea of your own death, especially in such an untimely way. That’s coming from me though, who absolutely has a fear of death in some capacity, so I’m probably projecting a bit

Ep 72: Basira you better still be alive and not murdered by darkness demons or some shit you’re too cool. Also kindly what the fuck is this episode. I know there’s been some episodes to do with large amounts of meat or body parts, the room in the man upstairs, the teeth in thrown away. A part of me wants to say this is just a story about a crazy fucking murderer, but I am far to familiar with this fucking series by this point to think it’s just that. So seriously what is the fucking deal with all the meat. The link to the Tom Hahn in Killing Floor is interesting though much like Jon I have no clue what it means.

Ep 73: There are officially too many cults and I cannot keep track of them. Once again phobia themes!!! Darkness!!! Plus the idea that a space was much smaller in reality than it seemed while going through it, which sounds at least similar to a lot of the endless/infinite stuff we’ve seen before. I’m a little worried about Basira now, since like Jon mentioned being involved and in the know with these things in the way they are seems to offer some level of safety, at least more than if they’re not part of an official organization. Iirc Natalie was the weird girl who kept unscrewing the lightbulbs in that one episode, and Rayner was mentioned in Fathers Love?? I think??

74: Totally unexpected change of events, something fucked is in the tunnels!!! Never would’ve guessed!!!! Snarkiness aside though, this episode is interesting. Michael being there was confusing at first, but I’d wager a guess the drawings mentioned are fractals, or something similar, and he seems to like things that go on forever and fold in on themselves. The idea of the thing in the tunnels somehow removing and replacing the floor is interesting, I don’t know if we’ve seen things like that happen in places that are not somehow extradimensional or unreal in some way (like the spaces Michael likes so much). The fact that the person is taking files is also concerning, I would hope Jon would check to see if anything important is missing, or what was taken in general. Clues n such. Also we’re finally getting more confirmation that Not-Sasha is up to some sketchy shit!!!! Catch on Jon please god!!

75: Michael Crew what the hell have you become. The mention from Jon about wondering if the books take power from the people reading them instead of the other way around makes sense, but what does that mean for people like crew? People who died because of something to do with the book and are just. Inexplicably back? I can’t remember if there are other examples of something like this or if it’s just that there’s been so many books and so much death that it blends together. Basira really came through bringing the tapes, and it’s a much more satisfying goodbye to her character than just “fuck it I’m done buh bye”

Ep 76: Melanie King my beloved!!! I love that she and Jon are able to, for lack of a better term, infordump together lol. Hearing them literally finish each others sentences in the end talking about the research King was doing gave me a special kind of happiness lol. I do hope she doesn’t get murdered by ghosts in India though. Also she doesn’t recognize Not-Sasha!!!!! She knows she isn’t actual Sasha!!!! And now Jon has a real and true inkling of what’s going on. C’mon Jon you remember Graham from Across the Street, put the pieces together please god.

Ep 77: we have answers on whatever is up with Not-Sasha!! The Not-Them, apparently just one weird creature. Gertrude mentions “The Stranger”, which idk what it means but I know Mary Keay mentioned “The End”. I really don’t know what this could be about, but the way they talk about them like creatures or something is curious. Jon putting pieces together at the end even I hadn’t realized!!! Distortion and Strange Music both had Sasha’s voice. God I already knew the voice actor for Jon is fucking incredible but the panic and horror in his voice as he puts the pieces together of what Not-Sasha is, and what it must’ve done to actual Sasha? Phenomenal. But also I REALLY want Jon to clue the others in on what’s going on. They might not believe him right away and it might take a lot of explanation but there is real logic and evidence in what’s going on, they’ll pick up on that I assume

Ep 78: God the grief in Jon’s voice is awful. VA is too good. But also listening to the statement, hearing such explicit confirmation that the people attacked by the Not-Them are dead, not simply missing or lost, was so hard to hear Jon read. Just realizing that was probably the first time he got proper confirmation of it as well. Also god DAMN it he needs to tell Tim and Martin what the fuck is going on they can HELP. And maybe then he can get help from his friends instead of going through Michael’s fucking doors to escape the now unbound(???) Not-Them. Fucking wild

[weredoingeverythingwrong]

Project 2025 is Terrifyingly Real

Project 2025 is Real!

Fear.

I have always had an undying love for the dystopian fiction novels that have long littered the YA genre and as I've gotten older, this has not changed. Books like Hunger Games, Divergent, The Uglies, Birthmarked, etc ruled the imagination of my adolescence as I pictured a world of such obvious dysfunction. The world in these books were always resolved by disruptive heroes working against the status quo. I stayed in suspense as I read the hero of my stories challenge their world order, fear made me grip my books as I read of the capture of my hero, and an uneasy relief as I finished the final chapter of the destruction of another morally bankrupt society so a new one could be built. This is what I lived for.

What I did not sign up for... is feeling the same fear and suspense and NONE of the relief, in my own reality. I have questioned the morals of society on several occasions, but never have I ever felt such an inescapable fear of the world as I do now. I know I am not the only one still carrying the anxiety that gripped the world in 2020 that never really went away, even when the masks and the social distance masks began to disappear.

**The lockdown changed the world. Here in the U.S, the change was obvious. Covid put the world on pause for really the first time in a long time, in a way society really hadn't endured in a long time, if ever. When the distractions of work, your social life, and the hustle and bustle of your existence are halted, you have no choice but to take an overview in a way it isn't practical to do when life is lifing. Many were fighting for their lives or watching family fight for their lives. What do I mean? I mean there were no distractions. There was nothing to do, but take stock of the life we live. It's no surprise that in the void of the well-placed distractions and propaganda, social justice issues and protests reached the level they did. This is also why I believe there was a need to return the American people back to their lives because they were paying too much attention. Black lives matter, the #metoo movement, and the rise of cancel culture began to become popular and movements that focused on action-based policies took ahold of Americans (I'll discuss this more thoroughly in another post.)

Four years later, we have learned so much. The misinformation age has reached fever pitch and the country has never been more divided. The division across race, gender, and class has never been stronger and internal biases reconfirmed by persuasive algorithms have brought us here. Here is the genocide of the Palestinian people, the attempted re-colonization of Ayiti, and the rise of the fascist regime of the United States. I am scared. Never has this life felt to unreal, and so much like the fictional worlds of my favorite books, but there is no chapter close or hero to await. It's just us.

Project 2025 is real. The rise of the white supremacist, christian regime and the crack down on democracy. If you have been paying attention, the agenda has been made clear.

The 1% will reap the rewards of their greed and the work force must oblige. There can be no dissent. Unions and protests are not acceptable and will be crushed with force. You will not be protected. You have no right to your body, your privacy, or your image. Your democratically-elected leader has no laws or consequences for their actions (If you haven't check out Sotomayer's dissent letter, here.)

We have long outgrown the needs of 17th century politics and the constitution has been exploited to fit the needs of the 21st century oligarchs.

The children of the future are being made illiterate, pushed away from formal education, and they are being taught even less. Laws are being repealed and allowing children more access to becoming part of the labor force. These are the future voters and citizens of this country will not be educated enough to organize, learn, or properly create community against a new status quo.

Come November even if we vote blue, we will just be pausing an inevitable coup of democracy.

This post may be a gasp of despair, but I still have hope for the people around me. I still believe we can prevail. I believe we can create a world that generations will learn about and can thrive.

We are doing everything wrong.

We can still make it right.

** Covid-19 is still very much a thing that was mishandled and was the very real plight of many. I have edited the post to reflect lock down instead of covid-19, for clarity and to not reduce covid-19 to a simple pause in life, when it was very real fatal pandemic for many.

[blessed-curse]

My Signing Out For Now.

Okay here is a small 1000+ word short story/scene, of when the mc first encountered their first Eldritch. I wrote this back in the Christmas Holidays when boredom struck, and I was feeling the need to bully someone(one of my MC's 😈). I'm posting this because for the next few weeks I'm going to be working my ass off, as a new project has been signed so your boy got to work like a slave for the next two months. Anyway enjoy and peace. (This is Ultipotence MC)

"Life's a bitch, and society is a slave market—only the chains are invisible, and the auctioneer wears a suit. We’re the slaves, trading our time, our dreams, and our souls for scraps of paper that promise freedom but never deliver. They tell us to climb ladders, but the rungs are greased, and the top is a mirage. We’re born into a system we didn’t choose, forced to play a game where the rules are rigged, and the prize is survival. And yet, we keep showing up, day after day, because the alternative is to starve—not just in body, but in spirit. So we grind, we hustle, we sell pieces of ourselves until there’s nothing left but the echo of who we could’ve been. Life’s a bitch, and society is the pimp. But somewhere, deep down, we still dream of burning it all down and building something real."

– A Guy Who Hates Work.

You soar through the cold, silent expanse of space, your form gliding effortlessly past the swirling storms of Jove. Below you, the gas giant stretches endlessly, its vibrant bands of orange and white a reminder of the vastness of the cosmos. Roughly three thousand years have passed since you left your home, a self-imposed exile from the world you once cherished. Atlantis is gone—reduced to ash and ruin by your own hand. The weight of that guilt has driven you to the solitude of the moon. But even in isolation, the urge to explore, to push the boundaries of your existence, never fades. Today, like so many before, you drift aimlessly, letting the currents of the cosmos guide you.

That’s when you see it.

At first, it’s just a speck in the distance, a dark blot against the starry backdrop. But as you draw closer, the speck grows, shifting into something grotesque and alien. A monster, its form writhing and shifting as if made of liquid shadow. Tentacles coil and twist around a central mass, while glowing, pupil-less eyes blink in and out of existence across its surface. Instinctively, you slow your approach, tension gripping your invulnerable frame. You’ve seen many strange things in your long life, but this… this is different.

Then, it begins to change.

The monstrous form shrinks and contorts, the tentacles retracting, the eyes vanishing. The amorphous mass solidifies, reshaping into something humanoid. Feminine. Smooth skin replaces the oily darkness, and long, flowing hair cascades down her back. She is naked, her form flawless and enticing, her curves sculpted to perfection. Her face is angelic—full lips, high cheekbones—but her eyes… her eyes are wrong. They glow with an eerie crimson light, hypnotic, piercing through you like a blade.

A strange calm washes over you as she drifts closer. Your muscles relax, your mind clouds. She is beautiful, impossibly so, and you find yourself unable to look away. Her lips part, yet no sound escapes. Instead, a voice echoes in your mind—soft, melodic, intoxicating.

“Come closer,” she whispers. “You’ve been alone for so long. Let me comfort you.”

Your body moves of its own accord, drawn toward her. Your thoughts grow muddled, your will slipping away like sand through your fingers. She reaches out, slender fingers brushing against your chest. Her touch is warm, inviting. For a moment, you forget everything—where you are, who you are. There is only her. Her perfect supple breasts press against you and, her hips curved seductively downward. In fact, she is so beautiful that she seems unreal, a dream come true. It would be impossible to imagine anyone else like her. You’ve never met anyone who resembles her. She stands before you. A young woman. Your senses flood your mind, filling with memories of her:

A warm summer day: sun shining, birds chirping happily. She walks by your side, smiling. There is no sound but the wind blowing through the tall grasses, your laughter as you toss pebbles in the creek, her giggles echoing through the trees. You love her, love being with her. No one else compares. She’s everything to you. You think you could live in her shadow forever, protect her from everything and everyone. The only person able to make you truly happy… you wish it was her, that you were always by her side, always together. The image is imprinted in your memory, burned into your soul; you would do anything for her. You cannot remember what you told yourself when you asked her to marry you. It seems so long ago.

You ask her now. Please, please marry me.  Yes.  She says yes, and you kiss her. Your arms are wrapped tightly around her. Everything fades to gray. Your surroundings melt into blackness. And next you two are making love, she's completely naked and begins to undress you. You can feel the heat radiating from her body. She moves against you. Her breasts are warm and full. Your hands touch her thighs, trailing up her legs to her belly, cupping the round swell of her breasts. She sighs deeply. You move into her, your body moving smoothly against hers. Her hands move up your chest, her fingers tracing patterns across your skin. You kiss, her lips soft and pliant as they meet yours. You’re so lost inside her, it feels like it’s been years since you last felt like this with another human being.  You’re in heaven. She moans softly, arching her body toward yours.

Then, a sharp sting against your skin.

It’s faint, barely noticeable, but enough to snap you back to reality. Your eyes widen, locking onto her as her body peels open like a grotesque flower. The perfect illusion shatters, revealing a gaping maw lined with rows of jagged teeth, glistening with a strange, oily substance. The stench of decay hits you like a physical blow. You react instantly, instincts kicking in. Your fist slams into her face, sending her spinning backward. Lightning crackles around your hand as you summon your power, the energy arcing through the void and striking her with a deafening crack. She shrieks, the sound reverberating through your mind, her body convulsing under the electric assault.

But she doesn’t die.

With impossible speed, she lunges, her mouth snapping shut inches from your face. You twist, narrowly avoiding her bite, and drive a powerful kick into her midsection. The force sends her hurtling away, but she recovers instantly, her form warping and twisting as she charges again. The battle is brutal, chaotic. Your lightning illuminates the void, revealing the grotesque horror of her ever-shifting form. Your blows land with enough force to shatter moons, yet she endures, her wounds closing as quickly as they appear. No matter how hard you strike, she keeps coming. Pain flares across your chest as her claws rake deep, drawing blood for the first time in millennia. Shock turns to anger.

“What are you?” you snarl, your voice lost in the vacuum of space.

She doesn’t answer. Instead, she lunges again, her maw opening wide. You catch her by the throat, fingers digging into her unnatural flesh. Summoning another bolt of lightning—stronger, fiercer—you drive it into her core. The energy surges through her, her body convulsing violently.

Still, she doesn’t die.

Frustration sets in. You have fought countless foes across the ages, but nothing like this. She is relentless, her attacks growing fiercer, more desperate. The gashes she leaves on your body sting, a reminder of the pain even tho they heal within seconds.

Then, in the chaos, something shifts.

A surge of power rises within you—unlike anything you’ve ever known. The void trembles, the stars twisting and warping as the fabric of reality itself bends to your will. You don’t understand it, but you don’t need to. You simply act. With a thought, you reach out, gripping the essence of existence itself. The creature writhes, her body distorting in unnatural ways, limbs contorting as she screams. Her form begins to unravel, breaking apart at the seams of reality. You pour every ounce of your will into the attack, forcing the universe to reject her very existence.

And then—she is gone.

You float in the void, chest heaving, your body battered and bloodied. Yet you live. Residual energy crackles around your hands, an unfamiliar power lingering at your fingertips. You stare at them, awed. You have always known you were powerful, but this… this is something else entirely new. As the adrenaline fades, exhaustion creeps in. You turn, beginning the long journey back to the moon, your mind restless with unanswered questions. What was that creature? Where had it come from? What did it mean for you? For the universe? For now, you push those thoughts aside. You’ve had enough exploration for one week. Your home awaits—your sanctuary, your refuge from the chaos of existence. But deep down, you know this is only the beginning. The cosmos is vast, teeming with mysteries yet to be unraveled. And if creatures like her exist… then the universe is far more dangerous than you ever imagined.

[allandoflimbo]

I  C  E    P R I N C E S S  12

Pairings: Popular Girl!Reader x Outkast!Bucky

Explicit Content - Smut - NO MINORS

Summary:

Bucky Barnes is the quiet boy who gets picked on.

The Reader and her friends run with the popular crowd at Stark High.

As the Winter Ball approaches, she is partnered with Bucky Barnes for a class project. They grow close in an inadvertently secret friendship, which later turns into love.

Only catch is…she’s Steve Roger’s ex girlfriend, and before she was partnered up with Bucky, her friends had planned to use and turn Bucky into Stark High’s new it boy to try and get back at Steve; a disgusting bet.

Another catch: She’s a figure skater at the town’s arena every Tuesday and Thursday nights. Bucky works part time at the rink resurfacing the ice. The other doesn’t know.

Modern AU High School fic - later goes into adulthood.

M A S T E R P A G E - FULL SERIES

Warnings: This story will have a lot of angst, a lot of fluff, a lot of cursing, and a lot of sex. Oral, praise kink, body worship, overstimulation, etc. you know me. There will also be loss of virginity in this.

Please support your content creators and writers and leave a review.

P R E V I O U S   C H A P T E R

You hear the birds before you open your eyes. Memories from last night wash over you the second you shift your arms. You feel the warm body laying next to yours.

This felt unreal.

Your eyes open slightly and you can see Bucky's back and the back of his head. A head of cute boyish dark brown hair.

You looked down, impressed that he managed to still keep his arm around you.

You didn't want to wake him up, but at the same time you both didn't want to call too much attention to yourselves in the house.

It's then that you remember that that means the girls know you didn't sleep in your room and the guys know he didn't sleep in his.

You sigh, deciding to think about that later and think about the now instead.

You felt a smile on your lips as you bury yourself more within the blankets. You moved up until your hands were against his back.

You fall back asleep for a little bit longer.

You don't know how long you're out for before you're awaken by the bed shifting up and down. You groan slightly as you stretch out your legs and toes.

Your eyes flicker open.

Bucky's sitting up on his side of the bed, but he was facing away from you.

He must've heard your little groan because he turns his head to look at you.

The second your eyes meet, a million butterflies escape into your tummy.

You can feel your cheeks burn.

He smiles at you.

He reaches over to place the phone he had been just using on the night stand.

"Hey," he says quietly. He stretches over to you and brushes one of your hair strands away from your shoulder, "sleep okay?"

You nod. You feel the tingles on your skin where he just touched you.

"Yeah. You?"

He lets out a small chuckle.

"Yeah." He says softly.

You keep eye contact as you make a grab for his hand that is still on your arm, and you take his hand, bring it to your lips, and kiss his knuckles there.

He keeps eyes contact with you the whole time.

Was this what high school sweethearts really were?

Was this both of you now?

You're convinced it has to be because you've never felt like this with anyone ever. Not even Steve.

He wasn't even close.

You felt like you were in a damn Taylor Swift song right now.

"So you like me." He says sweetly, pulling you away from your thoughts.

Both your eyes soften. He runs his thumb over your cheek.

"I do." You say.

"About last night—" he starts.

"It was perfect. Unexpected, but I'm glad it happened." You whisper.

"I'm glad it happened, too," he pulls his hand away from you and he fixes himself until he's laying on his side facing you. It's then that you notice he already has his boxers back on, "how are you feeling?" He asks.

"A little sore, but not bad."

"Good."

You move in closer to him until your hands are on his chest. He welcomes you, throwing his arm around your waist.

"I don't want to leave here yet. Can it just be us for a little bit?" You ask.

"I'd love to stay with you here," he takes in a deep breath, "but it is almost eleven AM. We're going to have to go down eventually."

"It's eleven?"

He hums a confirmation.

You lay for a few more minutes in comfortable silence.

"I'm going to need to run to the store. We can go just us together. Would give us some time alone." You say.

"Awww I'm honored. You only want to spend time with me." Bucky says, a playful tone in his voice.

"It's not that I don't want to spend time with my friends, it's just, we —we're something. I want to be with you. Not just in general, but today."

You feel a finger under your chin and you tilt it up to where it guides you.

He runs his lips over yours. It's languid and dances with your own sensually.

He pulls away.

"You're something else," he runs his hand over your face, "beautiful, gorgeous, sweet, smart." his eyes dart down to your lip.

His words are precious.

You lean up and kiss him again, this time letting your tongue run over his. You feel his hand drag down your neck, your arm, and eventually to your hip. He deepens your kiss, pulling your body closer to his. He pulls your bottom lip in between his and nibbles on you playfully. When he's done he opens up to you again, your tongues clashing together in a bruising kiss.

You pull back way too soon, he sighs, and you place soft kisses over his upper chest.

"When we get back home remind me to make your parents some of my famous jalapeño poppers."

Bucky laughs out loud.

"Jalapeño poppers?" He continues to laugh, turning onto his back until he's staring at the ceiling. You watch this beautiful boy fill with happiness, a hand running through his messy post-sex hair, "you're so silly, squirmy."

You snicker.

"Squirmy?"

"Oh, yeah. Definitely." You put a hand to his chest, Mmm, hmm," he faces you again and leans in closer to you bringing his hand to your lower back and over the side of your thigh. It blew your mind how comfortable you both fell into this. It was so easy, so effortlessly beautiful. He leans his face closer to yours and bumps his nose against yours, "Kicky, too." He whispers.

You chuckle.

"Kicky?" You ask, playfully offended.

He nudged your nose with his again, also chuckling.

"Oh, yea." his eyes go down to your lips and his hand continues to venture it's way down your leg and behind your knee.

"Bucky..."

He gives you a look you recognize and you feel a sudden tension in the air.

"I'm really glad you're here." He says suddenly serious, "Not just right here right now, but in general," it's then that you feel him drag his fingers over the scar that no one else had ever seen but you, right on your upper inner thigh. You suddenly understand the meaning of his words and it has heavy tears brewing in your throat. He's glad you survived your accident and that you were both able to experience this, "Does it hurt?" He asks you sweetly.

"Sometimes." Your response is barely a whisper.

You both close your eyes as he brings your leg around his hip. He closes the distance between the both of you, kissing you the deepest you've ever been kissed.

You sigh against his lips, running your hand up the side of his face and to the back of his neck.

When he eventually pulls away from you, you feel cold. Like ice.

You needed him to keep warm.

"We should go down." You say.

—-

The second you both step into the kitchen, the talking quiets down. Everyone tries to keep attention to what they were previously doing, but the obvious glances and smiles are noticeable.

You feel yourself blushing as you make your way to the fridge for some orange juice.

You sneak behind Sam and he mumbles a quick sorry when he realizes he's in your way.

Bucky sits next to Sharon on the stool at the island. He picks at the grapes, grabbing a few and popping them in his mouth.

"I was worried when we didn't see you guys last night. It started to rain bad." Steve says from the couch.

"Yeah it got pretty bad." You say, still not making eye contact with anyone, pouring your juice in your glass.

Did they hear you guys?

You had both tried so hard to be quiet.

Bucky moves slightly in his seat and his eyes inadvertently meet Matt's across the room. He's sitting there next to Steve, a heavy and dark look in his eyes.

He looked pissed.

Bucky was getting tired of this guy and whatever problem he had with him.

Bucky looks away, resisting the urge to eye roll.

"We're running out in a bit. Gonna go grab some more drinks and shit, you down to come with us, Buck?" Sam asks as he leans back against the counter.

Bucky's eyes flicker to you and to Sam.

"Sure. When are you guys going?" He asks.

"In a few minutes. We can wait for you."

You clear your throat.

"Actually, me and Bucky were going to stop somewhere together first, if that's alright with you Bucky? I'll promise to have him back not too late for you guys to go then to the store." You say confidently.

Bucky smiles. He was genuinely curious for what you had in mind.

It's then that his eyes travel down your neck and he feels a heavy blush on his face.

"Okay, cool." Sam says.

You take a few sips of your OJ and turn for some toast. That's cut too soon, though, when you hear Carol call you.

"Come over here, we gotta show you something." Carol calls from the couch where she's shifting next to Matt and across from Steve. Once you sit down on her other side she leans forward to whisper in your ear, "did you see your neck?"

You're confused by her question.

"My neck?" You pull away to examine yourself, your eyes darting briefly to Steve who has an interesting look on his face. Carol giggles and brings you in again by your arm, "you have hickeys everywhere, girl."

——

You and Bucky both jump into your Jeep, but Bucky jumps into the drivers side and you in the passenger seat.

He starts your car and kicks on the heat to low.

It felt so intimate being with him like this, even though last night was the epitome of intimacy.

You text something to your mom as you pull out your phone, letting her know the trip is going well.

When you're done you place it on your lap and look out the window into the trees and cabin and then to Bucky.

He looked adorable as he kept pressing all kinds of buttons on your dashboard to regulate the air.

His jaw was sharp and his long lashes contrasted beautifully with his Ocean blues.

"So where are we going?" He asks.

"The pharmacy." You say, "for an AP student trying to get into goddamn Yale you're not very connecty-of-the-dotsy." You say playfully.

He gives you a funny look and chuckles.

"Offensive but cute," he puts on his seatbelt and puts the car in rear to back out of the parking space. The puts his right hand on the back of your seat and looks behind him as he does so, his left palm turning the wheel as he goes, "what are you talking about?"

"I need plan b, I'm not on birth control." you explain.

He finishes backing up and puts the car into drive.

He looks over at you for a second.

"Shit, right. Okay."

"And...we need to get condoms. I'm not going on birth control right now cuz of stuff I have going on in my eighteen year old body that pisses me off, so we're going to have to stick to the classic way for now."

The edges of Bucky's lips perk up.

"So, you're saying it'll happen again?" He asks.

You're a bit surprised at his question even though you know he means no harm and it's partially being teasing.

You reach for his right hand and hold it in yours.

He rubs your knuckles with his thumb.

"I'm your girl now. You're my boy. I think it's safe to say it'll happen again." You say.

He brings your hand to his lips and he leaves a kiss there.

He doesn't let go of your hand the entire car ride.

——

You both run to the car in a fit of giggles and laughter.

You rip the pink box open once you're in your seat.

Bucky hands you a water bottle and you take the pill.

"Head back to the cabin?" He asks as he turns the car back on.

"Actually —"

"I'm not going to anymore creepy churches, squirmy."

You giggle.

"It's not." You show him the way through the roads, "just take that first left onto Hollow Terrace and then you're see a bench on the side of the road, you can turn in there."

He follows your directions.

Hollow Terrace is a long road. Secluded and isolated; completely incased by large maple trees.

"You didn't bring me out here to kill me, did you?" He asks.

"Always." You reply quickly, tossing him a toothy grin, "right here!" You tell him once you see the bench.

He turns the car onto a gravel road. He drives for a few more hundred feet until the trees disappear and you're face to face with a guardrail. Behind that in the distances is a large body of water, a huge lake, and a mountain.

"An overlook?" He asks as he pulls up near the edge of the cliff.

"One of my favorite spots."

"You sure have a lot of favorite little spots around here." He whispers, looking out into the scenery, "it's beautiful."

You lean forward and leave a kiss on his shoulder.

You then lean down next to your feet and you pull out the plastic bag that you had brought from the cabin.

You hand him a foiled square.

"I made us sandwiches."

"I was wondering what that was!"

You smirk at him as you both open your own little squares.

"I come prepared." You say.

"Can I ask something?" He says, halting on his sandwich. You nod, "can we take the top off?" He motions to the top cover of your jeep.

You raise a brow at him and then look at the cover.

"Sure. I mean we'll be freezing on the ride back to the cabin, but yeah. We can take the doors down too. It's a bit heavy though. I'd have to help you. We can put them in the back. I have a cotton tarp so they don't scratch up."

"Let's do it." He doesn't even hesitate to hop out the car.

You both get the doors and cover off in about fifteen minutes.

"So what was your plan?" You ask him, hands on your hips.

He smiles at you and climbs into the front seat. He reaches his hand for you but on the passenger side.

"Come on." You follow his lead and before you can sit he stands up and places his hands on your waist. He picks you up easily and places you on the bar that runs down the middle of the car. He follows and sits next to you, "now we can eat." He says, reaching back for his sand which.

You're halfway down your second sandwich and you and Bucky have discussed everything from your childhood to your families. Bucky was still waiting to hear about his mother's status. You were both waiting on hearing back from the colleges you applied to.

You felt it was too early to still discuss if you should try to get colleges close to each other. It was a lot of pressure and this was only your second day together.

"Do you listen to Taylor Swift?" You ask him suddenly.

He chuckles.

"Uhm. Not a lot but I know some songs, I guess. Like the mainstream ones? I don't really listen to them on repeat, though," he takes a gulp of his water and looks at you, "why? You a fan?"

"I'm not a swiftie but there are songs I really like. I don't know why I brought it up honestly, I guess it's because I feel like what we're doing right now is just so..." you take a deep breath as you look up at the sky for words to explain what you were thinking.

"So...." Bucky mimics you, waiting for an answer.

"It's very, I was enchanted to meet you." Is the only explanation you can think of.

He doesn't say anything to that. You continue to eat until he's eventually finished and he wipes his mouth with a napkin.

"Mom wants to know what I'm up to right now." You say, looking down at your phone.

Bucky leans his right arm down on the car and places a kiss on the left shoulder.

"Tell her the truth."

You turn to him and smile.

"And what's that?"

He looks down at you and pushes your hair behind your ear.

"Your sitting on your car, eating sandwiches, looking at the mountains, and singing Taylor Swift lyrics," his gaze goes to your hair and he rolls the strands between his fingers, "with Bucky."

The words linger in the air until your eyes meet again.

You lean forward and kiss him softly.

"Okay." You say when you pull away.

He wasn't expecting you to actually listen to him, and the fact that you were telling your mother about him sent an excitement through him that he had never really felt before.

You don't know how long you both stay out there, but it's long enough to where Bucky needs to reach back and grab you an extra sweatshirt in your trunk. He helps you pull it on.

"You ready to go?" You ask him.

"Yeah, we should." He says.

You both get into your seats but he doesn't drive off and he doesn't turn the car on.

You wonder if he's feeling the same thing you are and if that's why.

"Bucky." You whisper hoarsely.

He turns to look at you and you don't realize he was holding in a deep breath. The second your eyes meet, he exhales through his nose.

Damnit, you were screwed for the rest of your life.

Without any hesitation you both meet halfway. You've got your hand in his hair and he's got his left hand on your side, pulling you closer to him. Your mouths kiss each other like it's the last time they ever will, even though you both know it's not. He groans against your lips, drinking your taste in. It's the whimper he leaves when his hand travels down your thigh that does it for you.

You don't waste even a second to sit on his lap, helping him push the seat back so you have room against the steering wheel.

"What if someone sees us?" He asks you, panting.

"No one ever comes here. Too many bears." You say before kissing him hard again, your chest flushed with his as you sit up and hover over him.

He's got his hands on your hips. Guiding you tight against him.

Your hands go down to your jeans and you start to unbutton them. He helps you take them off, along with your underwear, and then he's on you again.

He would never get tired of kissing you.

But something nags at him as he looks up at you and as he feels your core dragging against his zipper.

He cups your cheek.

"This isn't just physical to me. You know what right?" He says quietly.

"This isn't physical to me either." You tell him.

"Don't get me wrong. I love your body and I love expressing myself to you that way, but you're so much more than that to me."

"Yeah?"

"I like doing this with you because I think it's the best way to express how much I like you. Your eyes, your energy, your aura, your cute little nose, that sweet voice of yours, your personality, the way you get so passionate about the things you love, your hospitality. This feels good but it's so much more than pleasure."

"I feel the same way about you. And I know we're moving so fast, but it feels so right." You whisper.

He leans up and kisses you again.

You hastily unbutton his jeans and pull down his zipper. Bucky let's out a long moan as you grab him and begin to stroke him.

He shifts his hips until he's in a better angle.

"Yes," he hisses through his teeth, looking down at your hand jerking him off, "mmmm."

Your tongues dance together as you continue to rub his dick.

You were learning so fast.

You quickly pull away to lick your hand and your return it down to him. Bucky moans when you kiss him again, tasting himself on your sweet tongue.

His own right hands goes for your center and he rubs your clit with his pointer finger.

You moan against his mouth.

You were so drunk on him. You were so ready. You were already on the brink.

You let your tongue travel down his neck as you sit yourself up a little more, thankful that you had taken down the door so your right foot could actually straddle him properly.

He reaches into his back pocket and grabs one of the condoms he had put in there. You watch as he slides it on.

You're impatient for his cock inside of you. You grab his shaft as you hover over him and you guide it, sliding down completely onto him.

You gasp.

"Oh, fuck." You whimper.

This was so much better this time.

"Shit," he grunts as you engulf his cock up and down.

You support your left hand on his right shoulder and your right goes to the seat next to his left shoulder, in a half sitting position.

You moan as you bounce over him.

This felt so different than the first time. The first time was great, but the pain had definitely been a distraction. This time there was only pleasure and the fact that you were connected and having sex.

You're having sex.

With Bucky. In a parked car.

This turns you on more than you realize and you throw your head back as the pleasure overwhelms you.

"Fuck. Fuck." You say over and over again. You suddenly wished you had more room to move. You gave him some slow rolls a you brought your pelvis down flushed against his, "God, Bucky." You could feel him deep inside your tummy, hitting you just right.

You were so close.

"That's it, baby girl. That's it." He groans. His hand goes to the back of your neck as he pulls you in for a wet kiss that is only tongue.

You were so filthy together.

"I'm so close." You cry, puckering your lips for added affect.

He runs his thumb over you top lip.

"Yeah? You gonna cum for me?" You whimper and nod, increasing your speed, "I'm gonna cum for you too."

His words cause you to close your eyes and grunt.

"I'm cumming." You cry out in a plea.

You quicken your bounce, your mouth stuck in an open gasp as you ride out your orgasm.

He starts fucking up into you roughly.

He feels amazing. His jeans hitting your thighs feel amazing. His two hands grabbing your ass and driving you down feels amazing.

He cums into you with a heavy groan.

"I'm cumming so hard." He groans out through heavy moans as he continues to move you on him.

His comments triggers another orgasm out of you and you cling onto his neck for dear life.

Two minutes of panting and birds chirping pass by.

You're both sweating and giggling together as you fall onto him, your body feeling like jelly. He kisses your jaw and the side of your neck.

"I really like you. Incase you can't tell." You tell him, placing a kiss on his shoulder.

He laughs out loud.

"I really like you, too." You rub your hands over his chest.

"You're sure this doesn't feel too fast?"

He takes a few long seconds to reply. You know he's thinking of a proper response.

"I know I'm happy right now. We'll deal with each thing as it comes."

"Does that mean I can officially call you my boyfriend?"

"Thought that was a given," he chuckles, kissing you, "I'm your boy, Y/N. and you're my girl."

With that, you got dressed and Bucky zipped up his jeans and you both made your way back to the cabin just in time for food.

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A/N: Enjoy the fluff while it lasts. - the angst bitch

[anhed-nia]

I just finished a barely-interrupted binge of all four seasons of this show, and now I hardly know what to do with myself. A while ago I began research for a project on true crime television, which brought me into contact with an unscripted show veteran who strongly recommended UnReal, a drama about a field producer on a Bachelor-like program who is both extremely good at her job, and extremely mentally ill. It was way better than whatever I expected. I don't watch a ton of TV--which is not a declaration of my superiority in any dimension, it's just that I need to spend most of my time on movies, and I'm kind of particular (not due to "good taste" necessarily, just particular). UnReal initially comes off like a regular old cable show--to me it looks more or less like a CW product or something, with no hint of auteurship like there is with Fargo or Better Call Saul or whatever else usually lures me to television--but the writing pulls absolutely zero punches and I could not take my eyes off it. There is an occasional lull where things are more predictably soapy and I'd think "OK, well that was nice while it lasted," and then as soon as my guard was down something legitimately shocking would happen and I'd be back in my seat, watching unblinkingly.

The show is based on actual experiences of co-creator Sarah Gertrude Shapiro, a one-time producer on The actual Bachelor, which I only found out after the fact but I was thinking all along, "This is so grotesque that I'm sure it (or something like it) really happens." UnReal's other mastermind is Marti Noxon, who has credits on a lot of dark and/or construably feminist shows that have met with more success (don't ask me, I thought Sharp Objects was OK and I've never been attracted to Buffy, I just can't handle anything Joss Whedon-flavored), and she seems to have a real knack for telling psychologically realistic stories of seriously disturbed women. Which I appreciate a lot. My main complaint about UnReal was just that I wanted MORE, of all of it. Parts of the core mythology are just so fascinating that I craved a deep dive into all the details and consequences that I guess was just not in the cards for something with a large cast and a ton of moving parts. I'll just have to luxuriate in the intrigue since this ended in 2018.

...On which note I'll say that I think UnReal is colored significantly by Trump-era anxiety in ways that are more and less obvious. The show's chief concerns are more generally about the contributions of reality TV and social media to a culture of widespread bullying, but there is definitely something more specific in there about living under the reign of an unapologetic rapist who validates and empowers rapists at large, and feeling like the only way to preserve yourself in that world is to become a predator yourself. But anyway, the one question that is still burning my brain is about the fact that some of the set dressing features Silver Saaremaeel and Kaya Saaremaeel's gothy webcomic Run Freak Run. Which I've never read, actually I specifically found out about it because of posters hanging on office walls in UnReal. I really want someone to tell me how a gothy webcomic made it into the scenery of a major Lifetime drama. My pathetic websleuthing skills have failed to turn up active accounts for either of the comic's creators, so if anyone has a line on this information, please let me know! Meanwhile, you can watch UnReal on Tubi, the king of streaming sites.

^^^ Run Freak Run

[thessalian]

Thess vs How Things Work

When I was a kid, I used to take things apart to see if I could figure out how they worked. I was successful at the former, not so successful at the latter, but I did get the idea quite early that technology was not something so simple as "press the button and Thing Happens".

Which is why I am probably more surprised and frustrated than I should be when it feels like someone taks how things work for granted in entitled ways.

It's been a thing for ... well, at least it's been louder since Veilguard came out ... where people are talking about wanting a Legendary Edition of the Dragon Age games "like Mass Effect got". Usually with, "At least give the Hero of Ferelden a voice!" tacked on. And none of them seem to understand or even consider how fucking hard that would be. Whereas I have at least some idea, looking at the games' development from the ground up.

First of all, Origins and DA2 run on a different engine than Inquisition and Veilguard. While the Mass Effect games were all made with Unreal Engine 3, the first two Dragon Age games were made with Eclipse, while Inquisition and Veilguard were made with Frostbite when it became the in-house engine in 2014. To have a full-on Legendary Edition, you'd have to have versions of Origins and DA2 that were compatible with Frostbite, which means remaking them from the ground up.

Even if that were not the case, you would still have to remake DA2 from the ground up, because of the maps. Or lack thereof. Some of the cave maps could still be recycled, since you do go to the same places at times (the three separate Bone Pit caves, the three caves near the Dalish encampment, the slaver tunnels), each of those needs a map of its own, not using the same exact map layout and cutting off some bits as needed.

As for Origins, there are so many moving parts involved that you'd probably have to remake the whole game from scratch anyway. Mostly I'm thinking mages. You had such a lot of spells at your disposal as a mage in Origins, and Frostbite seems to work best with a more streamlined skill tree. They'd probably have to rework the entire skill and ability system for that, so it's unlikely to be the same game anymore at that point anyway.

Then there's the issues involved in adding a voice to the various Heroes of Ferelden. First of all, the models. You'd need to have mouths that move for the Hero of Ferelden. Doable, but only because, again, having to build it from the ground up in Frostbite. Then there's hiring the voice actors for every line of dialogue a Hero of Ferelden can 'say' in the course of the game. With a minimum of two voice actors required to do it justice (the minimum that DA2 had, but probably they'd want to go with four like Inquisition and Veilguard had), that's a lot of money going to voice actors. Who are worth it, but ... the companies don't seem to think so.

Given how expensive all of this is, if the corporate bods did greenlight this with a limited budget, there would have to be some cuts made. Where do they make those that won't piss off the fans they're trying so hard to reclaim? Streamline the Hero of Ferelden dialogue? When a lack of nuance and the ability to be an asshole is one of the major complaints of Veilguard? Plus the entire writing team for the games is gone now, so you'd get strangers doing it. That seldom ends well. So maybe they make the cuts to skills and abilities (which they might have to anyway - see above) and risk getting the older fans whining about how we don't have tactics and nuance to the combat anymore.

See, I don't really know that much about how video games are made. I apparently have more of an idea than most. I imagine making the LE of Mass Effect wasn't easy, but at least they were dealing with the same engine throughout, and not trying to add things that weren't there at the start. Those things add so much time and money to a project. Thinking about all that, I come to the conclusion that the CEO that said "Veilguard failed because it wasn't a MMO like we wanted it to be" is not going to sign off on that amount of time and money for a franchise they've pretty obviously left for dead. Even if they were willing, somehow, they couldn't - they got rid of almost all the staff.

So in summary, I get wanting a Legendary Edition of Dragon Age. I get wanting Origins with Veilguard graphics. What I don't get is demanding those things, and I really don't get people treating it like it would be something easy or cheap to do. Yes, it would be lovely. However, it would not be possible without completely redoing the first two games at minimum, and then those two would probably not quite be the games we know and love.

...Also, thinking about it, having three reasonably contained gaming experience with the open world bloatfest that was Inquisition sandwiched between them would kind of be tonal and mechanical whiplash in a compilation anyway.

[quintiliusheartripper]

I will say while i am intrigued by the recent expansion and willing to see it through to the end-

(probably because i dont have an attatchment to a commander character. Like me and velak have a commander and characters attatched but im super flexible with it since he doesn’t really play anymore and eod feels like the true end to it all. I use the main story as a like… marker for events in the world since theres a lot of places that one can explore thats more enriching interesting and personal. I can still use the wizard tower as a plot point for some things but im still seeing the commander being an anomaly who wasnt supposed to happen in a living fractal and its why the wizards didnt do anything this whole time untill something was actually directly attacking them. )

-i am disappointed by a lot and part of it is the way they are doing the releases especially when the expansion is full priced and unfinished when released

It really feels like a cop out and a excuse and im more interested in arenanets unannounced project ive been tracking for a while. “A well funded mmo established fantasy rpg with a focus on story” running on a unreal engine and with linux support and also talking about “guild wars 2 and beyond”in their hiring. Im hoping its a guild wars 3 but this expansion DEEPLY feels like how it felt just before EOD during LWS5 where resources were being cut from one place to be placed in another. Like its one fractured expansion per year until…when? The unannounced game that started production 2022/23 is released? I just hope they figure out a way to keep the game running for people if they move on to a gw3 but gw2 is n entirely different beast from gw1.