#you all want good things to happen to this man | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

norristrii · 3 days ago

Text

IN EVERY LANGUAGE, IN ANY PLACE.

You met him by accident in Monaco—bad parking, shared laughter, and a night where he taught you French. You never expected to see him again. But in Italy, there he was, this time, speaking Italian. And suddenly, it all made sense. It was him.

pairing. Charles Leclerc x fem! reader.

warnings. age gap (22/27), 8,1k words, google translated french & italian, teasing, suggestive (make out), sexual tension, one-night stand, soulmates kinda, reader wears dress, pet names.

music. Mystery Of Love & Futile Devices by Sufjan Stevens.

MONACO FELT LIKE THE PERFECT PLACE to fix your struggle with French. After years of studying, somehow, the language still slipped away from you when you needed it most. It frustrated you, how much effort you had put into learning it, only to still feel lost in conversations. You told yourself that spending a week in Monaco would be the answer—that being surrounded by the language, hearing it every day, would finally make everything click.

That was what you told yourself, at least.

In reality, you had mostly come for the experience. Monaco was beautiful, exciting, full of life. The clear blue water, the elegant streets, the sound of laughter mixed with the hum of expensive cars—it was the kind of place people dreamed about visiting. And if improving your French was the official reason for your trip, it was just a bonus.

Still, despite your best efforts, English had taken over almost every interaction. Ordering coffee? English. Asking for directions? English. The one time you had really tried to hold a conversation in French, the waiter had simply nodded politely and responded in perfect English, like he knew there was no point in struggling through your accent.

It had been embarrassing—but also a relief.

You wanted to get better, you really did. But between the beauty of the city and the ease of slipping back into English, you weren’t sure if you were actually learning anything or just enjoying a break from reality.

Not that it really mattered.

If nothing else, it was a good excuse to be here.

Parking in Monaco was proving to be more of a challenge than you had anticipated. You had expected tight spaces, expected expensive cars lining the streets, expected to feel slightly overwhelmed by the sheer luxury of it all—but actually squeezing your not-so-small sports car into a ridiculously tight spot without scratching paintwork worth more than your entire life savings? That was a different kind of pressure. Your hands tightened around the steering wheel as you focused, adjusting the angle, inching forward with painstaking caution, all while trying not to imagine the disaster that could happen if you miscalculated by even a fraction.

And then, just to make things worse, someone was watching.

A man stepped out of the sleek black Ferrari parked beside you, arms crossed over his chest, his posture entirely too relaxed for someone whose car was in immediate danger. He leaned back slightly, the sunlight catching the lenses of his sunglasses, making it impossible to tell exactly where he was looking—but you didn’t need to see his eyes to know he was amused. His smirk was obvious, practically dripping with enjoyment.

"You better not crash my car," he said, laughter easy, smooth, effortlessly confident, like this was nothing more than casual entertainment for him.

You exhaled sharply, fighting the urge to roll your eyes as frustration flared in your chest. You had barely been in Monaco a few days, but the city seemed to be crawling with people like this—rich, cocky, completely at ease in a world where expensive cars and effortless charm were just a given. You muttered under your breath, resisting the urge to say something snarky. Just another arrogant idiot with too much money.

But he didn’t just walk away.

Instead, he stepped closer, taking his time, moving like he had all the patience in the world, like he had decided that watching you struggle was far too entertaining to pass up. His hands slid into the pockets of his jacket as he reached your open window, his posture casual, the smirk never fading.

"You want me to do it?" he asked, the words slow, confident, teasing—but not mocking.

You inhaled, turning to finally look at him properly, prepared to brush him off with some sarcastic remark—but then you saw him. And wow.

Messy brown hair, like he had just run his fingers through it. A mustache that shouldn’t have suited him but somehow did, framing his lips in a way that added to his already unfair level of attractiveness. Sunglasses shielding his eyes, but not hiding the way he carried himself, the easy confidence in his stance, the quiet amusement in the way his smirk deepened.

You hesitated, your fingers tightening slightly around the steering wheel as uncertainty flickered through your mind. Was this really a good idea? Letting a complete stranger slide into your driver’s seat and take control of your car? For a split second, an irrational thought crossed your mind—what if he just drove off? What if he disappeared down the street in your car, leaving you standing there, utterly humiliated?

But then, reality kicked in. You were in Monaco. This wasn’t some shady alley where people stole cars out of desperation. This was a place of luxury, wealth, and ridiculous displays of status. The man standing next to you had stepped out of a Ferrari—one that was probably worth ten times more than your own car. If there was anyone in this world who didn’t need to steal a car, it was him.

You sighed, finally letting go of that last bit of hesitation, exhaling sharply like the act of trusting him was somehow exhausting. "Better than humiliating myself any longer, I guess."

The moment the words left your mouth, he moved. Effortlessly, smoothly, like he had done this a million times before. There was no uncertainty in his movements, no hesitation in the way he slid into your driver’s seat. His hands settled on the wheel, adjusting for a brief second before shifting into gear.

And then—just like that—he parked.

Perfectly.

One smooth, confident motion. No back-and-forth adjustments, no struggle, no second-guessing. Just precise control, like he had been doing this since the moment he learned how to walk.

You stared, blinking, processing.

Well. That was humbling.

He stepped out of the car with the kind of confidence that only someone truly comfortable in their own world could have. His smirk hadn’t faded, and as he shut the door behind him, he glanced at you with a look that practically radiated smug satisfaction.

"See? Easy," he said, flashing a smile, like parking a car in Monaco’s ridiculously tight spaces was the simplest thing in the world.

You scoffed, crossing your arms but unable to stop the small smile tugging at your lips. "Show-off.”

He shrugged, completely unbothered by your comment. "I’ve lived here my whole life," he said, adjusting the sleeves of his jacket. "I know every parking space."

You raised an eyebrow, tilting your head slightly. "Every parking space?"

His smirk deepened, his sunglasses catching the light as he leaned casually against his Ferrari. "Every good one," he clarified, voice smooth, effortlessly confident.

His gaze lingered for a moment, sweeping over you before shifting toward your car’s plate, his smirk deepening with quiet amusement. There was something about the way he looked at you—like he was studying, piecing together details, making his own quiet assessments without needing to ask any questions.

"You’re not from here," he observed, his voice effortlessly smooth, carrying just enough intrigue to make the statement feel like it meant something more than just a simple remark.

You let out a small laugh, shaking your head slightly as you shifted your weight, arms crossing loosely over your chest. "Was my parking that terrible?”

The corner of his lips curled into something dangerously close to a grin, one brow lifting ever so slightly in a way that made it painfully obvious he was enjoying himself. "Maybe," he admitted, dragging out the word like he was savoring it, like he was deliberately teasing. Then, after a beat, he shrugged. "But also—your plate."

You glanced toward your car for half a second before looking back at him, the realization settling in. Right. He wasn’t wrong—your plate was a giveaway. A clear sign that you weren’t local, that you were just passing through, that maybe you didn’t quite belong here the way he obviously did.

And yet, there was something about the way he said it—the easy confidence, the teasing smirk, the way he made the most basic observation feel like it carried weight—that made you wonder if he was sizing you up for reasons beyond just where you were from.

Wow. He knew exactly how to charm a woman.

You shook your head slightly, a small smile tugging at your lips as you clarified, "No not at all. I'm just here for my studies."

Your tone was light, casual, the kind of response that was meant to keep the conversation simple, easy, without giving too much away. But somehow, saying it out loud made Monaco feel even more like an unfamiliar world—like you were an outsider dropping into a place that wasn’t entirely yours.

His smirk didn’t fade, but his interest sparked just a little more, like your answer had intrigued him in ways you hadn’t expected. He tilted his head slightly, watching you carefully, processing your words before responding.

"Studies, huh?" he mused, the word rolling off his tongue with casual amusement. "Let me guess—French?"

You let out a small laugh, shaking your head, knowing he wasn’t entirely wrong. "Yeah, and before you say anything, yes, I know my parking skills weren’t helping prove that."

He chuckled at that, a rich, low sound that sent a flicker of something through your chest. His posture remained relaxed, his hands slipping effortlessly into the pockets of his jacket as he continued to study you. "I wasn’t going to say anything," he teased, but there was something in his tone—something playful, something knowing—that told you he absolutely was going to say something.

You rolled your eyes, exhaling softly, feeling the light breeze move through the streets around you. Monaco might have been full of cocky, charming men—but something about this one felt different.

His smirk lingered, and even though you had answered his question, it was clear he wasn’t quite done with you yet. He shifted his weight slightly, the ease in his posture never fading, and you could tell that this conversation—this interaction—was something he was enjoying far more than just idle small talk.

"So, a week in Monaco to improve your French?" he mused, the teasing edge still in his voice. "Bold choice."

You scoffed, shaking your head slightly. "I wouldn’t say bold," you corrected, crossing your arms loosely over your chest. "Necessary might be a better word."

He hummed, tilting his head as he studied you again, like he was deciding something about you that he wasn’t going to share just yet. "And how’s that going for you?"

You let out an exaggerated sigh, glancing around for a moment, pretending to survey your surroundings like you were searching for evidence of your progress. "Well," you started, dragging out the word, "so far, I’ve mostly spoken English."

His chuckle was immediate, rich, the kind of sound that felt entirely too warm for someone as effortlessly smug as he was. "Ah," he mused, shaking his head slightly. "So, failing, then?"

You narrowed your eyes at him, though the smile tugging at your lips betrayed any real attempt at annoyance. "I wouldn’t say failing.”

His smirk deepened, and for a second, the moment stretched—comfortable, easy, natural in a way that caught you just a little off guard.

His smirk remained steady, the confidence in his stance effortless, like it was second nature. He leaned against his car with ease, arms crossed loosely over his chest, sunglasses still shielding his eyes, but you could feel the way he was watching you—curious, amused, intrigued in a way that made it clear this conversation was far more entertaining to him than just polite small talk.

"What’s your name, pretty girl?" he asked, voice smooth, laced with something teasing, something knowing. "Maybe I can help you with your French."

You couldn’t stop the smile that tugged at your lips. There was something about him—the way he was so unapologetically confident, so comfortable in the way he carried himself, so assured in his approach—that made it hard not to enjoy this. He wasn’t hesitant, wasn’t shy. He knew exactly what he was doing.

"I’m Y/n," you said finally, letting the words roll off your tongue with the same casual ease, letting your voice carry the same playfulness, the same subtle challenge that told him you weren’t just going to let him lead this conversation. Then, after a beat, you tilted your head slightly, letting your gaze flicker over him deliberately before adding, "And you, pretty boy?"

The moment the words left your mouth, you saw it—a flicker of something in his expression, barely noticeable but definitely there. Surprise.

But only for half a second.

Because then, just as effortlessly as before, his smirk returned, deepening like he had expected you to play along, like he had hoped you would. And suddenly, you were certain—he was enjoying this just as much as you were.

His smirk didn’t waver, but there was something in the way his head tilted slightly, like he was sizing you up, weighing your reaction, testing the waters of your confidence. He had expected you to flirt back—you could see it in the way his lips curled, in the amused glint behind his sunglasses—but that didn’t mean he hadn’t enjoyed the confirmation.

"Pretty boy?" he echoed, amusement dripping from his tone, his posture shifting just slightly, the casual confidence never fading. "I haven’t been called that in a while."

You shrugged, keeping your expression light, playful, effortlessly unbothered. "Well, I call it like I see it.”

His chuckle was slow, rich, the kind of sound that carried more meaning than it should have, like he was taking his time with this moment, like he was deliberately drawing it out. Then, in one smooth motion, he reached up, sliding his sunglasses down just enough for you to catch a glimpse of his eyes—sharp, green, filled with something that was equally teasing and analyzing all at once.

"Charles," he said finally, his name rolling off his tongue like it belonged here, like he belonged here.

Something about the way he said it told you this wasn’t just a name—it was an introduction. A moment meant to stick. A small shift in the atmosphere that hinted this wasn’t the last conversation the two of you were going to have.

Charles’ words hung between you, smooth and effortlessly confident, like he had extended the invitation knowing you wouldn’t refuse. He leaned casually against his car, arms crossed, sunglasses still shielding his eyes, but you could feel the smirk beneath them—felt the unspoken meaning lingering just behind his offer.

“So, Y/n—tonight on my yacht?" he suggested, voice easy, teasing, yet somehow carrying a quiet challenge. Then, after a beat, he added, "For a French lesson."

You raised a brow, crossing your arms, your lips twitching at the corners as you studied him. "French lesson, huh?" you echoed, letting the words stretch just enough to make it clear you weren’t fooled. "That’s the reason you’re going with?”

Charles chuckled, shaking his head slightly, completely unbothered by your skepticism. "You do need the help," he pointed out, the teasing laced in his tone impossible to miss. Then, with that same smirk, he shrugged. "Besides, is there a better way to learn than on a yacht, under the stars, with someone who actually speaks French?"

You exhaled softly, pretending to weigh your options, even though—deep down—you knew there was only one answer.

Charles watched you carefully, his smirk never wavering, the challenge in his eyes evident—even through the shield of his sunglasses. He wasn’t just inviting you onto his yacht for a simple lesson; he was inviting you into his world, into his Monaco.

And somehow, despite the little voice in the back of your head telling you to be rational, telling you that this was probably a bad idea, you still found yourself intrigued.

"Alright, fine," you finally said, crossing your arms, tilting your head slightly. "But only if you promise I’ll actually learn something.”

He chuckled, pushing off his car with a casual ease. "I promise," he mused, his voice carrying just enough mischief to make you question if he meant it.

Something told you that stepping onto that yacht wasn’t just going to be about learning French.

Charles’ smirk deepened ever so slightly, like he knew he had won—like he had expected you to say yes but still enjoyed hearing the confirmation. He reached into his pocket, effortlessly pulling out his phone, fingers moving smoothly as he sent off a quick message, probably setting things in motion for the evening ahead.

"You won’t regret it," he assured, slipping the phone back into his jacket, watching you with that same quiet confidence. "Meet me at the docks around eight."

You raised a brow, pretending to weigh the offer in your mind, even though you had already made your decision. "And what exactly can I expect from this so-called French lesson?”

Charles chuckled, pushing his sunglasses up slightly, the smirk never fading. "That depends," he mused. "Are you a fast learner, or do you need some extra motivation?"

There was something about the way he said it—something teasing, something layered—that made it clear tonight wasn’t just about learning French.

And somehow, you found yourself looking forward to it.

"I prefer motivation," you said, your smirk matching his, refusing to let him have the upper hand too easily.

Charles’ own smirk widened, amusement flickering in his sharp gaze, like he had expected that answer but still enjoyed hearing it. There was something about the way he carried himself—an easy confidence that never wavered, a natural charm that wasn’t forced but felt effortless. Every movement, every glance, was calculated just enough to draw you in without seeming deliberate.

He pushed off his car with a casual ease, adjusting his jacket like he had all the time in the world, taking a slow step forward. The shift was subtle—barely noticeable to an outsider—but you noticed. He wasn’t just moving closer; he was setting the pace, drawing out the moment, stretching the space between you just enough to make it feel intentional.

“Good," he murmured, voice smooth, carrying a teasing undertone yet laced with something undeniably confident. He let the words settle between you, his smirk never fading, his gaze locked onto yours. “Because I happen to be very good at motivation."

You raised a brow, refusing to back down, meeting his challenge without hesitation. There was a playfulness in the exchange, but also something else—something neither of you were quite willing to name yet.

───

The evening was warm, the air carrying the fresh scent of the sea as soft waves lapped against the dock. Lights from the yachts reflected on the water, casting a golden glow, making everything look just a little more magical. The docks weren’t too busy, just enough movement and quiet chatter to remind you that Monaco never truly slept.

You stood there, shifting slightly, adjusting the books tucked under your arm, as if they made this feel more like an actual lesson instead of… whatever this was becoming. Your black dress fit just right, hugging you in all the places that made you feel confident. It was shorter than what you usually wore, but tonight felt different. You had spent extra time getting ready, making sure everything was smooth, perfect, just in case.

Your eyes moved over the yachts, each one shining under the dock lights, sleek and expensive. Some were massive, almost too large to seem real, while others were slightly more understated—but only in the way Monaco’s wealthy could be. You wondered which one belonged to him.

Then, footsteps. Steady, calm, unhurried. The kind of walk that told you this person had all the time in the world.

You turned just as Charles stepped into view. He looked effortlessly put together, wearing a crisp white shirt, the sleeves rolled up casually, the top few buttons undone. He fit here, belonged in this world, carried himself with the quiet confidence of someone who knew he was charming.

His smirk appeared the moment he saw you, his gaze sweeping over you with easy amusement before flickering to the books in your arms.

“Not bad, Y/n," he mused, voice smooth, teasing. “You actually brought them?"

You couldn’t help the small smile tugging at your lips. "Of course," you said, tilting your head slightly. "I take my lessons seriously.”

Charles chuckled, shaking his head slightly, like he wasn’t sure whether to be impressed or just entertained.

“Well then," he murmured, stepping aside, motioning toward the large, sleek yacht behind him. "Let’s get started."

Charles led the way up the dock, his movements easy, natural, like he had done this a hundred times before. As you stepped onto the yacht, the soft sway beneath your feet reminded you that this wasn’t just any boat—it was luxury, through and through. Sleek, modern, with soft lighting that cast a golden glow over the pristine deck. Everything was polished, elegant, effortlessly perfect.

You barely had time to take it all in before Charles turned to you, hands slipping into his pockets, smirk still in place.

“Make yourself comfortable," he said, motioning toward the seating area at the back of the yacht, where plush cushions surrounded a glossy table.

You exhaled softly, moving toward the spot, setting your French books down before settling onto one of the seats. The evening air was warm, carrying the scent of salt and expensive cologne—a mix that somehow suited the moment too well.

Charles took the seat next to you, leaning back, stretching his arm over the edge of the seat like he belonged there, like he belonged everywhere.

“So," he mused, eyes flickering toward the books before back to you. “Where should we begin?"

You raised a brow, tapping your fingers lightly against the cover of one of the books. "That depends. Do you actually plan to teach, or was this just an excuse to get me here?”

His chuckle was immediate, warm, amused. "A little bit of both," he admitted, flashing you a grin. "But don’t worry—I’m a great teacher.”

Charles wasted no time. The moment he settled into his seat, he leaned back, his smirk unwavering as he casually started speaking in smooth, fluent French—his words flowing effortlessly, his tone relaxed yet confident, like he was testing you, like he was enjoying watching your reaction.

You blinked, trying to catch at least some of what he was saying, but it was hopeless. His words blended together too quickly, too naturally, and before you could even try to keep up, you found yourself laughing, shaking your head as you lifted a hand in protest.

“Hey, hey—slow!" you said, amusement clear in your voice, your laughter slipping between the words. "I’m trying to learn, not get overwhelmed!"

Charles chuckled, his expression practically glowing with amusement, clearly enjoying this. He tilted his head slightly, pretending to consider your request before shrugging.

“Ah, but learning under pressure is the best way, no?" he teased, eyes flashing with something both playful and smug.

“I ended with animals," you said, smiling as you flipped through the pages of your book. Somehow, despite all the effort, all the attempts at forming proper sentences, you had ended up learning random animal names instead of anything actually useful. It wasn’t exactly what you had planned when you stepped onto the yacht, but at this point, you weren’t sure if anything about tonight was going according to plan.

Charles raised a brow, clearly amused, his smirk deepening as he leaned forward slightly, resting his forearms on his knees. The soft glow of the yacht’s lights cast a warm hue over his skin, making the teasing glint in his eyes even more noticeable. "Animals?" he echoed, his voice carrying that familiar hint of amusement.

You grinned, feeling oddly proud of your one solid takeaway. "I know how to say owl," you announced, sitting up a little straighter, ready to flex your knowledge.

“Chouette," you said confidently, looking at him like you had just won something.

But the moment the word left your mouth, Charles burst into laughter, shaking his head immediately, his whole body leaning back slightly as he let the sound roll through him.

“Non, non,” he chuckled, his amusement clear as he ran a hand through his hair, still grinning. "Your accent—what was that?”

You gasped dramatically, placing a hand over your chest. "Excuse me?”

“Excuse you,” he teased, still laughing, his eyes shining with pure entertainment. "That was terrible.”

You rolled your eyes, but you were laughing too, shaking your head as you grabbed your book again, flipping through the pages like you were searching for proof that you had said it correctly. "Fine," you huffed, pretending to be annoyed even though you were enjoying this far more than you should. "Teach me how to say it properly, professeur.”

Charles smirked, leaning in slightly, his voice dropping just enough to make the moment feel too intentional. The space between you suddenly felt smaller, the teasing atmosphere shifting into something else—something neither of you were quite acknowledging yet.

“Gladly," he murmured, his gaze locking onto yours for just a second longer than necessary.

Charles didn’t hesitate. He leaned in just a little more, closing the space between you, his smirk still firmly in place as he spoke again—slower this time, deliberate, letting the word roll off his tongue in a way that made it impossible to ignore.

"Chouette," he repeated, his voice smooth, rich, carrying that effortless charm that made even a simple correction feel like something more.

You watched him carefully, trying to focus on the actual lesson, but it was hard when he was this close, when the warmth of the evening mixed with the quiet hum of the water beneath the yacht, when the teasing glint in his eyes made it clear he was enjoying this far too much.

You cleared your throat, straightening slightly, determined to get it right this time. "Chouette," you tried again, mimicking the way he had said it, paying attention to the way the syllables should sound.

Charles tilted his head, considering it for a moment before nodding slowly. "Better," he admitted, though the smirk never faded. "Still not perfect, but better."

You rolled your eyes, shaking your head. "You’re impossible."

"I’m thorough," he corrected, leaning back slightly, finally giving you a little space—but not too much. "You wanted motivation, didn’t you?"

You exhaled, pretending to be exasperated, but the truth was, you were enjoying this far more than you had expected.

"Fine," you said, crossing your arms. "What’s next, professeur?"

Charles chuckled, reaching for your book again, flipping through the pages like he was searching for something specific.

"Let’s see… something useful this time, maybe?" he teased, glancing up at you with that same playful glint in his eyes.

He smirked, the corners of his mouth twitching slightly, amusement playing behind his sharp gaze as he leaned back against the cushioned seat. There was something about the way he carried himself—unrushed, confident, like he had all the time in the world and was thoroughly enjoying the moment. The soft glow of the yacht’s lights reflected in his eyes, making his expression even more unreadable, more teasing.

"Quel âge as-tu? (How old are you?)" he asked, voice smooth, effortless, slipping into French like it was second nature. The words rolled off his tongue easily, and you wondered briefly if this was still part of the lesson or if he was just trying to collect details about you, learning bit by bit, pretending it was all just casual conversation.

You actually knew what that meant. For a split second, you considered whether he was testing you—gauging how much you had actually picked up from your lessons so far. Was he genuinely curious, or was this just another excuse to keep the conversation going, to shift things into something more personal? Either way, you weren’t going to make it too easy for him.

But you played along anyway.

"J'ai vingt-deux ans (I’m twenty-two)," you answered, keeping your voice casual, easy, like you weren’t thinking too much about the way he was watching you now. The words felt familiar, comfortable enough that you didn’t stumble over them, and you felt the smallest twinge of pride in that.

Charles raised a brow, nodding slowly, considering your response like it meant more than just numbers. He let the moment stretch for a second longer than necessary before finally speaking again.

"Vingt-deux (twenty-two),” he mused, rolling the words over his tongue like he was tasting them, testing how they felt in the space between you. "Not bad."

You smirked, tilting your head slightly, matching his energy. "And you?"

His smirk deepened, like he had been expecting the question, like he had been waiting for it. There was something unreadable in his eyes for just a brief second—something calculating, something amused.

"Vingt-sept (twenty-seven)," he said finally, the number settling between you in a way that made the space feel smaller, more intentional, like the conversation had shifted into something just a little more personal.

And for some reason, you didn’t mind.

You hadn’t expected him to be twenty-seven. Maybe twenty-five at most, but hearing the number settle between you made you reconsider. It suited him—the quiet confidence, the effortless charm, the way he never seemed unsure of himself. He carried himself like someone who knew exactly who he was, someone who had already carved out his place in the world and wasn’t wasting time doubting it.

And really, was it a bad thing?

Rich, pretty, older than you? That was basically everything you wanted wrapped up in one dangerously charming package. He had the kind of presence that made people take notice, the kind of energy that drew you in without you even realizing.

Charles must have noticed something in your expression because his smirk deepened just a little, like he could read your thoughts, like he knew exactly what was going through your mind. His eyes lingered on yours for half a second longer than necessary, like he was quietly enjoying your reaction.

"Surprised?" he asked, voice low, teasing, as if he already knew the answer.

You shrugged, refusing to let him see too much, keeping your expression neutral even though you could feel the way the conversation had shifted slightly. "A little."

He chuckled, shaking his head slightly, eyes still locked onto yours, like he was figuring out the best way to keep this moment stretching just a little longer. "Don’t worry, twenty-seven isn’t old," he mused, his tone playful yet steady, as if daring you to challenge him. "I promise I’ll keep up."

He handed you a glass filled with crisp white wine, the cool surface pressing against your fingers as you accepted it. The golden liquid shimmered under the soft yacht lights, casting reflections that danced with the gentle sway of the boat beneath you. There was something effortlessly smooth about the way Charles moved, like every action was carefully measured yet completely natural at the same time.

"Comment trouvez-vous Monaco? (How do you like Monaco?)" he asked, his voice carrying that same teasing lilt he had kept throughout the night.

This time, you actually understood—or, well, you understood one word. Monaco. The rest? A blur of syllables spoken too fluidly, too easily for you to process.

Still, there was no way you were about to admit that so quickly.

You mirrored his movement, lifting your glass slightly before taking a small sip, buying yourself a second of time. Then, after setting it down, you smirked. "Monaco," you repeated, nodding as if that was a perfectly valid answer.

Charles chuckled, shaking his head slowly, setting his glass down for a moment. "That’s it?" he teased, watching you closely.

"That’s all I got," you admitted, laughing lightly, swirling your wine in the glass. "Something about Monaco. Am I close?"

His grin widened, and he exhaled through his nose, clearly entertained. "Close enough," he mused, swirling his own glass gently before taking a sip. "I asked what you think of it."

You hummed thoughtfully, glancing out over the water, the city lights shimmering in the distance, the soft hum of waves filling the quiet spaces between words.

"It’s… surreal," you admitted after a beat, looking back at him. "Like it’s not real life, you know?"

Charles nodded slowly, studying you for a moment, his expression unreadable—but curious.

"It’s a world of its own," he said, voice softer now, reflective. "Some people come here and never leave."

For a moment, you wondered if he was including himself in that.

You swirled your glass absentmindedly, watching how the golden liquid caught the yacht’s soft lighting, reflecting the quiet glow of the Monaco skyline in the distance. There was something surreal about being here, about sitting across from Charles, about the effortless way the evening had unfolded.

"Just like you?" you asked out of curiosity, tilting your head slightly, your fingers lightly tracing the rim of your glass.

Charles' smirk remained, but his eyes held something softer now, something thoughtful. "I was born here, actually," he said, the words coming out effortlessly, like it was something he had explained a hundred times before.

You blinked, processing his words as you set your glass down. Somehow, the idea of Charles being born in Monaco made perfect sense—but at the same time, it caught you off guard. You had always assumed people came here, drawn in by the glamour, the exclusivity, the effortless luxury. But for him, this wasn’t just a place to visit. It was home.

Charles leaned in slightly, his smile lingering, the challenge evident in his eyes. He had been enjoying this, guiding the conversation just enough to keep you engaged, watching closely as you navigated your way through each question, each attempt at forming sentences.

"But I want you to answer," he said smoothly, tapping his fingers lightly against the side of his wine glass. "In French."

You took a breath, steadying yourself, determined not to let this moment slip. French wasn’t easy for you, and answering on the spot, with him watching, only made it feel more intimidating. But you weren’t about to back down.

Carefully, deliberately, you put your best effort into the answer.

"J'aime cet endroit, surtout maintenant (I love this place, especially now)," you said, the words coming out slower than his but clear enough, confident enough.

Charles tilted his head slightly, considering your response, his smirk deepening just a little, like he was amused by the effort, impressed despite himself.

"Not bad," he mused, taking a sip of his wine, eyes still locked onto yours. "You like this place… especially now?"

You nodded, meeting his gaze, holding onto the moment just long enough for the weight of his words to settle.

"Yes," you admitted, setting your glass down, fingers grazing against the rim absentmindedly. "The lesson is helping."

Charles chuckled, shaking his head slightly. "Ah, so I am a good teacher," he teased, sitting back, watching you like he was still figuring something out.

Charles moved in, slowly, deliberately, closing the space between you with an ease that made your pulse quicken. His presence was impossible to ignore, his confidence effortless, like he knew exactly how close he could get before it became too much—except this time, too much was exactly what you wanted.

The wine had settled in your system, warmth spreading through your limbs, but that wasn’t what made you lean in slightly, wasn’t what made you hold his gaze with unwavering certainty. You wanted this. You wanted him. Even though, just hours ago, he had been nothing more than a stranger who happened to help you park your car.

His voice was low, smooth, carrying that undeniable edge of amusement as he spoke. "Tu es vraiment jolie, tu le sais? (You are really pretty, you know that?)”

And for the first time tonight, you understood every single word.

You felt your breath hitch slightly, but you didn’t let it show. Instead, you exhaled slowly, letting the weight of the moment settle between you.

"You think so?" you mused, tilting your head slightly, watching the way his smirk deepened in response.

"I know so," he murmured, his voice dipping lower, carrying just enough certainty to make the air between you feel heavier, charged.

The hum of the yacht, the quiet waves against the dock, the distant sounds of Monaco—it all faded into the background. Right now, there was only this.

Only him.

Charles’ breath was warm against your ear, his words barely above a whisper, yet you felt them—every syllable, every hesitation. They weren’t just words; they were an unspoken confession, a quiet unraveling of the careful, effortless charm he had worn all evening.

“Je te veux un peu. (I kinda want you)”

It was quiet. Careful. As if he wasn’t sure if he should be saying it at all, as if he was testing the weight of the admission before fully giving in to it. Until now, every glance, every smirk, every lingering touch had felt intentional, like he knew exactly how far to push without giving too much away. But now? Now there was something uncertain, something raw beneath his teasing façade.

“Is it weird?" he asked, his voice softer now, lower, suddenly hesitant in a way that didn’t feel like him.

You pulled back just enough to meet his gaze, to catch the faint flicker of uncertainty in his expression, something rare, something unexpected. The space between you was dangerously small, but neither of you moved to widen it.

“You only kinda want me?" you asked, arching a brow, a teasing lilt in your voice—because you weren’t uncertain. Not even a little. You wanted him. More than hesitant words and uncertain breaths. You wanted all of him.

Charles exhaled, his grip tightening ever so slightly, his fingers pressing against yours in quiet confirmation. His smirk returned, curving just at the edges, but there was something different about it now. Something heavier. Something decisive.

“Okay," he murmured, voice lower, thicker, like the hesitation had finally melted away. “Beaucoup. (A lot)”

Charles' eyes held yours, dark with intent, his grip firm against your waist, like he already knew what was coming—like he had been waiting for it. The tension between you had stretched for too long, simmering beneath each teasing exchange, each lingering touch, each second of withheld restraint.

And then, finally—

“Embrasse-moi, Charles. (Kiss me, Charles)”

You barely finished the words before he acted.

He kissed you. Hungrily. There was no hesitation, no teasing buildup anymore—just pure, undeniable want. His hands tightened at your waist, pulling you onto his lap effortlessly, needing you closer, needing more.

His lips moved against yours with intoxicating urgency, fingers pressing firmly into your sides as he drank you in, as if he had decided in that moment that this wasn’t just desire—it was necessary.

The warmth of his body, the steady hum of the yacht beneath you, the rhythm of the waves against the dock—it all blurred into insignificance.

His fingers pressed into the fabric of your dress, his grip tight but controlled, holding you in place as if he couldn’t stand even the smallest bit of distance between you. The yacht swayed gently beneath you, the rhythm of the waves mirroring the way his lips moved against yours—deliberate, intense, possessive.

You sighed into him, your own hands tangling in the fabric of his shirt, pulling him even closer, matching his urgency, meeting his pace.

Charles exhaled against your lips, his breath uneven, his grip tightening at your waist like he was trying to steady himself, like he was savoring the way you fit against him.

"Dieu… (God)” he murmured against your skin, voice low, rough, nearly a groan. "Tu es dangereuse. (You are dangerous)”

Charles' lips moved slowly along your neck, warm and wet, leaving behind red marks that tingled on your skin. Every kiss felt like a spark, like he was setting your nerves on fire with every press of his mouth. He wasn’t in a rush—he took his time, letting each touch sink in, making sure you felt everything.

Your head tilted back, eyes fluttering shut as a soft sound escaped your lips—half sigh, half moan. You could feel him smiling against your skin, as if he knew exactly what he was doing to you. And he did. He always did.

“Fuck, Charles,” you whispered, barely able to speak, the words slipping out before you could stop them. It wasn’t just desire in your voice—it was need. His name came out like a prayer, or maybe a plea, heavy with everything you were feeling and couldn’t put into words.

“J’ai besoin de toi chérie, de toi tout entier (I need you darling, all of you),” Charles whispered into the curve of your neck, his voice low, velvet-soft, and full of quiet need. The words wrapped around you like silk, and a shiver ran down your spine before you could stop it.

You closed your eyes, overwhelmed—not just by the sound of his voice or the way his hands knew exactly where to rest, but by the simple, impossible truth of it all. This moment. This man. You had never imagined anything like it, not even in your most daring, secret dreams. Yet here you were, wrapped in the arms of a man older than you, powerful, undeniably attractive, and utterly, disarmingly real.

─── SIX MONTHS LATER

The sun hung high over Bologna, casting golden light over the terracotta rooftops, warming the historic streets and filling the air with the scent of espresso and freshly baked bread. The city was alive, bustling with movement—locals chatting outside cafés, tourists wandering with cameras slung over their shoulders, the distant hum of a violin playing somewhere in the maze of alleyways.

You hadn’t planned to stay long. It was just a stop—an indulgence before heading to Neapoli to see your friend. A chance to walk these streets you’d always dreamed of visiting, to taste, to experience, to collect fragments of a place you had admired from afar for years.

But then—something made you pause.

A car.

Sleek, polished to perfection, black with a striking red and white stripe cutting through the front. It sat at the curb, motionless yet demanding attention, gleaming under the afternoon light like an invitation you weren’t sure you should take.

Your steps faltered.

You knew this car.

You had seen it before—maybe in Monaco, maybe somewhere else, maybe in a moment that had slipped from your grasp but never really left you.

Nothing seemed more fitting in the moment than pulling out your phone, filming the scene for your friend. You had vlogged your entire trip through Italy—every stunning view, every hidden café, every little unexpected moment. So why not this?

You held up the camera, steadying your grip as you zoomed in slightly, capturing the sleek black Ferrari resting against the curb. The sunlight gleamed off its polished surface, accentuating the striking red and white stripe that cut across the front.

“Questo è così familiare… giuro che ho già visto questa macchina da qualche parte (This is so familiar… I swear I've seen this car somewhere before),”you murmured into the phone, your voice lined with curiosity and amusement.

A fleeting thought pressed at the back of your mind, an eerie sense of recognition tightening in your chest. This car—this exact car—you had seen it before.

You hit record, adjusting your grip on the phone as you zoomed in on the Ferrari parked near the curb. Its glossy black finish gleamed under the Bologna sun, the sharp red and white stripe cutting across the front like a signature—bold, impossible to overlook. There was something undeniably familiar about it, something that made your heart pick up its pace, something that pulled at your memory in a way that you couldn’t quite shake.

“Ragazza, giuro che sembra una follia, ma io conosco questa macchina! (girl, I think I sound completely crazy, but I know this car!)” you exclaimed, your voice carrying a mix of excitement and disbelief as you pointed directly at the car, ensuring it was fully in the frame. The words felt almost surreal as they left your lips, but deep down, you knew it wasn’t just some passing coincidence. You had seen this car before. You had been near it.

Without hesitation, you sent the video to your best friend, watching as the message processed before disappearing into the chat.

Your phone remained in your grip, screen still bright, messages from your friend continuing to flood in one after another. Each notification made the situation feel even more surreal, like reality was still catching up, like fate had decided to drop something unexpected right into the middle of your plans.

You could already imagine her reaction—her shock, her excitement, probably yelling at her screen, demanding answers you weren’t even sure you had.

But before you could even type out a reply, before you could take a single breath to process the moment, a voice slipped effortlessly through the space behind you.

Smooth. Familiar. Teasing.

“Non mi hai detto che parli italiano. (You didn't tell me you speak Italian.)”

The words sent a jolt straight through you, freezing you in place.

Your fingers tightened around the phone instinctively, your heartbeat picking up its pace, the world around you suddenly feeling different—like the sounds of the city had softened, like the warmth of the sun wasn’t the only thing settling against your skin.

Slowly, carefully, you turned.

And then—

Charles.

Standing just a few steps away, effortlessly composed, looking at you with a mix of amusement and curiosity, the faintest smirk playing at the edge of his lips. The sight of him pulled something deep from your memory, something tied to warm nights and whispered challenges, something you hadn’t expected to feel again.

Charles watched you carefully, his gaze steady, holding onto that slight smirk as if he already knew how this was going to unfold. His posture was relaxed, effortless, yet there was something undeniably focused in the way he looked at you—something quietly deliberate, like he was taking in every detail, like he was committing this moment to memory.

You felt the weight of it—the unexpectedness of his presence, the quiet charge lingering in the space between you, the way time seemed to hesitate just long enough to make you wonder if fate really had orchestrated all of this.

It had been six months since Monaco, since nights stretched out on a yacht, since whispered conversations and stolen moments, since something shifted in a way that neither of you had fully defined. You had left knowing there was no clear path forward, no promises, no expectations—and yet, standing here, looking at him now, it was impossible to pretend that nothing had changed.

“You surprise me, chérie," Charles said, slipping his hands into the pockets of his jacket, the teasing edge to his voice not quite masking something deeper beneath it.

You let out a breath, shaking your head slightly, a smirk curling at the corner of your lips despite the rush of thoughts tumbling through your mind. "Seems like I’m not the only one full of surprises."

His chuckle was soft, amused, but his eyes held something more—something familiar yet entirely new.

“It appears fate enjoys playing with us," he mused, his voice lower now, more measured, more certain.

Charles hesitated, his gaze locked onto you with a quiet intensity, like he was studying you, searching for something he wasn’t sure he’d find. The sunlight slipped across his features, highlighting the sharpness of his jaw, the ease in his posture, the familiar warmth in his expression—soft, careful, holding something unspoken.

It had been six months.

Time had passed—fast, slow, uncertain—and yet, standing here, in a city neither of you had planned to meet in, it felt impossibly like none of it had passed at all.

His gaze didn’t waver. It lingered, taking you in, as if he was looking for the parts of you that had changed, the parts that had stayed the same—the parts he had memorized without meaning to.

“Will you stay this time, amore?"

The words left his lips slowly, carefully, carrying something heavier than just curiosity. There was no teasing, no playfulness—just quiet truth. Just a question that felt more like an invitation, more like a possibility, more like hope.

You felt the weight of it press against your chest, the way the words settled into the space between you, waiting—patient, deliberate, meant to be answered.

Stay.

Six months ago, the idea hadn't even been on the table. Monaco had been fleeting, temporary—a moment suspended in time, something that existed separately from reality. And yet, now, standing here in Bologna with Charles watching you, waiting for an answer, it felt like an entirely different choice.

“I will.”

babsie radio ! My first longer Charles fic!! If you’re italian/french and spot any mistakes in the translation, let me know!!

#formula 1 #charles leclerc x female reader #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc #cl16 x y/n #cl16 x reader #cl16 imagine #cl16 x you #cl16 fic #f1 x female reader #scuderia ferrari #f1 writing #f1 imagine #formula one fic #f1 fic #f1 fanfic #forza ferrari

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fic-girlie · 2 days ago

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Can you please write a fic for qz!Joel where him and reader are smuggling partners and are in a situationship (fwb but with something more?). One day reader is going over to Joel's apartment and she gets jumped by a few guys (a few cuts and bruises). Joel is POSSESSED to say the least and decides that he has to make things official with reader so everybody knows she's his and not to mess with. He beats the shit out of one of the guys but doesn't kill him, makes sure he stays alive and that his battered body serves as a warning of what happens when you mess with Joel miller's girl.

Claim what's mine

Pairing: qz!Joel Miller x f!reader Summary: After you're attacked, Joel makes it official—you’re his—and leaves a brutal warning behind for anyone who might forget it. Warnings: mentions of violence, mentions of blood, Joel being very protective and beating the shit out of everyone, confessions

You're still bleeding by the time you get to his door.

Your right knuckle is ripped open and pounding like it's got a heartbeat of its own, and you can feel the slow trickle of blood seeping from a gash just below your eyebrow. There's a bruise swelling beneath your ribs that takes your breath every few steps, and your coat is torn, some of the material hanging on threads where they tried to grab you and pull you down behind the heap of rusted-out cars at the old ration center. You didn't scream. Not once. Because you knew it wouldn't do any good—not here. Boston's QZ doesn't listen. But you fought. You got away.

And here you are now.

You don't even knock. Your hand trembles on the knob when you shove the door open, shoulder easing in with a grunt, swallowing the thick, hot iron taste of pain that's been brewing at the back of your throat. Joel's sitting at the table carefully cleaning a pistol—he always cleans his guns like it's therapy, like if the barrel gleams and snaps into place clean enough he won't turn into the man he swears he doesn't want to be. You don't even say anything. You just kick the door shut behind you and let it slam. It takes him by enough surprise that he looks up abruptly, frowning, already on edge—

And then he sees you.

You can feel the change in him, the way his body stills all at once, not like he’s frozen, but like something just snapped tight and locked into place. His gaze drags over every inch of you, calculating damage. The blood on your lip. The shaky grip you’ve got on the doorframe. The way you’re holding your ribs. And Joel… Joel fucking stands.

"Who," he snarls, in a voice so low it might be underground, "did this to you."

You almost laugh. You don't, because it would hurt too much, but the sound draws back from your teeth. "Couple of guys off the south wall. They tried to pull me behind the fence by the old checkpoint. One of them had a pipe, I think." You shake your head as if you can brush it all away. "It's not that bad."

He's already going. The same rag he's been using to clean his gun is still balled in his fist when he brushes past you, but he doesn't make contact—not yet. He paces once, like he needs motion to keep from exploding, and then goes still as stone in the middle of the room, back to you, chest heaving like a storm's about to erupt there. You watch the veins in his neck twitch, jaw clamp shut tight. It's a beautiful, terrible thing-how Joel Miller uses his anger like a sword, like he could slice the world open wide with it and never blink.

You go first. You sit down next to your bag by the couch, hoisting up your shirt to examine the damage, gritting your teeth. The bruise is already discoloring, purpling like ink. "You don't have to do anything, Joel. I got away."

He turns.

"You think they care that you got away?" he says, his voice low and biting. "They think they could've had you. That's all they need. That's all every other bastard in this sector needs who thinks they can look at you, touch you, take you, because they don't see you walking around with someone who makes it clear—" He cuts himself off like he's just realized what he was going to say.

Your heart beats once. You can barely breathe. "Makes it clear what?"

He doesn't answer. Not really. Instead, Joel is across the room in two steps and is kneeling in front of you, his hands finally on your legs—tentatively, reverently, fingertips tracing up your thighs as though searching you for hurt. "Who were they?" he whispers.

You hesitate. Just for a moment, however. "The tall one's named Ray. He's always hanging around that garage on the corner near the north patrol gate. The others didn't say much. One of them had a snake tattooed around a skull on his hand."

Joel's already standing again.

"What are you doing?" you ask, though you're aware. You've seen that spark in his eye before. Never for you, never for you. You've seen it in alleyways, in the dark moments between smuggling runs when things go bad and someone tries to cheat him. You've seen Joel press a man into a wall for skimming a quarter of a ration card. You've never seen him like this.

"I'm making sure that everybody in this damn neighborhood knows not to lay a hand on you."

You rise, wincing at the soreness in your side, taking his arm. "And then what? You think this makes it better? You go down there and beat them bloody, you think it won't draw more heat? You think they won't come back?"

He looks down at your hand on his arm, then back up into your eyes. Something liquid in him now—dark, hot, and ancient.

"No," he says, "I don't think they'll be back. Because I'm not gonna kill 'em."

That surprises you. He says it like he's doing you a favor.

"I'm gonna let 'em live. Barely. Enough so every motherfucker they know gets the message: you don't touch what's mine."

Your mouth goes dry. "I don't belong to you."

Joel's hand comes up to your jaw, slow, his thumb hardly grazing the dried blood at the corner of your lip. "Don't you?" he asks.

You gaze at him, chest constricting, pulse pounding so hard it's even more painful against your bruised ribs. The truth between you like a question you've never been brave enough to ask. It's always been like this—after runs, in other people's rooms, in the dark still when you both needed something warm. You've fucked him more times than you can recall, against mildewed mattresses and wet brick walls, whispered things that you both pretended didn't mean anything. You let him touch you like he meant it, and he did. You let yourself feel it, even when you told yourself that you wouldn't.

You could lie now.

You don't.

Joel sees it in your face before you've said a word, and his jaw tenses again, not in anger now, but in something more like hunger. Possession. He moves in slow, like he's giving you the opportunity to make him stop—but you don't. You let his mouth brush against yours, slow and claiming, and when he kisses you it's different from before—there's no urgency, no chase of release. This kiss is telling you you're his, and he's making sure you know.

When he pulls back, he whispers, "Stay here. I'll be back in a few hours."

You almost argue. But there is no point. Not the way he says it. Not the way his eyes are.

And when he comes back, it's nearly daylight.

You're half asleep on the couch, painkillers helping to ease the throbbing of your ribs, when you hear the door open. Joel enters covered in blood that isn't his—dark spots on his shirt, knuckles raw. He reeks of sweat and anger and old rust, and there's a small smile playing at the edge of his mouth that looks just a little wolfish.

"You left him alive," you say, sitting up.

"Course I did." He shrugs off his jacket, moving toward you. "He'll be front of that garage for the next two days, rolled up like a dead dog. Anybody comes by will recognize his face and know why."

You swallow. Joel stands before you, a man who's stepped across a line and isn't returning.

He bends down and touches your cheek, the pad of his thumb tender where the skin's bruised purple.

"You're mine," he whispers.

You want to interrupt. You want to deliver some diatribe about choice, about autonomy, about not belonging to anyone.

But you also remember the sensation of it—fighting for your life alone behind those cars. How no one helped. How no one cared.

And you remember how Joel looked at you tonight, like there was nothing else in the world but the sight of you hurt.

So you nod once, slowly. "Okay."

His mouth shatters yours in the next heartbeat, all heat and claim and promise of something finally real. And when he takes you to bed, he's careful with the bruises. His hands are rough but respectful. His mouth whispers your name like a prayer.

It's not just a casual fuck anymore.

It hasn't been in a long time.

#pedro pascal #pedropascal #joel miller #joelmiller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #pedro pascal x reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fanfic #joel miller fic #qz!joel #pedro pascal fandom

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finallychaoticeffigy · 2 days ago

Text

Yandere murderer x reader

Liking the idea of a 6'6 man holding an axe who is obsessed with you chasing you down the forest

You barely have no memory of meeting him. You just remembered him dropping something and being the nice person you are, you helped him. You could make out the image of the huge man blushing like a tomato as he stuttered the word 'thank you'. You smiled and continued on walking.

Then it all began, the killings. Strange things start happening around you. You lived a pretty normal life in your 19 years of living. So the sequence of events clearly startled you. Your college classmate who insulted you, died. Your aunt who said mean things about you, dead, and many many more people who did you dirty was strangely murdered in some gruesome ways. The police who investigated things told everyone that it was done by the same person.

The rumor about the murders quickly spread like wildfire. Everyone was afraid. Some people don't even want to go out anymore. Everyone...except your friends who probably have nine lives suggested that you all camp in the middle of nowhere.

"What ! Are you crazy!! Boy didn't you all hear about the murders going around?" your friend Sam pointed out

"Pfff... Come on , we're gonna be fine.... It will be a fun experience i promise " Fin said as he dropped an arm around her shoulder as she blushed, clearly flustered

"yeah I'll come too" Alex said nonchalantly clearly unbotherd as he played with his phone

"O-ok fine... Only if Y/n will come" she said and removed Fin's arm around her. Those two clearly liked each other,,, everyone can see with their eyes closed except themselves.

I mentally slapped myself. "Fine" i sigh "But if we felt like something was wrong we'll immediately get the hell out "

"Good... It's settled " Fin again declared as he clapped.

+++++++++-----------+++++++++++-+

It's now evening... You all gathered around the fireplace as you talked about random stuff. It's pretty fun, you admitted.

" Having a great time?" Alex asked as he sat besides you

You nodded and gave him a small smile

"There's only two tents... Two people will obviously have to share " he explained

"It's getting late... Maybe we should all call it a night?" You stood up

"Sam let's share the ten-"

You cut Fin off "Hey... Sam will share it with me, were both girls "

She glared at you "I'll share a tent with Fin , Y/n go share yours with alex ... It's not like it's anything new"

"What does that supposed to mean?"

"Oh come on you're a slut...... It's not like it's a secret" she casually said and took Fin's hand.

You gasped at her words... How dare she? You're a freaking virgin for gods sake. You never even held a guys hand romantically before.

You were about to throw those words out when a man appeared behind them. A very tall man standing about 6'6 raised an axe hitting her neck.

You all froze as her head rolled to the ground. Blood spurted out spraying Fin. Her headless body dropped. He didn't stop. He began to hit her body multiple times .

"HOW .....hit .....DARE... hit ....YOU! " He shouted angrily.

Fin suddenly lunged at him with a metal chair. "YOU ASSHOLE" he hit him but he didn't even budge.

His attention turned to him. He raised the bloody axe he was holding and hit him.

You finally let out a scream . You felt Alex's hands pulling you away as you both ran for your lives.

"W-what was that" you shakingly mumbled, branches hitting you as you ran fast.

"Y/n it is exactly what we saw. Now we need to go to the place where we parked the car and get the hell out of here. "

"Y/n ! Baby come here ! Come back !" You felt shivers as you both turned around and saw him chasing you both.

"Run fast !" Alex said panicking

"No ! Don't touch the hands of my Y/n ! She's mine ! " he growled and you screamed .

"I'll kill you! You bastard! I'll fucking murder you just like your useless friends! "

He suddenly disappeared and you sigh in relief thinking you had lost him.

You both hid under a large tree catching your breath. "Fuck" Alex cursed, you looked at his hands still holding yours, shaking.

"Is it still far? The car? "

"Unfortunately Y/n I don't know anymore... It's too dark . I think we're lost" he said as he pants

You suddenly shrieked as the same axe that had killed your friends flew at Alex hitting him at his chest.

You got up and began running again crying. You're feeling very scared, tired and out of breath. But you don't stop , if you did he'll catch you.

It's too dark and quiet. You suddenly bumped into something. Please let it be a tree. Please. You prayed quietly. Don't let it be him please.

His arms wrapped tightly around you like a snake. You felt him sniff your neck and proceeded to lick you. You can't see his face but you can feel him smiling.

"My Darling Y/n. You're finally mine, Let's live together and forever now....Hmm?" He cooed and licked your face.

He picks you up and begins telling you how much he loves you and adores every little thing about you.

You're tired and you're feeling dizzy. You felt yourself slowly passing out because of exhaustion and at the touch of this monster holding you.

"I love you so much Y/n . You're only mine"

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consistantly-changing · 2 days ago

Photo

[Image descriptions in order: a Reddit post on r/whatsthatbook by u/clownthrowawayhelp, titled "help solve a fight with my girlfriend - book with monster clown that can turn into fears but NOT king's IT???" The post is tagged "solved", and says:

i say it's not king's IT she says it is. we've been disagreeing about this on and off for a year because she keeps bringing up scenes and going on about how good they were in the book but i've read IT and those scenes aren't in it. she says i read IT too long ago to remember. fair. it was a while. but she read it over five years ago too!

scenes she remembers that i don't remember in the og book: it was set at a school camp during the kid bits and there were adult scenes too 20-something years later but she doesn't remember them because they "weren't as good". the kids are different ages ranging from 5 to 20. there's a demon clown thing hunting them and it keeps turning into the things they're scared of to try eat them.

she remembers a scene where there was a rabid bear and one of the teenagers set it on fire using hairspray. at the end the clown is a female and there's eggs, and every kid in the camp ends up ganging up to try beat the clown to death with rocks. there's also a bit with some weird rapey werewolves but she's less certain about that.

she remembers some scenes that are definitely from IT too like the fridge and bill's bike and the bullies lost in the sewers so im pretty sure she's mixing up IT and some other book. i need to find the other book or we're both going to die mad about this. we need closure

sorry if this isn't the right place i don't use reddit but i'm desperate to solve this i need to be validated

she asked me to add this edit of things she also remembers even though she said she wants nothing to do with my search since she knows shes right - these are all quotes:

"the little guys died first and it was dreadful"

"there were so many horrible scenes in the camp bathroom king (she says)/the author as of yet unknown (i say) must have something against public bathrooms and by the time i was done reading i did too"

"someone died so enthusiastically they painted the wall with their insides"

"at least one person maybe more was described as 'unzipped' by the time the clown was done"

"there were at least two horny scenes" <-- look how can she say this and still think its king the man is like 80% horny scenes 70% scary scenes and theyre usually overlapping]

[Screenshots of the comments of the post.

There is a comment thread which says

u/Deejaymil: Hey OP, does your gf read fanfiction by any chance?

u/clownthrowawayhelp: she says no but she didn't say no fast if you get what i mean, very suspicious stuff. and now she's giving me guilty looks. if she's been telling me how good some random fanfiction is for the last 12 months while thinking it was the og i'm taking my pajamas and going home

u/Deejaymil: Haha hey this is awkward

Hate to break it to you both but I think she's mixing up IT with a couple of fanfics. I can't link them because they're locked behind a privacy wall but one is an IT/Criminal Minds crossover (most of what you've described, though the details aren't quite right), and the werewolf thing is a different Criminal Minds fic from the same author. Ask her if the camp they were at was called Camp Moribund, if you need evidence for your validation.

u/clownthrowawayhelp: i cant believe gabby has done this to me

she left the room when i told her it's a fanfiction and then she came back to ask how you could possibly know that and now she's left again. i think you got it. she wouldn't be so mad otherwise

u/Deejaymil: I know because I wrote them Imao]

[u/clownthrowawayhelp: you are the best thing to ever happen to my relationship god bless your socks i will die telling this story to my children's children. i'm so happy i could cry

sorry if my post sounded like it was dragging your horny scenes i'm sure they're tasteful horny

thank you for devastating my girl's emotional wellbeing she needed this]

[u/Deejaymil: I feel like I've walked into a crowded room and everyone has stopped talking and turned to stare at me, this is the worst whatsthatbook solve I've managed yet haha. Usually I just saunter into the obscure animal book threads because I was cat-obsessed as a child...]

[u/Deejaymil: I'm never going to emotionally recover from this.]

[u/Deejaymil: Haha well, in honour of OP's poor girlfriend here's the IT one. I turned off the privacy setting so it should be accessible without a log-in. She faced her demons today so I can face mine.

u/clownthrowawayhelp: she says "thanks this is exactly it. if i can't have my dignity, at least i have something to read"

cheers. guess ill have to read it too now just to find out why she loves the bear versus hairspray scene so much

u/justmyrealname: "If I can't have my dignity, at least I have something to read" is such a good line]

help

#books #fanfiction

229K notes · View notes

borathae · 2 days ago

Text

Killin' It Boy | JHS x f.Reader

“Jung Hoseok is many a thing in your life: Best friend. Part time lover. Eyecandy. And subject of your horniest desires. One night you stay over at his place, but fall asleep before anything can happen. You wake up the next morning needing him like you need air and he just so happens to need you too.”

Pairing: Hoseok x f.Reader (can be read without prior lore knowledge)

Genre: best friends with benefits!AU, Smut, Fluff if you squint really hard

Warnings: Hobi in a tanktop & grey sweats <3, Rougher Dom!Hoseok, needy sub!Reader, she just "casually" wears a thong around him, which obviously earns her what she deserves (a good dickening), making out & groping in his kitchen, which then continues in his bedroom, body worship for both, nipple play & licking for both, strength & muscle kink, now hear me out about the main thing!! she massages lube on his abs and then grinds on them :), yes this an ab humping fic :), multiple orgasms (f.receiving), afterwards he dicks her down HARD, clit play, breast play, choking & spanking (f.receiving), messy orgasms, creampie, cumming all over her chest, which he licks off <3, he calls her babygirl & good girl, the praisiest praise ever, this man can DIRTY TALK LORDD, i need a respirator fr, loving & soft aftercare

Wordcount: 6.9k

a/n: i don't want to talk about it. this is not how i wanted to return from my break but here we are 😶 i want to formally apologise for the damage this will do to you besties' pussies but i also want to say you're welcum. i put my entire sibussy into this story and it didn't help because hobi is still fucking haunting me omfg oh lord i need to run against a wall and forget all my memories fr 😩 have fun my whores i'm happy to be back 🖤

You are at Hoseok’s today.

Well, technically you are still at Hoseok’s after staying the night. Nothing happened. It was quite simple. The others aren’t currently at the estate and you grew tired of being alone. Taehyung and Jimin are on a best friend bonding trip to Hawaii, Jungkook is staying with Seokjin in Gordes because he really missed him and Yoongi had to spontaneously leave for Geneva to help his long term friend Fredrick with sorting out some issues.

And you? You honestly didn’t feel like going on a trip. So you stayed behind. You cleaned, did some gardening, you read, you took walks and enjoyed time alone. But then you got bored and so you took one very long walk to Hoseok’s.

That was yesterday and he welcomed you with homemade iced tea and pasta for dinner.

“Somehow I always end up eating pasta at your place”, you told him, enjoying it wholeheartedly.

“Sorry, it’s not my intention.”

“It’s totally fine. You make one hell of a pesto.”

Later you watched a movie where you fell asleep on his chest. Nothing happened.

Hoseok must have been awake for a while. His side is empty and cold. Which is a fucking shame because the second you woke up, you craved him. In more ways than one. You wanted his cuddles, desired his kisses and needed his touch. You huff air in frustration, staring at the empty bed longingly. It would have been so awesome if he was still here. He is always so warm in the morning and said warmth really brings out how amazing he smells.

You sit up and roll out of bed to leave for the bathroom so you can freshen up a little.

Hoseok is a very clean person. Quite frankly, he is the tidiest person you know. Each thing has his designated spot and things like dust or flyaway hairs were nonexistent in his bathroom. He left the door open and the scent of his shower gel still lingers in the air. You enjoy it as you wash your face and brush your teeth, eyes travelling over the tidy set up. He left his cologne outside today, which is totally shocking but also very tempting. You finish cleaning up and pick up the cologne to steal a sniff. Woody cedar meets warm grapefruit with a hint of shiso. It is masculine and sensual. If you could, you would bathe in it. It smells so good and knowing that he probably put it on after his shower makes you just a little droopy.

Now, you must be excused. Being close to Hoseok is very difficult because he is just so attractive. Yesterday, he opened the door in a tank top and some baggy grey sweats and you almost barked at him. It also doesn’t help that he is starting to get serious with you. Granted, you always knew that he wasn’t the funny perverted jokester he most of the times likes to give himself as, but seeing his more serious side become the norm around you just kind of hits different. He is so attractive when he simply exists without trying to put on a show. It’s in the little things. The way he closes a cabinet with his hip, the way he offers you something to drink and always makes sure that you are taken care of or when he tells you about his day while you rest on his chest and he traces your arm. He is so him these days. So completely and attractively mundane and normal and because of that, incredibly sexy.

Point being, you are just a little upset that last night didn’t lead to anything more and so you leave for downstairs with a plan. You are wearing nothing more than your lacy bra and a matching thong. You rarely wear thongs, because let’s be honest, they are fucking uncomfortable. You only wear them when you want to seduce someone and this is your plan. Seduce Hoseok.

Your heart races. This is something you never did before with him. You have no idea how he will react or if he will even like it. You might actually dissolve into dust of embarrassment if he ends up being weirded out. After all, you and he aren’t an official thing and stuff like surprising each other in your underwear isn’t just something that happens. But if you don’t try, you will always regret it.

Hoseok is eating his world-famous breakfast croffles (he always has to make them when you stay for breakfast) and sips on coffee when you enter the kitchen. He is engrossed in a video on his phone, judging by the sounds it is a dancing competition video.

“Good morning.”

“Good morning, one second I can’t look away. My favourite’s dancing.”

Just as you had figured.

“Yeah? Are they any good?”

“She’s fucking sick. I’ve never seen such footwork before. How the hell is she even doing that?” he says and moves the phone closer to see better.

You run your eyes over him. Baggy grey sweats and a white tanktop, dark hair styled messily on purpose and fingers adorned by rings. He is so attractive without even trying.

This is killing you. Your heart might give up before anything else. Hoseok keeps murmuring and mumbling to himself while you prepare a cup of tea. You know your way around the kitchen, so it is easy to do.

“Are you hungry? I’ll make you croffles”, he offers without looking up.

“Sure, I could go for a bite.”

“Alright, I’ll make them soon.”

“Yeah, take your time.”

He hums and continues watching. The water finishes boiling in the time being. You fill your designated mug, watching the tea bag tint the water caramel slowly.

“Damn, that was sick”, Hoseok lets out behind you.

The dance must have finished because you can hear the distinct sound of a phone being set down. It is now or never.

You keep your back turned to him, acting busy and hoping that he looks.

“So sorry, I would have been so upset if I missed that, but now you have me all to-”

One second.

“What the fuck?” a very quiet whisper.

Two seconds.

“-yourself.” Loud again. “Damn, what’s going on with your clothes?”

“Why? What do you mean?”

“You didn’t wear that to sleep. Where’s your pjs gone?”

You turn and shrug your shoulders.

“Didn’t feel like it.”

His eyes are all over you, trying to undress what little clothing still covers you.

“Well fuck”, he says and drops into his chair, running his hand over his mouth. He meets your eyes. “Not gonna lie, ___, this is making the morning a lot sweeter.”

“It is?”

“You’re like a dream, Seriously, the sweetest dream. Damn, just, sorry I’m inappropriate. It’s just underwear and I’m acting like I’ve never seen a woman in a thong before. Sorry.”

“You’re alright”, you say and chuckle, “I like it.”

You turn again so you can get some milk. You like your morning tea with milk. Anyone who hates this combination doesn’t know true culinary luxury.

“Fucking hell ___, you’re… Nah, that’s too much.”

He stands up and closes the distance. His hand brushes your waist.

“Please look at me”, he says, using his sexy voice for it.

You turn. His gaze is darkened in desire, making sinful love to you as he looks you deep into the eyes.

“Tell me that I’m not reading into this too much and you’re not just wearing this for the sake of wearing it.”

“I wanna tell you something about me.”

“Tell me.”

“I actually hate wearing thongs. They’re things of evil.”

He chuckles, sliding his fingers under the very thin string which sits on your hip.

“So why are you?”

“Because…” you begin to whisper, closing the distance so he can taste the words.

Hoseok’s purrs softly, parting his lips. Your breath taste minty and like temptation. He craves to fill his lungs with you.

“...I had hoped that you would like them”, you finish your sentence, raking your fingers up his sculpted chest.

“I do. I like them.”

Closer. Your lips almost touch.

“Good.”

“Kiss me.” He cups your cheek, chasing your lips.

“You first.”

Hoseok smiles in amusement, eyes flickering darkly. He slides his hand to the back of your head and pulls you in. You moan, knees buckling and body chasing him instinctively. He tastes sweet like the maple syrup he likes on his croffles. His lips are so soft, drawing you in. He is definitely the one to decide the rhythm. You just have to take it, keep up with it and you do. You take it with a racing heart, moaning every time he runs his tongue over your lips. You keep up with it, touching his body because you need to have all of him. His arms are so defined without being too overly bulky. His waist is so tiny and firm and his chest is strong with the perkiest of nipples. You rub them over his tanktop. He moans softly, following it with a chuckle. He sways your bodies from side to side, wrapping his strong arms around you so he can press you against him. He purrs deeply, letting you taste his desire in a slow tongue kiss.

You moan into his mouth. It feels so good to be held that tight just because you played with his nipples. Hoseok is so good in communicating with his body and he just doesn’t stop talking. As you continue to rub and explore his chest, he continues to purr and allows his hands to travel over your back. He uses his entire palms for it, making sure that you can feel every touch he places.

You switch your touch to his neck, ruffling up his hair and meeting his tongue with your own. He sucks on your tongue with a moan, squeezing your ass. He does it so desperately that you kind of wobble from side to side, getting on your tiptoes because he lifts you just a little.

“Jump”, he orders and you follow.

He catches you, bouncing you in his arms so he gets a better grip of you and kissing you as he does. You moan, grinding against his stomach and twisting his hair. His hands are under your ass, his arms flex as he carries you with ease. His kiss tastes like heaven, but you take it away when he sits you down on the kitchen counter and you have to gasp.

“Cold”, you whine.

“Hm, sorry”, he purrs, making it up to you by kissing your neck and shoulders. He is breathing heavily, constantly purring and moaning because the mere existence of you seems to drive him wild.

You don’t even care about the cold stone under your butt anymore. Not when he raises the fire in your veins. You close your eyes, gripping the edge of the counter and keeping him close with your legs. He feels them up, kissing a hungry path down to your breasts.

“So sexy, you’re so sexy”, he lulls, grinding into you with a shaky moan.

Thud.

“Ouch.”

He shoots up.

“What was that?”

You are pouting, rubbing your head, “I hit my head on the cabinet.”

Hoseok laughs, “are you okay?” he asks, petting the aching spot.

“No. You made me roll my head back with your stupid grinding and I hit it.”

He chuckles, “okay Miss Clumsy, let’s remove you from danger”, he says and lifts you off the counter.

You giggle, ruffling his hair and gazing down at him.

“Where are you taking me?”

“Bedroom”, he says, “now fucking kiss me.”

You don’t need to be told twice. Kissing him is like a drug and you are its addict. You kiss him as he leaves the kitchen, you kiss him as he walks up the stairs and you kiss him as he lies you down in his soft bed. He is the one to break the kiss, but the pleasure continues. Your neck gets kissed and sucked and because it’s Hoseok and his entire deal is being sexy, he bites you as well.

You mewl, rolling your hips up in desperate search for friction. He helps you find it on his hand. He hooks his pinkie in your thongs and pulls it to the side, connecting his thumb with your pussy so you can grind down on it.

“Hobi, oh god.”

“I love how fucking wet you already are, you’re just so good for me”, he praises. He hooks his other hand in your bra, tugging the right cup to the side so he has access to your nipple. He wraps his wet, warm and soft mouth around it, sucking on it gently and flicking his tongue over it.

If he didn’t have you wrapped all around his fingers, he definitely would now.

“Stop”, you gasp, pulling his hand away, “stop, please stop.”

“What’s the matter?” he asks, retreating his hand.

“You’re too good, I’m excited.” You fluster. “I almost came.”

He chuckles, eyes sparkling mischievously.

“Don’t laugh. This is really exciting for me.”

“Why? I’m just getting you ready.”

“I wanted you the moment I woke up.”

He widens his eyes, “really?”

“Yeah.”

“Well damn. I don’t know what to say.”

You touch his chest, “I want something.”

“Tell me.”

“I want you to be rough today, okay? No more of that careful shit.”

He chuckles, “alright, I can do that. Anything else?”

“If you want to, you can choke me or spank me.”

“Hot. That’s hot.”

“So?”

“Yes, baby. Yes”, he says and kisses you again.

You moan in happiness, dragging your hands down his torso until you reach his pants. You slip your hands inside. Hoseok follows your hands just to take his pants off. The kiss has to break when he has to step out of them. A pair of tight boxers keeps his hard cock pressed to his thigh. He is soaking the grey fabric. The view is so hot but nothing beats the view of his abs as he takes off his tanktop. He throws it to the side and steps out of his boxers, wanting to reclaim his spot between your legs afterwards but you are faster.

You sit up, surprising him by pushing him down into the sheets by his chest.

“Alright, is this what we’re doing?” he laughs, dropping down willingly.

You climb his lap, sitting down right under his hard cock. He smiles in amusement, caressing your thighs.

“You’re so sweet”, he purrs, feeling up your waist.

“Mhm”, you hum absentmindedly, lowering your mouth to his neck to worship it needily. He smells like his cologne. You quite frankly lick and suck it off of him while Hoseok gasps for air and moans in pleasure.

You only leave his neck once you consumed all of his scent, having come to the conclusion that the rest of his body smells just as good.

“Oh shit”, he lets out under his breath, chest heaving up and down quickly as you lick his nipples.

But again, you don’t stay for too long. This isn’t what you crave the most. This isn’t what you have been thinking about ever since you saw him in this stupidly tight tanktop.

“Your abs are insane. Actually insane”, you say, dragging your tongue down the middle of them. Your hands follow it along his waist, thumbs running over his obliques. Hoseok chases your mouth, abs rippling under your tongue. He sighs, skin tingling.

You are so greedy. Your mind is going wild.

“I wanna grind on them”, you murmur to yourself.

“Then do.”

“Hm?”

Hoseok props himself up on his elbows. You look at him with widened eyes.

“You heard that?”

“You weren’t really quiet, were you?” He smirks. “Do it. I don’t have them for nothing you know? I bet I can make you cum on them.”

“Holy moly, Hoseok.”

His smirk grows. He cups your cheek and traces your lips.

“Deal?”

“Yeah. Deal”, you sigh and kiss him.

Hoseok drops into the sheets and grabs your ass, moaning deeply. His grip is gentle but also, for a lack of a better word, possessive. He makes sure that you can feel it – feel him – but not in a way which would hurt. This is supposed to be good for you and it is. Hoseok is so fucking good for you.

He makes you laugh, he lets you cry, he protects you, he listens to you and remembers mundane stuff like your favourite croffle toppings. And he feels like ecstasy when you touch. He is so fucking good for you.

“Hobi…” you sigh into the kiss.

“Hm?” he purrs, rubbing your buttocks.

“You’re so addictive.”

He laughs, “what are you saying?”

“Just…fucking want you.”

He moans as you kiss him, giving you a gentle push to make you finally scoot up his body. He is needy too. He can’t deny it anymore.

The kiss has to break for the thing to work. His head is supported by two pillows, laying higher this way so he has good view of his abs.

You crawl off his lap. Hoseok watches with heavy eyes as you take off your thong. Then you walk off.

“Hey, where are you going?” he asks, furrowing his brows.

“Drawer was it?” you ask, walking to his bedside table.

“For what? Come back here.”

You open the drawer. Bingo.

“Lube”, you say and show him the bottle of water based lube he keeps close by.

Hoseok tuts, smirking in amusement.

“What do you need that for, mhm?”

“You’ll see.”

You climb back on his lap and sit down. Hoseok instantly touches you, running his hands up and down your thighs and waist. He looks at you as if he wanted to devour you whole.

“So sexy. My babygirl’s so fucking sexy”, he purrs, spurring you on.

With confidence, you open the bottle of lube and squirt a sinful amount of it onto his abs. They twitch and flex as a reaction to the cold.

“Shit.” He laughs, squeezing your hips. “That’s cold, gotta warn me.”

“Where’s the fun in that? I could watch your abs twitch like that”, you say and put the bottle aside. You connect your hands with his stomach to massage the lube all over his skin.

“That’s hot…fuck, I like that”, he purrs, tensing and relaxing his abs wherever you touch him. “Yeah, just like that, babygirl…”

“How do you even get these abs? They’re insane.”

“Workouts, dancing, I’m just sexy, what can I say”, he says, following it with a rather cutesy giggle.

You agree, “you are. You’re so sexy.”

You spread the excess lube on your pussy and finally do what you need. You position yourself above his abs.

“That’s so hot. Use me, babygirl, you got it”, he encourages you, offering you his hands if you needed support. He has his arms propped on his elbows so you can really lean your weight on them.

You take them, of course you do. Those are Hoseok’s hands. You would be dumb if you didn’t take them. The lube smears between your palms, forcing him to grip you so much tighter than he normally needs to. It’s so sexy.

Your pussy touches his stomach. You exhale shakily, heart beginning to race. This is new to you and it’s already amazing.

“That’s good, babygirl. You like that?”

“Yeah, I do”, you say and begin moving. You roll your hips up and down on his abs, finding out soon enough that you can feel the definition. “Okay, woah yeah I do.”

He chuckles, rolling his lower lip between his teeth. He can’t decide whether to look at your pretty pussy on his abs or your cute face scrunched up in concentration. Maybe both because he is fucking into you. So into you.

“Take it at your pace, yeah? I’m right here, just enjoy.”

“Hoseok…”

Your pussy is mesmerising. The angle naturally hides a lot from his eyes, but what Hoseok can see is enough to drive him insane. You fit right around his abs, moving so perfectly on him. He feels you getting wetter and wetter. It’s so warm, really bringing out how fucking soft you are.

“Hobi, you feel so good”, you get out, squeezing his hands.

“I do?” He flexes his abs.

“A-ah”, you moan with your voice pitched, scrunching your nose.

“So sexy”, Hoseok whispers, doing it again just to hear you moan and feel you clench.

You didn’t think that you could feel it so well. You could fucking count them just by rubbing your pussy over them.

One, two, three.

“Hoseok, ah, Hoseok.”

Four, five.

“You’re such a pretty woman, riding my abs so well. Good girl, make yourself feel good.”

Six, seven.

“Hobi please.”

Eight. He’s got an eight pack. This sexy motherfucker actually has an eight pack and its currently getting marked by you. He is the canvas and you are the artist, creating impure art.

“Please what, babygirl? Want me to help you?”

You open your bra and take it off.

“Touch me”, you beg, guiding his lube covered hands to your tits.

His abs tense under you because of the position. He purrs deeply, watching with widened pupils as he covers your breasts in a sinful layer of lube. He rubs his palms all over your chest, drags them down your sides and up over your stomach, repaying the favour this way. Now you are both covered in lube, skin glistening in the morning light and bodies heated up.

“My sexy woman. Fuck, lube’s your best look”, he rasps, cupping your breasts to knead them in his messy fingers.

You twitch and tremble on him, leaking more of you on his hard abs. Praise paired with his touches is a difficult combination to handle. It turns you on so much to be messy and he is calling you sexy for it.

You press yourself tighter to his abs, speeding up your movements because he has you desperate. It squelches in wet sin, only adding to the pleasure. The fact that you can hear the texture of them…

“Fuck, this feels so good…”

“Yeah? Like it?”

“So much, ahm…”

“That’s it. Ride my abs, good girl. You’re such a good girl”, he praises, rewarding you with his thumbs on your nipples. It’s like he knows how a woman works. It’s insane how good his touch feels. Just one second of it and you already find yourself addicted to it.

“Hoseok, fuck please.”

“Tell me, babygirl.”

“Don’t stop.”

“Won’t.”

“Thank you”, you moan and throw your head back, arching your back. You grab his strong arms, chasing the feeling of him. His hands on you, his thumbs on your nipples and his abs under your leaking cunt. You chase it, chase it, chase it and it’s getting better and better.

By now you have his abs so messy that creamy strings of your slick stick to his skin, webbing themselves from muscle to muscle. It looks so good against his honey skin.

You don’t get to see it. Your eyes are rolled back by now.

But Hoseok sees it and he is hooked up on the view, leaking on his lowest abs and wishing for you to just take him in. But he can’t rush you. He promised you an orgasm on his abs and he isn’t one to break promises. Especially not when it comes to you. You’re fucking precious to him and the promises he makes you, sacred.

So he keeps his fantasy a little fantasy while he tenses and flexes his abs under your puffy cunt and plays with your pretty nipples. He switches between massages of your chest and attention to your nipples with little flicks and rubs. The pleasure courses through you in waves.

“I think I’m close.”

“That’s so good. You’re doing so well”, he praises, sitting up more just so his abs ripple for you.

You shake, digging your fingers into his arms.

“Oh fuck.”

“You feel me?”

“Yeah, I feel you…”

“Mhhm I feel you too. You’re so sexy on my abs. My sexy babygirl”, he rasps and takes your nipples between his fingers to tug gently and rub them. At the same time he rolls his hips up, letting you feel how his abs work when he fucks.

“Hoseok holy fuck, ah!” you croak and break. Your entire body just freezes. Hoseok moans loudly at the feeling of your throbbing pussy and takes your hips between his hands just to move them over his abs for you.

You sob, gripping his wrists as you tremble. You thought it couldn’t get any better, but he proves you wrong as he guides you.

“Ho-hobi. Hobi please. Please.”

“I know babygirl, I know. You’re cumming so good for me. Don’t worry, I’ve got you.”

“Hobi…”

“I’ve got you. I’m here”, he talks you through it because that’s what he does. He talks you through it, helps you ride it out and enjoys the sensations with a dizzy head.

He can feel when it stops for you. He is so fucking greedy for more but knows not to be. You always get a little vulnerable after your first orgasm. It’s as if your mind finally catches up with the fact that you were horny and it is figuring out whether to be embarrassed or want more.

You sit on him with your entire weight, eyes widened and glassy.

“I…”

“Hush, you’re okay”, Hoseok assures you, lifting you just to sit up and put you down on his lap instead. The creamy mess you left on his abs smears all over your stomach now that are you so close. He has his hands on your back, holding you safely as he kisses your neck.

“What are you doing to me?” you choke out, dropping into him.

He moves his head so it wouldn’t get squished. His chin now rests against your shoulder while you have your face pressed into the crook of his neck. Your arms are hooked behind his head and your hands are in his hair.

“I promised you an orgasm on my abs, didn’t I?” he speaks in a soft voice, scratching your back soothingly.

“Yeah, but.”

“But what?”

“It felt so good.”

He chuckles, squeezing your buttocks.

“So? Where’s the problem?”

You lift your head, meeting his eyes. You cup his face.

“I want more.”

“What was that?”

“I want more”, you say and slide your hand to his cock.

Hoseok tenses his stomach, showing you with a slight squint of his eyes that he feels your touch and he likes it.

“Tell me”, he rasps.

“I want more, please.”

“No. Tell me that you can’t get enough.”

“I can’t get enough.”

He smiles darkly, lowering his eyes seductively. He moves his head closer, letting you taste his words.

“Beg for it.”

“I can’t get enough, please Hobi.”

“You can do better than that”, he rasps, looking at your lips.

“Fuck. Please fuck me, I want more of you, please”, you beg, heart racing like crazy and head dizzy. It’s so hot to have to beg. Especially when he makes you work for it. And you work for it. You grind your hips down on his thigh, twisting your hand around his cock in hopes of convincing him.

“I like that, babygirl. Say it again. One more time”, he whispers, craving to kiss you. Your hand on his cock is making it so difficult to hold back.

“You’re a tease”, you whine.

“Fucking say it again, babygirl”, he orders, giving your ass a warning squeeze.

“Please fuck me, please don’t tease me anymore please”, you whimper and try to warm his heart by dancing your tongue over his lips.

Hoseok growls and moves quickly. He picks you up only to pin you into the sheets and give you what you ask for.

You squeak, tensing up in surprise.

He knows how to do it so it fills you with electrical shocks of pleasure. He soaks up the view of your surprised eyes widening only to go out of focus and roll back all within a second.

“Go on say it. Say what you’re thinking”, he challenges you, pumping his aching cock into you in a desperate rhythm.

“Feels so good. Hobi, you feel so good.”

“Yeah? And what do well mannered women do, mhm?”

“Moan for you,” you moan, arching your back.

He chuckles, sliding his hand under your back and rewarding you with his entire length.

“Good guess, but no.”

You squeeze down on him so hard that he knows it was intentional. He growls, twisting the sheets beside your head.

“No, that’s not either. Go on, use your brain. What do we say after getting something?”

“Thank you”, you moan, twisting the sheets as well. There are no words on this earth to describe how good his cock makes you feel. First his abs get you sensitive and now you have his girthy cock splitting you open. This is actual heaven.

“Good girl. That’s it. Thank me. Go on.”

“Thank you. Thank you. Thank you”, you chant, getting louder and needier because your moans earn you more and more of what he has to offer.

He moves his hips as if he was on stage, performing and dancing just for your pleasure. Your second thank you earns you his skilled fingers on your clit and your third thank you earns you his other hand around your throat.

“Hoseok!” you wail, grasping his lower arm just to squeeze him closer to your throat.

He purrs deeply, tightening his fingers. Your pulse races like crazy, fluttering and faltering as he slowly and gently cuts off the blood flow to your brain. He towers over you, kneeling on the sheets as he makes dirty love to you. But you don’t get to see how sexy he looks. Your eyes are squeezed shut, your mind is completely lost in the pleasure.

“I’m going insane, you feel so fucking good. Fucking wanted you like crazy”, he says and moans loudly.

You match his freak with an even louder moan, clenching down on his cock because vocal men are such a turn on. Especially when it’s Hoseok. His voice is fucking made to make sex noises.

“Shit, woah…that feels good. Do it again”, he moans.

You clench, toes curling because it makes it a lot better for you as well. You can feel every vein on his cock this way, can feel his tip fuck against your g-spot and feel his base stretch you out. So you clench and clench and clench, whimpering and mewling for him.

“Yes”, he growls, chasing the tight heaven you offer him, “yes, yes, fucking yes. Babygirl, yes.”

He fucks you right where it feels the best. Over and over again he hits The Spot while his fingers flick your clit quickly and his hand reminds your throat that you are his’.

“Yes, babgirl, yes. You-”

“Hoseok”, you interrupt him.

“Yes?”

“You’re making me- oh god, Hoseok please. I have to- ah!”

“It’s okay, you can cum. Don’t hold back”, he encourages you, helping you with a soft rub on your clit and by letting go of your neck.

“Thank you!” You climax on his cock with a sob, writhing in ecstasy because this is so much more intense than the first one. Your head pounds from the blood rushing back. You feel your orgasm everywhere between your legs, thanking him over and over again.

“That’s it, don’t hold back. Good girl, I can’t get enough of you”, he talks you through it just as he fucks you through it. He doesn’t slow down. Why should he? When it makes you feel so good.

“More. More please. Please, oh. Please.”

“Wasn’t gonna stop anyway”, he says and easily fixes you to how he wants you. He rolls you to your side and bends your leg around his hips. He faces your pussy and just like this, he enters you. He gives you all of him, watching in delight how you tense up and writhe in pleasure because the position allows him to hit your g-spot more precisely.

“Thank you. Hobi please. Thank you.”

“I fucking love when you beg like this. Makes me wanna fuck you so much harder”, he purrs, using his abs and back muscles to give you the fuck of your lifetime.

Hoseok is many a thing. Best friend. Occasional lover. Artist. Pornstar, dancer and man obsessed. One thing is for sure however, he will use his mesmerising ability to move his hips to give you cock in ways you haven’t experienced yet. This is a passion project for him and he treats his passion projects with utmost and precise care. Because he likes them to be perfect.

If that means that he has to rearrange your guts and permanently carve himself into your walls, then so be it. Hoseok is down for the ride.

“Please, Hobi. It’s too much”, you sob and bury your face in the mattress. He watches how you bite into the sheets, how you grasp them with shaky fingers and how your toes curl.

“Just say it if you want me to stop. Hm?” He stops his hips. “Wanna say it?”

“No!” you practically yell at him. “Don’t stop please!”

Hoseok chuckles and picks his rhythm back up. He spanks your ass.

“Bad girl. Yelling is rude.”

You whimper, spilling tears. This is all part of his plan isn’t it? He listened to your wishes, memorised them and then planned the sexiest way of including them. First the hand around your throat and then he works you up to be yelling just so he can spank you. Holy fuck, this is all just part of his plan.

“Again please”, you beg desperately, leaking on his cock just as you leak tears into the sheets.

Spank! In sync with a rough thrust of his skilled hips.

“Thank you!”

“You’re so polite. Keep it up, babygirl. So good”, he rasps, rewarding you with two consecutive spanks and rough thrusts.

“Thank you”, you sob, clenching down on is cock every time he lands his bejeweled hand on your ass.

“So good.”

Spank!

“Hobi”, you sob and go back to biting the sheets.

Hoseok continues. He is panting by now, growling each time he exhales. He spanks you not because you need to be punished, but as an act of infatuation. He does it because it gives you pleasure, because it makes your cunt so tight on his cock and because it makes such a pretty sound.

“Good girl, you’re taking me so well. My good fucking woman. So good”, he praises, rubbing your clit with his other hand because you deserve only the best.

“O-i im uing”, you murmur into the sheets.

“What was that?”

You show him. Hoseok yelps, tensing up.

“___ baby…holy fuck, so tight”, he moans, throwing his head back and burying his cock in you to the very base just so he can feel every second of your orgasm. He didn’t plan on making you cum already so this one comes as a surprise.

You sob and wail, convulsing in paradisal pleasure before it gets too much and you squirt all over him.

“Fucking hell, you gonna make me cum. This is so hot”, Hoseok growls, suddenly moving like a messy, clumsy teenage boy. Coordinating spanks and clit rubs is impossible and his hips stutter whenever he pushes back in. So he holds onto a good chunk of your ass, bruising it between his strong fingers as he claims your weeping cunt. You are so tight and now so fucking wet. Your orgasm sticks to his abs as well, soaking his cock and balls. The view is so sexy to him, making it hard to keep moving. “Fuck, I’m close.”

You fight yourself to your elbow and reach for him.

“Please Hobi.” you beg, dragging your nails down his abs so hard that it leaves marks.

Hoseok looks into your puppy eyes and knows that he is done for.

“___ baby”, he moans, eyes going cross before rolling back and closing. His hips stop when his cock is deepest. He grunts, scrunches his face and you can finally feel it. His hot, creamy orgasm. It fills you up, sticks to you, makes you his’.

“Thank you, ah Hoseok, thank you”, you whimper, feeling up his abs as they ripple and tense rhythmically.

“Baby, this feels so good. Holy fuck, can I cum on your chest?”

“Yeah. Please.”

“Urgh fuck”, he growls through gritted teeth and pulls out of you. He flips you to your back and spanks your clit with his cock just once to get the message across before he angles it differently and jerks off over your chest to get that last wave of pleasure all over it.

“Hobi”, you whimper, watching the sinful show with hungry eyes. Look at his abs tense…

“That’s my woman. Fucking wear me around your neck, that’s my woman. So fucking good, urgh.”

You cry for him, gazing up at him with devoted, droopy eyes. You can’t decide whether to look at his heavy cock spurting white cum all over you and his long fingers or his glistening abs or his scrunched face. Maybe you look at all of it while you touch and scratch his abs and arch your tits closer to him.

Hoseok finishes in five sloppy strokes.

“Fuck ___”, he drops his cock into the mess he just made, playing with it by swirling his hips.

“Did you like that?” you ask him in a sweet voice.

He nods his head with closed eyes, catching his breath.

“You’re so sexy, babygirl. Can’t believe you let me do that”, he says and opens his eyes.

He drags his heavy cock down to your pussy, rubbing it through your well-loved folds and over your sensitive clit.

You squeak, closing your legs.

“Sensitive.”

He chuckles, kissing your knee.

“Sorry”, he says, pushing your legs open, “let me kiss it better.”

“Hoseok, god”, you gasp and sigh, melting into the sheets as he runs his mouth over your ruined body. This is so sinful and sensual but also soothing and relaxing.

He licks the cum from your chest, kisses the sore spots on your thighs and loves your neck with his lips. The mess between your legs he leaves. Personal preference maybe. You won’t complain. It’s so nice to leak him. You feel so fulfilled.

“How are you doing?” he whispers against your ear.

“I’m in shock.”

He chuckles, “is that a good thing?”

You nod your head vigorously, giggling.

He smiles, kissing your ear before he lifts his head. He is propped up on his elbow, resting against your side which makes it easy to caress your torso. His eyes are filled with soft adoration. He is glowing when he smiles.

“So how did I do? You liked what I did?”

“I get it now”, you whisper.

“Get what now?”

“Why you’re so cocky about your skills.”

He lowers his eyes shyly.

“Don’t say that.”

“You’re so good.”

“Ah, you”, he lets out and smooches you with a giggle. “Thanks. Wah, now I’m embarrassed.”

You snicker, “don’t be. I liked it so much. Oh god, I need a minute.”

“Mhm, take your time. I’ll be here to take care of you”, he says and uses the moments of relaxation to kiss you all over your body. “I hope you don’t mind.”

“No”, you sigh, writhing in relaxing pleasure. You don’t mind at all. You could never mind him. He is permanently settled in your brain, permanently living into your heart and permanently carved into your walls.

“You’re so fucking beautiful”, he whispers, kissing your inner thighs. They smell like sex. Hoseok soaks up the scent like an addict, leaving marks of devotion next to the spots his rough handling left. He leaves out your pussy again.

“Why do you do that?” you ask, playing with his hair.

“Do what?” he asks, looking up from your lower stomach.

“Leave it out”, you say, rolling your hips up.

“Because I can and I want to”, he purrs, kissing a quick path up to your face. He lies down next to you, cradling your face. “And because you should feel me a little longer.”

“But how will I get up and eat my croffles?”

He smiles against your lips and kisses you.

“Breakfast in bed, duh.”

“Really?” you ask, eyes widened in surprise. Such romance is new from him. He makes your heart race.

“Mhm, really. You should relax, let me treat my woman.”

His woman. He kept saying it as he fucked you. You don’t correct him. You smile and nod your head.

“Yeah, okay. But I can’t guarantee that I can keep my hands to myself when you do.”

“Do you have to be somewhere today?”

“No. But I don’t see how-”

“Then I don’t see the problem”, he flirts and pecks your lips.

You get it now. And it makes you giggle. He smiles, pecking your cheek.

“Relax. I’ll be back with breakfast”, he says and before he rolls out of bed, you stop him.

You steal a kiss, ending it by biting his lower lip. He smiles at you, eyes sparkly and infatuated by you.

“Don’t take too long, please.”

“Promise”, he seals it with a peck then finally gets out of bed to leave the bedroom naked.

“Aren’t you forgetting your clothes?”

“I cook best naked.” He gives you a cocky grin and a wink then closes the door.

“Fuck”, you drop into the sheets and blow raspberries. It is official, you won’t ever get him out of your head.

299 notes · View notes

voitier · 2 days ago

Text

HANS - In your Hands

하나 : Gran Premio de España

In a world where every single step is recorded and analysed by cameras, F1 racer Jeon Jungkook could care less about his reputation, having decided that with the amount of money he has he could buy the silence of everybody, if he wished.

Behind him, there's a girl losing her mind trying to get him to behave, knowing that her job is at risk if she doesn't cover up his mess-ups in time.

What happens when one of the most influential and world recognised racers falls head over heels for his PR manager, who absolutely despises his "I've got it all" attitude and wants nothing more than to keep doing her job in peace?

WORDCOUNT: 3K

CONTAINS: 18+! sex, hooking up (occasionally and not), mentions of blood and paramedics (brief, not too much descriptive), car crashing description (again, not too much detailed)

AUTHOR'S NOTE: okay, so... here's chapter one. okay. WOW. literally shaking rn I'm so scared it's gonna flop LMAOOOO. anyway, literally one of the longest pieces I've ever written, lowkey surprised myself. oh, and that thing I said that I wanted to wait until I was working at least on the second half of the story to post chapter 1? yeah, call me a liar cause that's what I am, I literally couldn't resist anymore, especially not when I saw how much "popularity" it was gaining. SO HERE IT ISSSS. I don't wanna spoiler anything so I'll shut up right here. hope you enjoy it and are ready to run a Grand Prix. love you all <3

Jungkook knew that he had the whole world at his feet. And he didn't think it because of a weird god complex whatsoever, but it was kinda hard to not do so when he stood high and tall on the podium, the whole crowd tinted of a bright orange, screaming his name and whipping around McLaren flags.

For an hour, Jungkook was the owner of the world.

And it felt so fucking nice.

That was almost three years ago though, and for the next three years, he always ended up on the podium – just as second or third place each time. It didn't matter, as much as he was craving that first place rush, he was happy he could stand on the podium itself.

This time, though? He had to win first place. No ifs, no buts.

He was doing so good already, he could almost feel the weight of the cup in his arms and his skin wet and sticky with champagne as he screamed at the top of his lungs.

Just two more races and he would be reborn as F1 World Champion – twice. He could do it: he and Namjoon, his strategist, had studied the Circuit de Barcelona-Catalunya of the Spanish Grand Prix over and over again, meticulously measuring every variation of speed, every rough corner, obsessing over the track until they became disgusted of the mere thought of sitting down with the map in front of their eyes.

Jungkook trusted Namjoon. He was the mastermind behind all his wins, after all. And he saw it in his eyes, too – that endless thirst of win, the need to see his racer becoming World Champion again. Something was in the air for sure.

Anyway, Jungkook was a... man of needs. He needed his morning coffee to function properly. He needed to jog at least 30 minutes by himself before a race as a way to slip into a focused zone. But, most importantly, he needed to release all of his pent-up stress before sitting down in his race car.

Which was exactly the reason why he was locked in a stall of the McLaren garage's bathroom, the zip of his suit pulled all the way down to his crotch as he pounded into one of the models' pussy. What was her name again?

"Jungkook, they’re looking for you–"

"They can wait," he snapped back, covering the pretty girl's mouth with his hand, desperately chasing his orgasm. From the outside, someone – probably his other teammate and racer, Jimin – kept yelling his name, followed by "5 minutes left, hurry up!"

A string of profanities left his lips as he felt his body tense up, every fibre getting ready to welcome the long awaited release. The girl in his arms whimpered softly, clearly overstimulated. Eh, he had told her prior that he could last longer than most, and she was the one who said it was no big deal, so it wasn't really his fault if she was trembling now.

"Fuck!" a groan left his lips as his body finally gave in, filling the condom spurt after spurt. He breathed heavily, chest heaving as he slowly recovered from the post orgasmic bliss.

"Two minutes! Jungkook, fuck!"

A prayer of "shit shit shit" was whispered in the air, the racer rushing to throw the condom away, zip his suit back up, and go out there like nothing had happened.

As he exited the bathroom, everything blended in a blur of hands grabbing him wherever they could, pushing him against his car– and what a car. Orange, shiny, looking better than ever, ready as much as him to win another Grand Prix. Someone handed him his helmet, urging him to put it on before sitting down in the vehicle.

As soon as the cold leather touched his suit, it was showtime.

You hated Jungkook.

No, scratch that, you didn't hate the guy per se.

You hated the cocky attitude he carried around everywhere. And you hated the fact that he didn't facilitate your job, at all. Being a PR member is already hard as it is, but being a PR manager? Jungkook's PR manager? Oh baby, hiking on Mount Everest would be easier.

The kid could not care less about his reputation. It was admirable, really, being unapologetically yourself in a world full of judgement, if it wasn't for the fact that he was a public figure. A well-known one, too. And whose job was it to not let him taint it? Yours, of course.

Teaching foxes how to talk would be less stressful.

"Where the fuck is he?" a sharp voice interrupted your endless thinking, grounding you right in the moment. You whipped your head to the right, watching as a frantic Hoseok walked around the garage to look for their number one driver.

The McLaren team had three drivers: Jungkook, Jimin, and Hoseok. Usually, it was Jungkook and Jimin who would race, Hoseok was put aside mainly because he was new. Whole team decision, of course.

You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose before sighing heavily, already feeling a growing headache nagging at the back of your head.

What you didn't know, was that it was bound to get way worse than that. With the corner of your eye you had caught a weird movement, followed by a big commotion.

Ah, that's where he was. Checks out, actually. Last minute nerves, right?

Yet– something was off. Something was... unusual. Something...

A man tripped not too far from you. Another one screamed at him, threatening to fire him. "Pull yourself together, we're Netflix, for god's sake!

Your heart dropped.

Netflix.

And coming right from the bathroom, you saw a hand. Delicate, long, well groomed. A woman.

Shit.

You sprinted for the bathroom, running for your life like you've never done before, dodging engineers, mechanics, PR members, anyone who dared to stay in your way.

You pushed the girl back inside before anyone could see her, slamming the door closed behind you.

"What–"

"Shh. I'm sorry. I'm Jungkook's PR manager, Y/N. Nice to meet you" you whispered through the whole presentation, your eyes darting from the girl to the door, back to the girl again. You swallowed hard, breathing in and out slowly as the drumming in your ears settled for something less dramatic.

The girl in front of you was... beautiful, to say the least. Tall, clear skin, flawless makeup on. Shoulders and back straight and stretched nicely, her collarbones peeking over her shoulder-less dress. Dark hair framed her slim face, a nice contrast to her blue eyes. Yeah, definitely a model.

You could almost see it – Jungkook's and this model's faces plastered all over the media, them holding hands and acting like the paparazzi had caught them in a private moment while walking in the streets of some élite class city, probably Monaco. Everything would be piloted by you, of course. There were no caught red-handed moments with you, everything was planned, studied, thought out.

Oh, if only Jungkook made things this easy for you.

“Oh, uhm…” the girl eyed the spot where your hand touched her arm a couple times, definitely trying to find a polite way to get your hands off her skin. Understandable, anyone with that type of perfectly clear skin would grimace at the view of a woman who has no time for a full eight hours sleep, yet alone pay attention to skincare and stuff, touching what you probably had to work your ass for. Not that Jungkook was any better, by the way, but at least he was rich and handsome, and known enough to be on the same social step as the model in front of you. Hell, he was probably even higher up than her. You pulled your hand back, whispering a rather embarrassed apology.

From the garage, you heard one of the engineers yell, followed by a general roar as Jungkook overtook one of the Ferrari’s drivers. The girl gasped, her body jumping startled. “It’s fine, I– let me see if it’s safe to go out.”

The cold metal of the doorknob kissed the scorching hot skin of your hand as you gently twisted it, opening it just the right amount to peek outside. Your eyes scanned the place, looking out for anyone not dressed in orange and a couple men carrying a camera and a boom microphone.

Her fingers gently tapped your shoulder, peeking over it before softly asking “Is it safe?” in an accent that sounded anything but native.

You gave one last look around before nodding, opening the door to let the woman through.

“Wait!” your exclamation stopped her in her tracks. She turned towards you, confusion written all over her face. “I didn’t get your name.”

“Isadora. Isadora Ioannou.”

The rest of the Grand Prix was spent glued to the screen in the garage, occasionally scribbling down notes in your agenda as ideas for new content popped up in your mind, and downing at least two more shots of espresso.

However, no matter how hard you tried to engage in other activities, the name of the model kept haunting you. Isadora Ioannou, Isadora Ioannou, Isadora Ioannou. You were sure you had heard that name before, but no matter how hard you focused, you just couldn’t pinpoint when and where. The clock in the garage ticked slowly, its sound buried by the absurdly loud people inside and the echo of the cars’ tires screeching on the hot concrete, reminding you that in a few hours you could retrieve to your room and finally look up her name, maybe while soaking in the bathtub of the fancy hotel the McLaren team had reserved for those flying to Spain with their racers.

A heavy arm slumped around your shoulders pulled you out of your thoughts and back in the garage, where a rather enthusiastic Namjoon kept yelling to Jungkook over the intercom about the last overtake he just did. You didn’t even need to look up to know whose arm it was, recognising Taehyung’s cologne immediately. You had met him back in college, then life made you part ways before it brought him back in your track. He was one of Jimin’s best friends then, got a place as a member of your PR team almost by luck. Witty, clever with words, sly in a way that made people think twice before opening their mouth in his presence, you just couldn’t let him run away. And so, here he was. “How did the… date go?”

You groaned, throwing your head back in annoyance. “Awful, truly awful. I’ve been with first timer men who knew way more than this dude. Seriously, if I had known about it I wouldn’t have spent so much time getting ready.”

He chuckled, a low sound coming deep from within him.

Oh, god. You knew that sound far too well for your liking.

He leaned down, tip of his nose brushing the shell of your ear as he whispered “Wouldn’t have had this problem if you had accepted my suggestion, and you know it.” He pulled back as soon as he came in, raising his other hand to wave at a coworker a couple feet away from you, completely unfazed by the suggestion.

You sighed, shaking your head softly before slipping your orange headphones on, effectively drowning out any noise other than Jungkook’s heavy breath echoing in his helmet mic and the vroom of sports cars running at 300 km/h.

Back in college, you and Taehyung used to be… friends. Who occasionally fucked. And by occasionally you mean even two times a day hidden in the very back of the library, if you wanted. But still, no more than friends, you didn’t really do “date”. Anyway, the sex was great, the guy used to be fine as hell already back then, and he knew how to make you finish like no other did. Then he moved back to South Korea for his Master’s degree, and when he came back he became your coworker and part of your own team. You couldn’t really sleep with a man who was now “dependent on you”, work wise. It just didn’t feel ethically ok to do so, even though he had made clear more than once that he truly couldn’t care less about it.

“You really think I’d give a fuck about our job positions when I’m buried balls deep inside you? C’mon, Y/N, you know me better than this,” he had begun once, and since then you decided to not bring it up anymore. At least, not until the very end of the season.

But geez, how you missed having a man who knew what he was doing, especially when work pulled at your every possible string, waiting for you to finally snap.

Of course, no one in the team knew about you two and your past. You weren’t even sure if Jimin knew, and the two boys shared everything with each other. Gossip is quick to spread in the workplace, and you didn’t want anyone to think that Taehyung had access to his position because he had bought it. The guy was genuinely what the team needed. Plus, he had to work even harder than all the others since he was part of both Jungkook’s PR team and Jimin’s one. Thank god Jimin’s PR manager, Jin, grew a great liking of Taehyung soon, and in tandem you both decided to split his workload so that he wouldn’t go into burnout too quickly, too soon.

Gotta protect the good ones, no?

Anyway, that's how Taehyung ended up being a constant in your day to day life again. Were you complaining? No, but did you wish that the circumstances were different? Absolutely.

Fuck you, Taehyung, you could have turned down the job offer at least.

Inside the vehicle, Jungkook was breaking out in cold sweat. Just another car before he could proclaim victory. Behind him, Jimin was stuck at a tie point with one of Mercedes racers, the two continuously trying to overtake the other, yet without succeeding.

If they wanted to win, he was the one who would have to do so.

Right in front of him, a Red Bull Racing car was just a couple meters away from crossing the finish line.

Not again, not again, he thought, adrenaline kicking high in his body as everything in him screamed for him to just do something.

“Jungkook!” Namjoon's panicked voice echoed in his helmet, the urgency crystal clear in his voice. “Swerve to the right! Now!”

Jungkook had no time to think, his hands immediately bending the steering wheel to the right, his car abruptly swerving right as the left tire of the Red Bull car detached itself from the vehicle, rolling on the concrete until it hit the perimeter of the track and then rolled back.

The racer inside the car had no time to react as he was pushed to the side, smashing the pedal to the floor to try and stop his car from killing them both. Loud screeching noises were heard all around, but no matter how hard he tried to brake, his car wouldn’t stop until he finally hit the fences at the side.

Inside Jungkook’s helmet, Yoongi’s voice, one of his engineers, called him back to attention. “He’s fine, just keep going. You’ve got Jimin right behind you, the victory is ours.”

Being part of the McLaren team had its perks, like the continuous paid trips and luxury hotels, but its downs too, like having to watch another human being probably in his early 20s being brutally pushed to the side in a scorching hot car with no power to control its direction, while simultaneously having to celebrate your two drivers making it to the finish line first.

It’s in those bittersweet moments, when everyone else seems to be completely unaffected by the repercussions that other people had to live, that you find yourself asking: are we really doing this? Are we really working for a sport that could end someone’s life in a matter of seconds? Is our team’s victory really that important that we hold no shame in celebration when there’s paramedics all around taking care of another man right in front of everyone’s eyes?

The garage was full of people screaming, hugging, celebrating Jungkook and Jimin’s victory, yet you couldn’t bring yourself to truly participate in the chaotic celebrations, your eyes fixated on the screen monitor filming the rescue mission of the boy inside the car. You knew him, a barely 20 years old boy with too much determination for his own good. You were sure you would see him again on the track soon, even with a concussion, if needed. You understood him, you knew what it meant to have a passion that kept you going even when the only outcome is heading head-first against a wall at full speed.

“Here are the champions!” Hobi’s voice resonated inside the garage, and more cheers and whistles and clapping rose in a matter of seconds. Jimin and Jungkook came inside, tired, almost limping, slipping their helmets off with a relieved groan, shaking their heads side to side. Towels were handed to them, and you observed silently as they ran them over their sweaty hair.

Jimin was almost immediately pulled back by Jin, ready to have him talk to the cameras of god knows what channel. But you stayed back, watching as Jungkook soaked in all the congratulations, the compliments, observed as his ego visibly inflated as honey coated words were fed to him, and he swallowed them whole, one by one.

You sighed, shoulders dropping as you diverted your eyes to the screen again. The car was ruined, its rear part wrecked by the impact, but the boy was taken away, at least. The camera slowly panned to the spot where paramedics had him laying on a hospital stretcher, his team surrounding him to ensure privacy while he had a big cut over his temple cleaned and disinfected, probably getting ready to stitch it back together.

“So? No congratulations for me?”

You didn’t register Jungkook’s teasing voice at first, way too immersed into the scene displayed in front of you. “Hey,” he tried again, morphing his voice into something softer, almost careful. His arm wrapped around your shoulder, gently squeezing you to his body. “He’s gonna be fine. We’ve seen worse, you’ve seen worse.”

A little hum escaped your lips, not too convinced by his words yet. It was true, you had seen worse before, but it still didn’t stop you from thinking, from worrying. Isn’t that what makes a human being different from an animal? The capacity to doubt, to worry, to be stuck in a moment even when the world keeps spinning and life keeps going on.

“Okay,” you sighed at the end, shrugging your shoulders like you were trying to shake off the icky feeling off your body. You turned around, smiling softly at Jungkook before wrapping him in a hug. “Congratulations, bun”

Jungkook groaned at the nickname, clearly trying to look annoyed, yet failing when he met your smile again. “C’mon, let’s go celebrate,” he announced, grabbing you by your elbow, pulling you in the middle of the chaos, “we’re going to Monaco!”

find the introduction post here

286 notes · View notes

doucious · 3 days ago

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ㅤㅤ𝗘𝗬𝗘 𝗖𝗔𝗡𝗗𝗬ㅤ﹐ㅤ𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗄 𝗃𝗈𝗇𝗀𝗌𝖾𝗈𝗇𝗀

ㅤㅤ𝟕𝟕𝟕───you’re really a sight for sore eyes.

𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄ㅤꕀㅤbusiness man ! jongseong x fem ! readerㅤ ៸៸ ㅤMINORS DO NOT INTERACT ｡⠀age gap ( jay is in his late thirties & reader is in her twenties ) fingering, unprotected sex, he is a little mean ( calls reader a slut one time )ㅤ

˘ᗜ˘ㅤgoodness gracious whatever this is .. enjoy i guess i forgot what was even happening at some point

crisp suits, slicked back hair, money talks and elite deals— jay was all about business, and you— his business partner’s pretty daughter doing her internship at her dad’s own company.

he needs to stop, you’re way younger, even though it never stopped him from fantasising about fucking you in secrecy, jerking off at the mere thought of pretty moans rolling off your tongue like melodies.

and you’ve been so good, incredibly smart and kind, always eager to learn— doe eyed and curious smiles laced with a silver of pure innocence that makes him want to ruin you.

your father would lose his mind if he knew the things that plague his mind when it comes to you, and jay would lose his life if your dad ever found out how he fucks his pretty little daughter on his own work desk.

“spread your legs, angel,” jay whispers close to your ears, one hand on your hips while the other deep between your legs. there’s a smug grin on his face when you oblige with a whimper, arching off the desk when he slides two fingers inside you. “fuck, ease up, princess. you’re going to snap my fingers,”

your face is burning, not sure if it’s from the pure filth he’s whispering in your ears or the way his fingers pump in and out of your cunt. his other hand ghosts up your hips and wraps around your tit, finger flicking over your hardened peak.

your eyes squeeze shut, fingers sinking and curling exactly where you’re the most sensitive— he has your sweet spots memorized like clauses of a contract.

his finger teases at the nipple, pinching and rubbing over it with his thumb while the other presses against the sensitive spot in the back of your walls, drawing pretty little whines from you.

it has always been a blessing to have you around. he had his eyes on you ever since you joined in on the internship.

“j-jay, i’m close—”

“already?” he gasps mockingly, leaning down to press open mouthed kisses up the column of your throat, taking your earlobe between his teeth and tugging slightly. “we’ve barely gotten started,”

you’re lucky you both clocked in earlier than most of the staff or else, they might hear every mewl and whimper you let out as his fingers pump into you faster, at an unforgiving pace.

“i’m— fuck—”

he increases his pace, groaning in the crook of your neck at how you clench around his digits as they brush against your walls.

you feel the ache building up between your legs, almost there, until he pulls out completely. “yeah, baby, you were saying something?”

he’s mean and cocky about it— fucking his associate’s daughter on his own work desk to the point you’re nothing but a wanton mess, babbling air pleas at the loss of contact.

“please,” you mutter, lips quivering, pressing your thighs together— anything to relieve the ache between your legs.

and he’s absolutely cruel, chucking and pushing your thighs open with his knees just enough to brush above your wet cunt, and nothing more. “didn’t quite get that,”

you might just die even before getting dicked down.

“feels so good— need more, jay, please,”

he feels himself getting harder at how you sound, incredibly sweet with those doe eyes glistening with need.

he grabs a fistful of your hair and yanks your head back just enough to see your pretty face. “yeah? want me to fuck you? fill you up right here? on your father’s desk?” he clicks his tongue. “pretty shameful, don’t you think?”

no one can know about you and jay, you don’t think you can sit in this room with your father without thinking about this moment.

it’s disgusting— shameful, even, he’s far too old for you. however, it feels perfect, every thrust, every moan, every kiss, every drag of his finger over your clit— it’s heaven and hell at the same time.

it might need to stop, hell, no might, this must stop. but for today, you are down to commit yet another sin.

“y-yes, here,” you whisper, almost choking on your own words. “right here, please. need you so bad,”

that, evidently, is all it takes— one second you’re begging for him and the next, he has you bent all the way over the desk, hands fumbling with his belt quickly before he tugs his pants down.

“shit— if that’s what you want, sweetheart,” he grins sickeningly, cock pressing up against your thigh. “who am i to refuse?”

your dad would lose his fucking mind if he knows about this and as sick as it sounds, the sheer thought of him knowing makes jay want to fuck you dumb and senseless.

you feel him bumb against your clit, making you gasp as he drags his cock between your folds, making your knees buckle at the mere sensation.

“you’re so wet,” he coos, grinning wide as he pushes into you, nice and slow, deep, stretching you out completely. “bet you’re gonna take me like a good girl as always, hm?”

no response.

you can’t speak, barely think if he wasn’t pounding his length into you like a man deprived of pleasure for weeks. the wet sound of his cock fucking into you rings in your ears mingled with deep groans that mix with yours in the office.

“is this what you wanted, hm? for me to fuck you on your father’s desk?” he mumbles low and hoarse with hips slamming into you at a relentless pace. his lips curve into a grin when he feels you clench at his words, a sharp slap falling against your ass. “what a— fuck— slut,”

the sting only makes your insides coil more, pushing you closer to the edge. he grabs both your hands, holding them tight behind your back.

“jay— oh— i’m close!”

his hips roll at a sloppy rhythm now, still just hard and deep, almost teetering on the edge at the way your walls clench around his cock.

“shit—‘m close too,” he breathes, pulling almost all the way out before sliding in again. “gonna fill you up, baby. want that, don’t you?”

and god, you might just lose your sanity at his words. it’s trouble, he’s trouble, and if only he wasn’t fucking you so good and making your internship worth attending every single day, you’d be making rational decisions.

but not right now, not when you have his cock buried deep into you, making you see stars. “y-yeah, want you to fill me up, jay— gonna cum, ‘m so close—”

he pushes into you deeper into your cunt if it was even possible and you feel your walls flutter around him as you cum, hard, spasming and squeezing around him that has him whispering profanities in the air.

his hand rests on your back, a deep groan leaving his throat as he cock twitches, filling you up and painting your walls white. he continues to slam into you with choked chants of your name.

it’s quiet after you both finish, except for the laboured pants and heavy breaths. a blazing horn and his head whips towards the window, registering the sight of your father stepping out of the car when his chauffeur opens the door.

he can see the panic settle on your face as you stand up— he almost stifles a laugh at your wobbly legs, helping you find balance and pulling up your panties. “fix yourself, doll, or he’ll know.”

#ㅤ𝑏𝗂𝗅𝗅𝖾𝗍ㅤ★ㅤ𝑑𝑜𝑢𝑥ㅤ #enhypen #enhypen smut #enhypen x reader #enhypen ecenarios #enhypen imagines #enhypen headcanons #jay #jay x reader #jay smut #jay scenarios #jay imagines #jay headcanons #enhypen hard thoughts #enhypen hard hours #enhypen drabbles #jay drabbles

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livwritessometimes · 10 hours ago

Text

I Have Not Given Up On Us Yet

: Part 16 (Max's Version)

: Who knew all Max needed to do was get drunk in order to get his life together

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…

It was almost 12 by the time Y/n had gotten the call, and by 12:05, she was on her way. The entire time, she kept thinking about how she almost didn't answer. What would have happened had she not?

By 12:30, she was in the station, standing awkwardly in front of the help desk, waiting for the officer in front of her to finish the phone call he was having. Looking around the station, she could feel her heart beating in her ears. There weren't many people there, just one other person waiting in the chair near the door.

"Hi, sorry for the delay. How can I help you?" said the officer. Snapping her attention back to the man, Y/n said, "umm...I got a call. I'm here to collect Max Verstappen." "Ahh you must be Y/n, right? Yes, just fill out this form and he's all yours. I'll send someone to get him," said the officer as he ushered someone to go get Max. "Umm, officer, is it okay if I ask why he was arrested?" Y/n said as she looked up from the forms. "He was drunk and got in an argument with the bartender. We detained him before things could escalate. He's lucky the bar didn't press any charges," said the officer as he excused himself to finish some work.

After filling the form, she handed the officer the paperwork. "Y/n!" Her head snapped in the direction of the voice. There stood Max, in a hoodie and jeans, looking sheepish, like a kid who got caught stealing candies before dinner. Once he confirmed it was her, he rushed towards her. "I can't believe you came!" Max said as he pulled her into a hug. Standing there stunned at this man's drunk antics, "Oh Max, you absolute idiot, of course I came," she said as she pushed him away and started to head for the door. She reached the door only to realize Max was not following her. "You coming or what?" She questioned. "Yesss, I gotta pee first," said Max as he made his way to the washroom. Y/n sighed at that and took a seat, waiting for Max to return. "Good look with that," said the officer she had interacted with before, walking away.

Max was quieter now. He had been since he returned from the washroom. He kept looking at Y/n and then looking away. It was fine for the first fifteen minutes, but now it was starting to annoy her. "If you wanna say something, just say it," she said before looking back ahead again. "Nothing, It's just, I- I feel so stupid," said Max as he rubbed his face, trying to sober up. Y/n looked at him, waiting for him to continue. "I didn't want you to find out about this because I thought you'd leave me," Max said before he stopped walking. She turned to face him as he continued, "But my dad, you know how he can be. He kept saying all this stuff. Like I'm not doing enough, I'm wasting my time. There are the years where I should 'Focus on my career' and I just-" Max took a deep breath as he looked up, struggling to find the right words. "I just, I thought maybe he was right. So I thought ending this was the right thing to do but then you left, and it didn't feel right. All of a sudden, the house was empty, and I kept telling myself that it was fine, cause I'm supposed to focus on my future, right? But it's not. I don't think it ever will be," said Max as he finally looked at Y/n.

She stood there, taking in everything he had to say. "Do you hate me?" Max asked. By now, his eyes were slightly red. "Cause it's okay if you do. I am used to messing everything up," he finished. Taking his face in her hands, Y/n said, "You didn't mess everything up." "When I realized how late I was, I had rushed to get back home. I was so scared that I was gonna upset you even more, and then I saw what you did and it made me feel so guilty. I thought to myself, maybe you are better off without me. Girls like you don't deserve guys like me," Max said as a tear rolled down his eye.

They stood there for a while, looking at each other, unsure of what to do next. Both had said things that hurt the other, and this was not something they could just forget and be done with. Slowly, Y/n let go of his face and grabbed his hand, pulling him in the direction of their apartment. "I'm not promising anything," Y/n said, looking at Max. "But I have not given up on us yet," she continued as they made their way home.

…

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wonderjanga2 · 23 hours ago

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Prologue, Chapter One, Chapter Two, Chapter Three, Chapter Four, Chapter Five, Chapter Six, Chapter Seven (here)

TW: mentions of cannibalism and rotting and all that stuff. Though, this is our zombie story so I’d be surprised if it didn’t have that.

I’d also like to say this Reader is Gender Neutral or at least you can pick your gender. Most of the pronouns are “you” and when they are referred to by other people, its “they” so… Yeah! Have fun reading and tell me if there are any spelling mistakes or things that don’t make sense.

Chapter Seven

“Red!? Red!? Where are you!” Jill yelled wildly, running through the museum. She’d checked the Egyptian, Medieval, and the Native American Exhibits and was now heading to the artwork one. It was miscellaneous pieces apparently. Just really old paintings.

There, she finally found you. You were staring at a painting, you knew she couldn’t tell what you were thinking due to the mask. You turned to her.

“That’s gonna be us one day, isn’t it?” You asked, quietly as you stared at the painting. The plaque underneath read: “Dying Together”. The painting depicted man and woman, side by side, noose around each of their necks. One of their hands was clasped with the other, showing off wedding rings. The two were likely married. The execution also suggested they did something terrible.

Like you and Jill did with all the cannibalism.

Speaking of Jill, she gently grabbed your hand and stood in front of the painting with you. “We’ll be fine, [Name]. I promise.” She whispered.

“Don’t promise. Sooner or later we’re gonna either make a mistake or somebody’s gonna realize that criminals are going missing.”

“And when that happens we’ll still be fine. We’ll— We’ll get out of town and… I dunno travel around.” She spoke, her thumb moving back and forth on the back of your hand.

“What about your mom?” You asked, giving the hand a small squeeze.

“I’ll leave her a note.”

“And school?”

“We’ll wait a couple years for this whole thing to blow over and get GEDs.” She sounded so sure of herself, you almost wanted to believe her.

A small silence befell on the two.

“Thanks, Jill. I mean it.”

“I know.” She started tugging you away from the painting. “Now come on, we have to get out of here. I took some photos of the pages of the book so we should be good unless we run into Batman.”

The two of you ran along the halls looking for an exit. You both almost made it to one too, yet speak of the devil and he shall arrive. There was Batman, in all his menacing, terrifying glory. He just stood there, assessing you and Jill before he rushed forward. You pushed Jill out of the way of a punch, but were kicked in the stomach in the process.

Wow, you think one of your ribs cracked. That’s not good. A zombie’s lack of pain was probably the only thing saving you from doubling over. Also, was it presumptuous to say that the Batman looked annoyed at you for not doubling over?

“Pink, get outta here! Find another exit, we’ll meet up back at the apartment!” You yelled, causing her to startle. You had no idea how you were gonna get away from Batman of all people, but it was important that Jill at least get out of this unscathed and not on the way to jail.

At your words, Bats pulled out a batarang and threw it at her. You rushed over, taking a hit to the side from the man once more. You stuck your arm out in front of the projectile. While it didn’t pierce your arm, it did shock you which left you twitching, but relatively unharmed. “Didn’t I say go?!” You exclaimed and finally, although you could tell it was begrudging, Jill left, leaving you and the Batman alone.

The man stared for a long time, not moving. “So it’s you.”

What?

“My scanners tell me you have no pulse. Nor body heat. I’ll admit, I thought we’d meet under different circumstances.” The gravelly-voiced man spoke.

“What are you talking about?” You asked hesitantly.

“You’re undead.”

The silence between both you and the big-dog vigilante was so loud.

“…What circumstances did you think we’d meet in?” You asked, trying your best to keep the panic out of your voice. This is Batman. The Batman. While, you know he has a no kill rule, does that apply to zombies? You know he hasn’t killed Solomon Grundy, so there might be a chance he won’t, but still! Not only that, but if he finds out who you are, he’ll most definitely connect you back to Jill!

And you can’t have Jill get in trouble for you. No way Jose. You refuse to let that happen.

“I thought I’d have caught you in the middle of a kill. Either that, or I would’ve caught you while you were feral.”

You scoffed at that. “Why would I be feral?”

That seemed to cause the big, bad vigilante to pause. “Because that’s what happens when your kind doesn’t eat. You become aggressive and start rotting.”

Your kind? That felt vaguely racist. Can people be racist against zombies?

“But you? You’ve had to have been at this for months. How many people have you killed? How many lives have you ruined?” The man sounded angry. An angry Batman sounded horrible. Oh my God.

“Six?” You answered. “No offense, but I think they ruined more lives than me. Do you even know the people I’ve killed?” You had to see if he had any leads yet. Anything at all that might give away yours and Jill’s identities.

Unfortunately, the Bat didn’t answer and instead opted to stare at you with narrowed eye slits. (He didn’t have anything yet other than the fact that two people had bailed out Peter Michaels and their faces were unfortunately turned away from any of the cameras in the Jail. He also didn’t know that was a complete accident and not at all on purpose and just that the two were extremely lucky.)

Batman seemed like he was about to say something again, but was unfortunately interrupted by a kick straight to the face by none other than Catwoman. He blocked it, but was pushed back significantly. The lady gave you a wink and started fighting the man. You stood stun for a moment before running off in the direction Jill ran. (Jill later told you it might’ve been because she liked that you both were “new thieves”. Either that or she knew that neither of you stole anything and she was just covering for you.)

You ran through the museum and eventually came across an exit door. You burst through it and smacked right into Jill. Your Power Ranger mask was knocked off as you both ended up bracing awkwardly against the back alley wall. Jill sort of pinned against the grimy bricks. You both stared at each other for a long bit. Jill was breathing heavily and you couldn’t tell what her expression was under her mask.

You eventually pushed off the wall and pulled off your ski mask and ruffled your hair. “Fuck, that was terrifying.” You never wanted to come face to face with the Batman again.

Jill said nothing, probably in shock, probably with that traumatized expression on her face again. You just grabbed her hand and started to lead her out of the back of the museum. You shoved your ski mask in your pocket and threw the Power Ranger mask away in a dumpster. You also shrugged off the jacket to your very suspicious outfit™️ and tied it around your waist, showing off the random Star Wars shirt of Jill’s that you threw on randomly.

There, now you looked less suspicious.

Now you just looked like a non-suspicious holding hands with an extremely suspicious person.

As you both walked, you noticed a fuse box slashed in from what looked like claws. Did Catwoman do that? Did that mean there was no electricity? Therefore no cameras for those Bat guys probably track you with?

Nice!

You felt a little lighter as you approached the exit of the side alley of the museum when suddenly a figure jumped down from the roof of the coffee shop next to the museum.

No! Was it Batman aga— oh wait no it’s Robin.

Wait, shit, it’s Robin. The one who uses katana like your little bitch of a brother.

“I can’t believe this.” The boy sounded exasperated.

Both you and Jill tensed.

“[Name] you aren’t using a mask?” The kid sounded like he wanted to smack some sense into you.

A small silence followed.

How in the hell did this kid know your name?

“And in plain clothes? I thought you were better than this.” Robin shook his head. “Not having the proper gear, not using a mask, what, were you in civilian clothes when you apprehended the criminal or what?”

What the hell was this kid talking about?

Should you go along with this?

“Yeah— yes. Yes I was. I was minding my business and then I saw her leave the museum so I caught her. I’m taking her to the police station so I can turn her in myself.” You paused for a moment, awkwardly standing there for a bit until you walked behind Jill and grabbed both her arms and started walking her forward. “Now if you don’t mind me.”

Robin surprisingly let you pass him. “You’ll be coming to dinner tonight, right?”

Both you a Jill stopped. “Huh?” You said rather dumbly.

The kid sounded more impatient this time as he spoke. “You’ll be coming to dinner tonight, right? Gr— Nightwing is back in town and Red Hood has been guilt tripped by Alfred. Orphan is back from Hong Kong as well. You’ll come, won’t you?”

Jill looked back at you and you looked forward at her. You were pretty sure you both held eye contact for a bit before you looked back to the kid again. “Yup. Totally. See you later, little man.” Whatever to get the murderous Robin off your back. You started pushing Jill forward again, just barely catching the kid’s mutterings as you both passed him.

“…ittle man?” The kid sounded confused. No matter.

The two of you made it a half a block away before the Batman found Robin still standing in the side alley.

“Where are the criminals?” Batman asked the boy.

“One is on their way to jail, but I didn’t encounter the other.”

“So they split up?”

“Likely.”

Batman let out a grunt at that and turned around to walk deeper into the alley, eyes glancing around the grimy walls and floors until they stopped on the fuse box. It was still slashed with

“These are Man-Bat’s marks.” The man muttered before his hand went to his comm. “Oracle, can you track both of the perpetrators?”

“The two Power Rangers?” She asked, keyboard keys clacking as she typed.

“Yes.”

“No can do, sorry. It seems that all the cameras in about a two block radius are down.”

Batman couldn’t help the growl that left him. “Kirk…” He spat the name out.

While still halfway down that block, Jill finally remembered she was also in a very suspicious outfit™️ and did the same as you, throwing her mask in the nearest dumpster and taking off her suspicious jacket and tying it around her waist. She had a hello kitty shirt on, also most likely randomly thrown on in their haste too.

By the time you both made a block away, you had both slowed down and were now just speedwalking to Wayne Manor.

Yes, Wayne Manor. Because as much as you wanted to simply crawl into Jill’s bed and have her hold you like a damn baby, you also didn’t wanna lead anyone back to Jill’s apartment. You also didn’t like your family either so you had no problem implicating them in the crime of running away from Batman.

It was three hours later that you were now both in your room, doing what you wanted to do those three hours ago. You had your head resting on Jill’s chest, kinda shellshocked because HOLY SHIT, you just ran from Batman. As for Jill, she was definitely shellshocked and absentmindedly running her hand through your hair.

That felt amazing, by the way.

You’d both been lying like that for the past thirty minutes. The two of you should be looking at the pages, finding a cure, yet instead here you both were. It’s just that Bats was most definitely going to bust down the door any minute now and drag the two of you to Gotham’s Prison. You decided you’d rather be in Jill’s arms when that happens, but you didn’t know what Jill was thinking.

Your thoughts were suddenly interrupted by a knock. You were facing away from the door so you didn’t see the head that poked itself in, but judging by the voice and the reflection in Jill’s eyes, it was Stephanie.

“[Name], Alfred told me to tell you dinner’s rea— Oh, I didn’t realize you had a girlfriend.” She sounded surprised. You begrudgingly turned around, forcing your chin to leave where it rested on Jill’s tits.

“I don’t. I’m not going to dinner.” (By now you had forgotten about what the Robin said about dinner. How coincidental was it that they happened on the same night.)

That made the blonde girl frown. “But you always come to dinner.” She said. “Granted you always sit there gloomily but you always do.”

“Guess I’m not feeling gloomy enough.” You said as you turned right back around to rest a cheek on Jill’s chest again.

“Damian said you’d come.” She sounded impatient now.

“Well, I don’t remember even talking to him so clearly, he’s lying.” You waved a dismissive hand at her. “Bye now.”

“Bu—”

“Bye now, Steph.” You said a little louder. You heard a huff and the close of a door.

It was about a minute later that someone burst into the room again. You’d been on the verge of dozing off against Jill’s chest, her hands now simply hugging you against her chest. It startled you fully awake.

“Oh, it’s you again?” Fuck, that sounded like Damian. Was he addressing you or Jill?

“You say that like you have a problem me with me.” Jill’s expression probably twisted as she said that. So he was addressing to Jill.

“[Name], you said you’d eat dinner with us. Get up.” The little brat demanded.

You groaned. “But I don’t wanna! I don’t even remember doing that anyways!” You yelled, words slightly muffled by Jill’s tits.

“Too bad!” He yelled back. You felt a hand on the back of your shirt literally pull you off the bed, out of Jill’s warm, amazing arms. You were now on the floor staring up at the little bastard while he looked down at you, not even bothering to hide his annoyance. “Don’t make me drag you to the dining room.” The boy all but growled which made you groan again, and sit up.

You rubbed the back of your neck. “Keep the bed warm for me, Jill?” Her face turned red as soon as you finished asking that question.

“Don’t phrase it like that.” She bit out, turning away from you and Damian with a huff.

“Yeah, okay.” You slightly grinned at her reaction until you felt a small kick in the back from the little shit still standing behind you. A clear signal for you to get your ass moving.

You reluctantly stood up, and walked out of your room with him. What followed was the usual silence between the two of you. It didn’t feel as awkward as it did since before you became a zombie though. When the two of you got to the dining room, it was as lively as ever. You’ll never understand how it was always so lively too, especially when these dinners normally took place at three ‘o clock in the fucking morning. (You remembered forcing yourself to stay up late so that you could attend them with the others, even when you were too tired for normal conversation. Thankfully, you didn’t need to do that anymore, as mentioned a while ago, you only needed about two hours of sleep a night.) Everyone was here this time too which made this worse in your opinion.

Except for Duke of course. He was never here for these things for some reason. Fuck him for never showing up. He was probably tucked in and sleeping like a baby just like how you wanted to be with Jill!

Gah! You’re so jealous!

You sat your chair, sandwiched between Damian and Tim and just kinda stared at the food in front of you. You can’t eat this shit, remember? Non-GMO human diet and all that? You poked at the celery sticks on your plate, trying to at least pretend like you were eating.

You listened to the chatter around you, barely bothering to listen. You wanted to be back with Jill. The fact that Batman could burst through a window at any second was annoying. Like you said earlier if you’re going to get caught, you’d rather it be while in Jill’s arms, not surrounded by your buttfucking family. You kept pushing food around on your plate, watching Alfred out of the corner of your eye now. You didn’t want to make the man upset because he didn’t eat his food. Your eyes then drifted to Damian.

You spoke in a monotone voice as you lifted your plate and fork. “Damian, take my celery sticks. You’re growing boy, chum.”

The twerp looked a cross between annoyed and confused. Then again, he always looked annoyed so he might just be confused. “Excuse me?”

You ignored his words and scraped them onto his plate. “Don’t worry, they didn’t touch the meat.”

After a more few minutes of pretending to eat, you tried this tactic again.

“Oh Tim, you’re a growing boy too aren’t you—”

“I’m nineteen years old—”

“Here, take some mashed potatoes too. You need more meat on your bones.” You barely let him talk and scraped all your mashed potatoes onto his plate too.

You barely waited a minute until you deployed this tactic for a final time. You leaned across the table, ignoring Alfred’s chastising for leaning over the food.

“Cass, you look like a carnivore.” You had a hand on her shoulder as you dumped all the meat on your plate onto hers.

“She looks like a carnivore…?” Dick muttered from beside the mute girl.

At that, you plopped back into your chair and took a very tiny sip of water, forcing yourself not to retch at the taste before putting the glass down. “Well, I am just stuffed.” You pat your stomach. “I think I’m off to bed.” You stood up.

Your father looked at you from where he sat beside Damian. “Sit back down, [Name].”

You found yourself sat.

“I’ll be honest, I’d been looking for a chance to bring this up, but I’ll admit I’ve been busy. You also stopped attending family dinners as well too so that’s an added factor.” Bruce wiped his mouth with a napkin before setting it down next to his own plate.

Wow, he’d been holding whatever this is in for three months? Impressive.

“Three months ago, I got a call from your school. You quit all your extracurriculars. Why?” Bruce spoke in that blank tone he’d always addressed you with. (Little did you know, it was actually laced with concern, not that you could tell. It’s not like you ever got to really know the man.)

It was such a simple question too. It also had a simple answer. “…Well, why would I waste my time on stuff like that?” You made it sound like a question.

“Pardon?”

“I said, why would I waste my time on stuff like that? Because, I mean, most of it was for you guys, but now that I don’t really care about you guys at all, I don’t wanna do it anymore.”

A small silence filled the room.

“So… yeah. I’m gonna go now.” You stood back up again. “Got tits to snuggle up to, y’know?” You jutted a thumb behind you. “I’m sure you understand.” With that, you walked away without turning back…

… before turning right back around and marching straight over to Tim so you could grab his plate of food from right in front of him. You then loaded more food onto it and grabbed your own fork.

“Sorry, it’s for the person with said tits.” You said, turning right back around to continue walking off.

When you got back to your room, Jill was still on your bed, but this time on your laptop. Oh, and would you look at that? This time she was wearing one of your shirts.

Wow, that should not have made you feel tingly.

When she saw you, she immediately beckoned you over, and like a dog, you immediately followed. "Look at this!" She exclaimed trading the laptop for the plate of food.

What greeted you was a Reddit post from some guy, VeryRealMan-Bat, basically saying that if you help him control “the bat”, whatever that meant, so he can make a definitely illegal serum, he'll help you in return. It was on the r/Henching page. Did this mean you were gonna be henchmen?

"So you wanna do it?" You asked. This seemed a little out of character for Jill. A little too reckless.

"Yes! Well, maybe. We'd have to see just to be sure. But if this guys actually a scientist, judging by the serum stuff, he could help us make a cure and you could go back to being human!" She said between bites of food.

You sounded awkward as you spoke, "Uh... maybe?"

"So we're gonna go then." She traded her plate back for the laptop and started typing to the guy. After a bit of waiting the dude replied apparently. Jill got this really cute excited expression because of it.

Did she really want you to be human that badly again?

You didn't know if you wanted to be human again. Not if it meant you had to go back to the way you were before.

After some back and forth where you lied limply beside her, awaiting. She eventually closed her laptop. "We're going to meet him at six tomorrow.”

“In the morning?” Even if you wouldn’t be tired, you hated the sound of that.

“Yup. So you better take your little power nap.” She said as she pulled the covers back up and over her.

The next day, the two of you now stood outside a suspicious looking warehouse in the, get it, warehouse district. It was a Monday and you’d both skipped school to be here. Jill finally looked like she was questioning her decisions in meeting up with a random budding villain. In Gotham of all places too. The warehouse groaned warningly.

“Alright! Let’s go meet up with this stranger from the internet!” You tried to sound cheerful as you pushed open one of the doors and was met with complete and total darkness.

“Maybe we shouldn’t—” You grabbed her and pulled her inside before she could say anything else.

The inside of the warehouse was just as dark and dank as you expected. Though, you didn’t actually expect to run into a lab once you both walked farther inside. You and Jill examined the test tubes and burners and other sciencey equipment until a… rattling sound broke the relative silence. Actually, it sounded more like gargling mixed with someone trying to crack their jaw. Then it turned high pitched.

You looked to Jill who looks like she was regretting every decision she’s made in her life. Then, the next thing you knew you were being flung by something, which had its claws still embedded in you, by the way, so it was more of a tackle.

There was now a lovely gigantic bat on top of you trying to bite your face off. Lovely. You punched it in the nose, but that only seemed to make it more angry. It kept trying to eat you for a long while. You were so focused on not dying a second time that you didn’t notice Jill jump on its back and inject it with something until it turned into a shriveled, old naked man.

Emphasis on the naked because oh my god. Ew.

Jill got off both you and the old man so you could shove the old man off of you.

The guy laid on the ground for a long moment as you two stared down at him. You honestly thought he was dead until he shot up with a large gasp. He looked between you and Jill a bunch, expression cycling through an array of emotions.

“Ah… so you’re the two that responded to my post.” The old guy sounded way too casual for having almost killed them.

“…Yeah. We did.” Jill said slowly. “You’re actually Man-Bat? Like, the Man-Bat? Kirk Langstrom?”

“Yes? That’s my name, isn’t it? I also recall my username being something along the lines of ‘real Man-Bat’.” The man shrugged.

“Well, yeah, but we didn’t think you’d actually be the real deal!” You exclaimed, shaking the man by the shoulders. He seemed to momentarily shift between man and bat for a moment before shoving you off him.

“Don’t do that you dolt!” The man commanded, though it wasn’t very effective when he was naked. “In my post I said that I was having troubles with the bat! I keep shifting into it randomly! I’ll also have you know I shift into it upon aggravation.” The doctor was looking a little bat-ish again.

“I am so sorry for my friend here, Dr Langstrom.” Jill butted in with a forced smile. “Your bat-form just happened to take them off guard is all. Now, from what I remembered you wanted us to stave off your transformation whenever it gets amped up so you can make the serum to stop the bat-episodes?”

“That’s correct.” The man huffed. “I’m assuming you’re the one who actually read the post and they’re the one who just went along with it?” He asked Jill.

“You couldn’t be more correct!” She spoke cheerfully. “Now, onto making that serum? I’m sure you want to be rid of these episodes as soon as possible.” She lead him back to the lab.

It was three hours later that you and Jill staved off five transformations with the injections the man just happened to have on standby. (Presumably the same ones Jill used to un-turn the doctor when he first attacked you.) The man was almost done with his special serum when you were interrupted by your phone ringing. The man gave you a glare as poured some drops of something into a beaker.

You walked away to answer it.

“Y’ello?”

“[Name] why are you in the warehouse district.” Wow, Bruce cut straight to the point.

“…no I’m not.” You tried for a lie.

“Don’t lie to me. I got a call from the school saying that you never showed up to class.” He actually sounded irritated at you for lying. “…Are you being held for ransom?”

“What? No— No! Hold on a second.” You turned the phone away so you could yell for Jill to come over. You explained to her the situation.

“Mr Wayne, I can assure you that [Name] isn’t being held hostage. We’re just helping a friend with a… science project.” She said dryly into the phone.

“A dangerous one?” Bruce asked.

You groaned. “No!” Well, actually now that you think about it, yes? Was helping a man-bat stay human dangerous?

Bruce’s line went silent for a moment. “Put this friend of yours on the line.”

You and Jill shared a look at that and slowly looked to Dr Langstrom. “Okay… Just gimme a sec.” You both hesitantly walked back over to Langstrom and it was Jill’s turn to explain the situation.

“Wha— I’m not going to—” The man cut himself off with a sigh, momentarily pausing his work to pinch the bridge of his nose. He looked like he wanted to die as he put on a somewhat high pitched voice. “Yes, Mr Wayne?”

“What are the three of you doing in an unowned warehouse?”

Langstrom rolled his eyes and pulled some shit out of his ass for an answer. “We’re making elephant toothpaste. It’s gonna be a big one and that’s why we picked this warehouse. That way no one will get hurt.”

Bruce went silence once again. You wondered if he didn’t buy it. “…Will you three remember to run when it goes off?”

“Yes sir.” The two words came as a chorus from all three, yes even Dr Kirk, of you.

“…Good. And [Name]?”

“Yeah?”

“We’ll be having a chat about you skipping school as soon as you get home.”

“Yes sir.” You repeated the words from earlier in a bored tone.

Hah! Like you were coming home!

Then again, you might have to. Who knows how long it might take to throw of the trail of the Batman of all people?

After that, you hung up and both you and Jill went back to watching Langstrom in case of any bat-episodes. Eventually, by the time the fourth hour rolled around, he completed it and stuck it into his arm with almost no hesitation.

Wow. You’ll admit the guy’s got guts.

Though, the only difference you noticed with the doctor was that he was less twitchy now. Eh. Whatever.

Now it was time for the guy to fulfill his side of the deal and make the cure. Jill showed him the pictures and the part of the book that contained the recipe for said cure too.

That took a lovely two hours of which you and Jill started playing connect four on her phone while the man worked. You had no idea how he could stay on his feet for so long. You should honestly buy him some bat burger too. He, unlike Tim, actually needed some meat on his bones. Like the man actually looked starved.

Say, is he a vampire bat? Does he need to eat humans too?

No matter. The man was approaching you with a startlingly big syringe now. “You can’t feel pain, yes?” The man asked, flicking the syringe a couple times.

“N—” You didn’t even get to finish your two-lettered word before he stuck it straight through your neck and injected you. Jill looked horrified as he pulled it out. (She also took advantage and got herself a connect four too)

“Well, that should be all then.” Langstrom walked back to his lab and started packing it up.

“Wha— That’s it?” Jill asked, startled. “They’re human again?”

“What? No.” The doctor looked at you both like you were stupid which made you and Jill pause. (You got her back by getting your own connect four) “The book doesn’t say it turns you back into a human. It roughly says “unable to rot and slow to anger, yet it will still eat.” So I suppose you won’t rot, nor perhaps get aggressive, but you will still need to eat flesh.” The man spoke casually as he tucked away the last of his beakers and closed his Mary Poppins looking bag.

With that, he strolled out of the warehouse, whistling a tune.

Huh. You never noticed any rotting. Well, sure, your bullet wound from months ago had been getting worse as of late. To which Jill stapled it closed again a bunch of more times. And sure, one of your toes fell off, but you’d stapled that back on too. As for the aggression, you never noticed any of that either… (The lunging at that one girl, you almost eating Broflinski’s little dog, and you nearly trying to bite your landlord’s ear off were examples you conveniently forgot in that moment.)

Eh. Whatever.

You were pretty sure that meant you wouldn’t go back to the meek little tryhard you once were.

And wasn’t that just lovely?

I love Jill and Reader so much in case you can’t tell.

Taglist: @shinning-stars @tuabuelaenvinagrexd @lettucel0ver @holderoflostmemories @cherrydaisymanic @11queensupreme11 @vanessa-boo @darktrashpoetry @nyra-42 @horror-lover-69 @chemicalwindexbottle @sadslasher13 @mintynilla @otakusimp1 @1abi @exactlynumberonekryptonite @ceramic-raven @depressed--therapist @nisarelle @justannie18 @time-shardz @dandelion-delusion @capcryooo @tenswife @klutzymermaid @jjoppees @cupid73 @noone1233nobody @ihavenomuse

#yandere batfam #yandere batfam x reader #neglected reader #x reader

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xylatox · 3 days ago

Text

Out of tune [pt2} || cbg

Hehe, and ive made it to part 2. I have yapped enough at the beginning of part 1 so Im just getting straight into my thoughts

Love that we instantly start from Beomgyu’s POV and from that night, im so excited

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to talk to her. It was just that… sometimes, it was easier to pretend things were fine when he didn’t hear how tired she sounded. Still, after a few moments, he forced himself to dial.

Yeah I get this. Its so much more painful when you hear the exhaustion especially when its from a parent and you cant do anything about it

The way your eyes found him, held him, even for just a moment. The way your expression flickered, unreadable, like you were trying to piece together something that neither of you had the words for.

I love seeing her from his perspective

Yunjin listened, her expression unreadable. “Do you want his approval?” she asked. “Or do you want him?”

We love Yunjin, asking the right question

And he was looking at you. Even in the dim lighting, even from across the room, you could feel the weight of it—heavy, unwavering, pressing against your skin like static before a thunderstorm. There was something sharp in his gaze, something unsettled. Irritated. His jaw was tight, his fingers flexing slightly against his bicep, like he was holding something back. But from what? From you?

I love how frustrated Beomgyu actually is, I feel like it heightens the tension so much more.

Yeonjun exhaled, setting his drink down. "Nothing—just…" He hesitated before continuing, "after you left, Beomgyu and Yunho got into it."

I literally said what out loud I was so shocked??

Baekhyun exhaled, then said, "Beomgyu dropped out of the project."

Part 2 is full of surprises what the fuck??? Why????

WAIT. WHAT???/ HE REALLY IS THE REASON WHAT?? NO FREAKING WAY

"Ever since we started this fucking project," he continued, voice rough, "I haven’t been able to think straight. I go home, and I still hear your voice in my head. I wake up, and I’m already wondering what kind of mood you’ll be in, if we’re gonna fight, if we’re gonna work, if—" He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "It’s you. It’s always fucking you."

Oh my god Im going to go insane.

OH MY GOD THE KISS HELLO????/

Because fuck, he kissed like this? Hot and desperate and messy, like he had been waiting for this for longer than even he was willing to admit. Like he had no idea where to put his hands because he wanted to touch you everywhere.

This is so insane, im going insane.

Your fingers dug into his hoodie, tugging him forward, not willing to let him have all the control. He groaned at that.

I will pass out.

Ronnie. You cannot leave me like this oh my god🧍‍♀️how can he just up and leave hello? This really is the most intense slow burn and angst. I feel so bad for her :( the way shes crying, poor baby.

Yeonjun hummed like he didn’t believe you for a second. He didn’t push, though. Instead, his thumb rubbed slow, calming circles into your knee. "Look, Y/N… I don’t think Beomgyu ran because he didn’t care. I think he ran because he does."

I love this. I love that Yeonjun understands Gyu’s perspective and doesnt immediately take sides but just helps her try to realize Gyu really didint want to do what he did.

This is probably the first time something has actually gotten to him in a way he doesn’t know how to handle.

Love the effect women have on men

Not you making him right the moonstruck lyrics oh my god

Also mc also writing the most gut-wrenching lyrics about Beomgyu (thats such a good song btw) is heartbreaking

Man Cheol why must you be the kind of evil guy here :( The way hes making Gyu seem like a problem no <//3

Baekhyun rubbed his temple. "I had a feeling this might happen eventually. Seungcheol has a reputation—he doesn’t always separate work from… other things."

Oh this made me cringe oh ew why must men

He might not even listen to it. He might throw it away. He might ignore it completely. But still, you left it there. And as you walked away, your chest felt lighter. Because for once, you weren’t running. You were giving him a chance.

Oh my god these words :((

Your breath hitched. "Twice?"

His lips twitched, just barely. "Maybe more." You let out a short, breathy laugh, shaking your head. A pause. "What made you write it?"

I love them so much, amidst all the tension and slow burn i love them so very much

Beomgyu hesitated, his jaw tightening slightly. "I didn’t want to leave you alone." He inhaled sharply, like he was steadying himself. "But I didn’t want my feelings to get in the way."

Oh my god.

OH MY GOD WHAT THE FUCK SEUNGCHEOL. I am so angry get awayyyy shooooo

You grabbed the pen and handed it to him, your fingers barely grazing before he pulled away. "Thanks, sweetheart," he said, easy, casual. "See you later."

Fucking ew (i love cheol but not rn no ewww)

Beomgyu let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. "Yeah. And apparently, Seungcheol’s been waiting for his turn. ‘Dying to get a piece,’ is what he said."

This makes me so sick ew nonono

Oh i love it when men yearn so badly

Beomgyu pressed a button near the panel, locked. He finally turned to face you then, and, fuck, he was close. "I don’t want anyone interrupting this time," he murmured.

Oh sweet heavens

"We should stop," you murmured, forcing the words out before you lost your grip on reality completely. "Beomgyu, we’re— We’re at work. It’s not even noon."

I laughed, so if it was the afternoon would it be okay?

You pulled the door open, and then, just as you were about to step out, his hand caught your wrist. Before you could even process it, he tugged lightly, just enough to make you turn back, and pressed a soft, lingering kiss against your lips. It was barely a second. Barely anything. But it hit you like a fucking meteor. He pulled away just as quickly, his eyes flickering over your face, watching your reaction. You didn’t move. Couldn’t move.

His goal is to make her pass out I swear

You sighed, watching as he expertly cooked the meat, barely thinking before reaching for the lettuce wraps, stacking up the perfect bite, then placing it in front of you. Your eyebrows lifted. "Are you seriously making me food right now?"

Thats so sweet ugh

Also My Bloody Valentine mention?? Ive been transported back to the early 2000s

Not Yeonjun interrupting their kiss😭

Oh my god, I cant believe I reached the end of part 2! This was so good. Immediately making my way to part 3

OUT OF TUNE ˖ 🎙◞⋆ (part 2)

pairing: producer!beomgyu x producer!femreader part 1 // part 2 // part 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, slow burn, angst with a good payoff // w/c: 26k // warnings: not proofread, MDNI!! smoking (reader and beomgyu smoke), drinking, angst, jealously, overworking characters, making out, petnames, dry humping

author's note: you guys loved part 1 so much that i decided to drop part 2!! i wasn’t originally planning on posting this so soon, but all the love and reactions made me wanna share it with you asap. hope you enjoy <3 READ PART 1 HERE //

out of tune's playlist <3

The night was quiet, but Beomgyu’s mind wasn’t.

It had started with a question. A simple, stupid question that he never should have asked.

Waiting for your boyfriend to pick you up?

You had blinked at him, caught off guard, before letting out a soft laugh—so casual, so oblivious to what you had just done to him. "Yeonjun? No. God, no. He’s just—" You shook your head, still smiling. "He’s not my boyfriend."

Beomgyu had scoffed, looking away before you could see how tightly his jaw had clenched.

It didn’t matter. It didn’t matter that you weren’t with Yeonjun. It didn’t matter that you had laughed, like the thought had never even crossed your mind.

And yet, by the time he pulled into the parking lot of his apartment that night, exhaustion was settling deep into his body, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep. He rarely did these days, not properly, anyway.

The hallway to his apartment was quiet, dimly lit, the familiar flickering of the overhead lights casting long shadows against the walls. It wasn’t a bad place. Spacious, modern enough. But it felt empty.

As soon as he stepped inside, he tossed his bag onto the couch and went straight to the kitchen, grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge. His shoulders ached from hunching over his desk all day, his head heavy from staring at screens for too long.

Still, instead of going to bed, he pulled out his phone and scrolled through his call log. His thumb hovered over the contact labeled Mom, but for some reason, hesitation rooted him in place.

When she picked up, her voice was soft, laced with the kind of exhaustion that came from being sick for too long. "Gyu-yah."

His chest tightened. "Hey, Mom."

"You’re calling late," she murmured, a small smile in her tone.

"You’re awake late," he echoed his earlier words to his brother.

She chuckled lightly. "Guess it runs in the family." Another beat of silence. "You’ve been working a lot, haven’t you?"

Beomgyu leaned against the counter, closing his eyes briefly. She always saw right through him. "Yeah. Big project."

"Hm. And how’s that going?"

He exhaled, rubbing his fingers over his temple. "It’s—" He hesitated, searching for the right words. "Harder than I thought."

"Isn’t it always?"

He huffed a quiet laugh. "Yeah."

His mother’s voice softened. "What’s making it difficult?"

Beomgyu rolled his shoulders, shifting against the counter. He could lie, say it was just the usual stress of production, deadlines piling up, expectations weighing on him. That was part of it, sure. But there was something else. "She’s… challenging," he admitted before he could think better of it.

A pause. Then, amusement slipped into his mother’s voice. "She?"

Beomgyu regretted his wording immediately. "I meant the project is challenging." His mother hummed knowingly, and somehow that was worse than if she had outright called him out. He sighed, tipping his head back. "It’s just—I don’t know. I’m used to working on my own. Or at least, if I do work with other people, I don’t have to think about them all the time."

"All the time?"

He gritted his teeth. "Not like that."

His mother just laughed softly, as if she had already heard this story before. "That means they’re good, doesn’t it?"

Beomgyu scoffed. "More like they piss me off."

"That’s the same thing sometimes." He rolled his eyes, but a small, unwilling smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "Does she make your job harder?" his mom asked after a moment, more thoughtful now.

Beomgyu exhaled slowly. "She makes my job better."

It was the truth. And he hated that. Because you did. Even when you were annoying, even when you were frustrating, even when you made him want to slam his head against the mixing console, you still made the music better.

And that should be the only thing that mattered. Should be.

His mother hummed softly, as if she could hear everything he wasn’t saying. "Some people just have a way of getting under your skin," she murmured. "And sometimes, that’s not a bad thing."

Beomgyu didn’t respond to that. Because he wasn’t sure he liked where his thoughts were heading. After a while, he let her rest, hanging up the call and tossing his phone onto the couch. He should go to bed. But instead, he found himself standing in his kitchen, staring at the dark city skyline through the window, mind circling back to the same damn thing. To you.

To the way you had looked at him earlier, confused by his mood. To the way your voice had softened when you told him you weren’t having a good day. To the way you had laughed at the idea of being with Yeonjun, so casually, like it wasn’t even a possibility.

He didn’t know why that last part stuck with him the most. And he really didn’t like that he cared enough to wonder.

And now, standing in the middle of a crowded party, staring at you across the room, he realized: You had never really left. You were looking at him. Even with the haze of alcohol buzzing in his system, even through the blur of shifting bodies and flashing lights, Beomgyu felt it—sharp and unmistakable. The way your eyes found him, held him, even for just a moment. The way your expression flickered, unreadable, like you were trying to piece together something that neither of you had the words for.

And for the first time that night, he wasn’t sure if he wanted to smirk or swear. Because he liked it. He liked that you were looking. He liked knowing that, no matter how much you fought him, no matter how much you denied it—there was something there. But then, you looked away. Like it hadn’t meant anything. Like he didn’t mean anything. And something twisted deep in his chest, hot and sour. So, naturally, he did what he always did. He let his mouth run before his brain could catch up. "But don’t worry," he said, voice light, almost lazy, but aimed with precision. "I don’t care either way. After all, like you said… I’m just your coworker." The words landed exactly how he intended. He saw it—the way your shoulders tensed, the way your lips pressed together. The way something flickered in your eyes, so fast that if he blinked, he might’ve missed it. Then he smirked. Just a flash of teeth, just enough to make your stomach twist. And before he could second-guess himself, before he could let the alcohol-fueled honesty catch up to him, he turned on his heel and walked off, leaving you standing there, heart pounding, head spinning, caught between wanting to kill him and— No. You weren’t even gonna finish that thought.

You let out a slow, frustrated breath, running a hand through your hair. You needed to get out of your own head. You needed a drink. And after that, you needed Yunjin.

The party was still buzzing when you stepped back inside, the room warm and crowded, laughter spilling over the music. You spotted her near the bar, leaning against the counter, drink in hand, mid-conversation with some guy you didn’t recognize. You marched straight up to her, grabbing her wrist.

“I need to talk to you.” Yunjin barely had time to react before you were pulling her away from the noise, past groups of people, through the doorway leading to one of the quieter lounge areas.

Once inside, she gave you a look, raising an eyebrow as she took a slow sip of her drink. “Damn. No ‘hey, how are you?’ Not even a ‘you look great tonight, Yunjin’?”

You groaned, dragging a hand down your face. “Not now.”

She studied you, then smirked knowingly. “This is about Beomgyu, isn’t it?”

You stiffened. “No.”

“Uh-huh,” she said, completely unconvinced. “Go on…”

You exhaled sharply, slumping onto the couch, rubbing your temples. “I don’t know what the fuck is wrong with me.”

Yunjin sat beside you, kicking off her heels, posture casual. “Alright, let’s hear it.”

You hesitated, staring at the floor, feeling strangely vulnerable all of a sudden. It took a few seconds before you found your voice. “I—” You stopped, frowning. “I don’t even know what I feel right now. I’m just… frustrated.”

She hummed. “At him?”

“At everything,” you admitted. “At this whole fucking project. At the way he gets under my skin so easily. At the fact that—” You cut yourself off, clenching your jaw.

Yunjin, sharp as ever, caught it immediately. “At the fact that what?”

You hesitated, gripping the edge of your seat. “I want his approval.” The words came out quiet. Frustrated. “I don’t know why. I just—I hate how much I care about what he thinks. Every time we work on something, I catch myself waiting to see how he reacts. Like, I tell myself it doesn’t matter, that I don’t need him to validate me, but then—” You exhaled sharply, shaking your head. “But then he does. And it fucks with me.”

Yunjin listened, her expression unreadable. “Do you want his approval?” she asked. “Or do you want him?”

Your head snapped toward her. “What?”

She shrugged, completely unfazed. “I mean, you’re so worked up over him, and yeah, some of it is because of work, but…” She tilted her head, giving you a look. “Is that all it is?”

Your stomach twisted. “Yes,” you said immediately. Yunjin just stared at you, unimpressed. You crossed your arms. “It is.”

Silence. Then she smirked, slow and knowing. “Liar.”

You groaned, shoving your face into your hands. “Oh my god, shut up.”

She laughed, nudging your foot with hers. “I mean, come on. This whole thing screams unresolved tension. You two have been circling each other for months, pretending you’re just rivals when clearly there’s more to it.”

You lifted your head, glaring. “There isn’t.”

“Okay,” she said, amused. “So if he kissed you tomorrow, you wouldn’t think about it for the rest of your life?”

Your brain short-circuited so violently that you actually choked on air. “What—”

Yunjin grinned. “Exactly.”

You scowled, but the damage was done. The thought was already planted in your head, unshakable. Beomgyu, close. Beomgyu, leaning in. Beomgyu, looking at you with that stupid, unreadable expression of his before—

Nope. You refused to entertain this. You grabbed her drink, downing the rest of it in one go, ignoring the way she laughed at you. “I hate you,” you muttered.

“No, you don’t,” she teased. “But you do have a thing for Beomgyu.”

“I don’t.”

“You do.”

“Shut up.”

“Denial isn’t a good look on you, babe.”

You groaned, sinking further into the couch, your mind an absolute mess. Because no matter how much you wanted to deny it, Yunjin wasn’t completely wrong.

The music pulsed through the party, deep bass reverberating in your chest as you let yourself sink into the moment. The weight of the conversation with Yunjin still lingered in the back of your mind, but you shoved it aside, focusing on your friends instead—on the warmth of Yeonjun’s arm slung over your shoulder as he dramatically belted the lyrics to whatever song was playing, on the way Taehyun shook his head at him, on Hueningkai laughing so hard at something that he nearly dropped his drink. You let yourself get lost in it.

And then, eventually, the night began to wind down. People started leaving in waves, slipping out the doors in pairs or groups, laughter and goodbyes trailing after them. Your own friends were still lingering, but you were exhausted, drained from the long week, from the constant push and pull inside your head.

You needed sleep. You told them as much, earning dramatic protests from Yeonjun that didn't want to leave with you, a teasing “boring” from Yunjin, and an understanding nod from Taehyun. Hueningkai just patted your shoulder. "Get home safe," he said, voice warm.

Near the entrance, just a few feet away, Beomgyu stood against the wall, shoulders tense, arms crossed over his chest. He wasn’t talking to anyone, wasn’t laughing, wasn’t even pretending to enjoy himself. He was just there, like he had been standing in that same spot for too long, stewing in whatever storm was brewing behind his unreadable expression.

The noise of the party faded into the background, drowned out by the heavy thrum of your own heartbeat. You didn’t know why you were still standing there. You didn’t know why the sight of him like this made something twist sharply in your stomach, something restless, something uneasy.

You exhaled sharply, breaking the moment before it could turn into something you weren’t ready to name. Without another glance, you turned on your heel and walked out of the party.

You didn’t know what you felt.

But whatever it was, you hated it.

Just like you thought you hated Beomgyu.

You woke up feeling like absolute shit.

The kind of headache that pounded behind your eyes, the kind of dryness in your throat that made you regret every decision from the night before. You groaned, burying your face in the pillow, willing the pain to go away.

It didn’t. Of course it didn’t.

Memories from last night filtered into your mind slowly, fragmented, like puzzle pieces that didn’t quite fit together at first. You remembered the warmth of the alcohol in your veins, the steady bass of the music vibrating through your chest, the feeling of actually having fun for once—until you saw him.

Beomgyu.

You squeezed your eyes shut, as if that could make the memory disappear.

Beomgyu, drunk and loose-limbed, flashing you that easy, lazy grin that made your stomach flip before you could even process why. Beomgyu being nice, too nice, his words softer than usual, his teasing edged with something warmer.

And then, just as quickly as it came, it was gone. The shift. The way his smile dimmed when he saw you talking to Yunho. The way his fingers curled slightly around his drink, his jaw tightening just enough for you to notice. The way his gaze darkened, cold and distant again.

And right before he walked away, he had turned to you with that unreadable look in his eyes, that frustrating mix of amusement and distance, and had said— "After all, like you said… I’m just your coworker."

Your stomach twisted. You threw the blanket off you, forcing yourself to sit up, because if you laid here any longer, you were going to start throwing things.

The apartment was dead silent, except for the faint sound of someone snoring in the living room. You got up carefully, wincing at the headache that pulsed through your skull, and padded out of your room. Yeonjun was passed out on the couch, one leg hanging off the side, his face smushed into a pillow. You sighed, grabbing the nearest blanket and draping it over him.

Then, as you turned toward the kitchen, you nearly tripped over two bodies sprawled out on the floor. Hueningkai and Taehyun. Both dead asleep, Kai using a hoodie as a pillow, Taehyun curled up in the most uncomfortable-looking position you had ever seen.

You stared at them for a long moment, then sighed again, rubbing at your temples. You needed coffee. You needed out of this apartment. That's why you decided to grab coffee somewhere else.

It was still too early for the world to feel real. The streets were quiet, the sky dull with that soft, overcast light that only came on hungover Sundays. You wrapped your jacket tighter around yourself as you pushed through the doors of the coffeeshop, craving caffeine more than you had ever craved anything in your life.

You were so focused on getting to the counter that you didn’t even notice him at first.

"So we really had the same idea, huh?" You blinked, turning toward the voice. Soobin was sitting at a corner table, hoodie pulled up over his messy hair, looking just as wrecked as you felt. His iced coffee sat half-finished in front of him, condensation dripping down the sides.

You stared. "Holy shit. You look like hell."

He scoffed. "Thanks. You’re glowing this morning."

You snorted, finally ordering your drink before sliding into the seat across from him. "Didn’t expect to see you here."

Soobin hummed. "Didn’t expect to be here. But I woke up with a headache from hell and figured coffee might bring me back to life."

"Same." You took a slow sip of your drink, wincing as the cold hit your stomach. "Last night was… a lot."

Soobin huffed a quiet laugh. "Yeah. Some more than others."

You narrowed your eyes. "What’s that supposed to mean?"

He just smirked, shaking his head. "Nothing. Just… Beomgyu was in rare form last night."

You stiffened slightly. If Soobin noticed, he didn’t mention it. "That drunk?" you asked, voice carefully neutral.

"Drunk enough to be nice," Soobin mused. "Which, you know, is when you should be really concerned." You huffed a laugh, but it didn’t quite reach your eyes. Soobin watched you for a moment, something thoughtful in his expression. "You know," he said eventually, stirring his drink with the straw, "he’s not as much of an asshole as he tries to be."

You raised an eyebrow. "Could’ve fooled me."

Soobin chuckled. "Yeah, he’s good at that. But—" He tilted his head slightly, studying you. "—he respects you."

You hesitated. It wasn’t that you didn’t believe that. You knew Beomgyu took you seriously, he wouldn’t compete so hard with you if he didn’t. But respect wasn’t the word that had been echoing in your head since last night.

Soobin leaned back in his chair. "And maybe he likes your work a little too much."

Your heart skipped, just once, just enough for you to feel stupid. You forced out a scoff, shaking your head. "Right. Sure. That’s why he spent half of the night treating me like shit."

Soobin’s smirk barely twitched. "I never said he handles it well."

You stared at him, trying to figure out if he was messing with you. But there was nothing teasing in his gaze, just knowing amusement, like he had already seen how this story played out before you even knew what page you were on.

You hated that. You hated that something about it made your stomach twist.

So, you stood up, grabbing your order. "I need to go before you start giving me life advice."

Soobin grinned, unfazed. "See you Monday, then?"

"Yeah, yeah," you muttered, already heading for the door.

But even as you stepped out into the cold air, the caffeine still not fully kicking in, Soobin’s words stuck with you. Maybe he likes your work a little too much. Whatever that meant, you weren’t sure if you wanted to know.

The walk back to your apartment was slow, the cool morning air doing little to clear the fog still lingering in your head. The coffeeshop bag swung gently at your side, filled with coffee and a few pastries, not because you were feeling particularly generous, but because you knew the three idiots waiting for you would need it just as much as you did.

When you finally pushed the door open, the apartment was still a disaster.

Yeonjun was awake now, sprawled across the couch in the same position you had left him in, scrolling through his phone with half-lidded eyes. Taehyun and Hueningkai were still on the floor, looking like they had barely moved.

You let the door shut behind you with a soft thud, and all three of them flinched.

"Jesus," Yeonjun muttered, rubbing his face. "Not so loud."

You rolled your eyes, tossing the bag onto the coffee table. "Brought coffee. If any of you die, it’s not my fault."

Hueningkai groaned, blindly reaching for the bag without sitting up. "You’re an angel. A mean one, but an angel."

Taehyun sat up with effort, running a hand through his already-messy hair. "Where’d you go?"

"Coffeeshop," you said simply, grabbing your own cup before sitting on the arm of the couch. "Needed air."

Yeonjun stretched his arms above his head, then let them drop dramatically. "Did we ever figure out what happened to Yunjin?"

"Yeah," Taehyun answered, taking a sip of his drink. "We got her home safe. She passed out halfway there."

"Typical," Yeonjun muttered, shaking his head.

Hueningkai yawned. "We were too drunk to go back to our own places, so we crashed here. Hope you don’t mind."

You shrugged. "I figured. You were taking up half my floor." You shook your head before speaking again. "Ran into Soobin there, in the coffeeshop."

That got their attention. Hueningkai snorted. "Damn, everyone had the same idea."

"Yeah," you mused, stirring your straw through your drink. "He looked just as bad as me. Maybe worse."

Yeonjun hummed. "He drank a lot last night."

"Yeah," you agreed, then took a slow sip of coffee before adding casually, "But he said Beomgyu was worse." You expected some reaction. A laugh, a sarcastic remark, maybe even an exaggerated groan. What you didn’t expect was the subtle way Yeonjun and Taehyun exchanged glances. You frowned. "What?"

Yeonjun exhaled, setting his drink down. "Nothing—just…" He hesitated before continuing, "after you left, Beomgyu and Yunho got into it."

You blinked. "What?"

Hueningkai nodded, chewing slowly. "Yeah. Not, like, a full fight or anything. But they were arguing. And it wasn’t friendly."

You sat up slightly. "Over what?"

Yeonjun shrugged. "No clue. Heeseung and I stepped in before it got worse, but they were both pissed."

Your mind raced, replaying the night. Yunho had been fine when you left, normal, flirty, acting like he always did. And Beomgyu? Beomgyu had been weird. The shift had been so sudden, one second he was being nice, playful, softer than usual. The next, cold, distant. And now, apparently, he had also picked a fight with Yunho. None of it made sense.

You drummed your fingers against your cup. "What did Yunho even say?"

Taehyun shook his head. "Dunno. But whatever it was, Beomgyu hated it."

You scoffed lightly. "So what? He was already pissed at me."

"Was he?" Yeonjun asked, raising an eyebrow.

You frowned, opening your mouth to respond, but nothing came out. Because, honestly? You didn’t know. He had been acting off all week, distant and unreadable. And then last night, he was the opposite, warm, teasing, close. And then, again, the shift, cold. Your head hurt just thinking about it.

"I don’t care," you muttered, standing up and stretching. "I’m taking a shower. If you guys are still here when I’m done, I’m kicking you out."

Taehyun smirked. "Love you too."

You rolled your eyes, but as you walked toward your room, the weight of Yeonjun’s words lingered. Whatever it was, it clearly got under Beomgyu’s skin. But why did that matter? And why the hell did you care?

The car ride to work on Monday was quiet, but not in a peaceful way.

Yeonjun was dropping you off like usual, his music playing softly in the background, but you weren’t really listening. Your thoughts were elsewhere, circling, looping, pulling you into an endless spiral of what the hell is going on with you and Beomgyu.

You had spent the entire Sunday trying not to think about him.

Trying not to think about the way he had been so warm, so teasing, so himself, until he wasn’t. Trying not to think about Yunho, about their argument, about the way Beomgyu looked at you when you left.

And yet, here you were, staring out the car window, still thinking about it. Because now you had to see him again. And you had no idea which version of Beomgyu you were going to get. The smug, infuriating one who lived to push your buttons? The cold, distant one who had barely acknowledged you all week? Or the version from the party, the one who looked at you like he knew exactly what he was doing to your head?

Which was exactly why you didn’t want to talk about this. Because if you said it out loud, then it would feel real. Instead, you just turned back toward the window, watching as the HYBE building came into view.

You made it to your studio without seeing Beomgyu. Thank god.

You hadn’t even realized you had been holding your breath until you shut the door behind you, exhaling slowly. The last thing you wanted was to run into Beomgyu in some awkward hallway moment, trying to pretend like everything was fine when clearly nothing was.

So you did what you did best. You threw yourself into work.

The hours slipped by, your fingers moving almost mechanically over your keyboard, your mind hyper-focused on mixing, arranging, tweaking. It was easier this way, easier to pretend that nothing had changed, that your work was all that mattered.

You didn’t see Beomgyu once. Not in the hallway, not in the break room, not even in the usual spaces where he always seemed to be. Maybe he was avoiding you too. You tried not to care. Tried not to think about it.

But then, just as the day was winding down, just as you were finally about to pack up and go home, there was a knock at your door.

You frowned, pushing your chair back. "Come in."

The door swung open, and standing there, looking as serious as ever, was Baekhyun. "Hey," he said, stepping inside. "Got a minute?"

You straightened slightly, your pulse kicking up for no reason at all. "Uh… yeah, of course."

Baekhyun shut the door behind him before turning to face you. His expression was unreadable, calm, neutral, but with a weight behind his eyes that made your stomach churn. You had a bad feeling about this.

"Listen," he started, crossing his arms. "I wanted to tell you this before you heard it from someone else."

You swallowed. "O…kay?"

Baekhyun exhaled, then said, "Beomgyu dropped out of the project."

The words didn’t register at first. You just blinked at him, waiting for him to say something else. But he didn’t. Because that was it.

You sat up straighter, confusion flashing across your face. "What?"

"He asked to be reassigned," Baekhyun clarified. "You’re the sole producer now."

Your stomach dropped. "He what?"

Baekhyun sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "I don’t know what happened, but it wasn’t about work. His excuse was weak as hell. He just said he ‘wasn’t the right fit for the project’ and left it at that."

You stared at him, your brain struggling to process. Beomgyu, who never backed down from anything, had quit? Beomgyu, who had spent the last few weeks going head-to-head with you, challenging you, pushing you, had walked away?

Just like that? Your pulse roared in your ears. "Why?" you demanded.

Baekhyun shook his head. "I have no idea. And honestly, I don’t have time to figure it out. The album still needs to get done, and now it’s all on you."

You barely heard him. Because all you could think about was him.

The way he had been acting all week. The way he had been acting at the party. The argument with Yunho. The distance. The sudden shift. And now this.

Beomgyu didn’t just quit. Not unless there was a reason. But what the hell was it?

Baekhyun sighed, checking his watch. "Look, I have to run, but if you need anything, let me know."

You nodded stiffly, barely registering as he left the room, shutting the door behind him. And then you were alone. Alone with the news. Alone with the confusion. Alone with the sharp, twisting feeling in your chest that you refused to call anything other than frustration.

Your brain spiraled. Your hands clenched into fists against your desk, your pulse hammering in your ears. Beomgyu quit? Just like that? Without saying a word to you? Without even giving a proper reason?

It made no sense. None of it made sense. You sat there, staring blankly at your screen, but you weren’t processing anything. All you could think about was him.

You exhaled sharply, pushing back from your desk. You weren’t going to sit here and let your thoughts drive you insane. If he wasn’t going to come to you, then fine. You’d go to him.

The building was nearly empty. Most people had already gone home, leaving only a few scattered producers and trainees still working. The silence felt heavier somehow, like even the air itself knew something was wrong.

You walked straight to his studio first. Locked. No lights inside. Empty.

Your jaw tightened as you turned away, moving faster now. Fine. Maybe he was in the break room.

You checked there next, stepping inside and scanning the area. Nothing. Not even a half-finished cup of coffee or an abandoned snack, things that always seemed to be left behind whenever Beomgyu was around.

Your fingers twitched at your sides. You were already walking before you had fully decided to, heading down the hallway toward the smoking area outside. You shoved the door open, stepping onto the dimly lit balcony. The cold air bit at your skin, but you barely noticed. Because the space was completely empty. He wasn’t here.

You let out a frustrated breath, running a hand through your hair. Where the hell was he?

After a few more seconds of standing there uselessly, you turned back around, forcing yourself to accept that you weren’t going to find him tonight. Maybe he had already gone home. Maybe he had been home this whole time, avoiding everything and everyone. Maybe you were wasting your energy trying to chase after someone who clearly didn’t want to be found.

Defeat sat heavy in your chest as you trudged back toward your studio, exhaustion sinking into your bones now that the adrenaline had faded. You should just let it go. Just let him go.

But when you stepped inside your studio—

You froze. Because there he was.

Sitting in your chair, arms resting on the desk, staring at you like he had been waiting. Like he had known you’d come looking. He had that look on his face. That stupid, pathetic, guilty expression—like a kicked dog, like he knew exactly what he had done, like he was bracing himself for the storm he knew was coming.

You shut the door behind you harder than necessary, your heartbeat roaring in your ears. Beomgyu swallowed, his hands tightening slightly where they rested on the desk.

"Listen—"

"Listen what?" Your voice snapped through the air, sharper than you even intended, but you didn’t care. Because after everything, this was what you got? A half-hearted listen? No. Not happening. You crossed your arms, glaring at him. "Go on, Beomgyu. I’d love to hear it."

The words hit the air like a match against gasoline. Beomgyu exhaled sharply, rubbing his palms against his jeans before leaning forward, elbows on his knees. His gaze flickered up to meet yours, hesitant, cautious. "I just—" He ran a hand through his hair, frustration leaking into his voice. "It wasn’t working."

"What wasn’t working?" you demanded. "Because from where I’m standing, the only thing that wasn’t working was you deciding to disappear without saying a damn word to me—"

"Would you just let me talk?" Beomgyu snapped, his voice cutting through yours.

You froze. He never raised his voice at you. Not like this. Not with something heavy sitting behind it, something too close to something real. You set your jaw, arms tightening over your chest. "Fine. Talk."

He let out a bitter chuckle, shaking his head. "You think I wanted to leave the project?"

You blinked. "You literally did."

"Yeah," he snapped. "And maybe if you weren’t so stuck in your own head all the time, you’d realize why."

Your stomach twisted. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

Beomgyu scoffed, pushing himself up from your chair. "It means," he said, voice low, controlled, "that I warned you about people you let in in your life, and you didn’t listen."

And there it was. The shift. The argument that had started as one thing—the project, his sudden absence, your frustration, suddenly becoming something else. Your hands clenched at your sides. "This is about Seungcheol?!"

He let out a sharp laugh, running his tongue over his teeth. "Wow. Look at that. You do listen sometimes."

You took a step closer. "And what exactly is your problem with him?"

Beomgyu’s jaw ticked. "My problem," he muttered, "is that you’re so damn naive sometimes—"

"Excuse me?"

"You think everyone is exactly what they show you," he continued, voice rising slightly. "You think people don’t have their own reasons for the things they do, for why they pay attention to you—"

You felt something sharp crawl up your throat, something dangerously close to real anger. "And why the fuck does that matter to you?"

Beomgyu’s breath hitched, just for a second, just enough for you to see it. And then, just as quickly, his face hardened again. "It doesn’t," he said flatly.

You let out a sharp, humorless laugh. "Right. Got it. So, you threw away an entire project, left me with all the fucking work, because you suddenly don’t care?"

Beomgyu’s hands curled into fists. "I left because I knew this was going to get messy."

"It’s already messy, Beomgyu!" you exploded. "You made it messy! I thought we were a team—I thought, for once, that maybe you weren’t just trying to be better than me, that maybe we actually worked well together, but no—of course not, because you had to fucking run the second it got complicated—"

"Are you even hearing yourself?" His voice was sharp, eyes blazing. "Do you really think I left because of the fucking project?"

You opened your mouth—then shut it. Because, no. You didn’t believe that. Not for a second. Because if this was just about work, then Beomgyu would’ve fought harder. He always fought harder.

Your breath was shallow now, your heart racing against your ribs. There was only a foot of space between you.

You could hear his breathing, sharp, uneven. You could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his fingers twitched at his sides like he was fighting the urge to do something. And you could feel it, how the air between you had shifted, thickened into something neither of you knew how to name.

This wasn’t just about work. This wasn’t just about Yunho, or Seungcheol. This wasn’t just about Saturday night. It was about everything. But neither of you were ready to say it. Neither of you knew how.

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to keep your expression neutral. "Then why did you?"

His jaw clenched. "I told you—"

"No," you cut him off, stepping even closer, your anger outweighing your restraint now. "You didn’t. You keep talking in circles, Beomgyu, but you haven’t told me shit. You just keep—acting like I’m supposed to read your fucking mind."

Beomgyu exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through his hair. "Because you don’t get it!"

"Then make me get it!" you snapped.

His eyes flashed, dark and burning. Then, suddenly—

"You drive me insane."

The words hit the air before he could stop them, before you could process them, and for a second, the room froze. Your breath caught.

Beomgyu’s lips parted slightly, like he couldn’t believe he had actually said it out loud. His chest rose and fell unevenly, like he had been holding onto those words for too long, like they had just ripped their way out of him.

You felt your stomach twist, your skin heat, your pulse roar in your ears. Because he wasn’t looking at you with anger anymore. He was looking at you like you were something dangerous. Like you had the power to ruin him. Like you already had.

Your pulse slammed against your ribs. This, whatever this was, it had been bubbling under the surface for so long, hidden under sharp words and competition and a rivalry neither of you had ever actually needed.

"You fucking ran." Your voice was quieter now, but not softer.

Beomgyu’s brows pulled together. "I had to."

"No," you countered, stepping closer. "You wanted to. Because it was easier than—than whatever this is. Because you can’t handle anything you can’t control."

Beomgyu let out a sharp breath, tongue running over his teeth. "You think I’m the only one running?" You hesitated. That second of hesitation was all it took.

Because then, suddenly, Beomgyu’s fingers curled around your wrist, not pulling, not forcing, just grounding, and you felt the warmth of his skin burn into yours. "You tell me to stop running," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper now. "Then tell me to stay."

Your heart nearly stopped. The challenge in his tone, the weight behind it, felt like stepping off a ledge. You stared at him, your throat tight, your head light, your pulse a fucking mess. Because this wasn’t how things were supposed to go. This wasn’t the plan.

And yet, your fingers tightened slightly around his. Barely, just enough for him to feel it. Just enough for something inside him to snap.

You barely had time to process it before Beomgyu moved.

His hands found your face first, warm, calloused fingers cradling your jaw like he needed to hold you in place, like he was afraid you’d pull away before he could do what he had been holding back for too long.

The space between you disappeared, and then his lips were on yours.

The first press was firm, almost hesitant, like he wasn’t sure if you’d kiss him back, if this was something he was allowed to take. But then you gave in. A sharp inhale, a slight tilt of your head, the way your fingers fisted into his hoodie, yanking him closer. That was all he needed. Because once Beomgyu realized you weren’t stopping him, that you weren’t pushing him away, he lost it.

The kiss got harder, deeper, his lips parting against yours as his hands slid from your jaw to your waist, fingers gripping your sides like he was pissed off—at you, at himself, at the entire world for making him wait this long.

You made a sound against his mouth, but it wasn’t protest. It was frustration, relief, disbelief that this was even happening. Because fuck, he kissed like this? Hot and desperate and messy, like he had been waiting for this for longer than even he was willing to admit. Like he had no idea where to put his hands because he wanted to touch you everywhere.

You felt his teeth graze your lower lip, just barely, just enough to make you gasp, and he took full advantage of it, deepening the kiss, pressing himself into you until your back hit the door behind you.

All you could process was him, his lips, his warmth, the way one of his hands slid up, fingers curling around the back of your neck, angling your head so he could kiss you even deeper, even dirtier. Your fingers dug into his hoodie, tugging him forward, not willing to let him have all the control. He groaned at that.

A soft, frustrated sound that sent a thrill through your body, because you had never heard him sound like that before, had never imagined that you could pull that sound from him. And then, just when the heat between you had grown unbearable, just when his hands started to wander, gripping at your waist like he wanted to pin you there forever—

You both realized what was happening. Realized that this was you and him. That this was real. That this wasn’t something either of you could take back. So you pulled away first. Barely, just a few inches. Just enough to catch your breath. Beomgyu didn’t move.

His forehead pressed against yours, his breath warm and uneven against your lips, his hands still gripping your waist like he couldn’t let go. Your chest heaved, heart hammering so loudly you swore he could hear it. Neither of you spoke. Neither of you could. Because whatever line had been there before? You had just obliterated it.

His breath was uneven, and the silence between you both stretched longer than either of you had anticipated. The air in the studio felt thick now, charged with something neither of you quite knew how to handle.

Finally, you broke the silence. Your voice came out rough but firm as you looked at him. "You… you can’t just walk away."

Beomgyu’s hand twitched at your waist, his grip still there, like he was trying to hold onto something real in the middle of all the chaos between you two. His lips parted, but he hesitated, like he wasn’t sure what to say next.

"You want me to stay?" he asked, his voice quieter now, more vulnerable than you expected. "You really want me to stay?"

You swallowed hard, a knot forming in your throat. It wasn’t that simple. But then again, it was. "I do," you said, your words coming out with an honesty you couldn’t take back.

The air seemed to crackle around you both, and Beomgyu finally let go of his tight grip around your waist, but not completely. He just let his hands fall to your sides, his touch lingering as though he was afraid of pushing too far.

And there it was. The line had been crossed. The weight of your words hung between you, settling like something inevitable. Neither of you moved, but there was something different now, something undeniable that shifted in the space you shared.

Beomgyu’s eyes softened for the first time, he leaned in again, his hand gently cupping your cheek this time, as though he was finally allowing himself to believe that this wasn’t just another fleeting moment, another mistake. His touch lingered for a moment longer, his hand soft on your cheek as though he were afraid that if he moved too quickly, everything would fall apart. His eyes searched yours, the intensity of the moment hanging between you, thick with unspoken words. His lips parted slightly, as though he was going to say something, but the words seemed to get stuck in his throat.

For a long moment, all that was heard was the sound of your breaths, his shaky, yours quick. But then, just as quickly as he had leaned in, Beomgyu pulled back.

The change was immediate. His hand dropped from your cheek, and there was a flicker of something in his eyes, something almost… regretful. You could feel the tension in his body shift, a quiet storm brewing in him that you couldn’t quite understand.

"Beomgyu…" you started, but before you could get another word out, he turned away from you.

Without a word, he walked toward the door. Your chest tightened, confusion and frustration flooding your senses as you watched him move. You didn’t know whether to call out, to beg him to stay, or to just let him go and pretend that this whole mess hadn’t happened. But no matter what, you felt a pit in your stomach, a weight you couldn’t shake off.

Beomgyu reached for the handle, his back still to you, and for a brief second, you thought maybe he would say something—anything. Maybe he would explain himself, finally tell you what was going through his head. But instead, he opened the door. The sound of the hinges creaking was like a cruel reminder of what was happening.

He stepped outside, and for a heartbeat, the door remained open, leaving you to watch him through the gap. His expression was unreadable, his body stiff. Then, without looking back, he closed the door behind him, the sound echoing through the room like the finality of everything.

And just like that, you were left alone.

Your heart pounded in your chest as you sat down, staring at the door, still hearing the faint click of it locking in your mind. You couldn’t move. You couldn’t breathe. It felt as though the world had tilted on its axis, leaving you floating in the aftermath, unsure of what had just happened. What had changed? Why did it feel like you were left with nothing?

Everything was so… messy. You had never felt so raw, so exposed, and yet, Beomgyu had walked away without a single word. The silence that filled the room now was deafening. You wanted to scream, to shout, to demand answers, but all you could do was sit there, trying to make sense of it all.

Had you been wrong to ask him to stay? Did you push him too far, too soon? Or was this all just another part of that complicated dance you two had been doing from the very start?

You didn’t know. All you knew was that the studio felt emptier now, quieter. And Beomgyu… Beomgyu had walked away. The silence in the studio was suffocating.

You sat there, unmoving, eyes still locked on the door even though Beomgyu was long gone. Your hands were trembling in your lap. The lump in your throat tightened, and before you could stop it, a sharp, broken breath escaped you. Until the tears spilled over, hot and relentless, blurring your vision and burning your cheeks.

You sucked in a shaky breath, gripping the edge of your desk like it was the only thing keeping you grounded. You never cried over shit like this. Not over work. Not over him. You hated this. You hated feeling like this.

You blinked rapidly, wiping at your face with the sleeve of your hoodie, but the tears wouldn’t stop. Your breath came out in uneven gasps, the weight in your chest growing heavier by the second.

You needed to leave. Your fingers scrambled for your phone, your vision still blurred with tears as you unlocked it and pulled up your messages. You barely even thought before typing.

[you]: can you pick me up The response came within seconds.

[yeonjun]: on my way. stay there.

You let out a shaky breath, gripping your phone like it was the only thing keeping you from completely unraveling.

The second you slid into Yeonjun’s car, the dam broke.

The moment the door shut behind you, the sobs you had barely been holding in ripped out of you, raw and unfiltered, shaking your entire body.

Yeonjun didn’t hesitate. Didn’t ask any questions. Didn’t push. He just reached across the console, one hand on your back, grounding you. "Hey, hey, hey," he murmured, his voice low and calm as he rubbed small circles. "I got you, okay? Just breathe."

You shook your head violently, pressing your palms into your eyes, trying, and failing, to stop crying. "I—I don’t—" A sharp inhale, a choked-out sob. "I don’t even know why I’m crying."

Yeonjun let out a soft breath, like he already knew that was a lie. You sucked in another shaky breath, leaning your head back against the seat, staring up at the roof of the car. For a few minutes, neither of you spoke. Yeonjun just drove.

The car was quiet, save for the steady hum of the engine and the occasional sound of your sniffles as you tried to get your breathing under control. Yeonjun didn’t say anything right away. He didn’t press, didn’t demand answers. He just waited and held your hand while he drove. Slow, steady, like he had done this a hundred times before. Like he knew you needed the silence before you could find the words.

And when you finally did, your voice came out small. Tired. "He quit the project." Yeonjun’s grip on the wheel tightened slightly, but he stayed quiet, letting you continue. "I don’t—I don’t get it," you said, shaking your head as you wiped at your eyes with your sleeve. "I was working all day, and then Baekhyun came in and just dropped it on me like it was nothing. Like it was some casual decision Beomgyu made, and now I’m just supposed to deal with it—"

Yeonjun exhaled sharply. "Wait. He just left? No warning? No explanation?"

You let out a shaky breath. "Nothing. I—I went looking for him, but he wasn’t anywhere. Then when I finally gave up and went back to my studio, he was just there, like he had been waiting for me or something." Yeonjun frowned, but he didn’t interrupt. "And I was so fucking mad," you admitted, voice thick with frustration. "I just—I don’t understand him. He always has to push my buttons, always has to act like he doesn’t care about anything, but then he turns around and does this. Like it means something, but then he—he just—"

Your breath hitched. You squeezed your eyes shut, your chest aching. "And then he kissed me," you whispered.

Silence. Yeonjun inhaled slowly. "What?"

Your hands clenched in your lap. "I don’t even know how it happened. We were yelling at each other, and it just—it happened."

Yeonjun didn’t respond right away. His fingers flexed around the steering wheel, his brows furrowing as he processed what you just said. "And then what?" he asked, quieter now.

Your throat tightened. "And then… he left."

Yeonjun let out a slow, controlled breath. "What a dick." You let out a weak, wet laugh, shaking your head. "Yeah, well, I mean it." He tightened his grip on the wheel before exhaling, forcing himself to soften.

Then, carefully, he reached over, his fingers curling around your knee, grounding you. "Hey." You sniffled, not looking at him. Yeonjun’s voice was softer this time. "Did it mean something to you?"

Your breath caught. Because, fuck. It did. It did, and you hated that. You let out a shaky exhale, running a hand over your face. "I don’t know," you lied.

Your chest ached. "Then why not just fucking say that?"

Yeonjun sighed, turning onto your street. "Because people are dumb. Men are dumb. And Beomgyu’s spent years convincing himself that he doesn’t care about anything. You think he’s just gonna wake up one day and admit that he cares about you?" Your breath stilled. Yeonjun just shook his head. "He’s an idiot. That’s all it is."

You let out a weak laugh, leaning your head against the window. "Yeah," you murmured. "That makes two of us."

Yeonjun pulled into your apartment complex, shifting into park before turning to you. He didn’t say anything for a second, just watched you carefully, his eyes warm and steady. Then, gently, he reached out, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. "You’re not an idiot," he murmured. "You just care too much, and you’re scared."

You scoffed. "No shit."

You swallowed hard, your throat tight. He let that sit for a second before shaking his head. "You know what I think?" Yeonjun hummed, thoughtful. "I think he’s scared, too."

You stiffened slightly. "He didn’t seem scared when he left me standing there."

"Yeah?" Yeonjun mused. "Then why did he leave at all?"

You frowned, glancing at him. "What do you mean?"

Yeonjun sighed. "Think about it. If Beomgyu was just messing around, if this was just another game to him—he wouldn’t have left. He would’ve stayed. Would’ve laughed it off, made some cocky comment, pretended like it meant nothing." Your stomach twisted. Yeonjun turned toward you, his expression softer now. "But he didn’t, Y/N. He ran."

You let that sink in. Because maybe Yeonjun had a point. Maybe Beomgyu leaving wasn’t just some asshole move. Maybe he had been just as freaked out as you. The thought made your chest tighten all over again.

Yeonjun reached over, squeezing your hand once before letting go. "You don’t have to figure it all out right now," he murmured. He gave you a small smile before reaching over, pulling you into a hug. "You’re gonna be okay," he murmured against your hair. "I promise."

You let out a shaky breath, gripping onto him a little tighter. You weren’t sure if you believed him. But for now, you needed to. You sighed, leaning back against the seat, exhausted. But even as Yeonjun turned off the car, even as you sat there, trying to steady yourself, one thought wouldn’t leave your mind.

Beomgyu had run. But what the hell was he running from?

The question rattled in your mind, looping over and over as you stepped into your apartment, your limbs heavy with exhaustion.

You barely remembered saying goodnight to Yeonjun. You barely even registered the moment you locked yourself in the bathroom, turning on the shower and stepping under the scalding water.

Steam filled the space around you, thick and hazy, but it did nothing to quiet the storm in your chest. You tilted your head back, letting the water soak through your hair, tracing down the curve of your spine. Your breathing was still uneven, your mind still too loud.

You were supposed to be fine. It wasn’t a big deal. So what if he had kissed you? So what if he had left? You and Beomgyu had been dancing around each other for years—this was just another part of the cycle.

Right?

You squeezed your eyes shut, inhaling deeply through your nose. Then why does it feel different this time? Your fingers curled into fists.

You could still feel his hands on your waist, his breath against your lips. Could still see the flicker of hesitation in his eyes right before he pulled away. Could still hear the sound of the door clicking shut as he left.

You sucked in a sharp breath, forcing yourself to push the memory away. You weren’t going to do this. You weren’t going to sit here, overthinking every second, every glance, every fucking thing about Beomgyu.

So instead, you stayed under the water until your skin was raw, until the ache in your chest dulled into something you could ignore.

And despite everything—despite the storm in your chest, despite the weight in your head—you managed to fall asleep. But you woke up feeling like your body was still stuck in yesterday.

Your limbs were sluggish, your mind groggy, and the second you remembered why, your stomach twisted unpleasantly. You groaned, dragging a pillow over your face, trying to will yourself back to sleep.

But outside your door, you could already hear Yeonjun moving around the kitchen. You forced yourself out of bed, padding into the living room to find him standing by the stove, frying eggs like he actually knew how to cook. You frowned. "What are you doing?"

Yeonjun glanced over his shoulder. "Making breakfast."

"You don’t cook," you pointed out.

"Yeah, well, desperate times." He nodded toward the table. "Sit."

You sighed but obeyed, rubbing at your temples as you slumped into a chair. A minute later, Yeonjun set a plate in front of you, eggs, toast, and a coffee. You blinked. "You’re really committing to this whole overbearing best friend thing, huh?"

Yeonjun smirked, plopping down across from you with his own plate. "You love it."

You rolled your eyes but took a bite of the eggs anyway. They were… passable. Yeonjun watched you carefully between bites, waiting. You sighed. "I will be fine, you know."

He hummed. "Yeah, I know." He took a sip of his coffee, then added, "But are you fine right now?" Your fingers tightened slightly around your fork. You didn’t answer. Yeonjun just sighed, reaching across the table to squeeze your wrist. "You don’t have to be fine yet, Y/N."

Your throat tightened. So instead of answering, you just nodded, pushing your food around your plate. Yeonjun didn’t push. Just let you sit there, existing, until you finally managed to eat something.

When it was time to leave, he drove you to work again, filling the silence with easy conversation, talking about his projects, making fun of bad drivers, anything to keep your mind off of what was waiting for you at HYBE.

But the second you stepped out of the car, the weight returned. The anxiety crept back into your bones. Because today, you had to see Beomgyu. And you had no idea what was going to happen.

You made it to your studio without running into him. You didn’t know whether that was a good thing or a bad thing.

But instead of sitting there, drowning in your own thoughts, you pulled out your phone. Your fingers hovered over the screen for a moment before you typed.

[you]: taehyun, i need to talk to you [taehyun]: About what? [you]: just… when you have a second. come by my studio [taehyun]: Be there soon.

You exhaled, setting your phone down. You didn’t know why you needed to talk to him. But right now, Taehyun felt like the only person who could give you some kind of clarity. And clarity was exactly what you needed.

It didn’t take long for Taehyun to show up. You barely had time to fully gather your thoughts before there was a soft knock at your door, and then he was stepping inside, hands in the pockets of his hoodie, head tilting slightly as he studied you.

"Alright," he said, shutting the door behind him. "What’s up?"

You opened your mouth, then closed it. Because now that he was actually here, you weren’t sure where to start. Did you tell him about Beomgyu quitting? The fight? The kiss? Did you tell him about the way your heart had completely fallen apart when Beomgyu walked out of that room?

You exhaled, rubbing your temples. "This is stupid."

Taehyun raised an eyebrow. "Well, now I definitely wanna hear it."

You shot him a dry look, but he just crossed his arms, waiting. So you told him. Everything.

How you found out that Beomgyu had quit. How you had gone looking for him. How he was already waiting for you when you got back to your studio. The argument and then… And then the kiss.

Taehyun listened carefully, barely reacting at first. Just nodding, humming occasionally, letting you spill everything you had been holding in since last night. And when you finally finished, slumping back into your chair with a deep breath, he exhaled slowly, shaking his head.

"Jesus Christ," he muttered. "You guys are exhausting."

You let out a short, humorless laugh. "Tell me about it."

Taehyun was quiet for a moment, thoughtful. "He’s an idiot," he said. You blinked. "He is," Taehyun repeated, sitting on the edge of your desk. "Beomgyu is… complicated. He’s impulsive, and reckless, and sometimes he doesn’t think before he acts. But he’s not bad, Y/N."

You frowned, shifting in your seat. "I never said he was bad—"

"You didn’t have to," Taehyun interrupted. "You’re pissed, and you should be. He left you with an entire project and just disappeared. That’s a dick move."

You scoffed. "Glad we agree on that."

"But," Taehyun continued, leveling you with a look, "you also know that if this was just about work, he wouldn’t have left."

You stiffened. Because, yeah. You did know that.

Taehyun sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Look… I’ve known Beomgyu for a long time. And I can tell you one thing for sure—he’s confused as hell about you." Your stomach twisted. "Beomgyu’s not used to… feeling things like this. You know him—he jokes, he messes around, he acts like nothing ever really matters to him. But this? You? This is probably the first time something has actually gotten to him in a way he doesn’t know how to handle."

You looked away, fingers tightening slightly around the edge of your desk. "He looked at me like…" You hesitated, searching for the right words. "Like he regretted it."

Taehyun hummed. "Maybe he did." Your heart sank. Taehyun must have noticed your expression, because he shook his head quickly. "No—not like that. Not in the I wish I never kissed her way. More like… Fuck, what did I just do?"

Your breath hitched. Taehyun leaned forward slightly, watching you carefully. "Y/N… if Beomgyu didn’t care, he wouldn’t have left. He wouldn’t have pulled away. He wouldn’t be acting like this at all."

You swallowed hard. "Then why didn’t he just say something?"

Taehyun sighed. "Because he’s a coward."

You blinked. "Wow. That’s blunt."

"Yeah, well." He shrugged. "Someone has to say it."

A short silence stretched between you, the weight of everything still settling in your chest. And then, Taehyun’s voice softened slightly. "I know you want to see him." You inhaled sharply, but before you could argue, he continued. "But you won’t," he said simply. "Not for a while, at least."

"What do you mean?"

Taehyun rubbed the back of his neck. "I overheard Baekhyun talking to some of the staff this morning. Beomgyu asked for a week off before getting reassigned to another project." Your stomach dropped. You opened your mouth, closed it, then opened it again. Taehyun hesitated. "He’s not ot gone. Just… off the grid for a bit."

You swallowed hard. A week. You had a week without him. A week to focus on work. A week to stop feeling like this. A week to—

To what? Forget about him? Pretend none of this ever happened? Pretend that the past twenty-four hours hadn’t completely flipped your world upside down?

You clenched your fists in your lap, nodding stiffly. "Okay."

Taehyun studied you for a moment. Then, finally, he sighed and reached out, squeezing your arm. "You’ll be okay," he murmured.

You let out a shaky breath, forcing a nod. "Yeah."

But as he walked out of the room, leaving you alone with your thoughts, one thing was clear. You weren’t sure if that was true.

The first day without Beomgyu was easier than you expected.

Maybe because you were still fueled by frustration. By anger. By the exhaustion of the past few days. It was easier to channel all of that into work, to drown out the silence with layers of sound, synths, drums, melodies, anything to keep your mind occupied.

You convinced yourself that you didn’t need him here. Didn’t need his input, his annoying commentary, his stupid smirk when he knew he was right about something. And for a little while, you almost believed it.

But then the second day came. And the third.

And by Wednesday, you realized just how much space Beomgyu used to take up, physically, mentally, emotionally. The studio felt different without him. Too quiet.

You had spent so long being annoyed by his presence, by the way he was always around, always making some offhand comment, always pushing your buttons just because he could. And now it felt like the air had been sucked out of the room. Like the silence was mocking you. You tried to ignore it.

Tried to focus on the album, on the endless meetings with Baekhyun about tracklists, on your studio sessions with the Enhypen members.

Jake had mentioned that they were excited about the project. Jungwon had suggested a few ideas for the second track. Heeseung had even sat with you for over an hour, working through some of the melody transitions.

It was good. The work was getting done. Everything was moving forward. So why did it still feel like something was missing?

By Thursday, Yeonjun had stopped asking if you wanted to talk about it. At first, he had tried, little things, subtle attempts to get you to open up.

"You seem really focused on work this week," he had mused over dinner on Tuesday. "Trying to distract yourself?" You had rolled your eyes, shoving a bite of food into your mouth just to avoid answering.

By Wednesday, he had simply given you a long, knowing look before sighing. "Okay. I get it. You don’t want to talk about it."

And you didn’t. Because what was there to say? That you missed him? That you had caught yourself glancing at his empty chair during meetings? That every time you pulled up a demo, you could still hear his suggestions in the back of your mind? That you had started a dozen text messages, only to delete them before even finishing the first word? No. You weren’t going to do that.

You weren’t going to let Beomgyu live rent-free in your head while he was off doing whatever the hell he was doing.

So by Friday, you had convinced yourself that you were fine. That you were moving on. That you had finally, finally stopped thinking about him. At least, until you walked into your studio that morning.

And saw the letter sitting on your desk.

At first, you thought it was just another memo from Baekhyun. Or maybe some notes from one of the Enhypen members. But then you got closer. And you saw his handwriting.

For a moment, you just stood there, frozen in the doorway, staring at the folded piece of paper like it might disappear if you blinked. Then, cautiously, you stepped forward. Your fingers hesitated before reaching for it. The paper was slightly creased, as if he had folded and unfolded it multiple times before finally deciding to leave it here. No greeting. No explanation.

Just one simple sentence, scrawled in messy, familiar ink.

i think this fits for track 1

Your heart pounded in your chest as your eyes flicked down to the lyrics below. And the second you started reading, your breath caught.

Just the two of us, getting deeply moonstruck Oh, you make me go crazy over you, you, baby Let me hold you close, I want to feel you until the end of the night Fly this night above the rising moon Crazy over you, you, baby We can take it slow Moonstruck in ecstasy

Your fingers clenched around the edges of the paper. This wasn’t just a song suggestion. This wasn’t just another track for the album. This was Beomgyu, talking to you the only way he knew how. Your pulse roared in your ears.

Because, fuck. You weren’t stupid. You knew exactly what this meant. And now, you had no idea what the hell you were supposed to do about it.

You sat at your desk, gripping the paper so tightly it was a wonder it hadn’t torn yet. Your eyes kept flicking over the words, tracing the messy, slightly smudged ink of his handwriting. Moonstruck.

You read the lyrics again. And again. Each time, they felt heavier.

I'm so intoxicated, getting more and more into you, baby

What the fuck was he trying to say? You tried to rationalize it. Maybe he had written it before everything that happened. But that didn’t make sense, did it?

Your fingers curled into the fabric of your hoodie as your mind looped back to that night. The way he had kissed you. The way he had run. And now, instead of an explanation, instead of a conversation, he left this? A song?

You exhaled sharply, forcing yourself to push it aside. If Beomgyu wanted to talk in lyrics, fine. You would make sure they were heard.

The Enhypen members were already lounging around their practice room when you arrived. Sunghoon was sprawled on the couch, lazily scrolling through his phone. Jungwon and Jay were flipping through notes on the album’s concept. Jake was throwing a crumpled-up piece of paper at Sunoo, who swatted it away with an exaggerated groan.

The second you stepped in, Heeseung perked up. "Oh, hey, you’re here. What’s up?"

You inhaled deeply, clutching the paper in your hands. "We have a song."

That got their attention. Sunghoon sat up properly. Jay leaned forward, brows raising. Ni-ki, who had been half-asleep in the corner, immediately straightened, eyes flicking toward you.

You placed the lyrics down on the table. "It’s called Moonstruck," you said, keeping your voice steady. "Beomgyu wrote it."

A beat of silence. Jungwon blinked. "Wait. Beomgyu?"

You nodded stiffly. "Yeah."

Jake leaned in, scanning the paper. "When the hell did he even—?"

"I don’t know," you admitted, arms crossing over your chest. "But it’s good. And I think we should use it."

They didn’t argue. Instead, they took the next few minutes carefully analyzing the lyrics, murmuring about which parts fit their vocal tones best.

"Pre-chorus has to be Ni-ki and Sunghoon," Jay noted, nodding to himself. "Their voices will carry this section perfectly."

Ni-ki grinned. "I do sound good under moonlight."

Sunoo groaned. "God, shut up."

Jake chuckled, shaking his head. "The first verse has a nice flow. Maybe Heeeseung and Jay can split it?"

You nodded. "Yeah, that works."

As they discussed vocal distribution, you quietly worked on the arrangement, playing with some of the melodies on your laptop. And as much as you hated to admit it, the song was beautiful.

The harmonies, the depth, the longing in the lyrics—it all weaved together into something intoxicating. Something that felt like Beomgyu. And, more terrifyingly, something that felt like you and Beomgyu.

You poured yourself into it. Every ounce of frustration, every unanswered question, every lingering moment of that damn kiss, you put it all into the music. If Beomgyu wanted to communicate this way, then fine. You would answer him in the production.

By the time the first rough demo was put together, the entire room had shifted. The members listened intently, nodding along to the beat, already humming harmonies under their breath.

And when the final note played, Heeseung let out a low whistle. "Okay," he muttered. "That was… insane."

Jake leaned back against the couch, arms crossed. "This might be one of the strongest songs on the album."

Ni-ki grinned. "It’s sexy."

Jungwon rolled his eyes. "It’s romantic, you idiot."

Sunghoon smirked. "Both."

You stared at the screen, fingers still hovering over the controls, heart pounding in your chest. You had lost track of time, lost yourself in the production, in the process of turning Beomgyu’s words into something real.

Heeseung stretched his arms over his head, glancing over at you. "How the hell did this come together so fast?"

You hesitated. Then, before you could think too much about it, the words tumbled out. "Because Beomgyu wrote it."

The room fell quiet for a beat. You swallowed, suddenly feeling exposed under their stares. You ignored the pointed looks, turning back toward the screen.

You had done what you needed to do. You had taken Beomgyu’s song and made it something real. And yet, as you sat there, staring at the lyrics again, one thought lingered.

This was his way of talking to you. But when—if—you finally saw him again… Would he have anything else to say?

The weekend arrived quietly, slipping in like a breeze through an open window. For the first time in what felt like forever, you allowed yourself to exist outside of work, outside of the chaos, outside of the constant hum of him in the back of your mind.

You spent Saturday sprawled across the living room floor, limbs tangled with Yunjin’s as she attempted (and failed) to beat Hueningkai in a Mario Kart tournament.

"HOW is this fair?!" she screeched, gripping the controller like it personally offended her. "This little shit has been in first place for the entire race—"

"Skill issue," Hueningkai mused, barely sparing her a glance as he executed yet another flawless turn.

Taehyun cackled from his spot on the couch. "Face it, Yunjin, you’re bad at this game."

"You’re supposed to be on my side!"

"I would be," Taehyun said easily, taking a sip of his soda. "If you were winning."

Yunjin let out an exaggerated wail, flopping back onto the floor in defeat as Hueningkai crossed the finish line with ease. You laughed, stretching your legs out, your shoulders relaxing in a way they hadn’t all week.

This was nice. No tension, no overthinking, no lyrics folded neatly onto your desk like an unanswered question. Just this. Just them.

Yeonjun, who had spent the afternoon attempting to make cocktails, only to get tipsy himself after "taste testing" every single one. Hueningkai, who had somehow convinced everyone to build a fort in the living room, resulting in a half-collapsed mess of blankets and fairy lights that no one had the energy to fix.

Taehyun, who had made it his personal mission to bother you at all time, poking your cheek, stealing your hair tie, purposefully messing up your playlists just to get a reaction out of you. And Yunjin, who was now lying dramatically across your lap, still mourning her loss. "I hate this game," she mumbled into your hoodie.

"You say that every time you lose," Yeonjun reminded her, nudging her foot with his own.

She groaned. "Because I do."

You chuckled, resting your head against the couch cushions. For the first time in days, your mind felt quiet.

Maybe Beomgyu was just a phase. A storm that had come and gone, leaving only a few stray raindrops behind. Maybe by Monday, you would go back to work and it wouldn’t hurt anymore. Maybe.

It wasn’t until Sunday night, when the apartment had finally settled into silence, that something shifted. Everyone had gone home. Yeonjun had retreated to his room, muttering something about a deadline he had been procrastinating. And you were alone.

The weight of it settled over you slowly, like an old sweater you hadn’t worn in years but still fit perfectly. You weren’t sure when you reached for your guitar. Hadn’t even realized you were doing it until you were sitting cross-legged on your bed, fingers ghosting over the strings. It had been a while.

Too long since you had written something for yourself. Too long since you had let yourself sit in the mess of your own emotions, instead of tucking them neatly into productions meant for other people’s voices.

You plucked a few chords aimlessly, letting the melody come to you naturally. Something soft. Something slow. And then—without meaning to—you started to hum. A tune that wasn’t meant for the album. A tune that wasn’t meant for anyone.

The words slipped out like a confession, too quiet for anyone else to hear. You didn’t even think about them. You just sang.

Your fingers stilled. The room felt too small. You closed your eyes, exhaling through your nose. And then, with trembling hands, you picked up a pen and started to write. Not because you wanted to. But because some things were too heavy to carry in silence.

The first chord rang out soft and hesitant, barely louder than the steady hum of the city outside your window. You pressed your lips together, fingertips finding the familiar weight of the strings, the slightly worn frets beneath them.

And then, you started to sing.

This is the first day of my life Swear I was born right in the doorway I went out in the rain, suddenly everything changed They're spreading blankets on the beach

The words came slowly, carefully, like they had been waiting for you to let them out. Your voice was quiet, almost unsure at first. But as the melody settled into you, as the lyrics unfolded with each passing chord, something in your chest loosened.

Yours was the first face that I saw I think I was blind before I met you And I don't know where I am, I don't know where I've been But I know where I want to go

Your breathing evened. Your fingers moved more fluidly. And suddenly, it wasn’t just a song anymore. It was him.

The memories bled into the music, uninvited but unavoidable. The late nights in the studio, the sharp bickering that always gave way to something deeper. The way he looked at you sometimes, like he knew you, like he saw through every wall you had ever built and wasn’t afraid to push past them.

So if you wanna be with me With these things there's no telling We just have to wait and see But I'd rather be working for a paycheck Than waiting to win the lottery Besides, maybe this time is different I mean, I really think you like me

The realization settled slowly, creeping in like the soft glow of headlights through your window. You missed him. Not just as a producer, not just as a coworker, not just as the person who had spent years getting under your skin.

You missed him. His presence, his voice, the way his eyes flickered with something unreadable when he looked at you. The way you had always convinced yourself that the tension between you two was nothing but competition.

But now? Now, as you sat here with a guitar in your lap and a song that tasted like confession on your tongue, you weren’t so sure anymore.

The words hung in the air, delicate and fragile. And for the first time in weeks, you stopped running from the truth. It wasn’t just a rivalry. It wasn’t just frustration. It wasn’t even just a stupid, fleeting crush.

You liked him. And that was terrifying.

The car ride to work felt different today.

You weren’t as anxious as last week, your chest wasn’t as tight, your hands weren’t as clammy, but there was still something unsettled in you, something quietly nagging at the back of your mind.

Because today, Beomgyu was coming back.

And you had no idea what that meant. No idea which version of him you’d be facing. No idea if he’d pretend like nothing had happened, if he’d be cold again, or if he’d acknowledge it, that stupid, reckless, earth-shattering kiss. Or, if you'd even seen him today.

The HYBE lobby was already buzzing with early-morning energy. You kept your head down as you made your way toward the café, deciding that you desperately needed caffeine before facing the rest of the day. When you stepped inside, the familiar scent of espresso and vanilla filled the air, the quiet hum of conversation washing over you like white noise.

You spotted Taehyun near the counter, casually scrolling through his phone as he waited for his order. "Morning," you greeted, sliding into line beside him.

Taehyun glanced up from his phone as you slid into line beside him. "You’re here early," he remarked, taking a sip of his coffee.

You shrugged, adjusting the strap of your bag. "Figured I’d try something new. Maybe if I start my day with caffeine instead of stress, I’ll live longer."

Taehyun smirked. "Doubt it. But I respect the effort."

You hummed, stepping forward as the line moved. "What about you? Thought you weren’t a morning person."

"I’m not," he admitted, stuffing his free hand into the pocket of his hoodie. "But some of us have obligations."

You snorted. "Right." You huffed a quiet laugh, shaking your head as you reached for your phone. And just as you unlocked it, a notification popped up at the top of your screen.

[baekhyun (HYBE)]: meeting on the 18th floor. 10 minutes.

Your stomach twisted slightly. Taehyun must’ve noticed the shift in your expression because he raised an eyebrow. "Everything good?"

You exhaled, locking your phone and slipping it back into your pocket. "Yeah. Just got called into a meeting."

He hummed, sipping his coffee. "Just you?" You nodded, grabbing your drink from the counter. Taehyun studied you for a beat before smirking. "Well. That’s suspicious."

You shot him a flat look. "Everything is suspicious to you."

"And yet, I’m usually right." Taehyun smirked. "Good luck, warrior."

You shot him a dry look before turning to leave. But as you made your way toward the elevators, your chest tightened slightly. You weren’t nervous. At least, that’s what you kept telling yourself.

But the moment the elevator doors slid open, your breath caught in your throat. Beomgyu was already inside.

He stood toward the back, hands shoved into the pockets of his hoodie, the sleeves pushed up just enough to reveal the veins in his forearms. His dark hair was slightly tousled, messy, like he had run his hands through it too many times this morning.

Your heart did something stupid in your chest.

You hesitated for half a second, debating whether you should just wait for the next elevator, but then Beomgyu’s eyes met yours. And you couldn’t run. Not again. So, stiffly, you stepped inside.

The doors slid shut behind you, and the silence pressed in like a heavy weight. You swallowed. Beomgyu said nothing. You could feel him there, standing just a few feet away, but he didn’t look at you. His jaw was set, his gaze fixed on the doors in front of him, his entire body wound tight.

The tension was unbearable. So, stupidly, you spoke first. "You’re back."

His lips pressed together slightly. "Yeah."

You exhaled slowly, nodding. The elevator climbed higher, the numbers blinking above the doors, but the silence remained.

"I saw the tracklist update," Beomgyu said, voice even. "You kept Moonstruck."

Your breath hitched. For the first time since you stepped inside, he looked at you. And suddenly, you were back there. Back in the studio. Back in the moment he kissed you like it meant something. Back in the moment he ran.

You swallowed hard, gripping your coffee cup like it could anchor you. "Yeah," you said, keeping your voice steady. "It’s a good song."

Beomgyu’s gaze flickered, just briefly, just enough for you to see something shift. But he didn’t respond.

The elevator slowed. And before either of you could say anything else, the doors slid open. 18th floor. You stepped out first, pulse hammering against your ribs. But just before the doors shut behind him, you heard Beomgyu exhale a quiet—

"See you around."

And fuck. You were not ready for this.

Your legs carried you toward the meeting room, but your mind was still in that elevator. Moonstruck. He had noticed. You didn’t know why that made your stomach turn. Why it sent a hot, prickling feeling down your spine.

You had convinced yourself that the song was just work, just another track, just another piece of the album puzzle. But hearing him say it? Knowing that he knew?

It made it real. And the way he had looked at you when he said it, like he was waiting for something. Like he wanted an answer. But you didn’t have an answer. Because what were you supposed to say?

You inhaled sharply, pushing open the door to the conference room. And the second you stepped inside, you regretted it. Because sitting at the table, next to Baekhyun, was Seungcheol.

His eyes flicked up to yours immediately, and his lips curled into that same knowing smile he had given you at the HYBE party. "Ah," he mused. "Finally, our star producer has arrived."

Your stomach twisted. You forced a polite smile, slipping into the seat across from them. You had no idea what this meeting was about. But suddenly, you had a feeling it was going to be a lot.

You sat down, adjusting your posture, trying to ignore the sudden unease creeping into your chest. It wasn’t like you had anything against Seungcheol, he had always been perfectly pleasant whenever your paths crossed.

At the HYBE party, when Baekhyun introduced you, he was polite, curious, asked questions about your work that felt genuine. A few days later, in the hallway, he reinforced that same interest, saying he wanted to learn more about your creative process, that he admired what you were doing. It made sense, he was HYBE’s creative director, after all. It was his job to connect with the producers.

But then he happened. Beomgyu. With his endless stubbornness, his unwarranted judgment, his obvious disdain for Seungcheol.

He didn’t trust the guy. And he made that very clear, not just at the party when he interrupted your conversation, but later, in the hallway, with the way he threw out casual, cutting remarks, as if it was obvious that Seungcheol had ulterior motives.

You had ignored him. Because Beomgyu was always like that, poking, provoking, saying things just to get under your skin. But now, sitting across from Seungcheol, watching the way he smiled at you, the way his gaze lingered just a little too long, something inside you hesitated. And that was when you realized, that voice in my head isn’t mine. It’s Beomgyu’s. The thought irritated you. You didn’t need him planting ideas in your mind. Seungcheol had done nothing wrong.

He had never been inappropriate, never crossed any lines. If you were uncomfortable now, it was only because Beomgyu had convinced you that you should be.

Seungcheol leaned forward slightly, resting his hands on the table. "I was really pleased when I heard you’d be leading the production on your own," he said, his voice smooth, effortless. "I think you deserve it—this is a great step forward in your career."

You blinked, keeping your expression neutral. Something about the way he said it bothered you. Because the truth was, you hadn’t minded producing the album with Beomgyu. He was a good producer. One of the best, actually. And despite all your frustrations with him, you couldn’t deny that the work had been better when he was there.

You licked your lips, choosing your words carefully. "I never had a problem sharing the workload," you replied smoothly. "Beomgyu is incredibly talented. The album was going really well with the two of us working together."

Seungcheol didn’t react immediately. Instead, he just smiled a little, as if he had been expecting you to say that.

Next to him, Baekhyun, who had been flipping through some papers, glanced up. "Beomgyu’s decision to leave was personal," he noted, sensing the tension. "He requested to be removed. It had nothing to do with the quality of your work together."

You nodded, but Seungcheol simply let out a quiet, almost amused chuckle. "That sounds like something he’d do," he murmured, almost to himself.

You frowned. "What do you mean by that?"

Seungcheol met your gaze, tilting his head slightly, his expression unreadable. "He’s impulsive," he said simply. "Always has been. He doesn’t handle things well when they don’t go his way."

Your jaw clenched. Something about the way he said it bothered you. It wasn’t what he said—it was how he said it. His tone was too calculated, his words too deliberate, like he was trying to implant something in your mind without directly stating it. And maybe you were being paranoid, but it almost felt like he was waiting for a reaction from you.

You kept your face carefully blank, but you couldn’t stop the words from slipping out. "Or maybe he just had a valid reason for leaving," you said, keeping your voice light but firm. "Whatever it was, he’s one of the best producers here. He always delivers, and he knows exactly how to handle pressure when it matters."

Seungcheol raised an eyebrow, like he was mildly surprised by your defense. But instead of pushing, he just smiled again. "If you say so."

Baekhyun cleared his throat, flipping to another page. "Anyway, now that you’re leading the project, we need to finalize some decisions about the album direction. We have to lock in arrangements before we move forward with recording."

You nodded, relieved that the conversation was shifting back to work. The meeting had gone on longer than expected. You had been so focused on the album’s direction, discussing arrangements and potential changes to the tracklist with Baekhyun, that for a moment, you managed to forget about Seungcheol entirely.

Until you didn’t. Because at some point during the discussion, as you were leaning over the table, flipping through some production notes, Seungcheol’s hand landed on your arm.

Not aggressive. Not too much. Just enough. Enough to make your shoulders stiffen, enough to make your fingers freeze mid-page, enough for that cold, uncomfortable feeling to creep down your spine.

It was subtle, an easy touch, light pressure on your forearm as he leaned in slightly. "I really admire how dedicated you are," he murmured, his voice smooth, casual. "It’s rare to find someone so talented and hardworking."

Because now, you saw what Beomgyu saw. Maybe he had been dramatic. Maybe he had been exaggerating. But Seungcheol was flirting with you. And for the first time, you couldn’t ignore it.

You swallowed, keeping your eyes on the papers in front of you, pretending not to notice the way his fingertips lingered a little longer than necessary before he finally pulled away.

This was work. This was a meeting. You weren’t going to make a scene. You shifted slightly in your chair, tucking your arm out of reach, nodding stiffly. "Thanks," you said, your voice carefully neutral.

If Baekhyun noticed anything, he didn’t react. He simply continued walking you through the album structure, his focus locked on the material in front of him. But your focus was gone. Because now, every single word out of Seungcheol’s mouth sounded different.

When he agreed with your ideas, it wasn’t just professional, it was deliberate. When he smiled at you, it wasn’t just friendly, it was calculated. And Beomgyu’s voice, the one you had sworn you wouldn’t listen to, was ringing in the back of your head, loud and unshakable.

You should be careful with him.

By the time the meeting wrapped up, you were exhausted, not from the work, but from everything else. You had barely finished stacking your papers when Seungcheol stood up, stretching his arms with an easy smile. "Well," he said, buttoning his blazer, "this was productive."

You hummed noncommittally, hoping that was the end of it. But as he reached the door, he paused, glancing over his shoulder at you. "Oh, and by the way—" You looked up. "The invitation still stands," he said, that same smile playing on his lips. "You should drop by my office sometime. I’d love to go over more of your work."

Something about the way he said it made your stomach twist. Before you could respond, he was already walking out, leaving you alone with Baekhyun. The second the door shut, you let out a slow breath, pressing your fingers to your temple.

Baekhyun sighed, setting his notes down. "Alright," he said, leaning back in his chair. "I know that look. What’s on your mind?"

You hesitated for half a second before deciding—fuck it. If you didn’t say something now, you were going to explode. "Look," you exhaled, straightening. "You’re my boss. I respect you. I like working with you. But I need to be honest—"

Baekhyun raised an eyebrow. "Go on."

You licked your lips, forcing yourself to meet his gaze. "That whole meeting just made me really uncomfortable."

His expression shifted slightly, his features smoothing into something unreadable. "Because of Seungcheol?"

"Yes." You didn’t hesitate. "It’s not just today. It’s been happening for a while. I didn’t want to make assumptions, but now I—" You shook your head, exhaling sharply. "I don’t know. The way he talks to me, the way he acts… It doesn’t feel like it’s just about work."

Baekhyun didn’t answer immediately. He watched you carefully, considering your words before finally sighing. "Yeah," he muttered. "I figured as much."

You blinked. "Wait, what?"

Baekhyun rubbed his temple. "I had a feeling this might happen eventually. Seungcheol has a reputation—he doesn’t always separate work from… other things."

Your stomach sank. "So it’s not just me," you muttered.

Baekhyun hesitated before shaking his head. "No. It’s not just you."

You exhaled, leaning back in your chair, processing. Baekhyun watched you for a moment before continuing, his voice lower now. "Listen, you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. If he makes you uncomfortable, I’ll back you up. But I also know how these things can be tricky, so… what do you want to do?"

You stared at him. You hadn’t expected that. You hadn’t expected someone to actually ask. You swallowed, gripping the edge of the table. "I just… I just want to do my job."

Baekhyun nodded. "Then that’s what you’ll do."

And for the first time that day, you felt like someone was actually listening. You sighed, rubbing a hand over your face. "Honestly… I didn’t want Beomgyu to leave the project."

Baekhyun leaned back in his chair, watching you closely. "Yeah, I figured."

You hesitated for a moment before continuing, choosing your words carefully. "It wasn’t perfect, working with him. We fought a lot. We had different approaches. But the album was better when we were both on it. And now, I don’t know… it just doesn’t feel the same."

Baekhyun hummed thoughtfully, tapping his fingers against the table. "You know," he started, "when he asked to leave, I thought it was weird too."

Your brows furrowed. "Weird how?"

Baekhyun exhaled, tilting his head slightly as if trying to recall the exact conversation. "For starters, the excuse he gave me was bullshit. He said he just had ‘other priorities,’ but it didn’t add up. He didn’t have anything urgent lined up. He wasn’t being reassigned yet. If anything, he was in the perfect position to stay on the project."

Your stomach twisted. "Then why did he do it?"

Baekhyun studied you for a moment before answering. "Because of you."

Your breath hitched slightly. "What?"

"He told me you were the perfect person for this album," Baekhyun said simply. "He said that if anyone deserved to take full control of it, it was you. That you understood the vision, that you had the best instincts for the sound, that this was your project."

You blinked. Baekhyun smirked slightly. "He also said he’d still be available if you needed anything—which was interesting, considering he was insisting on stepping away."

You swallowed, shifting in your seat. "So… he didn’t leave because I was in the way."

Baekhyun raised a brow. "No. He left because he thought he was."

Your chest tightened, your fingers clenching slightly over your notebook. Beomgyu thought he was in the way? That didn’t make sense. That wasn’t how this worked.

You had spent years competing with him, matching his energy, pushing yourself to outdo him the way he pushed himself to outdo you. You thought he saw you as a rival, as someone to challenge, someone to beat.

This didn’t sound like someone trying to win. This sounded like someone stepping aside. And suddenly, for the first time since that damn kiss, you wondered— Had you misunderstood everything?

The meeting wrapped up soon after, but your mind was far from settled. Baekhyun left first, offering you a knowing look as he walked out. Seungcheol was already gone, thankfully, leaving the room feeling a little lighter.

You stayed behind for a moment, fingers tapping restlessly against the table, thoughts still tangled in everything Baekhyun had just told you. Beomgyu thought he was in the way. He stepped back because of me?

The idea felt foreign, almost ridiculous. But the more you sat with it, the more you replayed every interaction, every lingering glance, every almost-argument that dissolved into something softer. Maybe it wasn’t ridiculous at all.

You exhaled sharply, pushing the thoughts aside as you gathered your things and made your way back to your studio. By the time you stepped inside, something had already shifted in you. Because for the first time in days, you wanted to write. Not because of deadlines. Not because of expectations.

But because something inside you was begging to be let out.

You locked the door behind you, took a deep breath, and crossed the room, fingers reaching for the guitar propped against the wall. It had been there for a while, untouched, gathering dust in the chaos of everything else. But the second your fingers curled around the neck, something inside you settled.

You didn’t know why, but you wanted to record this song you wrote on Sunday night. First Day of My Life. You knew it wouldn’t fit the album. It was too raw, too stripped-down, too honest. It wasn’t meant for Enhypen’s project—it wasn’t meant for any project.

But still. You adjusted the mic, positioned the guitar properly, and pressed record. And then, you played.

Your fingers moved over the strings carefully at first, but then muscle memory took over, and suddenly, it was effortless. The chords flowed easily, filling the quiet studio, wrapping around you like something safe, something familiar.

And then your voice followed. The words came soft, steady.

“Yours was the first face that I saw…”

You thought about the way he looked at you when he didn’t think you’d notice. The way his lips parted like he wanted to say something but never did.

“I think I was blind before I met you.”

Your breath hitched slightly, but you kept going, pouring yourself into every note, every word. The melody washed over you, unfiltered and vulnerable, and for the first time in a long time, you weren’t thinking about what came next.

You were just feeling. And when the last chord faded into silence, you opened your eyes slowly, exhaling shakily. You sat there for a moment, staring at the blinking red light on the recorder. Then, without hesitating, you saved the file.

You stared at the tape sitting on your desk. And it stared back.

You had written a post-it, your handwriting slightly messier than usual, because your hands had been shaking when you wrote it.

wanted the opinion of the best songwriter i know.

Your stomach twisted. This was stupid. It was so stupid. And yet, you grabbed the tape before you could overthink it.

The hallways of HYBE were quieter now, most people already heading out for the evening. You didn’t know where Beomgyu was, but you hoped, prayed, that he wasn’t in his studio right now. Because you weren’t ready to see him. Not yet.

Your footsteps were light as you reached his studio door. It was closed, the small light inside turned off. Empty. Good. You slipped inside quickly, ignoring the way your heart was pounding against your ribs. You set the tape down gently on his desk, smoothing the post-it out with your fingers. And then you stepped back. You stared at it for a moment longer, your pulse hammering in your ears.

You were late.

Not catastrophically late, but late enough that you were definitely pushing it. Yeonjun had texted you when he woke up, asking why the apartment was unusually quiet, only for you to send back a half-panicked “I overslept, don’t judge me” before practically rolling out of bed.

You hadn’t meant to stay up so late the night before. But lying there, staring at the ceiling, replaying every single second of the last few days in your mind?

That was apparently more important than sleep.

By the time you rushed into HYBE, coffee was your only priority. You barely had time to breathe as you dodged people in the hallway, some of them calling your name, others trying to get your attention.

"Y/N, do you have a second?" "Hey, I sent you that file, did you get a chance to look at it?" "Oh, Y/N—can you check in with the Enhypen team later?"

The words blurred together, the weight of everything pressing against you as you nodded, mumbled vague acknowledgments, and kept walking. Because, in the end, none of it mattered. Not right now.

Not when the only thing on your mind was getting to your studio and catching your breath before the day swallowed you whole. You reached your door, exhaled sharply, and pushed it open.

And froze. Because there, sitting casually in your chair like he belonged there was Beomgyu. Holding the tape.

Your stomach dropped. The scene was so eerily familiar that for a split second, you thought you had hallucinated it. The way he was slouched slightly in the chair, the way his fingers turned the tape over slowly, like he was still processing it.

The way his dark eyes flicked up to meet yours, and how, in that exact moment, you saw it. You saw the feeling written across his face. Soft. Open. Maybe even a little wrecked. You sucked in a sharp breath and, without thinking, shut the door behind you. A beat of silence passed.

"You wrote this," Beomgyu murmured, his voice quieter than you expected.

It wasn’t a question. You swallowed hard. "Yeah."

His fingers tightened around the tape slightly. "Was it for the album?"

You shook your head. "No. It doesn’t fit the concept. I just… wanted to record it."

Beomgyu exhaled, slow and measured. "It’s beautiful."

The words hit you in a way you weren’t prepared for. You blinked. He wasn’t teasing. He wasn’t throwing in a sarcastic remark, or a smug smile, or anything that would make this easier to brush off. He just meant it.

And it made your chest ache. You shifted slightly, gripping your coffee cup a little tighter. "You listened to it?"

Beomgyu nodded, still looking down at the tape. "Twice."

Your breath hitched. "Twice?"

His lips twitched, just barely. "Maybe more." You let out a short, breathy laugh, shaking your head. A pause. "What made you write it?"

Your fingers curled slightly over your cup, heat pressing into your skin. You could lie. You should lie. But you didn’t. You licked your lips, shifting your gaze to the floor for a second before looking back at him. "I don’t know. I guess I just… needed to."

Beomgyu studied you for a long moment, the weight of his gaze settling over you like something heavy. And then, so quietly you almost didn’t catch it, he says: "It felt like something you needed to say."

Your heart stumbled. Because maybe it was just your imagination. Maybe you were hearing things that weren’t there. But the way he said it, like he understood, like he knew.

Beomgyu’s fingers drummed lightly against the tape, his gaze flickering between you and the guitar leaning against the wall. The silence between you felt fragile, like if either of you moved too fast, it would shatter. Then, without a word, he reached for the guitar. You raised an eyebrow as he adjusted it on his lap, fingers testing the strings before looking up at you again. "Pass me the chords?"

You hesitated, but eventually nodded, grabbing a piece of scrap paper and jotting them down quickly. When you slid it across the desk toward him, his fingers brushed yours as he took it, sending something electric up your spine.

Beomgyu studied the chords for a moment, then started playing. Slow, tentative, like he was feeling out the song in his own way. And before you even realized what you were doing, your lips parted—

"This is the first day of my life…"

The words came out softer this time, more intimate. You weren’t just singing anymore, you were sharing something. Beomgyu kept playing, his eyes locked onto you now, his expression unreadable.

"Swear I was born right in the doorway…"

You swallowed hard, voice faltering slightly when you saw the way he was looking at you. Like there was something he wanted to say. But he didn’t. He just kept playing. And so you kept singing.

"Yours was the first face that I saw… I think I was blind before I met you."

Something shifted in the air. You weren’t sure if it was you, or him, or just the weight of everything that had been left unsaid between you two for so long.

But for the first time, it felt like neither of you were trying to fight it.

When the song finally came to an end, the last note fading into silence, Beomgyu exhaled slowly, letting his fingers rest against the strings. And then, so quietly you almost didn’t catch it—

"I’m sorry."

You blinked, caught off guard by the sudden softness in his voice. "For what?"

He looked down at the guitar, running his thumb absently over the wood. "For dropping the album."

Your chest tightened. "You didn’t have to," you murmured. "I never wanted you to."

He let out a dry chuckle, shaking his head. "I thought… I thought you’d work better without me."

You frowned. "That’s not true."

Beomgyu hesitated, his jaw tightening slightly. "I didn’t want to leave you alone." He inhaled sharply, like he was steadying himself. "But I didn’t want my feelings to get in the way."

Your breath hitched. Your heartbeat pounded in your ears. Slowly, carefully, you asked— "What feelings?"

Beomgyu tensed. For a second, he looked like he wanted to say it. Like he might say it. But then something closed inside him. His shoulders stiffened, his fingers gripping the guitar a little tighter. And when he finally spoke, his voice was quieter. More distant. "It’s hard for me."

You furrowed your brows, confused. "What is?"

Beomgyu swallowed, looking down. "This. Talking. Saying things out loud." His lips pressed together for a moment before he let out a soft, humorless laugh. "It’s easy to write about it. To turn it into lyrics. To make it rhyme and feel poetic and beautiful."

He shook his head, exhaling through his nose. "But when it’s real? When it’s not just a song?" He shaked his head. "In real life, it’s harder."

You stared at him, heart twisting. Because this was him. This was Beomgyu without the smirks, without the teasing, without the carefully crafted walls. And for the first time, you realized, maybe this wasn’t just difficult for you.

Maybe he didn’t run because he didn’t care. Maybe he ran because he did.

Your heart pounded, your throat felt tight, but you forced yourself to breathe, to steady your voice. "What did you mean by that?"

He exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand over his face. "You know what I mean."

"Do I?"

Beomgyu let out a dry laugh, shaking his head. "Come on, Y/N."

There was something in his voice, frustration, exhaustion, something too tangled up in itself to pull apart. You frowned. "I don’t want to assume."

"Right," he muttered. "Because assuming things with me has always worked out so well."

Your chest tightened. "Beomgyu—"

"I—" He exhaled, running a hand through his hair, then finally, finally, looked up at you. And god, you hated the way it made your breath catch. The way his eyes, dark and searching, made you feel like you were standing at the edge of something.

Like if you took one more step, there’d be no turning back. But before you could say anything—before he could say anything—the door creaked open.

Both of you turned at the same time.

"Hey," a familiar voice broke through the tension. "Think I left my pen with you earlier."

Seungcheol. His voice cut through the tension like a blade, sharp and unexpected. He stepped inside, eyes flickering between the two of you, taking in the scene—the guitar in Beomgyu’s lap, the tape on the desk, the way neither of you seemed to be breathing.

You turned toward the doorway, blinking as he leaned against the frame, his usual easy confidence settling into the room like he belonged there. Beomgyu’s entire posture shifted. It wasn’t obvious, no clenched fists, no outright glare, but you saw it anyway. The slight stiffening of his shoulders, the way his fingers curled subtly against the guitar.

You exhaled, stepping toward your desk. "Yeah, I think you did."

Seungcheol grinned. "Knew it."

You grabbed the pen and handed it to him, your fingers barely grazing before he pulled away. "Thanks, sweetheart," he said, easy, casual. "See you later."

And just like that, he was gone. The door clicked shut.

The silence that followed was worse than before. You turned back to Beomgyu, and immediately knew something was off. He put away the guitar, his arms crossed, expression unreadable, but his jaw was tight. "You going along with him?" His voice was sharp, cutting.

You frowned. "What?"

"Seungcheol," Beomgyu said, eyes locking onto yours. "You going along with his shit?"

Your frown deepened. "No. What the hell are you talking about?"

He scoffed, shaking his head. "I told you not to trust that guy."

"And I didn’t," you snapped, "I just gave him back his damn pen."

Beomgyu’s jaw clenched, his frustration spilling out in waves. "Yeah? Well, maybe you should know what your old friends are saying about you before you act like I’m being dramatic."

You stared at him. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

He exhaled, running a hand through his hair, like he was trying to decide if he should even tell you. But then, his eyes darkened, and whatever hesitation he had burned away. "You remember Yunho?"

Your stomach twisted. Of course you remembered Yunho. Beomgyu didn’t wait for your answer. "After you left the party, he came up to me," he said, voice tight. "Started making conversation—asking if I worked at HYBE, shit like that. And then, out of nowhere, he says he knows Seungcheol."

Beomgyu watched your reaction closely, but he didn’t stop. "And then, Yunho tells me he used to fuck around with you," he continued, voice growing harsher, "but dropped you because, in his words, you were ‘too desirable.’"

You flinched. Your fingers curled into your palms, nails pressing against your skin. "What?"

Beomgyu let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. "Yeah. And apparently, Seungcheol’s been waiting for his turn. ‘Dying to get a piece,’ is what he said."

The words hit like a punch to the gut. Your heart pounded. "You’re lying."

Beomgyu’s gaze snapped to yours, sharp, furious. "I fucking wish."

You felt sick. But Beomgyu wasn’t done. "And then," he continued, voice low, "this motherfucker—this piece of shit—starts talking about how he doesn’t go for ‘girls who get around’ because he has standards." Your breath hitched. "That’s what he called you," Beomgyu said, voice flat. "A girl who gets around."

A sharp, ugly silence settled between you. Your pulse was roaring in your ears, rage and humiliation coiling together in your stomach like poison. "You fought him."

Beomgyu scoffed, shaking his head. "No. We talked."

You frowned. "Talked?"

"Yeah," he said, jaw tight. "He was acting like he had some kind of moral high ground," Beomgyu went on, voice sharpening. "Like he wouldn’t go for a girl who’s ‘too easy’—but oh, Seungcheol? Seungcheol was dying for a chance with you. And the way he talked—" Beomgyu exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "It pissed me off."

You swallowed hard, something ugly and bitter crawling up your throat. "So what, you argued with him?"

Beomgyu’s eyes flickered with something unreadable. His expression darkened. "Don’t do that."

"Do what?"

"Act like it doesn’t bother you," he snapped. "Act like it’s nothing when people say shit like that about you. I know you, Y/N."

Your breath caught. Because he wasn’t wrong. But you weren’t about to admit that. The air between you crackled with tension. His expression flickered. You should’ve let it go. Should’ve walked away. But something about the way he was looking at you made something snap inside you.

You shook your head, frustration burning beneath your skin. "You’re exhausting," you muttered, voice sharp. "One second you’re quiet, then you’re nice, then you’re picking fights, then you act like I’m just some coworker—"

Beomgyu’s expression flickered, something dark flashing in his eyes. "You think I treat you like that?"

"You tell me, Beomgyu," you snapped. "Because I have no fucking clue what you want from me."

The words hung in the air like a threat. His jaw tightened, his fingers flexing at his sides. "Don’t act like you don’t know," he said, voice rough. "Act like this is just me playing games—like I’m trying to play with you just for fun."

You let out a sharp, humorless laugh. "Aren’t you?"

Beomgyu’s entire body tensed. "Are you serious right now?"

"Yes, I’m fucking serious!" You took a step closer, rage bubbling up from every place you had been shoving it down. "You kissed me, Beomgyu. And then you disappeared for a fucking week. No texts, no calls, nothing. And then you show up at work like it never happened—like I should just be fine with that."

His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard. "It wasn’t like that."

"Then what the fuck was it like?"

He ran a hand through his hair, fingers tugging slightly at the strands, like he was trying to pull himself together. "I needed time."

You exhaled sharply, shaking your head. "Bullshit."

Beomgyu scoffed. "Oh, so now I’m the bad guy?"

"You’re not the fucking victim," you shot back. "You don't get to kiss me like that, make me think—"

You cut yourself off, biting down hard on the words before they could spill out. But it was too late. Beomgyu was already looking at you like you had just punched the air out of his lungs. Like he knew exactly what you were about to say.

The air between you was too thick, too charged, suffocating and electric all at once. His hands curled into fists at his sides, his chest rising and falling unevenly. "You think I don’t fucking feel it too?" His voice cracked slightly, rough and raw. "You think this is easy for me?"

Your breath caught. "Then why do you keep running from it?"

Beomgyu exhaled sharply, something desperate in his gaze. "Because I don’t know what to do with it!"

Silence. His confession settled between you like an exposed wire, dangerous and crackling with heat. His jaw clenched, like he hated admitting it, like he hated feeling this much. But then, his expression shifted, morphing into something sharper, something wrecked.

"Fuck, Y/N," he muttered, voice strained. "You don’t get it. You don’t fucking get it."

"Then make me get it!" you yelled, frustration boiling over. "For once in your goddamn life, just say it!"

Beomgyu’s breath hitched. For a second, he didn’t say anything.

"Because I can’t fucking want you this much and still pretend it doesn’t matter!"

Your entire body locked up.

Beomgyu exhaled sharply, chest heaving, his eyes dark and so fucking serious it made your stomach flip. "I can’t—" He dragged a hand over his face, voice lower now, wrecked. "I can’t pretend that this thing between us doesn’t fucking kill me every time I try to ignore it." Your heart was a wildfire in your chest. Beomgyu let out a sharp laugh, one that sounded more like frustration than amusement. "I don’t know how to fucking want you without ruining everything else."

The words hit harder than they should have. The words hit harder than they should have. Because that was it, wasn’t it? That was why he ran. Why he pushed, pulled, disappeared, came back. Why he kissed you and then left.

Because he wanted you. But he didn’t trust himself with you. The realization sat heavy in your chest. And for the first time, you saw it, the fear beneath the anger, the hesitation beneath the frustration.

Beomgyu didn’t just want you. He was terrified of wanting you. And you didn’t know what scared you more. The fact that he was afraid. Or the fact that you weren’t.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The air between you was stretched too thin, humming with something neither of you knew how to control. Then, Beomgyu exhaled, deep, uneven. His gaze flickered downward, his fingers flexing at his sides like he wanted to reach for something but couldn’t bring himself to do it.

"I’m sorry," he said.

The words were quiet, but they landed with the weight of something long overdue. You swallowed. His lips parted, then closed. He let out a slow breath, shaking his head slightly, like he didn’t even know where to start. "For kissing you," he murmured. "For leaving. For not talking to you for a week like a fucking coward." His jaw clenched. "For making you think that it didn’t mean anything."

You stared at him, heart pounding. "And did it?" you asked, voice barely above a whisper.

Beomgyu lifted his gaze then, something wrecked behind his dark eyes. "You already know the answer to that."

Your breath caught. He was looking at you differently now. Not with frustration, not with hesitation, but with a kind of certainty that sent heat curling in your stomach.

Then, before you could even process it, he took a step back. "Come with me," he said.

You blinked. "What?"

Beomgyu turned, already heading toward the door. "Come on," he repeated, glancing back at you. "I wanna show you something to prove it."

Something in his voice made your pulse jump. Still, you hesitated. "Show me?"

He didn’t answer. Just held the door open, waiting. And for some stupid, unexplainable reason, your feet started moving.

The walk to his studio was silent. Not tense, not uncomfortable, just charged. You could feel it, the way he was holding something back, something big. His pace was quick, purposeful, like if he didn’t move fast enough, he’d lose his nerve.

When you reached his studio, he pulled out a keycard and swiped it, unlocking the door before stepping inside. You followed hesitantly, eyes flickering over the dimly lit space.

Beomgyu didn’t say anything at first. Instead, he walked over to the soundboard, pressing a few buttons, adjusting the controls. A small red light flickered on in the recording booth.

Your stomach flipped. "What are we doing?" you asked, voice quieter now.

Beomgyu turned to face you, his expression unreadable. "I want you to hear something."

And then, he pressed play. A soft, melancholic guitar filled the room. Your breath caught immediately. You recognized it before he even started singing. Moonstruck.

But it wasn’t the version you had heard before. It was him. Beomgyu’s voice. Low, warm, just slightly raspy—vulnerable.

Your mind had barely caught up to the fact that he had recorded this himself when he spoke again. "I think you know why I wrote this," he said, voice quiet, steady. Your head snapped toward him, but he wasn’t looking at you.

He was looking at the recording booth. And then, he moved. Slowly, purposefully, he reached for the door handle and pushed it open, nodding his head for you to follow. "Come here."

Your pulse stuttered. You should’ve stopped. Should’ve said something, anything to break whatever the hell was happening right now. But you didn’t. Instead, you stepped inside. The door clicked shut behind you.

Beomgyu pressed a button near the panel, locked. He finally turned to face you then, and, fuck, he was close. "I don’t want anyone interrupting this time," he murmured.

Your breath caught. The air inside the booth was thick, the music still playing softly through the speakers. Beomgyu took another step forward, and this time, you didn’t move away. "You know what this song is about," he said, voice lower now.

You swallowed hard. "Beomgyu—"

"You know," he repeated, softer.

You couldn’t breathe. Because he was right. You knew. You had known since the first time you read the demo, since the first lyric. This was about you. And now, standing here, locked inside a booth with him, his voice bleeding through the speakers, warm and raw and real, you had never been more aware of it.

Beomgyu reached up then, fingers barely grazing your wrist. Not pulling, not pushing. Just there. A question. A hesitation. You didn’t know who moved first.

Maybe it was him. Maybe it was you. But suddenly, there wasn’t space between you anymore. His hand slid up, over your wrist, your forearm, until his fingers curled gently around your jaw. Your lips parted slightly, breath uneven, your pulse roaring in your ears.

Beomgyu’s gaze flickered down to your mouth. And then, he kissed you.

It wasn’t rushed, wasn’t messy, just slow, lingering, like he wanted to memorize the way you felt against him. His fingers curled tighter against your jaw, tilting your head just enough to deepen the kiss, to let himself drown in it.

And you let him. Because right now, nothing else mattered. Not the past, not the fear, not the things left unsaid. Right now, there was only this. Only the music, still playing softly in the background. Only him.

The kiss deepened before you even realized it was happening. Beomgyu wasn’t hesitant anymore. He wasn’t uncertain, wasn’t holding back, he was in it, pressing into you with a kind of desperation that made your head spin. His fingers dug into your jaw, tilting your face just the way he wanted, his lips parting against yours, taking.

Your back hit the wall of the recording booth, and he was on you in an instant, one hand braced against the panel behind you, the other sliding down, grazing the side of your neck, the bare skin of your arm, like he needed to feel you.

You barely had a second to breathe before he kissed you again, harder this time, almost rough, a low sound slipping from his throat as you pressed up onto your toes, your fingers curling into the front of his shirt.

"Fuck," he muttered against your mouth, voice already wrecked. "You have no idea how long I've wanted to do this."

Your breath hitched. "Then why did you run?"

His teeth grazed your bottom lip, his fingers tightening around your waist. "Because I’m a fucking idiot," he murmured, pressing another kiss against your jaw, then lower, dragging his lips along your neck. "Because I didn’t know if you—"

You cut him off, pulling him back to you, kissing him harder, more insistent. Beomgyu groaned against your lips, his body pressing flush against yours now, his hand slipping down to grip your thigh, hiking it up against his hip. His touch burned, warm and firm, like he needed you closer, needed to close the space that still existed between you.

"Tell me to stop," he muttered, his mouth trailing down, lips brushing the sensitive spot just below your ear. "Tell me to stop, and I swear I will."

You swallowed hard, fingers digging into his back. "I'm not telling you to stop."

That was all it took. Beomgyu made a low, almost guttural noise, like something inside him had just snapped. The next kiss was different. Messier. Hungrier. His hands were everywhere, sliding up under the hem of your shirt, skimming over bare skin, gripping your waist tight enough to leave bruises. Your body arched into his touch, your breathing uneven, heat pooling deep in your stomach as his fingers dug into your hips.

"Say it," he muttered against your lips, voice rough with something you couldn’t quite place. "Say you want me, too."

You let out a shaky breath, barely able to think. "I want you, Beomgyu."

He groaned, pressing his forehead against yours for a split second before kissing you again, slower this time, but deeper, like he wanted to drown in it. Then, suddenly, his grip tightened. He lifted you effortlessly, guiding you up onto the small ledge of the booth, your legs wrapping around his waist, his body slotting between your thighs like it was meant to be there.

Your pulse roared. He was so close now, every inch of him pressed against you, his breath uneven, his fingers tracing slow, deliberate circles against the skin just above the waistband of your jeans. "You drive me fucking insane," he muttered, his lips brushing over yours between each word. "I can’t think straight when I’m around you."

You barely had time to process that before his mouth was on your throat again, biting, sucking, dragging his lips down and down and down. Your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan, his hips pressing forward on instinct. The friction made you gasp, your legs tightening around him. "Shit," Beomgyu swore, his forehead dropping against your shoulder.

For a moment, neither of you moved. Your breathing was uneven, your body burning, your skin thrumming with heat where he touched you. Then, slowly, Beomgyu lifted his head. His gaze met yours, dark, unreadable. His hands flexed against your waist, like he was trying to ground himself. "I don’t want to fuck this up," he murmured, voice strained. "Not with you."

Your chest ached. Because he wasn’t saying I don’t want this. He was saying I don’t want to ruin it. Your fingers traced lightly along the back of his neck, your breathing still shaky. "Then don’t," you whispered.

Beomgyu swallowed hard. "I’m trying." He was still close. His forehead was still resting against yours, his hands gripping your waist, his body pressed between your legs like he wasn’t ready to pull away yet.

Your breathing was uneven. So was his. And then, like some invisible force snapped between you, his lips were on yours again. This time, there was no hesitation. He kissed you like he had been starving for this, like he was finally letting himself have what he had wanted for so long. His fingers dug into your waist, pulling you against him, his body heat swallowing you whole as his mouth moved against yours, deep and urgent.

You gasped slightly when he tilted your chin up, angling the kiss deeper, his tongue teasing against yours just enough to make your stomach tighten.

You felt like you were burning. Everywhere he touched, everywhere he pressed, lit up. Your arms wrapped around his shoulders, fingers threading through his hair, tugging just enough to make him let out a low, almost desperate sound against your lips. His hips pressed forward, instinctive. "Beomgyu—" you breathed against his mouth, barely able to think.

"Mm?" He didn’t stop. Just kissed along your jaw, down your neck, biting down lightly at the sensitive skin there before soothing it with his tongue.

A shiver ran down your spine. "We should—"

He kissed you again, cutting off your words, his hands gripping your thighs, holding you steady against him. "Say it later," he muttered, voice rough, lips brushing against yours. "Say it after I kiss you again."

And then he did. Harder this time. Deeper. Your body arched into his without thinking, heat curling in your stomach, your hands gripping onto his shirt to keep yourself steady. You could feel everything. His heartbeat, heavy and uneven against your chest. The way his fingers flexed against your skin like he was trying to memorize the way you felt. The low, unsteady sounds he made every time you moved against him, every time you kissed him back just as desperately.

It was too much. You broke away first, chest rising and falling, trying to catch your breath. Beomgyu didn’t move. He stayed close, lips still brushing against yours, eyes dark and heavy-lidded. Your fingers were still curled in his hair. His hands were still gripping your waist.

"We should stop," you murmured, forcing the words out before you lost your grip on reality completely. "Beomgyu, we’re— We’re at work. It’s not even noon."

Beomgyu let out a slow, shuddering breath. "Fuck." He still didn’t move. You could see it, the way his jaw clenched, his eyes flickering over your lips like he was debating whether to listen to you or keep going anyway. Then, finally, he exhaled sharply, resting his forehead against your shoulder for half a second before stepping back. "Yeah." His voice was strained, rough. "You’re right."

The air felt thin without him against you. You took a slow breath, trying to calm the racing of your pulse, trying to ignore the way your body still buzzed from his touch. His fingers brushed over your thigh before he pulled away completely, straightening his shirt, raking a hand through his hair.

You slid off the ledge, steadying yourself as you smoothed out your clothes. "I should get back to work," you muttered, voice still slightly breathless. "The album—"

Beomgyu gave a humorless chuckle, rubbing a hand over his face. "Yeah. Right. The album."

Neither of you moved. Neither of you looked at each other. Because you both knew, work was the last thing on your minds right now. But still, you turned toward the door, reaching for the handle. "I’ll see you later," you mumbled.

Beomgyu hummed in response, something unreadable in his expression. "Yeah."

Because what the fuck was that? Not the heat, not the urgency, not the kind of kiss that made your head spin and your knees weak, but something softer. Warmer. Something that made your stomach tighten in an entirely different way.

Beomgyu’s lips quirked upward slightly, like he could see the way your brain had short-circuited. "Go work," he murmured.

You blinked. "Right." And then, without another word, you turned and walked out, your heart still pounding.

You spent the rest of the afternoon in your studio. Hours passed. You barely noticed.

The only thing grounding you was the music, the way it pulsed through your headphones, the way it filled every inch of your studio. The way it made everything else, the tension, the heat, the weight of Beomgyu’s touch, fade just enough for you to breathe.

Your fingers moved instinctively, layering melodies, adjusting levels, smoothing over instrumentals. Every track you touched felt electric, the ideas spilling out of you faster than you could process them. Maybe it was adrenaline. Maybe it was something else. But whatever it was, you let it take over.

The hours blurred together, stretching into one long, unbroken moment of creation. A new beat took shape, fast, sharp, pulsing with urgency. You molded it into something heavier, something alive. You adjusted the bass, the synths, the vocal layers, adding a deeper texture, something that ached in all the right ways.

Then another track, smoother, melancholic, intimate in a way that made your chest tighten. You let the guitar linger in places it normally wouldn’t, let the reverb stretch out just enough to make it feel like the song was breathing.

Another, this one bold, unrelenting, filled with heat and confidence. It demanded attention, crackled with something fierce. You didn’t stop. You couldn’t stop. Your eyes flickered to the screen as the tracklist took shape in front of you:

XO (Only If You Say Yes) Your Eyes Only Hundred Broken Hearts Brought The Heat Back Paranormal Royalty

A solid foundation. A damn good foundation. By the time you finally leaned back in your chair, exhaustion was creeping in, settling into your limbs, but there was a different kind of satisfaction sitting beside it. Because you had done it. Most of your work was done. And maybe, just maybe, you had needed this. The music. The escape. The chance to turn everything swimming in your head into something real.

With a deep breath, you saved the files, powered down your setup, and began gathering your things. Your jacket, your bag, your phone, shoving everything into place as you checked the time. Late.

The sun had already set by the time you stepped outside. The air was crisp, the streets quieter now, the city humming with the distant sounds of life. You exhaled, adjusting the strap of your bag over your shoulder as you turned toward the metro station.

And then—

"You took your time."

Your steps faltered. Beomgyu was waiting. Leaning against the side of the building, hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket, his head tilted slightly as he watched you.

Your brows furrowed. "What are you doing here?"

Beomgyu smirked. "Told you I had until the album dropped for you to change your mind."

You blinked. "Change my mind about what?"

His smirk widened. "About getting a drink with me."

You stared at him. "Are you serious?"

"Dead serious," he said, pushing off the wall, stepping closer. "You spent the whole day in that studio. You need a break."

Your lips parted slightly, caught between irritation and something closer to amusement. "And you decided you’d be the one to provide it?"

Beomgyu shrugged. "Obviously."

You shook your head, exhaling. "I was planning to go home."

"Okay," he said easily. "You can still go home."

You frowned. "What?"

"After one drink," he clarified. "Then you can go home."

You let out a short laugh, shaking your head again. "You’re impossible."

"And yet," he mused, rocking back on his heels, "you’re still standing here, considering it."

Your jaw clenched. Because he wasn’t wrong. The exhaustion was still there, but so was something else, something that made you hesitate, something that made you want to say yes. Beomgyu noticed.

And so he tilted his head, lowering his voice just slightly. "Come on, Y/N. Just one."

You stared at him for another long moment. Then, before you could stop yourself, "Fine."

Beomgyu smirked, shoving his hands deeper into his pockets as he led the way. "You know," he mused, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye, "you’re a lot more fun when you don’t overthink things."

You scoffed. "I’m not overthinking anything."

He grinned. "Then why do you look like you’re already regretting this?"

You huffed, shoving your hands into your jacket. "I’m not."

Beomgyu just hummed, like he didn’t believe you, but didn’t feel like arguing. Instead, he turned down a quieter street, leading you toward a bar tucked between two buildings, a cozy-looking place, warm light spilling from the windows, the scent of grilled meat drifting through the air.

You hesitated. "This is where we’re going?"

Beomgyu glanced at you, amused. "Why? You don’t like barbecue?"

Your stomach growled at the thought. You sighed. "I do, a lot."

He just smirked, pushing open the door. Inside, the atmosphere was just as inviting as the smell. Low, warm lighting. Laughter. The quiet clinking of glasses. The faint crackle of meat sizzling on the built-in grills at the tables. It was comfortable. And you hated that it made you relax a little.

Beomgyu led you toward an open table near the back, sliding into the seat beside you instead of across from you, leaning back like he had done this a thousand times before. Which, knowing him, he probably had. "You come here a lot," you muttered, glancing around.

He grinned. "I have good taste."

You rolled your eyes. A server appeared, and Beomgyu barely had to glance at the menu before ordering beef short ribs, pork belly, a few side dishes, and two cold beers.

You raised an eyebrow. "Ordering for me now?"

Beomgyu shrugged, tapping his fingers against the table. "You like barbecue. You like beer. I connected the dots."

You leaned back, crossing your arms. "What if I suddenly decided I hate all those things?"

Beomgyu smirked, resting his chin in his hand as he looked at you. "Then you’d be lying." You narrowed your eyes at him.

The beers arrived first. Beomgyu picked up his glass, tilting it slightly toward you. "To finishing most of the album in one day."

You huffed, clinking your glass against his. "To having nothing better to do than drag me to a bar."

Beomgyu just grinned before taking a sip. The beer was cold, smooth, the kind that went down easily after a long day. And as much as you hated to admit it, this, the warmth of the place, the comfort of the food, the quiet hum of conversation around you, felt nice.

You set your glass down, glancing at him. "Alright," you muttered. "You win. This isn’t terrible."

Beomgyu smirked, leaning in slightly. "High praise coming from you."

You scoffed, taking another sip. "Don’t get used to it."

And then, the food arrived. Plates of sizzling meat, steaming side dishes, the aroma so good that your stomach twisted with hunger. Beomgyu grabbed a pair of tongs, flipping the short ribs on the grill, moving with too much ease.

You eyed him. "You really come here a lot."

He smirked. "Told you."

Beomgyu shrugged, sipping his beer. "What, you want me to feed it to you, too?"

You scoffed. "I can make my own wrap, Beomgyu."

"Yeah, but I already did it." He nodded toward the plate. "So eat."

You rolled your eyes but took it anyway, biting into the warm, flavorful wrap. You weren’t sure if it was the exhaustion, the hunger, or the fact that Beomgyu was sitting so close, watching you eat with an amused expression, but something about this moment made your chest feel too full. You pushed the thought away.

"So?" he asked, watching you chew.

You swallowed, setting your chopsticks down. "It’s fine."

He snorted. "You are so bad at compliments."

"No," you corrected, taking another sip of beer. "I just don’t like boosting your ego."

Beomgyu grinned. "Too late for that."

The conversation flowed easier after that. The second beer turned into a third. The food disappeared, leaving just the sound of clinking glasses, the occasional glance that lingered too long, the way your shoulders brushed when you leaned forward to reach for something.

Somewhere between another drink and another teasing remark, you realized something: You were having fun. And Beomgyu knew it. His smirk never wavered, his eyes never left yours for too long, his voice never dropped that teasing lilt that made your pulse stutter more than it should. And maybe it was the alcohol. Or maybe it was just him.

But as you sat there, half-listening to him ramble about some ridiculous story, you realized, you didn’t really want the night to end. And by the time the last plate had been cleared and the third beer had been emptied, you were warm all over. Not drunk. Just loose.

The world felt a little softer around the edges, your limbs lighter, your thoughts slower but comfortable. Beomgyu, across from you—no, beside you, because he had sat next to you like it was the most natural thing in the world—was in the same state, his body relaxed, his usual sharp-edged energy dulled by alcohol and good food.

You tapped your fingers idly against the table, staring at the condensation on your glass. "So," you muttered, "you never told me—what do you think of the album name?"

Beomgyu blinked, then frowned slightly, turning his head to look at you properly. "What album name?"

You exhaled, stretching your arms over your head. "The one Baekhyun’s thinking about. ‘Files of Romance.’"

His reaction was instant. Beomgyu made a face like you had just told him the worst news imaginable. "Nah, not my personal taste."

You raised an eyebrow. "You hate it that much?"

"Hate is a strong word—" he paused, reconsidering. "—but yeah, I fucking hate it."

You laughed. "Why?"

Beomgyu turned in his seat, facing you fully now, one arm resting on the back of your chair. "Because it sounds like some 2010 Wattpad fanfiction. ‘Files of Romance’—what is this, a collection of love letters? A secret diary? An unfinished manuscript?*"

You smirked, tilting your head. "It’s poetic."

"It’s cheesy," he corrected.

You rolled your eyes, taking another sip of beer. "Okay, then what would you call it?"

Beomgyu hummed, thinking for a moment. Then, he looked at you. And something in his gaze shifted. His smirk faded, not completely, but enough for you to notice the way his expression softened slightly. "Romance: Untold."

The words settled between you like something heavy. Your fingers stilled against your glass. "Untold?"

He nodded. "Because that’s what this album is, isn’t it? All these songs, all these stories—" he tapped his fingers against the table, voice dropping slightly. "It’s about things people don’t say out loud. Feelings left unsaid. The in-between moments, the things you can’t admit, the things you only let yourself feel when no one’s looking."

Suddenly, this wasn’t about the album anymore. Beomgyu wasn’t looking at you like a producer talking about work. He wasn’t critiquing an idea, wasn’t just throwing out another title. He was talking about you and him.

Your lips parted slightly, heart picking up speed. "That’s…" you hesitated. "That’s actually not bad."

Beomgyu grinned. "Not bad? Come on, admit it—you like it."

You exhaled, shaking your head. "You’re impossible."

"And you’re predictable," he countered easily, taking another sip of his beer. "You act like you hate everything I say, but deep down, you know I’m right most of the time."

You scoffed. "Most of the time?"

"Mm-hmm." He leaned in slightly, his smirk turning just a bit more smug. "Like right now."

Your eyes narrowed. "Beomgyu—"

"Say it," he murmured, voice lower now, the playful edge still there but thicker, like something else was creeping beneath it. "Say you like the name."

You exhaled sharply, pressing your lips together. He was so annoying. But also, he was right. You sighed. "Fine. It’s… a good name."

Beomgyu smirked, triumphant. "See? I always win."

You rolled your eyes, taking another sip. "You don’t always win."

"Pretty close to always," he teased, nudging your leg under the table. "And anyway—" his gaze flickered over you briefly before settling on your lips. "I get the feeling you like it when I win."

You swallowed, shifting in your seat, trying to ignore the way your skin felt hot under his gaze. "You’re drunk."

Beomgyu smirked. "Tipsy."

"Same thing."

"Not even close." His fingers tapped against his glass, his smirk lingering. "You just don’t wanna admit I’m fun outside of work."

You snorted. "Fun is a strong word."

"And yet," he murmured, leaning in slightly, "you’re still here."

He wasn’t wrong. You could’ve left at any time. You could’ve said no to this drink. You could’ve cut this conversation short the second it started feeling like more than just talking. But you didn’t. And now, sitting here, so close to him, so aware of every movement he made, every glance, every shift in his voice, you couldn’t pretend that it was just because of the album anymore.

You cleared your throat, forcing yourself to look away. "We should probably head out soon."

Beomgyu hummed, like he knew exactly what you were doing but didn’t feel like calling you out on it. "Yeah, yeah."

Neither of you moved. Instead, he let his arm stretch across the back of your chair, fingers tapping against the wood in a slow, easy rhythm. "Romance: Untold," he repeated, more to himself now. "Yeah. I like it."

You exhaled. "Me too."

And somehow, you knew, this wasn’t just about the album. This was about you and him. The story neither of you had told yet. But one that, deep down, you both knew was already being written.

The night air was cooler now, a crisp contrast to the warmth still buzzing under your skin from the drinks. The street outside the bar was quiet, only the occasional car passing by, headlights flickering against the pavement.

Beomgyu stretched his arms over his head, then shoved his hands into his pockets. "Alright, let’s get you home."

You raised an eyebrow. "You’re not driving."

"Obviously not," he said, rolling his eyes. "I’m not a fucking idiot."

You let out a breathy laugh. "So what’s your plan?"

Beomgyu tilted his head, smirking. "Gonna take the subway with you."

You blinked. "You don’t have to do that."

"I know." He started walking. "Come on."

You hesitated, but ultimately followed, falling into step beside him. The subway station wasn’t far. The streets were quieter here, the hum of neon signs flickering against the damp pavement. It felt… nice. Comfortable. Like the two of you had slipped into something easier than usual.

The train arrived just as you stepped onto the platform. You both boarded, sliding into a seat near the back of the car. "So," you mused, resting your head against the window. "Tell me something I don’t know about you."

Beomgyu hummed, stretching his legs out in front of him. "Something good or something stupid?"

"Good," you said. "And don’t say something obvious."

Beomgyu smirked, tapping his fingers against his knee. "I’ve wanted to do music since I was ten."

You blinked. "Really?"

"Yeah." He leaned back, gaze flickering up toward the train ceiling like he was remembering something. "I used to listen to my older brother’s CDs all the time—Nirvana, Radiohead, The Strokes, My Bloody Valentine. I’d sit in my room with those shitty little wired headphones and just obsess over the sounds, the production, the way the lyrics hit different when you were alone in the dark."

You tilted your head, watching him. "I never took you for a rock band guy."

Beomgyu scoffed. "What, you think I only listen to industry shit?"

"I mean… kinda."

He clutched his chest dramatically. "Wow. The disrespect."

You laughed. "Okay, okay. What’s your favorite album of all time?"

Beomgyu exhaled, tapping his fingers against the seat. "Damn. That’s hard."

"Come on," you nudged his knee with yours. "You’re a music guy. You have to have a number one."

He thought for a second. "‘Loveless’ by My Bloody Valentine."

Your brows lifted. "Shoegaze?"

"Shoegaze," he confirmed. "That album changed me."

You smirked. "Oh, so it’s that serious?"

"It’s life-changing serious," he said. "I mean, listen to ‘When You Sleep’ and tell me that shit doesn’t make you wanna dissolve into the floor."

You chuckled. "Okay, fine. I’ll listen."

"You better."

The conversation flowed easily after that. Beomgyu rambled about different albums, breaking down the exact moment he fell in love with certain sounds, which producers he admired, which live performances made him feel something real.

And you listened. Really listened. Because even though he talked a lot—too much, sometimes—this was different. This was Beomgyu talking about the thing he loved. And it made you want to know more.

By the time you reached your stop, the train car was nearly empty. The streets were quieter now, the air even cooler. Beomgyu walked beside you, hands shoved into his jacket pockets, his usual smirk still tugging at his lips. And then, without warning, his arm slung over your shoulders.

You stiffened. "What the hell are you doing?"

Beomgyu grinned. "Relax. You looked cold."

You scoffed, but didn’t pull away. "You just wanted an excuse to be annoying."

"And?" he teased. "Is it working?"

"Always."

Beomgyu chuckled, squeezing your shoulder lightly before letting his arm stay there, draped over you like it belonged there. And, for some reason, you let it. By the time you reached your apartment building, the air between you had shifted again, lighter, charged, something humming just beneath the surface.

Beomgyu turned to face you, his smirk softer now. "Well, that was fun."

You raised an eyebrow. "Oh? You admit I’m fun now?"

"I didn’t say that." He grinned. "I said that was fun."

You rolled your eyes, stepping toward your door. "Whatever."

But before you could reach for the handle, Beomgyu caught your wrist. You turned. And suddenly, he was right there. Closer than he had been all night. The teasing was gone from his face. His eyes flickered between yours, his fingers still wrapped loosely around your wrist. And then, he leaned in. Slowly. Deliberately. Like he was giving you time to stop him.

But just as his lips were inches from yours, the door swung open.

"Well," Yeonjun’s voice rang out, amusement laced through every word. "What do we have here?"

Your stomach dropped. Beomgyu’s entire body went rigid. Yeonjun grinned, stepping onto the porch, holding a tied-up trash bag in one hand. "I was just taking out the garbage, but this is much more interesting."

You groaned, pulling away from Beomgyu instantly. "Yeonjun."

"What?" Yeonjun feigned innocence, looking between the two of you. "I didn’t know we were having late-night meetings outside the apartment."

Beomgyu exhaled sharply, pressing his fingers against his temple. "Great timing, dude."

"I try my best." Yeonjun smirked. "So… are you gonna kiss, or should I give you some privacy?"

"Yeonjun, I swear to God—"

"Alright, alright, I’m going!" He held up his hands, stepping off the porch with a laugh. "But we will be talking about this later, Y/N."

You shot him a glare as he disappeared down the walkway, humming to himself. The second he was out of earshot, you huffed. "Unbelievable."

A beat of silence passed. "So…" Beomgyu shifted, glancing at you. "Where were we?"

A slow smirk tugged at Beomgyu’s lips. His head tilted slightly, his eyes flickering down to your mouth, just for a second, just enough for your breath to catch. He was waiting. Waiting to see if you’d push him away, if you’d roll your eyes and disappear inside, if you’d cut this tension off before it turned into something real.

But you didn’t. And that was all he needed. Beomgyu took a slow step forward, closing the space between you with the kind of confidence that sent your heart slamming against your ribs. His fingers brushed against yours, hesitant for only a moment before he tilted his chin down, leaning in. And then, finally, he kissed you.

It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t urgent or rough or anything close to what you had before. It was gentle. Soft in a way that made your stomach flip, slow in a way that made your knees feel weak, like he had all the time in the world to memorize the way you felt beneath his lips. Beomgyu wasn’t pushing. He wasn’t taking. He was giving. And you let yourself take it.

Your fingers curled against the front of his jacket, tugging slightly as you kissed him back, sinking into the warmth of it, the quiet rightness of it. Beomgyu let out a soft sound against your lips, half a sigh, half a laugh, before tilting his head slightly, deepening the kiss just enough to make your stomach tighten.

His hand came up, brushing against your cheek, fingers tracing the line of your jaw, slow and deliberate, like he was trying to remember this. Like he had wanted this for too long. You could feel his smile against your mouth, feel the way his fingers flexed slightly, like he wanted to pull you closer but was holding back.

And then, someone cleared their throat. Loud. Pointed. Beomgyu stilled for half a second, then pulled back, blinking like he had just been shaken out of something. Slowly, almost painfully, you turned toward the sound.

Yeonjun. Standing in the hallway. Arms crossed. Smirking. "Really?" he mused. "Right outside the door?"

Your stomach dropped. "Yeonjun—"

"You guys didn’t even wait five minutes after I left?" he continued, shaking his head. "Damn, Beomgyu. You work fast."

Beomgyu groaned, dragging a hand over his face. "For the love of God—"

Yeonjun just grinned as he stepped inside. "Don’t let me stop you. I was just coming back."

You wanted to die. You wanted the ground to open up and swallow you whole. Beomgyu exhaled sharply, muttering something under his breath before taking a small step back, running a hand through his hair.

You cleared your throat, trying to ignore the way your skin burned. "I should go inside."

Beomgyu looked at you, his expression unreadable for half a second before he smirked. "Yeah. Probably."

You hesitated. "Goodnight, Beomgyu."

He tilted his head. "Goodnight, Y/N."

And then, because he couldn’t help himself, he leaned in one last time. A quick, teasing peck against your lips. Barely a second. Barely anything. But it sent your stomach spiraling.

Then, before you could even react, he turned toward the stairs, shoving his hands into his pockets. "See you at work," he called over his shoulder. And with that, he disappeared.

The second the door shut behind you, your back met the wood, and you let out a sharp breath. What the fuck just happened? Your fingers hovered over your lips, the ghost of Beomgyu’s kiss still lingering, the warmth of his touch still burning on your skin. Your heart was still racing, your mind still spinning, and—

"Oh, this is so good," Yeonjun’s voice cut through your spiral, full of glee.

You groaned. "Please. Shut up."

author's note: i hate to do this… but we’re getting a part 3. there was just too much to fit into this chapter, and things are about to get tense next time. if you want to be on the taglist for the next part, let me know in the comments!

ALSO i wrote this fic way before beomgyu even announced PANIC 😭😭 so pls go give him all the love bc he looks AMAZING the song is perfect and i swear the beomgyu i wrote is the same beomgyu who wrote panic did i just win????? 😭💘

taglist: @czennieszn @iyoonjh @shycreationdreamland @beomsdoll @whatblop @cbgtopia @enhaloveeee @hyunj00 @jnysaln @woncheecks @soobinslvr13 @kejingken @v1shwa-xo @yeovnjin @c1eod1n3 @etherealid7 @naeyerys

part 1 // part 2 // part 3

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