#T.O.P Scenario

[bettelaboure]

⊹Looking for your hat, cowboy?⊹ | Choi Seung-Hyun

⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ Pairing: Choi Seung-Hyun x Reader ⊹ Summary: a confident, provocative dancer and a closed-off, brooding idol clash backstage and onstage in a slow-burn, tension-fueled romance that spirals from teasing games to raw emotional confession. ⊹ Warnings: explicit sexual content, rough language, secret relationship dynamics, emotional manipulation (in teasing), voyeuristic elements, public exposure risks, and workplace power tension ⊹ Author's note: good luck, have fun 🤍

⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹

You joined BigBang at twenty-two, all hips, attitude, and glitter. Not that you cared much for the fame. You loved the music. The beat. The way your body felt like a live wire when you danced. You loved the thrill of performing, the rush of being watched. Of knowing they were looking. Especially him.

Choi Seung-Hyun.

He didn’t look the way you'd expected. Not when you first met. He wasn't loud, or flashy, or hungry for attention like the rest of them. He looked carved from shadow and smoke, all angular lines and quiet storms. Dark brows and darker eyes. His voice was low, rich as whiskey, and twice as dangerous.

He didn’t like you.

That was fine. You didn’t like him either.

You were the dancer. The one who wore ripped tights and heels, who smirked during interviews and rolled your eyes at rehearsals. The one who could swing her hips and make the world forget its name. You pushed buttons. Smiled sweet and jabbed hard. Especially at Seung-Hyun.

Because he never flinched.

Until he did.

The studio was dim, bathed in golden lamplight and the low buzz of electricity. Rain lashed the windows, the city beyond hazy and soft. Seung-Hyun sat hunched over his notebook, long fingers cradling a pen like it was a weapon. You slipped in behind him, a shadow of perfume and humidity, your ponytail still damp from rehearsal.

"You're sulking again," you said, the words gliding from your mouth like silk dipped in acid.

He didn’t look up. Didn’t even twitch.

You crossed the room with that slow, deliberate sway of your hips, hips that had commanded stages in Seoul and Shanghai and London. You slid into the seat beside him, your legs folding with grace and defiance, one bare knee brushing his thigh. He was all wrapped up in his lyrics, jaw tight, bottom lip bitten raw with focus. You leaned in just a little, close enough that your breath warmed the shell of his ear.

"You know," you said, voice pitched low, "you'd be hot if you smiled more."

He stopped writing. The pause was subtle, but you felt it.

A flicker.

The edge of something that hadn’t quite sharpened yet.

Then, without looking, he said, "And you'd be tolerable if you talked less."

Your head tilted. A smirk tugged at your lips.

"Wow. Was that an insult, Choi? I’m proud of you."

"Wasn't trying to impress you," he replied, tone dry, though his pen moved again. You noticed the way his Adam’s apple bobbed when he swallowed. How his hand tightened just slightly around the pen.

"You should."

This time, he did glance at you. Just a flick of those obsidian eyes, but it was enough. Your breath caught, for half a second. Then you laughed, light and careless.

He didn't laugh.

He never did.

But something shifted between you.

A hum. A tension, like the air before thunder.

It kept building. Slow and brutal, like the pull of a riptide. You kept finding ways to poke at him, to press where it hurt—or thrilled. Like the time during tour in Osaka, when you strutted into the green room in your shortest silver skirt, your thighs gleaming under the fluorescents. You leaned over the snack table just a little too far, feigning interest in a banana, and glanced over your shoulder to catch him staring.

He looked away immediately. Choked slightly on his water.

Victory.

You sat beside him after, close enough to brush arms. He kept his gaze on the floor, headphones in, jaw working like he was chewing through everything he wanted to say.

"See something you liked, oppa?"

His eyes flicked up. That same heat. Controlled. Bottled.

"I see a lot of things I don't comment on. Doesn't mean I didn't notice."

You blinked.

That was new.

You tilted your head, studying him. "Learning to play my game?"

He leaned in, slowly. Not quite touching, but close enough that you felt the gravity between you. "No. Just rewriting the rules."

You didn't have a comeback for that. Not right away.

But it shifted for real that night in Tokyo.

The building was nearly empty. Rain pattered on the rooftop, a soft, endless drumming that made everything feel heavier. You were dancing alone in the practice room, lit only by the glow of the city filtering through the foggy glass. The mirrors caught your silhouette—fluid, powerful, and unapologetic.

He watched you from the couch for a while, silent. You weren’t even sure when he’d walked in. You just caught his reflection, shadowed and still, in the mirror behind you.

"Do you ever stop performing?" he asked finally.

You turned, slightly out of breath, skin flushed and glistening.

"Do you ever start?"

The question hung there. Then he stood, walking towards you slowly, like he was testing the ground beneath his feet. Your body tensed instinctively. Not in fear. In anticipation.

He stopped a foot away.

"You wear your skin like armor," he said, almost a whisper.

You stared at him, pulse thudding. "And you wear yours like a coffin."

His breath hitched.

Then he reached up. Brushed a damp strand of hair from your cheek, fingertips barely grazing your skin. But the touch landed deep, like a burn you wouldn’t feel until later.

"Learning how to bite back," he said.

Your lips parted. Heart hammering. His fingers hovered, then dropped.

You didn’t step back.

Neither did he.

That was the first real moment. Not a line. Not a game. Just two people, stripped to the edge of something they didn’t have words for yet.

The tension didn’t dissolve after that. It simmered. Shifted. Became more dangerous. He met your provocations with quiet confidence now, sometimes even that sly, devastating half-smile that did more damage than any comeback. You still wore your shorts, your skirts, your confidence like weapons—but now you caught him watching, letting you know he was watching.

And when he looked away, it wasn’t out of shame.

It was to let you wonder what he was thinking.

And God, you did.

The live performance for "Bang Bang Bang" was pure chaos—the kind of spectacle that lived in flashing lights, sweat-slick skin, and thunderous bass. You were in full regalia, black leather and fire-red accents. Seung-Hyun, though, stole the breath from your lungs the second he walked out in that cowboy outfit.

Boots. Tight black jeans. That ridiculous but somehow perfect hat perched atop his head. The jacket—a mix of denim and fringe—should’ve looked tacky. On him, it was lethal.

You stalked over after the number, still high off the adrenaline, your skin buzzing. Seung-Hyun had just peeled his gloves off when you plucked the cowboy hat right off his head and settled it onto your own, tilting it at a playful angle.

His eyes flicked up to you, half-annoyed, half-amused, but he didn’t protest—just watched, arms crossed over his chest, as you turned to Hyo-rin with that signature smirk.

“So, you know the rule, right?” you asked, voice dripping with mischief.

Hyo-rin, catching on immediately, tried to hold in her laugh, but her lips twitched. “What rule?”

You leaned in conspiratorially, fingers tapping the brim of the hat. “You wear the hat…” You paused, letting the silence stretch, watching Seung-Hyun out of the corner of your eye as he straightened slightly, a frown forming.

Then you dropped the bomb. “You ride the cowboy.”

Silence.

Seung-Hyun blinked. Once. Twice. Then he choked. His body went rigid like he’d just short-circuited, and his hand jerked up—too slow—to snatch the hat back.

You spun out of reach, laughing.

Hyo-rin completely lost it, practically wheezing with laughter. Seung-Hyun stood there, stunned and utterly betrayed, his ears turning crimson.

“That’s not a real rule,” he muttered, voice hoarse.

“Oh, but it is,” you teased, tipping the hat dramatically before finally handing it back. You walked past him, close enough for your shoulder to brush his. “And now that you know, well… be careful who you let wear it.”

He groaned, dragging his hands over his face, and you? You just basked in your victory, the echo of your laughter still hanging in the air as he stood there—flushed, rattled, and maybe just a little bit intrigued.

Another show ended in a frenzy of lights and applause, but even as the crowd roared and the confetti rained down, you felt his stare. It wasn’t the usual casual glance or tight-lipped smirk. It was direct. Controlled. Electric.

Seung-Hyun hadn’t said a word after the cowboy stunt. But you could feel the storm brewing.

You lingered near the back hallway, sipping from a water bottle and humming under your breath when you heard the purposeful click of boots. You turned, already smiling.

"Looking for your hat again, cowboy?" you teased.

He didn’t answer.

Instead, he reached you in three long strides. Before you could blink, he bent and threw you over his shoulder like you weighed nothing, your body jolting with surprise.

“Seung-Hyun—what the—?!”

Your words punched out of you, breathless and half-laughing, your hands bracing against his strong back. The fringe of his jacket tickled your fingers, and you felt the taut ripple of muscle beneath it. His hold was unshakable, one arm locked around your thighs, the other steadying your hips like he’d done this a thousand times in his head.

“You think you’re funny?” he growled, voice low and close to your waist. “Running your mouth like that?”

“I know I’m funny,” you bit back, twisting slightly over his shoulder to glare at the back of his head. “What, can’t handle a little heat, cowboy?”

He didn’t answer.

Just let out a long, controlled breath and kept walking.

The sound of his boots echoed in the narrow hallway. The tension between you—hot and fraying—vibrated in every step. You weren’t laughing anymore. Not really. Because beneath the adrenaline, there was something heavier in your stomach. Anticipation. Want. A thrill of not knowing what he was going to do next.

He kicked the door to the empty dressing room open with his boot and stepped inside like a man with a mission. You barely had time to take in the room before he closed the door behind you with a hard click and locked it.

Then he set you down—slow, almost too gentle—and didn’t let go.

You straightened, brushing hair from your face, breath uneven. “So you manhandle all your bandmates, or am I just special?”

He stared at you for a beat too long. Then he stepped back, dragging a hand through his damp hair. Still in full costume—tight black jeans hugging every muscle, fringe jacket slipping off one shoulder, and the cowboy hat held loosely in his hand—he looked like a fever dream.

“I’m tired,” he said suddenly, voice rough, cracking through the air. “Tired of pretending this is all jokes. That I don’t feel it every damn time you push me.”

You blinked. “Feel what?”

His eyes snapped to yours. “You.”

He sat down heavily on the couch, elbows on his knees, running both hands down his face, then clutching the hat like it was anchoring him.

“I go home, and I replay it all. You walking past me in those skirts. The way you bite your lip when you think I’m not looking. The way you laugh like you know you’re pulling my strings.”

You swallowed hard, heat creeping up your throat.

“I didn’t play your game because I was afraid. I didn’t play because I knew—if I started—I wouldn’t stop. I can’t stop.”

He stood again. Slow. Like a force of nature reining himself in.

“I can’t keep pretending your teasing doesn’t wreck me. That I don’t want to tear that smug look off your face and kiss you until you forget your own name.”

He stepped in close, lifting the hat.

“Every time you wear this,” he said, voice dropping to a whisper, “I think about it.”

You raised an eyebrow, testing him. “About what?”

He gently—intimately—placed the hat on your head, tilting it just right. His knuckles brushed your cheek. You didn’t breathe.

His eyes locked with yours. “You said the rule was—‘you wear the hat, you ride the cowboy.’”

Your smirk wavered.

He stepped back, slow, and sat on the couch with a heavy exhale. Legs spread. Shoulders relaxed, but his gaze never left yours.

“Then ride me,” he said.

The air left your lungs.

Your body reacted before your brain could catch up. You took one step forward. Then another. And then his hands were on your hips, pulling you to straddle him, and you were sinking into his lap, knees tight to his thighs.

There was a pause.

Just a heartbeat.

Both of you breathing the same air, eyes locked. And then—

He kissed you.

Hard.

There was no preamble. Just hunger. Tongue. Teeth. Four years of heat and silence and self-restraint burning down all at once.

Your fingers curled into his fringe jacket, pulling him closer, anchoring yourself to the weight of him beneath you. He groaned into your mouth, hands sliding up your back, possessive and sure. You arched into his touch, heat blooming in your stomach.

"You’re full of shit, you know that?" you gasped against his mouth.

"And you’re addicted to playing with fire," he growled, nipping at your lower lip.

You moaned when his mouth moved to your jaw, your neck, finding every sensitive spot with maddening precision. Your hips shifted forward, slow, deliberate. His grip tightened.

“Still playing it cool?” he murmured against your skin, voice wrecked.

“Not even a little,” you panted, nails raking through his hair.

He leaned back just far enough to look at you. “You gonna keep the hat on, or should I take it back now?”

You gave him a wicked smile. “Only if you can handle what comes next.”

He matched it. “Try me.”

Your hands moved first—sliding over his chest, unfastening the fringe jacket and pushing it off his shoulders. The fabric slithered down his arms, pooling behind him on the couch. You let your fingers explore the lines of muscle beneath his thin shirt, mapping him with touch. He watched you, heat simmering in his gaze, but didn't move to stop you.

His hands skimmed the curve of your thighs, fingers brushing the edge of your performance shorts. He pushed the fabric higher, thumbs tracing bare skin, drawing lazy circles that made your breath catch.

“You’re shaking,” he whispered, voice dark silk.

“I’m not scared,” you said, meeting his eyes.

“I didn’t say you were.” He smirked, and then leaned up to kiss you again—slower this time, more exploratory. Like he was savoring the shape of your mouth, the taste of your breath. Your bodies pressed closer, the friction building, your heartbeat slamming against your ribs.

You peeled off your top, your bare skin now flush against his, and the sensation made both of you shiver. His hands found your waist, guiding you gently, firmly, like he’d imagined this moment too many times to rush it. You leaned into him, kissing down his jaw, his neck, dragging your teeth lightly across his collarbone. His breath stuttered.

He tugged his own shirt off with one swift motion, and your hands ran over his chest, tracing the lines, the tension held in every inch of him. The air between you crackled as you rocked your hips slowly against his. You could feel him now—hard and ready beneath you—and your smirk returned.

“You gonna keep watching me like that,” you murmured, lips brushing his ear, “or are you gonna do something about it?”

His answer was a deep growl.

He gripped your hips and pulled you down against him, your thighs tightening around his waist as your movements synced—slow, purposeful, maddening. You kissed again, deeper, mouths opening, breath mingling, fingers digging into flesh. You undulated your hips in a rhythm that had both of you gasping.

When his hand slid between your bodies, under the waistband of your shorts, your body arched. His touch was skilled, unhurried. He knew exactly what he was doing.

You pressed your forehead against his. "You were really just waiting for me to crack, weren’t you?"

He smiled, just barely. "I wasn’t going to beg. But I damn sure wasn’t going to let anyone else have this."

The clothes came off in fragments. First your shorts, then his jeans. His mouth stayed on your skin the whole time, worshipping, claiming. When you finally sank down onto him, slow and full and breathtaking, both of you froze.

He held you there, still, his hands trembling against your waist.

“God,” he murmured. “You feel…”

You silenced him with a kiss.

And then you moved.

Slow at first—grinding, teasing—every shift drawing gasps and curses from his lips. You rode him like you danced: unapologetic, powerful, in full control—until he met you halfway, hips bucking, mouth clashing with yours in something raw and desperate.

Each thrust, each movement, was a conversation neither of you had dared to have until now. The friction between you was more than physical—it was years of longing, of silence, of stolen glances finally erupting.

His hands roamed your back, your thighs, your chest, unable to stop touching. You rocked harder, faster, both of you unraveling, the room echoing with breath and broken whispers.

And you—riding him in nothing but that hat and a wicked grin—felt like the whole world had narrowed to this.

Him. You. The heat. The fire.

And the end of the game.

You rolled your hips again, slower this time, watching the way his eyes fluttered shut, his head tipping back against the couch. A low moan escaped his throat, dark and throaty.

“Fuck,” he muttered, voice broken. “You’re gonna kill me.”

You leaned down, lips brushing the shell of his ear. “Good. Then die knowing it was worth it.”

He laughed—deep, breathless—and grabbed your ass, guiding you harder against him. Your bodies moved in tandem, heat rising between you like a storm cloud ready to split the sky.

“You love being on top of me, don’t you?” he growled, voice rough, each word pulled from his gut. “So cocky. So smug.”

You bit his bottom lip playfully before releasing it. “You love it,” you whispered. “You love that it’s me making you feel this way.”

He thrust up into you with force, his grip on your hips tightening. The sudden intensity ripped a gasp from your throat.

“I love that you’re finally mine,” he said, voice gravel and silk. “I love that no one else gets to see you like this. Hear you like this.”

You moaned as he buried his face in your neck, sucking at the soft skin just below your jaw. Your body trembled above him, nails dragging down his chest, hips grinding harder, deeper.

“You’re so fucking wet for me,” he groaned. “You’ve been teasing me for years, walking around like a goddamn goddess. You wanted this.”

You nodded, breathless. “I still want it.”

“Then take it,” he snarled.

And you did.

Your pace quickened, driven by his words, his hands, his body. You rode him like the center of your universe had shifted beneath your thighs. The moans that spilled from you weren’t rehearsed or coy—they were real, raw, drawn from somewhere deep. He responded with broken sounds of his own, his fingers moving everywhere, gripping, sliding, exploring.

“Say my name again,” he whispered, staring up at you like you were the only thing he’d ever believed in.

You leaned down, your forehead pressed to his. “Seung-Hyun,” you gasped, hips bucking, your body tightening around him. “Seung-Hyun—”

He kissed you again, one hand tangled in your hair, the other gripping your waist like a lifeline. The hat tilted on your head with each movement, your moans swallowed into his mouth as you neared the edge together.

“I’m not going to last,” he warned, voice rough. “Not like this. You feel too fucking good.”

“Then don’t,” you whispered. “Let go. With me.”

You moved faster, hips rolling in a rhythm that had both of you unraveling, your bodies a blur of heat and friction. The slick sound of skin on skin filled the room, mingled with breathless gasps and the creak of the couch beneath your desperate rhythm.

He held you tighter, kissed you harder, and when you came, it was with a cry—his name on your lips, body trembling, heart hammering. He followed with a groan that vibrated against your mouth, hips snapping up into yours one final time as he poured into you.

For a moment, there was nothing but the sound of your breath. Tangled limbs. Sweat-slicked skin. His arms around you, holding you like you might float away if he let go.

You collapsed against his chest, your face buried in his neck. He rested his cheek against the cowboy hat still on your head.

And then he laughed. A soft, amazed sound.

“Still think this was just a game?” he murmured.

You smiled, breath still shallow. “No. That was the prize.”

You don’t remember when your fingers started playing with the soft strands at the back of his neck, just that it felt natural. Gentle. Intimate in a way that felt almost too much, too soon.

But he didn’t pull away.

Seung-Hyun was still beneath you, chest rising and falling with the slow, steady pace of someone trying to come down from a high. His arms were wrapped around your waist, his skin sticky with sweat, but he made no move to let go.

You tilted your head slightly, letting your lips brush his collarbone. A soft kiss. A slow inhale.

He smelled like heat and leather and something uniquely him—rich and masculine, threaded with a note of sandalwood that clung to the edge of his skin.

You felt him shift under you slightly, his hand trailing lazily up your spine.

“You broke the hat,” he muttered into your hair.

You pulled back just enough to see him, the crumpled cowboy hat now hanging lopsidedly off your head. You reached up, flicked it back into place with a smirk. “Battle wounds.”

His gaze flicked up to yours, soft and unreadable. For a beat, neither of you said anything.

Then he sighed, slow and heavy.

“I wasn’t kidding,” he said. “I’m tired of the games.”

You studied him. The way his brows pulled together, the seriousness in his voice despite the way your body was still pressed intimately against his.

“I know.”

“You flirt. You push. You know exactly what to say to get under my skin,” he continued, brushing your hair away from your cheek with a featherlight touch. “And I let you. Because I wanted… this. But I can’t keep pretending it doesn’t mean anything.”

You blinked.

The words weren’t unexpected, not really. But they hit harder than you thought they would.

“And now that you’ve had me?” you teased, voice soft, but a little unsure. “What then?”

He reached up, gently pulled the hat off your head, setting it aside before resting his hand on the side of your face.

“I don’t want you just like this,” he said quietly. “I want all of you. When the lights are off. When the stage is quiet. When you’re not performing. I want the version of you who teases and the one who doesn’t. The one who’s strong, and the one who hides when no one’s looking.”

Your throat tightened.

“You’ve got me,” you whispered, almost like a confession. “Even when I’m being a bitch?”

He smirked, something warm sparking in his eyes. “Especially then.”

You laughed, resting your forehead against his. His hands slid down your back, grounding you to him, anchoring you in that fragile, real moment.

Outside the dressing room, you could hear the distant thump of footsteps, voices, the world starting to move again.

But neither of you moved to get up.

Eventually, you spoke again, voice softer this time. “So, are we still playing?”

Seung-Hyun looked at you, that familiar flicker of mischief now tempered with something deeper.

“No,” he said. “We’re done playing.”

Then he kissed you again—slower this time. No teasing. No edge. Just lips and breath and the taste of something new blooming between you.

Something real.

The next morning, it was all rehearsals, spotlights, and sharp-edged choreography.

You were back in your dancer mode—short shorts hugging your hips, crop top clinging to your skin, legs flexing with every kick and turn. The air in the rehearsal room was thick with sweat and music and the silent pressure to be perfect. Lights beamed down from above like stage fire, unforgiving and hot.

You moved like a weapon—controlled, deadly, and graceful. The beat of the track pounded in your chest like a second heartbeat. You didn't look at him.

But you felt him.

Seung-Hyun’s presence was a constant hum under your skin. Not glaring or obvious—he’d never be that. But in the way his gaze skimmed you when he thought no one noticed, in the way his foot tapped in time with your rhythm, in the sharpness of his jaw every time you rolled your hips just a little harder than necessary.

You hadn’t spoken since last night. Not properly. Just one last kiss—slow and silent, lips warm with something that felt suspiciously like affection—before he helped you dress. Then, a walk through the hallways, his hand resting low on your back like he owned that part of you now.

That tension, unspoken and buzzing, followed you both into the room.

During break, you collapsed on the floor with Hyo-rin, sweat dripping down your spine, legs still humming from the last routine.

“You good?” she asked, arching a brow. “You haven’t roasted Seung-Hyun once today. I’m worried.”

You shrugged, trying to sound casual. “Maybe I’m bored of watching him squirm.”

She gave you a pointed look. “You don’t look bored. You look like you had sex for twelve hours and can’t sit properly.”

You rolled your eyes, sipping water. “Don’t project.”

“Don’t deny it,” she fired back. “You’ve got that stupid, post-orgasm glow. And he—” she nodded toward where Seung-Hyun was silently talking to Jiyong, face flushed, shirt clinging to his torso “—looks like he’s trying to stay sane.”

Your eyes drifted despite yourself.

He glanced over, meeting your gaze for the first time today. And this time—he held it.

No flinch. No subtle glance away. Just steady, simmering eye contact.

Your breath hitched. You tilted your chin. Smirked slightly.

He didn’t smile back—but his eyes darkened, almost imperceptibly, and your stomach flipped.

“Jesus,” Hyo-rin muttered. “Just fuck in the equipment closet and spare us the foreplay.”

You grinned, but the heat in your belly was real.

After rehearsal, people scattered—some to shower, others to food or phone calls. You lingered near the vending machines under the pretense of choosing between water or soda.

You sensed him before you saw him.

Seung-Hyun appeared beside you like smoke, silent and solid, his body boxing you in with casual dominance. One hand pressed to the wall near your head. The other brushed lightly against your hip.

“You kept looking at me like you wanted to fuck me in front of everyone,” he said, low and dangerous.

Your lips curled, slow and deliberate. “I was just stretching. Can’t help it if my ass looks good doing it.”

His laugh was dark and quiet. “You really don’t know when to stop.”

“You like it when I don’t.”

He leaned in—his breath warm against your ear. “I like it better when you’re naked, dripping, and begging.”

You inhaled sharply.

Then he pulled back, just enough to meet your gaze. “My place. Twenty minutes. Unless you’re too sore to ride again.”

You grabbed the front of his shirt, pulled him close enough to barely brush his lips with yours.

“Better hydrate, cowboy,” you whispered. “You’re gonna need your stamina.”

His hand dropped down to squeeze your ass—hard enough to sting. “I already want you again.”

You shivered, and for once, had no comeback.

He stepped back, all cool control, and walked away like he hadn’t just lit a match and left you burning.

You didn’t knock.

He’d left the door unlocked for you, and when you stepped inside his apartment, it smelled like warm spice and cologne. Dim lights pooled in corners. One small lamp was on, casting golden hues across leather and hardwood. It was quiet. Too quiet.

You kicked off your sneakers, padded inside, your body still humming with adrenaline from the studio—and from him.

He was standing in the kitchen, a glass of water in one hand, the same black shirt from earlier now slightly damp from his post-rehearsal shower. His hair was damp too, brushed back and curling slightly at the ends.

He didn’t say anything when he saw you.

Just set down the glass and crossed the space between you in five slow steps.

You were already unbuttoning your shorts.

His mouth caught yours before you could speak. Hot. Demanding. Fingers diving into your hair. You grabbed the hem of his shirt and yanked it upward. He helped pull it off, tossing it aside as you backed into the nearest wall.

His body pressed against yours. Hard. Familiar. Perfect.

“I thought about you all day,” he said against your mouth. “Bouncing on me. Fucking owning me.”

You moaned, letting your head fall back. “Tell me more.”

He grabbed your thighs and lifted you, just like that—effortless. You wrapped your legs around his waist and felt the heat of his cock already pressing through his jeans.

“No teasing tonight,” he growled. “No games.”

“Good,” you gasped. “Because I’m not in the mood to wait.”

He carried you to the bedroom, dropped you onto the bed with a grunt, and pulled your shorts down in one swift move. Your top followed. Then your panties.

“You’re so wet already,” he murmured, sinking between your thighs. His fingers stroked over your folds, spreading you open. “Were you this wet while dancing?”

You whimpered. “Thinking about you fucking me in front of everyone.”

He groaned—deep and hungry—and dipped his head. His mouth found you, slow at first, then greedy. Tongue curling. Sucking. Drawing out every sound you gave him.

You clawed at the sheets, hips rolling, voice breaking.

When he finally pulled back, his lips were glistening, and his eyes were dark as obsidian.

“I want to watch you ride me again,” he said, pulling off his jeans and underwear. “I want you in control.”

You straddled him before he could finish the sentence, your mouth capturing his in a kiss that was more bite than breath.

He hissed as you sank down onto him, inch by inch.

“Fuck, yes,” he breathed, fingers digging into your hips. “Just like that.”

You rode him slowly at first, letting the pressure build. Each thrust dragged fire along your nerves. Each movement stoked something deeper—need, connection, hunger.

“Seung-Hyun,” you gasped, bracing your hands on his chest. “I want all of it.”

He lifted his hips into yours, deeper, harder. “Take it. It’s yours.”

And you did.

Again.

And again.

Until your body shattered over his, until he broke beneath you with a growl and a kiss, until you both lay tangled in sweat and sheets, breathless and wrecked.

This time, he didn’t let go after.

He held you close, chest to your back, one arm wrapped around your stomach like you might vanish in the night.

“You’re not leaving after this,” he said softly.

“I wasn’t planning on it,” you whispered.

And neither of you said another word.

It was getting harder to hide.

The thrill had its bite—stolen glances, breathless goodbyes behind locked doors, kisses smudged between elevator dings. But lately, the thrill was starting to turn into something else. Something riskier.

Like now.

You stood backstage at the music show venue, all glitter and chaos, your group waiting for your cue. Crew members ran past with clipboards, cords, and coffee, the low thrum of bass from the main stage vibrating through the floors.

And there was Seung-Hyun.

Leaned casually against the wall across from you, dark pants, jacket loose over his frame, hair styled sharp and immaculate. He was doing that thing again—pretending not to look.

But he was looking.

You felt it in the slow slide of his eyes down your legs, the flicker of his tongue over his lip before he looked away again. You shifted your weight just enough to make the hem of your skirt ride higher on your thigh.

He noticed. He always did.

You arched a brow across the distance. He didn’t move.

Then, just loud enough for only him to hear, you murmured, “Stop undressing me with your eyes.”

He pushed off the wall. One step. Two.

“Stop wearing shit that makes me want to undress you,” he fired back coolly, eyes dark.

You smirked. “Maybe I want you distracted.”

He didn’t break stride. He stopped inches from you, towering in that dangerous way he had—quiet dominance, all heat and smolder. “You want me stupid on stage, thinking about you bent over the dressing table?”

“Something like that,” you said, tilting your head. “Worked last night, didn’t it?”

A muscle ticked in his jaw. His eyes flicked around—technicians, a staff noona passing by, someone calling for a mic check.

He leaned in like he was about to whisper something scandalous. Instead, his voice came low, serious, brushing the shell of your ear like a threat.

“You’re playing with fire.”

You laughed under your breath, letting it ghost over his cheek. “You like when I do.”

Then, with maddening calm, you turned on your heel and walked away—slow enough that your hips swayed deliberately with each step.

You didn’t have to look back to know he was watching.

The rehearsal was brutal.

Lighting cues, missed beats, a scolding from the choreographer—but none of it fazed you. Not when you could feel him watching.

You danced harder. Let your body roll with the bass, every movement a challenge. Your crop top clung to your sweat-slicked skin, your thighs flexing in time with the music.

At one point, you dropped low during a freestyle moment—knees apart, ass angled just enough to make your point.

You didn’t look at him.

But when the music cut and everyone caught their breath, you finally turned your head.

Seung-Hyun’s eyes were on you.

And he was pissed.

You bit your lip to hide the grin.

Later, in the makeup room, you were touching up eyeliner when the door opened behind you. 

You didn’t turn—didn’t need to. You could feel him. That silent weight of Seung-Hyun’s presence, coiled and deliberate.

“Careful,” you said to the mirror, lips curving as you dragged the brush with precision. “Someone might catch us alone.”

He didn’t answer right away. Just stepped closer. The kind of closeness that made the air between you feel too thin. His eyes met yours in the reflection—dark, steady, simmering.

“Keep teasing me like that,” he murmured, “and I’m going to fuck you in this chair.”

Your breath caught. You smiled anyway, slow and wicked. “You say that like it’s a threat.”

“I’m not in the mood for games tonight.”

You dropped the brush, your hand suddenly not so steady. “Oh?”

He moved behind you—close enough that the heat of him sank through the thin fabric of your crop top. He didn’t touch you. Not at first. Just stood there, his voice low against your neck.

“You think you’re in control?” he asked, tone casual but laced with steel. “All those moves you pull on stage, the looks, the smirks. You think I won’t do something about it?”

“I think you’ll try,” you whispered.

That was all it took.

One hand wrapped around your waist, pulling you back against him. His other hand slid down the front of your body, fingers slipping between your thighs with a confidence that made your pulse jump.

You gasped, grabbing the edge of the makeup table as his fingers pressed against the thin fabric of your shorts—slow, teasing strokes that made your knees weaken instantly.

“Still think this is a game?” he whispered against your ear.

You tilted your head, biting back a moan. “I think you like it when I play.”

He chuckled, dark and knowing, and slipped his hand inside your shorts. Past the lace. Past every last ounce of your pride.

Two fingers slid through your slick heat, slow and steady, curling just enough to make your hips jerk forward.

You bit your lip hard, a small, choked sound escaping your throat.

He didn’t kiss you. Didn’t touch your lips. He stayed right there at your ear, breath hot.

“This what you wanted?” he murmured, fingers pumping slow, dragging through you like he had all the time in the world. “To sit there looking so smug, pretending you don’t need me?”

Your hips rocked against his hand, desperate and involuntary.

“Look at yourself,” he ordered, voice lower now. “Look in the mirror.”

You did.

Your mouth was parted, eyes glazed, face flushed. You looked wrecked. Beautiful. Hungry.

His fingers picked up pace, and your breath hitched again, a small whimper breaking past your lips.

“You’re close, aren’t you?” he breathed. “Dripping for me. Needy.”

You nodded, barely able to speak. “Don’t stop—”

Then came a knock.

Sharp. Two quick taps on the door.

You froze.

His fingers didn’t.

The door cracked open a few inches.

“Hey—” Jiyong’s voice. Casual. Oblivious. “We’re on in five. Don’t take too long.”

“Got it,” Seung-Hyun said smoothly, without missing a beat. His hand stayed right where it was, fingers still buried deep inside you, still moving—but slower now. Teasing. Maddening.

The door closed.

And he pulled his fingers out.

You whined—quiet, desperate, betrayed.

He turned you to face him for the first time, hand still resting at your waist. His eyes locked on yours, smug and dark and far too calm.

“You wanted to play,” he said. “Now you can go onstage thinking about how close I got you.”

You stared at him, trembling slightly, still breathless.

“That’s not fair,” you hissed, voice low and sharp.

He leaned in close—not kissing—just letting his mouth hover by your ear. “You look so good when you’re frustrated. I want you ruined tonight.”

Then he stepped back, straightened his jacket, and walked out.

Leaving you there—wet, throbbing, and one heartbeat away from losing your mind.

The lights hit like a tidal wave—searing white, full intensity, washing everything else away.

You stood under it, chest rising and falling with adrenaline, body already slick with sweat before the first beat even dropped. The crowd was a blur behind the spotlights, thousands of people screaming. But none of it touched the tension tightening your body like a noose.

Because he was there.

Seung-Hyun stood just meters from you, wrapped in shadows and smoke, every inch the image of restraint. Black tailored jacket, shirt open just enough to tease his collarbone. Hair slicked back, lips unreadable.

No one would guess the things he whispered to you less than an hour ago. No one would see how your thighs still pressed together when you moved, trying to soothe the ache he’d left behind.

The music started, thunderous and pulsing.

You moved on instinct—every sway of your hips, every sharp snap of your legs wrapped in choreography. But inside, you were coming undone.

Because you could feel him watching.

Not the way he watched when you first joined the group—curious, cautious, and a little annoyed. No, this was different. This gaze was ownership. Memory. Hunger barely leashed.

At the chorus, you dipped low, knees wide, thighs spread just enough to make it obscene if you held it one second longer.

He was behind you now. You didn’t need to look to feel his eyes on the curve of your ass, the slow grind of your hips to the beat, like you were doing it just for him.

Because you were.

You heard the breath he let out over his mic—just barely.

And then, right before the bridge, as you passed him in the choreography, his voice slipped low into the in-ear comms. Meant for you. Only you.

“Still wet for me?”

Your heart stumbled. Your body didn’t.

You hit your mark like a pro, face flawless, smile cocky.

But your core pulsed, hot and alive.

He was playing with fire.

And you were ready to burn.

You didn’t wait after the curtain dropped. The roar of the crowd still rang in your ears as you stormed off-stage, ignoring the calls from staff, the offered water bottles, the wide-eyed glances.

You needed air.

You needed him.

But he found you first.

You didn’t hear his footsteps—just felt his hand on your waist, spinning you and pushing you backward until your spine hit the cool wall of a backstage storage room. Somewhere dark. Dusty. Hidden.

The door slammed shut behind him.

He didn’t speak.

Didn’t ask.

His eyes were wild.

Yours were daring.

“You’re playing dangerous,” you breathed, heart pounding.

His voice was gravel. “You started it.”

“You left me on the edge,” you hissed, breath ragged. “You think I’m just going to let that go?”

“You loved it,” he said, stepping closer. “You walked on that stage dripping for me.”

You pushed him, hard. Not away—just enough to press his back to the wall opposite yours.

“I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.”

Your hands were in his hair before you realized it, tugging hard. His were gripping your hips, pulling you against him, and fuck—he was hard. So hard you could feel him through layers of stagewear.

“I was trying to focus,” you snapped, even as your hips rolled forward against his.

“Liar,” he growled. “You danced like you wanted me to drag you off in front of everyone.”

“Maybe I did.”

He let out a shaky exhale and kissed your throat—open-mouthed, no softness. Just teeth. Tongue. Heat. His hand dragged up the back of your thigh, pulling it over his hip.

“I couldn’t think of anything but this,” he murmured against your skin. “The way you sound when you moan. The way you clench when I curl my fingers just—”

He shoved his hand down the front of your shorts.

Your head snapped back with a gasp, one arm flying out to grab the nearby shelf to keep your balance.

Two fingers—already finding your sweet spot—curled with maddening precision. His thumb pressed against your clit, circling, stroking with slow, lazy control.

“So wet,” he whispered, lips brushing your jaw. “You didn’t even fix your panties, did you? You liked feeling it all night.”

“Fuck you,” you gasped, but your body betrayed you—hips rolling into his palm, your breath turning to soft, desperate sounds.

“Not yet.”

He kept the rhythm torturously slow. Deep. Inescapable.

“You gonna come just from this?” he asked, his mouth barely moving against your ear. “From my fingers? Pathetic.”

Your knees buckled.

He caught you, kept you upright with a firm hand around your waist.

“Say it,” he ordered. “Say you need it.”

“I need—” you gasped as he curved deeper. “Shit—Seung-Hyun—”

Then: a knock.

Two sharp taps.

The door creaked open, only a few inches.

“Hey!” Jiyong’s voice. Casual. Oblivious. “We’re headed to press in five. Don’t take too long, yeah?”

You couldn’t breathe. You couldn’t move.

Seung-Hyun didn’t stop.

“On our way,” he said smoothly, never pulling his hand away.

The door shut again.

You clung to him, your entire body trembling.

But he was already slowing his hand.

Then stopping.

Then pulling away completely.

“No—” you whined, barely able to think.

He slid his fingers out, pulled your shorts back into place with infuriating care, and pressed one slow kiss to your cheek.

“I said you could come,” he murmured, voice silky and cruel. “I never said when.”

You stared at him, dazed, legs shaking.

He smiled—dark and pleased.

“Now go smile for the cameras, baby. I want everyone wondering why you can’t walk straight.”

Then he opened the door and left you there—aching, panting, and dripping with frustration.

And maybe just a little in love.

You made it through the press line, somehow.

Camera flashes blinded you. Questions blurred. Your smile was flawless, but your insides were chaos.

You could still feel him.

The slick heat between your thighs. The twitch in your muscles every time you thought about how close you were—how close he got you, only to leave you there. Shaky. Exposed. Seething.

And he? He was cool as ever. Standing behind you, perfectly composed in his black-on-black suit, sunglasses shielding those sharp, knowing eyes.

But you knew he was watching.

And he knew you were boiling.

It was a game.

And now, you were done playing.

You waited.

Waited until the after-party had started. Until the others were busy in interviews, drinks in hand, laughter echoing down the corridor of the hotel suite booked for the night.

You knew where he’d go to escape the noise. He always did.

So you found him alone.

In the empty side lounge, low-lit and quiet, an untouched drink in his hand and his jacket thrown over the back of the leather sofa.

He looked up when the door clicked shut behind you. No surprise. No panic.

Just that look.

That look that said he knew exactly what you came for.

You crossed the room in silence, slow and purposeful, every sway of your hips deliberate.

His mouth parted just slightly, eyes dragging down your body and back up again.

“You look pissed,” he said smoothly.

You didn’t answer.

Just climbed onto his lap.

You could feel his body tense beneath you, muscles tightening under the silk of his shirt as your knees straddled his thighs, your palms planted flat against his chest.

You leaned in, lips a breath from his.

“You think you’re in control?” you whispered.

His jaw ticked.

“I was.”

You rolled your hips against him once—slow, heavy—grinding just enough for him to feel the ache he’d left in you. He inhaled sharply.

“You don’t get to leave me like that,” you said, voice low and venom-laced. “You don’t get to wind me up, then disappear.”

His hands gripped your thighs, hard.

“I warned you,” he growled. “You kept pushing.”

“And now I’m pulling,” you snapped.

Then you kissed him—biting, open-mouthed, no room for air. His hand came up to your throat, not hard, just enough to still you.

“You gonna punish me?” he breathed against your lips.

You smiled. “I’m gonna fuck you.”

And you did.

Right there on the couch, in the dark, with the door unlocked and danger on the other side.

Clothes half-off, lips nowhere near polite. You didn’t even get his shirt fully open—just enough to run your nails down his chest, to leave marks he’d have to hide later.

He was rougher this time.

Sloppier.

Desperate.

“Don’t make me beg,” you gasped.

“You already are.”

You rode him with purpose, not grace—chasing the edge he stole, dragging him to his knees with you. Every grind, every curse, every hiss of breath between your teeth was war.

When you finally came—loud, messy, full-body—it was with your fingers digging into his shoulders and his name on your lips like a brand.

He followed with a groan that shook through you both, his grip tightening around your waist as he spilled into you, head falling to your shoulder like he couldn’t hold it up anymore.

Neither of you moved for a long time.

Just breath.

Sweat.

Stillness.

Then a voice.

Too close.

Too casual.

“…What the fuck.”

Your blood ran cold.

You turned slowly—so slowly—to see Jiyong in the doorway, holding a drink, mouth parted in shock, eyes wide and blinking like maybe if he stared long enough, the scene would disappear.

You froze.

Seung-Hyun didn’t.

He didn’t even flinch.

He reached forward calmly and tugged your skirt back down your thighs with one hand, the other settling protectively on your lower back.

“Close the door,” he said to Jiyong, voice low. Firm.

Jiyong blinked. “Are you—what the—”

“Close it.”

There was a pause. Then the door shut quietly. Not slammed. Not panicked.

Just shut.

You turned your head toward Seung-Hyun, eyes wide. “He’s going to tell.”

Seung-Hyun met your gaze.

Not afraid.

Not sorry.

“Let him.”

It started with the silence.

Not tension. Not anger. Not even curiosity.

Just a silence so cold it felt like a wall between you and everyone else in the room.

When you entered rehearsal that morning, the weight of what happened the night before hung off your shoulders like a loaded coat you couldn’t take off.

You and Seung-Hyun didn’t speak on the way there. You hadn’t spoken since Jiyong caught you. The only communication between you had been a look—one of those quiet, dangerous ones he was so good at. A look that said: I meant it. I’d do it again.

But the others? They weren’t as easy.

Jiyong barely looked in your direction.

Youngbae gave you a half-hearted nod, like he wasn’t sure what team he was supposed to be on.

Hyo-rin, mercifully, was the only one who dared to speak.

“Hey,” she whispered while tying her laces. “You okay?”

You nodded. “I think so.”

She paused. “Just so you know… I’m not judging you. Or him. But shit, babe—on the couch?”

You cracked a smile. Barely. “Didn’t hear you complain when you walked in on me and that backup dancer two years ago.”

“That’s different. He wasn’t T.O.P. And I wasn’t in charge of press cleanup if things go nuclear.”

Before you could respond, Jiyong’s voice rang out.

Louder than necessary.

“Maybe we shouldn’t pretend everything’s normal when clearly it’s not.”

Everyone stopped moving.

You straightened, slowly turning toward him. “You want to say something, say it.”

He crossed his arms. “You made it everyone’s business the second you brought it into a public space.”

“It was after-hours. Empty room,” you replied coolly.

“I still saw it. Heard it. Seung-Hyun, you didn’t even flinch when I walked in. You didn’t even try to explain.”

Seung-Hyun looked up from where he was lacing his boots. Calm. Collected. “Because I don’t need to explain.”

“You’re not thinking clearly,” Jiyong snapped. “This group doesn’t survive scandals. If the wrong person finds out—”

“Then they’ll find out,” Seung-Hyun said, standing up. “I’m not ashamed of her. I won’t hide her anymore.”

You blinked.

There it was. In front of everyone. No hesitation.

And suddenly, the others weren’t watching him anymore. They were watching you.

Waiting to see what you’d do with that kind of declaration.

You stepped forward. “I didn’t plan this. I didn’t want it to become a thing. But it did. And it’s real.”

“And if it blows up?” Jiyong asked, voice lower now. “If it wrecks everything we’ve built?”

Seung-Hyun looked at him—not cold, not combative. Just… steady.

“Then we build something new.”

The silence that followed wasn’t heavy this time.

It was freeing.

Because for once, the truth was out.

And you weren’t alone in it.

It started with a headline.

“T.O.P. heart was stolen? Unnamed Source Confirms BigBang Member’s Secret Relationship with Dancer.”

You didn’t have time to panic.

The article dropped at 8:14 AM. By 8:30, your phone had twenty missed calls. Managers. Stylists. PR. Your name wasn’t in the article—but the implication was clear. “Long legs,” “feisty onstage chemistry,” “rumored tension backstage.” They might as well have used your name in bold font.

And Seung-Hyun? He didn’t answer his phone either.

Because he was already standing in front of your apartment door.

No disguise. No hood. Just him.

Holding your name in his mouth like it was a decision he’d already made.

You yanked the door open. “You saw?”

“Yeah.”

He stepped inside without being asked. His jaw was tight. His hands clenched at his sides.

You stared at him, trying to read his silence. “Are you freaking out?”

“No.”

“You sure? Because everyone else is.”

He stepped forward.

“I’m not.”

You blinked, taking a step back. “We can fix it. We can deny it. Say it was a misunderstanding. Let the company clean it up. We’ll go back to being careful—”

“I don’t want to be careful,” he snapped.

You froze.

He ran a hand through his hair, pacing. “I’m tired. Of hiding. Of pretending I don’t want to touch you every time you walk past me. Of acting like you're not the best part of my day.”

You opened your mouth. Closed it.

“You said you were scared,” he continued, stepping closer. “I am too. But I’m more scared of losing you than I am of headlines.”

You stared at him, stunned.

“You’re not a rumor to me,” he said. “You’re real. And I’m done acting like you’re not.”

And then—before you could respond—he kissed you.

Hard.

No build-up. No slow burn.

Just fire.

His hands found your waist and pulled you in, lips demanding, breath hot. He kissed you like the world could burn and he’d still choose to go down with you in his arms.

You kissed him back just as hard.

Because you were tired too.

Tired of silence. Of half-truths and shadows. Of walking past him in public like he didn’t ruin you in private.

When you finally pulled back, your breath was ragged.

“What if they ask us directly?” you asked.

He looked you dead in the eye.

“Then I’ll say the truth.”

It came faster than either of you expected.

A press conference.

Scheduled “to address the rumors.” PR offered a dozen pre-written statements. Scripts. Polished denials. Just say it was misinterpreted, they said. Just say it’s nothing.

Seung-Hyun read none of them.

You stood behind the curtain, palms sweating, heart racing like it wanted out of your chest. He stood beside you, calm as ever—but his hand found yours and didn’t let go.

When the lights came on, and the crowd of journalists surged forward like wolves scenting blood, he stepped up to the mic.

And shattered the silence.

“I’m not here to deny anything.”

Flashbulbs exploded. Shouts rose from the press line.

He waited.

“I’m seeing someone,” he said, voice steady. “She’s a dancer. She’s strong, smart, and no—this isn’t a scandal. This is real.”

He turned, looked straight at you behind the curtain.

And smiled.

“I don’t want to hide her anymore.”

The fallout was instant.

The group trended globally. The internet split in half. Support poured in. So did backlash. But none of it mattered the way you thought it would.

Because when you walked out after the conference—hand in hand—he didn’t let go.

Not when the reporters screamed questions. Not when the managers whispered warnings.

He kept holding on.

Later that night, the two of you lay on his bed—sheets tangled, your head on his chest, legs knotted together.

He ran his fingers down your spine, gentle, slow. Different.

“Still scared?” he whispered.

You nodded. “Yeah.”

“Me too.”

You looked up. “Do we regret it?”

He shook his head.

Then, softer: “I’ve never been more sure of anything.”

You smiled. “So what now?”

He leaned in, pressed a kiss to your shoulder.

“Now?” he whispered. “We stop burning quietly. Let the whole damn world burn.”

⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹

Taglist: @janie-osuih@szonyix6277@chrypir@redhoodedtoad@sherrayyyyy@mirahyun@sherxoo @dilfismz@forevervibezzzz1@lariem-blog2 @infinetlyforgotten @maskedcrawford @httpjiprk @youlikeex @twilght-talks @emmiesoverthemoon

[angels-main-acc]

Covenant

Choi Seunghyun x AFAB! Reader Synopsis: Your 'honeymoon' is off to a crazy start and the first full day comes to an interesting end after a successful day out as newlyweds. Warnings: SMUT! Mutual masturbation. Angst but some fluff too if you squint. A/N: Idk where this story is going, so I'm along for the ride like the rest of you. Follow me for updates! Let me know if you'd like to be tagged in future updates and thank you for reading! This in no way shape or form represents Seunghyun as a person, it's a fictional story. PART 1

Seunghyun sneaks out of the bedroom, attempting to not disturb your restful slumber. He’s on his way outside to make a phone call when the light catches your face from the open curtain across the room. You look ethereal in the moonlight, enough for him to almost want to apologize for snapping at you earlier.

Almost.

He sighs as he notices the blanket half on your body and half on the floor, he quietly tip toes over to place the blanket on your shoulders, completely unaware that you’re still awake. He places a ghost like kiss to the top of your head before heading out. Your breath catches and you only find the will to breathe again once the door latches behind him.

He hits the call button on the name “Hae”. He waits for it to ring, the ocean offering a white noise background.

“Hey, jagi,” he smiles into the phone.

“Hey, baby,” her voice is seductive. It makes Seunghyun bite his lip, “Get to the resort ok?”

“Yeah, we got settled ok.”

“Where’s your wifey,” she mocks the word with disdain and venom.

“On the couch.” His voice is casual.

“I don’t see why you needed to do this,” she pouts.

“I told you, management said a marriage was the best option for building my image up again,” he sighs as he rubs his temple.

“You could’ve married me,” she sighs. Seunghyun has to stop himself from laughing. Hae was fun and great for a release, but he didn’t see her as a girlfriend, let alone a wife.

“Y/n wasn’t in the public eye and lets be honest, she looks more,” he pauses trying not to piss her off, “Conservative,” is the only word that comes to mind. He peeks at you from the window, your body slowly moving up and down.

“I miss you,” she whines in the phone.

“I miss you too, but I’ll be home soon,” he smiles.

“Wanna have some fun?” he can hear the smirk in her voice.

“Always,” he smiles as he makes his way inside. You hear him tip toe back to the bedroom and before long, the quiet house is filled with muffled moans and whimpers that are straight up erotic. You find yourself squeezing your thighs together at the sound of his voice. A quiet whimper escapes you at the torture of your senses. You shift on the couch trying to ignore it. Pictures flood your mind of what he must look like, his cock tight in hand, his head titled backward and mouth partially agape. His stomach muscles contracting as he nears his finish. You shake your head trying to remove the image.

You huff knowing now you won’t be able to sleep. You look at the clock on the wall.

5:45 am

You toss the blanket to the back of the couch and decide to get an early start to the day. You make yourself a small breakfast all the while hearing your husband’s sex noises on the other side of the door. You bite your lip trying not to imagine, once again, how good he must look. Seunghyun might not be the nicest guy you’d ever met, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t good looking. You sit at the counter ready to eat when the door opens again. You force your face forward.

Seunghyun stops in his tracks when he see’s your awake. His face goes red but he composes himself as he walks into the kitchen.

“What no breakfast for me?” He eyes you.

“Too tired to make your own?” Your smirk and his jaw ticks.

“You were listening?”

“Hard not to when you’re so damn loud,” you take a forceful bite of your eggs.

“I woke you?” he asks. You shrug at his question and walk past him to place your plate in the sink. You go back to the bedroom and change into your bathing suit.

“Where are you going?” He calls out. You walk back out and point towards the back door.

“To the beach?” you more so ask like it isn’t obvious. You walk past him to grab a towel from the bathroom.

“Seriously, no breakfast? You’re my wife now.” You chuckle darkly at his words.

“Only in public,” you put up a finger with a smug smirk.

“So, make your own breakfast,” you grab the towel and your phone and head down to the beach to watch the sunrise. You get settled on the sand when the phone rings.

Jiyong’s name pops up and you smile.

“Hello?” you answer.

“Hey, I hope I didn’t wake you?” the waves roll in and crash against the sand.

“No, I couldn’t hardly sleep last night.” Jiyong’s stomach twists at your words.

���Wow, had you up all night, huh?” you can hear the tease in his voice.

“Uh, yeah something like that,” you bite your lip. You hear him chuckle.

“Well as long as he’s treating you well.” You don’t respond, rather you watch the sunrise. The silence that stretches between you is comfortable.

“Listen I won’t keep you from him, but I just wanted to call and be sure everything was good. He was supposed to text me last night just to let me know you both made it out there ok, but I guess he was just too busy.” Jiyong sighs. The frustration and lack of sleep pile up and you have to bite your tongue to keep form spilling everything. Part of the deal was that no one could know. But at the same time, didn’t he have someone who knew?

-

You’re lying in the chair, the sun bright and warm on your skin with your eyes closed when you notice a shadow come over you. It’s your husband.

“You’re blocking my sun,” you sigh.

“We need to go out today, be seen in public." You sigh in response.

“I don’t want to go out today. I want to stay here and relax before the greatest shit show of the century is performed.” You look up at him over the rim of your sunglasses.

“We have to at least go out to dinner, and we can’t be separated this long. We have to play it up whenever we’re out.”

“Seunghyun it’s a private beach, we’re fine,” you wave him off as you settle back into your chair.

“Y/n, I’m serious. Where you go, I need to go. Where I go, you need to go.” His voice is stern.

“Fine,” you smirk to yourself.

“I’m getting in the ocean.” You swing your legs to the other side of the chair and strut past him, your hips swaying back and forth.

“I’m not dressed for,” Seunghyun trails off, but it’s too late.

“Not my problem,” you shout out as your legs slowly sink into the water. He huffs walking back to your room to change. You float along the water, carefully stepping as to not get stung by a jellyfish. When Seunghyun comes back out he scans the water and his heart races against his ribs.

He can’t find you.

“Y/n,” he calls out trying to sound calm.

“This isn’t funny!” He says as he runs to the water, still not seeing you. You hear call your name, and while you know it’s not productive, at least it’s entertaining. You can’t help but giggle as you hide behind a rock.

“Y/n!” his voice is now frantic, and you can’t help the loud laughter coming from deep in your belly.

“Are you fucking serious? You had me worried!” he shouts as he takes a breath, eyes studying your movements.

“Oh relax, it was just a,” before anymore words can come out, a wave crashes against the rocks taking you under water and causing you to bump your head.

“Y/N!” he yells as he dives underwater quickly coming to your rescue. He pulls your body to him and swims back to shore. Your body is laid on the sand so he can perform CPR.

“Come on, don’t you dare die on me.” He murmurs as he pumps your chest. Nothing.

“Come on, y/n,” he says as he does it again. He breathes air into your mouth, the first time his lips are on yours in private is so he can literally save your life. He continues for another minute, until you suddenly choke up water and gasp for air.

“What the,” you look around, seeing the sun shinning just behind his head. Seunghyun has a mix of relief and obvious anger on his face.

“That’s what you get for acting stupid,” he says before he gets up and leaves you in the sand for a moment.

You take a moment to steady yourself before standing up and following after him. He heads back into the airbnb running his hand through his hair. The rest of the day you both are out together, acting like nothing happened. Cameras flash constantly with fans wanting pictures and videos of the two of you acting like sweet newlyweds.

He takes you to a romantic dinner, where there are paparazzi set up by his media team. The two of you are out of ear shot as they aren’t allowed in the restaurant.

“Thanks for saving me this morning,” you glance up at him from the menu. His brows raise.

“Can’t help my image if you’re dead,” he smiles at you for the camera but his voice is filled with frustration.

“Why didn’t you just marry your little fling back home,” your voice comes out irritated despite the happy looking smile. That grabs his attention.

“None of your fucking business, dear,” his smile is wicked as he caresses your hand.

“Don’t mention her again, or I will stop this whole thing.”

“You need me,” you try to retort.

“Not that fucking bad,” he growls.

“And you know you need the money, so play by my rules or don’t play at all.” His gaze is intense, intimidating.

“Your sister wouldn’t fair well if the bills stopped getting paid.” Your breath catches and you sigh setting down your menu.

“Where are you going,” he asks looking you up and down. He had to admit your dress hugs all the right places.

“To the bathroom. Just order me whatever,” you wave him off as you walk to the back. Seunghyun shrugs, despite the overwhelming feeling of guilt for the way he just snapped.

You shut the door behind you, taking a deep breath as tears once again brim your eyes. This is something you’ve become used to, the emotions becoming over whelming and the frustration Seunghyun causes within you. You take out your phone and hover over Jiyong’s name. You have half a mind to call him, after all he always made you feel calm if you could just hear his voice, and right now you need a friend. But your better judgment races in and forces you to put the phone away.

You check yourself in the mirror taking a few deep breaths.

Your life really is turning into a freaking Wattpad story.

-

Back at the house, the air between you is awkward, the two of you put on the show for the camera’s but once out of sight, things went back to normal. Awkward silences and all. You decide you need a relaxing bath after such a long day and you can see Seunghyun trying to undo his tie, but his fingers just can’t seem to get it.

“Here,” you mumble as you walk toward him. He looks at you through the mirror and raises a brow. You look back at him, motioning for him to turn. He isn’t much taller than you, just four, maybe five, inches. You can feel his eyes on your face as your fingers move to undo the knot in his tie. It unravels easily, and you slowly slide it off, your eyes coming up to meet his. His face is unreadable.

“There,” you say as you had him the garment. You walk over to ‘your side’ of the bed, the one you’ve yet to actually sleep in and you attempt to undo the zipper of your dress. Seunghyun watches as you struggle for a moment, his carnal inhibitions out the window, when he walks over and places a hand on your hip, steadying you and the other hand goes to the zipper.

You freeze at the contact, he’s rarely ever touched you, let alone like this. You both still for a moment as the sound of the zipper stops and you both look at each other in the full-length mirror.

“There,” he whispers in your ear before walking out of the room. Your hip burns where he touched, it’d been so long since you’d been touched. Being in a relationship like this made dating almost impossible.

What if you were seen you out with someone else? What if it got leaked? No, dating was out of the question, which meant that sex was too.

You walk into the bathroom, locking the door. The dress pools in the floor and you step out of the puddle. You run the bath, not caring about anything but yourself at this moment. Slowly your hands roam your own body, sensations taking over that you haven’t felt in months. You bite your lip as you sink down into the warm water. You know Seunghyun’s out there, but if he could tease you with his sounds, you’d do the same. If he was allowed to have some fun, so could you.

Your hands continue exploring your chest, your head thrown back as the sensitivity of your body is at an all time high. Images of Seunghyun listening just across the door flood your mind and it makes your arousal pool even more.

You bite your lip as your hand dips into the water between your legs, slowly rubbing circles over your nub. You gasp at the sensation and shut your eyes, a loud moan accidently escaping.

Seunghyun is in the living room when he realizes his phone needs to charge. He’s in the bedroom plugging it up, when he hears it, a sound that makes his knees weak from the bathroom on the other side of the door next to the bed.

He freezes as he continues to listen to the moaning and whimpering that come out of the room. He feels his pulse skyrocket and his flesh heat up.

Who knew you could sound so beautiful?

As you continue your exploration thoughts of Seunghyun from last night flash into your mind, how his face might have contorted to how it would feel to actually feel him. You tease yourself a little at the thought.

“Fuck,” you shout a little louder than you mean to, but at this moment you don’t care.

Seunghyun’s pants are growing increasingly tight, he can’t help but palm himself to the sounds you’re making. He shutters and decides he can do one of two things.

He can leave the room entirely, or get off with you. He chooses the latter. He sneaks his hand in his pants and slowly grasps himself, a sharp hiss elicits from his mouth. His pants come all the way off with his boxers allowing him to spring free he lays on the bed, listening to the whining and moaning that’s up ticking in volume.

He strokes himself imaging you with those stupid doe eyes you give him that he secretly knows he loves. That grin you give him when you feel smug about a situation, like earlier this morning on the beach, the way you looked at him as if he was the only man on the planet sometimes when the two of you are out together.

That’s when you hear it, Seunghyun’s own sounds are coming from the bedroom. Your eyes snap open and your head snaps to the door.

Oh no. He’s heard you.

Your face heats up as his noises are getting louder, and despite the embarrassment, you realize he’s getting off to you, and you continue. It’s not long before you reach your high and you’re panting. He’s right behind you, his high coming in waves as it spills onto his stomach. The two of you take a moment to come back to reality. You wash yourself off in the tub while Seunghyun cleans himself up and puts on a pair of grey sweatpants and no shirt. You step out of the bathroom, trying to act like nothing happened.

He isn’t in there and you breathe a sigh of relief. He’s in the kitchen and you can hear him rustling around. You keep to yourself, changing into an oversized t shirt and shorts. You slowly make your way out to the couch, and you both accidently make eye contact.

Your face flushes with embarrassment as you sit down on the couch, turning on the tv. You try to ignore the holes you feel burning into the back of your head. He stops whatever it is that he’s doing and heads into the bedroom. You hear the door slam shut and the lock click.

Seunghyun’s face is in his hands. What in the world just happened. He tried to distract himself from the impending feeling guilt and shame, but it wouldn’t work forever. He sits on the bed, knowing that if he asks you to stay in the room tonight, it’s going to lead to something neither of you can come back from. So instead, he turns out the light and tries to get some sleep.

*This is my original work, please do not repost*

Tags: @breakmeoff @ilovethe141

[ikwon1c]

Oh Mom

my entry for the gd & top writing event! oh mom has always had that soft tug on my heart, so i wanted to write something angsty and a little aching TT

make sure to read all the other amazing works too!

pairing: choi seunghyun x y/n

summary: an overworked idol meets a quiet girl at the park. he doesn’t know she’s running out of time — only that being with her feels like breathing again.

tags and warnings: idol x reader, angst, slow burn, emotional hurt/comfort, eventual grief, mention of terminal illness, quiet intimacy, unspoken feelings

The rain had stopped, but the world hadn’t noticed yet. A soft sheen still covered the sidewalks like a second skin. Drops clung to the underside of tree branches, fell in lazy intervals from the eaves of the park’s old stone gazebo, and pooled in forgotten corners of concrete where the city always seemed to sag.

Choi Seunghyun walked with his hood up, hands shoved deep in his coat pockets, boots splashing quietly through shallow puddles. It was the kind of day that didn’t ask anything of you. No expectations. No noise. Just gray skies and the sharp, clean scent of petrichor that made it easier to breathe than usual.

He liked that — the quiet. Lately, life didn’t give it to him much. As he turned a corner along the park’s edge, he caught sight of someone.

At first, she blended in. Just another figure on a bench, head bent low, still as the stone behind her. She was hunched over a thick sketchbook, one leg drawn up, the other dangling. Her hoodie was oversized and soaked at the hem, black cotton heavy with dampness. Wisps of hair clung to the sides of her face, and her sneakers — cheap ones, canvas and torn were darkened by water. She looked… tired. But not in a fragile way.

In a fierce way. Like someone who didn’t care what the day had done to her, so long as she got to finish her drawing.

He passed her once.

Slowed, glanced back.

Something in her stillness pulled at him.

The second time he walked by, she still hadn’t moved, but her pencil had. He could hear the faint scratch of graphite even through the hush of the park. No music, no phone, no distractions. Just focus. He stopped without thinking.

“You’re blocking my light.”

The voice was soft, flat, and low. The kind that didn’t rise just because someone else was nearby. She didn’t look up, didn’t even pause her hand.

“I—sorry,” he said quickly, taking a half-step to the side.

She added something to the page, then finally lifted her head. She looked right at him. There was no recognition in her eyes. Or maybe there was but not the kind he was used to. Not the flare of excitement, the gasp, the scramble for a phone.

Just… calm. Cool, clear eyes taking him in like a stranger on the street. Like he was nothing special. This caught him off guard.

“You always draw in the rain?” he asked, glancing at the soaked sketchbook.

“You always interrupt strangers?” she countered, deadpan. He blinked then let out a short laugh. It sounded too loud in the stillness.

“Touché,” he said, lifting his hands in surrender. “I was just curious.”

“That’s dangerous,” she said, closing the book slowly and resting it in her lap. “Curiosity.”

There was a strange steadiness to her. The kind people usually lost by adulthood, if they ever had it to begin with. Something quiet but sharp, like glass that hadn’t shattered yet. He gestured vaguely toward the sketchbook. “Was that supposed to be me?”

Her mouth tugged at the corner. “If it was, you wouldn’t be able to tell.”

“That bad, huh?”

“That abstract,” she corrected. “But your nose is interesting. I might use it later.”

He laughed again — for real, this time. “Thanks, I think?”

Her smile was faint. Faint, but real. He watched her for a moment.The way she sat like she belonged to the space around her. Not claiming it. Just existing in it without asking permission. There was something rare in that. Something oddly comforting.

Most people in his life demanded something. A reaction. A performance. Even when they didn’t realize it. But she didn’t ask for anything. Not even his name.

“Do you draw often?” he asked, still standing a few feet away.

“Only when I feel something,” she said, running her thumb along the edge of the page.

He hesitated, then dropped onto the far side of the bench, keeping a respectful distance. She didn’t seem surprised. Or bothered.

“And what were you feeling today?” he asked.

She looked up, not at him but at the canopy of blossoms overhead, petals trembling with the occasional gust of wind.

“Like something’s ending,” she said after a moment. “Even if no one else knows it yet.”

The words settled into him, low and quiet. He didn’t know why, but they stuck.

They didn’t speak much after that. A few murmured observations. A moment of laughter that lasted half a second longer than it should have. But mostly, they shared a silence. The kind that lets itself in like an old friend. The kind that doesn’t need to be filled.

Time worked in a different way, as if passing slow ripples.

Quietly, she closed her sketchbook. She tucked it into a worn canvas bag, pulling the strap over her shoulder with the practiced motion of someone used to leaving.

Seunghyun sat forward slightly before he could stop himself.

“…Will you be here tomorrow?” he asked. He didn’t mean for it to sound like it mattered. But it did.

She looked at him then and her eyes softened, just a little. “Maybe,” she said.

And then she walked away, her wet sneakers slapping softly against the pavement, leaving him there beneath the tree.

Still seated.

Still wondering who she was.

The next day, he didn’t come looking for her. Not exactly. He told himself it was just another walk. The same park, the same path, same need to breathe without being recognized. The same pull to silence the world inside his own head.

But his steps led him back to that bench — the one beneath the tree, half-wilted now, its petals losing their grip on the branch.

She was already there, wearing the same hoodie. Holding the same sketchbook. Same stormy sort of stillness that made her look like she belonged to the rain.

He approached without speaking. Let the moment fill itself. This time, she didn’t pretend not to see him. She looked up briefly, gave the smallest nod, just enough to say yes, you can sit here again and returned to her sketching.

He eased onto the bench beside her, keeping that same polite distance. A stretch of space between them, like an invisible line neither had acknowledged yet.

“I didn’t think you’d be back,” he said quietly.

She smirked. “Why not?”

“You seem like someone who disappears.”

She paused her pencil mid-line.

“I do,” she said. “Sometimes.”

There was no apology in her tone. Just truth. She wasn’t trying to be cryptic but there was a weight behind those words. A hint of something he didn’t know how to name yet. He nodded slowly and looked away.

The breeze picked up. A few loose petals drifted between them, catching in the folds of her hoodie. She didn’t brush them off.

“What are you drawing today?” he asked.

She tilted her sketchbook slightly, just enough for him to see. The page was rough — pencil strokes layered like noise, almost angry, like she hadn’t decided what she was trying to capture yet. Shapes, shadows, no center.

“It’s… complicated,” she said.

He studied it. “Looks like a brain.”

She let out a surprised laugh — short and soft, the sound catching like a hiccup.

“Yeah,” she said. “Kind of does.”

They sat with that for a moment. His eyes drifted to her hands. Stained faintly with graphite, nails bitten short. Her knuckles were pale, a little too bony, but steady.

“You’re an artist?”

She hesitated.

“Sometimes,” she said. “I don’t know if I’m good. Doesn’t really matter anymore.”

He frowned. “Why not?”

Another pause. She turned a page in her sketchbook, blank again. Her fingers hovered over it but didn’t move.

“I guess I’m just… drawing for now. Not for later.”

He glanced at her. She didn’t meet his eyes. Just stared down at the empty page like it might judge her. She talked like someone who wasn’t planning too far ahead. Not in the dreamy, poetic way artists sometimes did. No, hers felt different. Like she was making peace with the fact that ahead wasn’t guaranteed. And something in his chest twisted.

He didn’t ask.

Didn’t pry.

She didn’t owe him anything, and he wasn’t sure he could handle the answer if she gave it. So instead, he said, “I get that.”

Her eyes flicked sideways, curious.

“Drawing for now,” he repeated. “I used to write music like that.”

“Used to?” she echoed.

He leaned back against the bench. “It got harder once it became about everyone else.”

She studied him for a beat. “Then write something for no one.”

“I don’t think I remember how.”

She looked down, brushed a petal off her knee.

“Maybe you’re supposed to forget. So it hurts when you remember.”

The words were quiet but they hit something raw. He stared at her, unsure what to say. She didn’t look at him. Just turned the page again. Back to a blank canvas. And then, “What’s your real name?”

He blinked. “You don’t know it?”

“I do,” she said. “But I want the one you give when you’re not onstage.”

“…Seunghyun.”

She nodded. “Nice to meet you, Seunghyun.”

Silence followed. She didn’t give hers.

Their quiet afternoon stretched in silence. They didn’t leave together. Didn’t trade phone numbers. Didn’t promise to see each other again. But as he walked away, he realized something strange. He hadn’t thought about his schedule in over an hour. Not the next appearance. Not the next shoot. Not the pressure. Not the noise.

Just her voice.

Her laugh.

And the way she said “drawing for now.”

Like now was all she had.

It was a Tuesday again. No rain this time. Just the heat of an early spring sun breaking shyly through leftover clouds. The park looked different in the light. Too green, too alive but the bench remained the same. Same cracks in the wood, same old cherry tree losing its last few petals like secrets slipping through time.

Seunghyun sat there before she did. He arrived ten minutes early, not that he told himself he was waiting. Just that he needed air. Space. Something that wasn’t polished white floors or fake laughter echoing through dressing rooms.

His manager had called him three times before noon. He didn’t answer. They were on break between schedules — technically just forty minutes. Enough time to eat. To rest. To reply to three weeks’ worth of ignored messages from label execs. Instead, he asked to be dropped off on a corner near the park and walked the rest of the way.

He checked the time again.

Twelve past.

He wasn’t anxious.

Not really.

Just…

Waiting.

And then, there she was.

Same hoodie, sleeves fraying more than before. Her walk was slow today — not limping, exactly, but careful. Measured. He noticed it right away. How she paused just before sitting. How she exhaled like gravity hit her harder than it should.

“Hey,” she said, offering him a tired half-smile.

“You okay?”

“Just late,” she said. “Sorry.”

He shrugged. “You’re the only thing I’m not late for these days.”

That surprised her. She blinked, then turned her head to look at him more directly. “Is that a compliment or a warning?”

He huffed a quiet laugh. “Guess I don’t know.”

They sat in silence for a moment, watching a little boy chase pigeons across the path until they scattered in a flurry of feathers.

“Busy day?” she asked.

He nodded. “Always.”

“And yet you’re here.”

“I kept the hour for myself.”

She smiled — not wide, not bright, but soft. Like something inside her had been reassured. “That’s rare, huh?”

“Rare as peace.”

She leaned forward, pulling her sketchbook from her bag. The cover was more bent now, the corners softening from wear. She didn’t open it right away. Instead, she said, “You don’t talk like the person people think you are.”

He turned to her, curious. “What do they think I am?”

She tapped the pencil against her lower lip in thought. “I don’t know. Controlled. Sharp. Cold, maybe.”

He raised a brow. “And what am I really?”

“I think,” she said slowly, “you’re just… tired of pretending you aren’t soft.”

His mouth parted slightly — a breath, a blink and he found himself laughing, low and honest. “You always say things like that?”

She just shook her head, smiling. Instead, she opened her sketchbook and started drawing — right there beside him, like it was the most natural thing in the world. Her hand moved slowly today. Less certainty. He could see the effort it took in her wrist, the faint tremor at the edge of each line.

He wanted to ask if she was sick. Wanted to say, Tell me what you’re not telling me.

But he didn’t.

Because the way she leaned into the moment like every minute was already borrowed made him afraid of what she might confirm if he asked.

So instead, he leaned back against the bench, let the wind stir his coat, and sat beside the girl who wouldn’t give him her name.

And for the first time in months, maybe years…

He didn’t feel like T.O.P.

He felt like himself.

And somehow, that mattered more than anything waiting for him outside the park.

They didn’t mean to meet every day.

It just happened.

The way light finds the same windows every afternoon. The way two songs accidentally harmonize when played too close together. Familiar without intention. Constant without promise.

For weeks, the park bench beneath the cherry blossom tree became their quiet little world.

Seunghyun started rearranging everything for it, subtly at first. Pushing back a meeting by thirty minutes. Skipping lunch breaks. Telling his manager he needed “a walk” whenever he felt his chest tighten too much under the weight of appearances.

He didn’t tell anyone about her.

Not because it was a secret.

Because it was his.

Some days, she brought tea in a little thermos, still warm. Other days, she brought music, an old cassette player with only one working speaker. They would sit, knees not quite touching, listening to lo-fi jazz while she drew and he watched clouds pass between buildings.

One time, he showed up in sunglasses and a mask, breathing heavily from running across town.

“You’re late,” she teased without looking up.

“I’m early everywhere else,” he muttered, collapsing beside her.

She reached into her bag, handed him half a sandwich. “Then this is your reward.”

He ate it without question.

Another time, it was raining again — light and misty. She showed up anyway, even though he didn’t expect her to.

“Thought you hated getting wet,” she said as she shook out her damp hair and sat beside him.

“I hate missing things more.”

She swallowed.

Didn’t know what to say to that. So he just leaned back and let the light mist of water run down his face, pretending he didn’t hear the way his voice cracked a little when he said it.

Instead, he filled in the blanks with quiet hopes he didn’t dare say out loud.

He started writing again. Lyrics he wouldn’t show anyone. Scribbled lines in a notebook she once teased him for carrying. He didn’t care.

It was the first time music made him feel something since… he couldn’t remember when.

Days passed when the rhythm changed. It started with a missed day. She wasn’t there. He waited for an hour, walked a slow lap around the park, and left.

The next day, she came. Apologized softly. Said she had an appointment that ran long.

He didn’t ask what kind. He wanted to but something in the way she clutched her sketchbook tighter than usual told him not to.

The meetings became more spaced. Every other day. Then every three. Then silence.

He started getting pushback from his team.

“Hyung, you can’t just disappear during press season.”

“We’re about to finalize the comeback schedule. You need to be in the room.”

“Where the hell are you always going in the afternoons?”

He argued, loud and frustrated. He didn’t even try to explain it to them. They wouldn’t understand.

It wasn’t a girlfriend.

Wasn’t a scandal.

It was… her.

And he was afraid if he didn’t see her, she might vanish completely.

One day, he stood in the hallway outside the meeting room, fingers clenched so tightly around a coffee cup it cracked.

“I need an hour,” he said.

“You need to be here,” his manager snapped. “Just one hour — then the press call, the shoot, and the label dinner. Please, hyung.”

He almost walked out anyway. But he didn’t and he hated himself for it.

Weeks followed. No more walks. No more sandwiches wrapped in napkins, still warm from her hands. No more laughter soft enough to make the world feel gentle again — laughter that came not from his stage persona, not from a punchline, but from those tiny, in-between moments when her guard dropped and her eyes sparkled.

Just gone.

It wasn’t loud. There was no final goodbye, no moment where he could say, Please stay. Please wait. It was just absence.

That slow, unbearable silence that creeps in when something sacred vanishes before you even realized it mattered that much.

He stopped writing.

Stopped sketching, too. He hadn’t picked up a pen in days. Every page he touched ended up torn or thrown. The notebook in his bag was bent and water-stained, warped with effort and failure. The words came wrong now. Hollow. Like echoes in an empty room.

All that remained — all that he could hold was a folded piece of paper tucked behind his ID in his wallet.

The sketch.

She gave it to him the last time they saw each other, nonchalantly, like it was nothing. “You’ll hate it,” she’d said, pressing it into his hand with a smile too wide to be casual. “Don’t unfold it until you’re alone. Promise?”

He took it out more than he should’ve. Late at night. Between interviews. In cars. In green rooms where the lights were too bright and the silence too sharp.

The paper had softened along the folds. A corner was beginning to curl.

The drawing itself was done in pencil, clean and textured — more detailed than any of the sketches he’d seen from her before. Not rushed. Not abstract.

It was him.

Not T.O.P, not the performer but him. Hair tucked under a beanie, eyes cast downward, lips just slightly parted. Caught mid-thought. His own gaze looking past the viewer, like he wasn’t sure where he was anymore.

It was how he looked when she saw him.

And now, all he had was the version of himself she left behind. He stared at it for what felt like hours. So long he forgot to blink. His eyes burned, but he didn’t move. He couldn’t. Not while something so real stared back at him. Something that remembered. Something that looked at him the way she did without asking for anything.

A sound rose in his throat — tight and unfamiliar.

It wasn’t quite a sob. Not yet. But it cracked something open in his chest. A seam that had been splitting slowly ever since the first day she didn’t come.

The ache became a flood. And before he even realized what he was doing, he was on his feet.

He didn’t take a car.

Didn’t grab a coat.

Didn’t tell anyone.

He just ran.

Out the studio doors, down concrete alleys and dim-lit sidewalks. The city blurred. Cars honked. Strangers turned to watch the man in the hoodie sprint across a crosswalk with panic in his eyes and no destination on his lips except one.

The park.

The goddamn bench.

Their bench.

His lungs burned by the time he got there. He stumbled across the worn path, gravel crunching under his shoes, heart thudding louder than the wind through the trees.

But she wasn’t there.

Of course she wasn’t.

She hadn’t been there for weeks.

Someone else was.

An older woman sat in her place, knees close together, fingers folded around the strap of a plain black shoulder bag. She looked like she’d been waiting — not for him, but for something quieter. The kind of waiting that knows it won’t be answered.

She turned when she saw him approach.

And he knew.

He knew.

She had her eyes but it was softer, worn by grief.

But her eyes.

The breath rushed from his lungs before she even opened her mouth.

“You’re Seunghyun,” she said softly.

He nodded once. He couldn’t speak.

“She talked about you,” she said. “A lot.” Her voice was warm. Gentle but unbearably tired.

He blinked fast. The sketch in his wallet felt heavier than ever before.

“She waited here for you… for days. She really believed you’d come back.”

A tremor started in his fingers. He curled them into fists.

“I wanted to. I—I tried—”

The woman smiled faintly. Not with blame. But with that tragic kind of kindness only grieving mothers seem to know how to give.

“She knew,” she said. “She never held it against you.”

From her bag, she pulled out a small envelope. It was soft at the edges, slightly yellowed, with a faint bend down the middle like it had been opened and read over and over.

“She wrote this in case she… left before you came back. She asked me to give it to you.”

She pressed it into his palm. Her hand lingered there for a moment — a squeeze, light and trembling.

“She wanted you to know,” she said, voice breaking for the first time, “that meeting you made her feel like she was still living.”

And then she walked away, one hand pressed to her chest, the other wiping her cheek as she turned and disappeared down the path where cherry blossoms had already begun to fall again.

He sat on the cold bench.

Alone.

The envelope was warm from her hand, but it chilled the moment he opened it. Inside was a single sheet of paper, carefully folded. And a pressed cherry blossom — browned now, but still intact tucked gently inside the crease.

He opened the letter with trembling fingers.

Her handwriting.

Small. Neat. Certain.

“Seunghyun,

I don’t know if you’ll ever read this. I don’t know if time will let me see you again. But if you’re holding this… then I guess I already know.

You made the time I had feel like it mattered. Even if you didn’t know the whole truth.

His throat closed, a knot forming in the space between his heart and his breath.

I didn’t tell you I was sick because I didn’t want that to be what you saw. I didn’t want to become a ticking clock in your eyes. I didn’t want your kindness to come from pity. I just… I wanted to be soft. I wanted to be seen the way you saw me, a stranger with messy sketches and too many opinions about clouds.

You always showed up like you didn’t even realize you were saving me. Every time you sat beside me, every time you took that hour… you gave me life I didn’t think I could still feel. And then one day… you stopped. And I understood. But I still waited. Every day. Because even if you didn’t come, you gave me something worth waiting for.

The ink was smudged in one place — a water stain, or maybe a tear, now dried into the fibers of the page.

Don’t blame yourself. Please. I didn’t need you to fix anything. I just needed to feel like I was part of the world again.

And you gave me that. For a little while, I forgot I was dying.

His hands began to shake, the letter trembling like it carried the weight of her voice.

I hope that someday, in some corner of your heart, you’ll remember me as something light — not heavy.

That would be enough.”

Love,

Y/N

Below the signature was a second sheet, tucked gently behind the letter.

A portrait.

The same one she once gave him; unfinished then, just a sketch of outlines and beginnings, barely enough for him to recognize himself.

But now…

Now it was complete.

She’d drawn him with such unbearable softness. Shading carefully along his jaw, his cheekbones. His mouth was curved into that faint smile he only wore around her — the one that happened when silence felt safe. His eyes were darker in the portrait, shadowed, thoughtful. Alive in a way he hadn’t realized she’d memorized.

She’d finished it.

Even knowing she’d never get to hand it to him.

Even knowing she wouldn’t see how his breath would hitch. How his hands would tremble. How his heart would shatter.

Seunghyun didn’t cry the way people do in films. No fists pounding against walls. No dramatic gasps.

He just sat there.

Completely still.

Hands curled tightly around the paper, fingertips pressing too hard, as if the more he held it, the more it might undo time.

His throat burned. His chest felt hollow like something vital had been scooped out and nothing was left to keep him upright but grief. The ache that had been building for weeks finally gave in. Broke.

Tears slipped from his eyes — quietly, steadily without effort or warning. They fell onto the paper. Onto her lines. Onto her name.

He bowed his head, pulled the drawing gently to his chest, and held it there like it was the last warmth left in the world. And he whispered something, not to himself, not to the sky, but to her.

“I’m sorry I was late.”

His voice cracked like a violin string pulled too tight.

“I should’ve come back sooner.”

The wind blew softly through the trees, catching the edge of her sketch and fluttering it like breath. The sun dipped low enough to spill gold across the pavement, warming the very bench where she once sat, knee drawn up, sketching him like a secret.

Seunghyun closed his eyes.

He saw her there. Just for a second. That faint smile. That stupid hoodie. That softness she never let the world take from her.

He opened his eyes again. Through everything trembling inside him, he made her a promise. A real one.

“I’ll write it for you,” And this time… he meant it with everything he had left.

[xxtoptaexx]

IT WAS A SCHOOL TRIP - p2

Summary: Mina and seunghyun meet unexpectedly during a school trip and form a special connection that changes everything.

pairing: choi seunghyun x reader 

genre: romance - 2000s

warnings: fluff! (this is my first time writing for him, English isn’t my native language T - T)

note: [please if u saw any weird stuff just lmk]

PT2

The sun was beginning to set as Mina and T.O.P stepped out of the supermarket, blending back into the crowd of students making their way to their respective buses. The air smelled of gasoline and fried snacks from a nearby food stall, but Mina’s mind was still stuck on the bizarre yet amusing encounter she had just had with him.  

“See you around, secret agent,” T.O.P had teased before heading to his bus, leaving Mina standing there with a lingering smile.  

As soon as she climbed onto her own bus, her friends bombarded her with questions.  

“Where were you?”  

“Did you get snacks?”  

“Wait… why do you look like you’re blushing?”  

Mina waved them off, trying to focus on her seat by the window. She wasn’t blushing. Not really. Right?  

The journey continued, but an hour into the trip, the teachers made an announcement:  

**“The trip is longer than expected, and to make sure everyone is well-rested, we’ll be stopping at a hotel for the night.”**  

Excited whispers filled the bus. A hotel meant freedom—at least for a few hours.  

By the time they arrived, the sky was painted in hues of deep blue and violet. The hotel wasn’t fancy, but it was decent enough, with a cozy lobby and warm lighting. Mina shared a room with two of her classmates, who were already planning what to do before curfew.  

“You wanna come with us? We’re thinking of checking out the convenience store next door,” one of them asked.  

Mina thought about it but shook her head. “Nah, I think I just want to walk around for a bit.”  

She wasn’t sure what she was looking for, but something about the quiet evening air called to her. She slipped on a hoodie, grabbed her phone, and snuck out of the hotel, her steps light against the pavement. She had no particular destination—just the thrill of being somewhere unfamiliar.  

That’s when she spotted the small, dimly lit restaurant across the street. It wasn’t anything fancy—just a cozy, family-owned place with a few tables inside. Her stomach rumbled slightly. Maybe she could grab a quick bite before heading back.  

She pushed open the glass door, and the little bell above it chimed. The warm scent of sizzling food hit her instantly. She was just about to look for a seat when—  

“Are you following me?”  

That deep, familiar voice.  

Mina turned her head and saw him—T.O.P—sitting alone at a table near the window. He had a half-finished plate of food in front of him and a cup of soda he was lazily swirling with his straw.  

Her heart skipped a beat.  

“You wish,” she said, rolling her eyes, but she couldn’t help the smile tugging at her lips.  

T.O.P grinned, kicking the chair across from him lightly. “Well, since fate keeps throwing us together, might as well sit.”  

Mina hesitated for a second before sliding into the seat.  

“What are you even doing here alone?” she asked.  

He shrugged. “I don’t like crowded hotel rooms. And I figured I’d get some decent food before they trap us with cafeteria meals tomorrow.”  

She laughed. “Smart move.”  

They ordered a few dishes to share, and as they ate, their conversation flowed naturally. They talked about school, music, the most embarrassing things they had done in class. Mina found out that despite his laid-back and cool demeanor, T.O.P was actually hilariously awkward at times—especially when he talked about getting caught sleeping through an exam once.  

The restaurant was nearly empty by the time they realized how late it was. The only sound left was the soft hum of an old radio playing some ballad in the background.  

Mina leaned back in her chair, sipping the last of her drink. “You know, this is kind of weird.”  

“What is?” T.O.P asked, tilting his head.  

“That we just met today… but it doesn’t feel like it.”  

He studied her for a moment before a small, almost secretive smile played on his lips.  

“Maybe we were meant to meet,” he said casually, but there was something in his voice—something deeper.  

Mina felt her face grow warm, and she quickly looked away, pretending to check her phone.  

“We should probably head back before the teachers catch us,” she mumbled.  

T.O.P chuckled but stood up, grabbing his jacket. “Yeah, wouldn’t want to get detention before the trip even starts.”  

As they walked back to the hotel, the air between them felt different—warmer, charged with something unspoken. Their steps slowed as they reached the entrance, neither of them really wanting to say goodnight just yet.  

Mina hesitated before finally looking up at him. “Thanks… for earlier. At the supermarket.”  

He gave her a lazy smirk. “Anytime.”  

And just as she turned to leave, she felt a gentle tug on her hoodie sleeve.  

“Hey.”  

She turned back, and for the first time, his usual teasing expression softened.  

“I hope we run into each other again tomorrow,” he said, his voice quieter.  

Mina felt her heart flutter, but instead of answering, she simply smiled—because something told her that they would.

tysm for supporting my first ff >_<

[multidol]

REACCIÓN ★ BIGBANG

Por primera vez se van de viaje contigo, su pareja.

Género: Slice of Life.

Advertencias: Ninguna.

Pedido: Si.

𝑒𝑛𝑔𝑙𝑖𝑠ℎ 𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑠𝑖𝑜𝑛 ‧ masterlist

CHOI SEUNGHYUN (T.O.P)

Estaba completamente centrado en disfrutar en todos los sentidos, haciendo actividades que ambos apreciaran y, en su caso, le brindaran tranquilidad. Elegiría sitios que despertaran el interés de los dos, incluyendo, inevitablemente, algunos restaurantes y bodegas en la lista. Su objetivo era distanciarse del trabajo y de las interacciones forzadas, deseando simplemente compartir momentos de calidad contigo.

KWON JIYONG (G-Dragon)

Por dentro, sería como un niño entusiasmado y feliz, realmente emocionado por la idea. Sonreiría cada vez que recordara que viajaría contigo, centrado más en el tiempo que compartirían juntos que en las actividades que podrían hacer.

DONG YOUNGBAE (TaeYang)

YoungBae estaría tranquilo y contento, dejando entrever de vez en cuando las expectativas que tenía sobre el viaje. Para él, sería una oportunidad clave para fortalecer la relación y descubrir cómo se desenvolverían juntos, lejos de su zona de confort. Confiaba en que disfrutarían la experiencia, pero también lo veía como una prueba importante para determinar hacia dónde se encaminaba su relación.

KANG DAESUNG

Definitivamente estaba feliz, completamente emocionado de que te sintieras tan a gusto con la relación como para aceptar su propuesta de viajar juntos. Le entusiasmaba la alejarse de la fama y la atención, siendo simplemente ustedes, disfrutando el momento y fortaleciendo aún más su vínculo.

[multidoluv]

REACTION ★ BIGBANG

For the first time, they’re traveling with you, their partner.

Genre: Slice of Life.

Warnings: None.

Request: Yes.

𝑠𝑝𝑎𝑛𝑖𝑠ℎ 𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑠𝑖𝑜𝑛 ‧ masterlist

CHOI SEUNGHYUN (T.O.P)

He was entirely focused on enjoying the experience in every way, choosing activities that you both appreciated and, in his case, brought him peace. He would pick places that sparked both your interests, inevitably including a few restaurants and wineries on the list. His goal was to step away from work and forced interactions, simply wanting to share quality moments with you.

KWON JIYONG (G-Dragon)

On the inside, he’d be like an excited and happy child, truly thrilled by the idea. He would smile every time he remembered that he’d be traveling with you, focusing more on the time you’d spend together than on the activities you could do.

DONG YOUNGBAE (TaeYang)

YoungBae would be calm and happy, occasionally letting slip the expectations he had for the trip. To him, it would be a key opportunity to strengthen your relationship and see how you’d navigate being together outside your comfort zones. He was confident you’d enjoy the experience, but he also saw it as an important test to determine where your relationship was headed.

KANG DAESUNG

He was definitely happy, completely thrilled that you felt comfortable enough in the relationship to accept his proposal to travel together. The idea of escaping fame and attention excited him—just the two of you, enjoying the moment and strengthening your bond even more.

[multidol-masterlist]

→ Por primera vez se van de viaje contigo, su pareja.

✦ KWON JIYONG [G-DRAGON]

→ Rompes el castigo impuesto por JiYong, y las consecuencias son aún peores.

© multidol • PROHIBIDA la traducción, copia o publicación (incluso con créditos) de mis trabajos.

[stlllle]

"Big Bang NSFW Preferences"

_____

Notes:I’ve been wanting to write something about Big bang for a while, so I finally decided to do it.

And yes, I know Taeyang is married buuuuut I’m totally in love with this man, so please don’t judge me 😔

My main list:

Masterlist"

Headcanons: T.O.P's Sexual Preferences (Choi Seung-hyun)

Sexual Personality

T.O.P is a master of restraint and intensity. He doesn't act on impulse — he waits, studies, and when he moves, it’s with absolute confidence.

There’s a quiet dominance in him. He speaks softly, almost teasingly, but his tone alone can make your knees weak.

Extremely private. He doesn’t just give himself to anyone. If he chooses you, it’s because he craves more than just pleasure — he wants to own your mind, body, and soul.

In bed, he's commanding but graceful. He worships elegance, even in lust.

Favorite Positions

Missionary with full eye contact: He holds your hands above your head, whispers things in your ear, and makes you feel completely his.

Over the edge: Bending you over a table or counter — he loves watching you grip the surface while he thrusts slowly but deeply.

You on your knees: Power dynamics are everything to him. He loves when you're obedient, looking up at him while pleasing him.

Lying face down (prone bone): Deep, full-body connection. He presses his chest to your back and breathes against your neck.

Against the wall: Lifts you up and fucks you while keeping full control. He loves your moans in his ear while your legs wrap around his waist.

Kinks & Desires

Control & power play: He loves obedience, rituals, and routines. Tells you what to wear under your clothes, when to touch yourself, how to behave.

Vocal submission: Wants to hear you beg, say his name, ask for permission. He feeds on your desperation.

Restraints: Leather cuffs, ropes, metal spreaders — he enjoys seeing you completely vulnerable.

Temperature play: Ice cubes on your skin, warm massage oil, the contrast drives him crazy.

Impact play: He has a collection of paddles, crops, and floggers. But he uses them with calculated precision and intense aftercare.

Oral fixation: Loves watching your mouth — kissing, sucking, moaning. Eye contact during oral drives him wild.

Mirror sex: Like G-Dragon, he enjoys watching — but more to control what you see of yourself.

Public teasing: Whispering filthy things in your ear at fancy events, fingers under the table, but never fully giving in until you're both desperate.

Possessiveness kink: Marking you with hickeys, bite marks, and cum. You’re his, and he makes sure you never forget.

Face fucking: Rough, commanding, but always with intense eye contact and praise after.

Aesthetic & Ambiance

Dim lighting, vintage jazz or classical music playing softly, and red wine by the bed.

He prepares the room like a scene: silk sheets, antique furniture, designer lingerie laid out for you.

His cologne lingers on the pillows, his voice echoes even after he’s silent. It’s an experience, not just sex.

Emotional Layer

He doesn’t say “I love you” easily — but shows it in how he holds you after, how he touches your face like you’re precious.

Will write poetry or philosophical notes about you, leave them tucked in your things without signing.

Protective to the point of obsession. If someone flirts with you, expect him to remind you later who you belong to — with his mouth, hands, and cock.

Roleplay & Scenarios

CEO x Secretary: You’re his perfect assistant, always at his mercy after hours.

Museum heist: You’re caught stealing art. He’s the enigmatic collector who punishes you privately.

Masked ball: He finds you in the crowd, dances with you once, then fucks you in the shadows behind the curtains.

Aftercare & Obsession

Cleans you up himself with warm towels. Dresses you in his shirt, pours you wine, runs you a bath.

Hums softly while brushing your hair. Kisses your temple over and over.

The next day, you’ll find flowers, jewelry, or a handwritten letter waiting for you.

Headcanons: G-Dragon's Sexual Preferences (Kwon Ji-yong)

Sexual Personality

G-Dragon is naturally sensual. Everything about him has a provocative air, from the way he looks at you to how he whispers in your ear. But at the same time, he has a mysterious, quiet side that hides very intense desires.

He's the type to observe before acting. He likes to analyze your tastes, your limits, your reactions... until you're completely surrendered.

He has a dominant aura, but elegant. He doesn’t need to shout, hit, or force. His control is subtle — a firm gaze, a calmly spoken command, a touch to your chin.

He’s not 100% dominant. He loves to tease, but he also loves being teased. If you can switch roles with style, he’ll melt for you.

Favorite Positions

Sideways (spooning): Loves feeling you close, gripping your waist and kissing your neck while thrusting slowly. His moans are whispered right in your ear.

Doggy style: Obsessed with this view — your back arched, your hair falling. He grabs your hips tight and goes deep.

You on top (cowgirl/reverse cowgirl): Finds it sexy to watch you in control. His hands on your thighs, biting his lips, watching you ride like art.

On different surfaces: Loves taking you on sinks, tables, dressing rooms, behind the stage. The more spontaneous and risky, the hotter.

Mirror sex: Gets off on watching you while he’s inside you. Makes you look at yourself and calls you his masterpiece.

Kinks & Fantasies

Praise kink: He LOVES to praise you. Whispers, "just like that, my girl... doing so good for me..." while fucking you slow.

Sensory control: Likes to blindfold you, use headphones with soft music, leaving you completely at his mercy.

Dirty talk + Korean: Whispers filthy things in Korean while you moan. His voice alone ruins you.

Exhibitionism / risk of getting caught: Gets turned on knowing someone could hear. Sex in green rooms, bathrooms, backstage is pure adrenaline.

Luxury toys: Owns a collection of fancy sex toys — remote-controlled vibrators, jeweled butt plugs, velvet cuffs.

Bondage: Likes tying you up with silk scarves or his own neckties.

Receiving oral: He moans a lot, grabs your hair, bites his lip. Loves cumming in your mouth and watching you swallow.

Giving oral with full focus: Will spend forever eating you out. Loves making you cum several times before even taking his clothes off.

Light spanking: Spanks your ass while you ride him. Loves watching your skin turn red.

Body worship: Obsessed with licking and kissing your neck, thighs, and inner arms.

Music during sex: Always plays a sexy playlist (usually R&B or unreleased songs he produced).

Atmosphere & Vibes

Dim lighting, woody cologne, black silk sheets.

Candles lit, soft music, and a perfectly prepared environment. He’s a perfectionist.

Makes you feel like a goddess in a movie: expensive lingerie, champagne by the bed, everything designed to spoil and fuck you.

Romantic-Hot Fantasies

Trip to a remote resort: Locks you up in a luxury suite just to spend the whole weekend fucking you.

Masquerade party: You go to a masked event and he pulls you into the bathroom, fucks you against the wall while you wear a long dress.

Filming you both: Has a fantasy of private sex tapes. Records you riding him and keeps it as his secret treasure.

Aftercare & Soft Side

After sex, he cuddles you, kisses your shoulder, strokes your hair, and hums softly.

Sometimes writes lyrics inspired by you after a steamy night.

Takes care of you: warm bath, soft robe, thigh massage, your favorite food in bed.

Emotionally-Charged Sex

For him, sex isn’t just physical. He stares into your eyes, craves connection, needs to see you feel it.

Loves when you cry from pleasure. Wipes your tears with his thumb and kisses you gently.

Says you inspire the rawest and most honest version of himself.

Headcanons: Taeyang's Sexual Preferences (Dong Young-bae)

Sexual Personality

Taeyang is romantic to the core. He’s the type that looks into your eyes during the entire act and makes love like it’s a song — slow, emotional, and deeply connected.

But don’t mistake softness for lack of intensity — when the lights go out, he becomes a man of deep hunger and instinct.

Faithful and focused. He’s the type that wants to worship only one person, and he’ll learn every inch of your body with dedication.

He’s naturally dominant in a loving way, with gentle hands and a firm voice. Never cruel — but always in control.

Favorite Positions

Missionary with hands intertwined: Loves kissing you deeply, moaning into your mouth, bodies perfectly in sync.

You on top (slow grind): Loves watching you take your time, seeing the expressions on your face as you move.

Against the wall (especially post-shower): The heat, the steam, the tension — he’ll lift you effortlessly and press kisses all over.

Face-to-face spooning: After a long day, slow and emotional. Foreheads touching, eyes fluttering, soft praise between thrusts.

On the floor, surrounded by candles/music: He likes creating an atmosphere. Sex with Taeyang feels sacred.

Kinks & Fantasies

Body worship: He kisses every inch of you, talks to your body like it’s a treasure.

Praise kink: “So beautiful... so perfect... I could stay inside you forever.” He makes you cry from how tender his words are.

Music kink: Likes slow R&B or even gospel-inspired tracks during sex. Has definitely written songs after nights with you.

Oral obsession: He takes his time with his mouth. Loves feeling you shiver under his tongue.

Edging: He will tease you until you're begging. “Just a little more, baby,” he says, voice velvet-smooth.

After-shower sex: He dries you off with a towel, kisses your shoulders, then fucks you slowly on the bathroom counter.

Lingerie kink: Soft lace, warm tones, pastel sets — he appreciates the beauty, and takes his time undressing you.

Marking: Hickeys where only he can see. Slight scratches on your back. Possessive, but never aggressive.

Spiritual energy play: Deep eye contact, meditative breathing, sex that feels like a soul-merge.

Atmosphere & Rituals

Low lights, soft music, warm blankets. He preps the bed like it’s a temple.

Always makes sure you’re emotionally and physically ready. He reads your body language like poetry.

Lights candles, whispers a blessing (or small prayer), then kisses your forehead before starting.

Emotional Connection

Sex is part of love for him. He’ll cry with you, hold you through it, smile into your kisses.

Afterwards, he thanks you. Literally. “Thank you for trusting me... for being mine.”

Loves being cuddled and giving forehead kisses while playing with your fingers.

Fantasies & Scenarios

Private concert: He sings a song just for you... then makes love to you slowly while still whispering lyrics.

Wedding night energy: Lights, silk sheets, soft champagne kisses. He’s deeply traditional in love.

Rainy night: You dance barefoot in the living room, then he slowly undresses you, leads you to the couch, and makes love to you with the sound of rain behind.

Aftercare & Devotion

Brings water, a warm towel, and pulls you onto his chest.

Stays up talking with you, stroking your hair, listening to your heartbeat.

Leaves post-it notes the next morning: “Last night was everything.”

Headcanons: Daesung's Sexual Preferences (Kang Daesung)

Sexual Personality

Daesung is charming, sweet, and always laughing… but behind closed doors, he’s surprisingly intense.

He’s the type that starts playful — tickling, teasing, making you laugh — but slowly becomes more serious, his voice lowering, touches deepening.

Very attentive. His biggest turn-on is seeing you happy, satisfied, and glowing from his touch.

He switches easily: sometimes goofy and clingy, other times dominant and focused.

Favorite Positions

Missionary with playful kisses: Starts with laughter, ends in slow, deep strokes and forehead kisses.

Doggy style with hair pulling: Loves when you arch your back and let him take control. Pulls your hair gently, just to hear your gasp.

Seated sex (on a chair, couch, etc.): He sits down and pulls you onto his lap — full-body contact, deep eye contact, lots of kissing.

On the edge of the bed: He kneels in front of you first for oral, then stands and enters you while gripping your thighs.

Standing up in the shower: Playful wet kisses, slippery bodies, water running down while he lifts you and presses you against the wall.

Kinks & Playful Sins

Laughter + teasing: He loves when you giggle during foreplay. Tickling your thighs, whispering silly things to make you squirm.

Praise & affection: Calls you beautiful constantly. “Look at you… so pretty like this… mine.”

Oral giving (enthusiastic): He worships your body with his mouth. Moans while going down on you. Holds your thighs and dives in.

Being watched: Lowkey exhibitionist. Loves the idea of being filmed, or of people suspecting what’s going on behind closed doors.

Hair pulling + neck kissing: Can’t resist kissing, biting and sucking your neck while gripping your hair gently.

Mutual masturbation: Loves watching you touch yourself, especially when he’s right there, stroking himself in sync.

Role reversal: Sometimes lets you be in control. Loves when you ride him and tell him how good he is.

Public teasing: Whispered jokes and subtle touches in public — always playful but with hidden fire.

Emotional & Safe Energy

Always checks in. “Too much? Want to stop? Are you okay?”

Will laugh and kiss you all over if something awkward happens — makes everything feel comfortable.

Sex with him feels like joy, connection, and release. It’s fun, hot, and full of trust.

Scenarios & Fantasies

Birthday surprise: You’re blindfolded, and he gives you a slow striptease while music plays. “Tonight’s all about you, baby.”

Vacation hotel: Balcony sex at sunrise, his hands under your robe, both of you trying not to moan too loud.

Dance practice room: He locks the door, turns the lights low, and says, “I wanna see how flexible you are.”

Aftercare & Silly Cuddles

Immediately pulls you into his arms. “You okay? You were amazing.”

Brings snacks and water, makes stupid jokes to make you laugh again.

Loves falling asleep with you wrapped around him, your head on his chest, his hand tracing lazy circles on your back.

[breakmeoffrecs]

🔥 spicy scenes │ 💖 fluffy scenes │ 😔 angsty scenes │ 🎈 crack scenes

THANOS

Thanos (Tease & Tonic, T.O.P/Thanos series) │🔥🔥💖😔 │ @nerdydoll-com Thanos Series & One-Shots │🔥💖😔 │ @luvfae Thanos │ 💖🔥😔 │ @wcnderlnds Subong/Thanos │ 🔥💖😔 @jedisupernova Thanos series and headcanon │🔥💖😔 │ @loveesiren Thanos │ 💖🔥😔 │ @berfgrimm Subong │🔥💖😔 │ @makeitworse Thanos │🔥💖 │ @elleandstufff Thanos (many series/one-shots) │🔥💖😔 │ @meadowfics Thanos │🔥😔 │ @gds-daisy Thanos │ 😔🔥💖 │ @frost-queen Thanos │ 💖🔥😔 │ @sillylilsquid Thanos One Shot │ 🔥💖😔 │ @starryschemer Thanos (includes headcanons) │ 🔥💖😔 │ @fear-is-truth Thanos Masterlist │ 🔥💖 │ @topluvr Thanos (FRIENDS story, long) │🔥💖😔 │ @lexalith Thanos │ 💖🔥😔 │ @lovemepartly Thanos & Drabbles │ 🔥💖😔 │ @voxslays Subong/Thanos Stories │ 💖😔 │ @flymetothexmoon Thanos │🔥😔💖 │ @viviwah Thanos Stories │🔥💖😔│ @peachycocaine Thanos Smut │🔥💖│ @bangchanwifey Thanos Smut │🔥😔💖│ @snickerdoodlebaby Thanos Smut │🔥💖😔 │ @misayani Pegging Them │ 🔥🔥 │ @dollivication I Can Take Them Both │ 🔥🔥 │ @snickerdoodlebaby sub!Thanos (pegging) │ 🔥🔥 │ @arbitrarykiwi

SALESMAN

Salesman (Cumpounding Interest) │🔥🔥💖😔 │ @i-mushi Salesman (A Promise, fake dating series) │ 💖😔🎈 │ @sowhatwereyousaying Salesman (Your Girl series) │🔥🔥💖😔 │ @dyingswanpavlova Salesman (many series/one-shots) │ 🔥💖😔 │ @meadowfics Salesman │ 😔🔥💖 │ @frost-queen Salesman Masterlist │ 🔥💖😔 │ @burningembers91 Salesman Series │😔🔥💖 │ @starryschemer Salesman (includes headcanons) │ 🔥💖😔 │ @fear-is-truth Salesman │ 🔥🔥💖😔 │ @moonlitsmile Salesman Masterlist │🔥💖😔 │ @greengoblinswifey Salesman & Drabbles │ 🔥💖😔 │ @voxslays Salesman │ 💖🔥😔 │ @lovemepartly Salesman │🔥😔💖 │ @viviwah Salesman Series │🔥😔💖 │ @onceinablueberrymoon Salesman │ 🔥💖😔 │ @murderofravens

FRONTMAN (In-Ho)

In-Ho │ 😔🔥💖 │ @frost-queen In-Ho Masterlists │ 🔥💖😔 │ @burningembers91 In-Ho "Desire" & Masterlists │ 🔥🔥💖😔 │ @filthygalli In-Ho │ 🔥💖😔│ @leia-writes In-Ho One Shot │ 🔥💖😔 │ @starryschemer In-Ho │ 💖🔥😔 │ @insidekatmind In-Ho │ 🔥🔥💖😔 │ @moonlitsmile In-Ho Masterlist │🔥💖😔 │ @greengoblinswifey In-Ho & Drabbles │ 🔥💖😔 │ @voxslays In-Ho │ 💖🔥😔 │ @lovemepartly In-Ho │🔥😔💖 │ @viviwah In-Ho │ 🔥💖😔 │ @murderofravens Hwang Bros Series │🔥💖 │ @lost-in-thoughts03 Pegging Them │ 🔥🔥 │ @dollivication

DAE-HO

Boy is Mine │ 🔥💖 │ @makeitworse Pegging Them │ 🔥🔥 │ @dollivication

OTHER WRITERS

Scenarios (tons) 💖😔🎈- @squidsquidsquidsquidsquidgame @dollivication @luvsthanos

[aizshallnotbefound]

Zenny's Masterlist━━━☆

REQUESTS : closed !

(I ONLY do social media au currently so feel free to request a scenario !!)

Currently writing for Bigbang only <3 ( GD , TOP , D-LITE)

G-DRAGON / KWON JIYONG

1 - 𝘚𝘰𝘤𝘪𝘢𝘭 𝘮𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘢 𝘢𝘶 — 𝘨-𝘥𝘳𝘢𝘨𝘰𝘯 𝘹 𝘪𝘥𝘰𝘭 ! 𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 ~ 𝘣𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢 𝘮𝘦𝘮𝘣𝘦𝘳 𝘰𝘧 2𝘕𝘌1 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘗𝘦𝘳𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘤𝘦𝘳𝘵 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘣𝘪𝘨𝘣𝘢𝘯𝘨

2 - 𝘚𝘰𝘤𝘪𝘢𝘭 𝘮𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘢 𝘢𝘶 — 𝘨-𝘥𝘳𝘢𝘨𝘰𝘯 𝘹 𝘪𝘥𝘰𝘭 ! 𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 spectulations about rumoured relationship

3 - 𝘚𝘰𝘤𝘪𝘢𝘭 𝘮𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘢 𝘢𝘶 — 𝘨-𝘥𝘳𝘢𝘨𝘰𝘯 𝘹 𝘪𝘥𝘰𝘭 ! 𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 ~ 𝘣𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢 𝘮𝘦𝘮𝘣𝘦𝘳 𝘰𝘧 2𝘕𝘌1 and having an after party dinner with bigbang and getting caught being cozy with jiyong

4 - 𝘚𝘰𝘤𝘪𝘢𝘭 𝘮𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘢 𝘢𝘶 — 𝘨-𝘥𝘳𝘢𝘨𝘰𝘯 𝘹 𝘪𝘥𝘰𝘭 ! 𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 ~ 𝘣𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢 𝘮𝘦𝘮𝘣𝘦𝘳 𝘰𝘧 2𝘕𝘌1 and having a photoshoot with vogue

5 - 𝘚𝘰𝘤𝘪𝘢𝘭 𝘮𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘢 𝘢𝘶 — 𝘨-𝘥𝘳𝘢𝘨𝘰𝘯 𝘹 𝘪𝘥𝘰𝘭 ! 𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 ~ 𝘣𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢 𝘮𝘦𝘮𝘣𝘦𝘳 𝘰𝘧 2𝘕𝘌1 and having a pool party with bigbang

6 - your love is my favourite song - pt 1 Your love is my favourite song - pt 2 collab post with @mashtatosworld

7 - butterfly masterlist - collab smau mini series with @makeitworse

︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶ ୨♡୧ ︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶

T.O.P / CHOI SEUNGHYUN

1 - 𝘊𝘩𝘰𝘪 𝘴𝘦𝘶𝘯𝘨𝘩𝘺𝘶𝘯 𝘹 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 , 𝘣𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢 𝘴𝘰𝘭𝘰 𝘪𝘥𝘰𝘭 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘢 𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘱 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘤𝘩𝘰𝘪 𝘴𝘦𝘶𝘯𝘨𝘩𝘺𝘶𝘯

︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶ ୨♡୧ ︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶

D-LITE / DAESUNG

1 - 𝘥𝘢𝘦𝘴𝘶𝘯𝘨 𝘹 𝘪𝘥𝘰𝘭!𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘣𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘣𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘥𝘢𝘦𝘴𝘶𝘯𝘨 2 - 𝘥𝘢𝘦𝘴𝘶𝘯𝘨 𝘹 𝘪𝘥𝘰𝘭 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 , 𝘣𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘯 𝘢 𝘴𝘦𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘵 𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘱 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘰𝘧𝘵 𝘭𝘢𝘶𝘯𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘵

︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶ ୨♡୧ ︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶

Taglist:

@sherrayyyyy , @ldydeath , @eru-vande , @tulentiy, @infinetlyforgotten , @gdinthehouseee , @mashtatosworld , @loveesiren @breakmeoff @kwomikailea @heartubeatusalon @sylviavf @flwerangii

︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶ ୨♡୧ ︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶

[bigbangprofessor]

You come into class all limping and all banged up because you fell downstairs rushing to get to class, so you look like a bruised peach but tried to stay positive.

(let's hope you have good health insurance in this scenario)

Taeyang: Oh dear lord what is this. Why are you limping? Did you fall down the stairs or something? Wait you did actually? Why are you here? Go to a hospital! All I have is hand sanitizer and dinosaur bandaids but those will probably not help you. Do you want me to take you to the hospital after the lecture?

Daesung: OH MY GOD! SHOULD I CALL YOU AN AMBULANCE? What happened? I KNEW those stairs have evil energy. You need medical attention. Maybe we should call an air ambulance? Go to the hospital now or I will personally carry you there myself! (Oh no... 😏)

G-Dragon: Did fight someone again? The stairs? Yeesh. Well it happens to the best of honestly. Are you at least okay? If I were you, I would consider you know showing your injuries to a doctor or something. I don't know much about health things. I appreciate the dedication to come to class in your state though, power power.

T.O.P: (he gives you a confused look) Why are you so dedicated to this class? Please just leave and go take care of yourself.

[bettelaboure]

⊹Backstage⊹ | Choi Seung-Hyun

⊹Pairing: Choi Seung-Hyun x The Reader

⊹Summary: amid the chaotic final show of a world tour, a stylist and K-pop idol finally surrender to the slow-burning desire that’s been simmering between them for months, caught between professionalism and passion

⊹Warnings: sexual tension, emotionally charged interactions, and adult themes involving consensual but suggestive physical intimacy in a professional setting

⊹Author's note: hello, i'm alive <3 it's gonna be a 3 part short series that i hope you'll like

⊹⊹⊹⊹⊹

The dressing room is alive with its usual controlled chaos. Makeup cases, racks of glittering outfits, half-finished iced americanos, and a Bluetooth speaker blasting something vintage and funky — probably picked by Daesung. You're weaving between scattered costume bags, a hair curler in one hand and a lint roller in the other, trying to find the godforsaken studded jacket Young-bae insisted he needed before soundcheck.

From across the room, loud laughter erupts — unmistakably Seung-Hyun’s rich, bassy voice, deep and unrestrained. You look up just in time to see a shirtless Young-bae scream something in Korean before hurling a towel at Seung-Hyun, who is cackling like the devil himself. Of course, he’s pulled another prank — probably turned off the hot water mid-shower again.

You sigh. “You’re incorrigible,” you mutter, mostly to yourself.

“I’m what?” Seung-Hyun calls out, eyes gleaming like a misbehaving cat who’s proud of the destruction he’s caused.

“In-cor-ri-gi-ble,” you say louder, enunciating each syllable. “Look it up.”

“Oh, I will.” He winks. “I always like learning new words from my favorite firecracker.”

You roll your eyes, but a smile tugs at the corner of your mouth. “If I’m a firecracker, then you’re a Roman candle—loud, obnoxious, and you burn out fast.”

He places a hand on his chest in mock offense, sauntering over dramatically. “Ouch. And here I was, just admiring how fierce you look today. That ponytail’s doing dangerous things to my heart.”

You blink up at him, heat crawling up your neck before you can stop it. “You're full of it, Choi.”

He smirks. “Full of charm. Admit it.”

“Full of crap,” you retort, poking a finger at his bare chest. You’re painfully aware of the way your finger bounces off taut skin. God help you, he doesn’t even flinch. Instead, he leans down, bringing his face comically close to yours.

“You know what else you’re full of?” he whispers with that deep timbre that always gives you goosebumps.

You lift a brow, refusing to back down. “Enlighten me.”

“Full-sized attitude, fun-sized frame.”

You swat at him, and he jumps back, laughing. “You’re not still on that?”

“You know I can’t help it. You’re the only person here who can glare up at me and still make me nervous.”

“I’m not short,” you reply automatically, hands on your hips. “I’m concentrated awesome.”

“And I keep telling you—” He points at you, eyes twinkling. “Fun size. Like those candies that pretend to be small, but one bite and your whole day’s wrecked.”

You narrow your eyes. “You’re lucky you’re charming.”

“I know I’m charming.” He grins. “You keep me around for that and the wardrobe critiques.”

You snort and turn your attention back to the garment rack, brushing past him. But he follows, of course. You can feel his presence behind you, warm and teasing. He’s always like this — like gravity. You’re used to his orbit by now.

“I saw how you fixed my collar during rehearsal,” he says, voice lower now, like it’s not meant for the room full of people. “You always get this little crease between your brows when you’re focused.”

You pause. “Observant today, are we?”

He leans in, brushing a strand of hair from your cheek. “Always observant when it comes to you.”

Your breath catches. This isn’t part of the usual banter.

“You flirt like it’s a competitive sport,” you murmur, trying to play it off, but your voice comes out softer than you intended.

“And you sass like it’s your survival instinct,” he replies, eyes not leaving yours. “But I see you.”

The chaos of the dressing room fades, somehow. Young-bae is grumbling to Daesung about shampoo, and Jiyong is yelling about someone stealing his eyeliner — but none of that matters. Not when Seung-Hyun is looking at you like that.

Like you're not just the stylist. Like you're something... more.

You break eye contact, your voice a whisper now. “Don’t look at me like that, Choi.”

“Like what?”

“Like you mean it.”

He steps in closer. You don’t step back.

“What if I do?”

You blink up at him. That damn height difference again. His tone is playful, but the look in his eyes—steady, serious, almost reverent—tells another story.

“You always joke,” you say. “I never know when you’re actually being real.”

He reaches out, fingertips grazing your wrist. “Then let me make it real.”

Your heart is doing cartwheels, and your brain is throwing red flags, but your body’s betraying you—leaning ever so slightly toward him.

“I don’t date idols,” you say, voice trembling.

“Good,” he murmurs. “I’m not asking you to date an idol. I’m asking you to take a chance on the guy who’s been looking at you like you hung the moon since Tokyo.”

You stare at him, stunned into silence. He’s never said that. Not once.

“What about the others?” you manage.

He chuckles. “They already think we’re secretly in love. Have you seen the way Jiyong watches us? That boy’s practically writing fanfiction.”

You laugh, the tension easing slightly, but your heart still pounds like a drum.

“Okay,” you say finally, letting out a breath. “One coffee. After the show. That’s all.”

His grin is slow and bright and full of triumph. “Make it two, and I’ll let you win the next height joke battle.”

“You’ll let me win?” you scoff.

“Let you think you won,” he corrects with a wink. “There’s a difference.”

You shake your head, fighting a smile. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you’re perfect.”

You don’t answer that. But the flush in your cheeks and the tiny smile you can’t quite hide?

That’s answer enough.

The show ends in a blur of lights, sweat, and thunderous applause. You barely remember how you got backstage — one moment you’re zipping up a pair of black leather pants on a frantic Daesung, the next, you’re dodging a shirt Young-bae throws at you with a wink and a “Noona, tell me I was sexy!”

And then there’s him.

Seung-Hyun.

Leaning against the wall by the mini fridge, a towel draped around his neck, hair damp and curling slightly at the edges. He’s watching you.

Not obviously — that’s never his style — but in that quiet, sideways way he always does. You’ve learned to recognize the weight of it. The warmth of it.

He takes his time strolling over, every step somehow deliberate, but casual. Like he has nowhere better to be. Like you’re exactly where he wants to end up.

“Guess I owe you that coffee,” he says, voice low, smooth. A thread of mischief still tucked in there somewhere.

You glance up. “Technically, you owe me a jacket first. I nearly froze to death during that encore outfit change.”

He grins, tugging the towel off his shoulders and tossing it at you. It smells like shampoo and cologne and sweat and him. “There. Vintage Seung-Hyun. Limited edition.”

You wrinkle your nose but don’t throw it back. “Gross.”

“And yet,” he says, slowly lowering himself onto the couch beside you, “you’re still holding it.”

“Only because it’s warmer than your personality.”

“See? There she is.” He nudges your knee with his. “Concentrated awesome, in all her post-show glory.”

You can’t help the small smile that curves your lips. He has that effect on you — like he knows exactly where to poke to pull out a grin, a groan, a glare. And somehow, it always feels like flirting, even when it shouldn’t.

“You’re unusually calm tonight,” you note, sipping your coffee. “No water bombs. No fake spiders. No traumatizing the staff.”

“I used all my pranks on Young-bae,” he says. “I’m rationing my chaos now. Becoming mature. Sophisticated.”

“Choi Seung-Hyun? Sophisticated?” you say, feigning disbelief. “What’s next? Emotional vulnerability?”

He hums, quiet for a moment, like the joke didn’t quite land. Or maybe it did — too well.

Then, with a small shrug, he says, “I’m saving that for someone worth it.”

You freeze.

Not obviously. You keep your posture relaxed, eyes on your cup. But your pulse kicks just slightly.

You glance sideways at him. “Are we still joking?”

He meets your eyes — not smiling now. Just... watching.

“Depends,” he says softly. “Are you still deflecting?”

Your throat tightens, and for a moment, the air between you both feels heavier than it should.

“I’m not deflecting,” you say after a beat, your voice quieter. “I just know how this goes. Idol flirts with stylist. Stylist doesn’t take the bait. Life moves on.”

“Except I’m not trying to bait you.”

“No?” you ask, lifting a brow. “Then what are you doing?”

He exhales a laugh, almost sheepish, and looks down at his hands for a moment. He taps a rhythm on his coffee lid. When he looks back up, his voice is careful — not hesitant, just... intentional.

“Trying to have a real conversation with the only person on this tour who actually talks to me like I’m a human and not a brand.”

That hits harder than it should.

You study him — really study him. The slight slump in his shoulders now that the performance is over. The raw edge still left in his voice. The way his walls are down, but only just.

It strikes you how much effort it must take for him to always be “T.O.P.” out there, when all he wants in here is to be Seung-Hyun.

“You have a way of surprising me,” you say finally.

He turns to you, lips quirking. “Good surprises or bad ones?”

You hesitate.

“Confusing ones,” you admit. “You throw out all this charm, all these lines, but then you say things like that and... it feels different.”

He nods, slowly. “It is different.”

You glance down, then back up, your voice careful. “I don’t know what to do with different.”

He smiles again — not teasing this time, but gentle. Understanding.

“You don’t have to do anything,” he says. “Not yet.”

The word yet lingers in the space between you like a dare, soft and waiting.

You nod once, more to yourself than to him.

He leans back on the couch, stretching, his arm brushing behind you without actually touching. His fingers hover just a little too close to your shoulder. And you feel it — that tension. That humming buzz of something just barely held back.

But neither of you cross it.

Not tonight.

“You ever think about how weird it is,” he murmurs suddenly, “that in rooms full of thousands, some people still make you feel the most seen?”

You glance over. He’s not looking at you now, but you know the words are meant for you.

“Yeah,” you say, your voice a little rough. “I think about that a lot.”

And even though the room is still buzzing around you — voices, movement, life — you both sit in that silence, in that almost-touch, in that slow-burn space where something real is beginning to smolder.

Another night, the bass from the stage still pulses through the walls like a second heartbeat. The lights back here are dimmer, buzzing faintly above you, casting long, narrow shadows. The energy after a performance is always strange — raw and electric — but tonight, it’s different. He’s different.

You’re crouched near a rack of performance coats, checking for a loose button on Daesung’s backup jacket when you feel him before you hear him.

Seung-Hyun.

He doesn’t walk so much as glide — lazy, quiet steps in those custom boots that cost more than your entire wardrobe. His shirt’s half-unbuttoned, collarbone damp from sweat, and his hair’s messy in that deliberate, sinfully sexy way that makes him look like he just walked off a runway and into your peripheral vision like a problem you didn’t ask for.

“Need a hand?” he asks, voice like velvet and cigarette smoke, low enough that it’s meant for your ears only.

You don’t look up right away. “Only if your hands come with a tailoring certification.”

He crouches beside you anyway, far too close for backstage propriety. His knee presses against yours — casual, unbothered — but it steals your breath just the same.

“You always get like this after shows?” he asks, watching you work. “All focused and bossy?”

You finally meet his eyes. They’re dark with something that flickers between curiosity and something else. Something thicker.

You smirk. “Someone’s got to keep you boys from looking like bedazzled clowns.”

“Is that what I am?” he murmurs, tilting his head. “A clown in your hands?”

Your breath hitches.

“No,” you say, voice lower now, the energy shifting between you. “You’re a problem.”

“And you like problems.”

“I like solving problems.”

His eyes drop to your mouth, linger, then flick back up.

“So solve me.”

There it is — the moment. The flick of the switch.

You should laugh. You should deflect. But you don’t.

Instead, you lean just slightly closer, fingers pausing on the jacket’s seam. You speak barely above a whisper. “You really think I haven’t already figured you out?”

His gaze sharpens, playful, but taut — like a wire pulled tight.

“I think you’re still trying,” he says, his hand brushing yours — just a graze, but deliberate. “And I think... you want to keep trying.”

Your heart hammers in your chest, and you’re suddenly painfully aware of how narrow the space is between the two of you. The hallway is empty. The others are still changing, laughing somewhere down the corridor.

It’s just the two of you here.

Breath and heat and too many things left unsaid.

He shifts slightly, not closer — just enough that you feel the pull, the gravitational tug of his presence.

You narrow your eyes. “You think you can flirt your way into getting your jacket fixed faster?”

“I think I could flirt my way into worse decisions,” he says, his voice a rasp now.

“Like what?” you challenge.

He’s quiet for a beat. Then:

“Like kissing you in this hallway and not caring who walks by.”

The silence cracks between you.

You don’t move. Neither does he.

The tension coils tight — breath, heartbeat, heat — until it’s almost unbearable.

Then he leans in, so close his mouth is a ghost along your ear, and whispers:

“But not tonight.”

You swallow, hard.

He pulls back slowly, eyes lingering on you like he’s memorizing every piece, every flicker of restraint.

Then he stands, adjusts his shirt, and offers a hand — not teasing this time, just there, solid.

You take it. Of course you do.

And when you rise, brushing imaginary dust off your thighs to avoid meeting his eyes, he smirks — that slow, dangerous kind.

“Soon, though,” he murmurs. “Very soon.”

Then he walks away, leaving you there — pulse racing, knees weak, and absolutely ruined for anything else.

Final night, the corridors hum with energy, staff and crew zipping past in a controlled frenzy. It’s the final show — Seoul — the one that means everything. Emotions are high. Nerves tighter than usual. Your clipboard is tucked under your arm, headset pulled off one ear as you pace the hallway with practiced focus. That is, until a hand grabs your wrist.

A familiar hand.

Before you can protest, you're tugged through a door and pulled into a private dressing room — his dressing room. The door shuts behind you with a decisive click. You barely have time to breathe before you're pressed gently but firmly back against it.

Seung-Hyun stands in front of you, tall and radiating heat, his stage outfit half-on — jacket unzipped, black shirt clinging to his chest, jaw sharp and set. His eyes are molten.

"We need to talk," he says.

Your brows shoot up. "Now? You go on in twenty."

He leans in, close enough that his scent — leather, musk, and something inherently him — curls around your senses. "Exactly. Twenty minutes, and then I’m on stage pretending I’m not losing my mind thinking about you."

You laugh, breathless. "You’ve been dramatic since Tokyo."

His lips brush your ear. "And you’ve been running since Berlin."

The room is too quiet. The air between you is charged, hot. He doesn’t touch you — not really — but the space between your bodies is thin enough to feel the burn.

You meet his eyes. “So what, this is your grand confession?”

“No,” he says, voice low. “This is me losing patience.”

He leans in — not kissing, not touching — just hovering. The tip of his nose brushes yours. His breath is warm on your mouth.

“I think about you every night,” he murmurs. “I hear your voice when I’m alone. I taste your name every time I’m quiet too long.”

Your pulse slams against your ribs. “Seung-Hyun—”

He groans your name like it’s already been sinfully whispered in his bed. His hand lifts, fingers tracing your jaw, soft and slow. He’s still not kissing you. And somehow, it’s worse.

You breathe out. “Do it, or let me go.”

His eyes flash, that dangerous, beautiful glint. “You think I won’t?”

“No,” you whisper. “I think you will. And I think I’ll like it too much.”

His lips press just below your jaw, a kiss so soft it barely registers — but it unravels everything. Your hands fist the front of his jacket, tugging him closer without meaning to. He pulls back just enough to meet your eyes.

“I want you,” he says. “But not in a way I can rush. Not like a backstage fling.”

You blink, breath catching.

“I want to know what makes you lose control,” he says. “What makes you loud. What makes you shake.”

You exhale, shaky. “We’re running out of time.”

He smirks. “Then you’d better tell me what to do. Or walk away now.”

You don’t walk away.

Instead, you push off the door and into him, your mouth barely brushing his. He growls low, hands gripping your waist, body tight with restraint. You can feel it in him — the tension, the way he’s holding himself back by the thinnest thread.

His mouth finds yours. At first tentative, then deeper — hungry, warm, desperate. You gasp against his lips, and he takes the sound into him like a man starved. His hands skim down your back, pulling you flush against him.

Every inch of your body buzzes. Your hands are in his hair, tugging, needing. He presses you harder into the wall, mouth hot at your throat, teeth grazing just enough to make your knees wobble.

"You drive me insane," he murmurs. "Every look, every smart little comment. You know exactly what you do to me."

You whisper his name like a plea.

His hands are everywhere — at your waist, your hips, your thighs. He lifts you slightly, your back thudding softly against the door, his mouth tracing fire down your neck.

"Tell me to stop," he pants against your skin.

You don’t.

Instead, you kiss him again — deep, open-mouthed, messy — and he groans into it, his restraint starting to fray. One hand cradles the back of your head, the other still gripping your hip, grounding you both.

He pulls back just enough to rest his forehead against yours.

"If we start this," he breathes, "I won’t stop until I know everything. How you taste. How you sound. How you fall apart."

Your answer is simple.

You pull him back in.

And then — a knock. A voice. “Hyung! Two minutes!”

This time, he doesn’t move. His chest rises and falls against yours, rapid.

"Damn it," he mutters.

You close your eyes. You’re both trembling slightly.

He finally pulls back, smoothing your hair, brushing a kiss to your temple. "This isn't over. It never was."

You nod, lips swollen, breath shaky.

He smiles — dark and promising — then turns and disappears down the hall, toward the stage.

You let the door close, your back against it again, heart thudding. Tonight might be the final show.

But something between you and Seung-Hyun is just beginning.

And it’s not waiting much longer.

Taglist: @petersasteria @redhoodedtoad @mirahyun @sherrayyyyy @sherxoo @dilfismz @breakmeoff @janie-osuih @forevervibezzzz1 @kuinnoa @juliskopf @maskedcrawford @szonyix6277@ldydeath

[angels-main-acc]

Covenant

Choi Seunghyun x AFAB! Reader x G-Dragon Synopsis: Jiyong shows up at your door, but what does he want? What will Seunghyun think? Warnings: SMUT! Oral (both receiving) unprotected p in v (Wrap it up!) fingering. Angst, fluff A/N: Part 7!! Due to my torture of the last two chapters I was excited to get this out! Enjoy my sweets! As usual, comment if you want to be added my tag list! ❣ Part 6

Your stare at him for only a second before you go to shut the door in his face, but Jiyong stops it with his foot.

“I don’t want you here,” you spat as you try to shove the door closed, but he won’t budge.

“I know,” is all he can say as he pushes the door back open and pushes past you into the room.

“Get out!” You stare him down, anger bubbling in your veins.

“I know you’re mad, but,”

“Mad? You think I’m fucking mad? I’m livid! I’m fucking furious.” You throw your hands and up as your chest heaves. The emotions won’t stay down any longer. Jiyong wanted to be in the room, well now he gets it.

All of it.

“I’m in a loveless marriage where we were supposed to be working on things and yet when we get home, after my sister fucking died, his fucking side piece is on what’s supposed to be our couch! I was alone! He left me alone our first night back home, spiraling in my head. I couldn’t call you because I was so pissed off. You left me alone, Seunghyun left me alone and you kept me from saying goodbye to the only person I was sure loved me in this entire world,” your stepping towards him now. All you can see is red.

“I care about two men who don’t seem to truly give a flying fuck about me or what I want or how I feel.” You point at his chest.

“And I don’t fucking want you here,” you seethe as a blow hits his chest. He stands there, motionless, letting you get it all out.

“Get out!” You start banging on his chest like a mad woman. He looks at you with sorrow in his eyes, but your anger has control, blows keep coming as he slowly raises his arms and catches yours.

“Y/n,” he tries to speak but you struggle against him, tears flowing free down your face.

“Stop, listen to me,” he tries to calm you down.

“NO, get out get out get out!” you repeat. You struggle against his grip but it’s too strong. It’s no use fighting him.

Your resolve breaks and you stop fighting, choosing to crash into his chest instead, where his arms are wrapped you and his head rests on yours as you sob into his chest.

“I swear I fucking hate you,” you choke out a slight pain in your chest mainifesting. Jiyong’s heart aches, but he tells himself it’s the pain talking. Your cries intensify as he holds you, his eyes shut, trying to keep himself together at the sound of your anguish.

“This wasn’t supposed to happen. My life wasn’t supposed to go this way,” your hands fist his shirt.

He slowly leads you over to the bed, crawling on top of it, allowing you to lay with him.

“I’m sorry, y/n,” he whispers into your hair. Your wailing is unstoppable at this point.

“I have to fucking bury her tomorrow,” you sniffle as your eyes begin to ache.

“I know, that’s why I’m here.” He rubs your arm with his nails, a soothing comfort in the moment of distress.

“I can’t do it,” you whisper.

“Don’t even worry about it, ok? You just show up. Seunghyun and I will take it from there,” he reassures you.

“Why would you help me?”

“Huh?”

“Why would you help me?” you look up at him, eyes glassy and puffy. He rubs circles on your cheek with the pad of his thumb.

“Because I loved your sister and,” he takes a deep breath, “I love you,” he says before capturing your lips in a short sweet kiss. He pulls away and you look at him, then down to his lips again. You crane your neck upwards and kiss his lips again, this time more desperate.

“We,” he begins but another kiss causes him to pause, “can’t,” his body betrays him, pulling you into his lap.

“Fuck him,” you whisper against his lips as your hips grind down against his.

“Y/n, you’re still married,” he says between kisses. Your hands go to the buttons on his shirt.

“Jiyong, please,” your voice is desperate. You are desperate, desperate to not feel alone right now, desperate to feel like someone cares, desperate to feel anything but pain and suffering.

“Please,” you plead again as the first few buttons come undone.

“He doesn’t even take care of me, leaves me needy while he takes care of another woman in what was supposed to be our house, our bed,” you explain as the last button pops his shirt open. He slides it off, one final look between your eyes before he caves.

He caresses your cheeks as he pulls your face to him, the kiss strong, full of unspoken words, full of passion and longing, full of everything that had been boiling under the surface the last year and a half.

You kiss down his neck, tongue licking and teeth nibbling on the soft skin. His hand finds the back of your head. A small hickey is left on his collarbone as you work your way down his torso.

“Wait,” he says as you get to his waistband. You look up, a lustful daze clear in your eyes. This is all that matters right now. Not the pain, not the bull shit contract, not the pain of losing your sister and your husband, just Jiyong.

Feeling him.

Tasting him.

“This is about you right now,” he murmurs.

“I want you,” you whisper as your fingers dance around the waistband of his pants.

“I want to taste you,” you almost whimper. Jiyong can feel the straining in his pants, his cock growing harder as images flood of his mind of what you’d look like with your pretty mouth around him.

Your lips on his pelvis pull him back to reality, the skin warm as you press teasing kisses to it.

Your fingers wrap around the waistband of his pants, pulling them down and you watch him spring free, precum already leaking out. Your stomach tenses, heat flooding your body. You squeeze your thighs together at the thought of how good he would feel. You look at Jiyong who’s stiff as a board.

“Relax,” you chuckle seductively as your hand rubs up his thigh. You see his body shake slightly as he inhales.

You look him in the eye as you slowly wrap your fingers around the hard, warm flesh, smearing his juices on his cock to help your hand glide better.

Jiyong’s eyes flutter closed and you stop your hand.

“Look at me,” you command and he forces his eyes open. You go back to the movement, eye contact tense as you can feel him shift beneath you at your teasingly slow pace.

“Fuck, I need you,” he breathes out. You smirk before licking a strip up the underneath side of his shaft, wrapping your lips around the head, teasing his slit with your tongue. The salty taste hits your tongue, something about it addicting.

Jiyong’s mouth falls open as he forces his eyes open to watch you.

“Please, y/n,” he whines and you sink your head down before coming up again. You repeat the movements, closing your eyes to focus on the rhythm. Jiyong feels a mix of pleasure and guilt. He knows its wrong, but truth be told, Seunghyun shouldn’t have left you here either, or at least that’s what he’s telling himself. He watches your head bob up and down, his cock twitching in your mouth as you pick up the pace. You take your mouth off, pumping him with your hand.

“ah, fuck,” he moans as his hips jerk into your hand.

“I’m gonna cum,” he says as he feels the familiar euphoria approaching.

“Fuck, please use your mouth, I wanna cum down that pretty little throat,” he gasps as your mouth reattaches to him in an instant, cheeks hollowed out, tongue swirling around him.

“Fuck, y/n,” his eyes screw shut, hips sputtering as hot liquid bursts into your mouth, shooting down your throat. Your head continues to bob, only slower, as he comes down from his high.

“Holy shit,” he breathes out as he tries to catch his breath. You let go of him with a little pop.

You kiss his pelvic bone again, teasing him.

“That was amazing,” he breathes out and you smile, proud of yourself, but you still feel empty.

“Come here,” he beckons you forward and lays you on your back. He hovers over you, kissing your lips passionately and your thighs, again, squeeze together, a small whimper leaving your mouth.

“I’ve got you, baby,” he whispers in your ear before nibbling your lobe. You gasp at the sudden feeling before he kisses just beneath it, taking his time, savoring the feeling of your skin on his lips.

Your hands find his hair, curling into it and Jiyong moans, his teeth sinking into your skin. A small gasp is heard and it makes his hunger worse. He pulls off your top, allowing your chest to sit before him, free and full. He bites his lip as he takes the time to drink in the image before him. For all he knows it’s the only one he’ll ever get.

He notices a blush creep up your neck as your hands go up to try and conceal your self from him. He slowly pulls your hands away before leaning in to kiss your lips again.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispers and your blush deepens.

His mouth attaches to your nipple, his wet tongue hardening the bud as the nerve endings send small waves of pleasure to your core. Your legs instinctively spread at the feeling, a small pulse being felt in your center. You squirm underneath him and he takes your nipple between his teeth, ever so slightly applying pressure.

“Ah, Ji,” you hiss.

He rolls the other in between this index finger and thumb, your mouth slightly parting.

“Jiyong,” you whimper out and he can’t control the growl that escapes him.

He kisses down your stomach, teeth grazing you in his wake.

He kisses your thighs, nibbling on the soft flesh, licking over it to soothe the pain.

“Please,” you lift your hips up as your desire grows.

“So needy, huh?” He teases.

“Such a shame he’s never even tasted you,” he mumbles to himself before spreading your folds, his tongue dipping into you, collecting your arousal as you gasp at the sudden, but welcome, intrusion.

“Mmm,” he hums as he furiously begins circling your bud, the sudden contact causing your body to shake. His tongue does figure 8’s as he mercilessly laps at your clit.

“Oh fuck,” you gasp as your back arches off the bed.

“Ah- yes, ah,” your eyes screw shut, the feeling strong as pleasure takes over completely. It’d been so long since another person had you, you almost forgot what it felt like to leave your pleasure in the hands of someone else.

Your hips start to grind on his face, Jiyong pulls away, sticking two fingers to your mouth. You suck on them as if your life depends on it.

“Good girl,” he praises as he slips them from your mouth. He kisses your pelvis once more before he inserts his fingers, curling them and watching you closely.

“Oh, fuck yes,” you sigh as you feel his fingers hit that beautiful spot just inside your entrance.

“God, ah go faster, please go faster,” he obliges and his tongue is back on you adding to the buildup of pressure in your stomach. Your hips roll as if they have a mind of their own, your walls clamping down around his fingers, telling him you’re close.

He speeds up, wet sounds filling the room amidst the moans and whimpers falling from your pouty lips.

“Fuck,” you whimper out, barely audible. Your body tenses, a wave of bliss crashing over you as your ride out your high with a loud, pornographic moan.

Jiyong’s finger pump still, helping your ride it out.

“That was incredible,” he says more to himself than you.

“That was,” your chest rises and falls as you catch your breath, “intense,” you giggle. He comes up kissing your lips, your arousal still on his tongue.

“Jiyong, please, let me have you,” you ask against his lips. He looks into your needy, lustful eyes.

Fuck it.

He lines himself up at your entrance, looking to you one last time before he continues, and you nod. He slides in slow, the stretch causing you to choke out a gasp.

“I’m not hurting you, am I?” His voice is laced with concern.

“N-no, just give me a sec,” you breathe through it, the feeling foreign to you.

“Ok,” you nod after a moment. His hips slowly rock, the feeling fresh, full and down right heaven sent.

“Go faster,” you urge him and that’s all he needs, what was once a slow rock of his hips, careful and calculated, has now become a more forceful, desperate slam of his hips. Your heart begins to thud against your ribs, a blush carefully blooming onto your cheeks as you can feel him hit your sweet spot almost every time.

He kisses your lips once before replacing his lips with his thumb. Your mouth opens instinctually and you begin to suck on it, the pad flat against your tongue. Jiyong’s eyes widen as he feels his cock twitch. Your eyes are wide, blown and fucked out as he slams into you repeatedly, skin slapping skin echoing in the room.

“Fuck, I’m close,” he grunts.

“Me too,” you whimper as you bring him close to you. With your foreheads resting together, Jiyong reaches down between you rubbing your clit.

“Come with me,” he murmurs and your eyes screw shut as the pressure builds.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna cum,” you whimper as your orgasm is at its brink.

Jiyong snaps his hips one last time and that’s all it takes, the two of you are moaning and groaning as the blissful waves of pleasure wash over you.

Jiyong stays still for a moment, bracing himself on one arm as he looks at you, your face dusted pink, body slick with sweat and warm underneath him. Then his eyes grow wide.

“Oh shit,” he almost yells as he flails off you.

“What? What happened?” You quickly scrunch to cover up, as if he hasn’t seen your entire naked body all ready.

“Y/n, we, Seunghyun, he’s,” he stutters as he can’t look at you.

Fuck Seunghyun. It’s time Jiyong knew.

“Jiyong, I need to tell you something.” You take a deep breath as he wills himself to meet your gaze, you slip your clothes back on, half way, and slip under the blankets of the hotel bed.

“Seunghyun and I, it’s not a real marriage.”

Jiyong tilts his head.

“What are you talking about?” You take a deep breath.

“We did legally marry, but we don’t love each other, I’m not even sure we like each other. I don’t know what we are honestly.” You sigh as you pick at the invisible lint on the white sheet on the bed.

“What?”

“You know about the all the shit he went through with his image, how he was constantly in trouble. His label said he needed a girlfriend, then he needed a wife. It was never supposed to get to marriage but he couldn’t keep his ass out of trouble.” You sigh.

“So it’s not real? This whole thing is a smoke screen?” You nod timidly. Jiyong breaks out into the biggest grin you’ve ever seen.

“Holy shit, so that means we didn’t, oh thank God!” he almost laughs as the tension ceases in the room and he leans over, connecting your lips. The kiss is sweet, passionate, and longing. You smile into it.

Jiyong picks up his pants and shirt.

“You wanna go get something to eat?” He asks and that’s when he notices the small frown. The reality of life crashes into him at the sight.

“Oh, baby we can order in, I know tomorrow,” he begins but you nod.

“I’m upset about that yeah, but I have to keep up my contractual obligations. At least until the label can get us divorced. Meaning,” you take a deep breath but Jiyong beats you to the punch.

“We can’t be seen out together,” he nods. You nod to confirm his words.

“Exactly.”

“Wait, so tomorrow, I can’t be there for you?” he asks and his eyes look discontent.

“You can, but we can’t be together,”

“No holding your hand, no kissing your cheek, y/n that’s not fair. If he doesn’t even care,” he huffs knowing it isn’t your fault, but he wants to be there for you. However, you need him.

“Just promise you’ll hold me afterwards,” your voice cracks slightly and looks to see your eyes start to turn glassy.

“Baby, I swear it.” He pulls you to him, kissing the top of your head.

-

The next morning, you and Jiyong get your wake-up call. You whine into the pillow, Jiyong’s hand coming up to rub small circles into your back.

“I don’t want to do this,” you mumble out as your cheeks is cushioned against the pillow.

“I know,” he offers you a sad smile. Your eyes brim with tears and you blink them back, forcing yourself to get up.

Jiyong gets dressed, leaving before Seunghyun arrives.

“I’ll see right after, ok? I’ll meet you back here and we’ll order in, watch movies, do whatever you want.” He smiles before pressing a deep kiss to your lips.

You hug him tight before he leaves, the scent of his cologne still faintly in the air as he disappears.

You take a deep breath as Seunghyun texts you letting you know he’s outside. You exit the elevator, paparazzi everywhere. Your eyes widen, no one was supposed to know. You see Seunghyun come through the doors, he notices your panicked state.

“I know I’m sorry, I have no idea what happened, I,” he stops in the middle of the apology when notices a bruise on your neck. His face is unreadable, but his eyes flash with a tinge of hurt and disbelief.

“What?” You ask definitely.

“Nothing, let’s just go.” He says through gritted teeth. He takes hold of your hand, the paparazzi swarming you despite the body guards around.

“Y/n why did you stay in a hotel last night? Are you T.O.P having problems?” one reporter tries to put a mic to your face.

“Y/n, we’re sorry to hear about your sister’s death, tell us how will this affect your relationship,” another goes.

The lights are blinding and the sea of people is over whelming. Once you’re safe inside the car, your tears spill over.

“Fucking vultures,” you mumble under your breath. Seunghyun watches you, putting a hand on your thigh.

He puts an arm around your shoulder, allowing you to lean into him. You do, despite your feelings and frustrations with him. You needed someone today, and it’s not as if Jiyong could do it.

“I told him.”

Seunghyun’s heart drops, he knew you wanted him to know but a small sliver of him hoped fate would keep it from happening, giving you and him a real shot.

“So, what does that mean?” he murmurs.

“It means he knows.” You sniffle, dabbing a tissue under your eye and checking your mascara.

“No, I mean, for us,” his voice is weak, unsure.

“I don’t know,” you sigh, “I didn’t know where we stood before he got there let alone now,” you look out the window, the air between you feels isolating. Similar to how it was not long ago when you were first married, only this time, it felt as though you were losing something; someone.

“We’ll figure it out,” he tells himself more than you.

“Can we just not do this today?” You ask as nicely as you can.

“I have to bury my sister and I don’t want this drama weighing on me while I do it.” Seunghyun simply nods, the same feeling of isolation encapsulating him.

-

You get to the funeral home, more cameras and even fans show up wanting pictures and asking questions. You sigh as you give Seunghyun a dirty glare. He throws his hands up in mock defense.

“It wasn’t my idea,” is all he says before the door opens. He takes your hand, weaving you through the crowd to get you inside.

The funeral home is nice, a cold atmosphere, but overall as pleasant as one can be on a day like this. The viewing is small, friends, family. Your mother is beside herself with grief. You try to comfort her as much as you can, but it’s no use.

You spot Jiyong in the mix of people, walking away from her and he comes up to hug you.

“You doing ok?” he whispers in your ear. Seunghyun is watching the two of you like a hawk.

“As good as I can,” you choke out with a tear escaping. He rubs your back, holding you for as long as he can before he has to let go.

“I’ll see you tonight,” he whispers before going to hug his best friend. You say hello to people you recognize from her life, friendly faces who are distraught and offer their sympathies.

-

The funeral procession ends at the burial sight and just like the hotel and funeral home, there are paparazzi everywhere.

“What the actual fuck is happening?!” You complain as the car comes to a stop. The people swarm the car, camera’s flashing, sympathies and questions being thrown to your and your husband all at once. Every single one is ignored. The tent is set up as people gather in chairs and standing room to be near the man doing the service. Seunghyun sits on your left while Jiyong manages to sit on your right.

“Have you seen my mother?” you whisper to Jiyong as the service gets started. He shakes his head no. He puts his hand on your thigh, sympathetically and the sudden clicking of cameras reminds you where you are and what’s at stake.

“Move your hand,” you whisper and he pulls it away discreetly, folding his hands in his lap. The service continues, words are said, songs are sung and the time comes for the casket to be lowered. At this point tears are flowing down your cheeks. Seunghyun puts his arm around you, holding you close and as much as you appreciate the gesture, Hae’s words still ring in your head.

“I have your sister to thank for dying. She’s giving me my man back.”

You want nothing more than to shove him off and take Jiyong’s hand and just run, but you don’t. You sit through it. You let the camera’s get the pictures and as soon as you can, you leave the scene.

Jiyong watches you walk to the car, powerless to help you right now. But he watches as Seunghyun lets you go, not immediately chasing after you.

“She told me,” he says walking up to him. Seunghyun looks around nervously.

“Then shut the fuck up, dude,” he snaps. Jiyong looks at him as if he’s lost his mind.

“What the hell is your problem. Y/n, I get. She’s under a whole lot of stress, but you?”

“No one else can know. You’re risk enough without everyone else hearing you,” Seunghyun says it, but he doesn’t mean it the way it comes across.

“You’re afraid I’ll fucking tell someone and screw you over?”

Seunghyun rubs his temple.

“Maybe I fucking should if that’s what you think of me. Since you clearly don’t know me better than that by now,” Jiyong grits his teeth, jaw ticking, before he walks away. Seunghyun’s fists ball at his sides as he watches Jiyong leave in the other direction. He walks back to the car; you’re inside staring out the window.

He gets in, the car silent as it pulls onto the highway.

“I’ll call your company tomorrow, let them know they should have everything they need and we can get divorced.” Your voice is flat, Seunghyun looks up at you like he’s broken.

“What the hell happened to working on it? I know you wanted to give Jiyong a chance but you promised to give us one too.” You hear the confusion and brokenness in his voice and you peer over at him.

“Is that really what you wanted? Or was that just some stupid shit you said because you didn’t have your little girlfriend? Well, now you’ve got an out to be with her, so go fucking do it. You never gave a damn about me, ever. I was just annoying, a pain in your ass, a girl who wanted you for your fucking money.” You spat; voice laced with venom.

“Y/n,” he breathes.

“Yes I said those things, but that was before-,”

“Before what, exactly? You know you literally went down to a bar and had a drink before you came up that hotel room that night wanting to suddenly work on things. You never explained anything further to me.” The car pulls up to the back of the hotel.

“And quite frankly, I’m not sure it matters at this point. Go home to Hae, who’s fucking name is on the deed to what was supposed to be our damn house.” The look on your face causes Seunghyun to go pale. He’d never seen you so angry.

You exit the car, running up to your room, despair and anger bubbling all at once.

Tags:@breakmeoff @ilovethe141 @tom-hollands-blog @tabibabib @gdgirl21 @thelovelybireader @hyunjifilm @bcfcpsh @patheticgirl127 @1950schick

Please do not repost my work

Covenant Masterlist

Love notes, comments, and requests are appreciated!

[xxestxays]

Welcome to the deepest part of my mind 💋

you’ve just stumbled into a space where desire meets delusion —

and the men behind my madness

i’m estxays (Basically pronounced "e-stays"), a writer with a soft spot for rough edges,

📓 mostly smut, occasionally fluff, along with head cannons and stuff like that.

I WILL NOT WRITE ANYTHING THAT INCLUDES MEMBER X MEMBER, RAPE, OR ANYTHING IM UNCOMFY WITH!!

This blog is:

💋 idgaf who reads!! I can't control what a horny 15 year old does on the Internet. (But seriously be careful)

🖋️ home to thirsty thoughts & unfiltered imaginations

💭 where kinks, comfort, and character depth coexist

🔥 inspired heavily by stray kids, enhyphen, BIGBANG, and BTS.

I write for:

Ot8 stray kids

All of BTS

0t4 BigBang

All of Enhyphen

Come in, make yourself comfortable!

✨ Master list ✨

Ot8 -- Stray Kids

All works are 18+ and explicit.

💋 [Chan] – Leader of the heart, master of teasing.

[file.exe not found]

💣 [Lee Know] – The quiet chaos, always leaving you wanting more.

[file.exe not found]

🔥 [Changbin] – Big energy, bigger desire.

[file.exe not found]

🎤 [Hyunjin] – The tension is real. Watch out for the raw passion.

[file.exe not found]

💭 [Han] – The mind behind every naughty scenario.

[file.exe not found]

💀 [Felix] – Soft but sinful, always ready to play.

[file.exe not found]

🥀 [Seungmin] – Sweet, but dangerously seductive.

WINDOW pt. 1

🌙 [I.N] – The youngest with the darkest secrets.

[file.exe not found]

Group Fics

💣 [Thirst & Tension] – A collection of steamy encounters and heated moments.

Enhyphen

💋 [Sung Hoon] - Flirty back up with intense eyes.

[file.exe not found]

🍷 [Ni-ki] - He may be the youngest, but don't let that fool you

[file.exe not found]

🍩 [Sunoo] - dangerous eyes that burn with passion.

[file.exe not found]

🌷 [Heeseung] - He may look like a softy, but his cunning attitude says other wise.

[file.exe not found]

🦜 [Jay] - Raw.

[file.exe not found]

🔥 [Jake] - bold, mischievous eyes of fire.

[file.exe not found]

🐕 [Jungwon] - He likes to be sassy, put him in his place.

[file.exe not found]

BIGBANG

🐉 [G-Dragon] - eyes of fire, like a dragon.

[file.exe not found]

🍴[T.O.P] - daring demeanor, daring desire.

[file.exe not found]

💮 [Daesung] - eyes as sharp as need.

[file.exe not found]

💢 [Taeyang] - cold shoulder, hot thoughts.

[file.exe not found]

BTS

☀️ [Jung Kook] - sees, wants, obtains.

[file.exe not found]

⭐ [ V ] - we all know the quiet ones are the freakiest.

[file.exe not found]

🫀 [ Rap Monster ] - fast raps equals faster pace

[file.exe not found]

🫧 [J-Hope] - bubbly personality, lights up every room.

[file.exe not found]

👾 [ Jimin ] - video game lover, we should....with eachother

[file.exe not found]

🐈‍⬛ [Suga] - smells like heaven, tastes like sin.

[file.exe not found]

👻 [Jin] - tastes like candy.

[file.exe not found]

The End!

Writers Note:

1. I am VERY new to this. Please be kind and patient for my uploads and posts. I'm a fast but slow worker. I will try and get this going quickly!!

[xxtoptaexx]

Velvet Reverie

choi seunghyun (VANTH) x reader

Summary : She didn’t belong in the Veld. But the dark had noticed her. And it was beginning to listen.

Warning A Dark, Mysterious Romance

a/n : did yall miss me??

Solenne Vale had a habit of ignoring locked doors, warning signs, and good advice.

At 18, she already knew what most people spent their lives avoiding: the world wasn’t enough. Not the soft-town streets she grew up on. Not the sea breeze that tousled her hair every morning. Not even the books she consumed under the covers until her eyes ached.

She wanted more. More darkness. More strangeness. More answers to questions she didn’t dare ask aloud.

So when the sound started — that distant, metallic hum drifting on the night wind — she didn’t hesitate. It came from the edge of the woods. The place no one went. The place they warned her about in the kind of tone that begged to be disobeyed.

She smirked to herself, tugged on her boots, and slipped out the window like she’d done a hundred times before.

The forest was wrong the second she stepped past the treeline.

The air was denser, richer. Like it had weight. The trees were impossibly tall, their bark black as oil and textured like old scars. Leaves shimmered with a violet hue under a sky that wasn’t the sky she knew. There were no stars. Just something... glimmering faintly in the far black above, like eyes half-closed in thought.

She didn’t slow. She liked the way her heart beat faster here. The thrill of not knowing. Of possibly dying. Of maybe discovering something no one else ever had.

Branches snapped behind her. She spun.

Nothing.

“Nice try,” she muttered with a grin, brushing silver hair out of her face.

The sound grew louder — not just a hum anymore, but a melody. Thin, slow, almost like a lullaby played backward. It wrapped around her bones, tugging her forward. She ducked under low branches, boots kicking up strange golden dust from the forest floor. It smelled like petrichor and something sweetly rotten.

And then—

She broke through a curtain of vines and stumbled into a clearing.

The world blinked. Literally — blinked. For a second, the trees moved, like they were exhaling. Like they had lungs. And somewhere, deep in that thick silence…

Someone was watching her.

She didn’t see him. Not yet. But something electric passed through her spine.

Solenne scanned the shadows with narrowed eyes. “Alright,” she whispered to no one, “come out and kill me or leave me alone.”

The forest chuckled.

Or maybe that was her imagination.

She stepped forward anyway.

Far above her, cloaked in the highest tangle of thorned branches, Vanth watched.

Still as stone, pale eyes glowing faintly from under a low black hood. He had seen countless intrusions into the Veld — animals, men, spirits.

None like her.

She walked with no fear. No caution. She grinned at the darkness.

And that grin — that wild, defiant grin — disturbed him more than any spell or scream ever had.

He didn’t move. Not yet.

He wanted to see what she’d do next.

DID U GUYS ENJOY THIS??? lmk in the comments

——

@nenesvt @shieraseastarrs @tw1nkgd

@taylorswift @thanosscross @tab1ko

@rositapinchesfresita @bluesunss

@nnnaaahhhiiiaaa=

“@xxtoptaexx”

_______

[midnight--sadness]

oh. okay i think what korean media was saying is what i had in mind, but i am so bad at reading tones online 😅 i thought it was a positive thing t.o.p was getting another chance instead of being shunned away, especially if a bigname actor like jj recommended him. like he's not giving the role to an ungrateful nepokid, just to someone who's struggling. but apparently the korean media hated it?? 

omg... okay yeah i think i fell for a rumor i'm sorry for touting false claims as facts no matter how cute i thought it was 😭 

because like. damn seunghyun didn't even do anything wrong and korean media pointing fingers at him like he's the devil himself. can you imagine hating someone like him? a hamster? *insert photo of hamster with big boba eyes and pink bow*

anyways. thank you director hwang for being so kind towards him! ❤️ we can make a scenario where seunghyun calls jj and tells him about the role he got 🥺

don't worry, anon! this happens to me all the time too, especially with foreign media!

korean media is pretty weird, in my opinion, about t.o.p honestly. i don't know, they treat him like the devil when he just made a mistake years ago.

everything i've seen of him, he seems like such a genuinely sweet guy!! 🥹💞 and yes omg director hwang did such a good job with casting bc he was great as thanos!!

in my head, jj and seunghyun still talk! idc if that's delusional! that's his kid 🫶