#They perform Run it and Replay!

[kirkwallguy]

Hmmmmm bg3 on sale just before my new laptop that can actually handle it comes...

[eyes1nthewoods]

genuinely one of the best video game narratives ive ever experienced

[spookydetective]

i fucking hate theater

[felixbit]

chestnut

pairing: hyunjin x gn!reader w. 0.8k genre: comedic fluff summary: your boyfriend, hyunjin, comes home on christmas day from sbs gayo daejeon after surprising you with a new look. he's shaved his hair and gone blonde. warnings: reader mourns the long hair but is very supportive. playful teasing a/n: this is literally just how i'm coping rn

New year and comeback season always meant new looks and fresh things. However, this was not expected.

You were at home, as always. Christmas was a busy day for Hyunjin, away at SBS Gayo Daejeon performing and looking pretty for the cameras. It was routine, but you always enjoyed tuning in and seeing the talent from him and his group as they performed.

There was a red carpet to unveil looks, but you were preparing some food for dinner that night. Things were getting hectic in the kitchen and time passed you by.

But your phone started to buzz. And buzz. And buzz.

Unable to ignore the repeating notification noises, you stopped what you were doing to figure out what had your phone blowing up. Notifications from posts and texts from friends... what was happening?

Everyone was talking about Hyunjin. As normal as it was for him to get the world's attention, the sheer amount of notifications was concerning. Something was obviously going on.

So, you opened your feed. It didn't take more than a single scroll for the picture to hit your timeline. On the red carpet, looking sharp and stunning, was Hyunjin. Beautiful outfit, many piercings, eyebrow slit fresh.

Oh, and his head was completely shaved and dyed blonde.

You stared at your phone in shock for what felt like forever. The two second clip of him looking stunning for the cameras replayed over and over as your brain tried to pick up the pieces.

You knew he wouldn't have his phone on him and able to look at it for a bit, but that did not stop you from blowing up his texts. Nothing outrageous or upset, but a lot of spammed questions and confusion got the message across pretty well. It was the least you could do.

Reeling from the overwhelming knowledge of your boyfriend's look, you decided to put your phone down and get back to cooking. You had to take your mind off of it or you might go insane.

The whole time, all you could think about was him. How drastic it was, how hot he looked, the whole bit. Hwang Hyunjin was taking up your entire mind.

Any task that you tried to do seemed impossible to entirely focus on. Every moment had you wanting to grab your phone and scroll, finding every possible photo of him. Hyunjin being a world-famous idol did not make this any easier.

Giving in, you resigned to doom scrolling. If you weren't able to focus, you wouldn't get anything done. Might as well just drool over how good he looks, you thought.

When he finally got done with the show, he was able to text you back briefly. He returned your texts with spam of his own, a bunch of apologies and letting you know when he'd be back.

Waiting for him to come home seemed impossible. The performance that the group gave was phenomenal as always. However, nothing could prepare you for seeing the look in person. Time passed dreadfully slow.

As you had finished up dinner, you heard the door swing open. You turned around to see Hyunjin out of breath. He waved to you, a shy smile on his face as he hung up his coat and took off his shoes. He approached slowly, looking uncertain.

"Do you... like it?" He finally asked, his voice shaky and small.

Staring at him for a few seconds, you smiled and nodded. "Of course I do, but why didn't you tell me?"

"It was supposed to be a surprise! A Christmas gift, you know?" Hyunjin tried to explain, breathing still heavy from running, "I thought it was a really big change, and I was worried you'd say no."

You looked at him incredulously. "Why would I say no to you wanting to try something new?"

"I... don't know." Hyunjin climbed into a chair, tilting his head back and closing his eyes as he fully caught his breath.

You watched him for a few moments, quietly observing his new look for yourself. He looked stunning, his sharp features accentuated by the new hair and the piercings grabbing your eye.

Although, you had something on your mind. "Oh, your poor hair," You lamented jokingly, "If you had warned me, I would've cherished it more if I knew it was the last time I'd see it."

"Aish, you'll see it again," Hyunjin groaned, standing up and looking at you, "Just not for a while."

"You better grow it back out," You retorted, walking over and running your fingers through his soft, short hair.

Hyunjin grinned and shrugged his shoulders. "We'll see."

"Hwang Hyunjin."

"Okay, okay, sorry."

As you plated your dinner with him, you looked over and snickered. "God, you really do look like a chestnut. Changbin was right."

"What did he call me?" Hyunjin scoffed, "I'm not a chestnut."

"Chestnut, dumpling, flour boy. You're becoming the real grocery list."

"I am not!"

[x1asirene]

f1 driver!caleb as your bf headcanons | sfw ver.

✧ f1 driver!caleb is red bull's golden boy—charismatic in press conferences, lethal on track, and fiercely loyal to the team that gave him his shot. he’s not just known for his precision in overtakes—he’s known for making it painfully clear who he races for. whether he’s fighting for pole or brushing off reporters with sharp charm, the paddock knows one thing for sure: caleb doesn’t go anywhere unless you’re coming with him.

✧ f1 driver!caleb has a delicate imprint of your lipstick, outlined in permanent white, marked on the left side of his helmet visor. it started as a joke after you kissed it pre-race once, but he had it painted on for good—says it’s his version of a lucky charm, but truthfully, it’s just because you’re part of every win he wants to have

✧ f1 driver!caleb will drag you to go-kart tracks at the weirdest times—midnight, early mornings, off-season—and let you win every single time while acting defeated. but if you so much as raise an eyebrow and say, “that’s the best you’ve got, mr bull?” he will race you like you’re his fiercest rival on the grid. dirty tricks, blocking, drifting—full-on war. and he grins the whole time.

✧ f1 driver!caleb refuses to let you wear the standard guest badge. instead, he loops his official paddock pass—his photo, name, team credentials, everything—around your neck like it’s a VIP tag and a public declaration rolled into one. “you’re not a guest,” he tells you. “you belong here, pipsqueak. with me.”

✧ f1 driver!caleb’s car number, gloves, and suit is the date you two got together—an easter egg that fans didn’t catch until long after you went public. when asked about it, he says, “best day of my life,” and “figured i’d carry it into every finish line.”

✧ f1 driver!caleb doesn’t go quiet out of spite after a bad race—he just retreats into his own head. for hours, he replays the race, watches the telemetry, pinpoints every wrong move. you don’t take it personally. you just wait in the hotel room or his driver room until he’s ready—when he appears, he always finds you, folds himself into your arms, and murmurs, “i needed to fix myself before i came home to you.”

✧ f1 driver!caleb tucks little love notes, charms, and silly scribbles you give him into his race suit—usually inside his glove or chest pocket. he swears it brings him luck, even if he rolls his eyes when you tease him for it.

✧ f1 driver!caleb keeps a photo strip of the two of you tucked into his passport. it’s old, a little faded, and taken in a cheap booth before you ever went public. he says it’s the one thing that reminds him where home is when he’s traveling 200 days a year.

✧ f1 driver!caleb gets slightly distracted on track if something reminds him of you—your initials on a fan’s sign, someone playing your favorite song over the loudspeakers. it throws him off for a second. just a second. but he smiles.

✧ f1 driver!caleb has a habit of tapping twice on your thigh with his fingers. in the car, during interviews, while watching telemetry—it’s his way of saying “you good?” without speaking.

✧ f1 driver!caleb brings you along not just to races, but to test days, simulator runs, promo shoots—because he performs better when you’re around. even just knowing you’re waiting in the hospitality suite steadies him. “when you’re here, i don’t miss a corner.”

✧ f1 driver!caleb uses his official race calendar to plan your rest time—circling breaks, underlining low-pressure weeks, building in spa days and lazy mornings for you. he treats your mental health like it’s part of his race prep.

✧ f1 driver!caleb has delayed his own departure for a grand prix just to wait for you to finish packing. his team knows better than to question him about you or schedule things too tight when you’re traveling together. “she’s coming, or i’m not going.”

✧ f1 driver!caleb hates traveling to races without you. he’ll sulk the entire flight, complain to his race engineer, and text you nonstop from the paddock. “it’s not the same without you,” he’ll say, phone resting on his chest like a lifeline between debriefs.

✧ f1 driver!caleb only follows three accounts on Instagram: you, @F1, and @redbullracing. no teammates, no sponsors, no friends. just the sport, the team, and you. when asked about it in interviews, he shrugs and says, “what else do i need? that’s everything i race for.” (he’s lying—he has a private alt where he follows dog accounts, meme dumps, absurdly niche tire compound theories—and the best of all, five nights at freddy’s theory pages. you’re the only one who knows about it—he once begged you not to expose his comment under a post that said, “what if freddy fazbear ran sylus’s tire strategy?” with, “freddy fazbear would’ve double-stacked mediums in the rain like a war crime and still outplaced him.”, and “hard compound freddy would’ve never let ferrari cook. be so fr rn.”)

✧ f1 driver!caleb isn’t afraid of confrontation when it comes to your name being in someone else’s mouth. the moment he hears another driver make a crude comment about you—even if it’s behind closed doors or in front of the cameras—he’ll call them out, cold and sharp: “keep my girl’s name out of your fuckin�� mouth, or you won’t be walking back into that damn paddock.”

# do not repost, translate, or upload my work to any other platforms. tumblr reblogs are welcome and appreciated, but reposting outside of this blog is not permitted !

— ✦ © @ x1asirene, tumblr 2025 ✧

[xmunsonlovex]

Somewhere I Belong pt. 2

Summary: After your heated kiss at The Hideout, you're aching, and eager to continue your date with Eddie. You hope he wants the same.

pt.1

Word Count: 6800+

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Shy Fem!Reader

Warnings: 18+ MDNI. smut. making out, grinding, oral (f!receiving), fingering, brief hand job, some dirty talk, role-playing (short lived, because neither reader or Eddie can't hold it together.) Eddie is anxious of reader seeing his scars, reader second guesses herself a lot and opens up to Eddie, fluff.

a/n: here's pt. 2! I am shocked and so appreciative of how well received pt.1 was! Thank you to all who read it and commented/reblogged. I didn't feel 100% with how this part was coming along, but after reading it over hundreds of times...I think I am happy with it. I am planning on a part 3, which will most likely be the final chapter. As always, please let me know what you think <3

Dividers by: saradika-graphics

You’re pacing your living room, hands clammy as you run them over yourself, trying to calm the anxiety you’re feeling. Eddie said he’d be over in about 30 minutes, mentioning that he had to drop off the guys first since they rode with him to the bar, and then he wanted to take a quick shower, not wanting for you to smell the sweat and smoke that usually stuck to his skin after his performances at The Hideout. On the drive home, you had replayed the kiss from earlier in your mind at least a thousand times, smiling to yourself at the prospect of continuing it at your place. You made sure to tidy up, not wanting to take the next step of this date in a messy house. Would he even care how your house looked? Probably not. You weren’t sure where this would lead to, but you were pretty hopeful. You could see yourself dating Eddie, and wondered if he felt the same. You had a feeling he did. 

“I can do this..” You mumble, looking out your window to see if Eddie was home yet. He wasn't, his van was not there and the lights inside of what you assumed was his bedroom, are off. 

You thought about changing into something a little bit more provocative, though you didn't really have anything like that in your possession currently. Well, you did have a satin camisole with a lace trim at the bottom and matching shorts, that quite literally left your ass cheeks hanging out. It was gifted to you by a friend before you made your move to Hawkins. She said it would help in getting you lucky. At the time, you laughed at the ridiculousness of it, but now, it was looking like a real possibility. You’ll have to call her up and thank her. Hmm. If you wore it, maybe you could opt out of wearing any undergarments. That'd fry Eddie's brain, you're sure. You're so deep in thought that you don't hear Eddie's van drive up. He’s quiet this time, his music is off and he purposely shuts his door softly, going up the steps, into his trailer. He didn't want you to know he was there. Yet. 

Eddie turns the shower on, making it a bit nippier than usual to calm the heat that radiates from his body. He feels like a damn teenager again, dealing with raging hormones as you consume his thoughts at every hour of the day. He's had a throbbing erection ever since your heated kiss, which was so rudely interrupted by Gareth. He tilts his head back as his hand glides over his cock, washing away the salty sweat that clung to his skin after his performance, and lets out a soft moan, shuddering at the firm grip. A relief he’s sure you'd be amazing at giving him. He bets your delicate hands would feel great on him, stroking him as he'd guide you through it. He really likes knowing that he'd be your first at everything, if you'd have him, of course. Eddie had a lot of things he wanted needed to do to you. He needed to taste every inch of you, imagining that you’d taste heavily on his tongue. Needed to know your scent, have it pervade his nostrils. Eddie was completely infatuated with you, and wasn't sure how he could act normal around you anymore. Not after that kiss. You had left him smitten. 

The blinds in your bedroom swiftly moved, causing the curtain to ripple at the movement. This paused the whirlwind of thoughts that were going through your head. You crease your eyebrows because you know they only did that when the doors in the trailer would open and shut thereafter. You had noticed this happen when Eddie came in one day earlier in the week to look at the faucet in your bathroom, and when he closed the door, the blinds shook. You still hadn’t heard Eddie’s music blaring from his van though, so you walked to the living room, now dressed in your “provocative” clothes you decided to put on, and looked around. The front door was still shut closed, and there was no sign of anyone breaking in while you were in your bedroom. This would be quite possibly the worst time for someone to break in, while you stand there in this barely there outfit and no weapon nearby to protect yourself. Shit. Maybe I should have locked the door.

“Mmm, my, my. What have we got here? Looking so lonely, princess.“ Eddie’s voice says from behind you. “Didn’t your mom always say to lock your doors at night? A lot of bad, scary guys out there, baby.” He grins mischievously, his eyes slowly scanning your figure. His throat becomes dry at seeing your nipples poke through the thin fabric of the camisole. 

“Holy shit Eddie, you scared me!” You had jumped when you heard his voice, gripping the edge of the kitchen counter, your lower back pressed up against it. He lets out a dark chuckle, like he’s enjoying playing this “bad, scary man who just “broke in”. 

“You wanted me to walk right in..well, here I am, babe.” He’s acting so confident but inside, he's ready to bust at the seams. “And I gotta say, you look like a meal. I could devour you right about now..” He takes a step closer to you, reaching out to run his thumb over your lower lip. “The whole ride home, I just..couldn't wait to see you. Wanna continue what we started..” You whisper as you look at him, noticing that his eyes are darker, filled with lust. You’re sure you look desperate, you definitely sound it. His lips form into a teasing smirk, running his tongue along his canine tooth all while his pants are feeling tighter and tighter. “I'm going to take my time with you. If you’ll let me, I'll untie your sensuality. I'll open up your heart, and satisfy my greed.” Eddie says, his breath hitting your neck as he’s pressed up against you, placing both hands next to yours on the kitchen counter, enclosing you with his body. You can distinctly feel his hard-on poking you against your mound. His lips are inches, if not centimeters, away from your skin, waiting for you to give him the ok to continue. He is a gentleman, after all. 

“I’ll-I will let you, Ed’s.” You say, all breathy and feeling weak in the knees. You're thankful he's got you pressed up against him because you were certain you'd drop onto the floor into a puddle of your own arousal. You feel his hot, wet mouth on your neck, giving you your very first hickey, causing you to let out a quiet moan. “You like how that feels?” Eddie smirks, moving one of his hands to hold onto your waist, gripping it as he goes in for another hickey, running the tip of his tongue over his mark, proud to make you his. To show everyone you belong to him. 

“Yes. That feels nice..” You’re certain he knows that you’re practically putty in his hands.

“Can't wait to lay you down and show you just how much you’ve consumed my mind. All the filthy thoughts I've had of you. Do you know how many scenarios I played in my head while I fucked my fist?” His smirks, running the hand he had on your hip down over your ass, giving it a hard squeeze. He doesn't miss the soft whimper you let out, making him growl lowly as he lunges forward to kiss you deeply, holding you in his arms. Your tongues are wrestling when he feels you grind against him, which nearly makes him short-circuit, about to lose the little composure he had left. “Fuck..” He mumbles, and sees you place both your hands over his chest, leading him to your couch. You’re currently super grateful to have that annoyingly large couch you had previously complained so much about. Eddie gently plummets down on the soft cushions, and immediately your eyes fall towards the prominent tent in his jeans. You're giddy knowing you caused that, and feeling empowered by the little confidence boost you’ve gained. Yet Eddie notes the obvious nerves while your hands tremble a bit just as you’re about to take off those small shorts.

 “Baby…you don't have to do anything you don't want to do. I'm fine with stroking one out, looking at you just like this.” He smirked and chuckled, hoping he hasn't caused you to think otherwise. That’s the last thing he’d want. 

“I know. I..I mean, I am a little nervous but...” You let out a soft chuckle, feeling chills run up your spine as his hand softly strokes the outside of your thigh. “But I want to at least do something tonight. Who better to guide me..than you..” You blush and lean over to pull down your shorts, letting them pool around your ankles. “Darlin’, you flatter me- oh fuck..” Eddie groaned, taking in your bare lower half as his eyes followed your movements. You chew on your inner cheek, hands nervously grabbing at the edge of the camisole you're about to remove. 

“I..want to grind on you..” 

“You can do anything you want to me, sweetheart. You could fucking shoot me, and I'd thank you for it.” He scoffed, thinking you could do no wrong in his eyes. You were perfect to him.

“Heh..uhm. Well, it’s something I saw in a video one time. I‘d like to try it.” His eyes are wide and lips are parted. You watch porn? You were indeed perfect.

 “Go for it, sweetheart. Experiment on me, but first..” He leans over to grab your shorts that you had stepped out of, and bunches them in his hand, feeling a damp spot on the crotch of them. A smirk forms on his face as he looks at the shorts, noticing the wet spot and puts it up to his nose, inhaling deeply and he lets out a satisfied sigh. God, you smell so sweet. 

“Eddie..!” You’re embarrassed, covering your face with your hands. 

“What? D’you know how long I've wanted to smell you?” He’s got that shit-eating grin, content in now knowing your scent, feeling like he’s hit a jackpot. He's definitely saving those shorts for himself. She won't mind.

You softly laugh, and let out a heavy sigh through your nose as you pull the camisole over your head, now standing fully nude for Eddie. The speed in which you undressed yourself for him honestly left you astounded. You know it went against everything that you kept telling yourself, but you came to the conclusion that Eddie made you feel safe, that he’d never want to hurt you. You bite your lower lip at how he’s staring at you with hungry eyes, his mouth practically watering as he watches every small movement you make. 

“I fear I've died and gone to heaven because holy shit, sweetheart. You're perfect.” His cock is painfully hard, ready to burst through the tight confinements of his pants when you walk over to him, and straddle his lap. He is able to feel your heat through the thick fabric of his pants, which makes his hips involuntarily thrust up, feeling like a damn dog in heat. 

“May I?” You ask, tugging on his belt, but wait for him to respond before you start to unbuckle it.

“Yeah.” Eddie breathes, though he's hardly paying attention to what you're even asking in that moment. He's too busy watching your delicate hands pull his zipper down, admiring how gentle you're being while you were appreciative of how patient he was. You felt you were moving at a snail's pace, at least that's how it felt like in your mind since you wanted to savor the moment. Eddie's sight had moved towards your breasts, admiring how supple they looked and how perfect they'd fit in his mouth. His eyes slowly trailed back down to your hands again, and then back up to your face, smiling at your blushing cheeks. “You're so beautiful..” He whispers and in your giddy state, you lean over to kiss him. Before he knew it, his cock was sprung free and you let out an audible gasp. 

“W-what? What's wrong?” Eddie looked at you, wondering if you suddenly had seen his scars. He wasn’t ready for that conversation yet. 

“You're so big..” You say, and reach out to wrap your hand around his width, able to feel him throb against your palm. The velvety skin felt smooth and warm as you make out the thick vein that was on the underside of his cock as you start stroking him, watching him crease his eyebrows, biting his lip. You wondered how he'd even fit in you when it came time for that, especially since you couldn't barely fit 2 fingers inside yourself.

“You're doing great, Y/N.. “ He spurs you on, grunting with each stroke you give him, which has him a whiny mess as you squeeze the head of his cock gently, spreading the pearlescent precum around, much to your curiosity. You gently press his cock down against his lower tummy, and maneuver your cunt over the underside of his shaft, sitting on him and do an experimental roll of your hips, earning a groan from both you and Eddie. “Fuck. I’m going to be honest, I don’t think I am going to last very long...” He’s watching you as his hands find purchase on your upper thighs, keeping you in place. You start rocking your hips forward in a more fluid pace, grinding yourself on him and moaning at the sweet relief you feel everytime your clit rubs against his cock. The friction you feel is borderline intoxicating, nothing you've ever felt before when you'd touch yourself. Despite the lack of experience, you weren't totally clueless, knowing you enjoyed how elated you'd get after an orgasm. You loved chasing that feeling.

“You're so wet, baby. Can't wait to eat that pretty pussy of yours. Bet you taste so sweet, like a delicious dessert..” Eddie grins and watches you, seeing how your breasts moved with the way you were gliding up and down on him. It had him incredibly, and embarrassingly close to cumming.

All that's heard in the small trailer is your moans along with Eddie's heavy panting as his grip on your thighs move to your hips, tightening his hold on you. “Faster..” He grunts, observing the trail of slick you're leaving on the underside of his dick the faster you grind. You're leaning over him now with both your hands on his chest, holding you up as you chase your own pleasure and orgasm, knowing you're about to reach that peak. “Fuuuck..” Eddie breathes out, gripping your hips even harder now as his cum spurts out onto his stomach, a large load from being virtually teased all evening. The image of him orgasming,  because of you…topples you over the edge. “Eddie!” You moan out, shutting your eyes tightly as you cum. Your movements come to a halt when you feel yourself a bit overstimulated, never being able to handle crossing that line. You're both trying to recollect yourselves, heartbeat thumping in your ears from the intensity of it all. 

“Was it everything you wanted it to be?” Eddie breaks the silence, smirking and chuckles, looking down at his stomach, seeing the mess he made, and then the mess you made on his cock. That brought him joy. Knowing that he barely touched you. That you used him to get off, he loved it. He could get used to that. 

“Yes..that was amazing..” you giggle and let out a deep, satisfied sigh, a small smile spreading on your lips as you stand up. Your legs are still wobbly from the intense orgasm, and you walk over to the lining closet, pulling the door open and grab a couple of hand towels to clean up. You're walking back to Eddie, and see him watching you like a hawk. “Babe, next time, I do the honors. Pretty thing like you shouldn't have to worry about cleaning this up.” Eddie says as he grabs the towel from your hands and cleans himself up. Next time. You like the sound of that. 

“Such a gentleman.” You blush as you grab the camisole, slipping it back on, and chuckle at Eddie who is frowning at you. “I had such a nice view.” He tsk, and stands up, pulling his pants back up, though he leaves them unbuckled. You’re both staring at one another, a small gap between you two. He’s looking at you, really looking at you as his hand reaches out to caress your cheek. He’s not sure how he got so lucky, to have a pretty thing like you honestly interested in him in a romantic sense. He closes the gap, and kisses you tenderly, never getting enough of his lips on yours. 

“We will take things at your pace. If…if you want to continue this. I’m-I don’t even know if you liked me enough to wanna do this again. You had fun, right?” Get it together Eddie, she’ll really want to go on another date now after this rambling.

“Eddie, relax.” You chuckle, smiling fondly at him. He’s so cute. “Yes, I had a lot of fun tonight. Between the concert, and well...” You blush and bite your lower lip. “I was actually going to ask.. if you’d like to spend the night? I have a few horror movies. Maybe pop some popcorn.” 

“Hell yeah, I’ll stay the night. I’ll get the popcorn, you pick the movie.” He kisses you, and walks into the kitchen, looking in all the cupboards for the popcorn box, making himself familiar with where everything was in your trailer. “Ah-ha.” He spots it, and grabs one packet and puts it in the microwave, pressing enter. He watches as you walk past him towards your bedroom,and admires the nice view of your ass, smirking as it jiggles with each step you take. The loud popping of the popcorn pulls his attention off of you in that moment, and he leans over to grab a large enough bowl to fill with the buttery popcorn. You come back around, dressed in just an oversized band tee. “Iron Maiden? You’re full of surprises, honey.” Eddie grins amusingly, as he throws the popcorn bag into the trash. “You have no idea.” You sweetly smile and open your fridge to pull out 2 soda cans, and walk over to the living room, placing the sodas on the coasters that were on the coffee table.

 “I picked Texas Chainsaw Massacre..”

“Going straight for the kill, huh? A classic.” Eddie chuckles and sits down on the couch, getting comfortable as he pats the seat next to him. You realize he still makes you nervous, and you’re not quite sure why. You literally got yourself off on him not even an hour ago, and he’s seen you fully nude now. You suppose that it's because this is the first time you’ve hung around with someone you actually like. And now he’s spending the night? Yeah, you understand why you have butterflies. Regardless, you muster up a smile, albeit a shy one, and sit next to him, thighs touching as you sit back and press play. 

The rest of the night is filled with stolen glances and little pecks here and there, barely paying attention to what’s going on in the movie. You really did intend on watching, but alas, it was just background noise at this point as you two sit there making out, not being able to keep your hands off of each other. It’s close to 1am, and you can hardly keep your eyes open. The movie had long been over, as you lay on Eddie. He’s running his fingers through your hair, and you’re listening to his heartbeat as if it's a lullaby, putting you to sleep. “Let’s head to the room. I reckon we won’t sleep comfortably here if we drift off.” He says, patting your butt to get you to get off of him. Not that he minds, but he moves around. A lot. He’s afraid he’ll knock you over in the middle of the night in his deep sleep. Your hum makes him think you agree with him though, as you stand up, and grab his hand to help pull him up with you. Eddie puts the popcorn bowl and empty soda cans in the kitchen sink, a task for the morning to deal with, and soon you both are in bed, under the thick blankets after brushing your teeth together. 

Eddie’s comfy in your plush bed. Smells much nicer than his, like you had recently washed the sheets, and they’re so much softer. He guesses you use fabric softener? He may have to invest in it if it truly works this well. This whole time he thought it was just a gimmick, but if he plans on having you sleep over too, well..he’ll do what he must.

“G’night Eds..” You say sleepily, laying on your side, facing him.

“Night, sweetheart.” He whispers, and leans over to kiss the top of your head, wrapping his arm around you to keep you warm. The trailer got quite cold, much colder than his, he noticed. His AC was something he usually would hold off on repairing. It was an expensive fix and most times, he slept naked anyway. He didn’t see the need to ever service it but if he was going to have you over like he intended, he definitely had to get it fixed. Eddie kisses your head one last time before you’re both out, soft snores heard shortly after. 

It's not even 10am the next morning and Eddie is already all over you. His body Is hovering over yours, holding his weight up by his forearms. He's giving himself a pat on the back for working out his arms at least. He fills your neck with soft kisses, low groans escaping him as he runs his hand up your thigh, wanting to make you feel like his goddess. That wasn’t an issue because you had never felt this desired in your adult life. 

“Eddie..” You sigh with a sleepy smile. 

“What..?” He grins, moving his lips to the other side of your neck, giving it the same treatment. “Thought I'd wake up early and enjoy the morning with a little morning breakfast.” He smirks, kissing down your neck and throat, peppering kisses along your collarbones. 

“I..I haven't showered this morning though.” You say, as you look at him. It was your routine ever since you were in school. An early morning shower to wake you up and get you ready to tackle the day. 

“You did last night? I smelled that fancy body wash on you when I broke in.” He chuckled, shrugging nonchalantly as he continued to make his way lower on you. 

“Yeah, but-”

“Babe. You're fine. Ya’ gotta let it marinate overnight so it tastes perfect, anyway.” He licked his lips, and you gasped out loud. “Eddie!” You playfully smack his upper arm, shaking your head as you see him continue moving on south, a playful grin on his face as he pushes your shirt up around your waist. You've done no real effort in stopping him though, your curiosity getting the best of you. “Please?” He is practically begging now, wanting nothing more than to put his tongue deep in you. He sees you spread your legs a little more, and makes out the small wet spot on your panties already. “I'll take that as a yes?” He says as he lingers over your clothed pussy, pressing a soft kiss to the top hem on your underwear. “Yes.” You nod, biting your lip in anticipation. His gratified look calms your nerves as he takes another deep inhale of your scent, sticking his tongue out to teasing flick at your clit over your underwear. his eyes are stuck on yours as he gauges your expressions, which you were already feeling euphoric with that light touch of his. 

“I'm going to take these off.” He says, hooking his fingers into your panties and slowly slides them down your legs, sitting up a little to toss them to the side of the bed, then looks at your pussy, all spread out for him. “Mm..” he lays on his stomach again, and holds your inner thighs wide open as he licks a slow stripe up your folds, wrapping his lips around your clit to give it a nice suck. The moan that left your throat was downright pornographic, making you flush with embarrassment. Eddie could tell, and he’d do anything to help break you out of that self conscious shell you hid behind. His bruising grip on your thighs keep them wide open for him, making you wince in pain and pleasure as he flicked your clit with his tongue, before he slid it into you, his nose bumping into your swollen bud as he relished in your taste. “Fuck, fuuuuck…” You’re writhing underneath him, and grinding on his face as you're already so close to that sweet finish line. 

“Yeah? You like that..?” Eddie groans as he pulls away from your dripping cunt and instead, slowly inserts his middle and ring fingers inside you. “Shit baby, you're so fucking tight..” The obscene sounds that were heard from him fucking you with his fingers should have made you recoil, should have made you want to curl into a ball and hide, but you were feeling too much ecstasy to even care at this point. “Can't wait to stretch you out with my cock, princess..” He groaned, resting his head on the inside of your thigh and looked up at you, a big smirk on his face knowing he's got you right where he wants you. Fucked out with your juices all over him. 

“You gonna cum for me, baby? I can tell you’re close. Squeezing my fingers so good..” He leans in to suck on your clit hard while he keeps fingering you, curling it upwards towards that spongy spot that makes you see stars. “Ed-Eddie! Fuck..I'm cumming..!” You all but yell, gripping his hair as the intense orgasm washes over you. Your heart is beating rapidly and your pussy is throbbing, but Eddie hasn't refrained from moving his fingers, or tongue for that matter. He's licking up every drop you gave him, making sure as to not waste a single bit of your delicious nectar. Your heavy breathing is music to his ears as he places a gentle kiss to your mound, kissing up to your lips, and smiles.

“Morning.” He chuckles, watching as you come down from your high. 

“Oh my god.” You softly laugh, and kiss him in return, tasting yourself on his tongue. “I could get used to being woken up like that.” 

“Consider it done. Every morning, my duty is to sneak into your trailer, hide in your closet while you sleep and then wake you up by feasting on your pussy.” He happily smiles, which causes you to heartedly laugh at his silliness. “Wouldn’t be a surprise if you tell me, now would it?” You play along, biting at your inner cheek. You’re certain Eddie has now picked up on most of your nervous habits. The inner cheek chewing, playing with your fingers, the lip biting, stuttering. You got teased for it a lot in school, yet Eddie finds it cute and endearing.

“You don’t have to be nervous around me, babe. It’s just me. Your cute neighbor...and…maybe boy..friend?” He says the last part as a question, in hopes that he isn’t overstepping. He knows he can do that often, from what others have told him, anyway. Being that obnoxious metalhead kid in high school gave him that title. You look at him, as that familiar reddish blush spreads over your cheeks, the one that he finds so cute. “And I just want to assure you that I know we’ve only known each other for what..a week now? But it’s been the best week of my life, Y/N. I-I don’t get many opportunities that come up for me like this. Meeting a genuinely nice girl…who’s actually into me? Most would say hell hath frozen over now that Eddie Munson got a girlfriend..” He chuckled, pouring his heart out to you. He felt you needed to hear this, so you wouldn’t doubt yourself so much. He could tell you did that often, just like he did to himself. ”I like you..if it wasn’t obvious enough with how much I like to be around you, and in you.” He grinned, reaching out to grab your hand and pulled you up, so that you’d be closer to him.

“I promise I’ll never hurt you..because I feel…you’re quite..apprehensive about that.” He says softly, tucking your hair behind your ear.

“I..yes. I am. This would be my first relationship, like I’ve said. I saw the pain my mom went through when it happened to her. Her previous relationships. One was abusive..one cheated multiple times. She never deserved that..” You softly speak, looking at your hands as you shook your head. “ I don’t..think I could handle that pain, if it happened to me. I know I’m still young..but..” You hesitate continuing to open up, like you normally did with anyone. You sometimes wondered how you even had friends. 

“Talk to me, babe. If we’re going to be build this friendship, this relationship, we gotta get things out in the open. Be honest with each other." Eddie says, stroking your hand. 

“Well, I told you a little bit about my life back at home when you took me to the farmers market. ‘Know that I basically had a rough high school experience. I was that shy, quiet kid in school..ever since forever basically. I did have friends, but kids were so mean. Then I started high school and fucking christ..” You sigh, looking at Eddie, who remained looking at you, trying to be comforting. The more you thought about it, the more you became disappointed in yourself. Why did you let it affect you so much? “I-I guess I had really low self esteem all through my school years. Never had someone show any interest in me, not even an anonymous note in my locker…like they do in the movies, you know?” You chuckle, biting your lip as you feel the emotions start to overwhelm you, so many memories of those days replaying in your mind. “One  time I ask a guy I liked to hang out, I thought maybe he’d be into me a bit. But he literally laughed in my face after turning me down. Saying he didn’t date my kind. Whatever the fuck that meant.” The tears are forming, as you tilt your head up and sniffle, not wanting to cry in front of him. Not again, anyway.

“Baby, here. Look at me.” Eddie’s calm voice pulls you from your negative thoughts. A nagging voice that was always there, saying you weren’t good enough. “I don’t know those people…they sound like absolute fuckers, but I will say…I gotta thank them. You know why? Because you said you left that life at home wanting to escape, wanting to start a new life. Well, I wouldn’t have met you if that didn’t happen. I know that’s selfish, but give me a chance to..show you how good I can love you. Let me erase all those negative thoughts you have in your pretty head. You deserve to feel good about yourself. To be treated like the angel you are.” He says, stroking your cheek, hoping he’d have some success in taking you out of that dark corner you always seemed to gravitate towards. 

“Whatever happened in high school, those idiots…are just that. Idiots. I am no stranger in being the laughing stock for those football players or cheerleaders. I imagine you can tell I was not a popular guy by any means.” He chuckles. You smile softly at him, at his efforts to help you get out of that slump. 

“I-I know. I gotta leave that behind in the past. I just…tend to second guess myself with everything. Always questioning things..” You sigh, and cross your legs, feeling his hand on your back, softly caressing it as he tilts his head to the side a little, pressing it up against yours. It’s a quiet gesture, him giving you some time to express your next words, if needed. You knew he was right, knowing this is what you moved to Hawkins for. To make a new life, a new beginning, and whatever life threw your way, you’d handle it as a new person. And that’s exactly what life did. 

“Now, let’s enjoy this lovely day, yeah? It’s actually a perfect Sunday.” He stands, and extends his hand out for you to grab, and pulls you up with him. 

“After a quick shower, please.” You beg, wanting nothing more than to wash away last night’s, and this morning's, depravity but mostly just to feel refreshed and clean.

“Go ahead. I gotta check on some things at home. Meet me there, ok?” Eddie kisses you, and grabs his keys from the kitchen counter. “Oh shit, I forgot to take care of this.” He looks at the mess in the kitchen sink, knowing he said he’d handle it in the morning. He had to be better about that.

“I got it. I’ll see you in a bit, Eds.” You smile as you walk to your front door, opening it for him. He turns to kiss you before jogging over to his trailer, blowing you another kiss and then goes in. Truth is, he didn’t want to shower with you, not yet. He’d have to explain those damn scars he was so self-conscious about, and get into everything that has happened in Hawkins over the last few years. What if that made you want to leave? He couldn’t have that, no. He knows eventually he’ll have to tell you, especially when you’re ready to have sex with him. No way is he fucking you with a shirt on and no pants, like some fucking moron. He battled with the thoughts in his head, knowing he was being a bit of a hypocrite since he, quite frankly, told you to open up to him, and spill whatever was in your head, and here he was, not telling you everything he had dealt with in his young life on earth. A soft sigh escapes him as he steps into the shower and turns on the water, rubbing his face and groans frustratingly, at himself mostly. He couldn’t remember the last time he had a girlfriend. Sometime during his first senior year attempt, he thinks. Since then, it’s been pretty lonely. Now that he’s got you pretty close to wanting to be in a relationship with him, he had to get his shit together. Tell you all about his life, the bullshit he endured in ‘86. He definitely had to keep his trailer clean. He’d turn into a bit of a slob after Wayne moved out. Well, he was never tidy, but the state of his trailer left him ashamed, especially since yours was so neat. 

“Fuck..” Eddie mumbles, grabbing a 3rd bag to fill with trash that was on the coffee table and the floor surrounding. “Shoulda just told her I’d meet her back there..” He sighs, annoyed that he was breaking a sweat after his shower, and groans when soda drips all over his hand from a half full can. He’s ready to throw it across the room when your soft knocks against his door causes him to pause. Maybe if he stays completely still, you won’t see him through the blinds but that doesn’t seem to work when you knock again and yell out, “Eds, I can see you!” a soft giggle heard from behind the door. “Comin’.” He stands and walks over to let you in, a shameful look on his face as you take in the condition of his trailer. “I uh…the maid took the week off.” He says, joking to hide the humiliation he feels when you take a step in and cross your arms. “The week, or the whole year off?” You chuckle and grab the trash bag from his hand, smiling. “I’ll help.” You say and ignore his protests that you don’t have to, that this was his mess he had to straighten out. “I like cleaning. So, good luck with convincing me otherwise.” You smirk and kneel by the couch, starting to toss empty beer cans into the bag. 

Eddie pulls a lawn chair next to yours that sits by your small vegetable garden, facing the open area of grass and the start of woods further down. You’d yet to go exploring in there. “So, you sit out here, and just watch the sunset?” He says, handing you the bottle of water that you requested, and takes a seat beside you, extending his legs out as he cracks open the can of beer for himself. “I do. It doesn’t take too long, since the tall trees kinda hide it after a bit, but it looks beautiful. Relaxes me after a day at work.” You say and turn your heads towards him, admiring his side profile. You really liked his hair, a wild mane that fit his wild personality perfectly. Those full lips that kissed you so tenderly, yet feverish in need. The heavenly bulbous tip of his nose that bumped into your clit repeatedly when his tongue was lapping at your pussy. 

“You know darlin’, you can always take a photo. They last longer.” He teases with a grin, watching you quickly look straight ahead.  

“Oh, fuck off.” You softly laugh, and take a sip of water, holding his hand when he reaches out to grab it, needing to have some part of you in his grasp. It was comforting to him, as it was for you. What better way to enjoy the Sunday evening than with your cute neighbor, watching the sunset from the comfort of your backyard. 

A sigh is heard from Eddie. "Alright. Time to tell you about the upside down.."

[kyunghwannie]

Impatience

Park Jihyo x M!Reader

➤ Word count: 10810 (Basically pure smut and me going feral for Hyo) ➤ Tags: Fondling/Groping, Messy kissing, Body Worship, Nipple sucking (lots of), BoobJob, Ass eating/sucking, Anal sex, Anal gaping and Creampie,Public Sex, Subtle Degradation, Dual Penetration (Vibrator usage)

➤ Teaser: Park Jihyo? The Leader of our dear TWICE? Oh, she is a total killer with her stage presence, charisma, leadership and surely her smoking visuals. During Inkigayo performing her solo debut title track "Killin' Me Good", She was totally rocking it. But of course, having a hot girlfriend like Jihyo can get you a little.. Impatient in the dressing room waiting for her while watching her performance. But, what's more fun that being caught by herself when you were gawking her recorded performance.

The dressing room is dimly lit, the muffled bassline from Jihyo’s performance still vibrating through the walls. I’m sprawled across the couch, one leg propped up, my fingers drumming impatiently against my thigh—waiting. The muted glow of the flatscreen casts shadows across the room, replaying her stage from moments ago.

And fuck, there she is.

Jihyo materializes on screen, strutting onto the stage like she owns the entire fucking venue. The camera pans up slowly, agonizingly slow—starting from those sinful black heels strapped tight around her ankles, up the toned, caramel-smooth expanse of her legs where the high slit of her skirt teasingly parts to reveal a glimpse of thigh. My teeth sink into my bottom lip. "Oh, shit"

The fabric of her skirt sways with every sharp pivot of her hips, the semi-sheer material fluttering as she spins, barely clinging to the curve of her perfect fucking ass. God, even through the screen, it looks solid—round and tight, flexing visibly under the fabric when she drops into that low crouch, her voice rasping out the bridge with enough heat to melt steel.

"You're killin' me—killin' me good—"

Her crop top rides up just enough to expose the faintest strip of skin above her waistband, taut muscles flexing as she rolls her hips in time with the beat. The arm warmers stretch tight around her biceps, emphasizing every vein, every ridge of lean muscle as she lifts her arms, fingers curling around an imaginary weapon before pointing it dead at the camera. Directly at me.

A shudder runs down my spine. I’m already hard. The realization hits like a punch to the gut—my cock straining against the zipper of my jeans, trapped and aching just from watching her. My palm presses down over the bulge instinctively, biting back a groan as the pressure sends a jolt of pleasure up my spine. Fuck.

The camera lingers on her face now��flushed, lips parted around each breathless lyric, sweat glistening along her collarbone. Her hair whips across her face as she jerks her head to the side, eyes flashing with that familiar fire. That fucking dominance. Jihyo knows what she’s doing. Every smirk, every roll of her shoulders, the way she licks her lips between lines—calculated. Designed to wreck whoever’s watching. Designed to wreck me.

My fingers twitch, itching to grip something—her—instead of the couch cushion I’m currently digging my nails into. The screen flickers as she drops into the final chorus, hips snapping in sharp, hypnotic thrusts, the slit in her skirt gaping wider— "Fuck—!"

My hand is shoved past my waistband before I can stop it, wrapping around my cock with a hiss. It’s burning, slick with pre-cum already, the tip flushed an angry red. I stroke once, twice, thumb smearing wetness over the slit as Jihyo’s voice crescendos on screen."I see you." I freeze.

The screen has cut to a close-up—her eyes locked onto the lens, into it—like she can see right through the camera. Right into this fucking dressing room. Right at me with my dick in my hand like some pathetic, horny fan. My pulse thunders in my ears. She would love this.

The thought slams into me like a truck. Jihyo strutting in later, catching me like this, her perfect brows arching as she takes in the mess of me—jeans shoved down my thighs, hand still wrapped around my cock, TV paused on her mid-performance smirk. That fucking ego of hers would inflate to unbearable levels. Her lips would curl. "Couldn’t even wait for me, baby?"

A groan escapes me, my hips jerking up into my fist at the mental image alone. She’d saunter closer, heels clicking against the floor, her skirt swaying with every step—The door handle rattles. My stomach drops. I yank my hand free like I’ve been burned, heart hammering against my ribs— But the door doesn’t open.

Just some staff member passing by, their shadow pausing briefly under the crack of the door before moving on. I exhale shakily, slumping back against the couch, my cock throbbing with neglect now. The screen still glows, Jihyo frozen mid-step, one hand on her hip, the other still holding that imaginary gun to the camera.

"You’re killin’ me good," her recorded voice purrs. I drag a hand down my face. Yeah. No shit.

The door clicks open. A rush of cool air floods the dressing room, carrying the faint scent of sweat, vanilla body lotion, and something unmistakably her. My head snaps up—

And there she is. Jihyo leans against the doorframe, one hip cocked, strands of her jet-black hair clinging to her glistening neck. Her chest rises and falls with heavy breaths, the delicate swell of her tits straining against the tight crop top as she exhales. A bead of sweat rolls defiantly down the valley between them, disappearing under the fabric. My mouth goes dry.

"Missed me?" Her voice is low, still thrumming with the adrenaline of performance, laced with that knowing lilt that makes my stomach tighten. I force a casual smirk, shifting slightly to angle my hips away—but it’s too late. Her sharp eyes flick down, zeroing in on the unmistakable outline still pressing against my jeans. Fuck.

Her lips part—first in surprise, then in delight, a slow, feline grin spreading across her face.

"Oh?" She pushes off the door, swinging it shut with her heel before strolling toward me. The slit in her skirt parts with every step, revealing flashes of toned thigh, still damp from exertion. "What’s this?"

I exhale through my nose. "You." A heartbeat. Then her laugh—rich, melodic, and smug as hell—fills the room. "Me?" She stops just inches away, tilting her head. "Little ol’ me made this happen?" Her fingers ghost over the bulge, nails scraping lightly through the denim I grit my teeth against the shudder that races up my spine. "You know exactly what you do to me.".

Her tongue darts out to wet her bottom lip. Bad idea. Now my cock is fully hard again, straining against the zipper, fucking aching for her. Jihyo hums, tapping one manicured finger against her chin. "Mmm, let me guess…" She leans in, her breath hot against my ear. "Was it the heel pop ?" Her hips sway, mimicking the movement. "Or—" Her hand slides up my chest, nails biting just enough to sting. "—when I dropped on the floor?" she mimicked the hair brush move with a slight arch of her chest without dropping on floor

A groan tears from my throat. "You’re a fucking nightmare."

She grins, all teeth. "Your nightmare." Her palm presses down, rubbing slow circles over my cock through my jeans. "And you love it."

I don’t deny it. Why would I? Her ego doesn’t need the boost, but fuck if it isn’t hot watching her preen under the admission. Her tits push forward as she arches subtly, shoulders rolling back, that pride settling into her bones. "Good," she purrs. "Now tell me—" Her grip tightens. "—did you touch yourself?"

The question catches me off guard. My hesitation is all the answer she needs. Her eyes darken. "How much?"

I swallow. "Just—a little." A lie. Jihyo sees right through it. With a scoff, she drops to her knees between my legs, hands hooking into my waistband. "Pathetic," she murmurs, but there’s no malice—just heat. "Couldn’t even wait for me to finish?"

My hips jerk as she yanks my jeans down, my cock springing free, already leaking. Her breath hitches. For all her bravado, Jihyo adores this—the size, the weight of me in her hands, the way her fingers barely meet when she wraps them around the base. She exhales shakily, thumb swiping over the tip, smearing pre-cum across the sensitive head.

"Look at you," she whispers, voice gone rough. "So fucking desperate for me."

I don’t argue. Can’t. Not when she leans in, pressing an open-mouthed kiss just below the head, her tongue flicking out to taste me. "Jihyo—" She smirks up at me, lashes fluttering. "Mm?"

And then—without warning—she swallows me down. Fuck. Her mouth is fire, tight and wet and starving, her tongue flattening against the underside as she bobs her head. The sounds are obscene—wet slurps, choked-off gasps when I thrust up instinctively, the pop of her lips pulling off just to dive back in.

Her fingers dig into my thighs, nails leaving crescent moons in their wake. I fist her hair, guiding her pace, but she slaps my hand away. "Mine," she growls around my cock, the vibration tearing a ragged groan from my chest. And fuck, she is. Every damn inch.

She pulls off with a lewd shlick, saliva stringing between her lips and my dick. Her chest heaves, her crop top straining dangerously over her tits. "Still think I’m smoking hot?" she taunts, breathless. I yank her up by the arm, crashing her into my lap. "I think," I grind out, mouth finding her pulse point, "you’re insufferable."

She laughs, high and breathy, grinding down against me. "Liar." Then her lips are on mine, messy and desperate, her hands fumbling for the clasp of her skirt. The snap of it hitting the floor is the last coherent sound before the room dissolves into heat.

Jihyo pulls back just as my fingers brush the hem of her skirt, her lips swollen from our kiss. There's a dangerous glint in her eyes—the kind that warns she's about to make me work for it.

"Not so fast," she breathes, fingers clasping the fabric shut with a teasing click. "You didn’t answer my question."

My hands flex uselessly against her thighs before dropping to my sides. "I did. I said I loved the whole damn outfit."

She tsks, shaking her head. "Too vague." Her palm presses flat against my chest, pushing me back against the couch. "Pick. One. Thing." A smirk tugs at her lips as she leans in, her breath hot against my jaw. "Or I walk out that door with this skirt still on… and your cock throbbing all alone."

My teeth grind together. She would do it. Jihyo loves power—loves the chase, the control, loves watching me unravel just because she can. But I know her better than that. "Fine." My voice drops, rough with want. "Your tits." A pause. Then she laughs—loud, unfiltered, her head tipping back in delight. "Wow. Original." But her pupils are blown wide, her fingers twitching against her skirt. I smirk. "You asked."

"I thought you’d be more creative," she sighs, rolling her eyes—but her nipples are peaked under her crop top, betraying her. "Every ONCE with an internet connection talks about my tits."

"Not like this." My hands slide up her thighs, thumbs pressing into the soft skin just below her hips. "They don’t know how fucking heavy they are when they’re bouncing in their face."

Her breath catches. "Don’t know how they taste," I continue, shifting forward until my bulge grinds against her. "Or how you whine when someone sucks them raw."

Jihyo exhales sharply, her grip on her shorts loosening. Got her. I seize the opportunity, yanking the fabric down her legs in one smooth motion. She stumbles, knees buckling, but I catch her, flipping us so she’s pinned beneath me on the couch. "Y/N—!"

"You wanted compliments," I murmur against her throat, biting lightly. "Now take them." My palms skim up her stomach, dragging her crop top with them until the swells of her tits are bare, flushed pink and heaving. Fuck. They’re perfect—full and heavy, nipples stiff and begging for attention. The second my thumbs swipe over them, Jihyo arches off the couch, a broken moan spilling from her lips. "See?" I pinch one lightly, watching her thighs clench. "Filthy and honest."

She glares, but it’s ruined by the way her hips roll up, seeking friction. "Asshole," she gasps. "Your asshole." Her hand darts down, finally wrapping around my cock, and we both groan at the contact. "Tell me more," she demands, stroking me slowly, her thumb swiping over the head. "What else do you love?"

I yank her leggings down just enough to expose her, fingers sliding through her folds. She’s soaked, clinging to my fingers the second they dip inside. "This," I growl. "How fucking wet you get just from me saying yes, Jihyo, your tits are god-tier—" She whimpers, her thighs trembling. Her grip on my cock tightens. "Keep going." So I do.

The moment my lips close around her left nipple, Jihyo's entire body jerks beneath me. A sharp gasp tears from her throat as I suck hard, swirling my tongue roughly against the stiff peak. Her fingers immediately tangle in my hair, not pulling me closer but trying to push me away. "Ah! Y/N—!" Her voice is equal parts pleasure and reprimand, that familiar leader tone cutting through despite how breathless she sounds. "Slow the fuck down or I'm gonna— ngh~!"

I release her nipple with an obscene pop, looking up to see her flushed face twisted in frustration. A string of saliva still connects my mouth to her dusky pink nipple, now glistening and even darker from my attention. "Sorry, baby," I murmur, not sorry at all as I gently thumb her right nipple through the bunched-up fabric of her crop top. "Just couldn't help myself. You're too fucking perfect."

Jihyo exhales sharply through her nose, her chest still heaving. "I swear to god, you're like a fucking puppy seeing tits for the first time," she grumbles, but the way her hips subtly roll against nothing betrays her.

Leaning down again, I make sure to go slower this time, teasing the stiff peak with soft kitten licks before gently sucking it into my mouth. Jihyo's breath hitches, her fingers tightening in my hair - not pushing me away now, but holding me there. "There you go," she murmurs, her voice dropping an octave into that sultry register that makes my cock twitch against her thigh. "Good boy~"

The praise sends a bolt of heat straight to my groin. I moan around her nipple, increasing the suction just slightly as my left hand finally slips under her crop top to palm her right breast. Fuck, they're even better without barriers - so impossibly soft yet heavy in my hand, the perfect handful with her nipple pebbled against my palm.

Jihyo's breathing grows ragged above me, her thighs tensing as I switch between thorough, slow sucks and flicking my tongue rapidly against just the tip of her nipple. Every time pleasure starts to crest, I ease off, keeping her teetering on the edge as commanded.

"F-fuck," she whimpers, her usual composure crumbling. Her free hand grips the couch cushions so hard her knuckles turn white. "Why do you— ngh~!— have to be so good at this?"

I pull back just enough to respond, my lips brushing against her damp skin. "Because you're fucking perfect, Jihyo." My thumb rolls her other nipple as I speak. "Perfect tits, perfect voice, perfect fucking everything."

The compliment makes her arch into my touch, a shudder running through her toned body. "Cheesy... bastard," she pants, but there's no bite to it - just that breathless arousal that tells me she's loving every second of this.

Returning my mouth to her breast, I lose myself in the taste of her skin, the way her heartbeat thrums against my tongue, the little hitches in her breath that tell me exactly what she likes. The crop top remains bunched up around her chest, framing her tits obscenely - like some lewd photoshoot she'd never dare do for the cameras but has no problem letting me enjoy. Every soft suck, every graze of teeth makes her thighs tremble against mine, her grip in my hair alternating between gentle encouragement and sudden, needy tugs when I hit just the right spot.

And through it all, one thought pounds in my head with every beat of my racing heart: Why the fuck is she so perfect?

My left hand trails down from her breast, fingertips skating over the smooth dip of her waist, the subtle tremble of her abs as they tense beneath my touch. But the second I reach the swell of her hip, Jihyo knows where I’m heading—her breath hitches, her thighs parting just a fraction wider in silent permission. Fuck.

Her ass is unreal—thick and toned, the kind of perfect handful that makes my fingers dig in instinctively, squeezing hard enough to hear her gasp. The sheer black fabric of her skirt does nothing to hide the give of her flesh under my grip, the way it jiggles slightly before settling back into that perfect, heart-shaped curve.

"Look at you," Jihyo pants above me, her voice dripping with lazy amusement even as her hips cant up into my touch. "Like a fucking starving man at a buffet."

I groan against her nipple, sucking harder in retaliation, relishing the way her fingers yank at my hair. "That’s right," she continues, rolling her hips so my palm grinds against her ass cheek with filthy, deliberate pressure. "Pathetic. Can’t even keep your hands to yourself for five minutes— ah!~" My thumb slips lower, brushing the crease where her thigh meets her ass, and her voice cracks. I smirk. "You love it."

She hates when I’m right. Her hand fists in my hair, wrenching my head back until I’m forced to release her nipple with a wet pop, our eyes locking. "I love," she says slowly, her free hand trailing down to trace the outline of my cock through my pants, "that you’re obsessed." A sharp nail drags over the head, making me twitch. "That you get hard just looking at me."

I bite my tongue to keep from moaning. Her grin widens. "That you’d beg to bury your face between my legs if I told you to." Fuck. My fingers flex against her ass almost involuntarily, pulling her closer, my thumb just brushing the edge of her soaked panties. Jihyo’s breath hitches, but her voice stays steady—mocking. "Go on." She arches a brow, daring me. "Tell me how bad you want it." My grip tightens. "You know how bad."

"Say it." The demand hangs between us, heavy with promise. I exhale, leaning forward until my lips brush the shell of her ear. "I’d fucking worship you," I growl, my thumb finally slipping beneath the hem of her panties, tracing slick, heated skin. "Get on my knees and thank god for making you this perfect."

Jihyo shudders, her composure cracking. "Good boy," she breathes—right before yanking me back down to her tits. The moment my fingers slip beneath the damp fabric of her panties, Jihyo gasps—a sharp, punched-out sound that vibrates through her chest and into my mouth where I’m still latched onto her nipple. Her back arches off the couch, pressing her tits harder against my face, her skin flushed and fever-hot.

Fuck. She’s dripping. My middle finger slides through her folds with obscene ease, gathering the slick that coats her, the pad of my finger catching on her swollen clit just to hear her whine. "Y/N—!"

I don’t let up. My tongue flicks faster over her nipple, sucking it deep into my mouth as my fingers work her in slow, teasing circles. The contrast is deliberate—rough where she’s sensitive, gentle where she’s aching—and it’s driving her insane. Jihyo’s thighs tremble around my wrist, her hips rolling desperately into my touch. "F-fuck, harder—"

I obey, crooking two fingers inside her without warning, relishing the way her cunt clenches, pulsing around me. "Look at you," I murmur against her breast, my voice wrecked. "So fucking wet for me." And she is—god, she is.

Her crop top is rucked up around her ribs, her tits glistening with spit, her nipples dark and pebbled from my mouth. The black short is shoved haphazardly up her thighs. Jihyo’s head thrashes against the couch, her lips parted around ragged moans. "Y-you—ah!—you like this, don’t you?" she pants, nails scraping down my biceps. "Seeing me—ngh—fall apart?"

I groan, fucking her faster, my thumb pressing firm circles against her clit. "Love it." Her breath hitches. "Say it again."

"I love it," I mumbled, dragging my teeth over her nipple. "Love how fucking perfect you are. Love your boobs, your ass, this pussy—" I curl my fingers, and she screams, her back bowing off the couch. "Love that you’re mine."

Jihyo’s orgasm crashes over her like a wave—her cunt flutters around my fingers, her thighs clamping around my wrist as she rides it out, her moans high and broken. When she finally collapses, boneless and panting, I pull my fingers free, bringing them to my lips without breaking eye contact. Her gaze darkens as I lick them clean. "You," she breathes, "are insufferable." I smirk. "Your insufferable." Then I’m yanking her up, crushing our mouths together, tasting her moan on my tongue.

The moment our lips crash together, all restraint shatters. Jihyo's mouth is hot against mine—demanding, hungry—her teeth catching my bottom lip in a sharp bite before soothing it with her tongue. I groan into the kiss, one hand fisting in her sweat-dampened hair, the other sliding possessively down the curve of her spine to grip her ass hard enough to leave fingerprints.

She whimpers, her nails raking down my bare chest before scraping over my nipples, wringing a ragged moan from my throat. The sound only spurs her on—her hips grind down against mine, her soaked panties leaving a damp streak on my abs as she chases the friction. Our tongues tangle messily, the kiss wet and gasping, neither of us willing to pull away for air.

Jihyo's hands roam greedily—palming the sculpted planes of my shoulders, squeezing my biceps hard enough to bruise, her thumbs tracing the deep ridges of my hipbones before dipping beneath the waistband of my jeans.

I shudder, my own hands mapping the sinful slopes of her body—the dip of her waist, the swell of her tits, the muscle of her thighs flexing as she straddles me. We break apart only when the need for oxygen becomes unbearable, our foreheads pressed together as we pant. "Fuck," she breathes, her lips swollen and glistening. "Yeah," I agree hoarsely, tightening my grip on her ass. She grins against my mouth before diving back in.

Jihyo breaks our sloppy kiss with a feral little smirk, our swollen lips still connected by a thin string of spit. Her fingers skate down my bare chest, blunt nails raking over every sculpted ridge of my abs before stopping right above where my cock strains painfully against my jeans.

"Mmm, look at you~" Her breath is hot against my ear as she shifts her weight, making her delicious thighs squeeze around my hips. "All sweet and tender with me like some lovesick puppy... but this..." Her palm presses down, making me groan as she strokes my hardening length. "...tells a different story, doesn't it?"

I grab her wrist, nipping at her pulse point just to hear her gasp. "Only ever sweet for y—" My voice cuts off with a choked sound as she produces a damn lube bottle from her shorts pocket—strawberry-flavored, the garish pink label nearly glowing in the dim backstage lighting. My cock jerks violently when she shakes it with a devious wink. "Ji—fuck—is that even—"

"Relax, worrywart," she laughs, popping the cap open with her teeth—god fucking damn it—before squirting a slick, translucent glob onto her fingers. The artificial sweetness mixes with her natural vanilla scent, making my mouth water. "Hypoallergenic, gynecologist-approved, and..." Her tongue darts out to taste it from her own fingers, "...kinda tasty. Wanna try?"

But my attention isn't on the lube anymore. Because holy shit—with one fluid motion, Jihyo yanks her wrinkled crop top over her head and tosses it aside, revealing those legendary milkers in all their bare, warm skinned glory. No bra. No barriers. Just smooth, sun-kissed skin stretched over plush curves, her dusky areolas already pebbled tight from anticipation. Fuck me sideways. I really am this fucking gone for her.

My hands fly up instinctively—desperate to palm those perfect handfuls, to weigh them in my grip—but Jihyo clicks her tongue, pressing a sticky lube-coated finger against my lips.

"Uh-uh," she chastises, rolling her hips in a slow grind that has the sheer overlay of her faux skirt riding up around her waist. The slit parts wantonly, giving me a sinful eyeful of her toned thighs flexing as she works me over. "Eyes up here, baby." She taps my chin. "Unless you want me to stop..."

The threat hangs between us as her slick fingers trail down my torso, leaving glistening streaks over my abs. I shudder when she swirls around my nipple, her touch unbearably light—teasing. "Well?" She leans in, her untethered breasts brushing my chest as she nips at my jaw. "What's my good boy gonna say to get what he wants?"

The moment I hit her with those puppy dog eyes - lips slightly pouted, lashes fluttering with exaggerated innocence - something dangerous flashes across Jihyo's face. Her grip tightens in my hair as she leans back, studying my expression with narrowed eyes. "Oh no you don't," she murmurs, voice dripping with mock warning. "You think that cute shit works on me after three years?"

I let my bottom lip tremble just slightly, watching with barely contained amusement as her resolve visibly wavers. Her thighs clench around my hips, that perfect pout of hers starting to twitch at the corners. Then I burst out laughing.

"Yah!" Jihyo's scandalized shriek echoes through the dressing room as she swats my chest, her warm skin flushing that gorgeous rosy pink I love. "You little shit - I was going to let you have these!" She gestures dramatically at her bare breasts, the motion making those perfect handfuls jiggle enticingly. I'm still chuckling as I reach for her, hands hovering just inches from her skin. "Sorry, sorry~ I just love when you get all pretend-mad. Your nose scrunches up right he-"

My apology cuts off in a strangled groan as Jihyo's lube-slicked hand suddenly plunges onto my cocm, her fingers wrapping around my aching length with punishing tightness. The sudden friction burns deliciously - whether from the warming lube or her spiteful grip, I can't tell.

"Now you'll really have to beg," she purrs, leaning down so her untethered breasts brush tantalizingly against my chest with every breath. Her thumb strokes slow, torturous circles around my swollen tip, gathering the pre-cum beading there. "Properly this time. None of that faux-cute bullshit."

I bite back another laugh at how offended she sounds, even as my hips buck helplessly into her touch. "Jihyo baby-"

"Nope." Her grip loosens immediately, withdrawing just enough to make me whimper. "Full sentences. Tell me exactly what you want to do to these." She arches her back, making her magnificent mounds sway hypnotically. The stray stage lights catch the sheen of sweat still glistening in her cleavage from her earlier performance.

My mouth waters as I take in the sight - her dusky nipples pebbled tight from the cool dressing room air, that subtle bounce as she shifts her weight, the way her areolas darken when I ghost my fingers just millimeters above them.

"I... fuck..." My brain short-circuits when she gives one experimental pump, her thumb smearing lube and pre-cum messily down my shaft. "I want to suck them until you scream. Bite just hard enough to make your back arch. See if I can make you cum just from playing with your nipples while I finger you-"

Jihyo's breath hitch is music to my ears. Her fingers stutter around me, that perfect composure cracking as her thighs squeeze reflexively around mine. I can feel her damp heat even through the fabric of her shorts.

"Good start," she manages, trying (and failing) to sound unaffected. Her free hand comes up to tweak her own nipple, showing off just how fucking responsive she is. "But I think-"

I cut her off by surging forward, finally capturing one pebbled peak between my teeth. Jihyo's surprised yelp turns into a wanton moan as I switch to lavish attention on her other breast, my tongue lathing broad stripes across the stiff bud.

"Cheater!" she gasps, but her hips are already rolling against nothing, her grip on my cock tightening in retaliation. "I didn't say you could- ah!~"

The rest of her protest dissolves into a high-pitched whine as I suck hard, my fingers finding their way back under her shorts to plunge into her soaking wet heat. The strawberry lube mixes with her natural slickness, creating the filthiest sounds as I finger fuck her in time with my mouth on her breasts. "Y/N I swear to god if you make me cum before I get to ride you-"

My response is to crook my fingers just right, hitting that spongy spot inside her that makes her legs shake. Jihyo's threat cuts off with a strangled cry, her back bowing beautifully as she spills over my fingers, her thighs clamping down hard enough to bruise. When she finally comes down, panting and flushed, I lick my lips and give her my sweetest smile. "...please?"

The look she gives me could melt steel. Jihyo’s entire body trembles as she comes down from her high, her thighs still quivering around my fingers buried deep inside her. Her chest rises and falls in erratic bursts, her bare breasts glistening with a sheen of sweat—nipples red and puffy from my relentless attention. Then her eyes snap open. "You," she breathes, voice dripping with venomous sweetness, "are fucked."

Before I can even smirk, she wrenches my hand away from her soaked core, pinning both my wrists to the couch with surprising strength. The movement makes her tits jiggle enticingly, but the warning in her gaze keeps me from enjoying the view too much.

"No touching," she orders, shifting back just enough to be near my pelvic area. My cock was stone hard, angry red and throbbing, precum beading at the tip. "Not your hands. Not your mouth. Nothing."

I open my mouth to protest—"Ah!" She presses a single finger to my lips, her other hand wrapping around my shaft in a punishing grip. "You don’t get to talk either." Then she strokes. Fuck. Her palm is still slick with her own arousal, the mix of her juices and strawberry lube creating an obscenely wet glide as she pumps me from root to tip. Her thumb swipes over the head on every upstroke, smearing precum in tight circles that make my abs clench. I bite down on a groan, my hips jerking instinctively, but Jihyo tsks, slowing her pace to a torturous crawl. "Uh-uh," she murmurs, leaning down until her breath ghosts over my leaking cock. "You don’t get to move either."

Her free hand trails up my stomach, nails scraping lightly over my abs before pinching a nipple hard. The sharp sting races straight to my groin, my cock twitching violently in her grip. "Look at you," she coos, her voice saccharine. "So desperate to fuck me, and yet..." Her grip tightens, her thumb pressing just under the head where I’m most sensitive. "...all you get is this."

I grit my teeth, my thighs trembling with the effort to stay still. Jihyo’s smirk widens as she watches me struggle, her strokes agonizingly slow, her fingers just shy of the rhythm I need.

Minutes stretch into what feels like hours—my cock aching, my balls drawn up tight, every muscle in my body coiled to the point of pain. Sweat beads at my temples, my breath coming in ragged gasps as Jihyo edges me with sadistic precision.

Then—finally—she picks up the pace. Her hand flies over my length, her spit-slicked fingers working me with brutal efficiency. I’m right there, teetering on the edge, my vision whiting out—"Wait—fuck, Jihyo, I’m gonna—"

She slows again, her grip loosening just enough to keep me hovering. "Not yet," she purrs, her thumb pressing down on that spot beneath the head, making me whine. "I want you dripping when you finally get to cum." I groan, my head falling back against the couch. "You’re evil." She laughs—bright and melodic—before leaning down to lick a stripe up my shaft. "And you love it."

Then her hand is moving again, fast and lewd, her fingers twisting just right on every upstroke. This time, she doesn’t stop. "Cum," she orders, her voice low and rough. "Now." I explode. Rope after rope of cum spills over her fingers, my hips jerking uncontrollably as she milks me through it, her grip unrelenting. She watches with rapt attention as I pulse in her hand, her tongue darting out to wet her lips.

When I finally slump back, boneless and spent, Jihyo brings her cum-coated fingers to her mouth—slowly—sucking them clean with obscene pops of her lips. "Mmm," she hums, licking a stray drop from her thumb. "Did you change your diet? This tastes sweeter than usual."

I blink up at her, still dazed. "Maybe... Up-ed more fruit...." She grins, leaning down to kiss me—deep and sloppy, letting me taste myself on her tongue. "Good boy." Jihyo’s fingers trail down my chest, sticky with my cum, her dark eyes glinting with mischief as she leans in close. "Slump back," she orders, her voice low and husky. "Hips forward. I want you right where I need you."

I don’t hesitate. My back sinks into the couch, my cock—still half-hard and twitching—jutting up between us, glistening with remnants of lube and spit. Jihyo watches me with that look, the one that says she’s about to ruin me in the best way possible. Then she reaches for the discarded lube bottle, squeezing a generous amount into my waiting palm. "Your turn," she murmurs, guiding my hands to her chest. "Make them perfect for you."

Fuck. The moment my slick fingers touch her skin, she shudders, her breath hitching as I massage the lube into her tits, kneading the plush flesh with slow, worshipful strokes. The warmth of the formula makes her even softer, her nipples pebbling under my touch as I work her over, my thumbs circling the stiff peaks. "God, Jihyo," I groan, my voice rough. "You have no idea how fucking good these feel."

She arches into my touch, her lips parting around a quiet moan. "Tell me." I don’t need to be asked twice. "They’re perfect," I murmur, squeezing gently, watching them spill between my fingers. "So fucking full—like they were made just for me to touch." My thumbs flick over her nipples, making her gasp. "And these? Fuck. I could suck on them for hours and never get bored."

Jihyo’s eyelashes flutter, her chest rising faster as my words sink in. She loves this—loves being adored, worshipped, craved. And I love giving it to her. "You’re obsessed," she breathes, but there’s no bite to it—just pure, unfiltered pleasure at being wanted like this. "Damn right I am," I growl, dragging my palms up to her collarbones before sliding back down, coating every inch of her in slick warmth. "I’d worship these every fucking day if you let me."

She exhales sharply, her thighs tightening around mine. "Y/N—"

"I’d wake up just to suck them," I continue, my voice dropping lower. "Fall asleep with them in my mouth. Fuck, I’d die happy if I could bury my face between them one last time."

Jihyo whimpers, her hips rolling instinctively, seeking friction she won’t get—not yet. Then, with a slow, deliberate shift, she slides off my lap, sinking to her knees between my legs. "You talk too much," she teases, but her hands are already lifting her tits, pressing them together around my cock. "Let’s see if you can handle what you’ve been begging for."

The first slide is heaven. Her slick, warm skin engulfs me, her tits molding perfectly around my length as she starts to move. Up, down, tight—her cleavage is a sinful, wet vice, her nipples brushing against the sensitive underside of my cock with every stroke. "Fuck—Jihyo—" My head falls back, my fingers digging into the couch. "You feel—fuck—you feel unreal."

She smirks, her pace just slow enough to be torturous. "You like that, baby?" Her tongue darts out, licking the tip every time it peeks out from between her tits. "All that begging just to get my boobs around you?"

I groan, my hips jerking up instinctively—but she clamps down, her hands pressing her breasts tighter, trapping me in that perfect, slick heat. "Ah-ah," she chides, her voice dripping with faux sweetness. "You don’t get to move until I say so." Fuck. She’s going to kill me. And I’m going to love every second of it.

Her breasts glide over my cock like silk, slick with lube and the heat of her skin. Every slow, deliberate stroke sends shivers up my spine, my hips twitching helplessly as she works me over with those perfect handfuls.

"Fuck—Jihyo—" My voice is ragged, my fingers digging into the couch. "You’re so fucking beautiful." The words spill out of me like a prayer, raw and unfiltered. "Your skin—god—it’s like fucking gold under these lights." My hand lifts on instinct, thumb brushing the curve of her breast, tracing the warm, sun-kissed hue that glows even in the dim backstage lighting. "So soft. So perfect."

Jihyo’s rhythm stutters. For a second, her hands still, her tits tightening around me in a way that makes my breath catch. Then—slowly—her grin softens, something wistful flickering in her dark eyes. "Say that again," she murmurs, her voice quieter now.

I don’t hesitate. "You’re the most gorgeous woman I’ve ever met," I breathe, my thumb stroking her collarbone. "Every fucking inch of you—your skin, your curves, this—" My hips jerk slightly, emphasizing where I’m trapped between her breasts. "—it’s all perfect."

Her lips part, her chest rising with a shaky inhale. And then—fuck—I see it. The flicker of something old, something aching, in the way her lashes lower just a fraction. The ghost of past insecurities, of years spent under scrutiny, of comments about how she wasn’t the "right" shade of pale, how her body wasn’t the "right" kind of slim.

My stomach twists. "Jihyo." My voice drops, my free hand cupping her cheek. "Look at me." She does, reluctantly. "You’re stunning," I say, my thumb brushing her lower lip. "Not despite your skin, or your curves—because of them. Every fucking thing people tried to make you hate about yourself? That’s what I worship."

Her breath hitches. For a moment, the air between us shifts—warm, heavy, real. Her eyes search mine, and I see it—the quiet relief, the way her shoulders relax just a fraction, like she’s finally letting go of a weight she didn’t realize she was still carrying.

Then—because she’s Jihyo—she ruins it of course.

"Mmm, good answer," she purrs, suddenly squeezing her tits hard around my cock, her nails digging into my thighs. "Now beg for me to let you cum." I groan, my head thudding back against the couch. God, this woman.

Her breasts are a masterpiece in motion. Jihyo’s hands cup the full, supple weight of her tits, pressing them together with just the right amount of pressure—warm, slick, and sinfully tight around my aching cock. The lube we’d slathered over her skin glistens under the dressing room lights, turning every slow, deliberate slide into a wet, intoxicating heaven. "F-fuck—Jihyo—!" My voice is ruined, my hips jerking weakly against her grip.

She’s merciless. Every upward stroke drags the sensitive head of my cock against the soft underside of her breasts, her nipples brushing the shaft in a way that makes my thighs tremble. Then, as she sinks back down, her cleavage envelops me completely, the heat of her skin almost burning as she milks me with slow, torturous rolls of her chest. I’m drowning in her.

My fingers claw at the couch, sweat dripping down my temples as I try—desperately—to hold back. But the way those perfect tits swallow me whole, the way her breath hitches every time I twitch inside her grip— "You close?" she teases, her voice a husky purr. Her tongue darts out to wet her lips, watching me with half-lidded eyes. "I can feel you pulsing~"

I choke on a moan, my cock throbbing between her breasts. She knows. So she slows down. "Jihyo—please—" Her grin is downright wicked. "Please what, baby?" The sensation is unbearable—every nerve in my body is screaming, my balls drawn up tight, my release hovering just on the edge of oblivion.

And then—"Cum." That’s all she says. One word. One command. And I break.

My orgasm crashes over me like a fucking tidal wave—my back arcs off the couch, my cock exploding between her tits with thick, messy ropes of cum. It splatters across her collarbones, her chest, her chin—some even lands in her dark, tousled hair. But she doesn’t stop.

Her hands keep moving, her tits sliding up and down my oversensitive cock, milking out every. Last. Drop. until I’m shuddering and whining, my eyelids fluttering from the sheer overload of pleasure.

Then—She leans down, her lips wrapping around the head of my cock in one filthy suck, her tongue swirling to gather the last streaks of cum clinging to me. The sensation is too much—I gasp, my hips jerking weakly against her mouth as she hums in satisfaction.

When she pulls back, her lips are sticky and swollen, her face glazed with my cum. "Mmm," she muses, licking her lips deliberately. "I love how much you adore me~" I slump back, boneless and ruined, my chest heaving. God, I love this woman.

Jihyo sways toward the vanity, her hips rolling with every step, the sheer black overlay of her shorts fluttering like a dark halo around her thighs. The mirror catches her reflection—cum still glistening on her chin, her tits, the sharp line of her collarbone. She meets my gaze in the glass as her tongue darts out, slow and deliberate, licking a stripe up her palm to clean off my spent arousal.

Fuck.

Even post-nut, my cock twitches violently against my thigh.

Then—God help me—she wiggles.

A deliberate, teasing shift of her hips, the curve of her ass flexing under the tight black fabric of her shorts. The attached veil parts with the movement, giving me a glimpse of the shadow between her thighs before it falls back into place.

That’s my signal.

I’m on my feet before I can think, my jeans kicked off in a haphazard pile as I close the distance between us. Jihyo doesn’t turn—just watches me through the mirror, her lips curling as I drop to my knees behind her, my hands sliding up the backs of her thighs.

"Like what you see?" she murmurs, arching her back just enough to emphasize the round, heavy swell of her ass.

My answer is to press an open-mouthed kiss to the curve of her cheek through the fabric, nipping lightly at the silk-covered flesh. Jihyo chuckles, the sound low and throaty, before reaching back to tap my wrist.

"Off," she orders.

I don’t hesitate.

My fingers hook into the waistband of her shorts, peeling them down her legs with reverent slowness. The black silk panties underneath cling to her skin, damp with her arousal, the fabric darkened between her thighs.

Not lace today.

I groan, nuzzling the crease where her ass meets her thigh, breathing in the intoxicating mix of her sweat and the faint sweetness of whatever expensive soap she uses. My tongue drags a hot, wet stripe over the silk, tasting her through the fabric before biting the edge of the panties and tugging them down.

Jihyo gasps, her hands bracing against the vanity as I strip her completely, her shorts and panties pooling at her ankles before she kicks them aside with one graceful foot.

Then—finally—she’s bare.

And God, what a sight.

Her ass is art—full and heavy, the flesh trembling slightly as she shifts her weight. The skin here is even softer than her tits, the kind of plush that begs to be bitten, marked, worshipped. My hands squeeze greedily, kneading the supple flesh before spreading her cheeks apart, exposing the tight, pink furl of her rim.

"Fuck, Jihyo," I rasp, my thumbs tracing the delicate skin. "You’re perfect."

She shivers, her hips pushing back slightly. "Then show me," she breathes, her voice thick. "Be good for me, baby."

I don’t need to be told twice.

My tongue licks a broad, wet stripe from her soaked slit up to her asshole, savoring the way she jerks against me.

"Y/N—!"

I groan against her skin, my grip tightening as I dive back in, feasting. Her taste is addictive—heady and hers, with just the faintest hint of something floral beneath. The soap, maybe, but mostly it’s just Jihyo, warm and musky and alive under my tongue.

I eat her out like a man starved, my lips and teeth and tongue working her rim with filthy, wet devotion. Every flick, every suck makes her thighs tremble, her moans pitching higher as she grinds back against my face.

"That’s it," she purrs, one hand tangling in my hair to guide me deeper. "Just like that—fuck, you’re so good at this—"

I redouble my efforts, my nose buried in her cunt as my tongue spears into her ass, fucking her in tight little circles. The sounds alone are obscene—wet slurps, her ragged gasps, the slick slide of my mouth on her skin.

And then—

She clenches.

"I’m—ah—close," she whimpers, her fingers tightening in my hair. "Don’t stop, don’t fucking stop—"

I don’t.

I suck her rim like I’m dying of thirst, my free hand slipping between her thighs to rub frantic circles over her clit.

Jihyo shatters with a cry, her back bowing, her ass pressing hard against my face as she cums—squeezing around my tongue like she wants to milk the pleasure straight from my bones.

When she finally slumps forward, panting, I pull back just enough to lick my lips.

"Told you," I murmur, pressing a kiss to the swell of her ass. "Perfect."

Her laugh is breathless, wrecked—beautiful. "You’re insatiable."

I grin against her skin. "Only for you."

The moment Jihyo's command leaves her lips, my entire body thrums with anticipation. My tongue drags one last lingering stripe up her soaked slit, collecting her essence like it's the finest ambrosia. Her thighs tremble against my cheeks, sticky with her arousal, as I pull back just enough to admire the glistening mess I've made of her.

"Lube me up, puppy," she purrs, arching her back to present her ass like an offering. "I want to feel every inch of you splitting me open."

Fuck.

My cock twitches violently at her words, already half-hard again despite having just come minutes ago. I reach for the discarded strawberry lube, coating my fingers thickly before pushing her cheeks apart with my thumbs. The sight alone is obscene—her tight rim clenching around nothing, her puffy pink folds glistening just below. I drizzle more lube directly onto her hole, watching as it drips down in slow, sticky rivulets.

"Look at you," I growl, pressing a single lubed fingertip against her entrance. "My exclusive little slut, begging to be stuffed in both holes like some cheap toy."

Jihyo moans, pushing back against my finger. "Shut up and fuck me already, you eager—ah~!"

Her words cut off into a sharp gasp as I sink my finger knuckle-deep into her ass, twisting slowly to stretch her. The heat is unreal, her walls clamping down like a vise as I work her open with torturous patience.

"So fucking tight," I groan, adding a second finger alongside the first. "Gonna milk my cock dry when I finally fuck this greedy hole, aren't you?"

Jihyo's breath hitches, her hips rocking back onto my fingers. "Y-yes—fuck—just like that—!"

Then—

"Vibrator. Now," she demands, jerking her chin toward her bag.

I don't hesitate.

The sleek purple toy is exactly where she said it'd be, still in its velvet pouch like some sacred relic. I flick it on, the sudden buzz slicing through the air as I kneel back between her thighs.

"DP, huh?" I smirk, trailing the vibrating tip up her soaked slit. "My perfect slut wants to be ruined tonight, is that it?"

Jihyo's answering grin is feral. "Prove you can handle me, dog."

Challenge accepted.

I press the vibrator against her clit first, relishing the way her entire body jolts, her ass clamping down on my fingers. Then—slowly—I guide it inside her pussy, inch by inch, until the base is flush against her swollen lips.

"F-FUCK!" Jihyo's nails scrape against the vanity, her reflection flushing as the vibrations ripple through her. "O-oh God—!"

I grin, twisting my fingers deeper into her ass, scissoring her open as the vibrator thrums inside her cunt. The overlapping sensations have her squirming, her thighs trembling as pleasure and overwhelm battle for dominance.

"That's it," I croon, my free hand gripping her hip hard enough to bruise. "Take it like the filthy little slut you are."

Jihyo whimpers, her head dropping forward. "M-more—please—!"

I oblige, adding a third finger to her ass, stretching her even wider as the vibrator fucks her pussy in relentless pulses. The sounds are disgusting—wet squelches, the slick slap of skin on skin, her broken moans echoing off the mirrors.

"Look at yourself," I said, forcing her to meet her own gaze in the mirror. "See how wrecked you are?."

Her pupils are blown, her lips parted around ragged gasps as she watches herself get devoured.

"Y-yours," she chokes out, her hips grinding back against me. "Always—ah~!— yours!"

The moment Jihyo gives the command to fuck her now, my body moves on instinct. I rise from kneeling behind her, my hands gripping the supple swell of her asscheeks, spreading her wide to admire the intoxicating sight—her lubed, fluttering rim, the vibrator buzzing obscenely in her pussy just below, her thighs glistening with sweat and arousal.

I coat my cock with the remaining lube in my palm, mysing slightly at the sensitivity from my earlier release. But the moment the thick head of my length presses against her tight entrance, all discomfort fades.

"F-fuck—Y/N—!" Jihyo chokes out as I push in, her back arching like a bowstring, her fingers scrambling for purchase on the vanity.

I groan, my forehead dropping between her shoulder blades as her ass clenches around me, the heat unbearable, the pressure perfect.

"God, Jihyo—" My voice is ragged, reverent. "You feel unreal."

She lets out a shaky laugh, her muscles fluttering as I bottom out, my hips flush against her ass. "Nnn—f-full—"

I give her a moment to adjust—just a moment—before pulling back and thrusting in again. The rhythm is slow at first, deliberate, each snap of my hips making the vibrator shift inside her pussy, the dual sensations drawing broken whimpers from her lips.

Then—

A knock at the door.

"Jihyo-ssi?" TWICE's manager calls, his voice muffled but clear enough through the soundproofing. "Are you okay in there? I thought I heard—"

Jihyo's breath hitches, her entire body locking up around me.

For a heartbeat, time stops.

Then—

"I-I'm fine, Manager-nim!" she calls back, her voice remarkably steady despite the way her ass spasms around my cock. "Just—ah!—just practicing... vocalizations for TTT tomorrow! We have a singing game, no?"

Holy shit.

My hands tighten on her hips, my thrusts stuttering at the sheer audacity of her.

She grins at me in the mirror, her eyes dark with challenge.

Keep going.

Her lips shape the words silently, her hips rolling back against me in emphasis.

I obey.

"Y-yeah," she continues, her voice only slightly strained as I begin fucking her in earnest, my cock splitting her ass open with every deep stroke. "The—nngh~!—the concept is really fun, so I got... carried away."

The manager chuckles outside, unaware. "Always so dedicated. How time do you need for the girls to be ready tomorrow?"

Jihyo's fingers dig into the vanity, her knuckles white as my pace quickens, the slap of skin on skin growing louder.

"Hah—early," she manages, her voice dripping with faux professionalism. "We should—oh!—start makeup by 8 AM. The lighting—f-fuck—the lighting is best then."

I can't help the whimper that escapes me, my hands sliding up her sweat-slick back to brace her.

"You're insane," I breathe against her skin, my voice barely audible.

She preens, her ass clenching around me. "And you love it."

"God, I do," I groan, my thrusts turning filthier, deeper, my cock pressing against the vibrator through the thin wall separating her holes. "You’re perfect."

Jihyo shudders, her next words to the manager coming out in a rush. "C-call time is 7:30 AM! Sharp! Ah!—I mean—please."

A pause. Then—

"...Right," the manager says slowly. "You sure you’re okay? Your voice sounds... strained."

Jihyo’s jaw tightens, her thighs trembling as I hit just the right spot, my cock grinding against her prostate with every stroke.

"I’m—hah—great," she grits out, her nails scraping the wood. "Just—ngh!—passionate about the shoot!"

Another pause. Then—

"Okay… Well, don’t overdo it," the manager says, footsteps retreating. "See you tomorrow."

The second the footsteps fade, Jihyo collapses forward, her chest heaving.

"Fuck," she pants, her voice wrecked. "That was—ah!—so hot."

I laugh, breathless, my pace never slowing. "You’re a menace."

She grins over her shoulder, her cheeks flushed, her lips swollen. "And you’re mine."

The moment Jihyo reaches between her thighs and pulls the vibrator free, a lewd schlick fills the dressing room as her juices drip onto the floor. The toy buzzes in her hand, slick with her arousal, before she drops it onto the vanity with a wet clatter.

”F-focus on me now,” she gasps, her voice trembling as my cock continues to pound into her ass, each thrust burying me to the hilt. ”No distractions.”

I groan, my hands tightening on her hips. ”Couldn’t think of anything but you.”

And it’s the truth.

Her ass is like fire around me—tight, velvet heat squeezing my cock with every snap of my hips. The obscene slap of skin on skin echoes in the small space, punctuated by Jihyo’s ragged breaths.

She’s close.

I can feel it—the way her muscles flutter, the way her fingers claw at the vanity’s edge as pleasure coils tighter and tighter inside her.

”Y/N—!” she whimpers, her back arching. ”I’m—ah!—I’m gonna—!”

Then, with a choked cry, she shatters.

Her orgasm hits like a tidal wave—her walls clamping around me as her body jerks, her thighs trembling violently. A rush of liquid spills from her pussy, splattering onto the floor in a filthy, unrestrained squirt, her juices dripping down her legs as she whines through the pleasure.

”G-god, look at you,” I rasp, my thrusts turning slower, deeper, savoring the way she pulses around me. ”So perfect like this.”

Jihyo mewls, her head dropping forward, her hair sticking to her flushed skin. ”Nnn—more—!”

But I’m not done.

Not even close.

”Tell me what you need,” I murmur, my cock throbbing inside her, my own release creeping up my spine.

She whimpers, her nails digging into the wood. ”F-fuck me harder—please—!”

I don’t hesitate.

My grip on her hips turns bruising as I ram into her, my pace turning vicious, my cock pistoning into her ass with unforgiving strokes.

”Like this?” I growl, my blunt nails leaving crescent marks on her skin.

”Y-yes—fuck—!”

Jihyo’s entire body shakes, her fingers scrambling for purchase before she grabs her bag from the table and bites down on the leather strap, muffling her screams as I destroy her.

The sound alone is filthy—her choked moans, the wet slap of flesh, the way her ass gapes around me with every withdrawal.

I could cum now.

Should cum now.

But I don’t.

Not until she tells me to.

”Y/N—!” she sobs, her voice breaking. ”I—I n-need it—please—!”

And that’s when I lose control.

My hips stutter, my cock pulsing inside her as I bury myself to the hilt, my release exploding deep in her ass.

Rope after rope of cum floods her, my vision whiting out as pleasure wrecks me, my body convulsing against hers.

Jihyo gasps, her own climax crashing over her again as she milks me through it, her walls fluttering desperately around my cock.

When it’s over, we both collapse—her onto the vanity, me against her back—our breaths ragged, our bodies drenched in sweat and cum.

For a long moment, silence stretches between us.

Then—

Jihyo laughs, breathless, her voice wrecked.

”...We destroyed the floor.”

The moment my cock slips free from her ass, Jihyo hisses, her body swaying slightly as thick ropes of my cum drip down her thighs. She turns sharply, her dark eyes narrowing—but the flush on her cheeks and the way her lips twitch betray her faux annoyance.

"Look what you did," she groans, limping slightly as she steps toward me. Her voice is still honey-thick with pleasure, despite the scolding tone. "I have a performance in two hours, and now I’m gonna feel you every time I move on stage."

I grin, reaching for her before she collapses onto my lap, her back pressing against my chest. The warmth of her skin bleeds into mine, her body curling into me like she belongs there—because she does.

"Mm, I know," I murmur, pressing a kiss to her shoulder. "But you asked for it."

She pinches my thigh, her head tilting back to glare at me. "I asked for a little fun—not for you to ruin me so hard I limp!"

I chuckle, wrapping my arms around her waist as she grumbles, shifting slightly before deliberately arching her back. Then—God help me—she reaches behind herself, spreading her asscheeks apart to reveal the swollen, gaping rim still glistening with my cum.

"See?" she huffs, wiggling slightly. "It’s your fault."

My breath catches.

Even wrecked, even used, she’s stunning—her body a canvas of my devotion, marked inside and out.

"I love you," I say, the words slipping out before I can stop them.

Jihyo freezes.

Then—

Her expression softens, her fingers loosening their grip on her flesh as she turns her face toward mine. "...I know," she whispers, her lips brushing my jaw. "That’s why I let you do stupid shit like this."

I laugh, my hands smoothing up her thighs, kneading the tender muscle there. "Need me to clean you up?"

She hums, settling more firmly against me. "In a minute."

For a long while, we just sit like that—her weight grounding me, my heartbeat steady against her back. The dressing room is a mess—lube bottles tipped over, her discarded shorts crumpled near the door, the scent of sex thick in the air—but none of that matters.

Not when she’s like this.

Soft.

Mine.

Eventually, she sighs, nudging my arm. "Okay, now you can clean me up."

I grin, reaching for the towel on the couch. "Yes, Leader-nim."

She snorts, leaning into my touch as I gently wipe away the evidence of our sins—her thighs, her ass, the ache between them—before pressing another kiss to the nape of her neck.

"You're impossible," she murmurs, but there's no heat in it.

"And you love me for it," I tease.

Jihyo turns, her fingers threading through my hair as she drags me into a real kiss—slow, deep, promising.

"...Yeah," she breathes against my lips. "I do."

Time stretches like honey between us—thick, slow, sweet.

Jihyo’s weight is warm against my chest, her breathing steady as I trace idle patterns over her hip. The dressing room is still a mess—towels strewn about, the faint scent of sex lingering in the air—but none of it matters. Not when she’s curled into me like this, her fingers lazily threading through mine.

"We should get dressed," she murmurs, though she makes no move to pull away.

I hum, pressing a kiss to the crown of her head. "Yeah. You’ve got a show to win."

She groans, tilting her face up to glare at me. "Don’t remind me."

I laugh, but I don’t argue.

Instead, I help her up, my hands lingering on her waist as she steadies herself. Her legs are still shaky, her thighs glistening with the remnants of our earlier activities, but she’s glowing—her skin flushed, her lips swollen, her eyes alive with satisfaction.

"Lucky your clothes survived," I tease, grabbing my discarded t-shirt and jeans.

Jihyo rolls her eyes, but there’s no real annoyance in it. "Lucky you didn’t rip them this time."

I grin, pulling my shirt over my head before turning my attention to her.

She stands there, unashamed, letting me look my fill—her body a masterpiece of soft curves and sharp edges, marked only by the faint red imprints of my fingers on her hips.

I reach for the damp towel first, gently wiping away the last traces of cum from her thighs, her stomach, the ache between her legs. She shivers under my touch but doesn’t pull away, her breath hitching when my thumb brushes just too close to her oversensitive clit.

"Y/N," she warns, but it’s half-hearted.

"Just making sure you’re clean," I murmur, pressing a kiss to her hipbone before straightening.

She scoffs but doesn’t argue.

Next, the clothes.

Her backup panties—black lace this time, always prepared—slide up her legs with ease, the fabric snug against her still-throbbing core. I take my time adjusting them, my fingers tracing the waistband before I reach for her bra.

"Arms up," I instruct, and she obeys, letting me fasten the clasp behind her back.

It’s domestic, almost routine—the way I help her into her stage outfit, smoothing out the fabric, adjusting the straps, making sure everything is perfect.

Because it has to be.

She’s TWICE’s leader first.

Mine second.

But when I step back to admire my handiwork, she looks flawless—her makeup retouched, her hair tousled just enough to look intentional, her clothes hiding every trace of what we’ve done.

Professional.

Untouchable.

Mine.

"You’re staring," she says, her voice softer now. But that teasing up-lift of her betrayed her amusement.

I don’t deny it. "Can’t help it."

Jihyo smiles, stepping closer until her palms rest against my chest. "I have to go."

"I know."

But neither of us moves.

Not until she surges forward, her lips crashing into mine with a fierceness that steals my breath.

This kiss isn’t gentle.

It’s claiming.

Possessive.

Her tongue licks into my mouth, her teeth nipping at my lower lip, her fingers tightening in my shirt like she’s memorizing the feel of me.

And I let her.

I let her take—because she owns me, body and soul.

When she finally pulls away, her breath is ragged, her eyes dark with promises.

"Tonight," she murmurs, her thumb brushing my bottom lip. "Bathroom. Don’t dare fall asleep before I get home."

I grin, catching her wrist to press a kiss to her pulse. "Wouldn’t dream of it."

She smirks, stepping back—TWICE’s leader again, untouchable—before turning toward the door.

"Oh, and Y/N?" she calls over her shoulder, pausing just long enough to throw me a look. "Wear the cuffs."

Then she’s gone, the door clicking shut behind her.

And I’m left standing there, my heart pounding, my skin still burning from her touch.

God, I love this woman of mine

(A/N: This is one of my favourite outfit of Hyo 🦄✨💝)

[aeth-eris]

★ masks as the rising signs & the hidden self as the 12th house ★

★ aries rising | 12th house in pisces ★ — mask: the warrior | hidden self: the dreamer drowning in emotions

aries rising moves like they’re late to battle. their handshake is firm, their gaze sharp, their posture always forward-leaning. they don’t just walk—they charge. their presence is fiery, demanding attention, as if they’re constantly proving they can handle anything. they laugh loudly, speak quickly, and move like they have somewhere better to be. their energy screams unstoppable.

but beneath the armor, pisces sits in the 12th house—a hidden self that is soft, uncertain, and deeply emotional. when alone, they stare at ceilings for hours, letting their thoughts drift into nostalgic daydreams. they listen to music that makes them ache. they’re terrified of looking weak, so they wear confidence like a shield. they put on the mask because if they don’t, the world might see how easily they drown in their own emotions. so, they keep moving, never letting anyone catch them standing still.

★ taurus rising | 12th house in aries ★ — mask: the unshakable rock | hidden self: the restless fighter

taurus rising moves deliberately, never rushed. their voice is measured, their words chosen carefully. they make eye contact without blinking, nod thoughtfully, and exude stability. they rarely fidget. they’re the person you lean on, the one who never seems to panic. they dress neatly, prefer routines, and always seem composed—like nothing shakes them.

but deep inside, aries in the 12th house wants to run. their hidden self is restless, impulsive, and constantly fighting the urge to burn everything down. in secret, they crave chaos, adventure, and destruction—but they suppress it. they hold their composure because they fear losing control. when they do explode, it’s sudden, shocking, loud. they put on the mask because they believe if they give in to their impulses, they’ll ruin everything they’ve built. but the more they suppress it, the more the fire inside them rages.

★ gemini rising | 12th house in taurus ★ — mask: the social butterfly | hidden self: the exhausted comfort-seeker

gemini rising moves like static electricity—talking fast, gesturing constantly, scanning the room for something interesting. they’re quick-witted, always ready with a joke, a story, a distraction. they adapt to any situation, blending into whatever social setting they land in. their laughter is infectious, their energy light, their presence never dull. they make life look effortless.

but in their 12th house, taurus lingers—slow, heavy, aching for stillness. when no one is looking, they collapse. they seek out sensory comforts—food, warmth, soft textures, things that don’t demand anything from them. they don’t admit how much they hate change, how exhausting it is to be constantly on. they put on the mask because if they slowed down, if they stopped performing, they might have to feel everything they’ve been avoiding. and feeling means facing the fact that deep down, they just want to rest.

★ cancer rising | 12th house in gemini ★ — mask: the nurturer | hidden self: the overthinker drowning in doubts

cancer rising moves with gentleness. their voice is soft, their touch light, their energy warm. they lean in when they listen, nodding as if they already understand. they make people feel safe, loved, seen. they give the kind of hugs that linger a second longer than expected. they look like they just know what you need, like they can feel everything.

but their 12th house is gemini—chaotic, overanalyzing, never quiet. their hidden self is a restless mind that won’t shut up, questioning every emotion they express. they replay conversations at night, dissecting what they said, how they said it, wondering if they should have said something else. they put on the mask because they don’t want people to see how much they doubt themselves. they fear that if others knew how unsure they really are, no one would trust them to be their safe space anymore.

★ leo rising | 12th house in cancer ★ — mask: the star | hidden self: the wounded child

leo rising owns the room. their posture is impeccable, their presence loud even when they’re silent. they walk like they know people are watching. their voice is confident, their smile magnetic, their energy warm and commanding. they make life look grand, dramatic, effortless—like they were born to shine.

but deep inside, cancer lingers in the 12th—a fragile, nostalgic, deeply emotional self they don’t show to anyone. when alone, they sit in dimly lit rooms, revisiting childhood wounds they pretend don’t exist. they crave comfort, familiarity, a home—but admitting that would make them feel small. they put on the mask because they hate feeling vulnerable. they fear that if people knew how much they need love, they wouldn’t be admired anymore. so they shine, they perform, and they never let anyone see the part of them that still aches to be held.

★ virgo rising | 12th house in leo ★ — mask: the perfectionist | hidden self: the performer

virgo rising moves carefully. their posture is straight, their movements precise, their expressions controlled. they speak in measured tones, never rushing, always aware of how they come across. they look competent, analytical, put-together. people assume they have everything figured out because they never let their guard down.

but their hidden self is desperate to be seen. leo in the 12th house craves recognition, attention, praise. when no one is around, they imagine standing in the spotlight, finally being noticed—not for their work, but for who they are. they put on the mask because admitting they want attention feels embarrassing, like a flaw. they act humble, downplay their needs, pretend they don’t care. but inside? they ache for applause. they secretly wish someone would tell them, you don’t have to be perfect to deserve love.

★ libra rising | 12th house in virgo ★ — mask: the charmer | hidden self: the self-critic drowning in expectations

libra rising moves gracefully, their body language open, their presence light, their smile perfectly timed. they speak in soft, diplomatic tones, never raising their voice, always keeping the atmosphere pleasant. they make sure everyone feels good, adapting effortlessly to whatever the social situation requires. their aesthetic is curated, their words thoughtful, their energy magnetic. they seem effortless, balanced, unbothered.

but deep in their 12th house, virgo lingers—whispering criticisms, analyzing every mistake, demanding more. their hidden self is never satisfied, always dissecting every interaction, every choice, every flaw. when alone, their mind turns against them, nitpicking details no one else even notices. they put on the mask because they fear that if people saw how insecure they really are, they’d lose the admiration they’ve worked so hard to earn. they maintain the illusion of perfection because deep down, they never feel good enough.

★ scorpio rising | 12th house in libra ★ — mask: the enigma | hidden self: the people-pleaser who fears rejection

scorpio rising moves with deliberation, their presence magnetic, their energy intense. they don’t say much at first, but when they do, their words land. their gaze is piercing, their body language controlled, as if they already know what everyone in the room is thinking. people assume they’re fearless, powerful, impossible to shake. they exude an aura of mystery, of someone who doesn’t need anyone.

but beneath the mask, libra in the 12th aches for connection. their hidden self is desperate to be liked, accepted, loved without conditions. they secretly care what people think, even though they pretend otherwise. they put on the mask because they hate feeling vulnerable. they test people’s loyalty not out of cruelty, but because they fear rejection so deeply, they’d rather push people away first than risk being left behind. they act like they don’t need love, but they crave it more than anything.

★ sagittarius rising | 12th house in scorpio ★ — mask: the free spirit | hidden self: the brooding obsessive

sagittarius rising moves big—big gestures, big laughs, big energy. they enter a room like they own it, carrying themselves with an infectious, carefree confidence. they joke, they flirt, they shift the mood effortlessly. they’re the ones who always have a crazy story, always moving, never staying in one place for too long. they make life seem like an endless adventure, as if nothing ever really gets to them.

but in their 12th house, scorpio lurks—deep, brooding, obsessive. their hidden self is intense, holding onto pain longer than they let on. while they act like they move on easily, they don’t. they replay betrayals, hold onto grudges, and secretly long for control. they put on the mask because they fear their own darkness. they run from it, avoid stillness, fill their lives with noise—because if they stop moving, the emotions they suppress might finally catch up to them.

★ capricorn rising | 12th house in sagittarius ★ — mask: the authority | hidden self: the runaway who wants to escape

capricorn rising moves with purpose. they stand tall, their energy serious, their demeanor composed. they walk like they have somewhere important to be, their presence demanding respect without needing to ask for it. they seem like they never get distracted, like they always have a plan, a goal, a strategy. they don’t waste time. they’re disciplined, hardworking, and in control.

but their hidden self? wants to run. sagittarius in the 12th is restless, aching for freedom, craving escape. deep down, they long to disappear, to abandon the weight of responsibility, to live without deadlines, expectations, or pressure. but they don’t. they can’t. they put on the mask because they believe they have to be the strong one, the one who holds everything together. they secretly fantasize about leaving it all behind, but they never do—because duty, in their mind, always comes before desire.

★ aquarius rising | 12th house in capricorn ★ — mask: the rebel | hidden self: the traditionalist afraid of failure

aquarius rising moves unpredictably. their energy is different, their presence unique. they don’t follow trends—they set them. their words are unconventional, their opinions strong. they challenge authority, break molds, question everything. people see them as independent, forward-thinking, impossible to box in. they walk into a room like they’re above the nonsense, unbothered by the expectations of others.

but in the shadows, capricorn rules their 12th house—structured, fearful of failure, secretly longing for approval. deep down, they want stability, respect, success. they judge themselves harshly, setting impossible standards they pretend don’t exist. they put on the mask because admitting they care about recognition, about legacy, feels like betraying their identity. they act detached, but in reality, they’re terrified of not measuring up. they rebel because they fear conformity, but deep down, they wonder if they’ll ever truly belong anywhere.

★ pisces rising | 12th house in aquarius ★ — mask: the empath | hidden self: the detached observer who never feels real

pisces rising moves softly. their energy is fluid, almost ethereal, like they’re not fully here. their voice is gentle, their touch light. they listen with their whole being, absorbing emotions like a sponge. they seem open, intuitive, deeply connected to the world. people feel safe with them, like they’re being seen in a way they never have before. their presence is healing, dreamlike, otherworldly.

but in their 12th house, aquarius disconnects. their hidden self watches life from a distance, intellectualizing emotions instead of feeling them. while they seem deeply in tune with others, they often feel like an outsider in their own life. they put on the mask because if they admitted how detached they truly feel, no one would trust them as the gentle, empathetic soul they’re known to be. they float between connection and isolation, never fully belonging in either.

★ book a reading ★ ★ masterlist 1 ★ ★ masterlist 2 ★

[enhard]

park sunghoon — “code red”

let it fall, call it code red

: you send your boyfriend some risky photos, knowing he’s about to perform in front of thousands. the punishment you’ll get is well deserved.

pairing: bf!p.sh x fem!reader

cw: smut, unprotected sex, creampie, mentions about multiple rounds, sunghoon using your body for his own pleasure, he ties up your hands, degrading kink, hair pulling, slight masturbating, sending explicit photos and texts, lots of teasing.

not proofread, enjoy! (MDNI)

it’s been an hour ever since you kissed your boyfriend goodbye, wishing him luck at his upcoming concert. an hour ever since you couldn’t stop thinking about him, closing your eyes just to imagine him being right there between your legs.

you’re laying down on your bed, the need to touch him sinking you in the mattress. you sit up to look into the mirror that’s by the bed, deciding to tease him a bit.

you know that he’s with his members right now, having to perform any second.

you keep looking at your body in the mirror, lifting your undershirt just enough to show your abdomen. you take off your shorts, leaving yourself in your panties.

biting your lip, you open your camera app. you lay back down in your bed to take a few pics from the neck down. your boobs sit so nicely for the picture, almost like knowing you’re taking them for your love.

after you take some pics, even a short video for you holding your phone up with your right hand while running your left hand all over your body. you slightly smile and the camera picks it up perfectly for him.

you squeeze your thighs together, starting to grind on your own panties while thinking about him again.

you quickly open up the texting app, seeing that he was active 2 minutes ago. “perfect” you mumble to yourself, letting out small sounds as you’re squeezing your thighs tighter.

you send him a little text first, to see if he’d reply in the first place.

hey baby are you still backstage?

heyy my love yeah im still here, they’re delaying the concert a few minutes lol. what’s up?

oh if he knew right there.

mm i’m glad then, i miss you alreadyyy 😓

🫣 what do you mean by that darling?

and then you just go for it. you smile as you send him one photo of the ones you took, along with that short video. the blinding red led light hovering over your skin.

as soon as he sees the photos, he covers his phone screen to not leak it to anybody by accident.

he gulps, examining every part of your body visible. oh how he wishes he could throw kisses all over your pretty body. he hates what you’re doing to him but oh how much he loves how hot you look for him.

he can feel his bulge getting harder with each passing second staring at the material you sent him, looking down and cursing under his breath.

he immediately texts you back, struggling already.

you fucking slut, you got me hard already how am i supposed to perform now?

you smile even harder at his text, travelling your hand down to your panties just to rub yourself. you want him inside you badly, but teasing him is equally as fun.

letm help u get rid of it go smwhere whereno one can see u ;)

i don’t have time, if i get caught you’re so dead whore. i’m coming home right after this but why are you typing so weird all of a sudden?

ifs hard typingwuth one hand love 😜

oh you have no idea what you’re doing to me right now. when did i let you touch yourself? you’ll see what will happen when i get home. you better be all ready cause you’re not going down easy.

you don’t get to even text back, cause you get another few ones from him.

fuck i need to perform now

you’re getting punished when i get home

ill fuck you so good you’ll need me all the time from now on

you better not cum until i get home

you close your eyes, replaying his texts in your mind on repeat as you rub your panties faster. you keep his promise on not cumming, figuring you already pissed him off enough already.

your nipples get hard from the cold air coming from the open window. you get such heat in your stomach you can’t tame, only way you can tame it now is by letting sunghoon do whatever he wants to you.

you wonder the whole time how he performed with a boner but he did quite well, hiding it as well as he could. of course all he could think about was you.. those photos you sent floating in his mind on loop.

he forgot a few lyrics here and there being too preoccupied remembering the curves on your body he loved so much. how he was going to trace his fingers over every bump and curve on it.

feels like hours passed since his concert started, but the concert’s duration was only an hour, way shorter than the usual concerts he holds.

when they were done performing, backstage he quickly changed his clothes and took his things to run home. he didn’t even care enough to greet his members, all he wanted was you.

when you hear the front door open, you almost squeal out of excitement. you fix up your hair a bit, covering yourself with the blanket on your bed.

he drops all his things just to burst through the bedroom.

he eyes you up and down, his gaze changing suddenly when he sees you.

he walks over to you, already talking his jacket off.

“let me give you what you want love, you deserve it.” he growls, dragging you out of bed. your body gets exposed to him like this, and he can’t help but run his hands all over you. he picks you up just to squeeze you between him and the wall. you feel his hard cock against your panties as he’s smirking.

you grab onto the collar of his shirt, whining at him. “pleaseee fuck me already. i was a good girl, i didn’t cum yet.” you feel proud of yourself, and he gives you a kiss for that.

“you are a good girl, but not good enough for me not to punish you. know that right?” you nod. but you don’t mind. you wrap your arms around his neck, hoping for the best.

he throws you back onto the bed, getting on top of you. he doesn’t hesitate taking off his shirt while smiling at you. he leans in for another kiss before running his hands up your undershirt to cup your breasts. he plays with them, tugging on your nipples and pinching your skin. you know how much he loves them, and you love when he plays with them. then he just takes off your undershirt, wanting to see them in their glory.

you try reaching to touch his abs, but he quickly takes off his belt to tie your hands above your head with it. you look at him while pouting but he doesn’t buy any of it.

“no pouting and no touching slut, this is what you get. next time watch what you do.” you nod, looking down.

as he’s about to take your panties off, he notices how wet you are, scoffing.

“talk about me being hard, look at you slut. you’re so wet just for me.. that’s how i love it.” he chuckles, sliding them off you too easily.

he parts your legs, rubbing your pussy a bit before inserting his fingers inside you.

you instantly moan, bouncing up and down trying to move around on his fingers.

he slaps your pussy, making you stop. “did i tell you to do that? oh you’re getting on my nerves whore. sit still before i have to tie you up whole.”

you gulp, apologising in a sweet voice. “im sorry.. daddy.” he clicks his tongue. “that’s better. keep your legs open for me.” he takes his fingers out of you, leaving such emptiness within you.

he takes off his pants and boxers in one move.

he’s way too needy to waste time right now, but he’s down to teasing you any time.

he starts fisting his cock, right with you watching with your legs open. he gives himself deep strokes, groaning a bit with each one. you’re sitting there craving his cock too bad to be cutting with this right now. you start doing what you’re best at, whining.

“what are you doing… please fuck me alreadyyyy i feel way better than your hand pleaseee..” you’re pathetic whining and begging like that, but it does the job in convincing him.

without saying a word, he shoves it all inside you. he doesn’t give you any time to adjust, making you scream out of frustration.

“you stretched yourself enough with your fingers thinking about me, be quiet before i make you keep your mouth closed.”

you try keeping quiet as he’s thrusting into you at whatever pace he wants, moaning every few thrusts. the heat in your stomach gets more and more unbearable, you let out small noises and he’s fine with that.

“you’re such.. a slut..begging me.. to fuck you.. you’re all mine.” you nod frantically.

“..i’m all yours… only yours.. fuck daddy pleaseee..”

he picks his pace up upon hearing the new nickname you chose again, pulling at your hair little by little.

you clench around him as you’re about to cum and he keeps your legs wide open, grabbing them harder. “let me.. make you cum pretty girl..”

and you do just that, you furrow your eyebrows as you cum all over him. all over his abs and the covers.

he hisses as you’re cumming, enjoying your quiet moans.

he leans in to rest his head in the crook of your neck, fucking into you even faster than before.

you wrap your legs around him, expecting for him to cum soon.

you’re right, and without saying a word he’s convinced you’re letting him cum inside you.

he thrusts into you a few more times before letting out a moan as he’s cumming in you filling you up.

you roll your eyes back, enjoying the feeling too badly.

after a bit he sits up, making you sit on his lap. your arms still tied, you give him a kiss.

“i’ll use you the whole night you whore, you’ll regret sending those pictures.” he says in a low voice.

you’re willing to let him use you, this was your reasoning on why those photos exist. you want him to use you, knowing that you give him more pleasure than anyone could.

you just smile, knowing your plan worked.

“use me up, cum inside me just how you love it. until you stop seeing red.”

[coldfanbou]

Kinkcember Day 22: Size Kink

Today, we have actress Park Bo young, getting some extra practice with how her character acts.

Length 1.2K

Park Bo Young X Mreader

Boyoung felt your bulge rub against her as the two of you acted through the sex scene.  Even though you were both wearing modesty garments to protect yourself, she felt your cock through it; she could feel your size. It was making her wet as she felt your strong hands hold her wrists by her head. She wasn’t acting. Boyoung was getting turned on. Her soft moans were real. You kissed her passionately. Boyoung wrapped her legs around your waist, and her tongue lingered in your mouth as you played your part. The moment the director said cut, you pulled back; Boyoung reached forward, wanting to continue before she caught herself and realized the scene was over. “Everyone, we’re taking an hour break. Thank you for your hard work!” The director yells before climbing out of his chair and leaving the sound stage. Some of the stagehands begin cleaning up as you grab bathrobes for you and Boyoung. The young woman puts the bathrobe on and remains seated on the bed as you walk to your dressing room.

Boyoung takes a deep breath and tries to slow her heart rate as the last scene replays in her head. The work she had done with you previously didn’t set her up well for this scene. While she had always liked you, she saw a new side of you that she loved. The strength you showed when you held her down, the way you dominated her with your size, awakened something in her. She stood up slowly and went to your dressing room, wanting to continue the scene but actually performing the act this time.

You head to your dressing room after, trying to relax, when you get a knock on the door. “Who is it?”

“It’s Boyoung!” You walk over to the door and invite your costar inside. “Thanks for letting me in. What do you think about our scenes so far?” She asks, you sitting on your couch.

“I think they’re coming out pretty well. This last one, though… it's a little awkward, isn’t it?” You reply, feeling unsure about your performance in a sex scene.

“No, no! You’re doing great; I could feel everything,” Boyoung curses herself as she realizes what she’s said. “That’s not what I meant, hold on. I just mean that I could feel you putting everything you have into your performance.”

“Ah, that’s what you meant. I was a little worried you could feel me through the modesty garments.” You look down. The modesty garments covered your private areas, but wearing them didn’t give you the most confidence, especially considering your size. “These things are a bit thin, and it makes me a little self-conscious.”

“Ah, you shouldn’t be; you’re perfectly fine,” Boyoung says, patting your chest. “You’re nice and strong in more ways than one. Boyoung purses her lips, considering how to bring up the subject. “I don’t know if you know, but I like to get into my roles. So I’d like to take things a little further.”

“How do you suggest we do that?”

“I want you to fuck me,” Boyoung says bluntly. Throwing caution to the wind, she continues, “I could feel your…cock rubbing against me, and I want to know more about how she would actually react. I need you for this,” Boyoung admits, dropping her robe and removing the modesty garments, bearing her body to you. She steps closer to you, her small hands taking off your modesty garments before reaching for your cock. Her hand can barely wrap around it. Boyoung gulps, mesmerized by your cock; her hand slowly moves from the base to the tip. She brings her other hand to your cock, rubbing the tip against her palm as she squats down. Boyoung was getting excited just holding your cock. “May I?”

You give the small woman a nod; being next to her in the last scene turned you on, and you wanted to fuck her. “Yeah, let’s get more into our roles.” Boyoung squats down, coming face to face with your cock. She gives it a few licks, her small tongue running along the underside before she begins to jerk you off. Boyoung used both hands, amazed at your size. She was getting wetter just thinking about you using it on her. Her mouth barely fit the head of your cock; her lips hollowed as she sucked on it, her tongue licking it like it was a lollipop. Knowing she wouldn’t be able to get it down her throat, Boyoung spit on your cock and spread it around your shaft with her hands, pleasing you as she mentally prepared herself. “I think you’re ready,” She says quietly, 

You picked the small woman up easily, holding onto and squeezing her thighs. You align yourself with her entrance and lower her onto your cock. Boyoung squirms in your arms as her walls wrap around your cock. She groans and whimpers as your cock stretches her small cunt, separating her walls and splitting her in two. You move her along your shaft, slowly taking in more of it until you’re buried inside her. Boyoung bites her lip; she can feel your cock stretching her; her fantasies are being fulfilled as you use her like a toy, moving her along your cock. She clings to you, moaning into your ear about how good it feels to have you inside her. 

“You’re so tight,” you grunt in response, reveling in how her walls flex around your cock as you drive it into her. If Boyoung hadn’t been clinging to you before, she would have needed to know that you moved faster. You were getting into a good rhythm, making her bounce on your cock. The older woman moaned your name and begged you for a kiss. You gave in to her demands; your tongue traced her lips until she allowed you inside. You explored each other's mouths. Boyoung moans in the kiss, arching her back as you thrust deeper into her. You make her shiver as you run your hand down her spine; she moans louder, every touch making her entire body tingle. 

“Oh, fuck, you’re so big. I’m going to cum,” She whines, her walls tightening around you. “I want you to cum inside me. I don’t care what happens. Just fill me up.” Boyoung presses her body against your chest, her moans growing louder as she bounces on your cock. 

Nearing your climax, you hold onto Boyoung’s waist tightly, forcing her up and down your shaft as you thrust into her, crushing her womb. “Oh shit! Yes! Fuck me!” Boyoung cries as you use her more like a toy. Her tongue begins to hang out of her mouth. The woman before you was a far sight from the coworker you know, but it only turns you on more. You continue to fuck Boyoung senseless, pistoning in and out of her until you bury yourself inside her suddenly. You cum rushes inside the small woman, painting her walls white before filling her cunt. You rest Boyoung on your cock, letting her recover from her orgasm. You move over to the couch, setting her down on it before pulling out. “Thank you,” Boyoung mumbles, placing her hand against her cunt and collecting your cum; she sucks on her fingers, a look of lust on her face as she tastes the salty liquid.

A knock on your door alerts the two of you. “We’re going to start filming again! Let’s get going!” One of the staff yells from outside. Boyoung looks at you, worried about her disheveled appearance, but quickly gets dressed and puts on her modesty garments and a bathrobe before walking out. You take an extra minute to clean yourself up before walking out, ready to film more scenes with Boyoung. Any scene that involved the two of you making love would be followed by the actual thing in your dressing room.

[vanesycho]

kinktober day 15 [car sex]

|masterlist|

warning:smut, p in v, unprotected sex, riding

wc:1,1k

You watched Joshua as he finished his performance and came backstage. When the other members came in, you congratulated them all one by one, but your mind was still on your boyfriend. Normally, you had the chance to see his stage so closely many times, but today was different, more than usual...hot? His mood change during the performance, his serious facial expression, the way he licked his lips...It made you shiver.

As soon as Joshua noticed you backstage, a smile appeared on his face, he approached you and pulled you by the waist and hugged you tightly. "Was I good?" he whispered in your ear, you smiled, when you pulled back, you whispered the same against his lips "You were better than good...God, I had a hard time not jumping on the stage." he let out a chuckle, approached you and kissed you on the lips "I'm glad you liked it, my love." he held your waist tightly and squeezed it lightly and soon left the room to change.

Now you were in the car to go back home, he hadn’t missed the fact that you occasionally glanced at him and examined his side profile, he held himself back from laughing “I can’t focus on the road if you look at me like that, babe.” You turned to the front with embarrassment, you had unknowingly examined him too much but you couldn’t help it. The images of the scene that had come to your mind were constantly replaying. Joshua glanced at you briefly and then turned back to the road “What are you thinking? Tell me." He stopped at a red light, turned his full attention to you, he realized that you were avoiding answering, put his hand on your leg, you swallowed when his thumb started to caress your skin “Yeah?” Knowing that there was nowhere to run, you just gave in “I was just…I was thinking about how good you looked on stage. I mean, I already know you looked good but- today..You were so hot.” Joshua threw his head back and laughed. He didn’t know he had this effect on you but he honestly liked knowing it, he leaned in close and placed a small kiss on your neck “I like knowing you see me like this.” His deep voice made you shiver, he pulled back as if nothing had happened and continued on his way with the green light on. A slight smile appeared on Joshua’s face as he continued on his way, turning the car into a deserted alleyway, you frowned upon noticing this. “Are we taking a different route?” Joshua pulled over without answering and turned off the lights. Only the moonlight illuminated the interior of the car in the backstreet where not even the streetlights worked properly. He turned to you, gently placed his hand on your cheek, his other hand went back to your leg and squeezed it lightly. “If you look this affected after every performance..” he whispered, his eyes shifting from your eyes to your lips, he let out a breath, leaning in closer but not kissing you yet, just letting your lips brush against each other. “...We should have some fun off stage to celebrate this, right? Don’t you think your boyfriend is doing a good job? I think you should reward him.” Even before his lips had made contact with yours, he was driving you crazy, his thumb caressed your cheek, the slight smile on his face didn’t leave. “What kind of reward?” he hummed, pretending to think for a moment, then pulled back and unlocked the car door. “Get in the backseat.”

That was all he said and soon you found yourself in his lap in the backseat. Joshua leaned his head back and watched you while you continued to rub yourself against him. You moaned as his swollen cock made contact with your pussy, he tightened his grip on your waist "Shua.. Please, I want you.." you spoke needily, Joshua leaned closer and started to kiss your neck "I know darling, don't worry I'll make you feel good." You felt his cock inside you in no time, a loud moan filled the car. Your hips slowly moved down, trying to take it all in "Too m-much.." He grabbed your hips and made you sit on top of him, kissed your lips to quiet your voice, his tongue roaming around in your mouth as he waited for you to get used to it. He pulled back with a loud kiss "Are you okay?" he whispered against your lips, you nodded "Good. Now I need you to move those beautiful hips of yours darling."

You did as he said, your hips started to move on his hard cock, Joshua threw his head back in pleasure, his mouth taking in slightly spaced breaths, your pussy clenching around him and he loved the feeling so much, "You're so good baby- oh fuck you're gonna make me come early." You held onto his shoulders tightly, his hand not hesitating to roam all over your body. He looked at you, brushed your hair behind your ear and exposed your face, even though he couldn't see much in the dark, he knew exactly how good you looked riding him and that was a sight for him to see. His hand slowly moved from your neck to your breast, squeezing it gently, lingering on your nipples for a while. He pulled you by the waist and made you come closer to him. You felt his tongue on your nipple, he ran the tip of his tongue around it, sucking on your breast while his other hand worked on your other breast. He lightly bit your erect nipple, smiling when he heard your tiny whimper.

Your hip movements started to speed up after a while, Joshua's occasional whimpers and the sounds of your bodies merging drove you even wilder. You let out a whimpering sound as his cock hits your pleasure point, his hands returning to your hips and supporting you. He helped you move on him easily. The pleasure grew inside you, Joshua knew he was close too, your pussy clenching around him making him moan deeply. He smiled to himself and threw his head back again. “Ah- you always feel so good- and tight..I- fuck, I’m so close.” He swallowed hard, watching his twitching Adam’s apple, making you wet your lips. You couldn’t hold back any longer as each stroke brought new pleasure, you came in no time, your juices flowing down his cock, you pulled back and soon Joshua’s juices were flowing down his belly. He looked at you tiredly and let you rest on his chest before moving on. He kissed the top of your head. “I think you should reward me like this after every concert.”

[thanosspills]

Save That Shit

nothin' like them other motherfuckers i can make you rich

⛧°。 ⋆༺♱༻⋆。 °⛧ fem reader x thanos/choi su-bong/player 230, messy lil headcannons

takes place after the games! NSFW

warnings: drugs, sexual content

Se-mi invited you to Club Pentagon to watch a new friend she met in the games perform.

She warns you that he's a bit of an idiot and a maniac, but that doesn't stop his charms from working on you.

"Whose this?" Thanos asks Se-mi as soon as he hops off stage, eyes locked on you. He smiles, a dark, mischievous grin plastered on his face.

"Senõrita, come sit." Thanos is sat at the bar, holding two shots. He pats on his thigh, calling you to his lap.

His fingers slowly ride up your thigh as the two of you get to know each other. It was like that grin of his was permanent, his eyes never broke contact with yours.

"Senõrita" He spoke softly in your ear, "Let's get out of here."

After that night, you and Thanos were always together.

With the chunk of money he won from the games Thanos was able to rebuild his rapping career.

He invested in a new studio and upped his production, bringing in "hella bag" as he would say.

Now that eyes are on Thanos again, you have eyes on you as well. You're a trophy to him, like the chains around his neck.

Of course, he loves you and cares about you, but he can't help but think you're the "ultimate flex".

Thanos has influenced your taste to be a lot more upscale.

You and Thanos are only seen in designer. Designer drugs, designer clothes, jewelry, the two of you were "ballers" according to Thanos.

You make it hard for him to concentrate on making music.

You can't help yourself when you notice how good he looks staring at the screen, replaying the beat he made.

You make it a point to kiss his jaw, his neck, running your hands farther down Thanos's chest. He grabs your hand, "Don't, baby I have to finish this."

After you promise to be good, he lets you sit in his lap as he continues to focus on the music.

He's not focused for long, though. You just can't help but rub and grind on his thigh. He locks eyes with you before hungrily pulling you into a kiss.

Next thing you know, you're bent over in the recording room, face pressed against the glass as Thanos grips your hips, ramming into you.

Thanos's favorite colorful pills are always attached to him, locked safely inside his oversized cross necklace. Every time he takes one, you're offered one.

He loves placing the colorful pill on his tongue before grabbing your neck and kissing you, transferring the pill into your mouth.

If he's in a rush and pounding you from behind, he'll grab the pill then greedily shove his fingers into your mouth.

Sometimes Thanos will randomly grab his cross chain and place it over your head onto your neck. It sounds silly, but that's a big display of affection and trust from him.

He loves shopping with you. He's always whistling at you and hyping you up when you try things on.

He'll grab random pieces of clothes and jewelry and say, "You'd look so sexy in this."

Although he's rich and famous now, Thanos's manners haven't gotten any better. He'll recklessly grab expensive things in the store and try them on, put them in random places, overall the man does not care.

When you guys party/club together he never leaves your side.

His arm is always around you. As the night progresses and Thanos gets more fucked up he'll shamelessly run his hands up and down your body.

He'll grope your ass, sides, hips, anywhere he wants in front of whoever is around.

Thanos notices the way his sleazy rapper friends look at you, but he really doesn't give a fuck.

He knows you're too good for him but he doesn't feel insecure about it. Duh, he's the legend Thanos.

[fanfictionismyaddiction]

Hi, could you please write about how Lando finds out that the reader really likes cats, and how he tries to come to terms with it (remember that video where he says that if a person doesn't like dogs but also likes cats it's a red flag).

A Pawful Revelation

Word count: 922

Pairing: Lando Norris x reader

________________________________________________________

It started innocently enough. You and Lando were scrolling through your phones one lazy afternoon, each sprawled on opposite ends of his massive couch. The only sound in the room was the faint hum of a race replay on the TV and the occasional flick of your nails on the glass screen.

Lando suddenly perked up, his attention snagged by an adorable video of a Golden Retriever puppy wagging its tail enthusiastically.

“Look at this little guy!” he exclaimed, shoving his phone toward you.

You glanced up from your screen, smiling. “Aww, he’s cute,” you said, but you didn’t look as enthusiastic as Lando clearly wanted you to be. He frowned slightly but didn’t press it.

A moment later, you bit your lip to suppress a smile as you scrolled further down your own feed.

“Why are you grinning like that?” Lando asked, craning his neck to look at your phone.

“Oh, no reason,” you said, too quickly.

“Let me see.”

Before you could stop him, Lando snatched your phone and squinted at the screen. His face twisted into a mixture of amusement and betrayal as he saw the source of your delight: a compilation of cats knocking objects off tables with utter disdain.

“Cats?” he asked, his tone laced with disbelief.

“What about them?” you asked innocently, snatching your phone back.

“You… like cats?” he asked, narrowing his eyes like you’d just told him you secretly supported his rival team.

“Of course I do,” you replied, laughing. “They’re hilarious and cute!”

Lando leaned back on the couch, folding his arms as he stared at you, processing this revelation. “Wait, wait. You mean like, really like cats?”

You nodded. “Yeah, they’re amazing. So independent, so sassy. I’ve always loved them.”

He groaned, running a hand through his messy curls. “You’re telling me you’re a cat person?”

“Why do you say it like I just confessed to a crime?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Because it’s a red flag!” Lando said, throwing his hands up dramatically.

You laughed so hard you nearly dropped your phone. “Oh, come on, Lando. Are you seriously judging me for liking cats? You like dogs; I like cats. It’s not that deep.”

“But it is!” he insisted, leaning toward you, his tone half-joking but with a hint of genuine worry. “Dogs are loyal, happy, and full of love. Cats are… evil. They scratch you for no reason and knock your stuff over just to annoy you!”

You rolled your eyes. “Cats are misunderstood. They’re affectionate, but on their own terms. They’re like the cool kids of the pet world.”

Lando shook his head, still looking troubled. “I don’t know if I can trust someone who prefers cats over dogs.”

“Oh, please,” you said, giving him a playful shove. “You’re being ridiculous. Besides, I didn’t say I don’t like dogs. I just like cats more.”

“That’s worse!” he exclaimed, pretending to clutch his chest.

You laughed again, but you could tell he was genuinely grappling with this newfound information about you.

Over the next few days, Lando seemed determined to convince you that dogs were superior. He sent you countless videos of puppies doing adorable things, from catching Frisbees to snuggling with their owners. He even tried to recruit his fans into the debate by posting a poll on Instagram: Cats or Dogs?

Despite his efforts, your love for cats remained unwavering. In fact, you doubled down, texting him memes of cats in silly hats and videos of them performing acrobatics.

One day, he showed up at your apartment with a smug grin and a small gift bag.

“What’s this?” you asked, taking the bag from him.

“Just a little something to change your mind,” he said, flopping onto your couch with an air of confidence.

Inside the bag was a pair of socks covered in cartoon dogs and a plush Golden Retriever toy.

“Really, Lando?” you said, holding up the socks.

“What? I’m trying to save you from a life of bad decisions,” he said, grinning.

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help smiling. “You’re ridiculous.”

The real test came a week later when you convinced Lando to visit a cat café with you. He was reluctant at first, muttering about how he’d probably leave covered in scratches. But when he saw how excited you were, he couldn’t say no.

As soon as you entered, a fluffy gray cat sauntered over to you, meowing softly. Your face lit up as you crouched down to pet it.

Lando watched from a distance, arms crossed, trying to look unimpressed. But then a tiny orange kitten climbed onto his lap, purring loudly.

“Uh, what do I do?” he asked, looking slightly panicked.

“Just pet him,” you said, smiling.

Hesitantly, Lando stroked the kitten’s soft fur. The kitten responded by curling up and falling asleep on his lap.

For a moment, Lando looked conflicted, but then a small smile crept onto his face.

“See?” you said, sitting beside him. “Cats aren’t so bad.”

“Yeah, well,” he muttered, trying to hide his grin. “This one’s alright, I guess.”

By the time you left the café, Lando had a newfound appreciation for cats. While he still insisted that dogs were better, he grudgingly admitted that cats weren’t the villains he’d made them out to be.

And as you walked back to the car, he slipped his hand into yours and said, “Okay, fine. Maybe I can tolerate your cat obsession. But only because it’s you.”

[liuhsng]

─────⋆˚࿔ ⋆ eyes on me ( lhs ! ) — part 1

✩ˎˊ˗ enhypen masterlist

⤷ pairing — heeseung x fem!reader

⤷ part 1 | part 2 ⤷ word count — 13.7k ⤷ based on this and this by my lovely anons ⤷ permanent taglist — open !

⤷ a/n — as promised, here it is, i fear this might be one of my best works yet… and definitely the longest. part 2? i’m already writing it as we speak. the last fight between heeseung and the reader was heavily inspired by moonstruck (iykyk), and i really poured so much into this one. enjoy reading, loves—i hope it hits all the right places in your heart 🤍

⤷ warnings — idol au, idol!heeseung, dancer!reader, slowburn, enemies to lovers trope-ish, emotionally awkward heeseung, emotionally constipated reader, cold!reader, loser!heeseung, whipped!heeseung, heeseung’s down bad, reader does not care that he’s famous, miscommunication (so much miscommunication), hurt/comfort undertones, fluff (eventually), heavy angst

✩ˎˊ˗ summary — as a rising dance prodigy, you're no stranger to idols—you’ve trained with them, performed behind them, and watched some fall from grace when the spotlight turned harsh. so when you’re cast as one of the dancers for enhypen’s newest comeback, you already know what to expect: long nights, hard work, and an idol or two trying to get in your pants. lee heeseung, you decide, is exactly that kind. smiles too easily. stares too long. he sees you once and falls all at once—messy, quiet, and stupidly soft. or, where you think he’s everything you should avoid, and he thinks you’re everything he’ll never deserve—but still wants anyway.

You were panting, chest heaving, sweat trailing down your temple as you leaned against the mirror—fingertips grazing the cold glass to keep your balance.

The song you’d been replaying for nearly an hour echoed faintly from the speaker still running in the corner of the room, but you’d long tuned it out. The only thing you could really hear now was your heartbeat and the silence that always came after giving everything.

It wasn’t even your scheduled session.

Not really.

With Le Sserafim on pause before their next comeback and your calendar suspiciously clear, you found yourself gravitating to HYBE’s third practice room on the fifth floor.

Same old lights. Same scuffed flooring. Same drawer in the corner where you kept your charger and your lip balm—your unofficial locker in a room that wasn’t really yours but somehow felt like home.

You pushed off the mirror with a sigh and padded across the studio, footsteps soft against the wooden floor as you reached the familiar drawer.

Your phone sat inside, screen lighting up with two messages from Yunjin and one chaotic selfie of Chaewon in the groupchat you never muted.

yunjin [8:00 P.M.]: tell me why i just heard you’re at the building practicing again, girl sleep

chaewon [8:00 P.M.]: we miss you bitch come downstairs after ur possessed dance session

You cracked a grin despite yourself.

Being under HYBE was never the dream—but dancing was. Always had been. And when Le Sserafim debuted and you got scouted as part of the core backup team, something clicked.

Not just because the girls welcomed you like you’d grown up with them—dinners after rehearsals, borrowed hoodies, inside jokes—but because for the first time, your work felt like it belonged to something bigger.

“Should’ve debuted,” people often said. “You’ve got the talent. The look. The stage presence.”

Maybe you did.

But the contracts? The rules? The never-ending line of expectations and media training and image polishing?

You loved the spotlight, not the cage it came with.

So you danced. You lived. You stayed free.

Grabbing your phone, you wiped the back of your hand across your brow, tying your hair back into a loose bun and tossing your water bottle from one hand to the other as you headed toward the center of the room again. Just one more run-through. You weren’t tired—you were wired.

You tapped the playlist again.

Until—the door clicks open.

You pause mid-step, halfway through a turn.

Your brows furrow, already annoyed. This room was empty for a reason—booked by staff, reserved for registered dancers. If someone forgot to check the schedule again, you were not in the mood.

But then the door swings fully open, and Lee Heeseung walks in.

Baseball cap, all black sweats, and a water bottle tucked under his arm like he owns the place.

You recognize him immediately, not because you follow ENHYPEN—god, no—but because you’ve seen him around enough. Stage rehearsals. Passing glances in the hallway. One of HYBE’s golden boys.

The second he steps inside and hears the track echoing through the speakers, he freezes.

Eyes wide. Shoulders stiff. Like someone just pressed pause on his whole system. His gaze slowly scans the room—until it lands on you.

And for a second, he looks like a deer caught in headlights.

You glare instinctively. “This room’s booked.”

“Oh,” he says, like he’s only now realizing you’re real and not part of some fever dream. His voice is soft, almost breathless—like you startled him more than you should’ve.

He doesn’t move.

You shift your weight onto one hip, fixing your posture as you cross your arms over your chest. His eyes follow every movement, slow and wide-eyed, like he’s trying to memorize the moment. Your brow arches higher.

“…Are you lost?” you ask coolly, tone laced with dry amusement. “Or are you just staring for fun?”

Heeseung blinks again, visibly short-circuiting. “What? No—I mean—uh, sorry. I didn’t know anyone was still using the room.”

You roll your eyes, unimpressed, turning your back to him as you stride toward the speaker setup. Your phone’s still tucked into the little drawer beside it. You tap the screen to shut the music off mid-chorus, and the room falls into a painfully loud silence.

From behind you, his voice comes again—hesitant, awkward. “You were… practicing, right?”

You shoot him a look over your shoulder. “No shit.”

He flinches slightly—not from offense, but from the sheer tone. Like he’s never been spoken to like that in his life. Like no one’s ever looked at him like that—like he was in the way.

His lips part, stunned. You watch his mouth open, close, open again like he’s buffering.

You sigh. “Do you need something?”

“I just—uh. I have practice. After this. With the group. Here.”

You stare at him flatly. “…Congrats.”

Your phone finally detangles from the charger and you tug it free, slinging your towel across the back of your neck as you gather your things without urgency. You don’t rush, but every move says this conversation is over.

Heeseung doesn’t move out of your way.

He just stands there, eyes tracing the motion of your hands as you zip your bag shut.

His gaze follows your every motion, like your movements are a routine he can’t quite catch the rhythm to. There’s something almost boyish in the way he stands—hands at his sides, weight shifting between his feet, unsure if he’s allowed to speak again.

You don’t give him the satisfaction of eye contact.

You feel his stare burning into your back, heavy and annoyingly curious, as if he’s trying to figure you out like a puzzle someone dared him to solve. But you’ve played this game before. With idols who smile too easily. With eyes that linger too long.

You toss your bag over your shoulder, grip your phone in one hand, and walk past him without a glance.

The scent of his cologne barely reaches you—a subtle, clean warmth—but you ignore it like you ignore everything else about him.

Heeseung turns slightly as you brush by, part of him wanting to say something—anything. Maybe an apology. Maybe a compliment.

But you’re already out the door.

And behind you, Lee Heeseung stands frozen in the center of the practice room, watching the space you left behind like he’s never been dismissed that fast in his life.

The steam from your ramen curled lazily into the air, untouched and slowly going cold as you sat hunched over the dining table, poking at the noodles with your chopsticks.

The soft chatter of your friends buzzed from your phone, propped up on a half-empty water bottle in the center of the table.

Yunjin was in her usual spot on her bed, animatedly talking with her hands as she ranted about the upcoming concept, while Chaewon nodded along beside her, munching on what looked like a rice cracker.

“…and if they make us do that choreography again, I swear to god I’m filing a complaint,” Yunjin groaned dramatically, falling backwards onto the mattress. “My knees weren’t made for this. I’m an idol, not a gymnast.”

“You’re just mad you have to wear those boots again,” Chaewon snickered.

Yunjin gasped, pointing at the screen. “Don’t expose me like that!”

You didn’t respond.

You barely even blinked—chin resting in one hand, the other absentmindedly swirling your chopsticks through the broth.

You weren't even listening, really. Your mind was still in that practice room, rewinding and replaying something you refused to admit got under your skin.

“…Hello?” Yunjin’s voice cut through your fog. “Earth to (Y/N)?”

Nothing.

“(Y/N),” she called again, louder this time, leaning closer to the camera. “Are you even with us right now?”

You blinked and finally looked up. “Huh? Oh—sorry. Sorry, I wasn’t—yeah.”

Chaewon tilted her head. “You okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

You shook your head quickly, lips pressing into a thin line. “No, it’s nothing. Just… tired, I guess.”

Yunjin raised a perfectly sculpted brow, not buying it for a second. “That didn’t sound convincing at all. Spill.”

You sighed and dropped your chopsticks, leaning back in your chair. “It’s not even a big deal.”

“That’s what people say right before they drop the good shit,” Yunjin said, crossing her arms.

Chaewon chimed in, “Come on. You’re never like this.”

You hesitated, then finally muttered under your breath, “…I just—bumped into someone earlier.”

Yunjin perked up. “Who?”

You sighed, scrunching your nose as if the memory physically pained you. “That deer-looking member from ENHYPEN.”

Chaewon immediately burst out laughing, nearly dropping her snack. “You mean Heeseung-sunbaenim?”

Yunjin’s eyes lit up like a fire had been lit under her. “Wait—Lee Heeseung? That Heeseung??”

You groaned, dragging your palm down your face. “I didn’t even do anything. He just… walked in. Stared at me. Looked like he forgot how doors work. And then tried to talk like he wasn’t mentally glitching the whole time.”

Chaewon snorted. “That’s so specific.”

“I thought he was gonna pass out when I asked if he was lost,” you muttered, slumping forward dramatically. “Why do idols act like no one’s ever spoken to them like a normal person?”

Yunjin snorted. “Because they’re so used to everybody praising them and giving fake smiles. One real sentence and they malfunction.”

You laughed, dry and amused. “Amen to that.”

Chaewon, who’d gone quiet for a moment, suddenly spoke up. “Well… I mean, Heeseung-sunbaenim’s pretty notorious around here.”

You blinked. “What do you mean by ‘notorious’?”

Yunjin clicked her tongue and shot Chaewon a look. “Unnie.”

Chaewon just shrugged with a guilty smile, like she realized a little too late that she opened a door you were definitely going to walk through.

You narrowed your eyes. “What did she mean by that?”

Chaewon held her hands up innocently. “Nothing! I mean—I just meant… well, it’s really not my story to tell.”

You stared at her flatly. “You already started the story, might as well finish it.”

She sighed dramatically and leaned in closer to the camera, as if anyone was around to overhear. “Okay, fine. But lower your expectations—it’s just… you know how it is in the building. People talk.”

You nodded once, wordlessly. She took that as her cue.

“Well,” she began slowly, her voice dropping a little, “he’s kind of… known to be a—I don’t know—player, I guess?”

Yunjin shifted uncomfortably but didn’t interrupt this time.

“There was this whole thing a while back,” Chaewon continued, eyes flicking down like she didn’t want to make it a big deal. “Rumors said he used to date one of the backup dancers from a different group. And, um… it didn’t end well.”

Your expression didn’t change, but your fingers stilled against your water bottle.

“Didn’t end well?” you echoed.

Chaewon bit her lip. “Word is he ghosted her after a few weeks. Left her totally heartbroken. Like—treated her like she never existed.”

You raised a brow. You weren’t one to believe in gossip, but… these weren’t just random trainees or building buzz.

These were your girls. They never lied to you. Never exaggerated unless it was for comedic effect. And they weren’t even speaking with drama in their voices—just quiet caution.

Yunjin finally sighed and folded her arms. “Look, we’re not saying he’s evil or anything. But just… be careful, okay?”

“Careful?” you scoffed. “Yunjin, I threatened his life with a single look. I think I’m good.”

“Still,” she said, chin propped on her hand. “Guys like that? They love a challenge.”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t argue. You hated that they might be right. Hated more that part of you had noticed the way he looked at you—like you were choreography he couldn’t quite learn but desperately wanted to.

Chaewon tilted her head. “So… are you gonna see him again?”

You blinked. “God, I hope not.”

You reached for your water again, swirling the bottle absentmindedly. “I mean—I just bumped into him. Literally. Once. So yeah, I hope not. Let’s leave it at that.”

Yunjin leaned in closer on camera, resting her chin in her palm. “Well… you’re contracted to us. Technically. So unless Heeseung-sunbaenim suddenly joins Le Sserafim, I think you’ll be safe.”

You snorted. “Right? If he pops up in our choreography, I’m quitting.”

“Bold of you to assume he wouldn’t volunteer for that,” Chaewon said under her breath.

You groaned, dragging your hand down your face. “Okay, can we not do this? He was barely in the room for five minutes and he was already glitching like I punched him with my eyes.”

Yunjin gave you a look. “You kind of did.”

You rolled your eyes, slumping back in your chair. “Whatever. It’s not like I’m ever gonna see him again. I’ve got enough going on.”

Yunjin tilted her head knowingly. “You’re only this defensive when something’s getting to you.”

“Getting to me?” you scoffed. “I’ve dealt with idols before. He’s not special.”

“Mm-hm,” Chaewon hummed, clearly not believing you.

“I’m serious,” you insisted. “He’s not even my type.”

You weren’t exactly sure how you ended up in this situation.

One minute you were running choreography drills for Chaewon’s solo part, and the next, you were seated stiffly in a cold conference room across the HYBE annex building, sipping on watered-down coffee like your future wasn’t being casually decided in front of you.

You sat silently as two managers—one from Le Sserafim’s team and one from ENHYPEN’s—talked over each other across the glossy table, voices overlapping in between manila folders and open schedules.

“We’re short one female dancer,” ENHYPEN’s manager said, flipping through pages.

“It’s a center piece too. A lot of exposure. We need someone who can hold their own without relying on the main members to carry the dynamic.”

“She’s perfect for it,” your manager added without hesitation. “She already has chemistry with the camera, she’s sharp, precise—and she’s worked alongside the girls long enough to adapt fast. She’s ready.”

They kept talking like you weren’t even there.

Your elbow was propped up against the table, chin resting on your hand as you tuned them out somewhere between “urgent casting call” and “we’ll handle the paperwork.”

All you could think about was this:

You were about to work with hormonal male idols. For a solid month.

And one of them just so happened to be the infamous deer-eyed flirt you had the misfortune of meeting barely 24 hours ago.

You’d heard the rumors. You weren’t new to this industry. You just never thought you’d be getting paid to be around them.

But god, the paycheck.

ENHYPEN wasn’t just big—they were everywhere. If you signed on, it would double your rate. Triple it, even. And it’d look good on your record. So good.

You sighed, finally tuning back in to the sound of your own name.

Both managers had turned to look at you, expectantly.

You blinked, eyes flitting between the two of them. Their faces were hopeful. It wasn’t like you had a million options.

You mumbled, “Yeah… I’ll do it.”

Cheers erupted immediately. The ENHYPEN manager clapped his hands together, standing to shake yours. “Knew you’d say yes. Great call—seriously. You’re saving us.”

You gave him a tight, polite smile, shaking both their hands with the enthusiasm of someone who just signed a deal with the devil. You adjusted your blouse, brushing invisible wrinkles from your skirt as your manager smiled at you.

“You can go now,” she said warmly. “We’ll finalize the transfer.”

You bowed slightly. “Thanks.”

As the door clicked open, your shoes echoed lightly against the tiled hallway floor—and you stopped short.

There they were.

Seven heads turned the moment you stepped out. ENHYPEN, all seated against the wall outside the conference room like they’d been waiting for their turn—or your decision.

You didn’t even let your gaze linger long enough to tell. You simply dipped your head in a short bow and kept walking, barely glancing their way.

But you felt it.

The same eyes from last night locked on your back again like a magnet—quiet, unblinking, and far too curious for your comfort. You pretended not to notice, walking right past like he was part of the wallpaper.

As soon as the door swung closed behind you, the hallway fell into silence.

Jake leaned over, nudging Heeseung with an elbow.

“Hey,” he said casually. “What was that?”

Heeseung blinked like he was just coming out of a daze. “Huh? Sorry—yeah. What?”

Jake raised a brow. “You good?”

Heeseung cleared his throat and looked down at his hands. “Yeah. Just tired.”

Jake didn’t believe it for a second, but he let it slide, leaning back against the wall with a small smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Right. Tired.”

Heeseung only smiled in return—soft, distracted—and fiddled with the rings on his fingers as if his thoughts were too loud to sit still.

His thumb brushed over the silver band on his index like it could help him, but it didn’t help much. Not when his mind was still stuck on you.

The manager’s voice called out, sharp and professional, “ENHYPEN, let’s go. We’re starting the prep meeting.”

Heeseung stood, brushing imaginary lint off his jeans before quietly following the others into the room—head down, heart louder than it should be.

You, on the other hand, were on the verge of a very quiet breakdown.

Your steps echoed through the hallway of the HYBE building as you made your way toward Le Sserafim’s practice room. You pushed the door open a little too fast, and the moment it swung wide, five sets of eyes snapped toward you like you’d triggered some kind of alarm.

“Whoa,” Yunjin blinked. “You good?”

You ran a hand through your hair and didn’t answer. Instead, you walked straight past the mirror and started pacing near the center of the room, your brows furrowed in thought.

Kazuha stood up first, moving toward you with a gentle hand reaching for your arm. “Unnie… are you okay?”

You blinked down at her, lips parted, and then forced a tired smile as you licked your lips and sighed. “Yeah, I’m fine. It’s just—I have another schedule right after this stage, so…”

The girls exchanged glances, the air shifting with curiosity.

“What do you mean?” Eunchae asked, already scooting closer beside you on the floor like she was preparing for a full story.

Kazuha guided you to sit in the middle with them, and you gave in, sinking onto the practice mat as you exhaled again, hands resting on your thighs.

“I was offered something,” you said slowly.

Chaewon’s eyes narrowed slightly, protective by nature. “Offered what?”

You looked at her, then glanced down. “I was hired… for ENHYPEN’s upcoming comeback.”

A chorus of squeals and gasps broke out instantly.

“Unnie, what?!”

“No way—”

“That’s huge!”

“You’re gonna be in the center??”

Sakura clapped her hands together. “Isn’t that a great thing? That’s such a big opportunity!”

You gave her a pout. “Unnie, won’t you miss me?”

She laughed, crawling over to drape her arm across your shoulder. “Of course I will! But that doesn’t mean I’m not proud.”

“You’re gonna kill it,” Yunjin said, pointing at you with certainty.

“I mean, we’re still in the same building,” Eunchae added with a small giggle. “It’s not like you’re moving countries.”

You groaned, throwing your head back dramatically as you let your hands fall into your lap. “Yeah, but I’m gonna be working with Heeseung.”

Sakura blinked. “Is that… such a bad thing?”

You didn’t respond. You didn’t need to.

You just slowly turned your head and sent a pointed look toward Chaewon, one brow raised like a silent accusation.

Sakura’s eyes widened instantly. “Wait—you told her?”

Chaewon raised both hands in mild defense. “Okay, well—she bumped into him last night! Practically had him shaking in his boots. What was I supposed to do, not say anything?”

Yunjin leaned back on her palms, letting out a low sigh. “To be fair, it’s just a rumor. About Heeseung-sunbaenim, I mean. No one really knows what happened with that backup dancer. It could’ve been blown out of proportion.”

Sakura sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose like she was the only adult in a room full of unhinged daughters. “Still… Heeseung-sunbaenim? That’s not exactly the kind of name I like hearing next to yours.”

You exhaled loudly, falling back onto the wooden floor with a light thud. “What am I even gonna do?”

“You’ll survive,” Chaewon said, grinning down at you as she leaned forward on her knees. “You hate male idols. So I’m guessing you’re safe.”

You gave her a flat look from where you were sprawled out. “I do.”

Yunjin shrugged. “She really does.”

“I mean,” you went on, dragging your hand over your face lazily, “they’re loud. They reek of fabric softener and expensive cologne. And most of them only train hard when a camera’s on.”

“Damn,” Eunchae muttered with a small laugh.

“And they all flirt like it’s their job,” you added for good measure, removing your hand off your face and staring at the ceiling. “Which, I guess… it kind of is.”

Chaewon raised a hand in mock prayer. “May the gods protect Heeseung-sunbaenim.”

You sat up slowly, shoulders sagging. “I mean, it won’t be that bad. Right?”

Kazuha patted your back gently. “That’s the spirit.”

“Exactly,” you nodded. “I’ve worked with guys before. I can be civil. Just gotta stay professional.”

But beneath all the teasing, all the nervous tension, and the semi-unfounded panic, you were trying your best not to wonder what working beside him would really be like.

Because no matter how much you insisted otherwise—the look in his eyes—the way he’d stared at you like you were some kind of glitch in his system.

You remembered it a little too well.

You sat cross-legged on the polished floor of the massive HYBE practice room, surrounded by six other girls—all dancers like you, all chatting quietly as they stretched, refilled water bottles, or scrolled through their phones between warmups. Despite only meeting earlier this week, you already liked them.

Maybe it was the familiarity in movement. Maybe it was the shared exhaustion.

Or maybe it was the way everyone kind of understood how tiring it was being in the shadows of the spotlight without actually resenting it.

You leaned back on your palms, listening to one of the girls, complain about her past contract. “I used to be assigned to TXT for their last few comebacks,” she sighed, brushing her bangs out of her eyes.

“But with ENHYPEN blowing up like this? I couldn’t even breathe during rehearsals.”

Another dancer, laughed. “Girl, be serious—it’s not even TXT’s fault. You just like sleeping.”

The group chuckled and you smiled, nodding along. “No, I get what she means though. These kinds of projects get intense. One delay and everything collapses.”

“Exactly,” One of them said, holding up a triumphant finger. “See? She gets it.”

Even one of the choreographers nearby, who was mid-conversation with another coach across the mirrors, looked over and grinned. “She couldn’t survive another world tour. This is her redemption arc.”

That earned more laughs from the dancers, and the room softened with warmth again.

Then a new voice piped up from your right. “So, (Y/N), who did you used to work with?”

You glanced over. Another dancer, tilted her head curiously. “Like… which group?”

You shrugged, casually stretching your arms. “Ah—I was with Le Sserafim.”

Immediately, someone gasped. “Wait, really? Is it true they’re super kind? Like, off-cam too?”

You smiled automatically, fondness slipping into your voice before you could filter it. “Yeah. They’re honestly the sweetest. Super hardworking. It was… fun working with them. Like, really fun.”

“Aww,” someone said, and another sighed dreamily. “See, I knew they were angels.”

You laughed under your breath, tucking your hair behind your ear—just in time for the door to swing open with a solid click.

The entire room paused.

And in walked the seven boys you were assigned to work with for the next four weeks.

The same boys you’d passed in the hallway. The same ones from all the stages, the headlines, the insane fan energy. And the same group that just so happened to include him.

You stood automatically with the others, muscles tight from both habit and something else.

“Good morning!” their manager called behind them.

“Good morning!” the dancers and choreographers chorused back, all polite smiles and tiny bows.

The boys followed suit, each dipping into a respectful bow before scattering around the mirrored room—bags being dropped, jackets shrugged off, water bottles set down with practiced ease. You bowed too, forcing your body to stay neutral.

Your eyes found him immediately.

Lee Heeseung.

He moved like he belonged in the center of the room. Not because he demanded attention—but because his presence pulled it. Effortless, fluid, camera-ready even in joggers and a hoodie.

His hair was silver now.

Freshly dyed. Still glinting slightly under the overhead lights, strands catching the soft fluorescent white like moonlight turned solid.

He was scanning the room—just like you were—and the moment your gazes met, it was instant.

Sharp. Heavy. Lingering just one second too long.

You blinked.

So did he.

Then he quickly looked down, fumbling with the strap of his bag like it suddenly became a Rubik’s cube. You rolled your eyes to yourself and turned away, muttering under your breath as you took a step back toward the center.

“Well. This is gonna be great.”

You muttered it mostly to yourself as you adjusted the hem of your loose tee, tucking it into your joggers while quietly making your way to stand beside the other dancers near the wall.

The mirrors across the room stretched from end to end, reflecting the hum of quiet excitement as both groups began gathering in clusters.

And even from across the room, Heeseung’s ears burned. Because even if you weren’t looking anymore—he still was.

You stuck beside one of the girls you’d spoken with earlier, both of you choosing to hover just slightly farther from the others—close enough to listen, far enough to not be the center of attention.

Not yet, at least.

“Alright, let’s get started,” Jungwon’s voice rang out gently over the low murmurs, ever the natural leader. “Hyung, they’re all here.”

One of the choreographers clapped his hands together in the center of the mirrored room, stepping forward with a wide smile. “Perfect. Good morning, everyone!”

A chorus of polite greetings echoed back.

“We’re all here today to begin blocking for ENHYPEN’s upcoming comeback performance,” he continued. “Congratulations to the group, by the way—this one’s big.”

Everyone clapped.

The dancers. The choreographers. Even a few stylists and managers along the back wall clapped and grinned, nodding toward the boys with pride.

You clapped too. Briefly. Quietly. No emotion behind it—but polite enough.

“Let’s start with greetings,” the second choreographer said, motioning toward the group. “Boys first. Formalities matter, okay?”

With that, Jungwon took half a step forward, his signature dimple flashing as he smiled like it was second nature. “Okay, okay. One, two—connect!”

The rest of the group snapped in sync: “We are ENHYPEN!”

It earned a few amused reactions from the dancers around you—some cooing at the professionalism, others just watching with quiet admiration. They really were idols through and through.

“I’m Jungwon,” he said warmly. “I’ll do my best to keep up.”

“Jay,” came the next, a sharp bow and his eyes flickering briefly toward you and the other girls. “Thank you for working with us.”

“Jay,” came the next, a sharp bow and his eyes flickering briefly toward you and the other girls. “Thank you for working with us.”

“Sunghoon,” said the next, voice cool, expression unreadable.

Then came: “Sunoo! I’m looking forward to dancing with you all.” followed by his signature grin.

“Ni-ki,” the youngest nodded, already swaying slightly like he couldn’t stand still. “Please take care of me.”

“…Heeseung.”

You didn’t realize you’d turned slightly until your eyes locked on him—and once again, he was already looking.

Hard.

You could see the tightness in his jaw, the awkward twitch of his fingers as he bowed slightly, his voice just a pitch softer than the rest. “Nice to meet you.”

Heeseung’s eyes trailed after you long after the boys stepped back into line.

His ears were burning.

He couldn’t even pretend to look somewhere else. Not when you were standing like that—posture sharp, head high, exuding confidence like it was woven into your skin.

The way you carried yourself—like you already owned the room. And maybe, maybe that was what made him feel like he forgot how to stand.

“Your turn, girls,” one of the choreographers said, gesturing toward your side.

The girls began one by one. Bowing politely, offering soft greetings.

“Hi, I’m excited to be here.”

“Looking forward to working with everyone.”

“Hope we’ll all get along well.”

You stepped forward, just enough. Bowed once—sharp, respectful, effortless. When you lifted your head, your voice was even, steady.

“I’m (Y/N),” you said. “Please take care of me.”

Simple.

Straight to the point.

And Heeseung was gone.

He stared—eyes wide, lips parted ever so slightly. Your name hit him like it echoed, like it attached itself to his spine and rewrote his posture.

“(Y/N),” he mouthed, almost unconsciously.

His fingers moved without thought—tugging at the top of his ear where the skin felt like it was on fire. He rubbed the shell of it, trying to focus, to breathe, to not look like a complete idiot.

But it didn’t help.

Jay, standing next to him, leaned in just enough to whisper without breaking formation. “Dude.”

Heeseung blinked. “Huh?”

“You’re staring like you’ve never seen a girl before.”

“I’m not—”

Jay snickered, looking ahead again. “Your ears are literally red.”

Heeseung didn’t respond. Just kept fiddling with his earring, swallowing once. Twice.

Then, like even that felt too revealing, he let his hand drop to his side and instead started tugging at the sleeves of his oversized sweater. The cotton bunched in his fingers as he pulled them low—hiding his hands, letting the ends fall just enough to brush against his palms.

His gaze never found you again. Not directly.

He kept his eyes somewhere safe—like the mirrors. Or the floor. Or the vague corner of the room that wasn’t currently occupied by the girl who now had a name. A name that rolled around his head on loop like a song he couldn’t shake off.

You raised a brow at his odd behavior.

Heeseung wasn’t exactly subtle. It was like watching a deer try to pretend it wasn’t cornered.

Before you could dwell on it, one of the choreographers clapped their hands sharply, recentering everyone’s attention.

“Alright! Let’s jump in,” she said, spinning back toward the room’s center. “We’ll be starting with the title track first—‘Bite Me.’”

There were a few audible reactions to that.

Jake nodded, lips quirking.

Sunghoon crossed his arms, unreadable.

“Oh no,” he whined, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes. “Don’t tell me it’s another dark concept. I was made for cuteness!”

One of the other choreographers laughed. “You’ll survive, Sunoo.”

“Barely,” he muttered.

“We’re leaning heavy into the vampire theme,” the choreographer continued, pacing slowly as she spoke.

“Dark, dramatic, a little seductive. Think… elegant, but dangerous. Intense, but controlled. It’s a visual-heavy piece, so expression work is just as important as the movements.”

Another coach jumped in, voice sharper, more technical. “Blocking and formations will start today, but we’ll ease in. Dancers—you’ll be working close. Touching will be part of this. We’re not going cutesy here.”

You blinked, processing.

“Did she say seductive?” one of the girls whispered beside you, stifling a laugh.

You sighed, arms crossing as you tried not to react, eyes flicking briefly toward the group across the room.

Heeseung was still fiddling with his sleeves. Still avoiding your gaze. Still pretending to be very, very invested in the floor.

You exhaled slowly through your nose.

“This comeback’s all about energy,” the choreographer said firmly. “That tension between danger and desire. We want chemistry. We want heat. If it doesn’t feel electric, it’s not working.”

Fantastic, you thought dryly.

Someone from the staff behind you quietly passed out water bottles and printed choreo maps.

“Partners will be finalized in a few minutes,” the head coach added. “But today, we’re just learning formations. Take mental notes of who moves where—chemistry’s part of the selection process.”

You nearly flinched.

Because just the word partners sent something uneasy crawling up your spine.

You didn’t know if it was nerves or dread.

You exhaled slowly, reaching up to move your hair from your shoulders, pulling it back into a loose ponytail as if the movement would also push away the anxiety building in your chest.

“Alright,” Jungwon clapped his hands once, the sound clean and polite. “Let’s find space so we can stretch first. Coach said to keep it light for now.”

Around you, everyone shuffled into place.

The music started low, steady from the mounted speakers—an instrumental beat pulsing soft but cold, fitting the vampire concept too well.

You padded toward a space near one of the other dancers, taking your mark as your arms loosened at your sides. Out of the corner of your eye, you caught movement.

Jay and Heeseung stepped into the spot diagonally across from you.

A few feet away.

Just far enough to notice.

Silver hair. Pale under the lights. A tall frame you could not ignore if you tried—and you really, really tried.

Heeseung moved precisely, even when doing something as simple as a forward fold. Every stretch, every posture, even the subtle turn of his wrist as he reached upward, had the kind of practiced grace that only came from years of muscle memory.

And fine, maybe the way the hem of his sweater rose a little to reveal the curve of his waist was—not an eyesore.

He bent forward, long legs folding in near-perfect symmetry, and you hummed to yourself in thought as you copied the motion, fingertips brushing your sneakers as you leaned into the stretch.

You closed your eyes briefly.

He’s not ugly, your brain offered helpfully.

But it wasn’t about looks. Never was.

You didn’t trust the type. Not the idol charm. Not the carefully curated appeal. Not the ones who knew they were beautiful and acted like it was a favor to the world.

Still, you found yourself peeking again, through the fall of your lashes, just in time to see Heeseung adjust his sleeves and glance up—and this time, his eyes nearly caught yours.

You turned away before they could.

You reached upward on cue as Jungwon led the next stretch, voice light and encouraging from the center.

“Arms up,” he said, demonstrating. “Inhale, and—fold. Let’s warm up your legs and lower back.”

You followed the rhythm, letting your body fall back into instinct.

Jungwon’s voice carried steady through the room as he guided the group through the last stretch. “And exhale slowly—come back up.”

Everyone rose from their positions in a wave of motion, quiet exhalations filling the space like a shared breath.

The choreographers moved to the front again, clapping once to gather attention.

“Alright, now that everyone’s loosened up,” one began, “let’s talk a bit more about the concept before we get into teaching.”

You rolled your shoulders back, settling into a comfortable stance, arms crossed loosely as you listened—nodding every so often, even if most of it passed over your head like background noise.

“‘Bite Me,’” the head coach repeated. “We mentioned earlier—vampire concept, but we’re going deeper. Think power. Think seduction. There’s a desperation to the choreography, like you’re drawn to each other, pulled in and pushed away again.”

You blinked slowly.

“Now, before we assign partners,” another choreographer chimed in, “we’re going to teach the first part of the chorus. Just to see how the movement flows. Chemistry matters—and it’s easier to feel that when we see you do it alone a few times first.”

Alone.

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.

“Everyone, shift to formation, please,” the head choreographer instructed. “We’ll teach the base steps first, no pressure, no full-out yet.”

You moved into place with the other dancers, falling naturally into a slot near the right. The ENHYPEN boys were mirrored on the other side of the room—learning the same steps, taught by a different coach with half the mirrors angled toward them.

The music started again.

Slower this time. Stripped. Just beat and breath.

And then the first movements were demonstrated—an arch of the back, a turn on the heel, a downward drag of your hand down your neck and chest. A flick of the wrist. A step forward with intent.

You weren’t a stranger to dancing in close contact—but this was different. Every move screamed tension.

Everything about it screamed closeness, heat, the kind of near-touch that burned more than actual skin-on-skin.

Still—you adapted fast.

Even without a partner, your movements flowed smoothly. The twist of your body, the precise lines of your arms, the slight drop of your head when instructed to lean back with your neck exposed—

“Nice, (Y/N),” one of the choreographers called out, eyes sharp as she passed you. “Try leaning your head back just a bit more. Let it feel surrendered.”

You nodded quickly, making the adjustment as you repeated the movement again from the top. Fingers ghosting your collarbone, chin tilted higher this time, lips slightly parted with the breath it took to move like that.

You caught your own reflection in the mirror.

And for a moment, even you did a double take.

You hummed under your breath and went back to hitting the formation, silently wondering how the hell you were going to do this with actual physical contact involved.

And across the room, Lee Heeseung was spiraling.

He couldn’t look away.

Not really.

He tried—god, he really tried—but you were in his peripheral vision like gravity, like something pulling him in every time you moved with that sharp, fluid control.

There was no faltering in your rhythm. Every drag of your hand, every arch, every twist of your body—it was like your bones knew the beat before the music even dropped.

And it was doing things to him.

His jaw clenched. So did his hands, tightening into loose fists at his sides as the choreographer called out the next set of steps.

Heeseung had a half-mind to listen. The other half was firmly rooted in the sight of you dragging your palm over your throat with your eyes closed.

Jake, next to him, didn’t even look up as he sighed. “Stop acting like it’s the first time you’ve seen a girl besides your mom,” he muttered under his breath.

Heeseung whipped his head toward him with a scowl, voice low. “Shut up.”

Jake raised both hands in mock surrender. “I’m just saying. You’re being so obvious right now.”

Heeseung glared for another beat before turning back toward the mirror. He adjusted his footing, shook out his arms, and tried to fall into formation again—but it was impossible.

Because now the music was picking up, and the choreographer’s voice cut across the room sharply—

“Focus! Don’t just mark it—move like it means something.”

He bent his knees slightly, timed the flick of his hand to the beat. But then came the next count—hips sliding forward, one arm curling behind the neck as if gripping something—or someone.

And his eyes flicked to the other side of the room.

To the way your neck tilted back like surrender. The way your lips parted ever so slightly with the breath it took to dip into the move. The sheer ease of it.

He blinked.

His thoughts were so loud he nearly missed the cue to step again. He silently begged the universe to make it stop.

Or not.

He didn’t know what he wanted anymore—does he want to be paired with you or not?

Because, on one hand, if he was—he’d combust. On the spot. Sweaty palms. Shaky voice. Couldn’t make eye contact for days.

On the other hand—if he wasn’t, he might die anyway.

The thought made him exhale sharply through his nose, dragging a hand over his face as the song faded out and the choreographer’s voice came in again, too chipper for the tension in his bones.

“Alright,” they said. “I think we’re ready to try that with partners now.”

A collective groan passed through the room.

Everyone drifted from their positions, regrouping in the center of the studio. The casual chatter returned—water bottles uncapped, someone fixing a hair tie, another adjusting the waistband of their sweatpants.

“Actually,” the assistant choreographer interrupted, stepping forward, “line up by height first. Let’s just get a visual.”

Sunoo blinked. “Are we back in high school?”

You barely suppressed a laugh, biting the inside of your cheek as a few dancers giggled around you.

But when you realized where you were standing once the line shifted into place—right at the front—you frowned almost instantly.

You exhaled slowly, arms folded over your chest as the choreographers paced the length of the line, murmuring notes between each other.

Occasionally, one would glance up, pointing briefly at a pair as if mentally bookmarking the duo. Once they reached the end of the line, the head coach nodded.

“Alright, back to the side please. We’ll start pairing off.”

Everyone shuffled away again, some more eager than others, some already whispering guesses. You stayed quiet.

“Let’s get this over with,” the choreographer continued, scanning the clipboard in their hand. “The sooner we find working chemistry, the better. We’ll try each pairing for a few counts, take notes, and go from there.”

You leaned against the wall, towel over your shoulder, fingers nervously tracing the hem.

“Heeseung.”

Your head turned.

He stepped out from the crowd smoothly, all quiet confidence and long strides. His silver hair glinted faintly under the studio lights, and despite the way his sweater clung to his back with sweat, he moved with ease.

He stood in the center of the room like he was born there, and maybe he was.

The choreographer tilted their chin. “Let’s see the male part from the top. Just walk us through it alone.”

Heeseung nodded, rolling his shoulders out as the music cued.

He moved like water—sharp but fluid, clean but emotional. Every movement was deliberate, every beat executed with the kind of skill that only came from years of muscle memory. You couldn’t deny it.

He was good. Really good.

The choreographers scribbled something down as he finished the last beat, chest rising and falling lightly.

You hummed under your breath.

“(Y/N).”

Your eyes flicked up. You pushed off the wall without a word, making your way toward the center as Heeseung stepped aside instinctively, giving you enough room to take your mark.

You dropped your towel, exhaled, and rolled your wrists once.

Your steps hit beat-for-beat with the track. Smooth twists, steady isolations, a sharp flick of the wrist here, a dragged palm across your jaw there—every motion etched in muscle and instinct. When you tilted your head back for that final count, eyes fluttering shut, it felt like electricity humming down your spine.

Even Heeseung blinked.

The choreographers paused. Whispered again. “Heeseung. Step in.”

He did. Hesitantly. Carefully. At least three feet away from you.

Laughter erupted from the other side of the room.

Jungwon scoffed playfully. “Hyung, what is that? A long-distance relationship?”

Heeseung scratched the back of his neck sheepishly, the tips of his ears already red. “Just… giving space.”

“You won’t be giving space when you’re doing the actual choreo,” one of the choreographers said dryly. “Move closer.”

Heeseung inched forward—half a step. Barely noticeable.

“Closer.”

Another half-step.

Heeseung’s mouth opened. Then closed. Then opened again. “…Right.”

You nodded once, sharp and simple, then turned your attention to the choreographers. You needed to keep it together—focus. You’d done harder routines than this. You’d worked with idols before.

But none of them had stood next to you like this.

None of them had made your skin crawl in a way that felt more like heat than discomfort.

You barely registered Heeseung fidgeting again, fingers tugging at the ends of his sleeves like they might hide the way his hands wouldn’t stop twitching. You didn’t even look at him.

The choreographers, clipboard in hand, were murmuring something. Their voices low, but not low enough.

“She’s a full foot shorter, but I think it looks great on camera.”

“Yeah, there’s contrast—but not awkward. They match. Perfectly.”

“I think this could work.”

You said nothing and let it slide.

Because if you were going to do this—you had to act like Lee Heeseung’s existence didn’t crawl up your spine like static. That his height didn’t make you feel cornered. That the word match didn’t make your stomach twist uncomfortably.

You straightened your posture.

Heeseung cleared his throat softly beside you.

The choreographer clapped once, “Alright. Let’s walk through it slowly first—no music yet. Get into your first position.”

You both nodded. You stepped back into formation, facing each other with about a foot of space between. Heeseung took one breath in—then another. You didn’t dare look at him.

“On my count.”

One. Two. Three.

You started slow, like instructed—bodies circling, moving around each other.

The first few steps had you moving away from him, then pulling close again. As the count hit, you slid your hand up—just under his chin, fingers hovering at the edge of his jaw. Your eyes flicked up briefly, catching the slightest flicker of hesitation in his.

Heeseung inhaled—shallow and sharp.

Still, he leaned in, just like he was supposed to. The distance between your faces cut down to mere inches. You could feel the heat radiating from him, smell the faint scent of cologne and fabric softener and nerves.

You dropped down—one knee softly touching the floor.

Your hands moved slowly up from his hip to the hem of his shirt, grazing the fabric there, before trailing higher, across his abdomen, tracing a path to his chest.

His jaw clenched, but his arms remained at his sides like he was afraid to move too early.

You heard the choreographer’s voice again, distant but present.

“Nice. That’s good. Keep going.”

Heeseung finally reacted—just in time for the next cue.

He moved his hands to your waist, gentle but firm, fingers curling against your sides as you rose slightly from the kneel.

The contact startled you more than it should’ve, even though it was expected. You glanced up instinctively—only to find him already looking at you.

His gaze dropped immediately, like he got caught.

You cleared your throat and placed both hands on his shoulders, grounding yourself, letting the last beat echo in silence between your bodies.

You could hear everything—the beat of your own pulse, the slight shift in his breath. His fingers still rested on your waist, not too tight, not too loose. Just there.

Holding you like he was still figuring out if you were real.

The choreographers finally broke the silence.

“Alright, not bad. Let’s do that one more time. Try to make the connection feel more intentional.”

Heeseung beat you to a response.

“S-sorry,” he muttered quickly, bowing slightly. “That was on me.”

The second choreographer chuckled under her breath. “You’re being too careful, Heeseung. This is a dance, not a bomb you’re diffusing.”

Heeseung gave a sheepish laugh, scratching the back of his neck. “Right. Got it.”

His ears were already red.

You just raised a brow at the way he looked everywhere but at you.

“Places,” the coach clapped once.

You rolled your shoulders, exhaled through your nose, and stepped into formation again. Heeseung followed, a breath deeper this time.

The beat kicked in, and this time—he was different.

Gone was the awkward fumbling. Gone was the frozen posture and hesitant touch. He moved with rhythm. With ease. With intent.

Every shift of his body matched yours, every brush of his fingertips felt steadier. More confident. The moment your hand ghosted up his chest again, his jaw clenched—but not from hesitation.

He arched into it this time. Deliberately.

When you circled him, he matched the pace with a slight smirk playing on his lips, eyes sharp. There was no sign of the awkward boy from five minutes ago.

Only the performer. The idol. The center.

Your hands slid across his shoulders. His gripped your waist—not tentative, not light—just firm enough to make your breath hitch for half a second.

You weren’t expecting that. You were not expecting him to suddenly be good at this.

The last beat hit. Your chest close to his. Breaths heavy. The song faded out.

And just like that, Heeseung stepped back. Not far. Just enough.

Enough to breathe again. Enough to stop looking at you like he forgot how to speak.

The choreographers clapped slowly.

“That,” one of them said, beaming. “That was it. Excellent. You two have great chemistry. This might be a breeze.”

You nodded politely, brushing a loose strand of hair from your face. “Thank you.”

Heeseung did the same, his voice calmer this time. “Thank you.”

But when you turned to walk back to the side of the room—Heeseung followed.

Not close enough to be weird, but close enough for you to hear him exhale softly when he caught up. Close enough for your skin to still remember the imprint of his hands on your waist.

You sat down without looking at him.

Lee Heeseung was everything you didn’t like about male idols: too pretty, too confident, too adored. You’d heard the whispers, the quiet little stories shared in half-jokes around company dinner tables.

The dancer he used to date.

The heartbreak. The ghosting. The way she supposedly cried in the hallway of the studio one night before switching agencies altogether.

You shook your head. You had no business even thinking about the way his grip had felt—firm, steady. Like he’d done it a thousand times but had only now started to mean it.

You didn’t care how steady his hands were. Or how he watched you like he was trying to memorize the shape of your silhouette.

You didn’t care.

Except he was still looking.

You could feel it—his gaze hot on the side of your face. Not cocky, not smug. Just curious. Like he didn’t understand what just happened either.

From the corner of your eye, you saw movement. Sunoo plopped down next to Heeseung with all the grace of a cat, glancing between him and you like it was nothing.

Then, casually, he patted Heeseung on the back.

“Hyung, you didn’t trip,” he said, voice light. “Proud of you.”

“Thanks,” he mumbled, barely registering the words. His reply came on a delay. “I, uh. Yeah.”

You kept your expression unreadable. Your towel still pressed to your neck. The choreography hadn’t even reached the hardest part yet, and already—your limbs felt heavier than usual.

This was going to be a long month.

It had been two weeks.

Two weeks of long rehearsals. Late nights. Sweat-slicked skin and sore muscles. Two weeks of fine-tuning footwork and syncing counts to the breath.

Two weeks of him.

Two weeks of Lee Heeseung glancing at you when he thought you wouldn’t notice. Two weeks of him acting like you’d shatter if he so much as stepped too close.

Two weeks of slow, stuttering hands on your waist when the choreography required it—and apologies mumbled under his breath every time your eyes met.

You were in the middle of running through his solo transition in the second verse—just before the chorus kicks in again. It was one of the more intimate moments in the choreography. One that required connection. Chemistry. Conviction.

Which was currently nonexistent.

You stood in position, the rest of the dancers fanned out behind you in a wide semi-circle as the music paused.

In front of you, Heeseung exhaled hard.

His hand fell from where it should’ve rested on your hands, and the choreographer clapped once to cut the tension.

“Heeseung,” one of them sighed. “Focus.”

“Sorry,” he muttered, rubbing his palms on his sweats. “I just—can we run it back one more time?”

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes. Barely.

The choreographer waved a hand at the sound tech, who restarted the instrumental from the top of the chorus.

As everyone began shifting back to position, you crossed your arms and turned to him.

“Are you okay?” you asked, voice flat but biting.

Heeseung flinched at the way your words landed—like ice across his skin. Your voice wasn’t harsh, but it held no warmth either. No softness. Just clean, sharp indifference.

Heeseung blinked at you, startled. “What?”

You stared at him for a beat longer. His silver hair was tied up today, loose strands sticking to his forehead. His chest rose and fell like he was mid-marathon instead of just missing a step.

“Because I’m not going to carry this part on my own,” you added, voice still calm. Cold. “This is your choreography.”

He blinked, jaw tightening ever so slightly. “I never said you had to.”

“Then act like it.”

That made something in his face shift—like the words cut deeper than intended. His smile dropped entirely. A faint frown formed between his brows as he looked down at his shoes.

But you were already walking back to your mark, not sparing him another glance. Ignoring the way his eyes followed you.

Jay nudged him lightly with an elbow, “You’re overthinking it, bro.”

Heeseung didn’t answer. Just inhaled. Exhaled. Rolled his shoulders.

The music started again—bass thumping low, count-off syncing everyone back into motion.

He moved with more control this time. You could tell he was trying. His footwork was cleaner. Timing sharper. But the second verse solo was his moment. And he knew it.

So when the cue came—the one where you stepped behind him, hands skimming lightly down the length of his arms—he stepped forward too early.

Not by much. Barely half a beat. But it was enough to throw off the rhythm. Enough that your hand missed his shoulder completely and hit air.

The head choreographer raised a hand, halting the music mid-beat.

“Take five,” they said, sighing as they turned to the sound tech.

Everyone scattered instantly, water bottles and towels in hand. Some of the other dancers stretched quietly in the corner, a few whispering about the mistake under their breath.

You pressed your lips together, jaw tight as you reached for your towel.

Heeseung hadn’t moved from his spot.

Jay clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Relax. It’s fine.”

But Heeseung didn’t look relaxed. Hands on his hips, sweat lining his jaw, hair a mess from the constant movement—and still, his eyes flicked to you.

Just once.

Just long enough to catch the way your gaze slid past him like he didn’t even exist.

He swore something cracked in his chest.

Heeseung looked at himself in the mirror—chest rising and falling, expression pulled tight with something he couldn’t name. Was it disappointment? Embarrassment? Whatever it was, it felt heavy.

He walked away slowly, grabbing his phone off the floor and padding out of the room with barely a sound. His head hung low, lips slightly parted as he exhaled shakily.

He turned the corner and made his way to one of the vending machines stationed near the end of the floor. Neon lights flickered faintly above as he crouched slightly, scanning the QR code on the machine’s screen with his phone.

A soft beep.

A second later, a familiar thunk as the bottle of banana milk slid down the chute.

Heeseung grabbed it, twisting the cap with one hand. He took a long gulp, only to cough right after—choking slightly from the rush of cold liquid.

“Are you seriously an idol?”

He turned, startled, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. You were leaning against the wall, arms crossed, expression unreadable. The pale gray concrete made your figure stand out sharper, fiercer.

“Uh—” He cleared his throat. “Yeah. I mean. I guess. Practice kept getting held up because of me so I just—needed a break. I’m… sorry.”

You scoffed, pushing off the wall with one shoulder.

“Stop apologizing and focus,” you snapped. “You’re dragging everyone down with you.”

He blinked, stunned by your bluntness—still unused to anyone speaking to him like that. Not his members, not the managers, never anyone outside his circle.

“I’m trying, okay?” he muttered, voice lower now, like the words hurt to admit.

Your brow twitched.

You stepped toward him—slowly, purposefully.

Heeseung tensed, eyes wide. You stopped just a few inches away, close enough that he could see the slight sweat sheen on your cheekbones, the fire in your gaze.

Heeseung was tall, but the way you looked up at him made him feel small.

“Then try harder,” you bit out. “People are just trying to do their jobs. People who actually care.”

He opened his mouth to defend himself—but the words caught in his throat as your finger jabbed into his chest.

“I don’t care if you’re tired, or nervous, or whatever this is,” you snapped. “If you’re gonna be in the center, then act like it. Earn it. Not just for yourself.”

You stared at him a second longer. Heeseung didn’t even breathe. And then you pulled away with a scoff, shaking your head as you turned on your heel.

He didn’t say a word. He just stood there—silent and still, banana milk cold in his hand.

And only when you were completely gone—your footsteps echoing down the hall—did his head drop again, shoulders slumping like the weight finally cracked through.

He blinked fast, hoping to stop it. But his eyes were already stinging.

Jaw tight, thumb absently fidgeting with the plastic bottle cap as his other hand wiped at the corner of his eye with the sleeve of his hoodie.

Heeseung sniffed once.

He was the center of the comeback. And he was falling apart over one dancer who probably hated his guts.

And yet, all he could think was—you’re right.

Heeseung sniffed again, the burn behind his eyes finally dulling as he blinked rapidly and wiped at them with his sleeve. Another shaky exhale. Then another.

Until he felt composed enough to not look like he’d just had a breakdown beside a vending machine over a girl who barely said two nice words to him.

He dragged himself back to the practice room, the hallway suddenly feeling too short, too bright, the hum of the aircon too loud in his ears.

The moment the door slid open, all heads turned.

Heeseung kept his gaze down, refusing to meet any of their eyes. Not Jay’s. Not Jake’s. Not yours.

Especially not yours.

He padded in quietly, setting his half-finished banana milk and phone down beside his bag like nothing happened. His face was mostly hidden behind the sleeves of his sweater again, his silver hair falling slightly over his forehead, damp with sweat.

“Positions, everyone!” one of the choreographers called out cheerfully, clapping their hands twice as they stood near the mirror.

You watched him move.

He didn’t hesitate this time.

He stepped into the center of the room, right where he belonged. His jaw was set now. Shoulders straighter, feet firmer, like he was holding himself together with everything he had.

Your fingers curled slightly at your sides as you took a step forward, trailing behind the others who were getting into position. Your eyes didn’t leave him.

Not once.

You watched as he stood there silently, hands flexing and unflexing by his thighs. Like he was waiting to be told what to do. Like he was afraid to mess it up again.

And then his eyes flicked up—just briefly. Not even a full second.

But they met yours. Red-rimmed and soft.

Your heart twitched against your will.

“Alright,” the choreographer said, clapping again. “From the top of the chorus. Everyone ready?”

You nodded along with the others and moved into place, still watching him.

Still unsure why it suddenly felt like you couldn’t breathe right.

As the music began to hum from the speakers again, you shifted forward, placing yourself behind Heeseung—just like the choreography required. You noticed the slight tremble in his fingers. The way he inhaled through his nose like he was bracing himself.

And maybe it was stupid. Maybe you shouldn’t have felt anything at all.

But you leaned in slightly and muttered, just loud enough for him to hear, “Don’t mess this up.”

It wasn’t mean. Not sharp. Not scolding.

But Heeseung didn’t lift his gaze. Didn’t say anything in return.

Just gave the smallest nod—like he was afraid even that would be too much. His eyes fixed straight ahead, shoulders rigid but steady, jaw ticking faintly as the music started again.

And this time, he didn’t stumble. He remembered the counts. The shifts. The way your hand was supposed to trail across his chest, the way he was supposed to hold your waist just tight enough to keep the tension.

Heeseung danced like he had something to prove. Like proving it would mean something to you.

The second the last beat hit, a wave of cheers erupted from the room.

“Nice! That’s it!”

“That’s the energy!”

But not a single sound came from Heeseung. Not even the usual, breathless laugh he let out when he nailed a routine. Not even the bright smile that usually curved his lips when he got praised.

Instead, he let go of your waist slowly, barely brushing your arm as he stepped back.

Eyes still downcast, expression unreadable.

He reached for the hair tie at the back of his head, quietly tugging it free. His silver bangs fell into his eyes again, and he swept them back absently with one hand, a habit so practiced it didn’t even look intentional.

Then he turned without a word.

Heeseung walked across the floor, sneakers making barely any sound on the hardwood as he crouched beside his things.

He grabbed his phone, sat down with his back against the mirrored wall, and stared at the lockscreen like it would give him something to focus on.

Your brows furrowed slightly as you watched from a few steps away, towel still hanging from your neck. The cheers died down, but you barely noticed. Your eyes were still on him.

Not because he was Heeseung, but because he looked—small.

Small in a way that didn’t make sense on someone so tall. Small in the way someone looks when they’re trying not to feel something too loud.

And you hated it.

You hated the way your hands twitched at your sides. You hated that he wasn’t smiling. That he wasn’t doing that dumb, nervous laugh anymore. That he didn’t even look proud of himself for finally getting it right.

"Why does he have to look like a kicked puppy," you muttered under your breath, rolling your eyes before wiping at your face with your towel.

Because you didn’t feel bad.

You didn’t, right?

“Alright, take five and we’ll break down the transitions,” one of the choreographers called. “If anyone needs water, now’s the time.”

You made a move to walk toward your own bag, but your eyes—again—betrayed you.

Heeseung was still sitting. Same spot. Same posture. Thumb hovering over his phone but never typing anything.

Jungwon passed by him with a water bottle and a small pat on the shoulder. “Good job, hyung.”

Heeseung looked up with a tight smile. “Thanks.”

He didn’t smile for real, and that’s what got you.

Because Lee Heeseung always smiled.

Until now.

And it was all because of you.

It was nearly midnight.

The halls of the HYBE building had gone still, that hushed kind of silence reserved only for the end of long days and overworked idols.

You were curled into one side of one of the couches in the lounge area, legs folded underneath you, your bag slumped beside you like it was just as tired.

Your phone glowed in your hand, thumb scrolling mindlessly through Instagram. Not liking anything. Not even looking, really. Just passing time. Trying to breathe.

The last two weeks had been a lot. And you didn’t know how to feel about any of it anymore.

You were about to shut your phone off when someone cleared their throat gently nearby. You looked up, blinking at the figure that stood in front of you.

Sunoo.

Ginger hair bouncing lightly, a hopeful, careful smile on his lips.

“Hi,” he said, his voice sweet and just a little unsure. “Can I sit here?”

You blinked once. Twice. Then nodded, gesturing to the empty space next to you. “Yeah. Of course.”

He plopped down beside you with a soft huff, his hoodie sleeves slipping down to his hands as he leaned back into the cushion.

“Hi, (Y/N)-noona,” he greeted, brighter this time. “How are you?”

You couldn’t help but smile a little—his energy was just that infectious.

“I’m fine,” you answered, voice softer than usual. “What about you? Shouldn’t you be at the dorms? It’s late.”

Sunoo laughed, brushing a bit of his hair from his forehead. “I stayed behind. Had to re-record some of my lines for Karma. I think I messed up a vowel or something—Jake-hyung said it sounded like I was crying.”

You let out a soft laugh, the tension in your shoulders easing just a bit. “Well, at least you got it done.”

He nodded. “Barely.”

For a moment, it was quiet again. Your phone dimmed in your lap, screen turning black.

Sunoo glanced at you from the corner of his eye, fingers fidgeting with the ring on his thumb. And then—very softly: “Noona… can I ask you something?”

You turned your head to look at him. His brows were drawn in slightly, lips pressed into a pout that made him look younger than he already did.

You nodded. “Sure.”

He hesitated.

“Do you hate us?”

The question landed like a pin drop in a silent room.

Your brows furrowed. “What?”

He looked at you this time. Really looked at you. “Me. The guys. Heeseung-hyung especially. You kind of… look like you do.”

“I mean,” Sunoo rushed to explain, hands flailing slightly, “it’s not that we want you to like us or anything! Well—I mean—it’d be nice, I guess, but—”

He huffed. “I just mean that you always look like you’re ready to run the second practice ends.”

You bit the inside of your cheek.

“I don’t hate you,” you said eventually. Quiet. Honest. “I just don’t know you.”

Sunoo nodded slowly, looking like he was trying to understand. “And Heeseung-hyung?”

You paused.

Then shook your head. “I don’t know him either.”

“But you… don’t like him.”

You let out a breath, turning your gaze away. “I don’t trust him.”

Sunoo’s mouth parted slightly, like he wanted to ask why—but something in your expression must’ve warned him off. Instead, he just tucked his hands into the sleeves of his hoodie and nodded slowly.

“That’s fair,” he said. “I just… I think he really wants you to.”

You looked at him, startled. “Wants me to what?”

“Know him,” Sunoo said, shrugging. “He sucks at it, obviously. Like really, really bad. But I’ve never seen him get so quiet around anyone before.”

You didn’t say anything.

Not because you didn’t have anything to say—but because you didn’t know what to do with that.

“Heeseung-hyung’s usually…” Sunoo twirled a finger in the air, searching. “I don’t know—composed? Effortless? He walks into a room and owns it. Like, even when he’s being a dumbass, he’s a confident dumbass.”

You snorted quietly despite yourself.

“But with you?” Sunoo tilted his head. “He gets all… careful. Like he’s afraid he’ll breathe wrong and piss you off more than he already has.”

Sunoo offered a small, almost sheepish smile. “I think you scare him. And I don’t think that’s a bad thing.”

He let that settle for a second, fingers absentmindedly fiddling with the hem of his sleeve before he added, “But… it’s weird. Seeing him so hung up over something somebody said.”

You glanced at him, but he wasn’t looking at you. He was just gazing ahead, voice softer now.

“I thought he let go of that since I-LAND, you know?” Sunoo continued.

“All the doubts, the overthinking. He’s worked so hard to be… sure of himself. Confident in what he does, who he is. But you—” he paused, almost amused, “—you say one sentence and he looks like he’s about to rewrite his whole personality.”

You still didn’t say anything, because… what could you say to that?

Sunoo looked at you now, not accusing—just honest, open, like someone who’d seen the best and worst of the people around him and still chose to believe the best anyway.

“I just hope you let him in soon,” he said, voice steady. “And us too.”

You blinked.

“Heeseung-hyung’s really nice if you get to know him,” Sunoo added.

“A little dramatic. Kinda dumb sometimes. But he’s not the person people make him out to be.” Then, a small laugh escaped him. “You should see how many playlists he makes for songs he never finishes. Or how he hums when he brushes his teeth. It’s stupid.

You smiled despite yourself.

Sunoo tilted his head, smile gentler now. “Just… don’t write him off too quick, noona. He’s not perfect. But I think he’s trying.”

And for a moment—you didn’t feel like arguing.

“Anyway,” Sunoo said, standing slowly and brushing imaginary lint off his pants, “thanks for letting me sit here. I’ll see you tomorrow, noona.”

You nodded wordlessly, watching as he offered you one more smile before turning and walking off down the hall.

And when he disappeared around the corner, you leaned back against the couch and stared at your phone again.

Only this time, you weren’t scrolling.

Just sitting there. With your heart beating too loud in your chest.

And wondering why Lee Heeseung—of all people—wanted you to know him.

You sighed, dragging a hand through your hair and sinking further into the cushion behind you, head tipped back to stare at the ceiling.

Sunoo’s words echoed in your head.

“I think you scare him. And I don’t think that’s a bad thing.”

You didn’t mean to scare him.

You just didn’t know him.

All you knew was the rumor mill: that he toyed around with backup dancers. That he used to date one. That he left her crying and never looked back.

You knew he was a damn good performer. A strong voice. A face that pulled attention. A body that moved like water.

But who was Lee Heeseung when he wasn’t on stage?

You didn’t know. And you hated that not knowing was starting to bother you.

“Ugh,” you groaned, frustrated with yourself, grabbing your bag and slinging it over your shoulder.

You just needed air.

You paced down the hallway, letting your footsteps echo through the emptying building. The elevators were at the far end—but you slowed when you passed by another open lounge area, tucked to the side.

Three familiar voices. One unmistakable.

“I don’t know what I’m doing anymore,” It was Heeseung, his voice cracking mid-sentence. “Like—seriously. I feel like I’m ruining the entire choreography.”

“Hyung, you’re just stressed—” Sunghoon began, but Heeseung cut him off.

“It’s not just the choreography,” he snapped, quieter this time. “It’s her. I can’t even look at her properly without feeling like I’m gonna throw up. Or say something stupid. Or trip on my own damn feet—!”

There was a thud. Probably Heeseung slumping back onto the couch.

“She probably thinks I’m a joke,” he mumbled. “And maybe I am. I don’t even know why I care this much. But every time I see her, I just—”

A pause. A shaky breath.

“I feel like I’m messing everything up. And she hates me for it.”

You stood there, frozen, lips parted slightly as your fingers hovered over the strap of your bag. You knew you shouldn’t be listening. But you couldn’t move.

“Hyung…” Jay’s voice was quieter. Gentler.

“It’s not that deep—”

That was your cue.

You reached for the white AirPods hanging from the keyring on your bag, shoved them in like muscle memory, and walked—like you hadn’t just overheard the guy who’d been dragging his feet around you for two weeks quite literally crumbling over your mere existence.

The soft mechanical chime of the elevator landing saved you from having to hear anything else.

You pressed the button—twice, even though it was already lit up—and stared straight ahead, pretending you didn’t notice the way all three heads turned toward you as you walked past.

Heeseung sat up straighter in his seat, hurriedly wiping at his eyes with the sleeve of his hoodie. He didn’t even try to hide it.

Jay and Sunghoon just looked between him and you silently, Sunghoon with a slow, barely-there shake of his head.

You didn’t look at any of them. Didn’t flinch. Didn’t say a word.

But Heeseung’s stare burned at your back—like he was silently willing you to turn around.

You didn’t.

You stepped into the elevator when it dinged and let the doors close in front of you.

But even as the floor shifted beneath your feet and the numbers ticked downward, you couldn’t shake the image of Lee Heeseung—shoulders hunched, eyes red, voice raw—murmuring that he was the reason everything was going wrong.

And all because of you.

It was barely past ten and the practice room was already flooded with artificial lights—white bleeding in, casting long stripes across the mirrored walls and polished floors.

The speakers hummed softly with the instrumental of ‘Bite Me’, looping from the top as you stretched in the center of the room. Your arms raised above your head, your body bending gently from side to side.

The black crop top you wore shifted with every breath, exposing brief slivers of your waist before you pulled at the band of your white sweatpants to fix it.

Your neck rolled to the side, hair slipping over your shoulder as you exhaled and let your muscles relax.

The door opened.

Your eyes flicked to the mirror.

Lee Heeseung.

Black oversized tee, light gray sweatpants that hung low on his hips, hair slightly damp like he’d just washed his face in a rush. But more than anything, you noticed the puffiness around his eyes—still red, slightly swollen. As if sleep had been a stranger to him last night.

He looked at you.

Just for a second.

And then immediately looked away.

Your mouth pressed into a line as he walked to his usual corner, dropping his duffel bag onto the ground with barely a sound. He didn’t say a word. Just crouched down and pulled out his phone like it held the meaning of life—eyes glued to the screen, thumbs unmoving.

Not even pretending to scroll.

Not even pretending to scroll.

Then let out a quiet breath and shook your head.

“He doesn’t even say hi anymore…” you muttered to yourself, barely audible over the light beat in the background. “God, he’s really that sensitive to me being in the room?”

You shook your arms out and turned away.

It stung. You weren’t gonna lie.

Not because you wanted him to talk again. Not because you needed him to smile at you.

But because now you knew. Now you’d heard it—his voice, raw and trembling, saying your name like it hurt to speak.

And still, he said nothing.

You shifted your weight to one leg, crossing your arms as you glanced at the mirror again. He was still sitting there. Same position. Same phone. Same silence.

It was almost pitiful.

Like a kicked puppy in sweatpants.

And you hated the fact that your chest twinged a little at the sight.

Your jaw tensed. You looked away again.

Because you didn’t know what to do with the version of Lee Heeseung who didn’t smile. Who didn’t joke. Who didn’t even pretend to look okay.

And a few feet away, Heeseung exhaled quietly—his shoulders sagging with the weight of something that didn’t seem to lift no matter how long he sat there.

He finally unlocked his phone. But he didn’t scroll. Didn’t tap any apps. Didn’t open messages.

Just stared at his homescreen like it might offer him answers.

The soft hum of the speakers continued. His gaze flickered—briefly, hesitantly—to the mirror across the room.

To you.

You weren’t looking at him.

Of course you weren’t.

You were stretching again, arms over your head as you twisted at the waist, back arched. You looked so calm. So unbothered. So… indifferent.

Like he didn’t exist.

Like you hadn’t told him off. Like you hadn’t jabbed a finger into his chest and practically told him he was worthless. Like you hadn’t shattered him with one glare and a scoff, then walked away like he was nothing.

And still, he looked.

Still, he watched you.

Heeseung swallowed the lump rising in his throat and leaned his head back against the wall, his phone still lit in his palm. A notification came in—a text from Sunghoon probably, or Jay—but he didn’t bother reading it.

He ran a hand over his face. Fingers pressing into the skin beneath his eyes.

He wanted to talk to you.

He wanted to explain.

But how the hell could he explain what even he didn’t understand?

Why your voice stayed in his head like a loop.

Why he couldn’t sleep until two a.m. replaying that moment in the hallway.

Why he felt like the air disappeared the moment you looked at him like that—like he was just another arrogant idol who didn’t care.

He bit the inside of his cheek.

And still, you didn’t even glance his way.

The tension in the room hung thick and unmoving until the studio doors creaked open again.

The two choreographers walked in—smiling, laughing about something that died the moment they caught sight of their two lead dancers. You, standing in the center, eyes distant. Heeseung, sat by the wall, eyes lower.

But both of you bowed anyway.

You straightened your posture and offered a polite greeting. “Good morning.”

Heeseung scrambled upright at the same time, tripping slightly over the strap of his gym bag before stumbling into a clumsy bow. “Ah—g-good morning!”

One of the choreographers blinked at the awkwardness before grinning, pretending not to notice. “You two look awake at least.”

They walked toward the mirrored wall, settling their tablets and notes on the low table. One of them looked up and waved a hand toward both of you. “Come here for a second?”

You nodded, not sparing Heeseung a glance as you walked over. He hesitated, then followed behind you. You could hear his footsteps. Could practically feel the distance he was keeping behind you. It was like his shadow didn’t even want to touch yours.

The four of you stood in a half-circle. You to the left, Heeseung on the right. Silence stretching so tightly between you, it might’ve snapped.

But the choreographers didn’t seem to notice. “How’s progress?”

You answered without hesitation.

“It’s going well,” you said calmly. “We’re still polishing the transitions, especially around the solos. Some of the blocking needs tweaking, but otherwise, everyone knows their parts and is keeping up.”

They nodded, taking notes on the screen of one of the tablets. “Good. And you, Heeseung?”

You didn’t look at him. But you heard the way he shifted his weight.

He rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah, uh… I’m okay. Just tired. Sorry.”

That awkward laugh of his was barely a breath.

Both choreographers chuckled kindly. “Tired’s normal,” one of them said, smiling. “But that’s not what we wanted to talk to you both about.”

You blinked, waiting.

They glanced at each other. “So, we’ve been reviewing the recordings. And while your initial chemistry was great, things have been feeling… well—tense.”

You froze. Heeseung did too.

“We just want to ask—are you both okay?”

“Yes,” you said immediately, not even letting Heeseung open his mouth.

Your voice was even, firm. Almost mechanical. “We’re just both equally tired. I want to apologize if that’s been noticeable.”

The choreographers didn’t seem entirely convinced, exchanging a quiet look before one of them tapped on the screen again. “We believe you. But we also had a small proposal we wanted to run by you both—especially before filming starts.”

You lifted your eyes. Heeseung did too—slowly.

“If it’s alright with both of you,” the choreographer began gently, “we’d like to request recorded video updates. Just the two of you. Every three to four days.”

Your heart stuttered once.

Heeseung blinked. “Just us?”

“Yeah,” the other said. “Not the group. Not the others. Just your partnership parts. The lifts. The proximity work. The stuff where chemistry matters.”

Your lips parted, but no words came out.

“Again,” they added quickly, “only if you’re both okay with that. It’s just that Heeseung’s got a lot of center time, and your blocking overlaps more than anyone else’s. If you two are more aligned—it’ll elevate the whole comeback.”

You stayed quiet.

Heeseung nodded after a beat. “Understood.”

Of course he’d agree.

You exhaled slowly and muttered, “That’s fine with me.”

One of them smiled. “Great. Then let’s aim for the first clip at the end of the week. You can find a free room or ask staff to reserve the small studio downstairs.”

They moved on, discussing timing and files and where to upload the clips, but you weren’t listening anymore.

Because out of the corner of your eye, you saw Heeseung’s head dip lower again—like the weight of his thoughts was pulling him into the floor.

And suddenly, it was you who didn’t know what to say.

You stood side by side. Silent. Cold. Strangers.

But at least now, you were strangers who had to see each other every three days.

Just the two of you.

And not even the floor could swallow you whole fast enough.

⤷ read part 2 here !

⤷ permanent tagllist — @m1kkso

© 2025 liuhsng — reblogs are highly appreciated and please don’t hesitate to request some fics here if you want me to write anything !

[rose24207]

The weigh of words

Summary: After a heated argument fueled by his frustrations on and off the track, Lando's harsh words pushes you away, forcing him to confront his guilt and fight to mend your relationship through heartfelt apologies and unwavering effort.

Genre: angst, fluff

TW: arguments

A/N: hellooo!! How are you doinnnngg?! English is not my first language. I hope you enjoy it though! Requests are open and welcome!

Based of this request

Masterlist

Lately, Lando hadn’t been himself, and you couldn’t blame him. The last three races had been nothing short of disastrous. Whether it was bad strategy calls, mechanical issues, or just sheer bad luck, it felt like the universe was conspiring against him. But it wasn’t just his performance on the track that had been suffering—it was everything else, too.

It started subtly, with him being quieter than usual during dinners or zoning out during conversations. But as the weeks passed, his frustration grew sharper, manifesting in clipped tones, rolled eyes, and muttered curses under his breath. You tried to give him space, but tonight, as he slammed the apartment door shut behind him, you knew you couldn’t keep walking on eggshells.

“Rough day?” you asked gently as he dropped his bag onto the floor with a thud.

Lando ignored you, heading straight for the kitchen. The sound of the fridge door opening and closing filled the silence before he leaned against the counter, chugging water as if it might wash away his irritation.

“Lando,” you tried again, your voice softer now. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Talk about what?” he snapped, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“The race,” you said, fighting to keep your tone even. “And everything else. You’ve been...off. I just want to help.”

His laugh was bitter, almost mocking. “Of course you do.”

Your stomach tightened at his tone, but you pushed on. “I’m serious, Lando. You’ve been carrying this around for weeks now. I know things haven’t been easy for you lately, but shutting me out isn’t the answer.”

“Easy for me?” He set the bottle down with a loud clank, his eyes narrowing. “Do you have any idea what it’s like to be me right now? To work your ass off and still come up short every single time? To have everyone scrutinize your every move, waiting for you to fail?”

“I’m not them,” you said, stepping closer. “I’m not the media, or the fans, or your team. I’m me.And I’m here for you. But I can’t help if you won’t let me in.”

He scoffed, raking a hand through his curls. “Help? What help? You think talking is going to fix this? God, not everything is about you, you know!”

The words hit you like a physical blow, your breath catching in your throat.

“That’s not what I meant,” you said quietly, your voice trembling.

“And God, you’re so sensitive sometimes,” he added, shaking his head in exasperation. “I can’t do this right now.”

You stood there, stunned, as he stormed past you and into the bedroom, slamming the door behind him.

For a moment, you stayed rooted in place, replaying his words in your mind. Not everything is about you.

You felt tears prickling at the corners of your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. Instead, you grabbed your coat and keys and left the apartment without a word.

Lando woke up the next morning to an empty bed. The events of the night before came rushing back in vivid detail, and a sinking feeling settled in his chest. He reached for his phone on the nightstand, but there were no messages from you.

He wandered into the living room, hoping to find you there, but the apartment was eerily quiet. The absence of your presence was palpable, and guilt hit him like a freight train.

He hadn’t meant to lash out at you. You weren’t the problem—he was. You’d been nothing but supportive, and he’d thrown it back in your face.

Running a hand through his hair, he sat down on the couch and stared at the floor. He needed to fix this, but he didn’t know how.

By mid-morning, he decided to go out. He walked into the florist, determined to pick something that might make you smile. The woman behind the counter helped him select a bouquet of your favorite flowers, and he even bought a card to go with it.

But when he sat down to write something, he found himself staring at the blank card for several minutes.

"I’m sorry" felt too simple.

"I didn’t mean it" felt too hollow.

He ended up scribbling a few lines, sealing the envelope, and sending the flowers to your workplace.

But flowers weren’t enough. Lando knew that.

That evening, when you didn’t come home, he decided to write you a letter. A real one. He sat at the dining table, pen in hand, and poured his heart out.

Dear [Y/N],

I don’t even know where to start. Last night, I said things I didn’t mean—things that hurt you—and for that, I’m so sorry. You’ve always been my biggest supporter, and I repaid you with anger and cruelty. You didn’t deserve that.

The truth is, I’ve been feeling like a failure lately. Every time I get in that car, I feel like I’m letting everyone down—my team, my fans, myself. And instead of dealing with it the right way, I took it out on you. I blamed you for things that had nothing to do with you, and I hate myself for it.

You are the best thing in my life, and I don’t know what I’d do without you. I know I messed up, and I don’t expect you to forgive me right away. But please know that I’m going to do everything I can to make this right.

I love you. I always have, and I always will.

Lando set the pen down and reread the letter twice before folding it and slipping it into an envelope.

When you finally returned later that night, Lando was sitting on the couch, his leg bouncing nervously. He stood as soon as he heard the door open, his heart pounding in his chest.

“Hi,” he said softly, his voice laced with apprehension.

You didn’t respond immediately.

“I got your flowers,” you said after a moment, your tone guarded.

“And the letter?” he asked, taking a tentative step toward you.

You nodded, setting your bag down. “I read it.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice cracking. “I was a complete idiot. I shouldn’t have said those things, and I hate that I hurt you.”

You looked at him for a long moment, your expression unreadable. “Do you really mean it?”

“Every word,” he said, his eyes pleading. “I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness, but I’ll do whatever it takes to earn it. Just...don’t give up on me.”

Your resolve softened as you saw the sincerity in his eyes. Slowly, you stepped closer, and his breath hitched as you reached out to take his hand.

“I’m not giving up on you,” you said quietly. “But, Lando, you can’t shut me out like that. We’re supposed to be a team.”

“I know,” he said, gripping your hand tightly. “And I’ll do better. I promise.”

You let out a small sigh, the weight of the day finally lifting as you allowed yourself to lean into his embrace.

“I missed you,” you admitted, your voice muffled against his chest.

“I missed you too,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “And I’m never letting you go again.”

Thank you for reading!

[swizzlemynizzle]

Underneath the Noise - George Clarke

Chapter 2: Somewhere Between Gin and Chaos

———————————————————————————

If someone had told Y/N she’d be walking through central London in a pink tracksuit that read Hot Bitch Ready To Party, she would’ve laughed them out of the room.

But here she is—hood up, sunglasses on, bottle of gin in one hand, half a Greggs sausage roll in the other—walking with her two teammates like they’re a band on tour. A chaotic, mildly tipsy band with no musical ability and a terrible sense of direction.

They’re only two pubs in, but Y/N already feels the city spinning in a strange, hyperreal way. Not drunk—yet—but loosened. Her anxiety still hums beneath everything like background static, but it’s muffled by the ridiculousness of it all.

“We should be vlogging this entire thing,” ArthurTV says, spinning the camera toward Bach, who’s trying—and failing—to convince a stranger to swap shoes with him. “This is quality content.”

“Mate, please. I’ve got plantar fasciitis,” the stranger protests, eyeing Bach’s bright pink trainers like they might give him a disease.

“Respect,” Bach says, backing off. “I wouldn’t either.”

Y/N leans against a lamppost, laughing, trying to steady the giddy lurch in her chest. There’s something freeing about being this visible. Normally, she hates standing out. She prefers to blend, observe from the edges. But today, dressed like a walking punchline and surrounded by people who don’t seem to care about how they’re perceived, it almost feels... safe.

“Okay, team,” Arthur says, scrolling through the bingo list. “Outfit challenge—check. Two pubs down—check. Failed the shoe swap. Should we try the wild animal next?”

Bach’s eyes light up. “Let’s find a squirrel.”

“Do squirrels count as wild animals?” Y/N asks, eyebrows raised.

“If it can bite me and give me rabies, it counts,” Bach insists.

“By that logic, George counts too,” she mutters before she can stop herself.

Arthur snorts into his drink. “Oh damn.”

Y/N groans. “Ignore me. That was... nothing.”

But the moment hangs in the air for a second too long.

It was nothing. And yet—it wasn’t. She keeps replaying the way George leaned in, the way his voice dipped when he called her shirt “very accurate.” It was harmless teasing. Probably something he does with everyone. Still, it lingers.

She doesn’t have time for that kind of distraction. Not now. Not when she’s still trying to prove she belongs here.

“Alright,” Arthur says, saving her from herself, “we’ll circle back to the animal. Let’s hit pub three.”

They keep walking. More pink. More laughter. A random tourist stops them to ask for a photo, clearly thinking they’re some kind of performance art. Bach poses like a runway model.

By the time they reach the third pub, Y/N’s legs are starting to ache, and her drink has settled into a warm buzz just beneath her skin. Inside, the pub is dim and a bit crowded, the kind of place that smells like sticky floors and good stories.

They order pints, squeeze into a booth, and spend the next ten minutes trying to convince a guy at the next table to do a shot with them.

Eventually, Bach pulls out a fiver and slaps it on the table. “That’s my final offer.”

The guy considers it for a beat, then shrugs. “Alright.”

The whole pub cheers when they clink glasses. Y/N throws her head back and laughs, cheeks flushed with the kind of joy that comes from being in the moment and nowhere else.

She feels her phone buzz in her pocket.

Chris

> Pub 4. Team Sad Lads are ahead. Hope you like losing.

Y/N shows the message to Arthur and Bach.

“We need to pick it up,” she says, draining the rest of her pint.

They step back onto the street, and almost like the universe is laughing at her, they immediately run into the other team—Chris, Arthur Hill, and George—lounging outside a pub bench, mid-pint and mid-laugh.

“Ahhh, the Barbie Brigade returns,” Chris calls out.

“Did you guys even try to change clothes, or did you just raid your granddad’s closet?” ArthurTV asks, nodding at George’s tweed jacket and matching flat cap.

“We’re going for sophisticated chaos,” George says. “It’s high fashion. You wouldn’t understand.”

Y/N tries not to stare, but George does actually look unfairly good. The tweed makes him look like a countryside villain in a murder mystery. Smug. Relaxed. Teasing.

“You look like you own five boats and cheat on your taxes,” she deadpans.

He grins at her, slow and wide. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

Before she can think of a response, Chris claps his hands. “Alright, let’s do a mini challenge. First team to convince someone to let them jump in a fountain wins a bonus point.”

Everyone groans. It’s still early spring. The idea of swimming in London water is... vile.

But Bach’s already scanning the area like he’s dead serious.

“No way,” Y/N says, shaking her head. “There’s not enough gin in the world.”

George sidles up next to her, just a little closer than necessary. “Scared?”

She doesn’t move away, but she doesn’t look at him either. “I just have standards.”

“Good,” he murmurs. “Keep those. You’ll need them around this lot.”

His voice is different this time. Still teasing—but softer. Like he meant it. Like he’s offering something more than just flirtation.

She looks at him then, eyebrows raised. But before she can say anything, Arthur Hill lets out a whoop and sprints toward the nearest fountain like he’s been waiting his whole life for this moment.

Chaos erupts. Chris follows, shouting. Bach yells something about filming it for TikTok. ArthurTV is already pointing the camera and running after them.

Y/N stands there for a moment, blinking. And then—laughter bubbles out of her chest. Real, unfiltered laughter.

She turns back to George, who’s still watching her, not moving.

“You’re not going to jump in?” she asks.

He shrugs. “I don’t need to. I already won.”

Y/N rolls her eyes, but the smile won’t leave her face. She hates that he’s good at this—at getting under her skin in ways that feel both infuriating and... weirdly comforting.

The rest of the group is soaked and breathless by the time they regroup, laughing and dripping all over the sidewalk.

As they all head toward the next pub, the teams split again.

Y/N trails behind for a moment, her fingers brushing the hem of her ridiculous pink shirt.

She’s not sure what she expected when she agreed to this. Maybe just a fun distraction, a video to be edited and forgotten. But it’s starting to feel like something more.

And George?

Yeah. He’s going to be a problem.

---

Masterlist

——

I’m basically writing this for myself