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wholoveseggs · 3 months ago

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Hello love, I love your storiess <33

Could you maybe write something with Elijah and the reader being in a relationship for years now, and they have really good sex, but the reader is annoyed that he never lets go and tries to rile him up and turn him on and in the end the reader gets fucked by a very annoyed Elijah.

It would be so cool if you'd include like maybe he spanking her with his belt or maybe he edges her

Behind Closed Doors

18+ ---- {Masterlist} {Tag-List}

{Elijah Mikaelson x f!reader} You knocked on the red door. Elijah answered.

♡♡ Thank you for the request beautiful anon!!! This is pure filth...enjoy♡♡

5.4k words - Warnings: smuttt, some {tender} red door elijah, rough sex, light bondage {with a belt}, spanking (also with belt), oral {m receiving}, overstimulation, chasing, giggles, dirty talk, dom/sub dynamics, choking, teasing gone wrong {or very, very right}, possessive behavior, mild blood-drinking, some sibling gossip && elijah hating pda ...

Rousseau’s was packed.

The music was low, thudding underfoot, glasses clinking somewhere behind the bar, and the warm press of bodies made the air thick. You had squeezed into a corner table with Rebekah, Kol, Klaus, and Elijah... which meant it was already a little cramped.

When Kol stole your chair…loudly and dramatically, claiming his legs hurt … you didn’t even hesitate. You just smiled sweetly and slid sideways into Elijah’s lap.

His body tensed the second you settled there.

You felt it, the way he stiffened under you, like a live wire pulled too tight. His hand landed on your thigh almost instinctively, meant to steady you, but his fingers dug in a little too firmly to be casual.

You pretended not to notice.

You leaned back against him, all innocence, tucking your legs across his lap and resting your head lightly on his shoulder.

Across the table, Kol snickered into his drink.

"Looks like someone's getting cozy tonight," he said, raising his eyebrows at Elijah.

"You steal my chair and then comment on where I chose to sit next? Rude," you quipped back.

He chuckled and shook his head. "Oh no, darling. You can sit wherever you want." He winked. "I'm just not used to seeing my big brother allow such blatant PDA."

"What's PDA?" Elijah asked, his voice calm and even, his face carefully blank.

Rebekah and Kol burst out laughing, and Klaus shook his head in amusement.

You didn't say anything. You just smiled, sipped your drink, and ran your fingers lightly over the back of Elijah’s neck.

"PDA, brother, means public display of affection," Kol said, still snickering. "It's not your style. Always the gentleman, never letting on what goes on behind closed doors."

"How enlightening," Elijah replied coolly, taking a long sip of his bourbon.

He didn’t look pleased that this was the subject of conversation. He was still tense under you, jaw set, breathing measured. He was clearly holding himself back, fighting his darker instincts. You knew Elijah tried very hard to keep his more violent urges locked away, hidden behind that invisible red door he never fully opened for anyone.

Not even you… at least not yet.

Klaus raised his hand to order another round, and Rebekah and Kol began discussing the latest gossip in New Orleans. You didn't contribute, too busy pressing a soft kiss to Elijah’s neck, just below his ear.

"If only they knew what you're like in private," you murmured, lips brushing his skin. "They'd never look at you the same way."

He turned his head slightly, looking down at you. Not amused … but you could see the heat burning in his eyes.

"Don't start something you don't intend to finish," he warned, it was clear he wasn't in the mood for your teasing.

"What would the gentleman do if I did?" you prodded, unable to resist chipping away at his resolve, biting his earlobe softly.

"Careful," he said, an edge sharpening his voice now.

"Or what?" you asked, tauntingly.

He ignored you, turning back to his siblings. Rebekah leaned forward, smirking playfully.

"So, you know how I keep in touch with Matt Donovan?" she began, looking around the table.

"Unfortunately," Klaus said dryly, earning a chuckle from Kol.

Rebekah shot her brothers a glare but continued. "Well, apparently Elena and Damon were caught in a rather compromising situation."

"Classy," Kol snorted, shaking his head.

"Wait, there's more," Rebekah insisted, eyes glittering with mischief. "Stefan was the one who... uhh, discovered them."

"Ooh, scandalous," Kol joked.

Klaus tilted his head thoughtfully. "I never understood the doppelgängers' fondness for Damon. He always seemed rather insufferable."

Kol snickered loudly. "We all know you'd choose Stefan, Nik, you don't have to say it."

Klaus raised an eyebrow, amused. "What do you think, then, Kol? Damon or Stefan?"

"Please," Kol scoffed dramatically. "Neither. Elena is far too lovely for the Salvatores."

"Aww," Rebekah crooned. "That's rather sweet coming from someone she killed once."

"I'm a man of forgiveness," Kol shrugged. "I'm willing to let bygones be bygones."

Klaus smirked. "You want to sleep with her, don't you?"

Kol raised his hands, laughing. "Who here wouldn't?"

There was a brief silence before they all began laughing again.

"I'd be lying if I said no," Klaus chuckled.

"She does have a certain charm," Rebekah agreed with a grin.

Elijah sighed loudly, drawing all eyes toward him. "Frankly, it’s beneath us to gossip about the romantic entanglements of a young woman we are no longer associated with."

You had to fight not to smile at the irritation in his tone.

"Yes, yes, old man," Kol sighed dramatically. "We were only having a bit of fun."

"You have a strange definition of fun," Elijah shot back dryly.

You decided it was the perfect moment to step in and make things worse. "So if I were to call her up and ask her to join us in the bedroom," you said sweetly, looking up at him through your lashes, "you would object to that?"

His siblings barely contained their giggles as they waited eagerly for his answer.

Elijah's jaw tightened slightly, but his tone remained measured and diplomatic. "I only have eyes for you, my love. And I do not share."

"Oh, I'm so lucky," you crooned dramatically, reaching up to pat his cheek lightly.

His siblings laughed, raising their glasses in a mock toast, and the conversation drifted into lighter territory. It was the perfect cover.

You leaned in again, kissing his cheek, "You're wound so tightly tonight," you whispered, tracing a fingertip slowly down the sharp line of his jaw. "I can't wait until we're alone. I wonder what will happen…"

You felt him swallow hard, his entire body going taut beneath you. His fingers tightened almost painfully on your thigh, betraying the effort it took to keep his composure.

"Careful," he breathed, so quiet that only you could hear him.

You smiled softly against his skin, knowing you had finally broken through. "I keep thinking about how good your cock would feel stretching my throat right now," you murmured, deliberately filthy, knowing every word would hit its mark. "How heavy you'd be on my tongue…"

His breathing went ragged, uneven, his composure visibly fraying at the edges. You knew you had pushed him to the brink, soon to shatter whatever remained of his careful restraint.

You sat back, smiling innocently at his siblings as if you hadn't just whispered pure filth into Elijah Mikaelson’s ear.

The others were completely oblivious, still joking and laughing, watching a live performance that had begun. But Elijah was silent, his eyes dark with barely-contained heat.

"When can we leave?" you asked quietly, so only he heard.

Elijah turned his head just enough to brush his lips against your ear again. His voice was velvet-soft, but held a promise sharp enough to make your breath catch.

"Be careful what you wish for."

You barely made it through the lobby of your building before Elijah’s footsteps were right behind you. Sharp, deliberate, closing in fast.

Your heart was pounding, breathless laughter bubbling out of you, caught somewhere between genuine excitement and playful panic. The stairwell echoed with your footsteps as you raced upwards, gripping the railing, nearly stumbling in your haste.

For a fleeting second, something primal tightened low in your belly. It wasn’t fear exactly, but the dizzy, thrilling knowledge that the man chasing you wasn't just anyone. There was something else prowling beneath his skin, something he kept caged behind that door you were foolish enough to keep knocking on.

"Elijah-!-wait!" you gasped, voice pitching up into a squeal when you felt his fingers just brush the edge of your dress. But you didn't want him to wait… not really… and he knew it, because he laughed softly, a low, wicked sound that sent heat pooling between your thighs.

Your laughter dissolved into a breathless gasp as you rounded the landing, fumbling for your keys. He was right there, close enough to grab you if he wanted, but he let you feel the rush a little longer, your blood pumping wildly.

You barely got the apartment door open before Elijah made his move, catching you easily around your waist and hauling you off your feet. You shrieked in delight, your pulse hammering wildly as he kicked the door shut behind him, pressing you firmly against it, trapping you between his body and the wood.

His breath was warm and ragged against your ear, his voice low and dark and deliciously threatening. "You wanted my attention," he whispered, lips brushing the sensitive skin beneath your jaw. "Now you've got it."

Your head fell back against the door, a soft moan slipping past your lips as he pressed closer, his mouth trailing a hot path down the side of your neck. Your knees felt weak, your mind cloudy, drunk on adrenaline, desire, and the heady sensation of being hunted.

You didn't have to worry about staying upright, not with the way his strong hands were pinning you to the door, lifting your thighs so that you could wrap them around his hips.

"What are you going to do with me now that you have me?" you breathed, trying and failing to keep the needy tremble from your voice.

Elijah chuckled darkly, nipping at the soft skin at the base of your throat. "Oh, I think you know."

One hand tangled in your hair, pulling just hard enough to expose your throat. His fangs sank into your neck, a sharp, stinging bite that made you gasp and squirm. He drank deeply, tasting the wild, heady rush of your adrenaline … it made his own heart beat faster.

When he pulled back, his pupils were blown wide, his eyes clouded with lust.

"You're so hot like this," you cooed, brushing your fingertips across his bottom lip, smearing your blood there.

Elijah smiled, flashing his teeth, and then his mouth was on yours. Warm and demanding. The kiss was all fire and friction, teeth and tongues, messy and rough.

Still holding you against him, Elijah scooped you away from the door, your legs locked around his waist as he strode swiftly toward the bedroom. His mouth never left yours, the taste of your blood still sharp on his tongue.

Clothes became an obstacle and Elijah dealt with them swiftly, tugging your dress up and off in one fluid motion, barely breaking the kiss to do it. You fumbled impatiently at the buttons of this shirt, fingers shaky with need, then finally pulling it open and pushing it from his shoulders.

He dropped you onto the bed, his eyes dark and dangerous as he stripped away his pants. Your pulse hammered at the sight of him above you. You had never seen him quite this worked up, you knew you were scratching at that door again, daring him to open it. Daring him to show you what he hid behind it.

Elijah moved over you, his head dipping to capture your lips, his hands pressed into the mattress next to your head, caging you beneath him. Your hands slid along his biceps, down the strong planes of his chest, fingertips dragging over the lean muscle. You could feel the power coiled there, the strength he always kept leashed. He was the perfect predator, and you were helpless against him.

But you enjoyed being kept under him, to let him do what he wanted. Your chest rose and fell rapidly, your heart beating fast, eyes wide and vulnerable as you looked up at him. Because how he used all that power, how he wielded control, was absolutely delicious.

Elijah trailed his mouth down your jaw, nipping and sucking, his fangs pricking your skin, one of his hands sliding along your ribcage, fingertips grazing your lower stomach, just above the edge of your panties.

"Why would you say such crass things in public?" he whispered, his tone soft but firm, like a scolding, "where I could not properly respond to them?"

You giggled breathlessly, your head tipping back as his mouth moved over the sensitive skin of your neck.

"Because I know exactly how to drive you wild," you teased.

His tongue swept a long, slow line across the top of your breast, and your hands instinctively gripped his shoulders, a soft gasp falling from your lips. You desperately wanted him to keep moving lower, but he had other ideas.

"You're a clever thing, aren't you?" he asked, his tone amused.

"I thought that's why you kept me around," you said, your words dissolving into a loud, startled gasp as his hand came down on your inner thigh, just below the lace edge of your underwear, the slap sharp enough to sting.

You felt a rush of heat as his fingers curled around the fabric, ripping it off without hesitation.

"Elijah—"

"Hush," he cut you off sharply.

You bit your lip but couldn't contain a needy whimper as he dipped his head, giving you one, slow, tantalizing lick, all the way from your entrance to your clit, and then he pulled back.

You groaned, frustrated, and squealed in surprise when his hand came down on your cunt, a firm, sharp slap that had you gasping and shaking.

"What did I say?" he scolded, his tone dark and dangerous.

"Please," you begged, not caring how needy you sounded.

"You aren't listening."

You yelped as he grabbed your hips, flipping you over and hauling you up onto your knees.

"Keep your face down, and don't move," he instructed, his tone leaving no room for argument.

You felt his weight leave the bed, heard the soft rustle of his clothes as he picked them up, then the unmistakable sound of his belt sliding free from his pants. Your heart was pounding, anticipation and fear and a rush of arousal tangling in your chest. You didn't turn to look, didn't dare disobey, even though every instinct screamed at you too.

His belt cracked through the air. A sharp, commanding sound that made you flinch, even though he hadn't touched you yet. You waited, counting your breaths, knowing he was watching.

"Will you listen? Or should I bind you?" he asked.

You bit your lip, fighting the urge to taunt him, knowing you were already playing with fire. "I'll listen," you promised.

"Good."

The bed dipped under his weight, his hands curling over your ass, his thumb brushing along the curve. And then his palm cracked against your bare skin, hard enough to make your whole body jerk forward, your thighs trembling from the impact.

"We’re going to play a little game," Elijah said softly, dangerously, his fingertips gently stroking the reddened skin he just marked. "You count each one. If you lose track, I'll bind your wrists and do what I please with you. Understood?"

You swallowed hard, heart hammering in your chest. "Yes."

"Good."

His hand cracked down again, swift and merciless, making you jolt forward with a gasp.

"One," you choked out, fingers clawing into the sheets.

Another, sharper than the last, the sting blooming across your skin like fire.

"Two," you moaned, your thighs clenching helplessly.

Again. Again. The blows fell steady and cruel, each one breaking you down a little more, scattering your thoughts like leaves in a storm.

"S-six," you whimpered, your voice trembling with more than just pain now. With need.

Elijah paused, dragging his fingertips across the burning skin of your ass, the touch almost worse than the blows … too light, too knowing.

"Already struggling," he murmured, his voice dark velvet against your ear. "I thought you wanted to play, sweetheart."

You shuddered under his hand, humiliated, aroused, desperate.

Another crack. Another shuddering gasp. You barely remembered the number. "S-seven," you stammered, unsure.

He chuckled, low and wicked, the sound sinking into your bones.

"Poor thing," he crooned. "Already losing that clever mouth."

Two more sharp slaps, delivered in quick, brutal succession.

You cried out, your body jerking helplessly … pleasure and pain tangled so tight you could no longer tell the difference.

"Eight—no, Nine?" you whispered, wrecked, unsure, desperate to please him and failing.

Elijah's hand smoothed up your spine, his touch almost tender. Almost.

"You lost count," he murmured, with something dangerously close to affection. "You know what that means."

Before you could even beg, the belt was winding tight around your wrists, binding them behind your back. "There we go," Elijah whispered, kissing your shoulder. "Now we'll do this properly."

He guided you carefully onto your knees, his hands firm on your shoulders. Your wrists were still bound tightly behind your back, your heart hammering wildly at the helplessness of your position.

The sting across your ass flared sharply as you shifted, the tender, bruised skin aching with every tiny movement. Elijah stood before you, one hand cupping your jaw, his thumb sliding across your bottom lip.

"What were your filthier words earlier?" he pondered, the dark velvet of his voice wrapping around you. "Something about wanting my cock stretching your throat?"

You felt your face heat, your pulse fluttering with embarrassment and need. But you didn't shy away, didn't back down. Instead, you parted your lips obediently, looking up at him through your lashes.

"Good girl," he praised softly, guiding the head of his cock to rest on your waiting tongue.

Your mouth stretched around him, a muffled moan vibrating in your throat as he pressed deeper, inch by slow inch. Elijah watched you intently, his eyes dark, his jaw tight with restraint, taking his time even as your breathing grew unsteady and tears pricked the corners of your eyes.

He began to move, slow and controlled at first, sliding carefully in and out of your mouth. Your throat tightened around him instinctively, fighting the invasion, making you gag softly. He groaned at the sensation, gripping your hair and holding your head steady as he began to thrust harder, faster.

"Look at you," he breathed, his voice ragged and low. "So desperate for me, aren't you?"

You whimpered around him, saliva dripping from the corners of your mouth, slicking your chin. It was messy, filthy, but you didn’t care. You were entirely his to use, bound and at his mercy, and you loved every second.

The raw throb of your spanked skin only made you more desperate, made you squirm helplessly against the burn, even as you fought to stay still and take him deeper.

He fucked your mouth brutally now, deep and unrelenting, the thick head of his cock battering the back of your throat with every thrust. Tears spilled down your cheeks unchecked, your jaw aching, your breath coming in short, shattered gasps whenever he gave you the mercy to take one… but he didn’t slow, he knew you could take it.

"You begged for this," he rasped, tightening his grip in your hair until your scalp burned, forcing you to look up at him. His vampire nature was bleeding through, dark veins spreading beneath his eyes, his pupils blown wide, a flash of fangs catching the low light.

"Such a perfect, filthy little thing for me," he growled.

Your eyes rolled back helplessly, the combination of his voice and the relentless way he was using your mouth sending your mind spinning, lightheaded and dizzy with need.

"There," he crooned, as he wiped the tears from your cheeks. His voice was wrecked with arousal, slowing his thrusts just enough to grind deep on every pass, causing you to gag around him with every deliberate stroke.

You sucked him eagerly, your tongue curling and swirling around him, moaning brokenly. He let you, let you work him over as he twitched against your tongue.

"You like this, don't you? Having my cock buried in your throat? Knowing how good it makes me feel?" he whispered, his voice low and dark, filled with pride.

You whined in agreement, desperate to please him, your eyes fluttering shut as he kept up his perfect rhythm. He groaned at the way your hands twisted in their bindings, at the sight of his cock disappearing over and over into the warmth of your mouth. You were so eager, so willing, taking him as deep as he wanted, moaning around him, begging without words.

He pulled out abruptly, leaving you gasping for breath, a strand of spit stretching from your lips to the head of his cock.

"On the bed," he snapped. "Ass up. Now."

You scrambled to obey, your body trembling, your wrists still bound tightly behind your back, leaving you helpless, vulnerable. The bed dipped violently under his weight as he shoved you down, yanking your hips high into the air.

The second your knees spread, the raw sting of your earlier spanking flared across your ass, sharp and punishing, and you whimpered brokenly, pressing your flushed cheek into the sheets.

Elijah didn’t wait. He didn’t tease. He grabbed your hips, lined himself up, and eased into you with a brutal thrust that punched a broken scream from your throat. You sobbed beneath him, unable to move, unable to breathe, the stinging throb of your bruised ass and the unbearable stretch of his cock wrecking you completely.

"You're mine," he growled. "Tied up and dripping, taking every fucking inch like you were made for me."

He drove into you hard and deep, the headboard slamming against the wall with every brutal thrust. Your bound hands strained uselessly against the belt, your body arching into him despite the merciless pace. Without warning, he brought his hand down sharply across your sore ass. You screamed, the fresh slap setting every nerve on fire, your pussy clenching around him.

"You are the one who wanted to make a show out of our private life," Elijah snarled, spanking you again, making you jolt and squirm helplessly under him. "This is what you get."

His pace was punishing, ruthless, his grip bruising, his voice rough and dark. You whimpered, overwhelmed, the angle letting him hit your g-spot with every thrust, sending heat racing through your veins.

"You wanted them to know what you turn me into?" Elijah growled, his hips pounding into you hard enough to shake the bed. "You wanted to show them the side of me you alone get to see?"

You sobbed out a broken yes, barely coherent, every nerve-ending lit up from the brutal pleasure of his cock pounding into you.

"Careful," he murmured, slowing his pace just enough to make you feel the full, aching stretch of him. "You might just get your wish, sweetheart. Maybe next time I'll fuck you on the bar table while they watch. Let them see what I do to you."

He shifted slightly, angling his hips until every brutal snap of his body against yours crushed that sensitive spot inside you again and again. You couldn't hold it back even if you tried. The orgasm ripped through, tearing a raw, broken sob from your throat as your body clamped down around him, your vision going white.

"That's it," he purred, slowing only slightly, fucking you through the aftershocks, wringing every last drop of pleasure from your trembling body.

You collapsed into the bed, boneless and whimpering … but Elijah wasn’t finished. Not yet.

Somewhere, dimly, you realized you had gotten exactly what you asked for. You had teased the gentleman and unleashed something far darker, far hungrier, from behind the red door he had always kept locked.

And now there was no more pretending, no more polite restraint … only Elijah, brutal and merciless, intent on taking every last piece of you.

Without warning, he pulled out, flipping you roughly onto your back. Your hands were still bound behind you, your body trembling, your eyes glassy with pleasure-drunk need.

He leaned over you, his face fierce and devastatingly beautiful, his fangs flashing just slightly behind parted lips. For a moment you felt real fear, a flutter of instinctual panic. Perhaps you had pushed him too far, that he wasn't temporarily indulging or even pretending, but actually taking what he wanted.

He seemed to sense it, and his expression softened slightly, just for a moment, his eyes dark with hunger, but not malicious. He leaned down, nuzzling the soft skin just below your jaw, the tenderness a stark contrast to the violence of his need.

"You're mine, understand?" he murmured against your ear, his voice rough. "You belong to me."

"Yes," you breathed.

His hands curled under your thighs, lifting and spreading them, pinning them back toward your chest, the angle made you feel so exposed. his dark eyes locked on yours, watching your face as he pushed slowly into you. You were slick, swollen, but still so sensitive that his sudden return had you squirming against him, whimpering with overstimulation.

You let out a strangled gasp as you felt the slow, maddening drag of his fingers over your clit. Light, teasing, circling, while his cock stayed buried deep inside you. You whined, needing more, hips twitching against his restraint, but Elijah only shushed you gently, his fingers never lifting, his cock grinding slowly inside you with the barest roll of his hips.

"So sensitive," he whispered, his lips brushing your own. "My poor girl..."

Your bound wrists were pinned and straining under you, your head nodding frantically, overwhelmed, tears spilling down your cheeks from the sheer intensity of it, from how tender and ruthless he was all at once.

"You're going to come again and again and again...," he said, his voice so calm it almost broke you. "You're going to milk my cock like the desperate little whore you are. And I'm not going to stop until you're begging properly."

You tried to protest, the words barely formed on your tongue, but Elijah cut you off with a kiss, "Do you like this?" he whispered, swallowing your cry as he sank deeper, mercilessly rubbing your clit, lighting every nerve.

"Elijah," you pleaded, the word almost a sob, caught somewhere between a plea and a moan.

"I'll take that as a yes," he murmured, his smile wicked, his eyes dark.

You weren't sure how long he worked you over, how many times he pushed you to the brink, only to let the waves subside, keeping you suspended in blissful torture. He kept you balanced on the edge, a desperate, needy, writhing mess. It was too much, you couldn't breathe, couldn't think. All of your senses had narrowed down to only him, to the heat of his body and the smell of his skin, the feel of his touch.

He watched you intently, the way your face flushed, your eyelashes fluttering, the rapid rise and fall of your chest, the soft, helpless whimpers falling from your lips. You were perfect, utterly his, and completely undone.

"Come for me," Elijah whispered against your ear, thrusting just a little deeper, rolling his hips in tight, devastating circles. "Show me what a good girl you are. Show me how you come apart on my cock."

You shattered with a scream, your entire body locking up, pulsing and spasming around him, stars bursting behind your eyes as your orgasm ripped through you. But Elijah didn’t stop … his eyes black and wild as he fucked you through it. He kept his pace slow and punishing, wringing every trembling aftershock from your wrecked body, his fingers still teasing your clit, driving you past the point of reason.

"I know, baby," he breathed when you sobbed, trying to squirm away. "I know it's too much. But you can take it. You always take it for me."

Your body trembled violently, tears streaming freely down your cheeks, but your pussy kept clenching around him, your body betraying you, desperate for every slow, deep grind of his cock inside you.

"You love it," he whispered, reverent. "My good, beautiful girl. You love being so full of me you can't think straight."

He leaned down, claiming your mouth in a kiss, licking away the salt of your tears, sucking and nipping at your lips.

"One more," he coaxed, his voice low and gentle. "Come on. Give me one more."

"I can't," you begged. "Please, Elijah, I can't—"

"You can," he murmured, his hand curling around your throat, the pressure careful but firm, holding you in place.

The angle forced you to look up at him, his expression so tender and adoring, a sharp contrast to the roughness of his movements, the tightness of his grip. Your hands clenched helplessly at the belt binding your wrists, unable to stop the soft, choked moan that fell from your lips as he began to thrust faster, harder. His vampiric nature had taken over entirely, his face savage and feral, his eyes black and wild.

And then he struck, his fangs piercing the skin of your neck, a bright, burning flash of pain. His bloodlust was raw and desperate, but he still had control, drinking only enough to push you over the edge, not caring about the mess you made on the sheets as you came with a helpless, broken wail.

You could barely breathe, could barely hear his broken, stuttered groans, could barely feel the rush of wet heat as he spilled inside you, reaching his own release. You lay there, shaking, limp and helpless, as his mouth found yours again. A tender, lingering kiss, filled with something far deeper than just the passion.

"I've got you," he murmured against your lips.

It took several long moments, and his careful, steady hands, before he was able to untangle the belt from around your wrists, tossing the leather aside. Your arms dropped limp once Elijah finally freed them, tingling and sore from being pinned so long. He caught them gently, brushing kisses along your wrists and the palms of your hands, checking the tender skin for damage.

"Are you alright?" he asked, his expression worried. "I didn't mean to be so rough."

"I'm fine," you hummed lazily, letting him fuss over you a little, sprawling back across the sheets like you had all the time in the world. You were wrecked, sure, your thighs still trembling, your whole body aching, but you felt good, wild and fucked-out and smug about it.

"I'm sorry," Elijah insisted.

You sighed, sitting up, cupping his cheek in your palm. "Hey," you murmured, drawing his gaze back up to yours. "Don't apologize. That was amazing."

"I hurt you," he said, his brows drawing together in worry.

"Yeah, and I loved every second," you teased, smiling up at him through heavy-lidded eyes. "It's kind of the point, remember?"

His expression softened slightly, his arms winding around your waist and pulling you against him, your foreheads pressed together.

"You're a menace," he said, voice rough but amused as he brushed his lips against yours. "A beautiful, dangerous menace."

"Can't help it," you murmured, grinning. "You bring it out of me."

He laughed, a low, rumbling sound that vibrated against your skin. "Apparently I do," he admitted, nuzzling into the crook of your neck, his voice softening, turning vulnerable. "Did I truly live up to your expectations?"

"Oh, Elijah," you breathed, tilting his face up to meet your gaze. "You always exceed them."

He smiled, his hands running soothingly up and down your sides, his lips grazing softly over the fresh bite mark on your throat.

Until you broke the moment.

"So," you said, voice a little too innocent, "would you really never consider sharing?"

Elijah stilled, then lifted his head enough to give you a dry, unimpressed look.

You batted your lashes shamelessly.

"I mean, Elena’s cute," you mused aloud, dragging a lazy finger down his chest. "Or Stefan. Broody in a hot way. Perhaps even Damon if I’m feeling particularly generous."

"You're impossible," Elijah groaned.

"I'm not hearing a no."

He sighed, "No, sweetheart," he said firmly, the hint of a threat in his voice. "I would rather gouge out my own eyes than offer you up to the Salvatores." His lips found yours again, the kiss hungry and possessive, filled with promise. "They're not worthy of you."

"I don't know," you whispered against his mouth, grinning. "Maybe I like the idea of you getting jealous."

Elijah growled under his breath, a low warning rumble, and kissed you again, even harder, stealing the breath right out of your lungs.

When he pulled back, he hovered over you, his eyes dark.

"Say one more word about anyone else," he murmured, "and I’ll fuck you against every surface in this apartment until you forget their names."

Your thighs squeezed around him instinctively.

You smiled, smug and wrecked and unbothered. "Worth it."

Elijah shook his head, exasperated but smiling despite himself, the faintest trace of a blush coloring his cheeks. "You truly are a menace,”

You just laughed breathlessly, reckless and happy, already plotting how you would break him all over again.

#elijah mikaelson #the originals #the vampire diaries #vampire diaries #tvdu #elijah mikaelson smut #elijah mikaelson imagine #elijah mikealson imagine #elijah mikealson #elijah mikaelson x reader #elijah mikealson x reader #tvd #the vampire diaries x you #the vampire diaries x reader #the vampire diares imagine #the vampire diaries imagine #the originals imagine #elijah mikealson smut

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goldfades · 5 months ago

Note

Please more controversially young gf for sid🫶🏽🫶🏽

you ask, i deliver!! i hope u enjoy<3

You always joked about Sidney’s age.

Always chirped him about his back, his knees, the way he sometimes got up in the morning with a groan like he was a man twice his age. You teased him relentlessly, with little jabs like "Want me to grab your cane, Grandpa?" when he stretched too long after practice.

But when you saw him go down on the ice, nothing was funny.

Nothing at all.

You didn’t even register what had happened at first. One second, he was in the play, moving like he always did—fast, sharp, instinctual—and then the next, he was hit hard along the boards, his body crumbling in a way that was all wrong.

Your heart stopped. Literally stopped. Your breath caught somewhere in your throat, and suddenly, the crowd noise, the commentators, the sounds of skates slicing ice—it all faded into a dull, meaningless blur.

Because he wasn’t getting up.

Your hands clenched around the edge of your seat so tightly your knuckles ached. Time felt slow, unbearably so, like you were watching the worst moment of your life play out in slow motion. He was on his knees, then on his side, and there was a trainer already rushing out to him. But he wasn’t moving like he should be.

You felt sick. A tangible, horrible nausea that curled in your stomach and made your whole body feel cold.

Sidney was tough. Tougher than most. He had taken hits before, had gotten back up when no one else could. But this—this wasn’t right.

You barely noticed the people around you. Barely heard the fans murmuring, the worried whispers and sharp intakes of breath, the occasional muttered, "Shit, that looked bad."

All you knew was that your chest felt tight, too tight, like you couldn’t get a full breath in.

And then, finally, finally, he moved.

Slow. Careful. The kind of movement that told you it hurt like hell but he was too stubborn to let anyone see just how bad it was. He pressed his hand to the ice for support, his jaw clenched, his eyes set forward in that focused, determined way you knew so well.

It should have made you feel better. It didn’t.

Because you knew him.

You knew his pain tolerance was stupidly high, that if he wasn’t just popping up and skating back into the play, something was really, really wrong.

You didn’t even think before you moved. The second he was helped off the ice and down the tunnel, you were out of your seat, pushing through the rows, ignoring the way people turned to watch you. You didn’t care. Didn’t care that the cameras might catch you, didn’t care what social media would say, didn’t care about anything except getting to him.

Your pulse pounded in your ears as you made your way through the winding hallways of the arena, the path to the medical room too familiar by now. You had done this before, more times than you wanted to admit. But it never got easier.

The second you reached the room, you barely hesitated before pushing the door open.

And there he was.

Sidney sat on the exam table, gear still on, one skate unlaced, his posture stiff like he was bracing for bad news. His head snapped up the moment he saw you, and something in his face softened.

"You’re not supposed to be back here," he said, his voice rough but steady.

"Yeah, well," you exhaled, still trying to calm the pounding in your chest, "try and stop me."

And just like that, whatever resolve you had left crumbled.

You crossed the room in seconds, standing between his knees, your hands finding his face, tilting it up, searching. His helmet had been removed, his hair damp with sweat, his brow creased in quiet frustration.

"You scared the shit out of me," you admitted, your voice quiet, your thumbs tracing lightly over his cheekbones.

His lips twitched like he wanted to smile, but the pain in his eyes dulled it. "Didn’t mean to."

"You weren’t moving," you whispered. "I thought—I thought—"

Your throat closed up, and Sidney—ever steady, ever calm, even when he was the one hurt—reached for your wrist, grounding you with a squeeze.

"I’m okay," he murmured. "Just sore."

You didn’t believe him, not entirely, but he was looking at you like he needed you to, like he needed you to be steady for him.

So you nodded, exhaling shakily. "I’ll be the judge of that."

He let out a breath of amusement, the smallest hint of a smirk tugging at his lips. "That right?"

"Damn right," you said, shifting so you could press your forehead against his. "Now let me have my dramatic, emotionally charged moment, please."

Sidney huffed a soft laugh, closing his eyes for a second, letting you linger in the quiet. And when he finally spoke again, his voice was low, just for you.

"I’m glad you’re here."

And just like that, the tightness in your chest eased.

Because yeah, the world could speculate all it wanted. People could talk about the age gap, the controversy, the noise. But right now, in this small, fluorescent-lit medical room, none of it mattered.

Because you loved him.

And he loved you.

And at the end of the day, that was the only thing that ever would.

Sidney was not a good patient.

This was something you learned very quickly.

The second the team doctors gave him strict orders to rest, you knew it was only a matter of time before he started pushing it. Because he was Sidney Crosby—one of the most disciplined, regimented, "tough it out and get back on the ice" people to ever exist. He didn’t do rest. Didn’t do sitting still, didn’t do taking it easy.

Which meant you had to be the one to make him.

Lucky for him, you had absolutely no problem being a pain in his ass.

"Sit. Down."

You stood in the kitchen doorway, arms crossed, staring Sidney down as he very slowly tried to get up from the couch. He was still in sweats, fresh from a shower, his damp hair slightly messy in a way that would’ve been distracting if you weren’t so focused on keeping him immobile.

"I was just—"

"—going to sit your ass back down like the doctors told you," you finished for him. "Good call."

Sid exhaled through his nose, unimpressed. "I’m fine."

"You have a bruised rib," you reminded him, walking toward him and shoving him back down with one finger on his chest. "Which means no skating, no lifting, no ‘I swear I’m just stretching’—and definitely no trying to prove how tough and manly you are by walking around like a fully functional human when we both know you are not."

He just looked at you, lips twitching, because he was definitely entertained by the way you were talking to him.

"You enjoy this, don’t you?" he asked, voice tinged with amusement.

You scoffed. "Oh, so much." You pointed at him again. "Now stay there while I get your meds."

Sid obeyed, but you could feel his eyes on you as you moved around the kitchen, grabbing a glass of water and pulling his painkillers from the cabinet. You turned back to him, shaking two pills into your palm.

"Take these," you ordered, stepping back toward him.

He raised an eyebrow but took the pills from your hand. "I could do this myself, you know."

"Could you, though?" you mused, tilting your head. "Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you’re a very injured man who should probably stop arguing with his extremely generous, very beautiful, highly intelligent, and endlessly patient nurse."

Sid let out a slow, amused breath, shaking his head. "Highly patient, huh?"

You handed him the water, watching as he swallowed the meds, and then took the glass back when he was done. "Unbelievably patient," you confirmed. "Practically saintly."

Sid didn’t reply, just watched you with that look—the one where his lips curled slightly, his eyes softened, and you knew, knew, that if he weren’t injured, he’d be pulling you into his lap just to shut you up.

Instead, he settled for reaching out and grabbing your hand, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. "Thanks for taking care of me."

You shrugged, sitting on the couch next to him, curling up so your legs tucked under you. "Someone has to make sure you don’t do anything stupid."

He hummed, shifting slightly to get comfortable. "Don’t I have trainers for that?"

"Yeah, but I’m meaner," you pointed out. "And I have better hair."

Sid chuckled, tilting his head toward you, his expression easy and fond. "Can’t argue with that."

You smirked, leaning your head against his shoulder, being careful not to press against the bruised side of his ribs. "Damn right you can’t."

And despite everything—despite his injury, despite the way you knew he hated being sidelined—Sidney relaxed. Because this? This was what made it all okay.

Even if you were bossy. Even if you were slightly unbearable in full nurse mode.

You were his. And that made every moment—every ridiculous, slightly bitchy, very loving moment—worth it.

#sidney crosby #sidney crosby smut #sidney crosby x reader #sidney crosby imagine #sidney crosby fic #sidney crobsy #team canada #nhl imagine #nhl #nhl fic #nhl fanfiction #nhl oneshot #hockey fic #nhl imagines #nhl angst

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please-destroy · 7 months ago

Text

She's a Rainbow

Florence Pugh x Reader

Word Count: 3.1K

“I’m getting married.” Florence rushed the words like a confession as you answered the FaceTime.

You took a moment to process, staring at the live feed of her chin as she walked somewhere.

‘Like, in a movie?’ You checked, ignoring the way your heart was plummeting inexplicably.

‘No.’ Florence told you succinctly. You tried to read her expression. She’d called you in a rush, you knew it wasn’t just for congratulations. You ignored the icy waves of sadness flooding you. The sudden certainty that you were losing your best friend.

You tried to recollect yourself. She needed you right now, even if she couldn’t say it.

‘Where are you going?’ You asked neutrally, not knowing what else to say.

‘Whole Foods.’ Florence answered immediately, blonde ponytail bouncing with each hurried footstep on the sidewalk. You wondered if she drawled the words on purpose, or if lockdown had given her the chance to develop an American accent.

Florence glanced down at your face on her screen. She pouted slightly.

“I need chia seeds.’ She told you seriously and you nodded with equal soberness.

‘Who are you going to marry?’ You asked.

Florence rolled her eyes.

‘Who do you think?’ She answered sarcastically. There was too much bite in her words and you realised then what was wrong. Stress emanated from her.

‘That’s big.’ You commented, trying to keep your tone casual. Something in Florence’s shoulder’s loosened immediately.

“It is, right?’ She agreed, chewing on her bottom lip as she crossed the street.

‘You love him?’ You checked, trying to keep the question as light as you could. You didn’t want it to sound accusing. You never knew for sure if Florence could see your crush on her. Sometimes, you’d see a flicker of recognition in her eyes. You prayed it was your own secret. It was painful enough just for you.

Florence nodded quickly, almost imperceptibly. You watched her hook a mask from ear to ear.

‘Can I call you back?’ She asked. ‘I feel like an asshole if I’m on the phone at the checkout.’

‘Sure.’ You replied quietly as the call disconnected.

You let your phone fall onto the bedspread, as you covered your face with your hands.

A dry sob heaved through you suddenly. A tiny piece of hope that you’d had no right holding onto, was finally being killed off.

You took a steadying breath. You stared at the far side of your room. There was a polaroid picture of yourself and Florence perched on the shelf. It was from several years ago.

You remembered the nervousness in her voice. Resolve filled you. Florence had a lot of friends, but you knew already that you were the first one she’d called. She needed you. You weren’t going to let her down.

Her face popped up on your screen as the call reengaged. You answered it immediately.

Florence was almost impossible to see, the high sun now directly behind her. She held up the bag of chia seeds with a victorious smile. You grinned back automatically. She was perfect.

‘So-’ She began, the same nervous energy humming through the phone.

‘Do you want me to come visit?’ You offered suddenly, cutting her off.

Florence’s breath caught.

‘Yes.’ She told you immediately, her eyes crinkling with an emotional kind of happiness. ‘Yes. I really want that.’

You shared a small smile. Florence’s mask was hanging goofily from one ear.

Her voice was hesitant when she next spoke.

‘It’s not that I’m not happy.’ She told you quietly. ‘It’s just a lot.’

You nodded like you understood.

‘I’ll be there.’ You promised. ‘We’ll figure it out together.’

Florence’s smile was your favourite one.

‘Missed you.’ She added.

‘Missed you too.’ You agreed easily.

After the call disconnected, you packed your bags. Your job had been furloughed and visiting Florence was something you’d been hoping to do for a while.

Ironically, you’d been trying to give her and her boyfriend some space.

After getting tested, you drove over the next day. You texted Florence when you set off.

You pulled into her driveway and found her sitting expectantly on her own doorstep.

Before you were even fully out of the car, Florence had engulfed you in an excited hug.

‘I hope you don’t greet everyone like this.’ You murmured sarcastically. Florence hit your arm in faux rebuff as she stepped back.

When she looked at you, her eyes were shining with tears.

‘Oh, Flo.’ You murmured, realising that she was crying. Florence didn’t speak again, wrapping her arms firmly around you, her head burying against your shoulder.

‘Missed you.’ She mumbled again. You didn’t answer, only tightening your own hold of her.

Florence led you into her house. You looked around curiously, this wasn’t somewhere you’d been to before.

There was something wild about the decorating style and it felt familiar to you. You smiled at some of the pictures that caught your eye.

Florence saw where you were looking and grinned too.

‘We look so little.’ She determined, hand moving familiarly around your waist. It stung to have her so intimate but you loved that she was comfortable around you.

‘That photo is from last year.’ You answered with a roll of your eyes.

Florence raised her eyebrows dramatically as she moved past you, throwing herself happily onto the couch.

‘We were so young back then.’ She confirmed with a grin, looking back at you. You didn’t disagree, sitting down next to her.

‘Is it just us?’ You asked unsurely. You felt the impending conversation and knew it was better to be done privately.

‘Yep.’ Florence popped the ‘p’ sound with false calm. ‘He’s at our other apartment. He thought we’d want some space.’

You nodded again, Florence had once told you he was a bit shy. Still, you realised that at this rate you might not actually meet him until the wedding.

‘How are you?’ You asked directly instead. The question had been burning since the moment you’d arrived.

Florence hesitated beside you. You let your hand rest on top of hers and she exhaled slowly.

‘I’m okay.’ She answered succinctly.

‘Surprised, shocked, scared?’ You offered carefully.

‘Shocked, maybe a bit scared.’ She admitted readily, seeming reassured that you were on the same wavelength. ‘I love him. But, I never thought I’d be married anytime soon.’

You threaded your fingers with hers and squeezed.

Florence’s head rested on your shoulder.

‘Fuck.’ She murmured to herself.

‘Did you tell him that?’ You asked quietly.

‘No.’ Florence answered barely above a whisper. ‘I know how much he wants this.’

You swallowed the lump in your throat. You loved her too much to speak and you hated the lingering fear in her voice

‘I want you to be happy.’ You told her. ‘Whatever that means, I’ll be by your side.’

You felt the warmth of her tears against your shoulder.

‘What if I don’t know what that means.’ She whispered, voice cracking.

‘Well.’ You paused. ‘I’m still not going anywhere.’

There was something subdued about the rest of the weekend that you spent with Florence. In many ways, it felt like you were helping her through a break up. She seemed conflicted and strangely worried.

She brightened when you asked for stories about their time together as a couple. She told you about trips they’d taken together and how much he made her laugh. You felt like your heart was cracking open, but you kept the same encouraging smile on your face.

It was on the Monday morning, as you sat together eating a cranberry-chia seed scone, that you asked your next big question.

‘Did you talk about dates?’ You asked.

Florence looked confused.

‘For the wedding.’ You clarified, smiling at her puzzled expression.

‘Oh, right.’ She nodded. ‘In two weeks.’ She answered casually, taking another bite of her scone.

You nearly fell out of your chair.

You swore loudly and Florence’s head bobbed as if she’d been expecting your reaction.

‘It’s going to be tiny.’ She informed you. ‘Just the officiant, us, his friend and you.’

She added your name with a playfully hopeful smile, telling you just how much she wanted you there.

‘Oh my god.’ You answered, trying to wrap your mind around how soon this would be happening.

‘Our friend’s house has a private beach.’ She continued casually, as if her friend wasn’t certainly a multi-millionaire. ‘We’re going to have the ceremony there.’

‘Outfits.’ You stumbled out stupidly.

Florence shook her head. ‘I’m just wearing my favourite sundress.’ She informed you readily. ‘Dress casual.’

It occurred to you that Florence was a consistently decisive person, with everything except accepting his proposal.

‘You’re going to look stunning.’ You determined with a bright smile, trying to move past your own shock.

Florence glanced shyly down at the kitchen table. ‘I hope so.’ She mumbled.

‘No bachelorette party then.’ You predicted, pretending to look very sad.

Florence hesitated and you prepared yourself for another plan to be revealed.

“Well.’ She started. ‘I was kind of thinking maybe I could come and stay with you for a few days.’

Your head tilted in confusion.

‘Of course.’ You agreed. ‘But, I don’t think that’s much of a party.’

‘I know.’ Florence elongated the words. ‘But, I don’t want a party.’ She shrugged and you caught her gaze flitting over to the photo of you both smiling, that was stuck to her fridge.

She turned back to you and smiled.

‘I just want to spend some time with you.’ She continued with a sheepish shrug.

Your heart twisted and you weren’t even sure if it was pain or love. Being part of Florence’s life had always been enough. You didn’t want to acknowledge this feeling of impending loss.

‘Drinks, snacks and movies?’ You forced yourself to suggest casually. Florence’s face lit up with private delight.

‘It’s going to be the best.’ She decided, moving forward to kiss your cheek.

Driving home that afternoon, you felt like your chest was heavy and hollow at the same time.

Florence’s parting wave was stuck in your mind.

You turned up the stereo in your car and tried not to let the reality sink in.

When Florence arrived, the morning before her wedding, she was bubbly in a way that you hadn’t expected.

She’d hardly texted for the last week and a half. You’d been cautious to push her, not sure if it was wedding or work pressures.

Florence entered your house with all the familiarity of someone who lived there. It wasn’t surprising, a few years ago she practically had.

She’d walked in with a surprisingly large bag. You realised immediately that it was almost entirely filled with an assortment of supplies. She lined up bottles of wine on the coffee table in front of her, before pulling out a stack of DVDs from her collection.

‘That bag is straight from Mary Poppins.’ You accused teasingly. Florence glanced up and grinned.

‘I’ve been so excited for this.’ She admitted easily, eyes sparkling slightly. ‘I kept repacking.’

You kept your smile steady as you processed your worry. Florence only over prepared when she was nervous.

‘How’s your week been?’ You asked casually as you brought over two wine glasses.

Florence groaned loudly and her feet kicked up on the edge of the coffee table. Her head rested back against the sofa dramatically.

You glanced at her unsure if you should be genuinely concerned.

‘That bad?’ You asked, keeping your voice neutral as you poured the wine.

‘He keeps making plans.’ Florence admitted quietly. Her voice sank the atmosphere like a weighted balloon. She couldn’t hide the fear in it.

‘I’m barely ready for this.’ She continued, her eyes locking with yours. ‘And he’s talking about the future.’

‘Kids?’ You gambled and Florence nodded.

‘And “planning our careers together”.’ She added with air quotations for his suggestion.

‘That’s a lot.’ You agreed, passing her the glass. Florence looked at her drink for a moment, you knew she was going to down it a half second before she did.

She handed you back the empty glass with an unashamed grin.

‘Fine.’ You allowed, feeling nostalgic for the slightly wilder Florence of a few years ago. ‘But, you’re not going to your wedding still drunk for the night before.’

Florence rolled her eyes. Still, she sipped more slowly from the refilled glass. Raising her eyebrows in acknowledgement of your request.

Without even needing to check, you took the Titanic DVD out of its case and set it up on your television.

When you sat back down, Florence snuggled immediately closer. Your hand stretched automatically across her shoulders and you gave her a reassuring squeeze.

Florence offered you a malteser. When you went to take it, she popped it into her own mouth and grinned cheekily.

You rolled your eyes and grabbed another. You could feel her silent chuckle next to you.

‘You’re the worst.’ You complained huffily, meaning the opposite. Florence didn’t stop laughing.

By the time the movie had ended, Florence was sufficiently wine drunk.

As the movie played out, she’d slowly shifted from laughing to a much more somber kind of inebriated.

She lifted her head from your shoulder as she got up clumsily to switch the DVDs.

‘Jesus.’ You muttered as Marley and Me started to play. You glanced at Florence as she settled back beside you.

‘You okay?’ You worried gently. Florence didn’t answer, adjusting to lie down on your sofa, head in your lap.

You understood the silent request for comfort. You combed your fingers through her hair absentmindedly as she focused quietly on the movie.

You wondered if she’d been looking for an excuse to cry. You ached with the thought of Florence being in that kind of pain.

You realised how unsure the future seemed, you just couldn’t imagine her saying lifelong vows tomorrow.

Florence began to snuffle as she started to cry at the movie.

As the saddest scenes played, her cries were uncontrolled and gasping.

‘Flo.’ You murmured, trying to bring her back into the room.

She turned in your lap, looking up at you with reddened eyes.

‘Come on.’ You murmured, encouraging her to sit up so that you could wrap her in a comforting hug.

Florence didn’t stop crying for a long time. Eventually, as the tears turned to hiccups, you led her gently back to your bedroom.

There wasn’t a question about her sleeping in the spare room.

She took off her pants and curled next to you in just her t-shirt and underwear. Her chest still moved rapidly with the after effects of her uncontrolled crying.

Her fingers curled tightly at the hem of your own t-shirt. You kissed her hair soothingly.

‘You’ll feel better tomorrow.’ You promised, not knowing if it would be true.

Florence’s breaths came more evenly and, sooner than you expected, you knew she’d fallen asleep. You stared up at the ceiling for a long while, trying to piece everything together.

The next morning went better than expected. Florence made it through several glasses of water and managed to reduce any hangover to just a headache. You were planning to leave at 2pm and had the address already plugged into your GPS.

You checked in with Florence regularly, gaining a thumbs up each time.

You felt an overwhelming rush of attraction when you saw her in the rainbow sundress that made her impossibly brighter.

Florence blushed at your reaction, and you saw her pleased smile.

‘Excited?’ You asked, regretting your question when a wave of tension immediately straightened her spine.

‘Nervous.’ She breathed, smoothing the dress unnecessarily. You both checked the time.

You needed to leave now. Florence blinked away a brief look of panic before following you to the car.

Another benefit to such a low key wedding was the lack of press awareness. Your nondescript car would attract no attention today.

You let quiet music play on the stereo and Florence breathed steadily in the passenger’s seat, her eyes closed.

She exuded nerves and you glanced at her worriedly as you followed the directions to the house with the private beach.

When you pulled up in the driveway of a very expensive looking mansion. Florence’s eyes opened and her attention focused entirely on you. It was like your presence was the only thing keeping her breathing.

‘You ready?’ You asked quietly. You still had ten minutes until you were expected.

There was a half second, a hesitation where you knew that Florence was going to lie.

She blinked slowly, her focus never leaving you.

‘What if the thing that makes me happy, doesn’t make you happy?’ She asked suddenly, voice abrupt.

You startled at the unexpected turn of the conversation.

‘You have to do it anyway.’ You answered with certainty.

Florence took a deep breath.

‘I’m in love with you.’ She told you straightforwardly and your heart stuttered. ‘I know you might not feel the same. But I can’t go in there and not say this first.’

Your mouth dropped, time shuddered to a stand still.

Florence covered her face with her hands briefly, breaking her eye contact.

‘I’m sorry.’ She whispered, but there was a quiet resolve underlying her apology. ‘I had to tell you.’

Silence lingered between you as your brain tried to process the impossible.

‘Don’t apologise.’ You told her at last, voice hoarse. Florence was perfect. This had to be a dream.

‘I’ve been in love with you for years.’ You admitted freely, tears beginning to run down your cheeks.

A bright smile cracked over Florence’s face like a sunrise in the morning.

‘Wow.’ She murmured. ‘We should have talked about this sooner.’

You laughed unexpectedly in agreement.

Suddenly, Florence’s eyes widened.

‘I have to call off a wedding.’ She realised calmly, and you revelled in the easy determination that she approached even the most daunting task.

She cracked the car door and you moved to do the same.

‘Wait here?’ She asked you, hand reaching out to stop you leaving the car too.

‘I need a getaway driver.’ She told you with a small smile.

You nodded, feeling high on relief and joy at the same time.

Florence walked into the mansion with her head held high.

Ten minutes later, she exited the same door.

Her head was still high, but there were tears tracks on her cheeks.

She reentered the car just as you started the engine.

You backed out of the driveway, as Florence covered her face with her hands again.

You glanced over to her as soon as you were back on the road to your house.

Florence looked over at you and, despite the tear tracks, you saw your favourite smile of hers stretching across her face.

‘I can’t help feeling so happy.’ She told you, a little dazedly.

You smiled so hard you thought your heart might burst.

#florence pugh x reader #florence pugh #yelena belova x reader #mcu cast fic #florence pugh x you

539 notes · View notes

moonlightwritingf1 · 7 months ago

Text

The Fine Line Between Hate and Desire | LN4

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡ summary ━━━━━━━ Y/N, a journalist covering a charity golf event, clashes with Formula 1 star Lando Norris, whose playful arrogance sparks heated banter. As the day progresses, their tension shifts into undeniable attraction, leaving Y/N torn between resisting his charm and surrendering to the unexpected connection.

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡ pairing ━━━━━━━ Lando Norris x she!reader

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡ word count ━━━━━━━ 4.1k

𓍯𓂃𓏧♡ warnings ━━━━━━━ +18, sexual content, oral sex (m receiving), mean Lando?

Based on this request.

The sun was high in the sky, casting a golden glow over the pristine greens of the Monaco Golf Club. Y/N adjusted her sunglasses, squinting against the glare as she scanned the crowd. This wasn’t her idea of an exciting assignment—covering a charity golf event featuring Formula 1’s golden boy, Lando Norris. She sighed, gripping her iPad. She was here to focus on the event’s charitable aspect, but she could already feel her patience waning.

She spotted him at the first tee, surrounded by fans, sponsors, and fellow golfers. Lando was unmistakable in a bright orange polo that clashed loudly with his McLaren cap and white shorts. He radiated confidence, his grin wide as he chatted and waved to the crowd. Typical, she thought, marching toward him while adjusting her press badge.

As if sensing her approach, Lando turned and locked eyes with her, his smirk growing. “Ah, the press is here! And who do we have? Y/N, right?”

She nodded curtly. “Mr. Norris,” she replied, her tone clipped. “Ready to lose gracefully today?”

He leaned casually on his driver, the epitome of unbothered. “Oh, I don’t lose. Especially not to journalists.”

A few onlookers chuckled, and Y/N felt her cheeks warm, but she refused to back down. “We’ll see about that. Just try not to embarrass yourself. Wouldn’t want another viral video of you missing a putt.”

Lando laughed, clearly relishing the exchange. “Careful, love. You keep talking like that, and I might think you enjoy my company.”

“In your dreams,” she shot back, her tone sharp.

Unfazed, Lando strolled to the tee, tipping an imaginary hat to the crowd before taking his shot. The ball soared effortlessly, landing perfectly on the fairway. Applause erupted, and Lando turned to her with a wink. “Another perfect shot. Impressed yet?”

Y/N rolled her eyes, pretending to jot something in her notes on her iPad. “I’m sure it’s easy when the only thing on your mind is yourself.”

“Ouch.” He feigned offense, his smirk widening. “I like a bit of bite, though.”

She ignored him and stepped back, but he followed, leaning closer as he lowered his voice. “You could just admit you’re impressed. Everyone is.”

Y/N glared, stepping out of his proximity. “Impressed? By your ego, maybe. I’ve seen better swings from amateurs.”

His chuckle was low and rich, sending an unwelcome shiver down her spine. “Flirting already? You’re full of surprises.”

“Flirting?” she scoffed, narrowing her eyes. “Don’t flatter yourself, Norris.”

Lando grinned, his confidence unwavering. “We’ll see about that.”

Despite herself, Y/N couldn’t help but feel a flicker of something—was it intrigue or annoyance? Either way, she pushed it aside, determined to stay focused on her work, even if Lando seemed equally determined to test her resolve.

The day dragged on, and the tension between them only grew. Every time Y/N thought she’d managed to avoid him, Lando seemed to materialize out of nowhere, always with some snarky comment or playful jab. By the time they reached the ninth hole, she was ready to strangle him with his own club.

She was standing off to the side, jotting down notes on her iPad, when he appeared beside her. “You know,” he said, his voice low and annoyingly smooth, “you’re even more beautiful when you’re annoyed.”

Y/N froze, her fingers hovering over the screen. She turned to glare at him, but the intensity in his gaze caught her off guard. There was something there—something she couldn’t quite place. Amusement? Curiosity? Or… something else?

“Flattery won’t get you anywhere, Norris,” she said, though her voice lacked its usual sharpness.

He tilted his head, studying her. “Who says I’m flattering you? Maybe I’m just stating a fact.” He took a step closer, and suddenly the air between them felt charged, electric. “Or maybe,” he continued, his voice dropping to a murmur, “I’m just trying to figure out why you hate me so much.”

Y/N’s heart skipped a beat. She opened her mouth to respond, but no words came out. Damn him. Why did he have to be so infuriatingly charming?

The day dragged on, each hole bringing more of Lando’s infuriating charm and Y/N’s biting comebacks. By the time the tournament wrapped up, the tension between them was palpable. They found themselves alone near the clubhouse, the late afternoon sun bathing everything in a warm, amber light.

“Still not impressed?” Lando asked, leaning casually against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest. His white polo clung to his torso, revealing the defined muscles beneath. Y/N hated how good he looked.

“Not even close,” she replied, though her voice wavered slightly. She hated that too.

Lando pushed off the wall, closing the distance between them in a few strides. He stopped just inches away, his blue- green eyes locking with hers. “You’re lying,” he said softly, his tone dripping with confidence. “I can see it in your eyes.”

Y/N tried to step back, but her heel caught on the edge of the pavement. She stumbled, and Lando’s hand shot out, catching her by the waist. His grip was firm, almost possessive, and it sent a jolt through her.

“Careful,” he murmured, his voice low and smooth. “Wouldn’t want you falling for me too quickly.”

She opened her mouth to retort, but no words came out. His proximity was overwhelming, his cologne filling her senses. She hated how he made her feel—confused, flustered, weak.

Lando tilted his head, studying her. “You know, for someone who claims to hate me, you sure do get awfully quiet when I’m this close.”

“I don’t—” she started, but he cut her off with a laugh.

“Yes, you do. And you know what? I think you like it.”

Y/N shook her head, trying to regain her composure. “You’re delusional.”

“Am I?” His hand slid up her side, leaving a trail of heat in its wake. “Then why hasn’t slapped me yet?”

She didn’t have an answer for that. Her heart was pounding, her mind racing. She wanted to push him away, to tell him off, but her body betrayed her, leaning ever so slightly into his touch.

Lando’s smirk returned, triumphant. “That’s what I thought.”

Before she could protest, he closed the gap between them, capturing her lips in a searing kiss. It was demanding, dominant, and entirely unexpected. Y/N froze for a moment, then let out a soft moan as his tongue brushed against hers. Her hands gripped his shirt, pulling him closer as if they had a mind of their own.

When he finally pulled away, they were both breathing heavily. Lando’s eyes gleamed with satisfaction. “Told you,” he whispered, his voice husky. “You’re mine now.”

Y/N tried to argue, but he silenced her with another kiss, deeper this time. His hands roamed her body, exploring every curve as if memorizing her. She should’ve stopped him, but the way he touched her—with such confidence, such control—made her melt.

When they finally broke apart, both of them were breathless. Lando looked at her, his eyes dark with desire. “Come with me,” he said, his voice rough.

She hesitated, but only for a second. Then she nodded, letting him lead her away from the crowd, toward somewhere more private. Her mind raced, a whirlwind of conflicting emotions, but one thought kept repeating itself: What am I doing?

They ended up in a secluded corner of the clubhouse, hidden from prying eyes. Lando pressed her against the wall, his hands roaming hungrily over her body.

Lando’s hands didn’t stop moving, his fingers trailing up the curve of her waist, skimming the edge of her blouse. His breath was warm against her ear as he murmured, “You talk so much shit during the day, but look at you now. Can’t even form a sentence.”

She opened her mouth to retort, but all that came out was a shaky exhale as his lips brushed the sensitive skin just below her jawline. Her body betrayed her, pressing closer despite the voice in her head screaming to pull away.

“Admit it,” he growled, his tone low and commanding. “You’ve been thinking about this all day, haven’t you? All those sarcastic little comments—just your way of trying to convince yourself you don’t want me.”

Her cheeks burned. She wanted to deny it, to push him off and walk away with her pride intact, but the way he looked at her—like he already knew every secret she’d ever kept—made it impossible. His confidence was infuriating, intoxicating.

“I don’t—” she started, but he cut her off with a sharp, possessive kiss that left her dizzy.

“Don’t lie to me,” Lando said, pulling back just enough to let his words sink in. His thumb traced her bottom lip, his eyes locked on hers. “You can pretend all you want, but I see right through you. You want this.”

Her heart hammered in her chest, every nerve in her body alight. She hated how easily he could unravel her, how quickly he’d turned their banter into something electric. And yet, she couldn’t bring herself to stop him.

His hands slid down to her hips, gripping tightly as he pressed her harder against the wall. The roughness of his touch sent a shockwave of arousal through her, and she bit her lip to stifle a gasp.

“Get on your knees,” he commanded, his voice leaving no room for argument.

Her eyes widened, her stomach flipping at the intensity in his gaze. “What?”

“You heard me.” There was a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, smug and self-assured. “On. Your. Knees.”

For a moment, she hesitated, her mind racing. This wasn’t her. She didn’t do things like this. But then his hand tightened on her hip, and something inside her shattered.

Slowly, she sank to her knees, her skirt pooling around her thighs. The air between them felt charged, thick with tension as she stared up at him. He loomed above her, his blue-green eyes dark with hunger, and she felt impossibly small under his scrutiny.

“Good girl,” he purred, reaching down to brush a strand of hair from her face. The praise sent a shiver down her spine, and she hated how much it affected her. “Now, let’s see if that sharp mouth of yours is good for anything else.”

Lando’s fingers tightened in her hair, pulling just enough to make her gasp. His other hand traced the line of her jaw, his thumb brushing over her bottom lip as he gazed down at her with a smug smirk. “Look at you,” he murmured, his voice dripping with satisfaction. “All that fire earlier, and now you’re kneeling for me like the good little girl I knew you could be.”

Y/N’s chest heaved as she glared up at him, but the heat in her eyes was tinged with something else—something raw and undeniable. She hated how much his dominance thrilled her, how the way he looked at her made her pulse race. “I’m not—” she started, but he cut her off with a sharp tug on her hair.

“Oh, you are,” he interrupted, his tone laced with amusement. “You can pretend all you want, but we both know you love this. Love being under my control.” He tilted her head back further, forcing her to meet his gaze. “You’ve been thinking about it all day, haven’t you? Imagining what it would feel like to have me put you in your place.”

Her cheeks burned, but she couldn’t deny it. Every sarcastic remark, every heated glance—it had all been leading to this moment. And now, here she was, completely at his mercy.

Lando let go of her hair long enough to unbutton his pants, the sound of his zipper lowering sending a shiver down her spine. He pushed his boxers down just enough to free himself, and Y/N’s breath caught at the sight of him. Thick, already hard, and practically begging for her attention. He gripped himself, giving a slow stroke as he watched her reaction. “Go on,” he said, his voice low and commanding. “Touch me. Feel what you’ve been driving me crazy over all day.”

Reluctantly, she reached out, her fingers trembling as they brushed against him. The warmth of his skin, the hardness beneath her touch—it sent a jolt through her, and she quickly pulled her hand back. But Lando wasn’t having it. He grabbed her wrist, guiding her hand back to him. “Don’t be shy,” he teased, his smirk widening. “You wanted this as much as I did. Now show me how bad you want it.”

His grip on her wrist tightened, forcing her to wrap her fingers around him. He groaned softly as she hesitantly began to move her hand, her strokes tentative at first but growing bolder as she felt him twitch in response. “That’s it,” he encouraged, his voice rougher now. “Just like that.”

But Lando wasn’t content with just her hand. He released her wrist, only to thread his fingers through her hair again, guiding her closer. “Open your mouth,” he ordered, his tone leaving no room for argument. When she hesitated, he tugged sharply on her hair, making her wince. “Do I need to repeat myself?”

Swallowing hard, she obeyed, parting her lips as he brought himself to her mouth. He didn’t give her time to adjust, pressing forward until the tip of him brushed against her tongue. “Suck,” he commanded, his voice firm.

She took him into her mouth, the taste of him overwhelming her senses as he slid deeper. He groaned, his hips jerking forward as he pushed himself further, until she felt him hit the back of her throat. Her eyes watered, and she gagged slightly, but Lando’s grip on her hair kept her in place. “Oh, fuck,” he breathed, his voice strained. “You look so good like this, choking on my cock.”

He started to move, thrusting shallowly as she struggled to take him. Each time he pushed deeper, she gagged again, tears welling in her eyes. But instead of stopping, Lando only seemed to grow more turned on by her discomfort. “That’s it,” he growled, his hips picking up speed. “Take it like a good girl. You wanted to play games with me all day? Well, this is what you get.”

Her hands clung to his thighs for support as he continued to use her mouth, his thrusts becoming more erratic as he neared the edge. “Fuck, you’re so tight,” he muttered, his breathing ragged. “Can’t believe how easily you folded for me. All that attitude, and now here you are, on your knees, gagging on my dick like the slut I always knew you were.”

His words should’ve made her angry, but instead, they only fueled the fire burning inside her. She moaned around him, the vibrations drawing a loud groan from his lips. “Shit, Y/N,” he hissed, his grip on her hair tightening almost painfully. “You’re going to make me come if you keep that up.”

He pulled back abruptly, leaving her gasping for air as he stroked himself furiously. “Beg for it,” he demanded, his voice dark and commanding. “Tell me how much you want me to finish in your pretty little mouth.”

Her lips parted, but no words came out. She was too overwhelmed, too lost in the haze of desire and humiliation to form a coherent thought. Lando’s smirk returned, and he gave her a knowing look. “Come on, sweetheart,” he coaxed, his tone mocking. “You’ve already come this far. Don’t tell me you’re going to chicken out now.”

Something in his tone snapped her out of her daze, and she glared up at him, her defiance returning despite the situation. “Fuck you,” she spat, her voice hoarse.

But Lando only laughed, low and deep. “Oh, I think you’re the one getting fucked here,” he shot back, gripping her chin tightly. “Now stop being stubborn and beg. Or do I need to remind you who’s in charge?”

She hesitated, torn between her pride and the undeniable thrill of submitting to him. Finally, she gave in, the words tumbling out before she could stop them. “Please,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “Please, Lando. I want it.”

His grin widened, triumphant and utterly arrogant. “Louder,” he urged, his tone teasing. “Let me hear how much you need it.”

“Please,” she repeated, louder this time, her cheeks burning with shame. “I want you to come in my mouth. Please, Lando.”

His groan sent a bolt of heat straight through her, and he guided himself back to her lips. “Good girl,” he praised, his voice thick with desire. “Now swallow everything I give you.”

Her lips wrapped around him once more, the heat of his arousal filling her mouth as she took him deeper, her tongue working in slow, deliberate strokes. His hands gripped her hair tightly, guiding her movements with a firmness that left no room for hesitation. She could feel him throbbing against her tongue, his heavy breaths echoing above her as he watched her with those piercing blue-green eyes.

“That’s it,” Lando murmured, his voice low and commanding. “Take all of me. Show me how much you want this.”

“Look at you,” he said, his tone dripping with condescension and something darker, more possessive. “Kneeling there like you were made for it. Tell me, Y/N, did you think about this when you were writing all those biting remarks about me? Did you imagine me bending you to my will?”

She whimpered softly, the sound muffled by his length filling her mouth. Her pride was long gone, replaced by a strange mix of shame and desire that only fueled her actions. Her hands, which had been resting limply at her sides, moved almost instinctively to his hips, her fingers brushing against the taut muscles there. He smirked down at her, his confidence radiating like a forcefield.

“Go on,” he said, his tone dripping with amusement. “Feel me. Isn’t this what you wanted? To see what I’m made of?”

Her fingers trembled as they trailed up his abdomen, feeling the hard ridges of his abs beneath his shirt. She hated how much she wanted to touch him, how badly she needed to prove to herself that he was just as flawless as he claimed to be. And he was—every inch of him was sculpted perfection, from the defined lines of his chest to the strength in his thighs. She bit back a moan as her hands explored him, her mouth still working him fervently.

“That’s it,” he rasped, his voice rough with need. “Take it all. Show me how much you want it.”

She obeyed, her tongue swirling around him, her lips pressing tightly as she worked him with a skill that surprised even herself. Lando’s head fell back, a moan slipping past his lips as he watched her with half-lidded eyes.

“Fuck, Y/N,” he muttered, his voice strained. “You’re so fucking good at this. All that attitude, all that sass… and now this. Who would’ve thought?”

She couldn’t deny it, not with the way her body responded to him, not with the wet heat pooling between her own legs as she knelt before him. Her pride screamed at her to stop, to pull away and tell him exactly where he could shove his arrogance, but her body betrayed her. She wanted this—wanted him—more than she cared to admit.

The humiliation burned in her chest, but so did something else—something hotter, wilder. She sucked harder, her hands gripping his thighs for balance as she took him deeper, her throat relaxing around him. His groans grew louder, more desperate, and she felt a thrill of power knowing she was unraveling him just as much as he had undone her.

“You’re mine,” he growled, his hips thrusting shallowly into her mouth. “All that fight, all that bullshit… and look at you now. On your knees, swallowing me like a good girl.”

Her nails dug into his thighs, but she didn’t stop. If anything, she doubled down, her movements becoming frantic, hungry. She wanted to hear him lose control, wanted to feel him come undone because of her.

Lando chuckled darkly, clearly enjoying the power he held over her. “You’re so fucking easy,” he said, shaking his head slightly. “All it took was a little push, and here you are, on your knees for me. Tell me, darling—how does it feel to know I could have you anytime I want?”

Her cheeks burned, but she didn’t stop. Instead, she took him deeper, her throat relaxing as she swallowed him whole. His breath hitched, and his grip on her hair tightened, pulling her closer. “Fuck,” he breathed, his voice trembling for the first time since this began. “You’re good at this. Better than I expected.”

The praise sent a thrill through her, and she doubled her efforts, her tongue swirling around him as she sucked him harder, faster. His groans grew louder, more desperate, and she knew he was close. She could feel it in the way his body tensed, in the way his hips began to thrust ever so slightly into her mouth.

“Don’t stop,” he commanded, his voice rough with need. “Keep going. Fucking swallow it all when I come.”

She obeyed without hesitation, her moans vibrating against him as she felt him swell in her mouth. He cursed under his breath, and then he was spilling himself down her throat, his release hot and thick as she drank every drop. She didn’t dare pull away, not even when he shuddered violently above her, his hands tightening painfully in her hair.

When he finally stilled, she leaned back slightly, letting him slip from her lips. She opened her mouth, showing him the evidence of his release still coating her tongue. His eyes darkened with something primal, something hungry, and he let out a low, appreciative laugh.

“Good girl,” he purred, his thumb brushing against her bottom lip. “Didn’t think you had it in you, but you proved me wrong. You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?”

She swallowed hard, her heart racing as she looked up at him. His expression was unreadable now, a mix of satisfaction and something else—something softer, almost tender. But then the moment passed, and the familiar cocky grin returned to his face.

“Bet you never thought you’d end up like this, huh?” he said, running a hand through his messy hair. “On your knees for some arrogant arsehole you claim to hate. Admit it—you like this. You like being my little plaything.”

She opened her mouth to protest, to tell him he was wrong, but the words caught in her throat. Because deep down, she knew he was right. She hated him, yes, but there was no denying the thrill that coursed through her every time he looked at her like that, every time he touched her with that possessive roughness.

His smirk widened, as if he could read her thoughts. “See? I told you. You’re mine now, whether you like it or not.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” she shot back, her voice husky despite her best efforts. “This doesn’t change anything.”

Lando laughed, the sound rich and warm, and she hated how much she liked it. “Keep telling yourself that, love,” he said, his hand catching her chin and tilting her face to meet his gaze. His fingers brushed a stray strand of hair from her cheek, his touch unexpectedly gentle. “But we both know the truth—you’re mine now.”

He leaned down, brushing his lips against hers in a kiss that was far gentler than she would have expected from him. It lasted only a moment, but it was enough to leave her reeling, her mind struggling to reconcile the man before her with the arrogant prick she thought she knew.

And then he pulled away, his grin returning as he offered her a hand to help her up. “Come on,” he said, his tone light now, almost playful. “Let’s get out of here before someone catches us.”

She hesitated, torn between pride and the undeniable pull he had on her. Finally, she slipped her hand into his, allowing him to help her up. With effortless ease, he draped an arm over her shoulders, drawing her closer as they strolled away. His warmth radiated through her, a quiet comfort she hadn’t expected.

Glancing down at her, his eyes sparkled with mischief. “You know,” he began, his tone light and teasing, “I might just keep you around. You’re too much fun to let go.”

She rolled her eyes, but a small smile tugged at her lips despite herself. “Don’t get ahead of yourself, Norris. This doesn’t mean I like you.”

He laughed, the sound rich and warm. “Sure, darling. Keep telling yourself that. But we both know the truth.”

His fingers brushed against her cheek, lingering for a moment longer than necessary. “And I can’t wait to prove it to you again.”

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dark-fics-4-you · 1 year ago

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Can you do reader ignoring stepbro rafe and he gets mad so he sneaks in readers room and eats her out until shes crying and begging for him to stop! Love ur fics💗💗

Silent Treatment

mean!stepbro!Rafe Cameron x reader

Warnings: noncon/forced sex, incest (step siblings), oral, fingering, forced orgasm, jealousy, controlling behavior, smut

After an excruciating family dinner where you seemed happy to speak with any other family member but him, Rafe glared at you when you were the first to excuse yourself from the table.

He rolled his eyes when he heard your door slam upstairs, but chose not to comment on it in front of Ward, Rose, Sarah, or Wheezie. If they noticed his reaction, they didn’t say anything.

Although they would have definitely noticed how little you had been speaking to Rafe, completely snubbing him at his every attempt to strike conversation with you.

Normally the two of you would be attached at the hip, and only Rafe knew why you were acting differently now.

The blond had chased off another guy that you had been talking to, insisting to you that he wasn’t any good for you, and that he didn’t deserve to date “Rafe Cameron’s little sister.”

You both knew the real reason behind his actions though.

Rafe waited several minutes before excusing himself and then casually walking up the stairs and approaching your door.

He didn’t even bother knocking, twisting the handle and opening the door to let himself in before shutting it quietly behind him.

At the noise, you sat up in bed, and glared at him.

“Leave me alone.” Your voice was curt and resolved, but Rafe didn’t really want to listen to you right now.

“C’mon Y/N, are you really going to do this right now? This silent treatment shit is getting old fast.” When your older step brother sat on the side of your bed, you tensed, scooting yourself away from him a bit.

“I already told you, I don’t want to talk to you right now.” You snapped at him. “You threatened Tyler to get him to stop talking to me!”

Rafe shook his head, his jaw clenching in frustration when he looked at you. He stared at you in silence before chuckling darkly.

“God, you’re such a cunt sometimes, Y/N, you know that?”

You reeled back at his words, jaw dropping in disbelief at his insult.

“Fuck you, Rafe,” you cursed under your breath and you were surprised when his fingers clamped down on your chin, forcing you to look at him.

“Oh yeah? Maybe I will.” His words shocked you, but not as much as the dead serious look on his face. “Maybe that would teach you to not be such an uptight bitch.”

You tried to grasp at his wrist but he swatted your hand away before sliding his hand around your throat and forcing you onto your back.

“Rafe-” you struggled against him when he straddled you, and when he reared his hand back like he was ready to slap you across the face, you tensed up, finally stilling beneath him and looking up at your older step brother with fear in your eyes.

“Relax, I wasn’t going to hit you, sweetheart,” you weren’t sure whether his raspy words were meant to be a comfort or a threat.

You couldn’t speak, too shocked and frightened by his actions to create a sound. All you could do was blink the tears from your shiny eyes.

“What? Nothing to say now, huh?” Rafe mocked you, drawing closer. His breath was hot on your face and his large hand at your throat kept you pinned in place.

You defiantly kept your mouth shut, although you didn’t think you could have made a sound even if you wanted to with Rafe’s fingers starting to crush your throat.

Your silence was short lived however, because you gasped when you felt Rafe’s other hand gently ghost over your clothed core. You jerked away from his touch, but the hand at your throat held you firmly in place.

He shifted on top of you, crawling lower and finally releasing his hold on your neck. Your attempts to shove him off of you were futile, and when his big hands began pawing at your shorts and kneading the soft skin of your thighs, you felt your stomach drop.

“Get the hell off of me!”

He ignored you, unbuttoning your shorts, only unzipping them part of the way before just tugging them down your legs and discarding them behind him. Your heart was beating hard in your ears, and the sound of your rushing pulse made you feel dizzy.

He eyed your lacy pink panties for just a moment before pulling them down, ripping them when you kicked your legs out trying to stop him.

“What the fuck are you doing?” You hissed quietly, too confused and embarrassed to be loud enough to attract the attention of your family.

He didn’t respond, but you got your answer when he spread your legs, which you were desperately trying to squeeze together, and buried his tongue into your pussy.

You weren’t sure if the noise you let out was a cry or a moan, but either way, it was loud. Disgust and pleasure sinfully mingled together in your gut when Rafe’s tongue teased your clit.

With his strong arms wrapped around your legs, you had nowhere to go. When you squirmed in his arms, his tongue just licked at you more hungrily, shooting sparks of ecstasy through your entire body.

Your step brother devoured your silky cunt, savoring the sweet flavors of your unwanted arousal like it was nectar from the gods. The sound of your soft cries of protests mixed with involuntary moans of pleasure made him harder than he had ever gotten by just fantasizing about this moment.

“Rafe please!” You begged him, panting as he messily lapped at your tender clit. His harsh grip on your soft thighs tightened, and you winced at the feeling of his fingers digging into your skin.

When you felt the tip of his finger slide along your dripping folds, you bucked your hips in surprise, trying again to free yourself from his grasp.

His blue eyes glanced up, taking in your disheveled form. Your chest was rising and falling unevenly and Rafe watched your face as he slowly pushed his index finger into your tight heat.

Your eyebrows shot up in shock and you bit your lip, trying to stifle the gasp that escaped at the feeling of your older brother sliding his ringed finger along your walls. Every flick of his tongue against your clit had you tensing and tightening around his finger and Rafe’s moans vibrated against your soaked pussy.

“P-please stop,” you whimpered, tears beginning to prick at your eyes and overflow past your lashes.

“Not ‘til you apologize, princess,” he mumbled in between sucking at your clit and curling his finger inside your quivering walls. He slowly slid in a second finger, stretching you out even further and earning a strained gasp that made his cock twitch. Rafe had fantasized about this moment so many times before, but seeing your perfect face and hearing you moan and whine as he fucked you with his fingers and lapped at your clit was better than anything he could have ever imagined.

Your head was in the clouds, horribly confused by your conflicting feelings of disgust and desperate want. It was wrong for so many reasons, but maybe that fact was why you were so close to being pushed over the brink.

“I’m sorry, Rafe! Okay? Fuck- Please, mm- I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” You breathlessly begged him. Your eyes were squeezed shut, but your tears were still flowing down your cheeks in a steady stream.

“Look at me, Y/N,” he ordered. Rafe was fucking you with his fingers harder now, the feeling of his ring dragging along your walls was making you see stars behind your eyelids. His thumb circled your clit with just the right amount of pressure to keep you right on the edge of finishing.

You reluctantly cracked your eyes, meeting Rafe’s intense gaze with heavy lidded eyes that you could barely keep open.

“Apologize to your big brother like you fucking mean it.” His grin was triumphant and mocking, and he allowed his eyes to trace over every part of you, taking in how much of a pathetic mess he had made of you.

“I’m sorry, Rafe! I’m sorry, I’ll never ignore you again. I was just being stupid. Ple- mm please stop.” You pleaded with him, tears and hiccups interrupting your words. You had never felt so much humiliation in your entire life.

“Fuck, Y/N,” he groaned, not stopping his movements at all. “You’re just too cute for your own good, baby.”

“What-?”

Your question was cut off with a moan when he resumed working your clit with his tongue. He lapped and licked at the tender flesh like a man starved and when he slide a third finger into your tight cunt, the band inside of you finally snapped.

“Rafe!” You loudly whined as you came, legs quivering as he continued fucking you through your high.

“Aw, there’s my good girl,” he cooed, drinking in your beautiful face and enjoying the feeling of your cunt clinging to his fingers and pulsing around them. Your pink, puffy tear stained eyes fearfully met his eyes and you sniffed sadly.

“That wasn’t so bad, was it, Y/N?” He smirked at you when he pulled his fingers from your sore, weeping pussy and slid them past his lips, savoring the flavor of your arousal.

“Mm, tastes like you enjoyed yourself,” Rafe chuckled darkly. “So quit your fucking crying. Just makes me want to choke you with my dick till you shut up.”

#silent treatment #rafe cameron #dark!rafe cameron #outer banks #rafe cameron noncon #stepbro!rafe cameron #stepbro!rafe #dark rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron smut #rafe cameron fanfic

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liuhsng · 5 days ago

Text

✩ˎˊ˗ ride with caution ( lhs ! ) — part 1

✩ˎˊ˗ part of the xo, with you series | enhypen masterlist

⤷ pairing — heeseung x fem!reader

⤷ part 1 | part 2 | part 3 ⤷ word count — 14.4k ⤷ taglist for the series — open !

⤷ warnings — college au, biker!heeseung, english major!heeseung, fashion major!reader, college!heeseung, college!reader, college!enhypen, strangers to lovers, slow burn, tension-filled interactions, mutual pining, rich!reader, casual jealousy, subtle possessiveness, emotional repression, foul language, kinda fuckboy!heeseung, soft!heeseung deep down, mentions of ive’s wonyoung and yujin, reader is cold but not heartless, fluff, angst

✩ˎˊ˗ summary — lee heeseung has always been the kind of boy you were told to stay away from—reckless, with a trail of rumors that follow wherever he goes. they say he fights for fun, kisses without meaning, and never sticks around long enough to fall. you, on the other hand, have never had time for distractions. being one of decelis university’s most promising fashion majors, the spotlight’s already on you—you were supposed to avoid him. and you did. until a quiet offer of help changed everything. or, where the boy you never planned to look twice at ends up being the only one who sees right through you.

The room was silent except for the faint hum of the projector and the occasional shuffle of papers.

You stood tall at the front of the hall, posture straight as if you’d been sculpted for moments like this.

Your fingers smoothed the hem of your pleated skirt, tugging once at your cropped white blazer to ensure it sat perfectly on your shoulders.

The faint gold pin of your major’s crest glinted under the overhead lights as you adjusted it ever so slightly, a habit born of nerves you’d never admit to.

Behind you, your designs illuminated the screen—five mid-length coats, each distinct yet cohesive in their color palette and silhouettes.

“For this final piece,” you began, voice calm and steady, “I wanted to marry modern minimalism with delicate detailing. The bodice is structured with a cinched waist for shape, while the lace sleeves soften the silhouette.”

You paused, the faintest crease forming between your brows.

“However, during construction, I noticed an issue with the stitching at the lace sleeve ends—it wasn’t holding cleanly against the lining.”

A murmur ran through a few students in the audience, but you pressed on.

“To solve this, I reinforced the edges with an under-stitch and switched to a finer thread gauge for more flexibility, which allowed the lace to sit flush without compromising durability.”

You stepped back slightly, hands folding neatly in front of you as you gave a small nod. “That concludes my presentation. Thank you.”

For a beat, the room stayed quiet. Then applause swelled, echoing through the hall like a rolling wave.

Your lips curved into the faintest smile—not too wide, never smug—just enough to mask the tightness in your chest finally easing.

One of the panelists, Professor Kim, leaned forward with a warm expression. “As expected of Choi (Y/N). Our top student.”

A few soft laughs broke out across the room, and your smile grew a fraction.

“You have an exceptional eye,” He continued, “but more importantly, you have the presence of mind to identify and resolve issues independently. That’s a skill even seasoned designers struggle with.”

You inclined your head politely. “Thank you, professor.”

Behind you, the murmurs grew louder, sprinkled with approving comments from your peers.

As you made your way back to your seat, Yujin and Wonyoung were already grinning like proud parents.

“I told you,” Yujin whispered as you sat down, elbowing you lightly. “You were overthinking it. You killed it.”

You let out a small laugh, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “Maybe.”

“Not maybe.” Wonyoung smiled, eyes crinkling as she rested her chin in her hand. “You really said, ‘save the best for last,’ huh?”

You shook your head with a quiet chuckle, trying to ignore the faint heat rising in your cheeks.

“Good job, everyone,” Professor Kim’s voice cut through the fading applause, drawing the attention of the room back to the front.

“You all passed the midterm project. Well done.”

Cheers and relieved sighs erupted from the students, the tension breaking like a dam. Hands clapped, a few chairs scraped back with excitement, and Yujin even did a little fist pump beside you.

But then Professor Min spoke up, her tone calm yet edged with finality. “However—”

The cheers instantly died down, replaced by a chorus of groans and murmurs.

“There’s still the final project,” she continued, clasping her hands in front of her. “It accounts for forty percent of your grade.”

You straightened slightly in your seat, fighting the urge to sigh. Forty percent. Of course.

Professor Min’s expression softened just a little at the collective despair in the room.

“The materials and requirements have been uploaded to the portal. You’ll have until the end of the month to submit. I suggest you start early.”

With that, the panelists gathered their notes and began exiting the hall.

“Good luck, everyone,” Professor Kim added with a small smile. “You’ll need it.”

As the door clicked shut behind them, the buzz of conversation returned—quieter now, tinged with nervous energy.

You exhaled slowly, relief loosening the knot in your chest.

“Shall we?” Wonyoung asked, slinging her sleek tote bag over her shoulder. She tilted her head toward the door with her usual elegance, though the teasing glint in her eyes didn’t go unnoticed.

“Yeah,” you murmured, gathering your tablet and sketchbook. Yujin hummed in agreement, already stuffing her charger into her bag as she grinned.

“You two seriously need to chill,” Yujin said playfully. “Midterms done. Let’s get celebratory coffee. My treat.”

But before you could reply, a familiar, cheerful voice called your name from the doorway.

“(Y/N)!”

You glanced up, surprise flickering across your face before a smile broke out.

Leaning casually against the doorframe, arms crossed and blonde hair catching the light, was none other than Kim Sunoo.

His grin was bright enough to rival the afternoon sun. “There you are! I thought I’d missed you.”

“Oh right!” you exclaimed, the realization hitting you as you snapped your fingers. “I completely forgot—I promised I’d help you with the costume samples for your performance.”

Wonyoung and Yujin exchanged knowing looks as they stood.

“It’s totally fine,” Wonyoung said smoothly, a teasing smile tugging at her lips. “You can just meet us at our usual table later.”

“Yeah, go be a good Samaritan,” Yujin added with a wink, slinging her bag over her shoulder.

You laughed softly, rolling your eyes. “I’m not a good Samaritan.”

“Sure you’re not,” Wonyoung teased as the two of them strolled away down the hall.

Turning back to Sunoo, you noticed his slightly sheepish expression as he scratched the back of his neck.

“Sorry,” he said with a small laugh. “Were you busy?”

“Not at all,” you replied warmly, shaking your head. “Come on, let’s finish the samples in the cafeteria. What do you say?”

His entire face lit up at your suggestion. “Yes! Thank you. Seriously, I’m really glad you’re my friend, you know that?”

You let out a soft laugh, nudging his shoulder as the two of you began walking side by side.

“Nonsense. I’m glad you’re mine too,” you said genuinely. “I’m always happy to help you, Sunoo.”

He smiled, the kind of smile that made it impossible not to smile back, and for a moment, the weight of final projects and deadlines felt just a little lighter.

As the two of you walked through the halls, the sound of your heels tapping against the floor mixed with Sunoo’s occasional hums.

It was warm outside the design building, but the faint hum of conversation and laughter spilling from the cafeteria ahead felt heavier—too packed, too loud for your liking.

When you finally stepped inside, you sighed softly, scanning the chaotic sea of students.

Every table was occupied—people hunched over assignments, groups laughing a little too loudly, trays clattering as someone almost tripped over a chair.

“Yeah…” Sunoo rubbed the back of his neck, scanning the tables with a hopeful glint in his eye.

“Well…” His eyes suddenly lit up. “Oh! I see someone I know.”

You raised a brow, watching his hand lift as he pointed toward the far side of the cafeteria. “Is it okay with you if we join him?”

You sighed, adjusting the strap of your bag. “As long as this person doesn’t annoy me.”

Sunoo laughed brightly. “Don’t worry. He doesn’t really speak that much around strangers.”

That made you pause.

Strangers? You weren’t sure if that label comforted you or not.

But you nodded anyway, following Sunoo as he weaved between crowded tables until you reached a corner tucked away from most of the noise.

There, sitting with his head bent low over a laptop, was a boy with cherry red-dyed hair, one hand lazily scrolling through the touchpad as a small pile of chocolate milk cartons sat stacked beside his things.

“Hey! Heeseung!” Sunoo chirped, grinning as he reached the table.

The boy’s head lifted slowly, dark eyes meeting Sunoo’s before a faint smile tugged at his lips. “Sunoo.”

Sunoo offered him a fist bump, which Heeseung returned without looking away from his screen.

“Mind if we sit?” Sunoo asked brightly.

Heeseung leaned back slightly, his gaze flicking to you just for a second—long enough to make your stomach tighten.

Then he nodded lazily. “Go ahead.”

Sunoo grinned, turning to you as if urging you to sit before you changed your mind. You reluctantly slid into the seat across from Heeseung, setting your tablet down with practiced precision.

“Look at this.” Sunoo gestured to the pile of chocolate milk with an incredulous laugh. “What’s with the stockpile?”

Heeseung’s lips curved faintly. “Go crazy. Don’t even like chocolate milk that much.”

“Seriously?” Sunoo chuckled, grabbing one. He held another out toward you. “Want one, (Y/N)?”

You shook your head politely. “I prefer banana milk.”

At that, Heeseung’s eyes flicked up from his laptop, a small, amused smile playing on his lips.

“Exactly,” he murmured, voice low but smooth like he’d just won a silent argument.

Sunoo blinked between the two of you before laughing. “Oh right! Lee Heeseung, Choi (Y/N). Choi (Y/N), Lee Heeseung.”

Heeseung offered his hand across the table, his long fingers loose and easy like he wasn’t trying at all. “Nice to meet you.”

You glanced at his hand but didn’t take it. Instead, you gave a polite nod.

He hummed, retracting his hand without missing a beat. “No to physical touch. Got it.”

Sunoo chuckled awkwardly. “We’re gonna be working here for a while. Hope that’s okay.”

“Don’t mind me.” Heeseung shook his head, already looking back down at his laptop. “I’m busy.”

And he meant it. His fingers tapped lazily at the keyboard, the glow of the screen highlighting his sharp features.

Cherry red strands fell slightly into his eyes, and you hated how effortlessly striking he looked even when he wasn’t paying attention to anything but his work.

You tore your gaze away, opening your tablet with a soft sigh.

“Sunoo,” you murmured, sliding the design mock-up toward him, “we need to modify the cargo pants.”

Sunoo leaned closer, nodding eagerly. “Right! The ones for the backup dancers? What do you think—less pocket bulk?”

“Yes,” you replied, your eyes flicking briefly to Heeseung before focusing fully on Sunoo again. “And we need a lighter fabric. It’ll move better during the performance.”

Sunoo hummed, nodding eagerly as his fingers drummed against the table.

He reached over to grab another chocolate milk from the small pile beside Heeseung’s laptop, twisting the carton in his hands as his lips curled mischievously.

“You know…” Sunoo began, eyeing the absurd stash with a teasing grin, “why do you even have so many of these anyway?”

Heeseung, still hunched lazily over his laptop, spared him a glance. The faintest curve of amusement played on his lips as he opened his mouth to answer—but he didn’t get the chance.

A chorus of soft giggles floated toward your table, and you instinctively looked up.

Three girls from your Apparel Development class—each perfectly dolled up in their own statement pieces—were making their way over.

Their steps were hesitant yet excited, clutching cartons of chocolate milk in their manicured hands as they approached.

You watched silently as Heeseung leaned back slightly in his chair, his cherry red hair catching the warm cafeteria light.

He let out a quiet sigh, though his expression melted into a smooth, practiced smile.

“Yes?” His tone was light, teasing even, but not unkind.

One of the girls stepped forward nervously, placing three more cartons onto the growing pile beside him.

“We, um—thought you might want more,” she said, her voice pitched slightly higher than usual.

Heeseung chuckled, the sound low and effortless. “Thank you, ladies. I’ll be sure to drink them, yeah?”

They giggled again—one even tucking her hair behind her ear as she muttered a shy “bye, Heeseung.”

“Bye,” he replied with an easy grin, watching them walk away before turning back to his laptop like nothing had happened.

Sunoo nearly choked on his sip of chocolate milk, laughter spilling out as he wiped the corner of his mouth. “Oh my god. That’s why.”

Heeseung didn’t look up, fingers tapping away at his keys. “Hm?”

“The chocolate milk. You don’t even like it that much—you’re just hoarding offerings from your little fanclub.”

A faint smirk tugged at Heeseung’s lips, but he didn’t deny it. “What can I say? People like to give.”

Sunoo shook his head, grinning as he glanced at you. “Isn’t he ridiculous?”

But you weren’t smiling. You raised a brow, glancing between the newly stacked cartons and the cherry red-haired boy across from you.

The dots connected almost instantly in your head.

Of course.

Just another pretty face with the personality to match. Charming. Effortless. Probably used to people falling over themselves to get a sliver of his attention.

You shook your head lightly, muttering under your breath, “Figures.”

Heeseung’s eyes flicked up at you then—quick, sharp, like he’d caught the faint trace of judgment in your tone.

But you didn’t meet his gaze.

Instead, you tapped your tablet screen with a neatly manicured finger, saying to Sunoo, “We need to adjust the stitching pattern on the waistband too. It’s pulling oddly at the seams in the mock-up.”

Sunoo nodded, already distracted as he jotted notes. “Got it. You’re a lifesaver, (Y/N).”

From the corner of your eye, you saw Heeseung’s lips twitch—not quite a smirk, not quite a smile—as he turned his attention back to his glowing screen.

“Interesting,” he murmured under his breath, so quiet it was nearly swallowed by the soft hum of the cafeteria.

His gaze trailed briefly—taking in the elegant way you held your stylus, the faint crease in your brow as you pointed out flaws in Sunoo’s design, and the way your gold wristwatch caught the light when you reached for your tablet.

You didn’t notice him watching, too focused on your work. Or maybe you did, and you were just very good at pretending you didn’t care.

Heeseung’s lips curved faintly again, this time in a softer way, like a private joke only he understood.

His fingers resumed their lazy tapping on the keyboard, but his eyes flicked up one last time—just for a second—as if filing the image of you away for later.

Then, with a low hum to himself, he muttered almost inaudibly, “This could be fun.”

The soft hum of chatter and clinking mugs filled the café, the faint aroma of espresso and warm pastries wrapping around you like a blanket.

It was the next morning, and though the sun had barely broken through the hazy clouds outside, Decelis students already filled the small coffee shop—hunched over laptops, sketchbooks, and steaming mugs.

You sat tucked into a corner booth, tablet balanced delicately against the pile of papers sprawled in front of you.

Wonyoung sat next to you, her long hair falling over her shoulders as she scrolled through fabric swatches on her phone.

“I’m telling you, chiffon could work,” Wonyoung mused, tilting her screen toward you. “It’s breezy, light, and drapes beautifully for movement.”

Sunoo leaned in from across you, popping the straw of his iced Americano between his lips.

“It’s good, but it needs a stronger base. Otherwise, it’ll just float awkwardly when they dance. Maybe a cotton blend? Something breathable.”

You hummed thoughtfully, tapping notes onto your screen.

“We could layer chiffon over a structured lining. That way, it keeps the form but still flows with the movement.”

Wonyoung’s eyes lit up. “Genius.”

The conversation continued like that—light, technical, and productive—until the quiet jingle of the café door’s bell rang.

Out of habit, your eyes flicked up, barely paying attention.

It was none other than Lee Heeseung.

Cherry red hair falling just slightly into his eyes, a simple gray sweatshirt hanging loose on his frame paired with ripped denim. Silver rings and a thin chain glinted faintly under the café’s warm lighting.

He carried nothing but his phone and earbuds, looking entirely too comfortable as his gaze scanned the room—until it landed on you.

For a second, your eyes met. A faint smirk tugged at his lips, the same kind that had gotten under your skin yesterday without him even trying.

You quickly broke the eye contact, lowering your head to your tablet as if the stack of fabric specs was suddenly the most interesting thing in the world.

Sunoo didn’t miss the way your shoulders stiffened. He turned slightly, following your line of sight just as Heeseung approached their booth.

“Hey, Sunoo,” Heeseung greeted casually, lifting his hand for a high five.

Sunoo grinned, reciprocating with an easy slap of palms. “Didn’t know you’d be here.”

“Didn’t know you guys would be here either.” Heeseung’s voice was smooth and low, his eyes flicking briefly—almost lazily—to where you sat, before returning to Sunoo.

“Yeah,” Sunoo laughed, oblivious to the faint tightness in your jaw.

Heeseung hummed lightly, then gestured over his shoulder. “I’ll be right there.” He nodded toward an empty table at the back of the café.

“Great. Are you busy later?” Sunoo asked brightly.

Heeseung thought for a moment, tilting his head slightly as his fingers toyed with the silver chain at his neck. “Besides helping out at the tryouts? No, not really. Why?”

“Can I come and watch?” Sunoo asked, his grin widening.

“Sure. Anytime.” Heeseung’s smile was easy, effortless—as if he hadn’t just left a quiet ripple in the air around your booth.

He offered Sunoo a brief nod before walking away, slipping into the corner seat with the same quiet confidence that had annoyed you yesterday.

You didn’t look up until you were sure he wasn’t paying attention. Then your eyes finally flicked back to Sunoo.

“Tryouts?” you asked, arching a perfectly-shaped brow. “For what?”

Sunoo’s grin widened knowingly. “So you were listening.”

Wonyoung didn’t even try to hide her smirk as she sipped her lavender latte. “Didn’t know you were into bad boys, (Y/N).”

You scoffed, sitting straighter as your fingers swiped across your tablet screen. “Please. Don’t be ridiculous.”

Wonyoung’s grin only grew as she leaned forward conspiratorially. “I don’t know… I don’t think your brother would be thrilled about Lee Heeseung of all people.”

You rolled your eyes, ignoring the faint heat threatening to creep up your neck. “What’s with him, anyway? How do you even know him?”

Wonyoung’s voice lilted with playful mischief. “Everyone knows him, (Y/N.) He’s the captain of the basketball team. Smart. Ridiculously talented. And—”

Sunoo chimed in with a laugh. “—Decelis’ golden boy. Oh, and notorious playboy. Don’t forget that.”

Wonyoung giggled, nodding. “Seriously. He’s everywhere—sports, academics, even social events. You could ask anyone, and they’d have at least one story about Lee Heeseung.”

She tilted her head, her earrings swaying slightly as her lips curved in playful mischief. “What? Don’t tell me you’ve never heard the rumors?”

You didn’t even look up from your tablet as your stylus glided against the screen with practiced precision. “I don’t listen to baseless rumors.”

Sunoo snorted softly from across the table, stirring his drink with his straw. “Oh, these aren’t baseless. Trust me, there’s a lot.”

You raised a brow, reluctantly glancing up at him. “Like?”

Sunoo held up his fingers, ticking them off one by one.

“He made another senior cry after they broke up—though technically she wasn’t even his girlfriend. He punched Jake in the face once for accidentally popping one of their basketballs.”

“That’s…” You blinked, surprised despite yourself. “A little extreme.”

“It’s true!” Sunoo laughed, shaking his head.

“And he’s really famous for… you know, not really rejecting girls outright but not accepting their confessions either. He doesn’t lead them on, but he also doesn’t stop them from trying.”

You let out a small sigh, tucking a loose strand of hair neatly behind your ear as your eyes flicked back down to your sketches.

“Why are you even friends with him? He’s like the total opposite of you, Sunoo.”

Sunoo smiled faintly, the kind of soft grin that said he wasn’t bothered in the slightest. “He’s a good friend. I’ve known him since high school.”

“Has he always been like that?” you asked, almost without thinking, fingers still idly tapping at your tablet screen.

“Kinda,” Sunoo admitted with a quiet laugh. “But he’s also the type who shows up when it matters. People don’t see that part of him.”

You hummed, not fully convinced as you flicked through the color palettes on your screen. “Sounds like a headache to me.”

Sunoo and Wonyoung exchanged a knowing glance, the corners of Wonyoung’s lips twitching as though she wanted to say more but decided against it.

After a moment, you glanced back up at Sunoo. “Tryouts—for what?”

“Basketball,” Sunoo replied simply, popping a piece of pastry into his mouth. “The team needs some fresh faces. I don’t know… diversity or whatever.”

You hummed again, resting your chin lightly on your hand as you returned your focus to your work. “Figures. Someone like him would need all eyes on him.”

Wonyoung smirked, sipping her latte. “Sounds like you do listen to rumors after all.”

You shot her a flat look, lips pressed into a thin line. “No. I just observe.”

And with that, you let their teasing voices fade into the background, your fingers resuming their steady rhythm on the tablet screen.

You drowned out the clinking mugs, the hum of Decelis students laughing at nearby tables, even the faint thrum of music from the café speakers.

The only thing you refused to acknowledge was the burning stare you swore you felt at the back of your head.

You didn’t look back—you wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

It was five in the afternoon when you found yourself being dragged—quite literally—across the campus courtyard by an overly eager Sunoo.

He clutched your bag like it was ransom, his blonde hair glowing under the late afternoon sun as he half-pleaded, half-whined.

“Please, (Y/N), come on. Jungwon and Ni-ki bailed, and I can’t watch alone or I’ll look like a weirdo.”

You sighed, tugging lightly on your bag. “Sunoo, you know I don’t do… whatever this is. Basketball? Gymnasium air? Questionable bleachers?”

“Questionable?” He gasped dramatically, hugging your bag tighter. “You wound me. Also, I’ll buy you dinner after.”

“I don’t need—”

“Or,” Sunoo cut in with a grin, “you can buy me dinner instead. Your choice.”

You paused, glaring faintly at the boy who you’d grown to treat like your own younger brother—thanks to your lack of one.

He was giving you the puppy eyes again, all wide and glinting in the light, knowing exactly how to push your walls down.

You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Fine.”

“Yes!” Sunoo’s entire face lit up as he looped his arm around yours with a triumphant grin. “You’re the best. Like, actually my favorite person alive.”

“Uh-huh. We’ll see if I’m still your favorite after I get mosquito bites,” you mumbled, letting him steer you toward the back gates of the main building.

The walk was quiet, the sound of your shoes tapping against the concrete blending with the faint buzz of cicadas.

Streetlights flickered to life one by one as Sunoo guided you toward the closed gymnasium near the music department’s building.

“Oh, come on. It isn’t that bad,” Sunoo chirped, practically bouncing on his heels.

You gave him a skeptical look, lips pressing into a thin line. “Mhmm. Getting eaten alive by mosquitoes isn’t bad at all.”

He laughed, a soft melodic sound, as you both approached the double doors.

He peeked through the small glass window before pushing one open and gesturing dramatically. “After you, milady.”

The first thing to hit you was the scent of disinfectant and polished wood.

Then came the faint squeak of sneakers against the glossy court floor and the rhythmic thuds of basketballs being dribbled in quick succession.

The gym was fuller than you’d expected—students scattered in groups, some running casual drills, others sitting along the sides chatting.

“Here, let’s sit,” Sunoo whispered, tugging you toward the far bleachers. You allowed him to guide you, your eyes scanning the room out of pure habit.

And then they zeroed in on him—01, Lee.

His back was to you, cherry red hair slightly tousled, the number on his jersey stretching across his broad shoulders as he stood talking to a group of guys you recognized from campus.

His gray sweatpants clung loose around his long legs, but there was nothing casual about the way he carried himself—confident, relaxed, like the court belonged to him.

You raised a brow as you settled on the bench beside Sunoo, crossing your legs neatly. “Captain, you say?”

Sunoo followed your gaze, a knowing smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah. That’s Heeseung.”

You hummed softly, leaning your elbow on your knee as you rested your chin against your palm. “Figures. He looks like the type who needs a whole room watching him.”

Sunoo snickered. “You say that like you’re not watching him right now.”

You shot him a pointed glare. “I’m observing.”

“Sure.” Sunoo grinned, leaning back on his palms.

“That’s what everyone says before they end up showing up to every game.”

You scoffed lightly, eyes flitting back to your tablet screen as you pulled it out of your bag. “Relax. I won’t even be here long.”

“Uh-huh.”

Before you could even unlock the screen, Sunoo snatched the device from your hands with alarming speed, holding it out of your reach as his eyes narrowed at you playfully.

“No work.” He gave you a pointed look, wagging a finger. “We’ll finish that later.”

“Sunoo—” You let out a sharp sigh, already knowing arguing was useless when he had that determined gleam in his eyes.

With a dramatic huff, you crossed your legs and folded your arms, leaning back against the cold bleacher seat.

“Fine. But if I get behind because of this, it’s on you.”

“Uh-huh. Sure, Ms. Perfectionist.” Sunoo smirked, tucking your tablet into his tote bag for safekeeping.

You rolled your eyes, dragging your gaze reluctantly back to the court.

Heeseung’s voice echoed through the gym, bouncing off the walls with a quiet authority that demanded attention without trying.

“Alright, split into two groups,” he called out, his tone smooth yet commanding.

“One with me, one with Jeno. Let’s run a few trial games. Five minutes each—show us what you’ve got.”

You watched as he gestured toward the vice-captain—a sharp-eyed boy with black hair—tossing him a spare ball. He caught it easily, already motioning for half the group to join him.

Heeseung, meanwhile, walked leisurely toward the sideline, spinning his own ball absentmindedly in one hand.

The loose white sleeveless jersey showed just enough of his toned arms to make the girls a few seats away from you and Sunoo start whispering excitedly.

“Heeseung!” one of them called out with a nervous giggle.

He turned his head slightly, offering them an easy wave and the kind of lopsided grin that probably lived rent-free in their daydreams.

You huffed under your breath, ignoring their flustered whispers and giggles.

But then his gaze moved—and for the second time in two days, Lee Heeseung’s eyes found yours.

His lips quirked into a small smile, one eyebrow raised as if amused by the fact that you were even here. You held his gaze steadily, tilting your chin up ever so slightly—refusing to be the first one to look away.

Even seated on the bleachers, you stood out like a flame in a room of shadows.

The pastel blue blazer draped flawlessly over your frame—a tailored Chanel piece he recognized instantly—paired with a crisp white skirt that skimmed mid-thigh and delicate heels that clicked against the wood earlier when you walked in.

Your hair fell in soft waves, not a strand out of place, your expression calm and poised like you belonged anywhere but in a stuffy gymnasium.

Heeseung’s smile widened faintly before he let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head.

He passed the ball in his hands to Jeno with a casual toss and clapped his hands together. “Alright! Let’s see what you can do.”

“Who’s that?” you murmured, nodding slightly at Jeno as he barked instructions at his group.

“Jeno. Vice-captain,” Sunoo answered easily, eyes still on the court. “Really solid player. Heeseung trusts him with running drills.”

You nodded, your attention unintentionally drifting back to Heeseung as he leaned casually against the scorer’s table, arms crossed loosely over his chest.

Even from here, it was impossible not to notice how tall he was—how he seemed to take up space without even trying.

“He’s tall,” you muttered before you could stop yourself.

Sunoo’s lips curled into a knowing grin. “Yeah. He’d make a good model, huh?”

You let out a short laugh, shaking your head. “Only if he wasn’t such a notorious playboy.”

Sunoo grinned knowingly but didn’t comment, his attention shifting back to the court just as Heeseung stepped forward again.

The cherry red-haired captain barked out quick, decisive orders—his voice cutting through the gym’s chatter with practiced ease.

“Jeno, you’re on point. Seungmin, cover left. I’ll take it from here. Let’s go.”

The ball was in his hands again before the words even finished leaving his mouth.

His movements were clean, precise, almost lazy in their ease as he dribbled past two freshman defenders, pivoting with a sharp twist of his heel.

The sound of sneakers squeaking against polished wood filled the air as Heeseung stepped back—just outside the three-point line—and with one smooth motion, he sent the ball flying.

It arced high, almost tauntingly slow, before it sank cleanly through the hoop.

The gym erupted in cheers, a few players even clapping as Heeseung gave a small shrug like it was no big deal. His gaze, however, flicked toward the bleachers—directly at you.

For a brief moment, his eyes locked with yours.

And then his lips curved into that maddeningly faint smirk before he turned back to the game, calling out more instructions like he hadn’t just made the air between you sizzle.

“Show-off,” you muttered under your breath, straightening in your seat.

Unfortunately, the group of girls sitting nearby noticed the fleeting interaction. You caught them glancing at you from the corner of your eye, whispering behind manicured hands.

You raised a perfectly sculpted brow at them. “What are you looking at?”

One of them scoffed, flipping her hair over her shoulder. “Spoiled brat.”

You tilted your head, lips curling into a cold smile. “Because I have the money to do as I please?”

The girl faltered slightly, and you rolled your eyes with a sharp laugh. “Relax. Lee Heeseung’s all yours. I promise I’m not interested.”

They looked away quickly after that, muttering under their breaths as you exhaled a slow sigh, focusing your gaze back on the court.

By the time the game wrapped up, the freshmen on the sidelines were red-faced and panting, while the regular players clapped a few of them on the back.

Heeseung had a towel draped around his neck and a bottle of water in one hand as he jogged over to where you and Sunoo sat.

“Well?” he asked, his voice light with amusement as his eyes flicked between you and Sunoo. “How’d I do?”

Sunoo grinned as he slung his bag over his shoulder. “Shouldn’t the freshmen be the ones asking that?”

They both laughed, an easy, familiar sound that made you feel like an outsider for just a second.

Heeseung’s gaze then settled on you, his smile softening as he tilted his head. “And you? What’s the verdict?”

You blinked, caught off guard for a moment before biting the inside of your cheek. “I… don’t know anything about basketball.”

His grin widened into a chuckle, head tipping back slightly. “Not even one thing?”

You shook your head, expression calm and unimpressed. “No.”

“Guess I’ll have to teach you, then,” he teased, reaching for his towel to wipe his forehead.

You only raised a brow, saying nothing as Sunoo stood and reached for your bag.

“Is everybody in the team already?” Sunoo asked as he handed you your things.

Heeseung shrugged. “Most of them. Still deciding on a few spots.”

His eyes flicked back to you briefly—searching, almost curious—as you stood next to Sunoo, fixing the strap of your bag on your shoulder.

“You two are still here?” Heeseung asked, his voice casual but his gaze lingering a beat longer on you. “It’s getting late.”

Sunoo smiled brightly, reaching to loop an arm through yours. “Yeah, I wanted to watch. Anyways, we’re heading out now. Bye, Heeseung.”

“Bye, Sunoo.” Heeseung’s eyes shifted to you, his tone softening slightly. “Bye, (Y/N).”

You gave him a small nod, offering no more than a polite smile as Sunoo gently tugged you toward the doors.

Heeseung watched you leave, his once playful expression slipping into something unreadable—neutral, contemplative.

As the gym doors closed behind you, he let out a quiet sigh, rubbing at the back of his neck before turning back to his teammates.

“Alright, let’s wrap it up.”

The only sound that filled the old-school charm of the library was the faint rustle of turning pages and soft whispers exchanged between tables.

You sat alone, the large mahogany desk in front of you covered with sketchbooks, swatches, and expensive pens your mother insisted you use.

Your eyes narrowed down at the blank figure on the page, the silhouette barely formed—no color, no lines, no personality. Nothing was coming to you.

Finals weren’t even near, but you never slacked.

Not when your mother was Korea’s most sought-after designer, nor when your older brother—Decelis alumni—was already making headlines with his own shoe firm by twenty-two.

You weren’t just expected to be great. You were expected to be better.

Your lips pressed into a thin line as you let your thoughts swallow you whole.

Maybe you weren’t born to design. Maybe you were just the family’s pretty face—the one good at being polite, presentable, and perfect in public.

You sighed and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, frustration starting to bubble in your chest when a soft knock on the wood of your desk made you jolt upright.

You blinked.

Silver rings. Long fingers. Knuckles lightly bruised like he’d just come from a game or a fight—maybe both.

You slowly looked up and met the warmliquid brown gaze of Lee Heeseung. Eyes shaped like a doe’s—soft but unreadable. Almost too pretty for someone with a reputation as cold as his.

Cherry red strands framed his face, a bit tousled like he didn’t bother fixing it after practice, and he wore the Decelis black varsity jacket unzipped, revealing a white shirt that clung to his torso.

His expression wasn’t cocky—just curious. And quiet. Like he was trying to figure you out.

You tilted your head slightly, lips parting as you let your gaze fall down and then back up.

“Yes, Lee?” you asked, voice smooth with a hint of challenge.

Heeseung just smiled, the corners of his lips tugging up with ease as he motioned to the empty chair across from you. “Can I sit here?”

You raised a brow at him but gave a small shrug, nodding. “Sure. Not like it’s reserved.”

“Thanks,” he said, still grinning as he slid into the wooden seat, the chair giving a quiet creak beneath him.

He set his laptop down with a soft thud, glancing up to find you already trying to focus again, fingers twirling a pencil between them, eyes narrowed at your untouched sketchpad.

“Where’s Sunoo?” he asked casually, like it was just a passing thought.

“He had something to do,” you replied, tone clipped but not exactly cold. You didn’t owe him more than that, and he didn’t seem to expect it either.

Heeseung chuckled at the lack of detail, nodding slightly as he opened his laptop. “So just you, then.”

“Just me,” you echoed, eyes still on the page, not even sparing him a glance.

There was a short silence between you, not heavy, but not exactly comfortable either. Then, you felt his eyes flicker to your side. “You major in fashion, right?”

You looked at him finally, one brow arching with a sarcastic twist. “What gave it away?”

To your surprise, he didn’t falter. He simply pointed at the maroon Prada bag neatly tucked beside your sketchbook. “Everything, honestly. But mostly that.”

You hummed, fingers tracing idle lines on the page, trying to sketch something—anything—that didn’t look like an uninspired blob. The pencil scratched lightly, but your mind was blank.

“You’re quiet,” Heeseung said suddenly, gaze still focused on his screen. “That means you’re thinking. Or stuck.”

You let out a small sigh. “Maybe a bit of both.”

“What’s the problem?”

“I’m out of ideas,” you mumbled, flipping the page and starting fresh.

Heeseung nodded knowingly. “Writer’s block, designer’s block… same thing. When my brain gets stuck, I get up. Cafés and walks help a lot.”

You tilted your head, genuinely curious despite yourself. “Why’s that?”

He turned toward you slightly, resting his chin on his palm. “They give me something to look at. Different people, different conversations, smells, sounds—it’s like mini inspiration packets for free.”

You eyed him for a moment. “And you’re a…?”

“English major,” he answered with a small shrug, the glint in his eyes unmistakable.

Heeseung liked talking about this—liked the way his words could shape things, the way ideas came to life on the page.

You studied him for a second.

His laptop was already open to a document, full of scattered dialogue and poetic lines you couldn't read but looked lived-in, like he actually used his mind more than people assumed.

Heeseung caught your gaze and smirked. “What? Surprised I can read?”

You blinked, before nodding slowly, voice laced with dry humor. “You don’t exactly seem like the literary type.”

That made him chuckle under his breath, a soft, low sound that felt too genuine to be mocking. His shoulders relaxed a little as he leaned back, fingers tapping lazily at the edge of his laptop.

“Fair,” he replied, still smiling. “You’re not the first to say that.”

There was something oddly refreshing about the way he said it—no irritation, no defense. Just amusement.

You glanced at him again, catching the faintest glint in his eyes, as if he truly enjoyed talking about himself… not in a narcissistic way, but like it was rare for someone to ask without already assuming the answers.

And it was rare.

You didn’t know anything about Lee Heeseung—aside from the constant buzz of whispers and stolen glances he seemed to drag with him wherever he went.

But none of that existed here, not in this quiet corner of the library. Here, he was just some guy sitting across from you, trying to strike up a conversation.

Heeseung turned back to his laptop, the screen lighting up his face in soft white-blue hues as he said, “I’m sure you’ll find inspiration later.”

You frowned slightly. “How do you know that?”

“I just do,” he answered easily, not looking away from his screen, fingers now scrolling through something.

“It comes in waves. You’re just in the middle of a dry one.”

You hummed quietly, eyes drifting back to your sketchpad, still blank except for a few frustrated pencil lines.

The silence returned, but this time, it wasn’t heavy. It was comfortable.

Across from you, Heeseung adjusted his seat, resting his ankle on his opposite knee, posture relaxed but still sharp around the edges—like a blade that’s learned how to rest without dulling.

You glanced at him again, then at the Prada bag he’d pointed out earlier, and finally at your own page.

Maybe he wasn’t that bad. Maybe—just maybe—Sunoo was right. There was something a little more layered beneath the sharp jaw, the smug grins, and the nonchalant aura.

Something softer. Something that didn’t mind sitting in silence with someone else.

You tapped your pencil lightly against the edge of your sketchpad, and for the first time in hours, an idea started to form.

Heeseung, without looking up, said quietly, “Told you so.”

Your eyes narrowed. “Are you always this cocky?”

“Only when I’m right,” he replied, finally glancing up at you, that smirk tugging at his lips again. “Which, by the way, is most of the time.”

The cafeteria was unusually quiet for midday, its usual crowd reduced to only a handful of scattered students.

The sunlight slanted lazily through the tall windows, casting golden patterns on the floor as the distant clinking of trays and soft hum of background music made for a comforting lull.

You were curled up on one of the corner benches, legs folded beneath you as your tablet rested on your lap, stylus gliding across the screen with practiced ease.

Next to you sat a growing army of empty banana milk cartons—two stacked, one half-full, and another freshly punctured by a straw you were sipping through absentmindedly.

It was peaceful. Just the way you liked it.

Until a low cough disrupted your focus.

You frowned, not even bothering to look up as your hand stilled mid-sketch. “There’s literally empty tables everywhere.”

“I know,” a familiar voice said, laced with amusement.

You glanced up, half-annoyed, only to meet the cherry red-haired male from the library—Lee Heeseung.

He was holding a tray, a banana milk sitting innocently on it.

You blinked. “What are you doing here?”

Heeseung smiled, not answering as he casually slid into the seat across from you. “Can I sit?”

You sighed. “You already are.”

He laughed at that, cracking the lid off his banana milk and poking a straw in.

You stared. “You do realize that stuff’s basically sugar water, right? You’ll be running to the bathroom in like—ten minutes.”

Heeseung raised a brow, amused. “So you do care.”

You rolled your eyes, cheeks heating faintly. “I don’t. You’re just weird.”

His gaze drifted to the side of your tray, where the banana milk cartons were lined like little trophies. “Really? That’s rich coming from the person who drank four.”

“I haven’t eaten yet,” you huffed. “Leave me alone.”

You turned back to your tablet, trying to sink back into the rhythm you’d found earlier. But before you could draw another line, something soft slid across the table.

You paused. A neatly wrapped milk bread bun sat next to your tablet now, its plastic crinkling faintly under your wrist.

You turned your head slowly, eyes narrowing.

Heeseung was scrolling through his phone, earbuds in, gaze pointedly not meeting yours.

You blinked, lips parting slightly. “…What’s this?”

He didn’t answer, simply popped a piece of chicken into his mouth and leaned back in his seat.

You stared at the bread for a moment before mumbling under your breath, “…Thanks.”

Heeseung looked up at you, a faint smile ghosting his lips as he gave a small nod. “No problem.”

His voice was quiet, like he didn’t want to break whatever quiet bubble the two of you had found yourselves in.

He nudged the banana milk closer to him, took a slow sip, then leaned an elbow on the table, his eyes scanning your face with something curious.

“Where’s Sunoo?”

Your fingers paused over the bread wrapper. The question was innocent—lighthearted, even—but something about it made your chest tighten.

A smile crept onto your lips, small and automatic, the kind of smile that used to come so easily at the mention of your friend.

But this time, it faded just as fast.

You didn’t meet Heeseung’s eyes as you replied flatly, “He’s busy.”

You tugged the plastic open with a quiet crinkle, carefully peeling back the corners like it gave you something to focus on.

Heeseung let out a soft breath—maybe a laugh, maybe just amusement. “Of course.”

There was no malice in his voice, only a kind of warmth wrapped in sarcasm.

He glanced at you again, eyes soft as he asked, “So, it’s just you?”

The repeated question made your chest tighten for some reason you didn’t want to name. “Just me,” you murmured, tone even, like yesterday hadn’t happened at all.

Heeseung nodded, smile tugging lazily at the corner of his mouth, but he didn’t press further. “Okay.”

He seemed almost used to your dry tone, like he didn’t expect anything more but still somehow found your cold honesty a little funny.

You didn’t respond.

Instead, you took a small bite of the milk bread, your eyes flicking back to the tablet in your lap as if hoping it would magically distract you from everything else.

If you had looked up just a second longer, you might’ve caught the fleeting smile playing on Heeseung’s lips—something real, something soft.

He stared at you for a beat longer, then shook his head with a barely-there smirk as he stabbed a fork into his food.

He didn’t speak again.

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward—but it was heavy.

Comfortable in a way that shouldn’t have made sense, not with someone you barely knew. But you weren’t scrambling to fill the quiet, and neither was he.

You continued nibbling on the bread slowly, the sketch on your tablet long forgotten. Your stylus sat limp in your hand as you simply… let yourself sit there, with him.

A minute later, Heeseung fixed one of his earbuds on his ear, properly slipping it in as he opened his playlist.

The screen glowed against his skin, and he tapped the play button once.

Music spilled from his other earbud faintly—mellow guitar strums and lo-fi drums—just loud enough that you could hear it if you really tried.

You didn’t say anything. Neither did he.

You walked down the hallway with your usual expressionless stride, ignoring the not-so-quiet whispers echoing off the walls around you.

“She’s so full of herself.”

“No, she’s just a genius, didn’t you hear about her last collection?”

“I bet she thinks she’s better than everyone.”

Same voices. Different day.

You barely blinked as they passed by, used to the reputation that clung to you like the scent of luxury perfume.

You were either the fashion department’s ‘prodigy’ or the ‘cold, stuck-up brat’—there was no in-between. But it didn’t matter. You didn’t have time for their noise.

You adjusted the strap of your on your shoulder, fingers brushing the buttery leather as you continued walking toward the exit.

Sunoo had texted a few minutes ago, asking to meet at your favorite café just outside campus. A small escape—one you were honestly looking forward to.

But the second you turned the final hallway out of the fashion building, your steps slowed.

There, leaning casually against the wall by the exit, stood Heeseung.

Black joggers. Worn basketball shoes. His university jersey still on, hanging loosely over his figure. A white zip-up jacket draped open over it. His dark hair was damp at the edges, like he’d just come from practice.

His gaze was scanning the students spilling out of the building—bored, like he didn’t even know what he was looking for. Until his eyes landed on you.

And then, as if you were in some cliché drama, he lifted a hand and waved. At you.

You blinked.

Glanced behind you.

No one.

You raised a brow and sighed under your breath, the slightest drop of dread forming in your gut as you adjusted your bag and walked forward, your heels clicking with every step on the polished floor.

You met halfway, and as always, he was already grinning like he found your frown amusing.

You narrowed your eyes. “What do you want, Lee?”

He pushed off the wall with lazy ease, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets as he fell in step beside you. “Are you always this harsh?”

You didn’t even hesitate. “Are you always this annoying?”

He laughed—head tilting back slightly like he actually enjoyed the way you spoke to him. “Damn, you really don’t hold back, huh?”

You didn’t answer. Just kept walking. If you acknowledged the slight way your heart tripped at his laugh, you’d never forgive yourself.

He matched your pace effortlessly, his longer legs keeping up with your brisk stride as you both exited the building into the soft breeze outside.

“I’m actually here on behalf of Sunoo,” he said, finally explaining his presence.

You turned your head slightly, eyes narrowing. “What? Why?”

Heeseung shrugged a little too casually, “He told me he’d be running late. Some last-minute project he needed to finish up. Said he probably wouldn’t make it in time—so he sent me as his substitute.”

You blinked. “Substitute?”

“Mhm.” He pulled out his phone and tapped the screen with ease before turning it toward you. Sure enough, there it was—a message labeled ‘Sunoo’ with the text:

sunoo [4:53 P.M.]: i owe u big time heeseung pls just go w her to the cafe she’ll kill me if she waits alone

sunoo [4:53 P.M.]: I’ll try to come later!!

You stared at the screen, deadpan, then sighed, muttering, “Kim Sunoo, I swear to God.”

Heeseung chuckled beside you, slipping his phone back into his pocket. “Oh come on, I’m not that bad. I thought we were getting close.”

You gave him a flat look, raising a single brow. “Is three days enough to determine a person’s personality?”

Heeseung tilted his head slightly, as if considering your question way too seriously. “Well… kind of,” he mused, “I mean, you wouldn’t stab me in public just because I’m here instead of Sunoo… right?”

You didn't respond immediately—just kept walking as you muttered, “Tempting.”

Heeseung laughed, the sound light and easy, like he wasn’t bothered at all by your dry jab. “So, where’s this mysterious café of yours?”

“Just one near the gate by the arts building,” you replied, voice even as you tucked your hands into the sleeves of your cardigan.

He nodded, gaze forward as he adjusted the strap of his backpack. “Huh. Never been. Lead the way then.

Silence soon wrapped around the both of you—not uncomfortable, but filled with something you couldn’t quite name. The air between you felt heavier the longer you walked side by side, heels tapping in sync against the stone path.

Still, he didn’t speak again, and somehow, that unnerved you more than his usual cocky remarks.

You glanced at him from the corner of your eye, observing the way his cherry-red hair caught the dying gold of the afternoon light.

He wasn’t smiling, wasn’t fidgeting, wasn’t trying to get under your skin. He just walked. Quiet. Calm. Collected.

And that was what unsettled you the most.

It was strange—seeing him like this. The same Heeseung who made it to the top of your ‘Most Annoying People Alive’ list without even trying, the one who always had a smirk ready and a comment lined up to rile you.

But now? He was unreadable. Still. Focused.

Was this how he always was when Sunoo wasn’t around to stir him up? Or was this his default?

You bit the inside of your cheek, unsure why it bothered you so much. Maybe it was the way he carried himself—with a strange sort of quiet confidence that made you question your own.

Or maybe it was the way his presence didn’t demand attention, but somehow pulled yours in anyway.

He turned to you suddenly, catching your stare. “You okay?”

You blinked. “Yeah. Fine.”

Heeseung smiled faintly, a knowing sort of curve to his lips. “You were staring.”

“No, I wasn’t.”

“You were definitely staring,” he teased, nudging your elbow with his.

You scoffed. “Your hair’s just blinding.”

Heeseung let out a breathy laugh, the sound bouncing lightly between the two of you.

“What, you don’t like dark red?” he teased, running a hand through his vibrant cherry-dyed hair with a smirk that made you roll your eyes.

You didn’t bother replying—just kept walking, eyes forward. But he caught the way the corners of your lips twitched ever so slightly.

Heeseung’s grin only widened at the lack of protest. “Okay then,” he hummed, clearly entertained by your silence.

The next thing you knew, the two of you were already inside the café.

A warm hum of espresso beans and jazz music swirled around the quiet corners of the glass-walled space. The table you chose—one of the corner booths nestled near the tall windows—was bathed in a soft afternoon glow.

Your matcha cold brew sat on the table in front of you, condensation sliding lazily down the cup. Heeseung’s java chip frappé, on the other hand, was already half-melted, neglected entirely as his focus stayed glued to you.

“I still don’t get how you manage to multitask so much,” he said, chin propped on his hand as he leaned slightly forward, eyes scanning your tablet while you spoke.

You glanced at him from the corner of your eye, letting out a short, amused breath. “I don’t know either. Now stop staring and focus,” you mumbled, turning the device toward him.

He blinked before shifting a little closer, his knee brushing against yours under the table. “Alright, alright,” he murmured with a small grin.

“Okay,” you started, eyes scanning your notes, “I made some modifications on the pants—fixed the trim to something more tapered, but I haven’t stitched it yet. I’m stuck on what thread to use so it doesn’t tear the fabric, especially since Sunoo moves so much onstage.”

Heeseung tapped his chin thoughtfully, his brows pulling in. “Have you tried bonded nylon? It’s tough. Won’t tear easily.”

You looked up slowly, brows raised. “Where the hell did you learn that?”

He smiled and shrugged. “I had a close friend who was a fashion major. He graduated last year.”

You nodded, clearly impressed. “You remember at least one thing he said, huh?”

“I remember the important stuff,” he said casually, eyes dropping to your tablet again.

“Tell Sunoo you’re done finalizing the fabric for the top, and you just need to settle on accessories. You said you were leaning toward gold last time, right?”

You blinked. “Yeah… I was.”

Heeseung looked proud of himself. “See? I listen. Not just a pretty face, y’know.”

A small smile escaped you before you could stop it. You quickly looked down to hide it, pretending to scroll through your files.

He caught it anyway.

“I told you,” he said, voice light, teasing. “I’m not that bad, (Y/N).”

You shook your head, lips quirking. “We’ll see.”

Heeseung let out a quiet chuckle, eyes flickering to the condensation dripping down his forgotten drink. “I still don’t get how you haven’t burned out.”

“I have,” you said honestly, tone softer now. “I just don’t show it.”

Heeseung smiled, not the teasing kind he usually wore, but something smaller—gentler.

He ran a hand through his hair, the strands falling right back into place as he leaned one elbow on the table, eyes not leaving yours.

“So it’s just you, huh?” he repeated, voice quieter.

You let out a breath of a laugh, nodding slowly. “Yeah. Just me.”

He chuckled, shaking his head slightly like something about that amused or maybe even impressed him. The sound made you smile in return—an unintentional reaction that slipped through your usually guarded expression.

Then he leaned forward, squinting at your nearly empty cup and the crumbs on your plate. “So, are you hungry?”

You blinked, furrowing your brows. “I had a muffin earlier. And the matcha’s still half full, so… not really?”

He gave you a flat look, raising a brow. “Real food, (Y/N).”

You snorted. “I can’t. I still have another project to finish after this.”

“When’s that due?” he asked, already knowing what your answer would be.

You sighed, “Next week.”

He let out a laugh and leaned back in his chair, arms crossing over his chest as he pointed out, “Exactly. Come on, I’ll treat you to dinner.”

“There’s no need, Lee, I can handle—”

“I told Sunoo I’d be with you.” He clicked his tongue and cut you off, tilting his head as if that settled the matter.

You stared at him. He stared back. His arms still crossed in defiance, making the letters of the Decelis University jersey stretch across his chest.

“That’s not a valid excuse,” you muttered.

“It’s a perfectly valid excuse,” he grinned. “Now get up. I’m not leaving you here to starve.”

“I’m not starving!”

“You had a muffin.”

You huffed and gave him a look, grabbing your tablet and neatly tucking it into your bag. “You’re so annoying.”

“I know,” he said, voice light, as he stood up beside you.

He waited, watching you pack the rest of your things. And when you finally zipped your bag and rose from your seat, he held the café door open with the cockiest little smirk like he’d just won a war.

“Cocky much?” you muttered as you stepped out, brushing past him.

He grinned, letting the door shut behind him as he fell in step beside you. “What? Can’t a gentleman walk a pretty girl back to campus?”

You rolled your eyes. “You? A gentleman?”

“I opened the door,” he said with faux offense. “Twice, might I add. That’s two gentleman points.”

You shook your head, letting out a small laugh as the two of you strolled down the sidewalk. The sky was soft now—pale blue melting into gold—and the warm breeze carried the faint scent of the bakery down the block.

Your shoulders brushed every now and then, but neither of you pulled away.

You furrowed your brows, eyes fixed on the sidewalk ahead.

Whatever this thing was—this connection, this pull—you didn’t know what to call it.

He wasn’t just some passing face anymore. Not after how easily he made you laugh. Not after how naturally he took up space beside you like he belonged there.

And that scared you.

Heeseung glanced at you, catching the wrinkle in your brow. “You okay?”

You blinked, trying to play it off. “Yeah. Just thinking.”

You sat on the cold bleachers beside Sunoo, the hum of rubber soles squeaking against the polished wood floor echoing across the gym. It was early afternoon, and despite the crowd being modest, the cheers from a few enthusiastic bleacher rows away made your eye twitch.

You glanced down at your hand, inspecting your nails with a soft frown, lips pursed.

“Ugh,” you sighed under your breath, squinting. “Why is it that the gel always grows out at the worst possible time?”

Sunoo, beside you in his cream cardigan and blue jeans, let out a soft laugh. “You really can’t even pretend to be interested, can you?”

You raised a brow without looking at him, eyes flickering back to the court where the Decelis team moved in sharp formations. “Why are we here again?”

He turned to you, blonde hair bouncing a little with the movement, smiling brightly. “To show support for our friend.”

You snorted. “Your friend. Not mine.”

Sunoo blinked dramatically at you. “He took you out to dinner two nights ago.”

You rolled your eyes. “A night you bailed on me for, by the way.”

“I already apologized for that!” Sunoo defended with a soft whine, poking your shoulder. “Besides, that’s not the point. You went. You let him pay.”

“That was nothing,” you said, arms crossing over your chest. “He was just being friendly.”

Sunoo side-eyed you, trying and failing to hide a smug grin. “That’s what they all say.”

You groaned. “Oh my god, Sunoo—”

Before you could say more, the buzzer rang loudly through the gym, and the crowd stirred with energy as the timeout was called.

The players headed toward their benches, water bottles being passed around. You scanned the group lazily until your eyes landed on Heeseung.

Cherry red hair damp with sweat, jersey clinging to his tall frame, the number on his back glinting slightly under the lights. He wiped his face with the edge of his shirt, flashing a sliver of toned abs that made the girls a few rows down absolutely lose it.

You scowled, muttering under your breath, “They act like they’ve never seen abs before.”

Sunoo leaned over slightly, a teasing smirk tugging at his lips. “Like you have?”

You turned your head slowly, one brow arching as your lips parted to retort—but he beat you to it.

“Yes, smartass, I know,” he drawled dramatically, flipping his blonde bangs out of his eyes. “You help your mom and brother with their modeling gigs.”

You gave a victorious little smile, proud and smug as you leaned back against the bleacher, eyes flicking lazily back toward the court—only to meet a pair of familiar brown ones already staring.

Heeseung was standing near the team’s bench, one hand on his waist, towel draped over his neck. He wasn’t even pretending not to look.

His lips curled into a knowing little smile as he caught your gaze, and you blinked in surprise before offering him the most nonchalant wave you could muster.

He dipped his head slightly, amused, then turned back to his teammates who were crowding around the coach. But not before you saw that stupid cocky grin again.

Sunoo hummed beside you like he was watching a soap opera unravel. “Yeah. Totally not friends.”

You didn’t even have to look to know he was smirking.

He continued, voice laced with mock sincerity, “Because, you know, friends totally look like they wanna suck each other’s faces off.”

Your head whipped toward him, scandal written all over your expression. “Kim Sunoo—!”

He just laughed, loudly and unashamed, clapping once at your reaction. “God, I love toying with you and your high-class grammar. You make it so easy.”

You couldn’t help but laugh too, swatting at his arm. “You’re so annoying.”

He grinned. “Admit it, you’d be bored without me.”

“Painfully.”

You both fell into a comfortable silence for a moment, watching as the players began lining up again. You sighed, arms crossing over your chest as you slumped back into the metal bleachers.

“When’s this game going to be over?” you asked, voice bordering on a whine.

Sunoo glanced at his phone. “We don’t have classes until two.”

You groaned. “So, never.”

Sunoo snorted, nudging your shoulder with his. “Patience.”

The two of you slumped a little lower in your seats, your chin resting against your palm while your eyes drifted over the court. It had gotten a little more intense, more aggressive.

You watched as Heeseung weaved in between two defenders with ease, chest heaving, face damp with sweat, and you couldn’t lie—it was kind of attractive.

Just kind of.

Not that you were going to admit that out loud.

The game dragged on, minutes stretching as the buzzer rang again and again, signaling quarters, subs, and timeouts. You and Sunoo chatted aimlessly in between, and despite yourself, you kept glancing back at Heeseung.

He played like he had something to prove. His movements were clean, controlled—every pass, every shot, every quick dodge through players was done with ease and confidence.

And as much as you wanted to pretend it didn’t faze you, your heart skipped when he made that final three-pointer, right at the buzzer.

The sound echoed through the gym, followed by the shriek of the final buzzer.

Cheers erupted from his teammates. The teams called out a chorus of “Good game!” and “Thanks for the match!” as they lined up to slap hands.

People began trickling out of the bleachers, footsteps echoing in waves.

You and Sunoo stood, heading down the short steps as chatter filled the air, gym bags unzipping, laughter bouncing off the walls.

And then, right at the base of the stairs, Heeseung appeared.

Sweat still clung to his neck and jaw, his shirt damp against his toned chest. He grinned—wide, boyish, and proud—as he jogged up and stood in front of you both.

He tilted his head, cocky. “Well? How’d I do?”

You blinked. “I still don’t know a thing about basketball, Lee.”

He blinked, lips parting slightly like he was almost offended—until you added, “But I guess that last three-pointer was impressive.”

His eyes widened. “Wait. Wait, did you just—? Did you actually call it a three-pointer?”

He turned to Sunoo, dramatic. “Did you teach her that?”

Sunoo raised his hands smugly. “I did. Took me two weeks, but I finally got through her designer brain.”

You smiled, shaking your head as Heeseung chuckled.

“Well, thank you. Both of you—for coming.”

Sunoo shrugged. “It’s nothing. Not like we have classes until two.”

Heeseung nodded in understanding, grabbing the edge of the towel draped around his shoulders to wipe his forehead. “Still. Means a lot. Even if it’s just a practice game.”

Sunoo arched a brow. “For a practice game?”

The two boys exchanged a look.

Sunoo laughed first. “You’re an idiot.”

“And you’re annoying,” Heeseung muttered fondly, nudging Sunoo’s arm with his elbow.

Sunoo pointed toward the gym doors. “Well. Shall we?”

You gave a little nod and turned to follow Sunoo, your steps soft on the polished floor. But behind you, Heeseung’s voice called out.

“Good luck on your classes, (Y/N)!”

You glanced back. “Thanks, Lee.”

He smiled at you, sweat-slick hair falling slightly over his eyes.

But before you could respond again, Sunoo was already a few steps ahead, tapping his phone and humming some song under his breath.

You quickened your pace to match him, only to glance one last time over your shoulder.

Heeseung was no longer looking at you, now surrounded by a bunch of girls from some other department. They laughed at something he said, one of them reaching to push his shoulder playfully.

He didn’t look at them the same way he looked at you, but still—your brows furrowed.

You looked away and stepped outside with Sunoo, the gym doors closing behind you with a soft thud.

But you couldn't help it.

Your feet slowed slightly as your eyes flicked back over your shoulder, catching a glimpse through the tall glass panes on the door.

For a second—just a second—his eyes drifted back toward the door like he knew. Like he knew you’d turn around. And when they did, your gaze clashed with his across the glass. He didn’t say anything. Just smiled.

That stupid, lopsided, boyish smile that made your stomach do something annoying.

You quickly turned your head, heat rising to your cheeks, only to see Sunoo already watching you like a hawk, hands stuffed into the pockets of his cream hoodie, lips twitching with barely concealed smugness.

“I know that look,” he said in a sing-song tone, starting to walk again.

You glared at him, falling in step beside him. “No, you do not.”

He shrugged. “Come on. I mean, it's your first time liking someone, I don’t blame you.”

You nearly choked. “Sunoo—!”

“What?” he laughed, throwing his hands up playfully. “You don’t have to say it out loud for me to see it all over your face. You get this weird thing going on with your mouth when you’re trying not to smile.”

You rolled your eyes. “I don’t even know him fully. Sunoo, please. You’re making it sound like I’m… infatuated.”

He hummed. “Aren’t you?”

You smacked his arm lightly, earning another laugh from him as the two of you walked past the familiar brick path that led back to your department’s main building. But the truth lingered in your throat.

You didn’t know what you felt for Heeseung. And you really didn’t know why the sight of him laughing so easily with other girls made something sour coil in your chest.

It wasn’t like you were anything to him. Just a stranger from a different building who happened to have a loud friend and a schedule that aligned, somehow.

You exhaled quietly, pushing the doors open to the Fashion Department and stepping into the cool air-conditioned hallway.

The hallways of the main building were as chaotic as ever, buzzing with voices, shoes clicking against polished floors, and the occasional laughter echoing off the walls.

You walked through it all like you were floating—head held high, confidence cloaked around you like one of your mother’s luxury silk scarves. Your tote swung against your hip with every graceful step, your expression unreadable.

“She looks so intimidating, oh my God…”

“Wait, is that Choi (Y/N)?”

“Damn… she’s even prettier up close.”

You heard it all. You always did. But like usual, you didn’t flinch—let alone acknowledge it.

You were headed to the administration office, needing to track down one of the professors under the Fashion Merchandising elective to confirm your final consultation date for your Market Behavior in Modern Fashion project.

One of your designs had been shortlisted for a collab pitch, and there were requirements to meet.

You clutched the folder of reference papers closer to your chest, turning the corner toward the long hallway where the admin office sat, only to pause ever so slightly at what you saw.

Heeseung.

Walking right toward your direction with two boys at his side. You’d seen them around before—thanks to Sunoo.

The sharper-eyed one with the feline expression was Yang Jungwon, a student org vice president, while the one with the striking pale features and deep-set eyes could only be Park Sunghoon. No Sunoo in sight.

They were laughing at something. Shoulders bumping. Casual and easy in that boyish way. And then, as if gravity had its own plans, Heeseung’s eyes flicked up from whatever Jungwon was saying—and met yours.

It was brief.

A single moment.

But it lingered.

Your stomach twisted. You didn’t smile. Didn’t flinch. Didn’t let it show.

You simply looked away and kept walking past them like nothing.

Heeseung's head tilted the slightest bit as his gaze followed you. His smile from earlier dimmed just slightly—his brows knitting together.

“Hey,” Jungwon nudged him with a chuckle, glancing between Heeseung and your retreating form. “What, another new girl?”

Heeseung frowned. “She’s not—she’s my friend. If you can even call it that.”

Sunghoon snorted. “Come on. Me and Jungwon aren’t blind. You do this whole… googly-eye thing when you’re interested.”

“What googly-eye thing?” Heeseung snapped, glaring mildly at Sunghoon as the other boy held in a laugh.

“That one,” Sunghoon pointed at his face dramatically. “Right there. You look like you’re trying not to smile every time you look at her.”

Jungwon grinned. “Exactly. Like, is she different? ‘Cause I think she might be different.”

“Shut up,” Heeseung groaned as he ran a hand through his hair, stealing another glance down the hall you just disappeared into.

“She’s not like that. I mean—she’s not one of them.”

“Them being…?”

“My admirers,” Heeseung said flatly, the word tasting sour. “They obsess over me. It’s weird.”

“Okay, Mr. Humble,” Jungwon said with a shrug. “So then, what’s she to you?”

Heeseung slowed his steps for just a second. Thought about the glare you gave him during your first encounter.

The annoyed roll of your eyes when he teased you. The quiet softness in your expression when you forgot to be guarded.

Heeseung exhaled, “…I don’t know,” he muttered.

Sunghoon raised a brow. “You sure?”

He didn’t respond.

He was still staring at the hallway you disappeared into, wondering why your silence this time left him with a strange, unshakable emptiness in his chest.

Meanwhile, just around the corner, your steps finally slowed.

You turned into the quieter hallway leading to the Administration Office, letting the sound of chatter and heels against tile fade behind you.

The second you were alone, you exhaled sharply.

You stopped in front of the frosted glass door, fingers tightening around the strap of your shoulder bag as your eyes dropped to the polished floor.

“Get a grip,” you muttered under your breath, brushing a few strands of hair away from your face.

“You’re here for the product catalog inquiry. Not to unravel over some guy who probably flirts with anything that breathes.”

You shook your head as if it would shake the thoughts away too. “He’s confusing. That’s all,” you whispered, steadying yourself with a deep breath.

“You don’t even know what this is. And you’re not about to let it get in the way.”

And with that, you reached for the door handle, pushing it open with a blank expression painted on your face—composed and unreadable, no matter what war brewed underneath.

The sun was merciless, beating down on your shoulders like it had something to prove.

You shifted the paper bag in your arms, muttering under your breath, “It’s so hot, I feel like I’m about to melt into the pavement.”

Your blouse clung uncomfortably to your back, and you sighed as you approached the wide pathway near the gym—one of the only shaded spots on the walk to the art building.

You stepped gratefully into the shadow cast by the structure, a small sigh of relief slipping past your lips as you used your free hand to fan yourself.

But your eyes shifted toward the open gym doors, curiosity betraying you.

The first thing that caught your attention was the dark cherry-red of his hair, glinting slightly under the gym lights. Then the white fabric of his jersey, the navy-blue ‘LEE’ stitched across the back in bold letters, slightly wrinkled as he moved.

Heeseung was tossing a basketball to one of his teammates, laughing with a kind of ease that felt both annoying and magnetic.

You didn’t mean to stare—but your feet stopped moving.

He turned, almost like he felt your gaze.

And the second his eyes found you, his entire expression lit up. Heeseung raised a hand in your direction, a wide smile forming on his face like he’d been waiting for this exact moment.

But you blinked. Once. Twice.

And then you turned your head and walked away.

Didn’t wave. Didn’t smile. Didn’t acknowledge him at all.

The smile on his face faltered. His hand dropped slowly, confusion flickering across his features as he stood frozen for a moment, the echoes of bouncing basketballs and sneakers squeaking on hardwood suddenly too loud.

“What the hell…” he mumbled, brows drawing together.

“Yo, Heeseung! You good?” one of his teammates called out.

Heeseung didn’t answer. He ran a hand through his damp hair, trying to shake off the sudden heaviness in his chest.

Things were going well. You laughed at his jokes, talked back without flinching, sat with him at cafés like you didn’t mind his presence.

But now, you looked at him like he was a stranger again. Like he didn’t exist. Like he wasn’t the same guy who once grinned when you called him a show-off.

Heeseung exhaled sharply, jaw tightening. “You confuse me, Choi (Y/N),” he muttered under his breath, fingers curling into fists as he forced himself to look away.

He was many things. Top of his class. Basketball team captain. Future latin honors. The kind of student teachers raved about and underclassmen admired.

But with you? None of it seemed to matter.

Because you didn’t fall for the rumors or polished charm. You didn’t give a damn about titles. You saw through all of it—and that scared him. Excited him. Frustrated him.

And now you were cold again. Distant. Untouchable.

He looked down at his hands, fingers twitching like they wanted to crush something. Then he turned back toward the court with a scowl pulling at his lips.

“You still with us, captain?” one of his teammates called, dribbling toward him.

Heeseung forced a smirk, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Peachy.”

He jogged back toward the rest of the team, sneakers squeaking against the polished gym floor as the sound of bouncing balls and barking coaches faded into background noise.

But his thoughts were louder. Clingier. Like your silence had clawed its way into his brain and was now echoing on repeat.

You wanted space.

Fine. He could give you that. Hell, he wasn’t the type to chase someone who clearly didn’t want to be chased. Not anymore.

As he stopped at the three-point line and waited for the pass, he ran a hand through his hair and shook his head slightly, like he could physically knock your face out of his thoughts.

He caught the ball with a heavy thud and muttered under his breath, “Get it together.”

Because yeah, maybe he had a reputation—a little rough around the edges, the guy who showed up with bruised knuckles and a cocky grin.

Maybe he pissed off teachers with his smart mouth and turned in papers two minutes before deadlines.

But even with all of that… he had respect.

He never forced himself into anyone’s space. Especially not yours.

So if you needed distance, then distance you’d get.

He drove the ball forward and sank it cleanly into the net. The gym echoed with the satisfying swish, and someone clapped him on the back.

“Damn, someone’s pissed,” one of the boys joked. “Girl trouble again?”

Heeseung scoffed, spinning the ball once in his hands before tossing it back toward center court. “Aren’t you late for your third rejection this week?”

Laughter broke out, but his smirk was tight.

Because no one knew.

No one knew just how bad it messed with him—

To finally feel like he was getting through to you, only for you to shut him out all over again.

The warm scent of garlic butter and fried chicken wafted through the air as you, Wonyoung, and Yujin strolled down the path to the main building cafeteria, heels clacking lightly against the pavement.

Your tote hung low on your shoulder, sketchpad sticking out awkwardly between fabric swatches, and your fingers were still smudged with yesterday’s dried graphite.

“Well, I think my proposal’s going really well,” you began optimistically, gaze flicking to the sky like you were asking the universe for some grace.

Wonyoung snorted, not even trying to hide her smile. “You mean your color palette and those three empty pages labeled ‘concept sketches’?”

“Okay, rude,” you muttered, letting your weight lean into her side as she tugged you by the arm into the forming lunch line.

“I still don’t have a muse. Or any real inspiration. I can’t even visualize the silhouette yet—this project’s gonna be the death of me. I’m never gonna make it to third year.”

“You’re such a big baby, (Y/N),” Wonyoung teased, gently bumping your hip. “You’ve literally pulled magic out of nothing before. You just like to panic first, design later.”

Yujin laughed, reaching forward to grab a tray. “We already think you’re getting the highest grade this semester. You’re gonna be fine.”

You sighed, your voice dropping into a more fragile tone. “I hope so.”

And as if the universe had been listening and decided to spite you—because of course—it chose that exact moment to test your nerves.

Heeseung stepped into the cafeteria.

Wearing all black. Looking irritatingly flawless. Laughing at something stupid Sunoo had just said.

Your body tensed instantly, lips pressing together as you stared at your tray a second too long.

You hadn’t seen him in almost a week—okay, avoided was the better word—but it didn’t stop the flicker of heat crawling up your neck.

You quickly looked away, but not fast enough.

Because he saw you.

Heeseung’s smile dropped the moment your eyes met.

You rolled your eyes and pointedly turned your head toward the drinks fridge, pretending to be deeply fascinated by orange juice.

Heeseung slowed his pace. Just barely. His brow furrowed.

Sunoo, still mid-laugh, blinked and followed his friend’s gaze. “Wait… was that (Y/N)?”

Heeseung kept walking but the crease between his brows stayed, jaw ticking slightly. “Yeah.”

Sunoo tilted his head, clearly confused. “She didn’t even say hi. Or look like she wanted to say hi. What was that about?”

Heeseung shrugged, his voice casual but tight. “No idea.”

Sunoo narrowed his eyes. “Are you sure?”

“I said I don’t know, Sunoo,” Heeseung muttered, glancing over his shoulder at your turned back, the way Wonyoung had a protective hand on the small of your back while you muttered something under your breath.

“You really didn’t do anything?”

“I swear, I didn’t,” he said, almost too quickly. Then quieter, “It’s like she suddenly hates me.”

Sunoo blinked, lips pursing in thought. “Well… she did hate you at first.”

“What?” Heeseung furrowed his brows, pausing mid-step. “What do you mean?”

Sunoo gave him a sheepish little laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Okay—don’t get mad—but I might’ve mentioned your… you know. Reputation.”

Heeseung stared at him, deadpan. “My what reputation, Sunoo?”

Sunoo held both his hands up like he was surrendering. “Just! Just that you had kind of a… colorful dating history. Nothing huge! I just hinted at it. Lightly. Casually.”

Heeseung narrowed his eyes. “You didn’t mention my ex, did you?”

Sunoo’s wince was answer enough.

“I hinted at her,” he muttered, shrinking under Heeseung’s glare. “Barely. Like, ‘He’s had some messy flings but he’s really sweet when he wants to be,’ type of thing.”

Heeseung groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Sunoo…”

“I’m sorry, okay?!” Sunoo whined. “I didn’t think she’d take it to heart! I thought she’d just keep teasing you like usual!”

“It’s not a big deal,” Heeseung muttered, trying to shake it off. “Don’t worry about it.”

But Sunoo didn’t let up. “It is a big deal. You’re not fooling around this time, are you? You’re not toying with her.”

Heeseung didn’t say anything. He just stared at the floor, jaw tight.

Sunoo let out a soft sigh and continued, voice gentler this time. “Usually… all your admirers do the chasing. And never you. But with (Y/N)?” He smiled faintly. “I think it’s a good thing that she’s not one of them.”

Heeseung swallowed hard, staring at the back of your head across the cafeteria as you laughed at something Wonyoung said—so far away, so different now.

“I know,” he mumbled. “That’s what makes it worse.”

The hallways of the fashion department building were quiet—eerily so, save for the faint ticking of the old wall clock and the distant hum of a sewing machine from one of the advanced design rooms.

Most students were glued inside their classrooms, immersed in last-minute cramming or sketching, which left the corridors empty and still.

You grunted softly under your breath, adjusting the obnoxiously heavy stack of fabric folders in your arms.

“Stupid Soobin,” you muttered, struggling to keep the folders balanced as you reached the corner near the stairwell.

“What kind of big brother dumps ten pounds of swatches on me and says, ‘Here, maybe you’ll get inspired’?”

You scoffed, still remembering how smug he looked when he handed it to you this morning. Just because you swung by his company for coffee didn’t mean he could load you like a pack mule.

With a soft huff, you rounded the turn toward the stairwell—only to freeze mid-step.

There, standing by the window near the first landing, was him.

Heeseung.

Clad in his usual all-black hoodie and pants, his signature basketball sneakers tapping lightly against the tile as he leaned on the railing, clearly waiting for someone.

Your breath hitched, eyes wide as you instinctively stepped back into the shadow of the wall, hugging the folders close.

What the hell is he doing here? He had no business in the fashion department.

You were just about to turn around and walk the other way when—

“So,” Heeseung suddenly said, his deep voice echoing slightly in the empty stairwell. “You wanted to meet me here?”

You froze.

Your brows furrowed.

“Yeah,” a female voice replied, nervous and a little too soft. “I—I hope it’s okay. I just… I didn’t know how else to say this.”

Your curiosity got the better of you. You leaned just enough to peek around the corner, eyes narrowing slightly.

It was some girl—probably a junior, based on the ID badge clipped to her chest. She was twisting the hem of her sleeve, cheeks flushed pink.

“I just think you’re… really talented,” she said shyly. “And hot. And like, you’re probably way out of my league, but I couldn’t not say something, you know?”

You blinked.

Heeseung sighed, the sound laced with a tired kind of patience. “Look, I’m sure you’re a nice girl. And I appreciate the guts it took to say that, really. But…”

“But?” the girl asked softly.

“I’m already interested in someone else,” he said, voice steady.

Your heart stopped.

The girl sounded crushed. “Oh. Um, who?”

Heeseung hesitated. Then, without an ounce of embarrassment, he said—“Choi Y/n.”

Your stomach dropped.

The folders in your arms nearly slipped from your grip as you jerked in shock, barely managing to catch them before they hit the floor. The rustle was loud—loud enough to echo.

Heeseung’s head snapped up toward the sound. He squinted but saw nothing.

You pressed your back hard against the cold wall, heartbeat thudding in your ears.

“She’s such a cold bitch, though,” the girl whispered sharply, and your eyes narrowed instinctively. “She never even talks to people. Why would you like someone like that?”

Heeseung didn’t even flinch.

“Look,” he said calmly. “(Y/N) doesn’t waste her time. She has standards. And yeah, maybe she’s not handing out smiles and small talk like candy, but she’s honest. And she doesn’t pretend to be someone she’s not just to be liked.”

You stood frozen, lips slightly parted, stunned speechless.

Heeseung was still speaking, but the pounding in your head made it impossible to catch the rest. You didn’t want to. Your legs were already moving.

He didn’t mean it. There was no way.

He was just trying to get out of that confession with minimal damage. That’s all.

It had to be.

Your heels clicked sharply against the tiled floor as you turned and walked away, folders pressed tight against your chest. You didn’t dare look back.

And yet, down the stairs, Heeseung’s voice trailed off when he caught the sound of footsteps fading in the hallway above.

His brows furrowed.

He turned his head slightly, eyes narrowing as he scanned the upper steps and corridor, but all he saw was the empty hallway.

A breath escaped his lips, laced with something that felt a lot like disappointment.

Down in front of him, the girl shifted awkwardly. She hadn’t moved since his confession.

“…I’m sure you’ll find someone else, yeah?” Heeseung said, his tone gentler now. “Someone who’s gonna feel the same.”

She gave a small nod, clearly dejected, mumbling a quiet, “Thanks,” before turning on her heel and walking away.

But Heeseung didn’t watch her leave.

Instead, he glanced back up again.

His jaw clenched as he slipped his hands into his hoodie pocket, the weight of your name still heavy on his tongue.

⤷ part 1 | part 2 | part 3

⤷ permanent taglist — @m1kkso @ilovhoonie @jiyeons-closet @manobillie @yjmylove @in-somnias-world @cripplinghooman @yeossified @ateez-atiny380 @chemiru @eleftheriance @deluluscenarios @simp4simlee @baedreamverse @lala-loopsydoll ⤷ series taglist — @seungsoftly @aloveminsalade @merakicafee @isagistar @heeknow @blooqz @k1ttyjwon @dearestdreamies @sourkiki @mixxie2203 @wonuzu @12e45 @fancypeacepersona @omlhyck @starfallia @koizekomi @hommyy-tommy @laylasbunbunny @aggarwaldrishti @bestboileeknow @meeghangryfun @liliawritesss @starfire21 @seokjinthescientist @iicehoon @stayupdates

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scvrgrl · 2 months ago

Text

something stupid | trafalgar law x fem!reader

"i practice everyday to find some clever lines to say to make the meaning come true

but then i think i'll wait until the evening gets late, and i'm alone with you..."

word count: 4.1k

cw/tags: fem!/afab!reader, childhood best friend!law, modern!au/college!au, shifting perspectives, drinking and drunken confessions, brief mentions of smoking, big brother corazon mentioned!!, nothing wrong with a little game of truth or dare, contains suggestive content/smut (MDNI pls!), hardly proofread lol, inspired by something stupid - frank sinatra and nancy sinatra

a/n: hi!! yes, this is a reupload lol the layout was super wonky on my end and i wasn't sure if it looked like that for anyone else. so I just decided to reupload it so hopefully the issue is resolved! this fic was a request from @dindjarins1ut!! i had such an amazing time writing this so i hope you enjoy! 😽

you can find the original zoro's version that the request was based off of here!

"what are we in, middle school?"

you proposed that the two of you play a little game of 'truth or dare' to avoid the pesky responsibilities of a college student. although, the two of you already had that covered as you pulled out a cheap bottle of tequila from underneath your bed, throwing back shots like you were playing a whole different game.

"no, because every time i wanted to play when we were in middle school, you always chickened out!"

Law, on the other hand, was far from amused. he always detested the idea of indulging in such juvenile pleasantries, mostly because they were a glorified version of peer pressure. these games made Law feel vulnerable, like purposely handing people a looking glass into his deepest and darkest secrets. which is also another reason why he hated truth or dare — he had a secret that would ruin his life if it got out.

"do you really not want to play?" you asked, disappointment woven into your words. the alcohol caused your voice to drag, whining as Law crossed his strong arms across his chest.

his expression feigned seriousness, but with your jutted lips and crossed arms, it became an act he struggled to keep up. Law pushed the laptop off his lap, setting it on the rug beside him, ultimately releasing a sigh that marked his surrender, "fine, but just this once."

over the years, he realized it was incredibly hard to say no to you. especially since you were so damn cute.

you practically squealed from excitement, clapping your hands together as you cleared the space on the floor in front of you. the sounds of rustling papers and devices shutting filled the small space of your dorm room. you ripped an empty page from one of your many notebooks, laying it flat on the floor. a rainbow of colored pens and markers splashed across your rug as you drunkenly emptied the contents of your pencil pouch.

your fingers made their way to the brand new sharpie marker, popping the cap off with your teeth as you marked the blank page with bold black lines — one straight down and another straight across, splitting the paper into four sections. each box was reserved for a TRUTH/DARE option, your handwriting more messy than usual thanks to the alcohol.

Law gazed down at you from where he lay sprawled out on your floor, propping himself up on his elbows. his head tilted in confusion, admiring the way your tongue stuck out of your mouth in concentration. his eyes followed the hair draping over your shoulder, helplessly wandering to the arch of your back and the curve of your tits hovering over the ground. oh what he'd give to be that piece of paper.

"i don't think that's how truth or dare works," Law suggested, a smile creeping across his face. you ignored his comment, however, continuing your task. after some time, you poked your head up, holding the page in front of you with pride.

"we're gonna put our own little spin on it! it's gonna be a truth-or-dare-spin-the-bottle hybrid. is it not genius!?" you beamed, setting the page back down and grabbing one of the many half-empty water bottles from your desk.

Law's grey eyes followed the spinning Kirkland's signature water bottle, his buzz morphing it into a fuzzy blob. it was in this moment he knew that he was in for a long night.

...

"okay, i dare you tooo...."

your finger tapped pensively on your chin as you came up with the perfect dare to present your best friend. however, you knew that your options were limited as you were A: stuck in your dorm room during your building's quiet hours, and B: too drunk to leave without getting caught by the RA. you also understood that Law wasn't exactly the type of person to willingly embarrass himself, no matter how much alcohol you pumped into his system.

at this point in the night, you'd already exhausted nearly all the ridiculously fun dares. your favorite had been the "jungle juice," consisting of every drink rotting away in your mini fridge mixed with an old blue raspberry beatbox. Law had labeled it the "red solo cup of doom and despair", before hesitantly throwing it back. watching his face scrunch into pure disgust made you topple over, clenching your stomach as tears streamed down your face. Law, on the other hand, was far from amused, hovering over the trash can praying he wouldn't face the concoction again.

the time between composing yourself and Law returning to his spot in front of you had warped together, your vision fuzzy and delayed. you hadn't expected yourself to get so wasted, yet here you two were, sneaking longing glances at your best friend. your heart raced as your eyes traced the outline of Law's exposed shoulders, the ribbed black wife beater clinging perfectly to his tanned skin. when did he take his shirt off?

Law must've felt your attitude shift, dropping his head lower to meet your gaze. "my eyes are up here," he teased, those gray pupils you'd grown to love dilated and pulsed with every beat of your heart.

your breathing deepened as your mind raced. the alcohol heightened all five of your senses, the air inside the room suddenly thick and hot as a fierce blush colored your cheeks. before, you grimaced as you watched Law down the mystery drink, thanking every power above that you had thought of something so cruel before he did. but now? you wondered just how good that mixture would taste on his lips.

"spin again." you ordered, rolling the bottle his way. the crinkled plastic stopped just before his folded knee, a confused look spreading across Law's face.

"why? i literally just went! it's your turn, cheater," he argued, a frown tugging at his lips as he rolled it back.

in truth, you'd only wanted him to spin again in hopes it landed on truth. you had spent countless sleepless nights anxious about your feelings toward Law, worried that if he didn't reciprocate your feelings, the relationship built upon trust and comfort would crumble to ruin. neither of you had an easy upbringing, yet you were able to find comfort in each other. sneaking away to the local park to play pirates had been your favorite escape. prior to meeting Law, you had feared the pole from the top of the slide, scared of falling and breaking your fragile bones. but once he taught you to overcome your fears, the two of you flew your imaginary Jolly Roger, claiming your territory at such a height to show off to the other kids.

you clung to these memories as a life line, using them as an excuse to bite your tongue and hold every unrelenting emotion inside. Law's presence had been a constant in your life for as long as you could remember, and you were not about to let some stupid crush rip that away from you. however, your drunkenness began to override every ounce of sanity you might have had left prior to starting the game. the forbidden curiosity you had repressed over the years came bubbling up to the surface of your mind, your lips to fix themselves into betrayal. curiosity is one hell of a drug.

you rolled the bottle back once more, a little more aggressively than you had anticipated. anxiety vibrated in your bones as you watched a quizzical expression bloom on his face, definitely catching on to your change in demeanor.

"[y/n].. maybe we should call it—"

"spin."

Law chewed the inside of his cheek anxiously before picking up the bottle slowly. he set it just as the two of you had for the past hour — smacked in the middle of the sheet and watching it spin as he awaited his fate.

truth.

Law's shoulders hunched slightly, anxiety bubbling deep in his stomach. you had asked each other dumb and trivial questions throughout the night, like "where's the craziest place you've ever had sex" or "if you could do any of your professors, who would it be?" he had only hoped you'd continue in that direction, straying clear from anything that would—

“what’s your biggest secret?"

fuck.

"and before you say ‘but i’ve already told you everything,’ i’ve known you long enough to know you’re full of shit, Trafalgar.”

"i don’t talk like that,” he deadpanned, voice trailing off timidly.

soon after dismissing your mockery, the weight of your words hit him, and they hit hard. it was as if all the alcohol in his stomach had solidified, its sting searing into his intestines as his face flushed a bright crimson. Law adjusted his posture, shifting uncomfortably as he rested his back against the cool wood of your bed post. he fiddled with the hem of your bed skirt, twirling frills of off-white fabric between his tanned fingers as he attempted to come up with an excuse.

the lump in his throat projected his voice silently, sounding much smaller than you had grown accustomed to, “but i have told you everything. i’m an open book.”

you tilted your head down, peering at him through your dark lashes with an expression that read “yeah right”. he knew that you knew him better than anyone else; better than his older brother Cora, who had also adopted you under his wing growing up. and you knew that Law was the most reserved person you'd ever met, his stoicism and blunt attitude a defense mechanism.

your silence let Law know that you weren't budging, standing firmly on your request until you got the truth out of him. a part of you wondered if he ever felt the same way at some point in time, wondered if he felt the same way now. the initiation of the game had been calculated, a ploy to get yourself drunk enough to be bold and indirectly ask Law if your feelings were reciprocated.

Law's gaze was fixed on the water bottle between the two of you, clinging to the sight of the still water to stabilize his racing heart. he released a shaky sigh, reaching for the tequila bottle and emptying his contents into his mouth. Law had never been a big drinker, babysitting the same drink during social events just to fit in. but right now, he understood alcohol's appeal, using it to wash away his uneasiness.

"cmon it can't be that bad! you encouraged. "i've seen you say and do way more embarrassing shit, and i'm still here. even the time when you threw up at McDonalds, who was the one who helped you clean up?"

Law winced at the memory, hoping that you had forgotten about it after all those years ago, "what does that have to do with anything?"

you huffed a laugh, shaking your head after realizing how ridiculous that must have sounded, "the point is i'm here for you, dammit! there's nothing you could do or say that would scare me away."

Law felt himself smile. it was a small, intimate gesture that was shared between the two of you more often than not. sometimes it was all that needed to be said, one look that would convey more than thousands of words ever could. you were his rock, the one who he could rely when everyone turned against him. it had been that way since you were six years old — two little tikes against the world.

and in that moment, every one of his fears washed away. he knew that regardless of how you felt, he would always love you.

"i love you."

the silence that followed sent shivers down his spine, nausea creeping up his throat as he waited for your response. seconds passed like hours, Law's world spinning out of control as the chaotic thoughts flooded his head. he wanted to take it all back, wished he just kept his mouth shut and lied to you. lied and made something up that would get a laugh out of you. that beautiful, crazy laugh that made his stomach flip and heart flutter. the laugh he would give anything to hear over this silence. suffering in silence was better than suffering out loud, vulnerable and alone.

"like...you like me love me or sisterly-best friend love me?"

your question hit him like a splash of ice water, snapping him out of his thoughts. he knew you weren't so obtuse that you didn't know what he meant. Law rarely expressed his affection toward you, only giving you his warm embrace when it mattered, when you really needed him most. he understood that you would fulfill that role enough for the both of you; from planted sloppy kisses on his cheeks to get on his nerves, to tight hugs that invaded his personal space. so why were you acting like you had no idea what he was talking about?

"are you really gonna make me spell it out for you, [y/n]? i'm in love with you. i always have been. ever since that day at the park, back when we stole some of Cora's weed."

the memory washed up to the forefront of your mind like a serene wave at sunset, warm and inviting. the two of you had been rummaging through Cora's drawers during your junior year of high school, being a couple of snot-nosed teenagers looking for trouble. Law knew his brother smoked and wanted to experiment — wanted to know what all the hype was about. and what better person to do it with than the person who made him feel most at home?

you and Law got so unbelievably high that night, rolling the joint so sloppily that physical chunks of marijuana flew to the back of your throat. laying against the cool steel of slide's platform, you and Law held each other through it all, paranoid that the cops — or worse, Cora — would find you. it was that night that Law realized his feelings for you. he realized that there was no other person in the world that made him feel this way, that made him feel so safe. he knew that you'd never judge him, never see him as the weak child many believed him to be. Law could come to you after ripping out the hearts of hundreds of men, and you'd jump to the opportunity to help him bury every single one.

nothing could have prepared him for the way you leapt into his arms, limbs flailing as you tackled him to the ground. Law's joy quickly subsided as a sharp pain dug into the back of his head, realizing he had just made contact with your desk chair. you were now laying on his chest, eyes wild with excitement and concern.

"oh my god, are you okay!?" you asked, running your hands through his jet black hair to find the injured spot. none of it mattered though, because all Law could feel was the euphoria that serged through his body. Law let out a hearty laugh, chest rising and falling as a bashful hand flew over his face. you watched the way his teeth glowed under the light of your desk lamp, his tanned skin a warm golden brown.

"yes, i'm okay! but i'd like an official answer more than anything before i throw up everywhere from embarrassment."

his confession sobered you up immediately, your dwindling buzz gone in an instant. you pushed yourself off his chest gently, the firm muscle underneath that thin black fabric warm beneath your fingertips. rather than freeing him from underneath your weight, you planted yourself firmly on his lap, causing Law to release a small oomph.

"do you know how long I've been in love with you, stupid ass?! like i'm talking years, Law, years!"

Law chuckled at the sensation of your hand slapping his chest playfully. his hands gently made their way to your waist, tracing circles into the fold where your thighs and hips met.

"so..what now?" he asked shyly, his gray eyes tracing the outline of your figure. it would be a lie to say that Law hadn't fantasized about moments of you strapped on top of him, bucking your hips as you rode him long into the night. these thoughts left him feeling shameful, disgusted at himself for ever letting his mind to defile you.

"i think i have another fun game we could play..." you suggested coyly, your delicate hands trailing down his chest. Law's eyes traveled down to watch the way you palmed his chest, working your way lower until you reached the hem of his shirt. he released a quick breath, one he hadn't realized he had been holding.

before he could tell you just how ready he was, your lips crashed into his, hungry and desperate. the kiss deepened quickly, hot and all consuming as you both attempted to make up for lost time. years of miscommunication and fear no longer mattered as it led you right to this moment, exactly where you wanted to be.

you had been so eager to show Law what he was missing all this time, your hips mindlessly bucking and writhing against his thigh. heat and slick quickly pooled between your thighs, whimpers leaking into his mouth as you huffed them across his lips. Law's hands grabbed your ass firmly, slowing your rhythm into a halt.

"not so fast, i wanna make you feel good," he said, pulling away from your lips. you whined at his sudden absence, the cold midnight air replacing Law's warmth.

Law wrapped his arm around your waist, his biceps cushioning your back as he laid you down on the rug. his focus then shifted to your chest, nibbling and suckling at the soft skin of your breasts. the suction accompanied with hard teeth was enough to have your eyes rolling, playing with his hair as he made his mark. strings of hot saliva a bridge between you and his mouth, a swipe of his thumb the force to break it apart. Law's focus shifted to your hips, slipping his fingers underneath the waistband to peel off the soft fabric of your pj pants. the cool air nipped at the oozing heat of your cunt, your ruined panties hardly keeping you warm.

Law, however, tried his best to ignore the stain that grew between your legs, hands wandering across the soft skin of your thighs. he raised your leg to meet his face, trailing kisses that started at your knee to your ankle. without warning, Law slowly parted your knees, making space for himself between your thighs as his long and slender digits traveled closer and closer to your core. the warmth of his presence alone was enough to have your back arching, wishing he would close the gap.

he denied you his touch for as long as he could, teasing you just like you had done to him all night. Law leaned down to kiss you, his weight hovering over you as his dainty gold chain dangled above your chest. your hands wandered down his torso, tugging the bottom of his shirt and blindly peeling it upwards. Law smiled against your lips, temporarily breaking the kiss to assist you. you had seen Law shirtless many times, never giving it much thought. but right now, all you could focus on was the firm abs that carved into his skin, wishing more than anything that you could feel them pressed up against you.

Law’s lips trailed down to your jaw, humming sweet sounds against your hot skin. he sank lower and lower down your body, your cunt aching and begging for attention. once he reached the space between your legs, you couldn’t hold out for much longer. all you wanted was for Law to touch you, to explore you with his hands and his mouth.

“Law, please,” you began, words breathless as you looked down at him. “I just want you to touch me. that’s all i want.”

Law decided he’d had enough of the teasing, his cock jumping at your pleas. he never would’ve taken you for someone who would beg during sex, always such an assertive and independent woman. the realization caused a devilish grin to bloom across his face, right before he slid his fingers down to meet your core. your slick glided across them instantly, hot strings stuck to your panties as he peeled them to the side.

“god you’re already so wet, do you really want me that bad?” he jested, subconsciously licking his lips into a deep maroon color. all you could do was nod, eyes fluttering shut as the warmth of his mouth inched closer.

without warning, Law’s tongue flicked a quick stripe up your leaking cunt, taking in your scent and taste. from there he explored every inch, every fold that resided there. your arousal bubbled deep in your stomach, hips bucking against is mouth as your breathing turned shallow. Law’s strong grip met your hips once more, pinning you to the ground. such a restriction made the sensation of his mouth on you increase tenfold, your eyes rolling to the back of your head so hard it hurt.

the sweet sounds of your nectar lapping against his tongue filled the room, your moans not far behind. Law spoke words of praise directly into your core, jolts of electric pleasure shocking you with every syllable.

“‘s so good- you’re so much better than i imagined.” he said, words muffled as he took you into his mouth.

“fuck Law, please don’t stop! oh my god—“ you groaned, your moans going from sweet and sensual to primal and needy. you wanted to take him, all of him deep inside of you. “i need you inside me, please”

Law released his suction from your swollen clit with a pop, the arousal coiling in your stomach on the verge of snapping. the absence of his warm mouth on your heat caused you to twitch, the slightest sensation causing you hips to buck involuntarily. Law fumbled with his belt buckle, the metal clasp releasing its leather strap in one smooth motion. he peeled off his black boxers, kicking them off to the corner of your room. your jaw shamelessly hung open as you gaped at the length before you. Law was much bigger than you anticipated, your gummy walls clenching in anticipation. lining himself up with your slick entrance, Law slowly eased into you.

"is that okay?" he panted, beads of sweat already sticking to his skin, causing him to glisten in the dim light.

"yes," you nodded, a gentle hand reaching up to cup his jaw. your delicate fingers playing with the golden hoops that dangled from his ears. it was a habit you picked up during one of your hangouts, curiosity getting the better of you.

...

"did they hurt?" Law had been resting his head on your lap, scrolling aimlessly through instagram on his phone.

"nah," he replied, eyes refusing to meet yours as a faint pink dusted his cheeks. you'd removed your hand, deciding that his answer satiated your curiosity. when he realized you had stopped playing with them, Law turned to face you, brows furrowed. "why did you stop? it felt good."

...

you kept this information in your back pocket, now using it as a grounding sense of comfort in a sea of overwhelming pleasure. you never would've imagined that a casual bout of curiosity would transform into something so intimate and treasured. Law smiled at the gesture, kissing the palm of your hand sweetly.

with that, he fully bottoms out inside you, knees buckling under the sensation of your hot slick gliding over his cock. Law's rhythm builds, easing in and out of your cunt as his hips grind into yours. sweet sounds of your moans mingling with his, slapping skin fill the room as his pace quickens. the sight of Law's face contorting above you made your stomach flip, trying his best to conceal his whimpers. you knew Law was experienced with hookups, experimenting with a few girls here and there since starting college. but the egotistical side of you wondered if any of them made Law feel nearly as good as you did.

the both of you came at the same time, trembling limbs clutching to stabilize each other. fusions of sweat and arousal pooling in the space between your thighs, Law planting a small kiss on your forehead as he removes his length from inside of you.

"can you admit that my game was genius now?" you teased, panting as you pulled your shirt back down over your exposed stomach.

Law rolled his eyes teasingly, "go to hell."

this fic went on for so much longer than i originally planned but i got too excited lmfaooooo

#trafalgar law #trafalgardwaterlaw #trafalgar one piece #trafalgar d law x reader #one piece #one piece x reader #straw hat pirates #one piece x you #heart pirates #fanfic #one piece smut #law x you #law x reader #law x y/n #big brother corazon mentioned!!!#corazon donquixote #modern au #college au #scvrgrl

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staybabblingbaby · 6 months ago

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Soulmate Garden AU Ch.4 (Lewisia) a3d2

[Caution: These are not full fics, or even full parts of fics for some, these are part of my writing progress archive!]

Concept: Growing up, you knew Soulmates weren't all that they cracked up to be. So when, on your 18th birthday, your skin is painted with a garden of flower buds, you resolve to hide it from everyone. Who had ever heard of someone with 8 soulmates, anyway?

Or; Reader has 8 soulmates and no issue avoiding all of them. It's up to SKZ to show her that while every soulbond might not be made of fairy tales, theirs certainly could be.

Word Count: 10,680

Notes: Holy shit, it's been like 3 months?????? In my defense, holidays are awful, and this is a fuckin' beast of a chapter. Binnie would NAWT shut up T^T She almost matches the word count for the entire fic so far TT^TT Plus 10 images of texting. Y am i like this??? Huge shout outs to my lovely, patient, amazing betas who made this chapter at ALL possible, @lazyfacecowboy and @brbwritingfanfic. Seriously, this would not have been written without y'all, everyone say thank you! Also special mention for @chancloud8 for negotiating me through the last bit of the chapter LMAO. She kept feeding me fics, they were my reward for doing the writing UvU

Hope y'all enjoy! And I hope it was worth the wait <3

(p.s my ass did NOT do a real final readthrough. If the formatting is weird pls forgive me, I'm sick of looking @ her T^T)

Dividers by @saradika

Warnings: Allusions to past domestic violence, flashback of verbal abuse (very vague, but still there), panic attack, she/her reader

Leave me comments or questions or anything! Love hearing from folks <3

Masterlist <3 | Prev Part | Next Part (Coming Soon <3)

The next morning marks a return to routine.

You roll out of bed half awake, sleep-mused and ready for murder. Your mood isn’t improved by the way you’d gone to bed - still in your work clothes with day-after mascara gluing your eyelids together.

A quick stop by the restroom to strip and scrub your face is a necessity, otherwise you’re liable to just crawl back into bed and rot there. You honestly wish you could. Just rot away and let all this soulmate business pass you by as you slowly return to the earth.

Alas, capitalism waits for no man.

You examine your reflection when you’ve finished, doing your best to ignore the remaining traces of grey streaks down your cheeks where your eyeliner hadn’t been as waterproof as advertised.

You try to hold onto the flash of irritation the sight brings you, to cling to the normalcy of being irritated that your makeup is waterproof enough to be a pain to remove, but not to stay through your tears. Then you remember what you’d been crying over and the pit of fear and shame that’s been your companion the last few days comes rolling back.

You don’t even know why you’d cried. Don’t feel like you deserved to cry. After all, it’s not like you were the one rejected by your soulmate for no reason.

You do your best to shake off the incoming spiral, ambling your way into the kitchen. You just need to fall back on your routines and feel normal for a bit. You’re not entirely convinced that ignoring your problems won’t make them go away, despite the dark feelings trembling in your chest.

You press your lips together to stop the bottom one from trembling and open the fridge. There’s a plate of eggs, fruit, and toast inside.

Taylor, freak of nature that he is, has been up for hours already, you know. He’d probably been up and out the door before the sun had even thought about rising. Weirdo.

Your roommate is well aware of how non-functional you can be in the morning, so it’s not unusual of him to leave you leftovers when he makes breakfast. Especially when he knows you’re not feeling your best. The little note on top isn’t new either: usually a reminder, grocery list, or a little encouragement for your day. The whole thing makes you smile, usually, and you’re always touched by his consideration.

Today that little note makes your eyes prick with a new wave of tears.

‘Give yourself a chance. Bet’s still on <3’

The $20 you’d slapped onto the counter last night is taped to the back. It feels a bit like a stone hand is crushing your heart under the weight of something unknowable and precious when you carefully tuck both the money and the note into your wallet.

You very deliberately do NOT cry, though it’s a near thing. You’d done enough crying last night. But if you sniffle a bit into cold eggs, well...

That’s for you to know, isn’t it?

It’s a Tuesday, so after breakfast you drag yourself back to your room to throw on your largest, rattiest, t-shirt and a pair of leggings to head to the gym. You’ll drag yourself through your routine with leaded limbs if you have to, you’re going to have the most regular day you can manage and everything will be fine. It has to be.

You can’t help it when eyes catch on the newly-bloomed marks on your skin as you strip away your sleepwear. The sight makes you uneasy, almost uncomfortable. It takes you a moment to realize why looking at your mark, a daily ritual you’ve kept for years, feels so foreign to you today.

It’s almost alarming to acknowledge that you haven’t actually looked at your mark since you’d met your first soulmate. The concert feels like a lifetime ago, now, despite having been barely two days ago. You’re a bit ashamed to admit that you’d been avoiding looking at it since you’d felt the first flowers bloom.

It’s no wonder looking at it feels weird, you muse as you study it now. It might as well be a whole new mark, for all the changes that have happened since you last saw it.

You decide, in the name of returning to your routine for good, that you can’t skip even this tiny part of your daily rituals.

You shuffle over to your closet, swinging open the door to reveal the full-length mirror hanging on the other side. You don’t bother with your usual rounds of self-depreciation or daily affirmations. Instead, you find your eyes glued to droopy purple petals and blankets of white stars across your abdomen.

Something wilted and small within you mourns the loss of the buds that had brought you so much comfort since they’d appeared. The new blooms are beautiful, of course, vibrant and radiant and full of so much meaning. Still, the change wounds you.

Only time will tell if it’s the healing sort of hurt.

You find your eyes glued to the fresh flowers. Their names come to mind with ease as you trace gentle fingers over echoes of delicate petals. ‘Bellflowers’ You recite to yourself, drawing your finger up thin stalks and back down dipped heads, ‘for gratitude, affection, and endurance’. Your fingers dance a bit lower. ‘Edelweiss’ you muse, lightly tapping each fuzzy white star, ‘for devotion, nobility, and courage’.

The knowledge comes easily to you, not from any cosmic force, but because of course it does. Your sister hadn’t been wrong when she’d said that asking a person’s favorite flower had been basically an obsession of yours.

The habit had started well before you’d gotten your mark. Before you’d even properly known what soulmates were, really.

It started with lazy summer days you’d been almost too young to remember. A slim hand engulfing your tiny wrist, being made to sit next to your mother while she did something in the dirt, her shadow your only shelter from the blistering sun.

Gardening with your mother had started as a way for her to drag you out of the house to get some sun while keeping an easy eye on you. Before your sister was born you’d spent many hazy afternoons learning to work the soil beside your mother.

After the advent of your favorite gremlin, you’d spent those afternoons tending to the family garden alone.

You remember being grateful to the newborn back then. Those solitary afternoons were some of the most peaceful in your memory.

At some point the ‘family garden’ had become more ‘your garden’. Your mother wouldn’t even bother to plan it out with you by the time your sister had reached her toddler years. She’d drive you to the store, hand you a bit of cash, and leave it all in your tiny capable hands.

You’d spent hours researching the best ways to nurture your plants.

What flowers liked being planted together, which ones should be separated. You learned about soil types and the nutrients found in them. You learned about ph values, how to measure them, and why they mattered. Anything to have your garden thriving more brightly, more beautifully, for longer.

If you weren’t in the garden, you were in the library by your house, nose buried in a gardening book.

You vividly remember the day it all went wrong.

It hadn’t even been that dramatic, as you recall. At least, not in terms of your parent’s usual fights. It was heartbreak—despair— that had marked the day, instead of fear.

You’d been digging up weeds, clawing up deep roots with your gloved hands and a trowel, when your father had come storming outside.

You don’t remember what he’d said. It’d been nonsense, just vitriol for vitriols' sake. Something about you always taking your mother’s side because of your shared hobby, you think.

Never mind that the woman hadn’t put so much as a toenail to the dirt since your sister had been born.

He hadn’t let up for quite a while, if memory serves. Stood there yelling at you in your safe space for close to an hour. Maybe two, but your child-brain couldn’t be trusted with the time.

It may have just been minutes, now that you think about it.

Nonetheless, he’d yelled, and yelled, and yelled. He hadn’t trampled on or broken anything. He hadn’t even made sense.

And yet, when he’d finally left, everything was different.

The blooms you’d worked so hard to nurture were no longer beautiful, the soil you’d once called home no longer safe.

You hadn’t tended another garden after that season. You’d seen your plants to winter, and you’d let go. You’d turned away from the sun and soil and leaned into your books and silly questions to fill the hole left behind.

You’re sure you’d left claw marks in the dirt.

Something like a gentle humming emanates from your soulmark, and its warmth draws you back to the present. You look down at it, noticing how tightly you're clutching at the garden around your waist, your arms wrapped around you in a weak semblance of a hug. Each of your fingers had managed to directly touch a flower.

The awkward sprawl of your fingers feels natural, as if you’d never sought to comfort yourself any other way. As if seeking out your bond, your link to total strangers, for comfort was all you’d ever done.

It was natural, you muse. It was human nature to seek resonance in their bonded. It was the universe’s way of assuring you that you’re loved. Your soulmate’s way of assuring you that they’re still there.

You gingerly pry your hands away and blankly study the crescent moons you’ve left behind, soft skin indented where petals should have ripped.

You wonder if you’ll leave claw marks in this garden too. If they’ll leave claw marks in you.

You tear your eyes away from the mirror, ignoring the warm, gentle tingling up your side where your fingers had dug in. You know it means the people on the other end are pressing against their own marks. You know it shows their care, how that gentle sensation masks the stinging ache your fingers should have left behind.

For some reason, you miss the pain.

You quickly toss on a camisole, forgoing your usual privacy wraps, and your t-shirt over that.

There was nothing for emptying your mind quite like running yourself into the ground at the gym. With full awareness that you’re going to regret your gym session later, you flee your apartment, your mind pleading normal, normal, normal.

Maybe jogging all the way to the gym wasn’t such a great idea. It’d sounded fantastic at the time, a head start on your cardio and a way to remove yourself from your negative headspace before you tried to toss around weights you barely knew how to use.

It had sort of worked, but now you hadn’t even entered the building and you were already a sweaty, panting, mess.

You enter the building after guzzling down half of your water bottle, resignation in your heart. Cardio wasn’t even your focus today.

The automatic doors slide open with their usual swish and you’re greeted by the familiar stale smell all gyms seem to share, no matter how clean. It’s comforting, even if you do kind of wanna go home already.

There’s someone already at the receptionist’s desk when you approach, talking in slow and measured English. You try not to be annoyed with the tiny delay, but while you’d successfully outrun your demons (for now), your bad mood had stuck around.

Alas, you’ve ventured into the public and found the public there. A travesty. Knowing that you just have to deal with it, you cross your arms and bite back the irritation this complete stranger hadn’t done anything to earn.

Luckily enough, the low and measured cadence of the stranger’s voice is soothing enough to zone out to. Unfortunately, he’s also the only thing around to rest your eyes on, so you find yourself studying his form.

His back is broad and built, huge biceps on display in a tight fitting black t-shirt. You kinda wanna squish them. A vivid tattoo sleeve runs all the way down to his wrist, and you find your stare glued to it.

Large, boldly colored flowers take up the majority of the space, vague outlines of crashing waves and rolling mists filling in the rest with a luxurious combination of oriental art styles.

Beautiful as it is, you can’t help but think it doesn’t look finished.

Dragging your eyes away from such gorgeous ink is quite the task, but you don’t want your admiration to be mistaken for judgement. It gets easier when you start to notice just how fine the man himself is.

You really can’t help the way your eyes trace up and down his body, now that you’re no longer anchored to his tattoo. It should be impossible, you think, to somehow bulk up in only the right places, but by Jove this man has done it. You’re jealous, honestly.

Your eyes come to a rest on the stranger’s backside. Quite jealous, indeed.

You try to shake yourself from your admiration, reminding yourself that there were very many well-muscled men in this place and that you’d always endeavored to keep a polite line-of-sight, even when they didn't. It hadn’t even been a hard ask, until now.

You drag your gaze back up to the back of his head.

You’d be polite if it killed you. Even if neither the stranger or the scrawny receptionist had noticed your wandering gaze. Especially then.

While you were.... distracted... the man’s conversation with the receptionist seemed to have gone a whole lot of nowhere. From what you can gather, he’s looking for a short-term membership, and the receptionist is trying to tell him they don’t do that.

You know that’s true, the receptionist isn’t trying to scam the guy. Even the trial period for this place was an entire month. You’d specifically chosen this gym for that reason. If you hadn’t been able to stick it out for a month, you know you’d have never used the place enough to justify a membership.

You send your sympathies to this stranger, it seems he really just needs a little less than a week. You know there are some no-commitment type places not too far though, so you wonder why he’s stuck on this place.

Their back and forth goes a while longer, but it’s evident that the beautifully-built stranger can’t really argue his case properly. Whether because of the obvious language barrier he’s working with, or because he’s run out of arguments, you can’t be sure.

Eventually he steps to the side to make a call, and you’re able to approach the counter.

The receptionist (His name is Jake, you remind yourself by reading his name-tag. The owner’s nephew, if you recall) looks relieved to see you after whatever hassling the stranger had given him.

He lazily waves the clipboard and its sign-in sheet at you in greeting. You take the clipboard, trading him your membership card and driver’s license for it, and turn to prop your knee up on the counter to balance it while you write.

Incidentally, your choice of position keeps the stranger in your line of sight.

It also happens to give Jake a view of his own, but you magnanimously ignore his gaze wandering to your chest. If only because you’re still looking not-so-respectfully at the tattooed stranger a few feet away.

You weren’t close to the receptionist by any means, but Jake is easy to chat to, when you take the extra minute to do so. The type of acquaintance you’d never remember the name of if it weren’t pinned to his lapel, but you've seen pictures of every dog he’s ever had.

It makes it easy to pry him for gossip.

“So what was that all about?” You query as you hand back the clipboard. He shrugs at you, typing a second longer.

“Some big-shot who needs a security detail,” He answers, unimpressed, “Says this is the only gym in, like, five miles of his hotel that he doesn’t need an entourage to go to.”

You hum your understanding, now trying to place if the handsome stranger was someone you knew of.

Situations like that weren’t uncommon for this gym. Celebrities that actually lived in LA weren’t spotted here very often but, since it was settled very close to quite a few high-security luxury hotels, the building saw its fair share of famous faces.

Due to its occasionally high-profile clientele, security was kept quite tightly, and a certain code of conduct was expected amongst the gym’s members. It was another justification for the long trial period, wherein one could only access the front room with the basic weights and machines. All the fancy stuff (including a pool, rock wall, dance studio, and all sorts) was in the back.

Non-members weren’t allowed past reception at all.

It was also another reason you yourself were a patron here. The high security and strict standards made for a quiet and comfortable atmosphere.

At least, as long as you ignored the judgmental looks. Most people who utilized this space were much more fit and put together than you. You tried not to let it bother you.

“What’s the issue, then?” You question Jake, “Doesn’t the owner make exceptions for celebrities?” You phrase it as a question, but you know he does. The unfamiliar faces that pop up for a few days every now and then wouldn’t show up otherwise.

Jake just sighs like he’s had this conversation a thousand times. Considering the celebrity(?) waving his hands around as he spoke rapidly into his phone not far away, maybe he had.

“He does, but he’s out of town and no one else can adjust the contracts.” He eventually explains. He finally hands you your stuff back, and you hum consideringly as you put the cards back in your wallet.

Another glance at the furrowed brows on the stranger’s masked face has pity welling up your throat.

You turn your gaze to focus on Jake.

“Do I still have that visitor pass?” You ask him, knowing that he still has your details up. Jake glances at you with a raised eyebrow, but obligingly checks the computer.

“Yup,” He confirms, “You’ve been paying for it since you dragged your poor roommate in here that one time. Why?”

“Can he use it?” you nod your head to the frustrated stranger. From where you’re sat, still perched on the edge of the desk, it looks oddly like he’s begging whoever’s on the other line.

Your visitor pass wasn’t all-access, of course. It’d just get the poor guy into the main front room plus the locker rooms and showers, but you figured it’d be better than nothing. It wasn’t like Taylor would step foot in here after you’d run him ragged last time, not even for the moral support.

Jake levels you with his most deadpan stare. It’s quite a good one, completely unimpressed. You think it must be something about customer service that allows him to make that face. Or maybe it’s just you.

“You realize that your visitor pass is you vouching for your visitor’s character, right?” He reminds you, “If he does anything, breaks anything, pisses off the wrong lifeguard- it’ll be on your head.”

You just shrug. It’s not like you couldn’t find a new gym if you had to. You’d miss this one, with its quiet atmosphere and abundant amenities, but you didn’t require its security and discretion like some of the other members did.

“I’ve got a good feeling about it.” Is all you tell Jake. It’s not even a lie.

The poor boy just rolls his eyes at you. He still turns to rifle through the desk for the right form for you to fill out though, so you’ll take it.

“You a fan of his or something?” Jake asks, handing you a different clipboard. “There are easier ways to bag a celebrity.”

“Nope!” You answer cheerfully, fully ignoring the suggestion of your motives as you start to fill out the form, “No idea who he is.”

Jakes huffs an incredulous laugh, and turns a considering gaze on your new friend. And the stranger does have to be a friend now, because ‘some guy’ is not an option on your paperwork.

“I bet he’s a wrestler,” he finally says after a long moment, “Or a sportswear model.”

You gently bop him on the head with your clipboard, “I refuse to participate in your speculation.” You admonish, ignoring his whining.

“I’ll show you his picture when you leave,” He smirks back, “and whatever google says about him.” He shrugs when you send him a cutting glare, “What? It’s public information.”

“Respect your customer’s privacy, you weirdo.” You scold. He just laughs as you hand him the form, all filled out and just waiting for the stranger’s signature. You know full well that Jake will go through with his research, regardless of what you say, so you give up easily.

It’s not like he’ll be fired for doing it, as long as you don’t go blabbing about the poor celebrity outside of the gym. Privileges of nepotism.

You exchange farewells as you hop off the counter, and he begins to wave over Mr. Celebrity. You meet the eyes of your on-paper friend and offer him a quick nod before you scuttle off deeper into the building.

Hopefully he’d be too grateful for your offer to find you terribly strange.

You manage to make it all the way through your warm-ups before your good deed gets punished. You suppose you’ll be grateful to the universe for letting you find your zen on your yoga mat before it dropped the other shoe.

You notice the legs in the mirror before you realize someone is trying to speak to you. You accidentally ignore the newcomer for several long moments, assuming they were approaching to use a different part of the mirror. When you finally realize they’re waiting for you to acknowledge them, it’s been just shy of too long.

You ease out of your last stretch and stand up, automatically taking an earbud out as you turn to face them.

“Sorry, did you need me to move?” You question as you finally look up. You‘d had your most emo playlist blasting in your ears during your warm up, an attempt to process your feelings through movement or whatever that one instructor from forever ago had tried to teach you.

So of course it’s with perfect clarity that A. Jay Popoff sings “I am my own worst enemy” into the empty space between you and Seo motherfuckin’ Changbin.

Your mental plea for a normal, routine sort of day dies a horrible death when you make eye contact with the pop-star.

And you realize you really must be your worst enemy as you do, because you easily recognize the outfit he’s wearing and the vivid tattoos on his arm.

Of course your good deed for the day led you to one of your soulmates. Of. Fucking. Course.

You’re not sure what you’d done to Karma recently for her to be throwing all of this shit at you right now, but you’d appreciate it if she’d just let you apologize instead of whatever cruel punishment this is.

Changbin must realize you recognize him, because he shyly raises a hand to fiddle with his earrings as he replies.

“Ah, no, I uh...” The hand slides to the back of his neck and he clears his throat uncomfortably. You quickly school your expression back into a semblance of normality when he glances away. You feel like you might still be a bit wild around the eyes, though.

“I just wanted to say thank you.” He concludes. He looks like he wants to say more, but you figure he might not have the English words to do so easily. It’s okay, you don’t really have the Korean to describe how you’re feeling right now either.

Your first instinct is to offer to speak Korean for him, but the air between the two of you is already wildly uncomfortable. Vastly different causes for both of you, you’re sure, but it’s enough to make you second guess your every move.

“Oh, uh, no problem.” You assure.

You stare resolutely at his nose when you speak. If you look into his eyes again you’re sure you’ll spill your entire life story. And if not that extreme, you’ll at least spill the whole soulmate thing. Something about being directly confronted with your problems makes you chatty.

But also if you look away from his face, knowing that body is supposed to be compatible with yours... It leads to some very impolite thoughts. Cute as it is, his nose is the safest thing for you to look at right now.

You offer the idol a thin-lipped smile when you realize the interaction hasn’t ended. Dear god, why has it not ended?

“Anything else I can do for ya?” you offer, inwardly cursing your manners. You’ve lived here long enough that you know people outside your tiny country-side town take that as an invitation instead of a dismissal.

Sure enough, Changbin starts to speak again, his words slow and careful. You watch him wipe his palms on his shorts, idly wondering if he’s shitting himself internally as much as you are right now. And what he’s freaking out about if he is.

“You... Recognize me? Are you STAY?” He gestures a bit while he talks, like he’s trying to cast a spell on you to understand what he’s trying to say. You think it might work, because your mouth is running off without you before you quite process the words.

“Ahh.. hah, uh,” You chuckle awkwardly, your fingers rising to pinch your lips nervously, “My roommate is. We were at your concert the other day, actually,” And even as you say the words your eyes flick down to his arm. You refocus, hopefully before he could notice the quick glance, but you can’t stop your thoughts from spiraling.

After all, he didn’t have that kind of ink at the concert. You and Taylor were front row, right up on the barricade, you’d seen all eight Stray Kids up close and personal. You’d have remembered such a vivid tattoo. And there were only so many reasons to cover a sleeve like that so completely.

Something complicated settles in your stomach as you realize that Changbin is probably a ‘loud and proud’ kind of soulmate, if he’s showing off his mark like this outside of his work. Work you know prevents him from showing off his mark.

Your mouth keeps running without you while you have your little crisis.

“I didn’t recognize you at reception, I woulda had you sign something for him.” You can’t help the rush of embarrassment that sweeps through you, even as you laugh uncomfortably at your own joke.

Why on earth would you say something like that? This situation is already uncomfortable enough! On so many levels!

Somehow, this seems to have been the right thing to say, though, as Changbin’s eyes light up at your joke, the tension easing a bit.

“I can sign,” He suggests, “It would make me feel...” He starts gesturing again, looking for the word he wants, “Less bad?” He finishes like a question.

And suddenly you understand his awkwardness a lot better. It always sucks to feel indebted to someone.

You laugh a little more freely with your new understanding, “Oh, you really don’t have to,” You assure, “I was just joking.”

He shakes his head, “Think of it as.. trade.” He nods, satisfied with himself.

You bob your head to the side, pressing your lips together with a tiny, frustrated, whine, “I really didn’t want anything from you,” you insist, “I hold onto that pass for my roommate, but he never comes with me anyways. You’re doing me a favor using it, seriously.”

You try to speak slowly and clearly, taking a page from Changbin’s book and letting your hands roam while you speak. You hope your spell of understanding works as well as his did.

He takes a moment to respond, mouthing along to some of your words. It’s kind of fascinating to watch someone translate in real time, especially when the process is written all over their face. It’s a little surreal to be on the other side of it.

Eventually his face clears, and he makes a little ‘ah!’ noise that you really shouldn’t find as endearing as you do. You’re in the middle of rejecting your soulmates, you should not be finding one of them cute right now.

“If it is roommate’s pass, more reason to sign, yes?” He reasons, looking proud of his logic. You huff a tiny laugh at him, absolutely charmed.

“Sure, big guy,” You sigh with defeat, though you can’t seem to wipe the smile off your face, “Sounds like a fair trade. I’m sure he’ll be thrilled.”

The two of you stall for a moment, the atmosphere leagues lighter than before.

When the moment seems over, you make a show of looking down at your pocket-less outfit, and then at the ground around you.

“I don’t have a pen on me,” you trail off meaningfully. He looks surprised for a second, like the possibility had never occurred to him.

“Oh,” He looks around as well, lost for a moment, “I can see if front desk has one?” he asks, like he’s looking for instruction. Another thought seems to occur to him then.

“Do you have...” He starts to gesture again, but you cut him off with a nod, fairly certain you’re sure what he’s trying to ask.

“Yeah, I’m sure I can find something for you to sign,” You point in the direction of the locker room, “I’ll probably have to look in my bag though.” You glance between him, the door to the locker room, and the door that leads out to reception.

“Meet back here in 5?” you propose. He seems content with this plan and nods in agreement. “Oh!” You stop him before he can fully turn around.

“Ask for a sharpie,” you instruct, “I’m not sure I’ll be able to find regular paper.” In fact, you’re pretty sure you’ll be sacrificing the spare ball cap you keep in your bag for this. You hope Taylor likes tie-dye.

With that, the two of you go your separate ways. It takes you no time at all to locate the bright monstrosity of a hat, a souvenir you abhorred from one of your father’s many ‘business’ trips. It would be no loss to you, but you take time to see if you have any actual paper around. You need the processing time.

Stars above, what were you thinking? There was no way you were getting out of this without another soulmate bond, but here you were, casually chatting with the guy instead of getting the fuck out of dodge!

You really couldn’t help it though.

Even when he’d been no more than a stranger to you, you hadn’t been able to help the way you gravitated toward Changbin. Now that you knew he was your soulmate, your actions made a lot more sense to you.

You’d always been on the people pleasing side of helpful, but vouching for a complete stranger was new for you. Even now, you were obediently grabbing an item for him to deface with a signature you don’t even want (no matter how thoroughly Taylor would murder you if you’d passed it up) just because you could tell how uneasy Changbin was with just accepting the visitor pass.

It didn’t help that the man was endearing as hell. Every little thing he did seemed cute to you, and you’d barely known him for ten minutes!

You felt like this was a new low for you. Doing things you didn’t really want to, for a man. Taylor would be so disappointed in you.

Having stalled for maybe far too long, you settle on sacrificing the atrocious hat to Changbin’s pen and put your stuff away. Something heavy and squirmy settles in your chest as you make your way back out to retrieve your prize from the man of the hour.

Surprisingly, there’s no accidental meeting of hands when Changbin autographs your hat. He did give you a bit of a bemused look for the choice of item, but you’d just shrugged at him. It was all you were willing to sacrifice, and Taylor should be grateful for even this much, in your opinion.

Unsurprisingly, the lack of first contact does not ease your mind at all. In fact, it rockets up your anxiety another thousand notches. You can’t help checking over your shoulder at every opportunity, despite the fact that Changbin hadn’t left the weights area since he’d settled there and couldn't follow you through the door to the rest of the facility regardless.

Look, you know how the whole first contact thing worked, okay? Fate would put two soulmates in the same place for whatever stupid reason, and find an even stupider reason for them to make skin-to-skin contact. You’d experienced it twice now, and you couldn’t help but think going out of your way to avoid everything Changbin was wouldn’t help you very much.

Even still, you can’t stay paranoid and vigilant forever. When nothing happens while you finish your cardio, or when you work your way through both the pool and the sauna, you admittedly let down your guard a bit.

Maybe that’s why, after you’ve made your way back to the front room to try and finish your workout, when you’re mid-stretch and staring daggers at a weight machine you’re sure you’ll figure out how to use if you glare long enough, you jump about five miles out of your skin when you hear Changbin’s voice behind you.

Jumping from such a precarious position is never a good idea, and your sudden movement has set your head on a one-way collision course with the gym’s hardwood floors about it.

Hands fly around your middle, catching you awkwardly around your ribs. Unfortunately, all this noble attempt to catch you does is slow your descent, giving you just enough time to flinch violently enough to bring your arms up and prevent your head from meeting the ground and brace for impact.

The rest of you still hits the ground pretty hard, and Changbin’s knees and elbows meet a similar fate, his own head saved by headbutting your stomach, knocking the air out of you even harder than it already had been.

The two of you sit there a moment, groaning with the pain of your fall. At least you don’t have a concussion. You’ll take every small mercy with the way the universe has treated you lately.

Some part of you is cognizant enough to give the heavens a heartfelt thank you when you notice that none of your aches and pains are from your soulbond activating. Somehow, through that entire debacle, and even considering the amount of exposed skin between your t-shirt and his, you hadn’t managed to touch. You’re still safe.

As the shock starts to wear off, you start to become aware of the warmth of large hands still resting heavily against your sides, both soothing and wildly distracting. It’s like every fiber of your being is focused on where he’s touching you, warm and weighty. Changbin’s head still buried in your abdomen doesn’t help with the building fluster taking over your brain.

You swear one of his thumbs has landed squarely on one of the flower buds directly opposite Lee Know’s Bellflowers, and the tingly feeling of the bond weakly trying and failing to establish through the thin barrier of your shirt is not helping your mushy brain at all.

You tip your head back to stare at the ceiling, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth to prevent yourself from doing something stupid, like confessing all of your sins to Changbin right then and there.

Maybe you did have a concussion after all.

It’s probably been less than a minute since the two of you hit the floor, but it feels like ten hours have passed when Changbin finally lifts his head, wide eyes finding yours frantically.

“Oh my god, are you okay?” He asks, “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you, are you okay?” He uses his hold on you to gently lift you to a seated position, removing them in favor of hovering politely as he fusses. You don’t think he’s realized he’s reverted to his native Korean in his panic.

“I’m alright, I’m okay,” you assure him in the same language, “Just bruised a bit, I’m fine.”

He continues to fuss a bit more, running you through a quick series of concussion tests even after you tell him that you hadn’t hit your head at all. It’s only after he’s helping you to your feet, respectfully allowing you to use a clothed part of his arm to help yourself up, that he clocks the language the both of you are using.

“Are you sure you didn’t hit your head?” He teases, “You speak Korean all of the sudden.”

You can’t help the little laugh that escapes you, nor can you help how his smug little smile makes your heart flutter. “I’ve spoken Korean the whole time.” You inform him.

“And you didn’t tell me? You just let me struggle?” The fondness in his smile assures you that he’s just joking, so you respond in kind.

“You were just trying so hard...” You shrug sheepishly and delight in the full body laugh that tears out of him. You wait for him to calm before you ask, “What did you need, by the way? I didn’t catch what you said before, well..” You gesture helplessly at the floor.

It’s his turn to look sheepish now, shoulders hiking up and a nervous hand making its way to his neck, “Ah, that.” he shrugs, “I was just saying that you had a pretty soulmark.”

The sudden compliment catches you off guard, and you suddenly become aware that your camisole has come loose from where it had been tucked into your sweats. Your hand flies up to cover the now-covered skin of your stomach, feeling sick.

You can’t remember when it happened, and the thought of however many strangers seeing your soulmark, no matter how little of it, sends a sharp note of dread through your body. You suddenly feel eyes digging into your skin, despite being covered again as soon as you’d stood up. You feel a bit sick, your skin crawling with discomfort.

You’re aware that your camisole would have ridden up to your lower back, at most, but there’s no telling how much of your mark anyone might have seen. What Changbin might have seen, what he may have noticed.

Changbin must notice your sudden pallid complexion, and continues on, trying to reassure you, probably. You barely hear him over the heartbeat in your ears, your trembling hands trying to discreetly tuck the undershirt back in while he speaks.

“I just meant that it’s very colorful and vibrant,” He explains, smile fading from his face as concern starts to cloud it at your reaction, “Whoever your soulmate is, they’re very lucky.”

“Ah, I don’t know them yet,” You counter. It’s even the truth. You hadn’t spoken much to any of your soulmates so far. Well, until now, you guess.

“Oh, well, I stand by what I said.” He asserts, his easy grin betrayed by the pinch between his brows, “Whoever your soulmate is will be very lucky to have you.”

“I don’t know about all that,” You tilt your head with self-deprecating consideration.

Maybe it’s a lingering guilt for how you’ve been handling your soulmates so far that makes you continue the thought, instead of laughing it off like the joke it should be. Maybe you just want him- want them- to know why you’ve been acting this way, “I don’t even know if I want to meet them, so I’m not sure how lucky they could be to have me as a soulmate.”

Changbin levels you with an absolutely baffled look, as if you’ve just challenged the very foundation of his worldview.

“Why not?” He asks, “Doesn’t everyone want to meet their soulmate?”

You wrap yourself in a loose hug, one hand rubbing soothingly at your elbow, and shrug, “I just... I haven’t had great experiences with soulmates, is all.” You can’t keep your eyes from straying to his soulmark, vibrant and full.

It’s an image that would be hard to elbow your way into, and you can’t imagine a way that the addition of you could possibly enhance it. It still feels unfinished to you, but it doesn’t look that way. You feel both better and worse about yourself, knowing that they didn’t need you.

A glance at Changbin’s utterly lost face has you opening your mouth before you can think about it, shoulders beginning to climb up to your ears.

“Not all soulmates get along, you know?” You mutter sullenly, almost to yourself.

Changbin seems to consider this for a moment, head tilting cutely to the side as he takes in your claim.

“I mean, sure.” He draws his words out slowly, carefully, with a little furrow between his brows. “Everyone fights sometimes, but you get through it together, right? That’s what makes you soulmates. Choosing to stick together.”

You couldn’t hold in the scoff and eye-roll combo that rips out of you if you’d tried. “Yeah, maybe.”

You’d feel bad about the venom in your voice, or the way it causes Changbin to shift uncomfortably from foot to foot, but you can’t find it in yourself to care at the moment. Something sick and dark twists around your stomach, and the battle to keep a deep scowl from your face is the only one you’re willing to fight right now.

“I have a feeling that was the wrong thing to say,” Changbin smiles wanly at you, and you meet his eyes for barely a second before you find yourself melting beneath his earnest gaze. The thorns around your heart ease just enough to bleed, and you shrug at him again.

“When people stay together just because they’re soulmates it only makes things worse.” you tell him, “Nothing gets magically fixed just because you’re soulmates.”

Surprisingly, Changbin agrees easily, “Well, yeah, that’s not the kind of sticking together I’m talking about,” He explains, “I meant more, like,” He gestures as he tries to find his words, and your heart positively aches as you realize the habit transcends languages.

You find yourself softening more and relaxing out of your defensive curl out of sheer endearment. You’re sure you’d be making absolute heart-eyes at Changbin right now if the topic at hand wasn’t so deeply uncomfortable for you.

“Ok, let me try an example,” He eventually decides, his eyes following your gaze where it had once again returned to his soulmark without your permission. He flexes a bit, making the flowers on his skin bounce and dance with a small, fond, smile. “I’m soulmates with the other members, right?”

He says it easily, casually, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. You almost nod along, before you remember that the world at large definitely does not have that information, even if you do, and you meet his smug little smirk with wide-eyed shock.

You can’t help but gape at him for the casual confession, glancing around the empty gym like someone else might’ve heard Changbin’s brazen confession. He’s already waving you off before you can sputter out the questions stuck in your throat.

“It’s not a big deal, don’t worry about it. It’s not like we try very hard to hide it.” He does a weird little half-nod-half-shrug motion at his soulmark, “But yeah, we’re all soulmates, and we all pretty much knew before debut, even though Innie’s mark hadn’t shown up yet.”

You do nod this time. Slowly, though, as you try to figure out where he’s going with this. Changbin takes it as permission to continue, and so he does.

“Well, Jeongin’s our baby, and even though marks show up at 18, you’re not an adult in Korea until 19, so there’s a lot we had to leave him out on.” He grimaces a little, “Being an Idol is stressful as it is, throwing a new soul bond and puberty and all that on top wasn’t very helpful. We were all volatile and fragile. But Innie definitely took it the worst. He felt left behind and unfair and angry with it all.”

He chuckles and gives a little shrug, “We had our share of knock-down, drag-outs.” He admits sheepishly, “It wasn’t an easy time for us.” He rolls his head toward the ceiling and, despite Changbin’s efforts, you can easily spot the smitten look on his face along with his cherry-red ears.

“But we made it through,” He says softly, “We took the time to dig into all of his insecurities and find what we could do to help him. He made the choice to be vulnerable and honest with us. It took time to get here, but we made it through.”

Changbin meets your eyes again, “That’s what I mean when I say soulmates are about choosing to stick together. You work through the hard times and disagreements together, work toward something better. Soulmates are destiny, but love is choice.”

You let his words rattle around your brain as you get lost in his earnest gaze. Let the idea settle into you like something entirely new, like it wasn’t your understanding of healthy relationships beforehand. Of course that’s the ideal, you know that. No one is perfect and all that, everyone disagrees sometimes. It’s discussing it and finding solutions together that makes a partnership work long-term. You know that.

For the first time, you wonder if you’d just always considered soulmates an exception to the rule.

You’d automatically assigned soulmates as a concept a failing grade at working their problems through. Your parents certainly never worked out their issues, and every soulmate you’d ever seen in the media was an automatic happy-ending. As soon as that bond snaps into place, the story’s over. Happily ever after.

You’d always thought ‘ever after’ must be an awful short time.

‘Love is choice’ echoes through you like something divine.

You break Changbin’s gaze and offer him a half-hearted shrug. “I guess.” you concede, “My soulmates probably have a lot of work cut out for them with me, though. So I still don’t know if they’d want me.”

“I think it’d be worth the work,” Changbin smiles gently at you, “To be your soulmate, I mean.”

You feel heat rush up your neck and bless your genetics for keeping it from showing on your cheeks. You disguise your bashfulness by lightly slapping Changbin’s shoulder (and woah is he solid under your hand when you do) and loudly complain about him being a flirt.

He responds by doing his best to fluster you, clearly enjoying putting those fanservice skills to use. You complain with every flex and smoulder, especially when he starts unleashing the aegyo, and the two of you let the banter and laughter chase away the somber mood.

Eventually you settle, and Changbin nods at the very intimidating machine you’d been staring at what felt like a lifetime ago now.

“Did you need a spotter?” He offers. You hem and haw for a moment, before sheepishly admitting that you need a teacher more than a spotter. When he lights up and offers to be that, too, you can’t help the way your eyes travel up and down his body with open admiration.

He certainly looks plenty qualified, and really, you’re only a girl. If your once-over leaves him with red ears and a smug grin, well. You’ll consider it your revenge for now.

You very quickly realize your mistake in letting him coach you.

Changbin tours you quickly around various machines, explaining their functions and the proper ways to use them to avoid injury. All well and good, and you ask permission to record short videos of him doing so in case you find yourself forgetting his advice, which he graciously allows on the condition you don’t share them anywhere.

You agree after negotiating for viewing rights for Taylor, with the reasoning that the lure of the videos might actually get your roommate back into the gym with you. It makes Changbin laugh enough to indulge you.

And then he actually starts you on a machine, after getting a rundown on what you’d already done today, and you experience hell on earth.

The thing is, he’s unfairly good at coaching you through it. He keeps up a steady stream of warm encouragement and light jokes even as you curse him out for steadily increasing the weights on each machine you work through. He’s right there to help you through the sets the moment you start to get too tired and is almost preternaturally good at pushing you to only just above your limits.

And his hands are always right there. He’s almost always touching you somehow, throughout the whole thing. His touch is light, coaching and clinical, and unfailingly polite. Still, the warmth of his skin through your flimsy gym-wear feels heavy. Nearly threatening. Distracting, at the very least.

You’ll definitely need those videos later.

It’s a relief when it’s over. You’re sore and sweaty and you have to go sit at a desk for six or more hours when you leave, which you’re very much not looking forward to.

Changbin splits with you to hit the showers, but somehow you still come together again before you pass reception.

“Thanks for today,” you say as the two of you stall your goodbyes, “I had a lot of fun. You’ve more than earned that guest pass.” you tease, smile wide and mischievous.

He’s smiling too, even as he shoves your shoulder and complains about you extorting him.

When you run out of things to say, you shuffle lightly in place. It’s not like you expect him to give you his number, he is an Idol after all, but still you can’t quite make yourself leave. You find yourself casting around for something, anything, to say to make the moment last. To stay in his presence just a second longer.

You shake yourself out of it once you notice. You might not be running from them anymore, but you certainly weren’t trying to make friends with your soulmates. The longer you stayed in his presence, the more likely it was that you’d end up with another first contact.

At last, after a far-too-long moment of silence, you hold out your hand and offer a flat, closed-lip smile.

“It was really nice to meet you, Changbin.” You tell him sincerely, eyes locked on his. You swear looking your soulmates in the eye is some kind of hypnosis, the way you always get lost in them when you do. Something about it just makes you feel a tiny bit dumb, like your brain gets switched off.

“You too, y/n.” He agrees, reaching for your offered hand. You only realize what you’ve just done as your name leaves his lips, your eyes widening as they dart down to his hand and yours, but it’s far too late.

Your breath hitches a moment before his skin makes contact with yours, and you watch it happen in slow motion. He grasps your hand and pulls you in instead of settling for the more distant and formal farewell. All too quickly you’re settled into his grasp, completely enveloped in him and dizzy with more than just his warmth as soft prickles dance up your side.

You feel more than you hear him gasp, his hold on you so complete. Your head ends up on his shoulder as you stumble into him from his pull, and you get a front row seat to the top of his shoulder filling in with outlines and shadows from your place tucked against his neck, dull colors adding a definition to the images in his soulmark and settling like they’d always been there.

Distantly, you feel chest tighten with completion, with satisfaction and something smug and proud at the sight, even as your mind starts screaming.

Changbin is solid against you, comforting and almost stiflingly warm from both his workout and shower. You catch a whiff of his soap, the scent muting the alarm bells blaring in your brain even as you lay limp against him with the shock.

And then his hold on you tightens just a bit, only for a moment, but it’s all that it takes for you to break.

Your breath begins to hitch, visions of sweet touches turning sour and threatening violence causing you to flinch violently in Changbin’s comforting embrace. You feel your eyes begin to wet as you start to struggle, needing out, out, out.

It must have been less than a second, but Changbin pulls back, still holding you by your shoulders like he doesn’t know how to let go.

“Y/n?” He asks, voice small. You can only shake your head, breaths coming out in harsh gasps, limbs trembling violently. Changbin hurriedly lowers the two of you to the floor, much more prepared than you are for your limbs to give out halfway down.

He finally releases you as you settle and you curl tightly into yourself. The places where he’d held you feel frozen now, the cold viciously settling into your bones, even as Changbin does his best to get your attention and guide you through a breathing exercise.

You can’t focus on him though, the sensation of flowers blooming on your skin overwhelming, the memory of his touch both welcome and suffocating.

“S- ‘orry, I’m-” You hiccup, “I’m so- so s’rry-” If Changbin is at all put off by your sudden breakdown, he doesn’t show it. He just tilts his head and offers you hushed words of assurance.

“Nothing to be sorry for, y/n,” he assures, “It’s alright, just breathe, ok?”

He offers you a hand and you can’t help but take it, the warmth startling a breath into you that you hadn’t been aware you needed. Changbin guides your hand to his chest, instructing you to breathe with him, and you automatically focus on the heavy thump of his heartbeat under your palm.

He keeps talking to you, trying to keep your attention, but your mind spins wildly away from you even as you finally manage a deep inhale under Changbin’s attention.

You need to tell him that you’d known since he’d first spoken to you who he was. Who he was to you, even, but you can’t open your mouth to do more than gasp another apology. You’re sure he’ll hate you, leave you there on the floor of the gym to die like you deserve, especially after all you’d told him about how you feel about soulmates.

He’ll hate you for putting his soulmates through rejection, for refusing to speak to them or even look them in the eye. He’ll leave you here, humiliated on the gym’s floor, and you’ll deserve it because you’re a horrible person who wouldn’t even give them a breadth of a chance because you were too damn scared-

A hand grasps your spare one, the one not touching him, not keeping you just barely above the waves of hyperventilating, and you hadn’t even noticed it scrabbling at the stretched out neckline of your t-shirt until it’s gently pried away and guided to a wall of firm muscle.

Your fingers instinctively grasp what’s suddenly underneath them, and your vision stutters back in as a soft tingling rockets its way up your arm.

You distantly acknowledge that it was probably a bad thing that your vision had faded off with your eyes stuck wide open, staring blankly at legs you couldn’t feel. Right now, however, all you can experience is Changbin. His mark under your fingers, grip clawing and desperate. His heartbeat under your palm, faster than it should be, but steady and loud and feeling like it’s part of your own body.

Like he knows he has your attention again, Changbin ducks down to catch your eyes. You find nothing in them but concern and a soft emotion you couldn’t hope to pinpoint.

“Y/n,” He calls softly, “Y/n, do you mind if I touch you?” The gentleness he speaks to you with is devastating, like he’s trying to place your panicked mind on a cloud of care. You want so desperately to accept that care from him.

You nod, small jerky movements to indicate your agreement even as gasping sobs still stutter in your chest.

Changbin immediately moves, shuffling closer to you on his knees and releasing the wrist of your hand, the one still grasping at his mark like it’d disappear if you relaxed so much as a millimeter. He uncrosses his arms from the awkward reach he’d had to use to maneuver your hands where he wanted them, and reaches his now free hand to rest gently but firmly on your waist, right over his place within your own mark.

The resonance from his touch is weaker, the material of your shirt in his way, but with both sides active the feeling floods you in a way you could never describe.

You know, in the back of your mind, that you’ve read about resonance before. That you know all about the flood of endorphins and other feel-good hormones that it causes, that you’ve read first hand accounts from all sorts of people swearing up and down it feels better than any orgasm ever could. In the moment though, you feel like your brain has been reset completely. Back to factory settings, entirely blank.

You come back to yourself in slow blinks, resonance still echoing brightly between you and Changbin. Your one hand is still tightly clasped to his chest, and you’re sure you’re only breathing right now due to the steady rise and fall of Changbin’s chest. The two of you are still gripping each other’s marks.

You feel unsettled as awareness returns to your body. You feel floaty and not all there, even as you calm enough to feel the numbness of your legs and the pain in your knees from hitting the floor. An increasingly familiar tingling feeling is emanating from each of your active soulmarks, despite the fact that you know the other two should have no idea how you’re feeling right now.

Your bond wasn’t strong enough for that. You hadn’t given it the chance to be.

The thought that they might just be thinking of you gives you a soft and fluttery sort of feeling.

Finally, Changbin pulls back, removing his hand from your mark and sliding up your arm to gently pry yours from his bicep. You’d wince at the marks your nails had left on his skin if you didn’t still feel like your bones were vibrating on the astral plane from the intensity of a reciprocal resonance.

He gently holds both of your hands in his and settles them between you, catching your eye again.

“You back with me, bubs?” He asks, smile light and tone even. You’d think him unaffected if not for the redness of his ears and the slight haze in his eyes.

Right. Eight soulmates. He’s probably used to it.

He’s also trying to get you down from a panic attack, you remember as your hands begin to faintly tremble in his grip. You nod slightly at his question, apologizing again.

“Hey, no.” Changbin scolds softly, eyes locked on yours, “You’ve nothing to be sorry for, it’s okay. Do you want to tell me what happened?”

You shake your head in refusal of both ideas, opening your mouth once, twice, three times, before huffing irritatedly at the lack of words falling from your lips. Changbin squeezes your hands to keep your attention on him, expression open and accepting. His silence allows yours to end.

“I just- It’s just that I-” You breathe harshly through your nose, squeezing his hands back to ground yourself, “I knew from when I realized who you were that you were my soulmate.” you grind out in halting words, the trembling spreading from your hands up to your chest. You take in a shuddering breath, “That’s why I was apologizing. Because I knew and I still said those things to you.”

You can tell your confession takes Changbin off guard. The man blinks rapidly as he takes in the new information, slotting your earlier behavior against your reaction just now and having trouble connecting them.

“Soulmates terrify me,” you confess quietly, before he can ask, “You’re so nice, but you’re so fucking scary to me, I’m sorry.”

With that, you remove your hands from his, and Changbin just sort of helplessly lets you go, a lost expression taking over his face. You try to stumble to your feet, and he scrambles up to help you, caring even through his confusion.

You can feel the trembling travel to your legs, and you’re glad for his steady hold despite yourself. You feel like a stiff breeze might knock you over.

“I need- I- I’ve gotta- argh!” You clench your teeth with frustration, taking a deep, bracing, breath, before trying again. “I need to go home.” You’d like to say it came out strong and self-assured, but the words leave you in a breathless whimper that makes you feel small and pathetic.

Everything about this makes you feel small and pathetic.

Changbin catches your eyes again, brows creased in concern.

Except for him.

“Of course, whatever you need,” He assures, “Can I call a car for you? A friend? Your roommate?”

You shake your head, hopelessly endeared by his need to help you. You feel guilty for refusing him when he’d just pivoted from the bombshell you’d dropped on him to focus on your care but you- you needed to go home. You needed to leave, and it was taking every ounce of effort you could spare to keep from bolting.

“No, I can- I’ve got- I want- shit.” The curse spills from you unbidden, frustration with the vestiges of your panic refusing to leave you building sharply. If anything, Changbin’s concern only grows deeper as you struggle to express yourself.

“I need to move, I’ll walk.” Your mouth finally allows you to spit out, almost aggressively. Changbin almost seems to despair at your declaration.

Looking at your own condition, you can’t blame him. Trembling like a leaf and barely able to speak, you’d never let yourself leave if you’d been in his place. You can’t spare the energy to explain that if anyone tried anything at you in this condition you’d probably try to kill them first and ask questions later.

You don’t handle stress well.

Still, despite his obvious reluctance, Changbin lets you leave his embrace.

You’re more stable on your feet now, and a deep breath fills you with a facade of confidence that will see you home. Changbin’s hands still hover around you, as if waiting for you to shatter apart again.

“If you need anything, please call me, okay? Anything at all, please call me.” He pleads with you. You only manage to give him another tiny nod before you dip into a full bow and turn to flee.

Changbin watches you go with a face full of concern and confusion.

‘I think it’d be worth the work, to be your soulmate’ he’d said. You can’t help but wonder, as the gym disappears behind you, if he still thinks that.

Tag Garden: @brbwritingfanfic , @braveangel777 , @breathlessbookworm , @chancloud8 , @roseynoodles , @katsukis1wife , @alisonyus , @imnotsop , @pixie0627 , @velvetmoonlght , @upsidedownchaire , @unusuallyshy , @interstellar-equilibrium , @staytinyluv , @m00njinnie , @staaaa4 , @yourcrypticreaper , @beas-24 , @stars4jo , @scented-morker , @tirena1 , @min-doesnt-know , @glitterveins992 , @yumuramma , @shoganaiiii , @4ng3l-ch1ld , @linospetsitter

Perma Tags: @mbioooo0000 , @thatgirlangelb (<- you've been added without choice. suffer.)

#stray kids fanfic #skz fic #skz x reader #stray kids x reader #skz fanfic #w.i.p fic #w.i.p #baby writes #Stray Kids soulmate AU #SGAU #Soulmate Garden AU #soulmate au #skz soulmate au

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notapradagurl7 · 4 months ago

Text

One More Taste.

Creepy!Black Fem! Reader x Dark!Terry Richmond.

Summary: You got it really bad for your fine-ass next-door neighbor and co-worker Terry Richmond, just an unhealthy obsession for him and it was his birthday, all you wanted was to make him yours. But will he be open to you? Turns out he was just as hooked as you were.

Warnings: dark themes, smut, praise, dirty talk, slight fluff, unhealthy obsession, creepy!reader, dark!Terry, fingering, scolding, choking kink, stalking, mention of trauma, mention of murder, possessiveness, toxic themes, jealousy, and slight breeding kink(if you squint), some pwp, all are consensual but read at your own risk, childhood trauma.

A/N: Here is a day late b-day fic for our man Terry, 😭 hope you enjoy my loves, ☺️ this one is kinda ominous, and a special thank you to @megamindsecretlair for this wonderful tag and event, don't forget to leave comments, likes and reblogs are welcome to support, drop a request if you like, they're always open!🫡

WC: 3,265k.

Taglist: @satoruya @planetblaque

@playgurlxoxo @dabratzchronicles

@becauseimswagman1

@pocketsizedpanther @beenathembo @brattyfics

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@23jammy @zillasvilla @musicisme333

@chaoticcoffeequeen @soft-persephone @ruewritesoccasionally @xblackreader @artsninspo @teeresaresa @kumkaniudaku

————-

It all started with the boring-ass office meeting in the conference room where Terry was introduced to everyone including yourself, all it took was a simple glance from him to get you going, he was that little drug in your veins. And you need is another dose of him.

From the one-on-one projects your boss Maggie assigned both of you to work together to Terry sitting next to you in the break room for lunch, getting to know that fine man day by day gave life to your fantasies, as some would say delusions.

You've learned so much about Terry and kept them tucked in the back of your mind like a secret you've written in your diary. He let you in his life, due to your shared responsibilities at work.

Your daily conversations built a connection that felt unshakeable, like the spine of a well-loved book.

He was a former Marine, he had a cousin named Mike whom he had lost last year, you had your share of loss just like he did, the both of you had similar interests in rock music, adding fuel to your fire for him, as it burned everything in its path.

You only stalked the man once or twice in the park where he did his morning jogs, you could have asked to join him but you already worked out enough on your own. He almost caught you.

With Marine skills of his, he could've done something.

Hearing him chat with other women in the office made you cringe, you wanted to claw their eyes out with your nails once they laid a lustful eye on your man.

And you knew he loved his coffee black with one shot of cream. The way he carried himself, all brooding and mysterious, was enough to drive you wild. He was so tall and was so muscular, you wanted to devour him sexually.

There was undoubtedly something enigmatic about Terry that you wanted to uncover, but he kept his guard up, just as you did, shaped by the personal trauma you experienced at 16, a memory you tried to shake off and ignore.

However, after you resolve to take revenge on the individual who has wronged you so deeply, it's essential to let go of the pain that lingers in your heart.

You were determined to eliminate that uncle in your family, and your older brother Jarvis offered to assist with the endeavor, so he did. It seems you weren't the only one who had that same experience at 16.

After that fateful day, your older cousin Jarvis took swift action, hiding and disposing of the body. Together, you severed ties with your family, leaving the past behind as you relocated to that familiar yet quiet neighborhood. In time, you both found stable, rewarding jobs, convincing yourself that you were on the road to healing.

But today was different; it was Terry's birthday, and the weight of your memories had to be set aside.

Determined to celebrate, you decided to bake him a cake, pouring your affection into every batter mix and frosting swirl. You invited Terry over to your cozy little house next door, eager to share a joyful moment amid the shadows of your past.

You couldn't wait to show him how much he meant to you, that was a time when Terry decided to walk you home when your car broke down. He offered to drive you home because it was dangerous for you to be alone, that protectiveness you felt with him made you fully enamored.

But Terry didn't celebrate birthdays like that, but he appreciated those who thought of him.

You stood before your table with your eyes on the small cake, he preferred chocolate cake over vanilla. “It’s perfect,” you mumbled, smirking at the cake.

You placed a few candles on the table, and washed your hands clean. Once, you heard a knock on your door, you knew that it was Terry.

You hurried your way toward the front door, and swung it open revealing the 6-foot, man with his fawn light skin. His green-blue ish spoke to your dark brown ones, in a ways couldn't fathom. It was so easy to get lost in those eyes.

“Happy birthday Terry,” You sang playfully, stepping aside to let him in.

“Thank you, I appreciate it,” Terry replied back, stepping inside and you closed the door behind him.

“I baked you a cake, would you like a piece?” You asked kindly.

Terry raised an eyebrow, a small smirk playing on his lips. “You baked me a cake? You really went all out, huh? I'm flattered. But you know I’m not big on the whole birthday thing.”

You stepped closer, your heart racing. “I know, but I thought it would be nice. Just us, you know? To celebrate you...just a little?”

He crossed his arms, leaning against the wall in that effortlessly cool way that made you want to reach out and touch him, to feel that strength radiating from his body. “You’re sweet. Just don’t expect me to get all sappy about it.”

“Who said anything about sappy?” You laughed lightly, trying to mask the nervousness bubbling inside. “I just want you to try my cake. It’s chocolate. Your favorite, right?”

Terry’s eyes flickered with something—maybe curiosity, maybe amusement. “Chocolate, huh? You’ve been paying attention.”

“Of course,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper. “I pay attention to everything about you, Terry. You’re...hard to ignore.”

He studied you for a moment, and you could see the gears turning in his mind. “Alright, let’s see what you’ve got then.”

You led him over to the table, your heart pounding as you cut a generous slice of the cake and placed it on a plate. As you handed it to him, your fingers brushed against his, and a jolt of electricity coursed through you.

“Thanks,” he said, his voice low as he took a bite. His tongue gliding across those lips of his to get frosting, making your core throb. He made you all hot and bothered just like that?

“Y-You’re welcome, do you like it?”

Terry nodded in response before as his eyes widened slightly, and you held your breath, waiting for his reaction. “Damn, this is good as hell. Seriously.”

You beamed, your pride swelling. “I’m glad you like it. I made it just for you.”

He looked at you then, really looked at you, and for a moment, the world faded away. “You’re something else, you know that?”

“Yeah, I am, and I'm hoping that we can be more than friends, you know?” you replied, feeling bold. Fiddling with your string of yarn that you found to calm yourself down.

His expression hardened for a moment, and you felt the air grow heavy with unspoken words. “You don’t know what you’re asking for.”

“Try me, I’m not afraid of you, Terry. I want to know you. All of you.” you replied with a sinister tone, refusing to back down.

He set the empty plate down, his eyes darkening as he took a step closer, invading your personal space. “You really have no idea what you’re inviting into your life, do you?”

Your pulse quickened, the thrill of fear and desire mixing together in a heady cocktail. “Maybe I do. Maybe I’m willing to take the risk.”

“You think that I don't know about you? Stalking me in the park, I should’ve reported you to HR or handled it myself,” Terry confessed darkly, his hand behind his back with that wicked smile of his curling up.

Your smile fell into a frown, pursing your lips a bit as you had to turn off a light switch in your head, placing your hands on your sides. Your anxiety

There was no use to deny what you did, you were there being a creep toward the man. When you could've done the normal thing and asked him if you could jog with him, not give in to your obsession with him, your felt your walls crumbling down.

“I don't blame you if you do, it was inappropriate and weird. But I just feel like we are alike, you and I, the moment I saw you. I became obsessed with you Terry,” You admitted, a grin on your face.

Terry’s gaze intensified, awe and intrigue across his beautiful face, “Obsessed huh? What if I told you that I was obsessed with you too? Maybe it did turn me on that you saw me, and stalked me like that,” he said back, crossing his arms.

“What makes you think we are alike?”

“There’s something in both of us, we've both been through too much damn trauma, and we’re shaped by our pasts, Terry. I see it in you and it resonates with me,” You said softly, your tone shaky.

“I agree with you on that which means I'll be yours Y/N, I think you need your punishment after stalking me, I need to tame a little brat like you,” Terry replied back, his grin still on his face that sent a shiver done your spine.

His words rekindled the heat within you, causing your clit to pulse, yet you remained frozen as if on ice, your lips slightly parted but unable to speak.

"Can't speak now?” Terry asked, Tilting his head to the side like a villain with a masterplan from a cartoon.

“Safe word?” he asked again, grinning at you.

“Kiwi,” you spoke up, he kissed your forehead.

“Good girl,” he replied, stepping closer to you.

You gently sat on the couch with your legs spreading apart for him, as if he told you in the back of your mind. But you needed this, and he was finally yours, Terry followed you and unbuckled his belt but he stopped, you whined softly.

“Actually, you don't get this dick since you’ve been bad,” Terry scolded with a gentle tone, his hand wrapped around your neck. You shudder from his touch.

Did you have it this bad for him like that Usher song? Yes you did, you couldn't wait any longer. You moved his hand down below your dress, he slid it over your head, while he took his shirt. Blessing you with that body, his muscles tensed from your touch. You stifled a moan from a lip bite.

His physique reminded you that he could've been a Greek god in another life similar to mythology or perhaps a Pharaoh in ancient Egypt, calling for your hand in marriage.

“I'll be good, I promise. Touch me please, Terry,” you mewled softly, pouting your lip.

His fingers gradually slide inside your pussy, practically sucking his digits in quickly. You were fully enamored with the man before you, this very moment to be touched, fucked good. This surely will suffice for now, moaning wildly and your essence splattering all over.

You needed more than his fingers, Terry moaned raspingly from that wet warmth of you, you moaned wildly and rolled your hips to match the torturous pace. “Fuck..I don't believe you, but that pussy sure does..” Terry groaned with his eyes on you.

“Now, you can get this dick..” Terry commanded with a grin, grabbing your hips while your legs parted.

He pushed his dick inside, starting off with a rough yet face pace, you gasped sharply but cutting yourself off with a moan. “Fuck, that’s..too…good but fuck!” you hollered with pleasure, moving your hips with him. Fueling his fire for you but not brighter than yours.

His full lips enveloped your nipple as his other hand kneaded and squeezed the other one; “You think that you get away with what you did? Don't ever do that shit again baby,” Terry growled, thrusting passionately yet almost lovingly.

Your wetness splattering all over his dick and you let out a soft whimper when his nails grazed the stretch marks on your brown skin. "Damn, so fucking tight, you're that deprived?" Terry teased, licking your ear. In the mess on your couch, he picked you up in his arms, your arms encircling his neck. and draped your legs around his waist, similar to a piggyback ride, but with you facing him. The curve of your ass was smacked by his hand.

“T-Terryyy…i’m s-sorryy..” you whimpered softly in his ear, your nails marking his back. Letting anyone know that he was yours, finally yours. He loved the sight of you breaking apart under him, the wet squelching sounds filling the room like a clapping noise. "I'm yours, say you're mine," he groaned deeply, Moaning his name, Music to his ears, why didn't he confess you sooner?

His hands spread your legs wide apart for him, better than he imagined, damn near masturbated to, fantasies couldn't compare, those dreamy ocean eyes of his focus on your wet pussy making his dick disappear as he filled up completely, "I'm yours! Terry! shit! You're so big!" You screamed, laying your head on his shouder.

His hand gripped the back of your neck, forcing you to look in his eyes as he fucked you harder, your eyes closed shut in immense pleasure, was he trying to make sure you couldn't breathe or move? “So..fucking..sexy, there’s no way I can let you go, is it the same for you?” Terry panted heavily, peppering kisses along your neck.

Have you met your match? Fingers rubbed your clit in slow circles, and your moans grew louder, “Yes! Terry! I won't let you go!” Clearly, you can't, dripping sweat coated your bodies, and heat radiated from the closeness.

Tears blurred your vision, and your moans sounded like you were crying, his dacryphilia kicking in at the sight but his thrusts turned gradual and sloppy, “Cumminggg, it’s so good,” you moaned out, patting his back with your hand, panting raspingly. Letting him know that you were at your limit, he thought of cumming inside but he didn’t want to do that.

You screamed out from your essence spilling out onto his dick rather quickly, and he pulled out of you. His tip spurted out on your stomach, as he kept you in his arms lovingly before kissing you sloppily, “Mine,” he said proudly, he pulled away and carried you into the bathroom, deciding to do aftercare.

“You good?” Terry asked in concern, turning on the faucet and allowing the water to fill up the tub and adding your sweet-smelling foamy soap. He gently placed you in the tub, watching you nod.

“Nah, I’m tired as hell. Happy birthday Terry,” You chuckled softly, the warmth of the water enveloping you, contrasting the heat that still lingered from your earlier encounter. Terry settled beside the tub, watching you with a mixture of admiration and intensity.

There was something about the way he looked at you that made your heart race, igniting that familiar fire within.

“You know, this whole birthday surprise turned out to be better than I imagined, I didn't expect that,” he admitted, a playful smirk curling on his lips.

You leaned back, letting the bubbles rise around you like a soft cloud. “Well, I wanted to make it special for you. You deserve it.”

His expression softened, and for a fleeting moment, you saw a glimpse of vulnerability beneath his tough exterior. “It’s been a while since anyone went out of their way for me, I appreciate it more than you know,” he confessed, his tone sincere.

You reached out, your fingers grazing his arm, feeling the tension in his muscles. “We both have our pasts, Terry. I can tell you know that. But I want to be with you.”

He nodded slowly, his gaze unwavering. “You’re a lot more than I expected, Y/N. I can’t promise it’ll always be easy, but I’m willing to figure it out with you.”

You felt a rush of excitement at his words, a warmth blooming in your chest. “That’s all I ask.”

Terry leaned closer, resting his elbows on the edge of the tub as he studied your face. “You’re not afraid of anything, are you? The things that come with being with someone like me?”

You met his gaze, the seriousness of his question sinking in. “I’ve faced my own darkness, Terry. I’m not afraid of yours.”

A slow smile spread across his face, and you felt your heart flutter at the sight. “You really are something else, I should have went easy on because you’re sweet,” he said, his tone filled with admiration.

“I wouldn’t want you to,” you replied, a teasing glint in your eyes.

Terry chuckled, shaking his head as he leaned back slightly, his expression turning playful. “You’re trouble, you know that?”

“Only for you,” you teased back, splashing water playfully in his direction. He laughed, he kissed your lips and you feel relief wash over you.

You reached for the soap, lathering it between your hands before offering it to him. Washing yourself clean, “Want to join me?”

Terry raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing on his lips. “Are you trying to fuck me again?”

“I do,” you replied coyly, biting your lip.

He chuckled, shaking his head but eventually relenting. “Alright, but we've got to go to bed,”

You grinned, your heart racing as he joined you in the tub, the warm water enveloping you both. As the bubbles surrounded you, he washed himself but then fingered you under the water. Making you cum again and again, Terry dried you off and himself. He dressed you in his tee shirt that smelled like his cologne, he slides some grey sweatpants he brought and boxers.

“Happy Birthday Terry,”

“Thank you, baby girl,”

After that, the two of you fell into a deep sleep, facing you and wrapped an arm around you protectively, this was surely a birthday that Terry wouldn’t forget. It was with you, he was yours.

—————

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andy-15-07 · 13 days ago

Note

Hi! Would it be okay to ask for Joaquin Torres and some comfort for reader having a rough time visiting her parents? Perhaps she comes home a little deflated from things they say and Joaquins there to cheer her up? Feel free to ignore if your not comfortable! Thanks! <3

Hold You Here

PAIRING: Joaquin Torres x Reader 💋

WORD COUNT: 1208 ✍️

REQUESTS: Open! 💌 (send yours my way — I love writing them all!)

🌟 Danny Ramirez Masterlist 🌟

You didn’t even bother turning the hallway light on when you stepped inside, you just kicked your shoes off by the door and let your bag drop with a dull thud onto the floorboards. The apartment was quiet except for the low hum of the TV in the living room, the faint smell of microwave popcorn drifting through the air.

You’d planned to text him that you were coming back early, but then the fight with your mom, the barbed comments that lingered long after you’d shut the door behind you, had driven every bit of polite forethought out of your mind. You just wanted to crawl into bed. Or the floor. Maybe both.

You were halfway to your room when you heard him.

“Hey, trouble.”

His voice drifted from the couch , warm, familiar, soft enough that you nearly dissolved right there in the hallway. You turned to find Joaquin Torres, barefoot, sweats hanging low on his hips, blanket thrown over his shoulders like a cape. He sat half-buried under pillows, your favorite mug balanced on the coffee table beside him. He must’ve seen your face because the easy grin he wore flickered right into something softer. Concern, stitched across his warm brown eyes.

“You’re back early,” he said carefully. He sat forward, pushing the blanket off his shoulders. “Everything okay?”

You opened your mouth, but the words jammed up in your throat. You just shrugged, your lips pressing into a tight line.

“Ah,” he murmured. He stood and crossed the few steps to you, warm hands finding your arms. “Come here.”

He wrapped his arms around you, no questions asked. Just like that. The hug knocked the last of your resolve loose, you sank against his chest, pressing your forehead to his collarbone, breathing him in. He smelled like fresh laundry and popcorn butter, the soft warmth of your shared couch.

He didn’t push. Didn’t ask. Just rubbed his palm up and down your back, slow and steady.

“Bad time?” he asked, his voice rumbling through your ear.

You managed a small nod against his T-shirt. “Yeah.”

“You wanna talk about it?”

Another nod , smaller. But your voice caught somewhere between your ribs and your throat.

He pulled back just enough to tip your chin up with his knuckle. “Hey. It’s okay. Come on. Couch, yeah?”

You let him steer you to the sofa. He nudged you to sit, then tucked the blanket around your shoulders like he was building you your own soft fortress. He pressed the mug into your hands , it was chamomile tea, still warm. The same thing he always made when your brain needed unwinding.

You curled into the corner, knees pulled to your chest. He sat down beside you, turned half-toward you so his knee pressed warm against yours.

“Okay.” He kept his voice soft, like you were something breakable, but not in the way your parents made you feel. “Start slow, cariño. What happened?”

You traced a finger along the rim of the mug, staring at the swirl of steam. “It’s stupid.”

“Hey.” He nudged your knee with his. “Not to me, it’s not.”

You sighed, breath hitching a little. “They just— they always do this thing. Where they ask about… everything. Work. If I’m making enough. If I’m settled. If I’m sure I don’t want to move back. If I’m— if I’m sure about you.”

Your voice cracked on that last bit. You hated that. Hated that the soft, protective look on his face made your eyes sting.

“Oh, cariño,” he breathed, already shaking his head.

“It’s like—” You set the mug down, hands shaking just enough to make you nervous. “They don’t even hear me when I say I’m happy. Or that I’m trying. Or that I love you. They just… pick it all apart. Like if they find the crack, they’ll win.”

Joaquin leaned in, his hand sliding over yours, thumb brushing your knuckles in a lazy, grounding circle.

“I’m sorry, baby,” he murmured. “I know how they get to you.”

You huffed a humorless laugh. “I shouldn’t let it. I’m grown. I live here. I’m good. I have—” Your voice broke again. “I have you. And it’s good. But they make me feel like… I’m screwing it all up.”

“Hey.” He squeezed your hand. “Look at me.”

You did ,your eyes glassy, jaw clenched.

“You are not screwing it up,” he said firmly. “You are trying. You’re doing more than trying ,you’re doing great. You’re doing life. And you’re not alone in it, okay? You have me. And you always will.”

A tear slipped down your cheek before you could stop it. You swiped at it with the heel of your hand, frustrated. “Sorry.”

“Don’t you dare be sorry,” he said, voice warm but steady. “If it helps , they don’t know you like I do.”

Your laugh cracked through the tears. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He scooted closer, so close his knee pressed between yours, his hands cupping your face now, thumbs brushing your cheeks where the tears fell. “They don’t see you at 2 a.m. when you can’t sleep and you make me pancakes just because. They don’t see you dancing in the kitchen when you think I’m not watching. They don’t see how hard you work or how soft you are with people who don’t deserve it. But I do.”

You closed your eyes, letting his words settle over you like another blanket.

He leaned in, pressed his forehead to yours. “You’re good, baby. You’re so good. They don’t get to tell you otherwise.”

You let out a shaky exhale. “What if I never make them happy?”

“Then screw it.” His lips brushed your temple. “I’m happy. And you’re happy. That’s enough.”

You cracked a smile, small, but real. “You’re so cheesy.”

“I’m not cheesy. I’m right.” He bumped his nose against yours. “You want me to go knock on their door? Give them a piece of my mind?”

A laugh broke out of you, sudden and bright. “Oh my god, no.”

He grinned, triumphant. “There’s my girl.”

He coaxed you under the blanket with him until you were practically in his lap, your legs draped over his thighs, your cheek pressed to the warm plane of his chest. He tugged your hand to his lips every few minutes, kissing your knuckles absentmindedly.

You felt the tension drain out of you, piece by piece, word by word.

“I like this plan better,” you mumbled against his T-shirt.

“What plan?”

“Staying here. You. Couch. Tea. No parental lectures.”

He chuckled, his fingers tracing lazy shapes on your arm. “Yeah? Think you can stand me for the rest of the night?”

“Think I can stand you forever.”

He kissed your forehead, lingering there like a promise. “Good. ‘Cause you’re stuck with me.”

You tipped your head back to look at him, your nose brushing his jaw. “You sure about that?”

He met your eyes, warm and sure. “Always.”

And when you drifted off a little while later,your ear pressed to his heartbeat, the TV murmuring nonsense you weren’t really watching ,you believed it.

More than anything your parents could say. More than any doubt that tried to creep in.

You believed him.

You always would.

107 notes · View notes

w1w2 · 6 months ago

Text

The Dance We Share

Nakamura Kazuha x Fem!Reader

Word Count: ca. 12k

Synopsis: A new member joins an already successful girl group, bringing talent, determination, and a history that threatens to disrupt the group’s harmony.

Requested by Anon

Notes: I got a bit carried away with this.. I guess I'm in my angs era.

Also, to the Anon that have requested that, please let me know if you like it

English isn’t my first language so I apologize in advance for any mistakes.

♡ Enjoy! ♡

The journey to this moment had been a whirlwind of auditions, sleepless nights, and quiet moments of doubt. Y/N had pushed herself harder than ever before, driven by an unrelenting desire to make her dreams come true. There were days when she felt invincible, buoyed by the promise of what could be, and nights when she doubted everything, the sacrifices, the exhaustion, the relentless grind. It had all led her here, to this practice room, standing on the precipice of something she had both longed for and feared.

As Y/N stepped into the room for the first time as an official member of LE SSERAFIM, a mixture of excitement and apprehension bubbled beneath her calm exterior. She was no stranger to performing, to auditions, to high-stakes environments, but this was different. This wasn’t just a group, it was a phenomenon. They had already carved their place in the industry, and now, she was expected to do the impossible: step in, catch up, and somehow shine without overshadowing.

She wasn’t just filling a spot, she was filling Garam’s spot.

The name carried weight, not just within the group but with fans, critics, and the media. Garam’s sudden departure had left a hole in LE SSERAFIM’s lineup, a gap that fans had fiercely debated how to fill, if it should even be filled at all. Social media had been abuzz with speculation when her addition was announced.

Was she the right choice? Would she fit in? Could she live up to the expectations?

These questions, along with a litany of comparisons, would undoubtedly follow her every move.

It was daunting, suffocating even, but Y/N had resolved to prove herself worthy, not just to the world, but to her new groupmates.

The atmosphere in the practice room was warm but tinged with careful politeness. Y/N could feel the subtle tension that came with welcoming a new member. They were trying, but it wasn’t effortless yet.

Chaewon, ever the responsible leader, was the first to step forward. Her smile was encouraging, her tone genuine but measured, as if she were balancing the roles of leader and mediator.

“Welcome to the family,” she said, her voice kind yet carrying the unspoken understanding that Y/N had a lot to prove.

Sakura followed, offering soft words of encouragement in Japanese that brought a flicker of comfort to Y/N’s nerves. Yunjin added a playful comment about how they could commiserate over the grueling trainee experience. Even Eunchae, the group’s youngest, greeted her with a bright, bubbly enthusiasm that made Y/N feel lighter, if only for a moment.

They were kind, supportive even, but Y/N could sense the invisible wall. They were a tight-knit team, and she was the outsider. For now.

And then there was her.

Kazuha stood apart, her presence understated yet impossible to ignore. She offered a faint smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes. There was none of the warmth or easy grace that lit up her face in the photos and videos Y/N had studied before joining. Her expression was carefully neutral, her eyes flitting to Y/N for the briefest second before darting away, as if the mere act of looking at her was too much to bear.

Y/N’s chest tightened.

She had prepared herself for this moment, told herself it wouldn’t matter. It had been a year since they had seen each other, a year since they had been anything to each other. And yet, standing here now, with Kazuha just a few feet away, every memory they had shared surged back to the surface like a tidal wave.

The studio smelled faintly of sweat and polished wood, but in her mind, it was the faint perfume of the ballet studio that came rushing back. The soft padding of pointe shoes, the music filling the air, the sound of Kazuha’s laugh as they perfected a lift. Late-night conversations whispered over cooling cups of tea. The quiet promises that had once felt unbreakable.

And the heartbreak.

It was a pain so sharp it had felt like it might split her in two. The suffocating ache of watching Kazuha walk away after Y/N had laid her heart bare. The way she hadn’t even looked back.

“Zuha,” she had called her back then, her voice soft, affectionate, laden with trust.

But that was a lifetime ago. A lot changed during these months.

Now, they were strangers. Or at least, that was what they were pretending to be.

The flash of pain was gone as quickly as it had come, buried beneath the professional mask Y/N had perfected during her years of training. She couldn’t afford to let emotions cloud her now. She was here to work, to perform, to prove that she belonged.

When the first practice session began, Y/N threw herself into the choreography with everything she had. She followed the beats, absorbed every direction, and moved with a precision born of determination. The music was loud, the mirrors reflected every step, and the members exchanged approving glances.

But Kazuha kept her distance. She spoke only when necessary, her words clipped and professional. She avoided eye contact altogether.

The room was filled with music and movement, but to Y/N, it felt like they were dancing around a silent truth neither of them dared to face.

For the rest of the day, Y/N focused on the steps, on the voices of her teammates, on the beat of the music, anything but the shadow of the girl she once knew.

Anything but Kazuha.

The first days were always the hardest, and for Y/N, it was no exception.

The soft hum of music played in the background as the group gathered in the spacious practice room. The mirrored walls reflected each member, moving with synchronized precision, but Y/N couldn’t help but feel the stark contrast of her presence among them. She was hyperaware of every glance, every whispered comment exchanged in the corners, though the others had been nothing but kind.

Kazuha stood at the far end of the room, tying her sneakers with meticulous care. She hadn’t said much since the initial greeting. Their interactions had been limited to curt nods and brief, professional exchanges. And yet, the weight of Kazuha’s silence pressed down on Y/N like a tangible force, suffocating and inescapable.

As they worked through the day’s routine, the tension between them became harder to ignore. Their gazes met in fleeting moments, the kind of accidental eye contact that was too brief to hold meaning but too frequent to be unintentional. Each time, Kazuha would quickly look away, leaving Y/N wondering if she was imagining the flicker of something —guilt, regret, or even longing—in her dark eyes.

“Y/N, you’re picking up the choreography quickly,” Chaewon said, breaking the silence as the group took a short water break.

“Thank you,” Y/N replied, her lips curving into a polite smile.

“It’s impressive,” Sakura added, her tone warm. “You fit in well.”

Y/N nodded, grateful for the encouragement, but her mind was elsewhere. Despite the praise, she couldn’t shake the unease that clung to her like a second skin. She stole a glance at Kazuha, who was quietly stretching in the corner, her movements fluid and precise.

Y/N’s fingers tightened around her water bottle as the memories began to resurface.

The ballet studio was a place of dreams, a sacred haven where artistry met discipline. The air always carried the faint scent of resin and effort, a combination of polished wooden floors, sweat, and ambition. For Y/N, the studio had been a second home, a place where she could lose herself in the rhythm of movement, the poetry of dance. It wasn’t just the physicality of ballet that she loved but the way it demanded her soul, her entire being.

That summer had started like any other, grueling practices, blistered feet, and a fierce determination to perfect every pirouette, every arabesque. But then Kazuha arrived, and everything changed.

They first met during a partnering class at the prestigious summer intensive. Y/N had been scanning the room when her gaze landed on a girl who moved like liquid light.

Kazuha Nakamura.

Her name was whispered in admiration by the other students, her reputation as a prodigy preceding her. Kazuha was an enigma, her movements were graceful yet powerful, her presence quiet yet commanding.

When the instructor paired them together, Y/N felt a jolt of nervous excitement. Kazuha was tall and poised, her every step brimming with elegance. Y/N couldn’t help but feel slightly self-conscious next to her. But the moment they began to move, everything clicked.

Their connection was instantaneous, as if their bodies instinctively understood one another. Y/N’s playful, expressive energy filled the spaces Kazuha’s disciplined movements left behind, creating a harmony that stunned even their instructors. In the span of a few weeks, they had gone from mere dance partners to a team that everyone admired.

“You two are like magnets,” their instructor had once commented, watching as they nailed a complex lift. “Completely different energies, but when you’re together, it just works.”

And it wasn’t just their dancing that brought them closer.

Outside of practice, Y/N and Kazuha were inseparable. They often stayed late at the studio, the overhead lights dimming as the evening stretched into night. Their conversations drifted from dance to life, their voices echoing in the empty hall.

Kazuha spoke with quiet passion about her dreams. Her family in Japan, her love for ballet, her desire to push herself further than anyone thought possible. Her eyes would light up as she described the feeling of losing herself in movement, as if the world disappeared and all that remained was the music.

“You make it sound magical,” Y/N had said once, lying on her back on the studio floor.

“It is magical,” Kazuha had replied softly, her head tilted to the side as she stared at the ceiling. “It’s like… you’re telling a story without words. That’s what I love most about it. It’s honest.”

It was in moments like those that Y/N found herself falling.

At first, it had been admiration, a deep respect for Kazuha’s artistry and discipline. But as the days turned into weeks, her feelings began to shift. She found herself drawn to the way Kazuha’s lips curved into a small smile when she nailed a particularly difficult routine, or the way her laugh would break through her composed exterior when Y/N teased her.

Kazuha, for all her quiet elegance, had a surprisingly goofy side. She wasn’t afraid to try ridiculous dance moves when they were alone, their laughter filling the empty studio as they dared each other to push the limits of their creativity.

“I bet you can’t do this,” Y/N had said one night, attempting an exaggerated, clumsy leap.

Kazuha had raised an eyebrow, her competitive streak flashing through. “Oh, I can do it. Better than you, actually.”

Moments like those were the foundation of their bond. It was easy, effortless, until it wasn’t.

The confession happened on one of those golden evenings when the sun dipped low on the horizon, casting long shadows across the studio floor. They had just finished practicing, their bodies aching from hours of work. The room was bathed in hues of amber and pink, the kind of light that made everything feel softer, dreamier.

Y/N had been pacing for the better part of an hour, building up the courage to say the words that had been burning on her tongue for weeks. Kazuha sat cross legged on the floor, oblivious, carefully unwrapping the tape from her toes.

“Zuha,” Y/N started, her voice trembling slightly.

Kazuha looked up, her expression curious. “Yeah?”

Y/N’s heart pounded in her chest. She had rehearsed this moment a dozen times in her head, but now that it was here, the words felt heavy, unwieldy. Taking a deep breath, she decided to just say it.

“I think I’m falling for you.”

The silence that followed was deafening.

Kazuha’s eyes widened, her hands freezing mid-motion. She stared at Y/N, her expression unreadable, as if she were trying to process what she had just heard. Her lips parted as though to speak, but no words came out.

Y/N felt her stomach drop.

“I…” Kazuha finally began, her voice hesitant. She stood slowly, taking a small step back. “I can’t… I don’t know if I can do this.”

It wasn’t a rejection, not explicitly, but it felt like one. The words cut through Y/N like shards of glass. Her chest tightened as she fought to keep her composure.

“It’s okay,” Y/N said quickly, forcing a smile she didn’t feel. “I just… I needed to tell you. That’s all.”

But it wasn’t okay. Not really.

For a while, they tried to pretend nothing had changed. But the tension was there, a fragile undercurrent that neither of them acknowledged. And then, weeks later, Y/N learned the truth.

Kazuha had been offered an opportunity to train in Korea, a once in a lifetime chance to pursue her dream of becoming an idol. She hadn’t told anyone, not even Y/N, until the decision was finalized.

The day Kazuha told her was one of the worst days of Y/N’s life.

“I’m leaving,” Kazuha had said, her voice breaking slightly. “I… I got an offer to train in Korea. It’s everything I’ve ever wanted, but I didn’t know how to tell you.”

Y/N stared at her, disbelief and hurt swirling in her chest. “When were you going to tell me? After you were already gone?”

Kazuha looked down, guilt written across her face. “I didn’t want to hurt you,” she whispered.

“Too late for that,” Y/N said bitterly.

Kazuha’s voice wavered. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for it to happen like this. I just… I need to follow this path.”

Y/N wanted to scream, to tell her that leaving wasn’t the only option. But she knew it would be futile. Kazuha had already made up her mind.

The goodbye was quiet, almost anticlimactic. There were no grand gestures, no promises to keep in touch. Just a hug that felt too short, a whispered apology that didn’t feel like enough, and then she was gone.

And Y/N was left behind, staring at the empty studio that once felt like home, wondering how someone who meant everything could walk away so easily.

“Ready to run it again?” Yunjin’s voice snapped Y/N back to reality.

She blinked, quickly pushing the memories aside. “Yeah, let’s do it.”

As the music started, Y/N threw herself into the routine, channeling every ounce of emotion into her movements. Her body moved with precision, her steps matching the beat perfectly. She couldn’t afford to falter, not now, not with Kazuha watching.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Kazuha move to her position. Their movements were synchronized, but the distance between them felt like an ocean.

When the song ended, the group broke into applause. “You two have great chemistry,” Chaewon noted, her comment light but laced with meaning.

Y/N forced a smile, glancing at Kazuha. Her former partner said nothing, her expression unreadable as she turned away.

The tension between them lingered, a silent shadow that neither of them could escape. For Y/N, it was a constant reminder of what they had been and what they had lost.

The days leading up to the comeback were nothing short of punishing. Practice sessions stretched endlessly, often bleeding into the late hours of the night. The only constants were the pounding bassline of the title track, the mirrored walls reflecting their every move, and the collective effort to perfect a routine that demanded nothing less than excellence.

For Y/N, the grueling schedule was both a sanctuary and a battlefield. The sheer intensity of the practices left little room for her mind to wander. There was no time to dwell on the tension simmering between her and Kazuha when she was counting beats, perfecting angles, and ensuring that every step matched the rhythm. Yet, every practice session brought them closer, physically, emotionally, metaphorically. And no matter how focused she tried to be, no amount of precision could stop the unspoken emotions from creeping in, carving their way into the space between their movements.

The choreography was as intricate as it was demanding. It wasn’t just about hitting the right moves, it was about embodying a raw, rebellious energy. The routine thrived on synergy and fluidity, requiring the six of them to move as one.

But Y/N and Kazuha’s roles in the intro carried a different weight altogether.

The song’s opening was more than just choreography, it was a statement. The intro was designed to captivate, showcasing the dynamic contrasts within the group. Y/N and Kazuha were paired for this critical moment, their movements a duet of tension and harmony. It was a bold choice by the choreographer, one that placed them at the center of attention before the full routine even began.

“Alright, Y/N and Kazuha,” the choreographer called out, clapping her hands to draw everyone’s attention. “Let’s see the intro again. From the top.”

Y/N grabbed a quick sip of water, wiping the sweat from her brow before stepping into position. She felt the familiar twinge of nerves settle in her stomach as Kazuha approached. Her former partner carried herself with a calm, almost detached grace, her expression unreadable as always.

Kazuha moved into place, her posture flawless, her eyes focused somewhere beyond Y/N’s shoulder. Their proximity was unavoidable now, and for a moment, Y/N felt her breath hitch.

“Ready?” the choreographer asked, eyeing the pair.

They both nodded, and the music began.

As the opening beats thundered through the studio, their bodies moved instinctively. The intro was slower than the main choreography, a carefully choreographed interplay of motion and stillness that required complete focus. Y/N stepped forward, her hand outstretched, while Kazuha mirrored her with a sharp, fluid grace.

Their movements were designed to contrast Y/N’s bold, grounded energy against Kazuha’s airy, ethereal fluidity. They circled each other, their steps deliberate and precise, the tension between them palpable even in the silence between the beats.

The section culminated in a synchronized lift, Y/N’s hand finding Kazuha’s with a familiarity that startled her. Her palm was warm, steady, and for a fleeting moment, Y/N felt the years between them dissolve. Kazuha’s grip was firm yet gentle, a stark contrast to the tension that hung between them outside of practice.

Y/N hoisted Kazuha effortlessly, the lift smooth and fluid as Kazuha extended her limbs with perfect control. Their gazes met briefly before the sequence ended, the transition seamless as they broke apart and prepared to move into the main choreography.

For anyone watching, it was nothing short of breathtaking.

To Y/N, it was maddening.

There was something about the way their movements aligned so effortlessly, as if their bodies remembered something their minds refused to acknowledge. The tension that existed between them in silence seemed to vanish in motion, leaving behind a connection that felt... timeless.

When the music cut off, Y/N’s heart was pounding, though she wasn’t sure if it was from the exertion or something else entirely.

“That was perfect,” the choreographer said, her tone laced with satisfaction. “You two have incredible synergy.”

The compliment hung in the air like an echo. Y/N forced a small smile, murmuring a quiet “thank you” before retreating to the corner of the room. She grabbed her water bottle, taking a long sip as she tried to calm her racing thoughts.

For a moment, she felt Kazuha’s gaze on her, an almost imperceptible pull, as if the other girl was trying to bridge the distance between them with nothing but a look. But when Y/N turned her head, Kazuha had already turned away, her focus back on the choreographer’s instructions.

It was infuriating how composed she seemed, as if the connection they shared on the floor meant nothing to her.

But Y/N knew better.

There were cracks in Kazuha’s facade, subtle, fleeting, but there. The way her shoulders tensed when their hands brushed. The slight hesitation before they made eye contact during transitions. The way her voice softened, almost imperceptibly, when she gave Y/N instructions.

Y/N hated how easily she noticed these things, how her mind cataloged each moment like a keepsake she couldn’t discard.

“Let’s go again,” Chaewon’s voice cut through her thoughts, bringing her back to the present.

Y/N nodded, taking her place once more. But as the music started again, she couldn’t shake the feeling that they weren’t just dancing. They were navigating something far more complicated, something neither of them was ready to name.

And no amount of flawless execution could erase the tension simmering beneath the surface.

The group’s dynamic had been relatively smooth since Y/N joined. Everyone had gone out of their way to make her feel welcome, offering support during her transition into the group. Yet, there was one glaring exception: the quiet, uneasy tension between Y/N and Kazuha. It was subtle enough to avoid immediate scrutiny but persistent enough to raise eyebrows among the more observant members.

Chaewon was the first to pick up on it.

It was during one of their breaks, the group sprawled across the practice room in various states of exhaustion. Chaewon sat on the floor, absently scrolling through her phone while her eyes flicked toward Y/N and Kazuha. They were on opposite sides of the room, as usual.

Y/N sat with her back against the mirror, her phone in hand, though her furrowed brow and restless fingers suggested she wasn’t truly engaged. Kazuha, meanwhile, was perched on the edge of a bench, her focus entirely on adjusting the laces of her shoes. Her movements were deliberate and methodical, as if tying her sneakers was the most critical task in the world.

Chaewon leaned toward Sakura, keeping her voice low but pointed. “Something’s going on between those two.”

Sakura followed her gaze, her sharp eyes narrowing as she took in the scene. “Y/N and Kazuha?”

Chaewon nodded, her expression thoughtful. “Yeah. Have you noticed how... stiff they are around each other? It’s like they’re trying too hard to act normal.”

Sakura tilted her head, considering. “I thought they were just being professional. You know, new member, team dynamics, all that.”

Chaewon shook her head slightly. “It’s more than that. Look at them.” She gestured subtly with her chin.

Sakura’s eyes darted between the two, picking up on the details she’d initially dismissed. The way Y/N’s gaze flickered toward Kazuha for a fraction of a second before darting away. The way Kazuha’s shoulders stiffened every time Y/N shifted in her direction. It wasn’t the typical awkwardness of strangers learning to work together.

“You think it’s serious?” Sakura asked after a pause.

Chaewon exhaled quietly, leaning back against the mirror. “I don’t know, but it’s definitely not nothing.”

Sakura hummed in agreement, crossing her arms. “Should we say something?”

“Not yet,” Chaewon replied after a moment of thought. “They’re not making it anyone else’s problem yet. But if it starts affecting the group, we’ll have to step in.”

Sakura’s gaze lingered on Kazuha, who had finished tying her shoes and was now leaning forward with her elbows on her knees, her expression unreadable. “You think it’s awkward ex energy?” she asked, half-joking but with a flicker of curiosity.

Chaewon smirked faintly, shaking her head. “I’m not playing detective. But whatever it is, they need to figure it out.”

“Maybe we should lock them in a room together,” Sakura said dryly.

Chaewon snorted, shooting her a sidelong glance. “Let’s try not to escalate things just yet.”

The two lapsed into a comfortable silence, though Chaewon’s eyes drifted back to Y/N and Kazuha. She could feel the tension between them even from across the room, a charged undercurrent that made her uneasy. She just hoped it would sort itself out before it became a problem for the group.

For Y/N, every interaction with Kazuha felt like walking a tightrope. On the surface, they were cordial, exchanging polite words when necessary. But beneath the veneer of professionalism, there was a storm of unresolved emotions.

One moment, Y/N would catch herself watching Kazuha, her chest tightening with the remnants of affection she couldn’t quite bury. The next, the memory of their last goodbye would surface, twisting the affection into a dull ache of resentment.

Why was it so hard to let go?

It didn’t help that Kazuha was an enigma. She maintained a polite distance, never giving too much or too little. But Y/N could see the cracks in her composure, the fleeting moments when her gaze would soften, when her lips would part as if she wanted to say something but thought better of it.

One evening after practice, Y/N found herself lingering in the studio longer than usual, stretching out her sore muscles. She thought she was alone until she heard a soft voice behind her.

“You did well today.”

She turned to find Kazuha standing a few feet away, her hands clasped nervously in front of her. It was the first time Kazuha had spoken to her outside of practice instructions.

“Thanks,” Y/N replied, her tone clipped.

There was an awkward pause. Kazuha opened her mouth as if to say more, but the words never came. Instead, she gave a small nod and walked away, leaving Y/N with a swirl of frustration and confusion.

By the end of the following week, the rest of the group had picked up on the awkward dynamic. Eunchae, ever the curious and straightforward maknae, was the first to address it, albeit clumsily.

“Unnie,” she said one afternoon, plopping down beside Y/N during a break. “Why are you and Kazuha unnie so weird with each other?”

Y/N choked on her water, her eyes widening in surprise. “Weird? We’re not weird.”

Eunchae tilted her head, unconvinced. “You don’t talk much. And when you do, it’s all… stiff.”

Before Y/N could respond, Yunjin sauntered over, grinning. “Don’t mind Eunchae. She’s just nosy.”

“I’m not nosy!” Eunchae protested.

“You kind of are,” Yunjin teased before turning to Y/N. “But she’s not wrong. You and Zuha have been... tense.”

Y/N bristled, unsure of how to respond. She hated that their tension was becoming so obvious, but what could she say? That the girl she was avoiding was also the girl who had once held her heart?

“It’s nothing,” Y/N said finally, standing up and brushing off her leggings. “We’re just adjusting. That’s all.”

Kazuha wasn’t faring much better. She kept her distance, not because she wanted to but because she didn’t know how to bridge the gap. Every time she looked at Y/N, she was reminded of the past.

She wanted to apologize, to explain, to somehow make things right. But every time she tried, the words got stuck in her throat. What could she possibly say that wouldn’t sound hollow?

One night, as she sat alone in her dorm room, she stared at her phone, her thumb hovering over Y/N’s contact. She had never deleted the number, though she hadn’t used it in over a year.

“I’m sorry. Can we talk? Let me explain.” The words sat in the message box, stark and inadequate.

With a frustrated sigh, she deleted the message and tossed her phone aside. Apologizing wouldn’t change the past. It wouldn’t erase the hurt she had caused.

For now, all she could do was focus on the work and hope that time would dull the edges of their shared pain.

The final straw came after a particularly grueling practice session. Chaewon called for a break, and while the others dispersed to grab water or collapse onto the floor, she motioned for Sakura to follow her.

“Kazuha,” Chaewon called softly, her voice cutting through the chatter.

Kazuha looked up from where she was sitting, her expression calm but guarded. “Yes, unnie?”

“Can we talk for a minute?” Chaewon asked, her tone gentle but firm.

Sakura leaned against the mirror, her arms crossed as Kazuha hesitated before nodding. The three moved to a quieter corner of the room, away from the others’ prying eyes.

“What’s going on with you and Y/N?” Chaewon asked directly, her eyes fixed on Kazuha.

Kazuha’s posture stiffened, her hands clenching into fists at her sides. “What do you mean?” she said carefully, though the tremor in her voice betrayed her.

Chaewon sighed, her expression softening. “You know what I mean. This tension between you two, it’s getting harder to ignore. It’s affecting the energy in the room.”

“We’re not asking to pry,” Sakura added, her tone calm but insistent. “But if there’s something unresolved, it’s better to deal with it now before it starts affecting the group.”

For a moment, Kazuha said nothing, her gaze dropping to the floor. She seemed to be waging an internal battle, her jaw tightening as she struggled to find the words. Finally, she exhaled a shaky breath.

“Y/N and I… we knew each other before,” she admitted quietly.

Sakura and Chaewon exchanged a glance but remained silent, waiting for her to continue.

“We were close,” Kazuha continued, her voice tinged with guilt. “Back when we were both training in ballet. She… she confessed to me.”

Chaewon’s brow furrowed slightly. “And?”

Kazuha swallowed hard. “I didn’t handle it well. I was overwhelmed, and then I got the offer to train in Korea. I left without… without really talking to her about it. I thought it was the right thing to do at the time, but looking back, I know I hurt her. Badly.”

Sakura’s expression softened, a hint of understanding in her eyes. “And now that you’re working together again, it’s bringing all of that back.”

Kazuha nodded, her voice barely above a whisper. “I want to apologize, but… I don’t know how.”

Chaewon placed a comforting hand on Kazuha’s shoulder. “You can’t change the past, but if you’re serious about making things right, you need to be honest with her. Avoiding the issue is only making it worse for both of you.”

Kazuha nodded, though her face was shadowed with uncertainty.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the room, Eunchae had planted herself beside Y/N, her wide eyes studying her unnie with a mixture of curiosity and concern.

“You’re not yourself today,” Eunchae said, her voice light but probing.

Y/N sighed, running a hand through her hair. “I’m just tired. That’s all.”

Yunjin joined them, plopping down on the floor with a dramatic groan. “Tired or avoiding something?”

Y/N shot her a sharp look, but Yunjin’s grin was disarming. “Don’t give me that face,” she said. “It’s written all over you. Something’s bothering you.”

“It’s nothing,” Y/N insisted, though her voice lacked conviction.

Eunchae tilted her head, her tone uncharacteristically serious. “Is it about Kazuha unnie?”

Y/N stiffened, her eyes darting toward the younger girl. “Why would you say that?”

“Because you’re weird around her,” Eunchae said simply.

Yunjin chuckled softly, shaking her head. “Subtle, Eunchae. Really subtle.”

Y/N sighed again, this time heavier. “It’s complicated.”

“Complicated how?” Yunjin asked gently.

Y/N hesitated, her gaze dropping to the floor. For a moment, she considered brushing them off, but the genuine concern in their eyes made her pause. She didn’t want to unload everything, but maybe letting a little out wouldn’t hurt.

“We… have history,” Y/N admitted vaguely.

Eunchae’s eyes widened “Kinda. And it didn’t end well.”

Yunjin hummed thoughtfully. “Well, whatever happened back then, it’s obvious there’s still something between you two. Whether it’s anger, regret, or something else, it’s not going to go away unless you deal with it.”

Y/N bit her lip, unsure how to respond. Part of her knew they were right, but the thought of confronting Kazuha felt like reopening a wound that had barely begun to scar.

Later that evening, the group wrapped up practice, the exhaustion settling over everyone like a heavy fog. The mirrored walls reflected six tired faces, flushed with the effort of hours spent perfecting their routines. Slowly, the others began to gather their things, the hum of quiet conversation mixing with the rustling of bags and the clinking of water bottles.

Y/N lingered behind, her body stretched across the wooden floor as she worked through the tight ache in her legs. The solitude was welcome, a brief reprieve from the constant presence of her teammates. She needed these moments to collect herself, to push aside the day’s frustrations, most of which seemed to revolve around one person.

“Y/N.”

The sound of her name, spoken softly yet distinctly, made her freeze mid-stretch. She knew the voice instantly.

Turning slowly, she saw Kazuha standing a few feet away. The other girl’s posture was hesitant, her hands clasped nervously in front of her. There was something in her expression that Y/N couldn’t quite place, an almost fragile determination.

“What is it?” Y/N asked, her tone neutral but tinged with weariness.

Kazuha shifted her weight, her fingers fidgeting as if they didn’t know where to rest. “I… I wanted to talk,” she said, her voice steady but quiet.

Y/N straightened, crossing her arms. Her posture turned guarded, a wall of defense built in an instant. “About what?”

“About us,” Kazuha replied softly, the words almost lost in the stillness of the room.

Y/N’s jaw tightened. Her heart clenched at the word, a flood of emotions threatening to spill over, but she kept her expression carefully neutral. She didn’t reply, letting the silence stretch as she waited for Kazuha to continue.

Kazuha took a small step forward, her eyes searching Y/N’s face for any sign of openness, any crack in the armor. Finding none, she pressed on, her voice trembling slightly.

“I know I hurt you,” she began, her words deliberate, as if she were choosing each one with care. “And I’m sorry. I was scared, and I made the wrong choice. I shouldn’t have left without—”

“Stop,” Y/N interrupted sharply.

Her voice was calm, but there was a hard edge to it that made Kazuha flinch. Y/N could see the flicker of hurt in Kazuha’s eyes, but she didn’t let herself waver.

“Kazuha, I don’t need your apology,” she said coldly, her words cutting through the air like a blade.

Kazuha opened her mouth to protest, but Y/N didn’t give her the chance.

“It doesn’t change what happened,” Y/N continued, her voice gaining strength as her emotions boiled to the surface. “You left me once without a second thought. Do it again and leave me alone. We don’t need to be more than professional.”

Kazuha’s expression crumbled, the weight of Y/N’s words hitting her like a physical blow. Her lips parted as if to respond, but no words came. For a moment, she stood there, frozen in place, her usually poised demeanor nowhere to be found.

“Just drop it,” Y/N said, her tone quieter now, but no less firm. She turned away, grabbing her water bottle and towel as if to signal that the conversation was over. “It’s too late for apologies anyway.”

The silence that followed was deafening. Kazuha stood motionless, her hands limp at her sides as she stared at Y/N’s back. She wanted to say something, anything, to break through the wall between them, but the words stuck in her throat.

Finally, she nodded, the motion small and defeated. “Okay,” she whispered, more to herself than to Y/N.

As Kazuha turned and walked away, her footsteps slow and heavy, her chest ached with a mix of regret and determination.

She had known this wouldn’t be easy. She had known that Y/N wouldn’t forgive her overnight. But hearing those words, feeling the cold finality in Y/N’s voice, was harder than she’d expected.

Yet, beneath the hurt, a flicker of resolve remained.

She couldn’t undo the past. She couldn’t erase the mistakes she’d made or the pain she’d caused. But she could try to make things right in the present.

As Kazuha exited the room, the resolve in her steps began to solidify. She didn’t know how yet, but she wasn’t going to give up.

The pressure of the upcoming comeback was relentless. The group’s schedules were packed with rehearsals, vocal practices, and concept meetings, leaving little time for rest. Every moment was dedicated to perfecting their performances, and the weight of expectations hung heavily over all of them.

For Y/N, the intense workload was manageable, it was the simmering tension with Kazuha that made each day feel like a marathon. No matter how hard she tried to focus, Kazuha’s presence seemed to loom over her, an invisible yet suffocating force.

Kazuha wasn’t faring any better. Despite her best efforts to act normal, the unresolved emotions between her and Y/N were beginning to take their toll. Her movements during rehearsals became less fluid, her usually calm demeanor occasionally cracking under the strain. The rest of the group had noticed, though they tried to give the two space, hoping they’d sort it out on their own.

But the cracks in the group’s harmony were becoming harder to ignore.

The rehearsal room was filled with the steady thump of the track as the group worked through yet another run of the choreography. The mirrors reflected six bodies in motion, their steps sharp and precise. At least, most of the time.

“Y/N, you’re a beat late on the transition,” the choreographer called out, her voice cutting through the music.

“Sorry,” Y/N replied quickly, adjusting her position.

They started the routine again, and this time, Y/N made sure to hit the timing. But just as they reached the formation change, she felt a slight hesitation in her footing, her mind momentarily distracted. It wasn’t much, barely noticeable, but Kazuha caught it.

“Seriously?” Kazuha snapped, her voice louder than intended as they finished the sequence. She turned toward Y/N, her frustration breaking through her usually calm facade.

Y/N froze, her brows furrowing. “What’s your problem?”

“My problem?” Kazuha repeated, incredulous. “We’ve gone over this part a dozen times, and you’re still off. We don’t have time for mistakes.”

The tension in the room was palpable as the other members exchanged uneasy glances. Chaewon stepped forward, her mouth opening as if to diffuse the situation, but Y/N spoke first.

“Maybe if you weren’t so focused on criticizing me, you’d actually notice your own mistakes,” Y/N shot back, her tone icy.

Kazuha’s eyes narrowed, her jaw tightening. “This isn’t about me. This is about you not taking this seriously enough.”

“Not taking this seriously?” Y/N repeated, her voice rising. “I’ve been working just as hard as everyone else, so don’t you dare act like I’m slacking off.”

The argument escalated quickly, their voices cutting through the room like shards of glass.

“Enough!” Chaewon’s voice rang out, firm and commanding. She stepped between them, her expression a mix of frustration and concern.

“Both of you, stop,” she said, her tone leaving no room for argument. “This isn’t the time or place for whatever this is.”

Sakura placed a hand on Kazuha’s shoulder, gently pulling her back. “Let’s take a breather,” she suggested, her voice calm but pointed.

Kazuha clenched her fists, her chest rising and falling as she tried to rein in her emotions. Y/N looked away, her arms crossed tightly over her chest, the anger still simmering beneath her skin.

The group gathered in a loose circle, the air thick with tension as Chaewon took charge.

“This can’t keep happening,” she said, her voice steady but firm. “Whatever’s going on between you two, it’s starting to affect the group. We can’t afford that. Not now, not ever.”

Yunjin nodded in agreement, her expression serious. “We all feel it. The tension, the arguments, it’s throwing off the energy in the room.”

Eunchae looked between Y/N and Kazuha, her wide eyes filled with worry. “Unnies, can’t you just talk it out? Please?”

Kazuha and Y/N avoided each other’s gaze, their silence speaking volumes.

Chaewon sighed, running a hand through her hair. “Look, I’m not asking you to magically fix everything right now. But if you don’t address this, it’s only going to get worse. You need to talk. Privately.”

Sakura added, her voice softer but no less insistent, “You don’t have to be best friends, but you do have to find a way to work together without dragging the rest of us into it.”

For a moment, neither Y/N nor Kazuha responded. The room felt like it was holding its breath, waiting for one of them to speak.

Finally, Y/N exhaled heavily, her shoulders slumping slightly. “Fine. We’ll talk.”

Kazuha nodded, her expression unreadable. “Yeah. We’ll talk.”

The other members exchanged relieved glances, though the tension between the two girls remained.

As the others left the room to give them space, Y/N and Kazuha found themselves alone in the studio. The door clicked shut, leaving behind an oppressive silence that neither of them seemed willing to break.

Kazuha stood in the middle of the room, her hands fidgeting at her sides, while Y/N leaned against the wall, her arms crossed tightly. Her posture was defensive, her gaze sharp and expectant.

Kazuha opened her mouth to speak but hesitated, her throat tightening with the weight of everything she wanted to say. Apologizing felt inadequate. Explaining herself felt impossible.

“I…” she began, but the words faltered, slipping through her grasp.

Y/N raised an eyebrow, her expression hardening. “If you don’t have anything to say, I’m leaving,” she said curtly, pushing herself off the wall.

“Wait,” Kazuha said, her voice trembling slightly. But when Y/N turned to face her, eyes blazing with a mix of hurt and anger, Kazuha froze.

The words she wanted to say, I’m sorry, I still care about you, I want to make this right, stayed lodged in her throat, trapped beneath the fear that whatever she said wouldn’t be enough.

Y/N shook her head, her disappointment evident. “That’s what I thought.”

Grabbing her bag, she walked to the door without another glance. The door clicked shut behind her, leaving Kazuha standing alone in the empty studio, her hands still trembling.

For a long moment, she stayed there, staring at the floor, her chest heavy with regret. The silence around her felt crushing, a mirror to the emptiness she felt inside.

The tension didn’t ease in the following days. Y/N and Kazuha’s avoidance of each other became even more pronounced, their interactions limited to what was strictly necessary. The rest of the group noticed the strain, their own frustration mounting as the two continued to dance around their issues, figuratively and literally.

Chaewon and Sakura had had enough.

“This has to stop,” Chaewon said during a rare moment of quiet in the dorm. She sat on the couch, her arms crossed as she watched Y/N disappear into her room without saying goodnight to anyone.

Sakura nodded, her expression thoughtful. “They’re like magnets stuck in reverse. The longer this goes on, the worse it’s going to get.”

Yunjin, sprawled out on the other end of the couch, chimed in. “We need to do something. They’re clearly not going to fix it on their own.”

“I agree,” Chaewon said, her tone firm. “But it has to be subtle. We can’t just sit them down and force them to talk.”

Eunchae perked up from where she was munching on snacks at the table. “What if we made it seem like part of a group activity? Something where they’d have no choice but to work together?”

The four of them exchanged looks, the beginnings of an idea forming.

A few days later, Chaewon announced the plan during a rare moment of quiet in the practice room. She stood in front of the group, hands on her hips, her expression calm but purposeful.

“We’re doing a team bonding exercise tomorrow,” she said with an air of casual enthusiasm, though her tone hinted at an unspoken determination.

“Bonding?” Y/N repeated skeptically, glancing up from adjusting her shoes. The word rolled off her tongue with clear doubt, as if the concept itself was absurd.

“Yup,” Chaewon replied, her voice light but firm. “Pairing up for trust-building activities. It’ll be good for morale.”

“Morale?” Yunjin echoed from the back, raising an eyebrow. “Whose morale is suffering exactly?”

Chaewon shot her a look, and Yunjin quickly raised her hands in mock surrender. “I’m just saying…”

Sakura chimed in with a knowing smirk. “Trust-building, huh? Sounds suspiciously like one of those ‘corporate retreat’ activities you see in movies.”

“Call it what you want,” Chaewon said with a shrug. “But it’s happening. Everyone needs to participate.”

When the pairings were announced the next day, the tension in the room was almost palpable.

“And the first pair is… Y/N and Kazuha,” Chaewon said, her tone deliberately neutral.

Y/N immediately frowned, her eyes darting to Kazuha, who shifted uncomfortably in her spot. “Seriously?” Y/N muttered, her voice low but sharp enough to carry.

“It’s random,” Chaewon replied smoothly, though the slight tilt of her head and the faintest quirk of her lips suggested otherwise.

“Sure it is,” Y/N mumbled under her breath, her skepticism evident.

From the sidelines, Sakura’s smirk grew wider, though she quickly disguised it with a loud cough. Eunchae, ever the enthusiastic maknae, clapped her hands together. “This is going to be fun!”

“Fun,” Y/N repeated flatly, already regretting her life choices.

The practice room had been transformed into a makeshift obstacle course, complete with low hurdles, cones to navigate, and mats scattered across the floor. It was a far cry from the polished precision of their usual choreography sessions, and yet, the stakes felt just as high, if not higher for Y/N and Kazuha.

The rules were simple: one partner would be blindfolded, while the other guided them through the course using only verbal instructions. It was an exercise in trust and communication, two things Y/N and Kazuha seemed to lack entirely.

“Alright, you two are up,” Yunjin called, gesturing for Y/N and Kazuha to step forward. Her grin was a little too wide, her amusement barely concealed.

Y/N sighed heavily, pulling the blindfold over her eyes with a resigned air. “Let’s get this over with,” she muttered, her tone laced with irritation.

Kazuha, standing just behind her, took a deep breath, her nerves evident in the slight tremor of her hands. She moved into position, her fingers hovering awkwardly near Y/N’s shoulders before she finally rested them lightly. Her touch was hesitant, as though she wasn’t sure if it would be welcome.

“Ready?” Kazuha asked softly, her voice almost tentative.

“Just start,” Y/N replied curtly, her arms hanging stiffly at her sides.

Kazuha’s voice was quiet at first, almost unsure. “Take a step forward. Slowly.”

Y/N followed the instruction, her movements cautious, her senses hyperaware of every sound and shift in the room.

“Now a little to the left,” Kazuha said.

Y/N adjusted her footing but paused. “A little to the left? Be specific. How much is ‘a little’?”

Kazuha bit her lip, the frustration bubbling beneath her composed exterior. “Two steps to the left,” she corrected, her tone sharper than before.

Y/N muttered something under her breath but complied.

As the course progressed, the tension between them grew thicker. Kazuha’s instructions became more clipped, her frustration slipping through with each correction, while Y/N’s responses grew increasingly pointed.

“Watch out for the cone,” Kazuha said quickly.

“Where?” Y/N asked, her tone edged with impatience.

“Right in front of you,” Kazuha replied.

“Great,” Y/N snapped as she stumbled into the cone. “Thanks for the heads-up.”

“I told you it was there!” Kazuha shot back, her voice rising slightly.

“Yeah, about half a second too late,” Y/N retorted.

From the sidelines, the rest of the group watched with varying degrees of amusement and concern. Eunchae’s eyes darted nervously between the two, while Sakura leaned against the wall, whispering something to Chaewon. Yunjin, meanwhile, was openly grinning, clearly entertained by the train wreck unfolding before her.

“Could you at least try to help me avoid breaking my neck?” Y/N snapped, ripping off the blindfold in frustration. Her tone was sharp, her patience worn thin.

“I am trying,” Kazuha shot back, her own voice rising. “But maybe if you’d stop being so difficult, this wouldn’t be so hard.”

“Try harder!” Y/N retorted, glaring at Kazuha. “This isn’t that complicated.”

Kazuha’s composure cracked, her frustration bubbling over. “Oh, because you’re so perfect, right? You think you’re the only one dealing with this? You think I don’t see how you look at me, like I’m some kind of villain?”

Y/N’s eyes flashed with anger. “Maybe if you didn’t leave me the way you did, I wouldn’t look at you like that.”

The words hit like a slap. Kazuha’s breath caught, her chest rising and falling as she stared at Y/N. “You think I don’t regret it?” she said, her voice trembling with barely contained emotion. “Every single day, Y/N. You think it was easy for me to leave?”

Before either of them could continue, Chaewon’s voice cut through the air like a whip.

“Enough!”

The entire group had stopped to watch the argument unfold, their expressions ranging from shock to exasperation. Chaewon, her patience clearly at its limit, exchanged a look with Sakura, who nodded.

“That’s it,” Sakura said, walking over and placing a hand on each of their shoulders. “We’re done letting this ruin practice.”

“What—” Y/N began, but Sakura cut her off.

“You two need to figure this out. NOW,” she said firmly, steering them toward the storage room attached to the practice studio.

“Wait, we—” Kazuha started, but Chaewon was already opening the door.

“In. Both of you,” Chaewon said, her tone leaving no room for argument.

Yunjin leaned casually against the wall, her voice carrying an edge of humor despite the tension. “We’ll let you out when you stop acting like this. Good luck.”

The door shut with a resounding click, leaving Y/N and Kazuha alone in the cramped, dimly lit storage room.

The silence between them was deafening, broken only by the faint hum of the ventilation system. Y/N stood with her arms crossed, glaring at the floor, while Kazuha paced a few steps, running her hands through her hair.

“This is ridiculous,” Y/N muttered, her voice tight with anger.

“No,” Kazuha snapped, turning to face her. “What’s ridiculous is how you can’t even give me a chance to explain myself!”

Y/N’s head shot up, her eyes narrowing. “Explain? Explain what, Kazuha? How you broke my heart and left without even looking back? What could you possibly say that I haven’t already told myself?”

Kazuha’s jaw tightened. “You don’t think I wanted to stay? You don’t think I hated myself for leaving?”

“Then why did you?” Y/N shouted, her voice cracking as the emotions she’d tried to bury came rushing to the surface. “Why did you leave me if it was so hard for you? You made me feel like I didn’t matter!”

“That’s not true!” Kazuha yelled, stepping closer, her own emotions spilling out now. “You mattered to me. More than anything! But I was scared, Y/N! I didn’t know how to handle everything, and when the opportunity came to train in Korea, I thought it was the only way I could make something of myself!”

“You didn’t even try to talk to me about it!” Y/N shot back, tears stinging her eyes. “You just left! Do you have any idea how much that hurt? How much I hated myself for thinking I wasn’t enough to make you stay?”

Kazuha froze, her breathing ragged as she stared at Y/N. Her chest tightened, the weight of Y/N’s words pressing down on her like a crushing force.

“Y/N…” she began, her voice trembling, but Y/N cut her off.

“Don’t,” Y/N said, shaking her head. “Don’t say you regret it now. Don’t tell me you hated it, because that doesn’t make it better. It doesn’t change what you did!”

The anger and hurt in Y/N’s voice were like daggers, each word slicing through Kazuha’s already fragile defenses.

“I know I can’t change it!” Kazuha shouted, her voice breaking as the floodgates finally gave way. “I regret it. Every. Single. Day. You think it was easy to leave? To walk away from the person I—”

She stopped herself, but the words were already out there, hanging in the air.

Y/N’s eyes narrowed, her voice shaking with fury and something far more vulnerable. “To walk away from the person you what, Kazuha?”

Kazuha’s fists clenched at her sides, her emotions too powerful to contain anymore. Her voice rose, raw and desperate, as she finally let the truth spill out.

“The person I loved!” she shouted, her voice cracking as tears streamed down her face.

The room fell silent, the weight of her words settling like a heavy blanket over both of them.

Y/N froze, her heart pounding in her chest. For a moment, she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, as the confession echoed in her ears.

“You don’t get to say that now,” Y/N said finally, her voice trembling with a mix of anger and pain. “Not after everything.”

“I know,” Kazuha said, her tears falling freely now. “I know I don’t deserve to say it. I know I hurt you, and I hate myself for it. But it’s the truth, Y/N. It’s always been the truth.”

The raw sincerity in Kazuha’s voice pierced through Y/N’s anger, leaving her feeling exposed and vulnerable in a way she hadn’t allowed herself to feel in years.

“I don’t know if I can trust you again,” Y/N admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.

Kazuha took a tentative step closer, her eyes filled with a desperate kind of hope. “Then let me prove it,” she said. “Whatever it takes, I’ll prove it to you. Just… don’t shut me out completely.”

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The weight of their emotions, their shared history, hung heavy in the air between them.

The aftermath of their explosive fight in the storage room left Y/N and Kazuha emotionally drained but strangely lighter, as if the weight of their unresolved past had finally begun to lift. Neither of them had all the answers, but for the first time in a long time, there was clarity. They had finally said the words that had been trapped inside them for far too long.

The following days, the practice room felt different. The tension that had once hung over Y/N and Kazuha like a storm cloud was still there, but it was softer now, less suffocating. When their gazes met across the room, it wasn’t avoidance or anger that lingered in the air, but something closer to understanding.

It started small.

A quiet “Good job” from Y/N when Kazuha landed a particularly tricky turn in the choreography, her tone soft but genuine. It was a simple phrase, yet it lingered in the air, a far cry from the sharp retorts and icy silences of weeks prior.

Kazuha reciprocated in kind. During one grueling rehearsal, she noticed Y/N struggling with a sequence and instinctively reached out, her hand resting gently on Y/N’s shoulder. “Try shifting your weight earlier,” she suggested, her voice steady but kind. The advice worked, and Y/N’s smile, small but sincere, was enough to make Kazuha’s chest ache in the best way.

These small gestures, though seemingly insignificant, carried immense weight for the two of them. Each act of kindness, every shared glance, felt like another brick being placed in the fragile foundation they were rebuilding.

Their interactions, once tense and awkward, grew warmer, more natural. They began to talk during breaks, not about anything particularly deep, but enough to show the others that something had shifted.

It didn’t take long for the rest of the group to notice.

One afternoon, during a rare lull in practice, Y/N and Kazuha sat against the mirrored wall, quietly laughing over a shared joke about their last photoshoot. The sound was light, genuine, and startlingly out of place given their recent history.

“Are we dreaming?” Yunjin teased, watching the scene unfold with exaggerated disbelief. She clutched her chest dramatically, as though the sight of Y/N and Kazuha laughing together had physically floored her. “Is this real? Should someone pinch me?”

Sakura smirked from her spot on the floor, her legs stretched out in front of her as she leaned back on her hands. “Careful, you might jinx it,” she said, though the amusement in her tone was impossible to miss.

Chaewon, sitting nearby with her water bottle in hand, simply smiled. She didn’t say anything, but the quiet relief in her expression was unmistakable. The uneasy tension that had once plagued their dynamic was finally beginning to dissipate.

Eunchae, never one to hold back, plopped down between Y/N and Kazuha with a wide grin. “You two should argue more often,” she said, nudging each of them with her elbows. “It’s good for the group!”

Y/N rolled her eyes, while Kazuha let out a soft laugh, shaking her head.

“Yeah, sure,” Y/N replied dryly, though the corners of her lips curved upward despite herself.

Eunchae’s grin widened, clearly satisfied. “See? You’re already happier!”

For the first time in what felt like forever, the group’s dynamic felt easy again, like slipping into a favorite song after a long silence. The others didn’t press too much, knowing that the progress between Y/N and Kazuha was delicate, but their quiet support was felt all the same.

As practice ended that day, Chaewon gathered her things and glanced at Sakura. “It’s nice, isn’t it?” she said softly, watching as Y/N and Kazuha walked out of the studio together, their conversation flowing effortlessly.

Sakura nodded, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Yeah,” she agreed. “It’s nice to see them like this.”

As their friendship slowly mended, their synergy on stage grew stronger. The group was rehearsing one of the centerpiece performances and the sections that paired Y/N and Kazuha together took on an entirely new energy.

Their movements, once marked by tension and hesitation, became fluid and seamless. There was an unspoken connection between them that shone through in their performances, a connection that had always been there but was now unburdened by the weight of their unresolved feelings.

It wasn’t just their team who noticed.

Fans began pointing out their chemistry in online discussions and live-stream chats. Edits of their synchronized movements and subtle interactions started circulating, and while Y/N and Kazuha didn’t acknowledge it publicly, the comments brought a secret warmth to both of them.

Away from the cameras and everyone else, Y/N and Kazuha were slowly rebuilding the trust they had lost. It wasn’t easy, some days were better than others but the effort was mutual.

One evening, after a long day of schedule, Y/N found herself in the dorm’s cozy living room. The lights were dim, casting a warm glow over the space as she sank into the couch, a fleece blanket draped over her lap. She scrolled idly on her phone, letting the quiet of the evening soothe her frayed nerves.

She was so lost in her thoughts that she didn’t notice Kazuha until she was standing nearby, holding two water bottles.

“Oh,” Y/N said, sitting up slightly as Kazuha extended one of the bottles toward her.

“Here,” Kazuha said simply, her voice soft but steady.

Y/N accepted it, twisting off the cap and taking a sip. “Thanks,” she said, her tone light but genuine.

Kazuha sat down beside her, leaving a small but deliberate space between them. For a moment, neither of them spoke. The quiet hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen was the only sound in the room.

“I’ve been thinking about what you said when we were locked up in the storage,” Kazuha began softly, breaking the silence. Her gaze was fixed on the floor, her fingers fidgeting slightly with the cap of her own bottle.

Y/N turned to look at her, curiosity flickering in her eyes. “Which part?”

“All of it,” Kazuha admitted, a small, self-deprecating smile tugging at her lips. “How I hurt you. How I made you feel like you weren’t enough. You were right. I should have talked to you instead of running away. I should have trusted you enough to let you in.”

Y/N studied her for a moment, the sincerity in Kazuha’s voice cutting through the remnants of her lingering resentment. The vulnerability in her words was disarming, and for the first time in a long while, Y/N felt herself lowering her guard.

“You don’t have to keep apologizing,” Y/N said quietly, setting her water bottle down on the table. “I’ve already heard it. Now I just need to see it.”

Kazuha finally lifted her gaze, her eyes steady as they met Y/N’s. “You will,” she said with quiet determination. “I promise.”

Y/N nodded, a small, tentative smile softening her features. “Good.”

Another night, they found themselves sitting on the dorm balcony, wrapped in the stillness of the city night. The balcony wasn’t large, just enough for two chairs and a tiny table, but it offered a perfect view of the twinkling lights stretching out to the horizon.

The air was cool but not cold, and both of them sat bundled in sweaters, savoring one of the rare moments their packed schedule allowed them to breathe.

“I missed this,” Kazuha said suddenly, her voice breaking the comfortable silence.

Y/N turned to look at her, one eyebrow raised. “Missed what?”

“This,” Kazuha said, gesturing between them with a small, almost shy smile. “Talking. Laughing. Just… being with you.”

The words hung in the air, unadorned but heavy with meaning.

Y/N hesitated, her chest tightening at the vulnerability in Kazuha’s tone. There had been so many moments like this between them in the past, moments of quiet honesty that had felt so natural, so easy. Now, they felt like rare treasures, fragile but precious.

“I missed it too,” Y/N admitted, her voice soft. She turned her gaze back to the city lights, but the faint smile tugging at her lips gave away her emotions.

The confession lingered between them, but this time, it didn’t feel heavy or suffocating. It felt like a step forward, tentative, careful, but forward nonetheless.

As they sat there, the quiet stretching on, Kazuha leaned back in her chair and sighed contentedly. “I’ll keep saying it, you know,” she said after a moment, her voice playful but sincere.

“Saying what?” Y/N asked, glancing over at her with a curious smile.

“That I’m sorry. That I care about you. That I—” Kazuha stopped herself, biting her lip as her cheeks flushed faintly in the dim light. “That I want to fix this.”

Y/N shook her head lightly, her smile widening just a bit. “Just don’t mess it up this time,” she said, her tone teasing but carrying an undercurrent of earnestness.

“I won’t,” Kazuha replied, her voice steady.

It wasn’t just a friendship they were rebuilding, it was the foundation of something much deeper. Neither of them said it outright, but the shift between them was undeniable. The glances lingered a little longer, their conversations carried a tenderness that hadn’t been there before, and their moments of silence felt comfortable, not strained.

Still, some things remained unspoken. Beneath the surface of their growing connection, there was a tension, an unaddressed question neither of them had dared to voice. Y/N sensed it in the way Kazuha sometimes looked at her, as if trying to find the courage to say something more.

One quiet evening, as they wrapped up yet another day of practice, the unspoken question that had lingered between them for months finally came to a head.

The studio was dimly lit, the faint hum of the air conditioning the only sound after the music had stopped. The other members had already left, their chatter fading down the hallway as the door swung shut behind them.

Kazuha lingered, standing near the mirrored wall, her movements hesitant. Her fingers brushed against the hem of her hoodie as if she were trying to ground herself. Y/N, who had been on her way out, paused at the doorway, noticing the way Kazuha’s gaze lingered on the floor, unfocused.

“You coming?” Y/N asked lightly, her voice breaking the silence.

Kazuha’s head snapped up, her eyes meeting Y/N’s. There was something in her gaze, nervous but resolute, that made Y/N hesitate.

“In a minute,” Kazuha replied softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

Y/N tilted her head, curiosity flickering across her face. “What’s up?” she asked, stepping back into the room and folding her arms as she leaned casually against the wall.

Kazuha hesitated, her hands fidgeting again. Her eyes darted toward the mirror before landing back on Y/N. She took a deep breath, as though she were gathering courage.

“I’ve been thinking about this for a while,” she began, her voice trembling slightly but carrying an undercurrent of determination.

Y/N’s brows furrowed slightly, her curiosity growing. “Thinking about what?”

Kazuha shifted, taking a step closer. Her movements were deliberate now, her gaze locking with Y/N’s. “I know we’ve been rebuilding things slowly,” she continued, her words careful and measured. “And I didn’t want to ruin that, but… I need to say this. Properly. This time.”

Y/N’s confusion deepened, her arms uncrossing as she stood up straighter. “Say what?”

Kazuha took another step forward, the space between them growing smaller. She clasped her hands together to still their trembling and took another steadying breath.

“That I’m in love with you.”

The words hung in the air, clear and unwavering, reverberating through the quiet studio like a delicate but powerful note.

Y/N’s breath hitched, her heart pounding as she stared at Kazuha. For a moment, her mind was a whirlwind of emotions, shock, warmth, a flicker of nervous excitement.

Kazuha, her cheeks flushed but her eyes steady, pressed on. “I know we said we’d focus on being friends again, and I don’t want to ruin that,” she added quickly, her voice tinged with nervous energy. “But I couldn’t keep pretending that my feelings weren’t still there. They never went away, Y/N. I know I should’ve told you sooner, back then, but I was scared. I can’t keep hiding it anymore.”

Y/N stared at her, her emotions swirling together in a chaotic but undeniable warmth. She could see the vulnerability etched across Kazuha’s face, the way her hands trembled slightly, the earnestness in her eyes as she waited for Y/N’s response.

For a moment, Y/N said nothing, and the silence stretched on, broken only by the faint hum of the air. Then, slowly, her lips curved into a small, genuine smile.

“I still have feelings for you too,” Y/N admitted softly, her voice warm but tinged with caution.

Kazuha blinked, her shoulders visibly relaxing as relief washed over her face.

“But,” Y/N continued, her smile fading into a more serious expression, “we’ve both changed. So much has happened, and I don’t want to mess up what we’ve rebuilt or the group.”

Kazuha nodded quickly, her agreement earnest. “I know. Slow is good. I just… I needed you to know. I couldn’t keep holding it in.”

Y/N stepped forward, the last bit of distance between them vanishing as she reached out to gently touch Kazuha’s arm. Her fingers lingered for a moment before she shifted closer, hesitating briefly before wrapping her arms around Kazuha in a soft, tentative hug.

Kazuha froze for a split second, surprised, before she melted into the embrace. Her arms came up slowly, encircling Y/N in return. The warmth of the hug felt like a balm, soothing the unspoken pain they had both carried for so long.

“Thank you for telling me,” Y/N murmured, her voice steady but warm, her words muffled slightly against Kazuha’s shoulder.

Kazuha’s lips curved into a soft smile, a faint pink coloring her cheeks as she held Y/N a little closer. She hesitated for only a moment before leaning down and pressing a gentle kiss to Y/N’s temple, the gesture filled with quiet affection.

Y/N pulled back just enough to meet Kazuha’s gaze, their faces inches apart. The moment lingered, the air between them charged with something tender and unspoken.

After a beat, Y/N smiled, a small, genuine smile that lit up her face. “Come on,” she said softly, her tone lightening as she stepped back, though her hand briefly squeezed Kazuha’s arm before letting go. “The others are probably wondering what we’re doing.”

Kazuha let out a small laugh, the sound carrying a newfound ease. “You’re probably right,” she said, her voice soft.

As they walked out of the studio together, side by side, there was a quiet but undeniable shift between them, one that neither of them could deny.

Months later, the group stood backstage, their hearts racing as the deafening roar of fans filled the arena. It was the encore of their first major concert, and the sheer energy in the air was electric, a palpable buzz that made every moment feel larger than life.

Y/N stood near the back of the group, adjusting her in-ear monitor as she took in the scene around her. The members huddled together, a mixture of excitement and nerves evident on their faces. Chaewon was at the center of the group, her voice calm yet commanding as she delivered a final pep talk.

“This is it,” Chaewon said, her gaze sweeping over each of them. “The last performance. Let’s give them everything we’ve got.”

The group nodded in unison, their determination shining through despite the exhaustion of the night. When the huddle broke apart, everyone began to take their places.

Y/N was about to step toward her position when she felt a familiar presence beside her. She turned to see Kazuha, her expression soft but purposeful as she approached.

“You ready?” Kazuha asked, her voice low but steady. She held out her hand, her fingers outstretched in a silent invitation.

Y/N smiled, her chest tightening with warmth as she slid her fingers into Kazuha’s. “Always,” she replied, her voice barely above a whisper.

For a moment, the world seemed to slow. The roar of the arena faded into the background, the chaos of the moment giving way to an intimate stillness that belonged to just the two of them.

Kazuha took a small step closer, her grip on Y/N’s hand firm but gentle. Leaning in, she pressed a soft kiss to Y/N’s cheek, her lips lingering for a heartbeat longer than necessary. “Thank you for trusting me again,” she whispered, her voice carrying a vulnerability that made Y/N’s heart flutter.

Y/N’s cheeks flushed a deep pink, but she didn’t hesitate to return the gesture. She leaned in, her own lips brushing against Kazuha’s cheek in a gentle kiss. “Thank you for not giving up,” she murmured, the sincerity in her tone leaving no room for doubt.

Their moment was short-lived, interrupted by the familiar sound of Yunjin’s playful voice cutting through the backstage noise.

“Are we getting an encore or a love confession back here?” Yunjin teased, her grin wide as she leaned against one of the stage props.

The group erupted into laughter, the tension breaking as the lighthearted teasing spread. Even Chaewon cracked a small smile, though she clapped her hands to refocus everyone. “Alright, save the confessions for later. Let’s go.”

Y/N and Kazuha exchanged an amused glance, their hands still entwined.

Hand in hand, they stepped onto the stage together. The deafening cheers of the crowd enveloped them like a tidal wave, the sheer energy of the moment sending chills down Y/N’s spine. The arena was awash in light, the glowsticks held by fans creating a sea of shimmering colors.

The bright stage lights bathed them in warmth as they took their positions, their hands finally parting as they prepared for the final performance. Y/N glanced at Kazuha one last time before the music began, a small smile tugging at her lips.

And then the song started, the beat pounding through the speakers as the group moved in perfect unison. Y/N and Kazuha danced side by side, not just as performers, but as partners once more, bound by a connection that had withstood distance, heartbreak, and time.

The encore was electric, a culmination of their hard work and the love they shared with their fans. The cheers grew louder with each beat, and as Y/N and Kazuha exchanged a brief but meaningful glance in the middle of the routine, Y/N felt a sense of peace she hadn’t known in years.

They weren’t just facing the stage. They were facing the world. Together.

#kpop imagines #girl group imagines #gg x reader #kpop x reader #le sserafim x fem reader #le sserafim x reader #nakamura kazuha x reader #kazuha x reader #kazuha x fem reader #le sserafim imagines

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