#open string ensemble

[salmonmakiii]

ᯓ★ Your boyfriend had been busier than usual, with the burden and responsibilities of being a Chrysos Heir and all. You'd often watched how drained he looked whenever he finally made it home.

This time was no different. He'd been out of the city for a week, pushing back the Black Tide. Still, you weren't too worried; he sent updates now and then. You believed in him, you always do! He usually comes home without so much as a scratch.

So, you decided to surprise him. He mentioned he'd be back at Curtain-Fall Hour, and what better way to say "Good work!" than by dolling yourself up just for him after a tough mission? Consequently, you bought a new set of lingerie...

The thought of your boyfriend getting flustered and caught off guard had you practically jittering with excitement.

The moment you heard the front door open, you turned to the mirror for one last check. You adjusted your lingerie, fixed your hair, and then stepped out slowly, eager to see that stunned look on his face.

But this time, you were the one left in shock. ᯓ★

Wc: 1,523

Cw: Fem!reader x Mydei, Fem!reader x Phainon, Suggestive, established relationship, mentions of injury, kind of OOC...? maybe (the boys are freaky). For plot reasons, let's just say Mydei's wounds don't heal instantly.

Notes: Back from the dead to write this itchy drabble I've been thinking of... I'm so normal for Phainon and Mydei lol.

Mydei stood before the front door of your shared home, the familiar sight alone already easing the tension from his shoulders. His body ached, bandages wrapped across his torso, joints stiff with soreness, and a limp in his step from the lingering strain. He exhaled slowly, the weight of the day heavy in his breath.

What would you think if you saw him like this? All bruised, battered, barely upright? Still, knowing you, he could already imagine it. You'd accept his vulnerability without question. You'd hold him in your arms without hesitation.

The thought alone tugged a small, quiet smile from him.

He stepped closer, pulling out the spare key, the cute lion key chain you gave him dangling. He unlocked the door as it let out a soft click in the quiet. He pushed it open.

"I'm home," He called out softly.

The living room was empty... huh. You were usually sprawled on the couch, waiting with a smile. No matter, he'd remove his armor first and find you after. His hands reached up to unclasp the golden pauldron on his shoulder, fingers fumbling slightly from the fatigue.

Then he heard footsteps. Yours.

He barely had time to register them before the gasp that followed snapped his attention upward.

Both of you froze, eyes wide, equally shocked.

Clank!

The pauldron dropped to the floor in the dead silence.

Titans. You looked breathtaking.

The red lingerie you wore was delicately revealing. It consists of two finely crafted pieces joined by loose strings along your sides. One pull, and the entire ensemble would fall away. It hugged around your body perfectly, accentuating the curves of your chest and just enough of your thighs to make his breath hitch.

And suddenly, miraculously, every ache in his body vanished.

Well... almost. The ache had simply... shifted elsewhere.

"Mydei! What happened to you?!" Your frantic voice pulled him back to reality.

He blinked, momentarily lost in your presence. He opened his mouth to answer, but only jumbled stammers escaped.

...what?

Why is he stammering? Alongside fear, stammering is not in the Kremnoan dictionary. He hadn't even known he was capable of stammering. Clearing his throat, he tried again.

"The... the enemy- the Black Tide, they... they were..." He trailed off, the words slipping from him. Why was this so hard?

His eyes flicked back to you, who was now approaching him with concern on your face. Titans above help this poor man. He focused, desperately, on your eyes. As if looking anywhere else might turn him into stone.

"Were they that aggressive?" You asked gently, placing your hands on his face.

Aggressive... Right... that was the word he was looking for.

"...Yes." He managed to say, still trying to collect himself.

"Why haven't you healed yet? Are you okay? Can you walk?" Your questions came all at once; panicked, loving, relentless.

He wasn't listening anymore. Not really. Not with your body barely hidden behind that tempting veil of red silk. If he could just... pull that damn string off.

His thoughts were tangled, his focus slipping again, especially when you got even closer. He cleared his throat, trying to stay composed.

"Uh... yeah." He said firmly, then paused, eyes scanning your form again. "You... dressed up for me?"

You froze in place, suddenly flustered and self-conscious. "Oh, Gods! I'm so sorry! I- I thought you'd be fine like always, and I wanted to surprise you, but you're hurt! I should change and help you-"

You turned, ready to flee from embarrassment, but he caught your wrist before you could escape.

"No. Don't," he said, voice stern but laced with something tender, almost desperate.

"What?" You breathed, heart pounding.

"You went through all that trouble to make yourself look this beautiful," he said, stepping closer, limp and all. "I'm not about to let that go to waste." He was already pulling you closer to him, bodies pressed against each other.

"Mydei, this can wait-"

He was already leaning in.

"You have to-"

Your words were swallowed by your own gasp.

Mydei's lips were at your neck, warm and hungry. His hands were now already on your waist, squeezing them, holding you in place. He moved them up and down your sides, making you squirm. The chill of his gauntlets made your skin spark, the metal adding a strange thrill to every touch.

"Please..." He whispered, his voice husky, pleading. His lips trailed lower, from your neck to your collarbone, before teasingly stopping just above your chest.

You looked down into his eyes, half-lidded and full of heat, desperation, need. His fingers were already tugging at the strings of your lingerie. Perhaps they were also tugging at your heartstrings.

Well, who were you to say no to the crown prince?

Phainon limped up the stairs to the front door, cursing under his breath. Why, in all of Amphoreus, had he thought the stairs to be a good idea in the first place? Every step felt like a personal attack. He should have them removed! Better yet, throw them into the River of Souls for the pain they brought him now.

...No.

He sighed. He was starting to sound irrational. He was probably just exhausted, his entire body screaming in protest. Still, the thought of you seeing him in this state worried him more than he'd like to admit. His head was bandaged, coat hung limply from one shoulder since his arms were too sore to slide into the sleeves.

With a twist of the key, he unlocked the front door.

"Sweetheart, I'm home!" He called out, wincing as his shoulder twisted while he pulled the door shut behind him. He shuffled toward the counter and leaned on it with one hand, trying to take off his boots without his body screaming at him.

He heard your footsteps approaching, light and quick. Still crouched over, fumbling with the straps of his boots, he heard you gasp. He sighed, preparing a reassuring smile.

Until he looked up and saw you.

His breath caught.

"You're all bruised and bandaged! What happened to you?"

You stood there, eyes wide with concern, but that wasn't the main focus.

You were wearing baby blue lingerie, so delicate and ethereal you almost didn't look real. The fabric was thin and light, translucent enough for a clear view of the matching bra and panties. The sheer dress floated just above your thighs, the hem trimmed with soft frills that made it look like you were wrapped in clouds. The neckline sat off your shoulders, ruffled sleeves hugged your arms in a way that gave an innocent look. Though it was anything but innocent.

And those garters.

Dear Kephale, those garters. Those soft, tantalizing bands around your thighs made his thoughts spiral into dangerous places.

"Phainon?" You called out to him again, pulling him out of his daze. He stumbled, barely catching himself.

"Y-yes, Sweetheart?" He replied, voice slightly strained as he straightened up despite the protest of his wounds.

"Are you okay?" you asked, voice filled with genuine worry as you placed a gentle hand on his arm.

Gods, your touch felt like fire on his skin.

He suddenly felt guilty. You were so concerned, and all he could do was stare at you like a man starved.

"I'm... okay. Minor injuries," he muttered, eyes flickering from yours to your chest and back again.

"Even your head's wrapped in bandages..." You said softly, placing a hand on his cheek. "Did you get hit that hard?"

Phainon could think of something else that was hard-

He cleared his throat quickly. "A little, yeah." He leaned into your touch, unable to contain himself.

"You look beautiful," he added with a teasing grin, hovering his hands just beside your waist.

You pulled back with a gasp, glancing down. "Oh, Titans- I forgot I was still wearing this," you laughed nervously. "I'll go change-"

But before you could move, Phainon (even in his weakened state) caught your wrist and pulled you gently but firmly back to him. You stumbled slightly, only to find yourself trapped between him and the counter, your back pressed to his chest, your hands bracing on the surface in front of you.

His arms wrapped around your waist, and his lips brushed past your exposed shoulder. He trailed kisses to your neck, and a soft gasp escaped your lips when he found that one spot that always made you weak.

"P-Phainon, you're hurt-" you tried to speak, but another gasp cut you off as his gloved hand slipped beneath your dress, gliding over bare skin.

"Yes," he whispered against your jaw, "but my sweetheart dressed up so beautifully for me." His right hand then rose to gently tilt your chin, guiding your gaze to meet his. "Who am I to refuse a blessing from a goddess, hm?"

You whine softly, "Your injuries, Phainon..."

You tried to push him away, but he didn't budge.

"Please?" He murmured, desperate in his voice, lips hovering just above yours. "I'll be good. I promise."

His eyes burned with heat, pupils blown and hungry.

This man was absolutely not good for your heart.

©salmonmakiii, do not steal my work or feed it to AI.

[vanteguccir]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤMET GALA 2025 * CHRIS STURNIOLO

SUMMARY　::　where Y/N, worldwide famous singer, goes to the Met Gala 2025 and brings Chris as her pair for the first time.

FEATURING　Chris Sturniolo x singer!reader　REQUESTED?　yes.

WARNINGS　::　some fashion talk because I'm a fashion student whipped for the fashion world.

AUTHOR'S NOTE　::　that is my work, I DON'T authorize any form of plagiarism; copy, "inspiration" or translation! | english isn't my first language, so I'm sorry if there's any grammar error.

A/N²: This happens in the same universe as my 'Grammys 2025' fanfic. You can find it on my Chris’s masterlist.

There was gold on her collarbone, roses stitched into the hem of her coat, and Sol de Janeiro lotion all over her palms.

Y/N stood frozen in front of one of the many full-length mirrors scattered across the grand penthouse living room of The Surrey Hotel, her fingers nervously pressing the creamy shimmer from her hands into the plush, regal fabric of her coat.

The scent of salted caramel and pistachio danced around her in a tentative to calm her down, but it only made her mind feel fuzzy.

It was her third Met Gala, so why does it feel like it was her first?

Was her clothes too literal for the theme? Was it edgy enough? Too sharp? Too structured? Too obvious?

Her mind raced in loops, bouncing off every invisible standard she’d set for herself. The theme, Tailoring Black, was nothing short of genius. But as the minutes ticked closer to the Met Gala carpet, her stomach churned with anxiety.

Everyone always expected her to be the "best of the best". What if this time... she wasn't?

"Y/N, babe, stop rubbing the cream on your coat." Her stylist, Harry Lambert, chided in his signature playful tone as he ducked past the makeup station with a handful of safety pins and a cappuccino. "You're gonna stain it white."

She looked down, her eyes comically widening when she noticed the small pattern of glitter left behind from her hand cream.

"Alright, Harry? I think I’ve ruined it." She mumbled, voice trembling, palm now pressing over the fabric of her coat with even more strenght. "Like actually ruined it."

"You did not ruin it." Harry talked back, walking closer to take a better look at it. "We can just say that you were moisturizing your nerves. Very couture of you, huh?"

Y/N shot him a glare through the mirror, lips parted in half-exasperation, half-laughter.

"I’m literally shining. This coat is going to have body shimmer forever embedded into it. Daniel, I’m so sorry."

Across the room, a soft string of chuckles floated in from the open double doors of the main bathroom. Daniel Roseberry - the mind behind the art she wore tonight - was bent over a steamer, carefully working out the last crease on the matching tailored pants.

"Darling." He said without looking up. "My design was made to hold a woman’s essence, not reject it. You look divine. Let the shimmer stay. It’s yours."

Y/N turned to the mirror again, slowly dragging her gaze from the tip of her velvet-covered hat down to the gold-accented buttons of her coat, down further to the rich gradient of crimson and magenta pooling into her trousers like royal ink.

Daniel had outdone himself. This ensemble was historical, theatrical, and utterly hers. The old-world glamour of Jacques Fath’s Fall/Winter ‘92 had been revived by Schiaparelli's modern surrealism, made to fit her figure like a poem written in silk and courage.

But her heart still pounded like crazy, her plump lips pressed into a soft pout.

The room bustled behind her: makeup artists reapplying lip liner, her manager Josh frantically scrolling through emails while mumbling about red carpet call times, someone adjusting the velvet sash that trailed behind her.

The playlist Harry had queued hummed through the Bluetooth speakers – Madonna, Nelly Furtado, and Britney Spears – influenced hips to move slightly.

Then the main ensuite door creaked.

And out stepped Chris.

Y/N didn’t turn, raising her eyes to the mirror first, her pout fading away, and an automatic smile taking over it.

Chris carried an awkward posture that only made him look even more handsome, adjusting the cuffs of his sculptural black and white suit from Alexander McQueen's, the sharp angles of the tailoring hugging his frame in ways that were sinful.

But it wasn’t his clothes that made Y/N’s heart skip a beat. It was the way his bright blue eyes widened when they landed on her.

Always his eyes.

"Holy shi-" He whispered, stopping in his tracks.

"No swearing, Christopher. Vogue is literally on this floor." Josh walked by behind Chris holding his iPad.

Chris blinked, then laughed under his breath, like the sight of her was short-circuiting his brain.

"I... I think I just blacked out for a second. You look-" He waved his hands helplessly in front of him, searching for words. "You look like... like some art. No- like a painting. Those rich ass paintings we saw in Milan."

Y/N’s cheeks flushed.

"You’re so silly." She said, breathlessly, biting back a smile.

He stepped closer, eyes drinking her in like a man starved.

"Jesus- that’s illegal, what you’re doing-"

Daniel, crouched nearby and still fussing with fabrics, gave Chris a soft grin.

"She is an artwork, no?"

Chris just nodded, pink tongue wetting soft chapped lips.

"What? Yeah. Shit- yes!"

Y/N turned around now, finally facing him fully, hands still nervously toying with the buttons on her jacket.

"You don’t look too bad yourself, Sturniolo. Very jazz player from the 70's."

"I’ll take that." Chris grinned, cheeks pink, but his eyes softened when he noticed her wringing her fingers, nails nervously playing with her commitment ring. "Hey." He muttered gently, stepping in closer, his voice dipping quieter. "You okay?"

Y/N reached for Chris’s hand, and he instantly laced his fingers with hers, ignoring her sweaty palms. He gently pulled her toward him, his thumbs brushing her knuckles, free hand carefully meeting her hips, pressing her flesh in a grounding way.

"You nervous?"

She nodded silently, her other hand still twitching at her side.

"So much. My chest’s doing this weird thumpy thing, and my makeup’s probably melting already, and I don’t know if I can do the stairs in these heels. And there’s all these cameras and Vogue livestreams, and you’re here, and I just..."

Chris smiled, one hand coming up from her hips to touch the side of her neck gently, thumb brushing along her jaw.

"That’s supposed to make you less nervous, not more."

"It’s just." She sighed, leaning slightly into his touch. "You’re like... this whole different part of my life. My comfort, my normal. And now you’re stepping into the chaos part. I just-" She paused, voice trembling. "I want you to love it. I want it to be good."

Chris frowned.

"Baby, I don’t care if we get swarmed or if I look like an idiot mid-carpet. I get to walk up those stairs holding you. That’s already the best part."

Y/N’s eyes glossed, and Chris leaned in to press a soft kiss to the corner of her lips, barely there, just enough for her to feel it.

"And if it helps." He added, lips still close to her skin, breath fanning over her mascara covered eyelashes. "I’m terrified, too. Like, super terrified. I’ve watched Met Gala videos on TikTok all week. Matt told me to bring mints. Nick said to suck in my cheeks. I don’t even know what that means."

Y/N let out a loud laugh, forehead falling to his chest, her hat bumping against his skin and tilting to the side.

"God, I love you."

Chris kissed her covered shoulder, breathing in the strong scent of her perfume.

"You’ve done this before. You’re a pro. Everything will be okay."

She let out a long breath, muffled against the fabric of his lapel.

Harry poked his head dramatically from behind the mirror.

"Okay, lovebirds, wrap it up, Vogue’s getting the pre-carpet shots in twenty in front of the hotel, and I need to fix that jacket crease. Daniel, tell me she’s allowed to sit."

"She is, carefully." Daniel smiled, leaning over to fluff the hem of her coat once more, voice gentle now. "Y/N, you’re not just wearing a gown. You’re making a statement. You’re bringing heritage and power and joy to that carpet. Remember that. Every button on this look is telling a story. You just have to let it speak."

"And if the story includes a little sweat under the armpits?" Y/N asked, half-smiling, following Harry's directions, who chimed in, snatching the glass filled with freshly made dry martini from the coffee table and holding it out to Y/N.

"Then it’s high fashion sweat."

The whole room laughed, and Chris reached for her waist, his fingers intertwining around her covered skin.

Her pulse slowed instantly.

"I got you." He whispered in her ear as a stylist passed them with a steamer.

"I know." She whispered back, taking the glass from Harry and gulping it down.

Maybe she hadn’t ruined it after all.

The second her heel touches the first petal-strewn step of the Met Gala carpet, Y/N feels like she’s stepped into a dream designed by a hopeless romantic with a billion-dollar budget.

Everywhere she looks is a sea of daffodils and dreamy blue, like she’s walking through a field of flowers under a velvet night sky, complete with soft starlight. The entire ceiling above them is dotted with tiny glowing stars, and she can’t tell if it's the LED panels or just magic.

Probably both.

Chris's hand tightens slightly on her waist as the crowd ahead of them suddenly roars with excitement, and even though he’s smiling with brows lifted in amused awe, she can feel the tension in his grip.

He’s not used to this kind of spectacle.

Not like she is.

But still, the moment feels too big for even her to pretend like she’s not overwhelmed.

She barely has time to process the first flash of cameras before they’re being whisked to the center of the chaos by a poised woman in a head-to-toe black dress with a clipboard and a headset. She smiles like she’s done this a thousand times (she probably has) and gestures for them to pause in front of the press line.

"You look incredible." The woman says to Y/N with a quick wink, then glances at Chris and grins. "And don’t worry, they’ll love you too."

"Am I that nervous for even her to notice?" Chris's high-pitched voice echoed close to her ear, but before Y/N could respond, the wall of photographers ahead erupts.

"Y/N, sweetheart, give us that over-the-shoulder shot!"

"Chris, look this way! First Met Gala, man, how’s it feel?!"

"Y/N, turn to the left- no, left! There you go!"

It’s chaos, overwhelming and loud, and yet Y/N handles it with an elegance that makes her seem untouchable, clutching Chris’s hand tighter for a second.

They continue climbing the daffodil-drenched stairs, pausing every few steps at the designated posing spots. Chris has stopped flinching at the camera flashes, though he’s still squinting like the whole thing is just slightly unreal.

Which, fair.

Chris leans in subtly.

"Is it just me, or do all these photographers sound like seagulls fighting over some bread?"

Y/N breaks into the warmest laugh, her hand flying to her lips just as the cameras go wild, capturing the moment like it’s staged.

It’s not. Not even a little.

She tilts her head toward him and whispers back.

"You’re the bread."

Chris grins, full and unfiltered. The night doesn’t feel so scary to him anymore.

"Miss, over here- no, to your right!"

"Stunning! Absolutely stunning!"

Y/N turns gracefully, refusing to let the heat faze her even though she can feel it building beneath the fabric of her coat. She focuses on keeping her expression soft, her movements fluid, her posture strong.

Halfway up the flower-drenched staircase, Y/N’s eyes sweep across the crowd and then freeze.

Her heart skips a beat.

Because just a few steps above stands Kendall Jenner beautifully dressed in a gray tailoring set, her best friend since she could remember, the one person who knows every version of her.

Y/N gasps softly, her eyes wide, her smile blooming in real-time.

"Oh my- Kenny!" She calls out over the noise, breathless, one hand instinctively lifting as if pulled by pure gravity.

Kendall’s head turns, scanning, and the second her eyes lock with Y/N’s, her whole face lights up like someone flipped a switch, her serious gaze melting away.

"Y/N?!" She beams, her grin going impossibly wider as she carefully steps closer.

They both reach across the velvet steps, fingers finding each other in the middle of the carpet, paparazzi catching every movement. They giggle as if they haven’t seen each other in a decade instead of a few weeks.

Suddenly, a photographer shouts.

"Y/N! Kendall! Together, please!"

Chris immediately steps aside, grinning from ear to ear, pride practically radiating off him.

"Go, babe." He says under his breath, eyes warm as he watches her light up.

Kendall throws him a friendly wave with a glowing smile.

"Looking good, Chris!" She beamed before sliding right into place beside Y/N.

Cameras go into full chaos mode as they pose, linked at the hip, shoulders back, smirks, and sweetness. Kendall leans in just before the next click, whispering against Y/N’s hair.

"You look absolutely unreal. I loved that color."

"Daniel's magic, babe." Y/N laughs softly.

Meanwhile, the same woman in black from minutes before appears again, smiling gently while gesturing for Chris to step back and pose alone to the other side full of paparazzi.

"Are you- are you sure? I don't know if they even know me." He whispers to the woman, blue eyes traveling to the wave of photographers.

"Christopher, what are you wearing?"

"Chris, to your right."

"Mr. Sturniolo, right here! No- to your left."

"Okay, they proved your point." He mutters before stepping back, letting Y/N keep the spotlight with Kendall and walking to the area where the woman pointed, throwing his girl a soft look behind his shoulder.

She’s glowing, absolutely glowing, and Chris... Chris looks like he’s watching a star come to life, his attention snapping back to the photographers as his name was shouted again.

Joana, Y/N’s publicist, is suddenly at the girl's side, effortlessly chic in a black sheath dress, sunglasses perched on her head like she’s immune to the absurdity of the moment.

She leans in close.

"You’re killing it. Keep smiling. Be you. Don’t overthink it. Let them eat it up."

Y/N nods, grateful for the grounding voice, and not even a second after, Joana is already pulling Chris gently back toward her, smiling when Kendall understood and stepped aside.

"I'll see you inside!" Kendall winked, blowing a kiss toward Y/N before walking to the other side of the stairs.

Joana nodded, adjusting Chris and Y/N side by side, making sure they stood just close enough for the camera to catch that he's her date without overshadowing her look.

He falls back into place beside her naturally, hand ghosting along the small of her back again before he leans in, lips brushing just behind her ear, and murmurs low enough that only she can hear.

"You look so fuckin' good it’s making it hard to think, y’know? Looked kinda dumb to those paparazzi back there."

Y/N’s breath catches in her throat, her body reacting faster than her mind can process. She doesn't flinch, doesn't let it show, except for the subtle shift in her smile.

The cameras go off in a frenzy.

Chris straightens up with the most innocent look on his face.

After some more steps, they reach a floral archway signaling the final stop before the inside interviews begin. A guard in a sleek suit gives them a nod, and the clipboard lady reappears, guiding them up the final stretch of the staircase.

"Ready?" Chris murmurs, his voice quieter now that the roars have dulled behind them.

Y/N exhales slowly, a mix of nerves still swimming in her chest.

"I think so." She says, and then turns to him, softening even further. "You’ve been amazing. Thank you."

He shrugs in that careless Chris-way that always makes her heart flutter.

"All I did was stand next to you and look good."

"You did both very well." She replies with a small smile, brushing her fingers against his hand.

The grand staircase faded behind them, the soft golden glow of the Met’s interview platform shining ahead. The plush carpet beneath their feet muffled the paparazzi chaos.

Up ahead, Emma Chamberlain stood in that signature interview nook, stunning in her custom look and microphone in hand. She was mid-conversation with someone from the Vogue crew when her eyes wandered and then locked in.

Her mouth parted slightly, then her whole face lit up.

She turned fully, barely containing her excitement.

"Oh my god." She whispered with a gasp, already stepping forward just a bit, her hand waving subtly toward her team to make space. "They’re here!"

As Y/N and Chris got closer, Emma beamed like she’d just spotted her favorite people in the world. Which, honestly, she kind of had.

"Hi!! You guys-" She laughed, caught halfway between giddy and stunned. "I’ve been waiting for you two. Please come over."

Y/N broke into the biggest smile, face instantly lighting up like she’s been plugged into a charger.

"Emma!" She gasps, turning slightly to look at Chris, but he was already watching her with the softest, most adoring look. "It’s Emma."

"I can see that." Chris chuckles, soft and low, already steering her gently with a palm to her lower back. "C’mon, doll."

They stepped up into the interview space, and Emma leaned in for a hug, air-kissing each side of Y/N’s face, being extra careful with her hat and makeup.

"You- what?! You look insane. Like, unreal. Both of you. I- hold on... okay, wait- microphone." She babbles, fumbling as she resets herself and stands before them. "Okay. I’m collected."

Y/N giggles, looping her arm around Chris’s.

"You also look insane." She replied, a little breathless. "You’re glowing."

Emma lifts the mic toward them, still beaming.

"Thank you! Okay, so, obviously, hi, I love you both. Now, what are you wearing tonight? Because this." She motions to Y/N’s look. "Is actual fashion history, and I’m gonna need, like, a full rundown."

Y/N laughed softly, brushing a hand down the side of her coat.

"I’m wearing a revival of Fath’s Fall/Winter ‘92." She said, glowing. "It was brought back to life by Daniel Roseberry from Schiaparelli, and he just... he really understood the balance between strong and soft. I fell in love with it the second I saw the sketch."

"I mean, I get it." Emma said, genuinely. "It’s literally art. Daniel always does art." Then she turned to Chris, who subtly adjusted his cuff with a smile. "And you, Mr. Chris?"

Chris chuckled, nodding slightly.

"Yeah, so, this is Alexander McQueen Spring ‘23... but it was customized for me by Harry Lambert. He’s a wizard. I didn’t know I could feel cool and classic at the same time, but somehow, he made it work. He adjusted every little detail to make it personal. Like, the fabric has this texture I’m crazy with. It’s just- yeah. I feel good."

Emma leaned in like she was letting the viewers in on a secret.

"They both look unreal in person, by the way. The camera does not do this justice."

Y/N laughed, mouthing 'stop' while visibly glowing under the compliment.

Emma took a small breath, then grinned.

"Okay, let’s talk theme. This year’s is Superfine: Tailoring Black Style. When you first found out about it, what did you think?"

Chris glanced at Y/N again, giving her space to speak first. She caught the cue and smiled, turning to Emma with that same euphoria in her voice she always had when talking about things that mattered.

"I was honestly really emotional about it." Y/N started, her voice gentle but sure. "It’s a beautiful theme. Because this isn’t just fashion. It’s history. It’s identity. It’s... pride."

She glanced toward the museum for a second before looking back at Emma.

"When you think about the Black community and what it means to take something like tailoring, and flip it, and make it theirs, it’s powerful. It’s this mix of strength, creativity, confidence... even joy. There’s this attitude of, like, 'I know who I am, and I’m gonna take up space loudly, beautifully, and on my own terms'. And that’s what fashion should be, right? Expression. Celebration. Defiance."

Emma visibly softened, her eyes slightly misty.

"Okay. See, this is why I needed to talk to you tonight. You always get it. Thank you for saying that. That’s everything."

Y/N just smiled shyly, glancing down.

"It’s a theme that deserves to be honored properly." Chris slipped his hand into hers briefly, giving it a squeeze, smiling when catching her eyes.

Emma nodded, her eyes traveling from Y/N to Chris and back.

"Alright, I won't be holding you back any longer, but I have to know... are you guys going to the afterparty tonight? Or is this the big finale for you?"

Y/N let out a little giggle, shaking her head.

"No afterparty for us. We’re going back to our hotel room, ordering room service-"

"Probably some pizza." Chris added. "I've heard that our hotel has the best one."

Emma's eyes light up, moving her mic a bit higher against her lips.

"If it's The Surrey, I can assure you that what you heard is the truth."

"It is!" Y/N nodded excitedly. "And we’re gonna FaceTime Matt and Nick and just talk about this night until we fall asleep."

Chris hummed lowly.

"It’s tradition now, since the Grammy's."

Emma laughed with affection.

"That’s so unreasonably adorable. I love it. Honestly, that sounds better than most afterparties."

"I know, right?" Y/N grinned. "And we have an early flight back to LA tomorrow."

Emma sighed dramatically.

"Ugh, you two win. Please go be soft and stunning somewhere else before I start crying."

They all laughed again, and as the camera crew gave the okay to wrap up, Emma leaned in one more time, hugging them both gently.

"I love you guys. You always make my night. Thank you for stopping by."

"Wouldn’t miss it." Chris said genuinely, hand falling naturally back into Y/N’s as they turned to walk toward the museum’s grand entrance.

Their night was just beginning.

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© vanteguccir

[lovemni]

is it a kiss if we share a straw? ✿ 'cause i like you a (matcha) latte

[ 승민‎ ] ✷ ‎  . . 𝗌𝗍𝗎𝖽𝗒 𝖽𝖺𝗍𝖾𝗌 𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝖻𝖾𝖼𝖺𝗆𝖾 𝗆𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝗂𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗋𝖾𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗇𝗈𝗐 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗋'𝗌 𝖺𝗋𝗈𝗎𝗇𝖽. 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗌𝗈𝗆𝖾𝗁𝗈𝗐, 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗁𝖺𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗀𝗋𝗎𝗆𝗉𝗒 𝖼𝗅𝖺𝗌𝗌 𝖺𝖼𝖾 𝗌𝗈𝖿𝗍𝖾𝗇 𝗎𝗉 𝗍𝗈 𝗒𝗈𝗎 !

⟡ read the prequel ; bonus/filler here! ⟡

۫ 𖨂 𓈒 𝑛erdy!seungmin ₊ ‎ ‎ 𝑓em!reader g. fluff , humour , uni!au , classmates to lovers, skz ensemble. I3,7OOw. ⎯⎯⎯ L𝒾BRARY . 𓋜 . cw. bantering , jokes , intimacy , pets. ✦ requested. ! ࿐

yani's note ! ✿ oh god when i tell you all i had reached the IOOO blocks limit.. i almost died. so i had to edit this entirely to merge some blocks. haha.. the sequel is much longer than the prequel. well, you all deserve it since you loved the prequel !! i loved this fic so much >< thank you to the lovely iza for helping me w the titles bc my brain almost died !! also y'all please send me some requests for valentines/galentines month <3 anon. claims are also open !! hope you all like it !!! comments, likes, req./asks and reblogs are always appreciated ! send in a reply or an ask if you want to be in my mastertag, or my individual series' taglists. happy reading <3

it was a normal morning. seungmin had woken up to the sound of jisung dramatically singing in the shower, half-dressed and flinging water everywhere like they were in some kind of k-drama opening sequence. he had stepped over piles of jisung’s clothes, debated throwing one of his textbooks at him, and had finally settled at his desk, groaning at the mess around him. it was too early for this.

and yet— knock. knock. knock. the loud, rhythmic knocking echoed through their shared dorm. jisung, now out of the shower, poked his head out from the bathroom, toothbrush still in his mouth. "you expectin' someone?" seungmin stared at him. and then his eyes widened. oh no. he was expecting someone. before he could even get up, the knocking intensified—faster, louder, insistent. jisung pulled his toothbrush out of his mouth and smirked. “that’s a very excited knock.” seungmin scowled. “shut up.” the knocking was immediately followed by a singsong voice. “seungminnnn~ open up!” jisung practically lit up. “oh my god.” he gasped. “is that—” seungmin groaned, pushing past him and heading for the door. and when he opened it— y/n stood there, practically glowing in the morning light, wearing sneakers that looked like they had been through war.

in her hands?

two matcha lattes in takeout cups.

a small bag of pastries.

and another little package tied up neatly with string.

she grinned up at him. “good morning, seungminnie.”

he deadpanned. “never call me that again.”

she giggled and stepped inside, unfazed by his immediate rejection.

seungmin closed the door behind her. “you’re early.”

she hummed. “i like being early.”

“of course you do. isn't that why you were always early to our study sessions at the café?”

jisung, still standing by the bathroom, towel draped over his shoulders, wiggled his eyebrows.

“so this is what you two were doing instead of the café.”

y/n turned to him, brightening. “jisung! good morning.”

seungmin crossed his arms. “don’t entertain him.”

too late.

jisung grinned. “are those for me?”

y/n gasped, clutching the drinks to her chest. “no.”

jisung pouted. “not even the pastries?”

“i brought these for seungmin and me,” y/n stated proudly. “and these—” she wiggled the little package tied with string, “—are homemade treats for star.”

seungmin blinked.

she baked for his dog.

for his dog.

well, star was hers first but you get the point.

“wow,” jisung muttered, shaking his head in amazement. “so this is what love looks like.”

seungmin threw a pillow at him.

“get out.”

jisung dodged with ease, snickering as he padded toward his room. “i’ll leave you two alone. have fun being married.”

seungmin turned to y/n, about to say something—

only to find her already halfway to the couch, scanning the room excitedly.

“where’s star?” she asked, looking around like an impatient kid.

seungmin sighed. “he’s in my room.”

y/n immediately made a beeline for his door.

“y/n, don’t just barge in—”

too late.

she had already swung the door open, stepping inside like she owned the place.

and then— her heart melted. because there, curled up in a nest of blankets on seungmin’s bed, was star.

his golden fur was slightly tousled from sleep, his body curled into himself, peaceful, warm. and when he lifted his head, his dark brown eyes blinking sleepily— y/n felt her entire soul leave her body.

“hi, baby,” she whispered, stepping closer.

star’s ears perked. his nose twitched. he recognized her.

in an instant, his tail thumped against the mattress, his body wiggling with excitement.

y/n squealed. “you remember me!”

seungmin leaned against the doorway, watching as star launched himself off the bed and into her arms. y/n caught him, stumbling slightly as she hugged him tight, her face buried in his fur.

she giggled, pressing soft kisses to his head. “i missed you.”

seungmin rolled his eyes. “it’s been one day.”

y/n ignored him completely, pulling out the treats she had baked.

“look what i made for you, star,” she cooed, untying the package. “i made them with lots of love.”

seungmin snorted. “he’s a dog, not a boyfriend.”

y/n gasped, scandalized. “seungmin, take that back.”

“no.”

she glared. “you’re lucky i brought you a latte.”

“yeah, yeah.” he waved her off. “come on, let’s start the project.”

she pouted but followed him to the table, star happily munching on his treat at her feet.

seungmin slid into the chair across from her, sipping the matcha latte she brought.

(he wasn’t going to admit it, but it tasted really good.)

y/n, on the other hand, was already distracted.

“you know, seungmin,” she mused, sipping her drink. “i think you should get star a cute sweater.”

he raised an eyebrow. “a sweater?”

“yes.” she nodded firmly. “something classy. maybe a turtleneck.”

jisung, from the hallway, “a dog in a turtleneck??”

y/n gasped. “oh my god. yes.”

seungmin groaned. “you’re insane.”

she just grinned. “and you love it.”

seungmin opened his mouth to argue— only to close it again.

because, for some reason, watching her sit there, smiling so brightly, sipping her matcha like she owned the world—

he couldn’t bring himself to disagree. maybe he did love it.

maybe… he was starting to love a lot of things about her. and that thought? was a little terrifying. but still, a little exciting.

so, when thirty minutes into their so-called project work, seungmin had come to a harsh, undeniable conclusion: this was not a study session.

it was a y/n-admires-star-and-gets-distracted-every-five-seconds session. and it was infuriating.

"y/n," seungmin sighed, dragging a hand down his face, "focus."

"i am focused," she argued, still not looking at him.

seungmin followed her gaze—

she was star-ing at star. again. [see what i did there?]

the golden retriever was curled up beside her chair, sleeping peacefully, his chest rising and falling in a slow, steady rhythm. and y/n? she had completely zoned out mid-sentence, her cheek resting against her hand, eyes soft as she watched star’s ears twitch in his sleep.

seungmin clicked his tongue. "what exactly are you focused on?"

she blinked, barely registering his words. "him."

jisung, from the kitchen, snorted.

"are you serious right now?" seungmin groaned.

y/n hummed. "mhm."

seungmin leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. "i knew this was a bad idea. we should’ve just gone to the café."

y/n finally tore her gaze away from star to look at him, gasping in fake offense. "excuse me?"

"you heard me," seungmin deadpanned.

she scoffed. "first of all, rude. second, blasphemy. third, i brought you a matcha latte, and this is how you repay me?"

jisung cackled. "she's got a point."

"shut up, squirrel-face."

y/n pouted dramatically, sinking into her chair. "you don’t appreciate anything. i bet star appreciates me more than you do."

seungmin exhaled sharply. "he's a dog."

she gasped. "and? that just means he has purer judgment."

seungmin narrowed his eyes. "so what you’re saying is that my dog likes you more than me?"

y/n grinned. "oh, absolutely."

jisung smirked. "can’t argue with that one."

seungmin threw his pen at him.

"okay," seungmin sighed, rubbing his temples. "since you're so focused on star, tell me—what exactly is so fascinating about him?"

y/n lit up. oh no. this was a mistake.

she leaned forward, clasping her hands together like she had been waiting for him to ask.

"well, first of all," she began, "look at him."

seungmin deadpanned. "i do look at him. every day. because he's my dog."

"dude, it's been three days since you've seen him. and the first was at the adoption cent-"

she ignored the two. "he's literally the cutest thing. did you notice how his ears flop when he breathes?"

jisung muttered, "here we go."

y/n gasped dramatically. "and the little scar on his eyebrow? he looks like a pirate. a handsome pirate."

seungmin tilted his head. "handsome pirate?"

"yes!" y/n cried. "he has this rugged, mysterious look—like a hero with a tragic past."

jisung choked on his water.

seungmin stared at her, baffled. "you think my dog has a tragic past?"

"...he does," y/n huffed. "the whole reason he was in the shelter is because— well, he was abandoned.. and not treated with care. which is why he deserves all the love in the world now."

her voice softened slightly at the last part.

and for a second—just a second—seungmin didn’t have a sarcastic remark ready.

he just watched as she gazed at star again, her fingers lightly brushing against the fur on his back.

soft. gentle. affectionate.

there was something about the way she cared that made something uncomfortable stir in his chest.

he quickly cleared his throat. "so you're saying he’s a main character."

"obviously," y/n nodded. "if this were a movie, he'd be the heartwarming, lovable side character who helps the protagonist through tough times."

"then what does that make you?"

she blinked.

then she grinned. "the best friend. duh."

jisung chimed in from the kitchen, "pretty sure you're the main character here."

[han's mind rn: the fourth wall??? what is it?]

y/n laughed. "oh no, seungmin's the main character. he's all broody and grumpy and—"

seungmin raised an eyebrow. "and what?"

she smirked. "secretly a softie."

jisung howled.

seungmin groaned, shoving his textbook over to her. "read. before i kick you out."

y/n giggled but picked up the book obediently, flipping through the pages. "fine, fine. but just so you know, i'm gonna see star every single day from now on."

seungmin sipped his latte. "did i have a choice?"

"nope."

he exhaled through his nose. "figures."

jisung snickered. "damn. she already owns half of this dorm and it hasn't even been a day."

y/n beamed. "you're right. i should start bringing decorations."

"don't even think about it."

she winked. and somehow—between y/n's constant distractions, jisung's unhelpful commentary, and star snoring at their feet— seungmin found himself not minding it at all.

. . .

seungmin had a headache. not because of uni. not because of work. but because the girl just wouldn't shut the fuck up.

the study session had officially derailed at this point. and to make matters worse, jisung—his supposed best friend—had fully switched sides and was entertaining y/n’s nonsense instead of helping to keep her on track.

“seungmin, do you think star has dreams?” y/n asked suddenly, staring at the sleeping dog beside her with a fond smile.

seungmin blinked, deadpan. “huh?”

“like—what do you think he dreams about?”

jisung smirked from across the couch, munching on one of the pastries y/n had brought. “bet he dreams about running through a field of treats.”

“or maybe about fighting evil!” y/n gasped, dramatically throwing a fist in the air. “like a true hero.”

seungmin dragged a hand down his face. “y/n, i swear—”

“or maybe he dreams about you,” she cut in, turning toward him with a teasing grin. “since you’re his owner and all.”

he hesitated. for a second. and for some reason, that second was too long.

y/n noticed.

her eyes twinkled, mischief curling at the edges of her lips. “oh my god. do you care about that?”

seungmin scowled, turning back to his notes. “i literally do not care.”

“liar.”

jisung snorted. “she got you there.”

seungmin groaned, flipping to another page in his textbook, pretending to focus. “can we please study?”

y/n hummed. “mmm, maybe later.”

his eye twitched. “maybe later?”

she nodded, taking a sip of her matcha latte. “mhm.”

jisung laughed. “yeah, man. priorities.”

seungmin closed his eyes, exhaling through his nose.

he could throw them both out. he could lock the door. he could actually get his work done in peace.

but he didn’t.

instead, he sighed and turned his head slightly—just enough to see y/n sitting on the floor, her legs tucked under her, her fingers running absentmindedly through star’s fur as she murmured something to him.

soft.

she was soft. i'm aware i mentioned it before. but this man is just too smitten and he doesn't wanna admit it.

moving on.

it was annoying how much that was becoming a fact in his life.

his throat felt weird.

he cleared it. “if we’re not going to study, at least do something productive.”

y/n looked up. “like what?”

jisung pointed lazily. “laundry.”

“ew, i'm not washing some boys' laundry. pass.”

“dishes.”

“hard pass.”

seungmin sighed. “what i meant was.. help clean up the disaster you made on the table. not your chores, jisung.”

jisung pouted. “it was worth a try.”

she stood up, stretching her arms over her head before reaching for the empty takeout cups. seungmin didn’t know why—but his eyes lingered on her for a second too long.

the way her sleeves slid slightly down her wrists. the soft hum she let out as she moved. the light clicking of her rings as they tapped against the cups.

it was—

subtle.

but not enough. he looked away, shaking his head as jisung smirked at him from across the room.

don’t. seungmin mouthed.

jisung grinned.

seungmin glared.

jisung winked.

seungmin threw a pen at him. (x2)

by the time evening rolled around, the three of them had managed to not study for a total of six hours.

seungmin didn’t even know how that was possible.

somewhere in between y/n stealing one of his blankets (“it’s cold, seungmo, have a heart”), jisung and y/n dramatically reenacting an entire scene from a movie (“what are we, if not cosmic dust floating in the abyss?”—“jisung, shut up”), and y/n curling up beside star again (“you’re the cutest thing in the world—yes, i mean you, star”),

seungmin had lost control of the day.

and yet.

he let it happen.

because when y/n turned her head slightly and smiled at him—genuinely, softly, with that bright look in her eyes like she was just happy to be here—

seungmin didn’t mind it at all. not one bit. soon, enough, it was right after the sun had set, and y/n, unfortunately, had to leave.

she unlocked the door to her shared dorm, pushing it open with her shoulder. the soft hum of the night filled the space as she stepped in, her body exhausted but her heart… full.

“where have you been?”

rina’s voice rang from the couch, where she was lying upside down, her head hanging off the edge as she scrolled through her phone.

aeri, sitting cross-legged on the floor with a cup of tea, smirked. “let me guess—seungmin?”

y/n shut the door behind her, pausing. “…no?”

a beat of silence. aeri and rina stared at her.

y/n groaned, kicking off her shoes. “okay, yes—but it was for the project!”

aeri snorted. “mhm. project.”

“yeah, totally.” rina rolled onto her side. “is that why you’re smiling like an idiot right now?”

“i am not—”

“you so are.”

y/n scowled, throwing a cushion at them. “shut up.”

they laughed, rina catching the cushion before sitting up properly. “seriously though, how was it?”

y/n sighed, plopping onto the couch beside her. “it was… nice.”

aeri hummed, sipping her tea. “just nice?”

“yeah. we didn’t even get much work done, honestly.”

rina raised a brow. “you didn’t get work done? that’s new.”

y/n shrugged, rubbing at her eyes. “i dunno… star was there, and jisung was being jisung, and it was just…” she trailed off, her gaze softening.

they noticed.

aeri set her mug down, tilting her head. “you really like that dog, huh?”

y/n smiled, running a hand through her hair. “yeah. a lot.”

she didn’t say more. she didn’t have to. because they both knew what she wasn’t saying.

knew how much that golden retriever meant to her.

knew how much she had worried about him for days.

and now—he was safe. with seungmin, of all people.

her stomach flipped at the thought.

“seungmin’s a good guy,” rina murmured after a moment.

y/n blinked, looking at her.

aeri nodded. “yeah. kinda stiff, but still.”

y/n huffed a small laugh. “yeah. he’s good.”

she didn’t realize she was smiling again. she didn’t realize how warm her chest felt.

she only realized when aeri and rina exchanged knowing looks.

“omg—”

“no.”

they gasped.

rina grabbed her arm. “you like him.”

“i do not—”

aeri smirked. “y/n and seungmin, sitting in a tree—”

“i will throw you out.”

they died laughing as y/n groaned, shoving her face into a pillow. her heart thumped in her chest.

god. she hated them.

but maybe, they weren’t entirely wrong.

the air was crisp. sunlight streamed through the glass windows of the university’s main hall, casting golden streaks across the floor. y/n walked in, her bag slung over her shoulder. the campus was bustling, students huddled in groups, talking, laughing, yawning from their morning exhaustion. she weaved through the crowd, searching—

“y/n!”

she turned at the sound of her name, spotting felix and hyunjin across the hall.

felix waved dramatically. “we were about to call you.”

hyunjin grinned. “where were you last night? we tried calling you.”

y/n sighed. “oh my god, not you too.”

felix perked up. “ooooh, why? who else asked?”

she immediately regretted speaking.

hyunjin gasped. “wait, wait—was it seungmin?”

y/n choked on her coffee.

felix clapped. “that’s a yes!”

“i hate you guys.”

they cackled as they walked toward their lecture hall, hyunjin slinging an arm around her shoulders. “c’mon, spill. what happened?”

y/n groaned. “nothing!”

felix wiggled his brows. “oh? you sure?”

“i will end you, lee felix.”

the university library was quiet—well, as quiet as it could be with them in it. the scent of old books mixed with the sharp aroma of coffee, and the late afternoon sun filtered through the large glass windows, casting soft, golden hues over the long study tables. dust motes floated lazily in the warm light, drifting like tiny fireflies in the still air. the heavy shelves stretched toward the ceiling, lined with worn spines and crinkled pages, whispering secrets of past knowledge. somewhere in the distance, the occasional sound of a page turning or a muffled cough punctuated the silence, but at their table, silence was a foreign concept.

y/n sat between felix and hyunjin, her open notebook filled with neatly written notes, margins lined with underlined key points and little doodles she barely remembered sketching. the steady scratch of her pen against paper was a familiar rhythm, almost meditative, yet constantly interrupted by felix's restless shifting and hyunjin's occasional, dramatic sighs. across from them, aeri was flipping through her economics textbook, brows furrowed, her highlighter hovering in hesitation before finally marking a passage in a precise, straight line. rina, on the other hand, looked far too unbothered for someone who was definitely lagging behind, sipping lazily on her iced americano, the condensation dripping onto her untouched notes. the cup left a wet ring on the paper, but she didn’t seem to care, content to simply exist in this moment of chaotic tranquility.

felix stretched his arms above his head before slumping back into his chair with an exaggerated groan, the wooden legs creaking under his weight. he adjusted his reading glasses, even though they served no real purpose beyond aesthetics. "so let me get this straight," he began, tilting his head as if the angle would somehow change the reality of the situation. "you guys have been studying for the past week and i just found out we have an assignment due tomorrow?"

hyunjin snorted, flipping his pen between his fingers with practiced ease. "lix, it was literally on the syllabus."

"who reads the syllabus?"

aeri sighed, flipping a page, her expression exasperated yet unsurprised. "people who want to pass, maybe?"

felix rolled his eyes before turning to y/n, nudging her arm with the side of his hand like an impatient child. "you’re good at this. help me."

y/n sighed dramatically, her gaze shifting from felix’s pleading expression to the scattered mess that was his notes—half-written sentences, numbers that had no business being in those equations, and a truly concerning number of crossed-out attempts. "i always help you."

"that’s ‘cause i’m your favorite."

rina leaned forward, resting her chin on her palm, a slow smirk tugging at her lips. "that’s funny, because i thought i was her favorite."

"i thought i was," hyunjin added, raising a brow.

aeri scoffed, feigning offense. "she likes me the most. y/n, tell them."

y/n stared at them all, unimpressed, tapping her pen against the edge of her notebook. "none of you are my favorite."

a beat of silence stretched between them.

"yeah 'cause it's probably seungmin now." murmured a devastated hyunjin.

felix gasped, placing a hand over his heart as if physically wounded. "how could you?"

hyunjin wiped a fake tear. "we were best friends, y/n."

aeri shook her head in disappointment. "wow. betrayal."

rina sighed, sipping her coffee with the air of someone deeply wronged. "i trusted you."

y/n groaned, rubbing her temples. "oh my god, shut up and study!"

felix pouted but leaned in closer, resting his chin on his hand. "fine. but only if you explain this." he pointed to his book, where a bunch of equations were scribbled down, some very wrong.

y/n took one glance and winced. "felix… what is that?"

"my attempt at math?"

"it looks like you just guessed."

"…isn’t that how math works?"

aeri smacked his arm with her highlighter. "no."

hyunjin burst into laughter while rina shook her head, stirring her coffee absentmindedly. "you are so hopeless."

felix whined, turning back to y/n. "okay, okay, explain it to me."

y/n sighed, but there was fondness in her voice. "alright, listen carefully…" she leaned in, grabbing a pen, and started breaking down the equations step by step, her handwriting smooth and deliberate, looping over the lined paper in a way that made even numbers look elegant. felix watched with exaggerated concentration, nodding along as if he actually understood, though his occasional side glances at hyunjin betrayed his confusion. hyunjin watched for a few seconds before stretching his arms out with a groan. "i give up. my brain hurts."

"same," rina mumbled, propping her cheek against her palm.

aeri rolled her eyes. "you guys have the attention span of goldfish."

"i have the attention span of a very smart goldfish, thank you," hyunjin corrected, tossing his pen onto his notebook with a soft clatter.

felix nodded. "same. i’m a gifted goldfish."

"omg, lixie, what if we become cute goldfish together!"

y/n groaned, pressing her forehead against the table for a dramatic moment. "yeah, actually, why don't you? the pool's in the next building!"

y/n had a talent for many things. writing poetry? check. memorizing entire songs after listening to them twice? absolutely. winning over strangers with her sunshine personality? without a doubt.

but being on time? yeah, no.

her eyes widened as she looked at the time on her phone. the numbers blinked back at her, unforgiving and merciless. oh shit indeed.

the library around her suddenly felt suffocating, the quiet hum of study murmurs and the distant shuffle of pages all blending into white noise. the golden afternoon light spilling through the windows no longer felt warm and dreamy; it was a glaring reminder of the twenty minutes that had already passed.

“oh shit.”

felix and hyunjin, who were still lounging at their study table, looked up in unison, their gazes slow and unconcerned. the contrast between their leisure and her rising panic was almost comical.

hyunjin blinked. "language."

“oh my god, i’m late!” y/n scrambled to shove her books into her tote bag, her movements frantic and chaotic. papers crumpled under the force of her hands, and in her rush, her elbow nearly knocked over the remnants of her coffee. the cup wobbled dangerously before felix, ever the observer, reached out and steadied it with a lazy hand.

“i was supposed to meet seungmin twenty minutes ago!” her voice wavered somewhere between hysteria and despair.

felix, unfazed, took a slow sip of his drink. “oh, he’s gonna murder you.”

“i know!”

hyunjin grinned, resting his chin in his palm. “do you want us to attend your funeral, or would you prefer we just remember you as you were?”

“not helping!” she hissed, yanking the strap of her bag over her shoulder with more force than necessary.

aeri, who had been listening from the next table, raised an eyebrow, her curiosity piqued. "you guys are studying again?"

y/n waved a frantic hand. "yes, but listen—i planned something. a genius plan. a brilliant plan."

felix leaned forward, intrigued, though his smirk suggested he was already expecting something ridiculous. “do tell.”

“we’re not studying in his dorm.”

hyunjin’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “then where?”

y/n’s fingers flew over her phone as she sent a frantic ‘sorry! on my way!! don’t kill me!!!’ text before looking back at them, practically vibrating with excitement.

“i thought… instead of just sitting indoors, we could take star out.” she grinned, eyes gleaming with mischief. “maybe a walk? or even better—a garden! a little picnic study session! nature, fresh air, vibes.”

felix stared at her for a long moment, then burst into laughter. "you’re just using the project as an excuse to hang out with star, aren’t you?"

“…no.”

aeri smirked, arms crossed. "uh-huh. sure. and does seungmin know?"

y/n cleared her throat, her gaze darting to the side. "…he’ll find out when we get there."

hyunjin grinned, eyes glinting with amusement. “so basically, you’re kidnapping him.”

“i prefer the term forcefully encouraging outdoor bonding time,” y/n corrected, lifting her chin in faux sophistication.

felix leaned back in his chair, his laughter still lingering in the air. “or it's more of a date.”

“okay, okay, i have to go.” y/n swung her bag over her shoulder with all the grace of someone teetering on the edge of disaster. “if i don’t text in the next hour, assume seungmin has buried me alive.”

“will do,” hyunjin said cheerfully. “good luck, kidnapper.”

y/n rolled her eyes but didn’t stop to argue. instead, she bolted out of the library, weaving between study tables and stacks of books, her hurried footsteps echoing against the quiet hush of the space. the moment she pushed through the heavy doors and into the cool evening air, her heart pounded against her ribs.

seungmin was so going to kill her. but at least he’d have to do it after their impromptu picnic.

“notice how she didn't deny about it being a date?”

y/n practically sprinted to her dorm, dodging students and weaving through the hallways like she was in an action movie. her hair whipped around her face, strands catching in the soft glow of overhead lights, and her breath came in short, determined bursts. her mind raced faster than her feet, already imagining seungmin’s unimpressed stare, his sharp eyes narrowed in something between disappointment and reluctant amusement.

she nearly crashed into rina, who had just stepped out.

“woah—where’s the fire?” she laughed, stepping aside.

“in seungmin’s eyes if i don’t get there soon!” y/n yelled, yanking open the door and rushing inside.

“told you he’d kill you one of these days.”

“yeah, yeah,” y/n huffed, throwing her tote bag onto the floor. she hurriedly grabbed her water bottle, some notebooks, and very important essentials—star’s treats, a small blanket, and, of course, snacks. rina peered into the bag, her expression knowing. "you realize you’re doing more for this dog than you did for our last project, right?"

"first of all, rude," y/n shot back, stuffing one last thing into her tote. "second of all—no time to argue, i gotta go!"

she waved lazily. "don’t get yourself murdered."

y/n barely heard her as she bolted out of the dorm, her feet pounding against the pavement, heart racing. the wind bit at her skin, but she barely noticed. she had a mission.

so, by the time y/n reached seungmin and jisung’s dorm, she was breathless, her chest rising and falling rapidly, but victorious. she knocked rapidly, shifting her tote bag from one shoulder to the other. the door swung open, revealing jisung with terribly disheveled hair, not that she judged.

“ah,” he said, arms crossed, his features alight with mischief. “so you do have a death wish.”

y/n pouted. “i apologized!”

“thirty-eight minutes late,” he pointed out, raising an eyebrow. “a bold move, considering the man inside is the seungmin.”

y/n huffed, lifting the three matcha lattes in her hand. “bribery, if you will.”

jisung’s eyes twinkled with amusement as he stepped aside. “well, in that case, welcome.”

she stepped in, spotting seungmin at his desk. he barely looked up.

“you’re late.”

“i know,” y/n whined, setting the drinks down. “i had a valid reason.”

seungmin glanced at the drinks, his lips twitching. “bribery won’t work.”

“but this bribery includes your favorite matcha latte. i brought one for you too, ji!” she grinned.

jisung nodded. “compelling argument.”

seungmin sighed but grabbed the drink. “fine. you’re forgiven. for now.”

the second y/n stepped into the hallway, her eyes immediately searched for the golden fluffball.

“star!” she gasped, dramatically dropping to her knees as if she’d been away for years.

star, in all his fluffy, golden, star-like glory, perked up at the sound of her voice, tail wagging furiously.

“oh my baby—” y/n cooed, completely ignoring seungmin as she placed her tote bag down and reached for star. he excitedly trotted toward her, his tail thumping against the floor as she cupped his face and showered him with scratches.

“i missed you so much,” she whispered against his fur, her voice soft as she ran her hands over his head and back. she checked his food bowl, peeked at his bed, and gave him a homemade treat like the concerned parent she definitely wasn’t but absolutely felt like.

seungmin, watching the whole ordeal with an unimpressed expression, sighed. “are you actually here to study or just to visit him?”

“both,” y/n shot back, still petting star. “but mostly him.”

“figures,” seungmin muttered.

“good. now, time for the next part.”

seungmin narrowed his eyes. “what next part?”

y/n blinked innocently. “oh. did i forget to mention?”

seungmin stared. “excuse me?”

jisung, watching from the couch, was thriving on the dynamic. “okay, so are you guys going now or…?”

y/n stood up suddenly and grabbed seungmin’s wrist. “yep! let’s go.”

seungmin blinked. “go where—”

“no questions.”

“so you're kidnapping me now?”

“i prefer the term ‘forcefully encouraging outdoor bonding time,’” y/n corrected.

seungmin’s deadpan stare could have melted steel.

“no.”

“yes.”

jisung, delighted, grabbed a snack. “i voted yes ages ago.”

y/n huffed. “well, too bad, seung. you’re coming whether you like it or not.” she grabbed his wrist and pulled.

seungmin groaned. “i hate this already.”

“no, you don’t.”

“…no, i don’t.”

jisung waved. “have fun, lovebirds.”

“say that to my face when i come back to you and minho making out on the couch.”

“um, is privacy just a concept now???” jisung's eyes widened and he almost fell off the couch from the remark. “leave us alone!”

and just like that, she was dragging him forward, with star happily trotting beside them.

seungmin let himself be pulled (because, really, what other choice did he have?) as jisung waved them off. as they stepped outside, y/n grinned triumphantly. she was taking seungmin and star on a picnic.

call it a date, if you want to.

this was a win, either way.

the streets were alive with the hum of the noon—the soft chatter of pedestrians, the occasional honk of a distant car, the faint rustle of leaves as the wind carried whispers through the trees. the golden hour painted the world in warmth.

seungmin shoved his hands in his pockets as y/n led the way, walking slightly ahead with star. the breeze tugged at the loose strands of her hair, lifting them gently as if the wind itself were playing along. she was practically bouncing on her feet, occasionally turning back to look at seungmin with the biggest, most childlike grin ever.

he hated how cute it was. star trotted beside her, his tail wagging as he happily sniffed the air. the scent of freshly baked bread from a nearby café mixed with the subtle fragrance of damp earth, the aftermath of a brief afternoon drizzle. y/n giggled, reaching down to scratch star’s head.

“you’re such a good boy, you know that?” she cooed, her voice soft. “you deserve all the happiness in the world, my baby.”

seungmin raised an eyebrow. “i hope you know you’ve just activated his ‘spoiled prince’ mode.”

y/n shot him a look. “excuse me? star deserves to be treated like royalty.”

“he’s literally been in my dorm for one day, and he already walks around like he owns the place.”

“that’s right, baby, you’re the king. own it.”

seungmin muttered something under his breath, but he couldn’t hide the amused look in his eyes.

they turned a corner, walking past a row of small cafés. the air carried hints of roasted coffee beans and sweet pastries, the kind of scents that made everything feel a little warmer, a little cozier. y/n pointed at one of them.

“oh! that’s where felix and i go for late-night coffee runs.”

“late-night coffee runs? you mean ‘let’s see how much caffeine we can consume before death’ runs?”

“how dare you? we are simply connoisseurs of the fine art that is coffee appreciation.”

“you’re addicts.”

“you sound like aeri.”

“well, maybe aeri is right.”

“betrayal. i trusted you.”

“you trust way too easily.”

“that’s called being nice, seungmin.”

“more like being reckless.”

y/n stuck her tongue out at him. “you’re just mad because i forced you outside.”

“i am mad,” seungmin deadpanned. “i was perfectly fine at home, but no, you had to drag me into the world of socializing and fresh air.”

“fresh air is good for you.”

“no, staying inside and avoiding people is good for me.”

y/n snorted. “you are such a grandpa.”

seungmin side-eyed her. “and you are such a child.”

“and yet, here you are, following a said child to a picnic.”

seungmin sighed, looking up at the sky. “this is my life now.”

y/n just laughed, swinging their hands slightly before realizing what she was doing and immediately letting go.

seungmin didn’t say anything. they reached a quieter street, lined with trees. the golden hour made everything glow, and y/n looked at the street, eyes sparkling.

“it’s so pretty,” she murmured.

y/n suddenly turned to him, her expression soft. “aren’t you glad i dragged you out now?”

seungmin glanced at her, taking in the way her eyes shone in the golden light, the way she absentmindedly reached down to scratch behind star’s ear, the way she looked so effortlessly happy.

he sighed. “i guess it’s not that bad.”

y/n grinned. “that’s the closest thing to a compliment i’ll ever get from you, huh?”

“correct.”

she giggled, and they walked on, letting the peaceful evening carry them forward.

the park was bathed in golden sunlight by the time they arrived, the grass glowing under the warmth of the late afternoon. the blades swayed gently with the occasional breeze, casting playful shadows over the earth. the air smelled of sun-warmed leaves and the faint perfume of wildflowers that lined the walking paths. birds flitted between branches, their soft chirping blending seamlessly with the rustling of leaves. in the distance, laughter and chatter wove into the afternoon air—people jogging along the winding trails, couples lounging on picnic blankets, and children chasing soccer balls with delighted squeals.

but for y/n, it was perfect. a vast, open space. fresh air. the scent of flowers. and most importantly—star.

“finally!” y/n cheered, practically skipping onto the grass as she let go of seungmin’s wrist and crouched down.

“star! you’re free! run, my love, run!” she dramatically spoke.

the dog, catching onto the excitement, let out a happy bark and dashed across the field. his golden fur shimmered under the sunlight as he zoomed in circles, his ears flopping with every movement. the grass bent beneath his paws, tiny petals bursting into the air where he ran.

seungmin exhaled, rubbing his temples. “i feel like i’m babysitting two creatures at once.”

y/n shot him a playful glare. “excuse you. i am a fully functional human being.”

seungmin crossed his arms. “are you? because i just watched you sprint into the park like a five-year-old.”

“i am excited, seungmin! let me live!” y/n huffed, standing up straight and placing her hands on her hips. “look at him. look at my son being all happy.”

seungmin followed her gaze, watching as star excitedly sniffed around, kicking up grass with his paws. he had to admit—watching the dog so free and joyful was kind of… nice. the late sunlight glowed against star’s fur, a halo of gold against the soft green of the park.

y/n, noticing seungmin’s soft expression, nudged him. “see? this is fun. you’re having fun, aren’t you?”

seungmin scoffed. “i'll have fun when we finish our project.”

y/n gasped dramatically. “you love star. you love spending time outside with me. you just don’t wanna admit it.”

seungmin turned to her, deadpan. “i tolerate you at best.”

y/n smirked. “mm-hmm, sure, mr. ‘i secretly enjoy this but will never admit it.’”

seungmin ignored her, crouching down and clicking his tongue. “star, come here.”

star, tail wagging, instantly ran over to seungmin. y/n watched in amusement as seungmin gently patted the dog’s head, scratching behind his ears.

“wow,” y/n teased, arms crossed. “you really are a softie.”

“i am not,” seungmin retorted.

“oh, you so are,” y/n giggled, dropping down beside them. she reached out, rubbing star’s belly as he flopped onto the grass.

for a moment, the world was quiet—just the sound of birds, the occasional laughter of kids in the distance, and the rustling of leaves in the wind. and then, unexpectedly, seungmin chuckled.

it was soft—barely there—but y/n heard it.

she turned her head quickly, eyes turning into little crescents as she smiled, looking at the guy while he pet star.

“your smile is adorable, you know,”

“can we go and actually study now?” seungmin insisted, turning away.

y/n grinned mischievously. “seungmin has a pretty smile, confirmed.”

seungmin rolled his eyes. “shut up.”

“make me.”

seungmin shot her a look. “do you want me to throw you in a bush?”

“you wouldn’t dare.”

seungmin smirked. “test me.”

y/n, still grinning, turned back to star, petting his fur. she didn’t push further, but something about this moment—seungmin smiling, actually enjoying himself—made her heart feel… warm.

then, after what felt like forever of running around with star, playing fetch, and letting him explore every flower patch in sight, they finally settled under a large oak tree. the bark was rough against their backs, but the shade was cool, offering a soft reprieve from the sun’s golden heat.

seungmin stretched his legs out, pulling out his laptop. “alright. now can we actually get to work?”

y/n sat cross-legged across from him, her notebook and a takeout cup in front of her. “yes, yes, fine.”

seungmin raised an eyebrow. “you say that, but you’re still petting star.”

y/n froze mid-pat. “…okay, maybe i have a problem.”

seungmin sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “you definitely have a problem.”

still, he opened his laptop, scanning through the project notes. y/n followed along—at least, she tried to. but every few minutes, she found herself glancing at star, who was now napping beside them, his head resting on her thigh. he noticed.

“y/n.”

“hm?”

“you’re not paying attention.”

y/n blinked. “what? yes, i am.”

seungmin gave her an unimpressed look. “oh yeah? what did i just say?”

y/n panicked. “uh. something about, businesses..?”

seungmin sighed. “you’re impossible.”

y/n pouted. “look, i am listening, but how can i not admire this beautiful creature sleeping on my lap?”

seungmin side-eyed star. “yeah, yeah, he’s adorable. now focus.” y/n huffed, reluctantly turning back to her notes.

for a while, they actually worked—throwing around ideas, writing down key points, and organizing their research.

at some point, though, y/n noticed the way seungmin’s brows furrowed when he was focused, how he tapped his fingers against his laptop absentmindedly. and more than once, seungmin caught y/n just staring at him.

“what?” he finally asked, raising an eyebrow.

y/n shook her head. “nothing.”

seungmin narrowed his eyes. “are you admiring me now?”

y/n scoffed. “you look peaceful when you're reading.”

seungmin just blinked. “well.. i'm reading.”

they continued working, but there was something different now—something softer in the air. subtle things.

like how y/n adjusted star’s sleeping position carefully so he’d be more comfortable. like how seungmin absentmindedly handed y/n her coffee when he noticed she hadn’t taken a sip in a while.

like how their shoulders would brush every now and then, neither of them pulling away. it was all so small, yet it lingered.

and when the sun dipped lower, when the air got a little cooler, when the world felt quieter, y/n found herself thinking—

maybe this wasn’t so bad after all.

“star, come back, you little menace!” she giggled, barely able to keep up.

seungmin, standing a few feet away with his hands in his pockets, watched the scene unfold with an unreadable expression. his gaze flickered between y/n’s bright, joyful smile and the way star eagerly circled around her, tail wagging furiously.

it was ridiculous, how happy they looked together. ridiculous, and maybe a little… endearing.

star, realizing he was being chased, took that as an invitation to run even faster, his paws kicking up little tufts of grass.

“seungmin!” y/n called, breathless. “help me!”

seungmin sighed. “you brought this upon yourself.”

y/n pouted dramatically. “rude.”

still, seungmin finally crouched down and clicked his tongue, calling for star. instantly, the golden retriever skidded to a stop, his ears perking up as he sprinted toward seungmin instead.

y/n gasped, stopping in her tracks. “traitor!”

seungmin smirked as star practically crashed into him, licking his face. “i guess he likes me better.”

y/n stomped over, hands on her hips. “he does not!”

seungmin wiped his face with his sleeve. “he literally abandoned you for me.”

y/n huffed, flopping onto the grass beside him. star immediately lay down between them, tongue lolling out in content.

“fine,” she said dramatically. “maybe he likes you a little bit.”

seungmin raised an eyebrow. “wow. high praise.”

y/n stuck her tongue out at him before turning her attention back to star. she rubbed his belly, murmuring sweet nonsense as he wagged his tail in delight.

the moment was peaceful. warm. the kind of easy happiness that made time feel slower.

until—

a blur of brown and white fur came bounding toward them, yapping excitedly.

another dog, a lot smaller than star, skidded to a stop right in front of them. her fur was a mix of ginger-brown and cream, her ears flopping as she wagged her tail in excitement.

“oh?” y/n blinked, watching as the new dog sniffed star curiously.

before seungmin could react, a voice called out.

“berry! berry, you little gremlin, get back here!”

a guy—tall, broad-shouldered, dressed in casual sweats—ran toward them, slightly out of breath, his australian accent quite evident. his curly hair was ruffled from the wind, and he had a charming, easygoing smile as he stopped a few feet away.

“oh man, i’m so sorry,” he said, hands on his knees as he caught his breath. “she just—she loves meeting other dogs.”

y/n, already grinning, waved him off. “no worries! star’s the exact same.”

the guy straightened, flashing a sheepish smile. “yeah? that’s good. she’s too friendly sometimes.” he gestured toward the excitable golden retriever, who was now playfully nudging star’s side. “her name’s berry.”

y/n gasped. “that is the cutest name ever.”

the guy laughed, clearly amused. “you think so? i was kinda worried it was too cutesy, but she looks like a little berry, so it stuck.”

seungmin, who had been standing quietly the whole time, resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

this guy is too friendly.

and y/n is too easily charmed.

“i’m chris, by the way,” the guy continued, offering a hand.

“y/n!” she shook his hand enthusiastically. “and this is seungmin.” she nudged seungmin’s arm. “say hi.”

seungmin sighed. “hi.”

chris chuckled. “nice to meet you two.”

seungmin nodded stiffly, before deciding to step back, returning to where their books were laid out under the tree.

y/n, completely unaware of the shift in his mood, continued chatting.

“so how old is berry?” she asked, scratching behind the pup’s ears.

“just over nine! she's been an amazing girl.” chris crouched down beside her, watching as berry and star playfully tumbled over each other. “she’s usually tired but still excited, though.”

y/n laughed. “oh, she's adorable. star has the energy of a child with unlimited sugar intake.”

chris snorted. “that’s the best kind, though.”

seungmin, from where he sat, clicked his tongue.

what’s so funny? what’s so interesting?

he tried to focus on his notes, but his mind kept drifting back to y/n’s voice—bright and animated as she talked to this guy like they’d known each other forever.

it was annoying. not that he cared. of course not.

except he did. a little. maybe. a tiny bit.

“seung!” y/n called suddenly, snapping him out of his thoughts. “come back here! your kid's making a new friend, and you’re missing it!”

seungmin sighed, shutting his laptop a little too aggressively.

when he walked back over, y/n gave him a big, innocent grin. “welcome back. did you miss us?”

seungmin looked at her. then at chris. then at the two dogs playing.

“no.”

y/n laughed, nudging him with her elbow. “liar.”

seungmin sighed, shaking his head. he hated how she could read him so easily.

chris, still petting berry, smiled. “you guys come here often?”

“sometimes, alone though. he just adopted star two days ago.” y/n chirped. “seungmin and i have a project, but i lowkey tricked him into coming here instead of the library.”

chris laughed. “genius.”

seungmin groaned. “please don’t encourage her.”

chris just grinned. “i mean, i get it. if my friend tried to make me study in a library instead of chilling outside with pups? i’d revolt.”

y/n gasped, dramatically placing a hand over her heart. “seungmin! you hear that?! i am validated!”

seungmin stared blankly. “i am regretting my life choices.”

chris chuckled. “well, if you guys ever wanna do another dog hangout, berry and i are around a lot.” he reached into his pocket, pulling out his phone. “here, y/n, you should give me your number. we can plan something.”

seungmin nearly choked.

y/n, completely oblivious to the way seungmin visibly tensed, beamed. “oooh, yes, of course! looks like our dogs are already friends.” she quickly typed her number into chris’s phone, and seungmin felt a very unreasonable surge of irritation.

chris stood, grinning. “cool. see you guys around!” as he walked away, berry gave star one last playful nudge before trotting off after her owner.

the moment they were out of earshot, seungmin exhaled.

y/n, grinning, turned to him. “that was fun, huh?”

seungmin raised an eyebrow. “you gave a random guy your number.”

“he’s not random! he has a dog, seungmin. that makes him automatically trustworthy.”

“that is the worst logic i’ve ever heard.”

y/n just laughed, bumping her shoulder against his. “you’re cute when you sulk, you know.”

seungmin scoffed. “i do not sulk.”

y/n just smirked. “mmm-hmm.”

seungmin rolled his eyes, but as they sat back down under the tree, watching star flop into the grass with a content sigh, he found himself almost smiling.

almost.

so with chris and berry gone, and star finally exhausted from his zoomies, seungmin and y/n settled back under the tree where their books, laptops, and coffee cups were scattered. ☆, now thoroughly worn out, plopped onto the grass with a deep, satisfied sigh, his golden fur catching the sunlight. he lay near y/n’s side, occasionally shifting to rest his head on her lap as she absentmindedly scratched behind his ears.

seungmin, on the other hand, was busy flipping through pages of notes, fingers tapping against his knee. he had somehow ended up with y/n’s pink highlighter, and though he’d never admit it, he kind of liked the contrast of bright neon ink against his otherwise meticulously organized notes.

“well,” y/n stretched, her head tilting back as she groaned dramatically, “we have two days to get this done. two. days. and i still have, like, 40% of the work left.”

seungmin glanced up. “you should be worried, but you don’t look worried.”

she grinned. “because i have you to keep me on track.”

he blinked, unamused. “i regret letting you meet my dog.”

y/n gasped. “excuse me? star was mine first.”

seungmin smirked, tapping the back of his pen against his notebook. “i literally signed the adoption papers. he’s mine now.”

y/n pouted, leaning down to rest her cheek against star’s fur. “baby, did you hear that? your so-called dad is so mean.”

star wagged his tail once but didn’t move.

seungmin scoffed, but there was something fond in the way he looked at her.

“anyway,” he said, flipping a page. “we need to get through at least two sections today if we don’t wanna pull an all-nighter before submission.”

y/n sat up, pushing her hair behind her ears. “alright, alright. time to be productive.”

for a few minutes, it was actually quiet. seungmin explained a concept, y/n listened, asked questions, and for a rare moment, she was focused.

and then— star stretched, rolling onto his back with his paws in the air.

y/n immediately melted, again.

“oh my god,” she whispered, “he’s so cute.”

seungmin closed his eyes, inhaling sharply. “y/n—”

“just look at him!” she gushed, putting her laptop aside to rub star’s belly. “how am i supposed to study when this exists?”

seungmin pinched the bridge of his nose. “you dragged me here for a study session and now you’re the one getting distracted.”

y/n pouted. “i can’t help it!”

seungmin let out a slow exhale before leaning forward to flick her forehead.

“ow—hey!” y/n rubbed the spot he’d flicked, looking betrayed.

“focus,” he said, smirking.

y/n narrowed her eyes but sighed, reluctantly returning to her notes.

minutes passed. then an hour.

despite her initial distractions, y/n actually did well. she caught up on most of the sections she had been behind on, taking notes diligently while seungmin occasionally tested her on concepts.

somewhere between paragraphs and equations, their coffee cups ran empty, and star dozed off beside y/n, his soft snores blending into the comfortable silence.

when the sunlight softened into afternoon hues, y/n stretched again, cracking her back dramatically.

“i think we actually made progress,” she said, sounding surprised.

seungmin glanced at her, amused. “you doubted me?”

“i doubted me,” she corrected. “you, on the other hand, are like an annoyingly effective tutor.”

he smirked. “annoying but effective. i’ll take it.”

she snorted.

then, after a beat, she turned to him with a softer expression.

“thanks for today,” she said.

seungmin blinked. “for… studying?”

“well, yeah,” she shrugged, “but also for letting me see star. and for putting up with my distractions.”

he glanced away for a second, pretending to focus on closing his laptop. “it’s fine. you were less annoying than usual.”

y/n gasped. “seungmin. was that… a compliment?”

he groaned. “forget i said anything.”

but y/n just giggled, nudging his shoulder.

. . .

with the study session wrapping up, y/n shut her notebook and stretched, arms reaching towards the sky as she let out a satisfied sigh.

“i think my brain is officially fried,” she declared, flopping back onto the cool grass.

seungmin rolled his eyes, finishing up his notes. “you always say that after studying for an hour.”

“that’s because my brain isn’t built for intense academic labor.”

“yeah? what is it built for?”

y/n hummed, glancing at the sky. “talking. music. daydreaming. falling in love with random fictional characters—”

seungmin scoffed. “should’ve figured.”

y/n giggled, turning to her side to look at him. “what about you? you’re a music major, right?”

he nodded. “yeah.”

“so, you like music?”

he blinked at her. “no, y/n, i hate it. that’s why i chose to major in it.”

she snorted. “okay, i get it. but like… do you just sing, or do you compose too?”

seungmin hesitated, eyes flickering to the grass as he picked at the hem of his sleeve. “…i write, too.”

y/n’s eyes widened. “wait, really?”

“that’s so cool,” she grinned. “what kind of stuff do you write?”

he glanced away, pretending to be uninterested, but there was a faint pink dusting his ears. “it depends.”

“depends on what?”

“…on the mood.”

y/n tilted her head. “like, do you write sad songs when you’re sad?”

“sometimes.”

“and happy songs when you’re happy?”

seungmin exhaled a laugh. “yeah, something like that.”

y/n hummed in thought before sitting up, crossing her legs. “can i hear something someday?”

he turned to her, eyebrows raised. “you wanna hear my songs?”

“well, yeah,” she said like it was obvious. “if you wrote them, they must be good.”

seungmin looked at her for a moment, slightly taken aback.

it wasn’t that he hid his music, but he also never had someone be this… interested.

y/n, on the other hand, seemed genuinely eager. her brown eyes sparkled with curiosity, her black curls catching the golden sunlight as she leaned in slightly.

“…maybe one day,” he finally said.

she gasped, dramatically placing a hand on her heart. “did i just get kim seungmin to agree to something?”

he rolled his eyes. “regretfully.”

y/n laughed, the sound soft and warm, blending into the lazy afternoon air.

then, after a beat, she asked, “so, when did you start writing?”

seungmin hesitated, staring at the ground for a second before answering. “…high school, i guess.”

“because you liked it?”

“because i needed to.”

y/n’s playful grin softened. “needed to?”

he sighed, leaning back on his hands. “…it was just an outlet, i guess.”

y/n nodded, understanding. “music’s like that, huh? the way it can say what words can’t.”

seungmin turned to her, surprised. “…yeah.”

for a second, they just looked at each other.

the breeze was soft, rustling through the leaves, and the golden afternoon light framed y/n’s face perfectly.

seungmin swallowed.

she was—

“…anyway!” y/n broke the silence, grinning again. “do you have a favorite song you’ve written?”

he blinked, shaking off whatever that thought was. “not really.”

“what? no way.”

he smirked. “i don’t.”

“well, what’s your most recent one about?”

he hesitated, the corner of his lips twitching. “wouldn’t you like to know?”

y/n groaned. “you are so annoying.”

“you’re the one asking questions.”

“because i wanna know you!” she huffed.

seungmin stilled.

y/n blinked, realizing how that sounded, and quickly scrambled to fix it. “i mean, like—! not in a weird way! just in a ‘we’re friends and i’m curious’ way—”

seungmin chuckled, amused at her sudden flustered state.

her face was slightly red, lips pursed, avoiding his gaze.

and he—

…was noticing too much.

clearing his throat, he glanced away, staring at star, who was now lazily sprawled across the grass, napping.

“…it was about wanting something you can’t have,” he finally said.

y/n turned back to him, blinking. “what?”

“the last song i wrote,” he said, not looking at her. “it was about that.”

y/n tilted her head. “oh…”

silence.

“…like a person.. or a thing?”

seungmin’s jaw tensed. “something like that.”

y/n’s lips parted slightly, but she didn’t push.

instead, she smiled gently. “well, if you ever wanna share, i’d love to hear it.”

seungmin glanced at her.

she meant it.

it was in the way her voice softened, the way her eyes held nothing but warmth.

“…yeah,” he muttered, looking away. “maybe.”

y/n grinned. “i’ll hold you to that.”

seungmin exhaled, shaking his head, but the corner of his lips twitched.

and as the afternoon stretched on, filled with more questions, quiet laughter, and stolen glances—

he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was shifting.

the golden hues of the afternoon had softened into a dusky warmth, but neither of them had moved from their spot. the books had been closed a while ago, pushed aside, making way for idle chatter and occasional banter. star was still sprawled across the grass, now lazily flicking his tail in his sleep.

y/n reached for her matcha latte without thinking, bringing it to her lips as she listened to seungmin talk.

“so, basically, jisung thought he was auditioning for a singing position but it was actually for theatre,” seungmin smirked, recalling the tragic yet hilarious memory.

y/n, mid-sip, choked on her drink. “what?!”

seungmin watched as she coughed, eyes wide in disbelief.

“you’re telling me he— he accidentally signed up for a theatre audition? how does one confuse that..”

“oh yeah.” seungmin nodded, crossing his arms. “i swear, i’ve never seen him improvise so fast. he ended up just… dramatically narrating the lyrics to some song.”

y/n wheezed. “please tell me there’s a video.”

“there is.”

“i need to see it.”

“we all do,” seungmin sighed. “but it’s buried in the archives of shame.”

y/n wiped the corner of her mouth, shaking her head. “jisung is actually insane.”

seungmin hummed in agreement, watching as she absentmindedly took another sip of matcha.

it took him approximately three seconds to realize—

that wasn’t her drink.

it was his.

his eyes flickered between the cup in her hand and his own, which was still sitting untouched beside him.

for a split second, he considered telling her—maybe teasing her for it.

but instead—

he said nothing.

maybe it was because she looked so natural, holding it like it had always been hers. or maybe it was the way she kept laughing, completely unaware of the fact that she had just—

whatever.

it didn’t bother him.

which was weird.

but before he could overthink it, y/n placed the cup back down, already moving to stretch.

“i need to move,” she groaned, standing up. “my legs are gonna cramp.”

seungmin leaned back on his hands. “what, so you’re just gonna run away?”

“not run,” she corrected, dramatically dusting off her jeans. “just gonna go play with my favorite boy in the world.”

seungmin raised a brow. “i’m right here.”

“i meant star, you nerdy narcissist.”

seungmin scoffed, shaking his head as he watched her crouch beside the golden retriever, gently running her fingers through his fur.

“cute.” there was a mumble.

star blinked up at her sleepily before sighing, dramatically rolling onto his back.

y/n gasped. “oh my god. you are so adorable.”

seungmin exhaled, his gaze lingering.

there was something about the way she was—so effortlessly warm, so naturally affectionate.

the way her eyes softened when she looked at star. the way she giggled when he licked her cheek. the way she—

“…min, look!”

he blinked, snapping out of his thoughts as y/n turned to him, beaming.

“what?”

she pointed at star, who was now trying to hold her hand between his paws.

seungmin huffed out a small laugh. “yeah, yeah. he likes you.”

“like???” y/n scoffed. “loves. he loves me.”

seungmin rolled his eyes, pushing himself up from the grass and walking over to them.

as he approached, star wagged his tail excitedly, shifting his attention to him.

“see?” y/n grinned. “he loves you, too.”

seungmin crouched down, scratching star behind the ears. “obviously. who wouldn’t?”

y/n shot him an unimpressed look. “you have no shame.”

he smirked. “why would i?”

y/n groaned, flopping onto the grass dramatically.

star, thrilled by her sudden movement, barked before immediately climbing on top of her.

“wait, no—!” y/n squeaked.

seungmin stood over them, arms crossed. “this is hilarious.”

“help me, you traitor!”

he shrugged. “nah, you’re his favorite, right? deal with it.”

y/n glared at him through a mess of golden fur, breathless from laughing.

and seungmin—

he noticed it again.

the way her cheeks were flushed. the way her curls were sprawled against the grass. the way—

“…oh my god, is this your revenge?” y/n gasped.

seungmin snapped out of it. “what?”

“you planned this.” she squinted at him, grinning. “you trained star to betray me.”

he snorted. “yeah, because i totally trained a dog i adopted yesterday.”

“exactly!”

he rolled his eyes. “you’re insane.”

“thank you.”

with that, she finally managed to wriggle out from under star, sitting up and dusting off her clothes.

star happily plopped his head onto her lap, sighing contently.

y/n smiled, running her fingers through his fur.

and seungmin—

he exhaled, sitting beside them.

he didn’t get it.

didn’t understand why—

why it was so easy to be here, with her.

why it was so easy to look.

but for some reason—

he didn’t mind figuring it out.

soon, the sky had started shifting into deeper shades of indigo, the golden warmth of the sun melting into something softer, quieter. they hadn’t moved from their spot under the tree, their books still scattered on the blanket beneath them, long forgotten. star had long since worn himself out from his zoomies, only to reawaken with another surge of energy, bolting across the grass like a streak of gold.

y/n had her knees tucked up to her chest, her chin resting lazily atop them, watching the dog with the kind of fondness that made something in seungmin’s chest tighten.

“you do realize you’re going to be his favorite person for life, right?” she mused, glancing at him with a knowing smile.

seungmin, leaning back on his hands, scoffed. “he better be loyal.”

she gasped dramatically. “loyal? seungmin, that’s a dog. of course he's loyal.”

he laughed, tilting his head. “yeah?”

y/n exhaled, flopping onto her back. “yeah.”

“finally,” he hummed, shifting to look down at her, “it seems you're tired.”

she lifted a hand, flicking his forehead. “against my will.”

seungmin chuckled under his breath, rubbing the spot absentmindedly. “right. that’s why you’ve been making it your life’s mission to barge into my dorm every day like a ray of sunshine.”

y/n opened her mouth to argue, but no words came out. she clamped it shut, lips pressing into a line.

seungmin smirked. “that’s what i thought.”

“you’re so annoying,” she grumbled, turning her head away.

“yet you’re still here.”

“stop repeating that!”

his laugh was warm, effortless.

the silence that followed was comfortable—easy in the way that it lingered without pressure, stretching between them as the wind stirred through the leaves above. the distant sounds of the park continued—laughter, conversation, the occasional bark—but between them, the world was quiet.

y/n was still lying on her back, her eyes tracing the deepening hues of the sky. seungmin sat beside her, his gaze naturally drawn to her profile—the soft curve of her lips, the gentle rise and fall of her chest. his hand rested against the blanket, fingers idly toying with the hem. he wasn’t entirely sure why he was still looking, but something about the way she was bathed in fading light made it impossible to glance away.

“do you ever just…” y/n’s voice was softer now, thoughtful. “feel so full of something but don’t know what to do with it?”

seungmin stilled.

“…what kind of ‘something’?”

she exhaled slowly. “like…” she turned her head, meeting his gaze. “something warm.”

his fingers curled slightly against the fabric beneath him.

warm.

he knew that feeling. he’d been feeling it this entire time.

a slow, deliberate kind of warmth. the kind that sneaks up on you and settles beneath your skin. the kind that lingers, even when you’re trying not to think about it.

“yeah,” he murmured, his voice quieter than before.

y/n’s lips parted slightly, her eyes searching his.

he didn’t know who moved first.

maybe it was her—her breath hitching as she leaned ever so slightly closer.

maybe it was him—the way his hand lifted, fingers grazing against her wrist, tentative but not hesitant.

maybe it was something neither of them could name, something inevitable. all he knew was that when their lips met, the world stopped.

it was soft at first, unhurried—like a quiet realization unfolding in real time. her lips were warm, plush, molding against his in a way that sent a slow, curling heat through his veins. he could feel the tentative way she responded, the hesitation melting away as she pressed closer. his hand moved on instinct, cupping the side of her face, his thumb brushing against the delicate skin of her cheek.

and then—

she sighed against him.

and something in seungmin broke.

the kiss deepened, slow and intoxicating, the warmth between them turning into something more. his fingers slid into her hair, tilting her head as he kissed her deeper, tasting the faint remnants of matcha on her tongue. her hands gripped his sleeves, clutching onto him like she wasn’t sure she’d ever let go.

a slow drag of lips. the slide of warmth. the gentle push and pull, like a silent conversation in a language only they understood.

she made a soft sound—a quiet, involuntary sigh against his mouth—and seungmin groaned, his grip tightening. in one swift motion, he pulled her into his lap, his arms wrapping securely around her.

she gasped against him, fingers gripping his collar now, knuckles white.

seungmin barely pulled away, his breath mingling with hers. “okay?”

y/n nodded, dazed, her lips already parting for him again.

and so he kissed her again, deeper this time, slower, more deliberate. like he was savoring it. like he wanted to memorize the way she felt against him. the warmth of her. the way her lips yielded so easily to his. the way she sighed when he angled his head just right. he was good at this—really good at this. she could feel it in the way he moved, the way he knew exactly how to kiss her like he had all the time in the world.

it was dizzying.

overwhelming.

addicting.

when they finally pulled away, y/n was breathless, her cheeks burning. seungmin exhaled slowly, his thumb brushing against her cheekbone. she looked adorable. her lips were pink, slightly swollen, her eyes half-lidded and dazed.

“wow,” she whispered.

seungmin smirked. “yeah?”

y/n blinked, nodding furiously. “yeah.”

he chuckled, pressing his forehead against hers. “good.”

for a moment, they just breathed, the weight of what had just happened settling between them.

then—

a sudden blur of gold zoomed past them. they both turned just in time to see star bolting across the grass, his tail wagging so fast it was a blur.

seungmin sighed, rubbing his temple. “of course.”

y/n, still dazed, let out a giggle, her fingers still curled loosely around his collar. “guess he approves.”

seungmin rolled his eyes, but the corners of his lips twitched upward. “yeah, yeah.”

y/n bit her lip, looking down at him. her gaze flickered to his lips. seungmin caught it. his smirk widened.

“you so wanna kiss me again.”

y/n shoved his shoulder. “shut up.”

he laughed, his arms still around her. “you’re not even denying it.”

y/n groaned, burying her face into his shoulder. “shut up.”

seungmin just grinned, his fingers slipping back into her hair.

yeah. this warmth? he could get used to it.

they stayed like that for a while, tangled in the warmth of each other, the air still thick with something unnamed yet understood. neither of them moved immediately—not because they didn’t know what to do next, but because this was nice. the weight of her against him, the slow rhythm of their breaths, the way their fingers stayed lightly curled in each other’s clothes as if neither was quite ready to let go.

eventually, though, reality had to set in.

y/n exhaled, shifting slightly in his lap, her fingers still resting on the collar of his hoodie. “we should probably… y’know.”

seungmin hummed, making no move to let go. “should we?”

she narrowed her eyes, giving him a half-hearted glare. “don’t be annoying.”

he smirked. “i literally can’t help it.”

rolling her eyes, she lightly flicked his forehead before pushing herself up, and immediately regretted it. her legs were numb, her heart was still racing, and the moment she was standing, she suddenly realized—

we just kissed.

the weight of it hit her all over again, sinking into her skin, making her stomach twist in a way she couldn’t quite place. seungmin was still sitting, looking obnoxiously unbothered, like he didn’t just leave her completely breathless. she huffed under her breath, brushing imaginary dust off her sleeves.

meanwhile, seungmin watched her, eyes sharp, amused. he could see the way she was avoiding his gaze, could see the way her fingers twitched, adjusting her sleeves.

it was cute.

“something wrong?” he asked, voice laced with amusement.

she snapped her gaze to him, lips parting, face slightly pink. “huh? no! why would anything be wrong?”

seungmin’s smirk widened. “mhm.”

“i—” she huffed, crossing her arms. “you’re so annoying, i swear.”

he finally stood, stretching his arms above his head before stuffing his hands into his pockets. “and yet…”

y/n groaned. “seungmin.”

he chuckled, glancing at her before tilting his head toward the scattered books. “c’mon, let’s pack up.”

she nodded, relieved for the momentary escape from the weight of that kiss. but even as they gathered their books, even as she stuffed her things into her tote bag, she could still feel it. the warmth, the way he held her, the slow press of his lips against hers.

she turned her back to him, biting her lip to keep herself from grinning like an idiot.

seungmin noticed. he definitely noticed. but he didn’t say anything.

instead, he grabbed her unfinished matcha latte—the one that had started all this in the first place. without thinking, he lifted it to his lips, taking a sip. and y/n, ever the observant one, immediately noticed.

her eyes widened. “did you just—”

he raised a brow. “what?”

“that’s mine.”

seungmin blinked, licking his lips, as if only now realizing. then, he shrugged. “you drank from mine first.”

y/n’s face turned red. he smirked.

flustered, she grabbed her bag, whistled for star, and stormed off in the direction of the dorms. seungmin let out a soft laugh before following.

. . .

the walk back was… not awkward. but not not awkward.

there was something lingering in the air between them, something unspoken, something charged. y/n found herself hyperaware of everything—the distance between them, the way their hands occasionally brushed, the sound of their footsteps on the pavement.

seungmin, for once, wasn’t teasing her.

that, more than anything, made her nervous. she risked a glance at him. he was walking with his hands still in his pockets, eyes ahead, looking as relaxed as ever. if anything, he looked… deep in thought.

“seungmin.”

he turned his head. “hm?”

she hesitated. “are you—are you being weird?”

his lips twitched. “what does that even mean?”

“i don’t know,” she groaned, hugging her tote bag closer. “you’re quiet. you’re never quiet.”

he gave her a look. “i am quiet.”

“not around me.”

seungmin exhaled through his nose, looking away. “…i guess i’m just thinking.”

y/n frowned slightly. “thinking about what?”

he shrugged. “stuff.”

she narrowed her eyes. “what kind of stuff?”

at that, he glanced at her, meeting her gaze for a moment too long. “you.”

y/n’s breath hitched. her face burned.

seungmin looked back ahead, as if he hadn’t just casually said something that made her entire body short-circuit. she opened her mouth. closed it. opened it again. closed it again.

seungmin smirked to himself. they kept walking.

by the time they reached his dorm, the air was slightly less charged, but only because y/n had started rambling about how star needed a new toy collection. she was already planning an entire schedule for star—days when she’d take him out, what treats she’d bake, whether she should get him a sweater for when it got colder.

seungmin just listened, hands in his pockets, nodding occasionally.

when they reached the door, y/n turned to him, rocking on her heels. “so… see you tomorrow?”

seungmin leaned against the doorframe, tilting his head. “you’re not barging in again?”

she pouted. “am i that annoying?”

seungmin’s gaze flickered to her lips for a split second before he smirked. “nah.”

her heart did a thing. she quickly looked away. “okay, well. goodnight, seungmin.”

“ ‘night, y/n.”

she turned, starting down the hall, feeling a little lighter. just as she reached the end, she heard his voice.

“hey, y/n.”

she stopped. looked over her shoulder. “yeah?”

seungmin shoved his hands further into his pockets. for a moment, he just looked at her. then, with a slow, knowing smirk—

“sweet dreams.” and then he shut the door.

y/n stood there. processing. then, with an exasperated groan, she spun on her heel and stormed toward her own dorm.

her face was burning. seungmin, on the other side of the door, chuckled under his breath.

yeah. this was definitely going to be fun.

soon, y/n barely had time to recover from seungmin’s stupid smirk before she opened her dorm door and was immediately met with a chorus of gasps and dramatic expressions.

aeri was lounging on the couch, legs crossed, sipping on what looked like matcha tea (as if that wasn’t already triggering enough). rina was sitting on the floor with her back against the couch, arms crossed, eyes deadly sharp. felix and hyunjin?

they were standing. right in front of her.

like interrogators. waiting.

y/n blinked. “uh—”

aeri squinted. “you’re late.”

rina narrowed her eyes. “suspiciously late.”

hyunjin placed a hand over his chest. “and you didn’t text us back.”

felix gasped dramatically, gripping hyunjin’s shoulder. “she never does that.”

y/n gaped. “never?”

aeri pointed her straw at her. “never.”

“i was busy,” y/n whined, slipping off her shoes. “i did text you guys.”

“hours ago,” rina said.

felix crossed his arms. “so where were you really?”

y/n opened her mouth. closed it. looked around at all their expectant faces.

aeri gasped. “wait.”

everyone turned to her.

she pointed. “you look different.”

hyunjin’s eyes widened. “she does.”

felix leaned in, inspecting her face. “…she’s glowing.”

“i am not—”

“you’re blushing.”

y/n clapped a hand over her face. “i am not blushing.”

rina smirked. “did something happen?”

y/n groaned, throwing herself onto the couch beside aeri. “can i please just breathe?”

“no,” aeri said.

felix gasped again, grabbing hyunjin’s arm dramatically. “wait—what if—”

“what if she kissed seungmin?” hyunjin finished, eyes gleaming.

y/n choked. “what—”

“she totally did,” rina gasped.

aeri sat up, pointing. “you so did.”

felix clapped his hands. “we knew something was happening between you two!”

“i—no you did not—”

“we totally did,” hyunjin argued. “seungmin has never let someone drag him out for picnics.”

aeri wiggled her brows. “did you finally kiss, you slow-burn idiots?”

y/n smacked a cushion over her face. “i hate you all.”

“she’s not denying it.”

rina snorted. “so? how was it?”

“excuse me?”

felix and hyunjin jumped onto the couch, both of them pressing closer.

“be honest,” felix whispered.

“was he good?” hyunjin asked.

“did he—” aeri leaned in, smirking. “use tongue?”

“oh my god—”

. . .

meanwhile, in another part of the building, seungmin finally stepped into his dorm, tossing his bag near the door. he expected peace. silence.

maybe jisung playing some dumb mobile game and minho scrolling on his phone. instead..

the moment he closed the door, jisung and minho—sitting side by side on the couch—turned to look at him in perfect unison.

seungmin paused.

jisung raised a brow. “you’re late.”

seungmin exhaled. “oh my god, not you too.”

minho sipped his coffee. “he seems unusually… relaxed.”

seungmin narrowed his eyes. “and?”

jisung smirked. “you never come back relaxed.”

seungmin rolled his eyes, moving toward the fridge. “you guys are annoying.”

jisung gasped. “minho. minho. look at him.”

minho hummed. “i see it.”

seungmin turned. “see what?”

jisung grinned. “you got some, didn’t you?”

minho smirked. “i knew you liked her.”

seungmin groaned, running a hand down his face. “you both need to shut up.”

jisung sat up, eyes gleaming. “you did kiss her, didn’t you?”

seungmin exhaled, grabbed a water bottle, and took a long sip.

minho raised a brow. “he’s avoiding.”

“he’s totally avoiding.”

seungmin sighed, leaning against the counter. “i hate both of you.”

jisung grinned. “we love you too.”

minho smirked, setting his cup down. “so? how was it?”

seungmin scoffed. “what is wrong with you people?”

jisung gasped dramatically. “you didn’t like it?”

seungmin froze for half a second.

jisung smirked. “ohhh, you totally did.”

minho nodded, smug. “he liked it.”

seungmin rolled his eyes. “shut up.”

jisung grinned, leaning back. “it’s okay, you can tell us. we don’t judge.”

minho nodded, taking another sip of his coffee. “we definitely judge.”

seungmin exhaled. “i hate you both.”

jisung smirked. “we know.” . . . “so…” rina wiggled her brows. “you’re seeing him again tomorrow?”

y/n groaned, collapsing onto the couch. “i see him everyday.”

felix smirked. “because you love him.”

y/n choked. “i do not—”

hyunjin held up his hands. “we’re just saying.”

aeri snickered. “you so do.”

y/n grabbed a cushion and screamed into it.

her friends just laughed.

meanwhile, back in seungmin’s dorm, minho stretched, setting his cup down. “so, what now?”

seungmin shrugged. “dunno.”

jisung smirked. “you gonna kiss her again?”

seungmin grabbed his pillow and chucked it at him.

jisung yelped.

minho snickered.

seungmin just leaned back against the couch, arms crossed, watching jisung groan into the pillow.

he would kiss her again.

he absolutely would.

but they didn’t need to know that.

yet.

“not like you two didn’t kiss or do each other while you had the dorm to yourself.”

minho didn’t even blink.

jisung, however. jisung choked on his own breath.

minho exhaled. “ah.”

minho took another sip of his coffee, unbothered. “he has a point.”

jisung spluttered. “excuse me?”

seungmin smirked. “you’re telling me you guys were alone for hours and did nothing?”

minho shrugged. “not my fault if he’s loud.”

jisung died. “i was not loud.”

minho hummed, setting his coffee down. “mm. sure.”

seungmin snorted. “see? it’s so obvious.”

jisung clutched his chest. “i hate you both.”

minho stretched. “no, you don’t.”

jisung threw a pillow at him.

seungmin just sat back, grinning, absolutely enjoying this.

jisung groaned, burying his face in his hands. “i hate my life.”

minho patted his head. “that’s okay. i love you.”

seungmin smirked. “aw.”

jisung screamed into his hands.

mastertag ୨୧ @cosmicalily @hyunjiiza @modesttiger @woozarts @katsukis1wife @bddaramjis @reignessance @jeongs-world

!! please let me know under this post, or this one, if i forgot you in the taglist, my inactivity made me lose track, i'm really sorry !!

[nkogneatho]

"BETTER WRAP THAT PRESENT UP BEFORE YOU GIVE IT TO ME"

—gojo satoru x reader.

—#TAPE NO 1 OF 'Tis the Season to be Naughty

—cw: fem!reader, cunnigulus, nicknames, reader in lingerie

Throughout your dating life, you have never met a man who was interested in fucking you for your benefit. All they cared about is a quick fuck as long as they cum. Nothing for your pleasure. That changed when you met Satoru. He fucked you for you. To make you see the stars. To make you cum till you couldn't anymore. It's only fair that you returned him the gesture once in a while.

Christmas was Satoru's favorite because he loved spoiling you with gifts, watching your eyes light up and your fingers carefully unwrapped the gift, squealing and kissing him for them. He also loved the way you would beautifully decorate his gifts—he almost never wanted to open them, tearing away your efforts but you insisted—write him little cards with cute hearts drawn on each. But this year, you hid one gift from him.

"Sweetie pie, I am home." He announced, walking through the door. The higher ups tied him up with work even on Christmas eve, yet being the strongest he was, he completed it before time to spend time with his baby.

"Honey?" You didn't reply. The room lights were off, only the fairy lights on the christmas tree illuminating the sexy silhouette of you leaning against the bedroom doorframe.

"Welcome home. Santa left you a package."

"Wha—Holy shit." He walked closer, the soft glow of the lamp light bouncing off your skin and what he thinks is the most provocative lingerie. Red lace hugging your curves in all places oh so beautifully, he was jealous of them.

"Well, well, well...Looks like someone's been busy while I was out, huh?" He gulped. Taking in the sight of your  figure barely contained by the lacy red ensemble.

"Santa left one his naughty helpers for me?"

"Mhm" you nod, looking at him with a smirk while his hands pulled in your waist. "Was tired of helping him. Thought you needed to use me more than him." Slender fingers roamed all over your body, thumb lingering on some places for a little longer.

"All this for me?" He questioned, his pointer toying with the string.

"Yeah. All yours, Toru."

"Mmm..." he hummed. "Love unwrapping my presents. This might be the best one yet." That is all that was said before his lips crashed yours, an arm snaking your back to hold you as your arched into him, guiding both of you to the bed. Satory plopped you down but he remained on the edge.

He inhaled loudly, eyes bathing in the sight of you. the exhale followed a little later, almost coming out as a groan. You spread your legs, teasing him with the most inviting posture.

"Fuck. You're going to be the death of me Y/N Gojo." His lips trailed kisses all over your legs before they caught up to your pussy. He could feel it through the lace. All throbbing and wet. Just for him. Poking his tongue out, he pressed it against your clothed sex a few times, making you squirm. his fingers abandoned your thighs to rub you through the red fabric. He didn't take your panties off, just moved it enough to get access of your cunt. He left warm breaths on her.

"Pretty fucking pussy. Always so wet for me," he teased. Moving your thighs further apart, he licked a long stripe between your slick, parting your pussy lips. His eyes closed to feel how good you taste before going on for real. Warm, sloppy muscles making out with each other. Your fingers cascade through his locks, sweet moans leaving your lips.

"Fmuuck. shweet fmucking cwunt," mouth never leaving her. His big hands travel up to palm your tits and pinch your nipples, eyes so focused on you and the way you squirm, yelp and whine.

"Fhhuck. Toru, ngh—feels sooo good."

He continues his adorable abuse on your pussy before he shoves two fingers in your hole, inching you closer and closer to your climax.

"C'mon, princess. Do it for me. Santa sent you to help me, didn't he? Go ahead and help me. Lemme see this cute pussy cum." If you weren't gonna cum from the tongue or the fingers, you sure as hell did from his lewd sentences.

"G-gonna cum, toru. fuck. please ah—"

Soon enough, you were vibrating, thighs closing around his head, and fingers pulling his head too tight.

"Good girl." He breathed as he licked his lips. "Tell Santa thank you. Now..." you heard his belt unbunckle, "time for your present, princess."

[ramp-it-up]

At Last

Make it So | Knock You Down Masterlist

Summary: Bucky makes you his wife. And you let him.

Word count: 4.8 K

Pairing: Art Dealer (mob boss) Bucky Barnes x Reader; Steve Rogers x Peach

A/N: This fic is in the Knock You Down AU, and the wedding is finally here. It comes after the events of Make it So. This universe obviously intersects with the Peach verse, and would come after Show Off. It also will intersect with the Muse AU in the future of this story. Being on the couch for the past week is coming in clutch to catch Bucky and Steve up to Ari. I'm nervous because I haven't written for these two in a while and wanted to get the wedding just right. Please let me know how you feel by commenting, reblogging, and interacting. 😉

Warnings: 18+ Only, Minors DNI. Read at your own risk. Reader is 3 months pregnant. Anxiety attack, wedding stress, destination wedding, wedding dress shopping, sex in an established relationship, pregnant reader, Bucky is a simp and feral for Furmoaså, flirting, teasing, Bucky speaking google Romanian, praise so much praise, oral, (f receiving) more bathroom sex, bump worship, raw p-in-v, after care.

Not Beta'd. All errors my own.

I no longer have a taglist. Please follow @rampitupandread and turn on notifications to learn when I post! 😘

I Do NOT Consent to my work being reposted, translated or presented on any other blog or site other than by myself.

-----

The coffee table was buried in color swatches, RSVP mockups, half-emptied takeout containers, and a half-full glass of ginger ale you’d been too nauseous to finish.

You sat cross-legged on the floor in one of Bucky’s dress shirts, hair up in a messy bun, your phone in one hand and your planner in the other. 

You stared blankly at the spreadsheet open on your laptop screen, wondering how you’d gone from “just us, barefoot on a beach” to twelve-person string ensemble and a four-tier cake.

You didn’t even remember how it happened. Just that it was spiraling now. Too fast and too big.

The tightness in your chest was creeping up your throat. That shallow, dizzy feeling again, not hunger, not nausea. Just too much. Your vision blurred and your hands trembled as you shut the laptop.

And that’s how Bucky found you.

“Hey. What’s going on, Frumoasă?”

He was fresh out of the shower, his hair damp and curling. His chest was bare, sweatpants riding low on his hips. He was drying his hair as he stepped into the room, but when he saw your face he dropped the towel.

In two strides he was in front of you, crouched between your knees, warm hands cupping your cheeks.

“Baby,” he said softly, thumbs brushing away tears you hadn’t even noticed. 

“Breathe with me, okay? In…”

You inhaled shakily, eyes locked on his.

“Good girl. Now out…”

Your exhale caught, but you pushed through it.

“There you go,” he murmured, forehead pressed to yours. “Again.”

You followed his rhythm until the wave of panic ebbed, just enough to let your lungs expand again. You felt yourself calm just a little.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, your voice cracking. “I’m trying to do everything right. I want it to be perfect. I want you to be proud. I want the baby to be okay, and I just…”

“Shhh,” he murmured. “Come here.”

He pulled you into his lap, your legs draped over his thighs as he settled back into the couch. His hand slid under the shirt you were wearing, his shirt resting warm and steady over the gentle swell of your belly.

“First of all,” he murmured, lips brushing your temple, “you already gave me perfect the day you said yes.”

“And second… proud doesn’t even begin to cover it. I look at you every day and think, how the fuck did I get this lucky?”

You closed your eyes and let yourself sink into him, your forehead against his neck, your body melting against his chest. His other hand moved to your hair, fingers cording through the thickness gently.

“We can call off the whole thing right now and go to city hall in whatever we’re wearing,” he whispered, “and it’ll still be the best day of my life. I swear to God.”

You let out a broken laugh. 

“You’d marry me in sweatpants?”

“In a heartbeat. With mustard on my shirt and the courthouse AC broken. Don’t care.” 

His lips grazing yours.

“You’re not doing this alone. I’m here, Baby. For all of it.”

You nodded slowly, sniffling into his neck.

He pulled back just enough to look at you.

“Now, what do you need? A nap? A foot rub? For me to throw this whole planner into the ocean?”

You laughed again, watery and real. 

“Honestly? All three.”

“Done.”

And just like that, the storm passed.

Not because the stress was gone, but because Bucky Barnes knew how to hold you steady when it hit.

—---

It was past eleven the next day when Peach arrived, holding a pint of salted caramel gelato.

“Tell me you’re not still doom-scrolling BridalTok.”

You didn’t answer. The open Pinterest tabs on your laptop, the silk robe you hadn’t changed out of since breakfast, and the vanilla candle you’d lit twice today were damning enough.

Peach kicked off her sandals and padded inside.

“You’re glowing, by the way,” she said, settling on the couch beside you. 

“Even if you’re panicking. Still glowing. Like, annoying-level glowing.”

You groaned and pulled the throw blanket over your face. 

“I don’t feel glowing. I feel deranged. I cried over a centerpiece. A fucking centerpiece, Peach. Bucky had to talk me down like he was disarming a nuke.”

Peach laughed, flopping over until her cheek was resting on your shoulder. 

“Sounds like he passed the test.”

You peeked at her from under the blanket.

“What test?”

“The one that actually matters. You already knew the sex was good. You already had the chemistry, the intellectualism, the obsession. But the way he holds you through this? The hormones, the wedding spreadsheet meltdowns?”

She grinned.

“That’s the forever part.”

Your throat tightened a little.

You sat up slowly, tugging your knees to your chest. 

“Was it like that for you and Steve? When you knew?”

Peach went quiet, her teasing softened by memory.

“I knew the second I saw him in Hilton Head. I wanted to strangle him. And kiss him. And break every plate in the house.”

You smiled. “Sounds romantic.”

“It wasn’t. Not then. But when I saw him again in Brooklyn, and I wasn’t mad anymore. Just wrecked and happy to see him? That’s when I knew.”

She turned to you, all mischief gone.

“But this wedding? This is you. Big, golden, joyful you. And Bucky sees it. He wants it. Not because it’s shiny, but because it’s yours.”

You blinked hard, breathing shallow now for entirely different reasons. Peach nudged you with her foot. 

“If you still want simple, you can have it. But don’t hide from what you want because it scares you. If it’s fireworks and a string quartet on an island with your belly full of baby Barnes? Then bitch, do it.”

You wiped your eyes. “I love you.”

She grinned. “Obviously.”

She stood and stretched dramatically. 

“Now. Are we crying into this gelato like the emotionally unstable icons we are?”

You grabbed two spoons.

“Of course.”

—

The boutique was a quiet sanctuary tucked between two noisy cafes in SoHo, and for a few hours, it belonged to just the three of you. 

A sign in the window read Private Appointment – Bride Inside, scrawled in looping script, and Peach had immediately posed in front of it for a photo.

Inside, soft jazz filtered through the air as you stood on the pedestal, hem floating just above your bare feet, silk and tulle whispering around your thighs.

You tried not to cry.

Your mom sat on the velvet settee, hand pressed to her lips. Peach held the other, and even she was misty-eyed, despite teasing you the whole drive over about being “the chill bride, remember?”

“You look like a goddess,” she whispered. “A divine entity. They should retire white after this.”

The gown had been a long shot,  a last-minute sample pulled out of storage by a determined assistant who said, “I just have a feeling.” 

And somehow, it was everything.

Soft and stunning, romantic without being fussy. Ivory silk with a gentle shimmer, delicate cap sleeves that slipped off your shoulders just enough, and a deep V-back that draped like liquid. The front skimmed over your three-month bump, subtle enough to feel like a secret only Bucky would notice up close.

The veil was still in its packaging. You hadn’t decided on it yet. But when the assistant gently pinned a cluster of pale blossoms behind your ear, you suddenly saw the whole picture.

A villa. The sea. Golden hour.

And Bucky.

Your mom finally stood and crossed the room to cup your face like she had when you were small.

“He’s going to lose his mind,” she murmured. “Not that he isn’t already crazy about you.”

You laughed, thick with emotion.

“I don’t even know how to walk in this.”

“We’ll practice,” Peach grinned. “We’ll make a TikTok. Bucky’ll cry watching that.”

The fitting ended with a rush of photos, none of which you sent to Bucky. You’d barely stepped out of the dress when your phone buzzed.

Bucky: How’s it going? Are you still in the dress? What if I promised not to blink. Just a peek.

You: Absolutely not.

Bucky: I’ll bring dumplings. One glimpse for every sauce container.

You: Stop trying to bribe my honor.

Bucky: Your honor already said yes to marrying me. Let me worship you. …I’ll throw in a foot rub.

Peach leaned over your shoulder and read the thread, grinning.

“You know he’s parked outside, right?”

You turned toward the window and there he was, in his sportscar, sunglasses on, and pretending to be normal. He was parked illegally and completely unrepentant.

Your cheeks flushed.

“Oh my God.”

Peach cackled.

“Already in full simp-mode.”

—---

Bucky couldn’t stop imagining you in that dress.

He hadn’t even seen it, just chased the outline in his head, by the way your voice caught when you described how it shimmered, and by the way your hands had brushed your own hips when you whispered, “It just floats, Bucky. Like a dream.”

Well, now he was the one dreaming. Hard.

You’d spent the afternoon at your final fitting with your mom and Peach. He’d tried to bribe someone, anyone, to get a peek.

The designer, the assistant, the poor delivery driver who’d dropped off the steaming food Peach ordered from a fancy Thai place. But no one cracked.

So now he was pacing the penthouse while you did your hair in the ensuite, wearing one of his old tees and nothing else. The same legs that would walk toward him in that dress next week were currently propped up on the vanity, lotion glinting on your thighs like an oasis illusion.

He was losing it.

“You’re quiet,” you called, not looking up. “That’s dangerous.”

“I’m picturing you in white,” Bucky said, appearing in the doorway.

His eyes were starving.

You smirked at him in the mirror.

“That bad?”

“No,” he said, stepping closer.

“That good. Too good.”

He leaned down, mouth brushing your neck, hands sliding up the backs of your thighs. 

“I can’t stop thinking about how you’ll look. But even more? About what’ll be underneath.”

You raised a brow.

“You won’t be seeing that during the ceremony.”

Bucky raised himself to full height.

“No panties next week.”

You laughed. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” he said, one hand gliding down to cup between your thighs. 

“None. I want to be thinking about this sweet little pussy while you walk down the aisle. About how soaked you’ll be by the time I say I do.”

You gasped as he dragged his nose along your neck.

"Vei fi atât de frumoasă..."

“I thought you said you didn’t want to jinx anything,” you whispered, teasing. 

“I don’t,” he murmured, lifting you up onto the counter with ease. “I just want what’s under the dress.”

His hands were hot on your thighs, spreading them open as his mouth found your neck, his voice wrecked with want.

“Just picture it, baby. You walk down that aisle, glowing, mine in every way. Everyone watching you. No one knowing you’re bare under there except me.”

You moaned softly, head tipping back as he kissed just beneath your jaw.

“You’ll say your vows, let me put that ring on your finger, and I’ll be standing there thinking about how my cum’s gonna leaking out of you that night.”

“James…”

“That’s right, mama,” he smiled into your neck, while slipping two fingers under your shirt to roll your nipple between his fingers.

His other hand was between your legs, thumb dragging a slow, teasing circle.

“You’re soaked,” he growled, lips brushing the shell of your ear.

“This all for me, Baby?”

You nodded, dizzy.

“Been thinking about you all day.”

“Yeah?” His fingers dipped lower, spreading slick heat. “You ache, sweetheart? Want me to fix it?”

Your hips rocked into his palm, desperate and needy.

He chuckled.

“I’ll take care of it.”

Bucky sank to his knees.

He lifted one of your legs over his shoulder, his hands gripping your hips, spreading you open with no shame. His mouth hovered over you, hot breath ghosting across sensitive skin.

And then he devoured you, his tongue firm and greedy, lips wrapping around your clit and his groan vibrating straight into your core. You cried out, fingers clutching the edge of the counter, spine arching as you came, so sensitive with pregnancy.

“You think you’re glowing now? Wait until you’re wearing my name, my ring, carrying my baby, and soaked for me on our wedding night.”

You whimpered, thighs rubbing together for friction. Bucky smirked, cock hard against your back, his lips brushing your ear.

“No panties,” he repeated, voice wrecked. “That’s final.”

As if he wouldn’t let you do anything and everything you wanted. He was grasping at straws, desperate.

You shivered.

“We’re getting married in front of my entire family.”

“I’m your family and I’m gonna fuck you now,” he said simply as he rose.

“Right here.”

You were already nodding when he turned you around and bent you over the counter, dragging your panties down and pushing your thighs apart. He didn’t bother teasing this time, just slid in deep and slow, your walls fluttering around him as he groaned your name like a prayer.

“God, you feel like heaven.”

One arm locked around your waist, hand splayed over your belly. The other cupped your breast through the shirt, thumb brushing your nipple. His thrusts were rougher now, driven by something raw.

“You gonna come again for me?” he growled into your neck.

“Come on, sweetheart. Give it to me.”

You shattered with his name on your lips.

And he followed with a broken moan, spilling inside you with a possessive groan, his body curling protectively over yours as he kissed the sweat-slicked skin at the back of your neck.

“You’re gonna walk down that aisle,” he whispered, “and I’m gonna lose my fucking mind.”

You kissed his jaw. “You better.”

“You know what’ll help?”

You sighed happily. “What?”

“No panties.”

You laughed and buried your face in his chest.

“We’ll see.”

He grinned against your temple.

“No. We won’t. That’s the whole point.”

—---

The bridal suite smelled like pressed linen, sea air, and gardenia. You’d dreamt about this as a child.

But nothing about this was childish.

The silk under your fingers was real. The gold initials stitched in your train were real. The diamond on your hand caught every beam of sunlight through the balcony doors.

And Bucky Barnes was real.

You stood barefoot before the full-length mirror, the final zip of your gown still undone, your hair swept up in curls, a halo of pins and fresh petals glinting beneath your veil.

Peach was in the hallway chasing down earrings. The stylist was packing up brushes. And your mom stood behind you, hands gentle on your shoulders, looking at your reflection in the mirror.

“My beautiful girl,” she whispered.

You turned to look at her.

There were tears in her eyes, but she was smiling.

“You used to twirl around the living room with a pillowcase on your head and say, Mama, one day I’m gonna marry a prince.”

You laughed, already crying.

“He’s not exactly a prince.”

“No,” she said softly, brushing a lock of hair from your face.

“He’s better. He’s yours.”

That hit deeper than expected.

“You’re brave, you know,” she added.

“Not just because you’re marrying him. But because you’re letting yourself have this. Love, joy, your dream. You’re not shrinking for anyone.”

You swallowed hard.

“He loves you so much,” she continued.

“You’ve always been sunlight, but with him? You shine. And that baby already knows how lucky they are.”

You rested your hands over the small swell of your belly, blinking fast.

She stepped closer, adjusted a strand of hair, and kissed your temple.

“Take a deep breath, baby. This is the start of the rest of everything.”

Peach was showed up behind you in a sage-green slip dress, grinning like she had a secret.

“You gonna cry?” you asked without turning around.

“No,” Peach sniffled.

“You’re gonna cry. And ruin your lashes. So don’t.”

You huffed a soft laugh.

“Help me with the back?”

She stepped up behind you, fingers gentle as she zipped the dress slowly, smoothing it with a reverent touch.

“Holy shit,” she breathed.

You finally looked at yourself.

Your body was already beginning to shift, soft in places it hadn’t been months ago, glowing with the quiet strength of what you carried. And the dress wasn’t there to hide it. It was designed to honor it.

A deep neckline, silk that draped like water over your hips, the faintest shimmer that caught the light every time you moved.

Your hand found your belly, still barely visible. But you felt it. Bucky’s child. Yours.

“You’re not just a bride,” Peach said softly behind you. “You’re a monument.”

You turned, blinking back tears.

Peach held up a tissue like a threat. 

“Don’t you dare. We’ve got twenty minutes. You cry now, and the stylist will have to reapply your entire face. And Steve’s already crying and pretending he’s not, so that’s my job for later.”

You smiled. “He is?”

“Oh, he’s wrecked. I caught him sneaking a look at Bucky, who’s pacing the beach like a caged panther. He’s muttering to himself and holding the rings like they’re gonna disappear.”

Your stomach fluttered with nerves, joy, and a little nausea.

Peach stepped forward and took your hands.

“You ready?”

You nodded. “I think so.”

“Good. Because this wedding? It’s not about proving anything. Not to family. Not to guests. Not even to yourselves. It’s just the loudest, brightest way to say what you already know.”

Your voice was barely above a whisper.

“That he’s mine.”

Peach nodded.

“And you’re his. For good.”

You took one last look in the mirror, breathed in deep, and exhaled slowly.

Then you whispered to your reflection, “Let’s go get married.”

—--

Bucky’s palms were sweating.

Which was absurd, given what his hands had done in past lives. They done some dangerous things and they had been steady. Always. 

But not today.

Today, his hands were waiting to touch you, his future wife. And for the first time in years, he was nervous in a way that had nothing to do with power, and everything to do with love.

He stood at the edge of a terraced garden that sloped down toward the sea, the salt air heavy with hibiscus and lavender. The villa behind him had hosted billionaires and heads of state, but none of them mattered.

The only thing that mattered was the sound of soft footsteps behind him.

He adjusted the cuff of his navy linen jacket, one of three that had been custom-made for this day. Steve had rolled his eyes earlier, muttering something about Bucky becoming a goddamn peacock in his old age.

But then again, Steve hadn’t seen you yet.

You had insisted on a first look. Said he couldn’t badger his way into seeing the dress ahead of time, but you’d give him this moment before the wedding. 

Something private. Just for you two.

And thank God for that, because Bucky already felt like he was going to drop to his knees.

“Buck,” came Steve’s voice from behind him, sarcastic.

“If you pass out, I’m not carrying you.”

Bucky cracked a shaky grin but didn’t turn around. Not yet.

He heard your laugh before your voice. The sound of Peach’s heels clicking nearer. 

And then…“James.”

He shut his eyes for a second. Took a breath like it was his first in years. Then he turned. And the world fucking stopped.

You stood in the garden light, hair swept up, veil fluttering slightly in the sea breeze, and the gown…Jesus.

Bucky couldn’t breathe.

You looked like a dream he was afraid to wake from. The silk clung in all the right places and glowed against your skin, soft and strong and completely you.

His eyes dropped to your hand and the ring he gave you glittering in the afternoon light, and then lower, to the barely-there swell of your belly, where his child grew.

His voice cracked as he said your name.

You stepped forward, nervous for only a second until you saw the look in his eyes.

He was ruined.

Bucky’s throat worked as he blinked hard.

“You look…”

“Yeah?” you teased, suddenly shy.

“Arăți ca pentru totdeauna. You look like forever,” he said hoarsely.

He reached out, fingers brushing your waist like you were made of spun sugar, like you’d disappear if he held on too tightly. But you didn’t disappear.

You stepped right into his arms, melted into him, and he kissed your temple carefully.

“I love you,” you whispered into his neck.

His voice was raw. “I love you more.”

You pulled back to look at him, hands resting lightly over the lapels of his jacket. 

“Still nervous?”

He shook his head.

“Not anymore.”

—---

The ceremony was held at golden hour on a bluff overlooking the Aegean. The aisle curved through native sea grass and white stone, petals scattered with the ocean spread wide behind the altar.

Bucky waited, heart racing, jaw tight, in the very center of it all.

Steve stood at his side, a rare look of reverence on his face. The man had been his right hand through everything it took to build an empire. But nothing had ever made Steve sniff back emotion like this.

“She’s coming,” Steve said under his breath as Peach walked toward him. “Try to stay upright..”

Bucky didn’t reply.

And then he saw you and everything went still.

You stepped into view, arm tucked gently through your stepfather’s, veil floating behind you, dress glowing like it had been dipped in starlight.

Bucky swore the sun dimmed itself just to let you shine.

He’d seen you earlier, kissed you, held you, but this was different.

This was sacred.

Reaching the altar, Peach dabbed her eyes discreetly, and tucked in beside Steve. He reached for her hand. His grip trembled and he leaned close and whispered something only she could hear. She nodded, then pressed a kiss to his knuckles.

But Bucky couldn’t see them anymore.

He saw only you.

And you were looking right at him. Like there was no one else. No crowd. No ceremony. Just him.

He pressed two fingers to his lips, then to his heart.

You felt it. A vow without words.

Your stepfather leaned in and whispered, “He loves you, baby girl,” before placing your hand into Bucky’s.

The officiant spoke, but neither of you heard a thing.

“Okay?” he mouthed.

You nodded, eyes shining. “You?”

His laugh was pure joy.

“Not even a little.”

The ceremony passed in a blur of gold and sea wind and reverent silence. There were a few readings, a pointed look from Peach when the phrase “in passion and peace,” was spoken, and Steve chuckled under his breath.

Bucky barely registered it.

He watched your lips shape the words “I choose you,” like they’d been written into his skin.

And when it was his turn, his voice cracked.

N-am crezut niciodată că merit așa ceva, dar jur pe Dumnezeu că voi petrece fiecare zi demonstrând că merit.

“I never thought I’d deserve something like this,” he said, eyes fixed on yours. “But I swear to God, I’ll spend every day proving I do.”

The officiant smiled.

“I now pronounce you…”

Too late.

You were already reaching for him, grabbing his lapels and pulling him in like you couldn’t wait another second.

The kiss was deep, sweet and improper.

The crowd gasped. Peach hooted. Steve muttered “Jesus, you two,” and shook his head, but there was a grin on his face big enough to rival the ocean.

You and Bucky walked back down the aisle hand in hand, both of you beaming, radiant with something wild and holy.

He leaned close as the cheers swelled behind you, eyes flicking down your body. 

You bit your lip and winked at your new husband as you leaned in to give him a kiss on the cheek.

“No panties. Just like you said. And shaved bare, too.”

Bucky didn’t stumble, but he damn near did.

You kept walking, serene and glowing beside him, your veil floating like a flame in the breeze.

Bucky was wrecked.

And the happiest he’d ever been in his life.

—-

The villa was quiet when you arrived and bathed in candlelight, the ocean’s rhythm a soft pulse through the windows. Someone had come in ahead of you; peonies floated in the clawfoot tub, and bottles of water chilled beside a tray of honey-dipped figs and dark chocolate.

But you didn’t notice any of it right away.

You noticed Bucky.

He kicked the door shut behind him, jacket already off, shirt unbuttoned halfway down his chest, his gaze raking over you like he was starved.

He’d kept himself in check all day. 

Ceremony, photos, dinner, the toast that Peach gave that wrecked you both, he’d kept it buttoned up.

But now he was unhinged. It shocked him how much he wanted you.

“Come here,” he said, voice raw.

You turned slowly, silk rustling as you moved toward him like a dream he’d been chasing his whole life. And when you were close enough to touch, he did.

His hands found your waist and then lower, gathering your gown in his fists, dragging the fabric up inch by inch until the whole thing slipped off your body and pooled at your feet.

And Christ.

There you were.

“Fuck,” he whispered against your mouth. “You’re so goddamn beautiful, sweetheart. Look at you. Mine.”

His lips dragged over your collarbone as he walked you backward toward the bed, relishing the fact that you were bare under his hands. He groaned as his palms found your breasts, thumbs grazing over sensitive nipples.

“You’ve been teasing me for days,” he said, breath hot against your neck. “All that talk about the dress. And what you’d wear underneath.”

“You like?” you asked, breathless.

Bucky smirked.

“I love you bare. Shaved. Soaked for me. So gorgeous.” 

He sank to his knees in front of you, pressing a kiss to the gentle swell of your belly. His hands were splayed over your hips, grounding himself.

“But it’s not just this,” he murmured, voice thick.

“It’s not just how perfect you look. It’s everything. Your laugh. Your voice. The way you make me feel. The way you look at me.”

You were already shaking under his praise, thighs trembling, breath catching. His tongue dipped into your navel and swirled, making goosebumps peak.

“It gets me hard, Frumoasă. Really fucking hard. But that’s not why I love you. You’re kind. You’re sassy. You’re good. And you’re real.”

You whimpered, hips twitching.

“To find someone gorgeous, sweet, smart, hilarious, and mine? That shit’s not real. It’s not. But you are.”

His mouth moved lower, and you barely had time to moan before his tongue slid through your folds, filthy and slow. He groaned like a man who’d been craving this all night, gripping your hips and dragging you closer.

You cried out, one leg lifting automatically over his shoulder, and he buried his mouth deeper. Your hands tangled in his hair, tugging hard. But he didn’t stop. Not until you shattered against his tongue, sobbing his name, your body convulsing from the force of it.

Only then did he rise, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as he stared you down.

“You’re already wrecked,” he rasped. “And I haven’t even fucked you yet.”

He undressed without looking away. Shirt, belt, trousers, all gone in seconds. His cock was already hard, thick and heavy, flushed dark and wet.

And when he crawled over you, he took a beat to just look at you.

“Still with me, Mrs. Barnes?”

“Always,” you whispered.

And then he sank into you, slowly, inch by agonizingly thick inch, stretching you around him until he was seated to the hilt and barely breathing.

“Goddamn,” he groaned, forehead pressed to yours, eyes shut like he was in pain.

“You feel like…fuck, you feel like coming home.”

You whimpered, your hips rolling to meet him. He started to move, deeper with each thrust, building a rhythm that made the headboard knock the wall and your name fall from his lips like he didn’t know how to stop saying it.

He kissed your breasts, your neck, your mouth, his hand slipping between you to trace soft circles over your clit. But what wrecked him, what destroyed him, was when his hand slid to your belly again.

Right over where your baby was growing.

“We made something,” he choked out, voice breaking. “Right here. Inside you.”

“You made me yours,” you whispered.

“I always will.”

You came again, sobbing his name, your walls fluttering around him. And Bucky followed with a groan, burying himself deep inside you as he spilled, clutching you tight, and shaking from the force of it.

Later, he carried you to the bath, washing you gently, like something priceless. 

You curled between his thighs as warm water lapped at your skin, the scent of gardenia rising with the steam.

He kissed your shoulder and the back of your hand.

“You’re everything,” he whispered.

“My love. My future. My family.”

You turned in his arms, pressing your lips to his.

“And you’re mine.”

——-

Well? Whaddya think? 🤔

[holy-puckslibrary]

─ 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐢𝐭'𝐬 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐜.

pairing(s) — fwb!MATTHEW TKACHUK x reader wc — 3.2k synopsis — best not-boyfriend boyfriend ever! (read the request here) note — bestie, your brain? marvelous! this was an absolute joy to write, and i hope this captures your vision!!! thank you for the request <3

main masterlist

content warnings under the cut.

cw — hints of a debut-inspired ensemble; complicated, grossly intimate situationship + emotional constipation; angst (not really) to fluffy fluffy; tswizzle references; suggestive section: "heavy petting" but nothing explicit / fade to black; brief alcohol mention + consumption; brief mention of food (no specifics); and ~emotions~ 

I. it’s getting so much clearer… 

Matthew regrets making you a key. 

Majorly.

If he’d known the can of worms he was opening when he unceremoniously dropped them in your lap one night, he would’ve listened to his brother; you don’t give girlfriend privileges to women who aren’t your girlfriend. It only leads to hurt feelings, broken console controllers, and unnecessary trouble. 

However, it’s highly unlikely this is the “trouble” to which Brady was referring. 

Rooted in the entryway, he surveys the damage. 

Beads of all shapes, sizes, and colors sit in a sea of jars. Some have spilled out under the coffee table and couch, others have made it all the way into the kitchen. Knotted balls of elastic are sprinkled throughout the chaos, as are multiple pairs of scissors, skeins of embroidery floss, and shards of construction paper. There are markers everywhere, but for some unknown reason, the crayons and sticker sheets are in nice, neat piles. A white feather boa is draped over the entertainment center and there’s a pink one curled by his feet. And, in the eye of the storm, is an anxious lump frantically stringing together DIY jewelry and muttering along to the megamix blaring through the room; he doubts you even heard him come home. 

“Sweetheart, is there a reason it looks like a craft store threw up everywhere?” Matthew shouts as he gingerly braves the hurricane. 

Something crunches under his shoe, and from the sound alone, he knows it would’ve been worse than stepping on a Lego if his feet were bare. 

He also knows that if the music were even a decibel lower, you would be pissed beyond belief. How dare he move freely through his own home without first checking for rogue pieces of plastic? His ears are ringing, but he’s grateful for it. From many years of mistakes and misadventures, he's learned you won’t get on top if you’re mad, regardless of how much groveling he does. And he's got one foot in the doghouse after last weekend as it is. 

“T-minus two days ’til Taylor, Matthew,” you grumble from the floor. “What do you think?” 

You’ve been at this for weeks. It gets worse the closer the concert gets. The mess and your mood. 

Matthew isn’t stupid, and he knows you better than he lets on. You panic under the weight of your own (often unrealistic) expectations. You need everything to be perfect, or the entire world crumbles. This, Night One of the Florida dates of the Eras Tour, is, understandably, no exception. If anything, the pressure’s dialed up to eleven. 

In stressing over every little detail, you’ve made yourself miserable. Watching you unravel makes his chest feel strange. 

You won’t ask for help. You don’t want it, either.

But, he can’t let you flounder. For his own sanity, he can’t do it. And he does care about you. Maybe not in the way everyone assumes or hopes, but he does. He’d do almost anything to lighten your load. 

Yet, Matthew treads lightly. If he’s too forthcoming, you could get the wrong idea. He doesn’t want to spook you, and he can’t have any wires getting crossed. What’s so good about your situation is how markedly uncomplicated it’s been. He refuses to be the one who fucks it up for everyone. 

So, he does what he can, and he does it without making a big deal about it. 

After a quick shower and a change of clothes, he sinks down onto the floor beside you. You’re perched on one of the obnoxious throw pillows you insisted he order to “spruce up” the space and make it look less “bachelor pad-y." As if that’s not exactly what it is. He takes this as rare permission to do the same, placing one under his hips and cuddling another to his chest as he stretches out on his stomach, phone in hand. 

Well, as stretched as a person can be in the middle of an obstacle course. 

Between the second play of “cowboy like me” and the third of “Tim McGraw,” his various feeds dry up, and he’s spammed his contacts into oblivion. You're still chugging along, like a Sad Girl automaton locked in an endless glittery assembly line. 

At one point, you murmur, “Give me your wrist." 

And he does. 

Matthew’s taken aback when you loop elastic around it to get a measurement.

He’s confused, but not for the reason one might assume. He’s painfully familiar with the friendship bracelet phenomenon and the giddy exchanges, having been force-fed hours' worth of tour content over the past year, but he never thought you’d rope him into it.

The buzz under his skin is oddly auspicious, watching you clip the appropriate length before reaching for the pile laid out near his head. 

It’s not long before you make the same request again. However, this time, you slide on a custom creation. You fiddle with it for a moment, then turn back to your station to begin the next one on the list. 

“And in which era does she cosplay as a camp counselor?” Matthew teases as he thumbs the letter beads.

They spell out a moniker he’d honestly find offensive if you hadn’t looped the song one too many times. He wonders if you’ve made yourself the matching one. 

You emit a sound that haunts his nightmares and side-eye him in a way that would’ve made a lesser man disintegrate. 

“If you don’t want it, give it back so I can give it to someone who will appreciate my time and effort,” you bite with your hand outstretched, palm up and open expectantly. 

Matthew shoves it away, suddenly defensive. “I never said that.” 

The sun slips behind the fence an hour later, and the sky bathes the house in purple-pink hues. As he gathers ingredients in the kitchen, Matthew watches the slow-moving clouds absentmindedly. He hasn't felt this content in a while.

Arms full, he wades through the arts and crafts on the way to the backyard. 

You’re still in the den, still hunched over in the same place he found you in. He shakes his head when he passes you, knowing he’s got an hour (at least) moonlighting as a masseuse in his future. 

You don’t startle or acknowledge him until the grill set you bought for his birthday clatters to the floor. 

“Why’re there two cowboy hats getting glitter all over my patio?” he asks, despite knowing the answer. And hating it. Vehemently. 

You fix him with an unamused glare. Your brow quirks, and your hands still. Then, you blink at him very slowly. Like he’s an idiot. Like he just asked a stupid question—because he did. 

Matthew’s head wags so intensely that his neck cracks.

“Oh, hell no.” 

II. it’s coming undone…

Matthew scowls at his reflection. 

“—looks so fucking stupid.” 

He can’t tell if he looks worse with or without the fur-trimmed, shimmery cowboy hat. And, honestly, it's a little distressing. After temporarily ditching it, he tugs at his curls. Then, the hem of the jersey. 

Resigned, he reaches across the bed for the homemade accessory. Wearing it will make you smile—and it gives his dignity something to hide behind. 

Twitter’s going to have a fucking field day. 

Your panicked voice spills out from the hotel bathroom, “Really?” 

“Of course, it fucking do—” 

His tirade of vanity grinds to a screeching halt at the sight of you, backlit and wilting. 

“That’s not—ah, fuck.” Matthew digs the heels of his palms into his eyes. “What I meant was—me, it looks stupid on me. Not you. On you, it looks… It looks…” 

“It looks, what?” 

It looks like he’s glad none of your friends were available because he won’t have to pretend you’re less than you are.

No lectures, no goading, no scrutiny. Just you. 

“Right.” That’s the word he settles for. “It looks right.” 

The emphasis chips away at what little believability the underwhelming affirmation had. That much is evident from the insecurity bleeding through your makeup. 

“Right,” you parrot. Skeptically, you drag out the vowel long enough that it disappears into the bathroom with you. 

Before the door clicks shut, Matthew’s already berating himself for whatever just happened. For acting like a complete doofus with a foot shoved down his throat. 

His mind is as quick as his tongue is sharp. He’s got confidence for days and a cocky demeanor primed and on-call, one that most women find endearing. Yourself included. He’s never had an issue dishing out pretty words or flirting before, especially not with you. 

With you, banter came easy. Sweet or salacious, it didn’t matter. The bob and weave, from platonic chatter to something charged and suggestive, is effortless. And it’s been that way for as long as he can remember. It's innate. He should be able to uphold his reputation in his sleep. 

What’s gotten into him? 

(You’d say the power of Taylor Swift, or some shit. Which is why he doesn’t open the floor for discussion. Among other reasons.) 

Matthew makes the executive decision to put things right. To redeem himself, to feel more like himself. 

His palms are hot and tingling as he sets off to do what he does best. Something fool-proof. Something that’ll erase the past ten minutes from the collective consciousness. Something to scratch an itch...

He won't make it through three and a half hours without catching a public indecency charge. 

Not with you looking like that.  

“I was thinking,” Matthew trails off as he comes up behind you in the en suite bathroom. His hands land on the counter, one on either side of you. “We should fool around a little bit before we leave.” 

With his chest flush to your back and his chin propped on your shoulder, he blatantly checks you out.

You, albeit begrudgingly, find it flattering. On principle, you roll your eyes. 

You snort. “Funny." 

Sarcasm pinches his face as he unintelligibly mocks you. 

Whatever witty retort he had died on his tongue when you lean forward to put some eyeliner in your waterline, inadvertently pushing the curve of your backside right into his growing bulge. 

Matthew turns you to face him without warning. 

The kohl pencil goes flying, dotting the pristine space as it tumbles to the floor. Its final resting place is unknown; you’ll follow the smudge-crumbs later. 

Later, when he doesn’t have you pressed tight between the harsh edge of the counter and his chest. 

Later, when the dull ache in your arched back dissipates. 

Later, when his attraction isn’t so painfully tangible. 

Later, when he isn’t looking at you the way he is now.  

You’re sinking in a shade of blue you don’t recognize. It’s stormy, vast and disquieting. Like any collision, you’re unable to tear your eyes away even though you know you should. It betrays an aura of foreboding, yet somehow, Matthew’s charged gaze carries a soothing effect. It's hypnotic in an stomach-twisting way. 

“I’m not laughing, sweetheart.” He breathes the words through the slight part in your lips, his voice rich and thick like honey. 

“W-We need to be quick—” 

Matthew buries his face in the sweet-smelling crook of your neck. Intent on shutting you up, he succeeds with infuriating ease once he’s latched onto your throat. He nips and sucks whenever you protest, and soon, you don’t even bother trying anymore.

Why lie and deny when what you want feels this fucking good? 

When your nails dig impatient little half-moons into his forearms, Matthew bares his teeth with a triumphant hiss.  

He grins against your skin, humming atop your erratic pulse. 

“Better hurry up and spread ‘em, then.” 

Matthew’s between your dangling boots as soon as you’ve hoisted yourself onto the counter. Kneading the soft skin of your thighs, inching up and in with eager hands, he doesn’t slow or stop until the white Self-Titled sundress is bunched up in the hinge of your hips.

“That’s my girl.” 

III. it’s delicate…

“All Tequila, No Crime” isn’t as diabolical of a cocktail as it sounds. 

Spending $100+ to taste test it and three other signature mixed drinks is. 

A robbery, if you ask him. 

What's downright criminal, though, is your inability to finish a single one. A “Last Great American G&T” with a few sips missing, a half-finished “Midnight Mule,” and a watered-down “Blue Debut” sit abandoned amongst an assortment of sweet treats and small bites. 

As he waits for what he ordered, Matthew picks at the vibrant fruit salad. He’s about to pluck a honeydew star from the pile stacked high in a bowl fashioned from a watermelon rind when the back of his neck prickles. 

“Knock it off.”

You blink, bemused. 

Matthew, having watched your reaction in a reflection, rolls his eyes. 

Back still to you, he clarifies. “You promised you wouldn’t make this a whole thing.”  

“I'm not.” 

“You've never been a good liar.” 

“Isn't that a good thing?” you deflect. 

You turn your attention back to the lively stadium, watching as it fills with laughter and anticipation. You're hoping he'll take the hint and drop it, that he won't pull the night apart at the seams. 

He abandons the sprawling buffet table in favor of the plush recliner beside yours. Once settled, Matthew slides a plate of your favorites across the small table between you. 

“Don't change the subject.” 

The cement under your boots makes for a captive audience as you sail into dicey weather. “I know—I know what I said, and I'm really trying my best, but can you blame me? I mean, c’mon, Matty. Look where we are.”

“A Taylor Swift concert?” Matthew does what he does best.

You know his tells and his tricks. You indulge neither. 

“My first Taylor Swift concert. Ever. I came out of The Queue From Hell empty-handed and shit out of luck, yet here we are. The Eras Tour. And not way up the nosebleeds or side-stage with an obstructed view. A suite. A private, fifteen-person suite—for just us. You did that.” 

Matthew shifts uncomfortably. He scratches the shadow clinging to his jaw. He looks everywhere, at everything. Everything except you. 

“So?” 

The probe is firm yet reluctant but not inherently dismissive. 

“So,” you heave a labored sigh of unease. “—so, how could I not? This ‘whole thing’ is the kindest, most thoughtful gesture anyone’s ever done for me. It means the absolute world, and I know you know that.” 

A thick, paralyzing quiet descends on the balcony. 

He does know that, which is what makes it so terrible. He knows, he knows, he knows. Matthew knows; he wishes he didn’t. For years, he successfully kept it at bay because… because you can’t just un-know something like that. Even entertaining the thought felt too big a risk. It jeopardizes the delicate peace only willful ignorance can safeguard. 

“Alright, alright. Jesus, sweetheart. Can't have you emptying the tank before the show even starts,” Matthew teases as he thumbs the tears away. “How d’ya know I didn’t pull some strings just to put an end to your perpetual pity party?” 

He’s trying to lighten the mood. Hoping to inch away from the emotionally dense zone of uncharted territory, hoping you’ll have mercy—or take pity—on him and his plight of avoidance. 

And you do.  

Ever the benevolent people-pleaser. 

You take your foot off the gas. You retreat to the status quo. You yield, but for a good cause.

Good and right aren’t synonymous. And we can’t will them to be. So, instead, we choose our battles and bide our time. 

There’s no reason to rain on tonight’s parade. 

“Thank you,” you acquiesce.  

Mathew smiles. 

This ceasefire, this tacit truce, is as fragile as rice paper. It feels as though, if someone pushed too hard from either side, they'd go right through it unchallenged. But, for now, it's enough. 

He takes your hand and squeezes. “And for the hundredth time, you’re welcome.” 

IV. it’s been a long time coming…

He gets it now. 

Truthfully, he understood after the very first bridge of the night. There’s just something about the intimacy of the spectacle; it's… indescribable. With thousands from all walks of life gathered in a single stadium to celebrate nearly two decades of singing, crying, and growing up together, it wasn't difficult to get swept up in the magic. 

For someone who’d consider themselves fan-adjacent at best, he wasn’t expecting to feel much of anything, let alone goosebumps, misty-eyed. 

He can’t even imagine how extraordinarily special it must’ve been for you, a lifelong fan, to partake in the world’s most cinematic sing-along. To luck out with your opener of choice, to be surprised with your favorite song during the acoustic set—you could probably die happy. Matthew can still feel your tear-streaked cheek against his shoulder and your shakey hand clasped in his. And he’ll remember the warmth of your joy for the rest of his life. 

He, however, doesn't have to imagine how much the experience took out of you. 

“Hey, hey. Don’t pass out on me yet, sweetheart.” 

You’re one minute into a five-minute Uber ride, and he’s already had to nudge you twice. 

Curled against the cool window like a cat, you groggily protest, “I’m not. My mind is alive, promise.”  

He snorts. “Then why’re your eyes shut?” 

“They aren’t!” 

They absolutely are. 

Matthew tugs you across his lap with a smile pulling at his cheeks. 

“Sounds like you need to get yours checked, Matthew Brendan,” you quip into his chest before drowning the backseat in delirious giggles. 

In the golden glow of the streetlamps, his smirk rests against your temple. 

Here is the moment. There have been hundreds like it in the years since you met. Lighthearted banter and late night laughter spill over into the early morning hours, all of it utter nonsense he wouldn’t trade for anything. It should be perfectly ordinary, but it's music to his ears. 

The cowboy boots he swore he wouldn’t carry home rest against his similarly sore calves. The ziplock bag, once bursting at the seams with bracelets, is empty and folded in his back pocket, and his arm is full from elbow to wrist. The glitter he contested clings to him like a second skin, there to stay. 

And he doesn’t hate it. 

💌 if you liked it, pls lmk! 💌

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[hynzsn]

★ LATE NIGHT CALLS ★

☆ sohee x male reader

-> idol!sohee x non-idol!reader

꩜ .ᐟ fluff

contents: soft!sohee, clingy!sohee, longing, hotel room, tour shenanigans, falling asleep on facetime, established relationship, idol au, long distance, sohee’s missing you, sohee’s wearing your clothes, cute pet names, teasing, playful banter, emotional support, comfort, post-concert feelings, mutual pining, sweet talk, flirting, sohee thinks he’s cuter than your pet

wc: 2.5k

summary: sohee's on tour, living his idol dreams, but his heart's back home with you. after a thrilling concert, he calls you for a much-needed nightly facetime date.

♡︎♡︎♡︎ likes, comments and reblogs are highly appreciated ♡︎♡︎♡︎

the bass was still thrumming through sohee’s veins as he stumbled into his hotel room, the adrenaline from the concert slowly ebbing away. his muscles ached, his throat was raw, and his hair was a sweaty mess, but god, he felt alive. the screams of the fans, the pulsing lights, the rush of performing – it was all still fresh in his mind. but as he closed the door behind him, leaning against it with a heavy sigh, another feeling crept in.

longing.

sohee’s eyes darted to his phone, lying innocently on the nightstand where he'd left it before the show. he bit his lip, fighting the urge to grab it immediately. no, shower first. he needed to wash off the grime and sweat of the performance before he could even think about calling you. but fuck, he missed you so much it physically hurt.

dragging himself to the bathroom, sohee stripped off his stage outfit, leaving a trail of sequins and leather in his wake. the hot water hit his skin, and he let out a groan of relief. as he lathered up, his mind wandered to you. were you at home right now? what were you doing? had you watched any fancams from tonight's show?

the thought made him blush, remembering how he'd blown a kiss to the camera during his solo, knowing you'd be watching later. god, he was whipped.

stepping out of the shower, sohee wrapped a fluffy hotel towel around his waist and padded back into the main room. his suitcase lay open on the floor, clothes spilling out haphazardly. but he bypassed all of that, reaching instead for a familiar, oversized hoodie folded neatly on top. your hoodie.

sohee buried his face in the soft fabric, inhaling deeply. it still smelled like you – a mix of your cologne and that indescribable scent that was uniquely you. he slipped it on, reveling in how it enveloped him, hanging off his frame. a pair of your sweatpants completed the ensemble, and sohee felt instantly calmer, safer. it was like being wrapped in your arms, even if you were thousands of miles away.

finally, finally, he allowed himself to grab his phone. his heart rate picked up as he opened your chat, seeing the string of messages you'd sent throughout the day.

[sohee’s phone pov]

📱 -> my whole entire world ♡︎♡︎♡︎: good morning sunshine!! hope you slept well~

📱 -> my whole entire world ♡︎♡︎♡︎: break a leg at the concert tonight (not literally ofc)! you're gonna kill it babe

📱 -> my whole entire world ♡︎♡︎♡︎: saw some previews on twitter... how dare you look that good wtf

📱 -> my whole entire world ♡︎♡︎♡︎: that outfit should be illegal smh

📱 -> my whole entire world ♡︎♡︎♡︎: love youuuu cant wait to talk later!!

sohee’s cheeks hurt from smiling so wide. how did he get so lucky? he quickly typed out a response, fingers flying over the keyboard.

[your phone’s pov]

📱 -> my baby ♡︎♡︎♡︎: babyyyyyyy im back!!

📱 -> my baby ♡︎♡︎♡︎: missed you so fuckin much today

📱 -> my baby ♡︎♡︎♡︎: can we ft?? pls pls pls i need to see your face

he bounced on the balls of his feet, waiting for your reply. it came almost instantly.

[sohee’s phone pov]

📱 -> my whole entire world ♡︎♡︎♡︎: ofc!! give me 2 secs

sohee’s heart leapt into his throat as he saw the incoming facetime call. he scrambled to answer, nearly dropping his phone in his haste.

and then there you were, your beautiful face filling his screen, and sohee felt like he could breathe properly for the first time all day.

"hi, baby," you said, your voice soft and fond. "how was the show?"

sohee couldn't help the way his lips curved into a pout, eyes going wide and pleading. "it was good, but i missed youuuu," he whined, flopping backwards onto the bed. "feels like forever since i last saw your face."

you laughed, the sound making sohee’s heart skip a beat. "we facetimed this morning, you big baby."

"that was hours ago," sohee protested, holding the phone above his face. "do you know how many hours that is? too many. way too many."

"poor baby," you cooed, your eyes crinkling with amusement. "however did you survive?"

sohee’s pout deepened. "i almost didn't. i think I'm dying of you deficiency. it’s a real thing, look it up."

you snorted, shaking your head fondly. "you’re ridiculous."

"ridiculously in love with you," sohee shot back, grinning when he saw the way your cheeks flushed.

"smooth talker," you muttered, but sohee could see the pleased smile you were trying to hide. "so, tell me about the concert. how’d it go?"

sohee launched into an animated retelling of the night's events, gesturing wildly with his free hand as he described the crowd's energy, the special stages they'd prepared, and the couple of minor mishaps that had occurred (like when anton had nearly tripped over his own feet during the dance break, saved only by wonbin’s quick reflexes).

"—and then during my solo, i did that thing with the rose, you know? where i bite the stem? and i swear to god, i thought the fans were gonna riot," sohee giggled, eyes sparkling with mischief. "i blew a kiss to the camera too, did you see? that was for you, babe."

you groaned, covering your face with your hands. "god, i saw. nearly had a heart attack, thanks for that."

sohee preened, feeling a rush of satisfaction. "good. that was the goal. gotta keep you on your toes, ya know?"

"trust me, you do that plenty without trying," you said dryly. "speaking of which, is that my hoodie?"

sohee glanced down, as if he'd forgotten what he was wearing. "oh, this old thing?" he said innocently, tugging at the collar. "maybe."

your eyes softened, a tender smile playing at your lips. "you’re wearing my clothes again?"

"always do when i’m away," sohee admitted quietly, suddenly feeling shy. "makes me feel closer to you. like you're here with me."

"baby..." you breathed, looking at him with so much love it made sohee’s chest ache. "i wish i was."

"me too," sohee whispered, curling up on his side and holding the phone close. "i hate being away from you. i know it's part of the job, but fuck, it's hard sometimes."

you nodded, understanding in your eyes. "i know, love. but hey, at least the time difference isn't so bad this time, right? we can talk more easily."

sohee perked up at that. "true! small mercies, i guess. still hate time zones though. wish the whole world operated on sohee time."

"and what, pray tell, is sohee time?" you asked, amusement clear in your voice.

"it’s whatever time lets me talk to you the most," sohee declared matter-of-factly. "duh."

you laughed, the sound warming sohee from the inside out. "of course, how silly of me. clearly that's the only sensible way to measure time."

"now you're getting it," sohee grinned, winking at the camera.

as your conversation continued, sohee felt the stress and exhaustion of the day melting away. just hearing your voice, seeing your smile – it was better than any post-concert high. he could talk to you for hours and never get bored.

and that's exactly what he planned to do.

"so, tell me about your day," sohee said, shifting to get more comfortable. he propped his phone up against a pillow, freeing his hands to play with the strings of your hoodie. "what’d you do while i was out here being a superstar?"

you rolled your eyes at his playful bragging, but there was fondness in your expression. "oh, you know, just pined away dramatically, waiting for my idol boyfriend to notice me."

sohee gasped, clutching his chest. "how cruel of me! making my precious honey bunny sugar plum wait like that. i’m a monster."

"honey bunny sugar plum?" you repeated, eyebrows raised. "that’s a new one."

"i’m trying it out," sohee said with a cheeky grin. "too much?"

"definitely too much," you laughed. "but somehow still cute coming from you."

sohee preened at the compliment, a light blush dusting his cheeks. "everything's cute coming from me. i'm the cutest."

"can’t argue with that," you agreed easily, making sohee’s blush deepen. "anyway, my day was pretty normal. went to work, had lunch with some colleagues, came home and watched some of your fancams-"

"ooh, which ones?" sohee interrupted eagerly, sitting up straighter. "did you see the one where i did that body roll during get a guitar? the fans went crazy for that one."

you groaned, covering your face with your hands again. "yes, i saw that one. multiple times. i think i've memorized it at this point."

sohee wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. "like what you saw, babe?"

"you know i did, you menace," you grumbled, peeking through your fingers. "it should be illegal to look that good."

"aww, you're making me blush," sohee cooed, even as his cheeks flamed red. he batted his eyelashes exaggeratedly. "tell me more about how hot i am."

you snorted, dropping your hands. "as if your ego needs any more stroking. you fish for compliments more than my pet fishes for attention."

"hey!" sohee protested with a pout. "i resent that comparison. i’m way cuter than your pet."

"debatable," you teased, laughing at sohee's indignant expression.

"take that back!" sohee demanded, jutting out his lower lip in an exaggerated pout. "i'm the cutest thing in your life and you know it."

you pretended to think about it, tapping your chin thoughtfully. "hmm, i don't know... my pet is pretty adorable..."

sohee let out a dramatic gasp, clutching his chest. "i can't believe this betrayal. my own boyfriend, choosing his pet over me. i’m heartbroken. devastated. i'll never recover from this-"

"oh my god, you're such a drama queen," you laughed, shaking your head fondly. "fine, fine, you're the cutest. happy now?"

sohee immediately brightened, his pout transforming into a dazzling smile. "ecstatic," he chirped. "i knew you'd see reason eventually."

a comfortable silence fell between you, both just content to look at each other for a moment. sohee’s eyes traced every detail of your face, committing it to memory. the curve of your smile, the way your eyes crinkled at the corners when you laughed – he loved every inch of you.

"i miss you, you know?” sohee said softly, his earlier playfulness giving way to a more vulnerable honesty. "like, really miss you. being on tour is amazing, don't get me wrong. i love performing and meeting fans and all that. but sometimes... sometimes i just want to be home with you."

your expression softened, a mix of love and sympathy in your eyes. "i know. i miss you too. so much. but i’m so proud of you, you know that right? you’re out there living your dream, and i couldn't be happier for you."

sohee felt his eyes start to water, overwhelmed by the love and support in your voice. "even if it means we're apart so much?"

"even then," you assured him firmly. "yeah, it sucks sometimes. but seeing you on stage, doing what you love? it’s worth it. you’re worth it."

a tear slipped down sohee’s cheek, and he quickly wiped it away. "god, i love you so much," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "how did i get so lucky?"

"i ask myself the same thing every day," you replied with a soft smile. "now stop crying or you'll set me off too."

sohee laughed wetly, sniffling a bit. "sorry, sorry. i’m just feeling extra sappy tonight i guess."

"post-concert emotions?" you guessed, and sohee nodded.

"probably. everything feels more intense after a show, you know? the highs are higher, the lows are lower... and right now, missing you is like, cranked up to eleven."

you made a sympathetic noise. "i wish i could hug you right now."

"me too," sohee sighed, tugging the sleeves of your hoodie over his hands. "this helps though," he added, gesturing to the oversized garment. "it’s like a hug from you, kinda."

your eyes softened even further, if that was possible. "i’m glad. does it still smell like me?"

sohee nodded, bringing the collar up to his nose and inhaling deeply. "yeah," he mumbled into the fabric. "s'nice. comforting."

"good," you said, your voice warm. "i sprayed some of my cologne on it before you left, hoping it would last."

sohee’s heart swelled at the thoughtful gesture. "you’re the best boyfriend ever, you know that?"

"i try," you said with a playful wink. "someone's gotta keep up with korea's sweetheart, right?"

sohee groaned, burying his face in his hands. "oh god, don't call me that. it’s so embarrassing."

"but it's true!" you insisted, grinning widely. "my boyfriend, the nation's darling. stealing hearts left and right with his angelic voice and killer moves."

"stooooop," sohee whined, peeking through his fingers to glare at you halfheartedly. "you’re the worst."

"i thought i was the best boyfriend ever?" you quipped, raising an eyebrow.

"both. you’re both. simultaneously the best and the worst. it’s very confusing."

you laughed, "i'll take it. as long as you still love me."

"always," sohee said without hesitation, dropping his hands to reveal a soft smile. "no matter what."

the conversation flowed easily from there, jumping from topic to topic. sohee told you about the prank war that had broken out between the members on the tour bus (seunghan was currently winning, much to everyone's chagrin). you filled him in on the latest drama at your workplace, complete with exaggerated impressions of your coworkers that had sohee in stitches.

as the night wore on, sohee felt his eyelids growing heavy. he tried to stifle a yawn, not wanting the call to end, but you caught it anyway.

"getting sleepy?" you asked gently.

sohee shook his head stubbornly, even as another yawn escaped him. "no, m'fine. not tired at all."

"uh-huh, sure," you said, clearly not buying it. "when’s your schedule start tomorrow?"

sohee pouted, knowing where this was going. "not till noon," he mumbled reluctantly.

"then you should get some sleep," you insisted. "it’s late, and you need to rest after the concert."

"don’t wanna," sohee whined, clutching his phone tighter. "if i go to sleep, you'll hang up. and then i’ll be alone again." sohee bit his lip, considering. "...can we stay on the call?" he asked hesitantly. "even if we're not talking? just... knowing you're there helps."

"of course," you agreed immediately. "whatever you need. i’m here."

feeling reassured, sohee nodded and settled down into the bed, pulling the covers up to his chin. he propped his phone up on the pillow next to him, angling it so he could still see your face.

"comfy?" you asked, and sohee nodded sleepily.

"mhmm. wish you were here though," he murmured, already feeling himself start to drift off.

"i know, love. soon, okay? just think about the moment you come back, i’ll be waiting for you."

sohee smiled at that, his eyes fluttering closed. "promise?"

"promise," you confirmed softly. "now get some sleep, superstar. i love you."

"love you too," sohee mumbled, already half-asleep. "so much."

as he drifted off, the last thing sohee was aware of was the sound of your steady breathing through the phone, and the comforting scent of your hoodie surrounding him. it wasn't the same as having you there, but for now, it was enough.

he fell asleep with a smile on his face, dreaming of the day he'd be back in your arms for real.

[avatar-anna]

A Night Out

i couldn't figure out how to end this, so it kind of keeps going until i finally decided to just stop writing before this just kept going

tattoo artist!harry styles x ballerina!reader - prequel, first part

You could feel the stares the moment you stepped inside the gala. From the moment you handed your coat over to the gentleman at the coat check, you could feel them. The eyes, the cold, judgemental gazes of the other guests of the charity gala tonight.

Not on you. Well, not directly on you anyway.

The eyes were on the man standing beside you, whose hand rested gently on the small of your back as he led you into the ballroom where the gala was held. You didn't blame anyone for staring. To say your boyfriend was handsome was an understatement, and it had never been a secret to anyone, not even to you when you'd met him, when you'd been solely focused on your career].

Harry's smile was bright as he leaned down so his mouth brushed your ear, his cologne dizzying as he said, "Is it just me or is everyone staring at you?"

"They're definitely staring at you," you said, glancing pointedly at where his bare, tattooed chest peeking through his dress shirt. "I did mention this was a black tie event, didn't I?"

A part of you believed your boyfriend dressed this way out of spite for the whole evening. He'd scoffed at the invitation when he found out about it, and the messages from your some of your fellow dancers about color palettes for dresses that you'd shown him. It was a part of your life that was new to you, new to both of you, as you'd only just become a principal dancer of your ballet company. The whirlwind of struggling to make ends meet and making a five year plan with Harry to being invited to lavish parties and receiving messages about being sponsored by brands never ceased to surprise you. It was an entirely different world, one you weren't sure you wanted any part of, save for the dancing. The excess, the upturned noses, the judgment. It was too much, and you never felt as though you were enough, so you stayed away from it all as much as you could.

Not that anyone seemed to notice, you started out in the ensemble at the company and were rarely invited to charity galas and the like. Until now, of course, since you were prima ballerina in the most recent production. You were worth showing off.

Harry looked down at himself, at the half-buttoned dress shirt that he'd picked out for the night. He elected to not wear a tie—though you weren't sure Harry even owned a tie—which was the likely cause of all the staring. That and the piercings. And the tattoos, the ones that covered his chest and crept up his neck and covered his hands. You liked Harry's tattoos, loved them; you knew every single piece of art inked on his skin. From the roses to the portraits to the parts that filled in the gaps between pieces. You loved Harry's tattoos, and you loved him.

But tonight was going to be tense as it was, the only thing you asked of him was to wear a proper suit and tie.

"This is my best shirt, bunny. You love me in this shirt."

You tensed at the sound of his nickname for you. "H, I told you about the—"

"I know, I'm sorry," Harry said. "Was a slip of the tongue. Won't happen again tonight, I promise, bunny. Shit. That was the last time."

"Harry."

"I'm sorry, baby, but you're in that dress, and I can't think straight when all I want to do is—"

"Shh!" you hissed.

Harry's hands smoothed down your bare arms as an older couple walked by, the woman giving you and your boyfriend a disapproving look before moving on. After quietly apologizing, he steered you toward the open bar that made a square in the middle of everything. The string orchestra was already in full swing in the corner of the ballroom, and couples in their finest gowns and tailored suits swayed to the classical music they played. The music calmed you somewhat, relaxing your shoulders as you let the music soothe your nerves.

"Should we go dance? Or drinks first?" Harry murmured, his hand settling on your hips. He kissed your jaw, then your neck, his lips dragging along your skin until they grazed the delicate chain around your neck. "I love you, bunny. I'm sorry, I can't help it. You're my bunny. What am I supposed to do?"

You smiled, despite the flush that was no doubt creeping up your skin, visible for everyone to see. You wanted to blend into the background tonight, to draw as little attention to yourself and Harry as possible. But Harry was hard not to notice on a regular day, let alone at a charity gala filled with the city's wealthiest people.

Tilting your head back, you looked at him. Harry was smirking, his eyes alight with mischief as if he knew all eyes were on him and he enjoyed it. "Let's—Let's just go get drinks."

You could sense Harry's disappointment at your answer. Both of you loved to tease each other and make the other laugh to ease tension, but you were too hyper focused on where you were. You were too conscious of everyone around you, staring at you, at Harry, as if neither of you belonged.

Harry sighed through his nose deeply but still took your hand. "Alright," he said. "Drinks, then dancing."

It might've been your profession, but you weren't sure if you could dance in front of this audience tonight.

*.*

The evening went as they normally did whenever you attended them. The canapes were the same, the same scandals were gossiped about, and the older women huddled in the same corner to talk about everyone else in attendance. The only thing that was different was your boyfriend.

People stared and judged because of course they did—he was new, he was covered in tattoos, and he wasn't wearing a tux. No one tried to hide their disdain as they looked at him, then you. No one bothered to say more than three words to Harry when they came up to speak to you. It was degrading and cruel, and neither you nor Harry deserved that kind of treatment.

But perhaps what was most surprising—or maybe unsurprising—was Harry's behavior. While you felt like you weren't able to hide your anxiety as you were inspected under everyone's microscope, Harry hid everything under cool indifference. It started with clipped, borderline polite answers to questions he did receive, but as the drinks flowed, things took a turn.

"And what do you do, Harry?"

One of your dance teachers came and found you on the outskirts of the dance floor. Harry had been trying to convince you to dance with him, but you didn't want to. Didn't want the attention and scrutiny. That notion seemed to annoy him further.

"I'm a tattoo artist," Harry said casually.

"I see," your teacher said, glancing down at the naked mermaid tattoo on Harry's arm, then to the silver hoop pierced through his lip. "An 'artist' too, then. Like us."

"He owns his own studio," you felt obligated to mention. "It's doing pretty well, right, H?"

"We do alright. Haven't had to resort to a Walter White style of living to make ends meet. Yet."

Your eyes widened. You could tell he was joking, but only because you knew him so well. The line between sarcasm and seriousness was thin, and you could tell that your instructor believed what Harry said. You squeezed his hand, urging him to stop. It wasn't the first time he'd made a similar comment tonight, and it was enough already. But he was pissed, in more ways than one. He was also more than a few drinks deep and clearly fed up with tonight's guests.

"He's kidding," you felt obligated to say, chuckling weakly.

"Well," your teacher said as he cleared his throat, not finding Harry's "joke" remotely amusing. "You must be proud of Y/n. Now that her career will be taking off, she'll be able to provide for the both of you. I imagine being a...tattoo artist isn't all that lucrative."

"Seriously?"

Your teacher blanched. "Pardon? I didn't mean any offense—"

"Yeah, you did," Harry said, jaw clenched and green eyes narrowed and darkened. "You can look down at me all you want, you pompous fuck. All of you assholes act like you're so much better than—"

"Harry, maybe we should—"

"Yeah, pull me away and apologize for me like I'm the problem," he spat, shrugging out of your grasp as you reached for his arm. "I don't need to be handled, Y/n."

Harry didn't give you or your teacher time to respond before stalking off. You followed him, not stopping until you reached doors that led out to a balcony. You squeezed through after him, closing them behind you so that you and Harry could be alone.

For the first time all night, you saw real anger on your boyfriend's face. He'd masked it quite well, appearing as if he got a kick out of making guests of the gala uncomfortable by his mere presence. But you knew better. You could see the hollowness of his smile, the white-knuckle grip he had on his glass behind all the tattoos. He was just as miserable and annoyed as you were at this party, though why he kept making things exponentially difficult you had no idea.

"What is wrong with you?"

"Me? You're the one acting like...like—"

"Like what?"

"Like one of them!" Harry said, gesturing to the party still in full swing inside.

You took a step back as if Harry had hit you. He might as well have with how his words struck a chord in you. He knew how much you hated all the aristocratic nonsense that was suddenly part of your life. He knew all you really wanted was to dance.

"Do you really mean that?" you asked, wanting to give him a chance to take the words back.

"You've hidden me from these people all night. Apologizing for me as if you're ashamed of me!"

"I don't—I don't want to do this right now," was all you could say. He was hurting you, and you knew he was obviously hurt too, but you didn't lash out when you were upset. You crawled deeper inside yourself, locking everything and everyone else out.

"Why? Because it'll embarrass you? Because it's uncomfortable to be in the middle of conflict? Have some backbone, Y/n."

"Yes," you admitted, partly ashamed for admitting it. "You're embarrassing me, Harry."

You didn't have to look through the glass doors to know people were watching. You performed on a stage where hundreds of people gathered to watch, you knew what it felt like to be spectated.

"I am who I am, Y/n, and you've never had a problem with it until now," Harry said, his voice lowering just a little but no less pained. "I won't change for them, and I never thought you would either until tonight."

"Are you kidding?" you cried, utterly surprised that he didn't understand. Your boyfriend was a hothead tonight, but you didn't think he was this dense. "I'm at work, Harry. I may not be in costume, or on a stage, but this is my job. Those people out there are my bosses, my colleagues, and investors in the company. It's not a typical stage, but this is a performance. I have to act a certain way in front of these people to keep them invested and donating. And you...you're treating it all like a joke! But this isn't a joke to me. This is how I get to do what I love.

"You want backbone? Here's backbone," you said, ignoring the tears that began to line your eyes. "I think you should go."

Harry's face softened when he saw you were about to cry. "Bunny—"

"No," you said abruptly, stepping away from his outstretched hand. "I dislike these events just as much as you do, but I still have to come, and I just wanted—I needed a friend tonight, but you weren't."

Harry sighed, his face a mask a cool indifference. This was your first real fight, and things were not looking good. You could tell there was more he wanted to say. He opened his mouth, then closed it, then rubbed a hand over his face. Seeing his face so carefully blank, so unreadable nearly made those tears in your eyes spill over, but you stayed composed as he finally made his way to the glass doors.

"Fine," he said as he passed you. "But tux or no tux, I think you would've tried to hide me tonight. I wanted you to have my back too."

It was only after the doors opened and closed that you let loose a sob.

*.*

The rest of the party went by in a blur. You stayed seated at the bar for most of it, not interested in speaking to anyone in attendance. The only person you wanted to talk to was Harry. You wanted his corny jokes and whispered compliments and his little kisses on your bare shoulder. But you'd pretty much shot your relationship to hell, and while you should've gone home to your apartment to wallow, the open bar didn't seem like a bad idea at the moment.

"Where's your man?" the bartender asked as he slid you another flute of champagne. It had a little less wine in it this time, and you were pretty sure that was done purposely by the bartender.

"Might not be my man anymore, Mark," you said with a sigh, followed by a hiccup.

"Impossible."

"I told him he embarrassed me, after he's been nothing but supportive of me and my career. How selfish is that?" you said, watching the bubbles float to the top of your glass listlessly. "I had the most perfect man in the whole world, and I let him slip through my fingers because he wouldn't put on a suit. I don't even think he owns a suit."

"The no tie was a choice," Mark agreed as he polished a glass from behind the bar. "Especially with this crowd."

"That's what I'm—saying!" you said around another hiccup. "I—I know it might sound crazy considering my profession but I don't—I don't like attention. With things like this, Harry just...he's a magnet for attention, even when he is dressed appropriately. It's intimidating. But I—I never meant to make him feel small, or ashamed. I love him and his apartment and his studio. And now he probably hates me."

"Again," the bartender, Mark, said. "Impossible. You both messed up. That happens. Now you apologize, kiss, and makeup."

"Easier said then done," you sniffled. "We're both irritatingly stubborn."

You left the gala soon after that, deciding to take the pity party home. You had planned to stay at Harry's apartment tonight, but that seemed out of the question now. After thanking the gentleman at the coat check, you walked, stumbling only slightly, out into the cold air. You shivered a little before struggling to put on your coat, cursing its heaviness, your colleagues, and this entire night as you slipped into its warmth.

"Need some help?"

Your head whipped up, tear stains chilling against the cold wind. "H?"

"I couldn't leave," Harry admitted, rubbing a tired hand over his face. "Not after we fought. Not after knowing I made you cry."

"I'm sorry," you whimpered, guilt washing over you. "You were right. About everything. These people are all assholes and—and it shouldn't m—matter what you do or what you wear. Y—You're perfect. And I love you."

Harry opened his arms and you practically fell into them. You squeezed him tight, and he did the same, his hand cupping the back of your head. "I'm sorry too, bunny. I didn't take this night seriously. I should've known how much tonight meant to your career, and I didn't. I love you, bunny. I hate seeing you upset over something I did."

"Can we agree to never fight again?" you asked, looking up at him as you sniffled.

"That's a big ask," he said as he wiped tears away from your cheeks. "But I promise not to have such a big mouth if I'm ever invited back to one of these things."

"And maybe invest in a suit?"

Harry chuckled before kissing you, his lips a warm welcome in the cold. "Yeah, bunny. I'll even let you pick it out."

You smiled widely as Harry took your hand and began walking down the street toward home. It was quiet for a moment until the words tumbled out of your mouth. "I'm not embarrassed to be with you, or of your job. You know that right?"

Harry's hand squeezed yours. "I know. I know you're not, bunny."

More silence. Then, "Pompous fuck? Really?"

"Yeah, that was a bit much. Sorry about that," Harry sighed, only laughing when he saw you smiling. "How much groveling am I doing tonight, then?"

You giggled, stopping your walk so you could kiss your boyfriend. Tonight wasn't great. Actually, it was pretty much a dumpster fire. But you and Harry survived your first proper argument, and that had to count for something, especially when he was ready to beg and beg for your forgiveness.

"Mm... probably about as much as I am."

"Bunny, we can't both be on our knees."

You stuffed, playing with the material of his shirt. "We can take turns. I don't have rehearsals tomorrow."

Harry lifted you off the ground and you squealed as he spun you around. "Need you out of this dress immediately. Come on."

Your hand gripped his tight as you both practically ran down the sidewalk, your dress swirling and nearly getting caught around your ankles. Once you were close enough, Harry lifted you into his arms, hauling you the rest of the way to his apartment. "Home sweet home," he panted, nose pink from running through the bitter chill.

"I love our home," you said, cupping his cheek in your hand.

There wasn't much talking after that. Harry kissed you hard, walking you past the threshold and only setting you down until you were in the bedroom. He was gentle, just as he always was, giving you soft commands and praises, each word and shared breath in the bed a promise to be better to each other. Both of you were needy, desperate, trying to make up for the words exchanged at the party.

When it was all said and done, your muscles felt like jelly, a light sheen of sweat covering your skin as you molded yourself to Harry's side. "Pretty girl, my pretty bunny," he murmured as he kissed your head.

"Screw the tux," you said into his shoulder, your sigh content as you stretched your hand across his stomach. "I like you more with no clothes at all."

Humming, Harry traced his fingers up and down your back, making your eyes droopy with sleep. "I'm glad you think so, bunny, but maybe I'll keep just one in my closet for very special occasions."

You smiled before reaching up and kissing him. "We're really good at compromising, huh?"

Harry's eyes crinkled softly, his hand reaching to cup the back of your neck. "It's like we were made for each other, bunny. I love you."

"I love you too."

You kissed him. Then you kissed him again. And again a little bit longer. "We're supposed to be going to bed," you said, though you didn't stop Harry from sliding his leg between yours. "We made up already."

"So you want me to stop?" Harry was already half-hard and kissing your neck.

"No, I'm just surprised you're up for another round, old man."

Harry lifted his head. "Old? Did you just call me old? I'm not that much older than you."

Noticing the spark in his eyes, your stomach flipped despite being exhausted moments ago. Maintaining an innocent facade, you blinked up at him. "If you say so."

Taking the challenge, Harry shifted you onto your stomach before lining himself up with your entrance. He made it an inch before whispering in your ear, "If you wanted me to be rough with you, bunny, you should've just said so instead of pulling all these invisible strings."

Smiling, you arched your back further. "But it's so much more fun this way, daddy."

Harry's chuckle sent a delightful shiver down your spine. Then, you gripped the sheets in anticipation for the rest of the night.

[tiannasfanfic]

White Wedding

Eddie Munson x Reader (Smut)

| Eddie & Steddie Masterlist | AO3 Link |

Summary: After your wedding, Eddie takes full advantage of having you alone during the limo ride to the reception.

Rating: Explicit 18+

Author Note: Afab reader, they/them pronouns (if any), no Y/N, no Vecna AU. Not specifically mentioned in story that Eddie is a Rockstar, that’s just how I imagine this version of Eddie. Reader wears a white wedding dress and lingerie, and has their hair and makeup done, so implied femme leaning Reader (at least for their wedding). No other descriptions of the dress, hair or makeup. Filthy newlywed smut ahead!

CW: Kinda Perv!Eddie and Perv!Reader; Smut (p in v, f recieving oral, fingering, spit for lube); exhibitionism (sex in a moving limo); mild corruption kink (Eddie).

Word Count: 1,953

After you and Eddie get married, the first time you have any alone time together as husband and wife is in the limousine on the way to the hotel for your reception.

Eddie hasn’t been able to stop staring since he first laid eyes on you as you walked down the aisle towards him. You look so breathtaking and ethereal in your wedding dress, with your soft makeup and hair done in a way that compliments your facial features.

Not long after you get on the road, he leans forward to tell the driver to take you on a small circle around the city and keep driving around until he says otherwise. The driver is paid by the hour, so he doesn’t care.

When the privacy divider is once again closed, Eddie’s slides down onto his knees in front of you. His lips devour yours in a passionate kiss as his hands travel up under the skirt of your wedding dress, pushing the fabric up along the way. Once all the fabric of your skirt is bunched up around your waist, he pulls back a little to take a good look at you and groans deeply at the sight before him. Even though he was expecting some sort of lingerie under your dress, nothing could have prepared him for the ensemble when he sees it. It was all in white to match your dress, there was absolutely nothing virginal or pure about it aside from the color.

Covering your legs were a pair of thigh high stockings, each one held securely in place by tiny straps belonging to the garter belt that circling your waist. Your panties were little more than a simple triangle of lace held together with a few strings, the weave of the lace loose enough to tease him with the barest glimpse of what was underneath. Letting his gaze travel lower, he can’t help but follow the line of your panties with his eyes to fully take in the sight of your lace clad pussy…and he nearly chokes on his own spit when he realizes they are crotchless.

“Fucking hell, sweetheart,” Eddie groans, licking his lips as his hands spreads your thighs wider so he can get a better look. “You wrapped her up all nice and pretty for me, didn’t you?”

You slowly rolled your hips off the seat and up towards him, giving him a better view between your legs for a moment before settling back down. The result was another groan from Eddie, and he moved his hand so he could start softly rubbing your clit with his thumb. A soft moan leaves your lips and Eddie shivers.

“Want play with your present now or later?” you ask him, batting your eyelashes with an innocent smile.

He doesn’t bother answering verbally, instead he ducks his face down to your pussy to run his tongue through your folds. The moan that leaves his mouth at your taste makes his lips vibrate against you and you moan rises from your throat in response. One of your hands comes to rest on the back of his head, fingers gripping into his curls and giving them a soft tug in that way he loves, making Eddie groan again.

He brings the fingers of his free hand down spread you open, giving him better access to your wet core so he can dip his tongue inside. With his tongue flicking in and out of you and his thumb rubbing circles around your clit, the feeling makes you start grinding your hips up off the seat against his mouth.

“God, baby,” you moan, head thrown back against the backrest of the seat. “Feels so good.” Your hips continue to rock up into his face and he starts timing the motions of his tongue with the motions of your hips. “Always so good to me, baby. Always taking care of me.”

“Always will, sweetheart,” he groans into your pussy, your breathless praise going straight to his cock and making his own hips rut forward into the empty air. Then looks up at you to watch your face as he slowly sinks his middle finger into you. “My pretty little wife deserves only the best.”

As he starts fingering you, his lips make their way to your clit, where he starts kissing over it and around it. Your hips arch up higher, pushing yourself up into his face. He makes a sound of pleasure at this, then begins rapidly flicking his tongue around your clit.

“Oh fuck!” you cry out with a gasp, gripping his hair harder.

Your thighs are already trembling on either side of his head, a sure sign your orgasm was approaching. Eddie felt his ego soar. He always took pride in how fast he could make you cum, but this had to be a new record.

He rocked his fingers into you twice more, feeling you get closer and closer to the edge with each one, and then pulled them out of you without warning. The needy gasp that left your mouth made his cock throb painfully as he rose onto his knees between your legs.

“Eddie, please,” you whined softly, reaching out for him and grasping at his shirt to pull him closer as he started working open the front of his belt. “Need you so much, baby.”

It only takes a moment to get his pants open and pushed down below his ass along with his boxers. He quickly slots himself between your legs, then grasps the base of his cock to guide the head to your center and starts to sink himself into you.

The sounds that leave you both are loud, probably loud enough to be heard over the driver’s music, but you didn’t care, and Eddie didn’t seem to either. He only gave you both a few seconds to adjust before setting a quick pace that had you moaning even louder than before.

“Mm, this pussy is officially mine now,” Eddie grunted out, then groaned as you clenched around him at his words. “Legally mine even. Mine to do whatever I want to it.”

You clench around him again and he curses before slowing his thrusting down. As much as his balls were aching to release in you, he wasn’t ready for this to be over yet. You felt like a dream right now, looked like a dream right now. You are perfect. So perfect that part of him is sure he’s going wake up as soon as he cums and discover it all really was just a dream after all, and he’s not ready to risk that just yet.

After he’s given himself a few seconds to calm down, Eddie slides a hand under one of your thighs to lift your leg up, bringing it up to hook around his waist. You moan deeply as the head of his cock pushes deeper into you, this new angle opening you up to him even more.

With your one foot that was still free, you push down against the floor for leverage and start rolling your hips up to meet his thrusts, matching your movements with his so your bodies are perfectly in sync. His head drops down and his eyes close, responding to your sounds with loud groans of his own.

His lips once again seek out yours in a heated kiss and you respond eagerly. You both lose track of everything around you, forgetting where you were and even what you were doing before his cock was inside you. Even though he kept that same steady pace that was slower than he normally goes, it wasn’t long before he pulled back from your lips just enough to speak.

“Not gonna - fuck!” he groaned, his thrusting stuttering for a few seconds before resuming the previous pace. “N-not gonna last much longer, sweetheart.”

“Cum in me, baby,” you moaned against his lips, feeling your own orgasm close. “Want you to me up.”

Eddie’s whole body nearly convulsed at your words, and he fought the urge to start slamming into you without mercy. He manages to maintain the same pace as before, but his thighs shake with the effort.

“Yeah?” he pants, gripping onto your thigh even tighter, as if it’s helping him hold onto the last of his composure. “Want me leaking out of you all night?”

You bite your lip as you grin up at him.

“Yeah, want my- fuck!” you said, and moaned as he aimed a sharp thrust into you. “Want my pussy dripping when you’re done.”

Eddie started pounding into you hard and deep. He could feel you were close, but not as close as he was, and he needed to change that fast. Pulling his upper body off you, he leaned back so he could once again see his cock disappearing inside you. The sight always made his cock twitch, but he didn’t enjoy the view for long. He slowed down his pace just long enough to he could spit down onto your pussy, aiming for you your clit.

The feeling of his warm saliva hitting directly on your sensitive nub made a small shiver travel through your legs. Before that feeling can fully fade, Eddie makes another jolt go through them when he starts to rub the pad of his thumb over your clit, making quick circles around it as he resumes pounding into you.

Your moans are nearly a scream once you tip over the edge, his name leaves your mouth almost sounding like a wail as you cry it out towards the ceiling. A sound close primal growl erupts from Eddie. His fingers dig into your thigh so hard it’s right on the edge of pleasurable pain and unpleasant. There will be a bruise later, but you know that’s not the only mark you’re going to have after the wedding night and honeymoon.

Eddie thrusts into you harder, making you gasp and cry out at the sharpness before he finally stills, his hips twitching as cum spurts from the tip of his cock, filling you just like you wanted.

You are both still for a few moments, just lying there with Eddie halfway on top of you, his head buried in your neck with his cock still inside you. But then, once you both came down from your highs, it seemed to hit you both at the same time exactly what just happened, and the two of you simultaneously erupted into giggling fits.

The marriage was consummated, and you both just fucked in the back of a limo.

By the time you and Eddie arrived at the reception, you were nearly thirty minutes late. Both of you were prepared to get yelled at, but no one batted an eye once you walked in.

As it turns out, due to some unforeseen issues that came up with the room, the hotel was late in getting the reception hall ready. It was almost another half hour before you all could go in and get things started.

The reception starting late was the only snag to happen during your wedding. Once it got started, the wait was forgotten, and everyone had an amazing time. Nearly all your friends and the family you wanted there were able to attend, and that thrilled you both. The night was filled until the wee morning hours with dancing, laughter, good food and good drinks.

But, about halfway through, you managed to pull Eddie away from all the fun into a broom closet. Between how happy you were and how sexy he looked in the suit he chose for the event, you were desperate for a refill, and he was all too happy to oblige.

[torueater]

SWEETEST EXCHANGE ♡.ᐟ

Florist!Nanami who’d had the choice between early retirement from a too draining, absolutely soul-sucking job as a salaryman -- that he was sure took days off his lifespan every time he went in-- or pursuing some new endeavor so he could feel like his life had some sort of purpose again. He’d been teetering on the edge of a burnout for years, working to make the wealthy wealthier. Calling it tiring is an understatement.

8 hours work days, client calls and work all days of the week. back to back, in almost mind-numbing repetition. An out was desperately needed and the ‘For Lease’ sign on a quaint little building seemed like that exact thing.

The space needed work -- a paint job, new shelving--sure, but at least he didn’t feel the energy draining out of him when he walked through the door. The light poured through wide front windows just right, warm and golden on dusty hardwood. He’d put down a downpayment before he thought better of it. Rent was cheap, he liked the ambience – what more could he ask for?

It’s an easy fix with the funds in his account, 2 months or so of hired help and his own grueling work to end up w/ a neat little flower shop. Floral Vault wasn't exactly the most creative of floral shop names but it worked well enough and it was to the point.

‧₊˚❀༉‧₊˚.

Florist!Nanami has his shop open on the first day that spring rolls in. Vibrant medleys of colours from newly blooming flora and the songs of avifauna waking from the icy blanket of winter just months prior welcomed him, and the customers came with them. It doesn’t come without mistakes, of course, though few. Bruised some petals, ordered too much stock. But he kept showing up, learning, and researching. Getting into the rhythm. There’s something oddly comforting about clipping stems and arranging neat little bouquets, connecting them with twine. The stress isn’t diminished 100 percent, but the tension in his face and frame eases, finally a chance to slow down.

‧₊˚❀༉‧₊˚.

You show up at the beginning of summer, bringing the glow of sunrise and warmth along with you. Coming with flurry of activity that has him peering out the front window more times than one. You with your cardboard boxes and handwritten chalk signs for outside. A cute little graphic of a smiling teacup as your logo.

A café right next to a flower shop, how fitting.

His eyes catch yours as you look up mid-hauling a box in and you smile, all wide and bright, waving. He looks away.

The first time you show up is in a cute café ensemble, neat box with a bow tied around the frame in your hold as you wait at the counter of the floral shop. He materializes from the back, surprised, greeting you politely -- voice low and lulling. There’s this sort of wide-eyed wonder to you, giving a friendly smile on spotting him. “I hoped you’d like these. I had extra in the batch.”

His gaze drops to the box you’re extending, then you…then the box again. Accepting a cookies from a stranger?

“I’m next door. The café that just opened?” you interject to break him out of his pause, rocking gently on your heels, angling a thumb to the side of his shop that yours was nearest to. “Figured I should pop in to say hi. With free cookies.” Emphasis on free. “For my new neighbor..”

“Ah.” Baked goods that smelled like heavenly sweetness with no strings attached. He can’t exactly say no. "Thank you.”

You don’t stick around too long after his acceptance, leaving him with a cheery wave and a smile, cookies in his hold. No small talk, no asking for anything in return – just warm brown sugar cookies, smiles, then a goodbye.

The cookies are soft and still slightly warm like you’d only gotten them out a while ago. They’re good. Ridiculously so. Eat the whole thing in one sitting good.

Which he does. Unfortunately.

‧₊˚❀༉‧₊˚.

There’s a small fresh blended bouquet of alstroemeria and freesia wrapped in brown paper greets you with the sunshine of the early morning moments after you open the doors, put there while you’d been distracted, no chance for thanks.

That’s how it begins really, this strange sort of unofficial barter system between you and your next door flower shop buddy – Nanami as you’d come to find out.

A batch of fresh cookies or coffee for a simple set of roses, perfectly fluffy souffle pancakes for a couple carnations. You’d bring trial goods you’d yet to put on display to have him as your test dummy, he’d come over to your shop to knock a loose shelf back into place. It’s not official, you don’t name it – but you both participate in this building ritual day in, day out. The ring of the bell above his door and a sing songy ‘Nanami!” every time. He starts to welcome it, anticipates you coming in with a box or baggie that would be a mystery up till you were handing it over.

Then it’s a little past just bartering – like showing up to keep him company during slow hours or your lunch break. Cross legged on his seat behind his counter that he’d give up because he ‘preferred to stand’, making random pairings of flowers using his paper clippings just to see how they’d look together, maybe flipping through books on flower care he’d have back there.

Or alternatively, watching him work, pretending to browse the almost overwhelming catalog of floral finery. He quickly finds that your company is something he looks forward to just like your baked goods. Apparently, he has a type for bubbly café owners with aprons messy with puffs of powdered sugar. Or just you, maybe.

‧₊˚❀༉‧₊˚.

“Okay. I sort of made this blindly,” You open up the box for him with eager fingers, holding it in his direction, “Fair warning, the reviews were unbelievably mixed. Maybe…70/30?” “70 percent good and 30 bad?”

“Well…”

That tells him more than enough. “The opposite then.”

“You’re the first to try them.” “Oh, that can’t be good.” He jokes dryly, reaching in for one, taking a good bite at one corner. You eye him all the while of course, mostly for his reaction, a little because he’s just nice to look at honestly.

“So?” He rubs his finger to rid it of crumbs, humming lowly. “It’s good. Try adding nutmeg maybe. Adds a nice touch.”

‧₊˚❀༉‧₊˚.

Who started off the barter after you two had gotten into the rhythm bounced between the both of you, but he’s the one to start it off today.

Warm sunlight streams in through the front windows of your establishment, long shadows spread on the hardwood at it begins its descent into the horizon – you’re surprised to hear the ring of the bell, glancing up mid end of the day number crunching. “Kento, hi! I was just about to message..” Your eyes trail down to the bouquet, blushing tulips and a pretty little baby breaths, “Huh. You gave me flowers earlier, silly.”

“I’m aware. I wouldn’t just forget giving you flowers.” It carries traces of amusement that makes the corners of your mouth lift in response, rounding the counter to get a proper look at your 2nd bouquet for the day.

“It’s pretty,” You bend into his space, nose lowered to the tulips to breath in the subtle sweetness. “The last of my stock sold a little earlier though.” You add disappointed, raising to full height again. You’d have saved a couple if you’d known there would be a 2nd exchange right when you two closed. “I could make you quick parfait if you want? Or something else.”

“Well,” He eases the bouquet in your hands, paper crinkling ever so slightly in your hold, “Letting me take you out for dinner would work just fine.”

Your mind doesn’t seem to register the words properly, blinking up at him, head tilting. Then you laugh, more of a surprised huff really.

He wonders if he’d messed up, read this entire thing between you two incorrectly, but you follow up after your laugh, “Dinner? Like a date?”

“If you’d like to call it that, yes.” 100 percent a date, but he’s wondering if letting you label it as that instead of him ups his chances of success here. “...Trade accepted?”

Dinner, a date. With Nanami.

“Are you buying me dessert as well?” How you’d be up for dessert after being surrounded by it all day is beyond him, and yet he answers, “If you’d like it, yes. I’ll buy you dessert.”

Part of him hopes you don’t know his tells well enough to spot the slight shows of his nerves as he waits for confirmation. Or you turning him down.

Well, there's no harm in going on a date with a cute florist. You shrug, turning away from him to get back around the corner to handle trimming and placing the flowers in a vase.

“Trade accepted.”

notes: sweet divider by @/uzmacchiato, flower one by @/bbyg4rlhelps ꩜ .ᐟ

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing Notes: The Baroque Period

The Baroque Period of music - occurred from roughly 1600 to 1750.

It was preceded by the Renaissance era and followed by the Classical era.

The Baroque period was a revolutionary time in music history that saw a full embrace of polyphony, ornamentation, and harmonic sophistication.

The style spread throughout Europe over the course of the 17th century, with notable Baroque composers emerging in Germany, Italy, France, and England.

The era was not limited to music. Baroque painting (by masters like Caravaggio and Peter Paul Rubens), Baroque sculpture (led by Gian Lorenzo Bernini), and Baroque architecture (particularly in the Catholic church) were other celebrated forms of Baroque art in the 17th and 18th centuries.

The term Baroque can refer to all of these art forms in addition to music.

Characteristics of Baroque Music

Baroque music made notable advances from the Renaissance period, many of which are still employed by contemporary musicians and composers. Baroque music often has the following characteristics:

Emphasis on dynamics: During the Baroque era, the pianoforte (an early version of the piano) replaced the harpsichord as the primary keyboard instrument. The pianoforte (called a klavier in German) struck strings with felted hammers, whereas the harpsichord plucked the strings. This meant the pianoforte could play both soft and loud, opening new dynamic possibilities. Other new Baroque instruments, like the valve trumpet and the violin, also had immense dynamic potential. Renaissance instruments like the lute were still played, but they were eclipsed in popularity by newer, more dynamic options.

Embrace of instrumental music: Prior to the Baroque era, a great amount of music was vocal music used in liturgical settings. While Baroque composers still embraced singing in the form of chorales, cantatas, and opera, instrumental music became increasingly popular. Some of the most renowned pieces of Baroque music, such as Vivaldi's Four Seasons or Bach's Brandenburg Concerto, are instrumental pieces.

Ornamentation: Much like Baroque architecture and sculpture, Baroque music embraces flair. Even the simplest melodies were often embellished with ornamentations like trills, acciaccaturas, appoggiaturas, mordents, and turns.

Basso continuo: Basso continuo notation became popular during the Baroque era. This form of music notation includes a complete bass line, which is usually played by a cello in a Baroque ensemble. A player of a keyboard instrument like a harpsichord or piano then improvises chords using figured bass notation. Solo organ players often play basso continuo notation entirely on their own.

A Brief History of Baroque Music

After its inception in Italy, Baroque music expanded throughout Europe thanks to composers like Johann Sebastian Bach and George Frideric Handel.

Origin in Italy: The early Baroque era of music centered in Italy. Italian composers based in Rome and its surroundings composed music that drew on the traditions of the Renaissance era but also expanded its harmonic and ornamental boundaries. Notable Italian Baroque composers include Alessandro Scarlatti (and his son Domenico Scarlatti), Antonio Corelli, and Claudio Monteverdi. Antonio Vivaldi was the last major Italian Baroque composer. He worked in the later Baroque era, overlapping with George Frideric Handel and Johann Sebastian Bach.

German influence: As musicians traveled throughout Europe, the Baroque style caught on, and new composers added new elements. The English composer Henry Purcell and French composers like Jean-Baptiste Lully and Jean-Phillippe Rameau made marks, but it was the German school of Baroque music that was most influential. Georg Philipp Telemann, Michael Praetorius, Johann Pachelbel, and most of all Johann Sebastian Bach helped define the high Baroque period. Another prominent German was George Frideric Handel, although he spent nearly his entire career in England.

End of an era: The Baroque period's end is tied to the death of Bach in 1750. The second half of the eighteenth century and early nineteenth century marked the Classical period, where composers like Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart and Franz Joseph Haydn built on the foundation laid by Baroque composers.

Baroque Period Musical Forms

Popular Baroque musical forms include the prelude and fugue, the cantata, the concerto, the oratorio, the sonata, and even opera.

Like prior Renaissance compositions, many Baroque pieces have religious themes.

Baroque composers were aligned with both the Catholic church and, following the 16th century Protestant Reformation, other denominations like Lutheranism.

Notable Baroque Composers

The Baroque era gave rise to many composers whose works are still regularly played. Three particularly notable composers of the Baroque period are:

Johann Sebastian Bach: No composer better defines the High Baroque era than J.S. Bach. Based largely in Leipzig, Germany, Bach was a master organ player (among many other instrumental talents) and a composer who created both liturgical and secular music. Bach's brilliance lay in his mastery of counterpoint and harmonic transformation. Works like The Well-Tempered Klavier, The Art of the Fugue, and the Brandenburg Concertos remain essential parts of the classical music repertoire.

George Frideric Handel: Born in Germany but notably a Londoner, Handel composed Baroque landmarks like Water Music and the opera Rodrigo. Yet he is most remembered for Messiah, an English-language oratorio composed in 1742. His Music for the Royal Fireworks was commissioned by King George II and firmly established his place in British music history.

Antonio Vivaldi: A Venetian composer, Vivaldi was famed for his mastery of the violin. His musical compositions reflect his instrumental virtuosity. The most famous of these is Four Seasons, a series of violin concertos that is widely performed by today's classical musicians. During his lifetime, Vivaldi made most of his income as an opera composer, where he pushed thematic boundaries in works like 1716's Arsilda, regina di Ponto.

Source ⚜ More: Notes & References ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

[iwillneverforgiveyousunghanbin]

bully⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

tuesday, zhang hao— string ensemble

⋆˙⟡ zbully1 smut series masterlist! hanbin, jiwoong, hao, matthew, and taerae included. game day (group) chapter here. all 7 endings here. ⋆˙⟡ wc: 2.8k ⋆˙⟡ reader: femme afab (listed first, she/her are used a couple times) // gender neutral (alternate version listed second, no pronouns used at all to describe reader— scroll down) ⋆˙⟡ series summary: five bullies. six days. it's gonna be a hell of a week, babe. stay hydrated. ⋆˙⟡ tuesday summary: happy tuesday, you know what that means: two straight hours of wind ensemble. and it's made even more enjoyable by first chair, zhang hao, chewing you out for every mistake you make. he's been quiet today though. it's making your skin crawl. can you manage to get out unscathed?

⋆˙⟡ warnings: explicit smut. 18+. minors do not interact. please read specific smut warnings under the cut! swearing. angst. dub-con. bullying. stuck up, tattletale hao. this is a doozy. you'll be glad we took it easy monday. smut in gn and fem versions are substantially different due to logistics/circumstance. also i clearly know nothing about playing the violin so just 🤓☝️ pipe down over there, k? ily. actually would love to hear real violinists thoughts on this so hmu. ⋆˙⟡ bully scale: ★★★☆☆ (3.5)

EXPLICIT SMUT 18+ WARNINGS: foreign object and finger insertion (reader receiving), oral (reader receiving), fingering (reader receiving), dub-con: hao doesn't have consent before sexually touching reader but reader is turned on by it, cum play, bullying.

DO NOT PUT ROSIN UP YOUR HOO HA YA DINGUS!! purely for entertainment purposes, this fic exists in a world where there aren't consequences for that okay? DON'T. I REPEAT DON'T. DO THIS IRL. okay thank you, love you.

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　

you take a deep breath, bouncing nervously on the balls of your feet at the south campus entrance. you’d barely gotten any sleep last night after your encounter with jiwoong, too busy tossing and turning as you pictured the dirty looks you’d be getting all over campus the next day. but as you walk across the main courtyard to the music building this afternoon, you’re surprised and elated to hear no frantic whispers in response to your presence.

had jiwoong really kept what happened yesterday a secret? you find it hard to believe he’d want to protect your reputation and mental well-being. still, the proof was in the pudding and, so far, the pudding seemed entirely unaware of who you are. just how you like it.

on tuesday afternoons, you had string ensemble in place of advanced drama. although it was a relief to have jiwoong out of sight and out of mind, there was another force at play to deal with.

as you enter the orchestra room, you spot that force immediately— already seated and delicately coating the hairs of his bow with the lifetime supply of premium rosin he’d won for first place violinist at the chinese international music competition three years ago. you know this fact because he never lets you forget it.

with your violin case in your hand, you make your way to your seat: second chair, of course. first chair is eternally occupied by your conductor’s most favorite student.

you sit down in your black music chair, smoothing your skirt so that it doesn’t ride up while you play. opening your violin case, you carefully pull out your instrument and begin quietly tuning it as the rest of the string ensemble files in. you place your bow to the strings, playing a note to assess the sound. the note comes out airy and weak and it makes you inherently wince. 

“fucking fix that right now,” a familiar voice to your left suddenly demands. “i won’t ask again.”

your left eyebrow peaks in confusion as you mumble, “you didn’t ask a first time.”

he doesn’t even look at you. and though you already intended to fix the problem without his prompting, you place your violin back in its case and start to fish around in the velvet compartments for some rosin. when you come up empty, you start to panic.

“good afternoon, everyone,” professor ahn greets, tapping her conductor’s baton on the frame of her metal music stand. “we have a lot to get to today, so let’s just jump right in.”

shit. you really need rosin.

but there’s no way you can raise your hand and disrupt professor ahn’s flow. she already thinks you’re a second-rate violinist that “hides her lack of talent behind incessant practice”. this was a direct quote you’d received on your evaluation sheet last semester. besides, all professor ahn would probably say was that you should’ve made sure your bow was up to par before you even got to campus.

you couldn’t argue with that. it was the truth. but your little incident with jiwoong had preoccupied you and suddenly every perfectionist task you routinely performed seemed... obsolete. how could you let him get to you like this?

and why did it still feel so good?

professor ahn taps her baton again, signaling for everyone to turn to the first page of your spring concert repertoire. you swallow nervously, opening your sheet music booklet to tippett’s fantasia concertante on a theme of corelli. it’s an extremely difficult piece that an outstanding violinist struggles to play on a good day. and you would be playing it with your bow in a noticeably poor condition. 

you stumble through the piece as quietly as possible, cringing when the sound your instrument produces is less than satisfactory. though your ensemble is still learning the song, others’ mistakes aren’t enough to hide the strange performance coming from the second-chair violinist.

“zhang hao-sshi,” professor ahn suddenly calls. the boy to your left looks up at her in attention, causing your heart to sink to your stomach. “who is responsible for that unsatisfactory sound?”

you were foolish to think you could escape what inevitably always happened during string ensemble: the second of your five jerk-off bullies ratting you out in front of the whole orchestra.

there was a reason professor ahn held such distaste for you and your craft and that reason was zhang hao. each and every rehearsal, your professor would ask the first chair to list any mistakes he’d heard from your section and he apparently only ever noticed yours. you’d sit there, cheeks heating up with embarrassment as hao described every error you made in great detail that day— professor ahn taking note and deducting points from your rehearsal grade as she saw fit.

hao had seemingly made it his mission to single handedly make you quit violin in a sea of unbearable shame.

so you’re shocked when all hao replies is, “i apologize, professor ahn. i was too engrossed in playing to notice where the error was coming from.”

what the fuck? why would he lie? it couldn’t be to help you. hao would throw you to the wolves without a second thought if it meant remaining superior to you.

but his gaze returns to his sheet music, pencil floating across the paper as he quietly adds annotations. you’re honestly freaked out. had he hit his head? had the difficulty of the piece actually thrown him that much?

rehearsal ends shortly thereafter and you stay in your chair, silently tending to your violin next to hao. you’re both usually the last to leave, but hao always makes it a point to stay just a few seconds longer than you. just to prove something.

after your instrument is safely back in its case, you stand up and make your way over to the instrument storage closet. you find your cubby, pulling out your key and unlocking your unit so you can leave your violin there for the remainder of your classes this afternoon. 

as you place your violin case gently inside and lock your cubby, the unexpected sound of footsteps behind you makes you freeze in place. slowly, you turn around to find hao standing in the doorway of the storage closet.

weird. hao would never undermine his unparalleled musicianship by keeping his violin in a public storage unit. he sets his case down next to him, crossing his arms and leaning on the left side of the door frame.

“i’m waiting,” is all he says, brow raised expectantly. 

you look to your left and right, trying to discern what it is hao could be waiting for. you can’t find anything of note. “um... for what?”

“what do you mean, for what?” hao spits, eyes narrowing angrily. “i didn’t tell professor ahn about any of the mistakes you made today. and i don’t know if you noticed, but you made a fuck ton.”

and the shoe drops, you think.

“did you not even notice my act of kindness?” he asks indignantly. “don’t you think i at least deserve a thank you?”

“oh,” you reply, tilting your head in surprise. you swallow the urge to tell him that kindness in demand of a thank you is not exactly kindness and instead, just nod. “yeah. thank you. i guess.”

it must be some weird power play over you. it’s probably best to make a swift exit and not give him the attention he wants, so you turn on your heel and start to walk toward the door to leave. but as you approach the exit, hao reaches across the door frame— your chest colliding directly with his forearm as he blocks you in.

“c-... can i get through? i have to be in calc iii in fifteen minutes,” you ask with a frown.

hao’s arm stays glued to the other side of the door as he continues to stare at you. “i want a better thank you.”

“you—... why?” you question, brow furrowing in confusion. “i already said thank you. and i didn’t even ask you to lie for me in the first place.”

hao blinks at you. “so you’re not grateful?”

“honestly, you’re kind of making me uncomfortable,” you reply, ducking under his arm and walking back out into the orchestra room. “so if my lack of gratitude means you’re going to go back to humiliating me in front of the entire string ensemble every day... i guess i’ll just have to continue living with it.”

you make it halfway out of the rehearsal room when you hear a faint: “wait.”

you turn around to find a slightly panicked hao still standing in the doorframe of the storage closet. 

“you need rosin, right? you ran out?” he asks, as if he couldn’t tell exactly what your problem had been from hearing you play today. “i’ll give you some of mine.”

clearly you’ve just hallucinated. you’re so stressed from yesterday’s events that you’ve started hearing things. or maybe you’re still asleep in your bed at home. or maybe you’re dead. because there’s no way hao would ever give you his beloved rosin.

“let me just get it out of my case,” he says, bending down to the ground and opening up his very expensive violin case. you walk over to him slowly, partly because you don’t believe him and partly because you’re starting to worry something is terribly wrong with him.

“hao, are... are you feeling okay?” you ask, stepping back into the storage closet and watching as he pulls out a fresh cake of premium rosin. it’s a box-shape with rounded edges and no plastic holder, the golden-brown hardened sap shining beautifully even in the dim light of the storage closet.

he stands back up, holding the rosin between his fingers delicately. “never better.”

“you’re—... you’re gonna give me your cimc prize rosin?” you ask, incredibly confused. “why would you do that?”

“because you need it. don’t you?” he answers with a shrug.

“but... but—.” you protest, head spinning a million miles a minute trying to make sense of hao’s bizarre and uncharacteristic display of benevolence. “what’s the catch?”

with no discernible inflection, hao repeats, “the catch.”

“i don’t see why you’d give this to me without a price,” you elaborate skeptically. “you don’t like me. you’re actively mean to me actually. it doesn’t make sense that you’d give me something you value without asking for anything in return. i mean, you couldn’t even randomly choose to cover for me during rehearsal without demanding a thank you after.”

hao considers this for a moment and then nods. “well, what if i ask for the same thing then? in exchange for this rosin, i want a thank you.”

“i can’t even begin to figure out what’s gotten into you today,” you respond with a reluctant sigh, “but fine. i guess i can agree to your terms.”

“we have a deal,” hao affirms with a stupid, perfect smirk. he closes the gap between you, holding out the rosin in his palm. when you try to take it from him, he retracts his hand. “i’ll take the thank you first actually.”

“sure,” you agree, rolling your eyes. “thank you.”

he tilts his head to the side, prompting, “what was that?”

“thank you, hao. i really appreciate you giving me your rosin,” you feed flatly, hoping you’ve finally appeased him.

“an improvement,” he says before shaking his head again. “but i’m still not loving the tone coming out of you... i think you could use some rosin.”

“what do you—” you start to ask, but it’s already too late. without any time to spare, the door is shut behind you and a sudden draft hits your heat as your panties are shoved to the side beneath your skirt. the air leaves your lungs as long, thin fingers dip through your folds and squeeze something cold and smooth inside of you.

“there you go,” hao smiles, incredibly satisfied with the stunt he’s just pulled. “i think that might help your tone.”

“y-you... did you...” you stammer as you gawk at the boy in front of you. your cheeks are beet red at the violation of your sex. you’re in such shock that all you can whisper is, “you can’t put that in... there.”

“an instrument should be well cared for,” he challenges, sinking to his knees and running his hands up and down your bare thighs. “gonna make you sound so pretty.”

there’s a flutter in your core that you desperately want to silence. you could not be turned on by this. one of the men you hate most in this world just shoved a foreign object up you without asking. so why is the hungry look in his eyes as he backs you against the wall of storage units exciting you?

hao hooks his fingers around the waistband of your panties, pulling them down your legs. you step out of them without a word. he lifts your right leg over his shoulder, bringing your cunt closer to his face as he holds your hips steady.

he licks a stripe starting just above your opening to your clit as if he wants to taste every inch of you. the sensation makes you gasp and then immediately cover your mouth in shame. were you really enjoying this?

“hm, still an airy sound,” hao observes, eyes locked on your center as his fingers grip into your hips. “definitely needs more rosin.”

he dives back in, lapping at your cunt— tongue flicking your bundle of nerves as your arousal builds. you must’ve fallen into an alternate dimension. fainted. been in a terrible bus accident on your way to campus. but why you’d dream of hao’s head between your thighs in a storage closet is beyond your comprehension.

the more he works you with his mouth, the more hums and sighs escape your lips but all of your worries aren’t eased just yet.

“it’s... it’s gonna melt,” you say softly, starting to feel a bit dizzy. “the r-ros—.”

“rosin starts to crumble from heat at 50 degrees celsius,” hao interjects in between sloppy traces of his tongue. “the average internal temperature of a vagina is 37.5 degrees.”

“but—”

“don’t act like you don’t know how numbers work. aren’t you in calc iii?” hao ridicules, biting gently at your clit. you throw your head back at the sensation as he increases the pressure of his tongue against you. “are you just a fraud in every subject you take?”

“hao,” you beg, his slander just adding to the pleasure you’re feeling as your right hand tangles up in his hair— tugging from the root. “feels so good. so, so good.”

“fuck, that’s beautiful baby,” hao pants, right hand detaching from your hip. he parts your entrance with his fingers, the cake of rosin slipping out into his palm with a crude, wet smack. you both stare at the golden brown block, still perfectly intact but now dripping in your arousal. he drags it down the inside of your thighs, mesmerized by the trail of glistening honey it leaves on your skin. “mm, coated perfectly now.”

he drops the rosin on the floor next to you, replacing the empty space in your pussy with his ring and middle fingers. you gasp at the stretch, clenching involuntarily around him.

“i think you’re ready to play,” hao decides, curling his fingers up inside of you against your front wall and pressing on your clit with his thumb. he watches you intently, mouth open slightly as he drinks in the sight of you writhing in pleasure. “c’mon, baby. let me hear you.”

you do as he says, moaning as the pads of his fingers press into your sweet spot again. with every rhythmic stroke, your sounds grow less inhibited and hao grows more entranced. he’s making the face he usually makes while playing his violin— focused, impassioned, and devastatingly sexy. 

was hao enjoying playing you as much as he enjoyed playing his other instrument?

“gon—... gonna make me cum,” you whine after another minute, the look in hao’s eyes turning feral. he immediately returns his mouth to your cunt, sucking at your sensitive bud with a renewed vigor.

as hao brings you closer to the brink of orgasm, your moans only grow louder and sweeter like a crescendo. the harmonic sounds coming out of you are intensified by an increase in the pace of his finger-fucking. it’s all too much for you to handle, your walls spasming around him uncontrollably.

“oh my god, hao—,” you cry, your climax crashing over you like the perfect wave. “c-cumming... i—...”

you can barely hold yourself up, clinging to the shelves on either side of you as hao works you through your high. your breathing returning to normal, he looks up at you as he pulls his fingers out of your pussy— lips pink and glistening with your juices. 

he removes your right leg from around his shoulder, eyes locked with yours as he stands up and brushes the dust off his knees. 

“th-thank... you,” is what comes out of you as you stare at him, dumbfounded. “thank you.”

“yeah, sure,” hao replies dismissively. after making such a big deal about a thank you, it figures he’d pretend he never cared in the first place. “clean off that rosin and use it next week or i’ll tell professor ahn you stole it from me.”

“oh. okay,” you quietly agree, unable to control the awkward energy that’s now tying your tongue. “um. thanks... again.”

he just shrugs, walking over to the door and picking up his violin case. unlocking the door and pushing it open, he takes a few steps out the door before suddenly stopping in his tracks. he turns over his shoulder to look at you. “i almost forgot to ask...”

you gulp at the sight of the upturned corner of his lip in a smug grin.

“... was it better than jiwoong hyung?”

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　

gender neutral version below

EXPLICIT SMUT 18+ WARNINGS: hand/oral (reader receiving), throat fucking with fingers (reader receiving), dubcon: hao does not have consent before inserting fingers into reader's mouth, reader is turned on by this, cum play, bullying.

IF YOU WANT TO COVER YOUR ROSIN IN CUM, YOU CAN I'M NOT THE BOSS OF YOU but from everything i've read in research for this fic, it will ruin it so maybe don't. up to you tho, babe. love you.

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　

you take a deep breath, bouncing nervously on the balls of your feet at the south campus entrance. you’d barely gotten any sleep last night after your encounter with jiwoong, too busy tossing and turning as you pictured the dirty looks you’d be getting all over campus the next day. but as you walk across the main courtyard to the music building this afternoon, you’re surprised and elated to hear no frantic whispers in response to your presence.

had jiwoong really kept what happened yesterday a secret? you find it hard to believe he’d want to protect your reputation and mental well-being. still, the proof was in the pudding and, so far, the pudding seemed entirely unaware of who you are. just how you like it.

on tuesday afternoons, you had string ensemble in place of advanced drama. although it was a relief to have jiwoong out of sight and out of mind, there was another force at play to deal with.

as you enter the orchestra room, you spot that force immediately— already seated and delicately coating the hairs of his bow with the lifetime supply of premium rosin he’d won for first place violinist at the chinese international music competition three years ago. you know this fact because he never lets you forget it.

with your violin case in your hand, you make your way to your seat: second chair, of course. first chair is eternally occupied by your conductor’s most favorite student.

you sit down in your black chair, propping your sheet music booklet up onto your music stand. opening your violin case, you carefully pull out your instrument and begin quietly tuning it as the rest of the string ensemble files in. you place your bow to the strings, playing a note to assess the sound. the note comes out airy and weak and it makes you inherently wince. 

“fucking fix that right now,” a familiar voice to your left suddenly demands. “i won’t ask again.”

your left eyebrow peaks in confusion as you mumble, “you didn’t ask a first time.”

he doesn’t even look at you. and though you already intended to fix the problem without his prompting, you place your violin back in its case and start to fish around in the velvet compartments for some rosin. when you come up empty, you start to panic.

“good afternoon, everyone,” professor ahn greets, tapping her conductor’s baton on the frame of her metal music stand. “we have a lot to get to today, so let’s just jump right in.”

shit. you really need rosin.

but there’s no way you can raise your hand and disrupt professor ahn’s flow. she already thinks you’re a second-rate violinist that “hides your lack of talent behind incessant practice”. this was a direct quote you’d received on your evaluation sheet last semester. besides, all professor ahn would probably say was that you should’ve made sure your bow was up to par before you even got to campus.

you couldn’t argue with that. it was the truth. but your little incident with jiwoong had preoccupied you and suddenly every perfectionist task you routinely performed seemed... obsolete. how could you let him get to you like this?

and why did it still feel so good?

professor ahn taps her baton again, signaling for everyone to turn to the first page of your spring concert repertoire. you swallow nervously, opening your sheet music booklet to tippett’s fantasia concertante on a theme of corelli. it’s an extremely difficult piece that an outstanding violinist struggles to play on a good day. and you would be playing it with your bow in a noticeably poor condition.

you stumble through the piece as quietly as possible, cringing when the sound your instrument produces is less than satisfactory. though your ensemble is still learning the song, others’ mistakes aren’t enough to hide the strange performance coming from the second-chair violinist.

“zhang hao-sshi,” professor ahn suddenly calls. the boy to your left looks up at her in attention, causing your heart to sink to your stomach. “who is responsible for that unsatisfactory sound?”

you were foolish to think you could escape what inevitably always happens during string ensemble: the second of your five jerk-off bullies ratting you out in front of the whole orchestra.

there was a reason professor ahn held such distaste for you and your craft and that reason was zhang hao. each and every rehearsal, your professor would ask the first chair to list any mistakes he’d heard from your section and he apparently only ever noticed yours. you’d sit there, cheeks heating up with embarrassment as hao described every error you made in great detail that day— professor ahn taking note and deducting points from your rehearsal grade as she saw fit.

hao had seemingly made it his mission to single handedly make you quit violin in a sea of unbearable shame.

so you’re shocked when all hao replies is, “i apologize, professor ahn. i was too engrossed in playing to notice where the error was coming from.”

what the fuck? why would he lie? it couldn’t be to help you. hao would throw you to the wolves without a second thought if it meant remaining superior to you.

but his gaze returns to his sheet music, pencil floating across the paper as he quietly adds annotations. you’re honestly freaked out. had he hit his head? had the difficulty of the piece actually thrown him that much?

rehearsal ends shortly thereafter and you stay in your chair, silently tending to your violin next to hao. you’re both usually the last to leave, but hao always makes it a point to stay just a few seconds longer than you. just to prove something.

after your instrument is safely back in its case, you stand up and make your way over to the instrument storage closet. you find your cubby, pulling out your key and unlocking your unit so you can leave your violin there for the remainder of your classes this afternoon. 

as you place your violin case gently inside and lock your cubby, the unexpected sound of footsteps behind you makes you freeze in place. slowly, you turn around to find hao standing in the doorway of the storage closet.

weird. hao would never undermine his unparalleled musicianship by keeping his violin in a public storage unit. he sets his case down next to him, crossing his arms and leaning on the left side of the door frame.

“i’m waiting,” is all he says, brow raised expectantly. 

you look to your left and right, trying to discern what it is hao could be waiting for. you can’t find anything of note. “um... for what?”

“what do you mean, for what?” hao spits, eyes narrowing angrily. “i didn’t tell professor ahn about any of the mistakes you made today. and i don’t know if you noticed, but you made a fuck ton.”

and the shoe drops, you think.

“did you not even notice my act of kindness?” he asks indignantly. “don’t you think i at least deserve a thank you?”

“oh,” you reply, tilting your head in surprise. you swallow the urge to tell him that kindness in demand of a thank you is not exactly kindness and instead, just nod. “yeah. thank you. i guess.”

it must be some weird, new power play over you. it’s probably best to make a swift exit and not give him the attention he wants, so you turn on your heel and start to walk toward the door to leave. but as you approach the exit, hao reaches across the door frame— your chest colliding directly with his forearm as he blocks you in.

“c-... can i get through? i have to be in calc iii in fifteen minutes,” you ask with a frown.

hao’s arm stays glued to the other side of the door as he continues to stare at you. “i want a better thank you.”

“you—... why?” you question, brow furrowing in confusion. “i already said thank you. and i didn’t even ask you to lie for me in the first place.”

hao blinks at you. “so you’re not grateful?”

“honestly, you’re kind of making me uncomfortable,” you reply, ducking under his arm and walking back out into the orchestra room. “so if my lack of gratitude means you’re going to go back to humiliating me in front of the entire string ensemble every day... i guess i’ll just have to continue living with it.”

you make it halfway out of the rehearsal room when you hear a faint: “wait.”

you turn around to find a slightly panicked hao still standing in the doorframe of the storage closet. 

“you need rosin, right? you ran out?” he asks, as if he couldn’t tell exactly what your problem had been from hearing you play today. “i’ll give you some of mine.”

clearly you’ve just hallucinated. you��re so stressed from yesterday’s events that you’ve started hearing things. or maybe you’re still asleep in your bed at home. or maybe you’re dead. because there’s no way hao would ever give you his beloved rosin.

“let me just get it out of my case,” he says, bending down to the ground and opening up his very expensive violin case. you walk over to him slowly, partly because you don’t believe him and partly because you’re starting to worry something is terribly wrong with him.

“hao, are... are you feeling okay?” you ask, stepping back into the storage closet and watching as he pulls out a fresh cake of premium rosin. it’s a box-shape with rounded edges and no plastic holder, the golden-brown hardened sap shining beautifully even in the dim light of the storage closet.

he stands back up, holding the rosin between his fingers delicately. “never better.”

“you’re—... you’re gonna give me your cimc prize rosin?” you ask, incredibly confused. “why would you do that?”

“because you need it. don’t you?” he answers with a shrug.

“but... but—.” you protest, head spinning a million miles a minute trying to make sense of hao’s bizarre and uncharacteristic display of benevolence. “what’s the catch?”

with no discernible inflection, hao repeats, “the catch.”

“i don’t see why you’d give this to me without a price,” you elaborate skeptically. “you don’t like me. you’re actively mean to me actually. it doesn’t make sense that you’d give me something you value without asking for anything in return. i mean, you couldn’t even randomly choose to cover for me during rehearsal without demanding a thank you after.”

hao considers this for a moment and then nods. “well, what if i ask for the same thing then? in exchange for this rosin, i want a thank you.”

“i can’t even begin to figure out what’s gotten into you today,” you respond with a reluctant sigh, “but fine. i guess i can agree to your terms.”

“we have a deal,” hao affirms with a stupid, perfect smirk. he closes the gap between you, holding out the rosin in his palm. when you try to take it from him, he retracts his hand. “i’ll take the thank you first actually.”

“sure,” you agree with a sigh, rolling your eyes. “thank you.”

he tilts his head to the side, prompting, “what was that?”

“thank you, hao. i really appreciate you giving me your rosin,” you feed flatly, hoping you’ve finally appeased him.

“an improvement,” he says before shaking his head again. “but i’m still not loving the tone coming out of you... maybe your bow needs some rosin.”

“you already know it does! what are you even talking—,” you start to ask, but it’s already too late. without any time to spare, the door is shut behind you and two long, thin fingers are pushed inside of your mouth. 

“there you go,” hao smiles, incredibly satisfied with the stunt he’s just pulled. “a thorough coat to get that perfect sound.”

he cups your jaw with his free hand as he shoves his fingers further into your mouth. you gag slightly as he approaches the back of your throat, your cheeks turning beet red at the violation of your body. 

“an instrument should be well cared for,” hao says as he removes his fingers from your lips, unbuttoning your jeans as he guides you to sit down in a black music chair. “gonna make you sound so pretty.”

there’s a flutter in your core that you desperately want to silence. you could not be turned on by this. one of the men you hate most in this world just shoved his fingers down your throat without asking. so why is the hungry look in his eyes as he sinks down between your legs exciting you?

hao hooks his fingers around the waistband of your jeans, tugging at them until you finally lift your hips up wordlessly. he discards your underwear next, chuckling sardonically at your continued state of silence.

his lubricated fingers ghost over you, leaving a trail of your own saliva up and down your sex. the sensation makes you gasp and then immediately cover your mouth in shame. were you really enjoying this?

“hm, still an airy sound,” hao observes, eyes locked on your center as his free hand grips your thigh— fingers digging into the soft flesh. “definitely needs more rosin.”

hao pulls your hips closer to him, taking you into his mouth— swirling and sucking at your heat with his tongue. you must’ve fallen into another dimension. fainted. been in a terrible bus accident on your way to campus. but why you’d dream of hao’s head between your thighs in a storage closet is beyond your comprehension.

the more he works you with his mouth, the more hums and sighs escape your lips.

“hao,” you beg, pleasure building as your right hand tangles up in his hair— tugging from the root. “feels so good. so, so good.”

“fuck, that’s beautiful baby,” hao pants, right hand detaching from your hip. “maybe you can even learn something from how i’m playing you. everyone would appreciate that, huh?”

the patronizing insult makes you throb, another whimper falling out of you. he watches you intently, mouth open slightly as he drinks in the sight of you writhing in pleasure. “c’mon, baby. let me hear you.”

with every rhythmic stroke, your sounds grow less inhibited and hao grows more entranced. he’s making the face he usually makes while playing his violin— focused, impassioned, and devastatingly sexy. 

was hao enjoying playing you as much as he enjoyed playing his other instrument?

“gon—... gonna make me cum,” you whine after another minute, the look in hao’s eyes turning feral. he immediately returns his mouth to you, sucking at your most sensitive part with a renewed vigor.

as hao brings you closer to the brink of orgasm, your moans only grow louder and sweeter like a crescendo. the harmonic sounds coming out of you are intensified by an increase in the pace of hand. it’s all too much for you to handle, your core beginning to spasm.

“oh my god, hao—,” you cry, your climax crashing over you like the perfect wave. “c-cumming... i—...”

hao pulls out the cake of rosin from his back pocket as he works you through your high, bringing it between your legs and covering it in your release. your breathing slowly returning to normal,he runs the sticky rosin down each of your inner thighs. 

“it’s... it’s gonna melt,” you say softly, both hypnotized and concerned. “the r-ros—.”

“rosin starts to crumble from heat at 50 degrees celsius,” hao interjects as he coats the rosin in more of your fluids. “your body temperature is 37 degrees.”

“but—.”

“don’t act like you don’t know how numbers work. aren’t you in calc iii?” hao baits, licking up the last remnants of your orgasm for himself. “are you just a fraud in every subject you take?”

his eyes lock with yours as he stands up and brushes the dust off his knees. 

“th-thank... you,” is what comes out of you as you stare up at him, dumbfounded. “thank you.”

“yeah, sure,” hao replies dismissively. after making such a big deal about a thank you, it figures he’d pretend he never cared in the first place. “clean off that rosin and use it next week or i’ll tell professor ahn you stole it from me.”

“oh. okay,” you quietly agree, unable to control the awkward energy that’s now tying your tongue. “um. thanks... again.”

he just shrugs, walking over to the door and picking up his violin case. unlocking the door and pushing it open, he takes a few steps out the door before suddenly stopping in his tracks. he turns over his shoulder to look at you. “i almost forgot to ask...”

you gulp at the sight of the upturned corner of his lip in a smug grin.

“... was it better than jiwoong hyung?”

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　

[targaryenrealnessdarling]

A Duet of Fire and Fate

Part Two | Series Masterlist

Summary: the monotonous days of practice are starting to grate, but made more complicated by the pianist's lingering words | Word Count: 4.3k~ | Warnings: sexual tension 😘

“Aemond, darling, please…” Alicent pleaded behind the closed door of his bedroom, her worried, motherly voice muffled through the thick frame, “it's not the end of the world, love, okay?”

He'd been in the exact same spot for several hours, his knee bouncing irritably and impatiently. He closed his eyes, as if trying to put on the image of being completely calm. But his hands were clasped painfully, fingertips sore from practice, and he could barely hear his mother through the door anyway, with the large headphones pressed to his ears, with the uncomfortable sting of the cello raking into his brain.

His heart was racing with stress, playing the same bit of ‘Cello Concerto' over and over again, trying to find the part where Otto had incessantly pressured him to perfect it. Wrong timing. Wrong tune. Incorrect finger placement.

Each time he stumbled over the same tricky passage, his frustration mounted. The melody was supposed to soar, but all he could feel was the grinding pressure to not mess up, to not let Otto down, to not disappoint his mother who believed so fervently in his talent.

Where in others, he witnessed nurture in the form of pride, loving gestures and unconditional support. He could see no merit in it. Love to Aemond was tight and oppressive, and weighty on his shoulders.

The door to his room creaked open slightly, and his mother’s voice, muffled and distant through the noise-canceling headphones, attempted to break through the barrier of sound. "Aemond, dinner," she called, her tone gentle yet persistent.

He barely glanced up, giving a slight shake of his head. The outside world, even the simple call to dinner, felt like an unwelcome intrusion.

"Aemond, please," she tried again, her voice firmer now. A choice of tone usually reserved solely for Aegon. "You need to eat. You’ve been at this for hours.”

Aemond cradled his cello gently between his knees, the hum of the ensemble drifted in the air, each musician fine-tuned to perfection with scales and snippets of melodies to practice. But despite this, Aemond found his thoughts elsewhere, his memories blurring into his current reality, where a new challenge in the form of the pianist had emerged.

With every draw of his bow across the strings as if he were an artist gliding a paint-slick brush over canvas, Aemond found his concentration fragmenting. His thoughts were pulled back to the pianist’s effortless expression, her ability to blend technical mastery with palpable emotion. A stark contrast to his own methodical, disciplined approach.

She irked him. She intrigued him. Two feelings which should not hold hands in Aemond's black and white reality. Every single thing his musical education had deemed secondary, she challenged. In the brief moments where he could witness her artistry himself, her performances always lingered, whereas his own, for all its precision, rarely achieved.

“Focus, Aemond.”

Otto's chide was soft and yet audible to everyone. It echoed a long and tired reminder of years past. And he found himself unable to pull back the glare that his own grandfather shot first down the bridge of his nose.

Practice ended how it often had, disappointed and dejected. He could no longer think of her or the words she'd said in their last encounter without feeling the frustration thud in his heart. After all, could the skills she so easily spoke about even be learned?

He longed to see what she saw, how she felt when she played.

The route back to Aemond's apartment was mentally tiring, and the frustration that usually ebbed away with every step, somehow lingered, and permeated throughout his body. For some time, playing the cello had not been met with accomplishment, now more often than not, met with a long and exhausting sense that he could be better.

That is what Alys had said as well, a few weeks ago, when she'd packed up the rest of her things, still pink in the face from Aemond's lips and tongue having pleasured her between her thighs to completion. The difference between her attitude and her parting words almost gave him emotional whiplash.

“I can't be the one to distract you. Not when you need to focus. Not when you have the opportunity to be great.”

Her voice was firm. And there was no room for argument or rebuttal. When Alys said something had to be how it was, that was it. Aemond had watched silently, scrubbing a hand over his face at the closed door of his apartment. He wanted to argue that if Alys had in fact cared that she'd be distracting him, her lack of presence would be just that.

How often now had he been sinking between her thighs, just to think of something else?

He never thought himself a sex addict, and yet the idea of going so long without it, with the show yet months away, made him angry to think how affected he was by it. This was hypocrisy the likes of his brother, Aegon, would love to shove in his face, he just knew it.

The stone square that choked the Grand Sept was speckled with light through the trees, rustling in a manner some would have found comforting. Couples kissed near the fountain, artists drew for money, set up with a view of the Sept while onlookers watched with joy, and children tripped and squabbled through the various nooks that had once marked the spot of a great dynasty.

This was where he waited, taking in the view and the gentle, somewhat melancholic lull of people's lives go past him without a blink. It was an hour before he'd have to traverse back the way he came for his personal booking, to practice the pieces he so desperately wanted to perfect. 

During the day, his phone was off. Nothing was more important than what he deemed his life's work.

With a soft sigh, he sat on the wall, watching the square empty as afternoons drew in, his seeing eye following longingly at a brother and sister, who must have had the same age gap he and Aegon had, chasing one another on the cobbled path. Their squeals of glee and bright, happy faces stirred something heavy in his chest.

Had he ever felt as carefree as that. Had he ever felt like a child. Or had he been a grown man for so long.

His thoughts drifted to his own childhood. He would stand stiff and rigid at recitals, looking out to the expectant gaze of his mother, her burning pride gazing into him. There, there was no room for carefree joy akin to the brother sister chasing each other through the square. His childhood, if it could be called that, was dominated by routine and scales, not play and abandon.

He glances at the golden ticking hands of his watch and with a heaved sigh, lifts his cello case to trudge back along the cobblestones to the music school, feeling the familiar pull of responsibilities. Yet, something about the moment nagged at him, a sense of loss for experiences never had, for a childhood spent in service to a future that demanded everything.

With a heaved sigh and another trudge through the now darkened halls of his music college, Aemond pushed open the door, expecting a deep, sullen and wooden silence. Only to be greeted, or rather, whatever the negative version to being ‘greeted’ is, by the sound of the delicate, light twinkle of piano keys. 

He watched at first with a sense of both unease and interest as she played, her face partly hidden by the locks of hair that had fallen between her concentrated brows. He couldn’t even really see her playing, but could feel the sensitivity of her fingers on the black and white keys, the piece melancholic. 

Aemond willed the crease between his brows, attempting to feign disappointment between his awe. 

“You’re in the room I booked.”

Her eyes pierced the darkness between the opening of the grand piano, searing a memory into his mind through her vibrant gaze. At first, she seemed surprised at not being alone, and then her features settled, and he saw the wrinkles at the corner of one of them that made it clear that she smirked at seeing his annoyance.

She stood and closed the lid with a soft thud, pulling her bag over her shoulder, “yeah well unless you want to try moving a grand piano?” she smirks, raising one eyebrow as if daring him to reply.

Aemond exhaled sharply through his nose, setting his cello case against a nearby chair, conceding the point without words.

 “Didn’t think so,” she replied in a jokey manner, smiling down as she organised her sheet music into a neat satchel bag at her side.

While she wasn't looking, he found himself watching her, for no particular reason. There was something about the way she moved, the confidence she exuded even in the simplest of actions, that intrigued him. It wasn’t just curiosity about her attire or a superficial interest, he found himself wondering about the depth of her character, about the source of her fearless demeanour. If his stolen looks were not to see what she was wearing today, then perhaps to see if he could glimpse into her soul for just a moment, to see where she got her fucking audacity from. 

He sat to prepare his cello, running his middle finger over the bow strings, the density of them feeling somewhat satisfying against his calloused tips.

“You’re not going to lecture me about how I need to… ‘make love to my music’, or some shit like that?”

She chuckled softly, a sound that seemed to resonate a little too deeply within him. “What you do with your cello in your alone time is none of my business,” she quipped without looking up, her voice light yet laden with a hint of mischief.

“Hmm.”

The air between them was charged with an unspoken tension, a dance of mutual curiosity and veiled interest. As she packed up her things, Aemond found himself unwilling to break the moment, his usual reserve shaken by her presence. There was something about her, a boldness, an unapologetic embrace of her own talent and identity, that challenged him, that made him question his own guarded nature.

As she slung her bag over her shoulder, ready to leave, she paused, glancing back at Aemond who was methodically preparing his cello. A thought seemed to strike her, and her eyes lingered on him, curious and considering.

"Actually, do you mind if I stay a bit longer to listen?" she asked, her tone casual but with an underlying sincerity that caught Aemond off guard.

Aemond felt a mixture of apprehension and pride swell within him. He was used to accolades and audiences, but her request felt different, more personal, more significant. His initial instinct was to guard his practice, a time he usually kept private, a sacred space where he perfected his art away from prying eyes. Yet, something about her frank interest, devoid of any apparent ulterior motive, piqued his own curiosity about how she might perceive his music.

He was so taken off guard, as he was so often by her, that he forgot to say anything and simply nodded. He positioned his cello, settling it between his knees, his back straightening as he prepared to play. The invitation was extended on his terms, yet internally, he acknowledged a desire to impress her, to validate his approach and perhaps, to challenge her own musical opinions.

Her posture was relaxed, but attentive, as if she at least wanted to offer him the respect of knowing she was listening wholeheartedly. As Aemond drew the bow across the strings, the first notes resonated through the room, rich and precise. He chose a piece that showcased his technical prowess, a complex Bach suite that required meticulous control and deep concentration.

As he played, he found himself increasingly aware of her presence in the room. Each note was not just played for the sake of practice but as a demonstration of his skill and dedication to his craft. He watched her reaction out of the corner of his eye, her expressions subtle yet revealing. She seemed genuinely absorbed in the music, her earlier playful demeanour replaced by a focused seriousness that matched his own when he played.

The last draw of his bow brought those guarded walls back up again, the same ones that usually came tumbling down when he felt that in the throes of playing, feeling as if he was alone, were so easily crumbled. When the last note vibrated into silence, Aemond allowed himself a moment to gauge her reaction fully. She had leaned forward in her chair, as if she wanted to see his technique closer.

“You play with such precision,” she almost whispered, so quietly he strained to hear them. As if the words hadn’t been for him at all. 

He wasn’t certain how to place her review, negative or positive. And it aggravated him that even in her criticism, she was aggressively neutral. 

"Precision is crucial," he responded, his voice steady but his mind racing. He ached to say more, but alongside fearing he would appear defensive, he was unsure whether he wanted to invite criticism from her.

She paused, considering his question, her eyes locking with his. "Precision is your strength, no doubt," she began, her voice gaining confidence as she spoke. "But music, at least to me, also needs to breathe, to have a life of its own beyond the notes on the page. Your playing is impeccable, but it feels tightly controlled, almost constrained."

He quashed the rising irritation, or at least as much as he could, forcing himself to consider her words from a place of growth rather than confrontation. "So, you're suggesting I let go a little?" he asked, watching as she smiled at his confusion. 

“Maybe,” she said lightly, “allow it the freedom to surprise you. Control you. You might find you like it.”

He couldn’t help but dissect the slight flirtatiousness in her voice. And yet it was almost gentle, a stark contrast to the sharpness he was accustomed to in such discussions.

She broke the silence that seemed to bulge between them, “do you like it?”

His mother watched him eat, her gaze laden with a mix of pride and concern. The clink of cutlery filled the brief silences as she finally found the words.

"Do you enjoy it, Aemond?" she asked, her voice soft yet carrying weight. "The cello, I mean. Do you actually enjoy playing?"

Aemond paused, his fork suspended in mid-air. It was a question that had lingered at the edge of his consciousness, unvoiced and unanswered. Did he enjoy it, truly? Or had it become merely a vehicle for his ambition, a pathway that he had been set upon rather than one he had chosen?

"It sometimes feels like the only thing I know how to do," he admitted, and for someone so often so sure, his voice wavered. 

His mother’s hand reached across the table, her touch warm against his. "Music should be a source of joy, not just a pursuit of perfection," she reminded him gently. "It’s a gift, Aemond, meant to be cherished as much as honed."

Aemond paused, the question catching him off-guard. "Do I like what?" he asked, unsure if she was referring to her suggestion or something more implicit.

She bit back a small smile, and yet it still wormed its way onto her face, “losing control.”

Her question, laced with a hint of playfulness, hung in the air, and Aemond found himself momentarily lost for words. He was unaccustomed to such directness wrapped in…flirtation?

“Losing control?” he repeated, his mouth feeling a little dry. 

“Mmhm,” she hummed, “you hold the reins so tightly. Might be liberating to loosen…or even let go, once in a while?”

The atmosphere between them seemed to thicken, the words ‘losing control’ echoing not just through the room but through Aemond’s thoughts, disrupting his usual composure.

Aemond shifted slightly, the concept of loosening his grip, both metaphorically on his music and literally in his life, seemed to resonate deeper than he anticipated. "And you think that's something I need?" he asked, his voice lower, the hint of a challenge lacing his words.

She didn’t move an inch, but her presence seemed more pronounced. The subtle scent of her perfume mixed with the mustiness of the old practice room created a contrast that was oddly intoxicating. "Isn't it?" she countered softly, her gaze steady on his.

The air between them was palpable now, her every word pulling at something he usually kept well guarded. His heart beat a rhythm almost too pronounced, mirroring the tension that seemed to pulse through the space.

Clasping her bag closed, she stood, "Music is about feeling, about passion. It’s not just the notes, but the spaces between them, the breaths, the moments of surrender.”

Aemond’s response was caught in his throat as he absorbed her words, her proximity, the undeniable tension that seemed to dance around them like the very music she spoke of. How the hell did she do that?

She allowed herself a cheeky smile, one that reached her eyes so quickly that with those alone he would know she was amused, “maybe you should surrender to it sometimes.”

A part of him wanted to dismiss her words, to reinforce the walls he had built around his methods and beliefs. After all, she was the face of his competition, a symbol of the school he had been conditioned to outperform. Yet, the way she spoke about music, with such a raw, inviting passion, made it impossible to ignore the pull he felt towards her ideas, towards her. The rivalry was supposed to be clear-cut, a battle of schools and skills. But with her, it blurred into something messier, charged with an undercurrent of something he couldn’t quite name but felt all too powerfully.

It was a dangerous mix. 

To admit she affected him would mean opening a door he was adamant to firmly keep shut tight. One that could lead to complications. Not even in terms of the competition. But for his prized discipline. She watched his expression to her words closely, her eyes reflecting a glint of knowing. He desperately wanted to hate her for it. To remind her that she was no better than him simply because she wasn’t plagued with the need for perfection like he was. That she, beyond the walls of the music school she seemed to haunt, could leave her instrument within them. Whereas Aemond was forced to carry his cello on his shoulders, to support its heavy toll on him, and that every step he took, it took more. 

It seemed like she was going to say more, as her lips parted. But as quickly as they did, they closed softly again, and that enigmatic smile returned. 

Fuck her. 

When Aegon had been in his early twenties, he’d moaned and groaned on the sofa, his phone slobbed to one side, complaining that the girl he was currently texting was verbally edging him. Aemond had merely grimaced, finding his brother's frustration more amusing than relatable.

But now he felt that aggravation of it. The fact that she knew he was hanging on every word, and still chose not to say anything, to leave thoughts dangling in the charged air between them.

She gave him a final nod, a silent acknowledgment of the unspoken words and tensions that lingered, then turned and walked away. It was only when she was halfway down the hallway that the perfect response sprang to his mind, but by then it was too late. All he could do was watch her retreating form disappear into the dim, wooden corridor. 

In that moment, Aemond felt like a modern-day Eurydice, fading into the shadows, but with a twist, this time, Eurydice longed for Orpheus to look back. Aemond knew that if she turned, if she offered him one last look, it would mean stepping back into a narrative filled with complexities and perhaps inevitable loss. Yet, he craved that backward glance, a sign that their fleeting connection meant as much to her as it did to him, even if it meant returning to the shadows.

Aemond tried to refocus on his practice as he returned to the solitude of the music room. He played mechanically, his usual precision present but the soul of the music notably absent. The strings didn't sing; they just spoke in monotonous tones. With more than half of his allotted practice time remaining, he packed up his cello, and resisted the urge to hurl it across the room.

Driven by a need for something more tangible, more human than the cold wood and strings of his cello, Aemond left the practice room abruptly.

No more than 15 minutes later, he stood at the smirking figure of Alys Rivers, leaning against her door frame, arms crossed and wearing delicate lacy sleepwear, as if she could supernaturally anticipate that he would come to her.

Her eyes gleamed with a mix of amusement and satisfaction, seeing him slightly dishevelled, a rare break in his usually composed demeanour.

“I don't want to fucking hear it.” 

Alys, unfazed by his sharpness, raised an eyebrow and smiled wryly, stepping aside to let him in. Her reaction was more teasing than concerned, her amusement clear in her casual posture. 

"Where?" Aemond's voice was blunt, his usual grace undercut by a barely contained frustration.

"The bed," Alys responded with a flick of her head toward the bedroom, her smirk deepening as she watched him stride ahead.

As he passed her, she couldn't resist adding, "Need some instructions, or do you remember the way?"

Aemond didn't respond, his back to her as he moved into the bedroom. Alys followed at a leisurely pace, her demeanour confident, almost cocky. She leaned against the doorframe, watching as he shed his jacket with quick, jerky movements.

Alys pushed off from the doorframe and walked over to him, her steps deliberate. "Something's happened-," she said, reaching out to smooth the crease between his brows with her thumb, her touch light but insistent.

He caught her wrist, his grip firm. "I said I don't want to fucking hear it," he retorted, his voice low and strained.

Alys met his gaze, her expression partly unreadable. "Okay," she conceded, pulling her hand back gently. She gestured towards the bed. "Show me what you need.”

As Alys led him toward the bed, Aemond followed mechanically. His movements were automatic, driven by habit more than desire. Pulling her hips towards him and slinging her legs over his shoulders was like second nature at this point. Alys was warm beneath him, her body responding in all the familiar ways, her breaths, her touches, her sighs all scripted from past encounters. Yet, as Aemond moved with her, his mind was elsewhere, disengaged from the act. 

The room was silent except for the soft rustle of sheets and the muted sounds of their closeness, but inside Aemond, a storm was brewing. The physical motions were all correct, but the emotional undercurrents were misaligned, leaving him feeling even more isolated as they moved together. Alys seemed not to notice, or if she did, she chose not to address it, caught up perhaps in her own interpretation of their actions.

Afterward, as Alys settled beside him, her breathing even and content, Aemond lay awake, staring at the ceiling. She was close, yet he felt miles away, trapped in a cycle that provided physical release but no real solace.

Sensing his detachment, Alys’ voice broke through the silence, “you okay?”

Aemond didn't answer. Instead, he gently disentangled himself from her and slid off the bed. His movements were smooth but distant, as if he was pulling away from more than just the physical proximity, leaving the bedroom without so much of a backward glance at Alys, barely wounded from his dismissal, naked in bed. Alys watched him go, her expression resigned. She remained silent, making no move to follow him or press him further.

In the living room, Aemond walked straight to the mini-bar and poured himself a drink, his hands mechanically tilting the bottle, the familiar clink of ice soothing his frayed nerves. He took a deep sip, letting the liquid burn down his throat, hoping it would wash away the disquiet clinging to him.

As he turned, his gaze fell on the grand piano sitting under the low light in the corner of the room. It was an elegant piece, one that Alys had long forgotten, now sitting idly and out of tune. The dust gathered in its crevices spoke volumes of its neglect, a stark contrast to the careful maintenance of instruments at his own school.

The piano, much like himself tonight, felt abandoned, left to stand as a mere piece of furniture rather than the vibrant instrument it was intended to be. Compelled by a sudden urge, he approached it, his fingers running along the cool, smooth surface of its keys, each one silent and stiff from disuse. Aemond pressed a key tentatively, listening to the dull thud that echoed back, as if to taunt him. 

For a brief moment, he considered the task of tuning it, of bringing it back to life. It seemed a fitting metaphor for what he needed himself, a realignment, a correction of the discord that had crept into his own life and art.

As Aemond's fingers wandered across the piano keys, his thoughts meandered back to the pianist from the opposing school. She had described music as a living entity, one that breathed and moved, pulsating with the emotions of its player. This concept lingered in his mind as he contemplated the neglected piano before him. He wondered how she would react to such a forlorn instrument. Would she feel compelled to restore it, to draw breath back into its worn frame and let it sing once more? 

Just as he secretly hoped she might rekindle something within him, a spark long subdued under the weight of discipline and expectation.

General Taglist: @aemondsfavouritebastard @bellstwd @blackswxnn @blairfox04 @buckybarnesb-tch

@castellomargot @emmaisafictionwhore @hb8301 @jamespotterismydaddy @justbelljust

@minholy223 @mochi-rose @natty2017 @nenelysian @primonizzutto

@qyburnsghost @randomdragonfires @risefallrise @thelittleswanao3 @theoneeyedprince

[darthannie]

day fifteen: daddy kink with lenny miller

pairing: Lenny Miller x f!reader word count: 832 warnings: heavy use of 'daddy', use of 'baby', kinda dom!Lenny Miller, a/n: Yes, it’s your typical “omg did I just say that?!” BUT I don’t care I love that trope. Didn't go super deep into the dynamic but I definitely want to explore daddy kinks further.  Anyway, Lenny is just so boyfriend to me I want him so bad. kinktober masterlist

You wore red for him. It was the only lingerie you owned and didn’t hate. It covered and revealed all the right places. The lace and satin were soft on your skin. You wore the set underneath a t-shirt and shorts you usually wore to bed, trying to stay inconspicuous. He had sent you a text earlier telling you to expect him and around seven you heard a knock at the door. 

You skipped the pleasantries when you opened the door, pulling him into a kiss right as he stepped through the threshold. You were excited to see him. Your relationship stood in an awkward place. You knew where your footing was, but you weren’t sure about his. All of that faded away when he shut the door behind him, wrapping his arms around your waist, and returning your kiss with a fervor that said he missed you too. 

He pulled away before the moment could escalate. “I don’t have all that much time tonight, so we better make it count,” he said. You lifted the hem of your shirt and pulled down the waistband of your shorts, showing a bit of the red lace that lay underneath. “Then you better come catch me.” You chuckled as you ran off towards the bedroom, his steps following close behind. You bounced onto the bed and he crawled over you, kicking off his shoes as he did. You took off his shirt and unbuttoned his pants. He quickly pulled them off as he kissed you, only breaking away to take off your shirt.

He took in the sight of the red fabric curving around your breasts and couldn’t wait to look at the entire ensemble. He pulled down your shorts and bit his lip upon seeing the red lace leaving nothing to the imagination. He decided to be playful and use his teeth to remove your panties. Once he pulled them down enough he opened your legs just wide enough for his head to fit between your legs. 

He licked your clit ever so lightly, only trying to make you shiver in anticipation. He slowly licked up and down your slit, making sure to indulge in the taste of you. His fingers teased your entrance and you moaned. He put one in, testing you, before he stuck in another. A switch flipped in his head, “no time” he thought. His fingers began moving quickly as he devoured you. He hit the right place every single time causing your body to convulse. “Oh, f-fuck daddy.” You drew out. 

He pulled back and halted his movements. “Daddy?”

You caught your breath. “Fuck, it… just came out. I didn’t mean to… I mean. Do you not like it?” You were a blubbering mess. You’d never meant to cross that boundary. 

“No, I like it. I just didn’t know if you would,” he smiled. “Call me that again.” He urged you.

“You want me to refer to you as-“

“Yes.” He looked serious. 

Flirtatiously, you responded, “Okay, daddy.”

He inserted his fingers again and began moving them. He watched as your chest raised and fell. His fingers moved faster. He broke the silence.“Whose pussy is this?”

“Yours, daddy. It’s yours,” you mewled.

He groaned, palming himself through his underwear. 

“You need daddy’s cock?”

“Yes, please.” You were desperate. “Please, please, please I need it, daddy!”

He smirked and took off his underwear, letting it fall to some unknown place. He stroked himself before positing himself at your wet entrance. You grabbed onto his shoulders as he started to fuck you, hard. Lenny usually liked to take things slow with you, but he couldn’t restrain himself. “Daddy, fuck, so good. You’re so good t-to me,” you moaned. His jaw clenched. All he could manage was a string of expletives leaving his mouth. 

“I want to look at you when you cum, all right? Eyes on me.”

“Yes, daddy.” Referring to him in such a way felt so natural, that you were surprised it hadn’t come out sooner. 

“I’m going to count down and you’re going to cum for me. Understood?”

“Yes.” You caught your mistake before he had a chance to correct you “Yes, daddy.”

“Good girl.” He drew out the ‘good’, making your back arch. He started his countdown at ten. By five you were holding in your orgasm. When he finally got to one you crumbled down. You never broke eye contact with him, looking into his icy blue eyes as he came inside you. He kissed you as you came down from your high, pulling out and dragging you close to him as he lay on his side. You cuddled into him, closing your eyes as you nuzzled under his neck. He stroked your arm, feeling the warmth of your body radiate onto him. He leaned down and kissed your forehead. 

“You did so good for me, baby.” He held you tighter and you gave him a chaste kiss on the cheek.

“Anything for you, daddy.”

Taglist:

@devotedlyshadowytheorist, @dxnger-dxys, @tommyshelbywhore, @quinnlilias,@madnessandobsession, @mvpr-moon, @nela-cutie, @faebirdie, @charmed-asylum, @anasanthology, @ilikefictionalmen, @akanne-aka, @no-fooking-fighting,@queenofstresss, @flwrs4aust, @mrkdvidal1989, @00hsv, @laylasbunbunny

(If something is up with your tag or you would like to be added, let me know!)

[pinkofatom]

The Maid in the Tower

CW: male to female transformation, personality shift, maidification

Hi hi~ a continuation of this

If you liked this story, please consider leaving a tip on my ko-fi

Enjoy 🩷

Edric awoke to the muted scent of lavender soap and the faint creak of old wood settling. For a moment, he lay still, letting the unfamiliar ceiling sharpen into focus — plain beams, a single hanging lantern swaying gently overhead.

He sat up, wincing as his back protested. The bed beneath him was narrow, the mattress thin but tidy. The linens were clean, though simple, and a worn woolen blanket clung to his legs. Around him stood a squat chest of drawers, a washbasin, and a modest wardrobe.

A maid’s chamber.

His throat tightened. He remembered the tower — the steep, winding path, the sound of the wind howling past the broken outer walls. He had come to save Princess Saphira, to confront the wizard who had stolen her from her throne. And yet —

Now he was here.

His armor was gone. So was his sword. Even his tunic had been replaced with a thin, unfamiliar shirt that smelled faintly of lavender and starch. He rose to his feet, steadying himself on the wall. The stone was warm to the touch — disturbingly so.

He needed to find the Princess. He needed answers.

But something about the quiet stillness of the room made it hard to move — hard to remember why he was in such a hurry.

The Princess is counting on me, he told himself. Yet, his steps were slow, measured.

As he crossed the chamber, the floorboards groaned beneath his feet, sounding almost mournful, reluctant. Protests echoed through him, he was not ready to leave yet. The scent of lavender seemed to curl around his limbs like invisible chains, pulling at him. Trying to slow him down. He forced his feet to keep moving.

But they led him to the wardrobe.

It loomed before him — dark, ornately carved wood, with metal fittings gleaming dully in the dim light. His hand closed on the handle, pulled the heavy door open. Inside, hung the unmistakable, unmistakable silhouette of a dress, a richly embroidered gown.

His fingers twitched towards the garment. The fabric felt strange under his fingertips, smooth, impossibly soft — silk, he realized with a shiver. It had been a long time since he had seen anything so delicate. He stroked the gown slowly, savoring the luxurious sensation against his rough skin.

The black fabric gleemed with an invitation. He pulled the gown off its hook, holding it out in front of him. He felt a sudden heat wash over him. He let the gown drop, watching it pool around his ankles like some dark, writhing creature. It felt — heavy. Heavy with the scent of jasmine. His heart pounded. It felt like a promise, an answer to something.

But to what?

The weight of it, the smell of it. It reminded him — of Princess Saphira. Of her warmth, her elegance, her power. How she was his to rescue, his to win.

He had to wear it. Had to have it on him, feel it against his skin, carry her with him. He needed to remember. He reached for his shirt, tugging at the laces that held it together.

The shirt fell away easily, slipping off his shoulders like a sigh of relief. His skin tingled in the cool air of the room, his chest rising and falling with every ragged breath. The dress called to him, reminded him that he had to put on the full ensemble. His eyes dragged back to the wardrobe found the most wonderful set of explicit underwear.

The bodice was made of delicate lace, woven in an intricate pattern that looked like vines twining around his body. It fastened tight across his chest, holding his body in a comforting, constrictive embrace. He ran his hands over the lace, tracing the swirls and curves, feeling the tingle of desire build within him. An invisible force tugged at his chest. He grabbed the brassiere and pulled it tight around him. His hands moved automatically, pulling the strings and tightening them.

The sensation was intense — a sharp constriction, then a warm rush of blood as his body relaxed into the embrace. He breathed deeply, letting his body adjust to the new feeling. The corset seemed to pulse with his heartbeat, a steady, comforting rhythm, urging him forward, deeper into this new form. As he gazed at his new figure, his reflection in the mirror caught his attention. With an appreciative hum, he studied himself. His figure was now accentuated with curves that hugged his hips seductively. His gaze shifted to the next item, his eyes drawn to a pair of stockings, made of sheer black fabric and edged with delicate lace.

Without hesitation he pulled them on.

His hands shook slightly as they traced the contours of his thighs, the sheer material clinging to his skin, the lace tickling him. It was an intoxicating mix, soft and smooth and strange. He stretched out his leg, admiring the way the stockings hugged his shape.

He looked at the garters and attached them to his stockings, relishing the tension of the fabric stretching around his thighs, pressing them into a feminine, svelte form. He wanted more, to become more like the Princess. He yearned to be closer to her, to embody her spirit, her essence. To be worthy of her affection.

So, his eyes flicked back to the bodice and he picked the panties, a raunchy pair incapable of hiding the forbidden fruit. He needed them on him. They felt as smooth and sleek as his stockings as he ran a fingertip over the lacy fringes that framed his crotch, and a small, elegant bow sat atop his hipbone.

With trembling hands, he put the garment in its proper place. The soft fabric of his underwear cradled him, encasing his most intimate area, caressing his-hi—her folds. She could feel her sex pulse, and she bit her lower lip with anticipation. A surge of heat rose from the depths of her core, igniting her nerves with pleasure.

She slipped her feet into a set of simple, black high heels, and as the shoes constricted her feet, an odd sensation enveloped her. She was changing. She was certain of it now, becoming one of the maid's. A servant of the tower that obeyed the Princess' every need.

Her mind clouded as she stepped closer to the wardrobe to examine the last two pieces. She was panting hard now, desperate to wear the whole ensemble, to make her transformation complete. Her body moved with a strange, fluid grace as she reached out to pick the elegant gloves, which clung to her arms with a sensuous hug. On top of her head rested the maid's bonnet. The fabric hugged the crown of her head and framed her delicate face. A subtle, pleasurable tugging sensation at her roots, like hundreds of tiny, invisible threads pulled at her skin.

Eleonore was finally ready. A faint, buzzing sound hummed in her ears, a faintly metallic, almost hypnotic noise that drew her attention. A mirror, its polished surface glinting with an unnatural light, beckoned her. Eleonore took a tentative step forward, gazing into it with wide, curious eyes.

She barely recognized herself.

The figure that stared back was beautiful, with dark eyes that were wide and empty. Ruby tinted lips, that parted slightly, showing the hint of a pink tongue within. The gown clung to her frame like a lover, emphasizing the swell of her breasts, the curve of her hips, the softness of her thighs. She felt — feminine. Unashamed. And above all else, submissive. Eager to fulfill a role that had always felt like it belonged to her. Her body hummed with anticipation and desire, her sex pulsing with need, the dampness between her thighs growing more apparent.

Rolling her delicious hips, the servant left her chambers. Her body moved with a sinuous, almost feline grace, the corset and gown pulling and pushing her in ways she had never felt before.

She stepped through the halls of the castle, each stride a rhythmic clatter of heels against the cold stone. Her destination were the Princess' chambers.

The image of the Princess' voluptuous curves haunted her mind. Her pace quickened. Hasty she opened the intricate doors — and saw all of her mistress' glory.

"My Lady," Eleonore curtsied as she entered the grand chamber of Princess Saphira. "It shall be my honor to tend to your every need this morning." Her heart fluttered in her chest as she gazed at the stunning woman seated before the vanity. Princess Saphira's crimson hair cascaded like a silken inferno over her ivory shoulders, framing her heart-shaped face.

A playful, innocent — yet lustful — giggle answered her. The sound echoed through her core, sending a tingle down her spine and into the wetness that pooled at her crotch.

"Oh, goodie. I need some help," she pouted. "My beloved wizard will be gone for days," her voice turned husky, "and a woman has needs." Her blue, deep gaze pierced into Eleonore's very soul as she walked up to her. "I trust that my most obedient maid can tend to her mistress, no?"

"Y-yes," Eleanore muttered, feeling her face grow hot. "Anything, your grace."

Saphira turned away from the vanity, and with one fluid movement, she shrugged her thin robe off her shoulders, fully revealing her voluptuous curves.

The maid swallowed thickly as Saphira's massive breasts came into full, tantalizing display — the Princess was a true queen of all things carnal.

As Eleonore sank to her knees between her Princess' thighs, the only thought that echoed through her mind was:

How lucky she was to be a servant of the Tower.