#reblogging for the sing-along goodness
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charmre · 1 year ago
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OKAY BUT "SUFFERING" IN THE THUNDER SAGA OF EPIC THE MUSICAL IS SOOOOOO GOOD 😩😩😩👌🏼👌🏼👌🏼
okay I'm done yelling....for now.....
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sajaboyscumdump · 1 month ago
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hot spring | thirst! romance saja & abby saja x reader
minors dni— the three of you share a hot spring—but it turns out demons can’t resist touching when their skin is wet.
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the hot spring was hidden deep in the mountains— a perfect getaway after their world tour. the stars blinked lazily above, shrouded in mist, while the steam curled around the jagged rocks like fingers coaxing secrets from the night.
"so… we're actually done."
you leaned back against the edge of the rock, steam curling around your bare shoulders. your arms rested along the stone rim of the hot spring, every muscle aching in that delicious post-tour way. after months of late-night flights, screaming fans, tight schedules, and the chaos that came with managing a group of supernatural idols—this silence felt unreal.
"feels weird, huh?" abby slid into the water beside you, his dark hair slicked back, glowing gold eyes watching you lazily. “no mics. no cameras. no rowdy crowds.”
"just boiling ourselves in a mountain spring," you teased.
romance chuckled as he waded in on your other side, a towel slung low on his hips before he let it fall to the rocks. water beaded down his chest as he sank in, sighing like a man reborn.
“honestly, i think you worked harder than all of us."
you laughed. "don’t start. you two and the others are the ones singing your souls out every night. i just yell at people on the phone and try to stop you from fighting over who gets to pick stage outfits."
"you do yell impressively well," romance said with a grin. "makes me wonder what else you’d sound like when you’re—"
"romance," abby warned, but his lips twitched.
"—annoyed," romance finished innocently.
you rolled your eyes, smirking. "don’t test me. i’m still your assistant manager. kind of."
"not right now you aren’t," abby murmured, voice quieter now. "right now you're just… you. with us. no job titles."
you looked between them. they weren’t teasing anymore. the tension was quiet, warm, almost reverent. you swallowed hard.
“thanks for sticking with us,” romance said suddenly. “three years. you never once bailed. even when we were assholes.”
"especially when you were assholes," you muttered.
abby smiled softly. “you kept us sane.”
“you’re… everything,” romance added. “and we’ve been good, haven’t we? behaved? respected you?”
"yes," you said slowly.
"can we stop, then?" romance asked. his tone was low. deliberate.
you blinked. "stop what?"
abby moved closer behind you, water rippling gently. "pretending we don’t feel it. this."
your chest tightened.
romance’s voice dropped. "we're demons. when our skin gets wet.. touch becomes a need. and it’s worse when it’s someone we already crave."
abby’s hands brushed your shoulders, thumbs tracing slowly down your arms underwater.
“we want you. but only if you say yes."
the air felt hotter than the spring itself. you looked between them—your boys, your best friends, your impossible, beautiful headaches. they'd always been close.
too close, sometimes.
this wasn’t out of nowhere.
you’d felt it for a long time.
"then stop holding back," you breathed.
romance’s lips curved, and you felt his hands creep up your thighs.
“atta girl.”
-
reblog, comment, & follow if you want more <3
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23victoria · 1 year ago
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“I Love You” ❁
f1 grid x fem!reader
this is a drabble based of the “i love you but not saying it back to your partner” tiktok trend
wc: 1.7k
authors note: this is my first drabble! any feedback is appreciated and please like, comment, and reblog!! hope you enjoy!!
f1 masterlist
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Lewis
You saw this TikTok trend and found it funny. Lewis was getting ready to go to his training session so it was the perfect time. Setting up your phone discreetly to capture the moment, he walked to the door, ready to leave.
“I love you,” he said warmly.
“Bye!” you responded, busy with mixing the batter for your cupcakes.
Lewis paused, a bit taken aback. “I love you,” he repeated, louder this time.
“Bye, Lewis! Hurry or you’ll be late!” you repeated, waving him off.
Lewis’s brow furrowed slightly. “Is everything okay baby? Did I do something wrong?”
“Lewis everything is fine, you can’t be late for your training session. I’ll see you later!” you say still paying him no mind, making sure the batter is mixed smoothly.
Lewis starts to worry that he did something wrong. “Baby I'm sorry if I did something that upset you. Can you please say I love you back” he says getting ready to cancel his session.
Finally, you broke into laughter, revealing you were just playing with him. “No, it’s just a TikTok trend. I promise you did nothing wrong. I love you baby!” you say walking up to him.
Relieved, Lewis laughs giving you a quick kiss. “You got me good. I love you too,” he said, leaving with a smile.
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Max
You are always up for a good laugh, so you decided to try the trend with Max before he heads to his meeting.
“I love you,” Max said, grabbing his keys to the car.
“Bye, Max. Be safe!” you responded nonchalantly from the couch watching a true story documentary.
Max stopped in his tracks. “I love you,” he repeated, his tone more insistent.
“Bye!” you replied, looking at the tv with a faint smirk.
Max’s usually confident expression faltered. “Is something wrong? Why aren’t you saying it back?”
“Saying what back?” you say with a confused face trying to mask your laughter.
“I love you, Y/N. Say it back.” Max says no longer in the door but in front of you blocking the tv.
You couldn’t keep a straight face any longer and burst out laughing. “It’s a just TikTok trend, babe!”
Max's shoulders dropped in relief, laughing with you. “You made me so worried! I thought I did something to piss you off or forgot an important day! I love you too.” he says shaking his head making his way to the door.
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Lando
Lando loves to play tricks and pranks on you so you decided it’s time to return the favor. You set the camera up on the dresser as you sit up in bed. Lando is on his way to film a YouTube video for Quadrant.
“I love you,” he said cheerfully.
“Bye, Lando!” you replied, focused on your phone.
Lando stops in his spot, staring at you. “I love you,” he repeated, sounding more unsure.
“Bye! Have fun!” you said again, trying not to smile.
Lando’s playful demeanor turned serious. His heart racing. “What’s wrong with you?”
Looking at him confusedly, you say “Nothing, why?”
“Why? Um, maybe because you aren’t saying “I love you” back to me” Lando says now siting on the bed infront if you.
“Did I do something wrong? Why won’t you say it back” he adds.
Unable to play along anymore you laugh, saying “It’s just a TikTok trend, baby.”
Lando lays his back in the bed singing in relief, “You scared me, I was about to call Oscar and ask Lily to see what’s wrong with you.
“Aww baby” you say moving to laying on top of him. Smiling at him while you kiss his nose you say, “I love you!”
Lando smiles hugging you and flipping you over so now he’s on top. “I’m so gonna get you back, but I love you too.” he says giggling in your neck.
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Charles
Charles was going to take Leo for a walk, you decided to stay back to make lunch. You set up the camera on the kitchen counter ready to prank Charles.
“I love you,” he said softly, giving you a kiss on the cheek as he hold Leo in his hands.
“Bye, Charles. Bye, Leo!” you say only paying attention to Leo not him.
Charles repeats himself. “I love you, ma cherìe” he says again, a little louder.
“Bye!” you repeated, paying him no mind.
Charles’s face showed genuine concern. “Is everything okay? Did I upset you?”
“Yes everything’s fine.” you say trying to ignore his presence again.
He sets Leo down and stares and the side of your head and says even louder, “I love you, ma chéri”
You do your best to hold your composure and not laugh while focusing on the task in front of you, “Bye Charles, be safe!” you say in a normal voice.
Charles' eyes bore into you and the next thing you know, you feel one hand under your chin, the other on your waist turning you to face him. “I.” Kiss. “Love.” Kiss. “You.” Kiss.
You smile as he kisses you between each word, giggling at him, you say “I love you Charles.” “I’m just playing with you baby, it’s a trend going around on TikTok.”
Charles shakes his head and laughs. “Don’t ever do that again, ma chéri” “You really had me worried. Thank you for finally saying it back. I love you too.” he says smiling cheekily, giving you a kiss on the lips before he’s out the door with Leo.
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Oscar
The trend has been going around on TikTok for a min now and you immediately knew you had to play this prank on Oscar. He’s always so calm and laid back so you wondered if this will get to him. He’s getting ready to leave to record some videos with Lando for McLaren, so this is the best time to do it.
“I love you,” he said with a smile, halfway out the door of the hotel room.
“Bye, Oscar!” you replied, not meeting his eyes.
Oscar stopped dead in his tracks looking confused. He turns his body around at the door. “I love you,” he says again, trying to get your attention.
“Bye, Oscar!” you respond, hiding your smile behind the blanket as you play a game on your phone.
Oscar still has a confused look on his face as he says, “I love you, Y/N.” You don’t respond instead just straight up ignore him.
He walks back into the room, closing the door. He stands at your side and repeats himself with his arms crossed. “I love you Y/N.”
You look up at him and say “Okay, hurry and go before you're late!”
Oscar looks at you dumbfounded and gets on the bed laying on top of you. You groan and try to push him off, “Oscar get off! You're going to be late! You have to go! you say still trying to escape free.
“No, not until you tell me what I did to make you so upset that you're not saying “I love you” back to me” he says , putting even more of his weight on you.
You laugh saying, “Aww, babe, it’s just a prank.“ It’s a TikTok trend!”
Oscar lifts himself off of you, and sighs in relief laying next to you, laughing. “You know I only just joined TikTok, you had me really worried there. You laugh rolling on him to give him a kiss. “I know. I love you too, babe, even if you do act like a millennial sometimes.”
“Hey!” he says as he rolls over trapping you as he attacks you with tickles to your stomach and kisses all over your face.
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Carlos
Carlos is on his way to a photo shoot with Charles and Ferrari for Vogue. You decide it’s the perfect time to do the TikTok prank on him.
“I love you,” he says, giving you a kiss on the forehead, his eyes twinkling.
“Bye, Carlos!” you reply, barely glancing at him as you walk away.
Carlos paused, looking puzzled. “I love you,” he repeated, his tone even louder.
“Bye!” you say again, stifling a giggle as you sit on the couch, searching through Hulu for a show to watch.
Carlos’s face falls. He walks towards you and says your name. You ignore him and now he’s sitting on the couch next to you just staring.
Feeling his eyes burn through the side of your head you turn to him and say “Did you forget something? You can’t be late for this photoshoot.”
“Ah okay, I see how it is. You acknowledge my presence to ask me if I forgot something but you can’t say “I love you” back to me?” he says moving closer to you on the couch.
Ignoring what he said, you say “Bye!”
Carlos doesn’t move and just sits there and grabs your chin and says “Repeat after me cariño. Say “I”
“Bye” you say.
“No, say “I”, he says again.
“Bye.” you respond.
Carlos shifts in his seat moving even closer to you, saying “Cariño say the word “I”
You look Carlos dead in the eyes and say “Bye.”
“Okay, that’s how you wanna play.” he says as he tackles you softly on the couch, your back hitting the sofa with him on top of you pulling your shirt up revealing your stomach.
Holding the shirt he says, “I’m going to ask you one more time, cariño, say “I love you.”
“No.” Just as that word escapes your mouth you feel him blowing raspberries on your stomach, tickling you as you try your best to escape from his hold. “Say it!” he yells. “No!” and now he’s biting your cheeks and kissing you all over your face.
“I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you” Say it back he says not stopping his attacks.
“Okay, okay!” “I love you, Carlos,” you say breathlessly.
Laughing as you try to catch your breath. You kiss him all over his face, telling him, “It’s just a TikTok trend, baby. You know I love you so so much!”
Carlos laughs, “Of course it is, you and your TikTok addiction” “Hey!” you say eyes wide as he calls you out. “I’m just playing cariño, your TikTok addiction is cute, not so nice when the tricks are played on you huh?” “Yea, yea, whatever!” You say pushing him off smiling.
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© 23victoria 2024 I all rights reserved. do not republish, steal repost, modify, translate, or claim my work as your own.
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meowrimo · 1 year ago
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LOVERS ROCK — ༉‧₊˚.
ft. zoro roronoa !
꒰ SYNOPSIS ꒱ : zoro has a new outfit for your excursion to egghead island and it fits him a little too well . . .
꒰ CONTENTS ꒱ : MDNI. f!reader. thigh riding, dry humping, multiple orgasms, praise, zoro calls you pretty, — WC : 1.9k
꒰ NOTES ꒱ : i figured posting this on hump day was fitting. enjoy ! dividers by @/cafekitsune ᰔ
reblogs and interactions are always appreciated ! (*ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)ᰔ*.゚
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zoro’s musk wraps around you as you nuzzle into the crook of his neck. steel, sweat, blood, and the salt of the sea all wrapped into one. the scent of something dangerous that should leave you repulsed only draws you in more. 
because you know better, you know what every inch of his body tastes like, how addicting it is when it melts on the tip of your tongue. can he blame you when you press your lips against the skin of his neck, humming approvingly as you steal another taste?
he lets out a groan that reverberates against your lips, one that has your kiss turning into something more vicious as you suck against the spot, leaving your mark for all the world to see. 
“easy.” zoro’s voice is low, his fingers tightening against your hips. the heated make out session was quickly becoming more as your lips latched near the column of his throat, feeling his pulse quicken under your tender care.
“can’t. it’s this suit.” you reluctantly ease up, warm breath fanning over the agitated spot you proudly left behind. “looks so good on you, zo.”
“yeah?” zoro couldn’t help but feel a little smug at your reaction to it. “why didn’t you just say so?”
“was me rubbing up against you not a big enough hint that i found it hot?” you pull back, giving him a pointed look. 
“how should i know?” his face heats up, singeing pink as he makes eye contact with you. “you act like this no matter what i do!”
“shut up.” you huff, looking away as your own cheeks become warm. “i do not.”
“yeah you do.” zoro’s hand found your chin, bringing your attention back to him. the blush that softly blooms upon his face dances along his cheeks as it spreads to his ears. “its cute.”
you open your mouth to retaliate once again but he beats you to it, using the opportunity to slot his greedy lips against yours as he pulls you in for another heated kiss. one that stole the breath from your lungs and replaced it with desire, a deep longing for his touch even though he was sitting right beneath you. you needed more. 
decidedly, you easily maneuver yourself from his lap to his thigh, the thick muscle sturdy as you straddle it. biting back a moan, you let out a soft strangled noise that slips into zoro’s awaiting mouth. electricity coursed through you both, a shift in the air that wraps around your shoulder, weighing you down to sink your core further against his toned thigh. 
“couldn’t even wait for me to get out of the suit, huh?” zoro whispers against your kiss bitten lips, hands gripping your sides as he holds you in place. if he wasn’t so damned strong you’d have moved by now, given into your lecherous thoughts that heat up your core with unadulterated need.
zoro flexes his muscle, testing you and gauging your reaction. even though you were separated by the almost comically skin tight clothing, the pressure sent your eyes reeling to the back of your head. with a short chuckle, he unflexes and the intensity simmers, leaving you full of want.
“zoro,” you mewl out in frustration, the sound dangerously close to a whine. your fingers grip into the plushness of his coat, more than ready to use it as leverage as soon as you can move your hips. “what are you waiting for?”
slowly, zoro begins to rock your hips against him, a steady pace that feels different from normal — it was alarmingly easier. the fabric of the suit was so slick on its own that you could slide along it with no problem, no hiccups. 
“just gonna ease you —“ zoro starts before you smack his hands away. enough was enough and he was going far too slow for your liking. he lets go, his smirk resting on his face as he holds his hands up in false surrender before moving them to rest on your thighs. “impatient, huh?”
ignoring his comment, you start moving your hips and just like you thought –  you could gain a lot of speed. with a steady hold on his jacket, your hips behind to move on their own accord, not an ounce of hesitation as your clit deliciously runs along his flexed muscle.
“z-zoro,” you breathe out, head lolling back as you keep up the pace. zoro could feel how wet you were, your own suit didn’t leave much to the imagination either and the wet spot forming on his covered thigh was steadily growing. 
“feel good?” he asked, beginning to continuously flex and unflex his thigh, the ridges catching along your clit and only making you spiral more.
“mhm.” you nod, already feeling the coil within you ready to snap. “so, so good zo.”
“filthy girl.” zoro kisses along your jaw, moving down your neck as your pace stutters. you could always tell your praise affected him, stirring something deep inside of him as the ghost of the smile seeping into your skin while he brushes his lips along your jugular. “if you keep this up, i’m gonna have to get a whole new suit.”
“can’t stop—“ you gasp out, breathy pants leaving your lips as you get closer to your high. 
“then don’t.” 
two words that had an unintentional ripple effect, your body moving without any forethought, driven by instinct and lust for the man smugly sitting under you, expertly watching you with lust-blown eyes as you take what you need.
each delicious drag along his thigh was sending electricity up your spine, the pleasure invading your brain and turning it into nothing more than a dull static, desperately chasing the high that you’re sure will bring you clarity once again.
distantly, you hear zoro muttering sinful praises, running his mouth in encouragement as you ascend to new heights. your center of gravity was dependent on him and the mind-numbingly corded muscles that make up his thigh. one wrong move and everything would tilt on its axis — you’re not sure if the thought excited you or not.
“shit, i’m gonna —!” you yelp out, your voice finally able to break through the steady moans and whimpers that were flowing out of your mouth like water. 
“let go f’me, c’mon.” zoro gives your upper thigh a harsh squeeze and your body locks up under the searing touch. it was earth shattering, so much so that the lower half of your body stuttered against the slippery fabric, cries of his name tumbling from your lips. “atta girl.”
the praise messed with your mind even more, melting it into a puddle that zoro was destined to lap up like a dog on a rainy day. you squeeze your eyes shut as the after effects still course through your body, gripping onto his shoulders like the world depended on it.
after struggling to catch your breath for a moment, you slump against him a bit, your head resting comfortably on his shoulder. his palm soothingly runs along your back, easing you down and back to him, right where you belong.
“you good?” his low, gruff voice seeps into your skin and you only want to burrow deeper into the comfort of it. you make a small sound and reluctantly pull back, the look in his eye darkening. it was clear how much he wanted you.
“mhm.” you whisper, your palms running along the skin tight suit, agonizingly taking your time. your core still felt so gooey, like burning lava that was hot to the touch. each motion you take was lazy and uncoordinated until your fingers trailed along his covered abs that ripple in anticipation, making sure to outline each divot. “gonna take it off now?”
“takes too long to take the whole thing off. besides,” zoro’s breathing gets a bit heavier as your hand keeps moving lower to where he’s pulsing with need. there's a short pause before he roughly grabs you by your backside and lifts you up toward him, “can’t wait.”
moving over his covered length, the fabric was so thin you could feel him throb with need, each beat making your head spin more and more. zoro groans as you nestle in place, head tossing back at the sudden pressure. his hips jolt up to chase the thread of friction you tease him with, growing more impatient with every glide you take.
“cmon.” zoro grunts out, not wasting any more time as he takes control, moving your hips over him. you gasp as he thrusts against you, needily chasing his own high. “do what you did earlier.”
“now look at who the impatient one is. hmm?” you tease, grabbing onto his coat once again for leverage. but the need he felt transferred to you as soon as he let out another groan. mercifully, you  give into his desire as you quickly match his pace, your arousal igniting throughout your body.
“shut up.” he barks with no bite. “you’re gonna make me cum in this thing.”
“isn’t that the point?” you tease, your tongue poking out along the shell of his ear, before your nose nudges along his earrings. “i want you to come for me, zoro.”
“fuck.” he gasps out, fingers harshly gripping your backside as he moves you quicker, the friction burning you both up, ready to consume you whole. with a curt slap to your ass, he gives his order. “keep going.”
and you do. moving along him as if you were really riding his cock just the way he likes, gliding over him as your clit throbs against his cock, the combined heat suffocating you both.
zoro tried to remain intact, but you could see him tearing at the seams, strings of his self control spiraling out of control as you do a number on him. pretty saliva covered lips parted with grunts steadily pouring out, face rosey and scrunched up in pleasure. 
you move your hands to weave themselves in his hair, tugging harshly that forced a choked groan from him. through half lidded eyes, he looks back up at you with stars shining in his iris, twinkling with his love for you; a supernova waiting to explode.
“close for me?” you coo, watching as his mind goes blank, his grip tightening. “wanna watch you cum.”
“fuck—“ he head tosses back for a minute, steeling himself to outlast you as long as possible, but it was a lost cause. his next words grit through his teeth, his self restraint being heavily tested. “yeah, yeah i am. too fuckin’ pretty.”
“zo-.” you gasp, your second orgasm pooling in your core, ready to erupt as his compliment rushes down your body, tightening it up as it works its way down.
forever fated to be together, your pleasure merges into one — both of you hurdling over the edge. zoro cums with a grunt of your name before biting his lip so hard he almost draws blood. 
there’s an inexplicable warmth that blooms between your thighs, a mix of your mess swirling with the warm cum that steadily flows out of his cock. the fabric that separates you is fully drenched with both of your arousal and the thought only drags out your pleasure.
“mmm.” you fully slump on him this time, curling into his body as yours turns boneless — nothing more than a heap of limbs with a heartbeat that beats to his name.
“happy now?” zoro breathes out, his chest still rising and falling as he tries to catch his breath. 
“mhm, so happy.” you purr, shutting your eyes. 
“good because my suit is ruined.” zoro grumbles. as if he really cares. you let out a chuckle, your hand wandering along his biceps.
“that’s too bad.” you grip his puffy coat once again, pressing  your lips to his ear, his earrings clinking together as you brush past them. “guess you’ll just have to take it off.”
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thank you so much for reading ! ᰔ
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sungbites · 6 months ago
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1:06 A.M ━ mark lee
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pairing : mark x fem!reader. genre : fluff, est relationship warnings : kissing synopsis : your bf loves singing to u wc : 0.9k a/n : pls listen to 200 by mark while reading this its CRUCIAL!!! if u enjoyed like n reblogs are always appreciated
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you were leaned up against the foot of the couch on the floor, sitting on the living room carpet. on your lap, you had your laptop, typing away your final submission for your digital portfolio. next to you, mark sat, scribbling something in his notebook. you were too caught up in your own work to even notice him. but all he was doing was staring at you. 
he stared at every feature of yours, the way your lips curved to fit perfectly on your face. or the way the light of the candle hit your face, highlighting some of his favorite features, creating a golden shadow. the light in your shared apartment was romantic, the two of you had the main lights off and just relied on the lamp along with the candle that was lit on the coffee table. 
you sighed softly, leaning back against the couch to rest your back a little. you turned to mark who was just looking right at you. “what?” you smiled, making him smile as well. his cheeks turned up and he shook his head, writing in his notebook again. “what are you writing?” you scooted closer to him, reaching over to push some of his hair out of his face. 
usually, mark had his hair styled but right now it was a little messy since he was home all day. it suited him well, looked so cute on him. “just a song” he hummed in response, reaching over to pick up his guitar and place it on his lap. he played some notes, trying to feel out the vibe of the song, then started playing the main part. you watched as his fingers moved along the guitar, smiling as he played. 
he stopped playing and looked to you, as if trying to get approval. you nodded and smiled, making him smile. “sing it for me” you mumbled, your portfolio being long forgotten now. “it’s only a couple lines babe” he said, looking down at the notebook. “i don’t care baby, your voice is pretty i wanna hear it” you said, looking at him. he loved when you looked at him like that, like you held all the love in the world for him and only him. 
mark sighed, smiling softly. he began playing that same part again and on the 2nd beat he started singing. mark had a way of singing, laid back and a little bit raspy. his voice was sweet to you, smooth as well. almost like maple syrup in a weird, ironic way. you rested your arm and head on the couch, listening to him sing to you. 
some of the lyrics you couldn’t understand, but there was one that stuck out to you. “you’re 106 and i’m 94” he sang, holding out that last note. he continued strumming even after the lyrics were done and stopped. he looked to you, smiling. “did you like it?” he reached over, playing with some stray locks that sat on your shoulder, twirling your hair around in his fingers. “it was so good babe” you said, sitting up straighter now. 
he smiled at you, kissing your forehead. he leaned back now, going back to scribbling some lyrics down. you stared at him and smiled, tilting your head softly. “what did that lyric mean, you’re 106 i’m 94?” you hummed, now head propped up by your arm that was once again resting on the couch cushion. mark looked to you, his cheeks a little rosy, he did that when he was shy. “god babe, it's embarrassing,” he confessed, looking down at his guitar. you giggled softly and shook your head. “cmon baby just say it” you smiled at his antics. 
he sighed out, changing his position to mimic your own, his own elbow propped up on the cushion and his hand holding his head. “it’s like.. you’re 106 and i’m 94.. so we both make 200” his free hand reached over to your own, holding it. you smiled at the feeling of his fingers against your own but furrowed your brows as well. “why aren’t we both 100?” you said, making him smile a bit bigger. 
“because to me, you’re more than just 100. and because of that a part of me, the 6, is with you.” he confessed, feeling a bit embarrassed now. he sighed at your expression and shook his head, his head no longer propped by his hand and sitting up straighter. “it’s corny i know” but you only smiled. you smiled because that was the sweetest thing he had ever told you, and to think that it was in a song? that was even sweeter. 
“thank you” you mumbled, now it was marks turn to furrow his brows. 
“for what babe?” he asked, head tilted slightly. you fixed your position, taking your now free hand and hold him by the back of his neck, looking in his eyes. “for saying that, it’s so sweet baby” and he smiled, feeling himself melting to your touch. his thumb rubbed against your hand, your hands still intertwined. “i love you” you said, still looking his eyes. 
mark smiled and nodded, “i love you more” he mumbled back, leaning in to place a kiss on your lips. he let go of your hand to hold your waist, lips moving against yours. you pulled back, your hand on his chest now. he smiled down at you, moving some hairs away out of your face. “should we get some sleep?” he mumbled, you nodding in response. he smiled, kissing your forehead before getting up from the living room floor, holding your hand to help you up. the two of your picked up your things, setting it on the couch. 
mark placed the lid over the candle and turned to you, gesturing for you to lead the way to your shared bedroom. you smiled, hand still holding his as you walked to your bedroom, cheeks flushed and hearts full. 
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taglist : @kisseudoll @hyuckworld @lqfiles @cupidhoons @ronniee-26
dream taglist
© all rights to sungbites 2025. please do not copy, translate or repost my works
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theetherealbloom · 6 months ago
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IT COULD HAPPEN TO YOU - CH.2
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Chapter Two: God, I’m Actually Invested
Summary: You find yourself sharing a hotel suite with Pedro Pascal while working on the set of Fantastic Four: First Steps. Despite your different roles—he’s the star, and you’re behind the scenes. Nothing could ever happen between you two… right?
Pairing: Pedro Pascal x F!Reader
Warnings: Age-Gap Romance (Not Specified), Eventual SMUT, Crush, FLUFF, Slight Angst, Trope(s), Swearing, Anxiety, Lots of Cliches, Cheesy Dialogue, Romance, Kissing, Real People Fiction, Cameras, Paparazzi, Social Media, Swoonworthy, One-Room Trope, They were roommates, Strangers-to-Lovers, Actors, Hallmark Tropes, the reader can sing and play guitar, the reader is shorter than Pedro, the reader has hair, Alternate Universe, Awkward!Reader, Shy!Reader, Fan Girl!Reader, Cringe, Embarrassment, Starstruck,
Word Count: 5.3k
A/N: This chapter has hella fluff and super funny/awkward moments. See you in the next one!
Side note: I’m dyslexic and English isn’t my first language! So I apologize in advance for the spelling and/or grammatical errors. As always, reblogs, comments, and likes are always appreciated. Thank you and happy reading!
Song: Risk by Gracie Abrams
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PINEWOOD STUDIOS — DAY  
The shuttle hummed along the narrow roads, and you found yourself squished between Archie and Rebecca, who were already up to no good.  
"So," Archie began, a smirk tugging at his lips as he leaned closer. "How was breakfast with your roomie?"  
Rebecca chimed in before you could answer, her tone dripping with faux innocence. "Yeah, did Pedro enjoy the toast you so lovingly made for him? Or was it the Nutella that won his heart?"  
You groaned, burying your face in your hands as your cheeks burned. "Guys, please."  
But they weren’t letting you off that easily. Archie grinned, elbowing you lightly. "Oh, come on. You’ve been living a rom-com dream, and we’re just trying to get the highlights."  
Rebecca nudged you with her shoulder, her voice lowering conspiratorially. "Did he do the smolder? You know the one. The gaze that makes people forget how to breathe?"  
You laughed despite yourself, though it came out as more of a nervous squeak. "I don’t even know what you’re talking about."  
Archie gasped dramatically. "Oh, she knows! She definitely knows."  
By the time the shuttle pulled into the lot, your friends had teased you so mercilessly that you wanted to sink into the ground and never resurface. As everyone filed out, you clutched your bag tightly, muttering under your breath, "I’m never speaking to either of you again."  
Rebecca shot you a playful wink as she headed toward her department. "Sure you won’t. See you at lunch, Nutella Queen!"  
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The chill of the morning air hit you as you walked toward the security checkpoint, clutching your ID badge. The sprawling Pinewood Studios stretched out before you like a labyrinth, its towering sound stages and bustling crew already alive with activity.  
"Badge, please," the guard said, snapping you out of your thoughts.  
You handed it over, feeling a mix of nerves and excitement flutter in your chest. Once cleared, you stepped inside, the sheer scale of the operation hitting you all at once.  
The first thing you noticed was the controlled chaos—carts loaded with equipment whizzing by, crew members calling out instructions, the smell of fresh paint from recently constructed sets. It was overwhelming in the best way.  
"Alright, team! Let’s get started," Jess Hall, the First AD, called out as she clapped her hands to gather everyone. She had a warm but commanding presence, her headset slung casually around her neck.  
You fell into step with the other production assistants, taking in every detail as Jess led the group on a whirlwind tour of the set.  
"This is the main soundstage," she said, gesturing to a cavernous building where scaffolding and green screens loomed high above the floor. "Props go over there. Catering is outside, past the trailers. And wardrobe is down that corridor—try not to get lost."  
Daniel, the head of props, gave you a quick nod as he walked by, holding a clipboard. "New PA?"  
"Yes," you managed, straightening up.  
"Good. Hope you’re ready to hustle," he said, his tone brisk but not unkind.  
You spent the morning darting from one task to the next—hauling equipment, labeling props, delivering coffee orders. It wasn’t glamorous, but there was something thrilling about being part of the organized chaos.  
At one point, you found yourself standing off to the side, flipping through the day’s call sheet. The sheer number of moving parts was dizzying. But when you glanced up and saw Pedro casually chatting with a director by the monitors, a soft smile on his face, the whirlwind slowed for just a moment.  
Your heart did a little flip.  
"Alright, focus," you muttered to yourself, shaking your head as you quickly returned to your tasks.  
The rest of the day passed in a blur of movement—helping manage background extras, untangling a web of cables, even holding up a light reflector when the gaffer was short-handed.  
By the time lunch rolled around, you were exhausted but strangely energized, a sense of accomplishment settling in as you sat with your friends in the cafeteria.  
Archie plopped down beside you with a tray full of food, grinning like the Cheshire Cat. "So, how’s your first day as Pedro Pascal’s shadow?"  
You shot him a glare but couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped. "I’m not his shadow. I’m just… a very busy PA trying to survive her first day."  
Rebecca raised an eyebrow. "Sure, sure. But he noticed you, didn’t he?"  
You felt your cheeks warm, and your silence only made them laugh harder.  
"God, I hate you both," you muttered, though there was no real malice behind it.  
As you took another bite of your sandwich, you couldn’t help but glance across the room, where Pedro sat with the director and a few cast members. He caught your eye briefly, offering a small, almost imperceptible wave.  
Your stomach flipped again.  
And just like that, you were back to square one—completely flustered and wishing for the ground to swallow you whole.  
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After lunch, you found yourself tucked into a quiet corner near the soundstage, the faint hum of set activity surrounding you. Propping the script against your knees, you scanned the pages intently, trying to map out how the scenes being shot here in London would flow before the production moved to Spain. The script’s intricate details and stage directions blurred slightly as you tried to piece it all together, scribbling quick notes in the margins.  
“Hey.”  
The voice startled you, and the script slipped from your hands, fluttering dramatically to the ground. You turned quickly, clutching your chest like it might stop your racing heart.  
“Jesus, Pedro!” you exclaimed, your voice a little too breathless for your liking.  
He grinned, that easy, boyish grin that made your stomach do flips. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.”  
“Oh, hi,” you mumbled, stepping out of the way instinctively, thinking he was just passing by. Your gaze darted down to the script at your feet, but before you could bend to retrieve it, Pedro was already leaning down to pick it up.  
“You okay?” he asked as he straightened, handing the slightly crumpled pages back to you. He was already dressed for the scene, hair and makeup done to perfection, though you knew the team would fuss over touch-ups throughout the day.  
“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” you said quickly, brushing your fingers over the script as though smoothing it out would erase your flustered reaction. “Just, uh, reviewing the scenes for today.”  
Pedro tilted his head, curiosity sparking in his warm brown eyes. “Doing your homework, huh?”  
You nodded, trying to keep your voice steady. “Just trying to keep up. It’s my first day, and I don’t want to mess anything up.”  
He studied you for a beat, and the weight of his gaze made your cheeks flush. “You’re not going to mess anything up,” he said, his tone gentle but firm. “You’re doing great. Everyone can see it.”  
You let out a soft laugh, though your throat felt tight. “You’ve barely seen me all day. How would you know?”  
Pedro’s smile softened, and he leaned slightly closer, lowering his voice as if sharing a secret. “Because you’ve got that look. The one that says you care about getting it right.”  
Your breath hitched, and for a moment, you were painfully aware of how close he was. The faint scent of his cologne—something warm and woodsy—lingered in the air between you.  
“I... uh...” You trailed off, your brain scrambling for a coherent response.  
Pedro straightened, easing the tension with a light chuckle. “Don’t overthink it, okay? Just take it one task at a time. And if you need anything, you know where to find me.”  
“Right. Thanks,” you managed, clutching the script a little tighter.  
“See you out there,” he said with a wink before turning to head toward the set, leaving you standing there with your heart pounding and your thoughts in a complete jumble. 
As he disappeared around the corner, you exhaled sharply, trying to pull yourself together. “Get it together,” you muttered under your breath. But even as you said it, a small, traitorous smile tugged at your lips.
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Matt’s voice cut through the buzz of the set as he called for quiet. The shift was immediate—crew members hushing their conversations and finding their marks. You moved to the side, watching as Pedro, Vanessa Kirby, Joseph Quinn, and Ebon Moss-Bachrach stepped into position. The air seemed to hum with anticipation as the cameras rolled, capturing the scene that unfolded before you.  
It was surreal, seeing them all perform together, their chemistry so natural it blurred the lines between fiction and reality. Pedro, in particular, commanded the screen with ease. His movements were deliberate, his voice carrying an emotional weight that made it impossible to look away.  
But then there was Vanessa.  
You hated how your eyes lingered on her, how that knot of jealousy twisted low in your stomach. She was magnetic, the way she played her role as Pedro’s onscreen wife. The way they exchanged glances, their body language speaking volumes—it was all part of the script, you knew that. Still, it didn’t stop the bitter sting of envy that crawled its way into your chest.  
Get a grip, you thought, forcing yourself to look away. This was her job. This was his job. And you? You were here to do yours, not to indulge in ridiculous fantasies. Pedro wasn’t your boyfriend, or your close friend. He wasn’t yours.  
You plastered on a neutral expression, the kind you’d perfected over the years, and focused on your work. Daisy, Lucy, and Omar were scattered across the set, handling their own assignments, while you found yourself helping out with props. It was tedious but grounding, giving you something to pour your restless energy into.  
“Cut!” Matt’s voice echoed across the soundstage.  
The tension broke, and the cast relaxed, the scene’s intensity giving way to casual chatter. You busied yourself with resetting the props, carefully arranging them for the next take.  
That’s when you noticed Coco Ullrich, Pedro’s hairstylist, stepping in to adjust his salt-and-pepper hair. She worked with practiced ease, her hands quick and efficient. Pedro leaned forward slightly to make her job easier, a soft laugh escaping him as they exchanged a few words you couldn’t quite hear.  
You smiled faintly, almost to yourself. Coco was excellent at her job—there was no denying that. And damn, did she make Pedro look good. Too good. You tried not to dwell on it, focusing instead on the task in front of you, but the image of him sitting there, that effortless charm radiating off him, lingered in your mind.  
As you finished resetting a prop, you felt a presence beside you. Turning your head, you saw Daisy, her eyebrows raised and a knowing grin tugging at her lips. “Caught you staring,” she teased under her breath.  
You rolled your eyes, heat creeping into your cheeks. “I wasn’t staring.”  
“Sure,” she said with a soft laugh. “Totally believable.”  
“Shouldn’t you be working?” you shot back, trying to steer the conversation away from yourself.  
Daisy only shrugged, her grin widening. “I am. Observing human behavior is part of the job.”  
You huffed, but there was no real malice in it. “Get out of here, Daisy.”  
She winked before walking off, leaving you standing there, your thoughts once again circling back to Pedro.  
Professional, you reminded yourself. Keep it professional. But the traitorous smile pulling at your lips made you wonder how long you could keep up the facade.  
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By the end of the day, exhaustion weighed heavily on you and the rest of the crew. The once-bustling set now buzzed with the quieter sounds of people packing up equipment, stifled yawns, and the occasional joke shared among friends.  
Daisy and Omar were tugging at a heavy camera dolly, grunting dramatically like it weighed a ton, though it clearly didn’t. “Are we sure this thing isn’t secretly an ancient artifact?” Omar huffed.  
“Definitely cursed,” Daisy deadpanned, her voice dripping with mock seriousness.  
You laughed, stepping in to help steady the dolly as they maneuvered it into place. “If it starts glowing, I’m out of here.”  
“Deal,” Daisy said, winking. “But you’re buying snacks if we survive.”  
With everything finally put away, Lucy tossed an arm around your shoulder. “We’re heading to the shuttle now. Don’t take too long, or we’re leaving you behind.”  
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” you replied, giving her a tired smile.  
As they made their way toward the bus, you stayed behind to gather your things, your movements slower now that the adrenaline of the day had worn off. You double-checked your clipboard, tucked your pen into your bag, and clocked out, ready to head to the shuttle when you heard it—your name, carried over the cool night air.  
You froze, frowning slightly as you turned toward the source. The voice was unmistakable, even from a distance. Pedro.  
He was standing near the trailers, surrounded by his castmates and friends. Vanessa was there, laughing at something Joseph said. Ebon stood casually with a coffee cup in hand, and Coco was still fussing with Pedro’s hair, though it seemed like more of a friendly habit than a professional necessity at this point.  
Pedro’s eyes were on you, a warm smile stretching across his face as he called out again, “Hey! Come here! I’ve got some people I want you to meet!”  
Your eyes widened in shock, your mind immediately racing with possibilities. He means someone else, right? You turned your head slightly, glancing behind you, half-expecting someone else to step forward. But there was no one.  
You pointed at yourself, mouthing, Me?  
Pedro nodded, his grin growing wider. “Yes, you! Come on!”  
Your stomach flipped. You opened your mouth to respond, but nothing came out. You stood there, gaping for a moment before realizing you couldn’t exactly ignore him. Taking a deep breath, you steeled yourself and started walking toward the group, your palms inexplicably sweaty despite the crisp evening air.  
As you got closer, the chatter among the group quieted slightly, their attention shifting toward you. Pedro’s gaze didn’t waver, and it was both reassuring and unnerving.  
“Hey, everyone,” Pedro said as you arrived, his tone casual but full of warmth. “This is the PA I was telling you about. She’s been a lifesaver on set today.”  
Your cheeks burned, and you glanced down at your bag, gripping it tighter. “Oh, uh, I’m just doing my job,” you managed to say, your voice barely above a whisper.  
Vanessa smiled at you, her expression kind. “Pedro’s been singing your praises all day. It’s nice to finally meet you.”  
Your heart stuttered. Singing my praises? You glanced at Pedro, who shrugged nonchalantly, but the twinkle in his eye betrayed him.  
“You’re really making me look good here,” you said quietly, trying to keep your tone light, though your nerves were anything but.  
Pedro chuckled, leaning in slightly as if sharing a secret. “You don’t need my help with that.” 
And just like that, your stomach flipped again, but this time, it wasn’t entirely unpleasant. 
“So, um, what’s going on?” you asked, your voice steadier than you expected, though your nerves still lingered just beneath the surface.  
Pedro tilted his head toward you, his grin softening into something more casual. “Well, we were just talking, and I had an idea. Since we’re heading back to the same place and you’re my roommate, why not ride with us? It’d save you time, and you wouldn’t have to deal with being the last one dropped off on the other shuttle.”  
You blinked at him, your mind racing to catch up. “Oh, no, no. I wouldn’t want to impose,” you said quickly, shaking your head.  
Before Pedro could respond, Vanessa waved her hand dismissively. “Impose? Please, it’s not imposing. You’re coming with us. No arguments.”  
Joseph chimed in, a teasing lilt in his voice. “Yeah, you’ll make our little carpool a lot more fun. Pedro can’t keep us entertained on his own, you know.”  
“Hey!” Pedro protested with mock indignation, his hand resting dramatically over his heart.  
Ebon smirked. “He’s right, though. You’d be doing us all a favor.”  
Your cheeks warmed under their collective encouragement, and you couldn’t help but let out a small, nervous laugh. “I don’t know…”  
Coco stepped forward, her voice gentle but firm. “Seriously, it’s no big deal. We’ve got room, and it makes sense. Plus, Pedro already vouched for you.”  
You glanced at Pedro, whose expression was a mix of amusement and something else—something softer. His eyes met yours, and the look he gave you was so earnest it nearly knocked the breath out of you.  
“See? Everyone’s on board,” Pedro said, his tone coaxing but playful. “It’s settled.”  
Still hesitant, you glanced at the group again, their smiles and easy camaraderie somehow making you feel like you belonged. Finally, you exhaled and nodded. “Okay, fine. If you’re sure I’m not a burden…”  
“You? A burden?” Vanessa said, laughing. “Girl, please.”  
Pedro grinned, clearly satisfied with the outcome. “Great. Let’s get going, then.”  
As the group began moving toward the car, you found yourself walking next to Pedro. Your nerves hadn’t completely settled, but there was something about the way he glanced at you, the corners of his mouth twitching in a barely contained smile, that made you feel a little lighter.  
“You okay?” he asked quietly, just for you to hear.  
You nodded, the corners of your own lips curving upward despite yourself. “Yeah, I think so.”  
“Good,” he said, his voice low and warm. “Because you’re gonna have a great time with us. Promise.”  
And for a moment, you let yourself believe him.
The large black van hummed softly as you climbed in, sliding into the seat by the window. Pedro followed closely behind and settled beside you, his arm brushing yours in the close quarters. You murmured a polite greeting to the driver, Luis, who nodded warmly in return, his easy smile a comforting contrast to the whirlwind of emotions currently swirling inside you.  
As the rest of the cast filled the van with their chatter and laughter, you sat rigidly, your back pressed against the seat. The reality of sitting shoulder-to-shoulder with Pedro—and a group of celebrities you’d only ever admired from afar—was almost too much. You gripped your phone tightly, the faint glow illuminating your slightly shaky fingers as you sent a quick text to your friends:  
You: "Don’t wait for me. Got a ride with Pedro and the cast." 
The group chat exploded almost instantly, messages popping up one after the other:  
"WHAT?! 😳" 
"OOOOOHHHHHH" 
"Pics or it didn’t happen!"
You barely had time to cringe at their excitement before Pedro shifted beside you, leaning just enough to catch a glimpse of your screen.  
“Group chat drama?” he teased, his voice low and amused.  
Your cheeks burned, and you quickly locked your phone, clutching it tightly in your lap. “It’s nothing,” you mumbled, staring determinedly out the window.  
Pedro chuckled softly, clearly unconvinced but kind enough not to press. “Sure, nothing.”  
You said nothing in return, choosing instead to focus on the passing streetlights outside. They blurred together, golden streaks in the night, as the van glided smoothly through the London streets. The gentle hum of the engine and the occasional burst of laughter from the group provided a soundtrack to your inner turmoil.  
Every nerve in your body was acutely aware of Pedro’s presence beside you—the way his shoulder occasionally bumped yours when the van turned, the warmth radiating from him despite the evening chill. You wanted to relax, to laugh along with everyone else, but the overwhelming awareness of where you were and who you were with kept your pulse racing.  
“You okay over there?” Pedro asked softly, his tone laced with concern now, his earlier teasing gone.  
You glanced at him, startled by the question, and saw his brow furrowed slightly, his gaze steady and sincere.  
“Yeah, I’m fine,” you lied, offering a small, tight smile.  
Pedro didn’t look convinced, but he let it slide. “You sure? You look like you’re about to bolt out of here any second.”  
That earned a genuine laugh from you, albeit a quiet one. “I’m just... not used to this, I guess.”  
“This?”  
You gestured vaguely to the van, the people around you, and finally, to him. “All of this.”  
Pedro smiled, a slow, disarming smile that softened his whole face. “You’ll get used to it. And if you don’t, I’ll make sure to keep you grounded.”  
His words hung in the air between you, and for the first time that night, you felt the tension in your shoulders ease, if only slightly. The streetlights outside continued to blur, but now, your focus lingered on the quiet presence beside you—the warmth, the humor, and the unspoken reassurance he offered without even trying.  
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CHILTERN FIREHOUSE HOTEL — EVENING
The hotel restaurant buzzed softly with the hum of conversations and the faint clinking of cutlery against plates. The warm, golden light illuminated the room, casting everything in an inviting glow. You had planned to make a quiet escape after dropping your bag off in your room, hoping to have a solitary dinner away from the star-studded company you had spent the day with. But Pedro had other plans.  
You’d barely made it three steps toward the elevators when you felt a familiar warmth against the small of your back. “Not so fast,” Pedro murmured, his voice low and teasing as he leaned just slightly into your ear.  
“Pedro, I—” you began, only to be met with his wide, unapologetic grin.  
“Come on, you can’t bail on us now. We’re starving, and it wouldn’t be the same without you,” he said, his hand gently guiding you toward the restaurant where the others were already gathering.  
You hesitated, but the sincerity in his voice, paired with the warmth of his touch, left you little room to argue. “Fine,” you sighed, though the butterflies in your stomach betrayed how little resistance you’d actually put up.  
The long wooden table in the center of the restaurant was filled with chatter and laughter by the time you arrived. Joseph and Ebon were in the middle of some animated story, Vanessa leaned in with a knowing smirk, and Coco was shaking her head with an exasperated smile. When Pedro led you to an empty seat beside him, all eyes turned toward you.  
“Look who finally decided to join us,” Vanessa said, her tone teasing but not unkind.  
“Had to drag her here,” Pedro chimed in, his grin making the table erupt in laughter.  
You sank into the seat, cheeks burning. “I wasn’t trying to escape,” you lied unconvincingly.  
“Sure, sure,” Joseph teased, winking at you from across the table. “Pedro’s got a sixth sense for these things, doesn’t he?”  
“Like a bloodhound,” Ebon added, making everyone laugh again.  
Despite your initial nerves, the warmth of the group quickly put you at ease. The conversation flowed effortlessly, ranging from behind-the-scenes mishaps to favorite restaurants in London. At one point, Vanessa and Coco started playfully debating whether Pedro’s hair looked better tousled or slicked back for the shoot, dragging you into the conversation.  
“Well?” Vanessa asked, eyes gleaming with mischief. “What do you think?”  
You nearly choked on your water. “Oh, I, um...” You glanced at Pedro, who was leaning back in his chair, clearly enjoying your discomfort.  
“Go on,” he prompted, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “I can take it.”  
Finally, you sighed, trying to suppress your smile. “Tousled,” you admitted, earning a triumphant cheer from Vanessa and Coco.  
Pedro mock-gasped, clutching his chest dramatically. “Betrayed! By my own roommate, no less.”  
“Hey, she’s got taste,” Joseph said, raising his glass in a toast to you.  
The playful banter continued, and by the time the entrees arrived, you were fully immersed in the group’s easy camaraderie. Pedro made sure to refill your glass whenever it was low and nudged the breadbasket toward you without a word when he noticed you eyeing it.  
At one point, you caught him watching you as you laughed at something Joseph said. His expression was soft, fond, like he was memorizing the way you looked in that moment. You tried to ignore the way your heart skipped, focusing instead on the warmth of the room and the laughter surrounding you.  
When the desserts arrived—indulgent, towering plates of tiramisu and molten chocolate cake—you couldn’t help but sigh contentedly. “Okay, I’ll admit it,” you said, leaning back in your chair. “This was better than eating alone.”  
Pedro’s grin was slow and knowing. “Told you so.”  
The night stretched on, and by the time the group began to disperse, your cheeks ached from smiling so much. As you stood to leave, Pedro fell into step beside you, his hand once again finding the small of your back.  
“See? Not so bad being part of the group, is it?” he said softly, his voice low enough that only you could hear.  
You glanced up at him, your heart fluttering at the closeness. “No,” you admitted with a shy smile. “Not bad at all.”  
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After dinner, the group, full from good food and endless laughter, made their way to the elevator. One by one, everyone headed off to their respective floors, each exit marked with cheerful goodnights and playful teasing.
“You two behave!” Vanessa teased as she stepped off on her floor, her smirk lingering even as the doors slid shut behind her.
The elevator continued its ascent, and soon enough, it was just you and Pedro left. The quiet settled between you, comfortable but charged, the kind that made you hyperaware of every breath, every shift.
“Guess it’s just us,” Pedro said, his voice warm, his eyes flicking to you with a teasing glint.
“Guess so,” you replied softly, clutching the strap of your bag tighter.
When the elevator dinged on your floor, Pedro followed you out. It wasn’t unusual at this point—you were, after all, sharing a room—but somehow, tonight, the knowledge made your chest tighten. You fumbled for your keycard as you both walked down the hallway, your steps in sync.
“Still weird sharing a room with me?” Pedro asked, his tone light but laced with curiosity as he glanced at you from the corner of his eye.
You shot him a look, trying to hide your flustered state. “Not weird,” you said, unlocking the door. “Just... different.”
He grinned as you pushed the door open, stepping aside to let him in first. “Different how?”
“Different as in, I don’t usually share my personal space with someone famous,” you quipped, hoping to steer the conversation away from the real answer—how utterly nerve-wracking it was to be so close to him.
Pedro chuckled, tossing his jacket onto the back of the chair in the common area. “Relax, I’m not that famous,” he teased, kicking off his shoes as he settled onto the couch with the ease of someone used to this.
You scoffed, setting your bag down on the small dining table near the kitchenette. “Says the guy whose face is plastered all over my TikTok For You page.”
He paused mid-stretch, eyebrows shooting up in surprise. “Oh, really? Your For You page?”
You groaned, regretting saying anything. “Don’t get a big head about it,” you muttered, trying to sound casual as you rifled through your bag for your phone charger.
“Oh, this is rich,” he said, leaning forward with a mischievous grin. “What kind of edits are we talking about? Romantic montages? Thirst traps? Tell me everything.”
You glanced at him, narrowing your eyes. “I’m not feeding your ego, Pedro.”
But he was already grinning like a kid at Christmas. “You definitely watch them,” he teased. “Don’t lie—I can see it all over your face.”
You tried to glare, but the warmth in his tone made it impossible. “I’m not talking about this,” you said firmly, grabbing your charger and heading toward your room in the suite.
“Fine, keep your secrets,” he called after you. “But I know.”
Shaking your head, you plugged in your phone on the nightstand. The suite was nice—two separate bedrooms connected by the shared living space. But even with the privacy of your room, the knowledge that Pedro was just a few steps away left you feeling... unsettled in the best way.
When you reentered the common area, Pedro was stretched out on the couch, flipping idly through TV channels. He glanced up when you walked in, his grin softening into something warmer.
“Just Pedro,” you murmured, the words slipping out before you could stop them.
He tilted his head, intrigued. “What’s that?”
You hesitated, sitting down on the armchair across from him. “It’s just... you say it like it’s supposed to make things easier. Like, ‘I’m just Pedro.’ But it doesn’t. It makes things harder.”
Pedro sat up then, his attention fully on you. “Harder how?”
Your hands twisted in your lap, nervous but too deep in it now to stop. “Because it makes it harder to pretend this isn’t a big deal. Sharing a space like this with you.”
The room fell quiet, save for the faint hum of the heater. Pedro’s expression softened, his dark eyes searching yours.
“Good,” he said simply, his voice warm and steady. “Because I don’t want you to pretend.”
You blinked, your heart racing at his words. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying I like this,” he replied, leaning forward, his elbows resting on his knees. “I like having you here. Even if it’s... different.”
Your lips parted, a response on the tip of your tongue, but nothing came out. The way he looked at you—steady, unguarded—made your chest ache.
“Me too,” you finally whispered, your voice barely audible.
Pedro leaned back with a satisfied grin, the tension easing as he grabbed the remote again. “Well, since we’re both stuck here, how about a movie before bed?”
You laughed softly, shaking your head. “Fine. But nothing loud or action-packed. I need calm.”
“Deal,” he said, smirking as he flipped through the channels. “But if I fall asleep halfway through, it’s your fault.”
And just like that, the weight in the room lifted, replaced by something quieter, something softer. The shared space between you felt a little less daunting, a little more like something you could both hold onto—whatever this was, whatever it could be.
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End Notes:
Ya'll apparently like this fic! Thank you so much for the support huhu T^T
I’d like to give a shout out to google and reddit for aiding me in my research for this fic LMAO
I know little to nothing when it comes to production. I know the basic stuff cause of my course. (We had a class on how to plan events and stuff. I figured it’s somewhat similar.)
I’m having a blast coming up with possible scenarios with these two, the possibilities rn seem endless.
Based on research and testimonies from people who have worked with Pedro, they all mention how down-to-earth he is and how he cares for everyone on set and tries his best to know the crew. What a sweetheart 🥹🤍
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TAGLIST: @comfortzonequeen @christinamadsen @liciafonseca @greenwitchfromthewoods @iqr-x @southernbe @maryfanson @brittmb115 @klajmekk @taytay0403 @whimsiwitchy @zymiii @sarahhxx03
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heartlyvampzz · 2 months ago
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❝𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐌𝐘 𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐄.❞ —- ft. phainon
– cws: none wc: 562 , romantic/fluff , gn!reader , modern!au + mention of uni!au(? ig) , the Yearning is real
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Pushing the door open to feel the wind blowing by your face, picking up your hair along with it, you see Phainon waiting by the school entrance. You smile as you walk up to him.
“Phai! I thought you left already?” You ask as you come up to his side. He perks up at your presence, that oh so charming smile of his making an appearance.
“I thought that I'd wait for you today. That's alright, isn't it?” He asks, turning his body to face you as he tilts his head slightly to the side.
“Of course it's fine! I've got nothing better to do. You're not busy either, are you?” You say, looking up into his blue and gold eyes. “We could stop by the park on our way home.”
Phainon seemed to lighten up at the idea before nodding. “Sure, we could watch the sunset too?” He adds as he starts to walk.
Following him, running a bit to catch up to him, your cheeks flush slightly. You hoped the sun hid your tinted cheeks with its own orange hue that it casted down.
“Mhm, I'm up for it. As long as you walk me home,” you playfully elbow him as you both laugh, Phainon just shaking his head.
As you two walk, a comfortable silence envelops the both of you. With only your shared footsteps and the birds singing their final songs for the day, you can't help but let your smile stay on your lips, all the more oblivious to how Phainon's attention is purely on you.
He sees how the sun illuminates your features, casting its golden glow on you and shining in your eyes. Your smile—gods—he loved your smile. The way it crinkled at your eyes, along with everything, it's all just so you, and he can't help but swoon.
As you two see the park come into view, you run ahead as Phainon laughs, following you and spotting a bench you've decided to sit down on. You wave him over just as the sunset begins to really show its colors.
You both stare at it, watching as the oranges, reds and yellows mix together with the bright sun in the middle of it all.
“You remind me of the sun, Phainon,” you say suddenly, making Phainon turn his head to look at you, his eyes meeting yours. He gave you a confused look, urging you to continue your thoughts.
“Well, you're bright like the sun—the light in someone's life, my life—and you're just as constant as the sun too. Always leaving with the promise of return, and you always fulfill that promise. I always find you again, the brightest star in the sky.”
His cheeks flush at your words, blending in with the dying light of the sunset. Silence follows, only until Phainon speaks.
“I.. I'm not sure what to say. I've never had anyone describe me as such a thing,” he laughs a bit at the end of his sentence, not quite knowing what else to add. You just smile, turning back to the fading sun.
“Just thought I'd speak my mind. We should probably be heading back now, though, it's getting dark.”
He only nods. Phainon can only help but wish he said something to you then too, to share his own feelings. Maybe one day, he'll get the courage to do so.
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♱ —- 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒: so what if. what if I disappear after this. PLS IDK WHY I'M SO SCARED TO POST SMTH NEW THAT I WROTE. It's been too long guys 💔💔🥀 I rlly need to get back to writing again bc GOD. anyways. I hope this is good 🙃🙃
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★ — © heartlyvampzz || I appreciate any reblogs made, and pls don't repost, translate or feed my works into ai, thanks — ✦
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seospicybin · 2 months ago
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EVERMORE.
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FINAL CHAPTER
Bangchan x reader x Hyunjin. (s,f,a)
EVERMORE MASTERLIST
Synopsis: When your daughter’s wedding weekend brings you, a former it-girl and Chris, a legendary rockstar back under one roof, the two of you must navigate old memories, unexpected feelings, and the chaos of family. As laughter, love, and a hint of scandal unfold, you're both reminded that some love stories don’t end—they just change shape. (23,4k words)
Author's note: Thank you so much for patiently following Evermore to its last chapter. Appreciate all the feedbacks and reblogs on this series ♡
The Bang Theory Announces Repackage Album and World Tour: “We’re Back Where We Belong” By Minho Lee | June 2, 2025 After years of silence, rock legends The Bang Theory are stepping back into the spotlight—louder, wiser, and with hearts on their sleeves. Earlier today, the iconic band, fronted by the ever-enigmatic Chris Bang, officially announced the release of a repackaged edition of their critically acclaimed album Static Bloom, along with plans for a full-scale world tour kicking off this fall. The repackage, titled Static Bloom: Ever After, features remastered versions of fan favorites, three never-before-heard demos from the band’s vault, and two completely new tracks that already have fans speculating about their emotional origin—particularly the haunting ballad “Evermore (For You).” “This repackage isn't about nostalgia,” Bang said in a brief statement. “It’s about closure. About continuation. About honoring the parts of ourselves that never stopped singing.” The Bang Theory’s label, Atlas Records, confirmed the tour will span North America, Europe, and select cities in Asia and South America, with dates and venues to be announced in the coming weeks. Social media erupted following the news, especially after fans pieced together past rumors—including a recent sighting of Chris Bang having dinner with a certain famous former muse. While the nature of their relationship remains unconfirmed, fans are convinced some of the new songs hint at rekindled emotions. The repackage is set for digital release on June 21, with physical vinyl and deluxe editions available for pre-order starting next week. “There’s something poetic about this chapter,” a source close to the band shared. “It’s like the band never broke up—just paused to live.” From grungy dive bars in the ‘90s to sold-out arenas around the world, The Bang Theory has always had a way of crawling into your bones. And if this repackage and tour are any sign, they’re not done yet.
-
The morning is quiet, the kind of quiet that feels heavy in the air, like it knows something is ending. You stand in the doorway, arms crossed, watching Tigerlily and Julian move in sync as they bring out Chris’s bags—one by one, like it’s any other move-out day.
Chris steps out next. He’s slower, dragging his casted leg behind him with a quiet stubbornness. Every step looks like it costs him, but he doesn’t complain. He never does, not when it matters. He stops in front of you. His eyes are tired, shadowed with the kind of weight that doesn’t come from lack of sleep. There’s so much unsaid between you and him, it hums like static in the silence.
“Thank you,” he says, voice rough like it’s been scraped raw on the inside. “For letting me stay. For... everything.”
For everything. There’s a flicker in his eyes—something held back. A truth he’s swallowing. Maybe it’s I still love you. Maybe it’s I wish this wasn’t goodbye. But he doesn’t say it and you're grateful for that.
Because you're secretly holding back too. You want to tell him you’ll miss him. That it hurt watching him heal, only to watch him leave. That part of you still wonders what would’ve happened if you and him tried again, but you don’t.
Instead, you nod once and say, “Good luck. On everything.”
It’s small, but it holds more than it sounds. His eyes search yours for a beat longer, like he’s waiting for something to change. But when it doesn’t, he offers you a small, sad smile—the kind that says thank you, goodbye, and maybe I’ll carry this with me, all at once. Then he's slowly making his way toward the car and you stay where you are, still and quiet, holding the weight of what you both never said like it’s made of glass.
Chris pauses just before ducking into the car. He turns his head toward you, and your breath catches in your throat. That look—soft, sad, full of meaning. His eyes say all the things he couldn't, wouldn't, shouldn't say last night. I'm sorry. Thank you. I wish this had gone differently.
And then, he gets in. Julian starts the car. You hear the low hum of the engine as it rolls out of the driveway, as it carries him—your past—away. You stand there until the car disappears completely down the street, leaving nothing behind except the dull ache in your chest and the echo of everything unsaid.
You step back inside the house and shut the door and then it hits you all at once—the finality, the weight of what could have been, the years you waited, the pieces of yourself you stitched back together again and again. You sink to the floor, your knees buckling beneath you and your hands tremble as they cover your face.
You don't fight it this time, you let yourself break. You cry like you're mourning something that was once alive. Something you loved. Something you had to let go of. And maybe that’s exactly what you're doing.
-
Two months have passed and summer comes with a harsh sunlight that shine even on things that tries to stay in the dark. You're folding your third dress into the suitcase when Tigerlily walks into your room with a bag of dried mangoes in one hand and a suspicious look on her face. “Need help?” she asks, popping a slice into her mouth.
You smile gratefully. “Please. If I fold one more thing wrong, I’m just going to throw it all in and call it a day.”
She giggles and drops down onto the bed, reaching over to refold a top you’ve clearly mangled. “So… where are you and Hyunjin going?”
You shrug, zipping up a toiletry bag. “I don’t know. He wants it to be a surprise.”
Tigerlily pauses mid-fold, raising a brow. “A surprise? God, that man is such a romantic. It's disgusting.”
You laugh lightly, but it doesn’t quite reach your chest.
She notices. This girl has lived with you her whole life so of course she does. Her hands still for a moment before she says, “You don’t look that excited.”
You let out a soft scoff but keep your eyes away from her. “What do you mean?”
She narrows her eyes at you. “You know what I mean. You’re packing for a getaway with your boyfriend and you look like you’re prepping for a tax audit.”
You offer her a tight-lipped smile and sit beside her. “I’m just… nervous, I guess. I don’t know where we’re going, and the control freak in me is screaming.”
Tigerlily gives you a look that says she’s not entirely buying it. “You’re also worried about me, aren’t you?”
You hesitate, then nod. “You’re in your first trimester, and you’ll be home alone…”
She waves you off and puts down the clothing she's folded into the suitcase. “I’m not alone, Mom. Julian is a phone call away and I’m not planning on going anywhere. I’ll be working on the tour illustrations Dad asked for. Just me, my drawing pad, and his dramatic rockstar eyeliner references.”
You chuckle, just like she meant you to. Gently, you reach over and brush her hair behind her ear, the way you used to do when she was little and falling asleep on your chest. “Don’t work too hard, okay?”
She rolls her eyes, smiling. “Please. The best part about working for my dad is that he can’t fire me and I can take naps whenever I want.”
You laugh, but your heart stutters at the mention of him. That name. That weight. Chris. You lower your eyes to your suitcase, suddenly aware of the knot tightening in your stomach. The one that’s been sitting there for weeks. Because you haven’t told Hyunjin. Not about that night. Not about the kiss, the sex, the tears, the aching truth that still clings to you like a storm that never quite passed.
And as Tigerlily folds the last of your clothes with ease and chatters about maternity leggings, all you can think about is how silence can sometimes feel like betrayal too.
-
You step into Hyunjin’s studio that afternoon, the familiar scent of clay and his favorite scented candles greeting you like an old friend. It’s warm in here, like it always is — the sunlight slants through the high windows and paints the shelves in gold.
You spot him before he spots you — tall, poised, focused. His back is to you, his buzzed hair is covered in a beanie, arms crossed as he listens intently to two sharply dressed people seated across from him. His agents, you realize. They’re mid-discussion, and from the intensity of their tone and the stacks of paper on the table, it’s not the kind of conversation that should be interrupted.
So you quietly set down your bag and walk the other way, past the bisque-fired bowls and soft works-in-progress, to the other side of the studio where Hyunjin keeps the spare apron and the neatly prepped tools. You hang your jacket and put your bag before putting on an apron.
The slab of clay is cool in your hands. Heavy. Steady. You slice it down carefully with the cut-off wire, remembering the way Hyunjin showed you how to gauge the weight with your palms — how he told you to treat the clay like something alive, something that listens if you’re gentle enough.
You set the piece on the wheel, center it with trembling fingers, and press the pedal with your foot. The wheel spins into a soft whirr, and soon the clay begins to take shape beneath your hands.
It’s like breathing again. You let your fingers dip, steady and slow, and start pulling the walls of the clay higher. The wheel sings with rhythm, and you let the sound of it wrap around you. Each motion draws your focus closer — the smooth resistance of the clay, the faint pressure beneath your fingertips, the way your breath starts to mirror the tempo.
For a while… it works. You don’t think about the trip. You don’t think about the packed suitcase. You don’t think about that night with Chris, or the silence that followed, or how you still haven’t told Hyunjin. You just shape and mold and feel the clay shift beneath you, like something you can finally control.
Even still— somewhere deep in your chest, just beneath the calm, the knot remains. Quiet, but there and you wonder how long you can keep pretending that it isn’t.
You're smoothing the walls of the bowl, carefully shaping the rim with your thumb, when you feel a warm presence behind you — so silent you don’t hear it until—
"Hey," Hyunjin says softly.
You jolt, startled, and your hand slips. The rim caves in under your touch, the once-symmetrical shape now sagging in on one side. You gasp, letting out a quiet, “Shit,” under your breath.
“Sorry,” he says with a chuckle, crouching behind you, his long fingers already gently cupping yours. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”
You let out a sigh as you eye the ruined clay. “It’s fine. I messed it up.”
Hyunjin slides in closer, his chest to your back, his hands now resting on top of yours, coaxing your fingers to move again. “It’s not messed up,” he murmurs. “Just needs a little help. See? Like this.”
Together, you guide the clay back into shape. Slowly. Patiently. His breath is soft against the back of your neck. His warmth anchors you. For a moment, you let yourself forget the storm brewing behind your ribs, then his voice cuts through the quiet.
“Is something bothering you, mmh?”
You hesitate. Your eyes stay locked on the wheel, your hands moving mechanically. “No,” you lie, too quickly.
Hyunjin doesn’t say anything at first but then you feel his eyes on you, really on you and you know he doesn’t believe you. Still, he doesn’t press. He just leans in and places a feather-light kiss on your temple, letting it linger there like he’s trying to pass comfort through skin.
With his cheek still against yours, he whispers, “Okay.”
You don’t know what aches more — the lie you told or the kindness he gives you anyway. You press your fingers into the clay, together with his. Fixing what you can. Quietly holding back what you can’t.
-
The clay is now resting on the shelf to dry, its uneven curves proof of your trembling hands, of everything you’ve been trying not to feel. In the warm quiet of his studio, both of you holding coffee mugs still hot to the touch. You stand leaning against the big wooden table with Hyunjin next to you. He’s glowing in that effortless way — soft smiles constantly tugging at his plush lips, his eyes alight with something tender and bright. He takes a sip, then sets the mug down and leans forward, his hands reaching out to cup your face.
“You have no idea how excited I am for this trip,” he says, voice low, smile blooming across his lips before he leans in and kisses the side of your face. “Can’t wait to be alone with you. Just you and me. Us.”
Hyunjin smiles, the kind that makes his eyes form two crescent before tilting his head to kiss you on the lips. It’s slow and deep, lingering with all the warmth in his chest, and between the kisses, he smiles again — a boy in love, completely unguarded. He kisses you like you’re the only thing that’s ever mattered, like you’re the reason his heart beats the way it does.
When he pulls back just enough to search your face, his thumbs brushing gently across your cheeks, he teasingly asks, “How about you, mmh? Are you excited to be alone with your beautiful, younger boyfriend?”
You hesitate, just a second, but it's enough for him to notice so you quickly nod and force a soft smile. “Yeah. Of course.”
Hyunjin sees it, he feels it yet he lets it slide and kisses you again. Then he wraps his arms around you and pulls you into his chest as if he knows that you're about to fall apart. His hand rubs slow, soothing circles across your back, and your fingers curl lightly into his shirt as you listen to his heartbeat.
It’s steady, safe and it makes you ache. You stay there, pressed into his warmth, trying to memorize the way he feels — trying to decide if honesty is selfish or necessary. But it slips out of you anyway, so quietly that you almost don’t hear it yourself.
“I have something to tell you.”
His hand stills on your back. You feel him breathe in slowly, feel his chin shift slightly as he tilts his head, waiting.
You lift your gaze to meet his and you're aware that you have no more room to run. Instinctively, you take a step back, but your hands don’t let go of his. You hold them tighter instead, grounding yourself in the warmth of them, afraid it’ll be the last time.
“I am excited for this trip,” your voice is small when you begin, barely steady. Your eyes flicking up to meet his just long enough. “I really am. I really, really do want to go.”
The next breath is jagged and you inhale like it might save you, like it might stop your heart from fracturing in your chest, but it doesn’t. Because the truth is bitter— it burns your tongue, chokes your throat, makes your eyes sting before a single word escapes.
Hyunjin sees it. Of course he does. He always sees you. His brow furrows, his hand gently lifts to cup the side of your head, thumb grazing the damp corner of your eye. “Hey, what’s wrong?” he asks.
When you let the question left unanswered for a moment, he just holds you like you’re safe and that’s what shatters you most. His gentleness feels like a mirror — one that reflects the guilt you’ve been carrying in sharp, unforgiving clarity.
“You can tell me,” he says softly. “You can tell me anything.”
Your lips tremble, heart pounding like it’s trying to rip free from your ribs. And then, quietly, finally—
“One night… me and Chris…”
The hand cupping your jaw stills and his gaze wavering just the slightest.
“We got drunk. And I don’t know what we were thinking. Maybe we weren’t. But it… it happened,” your voice breaks in between words. “I slept with him, Hyunjin.”
He doesn’t move. He doesn’t even blink.
“I’ve been keeping it from you. I thought maybe it’d be easier to pretend it didn’t happen. But I was wrong. I was so, so wrong,” you continue with a shaky voice as your fingers lose grip on his. Your hands fall uselessly at your sides.
“I won’t make excuses,” you say, the words strangled by your own tears. “There’s nothing I can say to justify it. I hurt you. And I hate myself for it.”
Your eyes squeeze shut as you choke back the sob in your throat. “I’m sorry,” you whisper. “I’m truly, deeply sorry, Hyunjin. But I know sorry won’t fix this. I know sorry doesn’t make it better. And I know—”
Your voice catches again when you finally look at him but he’s not looking at you anymore. He’s looking through you and in that moment, you see it — the way every bit of light drains from his face, the quiet devastation settling into his features. As if the warmth he’s always carried for you has been ripped from him in one breath.
You hate every second of this. You hate how you’re the one who did this to him. You hate yourself for causing all of this. You wipe your tears, ashamed to even cry in front of him. You look away, eyes blurry, heart breaking in ways you never thought it could again. “I’m sorry,” you say again, broken and hoarse. “I shouldn’t have come here. I’m—”
You turn around because you don't want to anger him more by staying and this time, you don’t look back.
The steering wheel blurs in front of you. You're not even sure how you made it into the car. You don’t remember walking down the hallway, or how your fingers found the keys in your bag. All you know is that the engine is on, the road ahead is empty, and Hyunjin isn’t beside you. You gripped the wheel so tightly your knuckles ache. Your eyes sting, swollen from crying, and still — the tears won’t stop.
You didn’t just hurt him. You shattered something good. Something whole. Something warm that had wrapped itself around you like safety and softness and trust. You ruined it.
Now, you're driving through a city you don’t recognize anymore — not with this ache blooming in your chest, not with his face etched into your memory the way it looked when your truth finally reached him.
Hyunjin didn’t yell. He didn’t beg. He didn’t even ask why. And maybe that’s what hurts the most. You can handle anger. You can handle shouting, rejection, blame. But that silence? That hollow, stunned silence that crept over him like a slow, cold wind?
It told you everything. It told you that you lost not just Hyunjin. Not just this beautiful, gentle, patient man who loved you with so much of himself — but maybe you also lost your last chance at love. Real love. Steady love. The kind that shows up and stays.
You press your foot harder against the gas pedal, not because you're in a rush, but because you don’t know where else to go. What else to do. Who you are without this weight sitting in your chest. A sob crawls up your throat and slips out before you can stop it. You clutch the steering wheel like it's the only thing tethering you to earth.
“I'm so sorry,” you whisper to Hyunjin, to yourself, to the version of you that thought she could keep pretending.
-
The morning sun creeps through the sheer curtains, lighting the room with a soft glow that feels completely at odds with the way your chest feels — hollow, aching, still echoing with everything you couldn’t take back.
You sit at the dining table, a half-empty cup of coffee cradled in your hands. It’s cold. You don’t remember drinking it. You don’t remember making it. You just know it’s there— bitter and useless now— much like the silence that’s swallowed the house whole.
Your eyes drift to the suitcase by the door, zipped shut and standing tall like it’s waiting for something that won’t come. Just like you. Packed and prepared and going nowhere. Because the moment you confessed, you knew — you knew the trip was off, even if no one had said it aloud. You wish he’d yelled. Slammed a door. Called you names. Something. But all you got was silence and that’s even worse. You know you deserve this because you lied, you waited too long, you let your fear tie your tongue and rot the truth.
Now he’s gone— or at least, gone from you. And the worst part? You still love him. You love him and you ruined it.
The suitcase is still sitting there, quietly mocking you, like it knows exactly what you gave up. You finally let go of the cup. It clinks softly against the table, spilling a ring of coffee that slowly seeps into the wood. You don’t bother wiping it away because it’s already stained. Just like you.
Even so, you drag yourself up from the chair, the weight in your limbs almost unbearable and the cup in your hand feels heavier than ceramic has any right to, and you return to the table with a cloth in hand.
The coffee stain stares back at you like it’s carved into the wood — like a reminder of everything you’ve spilled and everything you can’t clean up. Still, you press the cloth to it and rub in slow, aimless circles, trying to pretend that if you just scrub hard enough, maybe it’ll all go back to before. Maybe you’ll wake up, and yesterday won’t have happened.
Then you hear it — a car pulling into the driveway. Your hand stills over the table. The cloth droops between your fingers. You don’t move. You don’t breathe.
It could be him. It could be Hyunjin. And the thought alone is enough to send your heart thudding painfully against your ribcage. But you don’t run to the door. You can’t. You’re too afraid to see the truth. Too afraid that it’s just someone else — a neighbor, a delivery, anyone but him. A disappointment waiting to happen.
Then the knocks come. Firm. Familiar. Still, you stay frozen. Too afraid that if it’s not him, you’ll break again in a way you won’t know how to fix this time. And then—
“It’s me,” comes Hyunjin’s soft, sultry voice.
Your breath catches in your throat like you’ve been underwater for days and just now found the surface. You don’t think — you break into a run, feet thudding against the hardwood floor, hands reaching for the doorknob with the same desperation that’s been coiling in your chest since yesterday. You twist it open, and there he is.
Hyunjin and he's looking at you. And he’s real. He’s really here. You don’t wait to throw yourself at him — arms wrapping around his body like a lifeline, like you’ve been lost at sea and finally made it back to shore. Your face buries in the crook of his neck, and you inhale sharply, clinging to the warmth of him, the scent of clay and something distinctly Hyunjin. You hold him like it’s the last time because maybe it is. And even if it is… you just needed one more second of him. Just one more.
To your surprise, Hyunjin holds you just as tightly. His hands press into your back, his breath shaky against your neck. It’s not just comfort he’s giving you — it’s everything. It’s the way his fingers tremble like yours do. The way his body leans into yours like he’s been aching just as long, just as hard and maybe… maybe he has.
Your tears come without permission. They sting your eyes and spill quietly down your cheeks as you clutch at him, overcome by the unbearable weight of his presence — and the even heavier knowledge that he’s here.
Hyunjin is here. Despite it all. Despite the truth you should’ve told him earlier, the wrong you can never undo, the guilt that still gnaws at your chest — he’s here. And it breaks something tender inside you.
You feel him shift, feel the warmth of his hand as it gently cups your face and lifts it. “Look at me,” he murmurs.
So you do and in his eyes, there’s pain, but there’s also something softer, something steady.
“I don’t care,” he says, his voice trembling at the edges. “I don’t care about it. I just need to know—do you want to be with me? Do you still want to do this with me?”
It’s not just a question. It’s a lifeline. Your eyes blur with new tears as you nod— once, twice, again and again— and your voice cracks when you say it. “Yes.” You say it again, and again. “Yes. I want to be with you. I want this. I want you.”
You don’t care if you sound desperate. You are. Desperate to stay. Desperate to fix it. Desperate for one more chance to love him the way he deserves.
A smile blooms on Hyunjin's beautiful, angular face and then his lips crash into yours before the next tear can fall. The kiss is hard and deep, wild with relief and longing. It’s the kind of kiss that hurts— not in pain, but in the way it fills your lungs with air you didn’t know you were missing. And in that moment — in that fierce, tender, desperate kiss — you know that this is your one more chance and you’re never letting it go.
You pull back from the kiss, just far enough to look at him. Your hands stay curled around the collar of his shirt, your breath still tangled with his, and your heart—God, your heart is thudding like it’s about to burst from your chest. And then, in a voice that shakes but means everything, you whisper, “I love you.”
Your words hang in the space between you, vulnerable and naked and true.
Hyunjin’s eyes widen—not in surprise, but like he’s been waiting his whole life to hear that. And then his smile stretches so wide it looks like it hurts. “You do?” he says, his voice breathless with joy.
You nod and smile. “I do. I love—”
Before you can finish your sentence, he kisses you and this time it’s full of pure, overflowing happiness. He laughs into your mouth like he can’t help it, and then suddenly his arms are tightening around you and—
“Hyunjin!” you yelp as your feet lift off the floor.
He’s picked you up—completely off the ground—and is holding you close like you weigh nothing, like you’re the most precious thing he’s ever carried.
You giggle into the kiss, the sound bubbling out of you uncontrollably, like your body has no idea what to do with so much joy at once. Then he spins you and you let out a breathless laugh, head tilting back, your hair catching the light as the world twirls with you in his arms. And with every kiss he plants on your cheek, your forehead, your lips—something inside you starts to mend. Every broken piece he touches slides right back into place. By the time your feet return to the floor, your heart is whole again and it’s his. All his.
Hyunjin cups your face again, gentle and reverent as he wipes the tears still clinging to your lashes. His smile hasn’t faded—not even a little. “You should get ready,” he says with a spark in his eyes. “We’ve got a flight to catch.”
Your breath catches. “But I thought...”
He raises an eyebrow, amused. “I canceled the trip? Why would I? You know how long I've been waiting for this.”
Your heart does a flip and then it flips again when you realize you’re still in your pajamas. “Oh my God—I’m not dressed!”
Hyunjin laughs, kissing your forehead. “Go get dressed. I'll wait.”
You nod quickly, stealing another peck on his lips before you bolt upstairs. But halfway up the stairs, you pause—something in you needing one more look.
You glance over your shoulder and he’s still there, standing by the door, watching you with that same unshakable smile. Still here. Still staying.
“Go,” he calls gently, a teasing edge in his voice. “Before I change my mind and carry you to the airport just like that.”
You laugh, heart swelling and this time, when you run upstairs—you do it knowing that love is still yours and he’s waiting right there for you.
Once you're properly dressed for travel, you rush down the stairs, heart racing for all the right reasons this time. The sound of your footsteps echo through the quiet house, each step lighter than the one before. Your bag bounces against your side, the back of your jacket flaring behind you, and there's a breathless kind of giddiness stirring inside you—like you're about to leap into something brand new and beautiful.
When you step outside, the sky is clear with the promise of something good. You spot Hyunjin by his car, just as he closes the trunk after loading your suitcase in. He turns at the sound of the door and when his eyes land on you, his whole face softens.
“There she is,” he says, that gentle smile blooming instantly. He walks around to the front of the car, closer to you, taking in the sight of you like it’s the most precious thing he’s ever seen. “You ready?”
You stop in front of him, the hem of your coat swaying as you catch your breath. And then, with a smile that breaks wide open, you say, “Yes. I'm ready.”
Hyunjin’s smile widens, his eyes glimmering with something quiet and sure—like he’s been waiting for those words. He closes the space between you, his hands slipping into yours. “Let’s go.”
You glance down at your joined hands, then back up into his eyes, and everything in you settles. You’ve made mistakes, taken detours, lost and found yourself along the way—but right here, right now, you’re choosing something. Someone. Hope.
He lifts your hand and kisses it, soft and reverent, then opens the car door for you like it’s second nature. As you slide into the seat beside him moments later, you glance out the window one last time—not in regret, but in gratitude for the road that led you here. Because now, you're driving away from the past and toward something new with him beside you. Together.
-
The door to Chris's studio creaks open gently, and his eyes lift from the journal he’s been scribbling into. He sees Tigerlily step in, Julian right behind her, eyes already scanning the rows of guitars mounted on the wall.
"Wow," Julian murmurs in awe, walking straight over to Chris’s 1964 Stratocaster and continues touring Chris’s studio to check his guitar collection.
Chris manages a small smile, rising from his seat. "Hey, cub," he greets his daughter as she leans in to kiss his cheek.
"Hi, Dad," she says, her voice light but observant. She holds up a thick envelope. "Just brought the final set of illustrations. For the tour."
He takes it from her carefully, nodding. "Can’t wait to see them. You always make us look cooler than we are."
Tigerlily grins, but her smile softens as she looks at him. "How are you doing?"
Chris blinks at her, surprised by the question. "I’m... Excited. Album’s out. Tour’s coming."
"You don’t look that excited," she says gently, folding her arms.
Chris shrugs, chuckling as if to dismiss the weight in the room. "I’m tired. But I’m good."
She doesn’t press. Not yet. Her phone buzzes in her bag. She fishes it out and reads the text, her smile blooming. "Oh, she sent another one," she mutters to herself.
Chris looks up. "What’s that?"
"It's Mom," Tigerlily says, still smiling as she turns her phone toward him. It’s a photo of a quiet lake surrounded by misty pine trees. "She sends me pictures of the scenery every day."
Chris swallows and tries to sound casual as he asks, "So, how is she? Your mother?"
Tigerlily slips her phone back into her purse. "She's great. She’s actually on a trip with Hyunjin."
Chris breathes through his nose, a nod the only sign of his reaction. But Tigerlily notices. She's his daughter after all. He doesn’t know what gives it away—his tightened jaw, the way he stares too long, or how he doesn’t ask anything else.
"I know about 'Evermore', Dad," she says softly.
Chris drumming his journal with the pen he's holding to hide his nerves. "What about it?"
Tigerlily subtly rolls her eyes like she knew her dad expected her to not know about this. "I know it’s about Mom."
He tries to smile, but it slips too quickly to convince anyone. Tigerlily scoots closer to him, placing a warm hand over his. "I’m going to be brutally honest with you, okay?"
Chris nods, bracing himself for anything that will come out of Tigerlily’s mouth next.
"You had your chance, Dad," she says quietly. "And you blew it."
"I didn’t know she waited for me," Chris says quickly.
Tigerlily doesn’t flinch. "No. You knew. You just didn’t have the guts to try again."
Chris feels it hit deep. Her words land with precision, sharp and true. He looks at his daughter and sees it—how much she understands. Maybe more than he ever gave her credit for.
"I was scared," he meekly admits. "Scared I’d hurt her again."
Tigerlily squeezes his hand. "I know. But...I think it's easier to let it all go, Dad."
The silence in the studio stretches after the door of the studio shuts behind Tigerlily and Julian. The air still hums faintly with the echo of her words, the weight of them hanging over him like the scent of rain before a storm.
Chris stays where he is, slouched on the old leather couch, elbows on his knees, hands clasped as he stares at the floor. It’s not the first time someone’s told him he was afraid. But hearing it from his daughter—seeing the unwavering honesty in her eyes as she laid it bare—something about that rattled him more than he expected.
He exhales slowly, dragging a hand over his face, through his messy hair. “You had your chance, and you blew it.” The words twist inside him, cruel in their accuracy. He did. He had you. And he let you go, convinced that was what love sometimes required—distance, silence, sacrifice. But what if that was just cowardice, dressed in romantic ideals?
His eyes drift to the guitar resting on its stand across the room. The same one he used when writing Evermore. He can still hear your voice, low and careful, telling him goodbye on the porch that day. The memory cuts deeper than he likes to admit.
Chris leans back, tilts his head up toward the ceiling. “Let it all go,” he murmurs to himself. It would be easier. Safer. He could just go on tour, sell out the stadiums, play the part of the frontman like he always has. Smile for the cameras. Hit the notes. Pretend the song doesn’t carry your name in every lyric.
But deep in his chest—underneath the bruises and regrets—something refuses to settle. That ember of defiance he’s always carried, the one that once made him believe in love enough to chase it across oceans, starts to flicker again.
He stands up slowly, walking over to his desk. His fingers find the polaroid Tigerlily left behind last week—one of the tour concept sketches. You're in it, in the background, blurred and laughing as you held a paper cup of coffee.
Chris stares at it for a long moment. Then he sets it back down with a sigh. He’s not sure what to do next. He doesn’t know if there’s still time, if you’ll even listen. But he knows this: the fear of hurting you again is real—but so is the fear of never trying. And maybe this time, he won’t let fear decide for him.
-
After the long stretch of a flight and the lull of a train winding through small towns, you watch the scenery shift from cityscapes to vineyards, to hills blooming with late-spring flowers. You’re half-asleep, leaning on Hyunjin’s shoulder when he nudges you gently and tells you that the two of you are almost there.
When you arrive, it's exactly what it sounds like in every romantic novel you used to roll your eyes at: a cozy cabin tucked in the heart of the countryside. Ivy climbs the stone walls, the shutters are painted a soft blue, and wildflowers grow like secrets around the front path. You stare at it in disbelief, and Hyunjin just grins like he’s been keeping this gift wrapped tight for weeks.
Then, with all the ease in the world, he suggests that both of you turn off your phones so the two of you can focus on each other and be present for every second of it. You agree immediately by pressing the button and watch the screen go black, not realizing until now how heavy it had all been—every noise, every ping, every pull back into the world. But now? There’s only birdsong, and the smell of rain lingering in the grass, and Hyunjin standing beside you, asking nothing of you except to be here. You didn’t know this was everything you needed until now.
It starts with the warmth of the morning light spilling into the room, soft and golden through the sheer curtains. You're tucked against Hyunjin’s chest, his arms draped around you, one leg tangled between yours like he’s afraid you’ll float away in your sleep. His breath is steady, his skin warm, and you lie there for a moment, listening to the soft beat of his heart under your cheek. It’s peaceful. Grounding. You don’t move until you feel his hand graze your back and hear his sleep-rough voice whisper, “Good morning.”
After a slow breakfast on the little patio—coffee and warm toasts with homemade jam—you both set out for a walk through the countryside. The air is crisp, the hill rising gently before you, blanketed in green and dotted with wildflowers. Hyunjin keeps stopping to point things out or to take pictures with his camera: a tree that bends like a question mark, a small shrine by the road, a patch of forget-me-nots that makes you both stop for a photo. The silence between you is never awkward—it’s soft, comforting. A kind of silence you want to live inside.
On the way back down, you stumble upon a lake—still and glimmering under the midmorning sun. Without speaking, you both step in. The cold hits your skin in a shock, but Hyunjin’s laughter—carefree, genuine—pulls one from you, too. He swims closer and cups your cheeks in his wet hands, kisses you right there in the middle of it all, tasting of lake water and something deeper. Something true.
Later, you wander through town hand in hand, picking up sandwiches and fruit from a little shop, and you find a quiet spot by the canal to sit. There’s a boat drifting lazily nearby, and the sound of the water brushing against the dock is soothing. He lays out a blanket, you set down the food, and the two of you eat with the sun warming your backs. He brushes crumbs from the corner of your mouth with his thumb, and you kiss the tip of it just to make him blush. It works.
By afternoon, you’re walking between neat rows of grapevines, glasses of wine in hand. Hyunjin pretends to be a sommelier, describing the notes of the red in ridiculous detail, making you laugh so hard you nearly spill your drink. You both choose a bottle to bring home for dinner, and he tucks it under his arm like it’s something precious.
The sun’s slipping behind the hills as you stop by the market—fresh pasta, tomatoes, herbs. He insists on picking the perfect basil and gets into a charmingly serious debate with the vendor. Back at the cabin, you cook together in a kitchen too small for two, dancing around each other as the sauce simmers and the wine breathes. He tastes the food off your fork and kisses your cheek, murmuring, “Perfect. Just like you.”
Dinner is slow. Laughter over candlelight. Feet brushing under the table. The clink of glasses and the occasional, quiet I’m so glad you’re here.
When night falls, you curl into each other in bed, the covers pulled up to your chins, his fingers tracing light circles on your arm. That's when Hyunjin pulls out his book, a collection of love letters and he would read you one before bed, reading it with his soft, melodic voice that somehow always works to slowly pull you under. But tonight, you take your turn as you have marked the one that you want to read it to him.
You're lying on your stomach with your head on his chest, one hand holding the book and the other propped under your chin. With a low, steady voice and Hyunjin’s hand resting on the small of your back, you begin reading the words on the page.
“Often as I lie awake I wonder if you are also lying awake…You drew me from the darkest period of my young life, sharing with me the sacred mystery of what it is to be an artist. I learned to see through you and never compose a line or draw a curve that does not come from the knowledge I derived in our precious time together…”
You pause to look at him and you find him staring at you with tender eyes and a faint smile that soften his sharp features, reassuring you that he's here, listening.
“The other afternoon, when you fell asleep on my shoulder, I drifted off, too. But before I did, it occured to me looking around at all of your things and your work and going through years of work in my mind that of all your work...” you look him in the eyes as you read the last lines, ones that perfectly fathom your thoughts into words, “...you are still your most beautiful. The most beautiful work of all.”
The silence hangs in the room once you close the book and Hyunjin says nothing, does nothing but runs his hand through your hair before resting it on the nape of your neck. You put the book away before leaning in and mutter, “You are beautiful, Hyunjin. You are beautiful to me.”
He smiles as he catches all of your praises and lets it seep into him. When you kiss him, he accepts the kiss like it's something precious, with such tenderness that makes your heart tightens.
When you pull away, he holds you gaze and says, “And you’re the most beautiful thing that ever happened to me.” Then, he kisses you. Softly. Like a promise. Like he’s memorizing the shape of forever on your lips.
That night feels eternal. It's just you and him, lying on the bed bathed in the pale moonlight that shines through the window. He brushes your hair away from your face and kisses you once, then again, deeper this time, with the kind of patience that makes your heart ache. You cup his face as he leans into you, his body shifting to hover above yours, and the way he looks at you—overflowed with admiration.
Suddenly, it feels like words are not enough to convey these shared feelings. You both take your time taking each other clothes off until there’s no layer of barrier between you. It’s your body against his, his warmth on yours, skin to skin.
When Hyunjin pushes his cock into you, he does it slowly, carefully, and so full of emotion it nearly undoes you right away. He’s only has half of his length inside you but you already feel overwhelmed by the closeness, the connection and the intimacy of this moment.
His forehead touches yours as he uses his hips to push the remaining length into you. His eyes never leave yours the whole time his cock penetrating into you deeper and deeper until he's buried to the hilt. You both let out a gasp almost at the same time, of relief and of the sensation of becoming one once more.
Hyunjin takes your hands, lacing them together with his before he takes them, pinned them above your head. He leans in, crashing his lips onto yours again and again before placing it on any skin that entice him. Each kiss longer than the previous. Each kiss carries a weight.
When he finally moves, it's unhurried, intentional. He rolls his hips, slowly but with such intensity that allows you to feel every drag of his cock against your tightening walls. And in the softest voice, between shallow breaths, he says calls your name like it’s his prayer.
You hold him tighter. You wrap your legs around him, pull him closer, kiss him harder. And still, it’s not enough—not when it feels like he’s loving you with his whole being. It’s overwhelming, yes, but not something you ever want to escape. You whisper his name again and again like it’s the only thing that gives you air.
Hyunjin looks into your eyes as he keeps moving, making love not just to your physical being, but also to the one resides inside you. You feel it, you feel him all over you and against the the pleasure keeps building and building, you feel a wave of emotions that makes your eyes sting with tears. Before you know it, you're coming around him, your body trembles against him as the pleasure comes in waves.
He doesn’t stop, not when your legs still tightly wrapped around his waist, not letting him go until he too, comes inside you, filling you with his love and giving you all of him.
And when he finally does, his hands clutching yours, his mouth pressed against your neck, and he breathes your name like it’s the only thing grounding him to this world.
Afterward, wrapped in his warmth, your bodies still tangled under the cover and your hearts racing as one, he runs his fingers along the curve of your jaw and whispers, “I love you.”
You kiss him softly and whisper back. “I love you.”
And just before sleep comes to take you—before dreams and morning light—you send out a silent, desperate wish to the universe: Let this moment last forever. Please.
-
The morning light pours gently into the room, golden and warm, and when you blink your eyes open, it’s to the steady rhythm of Hyunjin’s heartbeat against your back. His arm is draped loosely around your waist, his breath soft and even against the nape of your neck. You stay there for a while, cocooned in the silence, the stillness, the kind of peace that feels too good to disturb.
You turn slowly in his arms just to look at him—his grown out buzzed hair, lashes fanned over his cheeks, lips parted ever so slightly as he sleeps. There’s something about seeing him like this, vulnerable and quiet and still, that tugs at the deepest part of your heart. He looks like something out of a painting, bathed in morning light, too beautiful to be real. You can't bring yourself to wake him so you press a gentle kiss to his cheek—light and fleeting—then carefully slip out of his arms and the bed.
The cabin is cool as you step into the kitchen, bare feet against the wooden floor. The first thing you do is open the window to let the fresh morning air into the cabin and then you start the coffee machine, the comforting whir of it filling the room, and as you wait, you reach for your phone, the intention simple: send Tigerlily some photos you took during the trip—snapshots of vineyard fields, sleepy canals, the lake bathed in sunlight.
But the second your screen lights up, reality rushes back in. There are dozens of notifications. Work emails. Messages. A couple missed calls and your heart stops when you see that one of them is from Chris.
Your finger hovers above his name. Your chest tightens. You don’t know why he called. You don’t know if you want to. But before you can dwell too long, you hear Hyunjin’s voice—sleepy, grumbly, a little scolding. “No phones, remember?”
You turn your head, caught. He’s standing by the doorway, eyes half-lidded as he walks toward you. You let out a soft laugh, switching off the screen. “Just wanted to send some pictures to Tigerlily.”
He hums, unconvinced, but smiling. “Mm, no more distractions. Come here.”
Before you can move, he’s already reaching you, already wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you close. His lips find yours—sweet, slow, warm. You melt into him, hands pressed against his chest. Then, without warning, he lifts you with ease and sets you gently on the edge of the kitchen counter.
For a moment, Hyunjin doesn’t say a word. He only leans in and drags his lips down your neck, along the curve of your shoulder, pressing a soft kiss to your collarbone, then a teasing one right at your cleavage. It makes you shiver—the heat of his breath, the gentleness of his mouth, the way he knows exactly what he’s doing.
He cages you in with his arms, nose brushing yours, and finally whispers, “Good morning.”
Your lips part in a quiet breath. “Good morning,” you whisper back, eyes soft, heart full.
Just like that, Hyunjin pulls you back to live another day in paradise.
-
The sun warms your shoulders as you stroll through the cobblestone street, your hand tucked comfortably in Hyunjin’s. The town is alive in the softest ways—small laughter from cafés, the clink of glasses, flower baskets swaying from windowsills. You pause at a corner and peer into the quaint little shops lined like watercolor sketches, all inviting and old-world charming.
Hyunjin slows when he catches sight of a narrow store with a wooden sign painted Art & Co. “You don’t mind, do you?” he asks, already half turned toward it.
You give him a knowing smile. “Take as much time as you need.”
He laughs softly. “I might take too much time.”
You shrug playfully. “I planned for that.”
He grins, leans in to press a soft peck to your lips, and murmurs, “Don’t go too far.”
You nod and watch him disappear into the shop, the little bell above the door chiming in his wake. Left to your own, you duck into a cozy souvenir store across the street, the scent of something citrus and old paper greeting you as you walk in. Wooden shelves crowd the space, filled with handcrafted trinkets, postcards, soaps wrapped in parchment, tiny jars of honey, and miniature oil paintings.
You pick out a few things for Tigerlily—she’ll love the hand-painted bookmarks and the delicate earrings shaped like olive leaves. For Julian, a carved wooden guitar keychain. You think about your friends back home, wondering what little bits of this trip they’d treasure.
You’re holding a ceramic music box when a sound catches your ear—the quiet rise of a guitar riff through the store’s small speaker, the soft crackle of a local radio station. Then a voice follows, a voice you know too well. Chris.
The words fall into the air like pieces of something unfinished, aching with clarity and meaning:
“If I told you I waited. Would you believe me now? If I said I still hear your laugh even in the quietest town…”
All of a sudden, time stills and the world shrinks to the size of that song. The lyrics thread into your bones, the melody familiar and heavy. Your grip on the music box loosens as you listen. Every line holds something sacred. Something personal. Things he’s never said out loud, but now sings to the world. But it’s not the world that will understand. It’s only you. You.
As the song fades, the DJ’s voice rises with cheerful ease: “That was the brand-new single from The Bang Theory, Evermore—rumored to be their most personal track yet. The band’s set to begin their international tour next month…”
It’s like something in you is being pulled back—gently, but insistently. As if the universe itself is reminding you: you and Chris, whatever it is… it’s not done. Not yet.
You inhale, steadying yourself, blinking back the sudden sting behind your eyes. You can’t run from it. No matter how far the countryside stretches, no matter how beautiful Hyunjin’s love feels wrapped around you—Chris still lingers in the corners you haven’t swept clean. Now, his voice echoes in the air not in person, but in a song and that might be even harder to escape.
-
The warm water runs over your hands as you lean into the sink, trying to clear your head, trying to wash away the voice that’s been following you since earlier. You splash your face, the coolness biting your skin just enough to anchor you in the present. But even with your eyes shut and your breath steady, you can still hear him. Not his voice in a room, but in your head. In the song. In the way the lyrics loop like memories refusing to settle.
You reach for the towel and gently pat your face dry, careful and slow. That's when you feel it. The soft weight of a presence behind you. You lift your eyes to the mirror, and there he is. Hyunjin, standing quietly, his reflection filling the frame behind yours, his smile gentle but slightly puzzled.
“What take you so long, mmh?” he says, voice low, as if afraid to disturb something.
You hold his gaze in the mirror for a moment longer before looking down at the towel in your hands, folding it neatly even though it doesn’t need folding.
“I’m just…” You hesitate, weighing what to share, what to bury. “I’m a little sad the trip’s almost over.”
Hyunjin steps forward, his hand slipping around your waist like it’s the most natural thing in the world. You feel the warmth of his lips as he presses a kiss onto your bare shoulder, then another, then rests his chin there, against your skin, his eyes meeting yours again in the mirror.
“Me too,” he admits with an adorable pout. “I don’t want it to end.”
The words sink into your chest, soft and devastating. You nod faintly, chewing the inside of your cheek as if that’ll keep you grounded, stop the rush of guilt that builds inside you for not telling him the whole truth—for holding parts of yourself away from him, even now. For not telling him that Chris called. For not telling him what it did to you to hear that song.
You and Hyunjin stand there in silence, your bodies pressed close, your hearts somehow both entwined and distant. He leans in and presses a kiss to your temple, the kind of kiss that says “I see you” even when you’re trying to stay hidden.
“Hurry and come to bed, yeah?” he whispers, his voice warm, inviting. “The bed is getting cold without you.”
You turn your head and steal a quick kiss from his lips, giving him a smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “I’ll be there in a minute.”
He lingers for a second longer, eyes flicking over your face like he wants to ask more but won’t push. He gives you a quick peck on the lips and then walks out of the bathroom, leaving you alone again, just as you asked.
You rest your hands on the cool edge of the sink and lower your head. You’ve never wanted to live inside a single moment as much as this one. But your past is still humming like a low frequency underneath it all, and tonight, it's getting louder. You close your eyes and allow yourself just one more minute. One more breath.
A moment later, you step out of the bathroom, the soft light from the bedside lamp casting a warm, golden hue across the room. And there he is—Hyunjin—already sitting up against the headboard, legs stretched out, the covers folded over his lap. His eyes find you instantly, and the moment he sees you, he shifts slightly, patting the space between his legs as he makes room just for you.
You smile—small and soft, the kind that carries more feeling than words could ever hold. You climb onto the bed, crawling into the space he’s made yours, settling your back against his chest. The moment your body meets his, something inside you releases. Like your bones remember what safety feels like. His arms come around you instinctively, enveloping you in warmth, in comfort, in the quiet promise of love. You sink into him, letting your head rest against his shoulder as he gently holds you by the neck and then places a chaste, lingering kiss on your lips.
“Ready for bed?” he asks, his breath warm against your ear.
You nod with an ease you didn’t know you were capable of tonight. “Yeah,” you whisper.
He smiles and rests one hand across your chest, the other reaching to the nightstand for the familiar book—a collection of timeless love letters the two of you have been reading to each other each night of this trip. He flips through the worn pages until he finds the one he marked. He holds the book open in front of you, though you can read it yourself. Still, you wait. You want to hear it from him.
“My angel, my all, my very self. We shall surely see each other soon; moreover, today I cannot share with you the thoughts I have had during these last few days touching my own life. If our hearts were always close together, I would have none of these.”
His voice is soft, almost reverent, as he reads. His cadence calm and steady.
“My heart is full of so many things to say to you – ah – there are moments when I feel that speech amounts to nothing at all – Cheer up – remain my true, my only treasure, my all as I am yours. Ah, wherever I am, there you are also. Much as you love me – I love you more.”
Hyunjin takes a second to press a kiss to your temple and then rests his cheek against your head before continuing.
“Oh God – so near! So far! Is not our love truly a heavenly structure, and also as firm as the vault of heaven? My thoughts go out to you, my Immortal Beloved, now and then joyfully, then sadly, waiting to learn whether or not fate will hear us.”
This time, Hyunjin pauses to simply smile, as if the words are too full for him to contain.
“I can live only wholly with you or not at all. No one else can ever possess my heart – never – never. Oh God, why must one be parted from one whom one so loves. Be calm, only by a calm consideration of our existence can we achieve our purpose to live together. Be calm – love me – today – yesterday – what tearful longings for you – you – you – my life – my all – farewell.”
You listen. You let the words seep into you like warmth under your skin.
“Oh continue to love me – never misjudge the most faithful heart of your beloved.” His voice is lower now, tender. A whisper of silk over skin. “Ever thine, ever mine, ever ours.”
When the words settle into the quiet air around you, he flips to the next page—and there, nestled between the pages like a secret meant only for you: a ring.
A delicate diamond glinting in the soft light, catching the moonlight through the window and sending it scattering like stars across your lap. You suddenly get quiet. You have no words, no breath—just this moment stretching out, suspended and eternal.
You turn your head slowly to look at him and Hyunjin’s already watching you. His expression is soft and open, vulnerable in a way that steals your breath.
“What do you think?” he asks, voice barely above a whisper.
You swallow and whisper, “It’s... beautiful.”
Hyunjin smiles, not with nerves or tension, but with calm certainty—as if this has always been the answer, and he’s just been waiting for the moment to find you.
“This is me proposing to you,” he says so casually, so Hyunjin, that it makes your heart ache. “Because I want you. I want this life. I want forever with you.”
Before you can speak, he gently adds, “But you don’t have to say anything. Not now. I just want you to know that I’m ready. And wear it only when you’re ready.”
His words are soft and filled with grace—so like him. Always giving you space. Always honoring your pace. He takes the ring from the book and places it in your palm, curling your fingers gently around it.
“Until then, please keep it safe,” he says, his eyes on yours. “That’s all I ask.”
You nod, tears clouding your vision as you smile. It’s a bittersweet thing, this joy laced with sorrow, because you want this too—desperately. But your heart is still tangled in something you can’t quite name.
Still, you press the ring to your chest like a vow and with a breath that feels like the truest thing you’ve ever spoken, you whisper, “I love you.”
Then you turn, cupping his face in both your hands, and kiss him. A kiss that’s deep, tender, grateful. A kiss that tells him thank you—for loving you this way, for being patient, for being here.
When you finally pull back and lay your head against his chest once more, the ring still held safely in your hand, caged between the two beating hearts, you think: if this isn’t paradise, you don’t know what is.
-
The world rushes past the windows, but inside the car, time feels slower, softer. Hyunjin has one hand on the wheel and the other resting palm-up between you, waiting for yours. You slip your fingers into his, and he gives your hand a gentle squeeze without looking.
Your heart aches with a bittersweet tangle of emotions. You’re sad the trip is over. Sad to leave behind the dreamy stillness of the countryside, the love letters, the quiet mornings and slow nights. But there’s also something stirring under the sadness—something like readiness. Like the promise of starting again, of stepping back into your life with something new blooming in your chest.
Hyunjin glances over, catching the flicker of something in your expression. Without a word, he lifts your hand to his mouth and presses a kiss to the back of it. The warmth of his lips lingers.
“Let’s take another trip soon,” he says with that knowing smile of his.
It makes you smile too. “Yes, please.”
When the car finally pulls into your driveway, the quiet is interrupted by the soft hum of the engine cutting off. You both move slowly, neither of you in a rush to mark this moment as the end.
Hyunjin helps you carry your things to the door, and the second you step into your house, it hits you. You’re home. You drop your bag near the doorway and look around as if trying to reacquaint yourself with your own space.
“Do you need help with anything else?” Hyunjin asks behind you, his voice gentle, careful not to rush the moment.
You shake your head, but before you can say anything, he’s already stepping in. His arms slip around you—one under your shoulders, the other around your waist—pulling you close against him. He kisses you. Long, slow, lingering. Like he’s trying to make this last as long as possible.
When he pulls back, he rests his forehead against yours. “I'll see you tomorrow?”
You chuckle softly, your hands smoothing down his arms. “I can’t tomorrow. I have something I need to do.”
He doesn’t ask what. He just nods, understanding woven into the softness of his eyes. “Okay.”
He gives you another kiss—gentler this time, almost reverent—then tells you, “Go get some rest.”
“You too,” you say.
And just like that, he’s gone. You stand at the door, watching him until his car disappears down the street, until the stillness of your house wraps around you again. You close the door and lean against it.
In the silence, with your bags by the door and the memories of the trip still clinging to your skin, you know exactly what you need to do now that you’re back to reality. You turn on your phone and open your recent calls. You stare at Chris’s name, finger hovers, heart tight in your chest. It’s time.
-
When the doctor finally cuts through the wrap and casts and tells him he’s good to go—with a warning to take it easy for a little longer—Chris feels like he’s been handed back a piece of his life. He doesn’t wait to change. Just throws on something light and comfortable and heads straight to the studio.
The hallway outside the band’s rehearsal room is already humming with energy—amps buzzing, faint bits of laughter from the tech crew. Chris readies himself for a scolding, knowing he’s late. Probably going to get a full ear from the manager or the band members, about being punctual, the usual. He braces himself for it.
Instead, the manager spots him walking in, looks him up and down—cast-free—and just says, “Someone’s waiting for you.”
Chris takes his backpack off of his shoulder. “Huh? Who?”
The manager only gives him a vague shrug and steps aside. “Inside. You’ll see.”
Chris assumes it’s another industry person. Maybe another musician who happens to recording in the next studio, maybe some old fan. He opens the door to the rehearsal room casually and there, sitting on the leather couch like it’s the most natural thing in the world is you. Your hands resting over your purse, a small, gentle smile blooming across your face.
He stops in his tracks. His heart doesn’t just skip—it sprints. It punches his ribs like it’s trying to break out of his chest.
You tilt your head, pretending to squint at him. “Wow,” you say, mock-serious. “I almost didn’t recognize you without your leg cast and your shit eating grin. Who are you and what have you done to Chris?”
He laughs. A real, full-bodied laugh, cracking out of him like sunlight. “You’re kidding me,” he breathes. “You’re actually here?”
“I called you yesterday,” you say, still teasing. “Your manager picked up and told me to drop by for the band rehearsal so... here I am.”
“I—I didn’t know.” He walks a little closer, then stops, unsure if he’s allowed to be closer. Your hands are still neatly folded over your purse, like you’re holding something back. He doesn’t want to intrude if you’re not ready. But he can’t stop smiling.
“Why are you here?” he asks, softly, cautiously.
You raise your brows, pretending to be offended. “Gee, thanks. I travel all this way and that’s the welcome I get?”
Chris throws up his hands. “No! I didn’t mean it like that—I’m just…” He exhales. “I’m just surprised. You look—” He stops himself. You always make him lose words. “You look good.”
You give him a lopsided grin. “Thanks. So do you. The cast really did cramp your style.”
Before he can say more, the manager leans in through the door. “Chris, rehearsal. Let’s go!”
Chris glances back at you. “Will you wait?”
You smile, pretending to check your watch. “I mean, I came for the band, not for you.”
He chuckles, his grin returning as he backs toward the mic stand. “Right, of course. Just another fan.”
You shrug. “Exactly.”
Chris grabs his guitar, slides the strap over his shoulder. The weight of it feels right again. His fingers instinctively find the chords as the band begins the first track on the upcoming tour setlist—a setlist that is still in the works.
As the first notes fill the studio, his eyes instinctively drift back to the couch. There you are, atching him with that soft smile still there. Just like you used to, like the years haven’t passed, like you're still the girl who’d sit on a ratty studio couch and watch him fall in love with music—and with you—over and over again.
And in that moment, with the lights casting golden shadows on the floor, with the music vibrating through the walls, Chris wonders— Could he get it right this time? Could he be brave enough to try? Because you’re here and that has to mean something.
-
By the time the band calls for a break, Chris is already buzzing—not from the music, not from the adrenaline of rehearsing again without pain—but from the fact that you’re still here and patiently waiting for him. He doesn’t even need to ask. He just lifts his brows at you and nods toward the door, and you immediately get up and follow.
There’s a restaurant just around the corner. Small, tucked behind ivy-covered brick, barely marked except for a matte gold plaque by the entrance. He opens the door and greets the maître d' with a casual wave.
“We’re not open yet, Mr. Bang,” the host says gently.
Chris just grins. “I know. That’s why I’m here.”
The host looks over at you, then back at Chris. “Give us five minutes. I’ll let the kitchen know.”
You glance at Chris once you’re seated. “Wow. Rockstar privileges.”
He shrugs playfully. “No. These are the perks of being a regular and tipping well.”
The restaurant is empty, but not quiet—the kitchen clatters faintly in the back, someone’s sweeping near the bar, and there’s soft, ambient music playing overhead. You settle into the booth across from him, tucking your legs under the table as you glance around.
The two of you order something simple—wine, pasta, bread—and while you wait, the conversation flows like it used to. Updates about your lives tumble out between bites and laughter. You tell him about the trip. The food. The little cabin. The view. You don't say who you went with, and he doesn't ask. He tells you about writing again, about how difficult it was with the cast, how freeing it felt to finally play without pain again.
“I felt like a kid with a new toy,” he says, gesturing with his fork. “I almost cried.”
You chuckle. “Almost?”
“Well, I had to keep my cool in front of the band. Can’t let them think I’m soft.”
“Oh, God forbid.”
He grins. He could do this all night. Just sit here and watch you smile. But then—almost like fate reaching a hand into the moment—he hears it the familiar intro. A quiet, slow strum, followed by the low hum of the bass coming through the restaurant speakers. It's his song. Evermore.
He stiffens just slightly, eyes flicking upward toward the sound system. Then, he looks back at you, almost afraid to read your face. Do you know? Did you recognize it? Did you listen to it before now?
But you’re already smiling and not just politely. It’s soft, full of something old and deep. Nostalgic. Maybe even a little bittersweet. You don’t say anything for a moment, just let the chorus wash over the both of you. Then you glance at him, eyes still on the edge of something gentle, and say, “I like it.”
Chris swallows. His pulse has picked up again. “Yeah?”
You nod. “Yeah. It sounds like you.”
His mouth tilts in the smallest smile. “That a good thing?”
You laugh under your breath. “It’s a very good thing.”
There are a hundred questions behind his eyes. Did you know it was about you? Could you tell? Did it hurt? Did it bring anything back? Do you still think about us the way I do? But he keeps them locked away.
For now, this is enough. Sitting across from you, your smile lit by the glow of the setting sun through the restaurant windows, while his song plays between you like a secret only the two of you fully understand. When the next track starts and the moment gently passes, Chris knows one thing for certain— If there’s still a way to get back to you, he’s going to find it.
The walk back to the studio is slow. Not because the distance is long, but because neither of you seems in any rush. You walk close, but not touching, hands brushing now and then like the universe is teasing him.
“So,” you say, glancing sideways at him, “tell me more. About the album. The tour. What’s going on?”
Chris exhales like he’s been waiting to be asked. “I still have a couple songs left to polish. It’s more personal this time. Rawer.” He pauses, then adds, “Maybe because I’ve had a lot to say lately.”
You nod, thoughtful. “I can tell. From the song earlier.”
Hearing that makes his heart skip and he slips his hands into the pockets of his jeans to stop himself from wanting to hold your hands.
“And the tour?” you prompt, tilting your head.
Chris gives you a crooked smile. “Kicking off in a few months. Just announced it. Big venues, long setlists, late nights. Chaos.”
You laugh softly, that warm sound he’s missed so much it almost hurts. Then he adds—too easily, carried by the soft buzz of being near you again—“Would be fun if you came.”
You look at him. Not shocked. You just smile, gentle and noncommittal. “If you bring along a chiropractor, maybe I will.”
He knows better than to expect more than that. Still, it’s enough to imagine it for a moment: you backstage again, or watching from the wings, or in the back of the tour bus listening to demos with your legs pulled up under you.
When you get to his studio, he unlocks the door and holds it open for you. It’s warm inside, a little messy, but alive. Guitars leaning against the wall, scribbled lyrics on whiteboards, an empty coffee mug dangerously close to the soundboard.
“Still smells like old amps and desperation,” you tease, stepping in.
Chris laughs. “Yeah, but now there’s a scented candle in the room. That's an upgrade.”
He pulls out another chair and pushes it close to his. He holds the back of the chair as you sit down. “Want to listen to some tracks I'm working on?” he offers.
“Sure. Why not?” You answer as you put your purse away to the side of the chair.
He pulls out a pair of headphones from the mixing board, fitting them gently over your ears. He queues up a track—unfinished, still rough around the edges—but it’s good. It’s honest. He watches you as you close your eyes, head tilted just slightly, listening like you always used to.
There’s something about the way you do it that brings everything back. All those years ago—him pacing nervously while you listened to his demos, waiting to see if you’d nod, or smile, or cry. You were always the first one to hear them. Always the one who knew what he was trying to say before he even said it out loud. And now, seeing you again like this… it makes something click inside him. Something quiet, but powerful.
You take the headphones off slowly when the track ends, blinking your eyes open. You don’t say much. Just, “It’s beautiful.”
He helps you take with the headphones, delicately—as if you’re made of something precious and irreplaceable. His fingers brush against your skin, a soft graze that lingers longer than it needs to. And then, almost without thinking, Chris lifts his hand to gently tuck a strand of your hair behind your ear, smoothing it into place with such tenderness it makes his own breath catch. You smile, the kind that slips past your lips when you’re not even trying and it makes something in his chest twist.
He turns his chair toward you, swivels it closer. His knees part wide, framing you between them, and his hands find yours—warm, steady, trembling just a little. His thumbs graze across your knuckles like he’s memorizing the feel of you all over again. Then he tilts his head, just enough to meet your eyes.
“I have something to tell you,” he says, low and unsure but resolute.
You nod, giving him your full attention. Always giving him your attention. That’s what he’s missed the most—the way you listen, not just with your ears but with your whole heart.
Chris inhales slowly, like the words are heavy and buried deep. “I’ve been thinking a lot lately,” he begins, voice soft but steady. “Feeling a lot. Mostly… regrets. Regrets about everything I didn’t say, and everything I didn’t do when I should have.”
He pauses, searching your eyes, afraid of what he’ll find in them—judgment, resentment, maybe even indifference. But all he sees is quiet patience. “I know you waited for me,” he says, voice breaking slightly around the truth of it. “I knew it back then, and I know it now. You waited. And I... I let that go.”
Chris swallows, fighting the ache that crawls into his throat. “I was scared that if I came back, I’d mess it all up again. That I’d ruin the good memories we had, ruin you. I thought I was protecting you by staying away. I told myself I was doing the right thing.” He gives a shaky laugh. “But I see it now—how wrong that was.”
He lets go of one of your hands, only to run his fingers through his hair, frustrated with himself, the years, the fear. “I was a coward. And I regret that more than anything.”
A long breath escapes him as he looks at you again, eyes searching, wide open, unguarded in a way only you have ever seen.
“I should’ve kept you close. I should’ve chosen you, over and over, no matter how scared I was. I should’ve tried. And now…” He trails off, the words catching on the weight of what’s between you.
“I don’t know if I still have a place in your life,” he says quietly, “but if I do—if there’s even the smallest chance—I want to do things right now. I want to try. I want to show you that I’m not that scared man anymore.”
He swallows thickly, voice turning hoarse with emotion. “Please... Let me try. Let me do it right this time.”
The silence that follows is sacred. He doesn’t fill it. He lets it settle around you both—thick with everything unsaid, everything still hanging in the air between two people who never really stopped loving each other. His hands are still in yours, waiting. His eyes still locked with yours, hopeful. Fragile. Open. And waiting for your heart to answer.
He doesn’t rush you, doesn’t fill the silence. He just sits there, heart in his throat, hands in yours, quietly praying that whatever you say next won’t destroy the small sliver of hope still beating inside his chest.
When you finally speak, your voice is soft—careful, like you're walking through something fragile. “Thank you, Chris,” you say, “for your honesty.”
Chris nods once, but the air in his lungs doesn’t move.
“All is forgiven,” you continue, and your hands wrap more firmly around his, grounding him. “And you’re doing the right thing now, Chris. By owning up to it. By being brave enough to say it out loud. That matters. That’s what I see. And I’m proud of the man you’ve become.”
Something cracks in him then—just a small fracture, but deep. It hits him harder than he expected. He leans into your praise like a parched man to water. The words feel like balm, like home, like forgiveness. Then your hand lifts to cup his jaw with such tenderness.
Chris exhales. His eyes flutter closed at the touch, and he leans into your palm without hesitation. He needs it more than he can admit. Has needed it for so long.
“I would be lying,” you begin again, “if I said I didn’t have regrets too.”
Chris opens his eyes again, slowly. You’re still there. Still looking at him like that. It takes everything in him to keep it together.
“I regret what I said that day. Telling you to go. Telling you to leave.” Your voice wavers. “Because even after all of that... the truth is, I will always want you in my life.”
The tightness in his chest swells as you continue with a steady smile on your face. “You’re Tigerlily’s father,” you say, your voice more certain now. “You’re someone I cherish. Someone I trust. Someone I can rely on with my whole heart.”
The air between you feels suspended, weighted with everything that could’ve been, everything that still aches. He stares at you, frozen. And then you smile—a sad, small smile that breaks his heart all over again. “You’re a good man, Chris,” you whisper. “But… I’m sorry. I can’t give you what you want.”
The words hit like a blow to the chest. He feels it physically, like his ribs have buckled inward. His lips part slightly, trembling. He doesn’t know how to answer. His voice gets trapped somewhere in his throat, tangled in the knot of tears forming behind his eyes.
And then—because you always try to ease the pain with light—you gently tease, “You know I didn’t come here for the band, right?”
Chris lets out a broken laugh, the sound shaky and thin. “Yeah,” he murmurs, blinking fast, “I figured.”
You shift slightly, both your hands resting over his in your lap now. Your fingers squeeze gently. “I came here to tell you that… Hyunjin proposed.”
You sniffle once. It’s quiet, restrained. He watches you try to hold it together, even as tears gloss over your eyes. “And I’m going to say yes.”
The world tilts a little. Chris forces himself to nod. Once. Twice. His jaw tightens, and he swallows hard to keep everything in. It doesn’t quite work.
“That’s… that’s great news,” he manages, but his voice breaks halfway through the sentence.
Tears slide down your cheeks. Still, you smile. “Yeah. I know. I’m just… surprised he even asked.”
Chris lets out a quiet sob masked as a chuckle, but a tear escapes, tracing the side of his face. “You shouldn’t be,” he says, voice thick. “You’re easy to love.”
You press your lips together, and then you whisper, “Thank you,” shakily, as another tear falls.
Then—without another word—you let go of his hands just long enough to wrap your arms around him. “I'm sorry, Chris,” you murmur with a shaky voice.
He doesn’t hesitate. His arms close around you, holding you so tightly he thinks maybe he can hold time still with it. And then—just like that—you’re both crying. Into each other. Into what was. What could’ve been. What still is.
Tears fall for the years you lost, the love you had, the dreams you once shared and still carry in different shapes. For Tigerlily. For the version of you both that still exists somewhere deep in the past, untouched by everything that came after.
In this moment, the past and present blur together. You hold each other in a silence full of everything: Regret. Gratitude. Closure. Love—still there, just changed.
-
Chris's fingers move over the strings with a practiced ease, but his heart is somewhere else—anchored to the figure sitting quietly on the leather couch at the far end of the studio, your hands resting on your lap, your smile soft and proud as your eyes follow him. You haven’t said much since your conversation. You didn’t have to. The silence is not heavy—it’s tender, like a song’s final chord ringing out in a room that still holds its echo.
You decided to stay just a little longer for him and he’s grateful for that. For this small mercy. For the way you still look at him like he matters. Even when you’ve already told him goodbye.
Chris glances your way mid-song and catches you mouthing the lyrics to him—because you know him that well, still. He almost falters. Almost. But he plays through it, letting the music carry him, letting it hold all the things he doesn’t have words for anymore.
When it's time for you to go, Chris’s chest caves in a little. He walks you down the hallway, your steps unhurried even though the world keeps spinning fast. When you reach the doors, he turns to face you, unsure how to say everything he feels with a single gesture. But you beat him to it by pulling him into a hug.
He folds into it instantly, arms wrapping tight around your body, chin resting lightly atop your head. You smell like lavender and plane rides and memories, and the way you hold him makes him want to believe—for a split second—that he still has time to make this right, but he doesn’t and he knows it.
When you pull back, your hands find the sides of his face. You look up at him, gaze steady and full of something ancient and kind—something that says: I loved you once. I always will.
Your thumbs brush gently along his cheekbones, and then you lean in and place the softest kiss on his cheek. It feels like the closing of a chapter. You step back and smile a brave yet aching smile.
“Bye, Chris,” you whisper and then you get into the backseat of a taxi, the door shutting with a quiet finality.
Chris stands at the curb, watching as the car pulls away, as the silhouette of you fades behind the glass, and eventually, out of sight. He knows—he knows deep in his bones—that this time, it wasn’t him who left. It was you and somehow, that makes it feel real.
He stuffs his hands into his pockets and exhales slowly. The ache in his chest doesn’t scream. It lingers. A dull, persistent throb beneath the ribs. Not unbearable—but unforgettable. He turns to walk back inside the studio. The place where songs are born. Where some are about heartbreak, others about healing. Where maybe, if he’s lucky, he can turn this pain into something beautiful again. Because this is what love does when it’s real: It doesn’t beg. It doesn’t chase. It lets go.
-
The morning light pours in through your bedroom window—soft and golden, like a gentle promise. You open your eyes, your body still heavy from sleep, your heart a little lighter than it was yesterday. The ache from the flight home still lingers in your bones, and the weight of your tears feels like it carved a small space inside your chest. A space you didn't know you needed to empty. But it’s a new day and with it, a new chapter begins.
You sit up slowly, letting the hush of morning settle around you like a shawl. Yesterday is gone, folded away like an old letter you won’t read again for a while. You let go. You grieved. You honored what was. But today—you choose something new.
You shower, get your hair styled, pick out your favorite dress. You smooth your hands over your outfit and check your reflection, and it hits you—how calm you feel. How strong. The kind of strength that doesn’t shout. It just is.
Before heading out, your eyes drift toward the drawer. The box is still there and then you open it. Inside, the ring glints under the morning light. The ring Hyunjin placed in your palm so gently, telling you to keep it safe until you were ready. No pressure. No rush. Just love, waiting patiently.
You reach for it and hold it in your fingers, feeling the weight of it—not just gold and stone, but everything it stands for. The tenderness of his voice. The steadiness of his love. The way he never once asked you to choose, only offered you something beautiful and waited for your heart to meet him halfway.
You glance at the mirror, meet your own gaze. Am I ready?
The question floats in the quiet like mist. But deep down, you know the answer. Yes. Not because the past didn’t matter, but because it did and it brought you here.
You slip the ring onto your finger and god—it fits like it’s always been meant to be there. A promise, not just of love, but of healing. Of choosing joy after the storm. Of saying yes to the life in front of you.
You press your palm to your chest for a moment, breathe deep, and smile at your reflection. And with that, you grab your bag, step out into the world, and begin again—heart first, ring shining, ready to embrace love whatever comes next.
When you step into Hyunjin’s studio, the energy in the room is different—brighter, buzzing. Lights flash, cameras hum softly, and there's the low murmur of a crew conducting an interview. You pause by the door, quietly staying just out of frame as to not interrupt their work.
Hyunjin sits effortlessly poised, one leg crossed over the other, his blue sweater hugging his frame in a way that pulls your breath short. The color makes his skin glow, makes his presence magnetic. He speaks slowly, thoughtfully, answering questions with that graceful sincerity he always carries like a second skin, the kind that draws people in.
And then, Hyunjin sees you just for a second but it's enough to make his composure breaks. His lips part into a smile that doesn’t belong to the cameras or the crew—it’s yours. A quiet flash of warmth just for you before he returns his focus to the interviewer. Then it hits you that this beautiful man loves you and he wants to spend his forever with you.
All of a sudden the ring on your finger feel like a sun pulsing against your skin. You look at it and reminded of the fact that he chose you and you chose him back. You press your fingers to your chest, feeling it rise with every full breath. The love is there—alive, humming beneath your ribs, ready to meet his halfway.
When the interview wraps, Hyunjin barely waits for the final thank-you before he’s moving, threading through the set like a current pulled by gravity. You. His eyes are already locked on yours, bright and searching, and you start walking too, closing the distance.
The interviewer catches sight of you approaching and tilts her head curiously. “May I know who is this?” she asks, almost playfully.
Before Hyunjin can open his mouth, you step forward and offer your hand at her. “I’m his fiancée,” you say with a quiet kind of confidence that blooms in your chest as soon as the words leave your lips.
It stuns Hyunjin and you don't miss the way his gaze flickers down to your hand. He takes it gently, turns it over, his thumb brushing against the ring like he’s confirming it’s real. His eyes widen at the sight and then that slow, glorious smile spreads across his face, lifting his cheeks, softening every edge of him.
“Yes,” he says, his voice rich with pride. “She is... my fiancée.”
The interviewer offers a warm congratulations to both of you before turning to face the crew who begins tidying up their stuff around the studio.
When the two of you finally alone, the quiet wraps around you. Hyunjin raises your hand again, reverent. He leans in, lips brushing just below the band—a kiss so gentle, so full of awe. Then his arms fold around you, firm and close, and he presses a kiss to your forehead. You feel his breath when he whispers into your hair, still in disbelief, “My fiancée. Mine.”
You smile against his chest, heart spilling over with emotion. “Yes,” you whisper back, “yours.”
And in that studio—surrounded by the art he made, old echoes and new promises—the two of you hold each other like the world outside doesn’t matter. Because right now, this one moment belongs only to you, just you and him. Always.
-
The rain comes out of nowhere—sharp and sudden, like the sky couldn't hold it in any longer.
Hyunjin is still holding your hand when the first drops hit the windshield, and even as the wipers sweep across the glass, you can feel the shift in the air. The city blurs outside, streaked with silver. Inside the car, it’s quiet and Hyunjin keeps sneaking glances at your hand resting in his. Specifically, the ring.
His thumb runs over it every now and then, like he’s reassuring himself it’s real. That you’re real. That this is happening. He doesn’t say anything, but the smile tugging at his lips says enough. He’s in awe.
“You keep staring,” you tease, voice low and affectionate.
“I can’t help it,” he murmurs, not looking away. “You have no idea how many times I’ve imagined this. And now it’s real.”
You squeeze his hand back, heart swelling just as the rain turns torrential, hammering against the roof like a drumroll. By the time he pulls into your driveway, it’s pouring.
“Ready?” he grins, slipping off his jacket as if preparing for battle.
“I have to,” you playfully answer with a soft laugh.
He throws his jacket over both of your heads, holding you tightly against his side as you make a mad dash through the rain. Still, it doesn’t help much. The rain soaks through your clothes, cold and relentless, but all you can do is laugh—loud and breathless—until the two of you stumble through your front door, dripping and shivering and wrapped in each other.
“Okay,” Hyunjin says between pants, “that was... cinematic.”
“Cinematic?” you echo, raising an eyebrow as you try to wring out your sleeves.
He steps closer. His wet hair sticks to his forehead. “Yeah. Like the part right before the characters rip each other’s clothes off.”
You burst out laughing, but he’s already tugging you gently by the hand, guiding you toward the stairs. Clothes are peeled off and left in a trail across the hallway—shirts, jeans, socks, everything—until you’re both naked, skin still damp, hair clinging to your necks.
In your bedroom, the world finally quiets.
Hyunjin pulls you onto the bed, his arms wrapping around you Your legs tangle beneath the covers, cold feet pressing together for warmth. He tilts your chin up and kisses you—slow, unrushed, like he has nowhere else to be but here, tasting the rain on your lips.
His hand cups your jaw, the pad of his thumb stroking your cheek as your mouths meet again and again, softer each time. You shift closer, melting into him, slightly shivering as your skin presses to his. Warmth blooms between your bodies, gentle and unhurried, like sunlight pushing through gray clouds.
When he pulls back for just a breath, his eyes are fixed on you—so full of love, it nearly unravels you. His fingers trace down your neck, over your collarbone, until they find your hand again. He kisses your knuckles, just below the ring, and murmurs against your skin. “This… this is where I want to be.”
It’s hard to breathe with how much you’re feeling. He kisses the curve of your shoulder, the underside of your jaw, the soft spot just beneath your ear where your pulse beats wild. His hand—warm, reverent—trails down your chest, the slow drag of his knuckles along your sternum drawing goosebumps in its wake.
You want to stay in this moment, wrapped in heat and affection and the quiet thrum of his love for you, but there’s something nestled deep inside you, a thought that won’t let go. You don’t want to ruin this, but you know you’ll regret it more if you keep it inside. So you reach for him, gently cradling the side of his face, and he stills under your touch. His dark eyes meet yours immediately, searching, attentive, all in.
“Hyunjin…” you begin, softly, “are you really going to marry me?”
His brow furrows just slightly. He opens his mouth, but you keep going, needing him to hear it all.
“I’m not just talking about now. I mean everything—my age, this old body, the fact that the possibility of growing this family is… small. I just need to know you won’t look back one day and think you could’ve had more.”
The room falls quiet for a second, the kind of silence that feels full, not empty. Then Hyunjin leans into your palm and kisses it, slow and sure. He doesn’t let go of your hand when he speaks.
“And I’m young,” he says. “I’m stubborn as hell. I’m still figuring myself out. I'm inexperienced in a lot of things. I mess up sometimes.” He pauses, then a playful smile tugs at his lips. “And let’s face it—this beautiful face? It’s not gonna last forever. Gravity’s gonna come for me too. Are you okay with that?”
You huff a laugh, the tension breaking slightly. “I’ll still find you beautiful.”
He grins, boyish and full of light. “And I’ll always find you beautiful. Always.”
Your chest tightens at his words. The way he says them. So simple. So certain. So Hyunjin.
“As long as I’m with you,” he says, voice soft but sure, “I have everything I need. I don’t want more. I want you.”
And just like that, your insecurities melt away.
You kiss him again, unable to stop yourself. It’s deep and slow and full of something aching. You’re not even sure what it is—gratitude, relief, love. Maybe all of it. Maybe more.
He pulls back just slightly, lips still brushing yours. “When I said I’m inexperienced in a lot of things…” he begins, his eyes dancing with mischief, “I didn’t mean sex. I’m very, very good at that.”
You burst into laughter, shaking your head. “Jury's still out.”
But your voice is thick with affection, and when he kisses you again, you let him. Then, with a sudden grin, he leans in and murmurs against your lips, “I think we should at least try for a sibling for Tigerlily.”
You cackle, smacking his chest. “You’re insatiable.”
“Only for you,” he grins, and this time, he kisses you like a promise, his mouth slanting over yours with growing urgency.
When you fall back into the bed, with his body covering yours and laughter still clinging to the air, you know there’s nowhere else you’d rather be. The storm is behind you. The future is yours. And this—this love—is your beginning.
-
Hyunjin kisses you like it’s his devotion. Every inch of your skin, every curve, every breathless gasp you make—he treats it like something to cherish. His lips are warm and slow, trailing over your collarbone, down your chest, between your breasts, lower still. And every time he pauses to press his mouth against you, it’s as if he’s trying to tell you something in a language only your body understands.
“Hyunjin...” You whisper, a quiet plea that carries more want than words can shape. He hears it. He always does.
When his plush, red lips reach the part of you aching for him, you feel your breath catch in your throat. He doesn’t rush. His hands spread over your thighs, grounding you, anchoring you to this moment—this tenderness, this hunger. And then, when you give in, when you open yourself to him completely, he places a tender kiss right on the clit like he means to unravel you.
He opens his mouth and take your quivering cunt into his mouth. His movements are sure, gentle, yet insistent. Every lick between the fold, every flick of his tongue on your clit, every time he plants his mouth and hums against your most sensitive skin sends shivers cascading down your spine. You arch toward him instinctively, fingers gripping the sheets, your mind blissfully blank but for the sensation of his love being poured into every movement.
You surrender—body and heart—letting yourself be loved, letting yourself feel worthy of it. With Hyunjin, it’s not just pleasure. It’s worship. It’s love.
Hyunjin doesn’t stop until your body trembles beneath his mouth, until he feels you come completely undone in his arms, flooding his mouth with your sweet essence. He stays with you through it—hands holding you gently, lips pressing fluttering kisses along the inside of your thigh, then upward across your soft belly, easing you back into your breath, your body, your heart.
As he looks up at you through dark lashes with his mouth glistening wet from what he's done, your heart stutters at the sight. This is real. He’s real. And he’s yours.
By the time his lips find yours again, your chest rises with every deep, sated breath. He kisses you slowly, letting you taste the truth of his love on his tongue, letting it linger. When he pulls back with a soft gasp, his eyes are heavy, darkened with awe and wonder.
“I can’t believe,” he breathes, eyes roaming over your flushed, glowing body, “that I get to have all of this… just for myself.”
You smile at that, heart full, and slide into his lap, straddling him with the ease of someone who’s always belonged there. His arms immediately wrap around you, pulling you close like he never wants to let go. His lips find yours again, then trail along your jaw, your neck, soft murmurs escaping between kisses.
“I can’t believe I get to have you like this,” he whispers into your ear, voice low and reverent, “every day… for the rest of my life.”
Your breath hitches as he begins to kiss your neck, nibbling playfully at the sensitive skin, pulling a surprised yelp and a burst of laughter from your lips. Then his mouth trails lower again, deliberate and warm, until he buries it between your breasts. His hands slide up your sides to cup you fully, gently kneading, molding, lifting your breasts in his big hands.
You watch with a soft moan as he brings your breasts together, his mouth moving between them, tongue teasing and swirling, then enveloping your sensitive skin with aching tenderness. The sensation—his mouth, his hands, the look in his eyes—leaves you dizzy.
When he finally pulls back, his lips are red and swollen, damp with devotion. He looks up at you, gaze blazing with affection, and whispers hoarsely, “Mine.”
Then he leans in and kisses you again, deep and slow, until everything else fades but the feeling of him—warm, real, and undeniably yours.
You wrap your arms around his broad shoulders, deepening the kiss as your hips begin a slow, deliberate grind against his. His breath hitches—caught somewhere between restraint and desire—and when he whimpers softly into your mouth, it sends a shiver down your spine.
“Do you want to be inside me?” you whisper against his lips, your voice velvet and warm.
Hyunjin’s eyes flutter open, dazed and shining with emotion. “Yes,” he breathes out, voice low and ragged. “God, yes.”
You press a tender kiss to the corner of his mouth before propping yourself up on your knees, his hands steadying you instinctively. “You can have all of me,” you murmur, looking right into his eyes. “Because I’m yours. All yours.”
His gaze softens, awe-struck—like he can hardly believe this moment is real. You lean in to kiss him again, slow and savoring, as you drag your hand down his front until you meet his hardening member. Wrapping your fingers around his length, you stroke him slowly, feeling him pulse in your palm as his head drops to your shoulder with a shaky exhale.
There's no hiding it, you want it just as much, aching to have him inside you and becoming one with him. You guide his swollen cock to your entrance, your fingers pressing into his shoulders as your body eases down—inch by aching inch.
Hyunjin's pupils are blown wide, eyes locked on yours with a kind of reverence that steals your breath. His grip on your waist tightening as he lets himself feel it all—how close you are, how warm, how utterly his. His mouth falls open with a quiet gasp, and you press your forehead to his, fiercely holding his gaze.
“I’m going to take all of you,” you murmur against his parted lips, your voice low and intimate. “Because it’s all mine.”
He nods—helpless, overwhelmed—and his hands tremble slightly where they hold your waist. You nudge your lips against his, your breath mingling with his as you ask softly, “Am I taking you well?”
His eyes glancing down to where your bodies are connected, the way his cock disappeared into you and the way you're taking all of him. He licks his lips, eyes glazed with awe and devotion. “So well,” he whispers. “Too well.”
He doesn’t hold back the sounds he makes. He never does with you. And when you finally have all of him—buried completely inside—you both exhale together, a matched sigh that feels like relief and home all at once.
You stay still, breathing him in, adjusting to the feeling of having him this close, this deep. One hand slides up to cup his jaw as you press soft kisses along his cheek, his temple, then finally his lips again.
“You have all of me now,” you whisper, smiling gently.
Hyunjin wraps his arms around you, holding you as if he’ll never let go. He presses his face into the crook of your neck and breathes you in before murmuring softly, like a prayer, “All mine.”
The rhythm between you and Hyunjin slows into something deeper, more intimate—every movement a silent confession, every touch a vow. His breath is hot against your mouth as he kisses you in between soft, breathless murmurs. You watch him with tender eyes as he trembles under you, overwhelmed by the connection, the intimacy, the sheer weight of finally having all of you again. And in that shared breath—hearts racing, bodies intertwined—it’s not just about the pleasure. It’s about the trust. The surrender. The love.
“So beautiful… all mine… you feel like heaven,” he whispers, the words tangled with sighs and kisses, his hands roaming your back, your waist, as if trying to memorize every inch of you.
You move with him, anchored in his warmth, in his gaze, in the way he looks at you like nothing else in the world matters. His kisses grow desperate as the moment builds—more lingering, more intense—until he finally buries his face in the crook of your neck. You feel every shiver, every flutter of breath, the slightest of noises escaping his lips so close to your ear that it sends goosebumps down your spine.
When he finally gives in to release, coming inside you with his arms lock tighter around you, his body trembling with the depth of it. You hold him close, your fingers threading through the back of his damp hair as his hips still against yours. Even as he’s overwhelmed, he turns his head just enough to look at you through his lashes—eyes glazed and heavy with emotion.
His hand drifts slowly over the arch of your back, fingers brushing your spine in a soothing motion as he breathes, “Take all of me…”
And you do—you stay still as you feel his hot seed spilling inside you, filling you to the brim and then you lean in, your mouth finding his in a kiss that says everything your heart is too full to express. A kiss that promises you’ll never let him question how deeply he is loved.
The world slows as you're wrapped in each other's warmth, the sound of rain now a distant murmur against the windows. You're tucked into Hyunjin’s side beneath the covers, your body still humming with the afterglow of everything you just shared. His arms wrap around you, one hand gently brushing along your back while the other lifts to hold yours. He brings your hand to his lips and kisses your fingers one by one before resting them over his heart. His eyes find yours—soft, warm, filled with emotion.
“Thank you for choosing me,” he whispers, his voice still thick with awe.
Your chest tightens, not with pain, but with something deeper. Something steady. You turn slightly, facing him more fully, and brush your thumb across his cheek.
“Thank you for choosing me,” you whisper back, meaning every word. For loving you through the layers of your past. For believing in the future, even with its unknowns.
Hyunjin’s smile is soft and quiet, like a secret only you get to know. He pulls you in tighter, tucks your head beneath his chin, and plants a kiss to your forehead that feels like a promise.
“I love you,” he murmurs, the words settling into your skin, into your heart.
“I love you too,” you whisper back with eyes closed, letting the comfort of his embrace lull you to peace.
And as sleep slowly claims you both, you feel it—the quiet certainty that no matter what life brings, you’ve found your home in each other.
-
The night hums quietly outside the glass-paneled walls of the gallery, where soft lights glow like stars suspended in time. The space is quiet, sacred—paintings and sculptures standing as silent witnesses to something deeply human and timeless. It’s not a grand venue. It doesn’t need to be. It's personal, carefully chosen. Every detail speaks of you and Hyunjin.
He stands at the end of the aisle in a perfectly tailored tuxedo, his dark hair brushed back, a nervous smile playing on his lips, eyes fixed on you like you’re the only thing that exists. You walk toward him in a simple white dress—one you found with Tigerlily just the day before. It wasn’t extravagant. It was simply… you. When Hyunjin sees you, his lips part ever so slightly, like he's breathless, stunned by the sight of the life he’s about to begin.
“You’re so beautiful,” he mouthed with a tender gaze that only meant for you.
The ceremony begins in quiet murmurs and soft glances. The hush in the room feels sacred, like everyone present knows how much this means. You’re surrounded by those who matter most. And art. So much art. It feels fitting—the kind of wedding that doesn’t need to be loud, but one that breathes.
When it’s time for the vows, Hyunjin pulls a folded piece of paper from his pocket. You already know what it is. His voice is calm but trembling as he begins to read the love letter he wrote for you aloud, each word soaked in emotion, each phrase hitting your heart like a note from a familiar song. He doesn’t look at the paper much—he’s memorized it. His gaze is locked on you, unwavering, like the words are coming from his soul, not just his lips.
My Love, I’m writing this under the hush of midnight, when everything is quiet enough for my heart to speak. I don’t know if I’ll ever have the words to match what I feel for you, but I want to try—because you deserve every syllable, every soft confession, every unspoken truth that lives in me. From the moment you looked at me—really looked at me—I haven’t been the same. You saw me in a way no one ever has. Not just the parts I put forward, but the quiet ones, the bruised ones, the ones I didn’t know how to love. And somehow, you loved them anyway. You loved me anyway. You are the art I never knew I was meant to live inside. You are light when I feel gray, rhythm when I lose the beat, breath when I forget to breathe. Loving you doesn’t feel like falling—it feels like coming home. There are days I watch you and feel overwhelmed by the simple fact that you chose me. That you still choose me—every day, every quiet morning and every chaotic night. That you trust me with your joy, your pain, your dreams. I don’t take it lightly, love. I hold it in both hands, carefully, like something sacred. Because it is. If this world were to vanish and everything I knew disappeared, I would still find my way to you. I believe in us like I believe in sunrise. I don’t need to see it to know it’s coming. And when we’re old and gray, when our hands are more weathered but still entwined—I’ll still look at you the way I do now. Like you’re everything. I love you more than I can say. But I’ll spend my life showing you.
You swallow down tears, your chest aching in the best possible way. With every line, he’s not just reading—he’s confessing. Declaring. Loving.
And when he finishes—“Forever yours, Hyunjin.”—his voice is barely a whisper. But everyone hears it. Everyone feels it.
You murmur the same words back to him, trembling. “Forever yours.”
The rings come next. He slips yours onto your finger with steady hands, and you do the same, your fingers lingering against his. A symbol, a promise. Not just of today, but of all your days to come.
When the officiant pronounces you married, time slows for a beat—then quickens with the thrill of love. You and Hyunjin lean forward at the same time, your lips meeting in a kiss that is neither rushed nor showy. It’s deep and soft, a sealing of everything: the journey, the loss, the choice, the joy. The art of loving one another completely.
When you pull away, your foreheads press together. You smile. He smiles. And somewhere in the silence, in the gentle applause of your loved ones, in the weight of the rings now wrapped around your fingers—you know: This is your forever.
-
The rooftop is awash in golden twilight, strung with warm lights swaying gently in the evening breeze. From here, the city stretches out below like a living canvas, humming softly beneath the stars. The reception is intimate, just like the ceremony—low music, clinking glasses, and laughter shared between family and friends.
You step away from the soft chatter and into the arms of Tigerlily, who finds you near the edge of the rooftop where the sky meets the skyline. She’s already teary-eyed when she hugs you, and you feel her emotions trembling through her fingertips.
“I’m so happy for you, Mom,” she whispers, her voice catching as she smiles through her tears. “You look beautiful… really, really happy.”
Your throat tightens as you hug her back, heart full. “Thank you, honey. That means the world coming from you.”
She nods against your shoulder. For a long moment, the two of you just breathe each other in—the way mothers and daughters do when words don’t quite cover the weight of a moment.
You pull away gently, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear, and then you ask, carefully, “Your Dad… did he make it?”
Tigerlily’s smile dims just a little, replaced by something soft and apologetic. “He's busy with tour prep, but he sent his love, though. And congratulations.”
You nod, slowly. “Of course. I figured.” You offer a smile, but it doesn't quite reach your eyes. “That’s okay.”
But it stings, even if you won’t say it aloud. It’s not anger. Just a quiet sadness—a longing to share this milestone with someone who once shared a different chapter of your life. Someone who knew you then, and who would’ve understood what it meant for you to arrive here.
Tigerlily squeezes your hand gently. “He would’ve come if he could, you know that.”
You nod again, giving her a final, loving squeeze. “I know.”
The music swells softly in the background, and Hyunjin’s voice drifts from somewhere behind you. You turn and see him, standing just a few steps away. His tuxedo jacket is slightly wrinkled now, his hair tousled from the breeze, but his smile is radiant and fixed only on you.
You excuse yourself gently from Tigerlily and cross the rooftop to where he waits. He extends his hand toward you, and when you take it, he presses a kiss to your fingers. But his eyes are searching yours now, reading past your smile. “Are you okay?” he asks softly, low enough that no one else can hear.
You glance away for a beat. “Yeah. Just… thinking.”
Hyunjin leans in, touching his forehead to yours. “Was it Chris?”
Your eyes flicker up to his in surprise, but he’s not asking with judgment—only understanding. You exhale slowly. “I just… I wish he were here.”
Hyunjin nods, brushing his thumb gently over your knuckles. “I’m sorry.”
You shake your head with a small smile. “It’s okay. This is still the happiest I’ve ever been.”
When you say it, you mean it. Because in this moment, under the open sky with the stars above and Hyunjin’s hand holding yours, you feel it—peace, love, and a future you chose. One that chose you right back.
Hyunjin pulls you in close, resting his cheek against your temple. “Let me make up for it,” he murmurs. “Dance with me?”
You smile, your heart blooming again. “Take me away.”
Your arms are wrapped around Hyunjin as the two of you sway to the gentle rhythm of a slow song under the open sky dipped in soft golden light, the breeze warm and sweet, and for a moment, everything fades—there's only the way Hyunjin’s hand settles on the small of your back, the way he looks at you like you’re his whole universe. You lean your head against his shoulder, eyes closed, letting the warmth of the moment soak into your skin, and then the music fades out.
A brief pause fills the air, and then—another sound begins. The unmistakable pluck of a guitar string. A familiar voice follows, raw and honey-warm, pouring into the night like a secret being sung aloud.
You lift your head and your eyes snap toward the stage—and there he is. Chris. He stands beneath the string lights, guitar in hand, wearing a suit—but in true Chris fashion, the tie’s nowhere to be found and the top three buttons of his white shirt are undone. His dark hair is pushed back, messy and deliberate, and his eyes are locked on you as he sings the first verse of your favorite love song.
A laugh breaks from your lips, thin and shaky with disbelief, and your hand flies to your mouth as tears prick your eyes. Chris is here. Your gaze shifts to Hyunjin first, finding him smiling too, gently, knowingly. “You did this?” you whisper.
“I knew how much you wanted him here,” he says, brushing your cheek with his thumb. “And how much it would mean.”
Overwhelmed, you throw your arms around him and kiss him—softly, gratefully, with every ounce of love you carry for him.
And then, with your hand in his, you turn toward Tigerlily next, and she’s already smiling at you through happy tears of her own. She mouths across the rooftop, “It’s called a surprise for a reason.”
Chris keeps singing, his voice unwavering as it fills the rooftop with old feelings wrapped in new joy. He smiles at you—not the smile of a man you used to love, but the smile of a friend who still knows you, who came because it mattered.
You and Hyunjin begin to sway again, dancing slowly to the song Chris sings. His voice carries through the night like a blessing, tying your past and your present together in a way only music can. The lights seem to shimmer a little brighter. The stars lean in just a little closer. And just like that—this wedding becomes something else entirely. A moment suspended in time. A night where love, in all its forms, is here. Seen. Felt. Celebrated.
The final chord fades into the night, and for a heartbeat, there's only silence. Then the rooftop erupts into warm applause—but none louder than yours. You clap, tears shining in your eyes, a proud smile stretched across your lips as Chris bows his head lightly, grinning.
He sets the guitar aside and steps down from the makeshift stage, making his way toward you through the small crowd of guests. And as soon as he's within reach, you throw your arms around him.
“Chris,” you murmur, voice cracking as you bury your face into his shoulder. “I’m so happy you’re here.”
You feel his laugh against your cheek. “I intentionally came late,” he says, pulling back just enough to flash you a teasing grin, “or else I would have taken you away.”
A soft laugh escapes your lips, still wet with tears. “God, you’re impossible.” But even so, you shake your head and look him in the eyes. “Still—thank you. I’m really happy you're here.”
He smiles then, soft and sincere, and you reach up, cupping his jaw with one hand the way you always used to when words failed. “Thank you for coming,” you whisper again.
Chris glances over your shoulder for a moment and smirks. “I came because I owed Hyunjin.” He shoots a mock glare at Hyunjin across the rooftop, and you laugh through your tears.
“Then I guess I owe him too,” you murmur, your voice thick with emotion.
Chris takes both of your hands in his and looks at you with a fondness carved deep from time and history. “You look beautiful,” he says. “Really. I’m happy for you.”
Your breath stutters in your chest, and you nod, unable to hold back the tears that rise again. “Thank you, Chris,” you say, and the weight of everything in your chest softens.
He pulls you into another hug, tighter this time, and neither of you speaks—just lets the emotion pour wordlessly into the space between you, overflowing from a lifetime’s worth of love in all its forms.
“Okay, okay, I want in,” Tigerlily says, stepping in and wrapping her arms around both of you.
You and Chris burst into teary laughter as the three of you huddle together, sandwiching her in a tight embrace. It's warm and slightly awkward and so full of love that it makes your chest ache. It’s a moment that isn’t perfect because of what it lacks—but because of what it has. Three hearts that have seen the worst, lived through the ache, and still found their way back to one another. Not as what they once were. But as what they are. Family.
You and Tigerlily slowly loosen your arms from around Chris, letting him go with a final squeeze as he makes his way back to the stage. He picks up the guitar again, and with an easy smile, steps up to the mic.
“This next one’s for the bride and groom,” Chris says, his voice echoing warmly across the rooftop.
A flutter of excitement stirs in your chest just as Hyunjin finds his way back to your side, resting his hand gently on the small of your back. You glance up at him, your heart already swelling.
Chris looks over at the two of you with a mischievous grin, and his voice drops to that playful drawl. “Gotta be honest, I’m feeling tempted to do another somersault tonight… maybe have another shot at stealing the bride from you, Hyunjin.”
The rooftop bursts into laughter, just as Hyunjin instinctively wraps both arms around your waist from behind, holding you like you might suddenly be swept away.
“Not a chance!” Hyunjin calls back, grinning so wide it lights up his whole face.
Chris laughs and sucks air through his teeth. “Well... Worth a try.”
“Don’t even think about it, Dad!” Tigerlily yells from across the rooftop, arms crossed with faux sternness.
Chris throws his head back with a chuckle, nodding. “Alright, alright, no acrobatics tonight.” He adjusts the strap of his guitar and strums the first few chords—recognizable instantly to everyone gathered.
A Bang Theory classic. The rooftop erupts. Guests shout the opening lines before Chris even sings them, and within seconds, everyone is singing and swaying, some dancing wildly to the thrumming beat of the familiar rock song. The night turns electric, laughter and music rolling like waves through the warm air.
You and Tigerlily grab each other’s hands and sing every word, voices rising over the music, the lyrics etched into your bones from years of loving this song. The two of you belt out the chorus with so much joy it almost feels like the stars are singing along.
In the middle of it all, you turn—heart pounding from the music and laughter—and find Hyunjin watching you. He’s not singing. Not dancing. Just watching. With that look. That look of pure love and disbelief, like he still can’t wrap his head around the fact that you’re his.
The smile on your lips falters—not from sadness, but from being overwhelmed. Words dissolve in your throat, so you do the only thing you can do: you slip your arms around him and press your face into his chest.
He chuckles low, warm, and presses a kiss to the top of your head. “You happy?” he asks softly.
You lean back, just enough to look at him, and your eyes shine in the rooftop lights. “The happiest day of my life.”
Hyunjin’s smile deepens just before he leans in to kiss you—slow and soft, the kind that anchors you in the moment. There, in the middle of the music and lights and laughter, with the man you once loved singing a song for the love of your life, everything folds into itself—past, present, and future blurring into a single, breathtaking now. A night stitched together with art, with family, with music, and with a love so full it spills into forever.
-
A FEW MONTHS LATER
The room is quiet, bathed in the soft golden hue of the afternoon sun slipping through the hospital curtains. You’re seated in a cushioned chair by the window, a small bundle wrapped in pink nestled in your arms. Her skin is impossibly soft, her breath barely a whisper, her little hand curling around your finger as if she’s known you forever. Something about it making you can’t stop looking at her.
“So pure,” you murmur, eyes glossy with wonder. “So beautiful. Look at you, sweetheart...”
Hyunjin leans over your shoulder, watching intently with that dreamy, dazed smile he wears every time something stirs his heart, and nothing stirs it more than seeing you holding this brand-new life.
“She looks just like you,” he says softly, eyes flicking from the baby’s nose to your own, then back again.
You glance up at him, amused. “You think so?”
Before Hyunjin can answer, a groggy voice grumbles from the hospital bed, “Excuse me. I'm the one who gave birth to her. She’s my daughter.”
You both turn to see Tigerlily propped up with pillows, her hair slightly disheveled, her hospital gown rumpled, but her face glowing even in exhaustion. She’s frowning—but only half-seriously. Then she sighs, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Well, not that I mind if she ends up looking like you, Mom.”
“She already has your lungs,” you say, chuckling, remembering the wailing cry the baby let out just hours ago.
Right on cue, Julian walks in carrying a plate of sliced fruit. “Lils,” he calls out gently, “you’ve got to eat something.”
He places the plate on her lap, then gives her a peck on the forehead before turning to you and Hyunjin. His eyes sparkle with mischief. “So… Hyunjin,” he drawls, “how does it feel to be a grandad?”
You barely have time to register the joke before Hyunjin calmly answers, “Makes me want to give Tigerlily a sibling.”
Tigerlily sputters, nearly choking on a slice of watermelon. “Hyunjin!” she gasps, wiping her mouth with a tissue. “Can we not talk about you and my mom having babies when I just had one?!”
You laugh so hard you nearly shake the baby in your arms. “Hey, be nice,” you tease, hissing playfully at your daughter, “that’s your step-dad you’re talking to.”
Tigerlily groans dramatically, leaning her head back on the pillow. “I’m never getting used to that.”
Julian raises a brow. “You might want to. Especially if you're about to get a new sibling.”
Laughter settling into soft chatter as everyone takes turns admiring the baby in Tigerlily’s arms. Julian is sitting beside her on the bed, gently brushing his thumb along their daughter’s impossibly tiny hand while Hyunjin sits beside you, fingers idly tracing shapes on your knee. Then, the door flies open with a bang, making everyone jumps a little.
Chris bursts in, completely out of breath, his hair wild like he’s been running through a wind tunnel. His shirt is slightly untucked, and he’s panting dramatically as he leans against the doorframe with one hand clutching his chest.
“Where—” he wheezes, “—where is my granddaughter?!”
You all stare at him for a beat, then burst into laughter.
Tigerlily cradles the baby closer to her chest and coos sweetly to her, “Look, baby girl, your rockstar grandad’s finally here.”
Chris straightens up, grinning as he rushes forward, hands instinctively reaching out. “Let me hold my little —”
You immediately intercept with a raised brow and a firm voice. “Chris. Wash your hands.”
He freezes mid-step, lips parted in protest, before he blinks at you and pouts like a scolded child. “Seriously? I just sprinted up three flights of stairs.”
“Then you wouldn't have any problems sprint to the sink,” you say, not budging.
Hyunjin chuckles behind you. “She’s been like this with all of us. I barely got to touch the blanket without scrubbing in first.”
Chris groans dramatically but heads to the sink without further protest. “This is cruel. I helped deliver you, remember?” he throws over his shoulder to Tigerlily.
Tigerlily grins. “You still have to wash your hands, Dad.”
Chris mutters something about being the most disrespected rockstar-grandpa in history, but a few minutes later, with freshly cleaned hands and a softened expression, he’s finally allowed to cradle his granddaughter in his arms.
The room quiets as Chris holds her—carefully, reverently—and the awe in his eyes is unmistakable. “Hi there,” he whispers. “I’m your grandad. I’m late, but I made it, my sweet angel.”
And in that sun-drenched room, with a baby dozing peacefully in Chris's arms and laughter still lingering in the air, you feel it again—that feeling of everything being exactly as it’s meant to be. A perfect, messy, beautiful family.
-
Everyone leaves the room as it's time for Tigerlily to nurse her baby. You and Chris slip away to the hospital’s small café tucked into a quiet corner. You cradle your paper cup between your palms, the warmth grounding you, and glance across the table at Chris, who’s already mid-sip.
“So,” you start, tilting your head, “how’s the tour been?”
Chris brightens instantly, that spark in his eyes returning like he’s flipping a switch. “Oh, it’s been wild—in the best way,” he says, leaning in like he can’t wait to tell you everything. “Seoul was insane. The crowd practically screamed my face off. And then Osaka—God, I forgot how good the food is there. Oh, and Tokyo. I think we were the loudest we’ve ever been on that stage.”
You smile, listening to the way his voice gets a little more animated with each city name he drops, hands gesturing just like he always does when he’s excited.
“And,” he adds with a smirk, “guess who’s tagging along now?”
You raise an eyebrow. “Who?”
“Riley,” he grins. “She’s officially our roadie-slash-my-personal-stylist. Kid’s getting way too into it. Told me I can’t wear ripped jeans over a certain age anymore. Can you believe that?”
You laugh, imagining it. “Sounds like someone’s getting bullied by their own child.”
“Oh, completely,” Chris nods solemnly. “And she’s proud of it.”
You shake your head, amused, and then Chris suddenly leans back, a softer grin spreading across his face as he pulls out his phone.
“And I moved on, by the way,” he says, out of nowhere.
Your brows rise slightly, curious. “Oh?”
He taps a few times on his screen, then turns the phone toward you. “Her name’s Blue.”
You expect a person. Instead, it’s a photo of a gorgeous Siberian husky sprawled across a hotel bed with one ear perked up, the other flopped sideways like a rebel.
“Her full name is Raspberry Blue,” he introduces with a sly grin.
You snort. “Wow. You really are good at creating names.”
“Look at her!” Chris says defensively, grinning. “She’s majestic. Loyal. Judgy as hell. She’s perfect.”
“She’s stunning,” you admit with a chuckle. “I might actually be a little jealous.”
Chris turns serious just long enough to say, “You should be,” before breaking into laughter again.
Then, after a sip of his coffee, he glances at you more gently and says, “You should come to one of our shows. I mean it.”
You smile, touched. “I’d love to, Chris.”
Silence settles comfortably between you, full of memories and the kind of understanding that needs no words. You look down at your cup, then back up at him. “You know,” you say softly, “you really don’t ever have to feel lonely. You’ve got your music, your band. You’ve got Riley. And now Blue.” You grin. “And you’ve got Tigerlily. And that beautiful little girl who’s going to grow up hearing stories about her grandad rocking out stadiums—and also spoiling her absolutely rotten.”
Chris looks down at his coffee, the corners of his mouth twitching with emotion. You reach across the table and place your hand over his. “And you’ve still got me. Always. Whenever you need me.”
He looks up at you then, and your reassuring smile seems to quiet something in him. He nods slowly, letting the words settle in his heart. “You’ll always have me too,” he says softly. Then, because he can’t help himself, he adds with a smirk, “Though, just putting it out there—if Hyunjin suddenly changes his mind, I’m still available.”
You smack his arm lightly, laughing. “Don’t worry. You're the first in line.”
“Glad to know.”
You squeeze his hand. “You’re something.”
Chris chuckles, then after a moment, he turns serious again. “Thank you,” he says, sincerely.
“Anytime,” you reply.
There’s a beat of quiet. Not awkward—just full. Then you say it, gently but with certainty: “I’ll always love you, Chris.”
He holds your gaze for a long moment, and something softens in his eyes. “I love you too,” he murmurs.
You smile at him, your chest full in the most bittersweet, beautiful way. You both know that this love is the kind that needs having, owning but it's lingering, it’s always there and always will be. And outside the window, the world keeps spinning—full of past and future and love that continues in all its forms.
-
You stand in front of the glass window of the neonatal room, arms crossed gently over your chest, watching your granddaughter sleeping peacefully in her bassinet among the quiet rows of other newborns. The soft hum of machines, the distant footsteps in the hallway, the faint scent of antiseptic—everything feels still, wrapped in a quiet lull. But it’s more than just the stillness. It’s the kind of peace that sinks into your bones.
There’s something indescribably profound about watching a new life begin—so small, so untouched by the weight of the world. It’s not just about the baby; it’s the way time seems to pause. The way, for the first time in a long time, you feel completely at ease. Like the chaos and heartache, the love and mistakes, the longing and the letting go… all of it has led to this still, beautiful moment.
As if this moment couldn't be more beautiful, a pair of arms wrap gently around you from behind, warm and familiar, pulling you in. You don’t have to look to know it’s Hyunjin—his touch is second nature by now, something you’d know in your sleep.
“I feel ignored,” he murmurs against your ear, his voice low and playful. “Now that you have a granddaughter.”
You turn your head slightly, catching his expression—a soft pout, exaggerated just enough to make you laugh. “Are you jealous?” you ask, teasing, but there’s love in every syllable.
Hyunjin nods immediately, his eyes wide and unashamed. “Terribly.”
You can’t help it—you lean forward and place a gentle kiss right on that pout, and he smiles instantly. “Let’s go home,” you whisper, and he nods as if he’s been waiting for you to say just that.
He takes your hand in his, fingers threading together like they always do, and together, you begin the quiet walk down the hallway, past sleeping corridors and glowing night lights. You talk about whether to stop for dinner—steak or pasta, maybe pick up something sweet on the way—and the conversation feels easy and soft, like an old favorite song.
As the automatic doors slide open and you step into the crisp evening air, you glance up at the stars beginning to appear in the darkening sky.
You think about everything you’ve lived through. You think about the girl you used to be—the one who loved with reckless hope and broke with silent grief. And you think about the woman you’ve become—the one who has loved again and again, and still opens her arms to the world without fear.
Here, in the quiet space between then and now, you understand something profound: Love—real love—always finds a way to keep growing.
-
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yellowharrington · 1 year ago
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save a horse (ride a cowboy!) -- joel miller x reader
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pairing + fandom: joel miller x reader, the last of us (hbo)
word count: 3.9k
warnings/notes: smut and porn!!! minors DNI, 18+!!! no outbreak!au. she/her pronouns used, afab!reader (with mentions of body parts), no use of y/n. age gap (joel is at least 10 years older). drinking (both reader and joel), unprotected PIV, oral (f receiving), spanking, dirty talk, car sex. if i missed anything lmk!
a/n: recommended listening: save a horse (ride a cowboy) by big & rich. honourable mention to austin by dasha bc it's been on repeat. please take the time to leave comments/reblog if you liked it <3 thank u for reading!! divider by @cafekitsune
summary: meeting an older man at the bar and spontaneously fucking him in his truck was not on your list of things to do for your first summer back in austin, but what can you do?
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You hate going dancing.
Sweaty clubs with bodies brushing up against one another, sticky with the hot summer heat, confined to the walls of a crowded bar and beer sticking to the bottom of your shoes. Not the way you plan to spend your first Saturday night back in Austin for the summer, but Maddy is so convincing, your hand clasped around yours, a pleading look in her eyes. 
“I promise. It’s so fun. We’ll invite Kaylee and Erin and it’ll be a whole thing.”
You rolled your eyes at her, slipping your hand out from between hers. “Fine. One drink, one dance.”
She squealed with excitement and clapped her hands together, stepping up from the small cafe table. “We can pregame at mine. Wear that black top you have.”
You nod, thinking of the top in question. A corseted black thing that didn’t leave much to the imagination, breasts spilling out of the stop beneath the tight stitching. You think it probably got shoved to the back of your closet somewhere.
~
Joel hates going dancing.
Well, he doesn’t hate dancing. He just isn’t good at it, and hasn’t gone since his very early twenties. And he certainly would not be interested in spending the evening with Tommy at a country bar in downtown Austin, surrounded by women who would grimace at a pair of old men taking up a table.
But Tommy is convincing, hands gesturing around him annoyingly, until Joel gives in. “Fine. One drink. Then I’m leavin’.”
“This city is swarming with beautiful women,” Tommy says, knocking back another sip of his hot coffee. “And you’re too holed up inside to meet any of ‘em.”
“I like my own company,” Joel starts, bringing his own coffee mug to the sink. “Some of us are happy by ourselves.”
Tommy snorts, a hand clapping onto Joel’s shoulder. “Keep tellin’ yourself that, big shot. We’ll see when there’s a bunch of hotties in front of ya, then you can tell me that you like being alone.”
Joel gags at his use of the word ‘hotties’, and pulls his work boots on. “I can still change my mind, ya know.”
Night falls over the suburbs of Austin, taking the sunshine but leaving the humid, sweet heat in the air. You’re surrounded by your friends at Maddy’s apartment, a light pink gloss swiping across your lips. You’ve managed to dig out the top she had mentioned earlier, tied in a tight bow at the back. Your dark jeans hit just below it, letting slivers of smooth skin show, which somehow seemed sluttier than the fact your boobs were practically falling out of the top. Your jeans outlined the plump curve of your ass, a pair of dark cowboy boots adorning your calves. The last time you’d dressed like this was a long time ago, so it felt a little foreign, but not uncomfortable.
The cab ride to the bar is eventful, with 4 girls singing along to the songs on the radio at the top of your lungs. You were already a drink or two deep, having done some brightly coloured shot at Maddy’s house, taking it without thinking. You still weren’t planning on doing anything insane tonight, and bar drinks were expensive, so this was probably the best it was going to get for you.
The car pulls up to the bar and waits for you all to pour out, flashing your IDs to the bouncer, sliding inside past the thrums of people already inside. The bar was almost full, dance floor packed, drinks being poured by every bartender. Neon signs and amber lamps served as the only lighting for the establishment, already making things feel fuzzy around the edges for you.
Joel sits at a rickety wooden table in the corner of the bar with Tommy, scratching the wet label off of his beer bottle. He had fished out a plaid t-shirt from his closet, his usual jeans taught across his thighs and a pair of nicer boots than his work ones on his feet. His hair was pushed back, curls still lapping at the nape of his neck and curves of his ear. He was noticeably older than the other patrons of the bar, painfully aware of that fact, he felt rather uncomfortable. Tommy didn’t seem to mind, feet tapping at the beer-washed hardwood. “Stop lookin’ so mad,” he remarks, close to Joel’s ear. “You’ll scare ‘em all away.”
There are groups of people pouring in from outside, bachelorette parties and frat boys, making Joel feel unbelievably out of place. It was hard to lighten up when he wasn’t sure exactly what he was doing here.
The doors open once more, your group of friends pushing their way through the sea of people, hand in hand. Joel notices, one girl in a cowboy hat, one in denim jean cutoffs, one with a big belt buckle that glints pink against the light. 
Then he notices you.
His face softens as you follow behind your friends, as they push to the front of the line for a drink. He’s got 10 years on you, easy, but that doesn’t stop his cock twitching against the zipper of his suddenly too-tight jeans.
Soft curves, a top that fits you just right, and jeans that accentuate the dips and lines of your body. You’ve got warm energy, a bright smile adorning your glossed lips. 
You barely even notice him, until you turn around and make eye contact, your shining eyes meeting his. He’s too handsome for his own good, biceps and shoulders pressed tight against the sleeves of his shirt. He’s got his thighs spread across the chair he’s sitting in, towards you, almost like he wants you to come and just sit right on his lap.
You offer a small smile across the dim bar, taking your drink and following your friends to the last open table they’d spotted. A high top, back to the stranger now, giving him the opportunity to see your shape. He swears you’re sticking your ass out on purpose, so he can see the soft skin where your jeans meet the bottom of your top. 
“Joel,” Tommy’s voice cuts through the bustle of the bar. “If you’re gonna be so fuckin’ miserable, we can go. There’s another place-“
Joel stops him, teetering his beer towards his brother. “This is fine. We can stay for another round.”
You pull yourself away from the group after finishing your round of sugary drinks and shots, your head beginning to buzz. “I’ll get the next ones,” you giggle, pushing yourself out of your seat and steadying yourself on the ground. “Green tea shots?” The girls hoot and holler back to you, as you turn on your heels towards the crowded bar. 
Joel gets up, almost looking panicked, when he sees that you’re leaving your group. He downs the rest of his beer and tips his head towards Tommy, as if to ask, “another?”. Tommy nods and sits back in his chair, continuing to observe. Joel makes a beeline, able to slide right beside you in line.
You can smell the cologne and laundry detergent on his clothes while he stands behind you, shuffling on his feet. You can almost feel his nerves, radiating off of his large form. 
He can smell your perfume and shampoo, it’s intoxicating. 
Joel is served first, the bartender leaning forward to listen to his request. “Two Buds, and uh,” you feel a soft hand on your shoulder. If you couldn’t see that it was him, someone would have a black eye.
“What are you drinkin’, darlin’?”
His voice is sweet like honey as he dips down to be so unbelievably close to your ear, his hand now on the side of your arm. Heat spreads up your neck at his proximity. 
“Oh, I’m getting like 4 shots, you don’t have to-“
“What kinda shots?”
“Uh, green tea. Green tea shots.”
“And four green tea shots.”
The bartender nods as Joel slides his cash across the bar, turning, and looking down at you slightly. You feel impossibly small in that moment.
“You really did not have to do that, thank you.” You’re on your tip toes, a hand pressed against his chest now, lips as close to his ear as you can get. 
He shivers. He can’t remember the last time someone was this close to him in this way. 
“No problem,” he waves it off, taking the two beers by the neck of the bottle and moving over slightly for you to grab the shots. 
Your ass brushes across the front of his jeans, and he knows it’s intentional.
“Thanks again for the drinks,” and you’ve disappeared back into the crowd in a second.
Oh. Nevermind.
He can’t help but feel a little dejected, slinking back to his seat with Tommy and passing him his beer. “Struck out, huh?”
“Shut up.”
Joel watches your table still, annoyed, but not entirely surprised. Pretty stupid of him to think you’d want to fraternize with a man such as himself, so much older than you. Maybe he’d come off too strong?
His head is all but hanging in his hands when he watches you get up again, your friends coming along with you. He averts his eyes in embarrassment, not noticing that you’re making your way over to his table.
Tommy notices.
“Ladies!” He draws out, hands thrown up in the air. Joel looks up then, locking in eyes with you immediately.
“Didn’t think I’d leave you hanging, did ya cowboy?” A smile tugs at his lips as you extend a hand to him. “After you were so nice?”
He laughs a little, your other friend taking a hold of Tommy and pulling him towards the crowded dance floor. He’s very easily persuaded.
“Come dance with me!”
“Oh, I’m not a dancer,” he laughs, warm and honeyed. It makes heat pool in your core.
“Neither am I. Come anyways.”
All he can do is obey, taking your hand and letting you lead him away from the table. 
~
The music pulses under your feet as you end up in a tight line, shoulder to shoulder. He can’t stop looking at you, leaning down to speak into your ear. 
“I wasn’t kiddin’ when I said I didn’t know how to dance,” he explains, and his breath is hot against the curve of your ear.
“Don’t worry, you’ll get it when we start goin’. Just follow me.”
And I saddle up my horse
And I ride into the city
I make a lot of noise
Cause the girls
They are so pretty
Joel’s eyes are parked on your body as you start to move along to the steps of the line dance, feet tapping against the hard wood of the floor beneath you. Your hands are up by your face, clapping along to the beat. He tries to follow along, at least stepping in the right direction, clapping at the right time, but it’s no use.
Your body is insatiable - hips rolling to the pounding music. The curves and lines of your ass, paired with the soft tissue of your breasts nearly busting out of the top you chose to wear. Your skin is supple, shining against the dance floor lights that are favouring him right now as he lets a red blush engulf the skin of his cheeks and neck. 
He wonders what it looks like underneath, peeled off and bunched up around your ankles, or thrown on the floor of his bedroom. He thinks of fingering the ties of your shirt, loosening them and pushing it off, his hand across the front of your throat as he makes you look at yourself. How pretty you are. Goosebumps spread across the exposed skin of his arm.
You grab his hand suddenly, and he’s taken out of his daydream. Your eyes are fiery as you let yourself get even closer to him, feeling bold enough to put his hand across the small of your back.
“Follow me,” you command, as he looks down at the footwork you’re doing along to the song.
Riding up and down Broadway
On my old stud Leroy
And the girls say
Save a horse, ride a cowboy!
He attempts to follow it again, egged on by the feeling of your hot skin against his thumb. He could honestly maybe cum just from this touch alone if he really tried.
It’s not actually as hard as he thought, if he concentrates. A few steps, repeated over and over again, until it comes naturally. You notice how easily he picks it up, smiling up at him, beaming up while he’s lost in thought. 
The song picks up, and the whole floor is enthralled by the dance. You see Joel’s smile light up the room, and he hasn’t dared to move his hand from your back. You don’t mind.
When your body turns toward his, he halts before almost running into you, still following the steps along to the song.
“Do you wanna get out of here?”
Your words take him by surprise, but they are not unwelcome. 
“Yes.” His hand envelops yours as he takes a look at Tommy, seeing that he’s still in the throws of the song with your friends.
Your hand leads him off the dance floor and towards the club bathroom, but he stops you, lips close to your ear again. “My truck is parked out back, if we want, a little more, um,” he clears his throat, “privacy.”
“Show me the way,” you smile, letting him pull you out the doors and into the darkness of the parking lot. 
He fishes for his keys nervously when you get to the side of his truck, an older model with blue paint. He can’t remember the last time he did anything like this, if he ever has, and it’s getting to his head.
“Let’s get in the back seat,” you say, taking him out of his trance. “Wanna feel you.”
He lets you in first, pushing across the bench seating as he slides in beside you. There’s a moment of awkwardness, before your hand reaches out to touch his denim-clad thigh. His breath hitches.
“Relax,” your smile is intoxicating to him, and he’s drinking you in. “We’re just here to have a little fun.”
He lets himself lurch forward, your lips pressed against his fervently. They’re rough and chapped, but cold from the beer he’d been nursing earlier, offering you some reprieve. 
Your hand snakes up his chest to the side of his throat, pulling him in to come closer and delve deeper. His tongue comes out to lick across your teeth and press against the soft wetness of your tongue, as his hand comes up to palm your breasts over your top, grabbing at any flesh he can get his fingers on. 
He quickly and deftly finds the bow Maddy had tied on the back, pulling it loose and letting the fabric relax so you he could pull it off of your form.
His hands began to explore the soft skin of your breasts, sucking a nipple into his mouth as you arch into him and let a strained moan come from your lips.
“Fuck,” is all you can think to say, because his large hands are spread across your back, forcing you closer, and into him. Soft moans escape your lips as you let him take what he needs from you.
“Off,” he commands suddenly, hooking his fingers into the belt loops of your jeans and yanking them down, after you pop the button and undo the zipper. Your boots have come off at some point in the tussle, and now you’re naked in the back seat of a stranger’s car with not much to say for yourself.
You push his flannel down his shoulders as his weight hovers over you, revealing how strong he really is. Rippling biceps beneath his tight shirt, strong chest, kind eyes. 
You’re lying beneath him, when his hands come up under your thighs to push them apart and expose your pussy to him. He kneels between your soft thighs, thankful for the dark night sky around him, as he delves into your heat with his warm tongue.
You see stars when he makes first contact, a broad stripe of his tongue sending you into space. He’s hungry for it, immediately suckling onto your clit and wrapping his lips around it, strong hands still pushing your thighs apart. He’s taking his time to taste you, wild and intricate, feeling the bulge in his jeans strain against the zipper.
“Oh, fuck,” you manage to get out, in between breathless moans. Your hand came down to tangle in his hair, feeling the soft locks between your fingers, enjoying the way he’s making your hips roll onto his face. You can’t help but rut against him, soaking his wet mouth with your slick, using him to get yourself off.
He’s moaning into your pussy, working his own now-free cock in one of his hands, while the other delves two fingers into your core. Your breath catches in your throat when he fills you, stretching you open and wide for him, hitting the perfect spot to make your stomach start to spasm as you threatened to unravel beneath him.
“Fuck, so good, so so good,” you laugh breathlessly, the ecstasy beginning to take over as he continued to work your pussy, and you felt the familiar white-hot feeling along the back of your thighs.
“I’m gonna, — oh my god,” you couldn’t even finish your sentence before he was tonguing at you harder, eyes flickering up to watch you. “I’m gonna fucking come.”
“Good girl,” he growls into you, only offering you momentary reprieve from his tongue before using the rest of his energy to help you ride out your orgasm on his face. Your hips bucked and spasmed against him, the windows fogging up with your hot breath as you fucked yourself on his fingers. He let you pull on his hair as moans tumbled from your lips, breathless and spent.
When you managed to come down, he took his fingers from inside you and pumped his cock a few times, now bobbing in between the two of you as he slid himself up your body to kiss up your chest and capture your soft lips into a kiss.
“Sit back,” you whispered, pushing on his chest to bring him back sitting upright. His jeans were pooled around his ankles now, and you had pulled his t-shirt over his head to meet the other clothes on the floor of the truck. You positioned yourself across his lap, pumping his cock a few times and feeling the girth around your fingers.
He looked blissed out, head against the headrest, savouring the feeling of your pretty hand around him. If he looked down between your two bodies he might come right then, at the sight. 
“You did so much work, baby,” you coo, sitting down on his thick cock and bottoming out immediately, just to watch his lips fall open and eyes flutter close at how tight you are. “Made me cum so easy.”
Your lips latch onto his neck as you kiss and lap at the rough skin, letting your hips rock back and forth, slowly at first. Getting used to his length inside of you would’ve been tough if he hadn’t opened you up so easily beforehand. 
“Move,” his hands come to your waist, lightly forcing you to grind down on his lap. His cock was hitting inside of you so perfectly as you swallowed him into your body, looking down as his head lulled back against the seat. “So fuckin’ pretty,” he started, letting you set the pace of your hips, hand coming up to paw at your breast once more.
“You like this cock, don’t you?” You nod, letting your hand come to the seat behind his head and steadying yourself before beginning to bounce in his lap. “Yeah, fuck, yeah I do.”
He’s in his element now, any and all shyness from the newness of the situation melting away as he pounded into you mercilessly. The truck was no doubt shaking back and forth a little, a steadying hand print the only window to the outside world. Joel didn’t even care if people could see, they’d just be jealous.
“I’m gonna, fuck-,” he starts, eyes cloudy at the edges, vision fuzzy as he looked up at you. You were fucked out, cock-drunk on him, watching as he was coming undone underneath you as you squeezed around him. “Oh yeah?” You tease, not letting up on the rhythm of your hips, his hand coming down to your ass in a firm slap.
You moaned then, arching your back into him and sitting back. “Where do you want me?”
He’s desperate to cum now. Even the thought of your pretty face beneath him, taking his hot ropes on your soft pink lips is making him jerk forward into you with need.
He pushes you off, and you wince from the loss of contact. He’s fisting his cock above you right away, pink tip ready to explode any second at the sight of you, tits pressed together. Your mouth is open, and he sticks his fingers in between your lips as you moan around them, tasting yourself.
“Cum all over me,” you start, pinching your nipples with your free hand. “Fuck, I want it.”
It’s enough for his knees to buckle and hot cum to shoot all over your stomach and tits, painting you white with his seed. His eyes squeeze shut as you watch him ride his orgasm out, balls emptying onto you as he slows down and regains consciousness, taking a second to drink you in when he can open his eyes again. 
Your breath is heaving as you take a finger to swipe some of his cum onto your finger, dipping the digit into your mouth. His brows furrow together as he pulls you up to kiss your lips, devouring you, hands coming up to each side of your face as if to thank you for such a good time.
“Been a while since I did anything like that,” he laughs, and you follow shyly. “You got like, a napkin?” You giggle, as he grabs something in the front seat for you to clean up with. “Thanks. That was fun.”
He nods in agreement, catching his breath before pulling his t-shirt over his head. “I suppose we should go back in there,” he checks his appearance in the rearview mirror, all blushed and fucked out. 
You put your top back on over your body, turning towards him. “Can you lace me back up, please?”
His hands begin to work at you, tightening a bow at the bottom much like it had been done before.
A thought crossed your mind that made a giggle escape your lips. “What?” Joel asked, amused, pulling his jeans back on over his hips. 
“I don’t think I ever got your name.”
He laughs too, thinking of the events that had transpired given neither of you knew such a basic piece of information. 
“I guess we can stick with cowboy.”
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the-lazyyy-artist · 2 months ago
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Roommates Wanted! fem!reader x o. aiku x s. ryusei x. i. sae breathing life
summary: six months in, and the apartment feels more lived-in than it was when you first started forming your systems.
tags and themes: roommates au, mundane day-to-day, slight flirting, music-centric, room tour-centric, very ooc, but it was written that way to match the au, comfort
author's notes: another sneak peek into the visuals of their apartment! This is something I really enjoyed working on for a week, ensuring that the visuals are clear for you. Also, at the end of the chapter, I'll attach my amateur take on the apartment's floor plan, as well as their dinner table sitting arrangement. As always, likes, comments, and reblogs are much appreciated!
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The apartment began to have rhythm. To breathe life into every movement everyone makes. It made the home more livable, more… joyous, you think.
You’d notice it first in the playlists.
You’d sometimes wake up to Aiku’s cooking and almost-good singing. This was his way of waking up the apartment, the way his voice floats in the silence of the morning, slowly stirring it awake. As soon as you open your bedroom door, you see him there, flipping eggs like he always does. “Good morning,” you’d murmur as you walked to the kitchen. His playlist hums softly through the shared speaker perched on the kitchen counter (it was Shidou’s speaker). “Hey, babe,” he says smoothly as he removes the eggs from the pan. He then places the ladle down as he swings towards you, taking your hand as he twirls you. “Aiku,” you laughed softly as he placed your hand on his shoulder and gently took your other hand. 
“Come on. Dance with me for a moment. You have the afternoon shift, anyway. You have a lot of time.”
You rolled your eyes at him and indulged him anyway, resting your head on his chest as he swayed you around the small space of the kitchen.
Some days, when your day off landed on a weekday and everyone’s almost out of the apartment, you’d hear Shidou grunt-singing as he warmed up in the living room, headphones on over his ears. It’s a habit of his that he does. He says it’s better to get a head start there so when he arrives at the gym to take on his classes, he’ll be ready for the roughhousing. “Shidou,” you called out from the couch as he shadow-boxed at the open space between the living and dining area. He was so focused that he didn’t hear you. “Shidooouu!”
You waved your hands in the air to catch his attention, and when he finally noticed, he straightened up and removed one side of his headphone from his ear. “Yeah, princess?” Shidou panted as he raised a brow at you. “Play it over your speaker,” you said, pointing at the shared (Shidou’s) speaker on the kitchen counter. He scoffed and connected his phone to the Bluetooth speaker, and his workout playlist blasted loud and proud.
“Doja Cat? Really?” you snickered as he returned to his stance. Shidou barked a laugh as he continued with his warm-up. “Why not?” he grunted. “That song is the fucking shit, princess. Don’t pretend it isn’t.” 
You find yourself singing along as he finishes his warm-ups, the last chorus fading as he grabs his bag, ready to head to the gym. Then it's quiet again, just you and the stillness he leaves behind. 
At nights when you’d cover the afternoon shifts, you’d be welcomed home by Sae… well, not much of a welcome home, really. Once you enter the door, he’d just look up from his seat, your seat, in the dining area, giving you a nod. “You’re still awake,” you’d murmur as you toed your heels off. “Hmm, I’m finishing something,” Sae replied, tapping the red pen on the table. Right, it’s those manuscripts that he’d correct at these hours. You’d wonder why Sae wouldn’t just do that at his office, but you assumed it’s something he does to make himself sleepy. His playlist would be played softly on his phone, something that puts him into focus but still carries a touch of elegance that Sae embodies. 
You dropped your bag on the couch and walked back to the dinner table, your panty-hosed feet padding softly on the hardwood floor. “Mind if I join you for a moment?” you asked him. He’d hum in reply. Sae doesn’t talk much when he works, especially after hours. You peeked at the manuscript he was proofreading, and you immediately felt bad for the author because the paper had a storm of red lines and circles. As you watched him work, the songs spilling through his phone slowly lulled you to sleep. Your head rested on your arm, and your hands were folded on the table. “Y/N,” Sae said softly, coaxing you out of your sleepiness. “Go sleep in your room.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Please, don’t call me that.”
But then, in the moment you get your day off on a weekend, and everyone’s at home, this is when you have your own declaration of war. The moment you connect your phone to the shared speaker, and the first few chords of “Gimme! Gimme! Gimme!” by ABBA play, the boys know what it is: deep cleaning day. You’d have the vacuum and the feather dusters out, pulling them off their seats, and start cleaning. You’d often dance over these sing-along pop songs, encouraging them to perform with you. It’s still surprising that Shidou quickly learned the words of a few songs he liked. Aiku would join you as you dance a TikTok dance over one of the songs. Sae… not much of a participant. He’d rather wipe the shelves and surfaces than join in.
In the end, the apartment is clean, and everyone had fun.  You also realized how the seats had been occupied by everyone during mealtimes. You'd always take the seat near the kitchen, ready to stand up as soon as the last bit of food is gone. Aiku would sit on your right, helping you set the table before meals and cleaning up after meals. Shidou would sit across you, hogging the food because he needed more protein (he'd say that when you and Aiku would scold him... Sae would sometimes join in), and Sae would sit opposite Aiku, silent yet observant of the events at the table. A perfect balance and rhythm at every time.
Step further into the apartment, and you’ll find that each room carries a different rhythm, a personal pulse shaped by the one who lives there.
Your room was bright. Light colored walls with brown trims at the bottom. Your bed was usually made, though not perfectly, with white sheets and sometimes mismatched pillowcases. A couple of plushies from best friends, a corkboard with photos pinned on it, movie tickets, and post-it notes with random motivational quotes you’d write. A vanity table with all of your makeup, cluttered and never inside the pouch. A framed sketch that Shidou had made for you some nights before that was placed on top of the table. Paperback books on top of your drawers and a few more trinkets on little plates. A small ceramic frog you saw one day on your way home. Laundry basket in the corner of the room.
When you enter Shidou’s room, it’s a totally different energy—neon pinks, blacks, and whatever color his gym gear is. The bed is rarely made, towels strewn all over, bandages on top of covers, yet he still sleeps like a baby. A shelf of trophies of his underground matches (none of them know), multiple sketchbooks, all drawn in and full, and a couple more bags of paint and markers. A tub of a protein shake he keeps from others, even if he knows that no one drinks it… Maybe Aiku does sometimes. A post-it note from you that says, “kill it today!” is pinned at the corner of the shelf that he looks at before he goes to the gym.
Aiku’s room? More chiller than yours and Shidou’s. It looks like a bachelor pad, if anything, muted neutrals, blacks, and dusty sage. His bed is well-kept and neat, just enough not to be called a slob. A shelf with journals, lesson plans he keeps just in case, books about health and sex ed that he can use for his classes, books that he rarely reads. A lamp in the corner gives him an ambient feel at night. A full-length mirror that he keeps to himself (you tried to tell him to put it in the living room for everyone. He refused. What a vain man.) A whiteboard on his wall to remind him of the classes he has for the school year. Letters and gifts from students who love him are on his desk.
And finally, Sae’s. It feels like you stepped into a hotel room with how neat and controlled everything is. Navy, white, and wood, both in walls and bedsheets. Desk lamp on top of his desk, neat and uncluttered, pens and files in place. Shelves filled with books he liked, books from authors he genuinely likes, files he’d keep after he corrected and submitted (a copy, just in case). Not much can be seen as significant in his room, but hidden between books is a little note from you when he was down, stuck on a cup of tea ready for him. 
Six months in, the apartment isn’t just a shared system anymore. It breathes. It hums. It quiets. It warms. It lives because of the harmony that the four of you built together.
Floor Plan:
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latenighttalkinqwp · 28 days ago
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cuddling with kk arnold
CUDDLING WITH KK ARNOLD !
you were sat on the couch, scrolling through pinterest while you waited for kk to come home from practice. lizzy mcalpine was on shuffle in the back, and you quietly hummed along to the song. “oo- this shirt is actually really cute.” you mumble, adding it to one of your folders. keys jingled in the door soon after, and in walked kk in all her glory. “hey baby!” you waved at her probably a little too aggressively and then moved your laptop. “hi ma.” she smiled back, moving to drop her bag and take off her slides. she quickly made her way over to you, before plopping down on top of you.
your doomscroll on pinterest was quickly forgotten, and your hands immediately went to scratch her back. you both sat there in silence for a few moments, just listening to each other’s breathing and the quiet voice of lizzy singing in the back. kk pressed a gentle kiss to your neck, her arms moving to wrap around your center. “how was your morning? i meant to text you after i left but i high-key got distracted.” she sighs, trying to get as close to you as possible.
“it was good, i went to the gym and then came back. im probably gonna head up to the deck and lay out once it warms up some more.” you move one of your hands to her hair, taking her ponytail out and then running your fingers through her dreads.
“mmm, that sounds better than weights, in fact- anything sounds better than lifting weights at 8 in the morning.”
she finally rolls off of you, before slowly making herself the little spoon. “are you trying to be spooned right now?” you cackle as she moves one of your arms to come around her waist. she clicks her tongue, and then reaches for the remote. “is it working?” she turns on top gun, and looks back at you.
“yeah…a little.” you sigh, pulling her into you and then pointing at the heated blanket. kk giggles, and pulls it up over the both of you. “i guess i’m not going to tan later?”
“probably not!”
- thank you so much for reading all the way through! find more of my 1k celebration on this masterlist! find more of my work on my masterlist! likes and reblogs are appreciated 🩷
- okay i actually love this!¡!¡! me and tumblr had beef while writing it but it’s okay😀😀😀😀😀😀😀 i can’t even lie i just watch top gun the other day and it’s lowkey fire ( i’m late to the party im aware )
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avenging-fandoms · 1 month ago
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Mine Now - CM Punk
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Summary: requested by anonymous- I will absolutely combust if you write cm punk smut (please) Seth Rollins has been your mentor and friend for a few years. CM Punk has been taunting Seth about you for weeks. Seth doesn't know you've been thinking about being with CM Punk since the first time you saw him decades ago.
Content warning: smut. 18+. USE PROTECTION. things may have been changed a bit
idk i feel like punk fucks like small hands so here's a reference video.
please like and reblog!
gif divider credit: @enchanthings-a
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The Staples Center shakes when Seth Rollins' music blares through the speakers and fans sing along to the 'woah's'. You stand next to but kind of behind him with your hand folded in front of you, taking in all of the fans for Seth and smiling at those who acknowledge you.
You've been with the WWE for nearly half a year, only being introduced a few weeks prior in a Royal Rumble. You didn't win, but you did last with 7 girls left in the ring with you being number 17, so you count that to yourself as a win.
Seth cheered you on from the side of the ring as your mentor, but he kind of made it about himself. He wanted to look like an angel for helping a new wrestler, but he was still a good mentor. He's a hard-ass when he needs to be but always your cheerleader.
It kind of made you feel bad for how much you crave CM Punk.
When you arrived, Seth warned you over and over about Punk, telling you he's a snake and can't be trusted, but he didn’t need to. You grew up watching CM Punk with your WWE-obsessed brother, you knew he was a pompous asshole who didn’t care about anything or anyone but himself. 
Seth absolutely loathes CM Punk while you had to hide you were smitten with him, and him taunting you and Seth wasn’t helping get rid of those feelings.
Seth jumps up and over the ropes, throwing his arms out and the crowd cheers. You step up and bend through the ropes and stay near them, letting him have his moment on the microphone.
"Los Angeles how are we feeling?" The crowd screams and cheers, your eyes scanning the signs and laughing at a few funny ones. When Seth puts the mic to his mouth again, the crowd starts to cheer Punk's name. Seth laughs and looks at you in disbelief. "We're out here in the middle of the Staples Center to talk about that hypocrite's name you all are chanting, weren't you small brains just chanting my song?"
It was a mix of cheers and boos and you wrap your fingers around the rope, sitting near the buckles and watching Seth. "That snake, for weeks, has been non-stop telling my mentee how I'm not good enough to teach her how to win, he's been telling her to leave me for him," he laughs into the mic and your cheeks flush pink and you try your best to hide it with your hair.
Fans shake their signs of CM Punk support in Seth's face and he narrows his eyes. "CM Punk can only give you advice on how to come crawling back on your knees, begging for-"
Static. An electric guitar. Drums. Fans scream and cheer, and you grip the rope tighter when you turn around. The screams erupt when CM Punk steps out and smiles, nodding as he looks around. His large arms are displayed in his tight black tank top, blue jeans hugging his hips perfectly, and the grey in his beard making it harder to peel your eyes from him. You move closer to the buckle, watching as he walks down towards the ring with his eyes focused on Seth.
Punk jumps up onto the ring and holds on to rope as he shit talks Seth, doing a double take when he sees you in the corner. He gives you a smirk and keeps his eyes on you when he enters the ring. He was given a mic and steps close to Seth, taking in the chants of his name before licking his lips and putting the microphone to his mouth.
"Seth, you really need to stop worrying about me, and worry about being a better mentor. I mean, you jump in the ring and jump around like a monkey and don't even help your girl up?"
Punk's hand gestures to you and you stand up off the buckles, holding the ropes on either side of you. Punk's attention focuses on you, his Nikes taking him closer with a devilish smirk on his face.
"I've seen it every single time you two come out. Even when it's your match, he doesn't help you up, he gets up first and watches you climb, not offering a hand." He's inches from you and he notices the quickening pace of your breathing, eyes hazy as they scan over his face. "He doesn't treat you like he should be, sweetheart, which is why I've been telling you to find a new mentor."
Even with your eyes stuck on Punk's, you notice Seth starting to charge in a blur. "Watch out!" You warn and Punk's hands push your head down as he takes Seth's punch to the head and you slide out of the ring.
"Seth, stop!"
It was no use. The pent up anger from the past weeks, the past few years, was coming out at this very moment. You yelled for a ref, begged Michael Cole to call someone, but nothing works. Seth just throws hit after hit and Punk was stumbling around, Seth hitting him with a Pedigree. You back up into the announcer's table and shake your head.
The crowd boos and wails as CM Punk pants on the ground with his eyes squeezing tightly, holding his stomach. You step closer to the ring and scream for Seth to stop. Punk can't even lift his head before Seth pulls him over in front of you, grabbing a fistful of his hair and picking Punk up on all fours. Your feet move to stop him as Seth points at you, ignoring you and stomping on his opponent’s head. You have to turn away. Seth jumps and yells around the ring, CM Punk struggles to get up and your eyes are suddenly locked on him. 
Punk’s hands lay flat on the ring and he pushes himself up, shaking his head and sitting on his knees and ripping off his tank top. Directly in front of you.
Your mouth goes dry as his hands lay flat on his thighs. His chest heaves as he regains his breath, rolling his neck slowly, your eyes following the sweat beads falling down his front and hitting the top of his jeans. Your eyes go up and you’re met with his. A soft smirk plays on his lips as you both notice your knees starting to go weak. 
While Rollins yells his nonsense, Punk regains his ability to stand and waits for him to turn in his direction and throws a few punches to his head. Punk holds Seth over his head, turning to you. He sends you a wink and hits Seth with a ‘Go To Sleep.’
The crowd erupts as CM Punk stands up, looking around the arena as his song starts to play. Seth rolls onto his stomach and you slide into the ring next to him, tapping his back. 
“Hey, hey. You alright?” You bend down and move his hair out of his face, Seth's face twisting and grunts escaping his mouth. "Do you need help getting up?" Seth can't open his eyes from the pain, wrapping an arm around his head and you feel heat behind your body.
Tattooed fingers slide across your jaw and hold your chin, tilting your face up where you’re met with CM Punk once more. His thumb rubs over the bone gently and you gulp.
Your attention was no longer on Seth and solely on Punk. This was everything you wanted but you knew you'd lose everything with Seth.
He tugs your chin and you stand, the crowd making the arena shake. Punk has been divorced for a few years and has never showed interest in anyone, not any of the other girls Seth trained. You knew you may just be a pawn, but if CM Punk was by your side, you didn’t really care what you were as long as it was his.
“Are you leaving with me?” He lowers his lips to graze your ear. “Do you trust me?” He speaks.
Your body shivers and without thinking, you nod. Punk flashes a real smile at you and drops his hand to hold yours. He holds the rope open for you, and you hear yelling.
"Y/N! What the fuck are you doing?!" Seth yells and grabs your ankle, making you fall into Punk and he kicks Rollins off of you.
"Leaving with someone who'd never purposely trip her!" CM Punk spits at Rollins who holds his head and rolls around the ring. You look at Seth with sad eyes before ducking out of the ropes, thanking Punk. You go to hop down but he stops you, hopping down first and grabbing your hips to bring you down.
You lose your breath when you hold onto his biceps, thanking him with a squeak. He puts a hand on your lower back as you walk up the ramp, Seth still yelling, almost falling over the ropes.
"We're done! If you leave with him, block my fucking number!" Seth screams and you turn your head, throwing him a thumbs up before you and CM Punk leave the stage.
Your body seems to go into shock once you're out of view of the public, really understanding that now you were with CM Punk. You stood up and chose him, leaving behind a friend you've had for the past 3 years.
"Are you okay?" His voice snaps you out of it and you look up at CM Punk.
"I, uh, I think?" He laughs softly and you chuckle in disbelief. Yelling gets louder and Seth appears from the back. He rushes too quick and body bumps you into Punk's bare chest and slams your nose into it. You yelp and bend out of the interaction, Punk taking notice and shoving Seth back.
"Are you fucking serious? Get your shit together, you're showing her more of a reason to drop your fucking ass," Punk hisses and shoves Seth again. You cradle your bleeding nose and Punk throws Seth into a TV, heading over to you and holding your hand. "Come on, we'll go see medical."
"No, no, I just need a towel," you wave but he grabs your wrist and shows you your bloody hand.
"That is a lot of blood, sweetheart. It wouldn't hurt to at least get checked out." He wraps an arm around you and holds your elbow, the other hand holding your nose. Someone rushes over with a towel and you thank them, Punk holding your nose and letting the blood soak the towel.
Punk's hand never lets go of the towel until he sits you on the table and a medic checks you out. You wince as she presses on your nose but she notes no breakage or fracturing, just a hard impact and a bloody nose. She said you might be sore for a day or two and to just ice it.
She leaves the room and someone brings Punk a new shirt, his biceps still bulging through, the sleeve begging to rip. "Hey, at least you aren't broken," he chuckles to break the silence.
"Still can't believe he couldn't calm himself to not almost break my fucking nose." You lean back against the wall and hold the tissue to your nose, shaking your head. "Then again, I did leave him for his sworn enemy," you smirk and Punk shakes his head with a nasally laugh.
"Are your keys in your bag or purse?" He stands over you and you furrow your eyebrows.
"You're trying to steal my car? You could've just asked for a ride, Punk."
"You can call me Phil, sweetheart, and I don't think you can drive with your head tilted up with one hand on the wheel. I'll drive you home," he smiles and holds out his hand to help you off the table, putting his hand behind your back and walking with you to get your things.
"I'm sure it stopped bleeding by now, I can drive." You pull the tissue away and a string of blood starts to fall and you quickly put the tissue back on your nose, looking at Punk. "My keys are in the little zipper in my purse," you mumble and he grins.
Phil grabs your bags and you two head for the garage. "I can take my purse, you know."
"Why, you don't think it looks good on me?" Phil flips his hair and you giggle.
"Uh, Punk? There's some post-show interviews-"
"They all saw what just happened. They don't need any damn interviews," he snaps and the employee stammers on his words and you mouth a 'sorry,' with a small shrug. He was mean, but he was right.
You get on the elevator and when the doors close, you let out a breath you didn't know you were holding and closed your eyes, leaning your head on Punk's arm for the ride up to the 6th floor.
The ding disturbs your peace and Punk moves your bags to his left arm to wrap his other one around you, letting you rest on him for the walk to your car. He didn't ask you where your car was but used the lock button and followed the sound just so he also didn't disturb you.
He opens the passenger door and you hop in, Punk putting on your seatbelt with his free hand. He gently closes the door and you immediately lean your hot skin on the cool window.
Punk puts your things in the backseat and hops into the driver's seat, head hitting the ceiling and it makes your shoulders jump with a quiet laugh. "Hey! Don't laugh at me, brat," he pinches your thigh and you squeal.
You open your phone and give him the GPS app to head home, putting it on the stand. "So you know where you're going and I can rest."
He smacks his teeth with a head tilt. "You're just so smart, hon." He starts the car and backs out of the spot. Your ETA gave you an hour to be home and you had the rest of the week to relax now that you had an injured nose that made it hard to wrestle.
Phil pulls out of the garage and starts the journey to your house. Your nose was lightly bleeding now and you put your elbow on the door, loosely leaving the tissue on your nose when you lean against the glass with closed eyes.
He gets off the highway after 15 minutes and notices all the drive thrus and rubs your arm with his finger. "I'm really sorry to disturb you, hon, but are you hungry? Do you want me to stop anywhere?"
You stretch and blink your eyes open, looking around and scrunching your nose. "I want some crab rangoon," you yawn and he nods, excited.
"Sounds like a plan. If there's a restaurant by your house we'll order it before we get home so it's ready then you can relax with your crab rangoon." You nod and shift your body, putting your bloody tissue in your car trash can and leaning your head down on your arms on the center console.
Punk moves his hovering arms down and rests his elbow on the console, the rest on your head with his palm on the side of your head. Sleep almost took over until Seth's entrance song blares through the speakers.
You turn the volume down and sit up, rubbing your eyes and looking at Phil. You hit 'answer' on the screen and Punk looks at you. "Y/N?"
"Yes, Seth."
"Why do you sound far away?" You lean closer into Punk and try not to yell in his ear.
"What's up, Seth?" You keep it short and dodge his question, you're annoyed with him. You understand his anger, but not being able to control it enough to watch where he's going and making your nose bleed.
He's quiet for a moment before speaking. "I'm sorry for running into you, I was so frustrated and wanted to find Punk and-"
"I get it, Seth, and I'm really sorry for everything that's happened and how it happened. I am not going to accept your apology at the moment 'cause I'm still really pissed you rushed us instead of approaching us like an adult, but I appreciate it. I'm sure you don't accept mine either and that's fine."
Phil grabs a tissue from his pocket and dabs some blood that drips and you give him a soft smile, eyes disassociating on his beard as silence fills the car.
"Are you not driving?" Seth asks and you scoff with a soft chuckle in disbelief.
"It's hard to drive with blood randomly dripping from your nose, no, I'm not."
Seth sucks his teeth on the other line. "You're right, I don't forgive you."
Three beeps and he's gone. You shake your head and sit back in your seat, looking at Phil. "He's a baby, he'll get over it." He reaches over and squeezes your chin, smushing your cheeks a bit and you look at him. "I warned him, didn't I?"
You can't form words. His fingers move against your bone and you can only nod. He drops his hand and dangles it over the center console, drumming to the song on the quiet volume.
You're awake now so you turn the music up to 15, loud enough but quiet enough. You have 20 minutes to go, which was surprising because the conversation with Seth felt very short.
"I'll order the food now, it's like 5 minutes from my house." Punk nods and hands you your phone as he travels on the highway. You order your lo mein and 2 orders of crab rangoon, turning to Punk. "I should've asked before, do you want anything?"
"Fried rice, please." You nod and he opens his mouth to add something but you do it for him.
"No meat please, the rice and veggies are fine." Punk looks over at you and tries to keep his eyes on the road. You didn't have to ask him if he wanted meat, you knew he never would. You hang up and put the phone back with an ETA home of 15, the same for the food.
"How'd you know?"
You look at him with an embarrassed blush to your cheeks. "I've watched you for a while, Phil. I've.. oh my fuck, this is humiliating. I've had a crush on you for many years."
He can't help but laugh. He rubs a hand over his beard and looks at you. "I mean, it wasn't hard to tell. You couldn't even look at me." You roll your eyes and push his shoulder.
"Well, since we're friends now, I thought you'd like this song I found." His mouth curls into a smile when he hears the beginning of his entrance.
-
"That is the definition of comfort food," you groan and lay back against the couch, a hand over your full stomach.
"I have to agree," he follows you and leans his head on his knuckle, looking at you. "You don't regret this, do you?"
You roll your head over to look at Phil and shake your head in the cushion. "I don't, I really don't. I don't have my friend anymore but.. fuck, I'm with CM Punk, I can't regret too much."
Punk laughs and sits up, holding out his hand. "Let's go get you cleaned up, there's some blood dried around your nose." You take his rough hand and stand up with him, grabbing your bags and leading him to the bathroom in your room.
He puts your bags next to your door and meets you in the bathroom, smirking down at you. "I can't see your face very well from down there." You hop up on the counter and he finds a washcloth, wetting it with warm water and tilting your chin up.
"You don't have to do all this, I can do it myself," you explain and he gives you a look.
"I know you're not used to it, but I want to take care of you, you don't have to do everything alone." He puts the cloth in the sink and washes his hands, slapping his wet hands on your thighs before drying them on a towel.
"Hey!" You giggle and grab his shirt from the bottom and pull him between your legs, wiping up the water with the cotton.
"Alright, alright, I'm sorry," he chuckles and you look up at him, your spine straightening. Phil's hand was hesitant to touch your skin and you push his hand onto your hip, and it activated everything. His arm wraps around your waist and he pulls you into his thick chest, your fingers gripping his shirt and pushing up to his hair.
Punk's fingers tug at your shirt and you push him away, giving him a smile when you hop off the counter, walking backwards and keeping your eyes on his. "Come and get me, Punk."
You try to move around him but he catches you by the waist, spinning you into him and holding your neck. "Wrong answer, sweetheart."
He stands in front of you and moves your hair out of your face, tracing your features with his other hand’s fingers. “Phil..”
He smirks. “Is it okay to touch you?” He whispers in your ear and your fingers dig in his biceps when you nod. His face disappears in your hair, finding your neck and leaving soft, wet kisses down. “Lay on the bed, hm?”
Punk moves away from you and watches you lay on the bed, pulling his tank top up off and throwing it on your pillows. Your hands explore his hot skin, pulling him down to kiss you. Your legs wrap loosely around his waist and his hand pushes down your thigh, gripping and smacking your ass.
You whimper in his mouth and he pulls away to disappear between your legs. Punk pulls your pants down swiftly and over with his shirt, groaning as he falls to his knees on the floor at the edge of the bed. He yanks you closer and spreads your legs open, kissing from your ankle to the very inside of your thigh.
When you feel his breath fanning over your heat, your legs instantly snap closed. Nerves build in your chest when you feel his hands snake up your thighs and push them to the bed. You pant softly when his breath fans over your body, going up and kissing you slowly.
“I’ve got you, sweetheart. Don’t be nervous. Just tell me to stop if you need me to,” he pecks the corner of your mouth and your head follows as far as you can as he kneels on the ground again.
Punk learns his lesson and snakes his arms up and over around your thighs, your legs dangling on his back. “Beauty, just absolutely divine,” he groans and kisses your clit and the skin around it, his tongue laying flat and licking up, moaning at the taste of you. “Fuck, you taste so delicious.”
His mouth engulfs your pussy and he flicks his tongue up and down between your folds, focusing on your clit and moaning when your fingers grip his hair.
Your thighs tremble around his head and pick your head up to look at him when he slides two thick fingers into you, making eye contact with you and holding it as he pumps his fingers and flicks his tongue, his left hand pulling his jeans down a bit to stroke his cock. Your chest heaves and you fall back against the back again, whining and twisting your hips against his tongue.
Punk stands on his feet but doesn't break away when he lays on the bed, flipping on his back and making you hover your hips above him while on all fours. He smacks your ass a few times before forcing your hips down, tongue immediately finding your clit.
Your arms give out entirely and your face falls into his shirt that fell off the pillows. His arms wrap around your waist, his hands holding his elbows to keep you in place. You bury your face in the cotton, biting down on it and pulling up with a loud moan.
"As much as I'd love to taste you cum on my tongue," he pants and pulls you down over him and you squeal. "I want to feel you cum around me, sweetheart." He kisses your chin and bites the skin, smoothing his hands over your ass and spanking you again.
You hold the back of his neck and roll him back over to be above you, Punk completely taking off his pants. He tilts his head to the side slightly when staring at you, leaning a hand down to grip your tank top, the other hand joining and ripping the material in a swift motion off your body.
A loud gasp escaped your throat and you pull him down, kissing him rough and sloppy with your fingers pushing through his hair. "Go ahead, sweetheart, put it in." Phil lifts his body so you can grab his cock, a pleased sigh escaping his lungs and his head leans against yours. You tease his tip up and down your pussy, desperate groans escaping Punk's lips. "C'mon, kitten, let me fill you," he grunts and you spread your legs, pressing your forehead against his as you push his cock into you.
"Fuck, don't move, fuck," you wince and shakily grab his face, letting your hands fall to hold his shoulders. Phil kisses your forehead and brushes your hair out of your face.
"I'm all yours, Y/N. Tell me when you're ready." He kisses the corner of your mouth and you let out a long breath, moving your hips slowly and nodding at him. He pulls his hips up and thrusts into you slowly, his jaw hinging to the side and his eyes roll. "You feel so.. fuck," Punk moans loudly and falls on top of you, laying his cheek on your shoulder with his nose pressed against your cheek.
His right arm wraps around your waist and holds your back up, strings of moans and your name falling from his swollen lips. You turn your head and wrap a leg around his waist, moaning in his mouth and scratching his beard. Your tongue smooths over his bottom lip and you whimper at the ghost hole of his lip piercing, sinking your teeth in and pulling back.
Phil growls and rolls onto his back, holding your hips to hold you up and thrust rough and quick into you. You hold onto his wrists for stability and drop your head, watching his face twist in focus and pleasure.
"Fuck, look at you." He licks his lips and drops your bodies back to the bed, letting you take control. Your hands squeeze his knees and move your hips up and down slowly, smiling and running your tongue over your teeth when you watch his eyes roll and head fall into the pillow, biting his hand.
"Look at you," you purr and smooth your hands up his torso, stopping at his face and kissing him slowly. His lips fall loose and he moans against your teeth when you smile. Punk's large hands massage your ass and smack it, gripping tightly and moving your hips for you.
"Oh my fucking god," he moans with veins popping in his neck. Phil's tattooed fingers push through your hair and hold it in a pony tail, picking your head up to look at him as he thrusts fast into you. "Fuck, this pussy's all mine, all fuckin' mine," Punk pants.
Phil keeps your hair in his hands and presses his forearms together behind your head, laying you on your back with your head resting on his arms. His thighs open your legs wider and you nip at his chin when you feel every inch of him inside of you. He pushes his hips deeper, grunting and moving in slow circles, your eyes fighting to stay open.
"Who does this pussy belong to, sweetheart?" He whispers in your ear, his biceps engulfing your head and your hand holds onto one for support. He pulls his hips back all the way then snaps his hips into you again, both of your moans dancing in the air. "I need words, or I won't move."
Punk pulls his knees next to your hips, pulling your leg over his shoulder and kissing your calf as he looks at you through his sweaty hair in his hair. "Please, Punk, more," you whimper as you scratch his thighs. He chuckles slowly and shakes his head, smacking your thigh.
"Use your words," he leans down, "Who does this pussy belong to?"
He tilts his head to the side and presses his forehead to yours, kissing the corner of your mouth. Phil starts moving his cock out of you and your hips twitch, your fingernails digging into his back.
"You, Phil, fuck," your hands press against his thighs when he starts his fast pace again. "I'm all yours, Punk."
A low growl comes from his throat and he frees his arms, pulling your hips off the bed and rubbing your clit with his thumbs. "Atta girl, all mine."
Punk tears his eyes from your face to watch himself fuck you, his eyebrows dropping in a furrow with his lips slightly parted. "Phil.. I'm.." Your eyes fall heavy and he pulls his hand away, stopping all his movements and you let out a loud whine.
"Such a brat, I want to watch you above me." He holds you close to his body and flips you two once more with pulling his cock out, letting you get comfortable before nodding he was ready.
You hold his knees for stability again and you start to move, his fingers finding your clit and your legs start to give. "You got it, baby. Keep going, you're almost there." Punk's eyes now roll and he fingers start to slow.
Your movements get heavier and slower, your fingers squeezing his legs for support. "I'm.. I'm.." you can't open your eyes and your breath sticks in your throat when Punk holds your hip with one hand and quickly thrusts into you, rubbing your clit until your orgasms hit the both of you hard.
Your body gives out on you and you fall on top of Punk who wraps his arms tight around you, trapping your arms underneath to rest next to his body. He moves his hips slowly to pump every inch of his seed into you.
Phil's hands push against your back, dragging up your hot skin and rubbing the tips of his fingers between your shoulder blades. You pick your hands up and lay them on his biceps, tracing the outlines of his tattoos with your lips parted against his shoulder.
He pulls his hips down and you whimper at the empty feeling when his cock pulls out of you completely. You lay your whole body weight on top of him, your bellies moving against each other's as you breathe.
"Are you okay, sweetheart? Need anything?" Punk kisses your forehead and brushes the hair out of your face so you can look up at him.
"I think a nice shower and some sleep would be perfect right now," you kiss his pec a few times and he sits you both up, holding out his hand and helping you up. Your legs shake underneath you and Punk smirks to himself in victory. "Oh, shut up," you grumble and he laughs, holding you close as you both head for the bathroom.
Phil takes his time in the shower washing your hair and body, making sure every finger cleans every cell on your skin. You've never felt so beautiful, so worshipped. You wash him and can't help but squeeze him in his thighs and biceps, desperate to sink your teeth in them.
You pull on a pair of sleep shorts and see the black on your pillow. You drop your towel and throw on the tank top, turning to Punk with a smile. "How do I look?"
He kneels down to grab your towel, looking up at you with his arm draped over his knee and the ghost of a smile on his lips. "I think I'm going to give you every shirt and sweatshirt I own just to see you in them."
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doyoulikethissong-poll · 3 months ago
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Why such a strict no spoiler policy btw? It's not like it's gonna change whether or not people know the song and/or like it? Not complaining just curious for your reasoning
Because the point of this poll blog is to listen to the music with an open mind and no prejudice against the artist/song/genre/language/decade it's from etc, and just press like or dislike based on the song clip itself after actually have given it a listen. :) That's why the clip is so short, because if it appeals to you you'll be wanting to listen to the whole thing, if not, then at least you heard some of it and move on.
Also for people to have some whimsy in their lives. Poll #600 seems to have been a delightful surprise for many who didn't know what they pressed play for :D 💖
See it as me presenting you with a little gift, maybe not wrapped up in the prettiest way but you still get to unwrap it and discover the surprise by yourself. 🎁 Everybody likes unwrapping gifts :D
There are so many great music poll blogs out there on tumblr that lets you know straight away what it is. This one was created specifically just about listening to unnamed songs. Because the other option would be to just post a youtube vid/spotify link but it wouldn't appeal to me to make a poll blog just like that. Reading peoples thoughts and opinions about the song whether they know it or not is what makes this even more fun to keep up with. :) (even when the opinions from some of you are WRONG! 🤣 lol j/k)
Spoiling the songs here in reblogs takes away the curiosity/surprise/whimsy people might have about an unmarked little clip (and they might already have negative or positive feels about the song so why not just a youtube vid right away)
And lastly I get so sad to see spoilers because of all the time spent to actually do these polls. This blog does take a lot of time to keep up with, more than some of you might think. And just with making the polls themselves, getting the audio if i don't already have it, listen through the songs I might dislike to get a good clip, try to post it as audio, get frustrated when tumblr won't let me, turn it into a video, upload the video.....and then see people name it straight away is just... 😐 so, yeah. i see people bitching about me bitching about spoilers, but if passing on a little whimsy gift to others isn't your thing, there are other music blogs. :) 💖
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Edited to add, from a reply to a later ask:
What totally is allowed, though? Anything that can be said about anything.
"This song is smooth" on a song titled "Smooth", because it's a valid description of any smooth song
"Yeah! I like/know this" on the song "Yeah!" because it's a valid opinion/reaction on any song
Re: lyrics (using #600 as an example)
What did you say? <- that works well as a comment for almost any song so it's allowed, but:
The hobbits the hobbits the hobbits <- obvious spoiler, not allowed
Singing along with the songs posted here spoils them = makes the blog concept and the time and effort i've put into the polls absolutely pointless. Using a specific word or sentence from the song that is generic enough to describe your opinions/thoughts on any song is fun and clever if done right!
Has the song been played in a movie/tv show, quotes are ok - unless the song was made specifically for the movie/tv show.
Memes/gifs: again with #600 as an example; all sort of memes/gifs that can be posted about any song is allowed. "I was there, Gandalf" can go for so many different things. Memes/gifs with Legolas saying "They're taking the hobbits to Isengard" are direct spoilers.
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faestunna · 3 months ago
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the rot of my blood | prologue
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SUMMARY: He didn’t hear the screams of the innocent behind him. He didn’t even hear his own. Instead, he kept his eyes set on the heavenly glow of the sun peeking just over the horizon. And with it, he saw the memories that were so painful to see before.
PAIRING: remmick x fem!reader
WC: 931
WARNINGS: religious undertones and language, mentions of death and loss, guilty conscience
A/N: i want to say it here too that this is not meant as a way to defend remmick. think of it like a prequel. it’s also prob important to note i am not religious, so im doing my best with that too 😭
series masterlist
likes, reblogs, and comments are always and greatly appreciated!
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Remmick’s been alive longer than he can count. A lone soldier through generations. They came and they went almost within an instant.
Sometimes, he wonders if there are memories he’s forgotten along the way. He doesn’t truly remember his mother’s face, though he swears he sees her in his dreams at times. He can recall almost every moment of his life in a flash but always fails to pick out a single one among the masses. That’s what a couple hundred years—give or take a few more—will do to you. A lifetime blurred endlessly until it became a mirage wavering in the horizon.
He stares at it until the sun rises. He burns if he tries to remember for too long.
Though in every memory, a figure haunts him. Looming in the corner of his mind, but when he turns to face it, it vanishes and he’s alone again. So alone for so long. Perhaps he deserved it by now.
When he’d been given this life, he saw it as a second chance. A new becoming of a man he didn’t get to be when his blood ran warm and his cheeks could still hold a flush. It was a high, one that he’d spent nearly half his time in this world relishing. He was a demon, or even something more, he knew that. Only a demon would feed off of the life of someone else, and only a demon would enjoy it.
He feels much differently now. Almost the opposite. Almost as if he’d listened to you, he’d have everything he wanted and all that he needed. But a horrible part of him that had gone rotten long ago still clung to what he treasured: immortality. A sick greed for more time. A punishment inflicted on himself because time had been nothing but cruel. And in return, so was he.
He’d killed so many times. He lived off of it. And he hadn’t always been this terrible, or so you’d called him. You had every reason to. And for it, Remmick lost you as well.
Maybe that was the point of it all. How dull.
Surely, his life could have been worth more than that. Even living amongst the darkness, there had to be more light. If not from the sun, then at least the moon could offer a small sliver of it—a literal silver lining, but not even God could save him now. What did He owe Remmick after all these years? What could he even ask of Him?
As a young boy, he attended mass like everyone else in his town. Some still walked in with a grudge; you could see it in their eyes. Who would want to preach the words of the men that’d ruined them, taken their home like it had never belonged to his people in the first place. But Remmick did what his máthair told him to do: “Sing loud, son.” She used to call him leanbh before his father began scolding her for using their old tongue.
He prayed to a God he’d been told of but never truly believed in—maybe his soul had been damned all along. And if that wasn’t enough to curse him, then surely the things he’d done over the years were. The blood he’d spilled and the games he’d lost. The way he could never hold on tight enough at the right moment, leaving everything in his grasp to slip through his fingers. Alone.
Good. He deserved it.
Remmick had strayed so far from his intentions that the idea of life was nothing more than a children’s toy. He couldn’t see any innocence in the world when everything good from him was gone, even if he was the one to blame.
There was no point in feeling sorry for himself or wallowing in his own regret.
So, as he fell to his knees in the cool and shallow shore of the river, Remmick didn’t pay any mind to the piercing in his chest, nor the rapid flames engulfing his body. He didn’t hear the screams of the innocent behind him. He didn’t even hear his own. Instead, he kept his eyes set on the heavenly glow of the sun peeking just over the horizon. And with it, he saw the memories that were so painful to see before.
He remembers soft hands drifting over his back and the sweet smell of baby’s breath and fresh soil under a gentle sun. He remembers the smell of smoke coursing through the midnight air, an orchestra of bustling conversations from the street below. He remembers how the only time blood running down his throat had ever tasted so horrible was when it was yours.
He remembers the faint feeling of a kiss upon his shoulder, to which he returned so gently—when he still had it within him to be gentle.
He knows you’ve gotten what you deserved; you’re safe. You probably still dance around in the fields of flowers. Maybe you’d finally gotten the one thing Remmick could never give you. What he knew now as something he took from you, a dream that he stripped you clean of.
He hasn’t prayed in centuries, but right there, he thinks to himself, “Lord, please take care of her.”
Remmick burns for his sins. For the evil he’d committed and become. He doesn’t know if it’s a way of liberation or damnation. It’s too early to tell, and by now, he doesn’t care.
Let him burn. Let him get what he deserves. He doesn’t fight it anymore. He simply closes his eyes.
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© faestunna 2025.
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slowdrawl · 5 months ago
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Shear Luck | joel miller x f!reader | part:3 {18+ minors DNI} [masterlist]
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|part 3| Capital 'F' Fireworks| 2.6k words|
Joel Miller, a single dad, came into your salon for a haircut, but he never expected to leave with a crush. Sarah's alive, tension's are high, the jokes are bad and the chemistry is crazy!
Fluff ?✔️ Slow burn? ✔️ Age gap? ✔️ Puns? ✔️
sprinkle in a little bit of smut 🔥 and dbf!joel energy and BOOM. You got this sweet-feel good fic.
"You see his jaw clench before he sucks his teeth. “That so, darlin’? You’re tellin’ me you got some other sorry bastard willing to put up with your bratty attitude?” He tilts his head to the side, inching closer to you, lips ghosting your ear. “He know how to fight?” " |A/N part 3!!! I hope I let these two live happily ever after because I love them so much. let me know how you guys like the story, your reblogs and comments make me so happy!!!
Warnings: Mild language, flirting, fluff, puns, age gap (Joel's 38, reader's 23). eventual smut, alcohol use, YEARNING, mild smut, kissing, jealous!Joel
The sun is kissing the horizon, the sky turning navy as the moon starts to show her face.
It’s nearing 9 pm and the majority of parents have ushered out their crotch goblins, hauling them off in minivans before the fireworks blast off—settling the shrieking of the party. The yard is littered with the aftermath, beer cans, half-eaten hotdog buns, and a lone flip-flop that nobody wanted to claim.
The sound of a thousand crickets harmonizes with The Grateful Dead. Jerry Garcia sings “Touch of Gray” from a speaker hidden near the porch, volume dialed down low. The air is heavy with humidity, sticky and hot, clinging to your skin like a damp blanket. It’s gross, but you’re kinda grateful for the sweat—and the dark at this moment. You have no doubts that you’re still red in the face from Joel’s lips on yours in the kitchen. The heat that won’t die down, ’cause you’re repeating the moment over and over. It’s in your head like a damn highlight reel every time you blink your eyes.
Across the yard, your dad trudges toward a guy you vaguely clock from Saturday poker nights as a kid. Darren? Darryl? Yeah, Darryl. He’s at the far end of the backyard, hauling a cardboard box that just says America! Fireworks! in big red, white, and blue letters. They start unpacking the explosives like little kids on Christmas, unwrapping Roman candles, bottle rockets, and other sticks of death with hilariously patriotic names like Wave the Flag, Victory Eagle, and We Want You! They set them all up in a neat little row on the fence line.
You do a visual sweep to see who’s still lingering around and spot Kim, still on the patio. Her chin rests on her hands, elbows ground into the table, looking far too interested in whatever conversation she’s having. You can barely make out a blonde guy across from her, laughing away. She’s giving him her best “fuck me” eyes. Good for her! You whip your phone out and text her from across the yard.
(9:04 PM) You: Who needs to use protection now? Ahahaha u gonna hit that or what 😜lmao
You see her pull her phone out of her purse glancing down, she shakes her head. Looking up, squinting till she spots you in the dark, then flips you off, sticking her tongue out. You laugh and type out “love you bestie,” hitting send just as Joel leans into your ear, his drawl real quiet, smooth like tumbled stones.
“Who’s got you smilin’ like that?” It comes out playful, but you hear a whisper of jealousy in his words, so you play along.
“Oh, wouldn’t you like to know, cowboy?” you tease, giving him a wink as you pretend to hide your phone from him. “Maybe I’m textin’ someone about dinner reservations—you wouldn’t get it.” A grin spreads wide across your face, but not his. 
You see his jaw clench before he sucks his teeth. “That so, darlin’? You’re tellin’ me you got some other sorry bastard willing to put up with your bratty attitude?” He tilts his head to the side, inching closer to you, lips ghosting your ear. “He know how to fight?”
Well, that played out differently in my head. Did it get hotter out here?
You don’t answer his question, just bite your lip, still standing shoulder to—elbow with him. You stare ahead and watch as Sarah finds a spot worthy enough of setting down her towel to watch the show. You elbow Joel in the side to get his attention. “You don’t have a breathalyzer on you by chance, huh?” you grin. “Figure we should check if Dad’s sober enough to drive himself to urgent care if he blows his fuckin’ hand off.”
Joel lets out a chuckle, shaking his head—He’s gotta be sick of your shit by now. “I’m afraid not, darlin’. We’re just gonna have to hope for the best. You’re a smart girl though, sure you could jerry-rig a tourniquet.” His voice is quiet, teasing, and you catch a glint in those dark eyes that has your stomach doing kickflips.
Sarah’s voice shrills through the darkness of the yard, cutting the moment short. “Hey! You guys! Over here!”
The two of you head over to her. You drop down to the ground sitting beside her. You lean back on your hands, reaching out behind you, grass already itching the backs of your thighs through your dress. Joel settles on the other side, stretching out his long legs. His boots kick up a patch of grass as he gets comfortable. He leans back as well, mimicking your pose, placing his hand next to yours propping himself up, close but not quite touching. It’s still too close though—you can feel the warmth radiating off his knuckles, and it’s got your pulse doing dumb shit. You can smell him, pine and musk, making the kiss replay in your head one more time, still buzzing on your lips.
Your dad’s voice booms through what’s left of the crowd. “Alright everybody, move back, I ain’t coverin’ no one’s copay.” He fumbles out a barbeque lighter and does a few test clicks before holding it up like a torch. “Okay, from three! Two! One!”
The sky explodes, red, white, and blue splashing over Sarah’s wide eyes. She squeals, head tipping back. You do the same, smiling like an idiot. Fireworks never fail to make you feel, and act like a little kid. Joel’s dimple grows more prominent with each passing flash, his eyes are locked on Sarah, watching her glow; but every so often you see them flicker to you. You catch his jaw tightening like he’s fighting something. He leans back further now, fingers inching closer, still not touching, but you can feel the ghost of it.
The last boom echoes in the sky. The yard erupts in applause and whistles. The kids that remain run around rogue with sparklers still, nearly taking their eyes out before being collected by their adults. Your dad’s already at the firepit, slamming down a pickaxe on some kindling, building up the bones of what you’re sure will be an impressive bonfire. People are pulling stray chairs to make a sloppy circle around it, cozying up, beers in hand. Your dad sprays the wood with a bit of butane and grabs the same barbeque lighter from earlier. A few sparks, and the fire roars to life, nearly taking Dad’s eyebrows as an offering as it ignites.
“Hey, kid! Go grab the graham crackers, s’more time!” he hollers, slamming down the last of his beer. “Joel, wanna grab what’s left of the booze in there while she’s at it?”
Is Dad playing wingman for me right now? Or is he just truly a dumbass?
“More beer, on it—just make sure she doesn’t light herself on fire, but if she does—” He pauses dramatically, looking around the yard while pointing to Sarah, “throw’er in the pool for me, I guess.” He tousles Sarah’s curls before getting up off the ground, groaning as he does. “Go find more chairs, kiddo. We’ll be back.” He reaches a calloused hand out to you, pulling you up off the grass and to your feet, hand lingering in yours.
You stumble inside. The screen door creaks shut, and he’s on you before you even hit the kitchen. Lips on yours, softer this time, but with more intention, less teeth, still just as hungry. He steers you back into the fridge. You hear the contents rattle as he cages you in, sliding his knee between your legs, possessive. He pulls back for a moment, half-panting into your mouth. “Dinner reservation my ass.” He’s practically growling now, leaning his whole body weight into his knee, sending a jolt of electricity to your core. “Not sharin’ you.” he nips at your lower lip, feral. You melt into him, tugging at his shirt, letting your hand travel down till they hit denim. You can feel him getting hard against your hip, it makes your head fucking spin. The door bangs open again. This time it’s Kim and blonde guy stumbling in, giggling as she grabs her purse from the kitchen table.
“Oh, wait—oh! Shit, sorry, my bad lovebirds! Pretend we’re not here, just—uh—carry on!” She winks, slurring, “Get it, girl,” as she drags her new friend out the front door, and Joel pulls back, breathless, muttering, “Fuckin’ hell,” lips red, grinning, ”What am I gonna do with you?”
“I can think of a few things,” you laugh, but your voice shakes and you head to the pantry for the real reason you’re in here. S’mores, graham crackers, chocolate, where the hell’s the chocolate—cool—got it. Joel turns around to grab the drinks from the fridge and catches a stray one, stopping it from crashing to the ground as the door opens. He takes out a six-pack of Bud and the last few Smirnoff Ices, placing them on the counter, but not before he throws one at you. “Don’t get any ideas, you brat.” You catch it, fumbling the chocolate bars in your hand, sticking your tongue out at him as you do.
You head back outside. Smoke and the crackling of the firepit fill the air. Sarah’s slouched in a camping chair with a towel wrapped around her, covering her from the waist down to her bare feet. You sit beside her and hand her the package of marshmallows, watching the way her eyes go wide with excitement.
Your dad gestures over to her. He’s sharpening a stick that he’s surely just yanked off a tree; there’s still a damn leaf on it. “Here, kid, use this.”
Sarah looks back at him, confused, her tiny eyebrow raised, having no idea what he’s telling her to do. “Use it for what?”
Your dad doesn’t reply. He just shoves a marshmallow onto the end of the stick, and she gets the drill. “Oh—yeah, we usually have actual roasting sticks,” she giggles and practically shoves the marshmallow into the center of the fire. It ignites into a flaming ball of molten sugar. She pouts, sliding the charred marshmallow off the end of the stick. She tabs another one on the stick and tries again, more careful this time; crouching a few feet away from the fire.
Joel sets the case of beer down at your dad’s feet, grabbing one for himself and putting it into the cupholder of the chair next to yours, but he doesn’t sit down yet. He spins on his heels, heading for the back gate without glancing back at you.
After a few minutes, he reemerges from the front of the house, acoustic guitar slung over one shoulder and a red flannel tucked under his opposite arm. He leans the guitar against a tree and walks over to Sarah, still sitting in front of the fire, stuffing her face with marshmallows and half-melted chocolate, wrapping her up in the flannel. She looks hilarious like she’s a cartoon character wearing an oversized housecoat. The shirt hits her below the knee, arms extending far beyond her little hands.
You watch as he grabs the stick from her and shows her how to roast the perfect marshmallow, twirling the stick slowly, over and over, until it’s the perfect shade of gold. He puts it between two crackers and adds a piece of chocolate, bringing it up to Sarah’s mouth, but then he fakes her out and eats half of it himself. Sarah smacks him on the side of the head, causing the entire group to start laughing.
He sits in the chair beside you, close enough that his knee presses firmly to yours. You point over to the guitar, “Okay, cowboy, you’re gettin’ more and more impressive every minute—where’s Wonderwall?” He sighs, glancing at you with a half-smirk.
“Patience is a virtue, gorgeous—I’ve been tryin’ to tell you that—good things come to those who wait.” He doesn’t even drop his voice down, saying it matter-of-factly. You swoon.
That was bold as hell. Dad’s too drunk to care, or does he even care anyway? Who cares, he called me gorgeous.
Once Sarah’s done licking chocolate off her fingers and smearing the leftovers onto Joel’s flannel, she plops down, scooting her chair closer to yours. Then, without warning, she climbs into your lap, sticky hands and all. “You’re comfier than that dumb chair,” she says, settling in like it’s the most natural thing. You laugh, wrapping an arm around her to keep her steady. Her hair brushes your cheek.
“Yeah, well, you’re a mess, princess.” She grins, totally unfazed, and you can’t help but grin back. Her warmth, her easy trust, it’s doing something to your chest you can’t quite name.
Joel walks over to the tree, slinging the guitar back over his shoulder. He sits back down, tuning it with a few quick strums. The warm glow of the fire catches his face, those lines around his eyes, that damn dimple. He eventually starts picking out a slow, mellow tune, “Future Days” by Pearl Jam or something close to it. His voice joins in, low and gravelly, not perfect but warm, and it’s like the whole yard quiets down to listen to him. Crickets, chatter, even the fire seems to hush.
Sarah hums, half-asleep in your lap, her weight sinking heavier against you. Your dad’s grinning; Darryl’s tapping his foot. Kim—wait didn’t she leave?…guess not. Is cozying up with blondie on a blanket, shooting you a knowing look across the flames, expression soft.
You’re watching Joel, his fingers moving over the strings, his focus soft but steady, and it hits you like a truck. Sarah’s steady, sleepy breaths, his quiet strumming, the way he glances at you over her head, like you’re a part of this little world they’ve got.
Oh, fuck. I’m fucked. Capital F. Fucked. This man could ruin my whole damn life.
Not just him. It’s her too. The whole fucking thing. Your heart’s doing somersaults, and you don’t know whether to laugh, cry, or run. So you just sit there, holding Sarah tighter, letting the feeling burn. It’s almost embarrassing, barely two months ago this guy was a total stranger. Even now, you’ve only spent a day with him, but it feels like you’ve known him your whole life. It feels—right, like you’ve lived your whole to get to this feeling.
Maybe I’m just delusional.
The yard empties. Darryl and the poker guys stumble off; Kim and blondie vanish with a wave and a flash of the middle finger. It’s just you, Joel, Sarah, and your dad now. The fire dies down to glowing embers. Your dad’s half-asleep in his chair, muttering about cleaning up tomorrow.
Joel sets the guitar aside, stretching his arms out, and looks at you, like really looks, then says, “Hey, lemme borrow your phone. Wanna get a picture of this.”
You fish it out of your pocket, handing it over, and he snaps a quick shot, you and Sarah, her curled up in your lap, firelight flickering on your faces. He fiddles with it, smirking, then hands it back. “Sent it to myself—now you’ve got my number too, trouble.”
He scoops Sarah up, her head smacking against his shoulder, and leans in close, close enough you can feel his breath, murmuring, “Thanks for tonight, darlin’.” His lips brush your temple, soft and quick, and he pulls back, that dimple flashing in a quiet smile, carrying her off to the truck.
You’re left there, giggling like an idiot, kicking your feet under the chair, heart racing as your dad snores beside you. Yeah. Definitely fucked.
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precure1ove-archive · 6 months ago
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he makes me laugh w. silver vanrouge, sebek zigvolt
byi : crack, fluff, reader is the prefect, reader is described as stoic, can be read as platonic or romantic
a/n : i accidentally deleted the ask for this..im so sorry :(( but this request was so fun to do!! <3
You were a stoic person, not one to regularly show emotions except for the slightest shift in your eyes whenever you find something enjoyable or distasteful.
Because of this you rarely laughed, the only sound of appreciation was from a small hum.
silver
Silver didn't mind how you did not react much if he's being honest he appreciates that part of you as it's something he can mostly relate too.
He hadn't even intended to make you laugh but apparently him becoming loopy and accidentally stepping on Grim's tail resulting in a loud girlish scream was enough to set you off.
In one of the worst ways possible.
You start by a small chuckle, seemingly innocent enough before you hunched over then threw your head back, a cackle that could shock anybody or anything followed along. it was like a curse had clawed its way out of your throat to haunt and reign terror over the land for all those who wronged you.
Silver, who was frozen in shock, with an equally terrified Grim clawing onto his pant leg, a good distance away from you in case you struck them down with lighting (reminding him of a certain gargoyle obsessed prince).
Unfortunately, he and Grim make sure to not do anything that can be considered the same amount of comical as that moment again.
Memories of Silver's childhood of a certain fae haunting him during Halloween keeps him on edge for a few days.
sebek
Sebek appreciated your stoic nature, sometimes, while you are a part of the saner portion of the school. (the same can't be said for him despite what he may think.)
He at least wants to see emotion on your face then hear another disappointed sigh again when he's being loud.So when you find him in a rather compromising position of being buried head to toe in custom made malleus merch, bowing to another custom made statue of the fae himself while singing praises.
You couldn't help but laugh.
And it was reality breaking for dear Sebek. You chuckle quietly as if to not be heard, then that was dismissed by you to bring a hand to cover your eyes as a cackle erodes from you, echoing around the dark chamber.
Now, for others, this usually meant trouble, for it meant a glorious reenactment of his beloved waka-sama. You even got the part where lighting strikes behind you ominously perfectly!
Obviously he is also scared for his life, thank lilia for that, but his loyalty and admiration for malleus shines through.
Sebek now seeks your presence more, excited to have someone who also appreciates Malleus like him.
Will you now teach him to laugh like that?
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