evandsolo

[evandsolo]

still rolling

pairing: txt x actress!reader

genre: enemies to lovers(most of the members), angst, fluff

warnings: lots of kissing, some swearing, mentions of crying

note: this was requested! i hope you like it <3

word count: 3.4k

if you liked it please reblog or comment to give me your feedback! <3

YEONJUN

you weren't supposed to get under his skin. that was the whole problem.

when they first told him about you joining the show, he smirked and shrugged—just another pretty face to charm for the cameras. but then you walked in with that quiet confidence, not even glancing his way, and something in his chest twisted weirdly. he hated it immediately.

the first time you snapped back at him during filming, his brain short circuited. no one talked to choi yeonjun like that—not staff, not seniors, definitely not some guest actress. your comebacks were sharp as knives, delivered with this infuriating little smile that made his fingers twitch. he caught himself staring at your mouth too often, hating how his pulse jumped when you raised an eyebrow at him.

"you're staring," you said once during a break, not even looking up from your phone.

"you're imagining things," he shot back automatically, but his ears burned.

the blindfold game changed everything. he'd planned to mess with you—maybe spin you until you got dizzy, whisper nonsense directions to make you stumble. but when his hands settled on your waist through the thin fabric of your shirt, he forgot how to breathe. you were warm and solid under his palms, and when you instinctively leaned back against him, his throat went dry.

then suddenly, you stumbled. your front hit his chest, his arms wrapping around you instinctively, and suddenly your lips were brushing his. for the first time in his life, yeonjun froze completely. your breath smelled like the mint gum you always chewed, your eyelashes fluttered against his cheek, and—

he kissed you.

it wasn't graceful. your noses bumped, his grip was too tight, someone in the audience shrieked. but when you made this tiny, surprised noise against his mouth, something primal in his brain short circuited. he forgot they were filming. forgot they had an audience. forgot everything except how right you felt.

afterward, when the PD was yelling and the other hosts were losing their minds, you just wiped your mouth with the back of your hand and muttered, "well that happened," like it was nothing. like you hadn't just cracked him open.

that was when he knew he was screwed.

the sneaking around started naturally—quick kisses in empty hallways, your hand sliding into his back pocket when no one was looking, him pressing you against dressing room doors while you laughed at how frantic he was. "chill," you'd say, but your fingers would tangle in his hair, pulling him closer.

one rainy night after filming, he found you alone on the rooftop. you were leaning against the railing, staring at the city lights, and for once you looked tired and vulnerable. it scared him.

"what are you thinking about?" he asked, coming to stand beside you.

you smiled faintly. "how this is all gonna end."

his chest ached suddenly. he wanted to say something cool, something flirty, but all that came out was, "does it have to?"

the way you looked at him then, soft and sad and knowing,made his stomach drop. you reached up to brush a raindrop off his cheek, and he caught your wrist without thinking, pressing your palm against his pounding heart.

"yeonjun," you started, but he kissed you quiet.

he kissed you like it could change anything. like if he held on tight enough, you wouldn't disappear when the cameras stopped rolling. like he wasn't terrified that once this show ended, you'd fly back to your world and forget all about him.

you never looked at him like he was choi yeonjun, superstar. you looked at him like he was just... yeonjun. and he didn't know how to exist without that anymore.

SOOBIN

every look at you, every action of yours, made him forget how to breathe. it was infuriating. the way you tilted your head just slightly when you were listening, the way your laugh cut through a room like sunlight, the way your fingers tapped against the script when you were thinking—he noticed all of it. and he hated that he did.

because soobin had rules. he didn't blur lines, didn't let himself want things he couldn't have. and you? you were a wildfire in a world that demanded control. you were too bright, too much, too everything, and it terrified him. so he kept his distance. answered your questions with monosyllables, looked past you instead of at you, pretended he didn't see the way your smile faltered when he turned away.

but then there was tonight.

the kiss scene.

it was just the two of you in his dressing room, the script long forgotten, the air thick with something he couldn't name. your lips were parted, your breath warm against his skin, and for the first time, he hesitated. his gaze dropped to your mouth, lingered there like a man starving. he should have pulled away. he should have. but then your fingers curled into his shirt, just slightly, and his resolve cracked.

when he kissed you, it was nothing like rehearsals. it was slow, deliberate, like he was memorising the shape of you. and god, it was real. the way you sighed into him, the way your hands slid up to his shoulders, the way his heart slammed against his ribs like it was trying to escape—none of this was supposed to happen.

he pulled back first, because of course he did. his breath was ragged, his thoughts a mess. you were staring at him with wide eyes, lips still glistening, and he wanted to kiss you again. he wanted to kiss you until neither of you could think straight. but then reality crashed back in, cold and unrelenting.

"we shouldn't," he murmured, even though every part of him screamed yes, we should.

you swallowed hard, your fingers still tangled in his shirt. "why not?"

because you were you. because he was him. because this—whatever this was, could ruin everything. but the words got stuck in his throat. instead, he let his forehead rest against yours, eyes closed, breathing you in.

"tell me to stop," he whispered.

your fingers tightened in his shirt like you were afraid he'd vanish if you let go. he should have stepped back. he should have. but then your thumb brushed the side of his neck, just once, barely there, and his breath caught. it was the smallest touch, but it undid him completely.

"soobin," you whispered, and his name on your lips sounded like a confession.

he wasn't sure who moved first this time. maybe it was him, maybe it was you, maybe it didn't matter because suddenly his hands were framing your face and your mouth was soft against his and god, he was drowning. he kissed you like he'd been waiting his whole life to do it. your fingers slid into his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan, and he swore his knees went weak.

he wasn't thinking about the script anymore. he wasn't thinking about the cameras or the press or the way this could ruin everything. all he knew was the way your body fit against his, the way you sighed when he nipped at your bottom lip, the way his pulse roared in his ears like a storm.

when you finally pulled away, both of you were breathing hard. your lips were swollen, your cheeks flushed, and he'd never seen anything more beautiful. he should have said something, anything, but his mind was blank, his usual careful control shattered.

you searched his face, your expression unreadable. "was that still acting?"

his chest ached. because no, it wasn't. it hadn't been for a long time. but admitting that meant stepping into something terrifying and unknown, and soobin had spent his whole life playing it safe.

but then you bit your lip, just a little, and he realised—he didn't want safe. not if it meant letting you go.

"no," he admitted, voice rough. "it wasn't."

you exhaled, slow, like you'd been holding your breath for months. and then you smiled—small, real, just for him, and he thought, this. this was what it was supposed to feel like.

BEOMGYU

beomgyu had chaos written into his bones—he alway laughed too loud during serious takes, showed up late to set with sleep still clinging to his voice, looked at you like he knew exactly how much his smirk affected you. and god, you hated it. hated how his fingers lingered when handing you props, how he whispered incorrect translations just to see you flustered, how he stretched during breaks with his shirt riding up just enough to make your throat go dry.

the second mistake happened in a dimly lit hallway after wrap. you were exhausted, he was buzzing with restless energy, and when he backed you against the wall with that infuriating grin, you should have pushed him away. instead, you let his lips brush yours—once, twice, testing—before biting down hard enough to make him gasp. it was supposed to be a one time thing. a stress relief. but then his hands slid under your shirt, warm and sure, and you realised with dawning horror that beomgyu kissed like he did everything else—all consuming, relentless and impossible to ignore.

after that, you avoided him like the plague. threw yourself into work, perfected every line, pretended your skin didn't prickle when he walked by. but beomgyu being beomgyu, he just smirked wider, teased harder, leaned closer during scenes until your breaths tangled. 

"scared?" he murmured, lips grazing your ear. you elbowed him away, face burning, and he laughed like it was the best game he'd ever played.

then came the breakdown scene.

you'd prepared for weeks method working yourself into that hollow, aching place until the character's pain felt like your own. when the cameras rolled, you shattered perfectly. the director called cut, but the tears kept coming, your chest heaving with sobs you couldn't control. the crew scattered awkwardly, murmuring about giving you space.

but beomgyu stayed.

you felt him before you saw him—that familiar presence hovering at the edge of your vision. when you finally looked up, his usual smirk was gone, replaced by something raw and unguarded. he knelt beside your chair, close but not touching, his fingers twitching like he wanted to reach out but didn't dare.

"what did you think about?" he asked softly.

your breath hitched. because the truth was lodged in your throat like a shard of glass—you'd thought about him. about the way he'd looked at you that night in the hallway, equal parts challenge and surrender. about how his laughter sounded when it was real. about how much it would hurt when this film ended and he walked away without looking back.

beomgyu studied your face like he could read every unspoken confession. his jaw tightened, and for the first time since you'd met him, his voice wavered. "don't cry because of me."

it wrecked you. this boy who treated everything like a joke, who flirted like breathing, who pretended nothing mattered—he cared. and that was the most terrifying realisation of all.

when you reached for him, your fingers trembling against his wrist, he flinched like your touch burned. but he didn't pull away. just stared at where your skin met his with something like fear in his eyes.

and maybe that was the third mistake— because then you both knew. then there was no going back.

TAEHYUN

you knew he'd be trouble the first time he corrected your line reading. not in a polite or subtle manner, just that sharp, cutting tone slicing through the set's chatter. 

"that's not how someone who's terrified would say it," he said, eyes dark and unblinking. the crew went quiet. 

you smiled your most practiced red carpet smile and replied, "funny, i don't remember asking for your notes."

that was the beginning of the war.

taehyun was infuriating in ways you couldn't articulate. the way he showed up to set already off book when everyone else was still marking their scripts. how he challenged the director's blocking with quiet, logical arguments that somehow always won. worst of all—the way he looked at you after takes, like he could see every single one of your acting tricks and found them vaguely disappointing.

"you're doing it again," he muttered during one rehearsal, his hand gripping your wrist in a scene meant to portray desperation. "that face you make for sad scenes. it's too pretty."

you wrenched your arm away. "maybe if you gave me something real to react to, i wouldn't have to act."

his jaw tightened. you saw something dangerous flash in his eyes—the first real emotion he'd shown you in weeks.

after a particularly gruelling day, you found yourself seated in a secluded corner of the hotel’s bar. you were three drinks in, going over next week's scenes alone in a corner booth when he appeared like some brooding phantom. "you're wrong about the motivation in scene 42," were his first words.

you slammed your script down. "are you fucking kidding me?"

what followed was the most intense argument of your career. you accused him of being a robot. he accused you of being all technique no heart. the bartender edged away nervously as your voices rose. at some point you stood toe-to-toe, so angry you were shaking, and that's when it happened—

one second you were spitting insults, the next his mouth was on yours, hot and demanding. you bit his lip in retaliation and he groaned, hands gripping your hips hard enough to bruise. it wasn't a kiss, it was a battle, all teeth and fury and months of pent up frustration. when you finally broke apart, his breathing was ragged, his lips swollen. neither of you spoke. he just turned and walked away, leaving you standing there with your pulse roaring in your ears.

the next day on set was torture. you avoided eye contact, delivered your lines perfectly, pretended nothing happened. except taehyun— god, taehyun kept staring at you with those unsettlingly perceptive eyes. during your intense scene together, when your character was supposed to break down in his arms, his fingers dug into your skin exactly where he'd held you last night. you gasped for real, and you saw the satisfied flicker in his gaze.

it got worse. better. more impossible. your on screen chemistry became so perfect, that the crew stopped to watch your takes. off screen, you found yourself in elevators together, tension so thick you could choke on it. 

once, during a lighting adjustment, he leaned close like he was checking your mic and whispered, "you still taste like that expensive candy," before walking away like nothing happened.

the final straw came when he cornered you in your trailer after wrap. you were removing your makeup when the door opened and there he was, silhouetted against the fading daylight. you opened your mouth to tell him to leave, but he was already crowding you against the vanity, hands braced on either side of you.

"tell me you don't feel it too," he demanded, voice low.

you wanted to lie. wanted to push him away. but his eyes were darker than you'd ever seen them, his breathing uneven, and you realised with terrifying clarity—this man who never showed emotion was unraveling because of you.

"fuck you," you breathed.

he kissed you again, and this time there was no anger in it, just raw, terrifying need. his hands trembled as they cradled your face, his usual control shattered. when he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, and you felt his rapid pulse where his wrist brushed your neck.

"i hate you," you whispered, fingers clutching his shirt.

he kissed the words from your lips. "i know."

HUENINGKAI

you didn't expect to feel so lost on a film set. after years of perfectly timed smiles and scripted answers, the silence of this small, indie movie’s production unnerved you. the crew moved quietly, no assistants fussing over your hair, no publicists whispering in your ear. just the crisp autumn air and the sound of leaves crunching underfoot as you waited for your next scene.

that was when you noticed him watching you again.

hueningkai had been doing that a lot—observing you with those big, earnest eyes like you were something fascinating but fragile. at first it made you nervous, the way he lingered after takes to ask if you were cold or offer you half his snack. no one did that without wanting something, you thought. but weeks passed, and he never asked for a photo, never mentioned your fame, never treated you like anything but human.

"your hands are shaking," he murmured one afternoon, catching your wrist lightly before a take. his fingers were warm against your skin, his thumb brushing over your knuckles before he quickly let go, cheeks pink. "sorry. just—it's chilly today. do you want my sweater?"

you wanted to say no. you'd spent years building walls so high no one could climb them. but his hoodie was soft and smelled like fabric softener, and when you slipped it on, he smiled like you'd given him a gift instead.

slowly, without meaning to, you started looking forward to his quiet presence. the way he always saved you the chair next to his during breaks, how he remembered you liked your coffee (extra sugar, barely any coffee), the little doodles he left on your script margins when he thought you weren't looking. 

one rainy evening, he walked you back to your apartment even though it was completely out of his way, his umbrella tilted carefully toward you the entire time.

"you'll get wet," you protested as water soaked through his left shoulder.

he just shrugged, droplets clinging to his lashes. "i don't mind."

and that was the thing about hueningkai, he said things like that and meant them. no hidden agenda, no calculated charm. just simple, aching sincerity that made your chest feel too tight.

the night everything changed, the set emptied early due to a storm. you were packing up when you heard hesitant footsteps behind you. 

"do you… maybe want to get dinner?" he asked, fingers fidgeting with his sleeve. "there's a place nearby that makes really good kimchi jjigae. if you're not busy, i mean."

you should have said no. you knew you should. but the way he was looking at you—hopeful but ready to retreat, like he was already prepared for you to turn him down, made something in you crumble.

dinner turned into walking through the neon lit streets, shoulders brushing, his laughter warm in the cool air. when a sudden downpour sent everyone scrambling, he pulled you under a store awning, both of you breathless and grinning. his hair was plastered to his forehead, his shirt translucent with rain, and you were struck by how beautiful he looked like this—unpolished and real.

"here," he murmured, shrugging off his jacket to drape over your shoulders. his fingers lingered at your collarbone, and when you looked up, his gaze dropped to your mouth for the briefest second before he flushed and stepped back.

you'd been kissed by co stars with perfect technique, by celebrities who knew exactly how to angle their faces for the cameras. but when hueningkai finally gathered the courage to lean in, his hands trembling as they cradled your face, it was the most nervous you'd ever felt. his lips were soft, unsure and when he pulled away too soon, his whisper was barely audible over the rain:

"was that okay?"

your heart cracked open. because no one had ever asked you that before. no one had ever treated touching you like a privilege instead of a given.

"ask me again," you said, and when he did, you kissed him back properly, fingers tangling in his wet hair. he made this quiet, broken sound against your mouth, his arms wrapping around you like he was afraid you'd disappear.

later, when he walked you home, he stopped at your door, shifting awkwardly. "i had a really nice time," he said, so genuine it hurt. 

and that was when you realised that he was the only one who said your name like it mattered. like you mattered, not the version of you everyone else saw. when he was near, the constant performance faded, and for the first time in years, you remembered what it felt like to just be.

you were terrified of how much you wanted to keep that feeling.

𝗰𝗼𝗽𝘆𝗿𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁 ©𝗴𝘆𝘂𝘂𝗯𝗲𝗿𝗿𝘆𝘆 on Tumblr

˚ · .𝗮𝗹𝗹 𝗿𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁𝘀 𝗿𝗲𝘀𝗲𝗿𝘃𝗲𝗱

[evandsolo]

THATS PURE GOLD. Ma'am, your talent is undeniable!! Omg this was amazing 😭😭✨️ Need you to teach me how to be THAT talented cause wow ! I'm breathless!

bro, you good?

pairing: loser!beomgyu x best friend!reader

synopsis: beomgyu is the absolute worst best friend to have a crush on. he’s loud, clingy, and always in your space—flopping on your bed, stealing your snacks, and treating your personal bubble like it owes him rent. the worst part? he’s recently gotten hot. like, dangerously hot. and lately, messing with him has become your new favorite hobby, especially when a little harmless teasing leaves him red-faced and malfunctioning.

you were just having fun testing his limits. until you accidentally pushed too far… and he pushed back.

genre: best friends to lovers, mutual pining, fluff, comedy, suggestive content

warnings: heavy making out, suggestive content(no full smut), partial undressing, swearing, whiny!beomgyu, reader being a menace

note: first installment of my 2k celebration yayy! also this is based off beomgyu's part in "brain empty, just you". enjoyy!

word count: 4.6k

the absolute worst part about having a crush on choi beomgyu is that he makes it impossible to not have a crush on him. which is ridiculous, because he’s also the most annoying person you’ve ever met. loud, clingy, and constantly in your space like a human shaped parasite. he flops onto your bed like he owns it, steals your snacks without remorse, and treats your personal bubble like it’s public property. and yet—here you are, stuck pining after your best friend like some tragic rom-com side character.

it’s a perfectly normal weekend afternoon, the kind meant for lazy reading or mindlessly scrolling through your phone, when your bedroom door flies open with a dramatic bang. you don’t even have to look up to know who it is.

"i’m dying," beomgyu announces, like he’s delivering breaking news, before collapsing face first onto your bed. the mattress dips under his weight, and you barely manage to save your phone from being crushed under his flailing limbs.

"you’re heavy," you grumble, shoving at his shoulder.

he doesn’t budge. instead, he rolls onto his back, arms spread wide like a starfish, stealing even more of your space. his hair is still damp from a shower, tousled and slightly messy, and—god, why does he have to smell so good? it’s unfair. like, illegally unfair. fresh soap and something faintly citrusy, mixed with that stupid cologne he swears isn’t for anyone’s benefit but his own. you hate that you notice. you especially hate that it makes your stomach do a stupid little flip.

"how’d you even get in here?" you mutter, trying to sound annoyed instead of painfully aware of how close he is.

"your mom let me in, duh," he says, grinning up at you like he’s won something. "she loves me."

"she has terrible taste," you shoot back, but there’s no real bite to it. beomgyu knows it, too, because his grin only widens.

without asking, he snatches your phone right out of your hands, thumb already swiping through your notifications like he has every right to. "who’s texting you?" he asks, squinting at the screen. "is this junho? since when do you talk to junho?"

you lunge for the phone, but he holds it just out of reach, laughing when you half-climb over him in your attempt to grab it. "give it back, you nosy loser—"

"make me," he taunts, wiggling the phone above his head.

you huff, resorting to digging your fingers into his side, right where you know he’s ticklish. beomgyu yelps, jerking away, but in the chaos, your fingers brush against the bare strip of skin where his shirt has ridden up.

the second you make contact, his whole body tenses like he’s been electrocuted. his breath hitches, just barely, and his cheeks go pink. not just a little flushed—full on, unmistakably red.

you freeze.

beomgyu, who’s always the one invading your space, who slings an arm over your shoulders without thinking, who leans into every casual touch like it’s nothing, just short-circuited because you touched him.

and oh.

oh, this is interesting.

a slow, dangerous grin spreads across your face. beomgyu’s eyes widen like he already knows what’s coming. "what?" he asks, voice slightly higher than usual. "why are you looking at me like that?"

"like what?" you ask innocently, letting your fingers trail lightly over his waist again, just to see what happens.

he jolts, nearly falling off the bed. "hey!"

you can’t help it. you laugh, delighted by this newfound power. "what’s wrong, gyu? you’re always all over me. can’t handle it when it’s the other way around?"

"shut up," he mumbles, but he’s not meeting your eyes anymore, his ears still burning.

and just like that, a game is born.

because if there’s one thing you love more than anything, it’s messing with choi beomgyu. and if there’s one thing he apparently can’t handle?

it’s you.

it starts as a game—just harmless teasing, really. you don’t even mean for it to become a thing. but the way beomgyu reacts every single time your fingers accidentally brush his skin, or when you lean just a little too close under the pretence of looking at his phone screen—it’s addictive. like poking a sleeping bear and watching it startle awake, all clumsy limbs and flustered noises.

at first, you tell yourself you’re just doing it to annoy him. payback for all the times he’s invaded your space without permission, flopped onto your bed like he owns it, stolen bites of your food with that infuriating smirk. but then you notice the way his breath hitches when your knee bumps his under the table. the way his fingers twitch like he wants to reach back whenever you "fix" his collar, your touch lingering a second too long. the way his voice goes just a little higher when you whisper something close to his ear, like you’re sharing a secret.

it’s fascinating.

beomgyu, who’s always been the clingy one, the one who drapes himself over you without a second thought, suddenly can’t handle it when you initiate contact. and the more you test it, the more obvious it becomes that he’s not just flustered. he’s affected.

so you escalate.

you start "accidentally" letting your hand rest on his thigh when you’re sitting side by side, pretending not to notice the way his entire body goes rigid. you lean against him more than necessary when you’re tired, tucking your face into the crook of his neck just to feel the way his pulse jumps under your lips. you play with his hair while he’s trying to focus on something, twirling the soft strands between your fingers until he groans and swats at your hand, his cheeks pink.

and the best part? he never stops you.

he complains, sure. he whines and calls you annoying and shoves at your shoulders halfheartedly. but he never actually pulls away. if anything he leans into it, like he’s trying to prove he can take it, like he’s determined not to let you win.

which is how you end up here: beomgyu sprawled across your lap like an overgrown cat, his head heavy on your thighs as he scrolls through his phone. you’re both supposed to be studying, but neither of you has opened a textbook in at least an hour. instead, you’re absentmindedly running your fingers through his hair, scratching lightly at his scalp the way you know makes him melt.

he’s trying so hard to act unaffected. but you can see the way his fingers have slowed on his screen, the way his breathing has evened out like he’s fighting not to sigh.

"you’re like a dog," you murmur, grinning when he cracks one eye open to glare at you.

"shut up," he mumbles, but there’s no real heat behind it.

you hum, dragging your nails gently down the back of his neck, and there—the full body shiver he tries (and fails) to suppress. you bite your lip to keep from laughing. "you good?"

"you’re the worst," he mutters, but he doesn’t move. doesn’t even try.

you’re about to tease him more, maybe poke his side, just to see him squirm, when suddenly, his hand shoots up and catches your wrust. your breath stutters.

beomgyu’s grip isn’t tight. it’s not rough or demanding. but the way his fingers circle your wrist, warm and firm, sends a jolt down your spine. your pulse jumps under his thumb.

for a second, neither of you moves.

then beomgyu tilts his head back to look at you, and—

oh.

his eyes are dark. not playful, not exasperated. just intense, in a way that makes your stomach flip.

"you’ve been messing with me all week," he says, voice low.

your throat feels dry. "i don’t know what you’re talking about."

he raises an eyebrow. "really."

"really," you say, but it comes out breathier than you mean it to.

beomgyu holds your gaze for a long, long second. then, slowly, he tugs your hand down—not away, but closer, until your palm is pressed flat against his chest. you can feel his heartbeat, rapid and unsteady, under your fingers.

"then keep going," he challenges, voice barely above a whisper. "since it’s nothing."

your brain short circuits.

because this—this isn’t how it’s supposed to go. he’s supposed to blush and sputter and shove you away like always. not dare you. not look at you like that.

your fingers twitch against his shirt.

beomgyu’s lips curl into a smirk. "what’s wrong?" he taunts, echoing your words from earlier. "can’t handle it when i push back?"

oh, it’s on.

you lean down before you can second guess yourself, your nose brushing his as you stop just short of his lips. his breath catches. "who said i was stopping?" you whisper.

beomgyu’s grip on your wrist tightens.

and then—

your mom calls your name from downstairs, and the moment shatters.

beomgyu jerks back like he’s been burned, nearly rolling off the bed in his haste. you yelp, grabbing his arm to steady him, but he’s already scrambling upright, running a hand through his hair like he can’t believe what almost happened.

"i—" he starts, then stops, his ears burning red. "we should—your mom’s calling."

you stare at him. he stares back.

then, slowly, a grin spreads across your face.

beomgyu groans, covering his eyes with one hand. "don’t."

"don’t what?" you ask, all innocence.

"you’re insufferable," he mutters, but he’s peeking at you through his fingers, and his lips are twitching like he’s fighting a smile.

you kick his shin lightly. "you love it."

he doesn’t deny it.

the thing about beomgyu is that he's always been tactile—always reaching for you, always in your space, always treating your personal boundaries like mild suggestions rather than actual rules. lately it’s gotten worse, with every touch feeling like something more. like there's electricity humming just beneath his skin, sparking where your fingers brush against him. and you can't stop poking at it, can't stop testing the limits of this new, fragile thing between you.

it's been days since the almost-moment on your bed, days of careful avoidance and pointed teasing and lingering touches that neither of you acknowledge. and now here you are, curled up in your room watching some b-list horror movie because beomgyu had whined until you gave in, his eyes doing that stupid, pleading thing you've never been able to say no to.

"this is so dumb," you mutter as the protagonist on screen wanders into yet another obviously haunted room. "why would anyone—"

"shhh," beomgyu interrupts, nudging your shoulder with his. "you're ruining the atmosphere."

"the atmosphere of what? bad cgi and worse acting?"

he gasps, pressing a hand to his chest like you've wounded him. "you take that back. this is cinematic gold."

you roll your eyes but don't protest further, settling back against your pillows. beomgyu shifts beside you, his arm brushing yours, warm and solid. you try to focus on the movie, you really do, but it's hard when he's right there, smelling like laundry detergent and that stupidly expensive cologne he pretends he doesn't carefully pick out. when he's close enough that you can see the way his lashes cast shadows on his cheeks in the dim light of your laptop screen.

then—

a sudden, earsplitting shriek comes from the movie, a grotesque face filling the frame, and you're lurching sideways before you can think, fingers digging into beomgyu's arm as you let out a startled yelp.

and beomgyu—

beomgyu squeaks.

it's high pitched and undignified and absolutely ridiculous coming from someone who spends half his time trying to act cool, and for a second, you're too stunned to even process it. then the sound registers, and you're turning to stare at him, mouth already opening to tease—

but the words die in your throat.

because beomgyu is frozen, his breath caught, his eyes wide and dark and fixed on you. your fingers are still wrapped around his arm, your nails pressing crescent moons into his skin, and you can feel the way his pulse jumps under your touch. the air between you is thick, heavy, the silence stretching taut like a wire about to snap.

your own breath stutters.

beomgyu's gaze drops to your mouth, just for a second, so quick you might have imagined it—but you didn't. you know you didn't, because your heart is suddenly pounding loud enough that you're sure he can hear it, your skin buzzing where you're touching him.

then—

the moment shatters.

beomgyu clears his throat, jerking his arm away like he's been burned, his cheeks flushing pink. "you—you scared me," he mutters, avoiding your eyes.

you blink. then, slowly, a grin spreads across your face. "i scared you?" you echo, leaning closer. "beomgyu. you squeaked."

"i did not—"

"you did," you crow, poking his side. "like a—like a mouse or something—"

beomgyu groans, covering his face with his hands. "oh my god, shut up—"

"a tiny, terrified little mouse—"

"i will end you," he threatens, but there's no real heat behind it, not when he's peeking at you through his fingers, his lips twitching like he's fighting a smile.

you laugh, bright and loud, and something in beomgyu's expression softens, his shoulders relaxing as he drops his hands. "you're the worst," he grumbles, but he's leaning into you again, his arm pressing against yours.

"you love me," you sing-song, nudging him with your knee.

beomgyu doesn't answer. just rolls his eyes and turns back to the movie, but you don't miss the way his fingers flex against his thigh, the way his breath hitches when you shift closer.

the movie plays on, the tension between you easing back into something familiar, something comfortable. but beneath it all, beneath the teasing and the bickering and the easy touches, there's something new. something fragile and unspoken and achingly sweet.

and you can't wait to poke at it some more.

the moment your selfie goes up, you know it's trouble. not because there's anything particularly scandalous about it—just you in your favourite going-out top, hair styled a little more carefully than usual, lips shiny with that gloss beomgyu always says smells like candy. but something about the angle, the way the light catches your collarbones, the hint of a smirk playing at your mouth—it feels dangerous. like you're dangling bait in front of a very specific, very excitable predator.

your phone vibrates in your hand before you can even set it down.

beomgyu: ???? beomgyu: where are you going looking like that

the message burns through you like a live wire. you can practically hear his voice—that particular tone he gets when he's trying (and failing) to sound casual, the way his pitch jumps just slightly when he's flustered. your fingers fly across the screen before you can think better of it.

you: why? you wanna come with?

beomgyu: thats not— beomgyu: i was just asking bro

you bite your lip to keep from grinning. the three dots appear and disappear three times before you finally get:

beomgyu: ...are you meeting someone?

there it is. that tiny crack in his usual bravado. you're about to respond with something suitably teasing when your doorbell rings, an insistent, impatient buzz that could only belong to one person.

when you swing the door open, beomgyu is standing there looking unfairly good for someone who supposedly rushed over on a whim. his hair is slightly damp, curling at the ends like he just showered, and he's wearing that stupid tank top that shows off his arms, the one that makes your mouth go dry. in his outstretched hand dangles your charger—the one you're 90% sure you didn't leave at his place.

"you forgot this," he announces, pushing past you into your apartment and into your bedroom, like he owns it. the scent of his cologne, something warm and expensive that clings to all your hoodies after he wears them, fills the space between you.

you raise an eyebrow as you shut the door. "did i?"

"yes," he says, too quickly, already making himself at home on your bed. "you're so forgetful. it's a miracle you function without me."

you don't call him out on the obvious lie. instead, you lean against the doorframe and watch as he tries (and fails) to look casual, his fingers tapping an uneven rhythm against his thigh. the neckline of his tank top slips slightly with every movement, revealing more of his collarbones than strictly necessary.

"so," he says, eyes scanning your outfit with poorly concealed interest, "where are you going?"

"nowhere special," you say, moving to sit beside him. the bed dips under your weight, forcing his knee to bump against yours.

"then why do you look like that?"

"like what?" you lean in closer, watching with satisfaction as his breath hitches.

beomgyu's throat works as he swallows. "like... like you're trying too hard."

you gasp dramatically, pressing a hand to your chest. "rude. maybe i just wanted to look nice."

"for who?"

the question comes out sharper than he intended, his fingers twitching against the pillows scattered on your bed. something warm and pleased curls in your stomach at the possessive edge in his voice.

before you can answer, beomgyu suddenly flexes his arms, his biceps straining against the thin fabric of his sleeves. "you see this?" he says, grinning that stupid, cocky grin that makes you want to kiss it off his face. "this is what peak performance looks like."

you roll your eyes. "please. i could bench press you."

his eyes light up with that competitive gleam you know all too well. "oh, you wish."

"prove it."

the challenge hangs in the air for all of two seconds before beomgyu grabs the nearest pillow and smacks you square in the face with it. you shriek, more out of surprise than actual pain, and immediately retaliate by grabbing another pillow and swinging with all your might.

beomgyu blocks it effortlessly, laughing as you growl in frustration. "weak," he taunts, dodging your next swing. "come on, is that all you've got?"

in a flash of inspiration, you toss the pillow aside and lunge at him instead. beomgyu's eyes widen comically as you collide with him, sending you both tumbling across the mattress in a tangle of limbs. you end up straddling his hips, immediately going for his most vulnerable spots; his sides, just above his hips, where you know he's ticklish.

beomgyu shrieks, actually shrieks, his whole body jerking beneath you as he dissolves into breathless laughter. "s-stop—fuck—" he gasps, trying in vain to squirm away, but you've got him pinned, your fingers dancing mercilessly along his ribs.

"give up," you demand, grinning down at him.

"never," he chokes out between laughs, his face flushed pink, his hair a wild mess against your cushions.

you're both laughing so hard it hurts, the sound filling your apartment, and for a moment everything feels perfect. light. easy. like this is exactly where you're both meant to be.

then you realise.

your hands are splayed across his stomach, his abs flexing beneath your touch with every ragged breath he takes. his own hands have somehow found their way to your waist, his fingers pressing into your skin through the thin fabric of your top. the warmth of him seeps into you, his chest rising and falling rapidly beneath you, and suddenly you're hyper aware of every point of contact between you.

because—

oh.

oh no.

beomgyu is hot. like, stupidly, unfairly hot. the kind of hot that makes your mouth go dry and your thoughts scatter. his lips are parted as he tries to catch his breath, his eyes dark and fixed on you with an intensity that sends a shiver down your spine. the muscles in his arms are taut where they bracket your thighs, and suddenly all you can think about is how badly you want him to choke you.

before you can finish the thought, beomgyu moves.

in one smooth motion, he flips you over, reversing your positions with embarrassing ease. your back hits the plush mattress of your bed, his weight pressing into you just enough to make your pulse skyrocket. then his arm slides around your neck in a playful, but surprisingly firm chokehold, his biceps flexing against your throat.

your mind whites out.

your mouth, unfortunately, does not.

"god, that feels so good," you moan, the words slipping out unbidden, your voice embarrassingly breathy.

beomgyu freezes.

you freeze.

beomgyu stumbles back like you’ve just set him on fire, his entire face burning so red it’s a miracle he hasn’t spontaneously combusted. his mouth opens and closes like a fish out of water, his hands flapping uselessly at his sides as he chokes on air. you’ve never seen him like this—beomgyu, who’s always so loud, so obnoxiously confident, reduced to a stammering, malfunctioning mess because of you.

your own heart is hammering so hard you’re surprised it hasn’t burst out of your chest yet, but the longer he stands there looking like his brain has short-circuited, the more the initial panic starts to melt into something dangerously close to amusement. because god, he’s such a loser. your loser. and before you can chicken out, before you can backtrack and play it off like a joke, the words are tumbling out of your mouth—

“i think i like you.”

beomgyu’s jaw drops. like, actually drops. his eyes go comically wide, his entire body freezing like you’ve just hit him with a stun gun. for a second, you’re terrified you’ve broken him completely, that he’s going to turn around and bolt out the door and never speak to you again. but then—

“what?” he chokes out, voice cracking embarrassingly.

you swallow, suddenly feeling exposed. “you heard me.”

“i—no, say it again.”

“no.”

“please.”

“beomgyu—”

he makes a noise that’s half-groan, half-whine, dragging his hands down his face before pacing across your room like a caged animal. his fingers keep tugging at his hair, his breathing uneven as he mutters to himself, and you can practically see the gears turning in his head, smoke nearly coming out of his ears from how hard he’s thinking.

you should probably be more nervous, but mostly you’re just endeared. and a little annoyed.

“you’re freaking out,” you point out, trying to sound casual even though your palms are sweating.

“yeah, no shit,” he snaps, spinning to face you with wild eyes. “you can’t just—you can’t just say that and expect me to be normal about it!”

“i didn’t expect anything! i was just—”

“just what? just casually dropping the bomb that you like me after moaning when i choked you—”

“oh my god, shut up—”

“no, because what the fuck—”

you groan, flopping back onto your bed and covering your face with your hands. this is a disaster. a nightmare. you should’ve just kept your mouth shut, should’ve played it off like a joke, should’ve—

“i like you too, idiot.”

your hands drop.

beomgyu is standing at the foot of your bed, his chest rising and falling rapidly, his cheeks still flushed but his gaze steady now. your breath catches.

“...what?”

he exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair again. “i like you. like, like like you. have for—fuck, i don’t even know how long.” his voice drops, softer now. “i just didn’t know how to deal with it. thought you didn’t see me that way.”

you sit up slowly, your pulse roaring in your ears. “...are you serious?”

“yes, i’m serious,” he mutters, looking away. “you think i’d be this much of a mess if i wasn’t?”

you stare at him. he stares back. the silence stretches between you, thick and charged, until—

you burst out laughing.

beomgyu’s face does something complicated, caught between offence and confusion. “why are you laughing?”

“because you’re such a disaster,” you wheeze, wiping at your eyes. “all this time, and you were just—god, you’re pathetic.”

“excuse me—”

“you heard me.”

he growls, actually growls, before closing the distance between you in two long strides. his hands cup your face, rough but gentle, and then his lips are on yours—hot, insistent, perfect.

you melt into it immediately, your fingers tangling in his hair as you kiss him back with all the pent up frustration of months of pining. beomgyu makes a noise low in his throat, something between a whimper and a groan, his grip tightening as he nips at your bottom lip. you gasp, and he takes the opportunity to deepen the kiss, his tongue sliding against yours in a way that makes your stomach flip.

his hands roam your sides, slipping under the hem of your shirt to trace the bare skin of your waist. his fingers are warm, calloused from playing guitar, and the way they dig into your hips sends shivers down your spine. you arch into him, pressing closer, and he lets out this noise—this pathetic, whiny little sound that goes straight to your core.

you freeze for half a second. “bro, you good?” you whisper, half teasing, half wrecked yourself.

beomgyu groans, hiding his face in your neck. “do i look good?”

“fuck,” you breathe against his lips.

beomgyu pulls back just enough to look at you, his pupils blown wide, his lips swollen and shiny. “you—you’re killing me,” he whines, his voice wrecked already.

you grin, dragging him back down. “good.”

he kisses you again, messier this time, his hands sliding up your back to fumble with the clasp of your bra. he’s terrible at it, his fingers clumsy, and he groans in frustration when he can’t get it undone.

“help me,” he mumbles against your mouth, his cheeks burning.

you laugh, reaching behind you to undo it for him, and the way his eyes darken when he realises what you’ve done is priceless. his hands slide up your bare back, his touch hesitant at first, like he can’t believe he’s allowed to do this.

“you’re so pretty,” he murmurs, his voice shaky as his fingers trace the curve of your spine. “fuck, you have no idea—”

you cut him off with another kiss, rolling so you’re straddling his hips. his hands immediately fly to your waist, gripping you like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he lets go. you grind down experimentally, and the way his breath hitches, the way his fingers dig into your skin—god, you could get addicted to this.

“please,” he whimpers, his hips jerking up involuntarily. “please, i—fuck, i can’t—”

you lean down to nip at his earlobe, grinning when he shudders. “can’t what?” you whisper.

“you know what,” he groans, his hands sliding up your thighs. “you’re evil.”

you laugh, kissing him again, slower this time, savouring the way he melts under you. when you finally pull away, his forehead rests against yours, his breathing ragged.

“fuck, fuck—” he’s babbling now, his usual eloquence completely gone as he kisses down your neck, your collarbones, his teeth scraping lightly over your skin. “you’re—shit, you’re so pretty, i can’t—fuck—”

you tug at his hair, pulling him back up to kiss him properly, swallowing his desperate noises. his hands are shaking where they grip your thighs, his breath coming in ragged pants against your lips.

“beomgyu,” you murmur, your voice low and teasing. “you’re such a mess.”

he groans, dropping his forehead to your shoulder. “you did this,” he mumbles, his lips brushing your skin. “you turned me into this.”

you hum, running your fingers through his hair. “and you love it.”

he lifts his head just enough to glare at you, but there’s no heat behind it—just fond exasperation and so much want it makes your chest ache. “yeah,” he admits, his voice rough. “i really fucking do.”

𝗰𝗼𝗽𝘆𝗿𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁 ©𝗴𝘆𝘂𝘂𝗯𝗲𝗿𝗿𝘆𝘆 on Tumblr

˚ · .𝗮𝗹𝗹 𝗿𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁𝘀 𝗿𝗲𝘀𝗲𝗿𝘃𝗲𝗱

taglist: @dearestdreamies @honestlyatomicpanda @bamtor1sss @sweetwonieee

@wonzzziezzzz @chuuyaobsessed @jmjify @mwrsi

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@firstclassjaylee @levandright @fancypeacepersona @mirouie

@gaonashi @firstclassjaylee @kkamismom12 @evandsolo @candyredmoon

@ijustwannareadstuff20 @jellyyjn

[evandsolo]

Thank you for the 200 likes 🌟

Ateez Text - Talking about pets

Pairing : Ot8 x Reader

Genre : Fluff, established relationship.

Having a pet could lead to interesting conversations. 𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 : I wanted to try tiny text for yall for a long time, and I finally found a good app to do so ! Here we are for the first text. Lemme know if you liked it ! Also do not hesitate to suggest prompts of texts in my Inbox. ALSO : For those who are waiting for OTEOL Part 2, it's coming soon I promise ! It's quite long to write, but it's coming ! ✿

[evandsolo]

Ateez Text - Talking about pets

Pairing : Ot8 x Reader

Genre : Fluff, established relationship.

Having a pet could lead to interesting conversations. 𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 : I wanted to try tiny text for yall for a long time, and I finally found a good app to do so ! Here we are for the first text. Lemme know if you liked it ! Also do not hesitate to suggest prompts of texts in my Inbox. ALSO : For those who are waiting for OTEOL Part 2, it's coming soon I promise ! It's quite long to write, but it's coming ! ✿

[evandsolo]

Part 2 of On The Edge of the Light is currently in the writing but I might have some cute little things to post in between ! Might release it later today!

[evandsolo]

THIS IS THE CUTEST THING EVER !!!

Maam, you're talented AF 😭

BF!ATEEZ & THEIR FAVOURITE PLACE TO KISS | ATEEZ

pairing : : bf!ateez x gn!reader

genre : : fluff, romantic

warnings : : none except kissing ofc

author's note : : these are just my headcanons! they may differ from yours, so don't take them srsly <3 not a fan of this one meh 🤷🏻‍♀️

KIM HONG JOONG : : hands

He always finds your hands, no matter where you are — walking, talking, even when you're sitting across the table.

Before he kisses them, he looks at you like you're the most precious thing in the world.

He traces the lines of your palm with his thumb, memorizing them like a map.

When you're nervous, he presses a kiss to your knuckles without saying a word. It calms you instantly.

If you're holding something, he’ll gently take it from you just to kiss your hand.

Sometimes he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it — it’s second nature, like breathing.

loves holding your hand under the table and randomly pressing it to his lips like no one can see (they definitely can)

always kisses your hand first thing in the morning, bedhead and all, mumbling “good morning, my love”

During long studio nights, he’ll pull your hand to his mouth while still focused on the screen.

On dates, he kisses the back of your hand before you eat, like he’s in an old romantic movie.

PARK SEONG HWA : : forehead

Starts with a hand on the back of your head, thumb brushing your hairline before the kiss lands

His forehead kisses are warm, quiet — like a soft “I’m here” without saying it

Sneaks them in when you're mid-rant, like he’s pressing a calm spell to your thoughts

Sometimes acts like he’s measuring the temperature of your love by how many he gives — “one means I like you, five means I’m obsessed”

Presses his lips to your forehead before he leaves the house, like it’s part of his routine — keys, phone, wallet, you

If you're napping on the couch, expect a forehead kiss and a blanket. The man is efficient

Absolutely uses forehead kisses as an apology shortcut. It’s hard to stay annoyed when he’s that soft about it

During deep hugs, he tilts your head down just enough to reach, like he planned the choreography

Sometimes just rests his forehead against yours first, eyes closed — slow moments, no rush

A soft kiss on the forehead before drifting off to sleep

JEONG YUN HO : : cheeks

His kisses are quick, soft, and come out of nowhere — you laugh, and suddenly he’s kissing your cheek like it’s a reward

Does the “mwah” sound on purpose just to make you roll your eyes (he thinks it’s peak comedy)

Loves catching you off guard with a surprise cheek kiss while you’re focused — reading, cooking, brushing your teeth? target locked

If you’re sad or tired, he’ll hold your face in both hands and gently kiss one cheek, then the other, then the first again — like a mini-reset

Always grins right after the kiss, like your reaction is his favorite part

Sometimes leans in with that fake-serious look like he’s about to tell you a secret… then just kisses your cheek and walks away

Rests his head on your shoulder and gives lazy, barely-there cheek kisses when he’s sleepy

When you’re embarrassed, he’ll whisper “you’re cute” and kiss your cheek just to make it worse (or better?)

Lowkey gets pouty if you don’t return the cheek kiss — turns his face like “I’m waiting.”

On video calls, he’ll kiss the screen where your cheek would be

KANG YEO SANG : : neck

Not big on PDA, but neck kisses? That’s his loophole — quiet, low-key, but very effective

Usually starts with a hug from behind, chin on your shoulder… then boom, there it is — a featherlight kiss just below your ear

Loves kissing the curve where your neck meets your shoulder — his favorite “secret spot”

Acts all calm about it, but smirks every time he gets you flustered

Gives a neck kiss every time you wear something that shows just a little more skin, not even slick about it

If you're wearing something with a collar? He’s moving it gently out of the way

Once kissed your neck during a movie and completely derailed the plot (for both of you)

Mumbles things against your neck sometimes, voice low, like he’s trying to make you melt on purpose

If you tilt your head away to tease him, he’ll follow without missing a beat

Neck kisses are how he says “I missed you” without saying it

CHOI SAN : : corner of the mouth

Always kisses juuuust shy of your lips — the corner of your mouth — and then grins like he won a game you didn’t know you were playing

Never goes straight for your lips — always starts at the corner like he’s building suspense

Leans in slow like he’s about to go for a real kiss, then swerves last second — “what? That’s exactly where I meant to kiss”

Will kiss you there mid-laugh, right when you’re happiest, like he wants to be part of that moment

Turns it into a game: “missed?” he says with a smirk, “guess I’ll have to try again... and again...”

Sometimes rests his forehead against yours after, smiling, like that tiny kiss said everything he was thinking

When you’re annoyed with him, he plants a tiny kiss at the corner of your mouth and waits... smug... for you to cave

Sometimes does it mid-conversation, no warning — leaves you short-circuited while he keeps talking like nothing happened

Casually does it in public when no one’s looking, then walks off like he didn’t just make your heart skip

If you tease him and try to go in for a real kiss, he’ll dodge just to land one at the corner again — “patience, darling”

SONG MIN GI : : temple

Kisses your temple like it’s part of hugging you — an automatic move, like second nature

Always tilts his head a little when he does it, like he’s trying to kiss your thoughts

Always gentle, like he’s worried you might break if he’s too rough (you won’t, but it’s cute he thinks so)

Sometimes mumbles something soft right after, like “you’re doing so good” — low voice, close breath, heart-melting

If you’re cuddled up, he’ll brush your hair aside gently first, then press a slow kiss to your temple like it’s delicate

Sometimes kisses your temple while you’re distracted, like while brushing your teeth or scrolling

Accidentally started doing it during goodbyes — now it’s habit. No leaving without a temple kiss

When you’re talking and he’s listening closely, he’ll lean in and just kiss your temple like he couldn’t hold it in

Tries to act chill about it but absolutely peeks at your reaction every time

On days when you’re anxious, he’ll hold your head close and kiss your temple like it’s magic — like he believes it’ll fix everything

JUNG WOO YOUNG : : nose

Acts like nose kisses are no big deal but only gives them when he’s feeling extra soft

He kisses your nose fast and light, then backs up to see your reaction like he just pulled off a magic trick

Rubs his nose against yours first, then sneaks in the gentlest kiss like a surprise

Kisses the tip of your nose when you’re pouting — “stop being cute, it’s not fair”

Loves doing it when you least expect it — you’ll be mid-rant and suddenly, boop — nose kiss, rant over

Does it while you’re mid-sentence, catching you off guard on purpose — “what were you saying? Oh right, you love me” Smug mf

If you’re lying down together, he’ll roll over, nuzzle your face, and leave a tiny kiss right on your nose like he can’t help it

When you’re dressed up or looking especially good, he’ll lean in like he’s going for a real kiss… then hit you with a nose kiss instead and laugh

When you try to nose kiss him back, he melts and immediately threatens to kiss you everywhere out of revenge

Has a habit of holding your face in both hands when he does it, like it’s the most precious thing in the world

CHOI JUNG HO : : shoulder

Always chooses your shoulder when he’s being affectionate in public — subtle, but deeply personal

Does it most when you're sitting beside him or resting together

If you’re stressed or anxious, he’ll gently lean in and press a kiss to your shoulder like it’ll absorb the weight

When you’re cuddling, he rests his chin there for a while... then kisses you once, calm and slow, like a thank-you

Likes doing it when you’re wearing something off-shoulder

If you're asleep against him, he’ll press the lightest kiss to your shoulder so he doesn’t wake you

Shoulder kisses are his comfort zone — he’s not trying to be flashy, he’s trying to be close

If you’re in a crowd or overwhelmed, he’ll lean in behind you and kiss your shoulder

Sometimes pulls your sleeve down a bit to kiss bare skin, then tucks it back like it’s a quiet secret

During long hugs, he always ends them with a kiss to your shoulder before letting go — every time

© kysstar

[evandsolo]

𝑶𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝑬𝒅𝒈𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝑳𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕 | 𝐏.𝐒𝐇 | PART 1

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: Park Seonghwa x f!reader - OT8 members are in the story. 𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞 : Star Wars x ATEEZ AU. LONG STORY. 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 : 1 out of 15 (expected) 𝐰𝐜 : 4.089 𝐓𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 : Mentions of death. 𝐏𝐥𝐨𝐭 : The empire as fallen. The First Order, has killing all the Jedis, only a few of them remains. On of the most important Codex has disappeared. Atinael & Seonghwa are sent to find it. They'll be joined by a squadron of Jedis in their quest. 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 : It's the first chapter of this long UA. It really hope you'll enjoy it. Also, even if it's proofread, there's might be some mistakes, since english isn't my first language. Have fun guys ✿

“Atinael? Are you ready?” A voice startled me from behind. I tore my gaze away from the landscape to find my partner. He stood there, straight and focused, on the other side of the meditation circle drawn on the ground. Seonghwa was probably just waiting for me so we could begin the session. It had become part of our daily routine—like reading the ancient texts or practicing our connection to the Force. Training had become essential if we ever wanted to stand a chance.

So many of us had fallen during the Purge. Now we were scattered across the galaxy, clinging to whatever hope we could, praying no one would find us. Between the remnants of Imperial loyalists and the rise of the First Order, there was hardly a place left in the galaxy where we were truly safe. We were condemned to live in hiding, tucked away in forgotten corners of space, clinging to the dream that peace might one day return, that a new Order might rise again.I wanted to believe in that dream. But we had already lost so much that I feared we were only moments away from watching the last of our kind fall to the dark side.

“What were you thinking about?” he asked gently as he stepped closer. “You shouldn't think so much, you know.” “Nothing important. I was just observing. The flora here is… unusual. I’ve never seen trees so tall.”

I was almost certain he didn’t believe a single word. Seonghwa knew me too well—so well it was sometimes unnerving. He could read me like an open book. It felt as if we’d always known each other. Words were never really necessary, and yet I still found myself pretending I could hide things from him. Pretending that my turmoil wasn’t written all over me. A lost cause.

“We should get started,” he said. “If we’re late, Solen will lecture us for hours.”

There was warmth in his voice, a softness that eased the unrest in my soul. Meditation was our best weapon against the flood of thoughts that never seemed to stop. I was certain Solen had us practice so often because he could sense my inner doubt. My faith in the Jedi Order was unwavering. But hope… hope was something else.

I stepped into the center of the circle and sat cross-legged, hands outstretched, palms open. He joined me almost immediately, pressing his palms to mine. Our fingers intertwined, and I closed my eyes, reaching out—toward him, toward our surroundings, toward the Force within us and around us.

Meditation was woven into our daily life. It grounded us in the Force. It brought peace, balance, and strengthened the bond we shared. I exhaled slowly, letting the world around me sink in. Everything felt amplified: the rhythm of the stream below, the wind stirring the trees, the distant songs of birds. I could hear my heart beating powerfully, anchoring me to our connection. I could almost feel the pulse of his heart in our joined hands.

Sometimes, visions came—images we’d need to interpret. But today… there was nothing. Everything felt calm. The Force was undisturbed.

A quiet sigh escaped me, only to be followed by a light chuckle.

“You’re not focused,” Seonghwa murmured, his grip tightening slightly. “You’re the one giggling,” I replied, peeking an eye open to catch a smile on his lips. “You’re distracting me.”

I closed my eyes again, trying to center myself—but the wind picked up, loud and restless. Then came the sound of quick, urgent footsteps.

My eyes snapped open. I looked at Seonghwa, who stood just as swiftly as I did. No one ever walked fast here—unless something was wrong.

My hand instinctively went to the hilt of my lightsaber.

We were in an ancient temple, long since repurposed. Everything echoed through its stone halls—especially footsteps. Loud. Rapid. Approaching.

Suddenly, our master burst in—frantic.

Solen Althar was perhaps the most skilled among us in teaching the ways of the Force. A survivor of the Clone Wars, he carried knowledge we desperately needed. He was a perfect balance of stern guidance and quiet wisdom. He listened. But he never hesitated to steer us back onto the path.

We didn’t know much about his past—only enough to trust him completely. And seeing his face this troubled could only mean one thing:

Something was terribly wrong.

“Master? What’s going on?” Seonghwa asked, before I could speak.

“The Codex… The one of the Ancient Prophecy…” “The balance is in great danger.”

Panic colored his voice. Urgency. Fear.

It was the first time I’d ever seen Solen afraid. He, who was always so calm, so composed—nothing had ever seemed to shake the walls of his inner fortress.

He had taught us that emotions must be contained, controlled. But now… now his voice trembled.

And nothing terrified me more.

I glanced at Seonghwa—his eyes mirrored the same fear in mine.

"Which Codex are you talking about, Solen?" "One of the oldest Jedi Codexes. It speaks of the future of the Force. Its fragments are scattered... The one from the crypt has disappeared."

Dantooine had always been a sacred planet. A haven for those who needed to reconnect with the Force and the Light. Above all, it housed an ancient Jedi library. Many artifacts related to the Force and ancient fragments of ancestral Jedi Codexes were kept here. Everything here was supposed to be safe, protected. At least, that’s what I believed. But clearly, there was no longer any place where we could truly be safe. I could feel the anxiety rising in my throat, cutting off my breath.

I thought we were safe.

"Do we know who did this? Seonghwa asked at my side. Worry creased his forehead." "Followers of the First Order. Probably a group of Sith. I can’t imagine who else could have done this."

Suddenly, my hands began to tremble. If the Sith had made it to Dantooine, we were in serious danger. That could only mean our location was compromised. Tears welled up in my eyes and I cast a desperate look at Seonghwa.

We had found refuge here. Dantooine had become a second home to us. A place where nature brought us comfort, where only knowledge and peace reigned. Sometimes we would explore the long trails, sit by the endless lakes, watch the trees sway gently in the wind, feel the strength of these lands once inhabited by the Old Republic. Today, the calm of this place was no more. Everything now seemed to echo with danger. The disturbance in the Force was palpable. I could feel it tremble beneath my fingers, so I quietly reached for Seonghwa’s hand. The warmth of his palm against mine sent a brief shiver through me. I grounded myself in that invisible bond we had woven, trying to soothe my turmoil.

Yet I could feel it—his fear too.

My eyes lifted, searching for his gaze, but he was staring at Solen, so I lowered my gaze to our Master.

"We’ll have to runaway, won’t we?" I asked, tightening my fingers slightly around my partner’s hand. "I’m afraid so... The temple won’t be able to protect you if they know where we are" Solen replied, giving me a sorrowful look.

The same look he had given me years ago, when he first took me in. My family had been wiped out by the Purge. I’d grown up among a group of Padawans; they had become my brothers and sisters over time. We shared everything—until the stormtroopers came and tore away those I loved.

It was cold that night on Alaris Prime, the wind whispering through the leaves, and I remembered myself, curled up, tears streaming down my face as I mourned the bodies scattered across the sacred temple ground. Solen had appeared through my tears, extending a hand I had first refused.

Nothing told me he wasn’t one of them too, ready to hand me over to the Dictatorship. It was only when I saw the symbol of the Order beneath his coat that I agreed to follow him. We left together for a secluded, hidden place where he promised I’d be safe. It was on that ship, that very night, that I met the boy with the white hair. The same one who now stands beside me like a shield.

He spoke again, and I was taken aback by his ability to stand so tall, despite all the emotions raging inside him.

“Is there a place we can escape to? A planet where we’d be safe?” Solen already seemed to know the answer. He didn’t hesitate, didn’t pause to think—he already had a plan. But judging by the concern on his face, it didn’t bode well. Whatever he had in mind, it couldn’t be good. His hands folded together, hidden beneath the draped sleeves of his robe.

“The only way to keep you safe is to recover the fragments of the Codex,” he said, sending a shiver of dread down my spine. I finally met Seonghwa’s gaze. He had understood as well. He knew how to read between the enigmatic lines of our master. He squeezed my hand in his, and I could feel the pad of his thumb brushing the scar circling my wrist, as if to reassure me. That small gesture gave me courage, and I was deeply grateful for it. “You’ll be able to face the dangers. I know it. The Force has always been with you—it will guide you.” “You’re not coming with us?” I asked, surprised. He hadn’t left our side since we’d arrived here. “Someone needs to stay, Atinael. You’re the most capable of finding the Codex, since it…” He stopped suddenly, then looked up at us. “You should both get some rest. We’ll talk more about your departure later.” Before I could say anything, he turned his back to us and disappeared into the temple. I let myself slump against Seonghwa’s shoulder with a sigh. I had always had blind faith in the Force. But the recent events were starting to shake that faith. Would we ever find lasting peace? “Everything will be fine,” came that voice that always knew how to soothe me. “We’ll be together. If Solen is sending us, it means he trusts us.” “I just want to find peace somewhere. I’m tired of always running, always fighting to stay alive.” “We’ll find it. I promise. You trust me, don’t you?” I could hear the smile in his voice. I was truly grateful for the effort he made to comfort me. I nodded, then straightened up. “Where do you think he’ll send us? We don’t even know where those fragments are.” “I think we should do what Solen said and get some rest. He’ll tell us everything when he knows more, I guess.” We had no certainty about what lay ahead. But what I did know—what my instincts screamed at me—was that I needed to prepare. This journey wasn’t going to be easy. I feared it.

After sharing a meal, I collapsed from exhaustion. All these emotions had drained me. But sleep brought no rest. My dreams were restless. I knew I was dreaming, but I couldn’t escape the vision—or visions—that haunted me. The images flashed by at incredible speed. The atmosphere was heavy. I saw a building, taller than any I’d ever seen. It was shrouded in such thick fog it seemed endless. Faces surged at me. Everything moved so fast I couldn’t hold on to any of the scenes being forced upon me. Then came a scream, emerging from that film I couldn’t understand. A single word, shouted like an echo. Seonghwa. The vision of his lifeless body tore me from sleep in a choked sob. I turned quickly. In the darkness, I couldn’t see a thing. My heart pounded—until I spotted his silhouette, faintly illuminated by the moon’s soft beam. He was sleeping on the other side of the room. He was there. He was alive. I got up in a rush, tears covering my face entirely. I rushed to his side, slipping as close to him as I could. “You’re here,” I whispered, taking in the sight of his face. But all the noise I’d made woke him as well. Instinctively, he pulled back a little, confused to find me beside him. He looked at me, lost, for a few seconds. I could feel his gaze scan me, as if to make sure I wasn’t hurt. “Are you hurt?” he asked, still groggy, when he saw the tears on my cheeks. I quickly shook my head and buried my face in the crook of his arm. “I thought… I saw you… You weren’t…” I stammered, trying to drive the thoughts from my mind. He understood. He too was sometimes haunted by nightmares. But mine wasn’t just a nightmare. It had been so vivid, it felt like a vision. His arm wrapped around me as I nestled closer. “It was just a bad dream. Go back to sleep. Solen summoned us at first light.” He was right. We didn’t know when we’d get a real night’s rest again after dawn. It was to the rhythm of his beating heart that I found sleep once more.

The rest of the night had left me in peace, a flat sleep, without dreams, without visions. It faded at dawn without even taking my torments away. I woke up with a tight knot in my stomach, uncertain of what the day — or the days ahead — had in store.

Far too soon, we found ourselves gathered around a table to discuss what Solen had called our mission. Our Master's features bore the marks of a sleepless night. His posture, too, was no longer what we were used to. His shoulders were lower, his fists clenched. The serene smile he usually wore was gone. His voice, too, was deeper, conveying the urgency of the situation.

"There is a temple on Naboo. That’s where you will go. They will be able to receive you and keep you safe. It’s with them that you’ll retrieve the Codex fragments." "Naboo? Don’t tell me we’ll have to team up with Gungans!" Seonghwa exclaimed beside me. "Not in theory, at least. Since the events of the Clone War, the Gungans don’t mingle with Jedi so easily anymore. What matters most is that you reach the Varyona temple as soon as possible." "But Solen… none of us knows how to pilot… How are we supposed to get to Naboo if you’re not coming with us?" I asked, concerned. "An ally is already waiting for your departure. We've worked with him in the past. He’s a trusted pilot" Solen replied, as I cast a perplexed glance at Seonghwa before our master continued. "Before you leave, I must give you this." Solen slid a very small object in front of us and I gave him a questioning look before he resumed. "Take care of it. It contains coded transcriptions of the Ancient Prophecy. It might prove very useful to you." Solen stood up as Seonghwa picked up the chip. His eyes lingered on each of us in turn, and he smiled — sadly. Emotion surged within me; the moment had taken on a far too solemn tone, and I hated the feeling it gave me. I stood up and stepped closer to him, as his hands reached out to me. "I’m not doing this lightheartedly, you know, he said, somberly. But I know you’ll do just fine. The team waiting for you there will know how to guide you." "Will we see you again, Solen?" I asked, placing my hands in his. "Fulfill your destiny. If we’re meant to meet again, we will." For a few seconds, I saw my Master again — a man full of riddles and hidden meanings, but most of all, full of wisdom. A faint smile formed on my face and I squeezed his hands before he turned to Seonghwa and gave him a final farewell as well. "He’s waiting for you at the base of the valley. Don’t delay." he told us, handing us our packs. "A few rations of Tamba Nectarbulbs, so you won’t miss Dantooine too much." "Promise us you’ll take care of yourself" said Seonghwa, his voice thick with emotion. The whole atmosphere had taken it in too. "I promise. May the Force be with you."

As I descend the valley, I take one last look at the landscapes unfolding before my eyes. The flora of Dantooine and its rolling hills, stretching as far as the eye could see, were going to be so dearly missed. The peace of these landscapes, the tranquility of the animals living here. The piket, Koth, and other creatures lived in peace, surrounded by the Force, unaware of the danger that was surely lurking in the shadows. I implored the Force to watch over Solen, over Dantooine.

We finally reach the ruins of an old Resistance base, where voices break the silence. They seem to be in the middle of a disagreement, and instinctively, I place my hand on the hilt of my lightsaber.

"It’s probably just the pilot, Nael." murmurs the blonde beside me. "Doesn’t he talk to himself? Solen said we could trust him... " "Don’t jump to conclusions. He’s probably as nice as they come."

I could tell from his words that he was trying to reassure me, but I remained cautious. We didn’t know this pilot, and something about him didn’t sit right. We approach slowly, with me staying behind Seonghwa. In front of us stands a man of great stature, draped in a long coat, the hem of which seems particularly dusty.

"I told you it wasn’t a good idea!" A robotic voice throws out, seemingly coming from nowhere since the man is alone. "It pays well, and if you want me to fix your circuits, I’ll have to take the dirty jobs." The deep voice of the man responds, turning his back to us. "You see, we’re just a dirty job, we shouldn’t trust him..." I begin to whisper to my partner before being interrupted. "Who shouldn’t we trust?"

The man reveals his face to us, with mischievous eyes and a teasing smile on his lips, short brown hair falling over his face. Seeing him like this, he seemed perfectly harmless and friendly, but I still remained wary. You never know.

"The men who talk to their ships, I suppose." I respond almost faster than I intended. "It’s the hallmark of any pilot!" He says, giving a brief smile. "So, you’re the formidable duo I’ve heard about. You don’t look so formidable to me."

If he hadn’t been smiling so playfully, I might have taken that as an insult. We might not have looked like much after the recent events, but we were still Knights of the Order.

"And you, what are you supposed to be? An anonymous pilot with a troubled past?" I barely hold back the sarcasm that hangs on my lips, earning a side glance from Seonghwa. "If you want! For now, I’m the only one here who can get you out of here" he says with a wink. "We were told you could take us to Naboo". Seonghwa says calmly beside me, as if to prevent me from saying anything that could keep us here after all. " It’s the most traveled galactic route, we’ll easily get there by avoiding the radars and patrols, the brown-haired man states. But for that, you’ll have to trust me." "We trust you completely." As if we had a choice, I think. It was our only way out. The pilot digs into his jacket pocket and pulls out a medallion I recognize perfectly. The symbol of the Order is stamped on it. My breath catches in my throat for a moment. Was he one of us? I look up at him, curious. "I piloted for the Order, before my path took me elsewhere. I’d do it again without hesitation, for those who are still around" he says seriously, giving me a glance. "Good. Then what are we waiting for, Captain? Take us to Naboo." I say, stepping forward towards the ramp. "It’s Commander Eclipse, if you want to play with words, but Mingi will do!"

He responds before inviting us aboard the ship. A cruiser. I had only seen a few. These ships were of excellent quality and, most importantly, capable of housing a full crew. As we enter, we arrive in a common room with a central table on which the hologram of our part of the galaxy appears. From the inside, it looks huge, we could easily get lost. My gaze is drawn to the observation window. From there, I would be able to observe the galaxy, maybe even meditate during the journey.

"Welcome aboard the Celestial Flame" the same robotic voice we heard earlier announces. "I’m NARA, at your service."

An AI? I didn’t know many ships equipped with that technology, and I didn’t even want to know how many credits he spent on such a ship. Unless, of course, it wasn’t really his...

"Make yourselves at home, relax. There are a few things to eat in the crates. Nothing exotic, I wouldn’t risk poisoning you that quickly, it wouldn’t be very discreet." I cast a glance at Seonghwa. Please, I don’t want to die this soon. "We have enough to eat, but thanks" my pillar replies. "Suit yourselves! But don’t hesitate if you get hungry. We’ll be leaving soon. NARA, is the itinerary ready?" The pilot asks, heading towards his cockpit. "The itinerary is ready, Captain. And no, it doesn’t include a detour to that station where you still owe money to Mos Ender." "Too kind. Off to Naboo, everyone take a seat."

I join my partner on a seat, and we head towards Naboo. Through the Observation Bay, I watch our planet grow smaller, not without a hint of emotion. The silver-haired man’s hand slips into mine, and his gentle smile reassures me. We were together, and that’s all that mattered. A sigh escapes me as we enter space to join the hyperspace lanes. A new adventure awaits us now, and I didn’t really know how to react to all of this.

And so ends the first part. I really hope that you enjoyed it ! ✿ Every thought is appreciated ! ©evandsolo, 2O25

[evandsolo]

𝑶𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝑬𝒅𝒈𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝑳𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕 | 𝐏.𝐒𝐇

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: Park Seonghwa x f!reader - OT8 members are in the story. 𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞 : Star Wars x ATEEZ AU. LONG STORY. 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 : 15 to be expected ! 𝐏𝐥𝐨𝐭 : The empire as fallen. The First Order, has killing all the Jedis, only a few of them remains. On of the most important Codex has disappeared. Atinael & Seonghwa are sent to find it. They'll be joined by a squadron of Jedis in their quest.

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 : This is a story that one of my best friends has been asking for a long time, since she knows how much of a star wars nerd I am. It appeared like fate. ✿ 𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 𝐎𝐅 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒:

𝗖𝗛𝗔𝗣𝗧𝗘𝗥 𝟭.

Hope you'll enjoy it, since it's very dear to me. ✿

[evandsolo]

Un jappement de bonheur｜Yeonbin

✦ Fandom : Tomorrow x Together ✦ Personnages : Soobin et Yeonjun ✦ Genres : Romance, slice of life, fluff, comfort ✦ Nombre de mots : 1,8k ✦ TW : / ✦ Résumé : Yeonjun a toujours aimé les chiens. Soobin le sait, il l’a vu dans ses gestes, dans ses silences rêveurs entre deux confidences. Alors, un jour, il décide de lui offrir bien plus qu’un simple cadeau : une petite chienne crème, timide et tremblante, trouvée dans un refuge. ✦ Note de l'autrice : Cette scène toute douce m’est venue après avoir regardé l’épisode 149 de TO DO (oui, celui rempli de mignonneries). J'ai eu envie d’imaginer un moment tendre et doux entre Soobin et Yeonjun.

S’il y a bien une chose que Soobin a pu constater au fil des années, c’est que Yeonjun adore les chiens. Pas juste un amour passager, pas un simple “ils sont mignons” balancé entre deux cafés. Non, c’est une affection profonde, presque enfantine et dans sa sincérité la plus pure. C’est dans les petits gestes que Soobin l’a remarqué; ce sourire automatique, un peu trop grand, chaque fois qu’un chiot passe près d’eux en promenade, ce réflexe de s’accroupir pour tendre la main, même quand l’animal est déjà loin ou encore ces vidéos de chiens enregistrées dans ses favoris, au milieu de playlists absurdes ou de chorégraphies oubliées. Et puis, il y a les mots. Les “j’aimerais tellement en avoir un” lâchés avec une légèreté apparente, mais toujours suivis d’un petit silence, comme s’il osait à peine y croire. Les “un jour peut-être” soufflés contre l’oreiller, tard dans la nuit, quand leurs jambes sont emmêlées et que le monde est trop calme pour mentir. Soobin les a tous retenus. Il a observé, il a attendu. Pas parce qu’il doutait, juste parce qu’il voulait que ce soit parfait, que ce ne soit pas une idée folle sur un coup de tête, mais une vraie décision. Un vrai cadeau. 

Alors il a regardé les annonces, visité deux refuges, le visage caché sous une casquette et un masque, de peur d’être reconnu. Il a hésité entre un chiot aux oreilles tombantes et une boule de poils plus turbulente, jusqu’à ce qu’il tombe sur elle — une petite chienne crème, minuscule, tremblante dans un coin du box, avec des yeux comme des gouttes de thé noir. Pas la plus vive, pas la plus jolie selon certains critères, mais elle l’a regardé droit dans l’âme. Il a su, à ce moment-là, que c’était elle.

Maintenant, il est là, devant leur porte, le cœur battant à tout rompre, la caisse contre son torse. Dedans, la chienne dort à moitié, roulée sur elle-même, une couverture douce sous ses pattes. Elle a gémi un peu en voiture, puis s’est calmée quand Soobin lui a chantonné quelque chose sans vraiment y faire gaffe. Il n’a pas prévenu Yeonjun. Il voulait que ce soit une vraie surprise, une explosion de joie, peut-être un peu de larmes — il ne serait pas contre, pour être honn��te. Mais maintenant que le moment est là, un doute ridicule s’immisce dans son esprit et ses doigts tremblent légèrement quand il attrape la poignée de la porte. Et si Yeonjun ne l’aimait pas ? Et si c’était trop ? Et si c’était lui, Soobin, qui avait mal compris tous ces signaux ?

Il ferme les yeux un instant. Inspire. Expire. Il sait que Yeonjun est dans le salon, il l’a entendu rire tout à l’heure au téléphone. Un de ces rires qui plie un peu l’univers autour de lui, parce qu’il est impossible à ignorer. Soobin l’imagine, jambes croisées sur le canapé, un plaid sur les genoux, la tête penchée, concentré sur un drama ou une vidéo de chiens mignons sur son téléphone. Non, il ne se trompe pas. Il sait que ce qu’il s’apprête à faire va compter. Il n’a pas souvent l’occasion de surprendre Yeonjun — vraiment surprendre. Il est plutôt du genre à lui laisser des petits post-its pour lui déclarer tout son amour, à lui faire le café le matin ou à le masser tendrement après une dure journée d'entraînements. Discret, attentif. Mais là, c’est différent. C’est grand, c’est eux.

Soobin baisse les yeux vers la caisse la petite boule crème s’est redressée. Deux yeux ronds le fixent, comme si elle savait exactement ce qui se jouait. Il lui adresse un sourire rassurant et glisse un doigt entre les barreaux. Elle le lèche une fois, rapide, curieuse et il prend ce geste pour un signal. Il pousse doucement la porte, celle-ci se refermant doucement derrière lui, dans un clac discret. Pas un bruit dans l’entrée, juste l’écho sourd de ses propres pas sur le parquet. La caisse pèse un peu dans ses bras, pas par le poids — elle ne pèse rien, cette petite chose, mais par tout ce qu’elle représente. Il inspire, bloque presque sa respiration. Et avance.

Depuis le salon, la voix de Yeonjun s’élève, claire, un peu chantante. Il parle à quelqu’un — sûrement l’un des membres, en vocal. Soobin n’entend que des murmures incompréhensibles, suivi d’un éclat de rire, puis d’un silence. Il traverse le couloir, ses doigts se refermant un peu plus autour de la caisse, puis arrive dans le salon. Yeonjun est là, exactement comme il l’avait imaginé — jambes repliées sur le canapé, sweat trop large, cheveux un peu en bataille. Il tourne la tête, distrait d’abord, puis ses yeux se figent. Yeonjun se lève lentement, son regard passant de Soobin à la caisse, puis de la caisse à Soobin, sans comprendre tout à fait. Il s’approche finalement, les sourcils froncés, pas certain de saisir ce qui est en train de se jouer dans la pièce.

— Qu’est-ce que…

Soobin s’accroupit doucement, pose la caisse au sol et ouvre le loquet sans prononcer le moindre mot. Quelques secondes s’écoulent avant que la petite chienne ne sorte. D’abord, une truffe hésitante, puis deux pattes, puis son corps tout entier, délicat, un peu maladroit sur le tapis. Elle secoue légèrement la tête, relève les yeux… et fixe Yeonjun.

Le silence qui suit est presque sacré.

Yeonjun reste figé, bouche entrouverte, comme si son cerveau essayait de remettre les pièces ensemble. Puis un bruit s’échappe de sa gorge, un tout petit “oh” et il s’écroule à genoux. La chienne s’avance, hésitante, puis pousse son museau contre sa main. Il ne bouge pas, de peur de l’effrayer, mais elle se frotte déjà doucement contre ses doigts. Il n’en faut pas plus à Yeonjun pour fondre. Pas de larmes bruyantes, pas de cris. Juste ce tremblement léger dans ses épaules, cette respiration coupée, ce regard qu’il lève vers Soobin, les yeux brillants, comme s’il n’arrivait pas à croire que c’est réel.

— ‘Bin… Elle est…

Sa voix est à peine plus audible qu’un souffle.

Soobin sourit, doucement, son cœur tambourinant dans sa poitrine.

— À toi. À nous, si tu veux, mais surtout à toi.

Yeonjun secoue la tête, incrédule. Il regarde le chiot, qui a déjà posé ses pattes sur ses genoux, puis Soobin encore, comme s’il avait besoin d’une confirmation physique. Ce dernier s’approche, s’agenouille à côté de lui et pose une main sur sa cuisse, légère.

— Je me suis dit que… que ça faisait longtemps que tu en rêvais. Et quand je l’ai rencontrée,  elle m’a regardé comme si elle savait déjà que tu l’attendais.

Yeonjun ne dit rien, il renifle un peu, caresse le museau du chiot qui commence déjà à lui lécher les doigts. Son rire est tremblant, presque étranglé.

— Tu vas me faire pleurer, idiot…

Soobin fronce les sourcils, amusé.

— Tu pleures déjà.

Yeonjun rit à travers ses larmes. Il passe alors un bras autour des épaules de Soobin pour l’attirer contre lui. La chienne se glisse entre eux, joyeusement perdue dans cette étreinte désordonnée.

— Je t’aime, souffle Yeonjun, son front contre la tempe de Soobin.

Soobin, quant à lui, ferme les yeux un instant, conscient qu’il n’a pas besoin de plus pour sentir son cœur virevolter de joie. 

Le soleil décline lentement à travers les vitres du salon, dessinant des lueurs dorées sur le sol. Yeonjun est toujours par terre, en tailleur, et le chiot — leur chiot, tourne en rond autour de lui, reniflant tout, chaque recoin, chaque bout de tapis comme si le monde entier venait de naître autour de lui. Soobin est allé chercher une gamelle d’eau, un vieux plaid plié en deux et une peluche qu’il avait prise au hasard en animalerie, en espérant que ça fasse l’affaire. Il revient dans le salon, les bras chargés, et Yeonjun le regarde avec un sourire immense, les joues encore un peu humides.

— Tu avais vraiment tout préparé.

— Tu me connais, répond-t-il, un peu embarrassé. Je voulais que tout soit parfait.

Il pose les affaires au sol, tend la peluche à Yeonjun, qui l’agite doucement sous le nez du chiot. Celui-ci l’attrape aussitôt entre ses dents minuscules et court maladroitement dans un coin du tapis, l’air fière comme un général en conquête. Ils la regardent tous les deux sans rien dire pendant un moment avant que Soobin ne finisse par briser le silence.

— Tu lui as déjà trouvé un nom ?

Yeonjun tourne la tête vers lui, une main sur sa joue, pensif.

— Hm… Pas encore. Elle me fait penser à…

Il s’interrompt, regarde le chiot courir après sa propre queue, avant de tomber maladroitement dessus dans un couinement.

— … à un beignet.

Soobin éclate de rire.

— Un beignet ?

— Elle est toute ronde, toute douce… Regarde-la !

Soobin observe et il doit bien reconnaître que le surnom n’est pas si farfelu que ça.

— Tu veux qu’on l’appelle Donut ?

Yeonjun grimace.

— Trop évident. Je veux quelque chose de plus original…

Il fronce le nez, puis claque des doigts.

— Hoppang !

Soobin arque un sourcil.

Le chiot relève la tête à ce moment précis, la langue pendante et les oreilles toutes droites, comme si elle avait compris. Soobin se fige une seconde, puis éclate à nouveau de rire.

— Je crois qu’elle valide.

Il se penche pour lui gratouiller le ventre.

— T’entends ça ? Tu t’appelles Hoppang, maintenant.

Yeonjun les rejoint, le sourire doux, les yeux brillants.

— Bienvenue à la maison, Hoppang. T’as intérêt à bien t’entendre avec appa Soobin, ok ?

Soobin le regarde, bouche entrouverte.

— Attends… appa Soobin ?

Yeonjun se redresse, les mains sur les hanches.

— On l’élève ensemble, non ?

Il lui lance un clin d’œil taquin avant de poursuivre

— Et tu fais une figure paternelle plutôt crédible.

Soobin secoue la tête, ses joues se teintant de rouge.

Hoppang pousse un petit jappement, puis grimpe maladroitement sur le plaid avant de se rouler en boule et de fermer les yeux. Et d’un coup, tout redevient calme. 

Yeonjun baisse la voix, presque instinctivement.

— Merci.

Soobin le regarde, silencieux. Il pourrait répondre “de rien”, ou plaisanter, mais il voit la sincérité dans les yeux de son compagnon, ce genre de reconnaissance silencieuse qui ne demande pas de retour alors il hoche doucement la tête. Yeonjun passe un bras autour de lui et s’appuie contre son épaule.

— Tu penses qu’elle va dormir avec nous ce soir ?

— Elle ne va pas nous laisser le choix, murmure Soobin, en regardant la petite chose déjà profondément endormie sur leur plaid.

Puis il imagine déjà la suite : les réveils nocturnes, les accidents, les jouets mâchouillés, les promenades à l’aube et tout ce qu’élever cette petite créature allait signifier. Malgré tout, il ne voudrait changer ce futur pour rien au monde.

Yeonjun soupire doucement contre lui, le faisant sortir de ses pensées.

— C’est le plus beau cadeau que j’ai jamais eu.

Soobin sourit. 

— Et te voir aussi heureux est le mien.

Entre eux, il y avait maintenant un petit battement de vie supplémentaire, un souffle de joie qui rendait l’avenir un peu plus doux.

❥ Les histoires ne s’achèvent jamais vraiment, elles restent suspendues entre les pages et les cœurs qui les lisent… Merci d’avoir voyagé avec moi ღ © schizophrenic-writer 2025.

[evandsolo]

Hi guys ! 🫣

It's been a while right !

Inspiration comes and goes, but here I am again. I actually started to write about that crazy Star Wars x Ateez AU, one of my bestfriend @moafloribunda asked for a while ago in my suggestions.

It will be in a few parts, maybe 15 (yea, it's a huge project). Would you guys be interested in reading it ? And if yes, where ? Here or maybe on AO3 ?

Lemme know !

Thanks, guys !

[evandsolo]

hello there, dark lord ll bangchan (english ver.)

pairing - bangchan x afab!reader

tw - magic,supernatural powers, demons, slightly suggestive (if you squint)

✧ inspired by the concept pictures for Railway (oopsie)

@muneeba-satti you asked, i executed, i hope you'll like it <3

A lightning bolt split the sky just as I turned the page of the thick grimoire resting on my lap, making me jump. My body tensed up in the armchair, my fingers pressing against the ancient paper. Slightly crinkled by the passage of time and the handling of its former owners, it gave off a peculiar scent. A fragrance of apples and ash that tightened my throat for no apparent reason. As if this scent had settled on its surface and seeped in, leaving its mark forever in the fibers. The leather cover looked like it had been through a lot, but the deep violet amethyst set into its center gave me the impression it was glowing in the heart of the shadows. I watched it for a few seconds, captivated by the reflections I saw within, like wisps of smoke frozen forever in the translucent stone. A shiver ran up my spine and I lifted my head, glancing out the window. The sky was pitch black, like a bottomless chasm ready to swallow everything, and the rain was lashing furiously against the glass. Another bolt of lightning streaked across the sky, traveling hundreds of meters before vanishing as quickly as it had appeared, followed a few moments later by a menacing rumble. Squinting, I could make out the trees outside bending under the force of the wind, battered by the fury of the elements. I had always liked storms and they had never particularly frightened me. On the contrary, I even found a certain fascination in them. There was something awe-inspiring in the way nature could turn brutal and dark, reminding us poor mortals that she remained the undisputed mistress. Everything she gave, she could take back in the blink of an eye. But there was something different in the air tonight. Something I couldn’t quite put into words, a sensation lingering at my fingertips, on the tip of my tongue. Still, I returned to my reading, finding the line where I had left off and following the handwritten words, my eyes brushing over the delicately calligraphed curves. The book had caught my attention on a display, and I hadn’t been able to resist the pull I felt toward it, barely noticing that I had stepped closer to examine it more closely. Use with extreme caution.

Those words, spoken by the old man who had sold it to me, still echoed in the back of my mind, and I bit my lower lip. Yet it wasn’t as if I planned to do anything with the texts written inside the grimoire, which mostly consisted of old herbal remedies and rituals meant to cure everyday ailments. However, notes in Latin had begun to appear after a few pages, scattered here and there in the margins of certain chapters, and I’d grown increasingly intrigued by their meaning. The comments seemed to have been written in haste, as if the person hadn’t had much time to jot them down, and the ink had slightly faded over the years, making them difficult to read.

My brows furrowed as I turned the next page, my lips pressing together at its strange appearance. Phrases had been scrawled in tiny, spidery handwriting next to a botanical sketch of a belladonna plant, known for its dark properties. They had been circled multiple times—so roughly that the nib had nearly pierced the page. Dark stains dotted the paper, like random splashes of ink, and I ran my fingers along the back of my neck to chase away the odd sensation that had settled there.

I cleared my throat, casting a glance around the room. The moon was throwing shadows across the living room, playing with the outlines of the furniture, and it was all too easy to let one’s imagination wander in front of such a grim tableau. Still, my only companions were the night and the storm crashing violently outside my house—my cat had retreated beneath my bed upstairs. Then, I began to decipher the handwritten lines aloud, my brow furrowed.

Princeps Nigrum, tibi gratissimum adventum in domum meam exopto. Accipe vocationem meam et veni ad me. Black Prince, I welcome you into my home. Accept my call and come to me.

Everything went dark the moment I finished reading the lines aloud. The lamp on the side table flicked off without warning. At the same instant, the window burst open, slamming violently against the wall and tearing a gasp from my throat. The pouring rain rushed into the living room, driven by the wind, and I snapped the grimoire shut in one sharp motion, clutching it tightly against my chest. Then I stood, cautiously making my way to the window to slide the latch back into place, hoping to prevent it from flying open again with the next gust of wind.

My heart was pounding wildly in my chest, and the sound of the storm seemed muffled by the words that kept spinning endlessly in my mind. Black Prince, I welcome you into my home. There was something deeply unsettling about the prayer written inside the grimoire, and it wasn’t hard to guess what it was referring to. There weren’t many entities described that way—but just saying the words aloud made my head spin. I didn’t particularly believe in spirits or magic as a spiritual practice, but my grandmother had always warned me never to underestimate the power of words. And the crawling sensation on my bare arms wasn’t helping me rationalize anything.

I shivered at the feel of water under my bare feet, quickly stepping back toward the wall to switch the light on. I wasn’t superstitious, but it wouldn’t hurt to grab some rosemary to burn in the living room and clear away the memory of the last few minutes. My interest in magic lay in the properties of plants for the body and mind, and in the power of stones—hence my initial curiosity about the manuscript. I hadn’t expected it to contain anything capable of summoning a demon, and I was just being cautious, trying to purify the space.

I turned toward the kitchen—only to let out a sharp, piercing scream.

A figure was sitting in my armchair, one leg casually draped over the armrest.

My body froze, and my fingers clenched around the grimoire’s leather cover, still pressed tightly against my chest. My heart was hammering so violently I felt like it might burst out at any second. And all words died in my throat when the man lifted his head, one icy eye meeting mine through the shifting shadows that surrounded him.

My body was paralyzed, and I felt a wave ripple from the top of my head to my heels, snaking down my spine, brushing over my shoulders, then sliding down the other side. As if cold fingers had wrapped themselves around my ankles, pinning me to the floor. I knew—even before I tried—that I wouldn’t be able to take a single step back. I could feel it. Something was holding me in place, locking me inside my own body. And the panic was growing, faster and faster, sending blood pulsing in my temples like a drumbeat.

I felt like a deer caught in the headlights, unable to flee, doomed to endure the inevitable impact. Except the crash never came, and the seconds stretched on—endless.

“Come closer,” he breathed, his voice authoritative. Clear, as pure as spring water—yet wrapped in the same darkness that coiled around him like a living thing.

Goosebumps rose on my arms and I fought against the invisible force holding me in place, panic rising at the thought of getting any nearer to him. My gaze hadn’t left his. Those eyes… their dissonance was disturbing. One iris black as the sky above us, the other so pale it was almost indistinguishable from the white of his eye. Both stared at me relentlessly, like twin bottomless wells I could fall into without a sound.

His brow furrowed slightly, then a smirk curled his full lips. “Come. Closer.”

My body moved. As if detached from my mind, I took a step forward. Then another.

His voice had echoed inside my skull like a deep, commanding vibration—one that simply could not be disobeyed. A summons that demanded an answer. And I felt the pull—undeniable—as if a rope had been tied around my waist, leading straight to the hand he’d rested casually on his knee, tapping rhythmically.

No.

My inner scream burst forth, and I struggled within the depths of my own consciousness, desperate to sever the link that bound us, to resist the command etched into my bones. The distance between us was shrinking rapidly, and I felt like I couldn’t breathe, my heart lodged in my throat.

None of this made any sense.

For a brief, flickering moment, I found myself hoping it was all a dream—that this was nothing more than a vivid projection of my imagination. Because it couldn’t be real. There couldn’t be a demon in my house.

They only existed in folklore, in religious texts—creations of human imagination to give form to our greatest fears. My mind rejected the reality in front of me, and I blinked hard, trying to dispel the illusion.

But he was still there. Majestic, cloaked in shadow.

As I drew closer, I could make out the contours of his face, the dark strands of hair that framed it, falling gracefully across his temples. The way the leather of his black jacket clung to his broad shoulders, in stark contrast to the pearly white of the shirt beneath. The unnerving contrast of his eyes, like two opposing forces coexisting in a single body, locked in eternal conflict. And the curve of his mouth, stretched into an expression of pure, unfiltered satisfaction.

My eyes followed the movement of his tongue as it swept across his lips to moisten them, and I felt my stomach tighten. He was terrifyingly beautiful—the kind of beauty that left a disturbing impression because it inspired both fear and fervent admiration. As if someone had reversed the negative of a photograph and revealed something more captivating than the original image. A chiaroscuro painting, crafted from shadow and touched by flickers of light.

But they often said demons were once angels, and it had never felt more true than in that moment.

His power tugged at me for the final few steps, and I stopped just in front of him, my throat tight, breath shallow. Then I froze, struck by a scent that reached me—surprisingly familiar.

A blend of apple and ash.

I swallowed hard, my legs shaky beneath me. He uncrossed his legs and extended a hand, palm facing up. My arms loosened around the grimoire, which dropped heavily at my feet, and I gasped, air seeming to abandon my lungs. His fingers brushed the delicate skin of my wrist before curling around it, pulling me forward. I toppled onto him with a startled yelp, half-collapsed across his thighs, hands pressed against the cold leather of his jacket to steady myself.

My breath hitched in that instant, and time seemed suspended—crystallized in the confined space of my living room.

“You’ve got a lot of conviction for someone who didn’t even know what she was reciting out loud.”

A warm breath ghosted across my face, and I realized I had closed my eyes. My cheeks were burning, and the knot in my throat swelled with every second, cutting off the flow of air.

I pushed against him with both hands, trying to escape his grip, but his hands slid slyly to my hips, holding me firmly against him—and the depth of my helplessness made my head spin.

I was completely at his mercy.

“Open your eyes, little bird.”

I pressed my lips tightly together, my fingers clenching into the velvety fabric of his jacket, and I felt humiliation blaze across my skin like wildfire.

But I didn’t want to surrender. I wouldn’t let him think he had the upper hand. He was in my house. He was here because I had invited him—even if it hadn’t been intentional. And I refused to be the one to bow to his rules, no matter how disturbingly he awakened something in my senses.

“Who are you?” I whispered as I opened my eyes again.

He leaned in closer, closing the already negligible distance between us. His lips hovered near my cheek, and his fingers felt like they were setting my skin ablaze through the fabric of my sweater.

“You summon me, and yet you don’t even know who I am? How careless.” His voice was measured, smooth as honey—yet fractured beneath the surface. But his nonchalance grated on me, and I bit the inside of my cheek to keep my composure.

“Well, I didn’t need your name to make you show up,” I finally shot back with a scornful look.

He burst out laughing, his chest shaking under my hands before settling again. A smirk curled his lips, and his fingers resumed their slow, steady rhythm—this time against my hip.

“You’re surprising.” “Glad someone here’s having fun,” I muttered through clenched teeth.

One of his hands slipped from my waist and rose to cup my chin between his thumb and index finger, freezing me in place. His grip was firm—I knew he could shatter my jaw in a second if he wanted to. But it remained surprisingly gentle, as if he were holding something precious in the palm of his hand. He tilted my face from side to side, examining it from every angle, his lips pursed in vague appreciation. As if the tension in his touch was just something I’d imagined.

His mismatched eyes bore into me, scanning every corner of my face, and I felt my heart hammering wildly in my chest.

“Are you afraid?” he asked at last, his voice barely more than a breath.

I took a moment to think about my answer—and it surprised even me. “No.”

I couldn’t describe what I felt toward him as fear. Maybe I’d been afraid when I first found him in my living room—when he wasn’t supposed to be there—and felt him take control of my body, pulling me toward him. But now, in this moment, everything was a blur. Every internal alarm screamed at me to run, to put as much distance as possible between us, because he was pure danger—because he could tear me apart with a flick of his fingers.

And yet, he hadn’t.

“You should be.”

My eyes traced the contours of his face—from the dark strands of hair falling across his forehead to the sensual curve of his mouth—and not an ounce of fear stirred in me. Even the way he held me against him was surprisingly courteous, considering the position we were in. If I’d felt uneasy at first, that feeling was long gone. And I couldn’t quite tell if it was because of the way he acted with me—or the warmth spreading across my skin with every brush of his fingers.

“What do you want?” I murmured, smoothing the lapel of his leather jacket nervously, just to keep my hands busy.

He raised a brow, letting go of my face and resting one arm lazily on the armrest of the chair.

“What I want?”

His fingers pressed ever so slightly against my hip. So faintly that, for a second, I thought I imagined it. Yet the gesture sent a shiver crawling up my spine.

“Many things,” he continued, his voice grave, his eyes never leaving mine. “But that’s not what matters. I’m here because you desire.”

His voice echoed through the room—deep, resonant—and I could feel it crawling up my bare arms, trying to slip beneath my skin.

“I don’t know,” I admitted after a pause.

“I don’t believe you,” he replied, tilting his head slightly. “You humans—you all have something you ache for in the dark. Something you keep hidden, right here.”

His index finger hovered just over my shirt, right above my heart—and for a second, my breath caught.

“Wealth. Power. Love. Death. Or the absence of it. There’s always a secret slumbering underneath, fed year after year by frustration and longing—whatever form it takes.**”

His lips curled into a mocking smile as he spoke.

“Some don’t even hesitate. It’s funny how quickly the proudest among you fall to their knees to claim it,” he said, tapping his chin absently with a fingertip. “So I’ll ask you again, Stay. What is it you want most in this world?”

My stomach tightened at the sound of my nickname.

“I don’t know.”

“Liar,” he whispered, that maddening smirk still etched on his face.

“I don’t know!” I cried, brows furrowed. “It was an accident! I didn’t mean to summon a demon in my living room!”

I pushed him with both hands, and this time, he let me. He simply watched me as I rose shakily to my feet.

“And yet you did. I’m here,” he replied, gesturing vaguely toward himself. “And I’m still waiting for an answer.”

I could still feel the ghost of his fingers on my hip, as though they’d left a burning imprint on my skin. But I could breathe more easily now that I had stepped away from him—away from his intoxicating scent. Still, now that I stood before him, I felt cramped inside my own body.

“I don’t have one to give you. How many times do I have to say it? Can’t you go haunt someone else?” I asked, pacing back and forth across the rug.

“Do I look like someone who enjoys wasting his time?”

I stopped abruptly, my head snapping in his direction—and that’s when I understood his persistence.

“You can’t leave.”

“Bingo,” he muttered bitterly, snapping his fingers.

My throat tightened, and I curled my fingers into my palms. He was stuck here. And if I understood correctly, the only way to send him back… was to make a wish.

But none of the things he’d listed earlier interested me. All I wanted was to be free. That was the reason I’d chosen to exile myself to this remote place—somewhere no one could reach me. And making a deal with a demon was signing a contract in blood. Everyone knew they always demanded something in return—and they never forgot to collect.

I was dealing with a being whose power far surpassed mine, and I needed to be cautious.

And yet… temptation hovered in the corner of my mind like a shadow I couldn’t ignore.

I could ask for almost anything. The mere fact that I had that kind of power at my fingertips made my head spin. It was hard to suppress the almost primal greed I felt at the thought of demanding something—anything—and receiving it without lifting a finger.

It was a once-in-a-lifetime chance. I knew that. And that knowledge alone kept me from blurting out the first thing that came to mind just to make him disappear.

So I would take the time I needed. Time to find an answer worthy of the “gift” I had been given.

And maybe… just maybe, it would allow me to satisfy the growing curiosity I felt toward him.

I had no experience whatsoever when it came to demons—he was the first I’d ever encountered—but he didn’t match the portrait usually painted of his kind. Or maybe I was just being naïve, and he was manipulating me so subtly that I couldn’t even tell. It was hard to explain, because none of it made sense—he just felt… too human for a demon.

His behavior didn’t align with what I had expected from such a creature—almost as if I were doing him a favor by responding to his request. He had simply spoken to me politely, waited without showing any real impatience, and even though he had used magic to compel me earlier, I couldn’t bring myself to resent him for it.

He was… surprisingly agreeable. If that was even the right word. He remained entirely courteous, and the unease I had felt at the start had dissolved far more quickly than I’d like to admit. And I never thought I’d say something like that about a demon.

But I could feel a kind of weariness radiating from him. As if he’d been doing this for so long, it no longer brought him any satisfaction. As if he had seen the full extent of human desires—and they no longer held any real interest for him.

He hadn’t tried to coax me, not even for a second. He hadn’t promised me riches or miracles to lure me into a choice. He just waited—legs once again crossed, quietly studying me, as he had been doing since the moment he appeared in my living room. And truthfully… I had the feeling I was just as much a subject of curiosity to him as he was to me.

“I’ll think about it,” I finally said, shrugging my shoulders.

He straightened up in the chair, uncrossed his legs, and stood. He wasn’t especially tall, yet the shadows wrapped around him made him seem much more imposing beneath his long leather coat. He towered over me by a good ten centimeters, and I felt my throat tighten without knowing why. Maybe my body could sense the danger, recognize the threat standing only steps away.

He sighed, running his fingers through his dark hair, pushing it back. Then tilted his head to study me again.

“You’ve really decided not to make this easy for me, haven’t you?” he asked, the corner of his lips curled into a resigned smirk.

“I’m just being cautious,” I replied, folding my arms over my chest.

He took a step forward, shrinking the distance between us, and I instinctively backed away. But he kept coming, calm and silent, until I was stopped short by a piece of furniture at my back.

He leaned in, and my breath hitched in my throat as I felt his across my neck.

"Consider yourself lucky, little bird. I’ll give you until the end of the week to make your choice," he whispers against my ear. "However, it’s wise of you to remember who I am and, most importantly, what I am capable of. Because you won’t be able to escape me forever."

I shiver, both from his proximity and the weight of his words. Yet, the smile that curls on his full lips seemed out of place compared to the crushing weight of his words. As if he were offering me a brief respite, but in doing so, he was gaining some advantage as well. Despite everything, he remained a being of darkness, whose moods could shift in an instant. If indeed they still possessed such things.

"You can’t leave until I give my answer anyway," I respond, even though the uncertainty in my voice contrasts with the boldness of my words.

He lets out a low laugh, which undulates across my skin like the caress of a velvet glove. His fingers hover near my face without touching it, tracing the line of my jaw. Yet, I feel their warmth as if they’ve actually made contact.

"There’s one thing you haven’t understood yet, Stay : I’m doing you a favor by letting you decide for yourself. If you haven’t found what you want by the end of these few days, I’ll go find the answer myself."

I freeze, raising my eyes to him.

"What ?"

" Tick tock. Tick tock, little bird. "

He steps back, and it’s my turn to advance, my brows furrowing.

"What does that mean ?" I ask, my throat tightening with sudden concern.

But he’s already starting to disappear, as though swallowed by the shadows surrounding him. The lower part of his body is nothing but darkness, but his eyes glow with a wild gleam, resembling the satisfaction of a predator when he knows he’s caught his prey.

However, where I should have felt fear, there’s only a deep unease that has nothing to do with dread.

"Chan."

His voice resonates with surprising softness, and my lips part in surprise. One blink later, he has vanished from the living room. And I might have thought it was a dream if not for the dark tendrils still creeping across the floor before they dissipate as well.

"Chan ?" I murmur into the emptiness, my fingers clenched around the hem of my sweater.

My heart is still pounding in my chest, and my fingers are trembling slightly, my feet cold, contrasting with the searing heat that still lingers on my cheeks.

"Might as well get to know each other if we’re going to spend some days together, little bird."

His presence suddenly echoes all around me in the room, disembodied, and a shiver runs down my spine at the silky tone.

"Bangchan, at your service."

Note to self: never read Latin out loud again.

[evandsolo]

I was waiting for this one ! Omg queen, you slay 🥹🩷

baby, come and get it

part 2 to teeth

"feel the bite between my jaw, so tasty"

pairing: vampire!heeseung x reader

synopsis: after the intimate moment you shared with heeseung, he starts to avoid you, leaving you confused and frustrated. you cannot stop craving him, resulting in a confrontation which gives you exactly what you want...and more.

genre: enemies to lovers, vampire au, neighbours au, angst, fluff

warnings: lots of suggestive content!!(read at your own discretion), blood and biting, making out, swearing

note: so many of you wanted a second part so here you go! this is the final installment. the writing style may be a bit different from the previous part because it's almost been a year whew. listen to teeth while reading this, enjoy!

word count: 3.8k

if you liked it please reblog or comment to give me your feedback! <3 | taglist

the door clicks shut behind you, sealing the two of you inside the dimly lit sanctuary of your apartment. 

you don’t turn around immediately. you can’t. your pulse is a frantic drum against your ribs, and you know he can hear it, feel it, with the way his breath hitches behind you.

you take a slow, measured step forward, but it’s futile. heeseung is faster. always faster. his presence looms before you can gain any distance, his body heat—or lack thereof—ghosting against your back.

"so," he drawls, voice smooth, teasing. "how do you want me to repay you?"

you swallow. hard. heeseung steps closer, close enough that the faint scent of him—something dark, something rich—clouds your thoughts. you know you should say something, make some sharp remark, but your words fail you when his fingers ghost down your arm, featherlight and deliberate.

you turn to face him, finally, but the motion makes the room spin. the sudden wave of dizziness nearly knocks you off your feet.

heeseung’s expression shifts in an instant. his teasing smirk vanishes, replaced by something unreadable, something almost concerned. before you can collapse, his hands are on you, strong, steady, holding you up with ease.

"shit," he mutters, barely above a whisper. "you’re weaker than i thought."

you blink up at him, disoriented, your body strangely light, like your limbs aren't fully your own. the effects of his bite are still there, lingering like a phantom touch, a whisper of pleasure tangled with exhaustion.

his hands tighten around you, firm but careful. you expect him to make a joke, to smirk down at you and say something insufferable. but he doesn't. his jaw is clenched, his gaze dark, serious.

"you need to rest," he says, and for once, there's no teasing lilt to his voice, no flirtation. just quiet authority.

you want to protest, but the weight pressing on your limbs betrays you. heeseung exhales sharply, like he’s irritated, like he's mad at you for being this fragile. but his actions betray him. his arm hooks around your waist, guiding you toward the couch with a touch gentler than you’ve ever known from him.

"sit," he orders, and you’re too drained to argue.

he watches you for a beat, something unreadable flickering behind his dark eyes. then, without another word, he steps away, disappearing toward the door.

your stomach knots. "where are you—"

"just sleep," he says, not turning back. "i’ll be back."

and then he's gone.

but the tension he leaves behind lingers, curling in your chest, coiling in your veins. sleep does not come easily. not with the memory of his hands still burning against your skin. not with the echo of his voice, rough and low, still whispering through your mind.

not with the reminder that, for all the danger heeseung poses, you still let him in.

you wake up with a sharp inhale, the kind that feels like resurfacing from deep underwater. for a second, you expect the weight of exhaustion to drag you back down, to feel the lingering ache of what heeseung took from you. but when you push yourself upright, there’s nothing. no dizziness, no weakness, no soreness in your limbs.

physically, you feel fine. too fine.

your fingers ghost over your neck, searching for evidence of his touch—of his bite—but your skin is smooth, unmarked. as if it never happened. but you know it did. you can still feel it, phantom traces of the way his lips had burned against your skin before his fangs had pierced through. the way he had held you afterwards, firm but careful, something unreadable in his darkened gaze.

something had changed. you felt it.

but now, in the cold quiet of morning, it almost seems like a fever dream.

you exhale, slow and controlled, forcing yourself to push past it. you are not going to sit here analysing a moment that clearly meant nothing to him. heeseung had left without a word. again.

if he can move on, so can you.

so you do.

you wake up early, run until your legs ache, drink coffee even though you don’t need it, just for something warm to hold onto. you take extra shifts, bury yourself in work, fill the empty spaces of your day with anything and everything that will keep your mind from circling back to him.

and yet.

no matter what you do, his absence lingers.

not once do you hear his voice in the hallway, teasing or otherwise. not once do you catch his gaze from across the courtyard, that knowing smirk playing at his lips. you don’t see him by the elevators, don’t hear his steps behind you, don’t feel his presence like a shadow at your back.

and it’s wrong.

because for weeks, heeseung was everywhere. inescapable. a constant thorn in your side, always watching, always pushing, always there.

but now?

nothing.

and you hate that it bothers you. hate that a part of you waits for something—anything—to prove that you didn’t imagine it all. that what happened between you mattered.

by the fifth day, you’re frustrated. restless. itching for something, for him, just so you don’t have to sit with this stupid, unbearable silence.

and then, finally, he appears.

not in some dramatic moment, not in some fateful encounter charged with tension, but in the mailroom.

you nearly miss him entirely, too lost in your thoughts to notice at first. but then, there he is. standing in front of the row of metal mailboxes, effortlessly composed, as if nothing has changed.

except it has.

you stop mid-step, heart hammering. heeseung is right there. close enough to touch. close enough that if he just looked up, just met your eyes—

but he doesn’t.

he doesn’t even hesitate. just opens his mailbox, pulls out a single envelope, tucks it into the pocket of his jacket.

no teasing. no smirk. not even a glance in your direction.

heeseung doesn’t acknowledge you at all.

your breath catches, a sharp pang blooming in your chest. you don’t know what you expected—some sign that he’s affected, that he remembers everything as vividly as you do—but the complete indifference?

it stings.

more than you care to admit.

you watch as he turns, his movements smooth, unhurried. his gaze flickers past you, impassive, as if you’re just another person in the building. just another insignificant moment in his day.

then, without a word, he walks away.

just like that.

you stand frozen, heart pounding, anger rising to smother the ache.

days have passed since the encounter in the mailroom, since heeseung brushed past you as if you were nothing. you hate how much it gets to you. how much you miss the push and pull, the way he used to get under your skin like it was his favourite pastime. but if he wants to act like nothing happened, fine. you’ll just have to remind him.

the opportunity comes unexpectedly.

you’re standing in the hallway, ripping open a package with more force than necessary, frustration still simmering beneath your skin. the cardboard is stubborn, sealed too tightly, and in your impatience, the jagged edge of the tape slices cleanly across your fingertip.

"fuck," you hiss, pulling your hand back. a single bead of blood wells up, bright and rich against your skin.

at that exact moment, the elevator dings.

the doors slide open, and heeseung steps out.

your breath catches.

his reaction is immediate, visceral. his entire body goes still, eyes locking onto your hand before you can even think to move. his pupils dilate, dark swallowing lighter brown, his lips parting slightly as if he’s just been hit with a scent too intoxicating to ignore.

for the first time in days, you have him.

it’s reckless and stupid, but you do it anyway.

without breaking eye contact, you bring your hand to your lips, tongue darting out to slowly lick away the blood.

it’s a calculated move, a challenge, a dare. you see it the moment something cracks in him—his jaw tightens, his hands curling into fists at his sides. the hunger is there, raw and barely restrained, flickering across his face like a fire he’s desperately trying to smother.

you expect him to snap. to say something cutting, to lunge, to do anything.

but instead, his expression hardens.

just like in the mailroom, he schools his features into cold indifference, locks every bit of his hunger behind a wall of steel.

without a word, he walks past you.

you’re left standing there, lips tingling, the taste of your own blood still faint on your tongue.

at first, it feels like victory.

but later, when you’re lying in bed, staring at the ceiling with your body burning too hot beneath the sheets, it doesn’t feel like winning at all.

you shift restlessly, fingers clenching at your comforter, but nothing soothes the restless ache under your skin. the teasing had been for him. a way to make him react. so why does your body feel unsatisfied? why does your breath still hitch at the memory of his eyes, dark and hungry, before he forced himself to walk away?

why does your throat feel dry at the thought of his teeth against your skin again?

he’s a vampire, for fuck’s sake. you shouldn’t be acting like this.

you squeeze your eyes shut, willing the thoughts away, but they remain, curling around you like an addiction you refuse to name.

you tell yourself you’re still in control.

you don’t quite believe it.

you don’t know when it happens—when the frustration festers into something unbearable, when the tension morphs into something that demands to be acknowledged.

all you know is that it’s late, and you’re standing outside heeseung’s door, pulse hammering, knuckles hovering just inches from the dark wood.

your body feels wrong. too warm, too tight, every inch of you coiled with an ache you don’t want to name. sleep has evaded you for nights, ever since that moment in the hallway, ever since you tasted your own blood on your tongue and saw the raw hunger flicker across his face.

he hadn’t touched you. hadn’t spoken. hadn’t given you anything.

and yet, he’s everywhere. in the silence of your apartment, in the ghost of his hands on your body, in the phantom heat of his breath against your skin. he’s burrowed under your skin, insidious and intoxicating, refusing to let go.

your fist connects with the door before you can second-guess yourself. once. twice. sharp, deliberate knocks that feel like surrender.

the sound echoes in the hallway. there’s just the presence of silence thick enough to choke you—then, you hear the faint creak of movement inside.

your breath catches.

seconds later, the door swings open, and he’s there.

heeseung leans against the frame, one hand braced above his head, and every thought in your head blanks at the sight of him.

he’s shirtless.

his skin gleams under the dim hallway lights, the planes of his collarbones sharp and distracting. his hair is tousled and messy—like he’s been running his hands through it, like he’s been restless, pacing, waiting for something he never wanted to name.

but his eyes—his eyes—are the worst part.

they flicker over you, taking in your tense stance, your parted lips, the way you’re still catching your breath like you ran here.

for a moment, just for a brief, flickering second—he looks wrecked.

then he schools his expression, forces something cold into his gaze, and when he finally speaks, his voice is hoarse.

"what are you doing here?"

you swallow hard, fingers curling at your sides. "i think you already know."

heeseung exhales sharply, turning his head away for a second, like he needs to think. like he needs to remind himself why this is a bad idea.

"you shouldn’t be here." his voice is rough, frayed at the edges.

"but i am."

that gets his attention.

his gaze snaps back to yours, and something flickers in the depths of his dark eyes—something dangerous.

"you don’t know what you’re asking for," he murmurs, voice quieter now, like he’s losing the will to fight this.

you take a step closer. "then show me."

his throat bobs, the muscle in his jaw ticking, tension rolling through his frame like he’s seconds away from breaking.

heeseung sways forward.

it’s so subtle you almost miss it, but you don’t.

"say it," he rasps, his fingers twitching at his sides like he wants to reach for you, like he’s still holding himself back.

"say what you want."

you know what he’s doing. he’s giving you one last chance. one final moment to walk away before this turns into something neither of you can take back.

but you don’t move.

"you."

the single word leaves your lips breathlessly quiet, dripping with your true feelings. and then, in the span of a heartbeat, he breaks.

his hands are on you before you can process it, shoving you back against the doorframe, his lips crashing into yours, all heat and hunger and frustration.

his mouth is relentless, desperate, claiming yours with a kind of urgency that makes your knees go weak. heeseung kisses you like he’s trying to devour you, like he’s spent weeks, months, forever waiting for this moment. his lips are soft but unrelenting, molding perfectly against yours, his breath hot and uneven as he drinks you in.

his hands are everywhere—gripping at your waist, your hips, sliding up your spine, pulling you against him like he doesn’t just want you close, he needs you closer. your fingers tangle into his hair, tugging slightly, and the sound that rumbles from his throat is a deep, hungry growl that sends a sharp jolt of heat straight through you.

his tongue brushes against your bottom lip, slow and teasing, before he deepens the kiss. it’s intoxicating, the way he moves, the way he controls the moment without ever taking it away from you. his lips part yours easily, his tongue sliding against yours, coaxing, demanding, taking.

a gasp catches in your throat, and heeseung seizes the moment, swallowing it whole, his fingers pressing deeper into your skin. he tilts his head, angling the kiss even deeper, his body pressing flush against yours, pinning you between him and the door.

"i hate you," he mutters between kisses, teeth catching your bottom lip, sucking it into his mouth. "do you know how hard i tried to stay away?"

"then why didn’t you?" your voice is a whisper, barely a breath.

his forehead presses against yours, his eyes dark and wild.

"because i fucking can’t."

his mouth is on you again before you can respond. this time, it’s slower—more deliberate. his tongue parts your lips, tasting you, savoring the way you melt beneath him. he deepens the kiss, his hands roaming, sliding beneath your shirt, gripping at your bare skin like he can’t stand the distance.

your teeth graze his bottom lip, and he groans as his grip tightens on you.

"tell me to stop," he breathes against your lips, voice strained, shaking with restraint.

but you don’t.

you tilt your head, exposing the side of your neck, pulse hammering beneath your skin.

and heeseung shatters.

his breath hitches, a sharp, broken sound, before his fangs sink into your skin.

the pain is brief, sharp, before it melts into something else entirely—something warm and dizzying and consuming. a moan slips past your lips, your fingers flying to his shoulders, gripping onto him as a wave of unbearable pleasure crashes through you.

he holds you steady, arms locking around your waist, pulling you flush against him as he drinks deep.

it’s too much. not enough.

your body trembles, caught in the haze of sensation, every nerve alight. the tension that’s been coiling inside you for days—finally breaks.

and relief floods through you.

heeseung pulls back too soon, licking over the fresh wound, soothing the sting. his breath is ragged, his hands still gripping you tightly, his body trembling with the force of his own restraint.

but you don’t let go.

your fingers curl into his skin, your own body still burning, still aching, and it’s only when heeseung lifts his head, his lips brushing over your pulse point, that you realize—

you don’t want this to end.

his eyes meet yours, darker than you’ve ever seen them.

"sweetheart," he murmurs, voice thick with satisfaction, with possession that made you shudder.

heeseung smirks, but there’s something softer beneath it now—something dangerously close to fondness.

his hands slide down your back, grounding you, keeping you steady.

"i hope you know," he says, his lips brushing against the fresh mark on your neck, "you’re mine now."

your breath catches.

and god help you, but you want to be.

his lips are still slick with your blood. you can feel it in the way they drag against your skin, slow and deliberate, a silent claim that makes heat coil low in your stomach. his breath is uneven, his grip firm on your waist like he’s holding himself back—or holding himself together.

your head tilts slightly, trying to catch your breath, trying to regain some semblance of control. but you don’t get the chance, because he suddenly picks you up, hands gripping your thighs as your legs instinctively wrap around his waist. you squeal as he carries you effortlessly, like you weigh nothing, like he’s been waiting to do this.

you barely register the way your back collides with the mattress, how his weight follows, pressing you down, his body caging yours in. his lips don’t leave yours—not for a second. he kisses you softly, like you’re the only thing that can sate the hunger clawing at his insides.

his hand slides beneath your shirt, fingers skimming over your burning skin, and you shudder. your own hands roam desperately—grasping at his bare shoulders, threading through his hair, clinging to him like you’ll fall apart if you let go.

everything blurs—a feverish mess of heat, tangled limbs, whispered breaths. every touch stokes the fire burning in your veins, every movement winds the tension between you tighter.

but then, he stops.

his forehead rests against yours, his breathing uneven.

"not tonight," he murmurs, voice strained, reluctant.

you blink up at him, dazed, lips tingling, body thrumming with electricity. "why not?"

heeseung’s fingers trace absent circles against your skin, his touch soothing. "because if i start, i won’t stop."

he exhales sharply, his lips ghosting over your cheek. "and you deserve better than that."

your chest tightens, but not with disappointment. with something else. something warmer.

"stay," he says softly, his voice quieter now, his hand curling around your wrist. "just for tonight."

and somehow, that’s enough.

he pulls you against him, arms wrapping around you, pressing you into the sheets. he shifts until you’re tucked against his chest, one arm draped over your waist, the other beneath the pillows. the way he holds you is instinctive, like he’s done this a thousand times before—like he’s been waiting to do this.

your breath is uneven as you try to process it all—the way his body fits against yours, the warmth of his skin, the slow, steady rise and fall of his chest beneath your palm.

"you okay?" heeseung’s voice is quieter now, rough with exhaustion but laced with something else. something deeper.

you swallow, nodding. "yeah."

he hums softly, his fingers tracing idle circles against your back.

"this is new," you murmur, barely above a whisper.

"what is?"

"you," you say, tilting your head to meet his gaze. "not pushing me away."

heeseung’s lips twitch, but his smirk doesn’t hold its usual sharpness. instead, he watches you, studying your face like he’s trying to commit every inch of it to memory.

"i think i got tired of running."

your breath catches. you don’t know what to say to that—what to do with that. so you don’t say anything.

instead, you shift closer, letting your fingers trace over the bare skin of his chest, over the sharp planes of his collarbones, the steady beat of his heart beneath your touch. heeseung shivers, his breath hitching just slightly.

he shifts, rolling onto his side, bringing you with him so you’re pressed against his chest, so close you can feel his breath against your lips.

his fingers tilt your chin up, and the moment stretches, charged, waiting—until he leans in, pressing the softest kiss against your lips.

it’s nothing like before. nothing like the desperation, the hunger, the madness that had consumed you both just minutes ago.

this one is slow. lingering. almost tender.

his hand settles against your jaw, thumb tracing delicate patterns along your cheekbone.

then after a long silence he hesitantly speaks up, "why were you looking for me?"

your breath stills.

heeseung’s voice is careful, but not indifferent. it’s something softer, something almost uncertain.

"you were avoiding me," you murmur, pressing your palm flat against his chest. "i wanted to know why."

heeseung doesn’t answer right away. his fingers still, hesitating, before he exhales, a slow, heavy sound.

"because i was afraid."

that makes you look up. "afraid?"

his jaw tenses. "afraid that if i let myself have this—have you—i wouldn't be able to stop."

your throat tightens. "and now?"

heeseung’s lips twitch, but it’s not quite a smirk. "i already lost that fight, sweetheart."

your heart clenches, something warm unfurling deep in your chest.

"then stop pretending you don’t want this." your voice is quieter now, steadier.

his eyes flicker over your face, searching, considering.

"and what if i do?" he murmurs. "what if i want all of it?"

you feel your breath hitch, pulse stuttering beneath your skin.

"then we figure it out."

the silence stretches, but this time, it’s not heavy. it’s something else, something warm.

heeseung exhales softly, then leans in, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to your temple.

"you drive me insane," he mumbles, lips brushing against your skin.

"good," you whisper, smiling against his shoulder.

heeseung shifts slightly, pressing you closer, his fingers slipping under the hem of your shirt, tracing absentminded patterns against your spine.

"so," he says after a beat, voice tinged with amusement, "what do you think people will say when they find out you’re dating a vampire?"

your stomach flips.

"who said anything about dating?" you tease, lifting your head slightly.

heeseung raises an eyebrow, the ghost of a smirk tugging at his lips. "oh? you want me all to yourself, but you don’t want to call it dating?"

you roll your eyes, nudging him playfully. "you’re impossible."

"and you’re stuck with me now."

his voice is light, teasing, but there’s something real underneath it—something steady, something sure.

something that tells you this isn’t just tonight.

it’s more.

you let out a soft laugh, burying your face in the crook of his neck, breathing him in.

"guess i am."

𝗰𝗼𝗽𝘆𝗿𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁 ©𝗴𝘆𝘂𝘂𝗯𝗲𝗿𝗿𝘆𝘆 on Tumblr˚ · .𝗮𝗹𝗹 𝗿𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁𝘀 𝗿𝗲𝘀𝗲𝗿𝘃𝗲𝗱

[evandsolo]

Talent, talent, talent

OT 7 text reaction: you tell them you did something bad

pairing: bf!enhypen x reader

genre: smau, crack, fluff

warning: swearing, mentions of fire, joke about selling organs

note: my smau debut! please don't flop haha i'll crash out🙏

If you liked it please reblog or comment to give me your feedback! <3 | taglist

HEESEUNG

rest is under the cut!

JAY

JAKE

SUNGHOON

SUNOO

JUNGWON

NI-KI

𝗰𝗼𝗽𝘆𝗿𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁 ©𝗴𝘆𝘂𝘂𝗯𝗲𝗿𝗿𝘆𝘆 on Tumblr

˚ · .𝗮𝗹𝗹 𝗿𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁𝘀 𝗿𝗲𝘀𝗲𝗿𝘃𝗲𝗱

[evandsolo]

I need more. Please and thank you

brain empty, just you !

loser!txt's reaction to you getting them flustered

genre: fluff, humour

warnings: suggestive content!, making out, kissing, choking(the good kind heh), whiny!txt, stuttering, swearing, down bad!txt

note: finally writing for txt after like 2 years. i did a similar one for enha so naturally i had to do it for txt because they're soo silly. i also had to finish writing this after looking at beomgyu's very motivating recent buff pics omg. enjoy reading!

word count: 3.8k

if you liked it please reblog or comment to give me your feedback! <3

YEONJUN

yeonjun tries so hard to play it cool as your boyfriend—all confidence and swagger—but the moment you so much as hold his hand for too long, he’s hiding his face in your shoulder, whining about how "you're trying to kill me!" he’s the type to shamelessly beg for your attention one second, then get insanely flustered when you actually give it to him. he’ll send you selfies captioned "thinking about you, babe ;)" and then shrivel up and die if you call him cute.

and now, as he sits beside you on his couch, watching some random movie, he’s completely oblivious to the way you’ve been staring at him for the past ten minutes. he’s scrolling on his phone, glasses slipping down his nose, occasionally mumbling a reaction to whatever’s on screen. his bare face looks so pretty in the dim glow of the television, lips slightly parted, his brows furrowing every now and then.

he looks kissable.

"why are you looking at me like that?"

you blink, snapped out of your trance. yeonjun turns to you, eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"like what?" you ask, tilting your head.

"like you're about to bully me."

you let out a soft hum. "i was just thinking."

he snorts. "that’s never good."

you ignore him. "you’re not a very good kisser.".

his entire body goes stiff, his mouth opening and closing like a fish. his phone slips from his grip, bouncing onto his lap, and he blinks at you in pure devastation.

"huh?" he finally croaks out, voice cracking horribly.

you shrug. "i mean, you're just kinda… meh. nothing special."

yeonjun’s jaw drops. he presses a dramatic hand to his chest like you’ve just stabbed him. "EXCUSE ME?!"

you barely hold in your laugh at his utterly betrayed expression. "i dunno, babe. you just kinda suck."

"I SUCK?! i—when? why didn’t you say anything before" he whines, eyes wide with disbelief.

you hum, inspecting your nails. "I was being nice."

yeonjun gasps, clutching his chest like a 19th-century widow. his ears are red. "YOU WERE BEING NICE?! BABY, MY EGO—HELLO?!"

before he can spiral into a full-blown meltdown, you reach up, gently plucking his glasses off his face.

his words die in his throat.

"which is why you need more practice," you murmur.

his breath hitches.

then, before he can so much as process what’s happening, your fingers weave into his hair, tugging him in as your lips crash against his.

yeonjun whimpers.

he goes boneless instantly, melting into you like putty. his plush lips part against yours, kissing you back so desperately, so messily, it’s obvious he’s completely lost in it. your fingers tangle deeper into his hair, tugging lightly, and the sound he makes—somewhere between a whimper and a whine—sends heat rushing through you.

it’s a mess. his lips move against yours with a feverish hunger, hands gripping your waist as if you’ll disappear if he lets go. he’s so eager, tilting his head to deepen the kiss, his tongue brushing against yours in a way that makes you shiver.

when you finally pull away, only because you need air, yeonjun chases your lips with a needy whine, trying to pull you back in.

but then, against your lips, he mumbles in the saddest, most pathetic voice:

"do you really think I’m a bad kisser?"

you lose it.

a laugh bubbles out of you, and you cup his face, pressing a soft peck to his nose. his cheeks are burning, his brows furrowed in genuine distress.

"i was just messing with you, baby," you giggle, pecking his lips again. "i just needed an excuse to kiss you. I literally can’t get enough of you."

yeonjun blinks. once. twice.

then he groans, dramatically collapsing onto your shoulder, wrapping himself around you like a clingy koala. "you’re SO mean."

you laugh, rubbing his back. "you love me."

"unfortunately," he grumbles, muffled against your neck.

you smirk. "and you’re a great kisser, by the way."

he peeks up at you, still red-faced, before stealing another quick kiss—like he needs to make up for lost time. and despite his flustered state, you know he’s already planning ways to get back at you… if he ever stops blushing long enough to think straight.

SOOBIN

for someone so tall and broad, soobin is an absolute baby when it comes to you. the man stutters every time you compliment him, avoids eye contact when you so much as hold his hand, and malfunctions if you get even a little bit flirty. he physically cannot handle any form of teasing—his ears turn red, his hands get clammy, and he lets out those pathetic little whimpers whenever you catch him off guard.

right now, though, soobin is doing so well pretending to be normal.

you two are in his kitchen, baking together, and he’s very focused on whisking the brownie batter. his eyebrows are furrowed in concentration, lips slightly parted, his strong arms flexing with every precise movement. the sight of his broad shoulders tapering into his slim waist is so unfair. the way his biceps subtly shift under his oversized t-shirt?—it’s all so unfairly attractive. he’s doing absolutely nothing and yet, somehow, he’s driving you insane.

you step forward, wrapping your arms around his waist from behind and burying your face into his back. soobin stiffens. like, completely freezes. you swear you can hear his heart pounding from this position.

then—

"b-babe?" he croaks out, voice cracking violently.

you giggle, tightening your hold around him. "mhm?"

"w-what are you—" he cuts himself off with a sharp inhale when you press a soft kiss against his nape. his breath shudders. you grin against his skin, pressing another kiss, then another, trailing them slowly up to his jaw. you can feel his entire body trembling beneath your touch, his grip on the whisk turning bone-white.

"b-baby, i—"

you don’t let him finish. instead, you suck gently on the soft skin just beneath his ear.

soobin lets out a broken whimper. his whole body shudders, and you swear he whines when you lick over the spot before sucking again, harder this time. his free hand grips the counter for dear life as if that’ll stop his knees from giving out.

"s-stop," he begs, voice so weak, so pathetic.

you don’t stop. you drag your lips across his skin, finding a new spot to bite down on, leaving another mark, and—

"OH SHIT!"

you pull back, startled, just in time to see soobin staring in absolute horror at the bowl in front of him. he’s gripping a salt container. and he just dumped a quarter of it into the brownie batter.

there���s a moment of dead silence.

then—

"YOU DISTRACTED ME!" soobin wails, turning to face you with the saddest pout you’ve ever seen.

you burst out laughing.

"soobin!" you gasp, holding your stomach. "oh my god, you—oh my god—!"

"this is NOT funny!" he cries, stomping his foot like an actual child. "those were gonna be SO GOOD!"

"they still can be!" you tease, wiping a tear from your eye. "just... y'know, if you wanna die of sodium overdose."

soobin groans, covering his face in shame. "i hate you."

you smirk, stepping closer. "no, you don’t."

"I DO."

"no, you don't."

"i dooooo—"

he cuts himself off mid-whine. because suddenly, he’s hit with an idea.

a horrible idea.

and you see it in his eyes before it even happens.

in the blink of an eye, soobin spins around, trapping you against the counter. his arms cage you in, his broad frame looming over you, and he leans in all slow and deliberate, trying to act like he knows what he’s doing.

"now look what you’ve done, baby," he murmurs, voice dropping an octave.

oh.

oh, he thinks he’s being hot.

the problem is—he looks more adorable than hot, because his ears are bright red, his eyes keep darting to your lips like he doesn’t know where else to look, and the way he’s breathing just the tiniest bit too fast gives away how insanely nervous he is.

then he licks his lips.

(or at least, he tries to.)

because the second his tongue peeks out, he accidentally bites it instead, letting out a pathetic little "ow."

you stare at him.

soobin freezes.

the tension shatters.

then you die laughing, "you—YOU TRIED TO BE SMOOTH AND THEN—!"

"NOOOO, WAIT—!"

but you’re already giggling uncontrollably, fully doubling over against his chest.

soobin groans, hiding his face in his hands. "ugh this is so embarrassing!"

you lift your head, still laughing, pressing a kiss to his flaming cheek. "you’re so cute, baby."

"don’t say that!" he whines, flailing his arms.

but you just smirk. "what? i thought you wanted to be all smooth and confident?"

soobin collapses onto the counter, burying his head in his arms. "i am NEVER doing that again."

you giggle, patting his head. "i dunno, baby. i think it was kinda hot."

soobin lifts his head slightly, peeking at you with hopeful eyes. "really?"

you grin. "no."

he lets out the loudest groan ever.

 BEOMGYU

beomgyu is the absolute worst best friend to have a crush on. he’s loud, annoying, and somehow always finds new ways to make you suffer. he’s clingy in the worst way—stealing your snacks, flopping onto you like a deadweight whenever he’s tired, and absolutely refusing to let you do anything in peace. he always has to be touching you—whether it’s throwing his leg over yours, wrapping his arms around you like a koala, or straight-up lying on top of you like you’re a personal mattress.

but the moment you touch him first? malfunction.

the second you get even a little flirty? shutdown.

and lately, you’ve been having way too much fun testing that theory.

because beomgyu’s been working out.

like, seriously working out.

and god, is it showing.

he’s huge now—his shoulders broader, his arms thicker, his waist still slim but now complemented with solid muscle. you don’t know when exactly he started hitting the gym like his life depended on it, but you do know it’s made play-fighting with him so much harder.

like right now, for example.

you’re on your bed, engaged in an intense pillow fight, but it’s not even fair anymore. beomgyu used to suck at this—he used to wheeze and flail and scream whenever you got the upper hand. but now? now he’s too strong. every time you swing at him, he effortlessly blocks it, laughing at your pathetic attempts to win.

"aw, what’s wrong?" he teases, easily dodging your next swing. "is someone losing?"

you scowl. "shut up."

"no, seriously," he grins, mocking you. "this is sad. like, you’re not even putting up a fight. are you even trying?"

oh, fuck him.

you drop the pillow, launching yourself at him instead.

beomgyu yelps as you tackle him down, using your weight to pin him beneath you. before he can react, you go for the kill—your fingers digging into his sides, tickling him ruthlessly.

"no no WAIT—"

his laughter explodes from his chest, high-pitched and desperate. he squirms, his muscles tensing under you as he tries to fight back, but you’re relentless, giggling as he gasps for air.

 but then, just as your giggles subside, you become painfully aware of two things:

beomgyu looks hot.

you want him to choke you.

the realization hits you like a truck. because holy shit—he’s under you, panting, his face flushed, his arms bulging as they grip your waist, his lips parted just slightly, his brown eyes dark and half-lidded as he catches his breath.

oh.

oh, no.

you freeze, eyes locked on his.

beomgyu, of course, being the oblivious loser he is, just blinks at you, completely unaware of the thoughts flooding your brain.

and then he flips you over.

in one quick motion, Beomgyu has you pinned instead, his thick arm curling around your neck in a chokehold.

your brain short-circuits.

because—

this is exactly what you wanted.

and Beomgyu, still oblivious, leans down, his breath hot against your ear.

"what now, huh?" he murmurs, his voice dropping into a low, teasing tone. "you thought you could win? look at you now."

oh, fuck.

your entire body shudders. this is too much. his scent, his weight, the way his arm presses against your throat just right—

"god, this feels so good."

the words slip out before you can stop them.

beomgyu freezes.

and then—

"…huh?"

his grip loosens instantly, and he stumbles back like he’s been electrocuted. his face is burning red, eyes wide in pure, unfiltered panic.

"w-what do you mean—" he gulps. "w-what do you—w-what—h-huh—?"

you blink up at him, suddenly just as flustered.

"uhm—"

"n-no wait—like—" beomgyu waves his arms, looking so painfully distressed. "WHAT DO YOU MEAN IT FELT GOOD—?"

you gulp, forcing yourself to meet his panicked gaze.

and then, because you literally have no other choice, you blurt out, "i think i like you."

beomgyu stares.

he stares.

and then he glitches, mouth opening and closing, hands twitching by his sides, brain fully crashing. his eyes dart everywhere except at you, his entire face a shade of red so intense you’re afraid he might actually pass out.

"you-you like me? like—LIKE ME like me?"

you bite your lip, nodding shyly. "yeah."

his breath catches and he immediately looks away, running a shaky hand through his hair, looking like he’s about to combust.

"h-holy shit—" he mutters under his breath. "oh my god oh my god—"

then—

"WAIT—SO YOU—SO YOU LIKED THE CHOKEHOLD?"

you groan, covering your face. "BEOMGYU—"

he wheezes, hands on his knees. "OH MY GOD—"

you swear he giggles. like, actually giggles.

then he stops and his entire body shudders.

and he whispers, "holy shit, that was kinda hot."

you choke.

"BEOMGYU!"

"you’re a freak," he teases, grinning. "wanting me to choke you and shit—"

"OH MY GOD SHUT UP!"

but when he pulls you into a hug, still laughing, still red-faced and awkward and loser-ish in the best way, you can’t help but smile.

TAEHYUN

taehyun is a very serious tutor. he has strict rules—no distractions, no unnecessary conversations, and definitely no messing around. this is a learning environment, not a hangout session.

he prides himself on his focus, his ability to remain calm under any circumstance. he’s the type of guy who color-codes his notes, has a rigid study schedule, and unironically enjoys doing practice questions for fun. he does not—under any circumstances—get flustered over dumb things like romantic tension.

at least, that’s what he used to believe.

then you happened, and suddenly, his ability to not be a complete loser around you has disappeared entirely.

from the moment he agreed to tutor you in math, things have been an absolute disaster. you’re so unfair. you bat your eyelashes, you ask him to repeat things you already understand just to hear his voice, and worst of all, you stare at him. like he’s some kind of fascinating subject to study instead of the guy desperately trying to keep his composure while explaining differential equations. 

he thought it would be fine—after all, he’s taehyun, and taehyun doesn’t get distracted. but within one week, he realized he was in deep, deep trouble.

because you mess with him. constantly.

like today.

you're both seated at a table in the library, supposed to be going over trigonometric identities. taehyun has the patience of a saint (or so he tells himself), but after fifteen minutes of you not even pretending to be paying attention, he's starting to lose it.

because you're staring at him shamelessly, chin propped up on your palm, eyes locked onto him with a lazy smile playing on your lips.

he tries to ignore it. he really does. his eyes flick to the textbook, his pen tapping against the table in a controlled rhythm. but it’s like your gaze is physically burning into him, and the more he tries to focus, the harder it gets.

finally, he snaps.

"what?" he blurts, gripping his pen so tightly it might explode.

you blink, all innocent. "what do you mean?"

"you're staring at me."

"oh." your lips curl into a slow smirk. "i was just thinking."

taehyun immediately doesn’t like the sound of that.

"thinking about what?" he asks, voice strained.

"how pretty you are."

his pen drops to the table with a clatter.

"i—" he chokes on air, already feeling heat crawl up his neck. he forces himself to focus, grabbing his pen with a death grip like it’s some kind of life support. "th-that’s irrelevant. get back to the problem."

but you? oh, you're evil.

you lean in closer, resting your chin on your hand, eyes twinkling with mischief. "i mean it," you hum. "you’re so cute, taehyun. it’s distracting."

distracting?

oh, the irony.

because you’re calling him distracting while he’s actively trying not to combust on the spot.

"s-stop," he stammers, adjusting his glasses even though they don’t need adjusting. "i—i don’t see how this is relevant to trigonometry—"

"it’s not," you shrug. "but I think you should know how much I like looking at you."

his breathing stops.

and then, as if you haven’t already destroyed him enough, you reach forward and fiddle with the hem of his sleeve, fingers brushing against his wrist like it’s the most casual thing in the world.

taehyun physically malfunctions.

tis ears are burning, his pulse is racing, and for the first time in his entire life, he has no idea what to do.

and so? he chooses violence.

without a word, taehyun slams his textbook shut, grabs his bag, and bolts out of the library so fast that he nearly trips over his own feet.

"we’re done!" he yells over his shoulder, voice cracking. "see you next week!"

you lose it, dissolving into laughter as you watch him practically sprint out of the building, ears glowing red.

and somewhere, down the hallway, taehyun is muttering under his breath about how this is why he should’ve never agreed to tutor you.

oh, he is never living this down.

HUENINGKAI 

hueningkai has been a mess around you for as long as you can remember.

it’s kind of ridiculous, really. despite being handsome and built like a human teddy bear, he has zero game. like, none at all. he stutters when talking to pretty people (you), trips over his own feet at least twice a day, and would definitely combust if you so much as complimented him unexpectedly.

and the fact that he’s your best friend bahiyyih’s older brother just makes it all the more entertaining. every time you so much as acknowledge his existence, bahiyyih rolls her eyes like she’s watching a romcom in real-time.

it’s adorable, really.

which is why, when he hesitantly approaches you after lecture one day, eyes darting everywhere but at your face, you already know whatever he’s about to say is going to be good.

"c-can you help me shop for hiyyih’s birthday?" he stammers, gripping the straps of his backpack like his life depends on it. "i—i don’t really know what to get her, and you're, um, good at this stuff…"

you smile, amused. "of course, kai. let’s go."

fast forward an hour later, and you find yourself in a cosmetics store, browsing through endless rows of lip glosses.

you hold up two tubes, lips pursed in thought. "i can't decide between these two," you mumble, glancing at kai, who has been hovering behind you like a nervous puppy the entire time.

his eyes flicker to the glosses, then to you, then away, like he’s afraid of looking at you too long.

"uh, i mean—" he stammers, rubbing his neck. "they both look nice?"

you narrow your eyes. useless.

"i need an actual opinion," you huff before popping the cap off one of them. you apply a coat to your lips, then turn to him with a tilt of your head. "how does this one look?"

hueningkai’s mouth opens, then closes, then opens again.

iI—it’s pretty," he says finally, voice cracking on the last syllable.

you suppress a giggle, then glance at the other gloss. "okay, but I need to compare. I can’t put this one on my lips because I already have the first shade on."

he blinks, confused. "oh. uh, so—"

"so I should put it on yours," you finish simply.

his face goes from pink to red in record time. his eyes are huge, lips parting slightly like he just had a stroke.

"w-wait—on me?!"

you arch a brow, feigning innocence. "yeah? so I can see the difference properly. otherwise, we’ll never know which one’s better."

his throat bobs. his fingers tighten around the straps of his shopping bag. "i—uh—"

he looks like he’s two seconds away from self-destructing, but then he nods—barely and stiffly presses his lips together.

you bite back a grin.

he really is a loser.

gently, you lift the applicator and lean in, holding his chin steady with your free hand. his skin burns under your fingertips, and you swear you can hear his breathing get shakier. his eyes squeeze shut, his shoulders tense, and his entire existence is one giant ball of nerves.

but the second the wand makes contact with his pouty lower lip, he starts fidgeting.

"kai, hold still," you laugh, reaching out to cup his face with one hand. his cheeks are burning, and his lips part in surprise as your fingers graze his skin. his entire body locks up, lips parting slightly as his breath hitches. his big, round eyes are glued to your face now, completely mesmerized as you lean in closer.

his lips are so pouty. plush, glossy, glistening under the store’s lights, and suddenly, it feels like your body is moving on its own. before you can stop yourself, your gaze flickers to his wide, dazed eyes—then down to his parted lips—

and you kiss him.

It’s soft at first—just a press of your lips against his. but the moment you start to pull away, he—to your utter shock—kisses you back.

slow, hesitant, but definitely kissing back.

his lips move against yours in a way that’s both nervous and eager—like he can’t believe this is happening but wants more anyway. his hand hovers near your wrist, as if he wants to hold you closer but is too shy to do it.

and that’s when it hits you.

you just kissed hueningkai. in public.

iou jolt back, eyes wide. "i’m so sorry—i-i didn’t mean—"

but kai? he just stared at you, lips still glossy, blinking like his brain is still catching up to reality. then, slowly—so, so shyly—he reaches up to rub the back of his neck, lips curling into the tiniest smile.

"i... liked that, actually," he mutters, barely above a whisper.

the air turns thick with tension, and you can’t tell who’s more flustered—him, with his red ears and adorably shy expression, or you, with your pulse hammering a mile a minute.

for a long moment, neither of you say anything.

and then, in a quiet, hesitant voice, hueningkai clears his throat and asks, "s-so, um… which gloss do you think looks better?"

you laugh, cheeks still warm. "honestly?" you glance at his lips. "i think i like this one better."

and just like that, his face explodes into color all over again.

𝗰𝗼𝗽𝘆𝗿𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁 ©𝗴𝘆𝘂𝘂𝗯𝗲𝗿𝗿𝘆𝘆 on Tumblr

˚ · .𝗮𝗹𝗹 𝗿𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁𝘀 𝗿𝗲𝘀𝗲𝗿𝘃𝗲𝗱

taglist: @soobnuuy @moafloribunda @lunalovesstories @firstclassjaylee @levandright @fancypeacepersona @mirouie @gaonashi @firstclassjaylee @kkamismom12 @evandsolo

[evandsolo]

Talent. Just pure TALENT.

Le dernier arrêt｜Ni-ki

✦ Fandom : Enhypen ✦ Personnages : Ni-ki et narratrice ✦ Genres : Horreur, surnaturel, thriller psychologique ✦ Nombre de mots : 2k ✦ TW : Angoisse, isolement, réalité altérée, perte d’un être cher ✦ Résumé : Une jeune femme prend le métro comme à son habitude lorsque soudain, un arrêt brutal plonge le wagon dans le noir. Lorsqu’elle retrouve la lumière, tous les passagers ont disparu. En sortant, elle découvre une ville étrange, floue et irréelle. Elle y retrouve Ni-ki, un ami proche, mais quelque chose en lui semble différent, mélancolique. ✦ Note de l'autrice : L'idée de cette histoire m'est venue un jour où le métro que je prends habituellement a eu un arrêt d'urgence, plongeant les passagers dans l'obscurité totale pendant quelques instants. Ce moment suspendu, à la fois angoissant et fascinant, m'a rappelé une légende urbaine japonaise autour d’une station de métro fantôme : Kisaragi Station.

Le métro gronde sous terre, ses vibrations secouant doucement les passagers qui s’accrochent aux barres métalliques. J’ai mes écouteurs sur les oreilles, la musique couvrant le son mécanique du train. C’est mon quotidien, une routine invariable, où chaque station est un point fixe, une habitude rassurante. Les lumières artificielles défilent à travers les fenêtres, projetant leur lueur blafarde sur les visages fatigués. Une autre journée qui commence, sans surprise, sans éclat. Mais soudain, tout bascule. Un choc brutal me projette presque en avant. Le métro s’arrête, si brusquement que les passagers autour de moi émettent des exclamations de surprise, certains tombent, s’accrochent aux sièges. Puis, sans prévenir, les lumières se mettent à clignoter furieusement avant de s’éteindre complètement. Le noir m’enveloppe. J’entends des cris, des murmures paniqués. Une voix étouffée quelque part appelle quelqu’un, mais le son est comme aspiré par l’obscurité. Le silence tombe, lourd, oppressant, et mon cœur s’accélère, battant la chamade dans ce néant.

Quand les lumières se rallument, tout est différent. Autour de moi, il n’y a plus personne. Le wagon est vide. Je me redresse lentement, mes mains tremblantes agrippées à la barre devant moi. Les sièges désertés, les fenêtres plongées dans un noir d’encre... Je me sens soudain très petite dans cet espace immense et déshumanisé. Je fais quelques pas, mes chaussures crissant légèrement sur le sol.

— Est-ce qu’il y a quelqu’un ?

Mais aucune réponse ne vient, juste le bourdonnement léger des lampes au-dessus de ma tête. Je me dirige vers les portes, poussée par une curiosité irrésistible et une peur que je ne peux pas ignorer. Celle-ci s’ouvre automatiquement devant moi et je me retrouve dans une station qui m’est inconnue.

L’autre côté est un monde que je ne connais pas. Ou du moins, pas tout à fait. La ville est là, mais elle semble floue, comme une peinture à moitié effacée. Les rues sont vides, les bâtiments s’élèvent, grandioses et menaçants, leurs contours ondulant légèrement, comme dans un rêve. Le ciel est d’un gris étrange, un mélange d’aube et de crépuscule, sans soleil, sans lune. Une lumière diffuse éclaire tout, sans jamais vraiment chasser les ombres. Les murs des bâtiments sont ornés de motifs étranges, et l’écho de mes pas résonne comme une mélodie oubliée. L’atmosphère est chargée d’une énergie singulière, une sensation à la fois familière et terrifiante. Je scrute l’horizon, espérant voir un signe, quelque chose qui m’expliquerait où je suis. Je devrais avoir peur. Tout dans ce moment me crie de faire demi-tour, d’attendre que la réalité se réinstalle. Mais il y a quelque chose d’irrésistible dans cette lumière, une curiosité qui me pousse à avancer. Je marche, le cœur battant, cherchant un signe, quelque chose de familier. Et puis, je le vois. Assis sur un banc, au bout d’une ruelle étroite. Il semble tellement réel, et pourtant, il y a quelque chose d’étrange en lui. Ses yeux, d’habitude pétillants de vie, sont maintenant sombres, presque insondables.

— Ni-ki ! j’appelle, en courant vers lui.

Il tourne la tête, et son regard se pose sur moi, mais je ne vois pas la chaleur et l’amitié que j’ai toujours connues. Il y a une distance, une sorte de mélancolie dans son expression. Je m’arrête devant lui, haletante, et il me regarde de ses grands yeux sombres, une expression douce, mais indéchiffrable sur le visage.

— Qu’est-ce qu’il se passe ici ? Est-ce que je suis en train de rêver ? je demande, tentant

de reprendre mon souffle.

Il hausse les épaules, un léger sourire aux lèvres. Il s’avance, et je sens mon cœur se serrer. Il a toujours été celui qui m’apportait du réconfort, celui qui me faisait rire. Mais maintenant, il semble comme un étranger, perdu dans une réalité qui m’échappe.

— Viens, suis-moi.

Sa main se tend dans ma direction et j’hésite, quelques secondes, avant de lier nos doigts entre eux.

Nous marchons ensemble, et le monde autour de nous change au gré de nos pas. Des scènes de notre vie se dessinent, flottant comme des souvenirs projetés. Je vois la forêt où nous avons marché, un jour d’été, le soleil perçant à travers les branches, sa main tendue vers moi pour m’aider à franchir un ruisseau. Je revois cette soirée dans mon appartement, des pizzas sur la table, nos rires résonnant contre les murs alors que nous nous moquions des personnages d’une série stupide. Des simples moments de bonheur.

—Tu te souviens de ça ? je demande, pointant du doigt l’image de nous deux, assis sur le

canapé, riant aux éclats.

Il acquiesce, ses yeux rivés sur le souvenir, une amertume que je ne comprends pas dans son regard.

— Oui, murmure-t-il, c’était une excellente soirée.

Sa voix est douce, mais il y a quelque chose de triste, une profondeur qui me fait frissonner. Les souvenirs continuent de se matérialiser autour de nous, flous mais si vivants, et je suis happée par cette sensation étrange, cette nostalgie qui m’envahit de plus en plus. Pourquoi tout me donne l’impression que chaque seconde peut être la dernière ? Je lève les yeux vers lui, le cherchant du regard comme pour trouver un sens à tout ça, mais il l’évite soigneusement. Une certaine peur commence à naître dans mon esprit, comme si je sentais au fond de moi qu’il y a quelque chose que je devrais comprendre, une vérité enfouie derrière ce calme irréel.

— Pourquoi est-ce que tout semble si…

Je cherche le mot, mais il m’échappe.

— Pourquoi suis-je ici, Ni-ki ?

Il détourne les yeux, et le décor change à nouveau. Nous sommes sur un toit, le vent soufflant et emportant avec lui les feuilles mortes qui virevoltent autour de nous. Je me souviens de ce jour – nous avions passé l’après-midi sur ce toit, à parler de nos rêves, de nos secrets, à regarder la ville s’étendre à nos pieds. Mais ici, dans ce monde étrange, tout semble amplifié. Les couleurs sont plus vives, les émotions plus intenses, presque douloureuses.

— Parfois, dit-il, sa voix portée par le vent, il y a des choses qu’il faut accepter, même si

on ne les comprend pas tout de suite.

Je fronce les sourcils, cherchant à saisir ce qu’il essaie de me dire. Il me regarde alors, ses yeux brillants d’une tristesse indéchiffrable, et il tend la main.

— Viens.

Je la saisis, et une chaleur douce m’envahit. Nous dansons, là, au milieu de ce toit fantomatique, sans musique, juste le bruissement des feuilles dans les arbres et le battement irrégulier de mon cœur. Ses bras m’entourent, et je ferme les yeux, laissant la chaleur de sa présence m’envelopper, un instant hors du temps. Ses doigts finissent par se resserrer un peu autour des miens, sa main froide pressant contre la mienne. C’est si étrange, ce contraste. Lui qui, habituellement, est toujours plein d’énergie, là, il semble s’effacer, comme une ombre. Il relève la tête, son visage prenant une expression douce mais empreinte de ce trouble insaisissable.

— Je suis content que tu sois là.

Ses paroles me troublent profondément. Il y a quelque chose dans sa voix, une forme de résignation qui me fait comprendre qu’il y a plus que ce qu’il laisse paraître. Nous reprenons notre route, et je remarque que nos souvenirs s’estompent peu à peu, remplacés par des fragments de paysages incertains, de ruelles silencieuses et de lieux inconnus. À chaque pas, l’atmosphère semble se faire plus lourde, plus oppressante, comme si le temps lui-même ralentissait. Il me regarde cette fois avec une intensité qui me fige, avant de murmurer, presque trop bas pour que je l’entende :

— Il est temps.

Mes doigts se serrent instinctivement autour de sa main, refusant de lâcher prise, refusant de croire qu’il puisse y avoir quelque chose d’inéluctable ici. Puis, je le sens se détacher, doucement, comme un rêve qui s’évanouit au réveil. J’ouvre les yeux en sursaut dans le métro, la lumière crue des néons m'aveuglant un instant. Le brouhaha du train, les grincements des rails, tout semble étrangement familier. Je prends une grande inspiration et réalise que ma main est posée sur celle de Ni-ki, assis à côté de moi, un sourire tranquille sur le visage. Je me tourne pour l’observer alors qu’il me semble perdu dans ses pensées, sa tête se balançant au rythme de la musique qu’il écoute. Sa présence devrait me rassurer, mais pourtant, un sentiment, pesant, continue de courir dans mon esprit. Je sais que ce n’était qu’un rêve, mais il reste en moi comme une brume tenace, une sensation qui refuse de disparaître. Ses doigts, sous ma main, sont tièdes, bien réels cette fois, mais je n’arrive pas à chasser la trace de cette froideur qui s’était imprimée dans ma mémoire. Il pivote enfin la tête dans ma direction, son casque dorénavant autour de son cou, et m’adresse un sourire amusé.

— Ça va ? me demande-t-il sans doute à cause de mon regard insistant, on dirait que t’as

vu un fantôme.

— Oui… enfin, non. Ce n’est rien. J’ai juste fait un rêve étrange. je termine en secouant la tête, tentant de rire pour dissiper le malaise qui commence à s’installer.

Ni-ki se penche vers moi, et je peux lire l’amusement dans ses iris foncés.

— Du genre ? T’as rêvé de moi, c’est ça ?

Sa voix prend une intonation malicieuse, et je vois son sourire s’étirer.

— Allez, avoue. Tu te languis de moi jusque dans tes rêves maintenant ?

Je sens mes joues s’échauffer et je secoue vivement la tête pour le faire cesser.

— Ce… n’est pas ce que tu crois, je balbutie, tentant de minimiser. C’était différent.

Il écarquille légèrement les yeux, feignant une expression d’incrédulité exagérée.

— Oh, différent comment ? Genre, romantique ? Tragique ?

Son visage s’approche du mien, l’air faussement sérieux.

— Ou bien, était-ce un rêve où tu me déclares ton amour éternel avant de t’enfuir dans le

coucher de soleil ?

Je me mordille la lèvre, cherchant quoi répondre, mes mains moites de gêne.

— Rien de tout ça, d’accord ? C’était…

Je cherche à détourner la conversation, mais il éclate de rire, ravi de ma réaction, et me pince gentiment l’épaule.

— Relax, dit-il en riant, ses doigts toujours entremêlés aux miens. Je te taquine.

Un sourire naît malgré moi, même si je détourne un peu les yeux pour échapper à son regard perçant. Sa main serre la mienne avec chaleur, et je sens mon cœur se calmer, même si quelque chose continue de me hanter.

La voix du conducteur annonce notre prochaine station, puis soudain, un flash de lumière intense envahit le wagon. Un bruit assourdissant secoue le métro, un grondement puissant qui résonne dans mes os. Le train tremble, et tout se passe en une fraction de seconde. J’entends des cris, je sens le sol se dérober sous mes pieds, et tout autour de moi se transforme en un chaos terrifiant. Le souffle d’une explosion ébranle la rame, le monde autour de nous devenant un tourbillon de poussière et de débris, et je perds pied, me sentant aspirée par un vide abyssal. Dans le tumulte, je m’accroche désespérément à la main de Ni-ki, le seul repère, le seul ancrage que j’ai dans ce monde qui s’effondre autour de moi. Je tente de murmurer son nom, mais ma voix se brise dans le bruit assourdissant. Alors que le train s’immobilise enfin, le silence s’installe progressivement, lourd et oppressant. Autour de nous, des débris jonchent le sol, et la lumière faiblit. Dans ce calme étrange, je ressens la chaleur de sa main… ou plutôt, je sens cette chaleur s’éteindre. Je tourne lentement la tête vers lui, mon cœur s’arrêtant presque en voyant son visage, calme, paisible. Il me regarde sans me regarder, ses yeux empreints de cette même mélancolie qui m’avait troublée plus tôt. Et là, je comprends. Ma gorge se serre alors que je ressens l’absence de chaleur à travers son épiderme, cette sensation glaciale qui remonte le long de mon bras.

— Ni-ki… je murmure, une larme roulant sur ma joue.

Mais il ne répond pas. Ses yeux restant fixés sur moi, empreints d'une tendresse infinie, comme un dernier adieu silencieux.

❥ Les histoires ne s’achèvent jamais vraiment, elles restent suspendues entre les pages et les cœurs qui les lisent… Merci d’avoir voyagé avec moi ღ © schizophrenic-writer 2025.

[evandsolo]

hello there, dark lord ll bangchan

pairing - bangchan x afab!reader

tw - magie, pouvoirs surnaturels, démons, à peiiiiiiine suggestif (si on plisse les yeux)

✧ inspiré par les photos concept et le clip de Railway (oops)

Un éclair déchire le ciel au moment où je tourne la page de l’épais grimoire ouvert sur mes genoux, me faisant sursauter. 

Mon corps se crispe sur le fauteuil, mes doigts pressés sur le papier ancien. Légèrement froissé par le passage du temps et les manipulations de ses anciens propriétaires, il dégageait une odeur particulière. Une fragrance de pommes et de cendre, qui faisait se serrer ma gorge sans aucune raison. Comme si ce parfum s’était déposé à sa surface et l’avait imprégnée, laissant sa marque à tout jamais dans la fibre. Le cuir de la couverture semblait avoir vécu des épreuves, mais l’améthyste d’un violet profond incrustée en son centre me donnait le sentiment de luire au beau milieu de la pénombre. 

Je l’observe une poignée de secondes, captivée par les reflets que je percevais à l’intérieur, semblables à des volutes de fumée figées à tout jamais dans la pierre translucide. Un frisson remonte le long de ma colonne vertébrale et je relève le nez, jetant un coup d'œil par la fenêtre. 

La voûte céleste était d’un noir profond, comme un gouffre sans fond prêt à tout avaler et la pluie battait violemment contre la fenêtre. Un nouvel éclair traverse le ciel et parcourt plusieurs centaines de mètres avant de s’évanouir aussi vite qu’il était apparu, suivi quelques instants plus tard d’un grondement menaçant. En plissant les yeux, j’apercevais les arbres ployer sous la violence du vent au dehors, malmenés par le déchaînement des éléments.

J’aimais l’orage et il ne m’avait jamais particulièrement effrayé. Pire encore, j’y trouvais une certaine forme de fascination. Il y avait quelque chose d’étonnant dans la manière dont la nature pouvait se faire brutale et sombre, rappelant aux pauvres mortels que nous étions qu’elle restait la maîtresse incontestée. Tout ce qu’elle offrait, elle pouvait le reprendre en un claquement de doigts. 

Mais il y avait quelque chose de différent dans l’air, ce soir. 

Quelque chose sur lequel je n’arrivais pas à mettre de mots, une sensation qui persistait sur le bout de mes doigts, sur le creux de ma langue. 

Je retourne néanmoins à ma lecture, retrouvant la ligne à laquelle je m’étais arrêtée et je suis les lignes manuscrites, effleurant les courbes délicatement calligraphiées du regard. L’ouvrage avait attiré mon attention sur un étalage et je n’avais pas pu réfréner l’attraction que j’avais ressenti à son égard, remarquant à peine que je m’étais approchée pour l’observer de plus près. 

Utilisez-le avec une extrême précaution.  

Ces mots, prononcés par le vieil homme qui me l’avait vendu résonnaient encore dans un coin de ma tête et je mords ma lèvre inférieure. Pourtant, ce n’est pas comme si je comptais faire quoi que ce soit des textes inscrits à l’intérieur du grimoire, qui se résumait à de vieilles recettes à base de plantes et des rituels pour résoudre certains maux du quotidien. Cependant, des annotations en latin étaient apparues après quelques pages, glissées ici et là dans les marges de certains chapitres et j’avais été de plus en plus intriguée par leur signification. 

Les commentaires me semblaient avoir été écrits à la hâte, comme si la personne n’avait pas eu beaucoup de temps devant elle pour le faire et l’encre avait légèrement perdu de son intensité au fil des années, compliquant la lecture.

Mes sourcils se froncent en tournant la page suivante, mes lèvres se plissant devant l’aspect étrange de celle-ci. Des phrases avaient été griffonnées en pattes de mouche à côté d’un croquis botanique d’une plante de belladone, connue pour ses propriétés obscures. Et elles avaient été entourées plusieurs fois, si brusquement que la plume avait presque percé la feuille. Des tâches sombres parsemaient le papier, comme des gouttes d’encre projetées de manière totalement aléatoire et je passe mes doigts sur ma nuque pour chasser la sensation étrange qui s’y était logée.

Je me racle la gorge, jetant un regard à la pièce. La lune projetait des ombres dans le salon, jouant avec les contours des meubles et il était si facile de laisser parler son imagination devant ce spectacle aux allures lugubres. Pourtant, je n’avais que la nuit et l’orage qui s’abattait avec brusquerie à l’extérieur de ma maison pour seuls compagnons, mon chat retranché sous mon lit à l’étage. Puis je commence à déchiffrer les lignes manuscrites à voix basse, les sourcils froncés. 

Princeps Nigrum, tibi gratissimum adventum in domum meam exopto. Accipe vocationem meam et veni ad me. 

Prince Noir, je vous souhaite la bienvenue chez moi. Acceptez mon appel et venez à ma rencontre.

Tout devient noir au moment où je finis de déchiffrer les lignes à voix haute, la lampe sur la table de chevet s’éteignant d’un seul coup. La fenêtre s’ouvre au même instant, claquant violemment contre le mur et m’arrachant un hoquet de surprise. La pluie battante s’engouffre à l’intérieur du salon, poussée par le vent et je referme le grimoire d’un geste sec, le pressant contre ma poitrine. Puis je me redresse afin d’aller fermer la fenêtre, avançant prudemment jusqu’à celle-ci pour glisser le loquet à sa place initiale et éviter qu’elle ne recommence à cause d’une autre bourrasque.   

Mon cœur battait à tout rompre dans ma cage thoracique et le bruit de la tempête semblait atténué par les mots qui tournoyaient sans cesse dans le creux de ma tête.

Prince Noir, je vous souhaite la bienvenue chez moi.

 Il y avait quelque chose de profondément dérangeant dans la prière inscrite à l’intérieur du grimoire et il n’était pas difficile de comprendre à quoi elle faisait référence. Il n’y avait pas beaucoup d’entités que l’on décrivait comme telles, mais le simple fait de l’avoir évoqué à voix haute me donnait le vertige. Je ne croyais pas particulièrement aux esprits et à la magie en tant que pratique spirituelle, mais ma grand-mère m’avait toujours dit de ne pas sous-estimer le pouvoir des mots. Et la sensation grouillante sur mes bras nus ne m’aidait pas à relativiser les choses.

Je frissonne au contact de l’eau sous mes pieds nus, reculant prestement pour atteindre le mur et allumer la lumière. Je n’étais pas superstitieuse, cependant ça ne coûtait rien de récupérer du romarin pour le brûler dans le salon et effacer le souvenir des dernières minutes. Mon appréciation de la magie résidait dans les propriétés des plantes sur le corps et l’esprit, ainsi que du pouvoir des pierres, d’où mon intérêt premier pour le manuscrit. Je n’avais pas prévu qu’il contiendrait de quoi invoquer un démon entre ses pages et je faisais juste preuve de prudence en cherchant à purifier la pièce.  

Je pivote pour rejoindre la cuisine avant de laisser échapper un hurlement strident.

Une silhouette était assise dans mon fauteuil, une jambe nonchalamment posée sur l’accoudoir. 

Mon corps se raidit et mes doigts se crispent sur le cuir du grimoire, toujours serré contre ma poitrine. Mon cœur, lui, battait à tout rompre et j’avais la sensation qu’il menaçait de s’échapper au moindre instant. Et toute parole se meurt dans ma gorge quand l’homme relève la tête, un œil glacé croisant les miens à travers les ombres qui se mouvaient tout autour de lui.

Mon corps était comme paralysé et je sentais une onde me parcourir de haut en bas, sinuer le long de mon dos et caresser mes épaules avant de redescendre de l’autre côté. Comme si des doigts frais s’étaient enroulés autour de mes chevilles, me maintenant clouée au sol. Je savais que même si j’essayais de faire un pas en arrière, je n’allais pas pouvoir y arriver. Je le sentais. Il y avait quelque chose qui m’empêchait de bouger, qui me retenait prisonnière de mon propre corps. Et la panique grossissait en moi, de plus en plus vite, faisant pulser le sang dans mes tempes. 

Je me faisais l’effet d’une biche entre les phares d’une voiture, incapable de fuir, destinée à subir l’impact imminent. Sauf que le choc ne venait pas et que les secondes s’étiraient, interminables.      

— Approche, souffle-t-il d’une voix autoritaire.

Claire, limpide comme de l’eau de source, mais elle aussi enrobée des mêmes ténèbres que celles qui cherchaient à se lover contre lui. 

Mes bras se couvrent de chair de poule et je cherche à lutter contre la force qui me garde immobile, paniquée à l’idée de me retrouver proche de lui. Mon regard ne s’était pas détaché du sien, de ses iris troublants par leur disparité. Un iris aussi noir que le ciel au-dessus de nos têtes, l’autre d’une telle clarté qu’il était difficile de le distinguer de la sclérotique. Tous deux semblaient m’observer sans relâche, comme deux puits sans fonds dans lesquels il semblait si facile de se noyer.  

Ses sourcils se froncent un instant, puis un sourire narquois étire ses lèvres charnues. 

— Approche. 

Mon corps se met en mouvement, comme dissocié de mon esprit et je fais un pas en avant. Puis un deuxième.  

Sa voix avait résonné dans le creux de ma tête comme une vibration impérieuse et à laquelle il était impossible de déroger, un appel qui ne pouvait pas être laissé sans réponse. Et j’éprouvais la traction qui me tirait vers lui, comme une corde nouée autour de ma taille et reliée à sa main posée négligemment sur son genou, battant la mesure. 

Non.

Mon cri intérieur éclate à son tour et je débats dans les méandres de ma conscience pour rompre le lien qui nous rattachait l’un à l’autre, pour refuser l’ordre qui m’était imposé. Les mètres qui nous séparaient se réduisaient à vue d'œil et je me sentais suffoquer, le cœur au bord des lèvres. 

Tout ça n’avait pas le moindre sens. 

L’espace d’un court moment, je me surprends à penser que je rêve, que tout ça n’est que le pur fruit de mon imagination. Parce que ça ne pouvait pas être possible. Il ne pouvait pas y avoir un démon dans ma maison. Ils n’existaient que dans les croyances populaires, dans les manuscrits religieux, fruits de l’imagination débordante de l’être humain pour donner un corps à leurs plus grandes peurs. Mon cerveau refusait l’information et je cligne des yeux un instant pour tenter de balayer l’illusion. 

Mais il était toujours là, majestueux et drapé d’obscurité. 

En approchant de lui, j’aperçois les contours de son visage et les mèches sombres qui l’encadrent, retombant gracieusement sur ses tempes. La manière dont le tissu de sa veste en cuir noir s’étirait sur ses larges épaules, tranchant avec le blanc nacré de la chemise que je distinguais au dessous. La différence troublante entre ses yeux, comme deux pôles réunis au même endroit, se battant en duel dans un seul et même corps. La courbe de sa bouche, étirée par une expression de pure satisfaction.

Mon regard suit le mouvement de sa langue lorsqu’elle se glisse sur ses lèvres pour les humidifier et je sens mon ventre se contracter.

Il était d’une beauté effrayante, de celles qui laissaient une impression perturbante parce qu’elles inspiraient tant la crainte qu’une fervente admiration. Comme si l’on avait tiré le négatif d’une photographie et que l’on se rendait compte qu’elle avait plus d’attrait que le cliché original. Une peinture en clair-obscur, faite d’ombres relevées par d’infinies touches de lumière. Mais on disait souvent que les démons étaient autrefois des anges et ça ne m’avait jamais semblé aussi juste qu’à cet instant.

Son pouvoir me tire sur les derniers mètres et je m’arrête devant lui, la gorge serrée et le souffle court. Avant de me figer net aux effluves qui me parviennent, étonnement familières. 

Un mélange de pomme et de cendre. 

Je déglutis, les jambes flageolantes. Il décroise les siennes avant de tendre la main devant lui, sa paume tournée vers le ciel. Mes bras relâchent leur emprise sur le grimoire, celui-ci tombant lourdement à mes pieds et j'halète, l’oxygène semblant déserter mes poumons. Ses doigts frôlent la peau tendre de mon poignet avant de s’enrouler autour de celui-ci, me faisant basculer en avant. Je m’écrase contre lui avec un glapissement, à moitié avachie sur ses cuisses et les mains posées sur le cuir glacé de sa veste pour me stabiliser.

Mon souffle se coupe à cet instant et le temps me semble suspendu, comme cristallisé dans l’espace exigu de mon salon. 

— Tu as beaucoup de conviction pour quelqu’un qui ne savait même pas ce qu’elle était en train de réciter à voix haute. 

Un souffle caressant échoue contre mon visage et je me rends compte à cet instant d’avoir fermé les yeux. Mes joues étaient brûlantes et le nœud dans ma gorge semblait grossir un peu plus à chaque seconde, bloquant l’afflux d’air dans mes poumons. 

Je le repousse des deux mains pour m’extraire de son emprise, mais les siennes se posent sournoisement sur mes hanches pour garder serrée contre lui et la profondeur de mon impuissance me donne le tournis. 

J’étais à sa merci. 

— Ouvre les yeux, petit oiseau.

Je presse mes lèvres l’une contre l’autre, les doigts crispés sur le tissu velouté de sa veste et je sentais l’humiliation se répandre comme un feu de forêt sur ma peau. 

Mais je ne voulais pas rendre les armes, je ne voulais pas qu’il puisse croire qu’il avait l’ascendant sur moi. Il était dans ma maison. Il était là parce que je l’avais invité, même si ce n’était pas de façon volontaire. Et ce n’était pas à moi de me plier à ses règles, peu importe la troublante fascination qu’il exerçait sur mes sens. 

— Qui êtes-vous ? je murmure en rouvrant les yeux.

Il se penche dans ma direction, réduisant l’espace déjà ridicule entre nous. Ses lèvres flottaient à la surface de ma joue, ses doigts me donnant l’impression d’embraser ma peau à travers le tissu de mon pull.  

— Tu m’invoques mais tu ne sais même pas qui je suis ? Quelle négligence. 

Sa voix était mesurée, onctueuse comme du miel et pourtant pleine de fêlures. Mais sa nonchalance m’irritait et je mords l’intérieur de ma joue pour m’astreindre au calme.

— Je vous ferai dire que je n’ai pas eu besoin de votre nom pour vous faire venir ici, je finis par rétorquer avec un air dédaigneux. 

Il éclate de rire, son torse traversé par des soubresauts avant de se stabiliser sous mes mains. Un rictus étire sa bouche et ses doigts reprennent leur battement mesuré, cette fois contre ma hanche. 

— Tu es étonnante. 

— Ravie de constater qu’il y a au moins une personne ici qui s’amuse, je grommelle entre mes dents.

L’une de ses mains se détache de ma taille pour attraper mon menton entre le pouce et l’index, me faisant me figer d’un seul coup.  

Sa poigne était ferme et je savais qu’il pouvait me briser la mâchoire en l’espace d’une seconde si l’envie lui prenait. Mais elle restait étonnamment délicate, comme s’il tenait un objet précieux dans le creux de la main. Il se contentait de faire bouger mon visage de gauche à droite pour l’étudier sous tous les angles, plissant les lèvres d’un air vaguement appréciateur. 

Comme si la tension contenue dans le bout de ses doigts était le pur fruit de mon imagination.

Ses yeux hétérochromes m’observent sans relâche, scannant le moindre recoin de ma figure et je sens mon cœur tambouriner à toute allure dans ma cage thoracique.  

— Tu as peur ? finit-il par me demander, dans un souffle.

Je prends une seconde pour réfléchir à ma réponse et elle me surprend moi-même.

— Non. 

Je ne pouvais pas définir ce que je ressentais comme de la crainte à son égard. Peut-être au moment où je l’avais découvert dans mon salon alors qu’il n'était pas censé s’y trouver et que je l’avais senti prendre le contrôle de mon corps pour m’attirer jusqu’à lui. Mais à l’instant présent, tout était confus. Mes signaux internes me hurlaient de me méfier, de mettre autant de distance que possible avec lui parce qu’il représentait le danger à l’état pur et qu’il avait le pouvoir de me réduire en pièces en un claquement de doigts. 

Pourtant, il ne l’avait pas fait.

— Tu devrais, pourtant.

Mes iris tracent les contours de son visage, de ses mèches sombres à la courbe sensuelle de sa bouche et ça ne m’inspire pas la moindre crainte. Même la manière dont il me tenait contre lui était étonnamment courtoise, compte tenu de notre position. Si je m’étais sentie gênée les premières secondes, ce n’était plus le cas. Et je n’arrivais pas à savoir si c’était à cause de la manière dont il se comportait avec moi ou si c’était dû à la chaleur qui se répandait sur ma peau au passage de ses doigts.

— Qu’est-ce que vous voulez ? je murmure, en lissant nerveusement le revers de sa veste en cuir pour m’occuper les mains. 

Il hausse un sourcil, délaissant mon visage pour déposer son bras sur l’accoudoir du fauteuil. 

— Ce que je veux ?

Ses doigts effectuent une infime pression contre ma hanche. Si légère qu’elle me donne l’impression de l’avoir rêvée, l’espace d’un instant. Pourtant, son geste me tire un frisson qui remonte le long de ma colonne vertébrale. 

— Beaucoup de choses, poursuit-t-il avec gravité, sans me quitter du regard. Mais ça n’a pas d’importance. La raison de ma présence, c’est que toi tu désires. 

Sa voix résonne dans la pièce, vibrante et je la sens ramper sur mes bras nus, cherchant à se glisser sous ma peau.

— Je n’en sais rien, j’avoue au bout de quelques secondes. 

— Je n’y crois pas, rétorque-t-il en penchant la tête sur le côté. Vous les humains, vous avez tous quelque chose pour lequel vous vous languissez dans le noir. Quelque chose que vous gardez précieusement caché, juste là.

Son index flotte à la surface de mon tee-shirt, à l’endroit même où se situait mon cœur et ma respiration se coupe l’espace d’une seconde.

— La richesse. Le pouvoir. L’amour. La mort. Ou l’absence de celle-ci. Il y a toujours un secret qui sommeille là-dessous, nourri année après année par la frustration et l’envie. Quel qu’il soit. 

Ses lèvres s’étaient retroussées en un sourire moqueur au fur et à mesure de ses explications.  

— Certains n’ont pas la moindre hésitation à ce sujet. Et c’est amusant de constater à quel point les plus fiers d’entre eux sont prêts à se mettre à genoux pour l’obtenir, raille-t-il en tapotant distraitement son menton du bout du doigt. Alors je te le demande à nouveau, Stay. Qu’est-ce que tu désires le plus en ce monde ?

Mon estomac s’était contracté à l’entente de mon surnom. 

— Je ne sais pas. 

— Menteuse, souffle-t-il, le visage toujours orné de ce rictus affreusement agaçant.  

— Je ne sais pas ! je m’écrie, les sourcils froncés. C’était un accident ! Je n’avais prévu d’invoquer un démon dans mon salon ! 

Je le repousse des deux mains et cette fois il me laisse faire, se contentant de me fixer pendant que je me redresse sur mes deux jambes. 

— Pourtant tu l’as fait. Je suis là, rétorque-t-il en se désignant d’un vague geste du bras. Et j’attends toujours une réponse de ta part.

J’éprouvais encore la sensation de ses doigts posés sur ma hanche, comme s’ils avaient laissé une empreinte brûlante sur ma peau. Mais je respirais mieux depuis que je m’étais éloignée de lui et de son parfum intoxicant. Néanmoins, maintenant que je me trouvais debout devant lui, je me sentais à l’étroit dans mon propre corps.

— Je n’en ai pas à vous donner. Combien de fois est-ce qu’il faut que je le répète ? Vous ne pouvez pas aller importuner quelqu’un d’autre ? je l’interroge, en me mettant à faire les cents pas sur le tapis. 

— Est-ce que j’ai l’air de quelqu’un qui aime perdre son temps ? 

Je m’arrête net, ma tête pivotant dans sa direction. Et c’est là que je comprends son insistance. 

— Vous ne pouvez pas partir.

— Bingo, lâche-t-il amèrement en claquant des doigts.

Ma gorge se serre et je replie mes doigts contre la paume de mes mains. 

Il était bloqué ici. Et si je comprenais bien, la seule solution pour le faire partir consistait à ce qu’il exauce l’un de mes souhaits. 

Mais toutes les choses qu’il avait énoncées plus tôt ne m’intéressaient pas. Tout ce que je voulais, c’était pouvoir être libre. C’était bien la raison pour laquelle j’avais décidé de m’exiler dans cet endroit reculé, là où personne ne pouvait m’atteindre. Et marchander avec un démon, c’était se condamner à la redevance. Il était de notoriété commune qu’ils demandaient toujours quelque chose en échange et qu’ils ne manquaient jamais à leur devoir de le réclamer en temps voulu. Je savais que je faisais affaire avec une entité dont les pouvoirs me dépassaient de très loin et je devais rester prudente.

Pourtant, la tentation était là, flottant dans un coin de ma tête. 

Je pouvais demander pratiquement n’importe quoi. Le simple fait d’avoir cette possibilité entre les mains me donnait le tournis. Il était difficile de réprimer l’avidité presque primitive que j’éprouvais à l’idée de pouvoir exiger quelque chose et de l’obtenir sans avoir à faire quoi que ce soit pour cela. C’était une occasion qui ne se représenterait jamais dans une vie, j’en avais conscience et c’était ce qui me retenait de demander la première chose qui me venait à l’esprit dans le simple but de le faire déguerpir. Donc j’allais prendre le temps qu’il faudrait pour lui donner une réponse à la hauteur de la “chance” qui m’avait été donnée.

Peut-être que ça allait me permettre d’assouvir la curiosité que je ressentais à son égard.

Je n’avais pas la moindre expérience en matière de démon parce qu’il était le premier auquel je faisais face, néanmoins il ne ressemblait pas au portrait que l’on faisait de ceux de son espèce. Ou peut-être que j’étais trop naïve et qu’il me manipulait sans même que je ne m’en rende compte. C’était difficile à expliquer parce que ça ne semblait pas avoir le moindre sens, pourtant il me paraissait trop humain pour un démon. 

Son comportement n’était pas celui auquel je m’étais attendu de la part d’une telle créature, presque comme si c’était moi qui lui faisait une faveur en répondant à sa demande. Il s’était contenté de converser poliment, d’attendre sans démontrer la moindre impatience et même s’il avait fait usage de sa magie pour me contraindre, je n’arrivais même pas à lui en vouloir. 

Il était étonnement agréable. Si on pouvait dire ça comme ça. Il restait tout à fait courtois et mon malaise du début s’était évaporé en très peu de temps. Et je n’aurais jamais pensé dire ça d’un démon. 

Mais je ressentais comme une lassitude émaner de lui. Comme s’il faisait ça depuis si longtemps qu’il n’en éprouvait plus le moindre plaisir, comme s’il avait déjà vu toute l’amplitude des désirs de l’être humain et que ceux-ci n’avaient plus vraiment l’intérêt à ses yeux. 

Il n’avait pas tenté de m’amadouer ne serait-ce qu’une seconde, ni de me faire miroiter monts et merveilles pour me pousser à faire un choix. Il patientait, les jambes à nouveau croisées et m’étudiait, comme il le faisait depuis qu’il était apparu dans mon salon. À vrai dire, j’avais l’impression d’être autant un objet de curiosité à ses yeux qu’il l’était aux miens. 

— Je vais y réfléchir, je finis par décréter en haussant les épaules.

Il se redresse sur le fauteuil avant de décroiser les jambes pour se relever. Il n’était pas bien grand, pourtant les ombres qui l’entouraient le faisaient paraître plus imposant sous sa longue veste en cuir. Il me surplombait d’une dizaine de centimètres et je sens ma gorge se serrer sans même pouvoir l’expliquer. Mon corps devait sentir le danger auquel il était exposé, reconnaître la menace potentielle qui se tenait à quelques pas. 

Il soupire, glissant ses doigts dans ses cheveux bruns pour les repousser en arrière. Puis il penche à nouveau la tête pour m’observer. 

— Tu as vraiment décidé de ne pas me faciliter la tâche, hein ? m’interroge-t-il, les lèvres ornées d’un rictus désabusé. 

— Je suis simplement prudente, je réponds en croisant les bras contre ma poitrine.

Il fait un pas en avant, réduisant la distance et je recule par réflexe. Mais il continue d’avancer et je bats en retraite, avant d’être bloquée par un meuble dans mon dos. Il se penche en avant et mon souffle se coupe dans ma gorge en sentant le sien échouer contre mon cou. 

— Estime-toi chanceuse, petit oiseau. Je vais te laisser jusqu’à la fin de la semaine pour faire ton choix, murmure-t-il contre mon oreille. Néanmoins, tu fais bien de garder en mémoire qui je suis et surtout ce dont je suis capable. Parce que tu ne pourras pas m’échapper éternellement.  

Je frissonne, tant par sa proximité que la portée de ses mots. Pourtant, le sourire qui ourle ses lèvres charnues me paraissait en décalage avec le poids écrasant de ses paroles. Comme s’il m’offrait un moment de répit, mais qu’il en tirait lui aussi un certain avantage. Malgré tout, il restait un être de ténèbres, dont les changements d’états d’âme pouvaient changer d’un instant à l’autre. Si tant est qu’ils en possédaient encore une.  

— Vous ne pouvez pas vous en aller tant que je n’ai pas donné ma réponse de toute façon, je lui réponds, même si le manque d’assurance dans ma voix contraste avec l’audace de mes paroles.

Il laisse échapper un rire bas, qui ondule sur ma peau comme la caresse d’un gant de velours. Ses doigts flottent à la surface de mon visage sans le toucher, suivant la ligne de ma mâchoire. Pourtant je ressens leur chaleur comme s’ils s’y étaient posés.   

— Il y a une chose que tu n’as pas encore comprise, Stay : je te fais une faveur en te laissant décider par toi-même. Si tu n’as pas trouvé ce que tu veux au terme de ces quelques jours, j’irai chercher la réponse moi-même. 

Je me fige, levant les yeux vers lui. 

— Comment ça ? 

— Tic tac. Tic tac, petit oiseau. 

Il recule et c’est à mon tour de m’avancer avec les sourcils froncés. 

— Qu’est-ce que ça veut dire ? je demande, la gorge nouée par une subite inquiétude.

Mais il est déjà en train de disparaître, comme avalé par les ombres qui l’entourent. La partie inférieure de son corps n’est plus que noirceur, mais ses yeux luisent d’un éclat sauvage, semblable à la satisfaction d’un prédateur lorsqu’il sait qu’il a réussi à prendre sa proie au piège. 

Cependant, là où j’aurais dû ressentir de la peur, ne subsistait qu’une profonde agitation qui n’avait rien à voir avec de l’effroi.

— Chan. 

Sa voix résonne, d’une étonnante douceur et mes lèvres s’entrouvrent de surprise. Un battement de paupières plus tard, il s’est volatilisé du salon. Et j’aurais pu croire à un rêve si des volutes sombres ne continuaient pas de ramper sur le sol avant de se dissiper à leur tour. 

— Chan ? je murmure dans le vide, les doigts crispés sur le bas de mon pull. 

Mon cœur battait encore la chamade dans ma poitrine et mes doigts étaient secoués par de légers tremblements, mes pieds glacés contrastant avec la chaleur cuisante qui persistait toujours sur mes joues.

— Autant faire connaissance si on doit passer quelque jours ensemble, petit oiseau.

Sa présence retentit d’un seul coup tout autour de moi dans la pièce, désincarnée et un frisson remonte le long de ma colonne vertébrale face à l’intonation soyeuse. 

— Bangchan, pour te servir. Note à soi-même : ne plus jamais déchiffrer du latin à voix haute.

[evandsolo]

My Bestie is so talented I could cry of pride 🥹

For my french mutus, go support her 🤍

game buddy ll bangchan

pairing - bangchan x afab!reader

tw - deux geeks, du sarcasme, de l'humour (et un peu d'amour aussi)

Mes mains sont moites.

Ma bouche se fend d’une grimace et j'essuie rapidement mes paumes contre le tissu de ma jupe, mes dents grignotant nerveusement ma lèvre inférieure. Mon téléphone vibre dans la poche de ma veste et je baisse la tête, parcourant le message qui s'affiche sur mon écran.

C - Tu es déjà sur place ?

Mon ventre se serre en lisant ces quelques mots. Je lève le nez pour regarder tout autour de moi, saisie par une soudaine inquiétude. Mes yeux passent d'une personne à l'autre, sautent de silhouette en silhouette et les battements de mon cœur s'accélèrent. Mais tout m'est étranger, dans ces visages. Ils ne m'inspirent aucune familiarité. Pire, ils semblent me dévisager à leur tour.

Je m'arrête aussitôt, réprimant à peine un ricanement devant ma propre stupidité. Il était parfaitement normal que je ne reconnaisse personne, parce que je ne savais même pas où chercher.

Qui.

J'ajuste le foulard noué autour de mon cou pour la dixième fois, mes doigts jouant avec l'extrémité de celui-ci, l'enroulant autour de mon index.

Est-ce qu'il était vraiment possible de s'enticher d'une personne que l'on avait jamais rencontrée ?

Cette question n'avait pas quitté ma tête depuis des jours. Elle flottait là, insidieuse et j'avais l'impression qu'elle ne me laissait pas le moindre répit. Je n'avais pas cessé d'y penser. Jour et nuit. De soupeser le pour et le contre. De réfléchir à ce qui m'était passé par la tête quand j'avais proposé à Christopher de le retrouver à la convention.

Une folie passagère. Inexplicable. Ou peut-être une possession démoniaque. En tout cas, c'est ce dont j'essayais de me convaincre. Il était plus facile d'accepter ça que de me dire que j'avais proposé un rendez-vous à un parfait étranger. Même si « étranger » n'était pas le mot le plus adéquat en ce qui le concernait. Difficile de le décrire comme tel avec tout ce que je savais à son propos.

Pendant un temps, il s'était cantonné à StrayHero, son personnage dans le jeu en ligne où je l'avais rencontré. Un grand échalas en robe bleu nuit et au chapeau à large bord, avec une sacoche débordante de potions en tous genres. D'adversaires, nous nous étions mués en alliés et il avait accompagné nombreuses de mes nuits d'insomnie. Son pseudo était toujours teinté de vert lorsque je me connectais à des heures que le commun des mortels aurait trouvé scandaleuses et je savais que je retrouverais son sorcier dans les parages.

Sans même que je m'en rende compte, une routine avait fini par s'installer petit à petit.

Nos personnages se complétaient, les forces de l'un équilibrant les faiblesses de l'autre. Il en allait de même pour nos caractères, l'énergie vibrante et chaleureuse qui émanait de ses messages contrastant avec mon côté plus brut de décoffrage. Derrière ses airs enj��leurs se cachait un esprit vif et un humour décalé, qui avaient touché en plein dans le mille en l'espace de quelques messages. Et ce n'était pas commun. Chris avait su trouver la faille dans le mur que j'érigeais autour de moi et s'y était glissé sans un bruit, faisant exception. D'habitude, je ne me liais pas avec des étrangers, encore moins ceux que je rencontrais sur internet. Je craignais toujours de faire de mauvaises rencontres, parce que le monde extérieur était flippant et qu'on ne savait jamais qui se trouvait derrière un écran. Alors j'avais toujours maintenu une distance avec le reste de mes pairs, créant volontairement le mystère autour de ma personne. Je ne voulais pas les connaître et je désirais encore moins qu'ils cherchent à me découvrir.

Mais sans pouvoir l'expliquer, je n'avais ressenti aucune gêne avec lui. Je n'avais pas la moindre idée d'à quoi il ressemblait, la manière dont il occupait ses journées quand il n'était pas en train de se battre à mes côtés. Pourtant je n'éprouvais pas la moindre crainte de converser avec lui. Pire, il lui avait suffi de quelques blagues et d'un peu d'insistance – que j'avais trouvé étrangement attachante – pour m'apprivoiser. Il ne s'était pas arrêté à mon sale caractère et au sarcasme dont j'avais pu faire preuve. Il avait persévéré et je m'étais sentie touchée, d'une certaine façon, par sa persistance à vouloir faire connaissance en dépit de l'image que je devais renvoyer. J'avais fini par capituler, par dessiner une ouverture dans le mur pour lui permettre d'entrer sans avoir à se faufiler comme un voleur.

Et je m'étais retrouvée à l'attendre. À compter les heures jusqu'à nos retrouvailles, à soupirer de dépit lorsqu'il ne montrait pas signe de vie. À m'inquiéter lorsque je n'avais pas de ses nouvelles. Parce que je m'étais rendue compte que j'appréciais sa présence. Même si elle se résumait à un pseudo énigmatique et un personnage imaginaire.

Du moins, jusqu'à plusieurs semaines en arrière.

Parce qu'il était allé jusqu'à m'appeler pour jouer en ligne, franchissant une nouvelle étape de cette étrange relation qui nous reliait l'un à l'autre. Lorsque j'avais vu la fenêtre apparaître dans le logiciel, j'avais failli faire une attaque. Alors que ça faisait sens quand j'y repensais, parce que cela faisait déjà plusieurs mois que je passais le plus clair de mon temps à discuter avec lui pendant nos longues sessions de jeu.

Pourtant, imaginer l'entendre m'avait donné le sentiment de rendre ça réel. Trop réel.

Jusqu'à ce moment-là, il n'avait été que StrayHero. Un individu désincarné, lointain.

Fictif.

Et sur l'instant, je n’avais pas su si j'étais prête à faire le pas. À découvrir l'être humain qui se trouvait derrière l'écran. À affronter mes doutes et mon incertitude. L'appel s'était coupé, faute de réponse de ma part et je m'étais figée en voyant le message qui s'était aussitôt affiché dans notre conversation.

C – Désolé. Je suis allé trop loin.

Ma poitrine s'était resserrée devant son ton si solennel et ma main s'était mue d'elle-même, appuyant sur le petit bouton vert. Puis j'avais cessé de réfléchir, au risque de regretter mon choix.

Parce qu'au fond de moi, je sentais que Christopher valait la peine qu'on le découvre.

Les premiers échanges avaient été hésitants, maladroits. De ces moments où l'on ne sait pas vraiment quoi dire, parce que c'est nouveau, inhabituel. Où l'on ne sait pas comment se positionner, quels sujets aborder et où ça ne semble pas naturel du tout. Puis j'avais entendu son ventre gargouiller, lui tirant un rire gêné. Et la tension était telle que j'avais explosé de rire, le sien suivant dans la foulée. « J'ai peut-être oublié de me nourrir, à un moment donné. » m'avait-il confié et un sourire s'était dessiné sur mon visage.

L'abcès avait été aussitôt crevé et les choses s'étaient faites en toute simplicité.

Je n'avais pas besoin de prétendre, avec lui. Et à cette période, je n'avais même pas considéré l'idée de le rencontrer. Alors j'étais restée moi-même, avec mes remarques cinglantes et mes éclats de rage lorsque les choses ne se passaient pas comme prévu, avec mes claquements de langue agacés et mes bâillements à gorge déployée lorsque mes yeux se faisaient lourds. Mais Chris n'avait jamais fait le moindre commentaire à ce propos.

Je crois que ça l'amusait, au fond. Et c'était ça que j'appréciais, chez lui. Il ne jugeait pas. Il m'acceptait avec mes petits défauts, là où mon propre entourage n'était pas en mesure de s'y résigner.

Les jours s'étaient succédés et Chris s'était fait une place dans mon quotidien, mon sourire s'étirant à la vue d'un message sur mon téléphone pour me souhaiter une bonne journée ou en découvrant que j'avais reçu un cadeau de la part de son personnage en ouvrant le logiciel du jeu. Il était tout en petites attentions, discrètes mais significatives. Et ça prouvait qu'il s'intéressait aux autres, qu'il en prenait soin à sa manière. J'avais été surprise de sa capacité à retenir des choses que j'avais pu confier, que je ne me souvenais même pas avoir évoquées pour certaines et je n'avais pas pu empêcher mon cœur de battre plus vite à cette constatation.

Est-ce qu'il était vraiment possible de s'enticher d'une personne que l'on avait jamais rencontrée ?

Cette question avait pris vie dans un coin de ma tête, étendant ses racines toujours un peu plus loin à chaque jour qui passait. Parce que je n'étais pas stupide et que je savais que l'affection que je lui portais dépassait certaines limites sur lesquelles je n'osais pas poser de mots. Je ne pouvais pas dire que je ne le connaissais pas parce qu'il m'avait appris des choses sur lui, au fil de nos échanges mais est-ce que c'était vraiment suffisant ?

Mais les faits étaient là : je ne savais pas réellement qui se trouvait en face de moi. Et je ne pouvais pas réprimer cette peur insidieuse, tapie dans un coin de ma tête. D'être déçue. D'avoir été manipulée depuis le début. De me rendre compte que rien n'était vrai, de voir l'illusion se briser au moment où le rideau se lèvera. Même s'il n'avait jamais rien fait qui puisse renforcer cette impression, je continuais de douter. Et je savais que ça n'allait jamais s'arrêter. En tout cas, pas tant que je ne l'avais pas vu de mes propres yeux.

En plus, il n'y avait aucun obstacle à ça parce qu'il habitait dans la même ville que moi.

J'avais senti mon cœur remonter dans ma gorge quand il m'avait glissé l'information au détour d'un appel, mon corps se figeant tout entier lorsque mon cerveau avait enfin intégré l'information.

Il vivait à Sydney. À Sydney.

Dire que je l'avais peut-être déjà croisé dans le savoir.

Cette pensée avait fait tressaillir mon cœur et mes joues s'étaient mises à brûler sans que je ne puisse m'en empêcher. Il était si près. Moi qui m’étais attendue à ce qu’il habite à l’autre bout du monde, je me retrouvais plus proche que je ne l’avais jamais été jusqu’à présent.

Depuis, je m’étais mise à faire attention aux détails, à m’intéresser à mon environnement, avec l’espoir fou de reconnaître sa voix au détour d’une rue. Je tendais l’oreille sur mon chemin, pareil à un chien de chasse à l’affût et il n’avait pas fallu longtemps pour que mes proches m’adressent des regards dubitatifs. 

Je devais certainement passer pour une folle, mais ce n’était pas la première fois.

Pourtant le destin n’avait pas semblé être de mon côté. Alors je m’étais résignée à lui forcer la main, pour avoir le fin mot de l’histoire concernant Chris. J’avais eu peur de ne plus pouvoir faire machine arrière, si je continuais dans cette direction sans avoir le cœur net et j’étais trop effrayée de souffrir pour vouloir m’impliquer davantage.

La Play Con, convention de jeux vidéo qui se déroulait quelques jours plus tard s’était révélée comme l’occasion parfaite pour éclaircir le mystère.

S – Ouais. Si tu vois une fille en robe violette avec l’air de s’ennuyer à mourir dans un coin, c’est probablement moi.

Une chaleur m’envahit en tapant le message. Mes dents triturent l’intérieur de ma joue et je balance mon poids d’un pied sur l’autre, envahie par un sentiment désagréable. Mais je n’arrivais pas à définir si c’était de la peur, du malaise ou de l’inquiétude. Je me sentais tiraillée entre l’envie d’y croire, l’espoir de rencontrer réellement la personne avec laquelle j’avais partagé tant de choses pendant ces derniers mois, mais je n’arrivais pas à réprimer la crainte que tout ça n'ait été qu’un rêve, une illusion de plus dans ce monde imparfait. 

Il n’était plus qu’une question de minutes, désormais. De secondes, même. Chris allait bientôt apparaître et mon coeur me donnait le sentiment de pouvoir éclater à n’importe quel moment. Mon estomac était noué, ma gorge serrée et mon foulard semblait se rétracter un peu plus autour de mon cou. Mon téléphone vibre dans ma main, me tirant de ma torpeur et je baisse les yeux. 

C – À titre informatif, sache que tu n’es pas la seule fille en robe violette avec un air profondément ennuyé. Je pense que j’ai été pris pour un dingue.

Un éclat de rire m’échappe et je sens mon corps se détendre aussitôt. Il n’y avait que lui pour se mettre dans de telles situations et j’avais arrêté de compter les fois où il m’avait confié s’être retrouvé dans une situation gênante. 

C – Mais mon amour-propre devrait s’en remettre. Enfin, je crois. J’aurais pu avoir l’air d’un dingue avec une moumoute blonde sur la tête alors je relativise.  

Je glousse à nouveau, les lèvres fendues par un franc sourire. Chris savait toujours quoi dire pour détendre l’atmosphère et c’était comme s’il avait deviné que c’était ce dont j’avais le plus besoin à ce moment précis.

S – Mais tu n’es plus à une humiliation près de toute façon, non ?

— En effet. Si le ridicule tuait, j’aurais sûrement rendu l’âme depuis bien longtemps.

Je me fige à la voix familière qui s’élève dans mon dos et mon souffle s’étrangle dans ma gorge. Mon corps pivote par réflexe et le temps semble ralentir pendant ces quelques secondes. Mon cœur pulse à vive allure, une violente chaleur crépite dans ma nuque et je me sens étourdie par un afflux d’adrénaline.   

L’instant d’après, mon regard accroche la silhouette de Christopher qui se dresse devant moi et toute pensée déserte momentanément le creux de ma tête. 

Il était là. Et plus uniquement réduit à un personnage fictif, une voix déformée dans les écouteurs de mon casque ou le combiné de mon téléphone.

Il était réel.

Et tellement différent de ce que j’avais pu imaginer. 

Je ne m’attendais pas à ça. À ces yeux bruns remplis de chaleur et à cette bouche aux lèvres pleines. Aux courtes mèches brunes qui venaient chatouiller les tempes d’un visage aux lignes douces. Mes yeux effleurent ses traits, mémorisant la courbe de sa mâchoire avant de descendre plus bas. Il ne me dépassait que d’une dizaine de centimètres à peine, mais le tissu de sa tunique était tendu sur ses larges épaules et je déglutis, les pommettes soudainement brûlantes. 

Est-ce que c’était mal de dire que j’avais imaginé quelqu’un de plus “banal” ?

En l’absence de visuel pour le décrire, mon cerveau avait compensé comme il avait pu et même si Chris était resté relativement flou dans mon esprit, l’image que je m’en étais faite était bien loin de l’homme qui me faisait face.

Putain.

— Salut Stay, souffle-t-il après un moment de silence, sur un ton hésitant. 

L’utilisation de mon surnom était bien la preuve irréfutable que c'était Chris qui se trouvait sous mes yeux, balayant les doutes qui subsistaient encore  dans un coin de la tête. Je détestais mon prénom et de ce fait, je ne répondais qu’à cette appellation. Il avait beau dire que Stacey était tout à fait charmant, ça ne m’empêchait pas de le maudire sur douze générations lorsqu’il avait l’audace de l’utiliser contre moi.  

Il avait glissé ses mains dans les poches de son pantalon en toile et se balançait lui aussi sur ses jambes. C’est à ce moment-là que je comprends qu’il est nerveux lui aussi, que je ne suis pas la seule à être troublée par la situation. 

Et dans un sens, c’était rassurant. Il avait toujours semblé sûr de lui lors de nos échanges. Plein d’assurance, d’une confiance que rien ne paraissait pouvoir ébranler.

— Je…Tu es…Je m’attendais à ce que tu sois un peu plus…Comment dire…Maigrichon ? je balbutie, en cherchant mes mots pour ne pas le froisser. 

Alors que mes pensées se résumaient plus à “je ne m’attendais pas à ce que tu ressembles à une gravure de mode”. Mais plutôt mourir brûlée vive que de le lui dire. 

Chris m’observe un instant avant de rejeter la tête en arrière, un éclat de rire dépassant la barrière de ses lèvres. Ses pommettes s’étaient néanmoins teintées d’une légère couleur rose et je tressaille à cette vue, mon cœur battant un peu vite dans ma poitrine. Puis il reporte son attention sur moi, son visage traversé par une grimace. 

— Merci ? me répond-il, incertain. 

Il se frotte l’arrière de la nuque, détournant le regard. 

— J’imagine que c’est ce qui se rapproche le plus d’un compliment, venant de toi.

— Oui ? Non ? Peut-être ? je réponds d’une voix de souris avant de poursuivre :  Enfin, disons que je m’étais faite à l’idée de rencontrer le parfait cliché du geek. Pas…ça.

Je le désigne d’un vif geste de la main pour accompagner mes paroles. Il fronce les sourcils, baissant les yeux sur lui sans comprendre avant de relever la tête dans ma direction.

— Ça quoi ?

Est-ce qu’il le faisait exprès ?

— Ce…ça ! Tu vois très bien ce que je veux dire ! je m’exclame, en tapant rageusement du pied sur le sol.

— Pas vraiment…Tu peux développer ?  

Il le faisait clairement exprès.

Son visage s’était paré d’un rictus amusé et ses yeux brillaient d’une lueur de malice qui lui donnait un air plus juvénile. Totalement en décalage avec le reste de son corps, à commencer par ses bras dénudés par la coupe de sa tunique, laissant entrevoir une peau légèrement dorée et des muscles définis.

Il est possible que j’eusse dégluti à certain moment, pendant ma contempla- mon observation minutieuse de sa personne. 

— Continue de jouer à l'imbécile et je te fais manger ton chapeau, je persifle pour mettre fin à la conversation.

Les bras croisés dans mon giron et un regard mauvais à l’appui, je le défiais de poursuivre. 

Même si mon niveau d’intimidation frôlait le ras du sol. 

Il fait mine d’être effrayé, s’agrippant aux bords veloutés de son couvre-chef comme si sa vie en dépendait et je lève les yeux au ciel. Nos regards se croisent ensuite et un échange silencieux se produit, dans un sérieux des plus mortels. Jusqu’à ce que l’un d’entre nous ne pouffe de rire, entraînant l’autre à sa suite. Mes épaules se détendent aussitôt et je sens la pression se relâcher dans ma poitrine, laissant place à une légèreté nouvelle. 

“Mayo Cosplay accompagnée du groupe Sriracha seront en représentation sur la Scène Deux dans trente minutes. Sur la Scène Une, vous pourrez retrouver le tournoi Valorant animé par….”

— Est-ce que j’ai bien entendu Mayo Cosplay ? s’écrie le brun, les deux mains posées sur ses joues.

— Elle va défiler avec Sriracha !? je poursuis, les yeux écarquillés.

Nous arborons la même expression ahurie et je laisse échapper un nouvel éclat de rire.

— On devrait peut-être se dépêcher si on ne veut pas rater ça, tu ne crois pas ? je l’interroge avec un sourire timide, en pointant la direction de la scène d’un geste du pouce.

C’est seulement à cet instant que je me rappelle l’existence des milliers de visiteurs qui se trouvaient tout autour de nous, de leur fourmillement ininterrompu et du brouhaha de paroles qui mêlait à la musique diffusée par les haut-parleurs accrochés au-dessus de nos têtes.

Pendant un moment, j’avais oublié que nous n’étions pas seuls. 

Il n’y avait eu que Chris et moi et ce lien étrange qui nous liait l’un l’autre. Cette familiarité que j’éprouvais à son propos, comme un vieil ami avec lequel j’aurais partagé de nombreux souvenirs et cette conscience de ne jamais l’avoir rencontré avant ce jour. La simplicité de nos échanges, la sensation d’être en sécurité auprès de lui et de ne pas avoir besoin de fuir, de pouvoir affronter le monde extérieur s’il restait à mes côtés. 

— Tu as parfaitement raison. Il n’y a qu’un seul endroit qui soit idéal pour voir Mako-chan et c’est le devant de la fosse. Ni plus ni moins. 

Je ris à nouveau, avant de laisser échapper un glapissement quand ses doigts se glissent autour de ma main pour m’entraîner à travers la foule. 

Pourtant, je ne me suis jamais sentie aussi bien. Aussi exaltée.   

Peut-être que ça pouvait fonctionner. Peut-être que je pouvais ouvrir mon coeur à l’inconnu, si celui-ci me regardait avec autant de tendresse.