#bigbang recs | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

cupidsonly · 2 months ago

Text

HES A NEEEEED

talk that talk

summary: when the hate from fans gets too much, your secret boyfriend takes it into his own hands

*part of the only girl series

The bright overhead lights cut through the warehouse-turned-set.

The space was buzzing with the usual music video shooting chaos - stylists sprinting around with last-minute touch-ups, PAs shouting over the heavy bass line of the track, and the director fussing over camera angles.

You sat in the far corner, hands gripping the edges of your seat a little too tightly, trying not to let your nerves show.

You’d filmed music videos before - plenty, actually - but this felt different.

Because it was his.

And it wasn’t just a cameo.

You were the lead.

The romantic lead.

The moment the teaser for Good Day had dropped, the rumours started. Whispers about you and Jiyong became endless - stolen glances at events, a suspiciously familiar hoodie you were spotted in, his blatant engagement with your social media posts.

And now?

Now, at his insistence, you were cast as the woman he couldn’t take his hands off of in his latest music video. You might as well have been drawing neon hearts around your heads.

A warm hand suddenly squeezed your shoulder, dragging you back to reality.

“You good?”

You looked up to find Jiyong, dressed in his loose, low-slung pants and a fitted jumper. His hair was freshly washed and floppy, falling into his eyes in messy, peach strands. He crouched next to your chair, close enough that you could smell his cologne - something dark and musky with a faint trace of cigarettes clinging to his skin.

You forced a smile. “Yeah. Just… hoping no one freaks out when they see this.”

His lips twitched into a smirk. “Freak out? You think I didn’t want people to talk?” His voice was low, barely above a whisper, but teasing. Full of mischief.

You narrowed your eyes. “Ji…”

He leaned in closer, his fingers brushing over your knee lightly, like he was testing how far he could push without anyone noticing.

The crew was busy. No one was looking.

“I know, I know, we have to wait,” he murmured, his breath ghosting over your skin. “But that doesn't mean it can't be fun. Right?”

Your breath caught in your throat. You should’ve shoved him away - or at least rolled your eyes at his cocky little smirk - but the warmth pooling in your chest made it impossible.

Instead, you held his gaze and threw back, “Only if you can keep up.”

He blinked once. Then, slowly, that lazy grin of his curved wider, full of heat and something far more dangerous.

“Watch me.” he challenged, just as the director called for the next set-up.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

The music started. The heavy beat pulsed through the floor, reverberating through your chest.

You barely had time to get into position before he was on you - moving in that fluid, unmistakable way that only he could.

His movements were sharp and deliberate but deceptively effortless, like he was barely even trying.

You exhaled slowly through your nose, focusing on the steps.

Don’t mess up. Don’t overthink it.

But then his hands slid over your waist, fingertips dragging slowly as he guided you into him. His grip was firm but measured, lingering just long enough to feel like it wasn’t purely for the choreography.

Jiyong wasn’t playing.

He was showing them.

This wasn't just acting.

His jaw ticked when your hand slid over his shoulder, circling him as his burning gaze followed your movements.

When the scene cut, you stayed there a moment too long. His hands lingered on you, fingers splayed low on your back as though he couldn’t bring himself to let go.

It wasn’t until the director called cut again - this time sharper - that you snapped out of it, pulling back quickly. You didn’t look at him as you bowed when the production crew applauded, cheeks flushing hot.

You then thanked Jiyong with a shallow bow but he just laughed and stepped closer, pulling you into a warm hug instead. Your feet raised from the ground slightly as he squeezed you into his embrace.

"You did so good. Everybody say thank you to y/n!" he shouted even as they cheered anyway. He put you down and you laughed, pushing away with a stumble, hurrying out of the spotlight.

But you felt his eyes on you. The entire time.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

You slipped into your dressing room, pulling the door shut behind you with a tired sigh.

The adrenaline was still faintly buzzing under your skin, making your hands feel a little too shaky as you unzipped the fitted top from the sequence and let it slide off your shoulders.

The faint, rhythmic thud of bass still vibrated faintly through the walls, the crew moving onto the next set outside.

You were halfway through tugging on a soft, oversized sweatshirt when you suddenly felt warm hands sliding around your waist from behind.

A soft gasp escaped you just before his lips pressed against the back of your neck, the kiss slow and lingering.

“My beautiful girl,” His voice was low and still slightly rough from the shoot, the edges of his words breathless and unpolished.

You stilled, lips parting faintly at the sudden warmth of his mouth against your skin. But you didn’t pull away.

Instead, you exhaled softly and relaxed into the familiar weight of his arms, letting him pull you back against his chest.

He hummed against your neck, his lips trailing lightly along the curve of your shoulder, playful and teasing.

“Mmm. You taste like flowers,” he murmured, his voice half-laughing. Light. Teasing. Clearly still in a good mood.

You let out a breathy chuckle, your head falling back against his shoulder as he pressed a grin into the crook of your neck. “It's my new perfume.”

“Mm. I see, so it's bad for me to taste,” he mused teasingly. Then, with a smirk in his voice, he added, “Doesn’t mean I’m gonna stop.”

You were about to make a comeback in return, but the words evaporated when he slowly turned you in his arms, guiding you to face him.

His hands slid deliberately along your hips, keeping you close, his eyes still bright and hazy with post-shoot adrenaline.

For a moment, he just stared at you. Unapologetically. Taking you in.

His eyes softened slightly, warm with something sweeter now, and then without a word, he leaned in and kissed you.

Softly, at first.

Just a lingering brush of his lips over yours. Sweet and unhurried.

But when your hands found their way up his chest, his grip tightened slightly, pulling you closer. The kiss deepened, his mouth moving against yours with more weight, more heat, like he was trying to drink you in.

You exhaled softly through your nose, fingers curling in the hem of his shirt as he tilted his head slightly, deepening the kiss again, almost lazily, as though he had no intention of pulling away anytime soon.

You were breathless when he finally leaned back, but his face remained close, his lips brushing faintly over yours as he murmured, “You have no idea how good you were today.”

You felt your cheeks warm, embarrassed by the praise but unable to hide the small smile tugging at your lips. “I think you’ve already said that.”

He grinned, his arms tightening around you, the smile still bright and wide with that post-shoot euphoria. “Yeah? Get used to it.”

His eyes glimmered with so much warmth, so much ease, and he looked so genuinely happy - relaxed in a way you hadn’t seen in a long time. It was the kind of mood where he felt unstoppable, where everything felt easy and right.

And then, casually - almost too casually - he said, “Come to dinner with us.”

You blinked, momentarily thrown off by the sudden shift in tone.

“What?”

He smiled wider, bright and boyish, clearly riding the high from the shoot. “Dinner. With the crew. I’m treating them.” His hands slid along your waist, slow and easy, still holding you close. “You’re coming, right? No one will question it.”

You exhaled softly, a small, guilty smile tugging at your lips as you shook your head. “I can’t.”

His brows furrowed slightly. “What do you mean you can’t?”

You gently pried yourself from his hold, moving toward the vanity to gather your things. You didn’t catch the way his smile faltered slightly, the playful gleam in his eyes dimming just a touch.

You grabbed your bag. “I have rehearsal.”

He blinked, frowning slightly. “Rehearsal?”

You nodded distractedly. “Yeah. My group’s doing a mini reunion performance next week for our new Dior scent launch.”

Hesitantly, you pulled out the little perfume bottle from your bag, flashing it at him. This was your first big promotion with a designer brand.

For a second, he didn’t say anything. Jiyong took the bottle into his own hands, turning it over carefully, analysing every detail.

And then he grinned so wide it made your chest ache, like you’d just told him you were winning an award or selling out an arena.

“Wait - what?!” His eyes lit up, genuinely elated, and he grabbed your wrist, tugging you toward him again. “Baby this is amazing! You never mentioned it."

You let out a surprised laugh at his unfiltered excitement, biting your lip as you nodded, taking the perfume back and putting it away again. “Yeah. Well it happened so quickly and I didn't think it was such a big deal...”

A big deal to him.

Your boyfriend was a global super star. He had numerous brands requesting to work with him all the time. He'd even suggested setting you up with Chanel, but you had quickly declined the offer.

You knew exactly what people would say if you said yes.

And you wanted to show them that you worked hard for everything you put out, even when Jiyong could have you working for the biggest designers with a simple phone call.

“Jagiya,” He shook his head, his hands tightening slightly around your waist, his eyes practically sparkling. “You should have said. When is it?”

You felt yourself flush slightly, looking down. “Next week. But I know you’re very busy so - ”

“Are you kidding?” He shook his head quickly, his grip on you tightening slightly. “I'll clear my schedule.”

The words made your stomach flip slightly, but before you could respond, he added, “I’m coming.”

Your heart stuttered.

You blinked, pulling back slightly. “What?”

He smiled, so bright and easy, as though he were stating the obvious. “To the show. I’m coming. I want to be there.”

You stared at him, your stomach twisting slightly with hesitation. “Ji, I-I don't know - ”

He scoffed lightly, clearly brushing off your resistance. “Come on. You think I’m gonna miss you performing?" His grin widened, eyes still glimmering with that carefree, post-shoot glow. “Let me be there, as your supportive boyfriend.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, the warmth in your chest slowly being replaced by a dull weight.

The only problem with his statement, was that no one else could know he was your 'supportive boyfriend' - as decreed by his management.

And not to mention the hate you received anytime your name was associated with his.

“Ji…” You exhaled slowly, your voice dropping slightly. “You know what’ll happen if you come.”

His smile faltered slightly, the brightness dimming ever so faintly.

You lowered your eyes, your fingers curling into the strap of your bag. “And then it won’t be about the Dior collaboration. Or the group reunion. It’ll just be about us.”

For a beat, his hands remained still on your waist, his grip faintly tightening.

Then, his jaw clenched slightly, the light in his eyes narrowing just a fraction.

“Okay,” he murmured, voice low. Not angry. But firm. “So let them talk.”

You glanced at him. “But it’s not just about me, Jiyong. It’s about them too. My members. It’s not fair to them if the press turns the whole thing into some dating scandal.”

For a moment, he just stared at you, eyes searching yours.

And then - stubbornly, insistently - he leaned in, brushing his lips against your cheek, trailing them along your jaw as he whispered softly, “I’ll be invisible. I’ll sit in the back. No one will even know I’m there. Except you.”

You exhaled sharply, your breath stuttering slightly.

But when he kissed you again - slow and lingering - the tension didn’t ease.

Because even as you finally nodded, reluctantly giving in, you knew it didn’t mean your unease was going to disappear.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

The entire venue was humming with anticipation.

Backstage the faint scent of hairspray and perfume clung thickly to the air.

You sat at the vanity in the dressing room, fingers tapping your thighs, willing them to stop trembling as your stylist made the final adjustments to your hair.

Your reflection stared back at you - poised and polished, all glittering eyeshadow and pristine makeup, every strand of hair perfectly in place. But beneath the glamorous exterior, your pulse was pounding violently in your throat.

You forced your eyes down to your phone, staring at the screen, pretending to scroll through the dozens of good luck texts from friends and industry peers.

But really, you were stalling.

Because you knew if you looked up, your eyes would automatically drift toward the far corner of the dressing room, where he was leaning against the wall, watching you.

You could feel his eyes on you. You didn’t even have to look.

You had worried about him attending. You had made that perfectly clear.

And yet, here he was - as subtle and low-key as the sun.

No disguise. No hidden entrance. Just him.

Still, he was at least making a vague effort to be discreet - silently leaning back against the wall with his arms casually crossed over his chest, his hat tugged low over his bright hair, a pair of sunglasses covering his eyes, as though that was enough to make him blend in.

But it wasn’t.

It could never be.

Not when he was G-Dragon.

Not when half the staff members kept sneaking glances at him as they passed by, whispering behind their hands the second they turned the corner.

Not when your members kept exchanging knowing looks, barely suppressing their smirks.

And definitely not when you couldn’t stop looking at him, no matter how hard you tried to stay focused.

You glanced up briefly, your eyes catching his in the mirror.

He didn’t look away.

He smirked slightly - the faintest curve of his lips - clearly enjoying how unsettled you were by his presence.

Your stomach tightened.

You quickly tore your eyes away, forcing yourself to focus on your reflection, but you could still feel his eyes on you. You were sure of it.

You inhaled sharply through your nose, trying to steady your breath. You needed to focus.

But then, out of the corner of your eye, you caught the way he pushed off the wall.

Your pulse jumped slightly.

You didn’t look at him. You didn’t have to. You could feel him crossing the room.

And then, suddenly, he was behind you.

You stilled.

For a moment, he didn’t say anything.

Then, slowly, he leaned down behind you, resting his hands lightly on the chair's arms on either side of you, caging you in.

Your breath caught faintly as you felt his mouth brush against your ear, low and teasing.

“You’re staring at your phone like you’re nervous,” he murmured, his lips barely grazing your skin. “Stage fright?”

You exhaled softly, your throat tightening, but you kept your eyes on your reflection, refusing to turn your head. “No,” you lied softly.

He hummed lowly in amusement. You felt him press closer, his breath warm against your cheek, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Liar.”

You glanced at his reflection in the mirror, your eyes narrowing faintly in warning.

“You’re not supposed to be back here,” you muttered quietly, barely moving your lips.

He smiled faintly against your skin. Completely unbothered.

“Mm,” he hummed noncommittally, clearly not planning on leaving anytime soon.

You caught the wicked glimmer in his eyes, the slight curve of his mouth, and knew he was enjoying this.

He was enjoying making you squirm.

You were about to tell him to leave when you suddenly felt his lips press lightly against your jaw - brief, featherlight, just enough to make your breath hitch.

“Jagiya.” His voice dropped slightly, a soft murmur against your skin, and you felt your throat tighten. “You’re gonna be incredible.”

You swallowed hard, your chest tightening.

And when you finally turned your head slightly, meeting his eyes in the mirror, you could see it - the unguarded admiration there, unmistakable and unwavering.

You sighed and nodded with a tight smile.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

The energy in the venue was thrumming like a heartbeat, the humble crowd’s cheering as you moved through the final chorus.

The stage lights were blinding, painting the room of faces before you in a golden haze, and for a moment, you let yourself get lost in it - the adrenaline, the flashing cameras.

You smiled breathlessly at your members as you spun in sync, catching the glimmer of their eyes sparkling with pride as the performance reached its peak.

And for a moment, it felt perfect.

Effortless.

Until the crowd suddenly screamed louder, their cheers spiking sharply, shrill enough that it made your stomach jolt slightly with confusion.

Your brow furrowed faintly.

Why were they screaming like that?

And then you saw it.

On the screen behind you.

Your heart stumbled violently in your chest.

Because there he was.

Jiyong.

Smack in the middle of the crowd, grinning wildly, his eyes slightly unfocused, his cheeks flushed with the telltale haze of alcohol. He held up his phone, flash on, filming the performance.

When he noticed that the camera had panned onto him, he smirked mischievously at the lens - the kind of playful, cocky grin that made your stomach flip involuntarily.

And then - to your absolute horror - he started dancing.

Arms in the air, swaying slightly offbeat, all loose-limbed and tipsy, completely unbothered by the hundreds of eyes on him.

You almost stumbled over your next step, your eyes flicking sharply to the massive screen, disbelieving.

Because of course they had chosen to focus on him.

Of course GDragon had to oblige the camera's demand for his attention.

And of course he had to look so damn charming doing it, with his lazy, boyish grin and half-lidded eyes, making the entire crowd swoon over how endearingly drunk and carefree he looked.

The screams doubled, cameras flashing wildly as people rushed to capture the moment.

You caught your members’ brief, stunned glances, their wide eyes barely suppressing their laughter as they realized what was happening.

But you didn’t laugh.

Instead, your stomach twisted sharply, your throat tightening as the reality of it sank in.

Because suddenly, it wasn’t just your Dior launch anymore.

It wasn’t a performance with your group.

It was you and him - again.

And you knew, the second you stepped off the stage, that everything was going to explode. The anxiety seeped into you.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

The moment the performance ended, you were ushered backstage by a wave of congratulatory staff members and crew.

The atmosphere was one of celebration - everyone laughing, grinning, exchanging high-fives and hugs as they buzzed over the flawless execution of the show.

You stood slightly off to the side, still catching your breath, fidgeting faintly with your in-ear monitors as your members approached you, beaming.

“That was so much fun,” one of them grinned, sliding an arm around your shoulder. “God, I missed this.”

You smiled faintly, trying to match their energy, but the gnawing weight in your stomach kept you from fully relaxing.

And then, another member nudged your side, lowering her voice slightly.

“By the way…” She smirked faintly, her tone teasing. “That was sweet of Jiyong.”

You blinked sharply, your chest tightening.

You turned toward her slightly, feigning confusion.

She quirked a brow, smirking wider. “You know. Coming out to support you.”

You forced a weak smile, your throat tightening slightly. “Yeah,” you mumbled. “Really sweet.”

But your stomach was already churning.

And your fears were finally confirmed when you pulled your phone out of your bag.

#GDRAGONatDIOR was already trending.

You stared at the screen, your vision swimming slightly as you scrolled through the endless stream of photos and clips - all of him.

Jiyong dancing. Jiyong grinning at the camera. Jiyong knocking back his cup of rum.

And then, the comments. As expected, ever since your Good Day episode released.

Why is he there? Is she really using him to promote her event?

She’s SO desperate for clout it’s pathetic!!

i thought dior had standards smh

She’s going to ruin his reputation. I HATE HER ALREADY.

Your chest tightened.

You sank slightly against the wall, half-hiding behind a crowd of staff as you kept scrolling - despite knowing you shouldn’t.

Despite knowing it would only get worse.

And it did.

You barely noticed when Jiyong found you - walking over casually, still slightly buzzed and entirely unbothered. His grin was wide and loving.

"You were amazing baby!"

But the second he saw your expression, his smile dimmed faintly, his arms lowering. He glanced at your phone. He knew exactly what you were looking at, it was the same thing you had faced for months now.

A merciless attack.

Without saying a word, he reached for your wrist, guiding you away from the crowd.

You didn’t pull away.

You just let him lead you - your eyes still fixed on the screen in your hand.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

The car was silent, aside from the occasional dull hum of traffic.

You sat in the back with him, staring blankly at your phone, your thumb absentmindedly scrolling through the endless stream of hateful comments.

He sat beside you, silent for the first time all night, hands resting on his thighs.

You could feel him glancing at you from the corner of his eye, but he didn’t say anything.

Not at first.

And then - quietly, almost cautiously - he finally murmured, “Hey… stop reading that.”

You didn’t look at him. You kept scrolling.

“y/n.” His voice was firmer now. A quiet warning. “Put your phone down.”

You ignored him, your throat tightening as the cruel words kept flashing across the screen.

And that was when he reached over, his fingers curling around your wrist.

He didn’t pull it away.

Just stilled your hand.

You blinked sharply, your vision blurring slightly.

You didn’t want to look at him.

But when he whispered your name again, soft and low, you couldn’t help it.

Your eyes slowly lifted, meeting his.

And you saw it there.

The flash of guilt.

Because he knew exactly why you partially blamed him, even when you knew it wasn't his fault.

His record label had told Jiyong to refrain from making public statements about any relationships until after his album release, for fear of upsetting fans.

And you had agreed blindly.

You hadn't known any better.

But now the hate was all you could see.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

You were still wide awake hours later, despite the exhaustion.

You were lying in his bed, staring blankly at your phone, still caught in the spiral of scrolling. Jiyong had stepped onto the balcony to smoke, wanting one last nicotine rush before he fell into bed.

And then, suddenly, your phone buzzed.

A notification.

From him.

You blinked.

And then you saw it.

A new post, with your account tagged. From his main account.

It was a photo of you he'd taken from the performance.

Nothing subtle. Nothing hidden.

Just you.

Clear. Unmistakable.

No cryptic caption. No emojis.

Just six simple words:

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

ji dont fuck around about his girl ...

taglist: @petersasteria, @mirahyun , @allthoughtsmindfull , @gdinthehouseee , @infinetlyforgotten , @redhoodedtoad , @kathaelipwse , @lxvemaze , @loveesiren , @sherrayyyyy , @getyoassoutthetrunk , @shieraseastarrs , @ctrldivinev , @xxxicddbr88 , @onyxmango , @tryingtolivelifeblog , @tulentiy , @bettelaboure , @maskedcrawford , @breakmeoff , @emmiesoverthemoon , @rafesbunniebby , @ricecake9999 , @fleabagspurplewife

#bigbang #kpop #gdragon #kwon jiyong #kwon jiyong x reader #gdragon x reader #fic recs

440 notes · View notes

breakmeoffrecs · 2 months ago

Text

SPICY RECS🔥🔥🔥

*Noted with some of my favs included.

BIGBANG

TOP & THANOS (*Tease & Tonic, *Chase You, Eternity Loop) - @nerdydoll-com

TOP & Thanos - @berfgrimm

GD & TOP - @angel-writes-here

GD & TOP (*Play With Fire, *Southbound) - @gds-daisy

Cross My Heart & First Time (TOP and Jiyong) - @lovesiren

TOP & GD (few pieces) - @bettelaboure

TOP & Thanos (*Last Dance, *Greenlight) - @wcnderlnds

GD (*Dang, She That Good) - @makeitworse

TOP (*How it All Began) - @infinetlyforgotten

GD & TOP (Old) - @loveandturmoil87

BigBang (old smut) - @taegdcl1018

SQUID GAME

Thanos (so many, too many to list) - @luvfae

Salesman (*Your Girl) - @dyingswanpavlova

Salesman (*BF's Dad) - @moonlitsmile

Cumpounding Debt (*Salesman) - @i-mushi

Dirty Headcanons - @fear-is-truth

Smutty Squid Games - @dollivication

Thanos (*Sweet n Sour) - @makeitworse

Salesman & In-Ho - @greengoblinswifey

Thanos (Smut & PLinks) - @luvsthanos

JACKSON WANG

Jackson Series (*Let's Put the End in Friends series) - @tangerineastronaut

Jackson (*Dopamine) - @pars-ley

STRAY KIDS

Bang Chan & Han (*ESCAPE series, *No Boundaries, *Traffic Jam) - @leriexoxo

Bang Chan & Others (*REMEDY, *Order for Daddy, *Miss Possessive) - @skzophreniic

Bang Chan & Han (*Dance Practice Workout, *Stress Relief) - @angel-writes-skz-here

OT8, Individuals, Hyung/Maknae Lines (**Stray Temptations - *8:30 Chan) - @bbokicidal

Hyunjin, Chan, Han (**500 Followers Event - *Skittles) - @hyunjincanraptoo

SKZ OT8 & Individuals - @seungisms

OTHER

Taehyung (*Mirror sex) - @edytae

29 notes · View notes

steddieunderdogfics · 7 months ago

Note

A fic with Bat Eddie for the challenge monday: Second First Chances by Kedreeva!

Second First Chances by Kedreeva

@kedreeva

Rating: Teens and Up

92,061 words, 13/13 chapters

Archive Warning: Graphic Depictions Of Violence

Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Inspired by Ladyhawke (1985), Ladyhawke AU, Shapeshifting, Monster Steve Harrington, Monster Eddie Munson, Curses, Slow Burn, Getting Together, First Kiss, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Eddie Munson Lives, steddiebang23, Canon-Typical Violence

Summary

The Ladyhawke AU, except instead of wolves and hawks, it's demodogs and demobats and curses, oh my! Project #004 For the Steddie Bigbang of 2023!

Thanks for the rec!

This rec is a part of Challenge Monday. The challenge this week was Bat!Eddi1.

Know a fic that deserves extra love? Submit through our asks or the submission box!

#steddie #steddie fic recs #steve harrington #eddie munson #steve x eddie #stranger things #steddieunderdogfics #challenge monday #bat!eddie #rated t #canon divergent #ladyhawke au #shapeshifting #monster steve harrington #monster eddie munson #slow burn #getting together

31 notes · View notes

saoirshe · 2 months ago

Text

music intro ･:*˚:✧

welcome to my blog (☆^O^☆) this intro is how you can best get to know me (music-wise). dms are open for any potential friends. this took me 5 days for some reason

main music genres

order nonspecific. always taking/looking for music recs :)

pop punk/emo/midwest emo/scremo, etc:

☆ my chemical romance, paramore, ptv, sws, p!atd, fall out boy, split chain, bring me the horizon, blink182, american football, get scared, escape the fate, sum 41, the red jumpsuit apparatus, all time low, the used, jimmy eat world, weezer, taking back sunday, title flight, la dispute*, modern baseball, front bottoms, american football, oakwood, alesana, never shout never, tøp, falling in reverse, static dress

punk

☆ green day, agent orange, bad brains, bad religion, bikini kill, black flag, circle jerks, crass, dead kennedys, descendants**, fugazi, generation x, germs, husker du, mdc, minor threat*, misfits*, operation ivy, ramones*, rancid, sex pistols, tsol, the expoited, stiff little fingers, adolescents, the adicts, reagan youth, sonic youth*

k-pop

☆ loona (+ all post), twice, dreamcatcher, aespa, fromis, snsd**, iz*one** (+ all post solos), wjsn**, ive**, 4minute*, fx*, red velvet, (g)i-dle**, skz**, itzy**, le sserafim*, blackpink*, newjeans, tripleS*, stayc*, iu*, ioi, chungha*, aoa, miss A, clc*, exid, dalshabet, kara*, wonder girls, gfriend, kep1er, shinee, kiss of life, wooah, bibi, ateez, p1harmony, leehi, dreamnote, ichillin, nmixx, billlie*, kimsejeong, everglow*, 2ne1, alice (form. elris), after school, lovelyz, sunmi, enhypen*, momoland, apink, cherry bullet*, illit, s.e.s., fin.k.l, pixy, bigbang, purple kiss, april, seo taiji...

biases

☆ jinsoul, yves, haseul, vivi, jeongyeon, jihyo (#1 ult), jeongyeon, dami, ning2, yena, hayoung, sulli, hinata, minnie, seola, yujin (ive), changbin, nana, bona, soobin (wjsn), yeoreum*, yuqi, chaeryeong, hwang hyunjin, chaewon, yeji, choi yoojung, moka, seulgi, gyuri (kara and fromis), harvey, giselle, taeyeon

japanese music

☆ vkei: buck-tick*, malice mizer, the gazette, d'espairsray, dir en grey, plastic tree, hide. jmetal/punk: babymetal. jpop/indie: lamp, perfume, tommy heavenly/february6, lisa ono, kyary pamyu pamyu, ichiko aoba, capsule, serani poji, akb48*. citypop: miki matsubara, anri*, yurie kokubu, cindy, junko yagami, atsuko nina, kaede.

pop

☆ taylor swift (all time fav), ariana grande, chappell roan, sabrina carpenter, xg, olivia rodrigo*, 1d, alaska thunderfuck, bruno mars, lady gaga, charli xcx, lorde, sophie*, marina, britney spears*, ed sheeran, maisie peters, gracie abrams, rupaul, whitney houston, kesha, lana del ray, harry styles. 70s/80s: cher, madonna, abba, michael jackson, billy joel, elton john

metal

☆ nu: system of a down, korn, limp bizkit, slipknot, linkin park, deftones, sevendust, static x. progressive: gojira, mudvayne*, avenged sevenfold. heavy: metallica, judas priest, pantera*, slayer, anthrax, black sabbath, bullet for my valentine, rob zombie, disturbed. other/multiple: asking alexandria, bathory, rage against the machine, motley crue

indie/indie rock/indie pop, etc.

☆ mitski**, ethel cain, conan gray, arctic monkeys, cocteu twins, the smiths, pixies, the cure*, clairo*, beabadoobe*, sky ferreira, cigarettes after sex, willow, the marias, tame impala, phoebe bridgers*, imogen heap, björk*, hozier, my bloody valentine**, radiohead, new order, the 1975, fiona apple, steve lacy, smashing pumpkins**, mazzy star*, jeff buckley*, strawberry switchblade, beck, the young veins, slowdive, the neighbourhood, noah kahan, coldplay, sufjan stevens, wave to earth, joy division, faye webster, tv girl, coco & clair clair, late night drive home, mac demarco, wallows

rock

☆ david bowie**, queen, the beatles, the clash, guns n roses, talking heads, fleetwood mac*, pink floyd*, bee gees, foo fighters**, nirvana, jimi hendrix*, pearl jam, wham, alice in chains, the offspring, garbage, superheaven, soundgarden, sublime, nine inch nails, blur, red hot chilli peppers, r.e.m, kiss, ac/dc, blondie

other

☆ doechii*, tyler the creator*, milli, nicki minaj, azalea banks, megan thee stallion, doja cat**, lil uzi vert*, childish gambino

8 notes · View notes

cupidsonly · 2 months ago

Text

this took me about an hour to read and i’m so grateful to even read this. this is so beautiful i wish to have this writing engraved in my head😩 i was in complete awe the whole time reading this, i’m definitely rereading!

this fic honestly made me rethink life, i am so in love . i cannot believe i haven’t reblogged your other fics

SOMETHING REAL || Choi Seunghyun (T.O.P)

summary: you never expected him to matter this much. at first, seunghyun is just the annoying guy from class—the one who gets under your skin without even trying. but somehow, he becomes your best friend, the one who listens when no one else does. you both have your own lives, your own relationships. it’s never supposed to be more than that. but then the way he looks at you lingers a little too long, his touch starts to feel like something you don’t want to live without. and when love starts to feel like loneliness, he’s there. what if he was the right one all along?

warnings/this story contains: (reader discretion is advised), seunghyun and the reader are both in their early twenties, slowburn, enemies to friends to enemies (?) to friends to lovers (lmao help), smut (oral sex (f receiving), p in v, dry humping, fingering, slight overstimulation, praising, lowkey rough sex), seunghyun and the reader struggle with insecurities, mentions of cheating, emotional cheating, mild angst (miscommunication, heartbreak, ghosting, lies, bickering), fluff (toward the end, seunghyun’s down BAD), a loooot of artsy talk and an insane amount of yearning.

a/n: this is an au! seunghyun’s not an idol and he was born in the early 2000’s. this is loosely based on real events (my life, lmao), some stuff has been altered for artistic reasons and to fit seunghyun’s persona. enjoy this fragment that i couldn’t resist sharing, because it’s the most bookish thing that’s ever happened to me—basically the closest i’ve ever been to feeling like the main character. help. anyway! english isn’t my first language so mistakes should be present!! lower case is intended. reader’s dialogue is in bold. mind you, like always, this is LOOONG (it’s a whole fic)

songs: i love my boyfriend — princess chelsea || delicate — taylor swift || sure thing — miguel

three minutes. that’s exactly the time you have left before your next class starts. you’re walking briskly across campus, your coffee in one hand, your backpack slung over one shoulder, trying to make sure you don’t arrive late (again…). but then, out of nowhere, someone bumps into you. it’s not even a light brush—it’s a full-on collision that sends the hot coffee sloshing out of your cup and spilling all over you. you gasp, looking down at your favorite blouse, now stained with dark coffee, and a surge of frustration rises in your chest. the guy who bumped into you stumbles back, clearly just as startled as you are, and for a moment, you just stand there, staring at him. he’s awkward, shifting on his feet, like he doesn’t know what to do. “uh… i didn’t see you,” he says, but his voice trails off. his eyes flicker down to the stain, then back to you, but he doesn’t move to offer help. “clearly,” you huff. he seems to be about to offer something—an apology, maybe—but the words never quite make it out. this is so ridiculous. it’s not like you expected him to drop to his knees asking for forgiveness, but at least do something. instead, he just looks at you, and says, “it’s just coffee.” it’s clear he didn’t mean to spill the drink, but the last thing you need right now is him trying to downplay it. you roll your eyes, your patience wearing thin. “yeah, and now it’s on me!” he raises his eyebrows, almost amused by your reaction. “it’ll probably come out in the wash.” “i can’t go to my next class like this!” you don’t have time for this. “yeah… i—i’m sorry,” he finally says.

you stare at him for a moment, and at first, you almost want to believe his apology, but then you see it. his lips twitch. it’s so subtle, like he’s trying to hold back a laugh, but it’s enough to set you off. your blood boils with frustration, and you glare at him, your patience completely gone. “great. just great,” you snap, your voice dripping with sarcasm. without waiting for him to respond, you turn on your heel and start walking away, the coffee still soaking through your blouse, irritation simmering beneath your skin. “sorry!” you hear him call after you, but it’s distant. and just before you disappear around the corner, you catch it—the soft sound of a laugh. he’s laughing at you! what a fucking douche! you want to spin around and yell, but you don’t. you’ve got bigger things to worry about. like, for instance, the argument with your boyfriend earlier. it started as something small—just a misunderstanding, a simple disagreement about plans for the weekend—but somehow, it escalated. words were exchanged, and now you’re both giving each other the silent treatment. it doesn’t help that you haven’t had the time or energy to smooth things over. so now, you’re walking around campus, wearing a coffee stain bigger than your damn head, replaying the argument in your mind over and over. it’s like everything is spiraling today.

you’ve officially become a hater of the coffee-spiller guy. it doesn’t take long for you to realize that fate has an awful sense of humor. a couple of days later, when you walk into your ‘history of art’ class, you spot him. there he is, sitting at the back of the lecture hall. you freeze for a moment and his eyes catch yours almost immediately. you can see it—the flicker of recognition, the split second where he remembers exactly who you are. but he looks away quickly. you roll your eyes and find a seat far away from him, making a mental note to never, ever, be near him in this class.

every little thing he does in class irritates you. the way he taps his pen against the desk, that awful, self-satisfied look he gets when he answers a question correctly. then there’s his laugh. it’s loud, obnoxious. you swear you can feel the vibration of it in your chest, like it’s shaking the whole room. and god, don’t even get started on the way he taps his foot incessantly, like he’s got some sort of rhythm problem, the way he flips through his notebook with unnecessary speed, flicking each page with an irritating snap. it drives you crazy. if you could, you’d throw your notebook at him just to get him to stop. but you don’t. because, well, you’re trying to act like an adult. by the end of each lecture, you’re fuming, but the worst part is—you’re starting to remember his name. choi seunghyun.

the next week, your friend doesn’t show up to class, and empty seat where they should be. and it’s a problem, because when the professor starts assigning partners for the semester project, you don’t have one. and of course, because the universe fucking hates you, guess who also doesn’t have a partner? “choi seunghyun, you’ll be with…” the professor scans the room, and your stomach drops before she even says it. your name. you blink. “what?” “you two will be working together on the project.” “can i do it alone? i don’t need a partner,” you say, shaking your head. the professor doesn’t even look up from her notes. “it’s a paired assignment.” “okay, but my partner’s just absent today. they’re still in the class, they’ll be back.” “you’re with seunghyun,” the professor says, finally looking at you, exasperated. you turn in your seat to glare at him, and of course, the asshole looks completely unbothered. you take a deep breath, grip your notebook a little tighter, and push yourself up from your seat. if there’s one thing you know for sure, it’s that seunghyun isn’t about to haul his ass over to you. which means, unfortunately, you have to go to him. it shouldn’t annoy you as much as it does, but everything about this situation is already pissing you off, so what’s one more thing?

you drop your stuff on his desk and pull out a chair, not waiting for an invitation. “let’s just get this over with.” seunghyun barely glances up. “eager, aren’t you?” “i actually want to pass this class,” you snap, unfolding the project sheet. and then, as your eyes land on the topic, your irritation dims—just a little. “ancient greek sculpture,” you mutter, reading over the details. seunghyun leans back, stretching his arms over the back of his chair. “not bad, huh?” “could’ve been worse,” you admit, tapping your pen against the desk. “greek sculpture is foundational. proportions, movement, realism—this stuff shaped everything that came after it.” he smirks. “glad you won’t be completely miserable, then.” you huff, crossing your arms. “trust me, if i had a different partner, i’d actually be excited about this.” his grin widens. “so i’m the problem?” “seunghyun,” you deadpan, “that was never in question.”

seunghyun doesn’t know why it feels so strange, hearing his name come from you. but it sticks in his head. he keeps his eyes on the project sheet, pretending to read while his mind is somewhere else entirely. you sit across from him, your fingers lingering on the corners of each page before turning them, and every so often, you bite the inside of your cheek when you’re thinking. he shouldn’t be noticing these things. but he does. you’re pretty. no, beautiful. sitting this close, it’s impossible to ignore. the way the light catches your eyes, the faintest crease in your brow when you’re thinking, the soft curve of your cheeks when you huff in frustration. there’s something about it—something that makes him glance away too quickly when you look up. but when you start talking, it’s even worse. your voice changes when you talk about art. there’s a spark in it, something alive, something that makes him sit up just a little straighter. you don’t just like this stuff—you care about it. and he gets that. because he cares too. he watches the way your hands move, the way you gesture like your words aren’t enough on their own. the way your eyes light up when you explain something, like you’re seeing it in your head as you say it. and it’s… nice.

as the conversation drags on, you feel the irritation you’ve been holding onto slowly start to slip away. at first, you thought seunghyun’d be the type of guy who leaves you to do all the work. but as he starts talking, you realize something you hadn’t anticipated. there’s this calm reason to his words, like he’s thought about what he’s saying before he says it—a kind of maturity in the way he talks. it’s not just facts he’s spitting out, it’s a genuine understanding. he’s making connections between things you hadn’t considered, filling in gaps you didn’t even know were there. and damn it, it makes you think twice. it messes with your entire perception of him.

“so, who’s your favorite greek sculptor?” he asks, his voice quieter now, almost like he genuinely wants to know. you pause, considering. “it’s hard to pick,” you say, tapping your pen against the desk. “but if i had to choose, i’d go with praxiteles. he was one of the first to really capture natural human beauty. his sculptures, like the ‘hermes and the infant dionysus’, they’re just… they look like they could breathe, you know? like they’re alive.” you glance up to see him nodding. “yeah,” he murmurs. he falls silent for a moment, his eyes drifting down to his notebook. “for me, it’d probably be phidias,” he says. “the one who worked on the parthenon. his sculptures, especially the statue of athena… it’s just incredible.” he looks up at you then, a small, almost hesitant smile on his face. “there’s something about the way he made the gods feel so… human. like they were both divine and reachable at the same time.” “mhm.” you nod slowly. it’s strange—how much you find yourself agreeing with him.

he shifts in his seat, looking at the paper between you two but not really focusing on it anymore. “so, uh…” he starts, trailing off for a second like he’s trying to find the right words. “what do you usually do outside of class?” you glance at him, a little surprised by the sudden change in topic. “outside of class?” you repeat, raising an eyebrow. “yeah,” he says, shrugging slightly. “just curious. got any weird hobbies?” you chuckle at the thought, leaning back in your chair. “weird hobbies? i don’t know about weird, but i like to read. i write a lot, too. and i sing, sometimes.” his eyes widen, and he looks at you with a kind of surprised excitement. “wait, you sing?” you nod, a little unsure of his reaction. “yeah, just for fun, though.” he’s practically leaning forward now, his voice more animated. “seriously? i like to sing too! but not like—i don’t perform or anything, but i mess around with writing songs sometimes.” you blink at him, surprised. “you write songs?” “yeah!” he says, his eyes lighting up as he talks. “mostly rap songs! just stuff i keep to myself. i don’t know, it helps me get my thoughts out.” you’re taken aback, not expecting that from him at all. “that’s… actually pretty cool! i didn’t think you’d be the type.” he chuckles a little, almost shy now, rubbing the back of his neck. “yeah. i don’t know, music’s kind of a big deal for me.” “i get that. i mean, i feel the same way about writing. it’s like… the only way to really get everything out.” his smile softens, and he nods, almost like he’s relieved that you get it. “exactly. it’s the only way i know how to say what i’m feeling.” he pauses, then adds, “i guess we’re not that different, huh?” you grin, a little more comfortable with him now. “guess not.”

weeks go by, and somehow, without you really noticing when it happened, you stop dreading working with seunghyun. at first, it was just about getting the project done—tolerating his presence, keeping things academically professional. but somewhere along the way, that changes. you start meeting up outside of class—not just in the library, but in the university cafeteria, sometimes even grabbing a table outside when the weather’s nice. at first, it’s always under the excuse of we need to finish this, but little by little, the project stops being the main focus of your meetings. it starts with small things. “you drink your coffee black?” you ask one afternoon, watching as he stirs his drink. he glances up at you, raising an eyebrow. “sometimes. why?” you wrinkle your nose, shaking your head. “no sugar, no milk… nothing?” “nope. not today,” he says, taking a sip like it’s no big deal. “you think that’s weird?” “oh, definitely.” he chuckles, shaking his head. “coming from someone who drowns theirs in sugar? right.” you scoff, feigning offense. “excuse me for liking some flavor in my life.” he only smirks, taking another sip of his coffee. and you don’t know why, but you find yourself watching the way his fingers wrap around the cup, the way he always waits a second before actually drinking. “talking about coffee,” seunghyun clears his throat. “i—i’m sorry for bumping into you that day. and for your blouse.” you blink, a little thrown by the sudden apology. you hadn’t expected him to bring it up. for a second, you almost forgot about that. but the memory comes back in full color—the embarrassment, the heat of the coffee soaking into fabric, and, worst of all, the way you heard him laugh right after. you shrug, forcing a small smile. “it’s fine! stuff happens.” but it doesn’t come out as smooth as you want it to. he notices. “look, i—i wasn’t laughing at you.” you don’t say anything, just arch a brow. “i mean, yeah, i laughed. but it wasn’t, like—fuck, i just do that when i’m nervous.” he lets out a short, humorless laugh, shaking his head. “it’s a stupid reflex. i wasn’t trying to be an asshole.” “nervous?” you echo, curiosity edging into your voice. he hesitates for a second. “i don’t know. you caught me off guard.” “it’s okay! really.” “it won’t happen again, i promise.” “what, spilling my coffee? or the nervous laughing?” you grin. “both. if i can help it.” he smiles back.

one afternoon, you’re both hunched over your notebooks at your usual table in the cafeteria, trying to put together a proper analysis for the project, when he suddenly groans, running a hand through his hair. “okay, i need a break.” “agreed,” you sigh, stretching your arms over your head. “i think my brain is melting.” he leans back in his chair, exhaling. “we should just drop out. open a karaoke bar instead.” you hum, pretending to consider it. “tempting. but i think we’d go bankrupt in a week.” “probably,” he admits, smirking slightly. then, a sudden gust of wind blows through the open door. a few loose sheets of paper fly off the table, and you both reach for them at the same time. your hands brush, just for a second. you freeze. he does too. but instead of pulling away immediately, he hesitates. it’s barely noticeable, but you feel it—his fingers just lingering before he finally lets go. you don’t look at him, just focus on gathering the papers, but your heart beats a little faster anyway. he clears his throat, sitting back. “we should probably staple these,” he says, voice a little quieter than before. “yeah,” you mutter, shuffling the pages together.

another day, you find yourselves in the campus library, tucked away in a quiet corner where barely anyone goes. at first, it’s about the project—like it always is—but before long, you’re talking about anything but that. “okay, real question,” you say, tapping your pen against your notebook. “if you could live in any painting, which one would it be?” seunghyun leans back, arms crossed. he barely takes a second to think. “anything by kandinsky.” “oohh! good choice!” “right? it’d be like living inside music.” you nod, smiling. “i guess that suits you.” “what about you?” he asks, gaze flicking to you. you think for a moment before saying, “‘the garden of earthly delights.’” he lets out a low laugh. “crazy choice.” “shut up.” you laugh too. “i mean, it’s chaotic, sure, but it’d never be boring. plus, i’d be surrounded by nature—which i love—and i’d also get to hang out with weird little creatures all day.” seunghyun has to stifle the loud laugh scratching his throat. “it’s an orgy,” he says. you blink. “what?” “‘the garden of earthly delights.’ you picked a medieval sex party. should i be concerned?” you burst out laughing and a student a few tables away shoots you a look over their glasses, pressing a finger to their lips. “okay, first of all, that is not the reason i picked it.” you whisper, biting back another laugh. “but it’s there,” he insists, raising a brow. “like, everyone in that painting is naked.” “but they’re just eating fruit,” you retort. “yeah, and fruit is like… the biggest metaphor for sex ever. come on now.” you shake your head, still laughing softly, trying to contain yourself. “i just like that it’s weird, okay? it looks like something out of a fever dream. plus, i feel like bosch was on something when he painted it, and honestly? i respect that.” “so what you’re saying is, you wanna live in chaos.” “no, i wanna live somewhere that would never be boring. kinda like you picking kandinsky. kandinsky is chaos too, just in a different font,” you tease, arms crossing over your chest. “dude’s entire thing is just shapes and color explosions. what does that say about you?” he grins. “it says i’m fun.” “it says you have the attention span of a goldfish.” his mouth falls open in exaggerated offense. “okay, rude.” your laughter spills out again, earning you another round of disapproving stares from a group of students at a nearby table. one of them—not even looking up from their notes—goes, “shhh!”

seunghyun leans back in his chair, tapping his fingers against the table. his eyes flicker over your face, thoughtful. “what?” you ask, raising a brow. he shrugs. “nothing. just… you’re different from what i expected.” “that supposed to be a compliment or an insult?” his lips twitch. “take it as a compliment.” he grins, but there’s something in his expression—something a little too observant, like he’s picking apart a puzzle piece by piece. “so? what did you expect?” he hesitates for just a second before saying, “i don’t know.” he does know, or at least, he has some idea. he expected someone easier to read. but you’re not easy to read, and now he’s realizing that the more he pays attention, the more there is to figure out. he just doesn’t know how to say it. but he’s also noticed the cracks, the way some days you seem a little quieter, like you’re carrying something heavier than you let on. he wonders if you even realize it, how your guard slips in the smallest ways. maybe he shouldn’t say anything. maybe it’s not his place. but the words slip before he can stop himself. “i’ve noticed some days you’re different. like… sad.” it catches you so off guard that you don’t even know what to say for a moment. you force a small scoff. “everyone has off days.” he doesn’t buy it. “yeah, but not everyone acts like they don’t.” his voice is softer now, more careful. “i just—i think you’re good at keeping people out.” “most people aren’t worth letting in,” you reply. “i get that. sorry, i’m—i mean, i notice because i do the same thing,” he admits. the way he says it, like he actually sees you, makes your chest feel tight. you press your tongue against the inside of your cheek, trying to ignore the way your pulse has picked up. “i think you like analyzing people too much.” seunghyun snorts. “only when they’re interesting.” you open your mouth to respond, but you hesitate, suddenly hyperaware of how close he is. when did he lean in like that? or were you the one who moved? “right, okay,” you clear your throat, shifting in your seat and looking down at the books in front of you. “so, back to the hellenistic period. sculptures are less perfect compared to the classical period, more real. i’ll do the analysis of venus de milo, you can work on laocoön and his sons, if that’s okay with you.” he chuckles softly. “sure. sounds good to me.”

and when you’re walking together out of campus after—the sun already starting to set outside—he asks, “wait, have you ever been to the art gallery downtown?” you blink at him. “which one?” “the modern art gallery,” he says, hands tucked into his pockets, hoodie pulled up over his head. “they’ve got an exhibit on abstract and expressionist paintings right now. thought you might be interested.” you hesitate for a second, caught off guard. “you’ve been?” he nods. “yeah. went last week.” “alone?” “yeah.” he shrugs like it’s nothing. “sometimes it’s nice to go without distractions.” “weirdo,” you joke, and he chuckles. then you hum, considering it. “maybe i’ll check it out.” “you should,” he says, then—after a pause—“i could go again. if you wanted.” you glance at him, but he’s looking straight ahead, like he didn’t just say something that makes your stomach feel weird. you don’t answer right away. but you don’t say no, either.

a few days later, you end up at a park near campus, sitting on a bench. “okay,” you say, exhaling, “this is officially the furthest we’ve strayed from our project.” he smirks. “we could talk about it now, if you want.” you groan dramatically, leaning your head back. “ugh. please, no. let me live.” he chuckles, shaking his head. then, he tugs his hoodie over his head, the fabric bunching up around his face when he pulls its strings slightly. you watch him for a second before the thought slips out. “why do you do that?” his gaze flicks to you. “do what?” “pull your hoodie up like that. you do it all the time.” he exhales a quiet laugh, looking away. “i just… i don’t know. makes me feel more… covered?” he hesitates, then adds, almost like it’s an afterthought, “and i don’t like my ears getting cold.” “your ears?” “yeah.” but you know that look on his face. and you know the feeling, too. the urge to shrink youself, to avoid giving people something to make fun of. “i like your ears.” his head lifts slightly, eyes meeting yours in surprise. “what?” you shrug. “they’re nice.” for the first time, he actually looks caught off guard. “that’s… weirdly specific,” he laughs softly. “just take the compliment, hyun,” you say, rolling your eyes with a smile. he freezes for half a second. hyun? since when do you call him that? do you even realize you said it? he clears his throat, shifting like he suddenly doesn’t know what to do with himself. it’s just a nickname. it’s not a big deal. people shorten names all the time. but there’s this weird warmth settling in his chest, and he hates how much he notices it. “it was… it was genuine,” you add. “i used to be really insecure about them. my ears, i mean. well, actually… i used to be really insecure about a lot of things when i was younger.” “really?” “yeah. and people can be brutal. i got called all kinds of things. made me not want to talk much, not want to draw attention to myself.” your brows pull together as you listen. he’s opening up, letting you see a part of him that he probably doesn’t show most people. and you don’t take that lightly. “i’m talking too much again, aren’t i? i’m sorry—“ “you can talk about it,” you reassure him. “i’m listening.” you care? he wasn’t expecting that at all. “i just… never really felt comfortable in my own skin.” “i get that. i… i feel the same way.” “seriously?” “yeah. when i was younger most people thought i was weird. and i’ve never been the prettiest either. no one really looked at me.” “that’s crazy to me.” “why?” you ask, frowning. “why? are you kidding me? look at you!” his eyes flick away, like he just realized what he said. “i mean—” he clears his throat. “i don’t think you’re weird at all. you’re—you’re kind, and sweet, and funny, and smart as hell, and understanding…” he pauses. “and i think you’re very pretty, too.” you feel heat rise to your cheeks. “thanks, seunghyun,” you smile at him. “but—“ “ah, ah.” he shakes his head, pointing at you with his index finger. and in the same tone you used earlier, he says, “just take the compliment.” and you both laugh. the conversation drifts after that. you talk about books, music, childhood stories. and at some point, you glance at him and realize—he’s not as bad as you once thought. you could even consider him your friend at this point. and before you know it, you’re kind of looking forward to these moments.

saturday morning. it’s supposed to be a normal day. just you and your boyfriend, going from store to store, him carrying the bags while you browse through clothes, debating whether you really need another sweater. you don’t expect to see him. but then, as you’re exiting a store, laughing at something your boyfriend says, you hear a familiar voice. “oh. hey.” you stop mid-step, looking up. seunghyun is standing a few feet away, eyebrows raised. and he’s not alone. next to him, holding onto his arm, is a girl. she’s pretty. really pretty. she has that effortless kind of elegance, the type of girl you’d expect to see in an old film, with delicate jewelry and a perfect smile. you weren’t expecting this. you weren’t expecting him at all, let alone with someone. for a second, no one speaks. then, because you have to, you clear your throat. “uh—hey.” he nods, glancing at your boyfriend, then back at you. oh. right. introductions. that’s what people do, right? introduce their significant others? “so uhm… this is my boyfriend,” you say, nudging him slightly. your boyfriend extends a hand. “nice to meet you, man.” seunghyun hesitates—just for a fraction of a second—before shaking it. “yeah. you too.” then, as if remembering his own situation, he shifts slightly. “and… this is my girlfriend.” girlfriend…? she smiles, polite. “hi.” you don’t know why it feels weird. you force a small smile back. “nice to meet you.”

there’s a beat of silence, awkward and heavy, before your boyfriend gestures to the shopping bags in his hand. “someone got a little carried away,” he chuckles. “hey!” you nudge him, feigning offense. “i needed all of this.” seunghyun huffs a quiet laugh, barely noticeable, but you catch it. “are you guys shopping too?” you ask, because the silence is unbearable. “not really,” his girlfriend answers before he can. “just walking around, grabbing coffee.” “oh, nice,” you say, nodding, even though that doesn’t really keep the conversation going. you glance at him, searching for something else to say. “so no shopping spree for you?” he shakes his head. “no, not today. i don’t shop that much.” “right. you’re more of a ‘spend hours in an art gallery alone’ kind of guy.” you were trying to bring some humor into the conversation but oh my god. why did you say that? was that even a joke? (literally no one laughed…) his lips twitch slightly, like he wants to smile but doesn’t. “yeah.” another silence. his girlfriend tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, looking between the two of you. “so… how do you guys know each other?” “we’re working on a project together,” you say quickly. “for our ‘history of art’ class,” seunghyun adds, voice quieter than yours. she hums, nodding. “that’s nice.” you don’t miss the way she squeezes his arm slightly, like a subconscious claim.

your boyfriend, thankfully, doesn’t seem to notice the awkward tension, but you do. seunghyun does. maybe it’s because, for weeks now, it’s just been you and him, meeting up, talking, working together. and somehow, in all that time, neither of you ever mentioned the people waiting for you outside of those moments. “we should—” you start, at the same time he says, “well, we—” you both stop. you let out a small, breathy laugh, and he exhales, shaking his head. “see you in class,” he says eventually. “yeah,” you nod. “see you.” and then you’re both walking in opposite directions, like that wasn’t weird at all.

it shouldn’t feel weird. it shouldn’t feel like anything. but your mind keeps circling back to it a day after. to him. to her. you don’t know why it caught you so off guard. or why it lingers now. maybe it’s the fact that you spent all these weeks talking to seunghyun, learning little pieces of him in a way that felt… too personal. and neither of you ever mentioned having a significant other. why? because he never asked? because you never did? because it never felt necessary? or because, deep down, some part of you didn’t want to say it? you swallow, shaking off the thought, forcing yourself to focus on something else. you’re just overthinking the situation. you have a boyfriend and seunghyun and you are just… classmates? friends? whatever.

class feels different on monday. not in a way anyone else would notice, but you feel it. in the way you and seunghyun settle into your usual seats, in the way neither of you says anything at first. usually, by now, one of you would’ve made some kind of comment, but today, there’s just silence. you busy yourself by flipping through your notes, pretending to be more focused than you actually are. he clears his throat. “did you finish the research on the kouros statues?” you nod. “yeah. i wrote some notes about the stylistic differences over time.” “good,” he says. “we can work on the structure later.” and that’s it. just straight to business. what a great way to start the day…! it annoys you. so, before you can stop yourself, you blurt it out. “you never told me you had a girlfriend.” you try to say it in a playful tone but you fail terribly at it. he looks at you. “you never told me you had a boyfriend,” he replies in the same awkward way. there’s a beat of silence after that, just enough for the words to hang between you two. then, unexpectedly, he chuckles—soft, like he’s trying to shake off the awkwardness. “guess we’re both bad at this,” he says, half-smiling. you snort, rolling your eyes. “yeah, apparently.” he leans back in his seat a little, fingers tapping lightly on his notebook. “so, how long?” you raise an eyebrow. “how long what?” “how long have you been with him? if you don’t mind me asking.” you bite your lip for a second, debating how much to share. “like… a little under two years,” you say finally. “we met online.” seunghyun raises an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “online?” “yeah, on instagram. i posted a picture, and he texted me after that. i know, it sounds kinda pathetic, but that’s how it happened.” you can’t help but feel a little embarrassed admitting it, but you shrug it off. “we’ve been together ever since… he’s my first love.” “not judging,” he says, a smirk playing on his lips. you’re grateful he doesn’t make you feel weird about it. “what about you two?” “we’ve been together for a while too. a year and a few months. she’s also my first love. i met her through a mutual friend,” he says, leaning back in his seat. “we were hanging out at one of his parties, we started talking, and… here we are.” “that sounds more normal than my story.” he shrugs, a small grin tugging at his lips. “hey, it worked out, right?” “yeah, it did,” you agree, smiling slightly.

but oh, if only he knew. the last couple of months have been… hard. a constant string of arguments, over the smallest things. it’s like every time you talk, it turns into a fight. you thought it was just a rough patch, but it doesn’t feel like a patch anymore. it started small at first—just him being a little distant. but it kept growing. he used to say “i love you” all the time, like it was the easiest thing in the world. but now? it’s like those words are stuck in his throat, like he’s forgotten how to say them, or worse—like he doesn’t want to say them anymore. you’ve noticed how he’s been putting others before you too, choosing to hang out with his friends or canceling plans with you last minute without a real reason. it hurts, and you don’t know how to fix it. but you can’t tell seunghyun that.

but to your surprise, after a beat of silence, seunghyun says, “it’s funny.” voice quieter than usual, almost like he’s not sure whether he should admit this. “things have been a little… rough with my girlfriend lately.” you blink. there’s something about hearing him say that, something about knowing you’re not the only one struggling, that makes you feel a little lighter. not because you want him to be going through something hard too, but because it makes you feel like it’s normal. like maybe every relationship has its bumps.“what do you mean?” you ask, leaning forward slightly. “i don’t know. we’re just… not clicking like we used to. it feels like we can’t talk without it turning into an argument, and i hate it.” he pauses. “like—when you made that joke the other day, about me going to art galleries alone, she got mad at me for even telling you about it. she said it ‘put her in a bad light’ because she doesn’t do those things with me… but she’s the one who doesn’t want to come, even when i ask.” you feel a pang of guilt, like your joke somehow made things worse. "sorry," you say, glancing at him. "i didn't mean to stir anything up." seunghyun shakes his head, like it's not a big deal at all. "oh, no. it was just an example. it's not your fault," he says. then, he shifts in his seat, suddenly looking more uncomfortable than before, like he’s regretting saying anything at all. “look, i didn’t mean to dump that on you,” he says quickly, his voice awkward now. “i… i love my girlfriend, you know? i’m just frustrated. it’s not… it’s not that bad or anything.” you can see the nervousness in his eyes, the way he avoids your gaze, trying to brush off what he said. it’s clear he wasn’t expecting to let that out. but you can also see how much he’s trying to act like everything is fine, even though it’s obvious he’s not. just like you. “hey,” you say softly, reaching across the table just a little, enough for him to hear the sincerity in your voice. “it’s okay. i get it. relationships aren’t always easy.” you take a breath, then decide to be honest. “i’ve been feeling the same way with my boyfriend. we’ve been fighting a lot lately, and it’s… tough. we’re just… constantly butting heads.”

he goes quiet after that. like, really quiet. there’s something in his dark eyes—hesitation, maybe. or relief. like he needed to hear that he wasn’t alone in this, that someone else out there was struggling with the same messy, frustrating parts of love. and then, almost abruptly, he suggests it. skipping the rest of the day. just ditching everything and going to that same art gallery. it catches you off guard, but you don’t even hesitate before nodding.

the gallery is damn near empty at that hour, just the two of you wandering through halls lined with color and shadow, bathed in soft overhead lights that make everything feel a little more intimate. there’s something about being here, surrounded by all this art, that makes it easier to breathe. you both stop at the first painting that catches your eye—a massive canvas of deep blues, layered thick like it’s been slathered on with a palette knife, with jagged streaks of gold cutting through the darkness like lightning. you let out a quiet ‘fuck’, barely above a whisper. seunghyun huffs a small laugh. “looks like someone was trying to do rothko but got pissed off halfway through.” you smirk, tilting your head. “nah, this is too aggressive for rothko. feels more like franz kline, but with, like… a caravaggio-level obsession with drama.” his lips twitch. “yeah, i see that. but notice how the gold isn’t just random—it’s balanced. it pulls your eye across the whole thing, cutting through the shades of blue.” you’re quiet for a moment, taking it in. “dependency,” you say. “the gold wouldn’t mean anything without the darkness of the blue.” he looks at you, eyes glinting under the gallery lights. “exactly.” and that’s how it goes. you move through the gallery slowly, stopping at every piece, actually talking about the art, finding beauty in all of it. even the weird, messy, seemingly meaningless ones. it’s easy, because you both get it. you see the details, the choices, the way every piece has something to say. you pause in front of a sculpture—a chaotic mess of rusted metal, welded together at impossible angles. “brutalist, but trying to be constructivist,” you murmur, circling it. “like… it wants to have structure, but it’s resisting.” seunghyun chuckles. “or maybe it’s collapsing. like tatlin’s tower, if they’d actually built it and just let it rot.” “okay, points for that reference.” he grins. “i know my stuff.”

somewhere along the way, the conversation shifts. you start talking about relationships, about the ways they fall apart. but it doesn’t feel heavy. because you’re realizing how fucking similar your relationships are, and in a way, how similar you and seunghyun are too. it makes you feel less lonely. “it’s always the same thing,” you say, shaking your head. “getting angry when i ask what’s wrong, giving me the silent treatment, then blaming me about every bad-fucking-thing that’s ever happened to him—calling me a crazy bitch just to come back a day after, acting like everything’s fine.” “yeah, fucks with your head, makes you question if you’re actually the problem when really, he’s just deflecting.” he shifts his weight, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “guys like that, they don’t know how to handle their own shit, so they make it yours.” he glances at you, voice softer now. “but you know that, right? that it’s not you?” you let out a bitter laugh, rubbing a hand over your face. “i mean, i tell myself that. but after a while, it’s like… how many times can someone treat you like shit before you start wondering if maybe you deserve it?” “you don’t,” he reassures. seunghyun’s jaw tightens, his gaze flicking away for a second. “i know that feeling too.” he hesitates, like he’s debating whether to say it. “with my girlfriend, it’s different, but also not. it’s like—she just won’t fucking talk to me. she gets mad at me for not knowing what’s wrong, but then when i ask, she shuts down. and she treats me like shit when that happens too. she yells at me, calls me names, ignores my texts… makes me feel like an idiot for even trying.” “like she expects you to read her mind.” he nods, huffing a short laugh. “exactly. and then when i give her space, it’s ‘you don’t care.’ when i push to talk, it’s ‘you don’t respect boundaries.’ i can’t—i don’t know, everything i do is fucking wrong in her eyes.” you scoff. “god, it’s the same thing. like, just say what you want! say what you mean! don’t make me guess.” seunghyun lets out a sharp exhale, like he’s been holding that in for too long. “right?! i hate that shit. like, i’m here. i want to fix it. but how the fuck am i supposed to do that if she won’t even let me in?” there’s a pause, the weight of both your words settling in the quiet gallery. “makes you wonder if it’s even worth it,” you murmur. seunghyun’s lips press into a thin line, his fingers tightening in his pockets. “yeah.” he exhales, looking up at the ceiling like it might have the answer. “but then they apologize, and suddenly it’s like none of it ever happened. and you want to believe it, because for those few hours or days, it feels good again.” you nod, because you know exactly what he means. “and then it starts all over.” he looks at you then, eyes meeting yours like he’s searching for something. “yeah.”

silence settles between you and your gaze drifts to the painting in front of you. but your eyes don’t stay on it for long. without really meaning to, you glance at seunghyun. he’s standing there, just a little in front of you, his gaze fixed on the painting, like he’s seeing something no one else can. the soft lighting catches the sharp angles of his jaw, the high planes of his cheekbones, the slope of his nose, his dark hair falling just a little out of place—it’s almost unfair how effortlessly attractive he is. you should look away. but you don’t. and then, like he can feel your gaze, he shifts. his eyes flicker toward you, catching you in the act. your breath stumbles. but he doesn’t say anything—just holds your gaze for a second too long, a knowing smile tugging at his lips before he looks back at the painting. and you swear the air feels warmer after that. what the hell is happening to you?

months pass, and you’re closer than ever. one day, he’s just some guy you had a class with, and then, somehow, he’s your best friend. the project you worked on together? you absolutely crushed it—high marks, glowing feedback from your professor, the kind of result that makes all the half-serious arguments about formatting feel worth it. now you hang out all the time. and not just around campus—you start meeting up outside, too. going to the cinema together, picking dumb movies just to make fun of them. letting him come over to your place, where he inevitably kicks your ass at whatever game you decide to play—but then grumbles when you start getting better and actually put up a fight. some days, you just drive around aimlessly, talking about everything and nothing, stopping for food at sketchy places that somehow have the best food you’ve ever tried. you also help him with his relationship problems, and he helps with yours. well, help is a strong word—mostly, you just sit around, venting, analyzing every little thing your significant others do, trying to make sense of it all. sometimes, you’ll lie on his couch, scrolling through texts, trying to decode what a delayed response or a vague message really means. other times, he’s the one ranting, pacing the room, running a frustrated hand through his hair. neither of you have any real answers, but somehow, just saying it out loud makes it easier to carry.

the texting never stops either. even after spending the whole day together, even when you know you’ll see each other tomorrow. memes, whatever pops into your head at midnight, reminders about class or inside jokes from earlier in the day, thoughts about love and life. messages that start lighthearted but end up lingering in your mind long after the conversation ends. he’s the person you call when something good happens. he’s also the person you call when everything sucks. he becomes part of your life in a way that feels permanent. like even if everything else changes, he’ll still be there.

well, surprise! you are very wrong! it happens slowly at first, so slowly that you almost don’t notice it. a missed call here, a delayed text there. seunghyun stops responding as quickly, but you tell yourself it’s nothing—maybe he’s just busy. but then, suddenly, there’s no texting at all. he stops reaching out, and when you text first, the replies are short, distant, like he’s talking to a stranger instead of you. at first, you brush it off. maybe he’s just going through something. you give him space, waiting for him to come back on his own. but then he starts avoiding you in person, too. in class, he stops sitting next to you. when you try to talk to him, he keeps it brief, like the past few months never even happened. so you try. you crack jokes, hoping to lighten the mood. he barely reacts. you ask if he wants to grab coffee after class, and there’s always an excuse. but you’re stubborn. you keep trying, keep telling yourself that maybe he just needs time. maybe if you push a little harder, he’ll tell you what’s wrong. maybe he’ll go back to being the seunghyun you know. but he doesn’t. so eventually, you stop. because there’s only so many times you can knock on a closed door before you realize no one’s going to open it.

but fuck, you miss him. you miss seunghyun so much… in all the small, stupid ways that sneak up on you. you miss the way he used to walk you home after class, even when it was completely out of his way. how he’d always offer you his jacket without making a big deal out of it, just drape it over your shoulders. you miss how he’d send you voice notes instead of texts when he was tired, his voice soft and half-laughing as he complained about his day. like how he accidentally bought decaf coffee and didn’t realize until he’d already had two cups. or when he got locked out and had to convince the neighbor to let him climb across their balcony to reach his window—commentary and all, like he was narrating his own survival special. you miss sitting next to him during boring lectures, passing notes like you were in high school again—little doodles, sarcastic comments, the occasional ‘want to skip and get tteokbokki?’ scrawled in messy handwriting. how he’d always save you a seat beside him, even when he didn’t need to. you miss sharing your music with him, like that rainy afternoon you spent at the bus stop together, both of you soaked and laughing, sharing one headphone while waiting for a bus that never came. you miss how he’d always remember the little things—your favorite candy, the name of that song you liked for two weeks straight, the way you hated talking on the phone but would answer when it was him.

you love your boyfriend. you do. you’ve fought for this relationship, worked through the rough patches, stayed when it would’ve been easier to walk away. so why does your heart feel so heavy when you think about seunghyun? why do these stupid little memories of him make your chest ache in a way that has nothing to do with losing a friend? and then it hits you. you were starting to fall for seunghyun. the realization slams into you like a truck, knocking the air right out of your lungs. your stomach twists, guilt rising up so fast it makes you dizzy. you squeeze your eyes shut, shaking your head as if that’ll get rid of the thoughts. it’s nothing. just stupid feelings messing with you because you miss seunghyun as a friend. that’s all. it has to be. but deep down, you know. you don’t want to deal with this. any of it. it makes you sick. you try to shove it down, bury it deep where it can’t touch you. but the more you try to push it away, the worse it gets. anger starts to creep in, and you start resenting seunghyun. resentment is easier. that’s what you tell yourself. it’s easier than facing the awful, sinking truth—that you like him. that, somewhere along the way, he started meaning too much. so you turn that feeling into something bitter. it’s easier to hate him for pushing you away without an explanation.

you don’t say hi when you pass each other on campus. he doesn’t either. you just walk by like two people who never meant a damn thing to each other. in class, is where it’s the worst. you’re stuck two rows apart, forced to exist in the same space, forced to hear his voice, and it pisses you off. everything about him pisses you off again now. so when the discussion turns to a painting you know he’s wrong about, you jump at the chance. “that’s not what it means,” you say. seunghyun pauses mid-sentence. his jaw tightens slightly. “i wasn’t talking to you.” “yeah, well, you’re still wrong.” you lean back in your seat, arms crossed, glare locked onto him. “the artist literally said in an interview that the painting was about grief, not isolation.” “and what, you suddenly know more than everyone now?” “i know how to read.” he exhales through his nose. “interpretation exists for a reason. it doesn’t have to mean just one thing.” “so your interpretation is just better than the artist’s own words? that makes total sense.” someone snickers a few seats over. the professor looks unimpressed but doesn’t step in. “are you done?” he asks. “no, i’m not,” you reply before stating your opinion and interpretation of the painting. seunghyun shakes his head, muttering something under his breath.

the bickering continues for months. that class turns into a battlefield, every discussion an excuse to dig into each other. it doesn’t even matter what the topic is anymore—if seunghyun says one thing, you find a way to contradict it. if you make a point, he challenges it. he acts like he doesn’t care, but he does. you see it in the way his jaw tightens when you cut him off. in the way his fingers drum against the desk when your words hit a little too hard. in the way his voice gets sharper, more clipped, when he finally bites back. good! you want him to feel as frustrated as you do, as angry as you do. but one day, when the class ends and you’re gathering your things ready to leave, you feel fingers wrap around your wrist. firm, but not rough. seunghyun. your breath catches. he’s barely touched you before, but now, he’s pulling you aside, out of the classroom, into the quieter hallway. “why are you doing this?” he asks, frustrated. you snatch your wrist out of his grasp. “doing what?” he lets out a slow breath. “you know what.” you do. of course you do. “you should know.” his eyes search yours before his shoulders drop slightly, and he steps back. “okay.” you scoff. “okay? that’s all you have to say?” “what else do you want me to say?” “i want an explanation.” the words snap out before you can stop them. “you just—you just left, seunghyun.” his jaw clenches. “that’s not—” he exhales sharply, shaking his head. “nothing happened.” “what?” “nothing happened.” he repeats, like that somehow makes it better. “there’s no explanation. i just—” he runs a hand through his hair, frustrated. “it’s nothing.” “don’t lie.” “i’m not lying.” “yes, you are!” you snap. “you don’t just wake up one day and decide to cut someone out of your life for nothing.” he doesn’t say anything. you narrow your eyes. “was it because of her?” his brows furrow slightly. “what?” “your girlfriend.” you say, sharper this time. “is that why? she didn’t like me or something?” his whole posture stiffens. “no. that’s not—” he shakes his head. “this has nothing to do with her.” “then why?” “i don’t know what you want me to say.” “i want the truth.” “there’s no—” “you always complained about her not telling you what was wrong, even when you asked. now i’m asking you, hyun,” your voice sounds almost pleading. “i’m asking you to be fucking honest with me. did i do something wrong? i just—please. please, tell me.” for a split second, something flickers across his face. something real. but then it’s gone, buried under that frustrating, detached calm of his. seunghyun swallows, his gaze dropping to the floor. “i already told you. there’s nothing to explain.” and that’s when it really sinks in. he’s not going to tell you. he’s not going to give you answers. you bite the inside of your cheek, trying to ignore the way your throat tightens. “okay,” you say quietly, almost in a whisper. “have a good day, seunghyun.”

when the academic year ends, you feel like you can finally breathe. the weight of seeing seunghyun every day finally lifts, and you don’t realize how much it was draining you until it’s gone. summer feels like a breath of fresh air. no classes to deal with, no more running into him on campus. you actually start to feel better. the long days blend into each other, and the heat is almost a relief, as if the sun can melt away the last remnants of all the mess that’s been building up inside you. you spend time with friends, with your boyfriend, with family, dive into your hobbies—things that make you feel again, instead of being stuck in that heavy, frustrating place you were in just a few months ago.

the day feels like any other. it’s one of those lazy summer days, the kind that stretches on, with no obligations in sight. you’re in the kitchen, a soft hum of music filling the space as you chop vegetables for your lunch. it’s a soothing task, one that lets you lose yourself in the rhythm while the world spins on without much thought. then, your phone rings. the sound slices through the calm, pulling your attention to the screen. the moment you see the name, your heart skips a beat. seunghyun. you freeze, knife halfway through slicing a carrot. the world feels like it slows down for a moment. it’s been months since you last heard from him, since that final conversation you thought would be the last. you can feel your breath catch in your chest as your mind races. why is he calling now? what could he possibly want? you stare at his name, watching the screen flash. your fingers hover over the phone, torn. there’s a part of you that wants to ignore it, to send him straight to voicemail. it would be easier, right? just let him stay in the past where he belongs. but another part of you wants to know why he’s calling. you’ll regret it if you don’t pick up.

with a sharp exhale, you swipe your finger across the screen. “hello?” your voice sounds smaller than you expected. there’s a long silence on the other end. you can hear faint sounds—shuffling, soft breaths, maybe a sniffle—and then, his voice cracks through, shaky and broken. “hey…” your stomach drops. there’s something wrong. something off in his tone. “seunghyun?” you whisper, suddenly feeling the weight of his name. he doesn’t respond right away, and you can hear him sniffle again. “i—” his voice cracks. “are you okay?” you blurt out before you can stop yourself, panic creeping up your spine. there’s a long pause. you wait, heart pounding in your ears. and then, his voice comes, quieter this time. “no. i’m not okay.” you feel the hairs on the back of your neck stand up, the tension in his voice seeping into your bones. “what’s going on?” you ask, your words coming out urgent, concerned. “hyun, talk to me.” there’s a shaky breath on the other end before he finally speaks. “she cheated on me.” it’s the last thing you expected to hear. you swallow. “what? your girlfriend?” “i found out a couple days ago,” he continues, his words slow, like he’s choosing each one carefully. “she… she left her phone unlocked. and i didn’t mean to snoop i swear, but i saw messages—pictures, stuff i shouldn’t have seen. i knew something was off before, but seeing it…” you wince, not sure what to say. you can’t imagine what he must’ve been going through. “i’m sorry,” you say quietly, the words feeling too small. he lets out a shaky sigh, and you hear him breathe in like he’s trying to pull himself together. “yeah, well… it’s done now. we argued for days, but today, i… i ended it. it’s over.” “oh. i’m sorry, hyun, i… i don’t know what to say.” there’s a long pause, and when he speaks again, it’s with an almost defeated tone. “i… i didn’t mean to call you. i just—i don’t know,” he says, his words stumbling over each other. “i didn’t want to bother you. i-i shouldn’t have called. i don’t know why i did.” he’s almost apologizing, and the guilt in his voice makes you frown. “don’t hang up,” you say quickly, before you even think about it. “please don’t hang up.” “i’m sorry for calling you out of nowhere.” you feel a pang of sadness at his words. “it’s okay,” you reply. “you don’t have to apologize for calling. i’m here, okay? you can talk to me.”

seunghyun sits there, phone pressed to his ear, wondering how you can still be here for him after everything, after he pushed you away. the guilt eats at him, every part of him screaming that he doesn’t deserve to have someone like you by his side. “i thought you’d be done with me by now,” he says, almost in a whisper. you shake your head even though he can’t see you, your hand gripping the phone a little tighter. “we were friends, seunghyun,” you remind him, your voice gentle. “i know things got messed up, but… we were friends. best friends. and i told you i’d always be there for you.” you pause, chewing on your lower lip for a moment, before you finally say what you’ve been thinking. “if you want, i can come over. we can talk… or not talk. whatever you need.” you hold your breath, waiting for his response. there’s a long, stunned silence on the other end. “you want to see me?” he asks, like he can’t believe it. “yeah, of course.” “i don’t deserve your help.” “you do. please, let me.” there’s a slight hesitation before he speaks again. “okay. i won’t keep you long. i don’t want to be a burden.” “you’re not,” you assure him. “give me an hour and i’ll be there.”

as soon as you reach his place, you knock lightly, your heart hammering in your chest. the door creaks open a few seconds later. he looks awful. his eyes are red and swollen, his hair messy. he’s in a hoodie that hangs loosely on his frame, and the exhaustion in his face makes him look smaller. for a moment, neither of you move. no words are exchanged. then, without overanalyzing, you step forward and wrap your arms around him. he tenses at first, like he wasn’t expecting it, but then he just… melts. his arms tighten around you, his face burying into your shoulder as his body shakes. and then, quietly, he starts crying. you feel his tears soak into your shirt but you don’t pull away. you just hold him, one hand running soothingly over his back.

you spend the entire summer trying to pull seunghyun out of the darkness he’s buried himself in. he barely leaves his house, barely eats unless you remind him, barely sleeps. and you can’t stand it. you can’t stand seeing him like this—so broken. so you do what you can. you show up. every single day. some days, it’s just sitting with him in comfortable silence, letting him exist without forcing him to talk. other days, you try to drag him outside, finding little excuses to get him moving. “come on,” you tell him one afternoon, standing in his living room with your hands on your hips. “let’s go get ice cream.” he’s curled up on the couch, hood pulled over his head, despite the unbearable heat outside. you’re not surprised—he once told you he likes to be covered up. “i’m good,” he mumbles, not even looking at you. you roll your eyes and walk over, grabbing the hood and yanking it off. “no, you’re not, liar. you haven’t left this room in days. come on, seunghyun. you love ice cream.” he sighs, rubbing his face. “i’m not in the mood.” “that’s exactly why we’re going.” you grab his arm, pulling until he finally gets up.

one day you even made him dance with you. it was late, music playing softly from your speakers. you were already swaying to the beat, grinning at him from across the room. “come on, dance with me.” he scoffed, arms crossed. “yeah, no.” “why not?” “because i don’t dance.” you rolled your eyes. “don’t lie. you literally have like five videos on instagram of you dancing in front of your mirror.” “that’s different,” he muttered, avoiding your gaze. “is it?” you raised an eyebrow. “what about that time you started dancing in the middle of the crosswalk because that one guy’s car stereo was blasting usher?” he tried to suppress a smile, but failed. “okay, that doesn’t count either. i was just being silly.” “be silly with me now, then. everyone dances, hyun.” you stepped closer and grabbed his wrists, trying to tug him away from the wall. he resisted at first, feet planted like a grumpy little kid, but you didn’t let up. until finally, with a dramatic sigh, he let you pull him toward the center of the room. “this is dumb,” he grumbled. “you’re dumb,” you shot back. “just move.” at first he was stiff, awkward, his shoulders tense and eyes focused anywhere but on you. but you didn’t care. you kept swaying, guiding him with a light grip and a grin, your voice humming along with the music. and slowly he loosened up. just a little. “see? not so bad.” he let out a breath that almost sounded like a laugh, his eyes flicking down to you, soft around the edges. like he wanted to argue, but didn’t have it in him. not when it was you.

eventually, he started coming back to himself. making jokes like he used to. but the first time you heard his real laugh again, after months, it nearly made you jump out of your seat. it happened at his house. you were sprawled out on his couch, flipping through a magazine, when you made an offhand comment about his wardrobe. “you literally have like three hoodies. and you wear them every day.” “rude,” he said flatly. “i have five.” you snorted. “right. and they all look exactly the same.” “it’s called having a brand.” “your brand is sad boy chic.” he tried to hold it in, pressing his lips together like that would stop it—but the laugh still slipped out. your eyes widened. “oh my god.” you sat up, staring at him. “are you laughing?” he shook his head, even as his mouth twitched up. “i’m not.” and then another chuckle escaped. your grin stretched wide. “you are!” he groaned, running a hand down his face. “shut up.”

one evening, you’re both out on his balcony, the sun just having dipped below the horizon, leaving streaks of deep orange and purple in the sky. the air is warm but cooling down, the distant hum of the city below mixing with the occasional rustling of leaves. seunghyun leans against the railing, cigarette between his fingers, the ember glowing faintly in the dim light. he takes a slow drag, exhaling the smoke into the evening air before wordlessly handing it to you. you hesitate for half a second before taking it, bringing it to your lips and inhaling just enough for the burn to settle in your lungs. you pass it back, watching as he taps the ash over the edge of the railing, gaze distant. he hasn’t said much in the past few minutes, which isn’t unusual, but there’s something about his silence that feels different. after a while, he sighs. “i need to tell you something.” you straighten a little, looking at him. “what is it?” “i think… i think i owe you an explanation,” he says. your stomach tightens. you know exactly what he means. “you don’t have to,” you reply, even though you’ve spent months dying to know. “i wasn’t honest with you back then. and… i want to be.” he pauses, rolling the cigarette between his fingers, gaze fixed on the darkened skyline. “the reason i… the reason i stopped talking to you is because—” he hesitates, jaw clenching. “because i liked you,” he finally says. your breath catches. “what?” he turns his head slightly, just enough to glance at you. “i liked you. as more than a friend.” but even now, standing here with the truth hanging between you, he knows he’s still holding back. liked—he said it like it was past tense, like it was something he’d moved on from. but that’s a lie. he still does. you don’t know what to say. don’t even know what to feel. “seunghyun…” he exhales sharply, shaking his head. “i had a girlfriend. you had a boyfriend… well, you still do.” his voice drops at that last part. he clears his throat, looking away again. “i loved her. and it was wrong. so i told myself that those feelings for you would go away if i put enough space between us.” your fingers tighten around the railing. your voice is barely above a whisper when you ask, “did it work?” “no.”

silence settles between you. you want to admit it, too. that you felt the same thing. but where would that even get you? you’re still in a relationship. and you love your boyfriend (at least that’s what you tell yourself…) you know better. you can’t complicate things again now. so instead, you force yourself to ask, “why are you telling me this, hyun?” he frowns. “i don’t know, i just—i thought you should know.” he pauses. “i’m sorry for disappearing like that.” “it’s okay—” “no, it’s not.” he sighs. “i shouldn’t have… i shouldn’t have cut you off. i hurt you and you didn’t deserve that.” the guilt has been sitting in his chest for so long, pressing down on him every time he thought about you—which was always. you know you should be angrier, that you should make him sit with the weight of what he did a little longer. but the truth is, you missed him. you missed him so much it ached. “yeah,” you say quietly, “you did hurt me. but i get it, hyun.” he frowns slightly. “you were confused. and scared.” and you know that, because that’s exactly how you felt too. “but that doesn’t justify—” “seunghyun.” you cut off, shaking your head. “no it doesn’t justify it, but you apologized. i forgive you. it’s okay. don’t be—don’t be hard on yourself.” oh man. he wonders what he did in another life to deserve you being so good to him in this one. “i’m sorry too,” you continue with a smile tugging at your lips. “for snapping at you all the time in class.” he lets out a small laugh. “it’s okay,” he replies, the tension in his shoulders easing just a little. “i thought it was kinda cute.” “cute?” you snort. “yeah. but don’t worry,” he says, forcing a smirk, like he’s trying to play it off. “it’s in the past. we’re good friends.” and for some reason, that stings.

summer ends before you even realize it. the warmth starts to fade, the days growing shorter, the air losing its heaviness. you’re back on campus, slipping into the routine of lectures and assignments. but everything shifts—just a few days into the new academic year, it all comes crashing down. the fight with your boyfriend starts like any other argument. but then, somewhere in the middle of it, he snaps. says something he can’t take back. something that makes your stomach drop. he’s slept with multiple girls behind your back. you don’t remember what you said after that. don’t remember how the argument ended. all you know is that it’s over. and now, somehow, the tables have turned. it’s seunghyun showing up at your door this time, no hesitation in his eyes when he pulls you into a hug the second he sees your face. it’s him dragging you out of your house when you don’t want to move, sitting with you in coffee shops and parks and anywhere that isn’t your room, distracting you with dumb jokes and conversations about nothing. it’s him texting you at random hours, u good? or let’s go get food or just a simple i’m outside when you need it the most. he doesn’t push you to talk. doesn’t force you to open up. he just stays—sits beside you when you don’t feel like speaking, lets you cry when you need to. and slowly, piece by piece, he starts pulling you back together.

by the time october rolls around, you’re a new person. the heartbreak doesn’t sting anymore, the anger has dulled, and you’re genuinely happy after what feels like a lifetime. seunghyun has a lot to do with that. and maybe that’s why, when the invitation for a halloween party from some classmates rolls in, it doesn’t feel so strange that you and seunghyun are each other’s default plus-one. the house is packed, every room overflowing with people. music booms from the speakers, the bass so heavy it vibrates through the floor, making the half-empty bottles on the kitchen counter tremble. laughter and shouting fill the space, blending with the music, with the sound of ice clinking in cups, with the occasional crash of something breaking followed by a drunken chorus of “ooohhh!” you and seunghyun arrive together, dressed in matching costumes—him as an astronaut, you as the moon. your dress is a soft, silvery white, made of a flowing fabric that shimmers with every step, catching the dim party lights. the bodice is scattered with tiny embroidered stars, and the skirt has a subtle iridescence, shifting between silver and pale blue as you move. your jewelry is just as delicate—dangling earrings shaped like crescent moons. atop your hair sits a headband, adorned with silver moons and twinkling stars. seunghyun had grinned when he saw you, adjusting the nasa patch on his astronaut suit before reaching out to spin you in place.

you don’t separate when you step inside. instead, his hand stays on the small of your back. someone shoves drinks into your hands the second you reach the kitchen—something bright and sugary, probably way too strong—but neither of you mind. a group is playing beer pong in the living room, another is huddled around a tiny table, laughing over some drinking game with cards. in the corner, someone’s passed out in a vampire cape, an empty bowl of candy resting on their lap. the night moves in a blur. you and seunghyun barely leave each other’s side, moving together through the party, dancing till his hair starts sticking to his forehead from sweat. between songs, you weave through the party together, stopping to talk to friends, laughing at half-drunken conversations, clinking cups and playing games. someone compliments your matching costumes, and seunghyun just grins, tugging playfully at the fabric of your dress. “told you we’d have the best costumes. i mean, what’s an astronaut without his moon?”

eventually, the heat and the crowd become too much, and seunghyun leans in close, voice just loud enough over the music. “let’s go outside for a bit.” you follow him through the packed room and out the back door, the chilly night air biting at your skin. the backyard is quiet compared to the chaos inside, just the faint murmur of distant conversations and the occasional burst of laughter. seunghyun pulls a cigarette from his pocket, then offers you one without a word. you take it, watching as he lights his first, the glow flickering against his face before he leans in to light yours. you take a slow drag before exhaling. “having fun?” he asks. you smirk. “define fun.” he chuckles, shaking his head. “you took more shots than me earlier. you’re definitely drunk.” “tipsy,” you correct, nudging him with your elbow. “big difference.” he hums in response, taking a drag of his own. for a moment, there’s only silence, the two of you standing side by side, watching the way the smoke curls into the cold air. “the party is actually good,” he says. “way better than i expected. i was killing it at beer pong.” “you lost.” “okay, but it was a close game.” you shake your head, laughing. “so this is a ten out of ten night for you?” “pretty much,” he grins. “good music, free booze, and…” he hesitates for a second before saying, “you. what more could i want?” you feel warmth creep up your neck, but you keep your expression neutral, taking a slow drag of your cigarette. “drunk flirty hyun… that’s new.” he scoffs, shaking his head. “that wasn’t—” he starts, but then he stops, like he realizes mid-sentence that there’s no point in denying it. instead, he exhales, flicking ash off his cigarette. “i was just being honest.” he takes another drag, exhaling slowly after, watching the way the smoke drifts into the cold air before his gaze drifts back to you. he’s so screwed. because you’re smiling, the glow of the party lights casting this ridiculous golden halo around you. your lips are glossy, your smile lifting your cheeks, making you look even cuter, and your hair—god, your hair—looks so soft he has to physically stop himself from reaching out and running his fingers through it. you’re beautiful. and he’s so stupidly in love. you turn to look at him, brows raising slightly. “what?” you ask, amusement flickering in your eyes. seunghyun blinks, realizing too late that he’s been staring. “nothing,” he says, a little too quickly, taking another drag of his cigarette like that’ll somehow make him look less obvious. you tilt your head, the corner of your lips quirking up. “you sure?” you press, watching him. seunghyun hesitates for half a second, then just smiles, soft and a little shy. “yeah. just… spaced out for a second.” “mhmm,” you hum, clearly unconvinced, but you don’t push. instead, you take another slow drag of your cigarette. after a moment, you flick the end of it away, stretching slightly. “wanna go back in?” he nods. “yeah.” “only if you take another shot with me.” seunghyun huffs a small laugh, shaking his head. “figured there was a catch.” “come on, hyun,” you grin, tugging at his sleeve. “just one more.” and he’s already moving, already following you back inside, because he’s so far gone for you it’s pathetic.

after a couple of hours, when the party starts to lose its spark and exhaustion settles in, he leans in, voice low near your ear. “you wanna head out?” you nod, stretching your arms with a yawn. “yeah, just need to grab my coat. left it in one of the rooms.” he doesn’t say anything, just follows when you turn to go. the house is still loud, music pulsing from the main room, but out here in the hallway, it’s quieter, the chatter more distant. you push open the door to a small room, stepping inside. your coat is draped over the back of a chair, right where you left it. seunghyun’s inside too, standing just a few steps away. you shake out your coat, ready to slip it on, but before you can, he steps closer. “here,” he offers, voice quieter now, more careful. “let me.”

you hesitate for half a second before nodding, handing it over. he takes it gently, holding it open as you slide your arms through the sleeves. his hands brush against your shoulders as he settles it into place, a touch so light it barely lingers, but it’s enough to send a shiver down your spine. neither of you move right away. you can feel him behind you, his warmth, the way he still hasn’t stepped back. slowly, you turn to face him. his gaze flickers over you, taking you in like he’s memorizing every detail. then, so quietly it almost disappears into the space between you, he says, “do you wanna know what i was thinking before? when we were outside?” you hum in response, nodding slightly. “i was thinking… you’re beautiful. you’re so, so beautiful.” “you’re drunk,” you say, but it comes out quieter than you intended. he exhales a short laugh, shaking his head. “i know what i’m saying.” you hold his gaze, fingers curling inside your sleeves. “you sure?” you laugh softly. his voice is quieter when he speaks again. “yeah. it’s not a bad thing. thinking you’re beautiful… calling you beautiful.” his gaze flickers, dropping briefly to your lips, then back to your eyes. “you shouldn’t look at me like that,” you say. he steps just the slightest bit closer, gaze never leaving yours. “like what?” “like that,” you mutter, looking away. he’s quiet for a moment, then—“maybe you should stop looking at me like that, too.” your eyes snap back to his, heart pounding in your chest. “i’m not,” you argue, but it’s unconvincing. he smiles. “yes, you are.” you blink, heat spreading through your cheeks. “hyun…” you start, but the words catch in your throat. his smile lingers. “what?” “don’t do that.” “do what?” “act like you know what’s going on in my head.” his expression softens just slightly, but there’s something careful in the way he tilts his head, watching you. “don’t i?” of course he does. it’s infuriating, really, the way he can pick apart your thoughts without you saying a word. his eyes search yours, and then, he studies you for a long moment, like he’s trying to decide if he should even say what he’s about to say at all. but the words escape his lips before he can stop them. “i still have feelings for you.” “hyun—” “they never went away,” he cuts in. “you never noticed?” “i don’t—i don’t know.” “i thought you did,” he murmurs. “sometimes, it felt like you did. but maybe i was just seeing what i wanted to see.” he pauses. “sorry, i don’t want to make things weird, i know the breakup is recent for you, i just—i needed to say it,” his voice is quieter now, like he’s already made peace with whatever answer he thinks is coming. you glance up at him and he looks like he’s already preparing himself for the worst. and that’s what does it. that’s what makes the words slip past your lips before you can overthink them. “i… i do too.” “what?” “i have feelings for you too,” you say. “for a while now.” his expression softens, something flickering in his gaze—relief. “really?” “mhm.” you nod with a shy smile.

he exhales, like he’s been holding in the breath this whole time. and then, before you can process it, he takes a step closer, hand reaching up to brush against your cheek, gentle. your breath stutters as his face inches closer, his eyes flickering to your lips, giving you time to pull away if you want to. but you don’t. except, just as his lips nearly graze yours, panic flares in your chest, and you instinctively turn your head. “wait—” he freezes immediately, pulling back just enough to meet your eyes. “oh. sorry. too fast?” “no, no.” “what’s wrong?” you press your lips together. “i just… i haven’t kissed anyone other than my ex before.” your voice is small, embarrassed. “i don’t know—i don’t know how to do this. i’m nervous.” his brows lift slightly before a small smile tugs at his lips, understanding. “you think i have?” “what?” “you’re the only person i’ve liked other than my ex. i haven’t kissed anyone either.” the confession eases some of the nerves coiled in your stomach. “it’s okay to be nervous,” he says softly. “we don’t have to rush anything.”

you chew on your bottom lip. the way he’s looking at you makes you feel a little braver. seunghyun hesitates, then asks, “do you want to try?” he’s waiting—patient, not pushing, just letting you decide. and that just makes you want it more. “yes.” your voice is quiet. “i want to try.” his lips twitch up in a small smile, and he nods once. his gaze dips to your lips for just a second before meeting your eyes again, waiting for you to make the first move. you take a shaky breath before you lean in. it’s barely a kiss, just the softest press of your lips against his. you pull back almost immediately, nerves sparking in your chest. he stays close, his eyes fluttering open to meet yours, and for a moment, all you can do is stare at each other. “you okay?” he murmurs. you nod quickly, cheeks burning. “yeah.” a small, shy smile on your lips. his own smile widens just a little. “can we—can we try again?” you whisper. this time, when you lean in, he meets you halfway. the second kiss is different. his lips fit against yours like they were always meant to. you feel his hand slide to the curve of your jaw, his thumb brushing your skin so delicately that it makes your stomach flip. your fingers find the fabric of his costume, curling slightly as you let yourself lean into him, let yourself fall into the moment. the kiss deepens naturally, neither of you rushing, just learning each other in quiet, stolen seconds. he tilts his head slightly, and the shift makes it even better—your lips molding together, the warmth of him surrounding you. his nose brushes against yours as you part. your lashes flutter open, meeting his gaze. “was that okay?” he murmurs. you let out a breathless laugh, nodding. “more than okay.” “good.” he laughs too.

you spend more time with each other after that night, if that’s even possible. it becomes routine. you wake up expecting to see him at some point in the day. if you don’t, it feels off, like something’s missing. sometimes, you’ll spend hours together without saying much, just existing in the same space. other times you’ll talk for hours, trading secrets you’ve never told anyone, laughing until your stomachs hurt. seunghyun is so in love. oh, so in love… sometimes, when he’s lying awake at night, staring at his ceiling, he feels almost angry at himself—for waiting so long, for not realizing sooner. he thinks about the time he wasted, stuck in something that was never meant to last, convincing himself that love was supposed to be hard, that it was supposed to be painful and exhausting. but with you, it’s so fucking easy. he’s starting to believe what people say. first love is beautiful, sure. but second love? second love is real. second love is unforgettable. seunghyun is down bad. your presence alone is enough to set every nerve in his body on fire. and when you laugh—god, when you laugh—he thinks he could live off that sound alone. and maybe it’s crazy, but sometimes, he finds himself thinking—this is it, isn’t it? this is the kind of love people write about. he knows, without a shadow of a doubt, that no one—not his first love, not anyone—has ever made him feel like this. he’s never felt love like this before. but he never wants to go another day without it. without you.

the way you kiss him it’s intoxicating. seunghyun has kissed before, obviously. with you, it’s different. because when you do, slow, like you’re savoring every second, it makes his head spin more than anything else ever has. because the way you pull back just to look at him, eyes flickering between his—your hands on him, like you need to be touching him—makes his chest ache in the best way. makes him feel like the most important person in the world. sometimes, it starts soft, just a lingering press of lips. other times, it’s urgent. but you don’t push for more, and neither does he. not because you don’t want to, but because that’s already enough.

that’s why he doesn’t expect that, one day, while you’re making out on his couch, you straddle him—your knees pressing into the couch on either side of him, your hands settling on his shoulders. and seunghyun? he forgets how to breathe. his brain short-circuits. like, completely shuts down. his hands hover awkwardly at your waist, fingers twitching, unsure if he should actually touch you or just die right then and there. because holy shit. you don’t seem to notice his internal crisis, too caught up in the moment, too focused on the way his lips and tongue move against yours. but he notices—notices the way your body presses flush against his, the way your weight settles onto his lap, the way your fingers thread into his hair, tugging slightly. his self-control? hanging by a thread. your breath is uneven when you pull back to meet his gaze, your lips a little swollen. “is this okay?” you ask, voice soft. he exhales, hands smoothing over your waist. “yeah,” he breathes. “is it okay for you?” “mhm,” you nod.

you kiss him again, and this time, it’s different. it’s charged. seunghyun feels it in the way your hands slide from his shoulders to the nape of his neck. he feels it in the way your lips move against his. but most of all, he feels it when you shift in his lap, pressing down. just the slightest movement. he inhales sharply, his grip on your waist tightening as his body tenses beneath you. it’s not even really a movement, more of a hesitant roll of your hips against his, but fuck, it sends heat straight to the bulge in his pants. his brain barely has time to process what’s happening before you do it again. this time, he can’t stop the quiet groan that slips past his lips, low and almost pained, his hands digging into your hips on instinct.

he lets you. lets you move against him however you want, lets himself feel you. your movements start slow, almost experimental, like you’re figuring this out as you go, like you’re getting used to the feel of him beneath you. but when you find a rhythm—when you finally press against him fully, rolling your hips down just right—oh boy. his head tips back against the couch, eyes fluttering shut, a shaky breath slipping past his lips. he’s done for. you lean in, pressing a kiss just under his jaw, and he groans, low in his throat, his hands sliding down to squeeze your ass like he’s trying to keep himself together. “fuck,” he mutters, half to himself, half to you. “you’re gonna kill me.” you smile against his skin, and it’s unfair, so unfair, because you know what you’re doing to him. you know, and you keep going. the friction is perfect—every movement sending a pulse of heat through his body, enough to drive him crazy, enough to have his dick twitching in his pants.

his breathing comes out in short, uneven gasps as he grits his teeth, trying to hold on, trying to stay in control. but he can’t. because the way you sound—soft, breathy little moans escaping your lips—paired with the friction of you against him? it’s too fucking much. he’s already so close, already on the edge before he even realizes it. and when you press down just right, his stomach tightens. “shit—!” his whole body tenses as the pleasure hits him, crashing over him before he can stop it. his breath catches in his throat, a choked moan slipping past his lips, his fingers gripping your ass hard. he stills completely, chest rising and falling against yours, and it takes a second before he realizes what just happened. he ruined his pants. fuck. his face burns as the reality sets in. you blink at him, confused at first, before realization dawns in your expression. “oh.” seunghyun groans, tilting his head back, dragging his hands down his face, mortified. “don’t.” his voice is muffled against his palms. “don’t say anything.” but it’s too late. you giggle, and that just makes his ears go even redder. you lean in, pressing a kiss to his cheek, and whisper, “cute.” “i’m sorry,” he says, embarrassed. “it’s okay, baby,” you giggle again. after a moment, he laughs too.

the physical side of your relationship isn’t something either of you are shying away from anymore. the kisses get longer. deeper. and there’s more touching now. it starts happening more often, too. you’re figuring each other out, taking your time. memorizing the way each other moves, the way each other reacts. you’re learning him, and he’s learning you.

it’s natural that you start wanting more. that’s why, one night, late in his room, you find yourself lying beneath him, bodies tangled in his sheets. hands are everywhere. his lips leave yours only to trail down your jaw, down your neck, pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses against your skin. he loves this—loves the way you shiver, loves the way your fingers tangle in his hair, tugging slightly when he nips at the sensitive spot just below your ear. “seunghyun,” you breathe, and he swears he could die happy right now. his hands slide lower, fingers on your right thigh. you shift beneath him, pressing closer, sighing when his hand finally trails higher. his fingers move along the fabric between your legs. his touch featherlight, barely-there, but still enough to make you squirm. oh lord jesus, he nearly loses it right there. “you’re so fucking pretty,” he mutters against your skin. “my pretty, pretty girl.” you’re warm and soft, reacting to every little touch, every slow drag of his fingers. he can feel your heartbeat beneath his mouth as he kisses along your throat, your chest rising and falling a little too fast. his own breathing is just as uneven as yours now. he’s so hard it’s almost embarrassing. “tell me what you want, baby,” he murmurs. “i’ll give you anything, just—” “touch me, seunghyun,” you say softly. oh, you don’t need to tell him twice! he unbuttons your pants, sliding them down slowly. his fingers hook into the waistband, knuckles brushing against your hips as he tugs the fabric down, past your thighs, past your knees, until they’re bunched at your ankles. he takes his time pulling them off completely. his fingers slip beneath the thin fabric of your underwear next, dragging them down until they’re gone.

his hand goes right back where you want it. two of his fingers slide against you, teasing. feeling exactly how wet you are for him. the way your juices coat his fingertips, makes him groan, the sound vibrating low in his throat. his thumb drags over your clit, rubbing slow circles, and the reaction is immediate—your breath catches, your thighs twitch and your hips jerk slightly, a soft moan escaping your lips. oh that sound… his cock throbs in his jeans. “tell me if it’s too much. or if you want more.” your response comes fast—a shaky, desperate whisper. “more.” you beg, voice trembling. “more, seunghyun.” “more what, baby?” he teases, his thumb still working your clit. you whimper. “y-your fingers.” he chuckles softly, one of his fingers gently parting your folds before he pushes it in, sinking into your pussy with no resistance. “like this?” you nod, biting your lip. he begins pumping his finger slowly in and out and your breath comes faster, mingling with the wet sounds of his finger fucking you. when he adds another finger, your hands grip his arms, trying to hold onto something. he watches you, completely transfixed by how beautiful you look right now—lips parted, chest rising and falling in uneven breaths. “that feel good, hm?” he asks as he curls his fingers inside you, pressing against that one spot “y-yes! o-oh my—!” so he gives you more. his fingers thrust deeper and faster, curling just right, and your moans turn into whimpers. your thighs tremble and seunghyun can feel how close you are, how your body is tensing, your gummy walls squeezing his fingers. “hyun, i-i’m—i’m gonna—!” “i know, baby… give it to me.” one more thrust of his fingers, one more firm stroke of his thumb against your clit and your back arches—a sharp, desperate moan spilling from your lips—your body shuddering, clenching down around his fingers. he gives you a moment to catch your breath before he leans in. he presses a kiss to your forehead. “next time,” he murmurs against your skin, pressing another kiss, “i’m using my mouth.”

and he keeps his promise! it happens on a lazy sunday morning, right before your scheduled museum date. he shows up at your place a few minutes early, too excited to see you, too impatient to wait. maybe he had good intentions, but the second he sees you in that dress… he almost wishes to be a father. because what the fuck—you just look so good. soft and pretty, hair still slightly messy from getting ready in a rush, your perfume fresh in the air… his hands are on you before he even realizes it, pulling you in by the waist. you blink up at him, confused at first, lips parted, breath hitching slightly at the way he’s looking at you. that man is hungry. and he shows it with his kisses. “we—” you try to speak in between them. “we’re gonna be late—” “don’t care, i wanna taste you,” he mutters against your lips, hands sliding beneath the hem of your dress. “can i?”

and not even three minutes later, his head is buried between your thighs, his grip firm as he holds you in place. the first taste of you nearly ruins him—his low groan vibrating against your skin as his tongue works with a hunger that borders on desperate. your fingers tangle in his hair, tugging when he flattens his tongue against you. “s-seunghyun!” you moan loudly. music to his ears. he loves the way you whimper, the way your body shudders when he flicks your clit with his tongue, then sucking it just enough to make your thighs tremble. his grip on them is borderline bruising, but you don’t care—not when he’s got his mouth on you like this. “fuck, you taste so good,” he mutters against you, breath hot, voice thick with need. “so fuckin’ sweet.” “y-you always this needy?” you manage to tease, but your voice is shaky. he chuckles. “says the one trying to suffocate me with her thighs.” you open your mouth to fire back, but he circles your clit with his tongue, and whatever you were about to say turns into a sharp gasp. he grins against you, pleased with himself. and god, you’re already so close. he can feel it in the way your body tenses, the way your legs try to close around his head, the way your breath stutters into these soft, broken little moans. but he’s not done. he slides one hand up, fingers teasing at your entrance before slowly sliding inside. “fuck! f-fuck, hyun!” you cry from pleasure. “yes—ngh!—y-yes, baby, just like that! just like that!” your whole body jerks as his fingers move in perfect rhythm, tongue working you over even faster. “c’mon, baby,” he coaxes, pulling away just for a moment. “be good for me.” and that’s it. you choke on a moan, back arching as pleasure crashes through you. you cum on his tongue and he works you through it. licking and sucking even when your thighs shake. and when you try to pull away from the overstimulation, he doesn’t let up—not until he’s sure he’s gotten every last drop of it. finally, he pulls back, lips slick, eyes dark as he looks up at you, taking in the mess he’s made of you. he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, smirking before crawling up to press soft kisses to your jaw, your cheeks, the corner of your lips—gentle, like he’s trying to bring you back down. “you okay?” he murmurs, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “mhm,” you nod, still breathless. “yeah… just feel like jello.” he chuckles. “you’re so cute.” there’s something soft in the way he’s looking at you. your heart stutters, warmth blooming in your chest. “you’re such a sap,” you tease. he just grins, pressing a lingering kiss to your lips. “only for you.”

when valentine’s day rolls around, seunghyun makes sure you have the best one yet. he remembers—of course, he does—how you once mentioned that your ex never really cared about it, brushing off the day like it meant nothing. seunghyun, though, he isn’t like that. so when you walk through the door after a long day at university, you almost miss it at first. your brain is too tired to register the burst of color sitting on the living room table. but then, your eyes land on it, and for a second, you think you’ve walked into the wrong place. a massive bouquet of flowers sits right in the center, petals soft and vibrant like they belong in a fairytale. two—no, three—boxes of chocolate are stacked neatly beside it, ribbons tied in perfect bows. you blink, then blink again. “what the…” you murmur, stepping closer, fingertips grazing the velvety petals. there’s a small note tucked between the stems, and when you pull it out, your lips part into a slow, disbelieving smile. ‘because you deserve to be spoiled. i’ll pick you up for dinner (make sure to wear that beautiful smile of yours). happy valentine’s day, baby. — your hyun.’ you don’t even realize you’re smiling so hard until your cheeks start to hurt. warmth spreads through your chest, making you feel a little ridiculous, a little too giddy, but you don’t care. grabbing your phone, you call him immediately. “hi, baby—” “you’re insane,” you cut in, still staring at the bouquet. “this is—seunghyun, what the fuck?” his soft chuckle comes through the speaker, warm and just a little shy. “so, you liked it?” “liked it?” you echo, shaking your head. “i love it. i—how did you even—when did you—ugh. you didn’t have to, baby.” “i wanted to. your parents helped me set it up.” his voice is so sure, so simple, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. and maybe it is—to him, at least. “thank you.” your fingers play with the edge of the little note, eyes flicking over the words again. “did you read the note?” he asks. “yeah,” you nod, even though he can’t see you. “i read it. where are you taking me?” “surprise.” “hyun—” “you’ll see later.” “i need to know so that i can—” “huh? wait—hold on, i think you’re cutting out.” his voice suddenly sounds distant, like he’s holding the phone away from his mouth. “hello? can you hear me?” you narrow your eyes. “don’t even start.” “ah, damn. i think my signal’s bad.” he makes a few static noises with his mouth, so ridiculously fake you almost drop your phone from laughing. “you’re a dork, you know that?” more static—or at least his sad attempt at it. “what? i—i can’t—losing connection—” “seunghyun, you’re literally at home.” he clears his throat. “gotta go, baby, see you at seven!” the call ends before you can say another word. you stare at your screen, completely unimpressed, but also grinning like an idiot. he’s gonna be the end of you.

he takes you to one of the fanciest restaurants you’ve ever been in, which makes you wonder how the hell he managed to afford all this. but knowing him, he’s probably been saving up for weeks, quietly planning everything down to the last detail. dinner feels like time slowing down in the best way. seunghyun watches you more than he eats, eyes crinkling whenever you ramble about something or get too caught up in telling a story. and when the check comes, you barely get the chance to reach for your purse before seunghyun is already handing over his card, like every time you go out. stepping outside, the cool air wraps around you, crisp and refreshing after the warmth of the restaurant. seunghyun is close beside you, his hand brushing against yours before he finally just takes it, fingers slotting together. you squeeze his hand lightly, glancing up at him, but he’s already looking at you, eyes soft under the glow of the city lights.

as you settle into the car, seunghyun doesn’t start the engine right away. instead, he reaches into the pocket of his coat. you stare at him, curious, but before you can ask, he pulls out a small, velvet box and holds it out to you. “i got you something,” he smiles, voice a little quieter than usual. “what—? hyun—” “shh, let me spoil you,” he chuckles. your fingers hesitate for a second before you take it, the soft material cool against your palm. your chest tightens slightly as you flip it open, revealing a delicate necklace inside. the pendant is small, understated, but beautiful—exactly the kind of thing you’d pick for yourself. you exhale, running your thumb over the tiny charm. “oh my—i love it!” “i saw it and thought of you.” “it’s perfect, baby. thank you.” his lips twitch into a small smile. “let me put it on you.” you turn slightly, gathering your hair to one side as he takes the necklace from the box. he fastens it behind your neck, his fingers brushing lightly along the back of your shoulder. he lingers, adjusting the clasp, making sure it sits just right before letting his hands drop. you glance down, fingertips brushing over the pendant as a soft smile tugs at your lips. seunghyun leans back slightly, eyes flickering over you before settling on your face. “my pretty, pretty, pretty girl.” you shake your head with a small laugh, warmth blooming in your chest. “okay, your turn.” his brows furrow slightly. “my turn?” you reach into your bag, pulling out a small, neatly wrapped package before placing it in his hands. “yeah. you didn’t think you were the only one with surprises tonight, did you?” “you got me something?” he’s not used to being on the receiving end of surprises. “of course, i did,” you say, handing it to him. “now, open it.”

as soon as the paper wrapper falls away, his expression shifts. a hardcover book with a deep, star-speckled cover. his fingers graze over the title—the art of the cosmos—a collection of celestial-inspired artwork, paintings, sculptures, and photography, all centered around space. he flips through the pages slowly, carefully, eyes taking in the images of galaxies captured in oil paint, nebulas carved into stone, planets sculpted from glass. “i know how much you love space,” you say, watching his reaction closely. “and art, of course. so… i wanted you to have something that combined the two things you love the most, something that feels like you. it’s not—it’s not as fancy as… everything that you’ve prepared but—” before you can finish, seunghyun leans in, pressing his lips to yours. when he finally pulls away, he stays close, forehead barely an inch from yours. “don’t ever say that again.” “say what?” “that it’s not—” he exhales, shaking his head. “you could’ve given me a damn rock, and i’d still love it because it’s from you.” your heart stumbles a little, and you let out a soft laugh. “this is perfect, baby,” he says, flipping through the pages again. “you’re really the best.” you smile, watching the way his eyes soften as he takes in every detail. “i’m just glad you like it.” he sets the book down carefully on the dashboard before turning fully toward you.

he smiles, but there’s something behind it—something hesitant, like he’s trying to work up the courage to say something else. his knee bounces slightly, and his fingers tap against his thigh, a sign that there’s more on his mind. you tilt your head. “what?” he exhales sharply, shaking his head before letting out a soft laugh. “nothing, just…” he looks down at your hand resting between you, then, as if on instinct, reaches for it. he rubs his thumb over your knuckles, staring at your joined hands for a second before finally speaking. “let me be your boyfriend,” he says. “i know we haven’t really put a name on what this is, but i want to. i want you. i don’t want there to be any doubt about where we stand.” you must’ve started smiling like an absolute idiot because the second he sees it, he starts smiling too. “seunghyun, you’ve been my boyfriend in my head for months now,” you laugh, shaking you head. “so… that’s a yes?” “of course it’s a yes!” without giving him time to react, you press a quick, fleeting kiss to his lips. but before you can even pull away, seunghyun tugs you back in, kissing you with a much deeper intensity. your lips part instinctively, letting him in, his tongue gliding against yours. your fingers find his face, tracing the sharp lines of his jaw, thumb brushing gently over his cheek as you do everything in your power to keep from moaning into his mouth. he’s such a good kisser… his lips hot and soft against yours, tilting his head so that you fit just right… his lips leave yours only to trail along the corner of your mouth, before sliding down to your jaw. he takes his time, lingering there, and then he makes his way down. his face buries into the crook of your neck for a moment, and you can feel his smile against your skin. you run your fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck before pulling back just enough to look at him. “i love you,” he says. your lips part slightly, something swelling in your chest so big it almost hurts, and then you’re smiling. “i love you too, hyun.”

you can’t lie—loving seunghyun is kind of terrifying. not in a bad way, not in the he’s going to hurt me kind of way, but in the this is real and i don’t want to mess it up way. you’ve both been through it. cheated on, strung along, left to piece together whatever crumbs of affection your exes were willing to throw your way. it’s hard to unlearn that, hard to trust that someone wants you without expecting you to beg for it. and even though this is different—he’s different—it’s hard to shake the nerves, the fear that if you let yourself have this, really have it, something will go wrong. maybe that’s why, even now, after a long, perfect night, when you’re curled up with him on the couch, a movie playing but barely holding your attention, you still feel jittery. and when things start heating up (like they usually do) you feel embarrassingly new to it all. like you’re back at square one. like you’re a virgin all over again. “you’re shaking,” says seunghyun quietly, breath shuddering when his condom-wrapped tip presses slightly against your entrance. “we don’t have to do this—“ “i want to,” you reassure him. “i really do. i’m just… nervous.” intimacy can be scary, especially when it’s with someone new. “i know, baby. me too,” he admits. “i’ll go slow. just hold onto me.” so you do. your hands find his arms, gripping them lightly as he hovers over you, his eyes locked onto yours. “kiss me,” you whisper. he smiles before he leans in, pressing his lips to yours. then, as he moves, as he pushes into you, a sharp gasp escapes your lips, breaking the kiss. your fingers tighten around his arms, nails pressing lightly into his skin as you adjust to the stretch, the way he fills you so completely. he’s holding himself back, he’s trying to let you set the pace. his lips brush against your jaw pressing soft kisses on your skin before he kisses the side of your neck. “hyun… you—” your words falter as he presses in deeper, your back arching instinctively. “shit! you feel so good.” “tell me what you need, baby,” he says. your body already knows the answer before your lips do. you move your hips slightly, urging him deeper, making him exhale. “deeper,” you reply. “and faster. please.”

the room turns into a mess—moans, heavy breathing, the sharp slap of skin against skin. seunghyun’s fucking into you like he’ll never get another chance, and all you can do is take it, legs wrapped tight around his waist, nails dragging down his back as he fills you over and over again. he leans in, mouth hot against your neck. “you like that, baby?” his teeth graze your skin before he presses a slow, open-mouthed kiss just beneath your jaw. “y-yes!” he’s deep, so deep, hitting that perfect spot that makes your eyes roll back, your mouth falling open, too lost in the way he’s ruining you to say anything coherent. “can f-feel you squeezing me—a-ah! fuck, baby!” he moans. and the desperate sound you make back only seem to push him further, make him rougher. your body responds instinctively, meeting his thrusts, rolling your hips slightly against him. oh, fuck. oh, fuck, fuck, fuck. he’s barely holding it together as it is hearing you moan under him like that, but that thing you just did? it almost sends seunghyun to an early grave. his hips snap into you harder, completely abandoning whatever self-control he thought he had, grip tightening on your hips so hard he’s pretty sure he’s leaving marks. “shit!—h-hyun! ah, fuck! f-fuck, y-yeah! baby, mmph!” you sound so fucking good, all needy and breathless, and he wants to loop it in his brain forever, build a shrine to the way you just moaned his name like that. he knew sex with you would be good, but this? this is some life-altering, religious experience type shit.

the pleasure is intense, rolling through you in waves so strong it’s almost embarrassing how quickly you start feeling your orgasm build up in your lower stomach. seunghyun’s entire body is tight. muscles straining, his thrusts turning more desperate, more frantic, because he can feel how close you are, the way your thighs are shaking, the way your moans are turning higher, almost pleading. and fuck, he’s so close… but he needs to take you with him. his grip shifts, one hand sliding between your bodies, fingers finding your clit. the second he rubs tight, messy circles over it, your whole body jerks beneath him, a gasp breaking from your lips. “that’s it, baby,” he breathes, “cum… cum with me.” your walls flutter around him, clenching so tight it nearly sends him into another dimension. and when you finally snap, it hits hard—your back arches, your thighs shake, and your moans are loud enough to make your neighbors hate you. thank god your parents aren’t home. seunghyun groans, slamming into you a few more times before he loses it, burying himself deep as he follows right after, cursing under his breath. for a second, all you can hear is the sound of your ragged breathing and the rapid thud of your heartbeat. his forehead drops against your shoulder, both of you still panting, his hands lazily running over your skin. his body feels wrecked in the best way, his mind still floating somewhere between reality and the aftershocks of the best orgasm he’s ever had. his lips press against your temple as your breathing slows. “come on, baby,” he murmurs. “let’s shower.” you groan in protest, making him chuckle. so fucking cute. he kisses your lips. “you wanna sleep like this?” he teases. you sigh dramatically, blinking up at him with that hazy, fucked-out look that makes his stomach clench. “fine, let’s go shower,” you laugh softly.

the bed is soft, the sheets cool against your skin as you sink into them, your body still warm from the shower. you barely have time to settle before seunghyun climbs in beside you, immediately pulling you against him. his arms wrap around your waist, tugging you close until your back is flush against his chest. his body is warm, solid, and when he exhales, you feel the slow, steady rise and fall of his breathing against your spine. one of his hands slips beneath the hem of your shirt—his shirt, really—his fingertips tracing patterns along your stomach. his lips press against the back of your neck, soft, before he nuzzles into you, his nose brushing against your hair. you smile, closing your eyes. nothing else has ever felt this right. your fingers move against his hand, barely tracing over his skin, and he hums in response, shifting slightly to bury his face further into your hair. “comfy?” he murmurs, voice lower now, sleepier. “mmhm.” you squeeze his hand, barely awake. “you?” he presses another kiss to the back of your neck. “always. i love you.” “i love you too,�� you whisper. “sleep, baby.” and right before you drift off, you feel it—his lips pressing one last kiss to the back of your shoulder, his breath warm against your skin.

two years have passed. but it doesn’t feel like two years. it feels like forever. like there was never a version of your life before him, only with him. when you sleep together, mornings always start the same: seunghyun wakes up first, but he never gets out of bed before you. instead, he buries his face into your neck, pressing lazy kisses against your skin until you finally stir. you’ve built a life together in these little rituals—the way he always holds your hand when you walk anywhere, the way you sit between his legs on the couch when you watch movies, your back pressed against his chest, his arms locked around your waist. the way he’ll randomly pull you onto his lap while he’s studying at his desk, murmuring “i concentrate better like this.” knowing damn well he doesn’t. and talking about studies… you two can barely focus, study sessions always turn into giggling messes where he pretends to be paying attention to his notes but spends half the time sneaking glances at you instead. cramming for exams together is another challenge, he makes flashcards and tries to quiz you, only for you to distract him by climbing onto his lap, trailing kisses down his neck until he groans and tosses the cards aside. you’re both exhausted half the time, pulling all-nighters with caffeine and takeout, but he’s there, and that makes it bearable.

you travel together, not often but enough—weekend getaways, road trips that always start with him in control of the music and end with you fighting over who gets to dj. there was the time you went to a cabin in the mountains, curled up by the fireplace with wine, the two of you getting way too competitive over board games. or that one chaotic trip where you completely missed your bus, got lost trying to find your hotel, and ended up walking for miles in the rain. you were so close to breaking down, but seunghyun just pulled you into a convenience store, bought you a hot drink, and said, “we’ll figure it out, baby. we’re together, that’s what matters.” and somehow, it turned into one of your favorite memories.

his mom adores you. always sends you food, always texts you on random days asking how you’re doing. one time, she pulled out his baby pictures, and now you will never let him live them down. his dad always cracks jokes about how he’s never seen seunghyun this soft before. your family adores him too, inevitably hyping him up for any polite gesture, since they’re not used to you having someone so nice by your side (your last boyfriend was a questionable human being…) they always gush about how sweet seunghyun is, how he takes such good care of you.

two years of love slipping into every part of your life—small, everyday things turning into your things. you have a shared playlist called ‘let me spill your coffee’. it’s a mix of songs you love, songs that remind him of you, and stupid meme songs he adds just to annoy you. the bookshelf in the corner of your room is overflowing, pictures of the two of you and a few stuffed animals he’s gifted you shoved in between. a small framed picture sits on the very top shelf, one from a winter night when the world outside was covered in snow. you’re bundled up in his scarf while he stands behind you, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. there are tiny snowflakes caught in his hair, and even through the blur of the picture, you can tell he’s smiling. there’s a strip of photo booth pictures tucked behind a stuffed bear he won for you at a carnival. in the first frame, you’re both grinning wide; in the second, he’s caught off guard as you surprise him with a kiss on the cheek. by the third, he’s laughing, and in the last one, he’s holding your face between his hands, pressing his forehead to yours. another picture taken on your second new year’s eve together. you’re curled up next to him on the couch, confetti still in your hair. he’s looking at you instead of the camera, a small, stupidly in-love smile on his face. you hadn’t noticed it at first, but when you did, it made your chest ache in the best way. and then, tucked behind a row of books, there’s the oldest one of all. the very first picture you ever took together, when you were only friends. it’s a little blurry, the lighting terrible, but you remember everything about that day. how he made you laugh so hard your stomach hurt. how you didn’t know then what you know now—that this would be the first of many.

above your bed, there’s a painting. one he made for you on your first anniversary. deep blues and purples, swirling together like a galaxy, with tiny flecks of gold scattered like stars. in the bottom corner, barely noticeable unless you look closely, he wrote ‘us’. you didn’t see it at first, but when you did, you nearly cried. the record player he bought you for your birthday sits by the window, a vinyl still on it from the last time he was over. and your toothbrush sits next to his in the cup by the sink. there’s also an extra charger on your nightstand—his, since he spends so much time at your house. there’s a worn-out polaroid tucked into the frame of your mirror, slightly bent at the edges from how many times you’ve taken it out to look at it. it’s your favorite picture of the two of you—summer night at the beach, your hair messy from the wind, his arm slung over your shoulders, both of you grinning like you have the entire world in your hands. because it felt like you did. and it still feels like you do. because somehow, even after all this time, nothing has faded. two years of love wrapped around your life, yet every touch, every glance, still feels like the first. and every single day, in a million different ways, you keep choosing each other.

i hope you enjoyed! thank you for reading <3

tag list: @kaerasti49

#choi seunghyun #seunghyun x reader #t.o.p #the most beautiful writing #i just fell to my knees #in complete love #choi seunghyun x reader smut #fic recs #fic rec #top bigbang

396 notes · View notes

ldydeath · 4 months ago

Text

Marissa. Mrs. Dragon. ©️ Gemini. she/her.

slytherin. 90's baby, american.

currently into: G-Dragon (currently and forever tbh), Bigbang OT4, Squid Game, XO Kitty, To All the Boys series, Marvel, Star Wars, WWE, Harry Potter, kpop

I like to make gifs and write but I'm very slow with both of those things so be patient with me.

requests are open. 🖤

Fics | GIFs | Fic Rec Blog

45 notes · View notes

julla · 6 months ago

Text

bigbang blog recs that talk in their tags?

#am i too old school?#yes im still here #barely no bigbang on my dash #but i want to see some ✨discussion✨ rather than just gifboards etc

13 notes · View notes

loveesiren · 2 years ago

Text

𝔦𝔫𝔱𝔯𝔬.

𝙰𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝙼𝚎

vali | 29 | she/her | gemini

hi, welcome to the dumb bitch diaries. jennifer check 2.0. queen of angst. certified yapper. girl blogger. writing & music. forever living inside an episode of euphoria. horror junkie. dark humor. MDNI 18+

this is a multi-fandom writing & aesthetics blog. I post my writing as well as shit I just fucking like. hope you enjoy 🫶🏼

current obsessions: BIGBANG, G-Dragon, Summer, Alexa Demie

𝙽𝚊𝚟𝚒𝚐𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗

→ 𝚖𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝 → rules & guidlines → fic recs → taglist → 𝚠𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚙𝚊𝚍 → Ao3

90 notes · View notes

cupidsonly · 2 months ago

Text

THIS WAS SO DAMN GOOD

⊹Looking for your hat, cowboy?⊹ | Choi Seung-Hyun

⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ Pairing: Choi Seung-Hyun x Reader ⊹ Summary: a confident, provocative dancer and a closed-off, brooding idol clash backstage and onstage in a slow-burn, tension-fueled romance that spirals from teasing games to raw emotional confession. ⊹ Warnings: explicit sexual content, rough language, secret relationship dynamics, emotional manipulation (in teasing), voyeuristic elements, public exposure risks, and workplace power tension ⊹ Author's note: good luck, have fun 🤍

⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹

You joined BigBang at twenty-two, all hips, attitude, and glitter. Not that you cared much for the fame. You loved the music. The beat. The way your body felt like a live wire when you danced. You loved the thrill of performing, the rush of being watched. Of knowing they were looking. Especially him.

Choi Seung-Hyun.

He didn’t look the way you'd expected. Not when you first met. He wasn't loud, or flashy, or hungry for attention like the rest of them. He looked carved from shadow and smoke, all angular lines and quiet storms. Dark brows and darker eyes. His voice was low, rich as whiskey, and twice as dangerous.

He didn’t like you.

That was fine. You didn’t like him either.

You were the dancer. The one who wore ripped tights and heels, who smirked during interviews and rolled your eyes at rehearsals. The one who could swing her hips and make the world forget its name. You pushed buttons. Smiled sweet and jabbed hard. Especially at Seung-Hyun.

Because he never flinched.

Until he did.

The studio was dim, bathed in golden lamplight and the low buzz of electricity. Rain lashed the windows, the city beyond hazy and soft. Seung-Hyun sat hunched over his notebook, long fingers cradling a pen like it was a weapon. You slipped in behind him, a shadow of perfume and humidity, your ponytail still damp from rehearsal.

"You're sulking again," you said, the words gliding from your mouth like silk dipped in acid.

He didn’t look up. Didn’t even twitch.

You crossed the room with that slow, deliberate sway of your hips, hips that had commanded stages in Seoul and Shanghai and London. You slid into the seat beside him, your legs folding with grace and defiance, one bare knee brushing his thigh. He was all wrapped up in his lyrics, jaw tight, bottom lip bitten raw with focus. You leaned in just a little, close enough that your breath warmed the shell of his ear.

"You know," you said, voice pitched low, "you'd be hot if you smiled more."

He stopped writing. The pause was subtle, but you felt it.

A flicker.

The edge of something that hadn’t quite sharpened yet.

Then, without looking, he said, "And you'd be tolerable if you talked less."

Your head tilted. A smirk tugged at your lips.

"Wow. Was that an insult, Choi? I’m proud of you."

"Wasn't trying to impress you," he replied, tone dry, though his pen moved again. You noticed the way his Adam’s apple bobbed when he swallowed. How his hand tightened just slightly around the pen.

"You should."

This time, he did glance at you. Just a flick of those obsidian eyes, but it was enough. Your breath caught, for half a second. Then you laughed, light and careless.

He didn't laugh.

He never did.

But something shifted between you.

A hum. A tension, like the air before thunder.

It kept building. Slow and brutal, like the pull of a riptide. You kept finding ways to poke at him, to press where it hurt—or thrilled. Like the time during tour in Osaka, when you strutted into the green room in your shortest silver skirt, your thighs gleaming under the fluorescents. You leaned over the snack table just a little too far, feigning interest in a banana, and glanced over your shoulder to catch him staring.

He looked away immediately. Choked slightly on his water.

Victory.

You sat beside him after, close enough to brush arms. He kept his gaze on the floor, headphones in, jaw working like he was chewing through everything he wanted to say.

"See something you liked, oppa?"

His eyes flicked up. That same heat. Controlled. Bottled.

"I see a lot of things I don't comment on. Doesn't mean I didn't notice."

You blinked.

That was new.

You tilted your head, studying him. "Learning to play my game?"

He leaned in, slowly. Not quite touching, but close enough that you felt the gravity between you. "No. Just rewriting the rules."

You didn't have a comeback for that. Not right away.

But it shifted for real that night in Tokyo.

The building was nearly empty. Rain pattered on the rooftop, a soft, endless drumming that made everything feel heavier. You were dancing alone in the practice room, lit only by the glow of the city filtering through the foggy glass. The mirrors caught your silhouette—fluid, powerful, and unapologetic.

He watched you from the couch for a while, silent. You weren’t even sure when he’d walked in. You just caught his reflection, shadowed and still, in the mirror behind you.

"Do you ever stop performing?" he asked finally.

You turned, slightly out of breath, skin flushed and glistening.

"Do you ever start?"

The question hung there. Then he stood, walking towards you slowly, like he was testing the ground beneath his feet. Your body tensed instinctively. Not in fear. In anticipation.

He stopped a foot away.

"You wear your skin like armor," he said, almost a whisper.

You stared at him, pulse thudding. "And you wear yours like a coffin."

His breath hitched.

Then he reached up. Brushed a damp strand of hair from your cheek, fingertips barely grazing your skin. But the touch landed deep, like a burn you wouldn’t feel until later.

"Learning how to bite back," he said.

Your lips parted. Heart hammering. His fingers hovered, then dropped.

You didn’t step back.

Neither did he.

That was the first real moment. Not a line. Not a game. Just two people, stripped to the edge of something they didn’t have words for yet.

The tension didn’t dissolve after that. It simmered. Shifted. Became more dangerous. He met your provocations with quiet confidence now, sometimes even that sly, devastating half-smile that did more damage than any comeback. You still wore your shorts, your skirts, your confidence like weapons—but now you caught him watching, letting you know he was watching.

And when he looked away, it wasn’t out of shame.

It was to let you wonder what he was thinking.

And God, you did.

The live performance for "Bang Bang Bang" was pure chaos—the kind of spectacle that lived in flashing lights, sweat-slick skin, and thunderous bass. You were in full regalia, black leather and fire-red accents. Seung-Hyun, though, stole the breath from your lungs the second he walked out in that cowboy outfit.

Boots. Tight black jeans. That ridiculous but somehow perfect hat perched atop his head. The jacket—a mix of denim and fringe—should’ve looked tacky. On him, it was lethal.

You stalked over after the number, still high off the adrenaline, your skin buzzing. Seung-Hyun had just peeled his gloves off when you plucked the cowboy hat right off his head and settled it onto your own, tilting it at a playful angle.

His eyes flicked up to you, half-annoyed, half-amused, but he didn’t protest—just watched, arms crossed over his chest, as you turned to Hyo-rin with that signature smirk.

“So, you know the rule, right?” you asked, voice dripping with mischief.

Hyo-rin, catching on immediately, tried to hold in her laugh, but her lips twitched. “What rule?”

You leaned in conspiratorially, fingers tapping the brim of the hat. “You wear the hat…” You paused, letting the silence stretch, watching Seung-Hyun out of the corner of your eye as he straightened slightly, a frown forming.

Then you dropped the bomb. “You ride the cowboy.”

Silence.

Seung-Hyun blinked. Once. Twice. Then he choked. His body went rigid like he’d just short-circuited, and his hand jerked up—too slow—to snatch the hat back.

You spun out of reach, laughing.

Hyo-rin completely lost it, practically wheezing with laughter. Seung-Hyun stood there, stunned and utterly betrayed, his ears turning crimson.

“That’s not a real rule,” he muttered, voice hoarse.

“Oh, but it is,” you teased, tipping the hat dramatically before finally handing it back. You walked past him, close enough for your shoulder to brush his. “And now that you know, well… be careful who you let wear it.”

He groaned, dragging his hands over his face, and you? You just basked in your victory, the echo of your laughter still hanging in the air as he stood there—flushed, rattled, and maybe just a little bit intrigued.

Another show ended in a frenzy of lights and applause, but even as the crowd roared and the confetti rained down, you felt his stare. It wasn’t the usual casual glance or tight-lipped smirk. It was direct. Controlled. Electric.

Seung-Hyun hadn’t said a word after the cowboy stunt. But you could feel the storm brewing.

You lingered near the back hallway, sipping from a water bottle and humming under your breath when you heard the purposeful click of boots. You turned, already smiling.

"Looking for your hat again, cowboy?" you teased.

He didn’t answer.

Instead, he reached you in three long strides. Before you could blink, he bent and threw you over his shoulder like you weighed nothing, your body jolting with surprise.

“Seung-Hyun—what the—?!”

Your words punched out of you, breathless and half-laughing, your hands bracing against his strong back. The fringe of his jacket tickled your fingers, and you felt the taut ripple of muscle beneath it. His hold was unshakable, one arm locked around your thighs, the other steadying your hips like he’d done this a thousand times in his head.

“You think you’re funny?” he growled, voice low and close to your waist. “Running your mouth like that?”

“I know I’m funny,” you bit back, twisting slightly over his shoulder to glare at the back of his head. “What, can’t handle a little heat, cowboy?”

He didn’t answer.

Just let out a long, controlled breath and kept walking.

The sound of his boots echoed in the narrow hallway. The tension between you—hot and fraying—vibrated in every step. You weren’t laughing anymore. Not really. Because beneath the adrenaline, there was something heavier in your stomach. Anticipation. Want. A thrill of not knowing what he was going to do next.

He kicked the door to the empty dressing room open with his boot and stepped inside like a man with a mission. You barely had time to take in the room before he closed the door behind you with a hard click and locked it.

Then he set you down—slow, almost too gentle—and didn’t let go.

You straightened, brushing hair from your face, breath uneven. “So you manhandle all your bandmates, or am I just special?”

He stared at you for a beat too long. Then he stepped back, dragging a hand through his damp hair. Still in full costume—tight black jeans hugging every muscle, fringe jacket slipping off one shoulder, and the cowboy hat held loosely in his hand—he looked like a fever dream.

“I’m tired,” he said suddenly, voice rough, cracking through the air. “Tired of pretending this is all jokes. That I don’t feel it every damn time you push me.”

You blinked. “Feel what?”

His eyes snapped to yours. “You.”

He sat down heavily on the couch, elbows on his knees, running both hands down his face, then clutching the hat like it was anchoring him.

“I go home, and I replay it all. You walking past me in those skirts. The way you bite your lip when you think I’m not looking. The way you laugh like you know you’re pulling my strings.”

You swallowed hard, heat creeping up your throat.

“I didn’t play your game because I was afraid. I didn’t play because I knew—if I started—I wouldn’t stop. I can’t stop.”

He stood again. Slow. Like a force of nature reining himself in.

“I can’t keep pretending your teasing doesn’t wreck me. That I don’t want to tear that smug look off your face and kiss you until you forget your own name.”

He stepped in close, lifting the hat.

“Every time you wear this,” he said, voice dropping to a whisper, “I think about it.”

You raised an eyebrow, testing him. “About what?”

He gently—intimately—placed the hat on your head, tilting it just right. His knuckles brushed your cheek. You didn’t breathe.

His eyes locked with yours. “You said the rule was—‘you wear the hat, you ride the cowboy.’”

Your smirk wavered.

He stepped back, slow, and sat on the couch with a heavy exhale. Legs spread. Shoulders relaxed, but his gaze never left yours.

“Then ride me,” he said.

The air left your lungs.

Your body reacted before your brain could catch up. You took one step forward. Then another. And then his hands were on your hips, pulling you to straddle him, and you were sinking into his lap, knees tight to his thighs.

There was a pause.

Just a heartbeat.

Both of you breathing the same air, eyes locked. And then—

He kissed you.

Hard.

There was no preamble. Just hunger. Tongue. Teeth. Four years of heat and silence and self-restraint burning down all at once.

Your fingers curled into his fringe jacket, pulling him closer, anchoring yourself to the weight of him beneath you. He groaned into your mouth, hands sliding up your back, possessive and sure. You arched into his touch, heat blooming in your stomach.

"You’re full of shit, you know that?" you gasped against his mouth.

"And you’re addicted to playing with fire," he growled, nipping at your lower lip.

You moaned when his mouth moved to your jaw, your neck, finding every sensitive spot with maddening precision. Your hips shifted forward, slow, deliberate. His grip tightened.

“Still playing it cool?” he murmured against your skin, voice wrecked.

“Not even a little,” you panted, nails raking through his hair.

He leaned back just far enough to look at you. “You gonna keep the hat on, or should I take it back now?”

You gave him a wicked smile. “Only if you can handle what comes next.”

He matched it. “Try me.”

Your hands moved first—sliding over his chest, unfastening the fringe jacket and pushing it off his shoulders. The fabric slithered down his arms, pooling behind him on the couch. You let your fingers explore the lines of muscle beneath his thin shirt, mapping him with touch. He watched you, heat simmering in his gaze, but didn't move to stop you.

His hands skimmed the curve of your thighs, fingers brushing the edge of your performance shorts. He pushed the fabric higher, thumbs tracing bare skin, drawing lazy circles that made your breath catch.

“You’re shaking,” he whispered, voice dark silk.

“I’m not scared,” you said, meeting his eyes.

“I didn’t say you were.” He smirked, and then leaned up to kiss you again—slower this time, more exploratory. Like he was savoring the shape of your mouth, the taste of your breath. Your bodies pressed closer, the friction building, your heartbeat slamming against your ribs.

You peeled off your top, your bare skin now flush against his, and the sensation made both of you shiver. His hands found your waist, guiding you gently, firmly, like he’d imagined this moment too many times to rush it. You leaned into him, kissing down his jaw, his neck, dragging your teeth lightly across his collarbone. His breath stuttered.

He tugged his own shirt off with one swift motion, and your hands ran over his chest, tracing the lines, the tension held in every inch of him. The air between you crackled as you rocked your hips slowly against his. You could feel him now—hard and ready beneath you—and your smirk returned.

“You gonna keep watching me like that,” you murmured, lips brushing his ear, “or are you gonna do something about it?”

His answer was a deep growl.

He gripped your hips and pulled you down against him, your thighs tightening around his waist as your movements synced—slow, purposeful, maddening. You kissed again, deeper, mouths opening, breath mingling, fingers digging into flesh. You undulated your hips in a rhythm that had both of you gasping.

When his hand slid between your bodies, under the waistband of your shorts, your body arched. His touch was skilled, unhurried. He knew exactly what he was doing.

You pressed your forehead against his. "You were really just waiting for me to crack, weren’t you?"

He smiled, just barely. "I wasn’t going to beg. But I damn sure wasn’t going to let anyone else have this."

The clothes came off in fragments. First your shorts, then his jeans. His mouth stayed on your skin the whole time, worshipping, claiming. When you finally sank down onto him, slow and full and breathtaking, both of you froze.

He held you there, still, his hands trembling against your waist.

“God,” he murmured. “You feel…”

You silenced him with a kiss.

And then you moved.

Slow at first—grinding, teasing—every shift drawing gasps and curses from his lips. You rode him like you danced: unapologetic, powerful, in full control—until he met you halfway, hips bucking, mouth clashing with yours in something raw and desperate.

Each thrust, each movement, was a conversation neither of you had dared to have until now. The friction between you was more than physical—it was years of longing, of silence, of stolen glances finally erupting.

His hands roamed your back, your thighs, your chest, unable to stop touching. You rocked harder, faster, both of you unraveling, the room echoing with breath and broken whispers.

And you—riding him in nothing but that hat and a wicked grin—felt like the whole world had narrowed to this.

Him. You. The heat. The fire.

And the end of the game.

You rolled your hips again, slower this time, watching the way his eyes fluttered shut, his head tipping back against the couch. A low moan escaped his throat, dark and throaty.

“Fuck,” he muttered, voice broken. “You’re gonna kill me.”

You leaned down, lips brushing the shell of his ear. “Good. Then die knowing it was worth it.”

He laughed—deep, breathless—and grabbed your ass, guiding you harder against him. Your bodies moved in tandem, heat rising between you like a storm cloud ready to split the sky.

“You love being on top of me, don’t you?” he growled, voice rough, each word pulled from his gut. “So cocky. So smug.”

You bit his bottom lip playfully before releasing it. “You love it,” you whispered. “You love that it’s me making you feel this way.”

He thrust up into you with force, his grip on your hips tightening. The sudden intensity ripped a gasp from your throat.

“I love that you’re finally mine,” he said, voice gravel and silk. “I love that no one else gets to see you like this. Hear you like this.”

You moaned as he buried his face in your neck, sucking at the soft skin just below your jaw. Your body trembled above him, nails dragging down his chest, hips grinding harder, deeper.

“You’re so fucking wet for me,” he groaned. “You’ve been teasing me for years, walking around like a goddamn goddess. You wanted this.”

You nodded, breathless. “I still want it.”

“Then take it,” he snarled.

And you did.

Your pace quickened, driven by his words, his hands, his body. You rode him like the center of your universe had shifted beneath your thighs. The moans that spilled from you weren’t rehearsed or coy—they were real, raw, drawn from somewhere deep. He responded with broken sounds of his own, his fingers moving everywhere, gripping, sliding, exploring.

“Say my name again,” he whispered, staring up at you like you were the only thing he’d ever believed in.

You leaned down, your forehead pressed to his. “Seung-Hyun,” you gasped, hips bucking, your body tightening around him. “Seung-Hyun—”

He kissed you again, one hand tangled in your hair, the other gripping your waist like a lifeline. The hat tilted on your head with each movement, your moans swallowed into his mouth as you neared the edge together.

“I’m not going to last,” he warned, voice rough. “Not like this. You feel too fucking good.”

“Then don’t,” you whispered. “Let go. With me.”

You moved faster, hips rolling in a rhythm that had both of you unraveling, your bodies a blur of heat and friction. The slick sound of skin on skin filled the room, mingled with breathless gasps and the creak of the couch beneath your desperate rhythm.

He held you tighter, kissed you harder, and when you came, it was with a cry—his name on your lips, body trembling, heart hammering. He followed with a groan that vibrated against your mouth, hips snapping up into yours one final time as he poured into you.

For a moment, there was nothing but the sound of your breath. Tangled limbs. Sweat-slicked skin. His arms around you, holding you like you might float away if he let go.

You collapsed against his chest, your face buried in his neck. He rested his cheek against the cowboy hat still on your head.

And then he laughed. A soft, amazed sound.

“Still think this was just a game?” he murmured.

You smiled, breath still shallow. “No. That was the prize.”

You don’t remember when your fingers started playing with the soft strands at the back of his neck, just that it felt natural. Gentle. Intimate in a way that felt almost too much, too soon.

But he didn’t pull away.

Seung-Hyun was still beneath you, chest rising and falling with the slow, steady pace of someone trying to come down from a high. His arms were wrapped around your waist, his skin sticky with sweat, but he made no move to let go.

You tilted your head slightly, letting your lips brush his collarbone. A soft kiss. A slow inhale.

He smelled like heat and leather and something uniquely him—rich and masculine, threaded with a note of sandalwood that clung to the edge of his skin.

You felt him shift under you slightly, his hand trailing lazily up your spine.

“You broke the hat,” he muttered into your hair.

You pulled back just enough to see him, the crumpled cowboy hat now hanging lopsidedly off your head. You reached up, flicked it back into place with a smirk. “Battle wounds.”

His gaze flicked up to yours, soft and unreadable. For a beat, neither of you said anything.

Then he sighed, slow and heavy.

“I wasn’t kidding,” he said. “I’m tired of the games.”

You studied him. The way his brows pulled together, the seriousness in his voice despite the way your body was still pressed intimately against his.

“I know.”

“You flirt. You push. You know exactly what to say to get under my skin,” he continued, brushing your hair away from your cheek with a featherlight touch. “And I let you. Because I wanted… this. But I can’t keep pretending it doesn’t mean anything.”

You blinked.

The words weren’t unexpected, not really. But they hit harder than you thought they would.

“And now that you’ve had me?” you teased, voice soft, but a little unsure. “What then?”

He reached up, gently pulled the hat off your head, setting it aside before resting his hand on the side of your face.

“I don’t want you just like this,” he said quietly. “I want all of you. When the lights are off. When the stage is quiet. When you’re not performing. I want the version of you who teases and the one who doesn’t. The one who’s strong, and the one who hides when no one’s looking.”

Your throat tightened.

“You’ve got me,” you whispered, almost like a confession. “Even when I’m being a bitch?”

He smirked, something warm sparking in his eyes. “Especially then.”

You laughed, resting your forehead against his. His hands slid down your back, grounding you to him, anchoring you in that fragile, real moment.

Outside the dressing room, you could hear the distant thump of footsteps, voices, the world starting to move again.

But neither of you moved to get up.

Eventually, you spoke again, voice softer this time. “So, are we still playing?”

Seung-Hyun looked at you, that familiar flicker of mischief now tempered with something deeper.

“No,” he said. “We’re done playing.”

Then he kissed you again—slower this time. No teasing. No edge. Just lips and breath and the taste of something new blooming between you.

Something real.

The next morning, it was all rehearsals, spotlights, and sharp-edged choreography.

You were back in your dancer mode—short shorts hugging your hips, crop top clinging to your skin, legs flexing with every kick and turn. The air in the rehearsal room was thick with sweat and music and the silent pressure to be perfect. Lights beamed down from above like stage fire, unforgiving and hot.

You moved like a weapon—controlled, deadly, and graceful. The beat of the track pounded in your chest like a second heartbeat. You didn't look at him.

But you felt him.

Seung-Hyun’s presence was a constant hum under your skin. Not glaring or obvious—he’d never be that. But in the way his gaze skimmed you when he thought no one noticed, in the way his foot tapped in time with your rhythm, in the sharpness of his jaw every time you rolled your hips just a little harder than necessary.

You hadn’t spoken since last night. Not properly. Just one last kiss—slow and silent, lips warm with something that felt suspiciously like affection—before he helped you dress. Then, a walk through the hallways, his hand resting low on your back like he owned that part of you now.

That tension, unspoken and buzzing, followed you both into the room.

During break, you collapsed on the floor with Hyo-rin, sweat dripping down your spine, legs still humming from the last routine.

“You good?” she asked, arching a brow. “You haven’t roasted Seung-Hyun once today. I’m worried.”

You shrugged, trying to sound casual. “Maybe I’m bored of watching him squirm.”

She gave you a pointed look. “You don’t look bored. You look like you had sex for twelve hours and can’t sit properly.”

You rolled your eyes, sipping water. “Don’t project.”

“Don’t deny it,” she fired back. “You’ve got that stupid, post-orgasm glow. And he—” she nodded toward where Seung-Hyun was silently talking to Jiyong, face flushed, shirt clinging to his torso “—looks like he’s trying to stay sane.”

Your eyes drifted despite yourself.

He glanced over, meeting your gaze for the first time today. And this time—he held it.

No flinch. No subtle glance away. Just steady, simmering eye contact.

Your breath hitched. You tilted your chin. Smirked slightly.

He didn’t smile back—but his eyes darkened, almost imperceptibly, and your stomach flipped.

“Jesus,” Hyo-rin muttered. “Just fuck in the equipment closet and spare us the foreplay.”

You grinned, but the heat in your belly was real.

After rehearsal, people scattered—some to shower, others to food or phone calls. You lingered near the vending machines under the pretense of choosing between water or soda.

You sensed him before you saw him.

Seung-Hyun appeared beside you like smoke, silent and solid, his body boxing you in with casual dominance. One hand pressed to the wall near your head. The other brushed lightly against your hip.

“You kept looking at me like you wanted to fuck me in front of everyone,” he said, low and dangerous.

Your lips curled, slow and deliberate. “I was just stretching. Can’t help it if my ass looks good doing it.”

His laugh was dark and quiet. “You really don’t know when to stop.”

“You like it when I don’t.”

He leaned in—his breath warm against your ear. “I like it better when you’re naked, dripping, and begging.”

You inhaled sharply.

Then he pulled back, just enough to meet your gaze. “My place. Twenty minutes. Unless you’re too sore to ride again.”

You grabbed the front of his shirt, pulled him close enough to barely brush his lips with yours.

“Better hydrate, cowboy,” you whispered. “You’re gonna need your stamina.”

His hand dropped down to squeeze your ass—hard enough to sting. “I already want you again.”

You shivered, and for once, had no comeback.

He stepped back, all cool control, and walked away like he hadn’t just lit a match and left you burning.

You didn’t knock.

He’d left the door unlocked for you, and when you stepped inside his apartment, it smelled like warm spice and cologne. Dim lights pooled in corners. One small lamp was on, casting golden hues across leather and hardwood. It was quiet. Too quiet.

You kicked off your sneakers, padded inside, your body still humming with adrenaline from the studio—and from him.

He was standing in the kitchen, a glass of water in one hand, the same black shirt from earlier now slightly damp from his post-rehearsal shower. His hair was damp too, brushed back and curling slightly at the ends.

He didn’t say anything when he saw you.

Just set down the glass and crossed the space between you in five slow steps.

You were already unbuttoning your shorts.

His mouth caught yours before you could speak. Hot. Demanding. Fingers diving into your hair. You grabbed the hem of his shirt and yanked it upward. He helped pull it off, tossing it aside as you backed into the nearest wall.

His body pressed against yours. Hard. Familiar. Perfect.

“I thought about you all day,” he said against your mouth. “Bouncing on me. Fucking owning me.”

You moaned, letting your head fall back. “Tell me more.”

He grabbed your thighs and lifted you, just like that—effortless. You wrapped your legs around his waist and felt the heat of his cock already pressing through his jeans.

“No teasing tonight,” he growled. “No games.”

“Good,” you gasped. “Because I’m not in the mood to wait.”

He carried you to the bedroom, dropped you onto the bed with a grunt, and pulled your shorts down in one swift move. Your top followed. Then your panties.

“You’re so wet already,” he murmured, sinking between your thighs. His fingers stroked over your folds, spreading you open. “Were you this wet while dancing?”

You whimpered. “Thinking about you fucking me in front of everyone.”

He groaned—deep and hungry—and dipped his head. His mouth found you, slow at first, then greedy. Tongue curling. Sucking. Drawing out every sound you gave him.

You clawed at the sheets, hips rolling, voice breaking.

When he finally pulled back, his lips were glistening, and his eyes were dark as obsidian.

“I want to watch you ride me again,” he said, pulling off his jeans and underwear. “I want you in control.”

You straddled him before he could finish the sentence, your mouth capturing his in a kiss that was more bite than breath.

He hissed as you sank down onto him, inch by inch.

“Fuck, yes,” he breathed, fingers digging into your hips. “Just like that.”

You rode him slowly at first, letting the pressure build. Each thrust dragged fire along your nerves. Each movement stoked something deeper—need, connection, hunger.

“Seung-Hyun,” you gasped, bracing your hands on his chest. “I want all of it.”

He lifted his hips into yours, deeper, harder. “Take it. It’s yours.”

And you did.

Again.

And again.

Until your body shattered over his, until he broke beneath you with a growl and a kiss, until you both lay tangled in sweat and sheets, breathless and wrecked.

This time, he didn’t let go after.

He held you close, chest to your back, one arm wrapped around your stomach like you might vanish in the night.

“You’re not leaving after this,” he said softly.

“I wasn’t planning on it,” you whispered.

And neither of you said another word.

It was getting harder to hide.

The thrill had its bite—stolen glances, breathless goodbyes behind locked doors, kisses smudged between elevator dings. But lately, the thrill was starting to turn into something else. Something riskier.

Like now.

You stood backstage at the music show venue, all glitter and chaos, your group waiting for your cue. Crew members ran past with clipboards, cords, and coffee, the low thrum of bass from the main stage vibrating through the floors.

And there was Seung-Hyun.

Leaned casually against the wall across from you, dark pants, jacket loose over his frame, hair styled sharp and immaculate. He was doing that thing again—pretending not to look.

But he was looking.

You felt it in the slow slide of his eyes down your legs, the flicker of his tongue over his lip before he looked away again. You shifted your weight just enough to make the hem of your skirt ride higher on your thigh.

He noticed. He always did.

You arched a brow across the distance. He didn’t move.

Then, just loud enough for only him to hear, you murmured, “Stop undressing me with your eyes.”

He pushed off the wall. One step. Two.

“Stop wearing shit that makes me want to undress you,” he fired back coolly, eyes dark.

You smirked. “Maybe I want you distracted.”

He didn’t break stride. He stopped inches from you, towering in that dangerous way he had—quiet dominance, all heat and smolder. “You want me stupid on stage, thinking about you bent over the dressing table?”

“Something like that,” you said, tilting your head. “Worked last night, didn’t it?”

A muscle ticked in his jaw. His eyes flicked around—technicians, a staff noona passing by, someone calling for a mic check.

He leaned in like he was about to whisper something scandalous. Instead, his voice came low, serious, brushing the shell of your ear like a threat.

“You’re playing with fire.”

You laughed under your breath, letting it ghost over his cheek. “You like when I do.”

Then, with maddening calm, you turned on your heel and walked away—slow enough that your hips swayed deliberately with each step.

You didn’t have to look back to know he was watching.

The rehearsal was brutal.

Lighting cues, missed beats, a scolding from the choreographer—but none of it fazed you. Not when you could feel him watching.

You danced harder. Let your body roll with the bass, every movement a challenge. Your crop top clung to your sweat-slicked skin, your thighs flexing in time with the music.

At one point, you dropped low during a freestyle moment—knees apart, ass angled just enough to make your point.

You didn’t look at him.

But when the music cut and everyone caught their breath, you finally turned your head.

Seung-Hyun’s eyes were on you.

And he was pissed.

You bit your lip to hide the grin.

Later, in the makeup room, you were touching up eyeliner when the door opened behind you.

You didn’t turn—didn’t need to. You could feel him. That silent weight of Seung-Hyun’s presence, coiled and deliberate.

“Careful,” you said to the mirror, lips curving as you dragged the brush with precision. “Someone might catch us alone.”

He didn’t answer right away. Just stepped closer. The kind of closeness that made the air between you feel too thin. His eyes met yours in the reflection—dark, steady, simmering.

“Keep teasing me like that,” he murmured, “and I’m going to fuck you in this chair.”

Your breath caught. You smiled anyway, slow and wicked. “You say that like it’s a threat.”

“I’m not in the mood for games tonight.”

You dropped the brush, your hand suddenly not so steady. “Oh?”

He moved behind you—close enough that the heat of him sank through the thin fabric of your crop top. He didn’t touch you. Not at first. Just stood there, his voice low against your neck.

“You think you’re in control?” he asked, tone casual but laced with steel. “All those moves you pull on stage, the looks, the smirks. You think I won’t do something about it?”

“I think you’ll try,” you whispered.

That was all it took.

One hand wrapped around your waist, pulling you back against him. His other hand slid down the front of your body, fingers slipping between your thighs with a confidence that made your pulse jump.

You gasped, grabbing the edge of the makeup table as his fingers pressed against the thin fabric of your shorts—slow, teasing strokes that made your knees weaken instantly.

“Still think this is a game?” he whispered against your ear.

You tilted your head, biting back a moan. “I think you like it when I play.”

He chuckled, dark and knowing, and slipped his hand inside your shorts. Past the lace. Past every last ounce of your pride.

Two fingers slid through your slick heat, slow and steady, curling just enough to make your hips jerk forward.

You bit your lip hard, a small, choked sound escaping your throat.

He didn’t kiss you. Didn’t touch your lips. He stayed right there at your ear, breath hot.

“This what you wanted?” he murmured, fingers pumping slow, dragging through you like he had all the time in the world. “To sit there looking so smug, pretending you don’t need me?”

Your hips rocked against his hand, desperate and involuntary.

“Look at yourself,” he ordered, voice lower now. “Look in the mirror.”

You did.

Your mouth was parted, eyes glazed, face flushed. You looked wrecked. Beautiful. Hungry.

His fingers picked up pace, and your breath hitched again, a small whimper breaking past your lips.

“You’re close, aren’t you?” he breathed. “Dripping for me. Needy.”

You nodded, barely able to speak. “Don’t stop—”

Then came a knock.

Sharp. Two quick taps on the door.

You froze.

His fingers didn’t.

The door cracked open a few inches.

“Hey—” Jiyong’s voice. Casual. Oblivious. “We’re on in five. Don’t take too long.”

“Got it,” Seung-Hyun said smoothly, without missing a beat. His hand stayed right where it was, fingers still buried deep inside you, still moving—but slower now. Teasing. Maddening.

The door closed.

And he pulled his fingers out.

You whined—quiet, desperate, betrayed.

He turned you to face him for the first time, hand still resting at your waist. His eyes locked on yours, smug and dark and far too calm.

“You wanted to play,” he said. “Now you can go onstage thinking about how close I got you.”

You stared at him, trembling slightly, still breathless.

“That’s not fair,” you hissed, voice low and sharp.

He leaned in close—not kissing—just letting his mouth hover by your ear. “You look so good when you’re frustrated. I want you ruined tonight.”

Then he stepped back, straightened his jacket, and walked out.

Leaving you there—wet, throbbing, and one heartbeat away from losing your mind.

The lights hit like a tidal wave—searing white, full intensity, washing everything else away.

You stood under it, chest rising and falling with adrenaline, body already slick with sweat before the first beat even dropped. The crowd was a blur behind the spotlights, thousands of people screaming. But none of it touched the tension tightening your body like a noose.

Because he was there.

Seung-Hyun stood just meters from you, wrapped in shadows and smoke, every inch the image of restraint. Black tailored jacket, shirt open just enough to tease his collarbone. Hair slicked back, lips unreadable.

No one would guess the things he whispered to you less than an hour ago. No one would see how your thighs still pressed together when you moved, trying to soothe the ache he’d left behind.

The music started, thunderous and pulsing.

You moved on instinct—every sway of your hips, every sharp snap of your legs wrapped in choreography. But inside, you were coming undone.

Because you could feel him watching.

Not the way he watched when you first joined the group—curious, cautious, and a little annoyed. No, this was different. This gaze was ownership. Memory. Hunger barely leashed.

At the chorus, you dipped low, knees wide, thighs spread just enough to make it obscene if you held it one second longer.

He was behind you now. You didn’t need to look to feel his eyes on the curve of your ass, the slow grind of your hips to the beat, like you were doing it just for him.

Because you were.

You heard the breath he let out over his mic—just barely.

And then, right before the bridge, as you passed him in the choreography, his voice slipped low into the in-ear comms. Meant for you. Only you.

“Still wet for me?”

Your heart stumbled. Your body didn’t.

You hit your mark like a pro, face flawless, smile cocky.

But your core pulsed, hot and alive.

He was playing with fire.

And you were ready to burn.

You didn’t wait after the curtain dropped. The roar of the crowd still rang in your ears as you stormed off-stage, ignoring the calls from staff, the offered water bottles, the wide-eyed glances.

You needed air.

You needed him.

But he found you first.

You didn’t hear his footsteps—just felt his hand on your waist, spinning you and pushing you backward until your spine hit the cool wall of a backstage storage room. Somewhere dark. Dusty. Hidden.

The door slammed shut behind him.

He didn’t speak.

Didn’t ask.

His eyes were wild.

Yours were daring.

“You’re playing dangerous,” you breathed, heart pounding.

His voice was gravel. “You started it.”

“You left me on the edge,” you hissed, breath ragged. “You think I’m just going to let that go?”

“You loved it,” he said, stepping closer. “You walked on that stage dripping for me.”

You pushed him, hard. Not away—just enough to press his back to the wall opposite yours.

“I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.”

Your hands were in his hair before you realized it, tugging hard. His were gripping your hips, pulling you against him, and fuck—he was hard. So hard you could feel him through layers of stagewear.

“I was trying to focus,” you snapped, even as your hips rolled forward against his.

“Liar,” he growled. “You danced like you wanted me to drag you off in front of everyone.”

“Maybe I did.”

He let out a shaky exhale and kissed your throat—open-mouthed, no softness. Just teeth. Tongue. Heat. His hand dragged up the back of your thigh, pulling it over his hip.

“I couldn’t think of anything but this,” he murmured against your skin. “The way you sound when you moan. The way you clench when I curl my fingers just—”

He shoved his hand down the front of your shorts.

Your head snapped back with a gasp, one arm flying out to grab the nearby shelf to keep your balance.

Two fingers—already finding your sweet spot—curled with maddening precision. His thumb pressed against your clit, circling, stroking with slow, lazy control.

“So wet,” he whispered, lips brushing your jaw. “You didn’t even fix your panties, did you? You liked feeling it all night.”

“Fuck you,” you gasped, but your body betrayed you—hips rolling into his palm, your breath turning to soft, desperate sounds.

“Not yet.”

He kept the rhythm torturously slow. Deep. Inescapable.

“You gonna come just from this?” he asked, his mouth barely moving against your ear. “From my fingers? Pathetic.”

Your knees buckled.

He caught you, kept you upright with a firm hand around your waist.

“Say it,” he ordered. “Say you need it.”

“I need—” you gasped as he curved deeper. “Shit—Seung-Hyun—”

Then: a knock.

Two sharp taps.

The door creaked open, only a few inches.

“Hey!” Jiyong’s voice. Casual. Oblivious. “We’re headed to press in five. Don’t take too long, yeah?”

You couldn’t breathe. You couldn’t move.

Seung-Hyun didn’t stop.

“On our way,” he said smoothly, never pulling his hand away.

The door shut again.

You clung to him, your entire body trembling.

But he was already slowing his hand.

Then stopping.

Then pulling away completely.

“No—” you whined, barely able to think.

He slid his fingers out, pulled your shorts back into place with infuriating care, and pressed one slow kiss to your cheek.

“I said you could come,” he murmured, voice silky and cruel. “I never said when.”

You stared at him, dazed, legs shaking.

He smiled—dark and pleased.

“Now go smile for the cameras, baby. I want everyone wondering why you can’t walk straight.”

Then he opened the door and left you there—aching, panting, and dripping with frustration.

And maybe just a little in love.

You made it through the press line, somehow.

Camera flashes blinded you. Questions blurred. Your smile was flawless, but your insides were chaos.

You could still feel him.

The slick heat between your thighs. The twitch in your muscles every time you thought about how close you were—how close he got you, only to leave you there. Shaky. Exposed. Seething.

And he? He was cool as ever. Standing behind you, perfectly composed in his black-on-black suit, sunglasses shielding those sharp, knowing eyes.

But you knew he was watching.

And he knew you were boiling.

It was a game.

And now, you were done playing.

You waited.

Waited until the after-party had started. Until the others were busy in interviews, drinks in hand, laughter echoing down the corridor of the hotel suite booked for the night.

You knew where he’d go to escape the noise. He always did.

So you found him alone.

In the empty side lounge, low-lit and quiet, an untouched drink in his hand and his jacket thrown over the back of the leather sofa.

He looked up when the door clicked shut behind you. No surprise. No panic.

Just that look.

That look that said he knew exactly what you came for.

You crossed the room in silence, slow and purposeful, every sway of your hips deliberate.

His mouth parted just slightly, eyes dragging down your body and back up again.

“You look pissed,” he said smoothly.

You didn’t answer.

Just climbed onto his lap.

You could feel his body tense beneath you, muscles tightening under the silk of his shirt as your knees straddled his thighs, your palms planted flat against his chest.

You leaned in, lips a breath from his.

“You think you’re in control?” you whispered.

His jaw ticked.

“I was.”

You rolled your hips against him once—slow, heavy—grinding just enough for him to feel the ache he’d left in you. He inhaled sharply.

“You don’t get to leave me like that,” you said, voice low and venom-laced. “You don’t get to wind me up, then disappear.”

His hands gripped your thighs, hard.

“I warned you,” he growled. “You kept pushing.”

“And now I’m pulling,” you snapped.

Then you kissed him—biting, open-mouthed, no room for air. His hand came up to your throat, not hard, just enough to still you.

“You gonna punish me?” he breathed against your lips.

You smiled. “I’m gonna fuck you.”

And you did.

Right there on the couch, in the dark, with the door unlocked and danger on the other side.

Clothes half-off, lips nowhere near polite. You didn’t even get his shirt fully open—just enough to run your nails down his chest, to leave marks he’d have to hide later.

He was rougher this time.

Sloppier.

Desperate.

“Don’t make me beg,” you gasped.

“You already are.”

You rode him with purpose, not grace—chasing the edge he stole, dragging him to his knees with you. Every grind, every curse, every hiss of breath between your teeth was war.

When you finally came—loud, messy, full-body—it was with your fingers digging into his shoulders and his name on your lips like a brand.

He followed with a groan that shook through you both, his grip tightening around your waist as he spilled into you, head falling to your shoulder like he couldn’t hold it up anymore.

Neither of you moved for a long time.

Just breath.

Sweat.

Stillness.

Then a voice.

Too close.

Too casual.

“…What the fuck.”

Your blood ran cold.

You turned slowly—so slowly—to see Jiyong in the doorway, holding a drink, mouth parted in shock, eyes wide and blinking like maybe if he stared long enough, the scene would disappear.

You froze.

Seung-Hyun didn’t.

He didn’t even flinch.

He reached forward calmly and tugged your skirt back down your thighs with one hand, the other settling protectively on your lower back.

“Close the door,” he said to Jiyong, voice low. Firm.

Jiyong blinked. “Are you—what the—”

“Close it.”

There was a pause. Then the door shut quietly. Not slammed. Not panicked.

Just shut.

You turned your head toward Seung-Hyun, eyes wide. “He’s going to tell.”

Seung-Hyun met your gaze.

Not afraid.

Not sorry.

“Let him.”

It started with the silence.

Not tension. Not anger. Not even curiosity.

Just a silence so cold it felt like a wall between you and everyone else in the room.

When you entered rehearsal that morning, the weight of what happened the night before hung off your shoulders like a loaded coat you couldn’t take off.

You and Seung-Hyun didn’t speak on the way there. You hadn’t spoken since Jiyong caught you. The only communication between you had been a look—one of those quiet, dangerous ones he was so good at. A look that said: I meant it. I’d do it again.

But the others? They weren’t as easy.

Jiyong barely looked in your direction.

Youngbae gave you a half-hearted nod, like he wasn’t sure what team he was supposed to be on.

Hyo-rin, mercifully, was the only one who dared to speak.

“Hey,” she whispered while tying her laces. “You okay?”

You nodded. “I think so.”

She paused. “Just so you know… I’m not judging you. Or him. But shit, babe—on the couch?”

You cracked a smile. Barely. “Didn’t hear you complain when you walked in on me and that backup dancer two years ago.”

“That’s different. He wasn’t T.O.P. And I wasn’t in charge of press cleanup if things go nuclear.”

Before you could respond, Jiyong’s voice rang out.

Louder than necessary.

“Maybe we shouldn’t pretend everything’s normal when clearly it’s not.”

Everyone stopped moving.

You straightened, slowly turning toward him. “You want to say something, say it.”

He crossed his arms. “You made it everyone’s business the second you brought it into a public space.”

“It was after-hours. Empty room,” you replied coolly.

“I still saw it. Heard it. Seung-Hyun, you didn’t even flinch when I walked in. You didn’t even try to explain.”

Seung-Hyun looked up from where he was lacing his boots. Calm. Collected. “Because I don’t need to explain.”

“You’re not thinking clearly,” Jiyong snapped. “This group doesn’t survive scandals. If the wrong person finds out—”

“Then they’ll find out,” Seung-Hyun said, standing up. “I’m not ashamed of her. I won’t hide her anymore.”

You blinked.

There it was. In front of everyone. No hesitation.

And suddenly, the others weren’t watching him anymore. They were watching you.

Waiting to see what you’d do with that kind of declaration.

You stepped forward. “I didn’t plan this. I didn’t want it to become a thing. But it did. And it’s real.”

“And if it blows up?” Jiyong asked, voice lower now. “If it wrecks everything we’ve built?”

Seung-Hyun looked at him—not cold, not combative. Just… steady.

“Then we build something new.”

The silence that followed wasn’t heavy this time.

It was freeing.

Because for once, the truth was out.

And you weren’t alone in it.

It started with a headline.

“T.O.P. heart was stolen? Unnamed Source Confirms BigBang Member’s Secret Relationship with Dancer.”

You didn’t have time to panic.

The article dropped at 8:14 AM. By 8:30, your phone had twenty missed calls. Managers. Stylists. PR. Your name wasn’t in the article—but the implication was clear. “Long legs,” “feisty onstage chemistry,” “rumored tension backstage.” They might as well have used your name in bold font.

And Seung-Hyun? He didn’t answer his phone either.

Because he was already standing in front of your apartment door.

No disguise. No hood. Just him.

Holding your name in his mouth like it was a decision he’d already made.

You yanked the door open. “You saw?”

“Yeah.”

He stepped inside without being asked. His jaw was tight. His hands clenched at his sides.

You stared at him, trying to read his silence. “Are you freaking out?”

“No.”

“You sure? Because everyone else is.”

He stepped forward.

“I’m not.”

You blinked, taking a step back. “We can fix it. We can deny it. Say it was a misunderstanding. Let the company clean it up. We’ll go back to being careful—”

“I don’t want to be careful,” he snapped.

You froze.

He ran a hand through his hair, pacing. “I’m tired. Of hiding. Of pretending I don’t want to touch you every time you walk past me. Of acting like you're not the best part of my day.”

You opened your mouth. Closed it.

“You said you were scared,” he continued, stepping closer. “I am too. But I’m more scared of losing you than I am of headlines.”

You stared at him, stunned.

“You’re not a rumor to me,” he said. “You’re real. And I’m done acting like you’re not.”

And then—before you could respond—he kissed you.

Hard.

No build-up. No slow burn.

Just fire.

His hands found your waist and pulled you in, lips demanding, breath hot. He kissed you like the world could burn and he’d still choose to go down with you in his arms.

You kissed him back just as hard.

Because you were tired too.

Tired of silence. Of half-truths and shadows. Of walking past him in public like he didn’t ruin you in private.

When you finally pulled back, your breath was ragged.

“What if they ask us directly?” you asked.

He looked you dead in the eye.

“Then I’ll say the truth.”

It came faster than either of you expected.

A press conference.

Scheduled “to address the rumors.” PR offered a dozen pre-written statements. Scripts. Polished denials. Just say it was misinterpreted, they said. Just say it’s nothing.

Seung-Hyun read none of them.

You stood behind the curtain, palms sweating, heart racing like it wanted out of your chest. He stood beside you, calm as ever—but his hand found yours and didn’t let go.

When the lights came on, and the crowd of journalists surged forward like wolves scenting blood, he stepped up to the mic.

And shattered the silence.

“I’m not here to deny anything.”

Flashbulbs exploded. Shouts rose from the press line.

He waited.

“I’m seeing someone,” he said, voice steady. “She’s a dancer. She’s strong, smart, and no—this isn’t a scandal. This is real.”

He turned, looked straight at you behind the curtain.

And smiled.

“I don’t want to hide her anymore.”

The fallout was instant.

The group trended globally. The internet split in half. Support poured in. So did backlash. But none of it mattered the way you thought it would.

Because when you walked out after the conference—hand in hand—he didn’t let go.

Not when the reporters screamed questions. Not when the managers whispered warnings.

He kept holding on.

Later that night, the two of you lay on his bed—sheets tangled, your head on his chest, legs knotted together.

He ran his fingers down your spine, gentle, slow. Different.

“Still scared?” he whispered.

You nodded. “Yeah.”

“Me too.”

You looked up. “Do we regret it?”

He shook his head.

Then, softer: “I’ve never been more sure of anything.”

You smiled. “So what now?”

He leaned in, pressed a kiss to your shoulder.

“Now?” he whispered. “We stop burning quietly. Let the whole damn world burn.”

⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹

Taglist: @janie-osuih@szonyix6277@chrypir@redhoodedtoad@sherrayyyyy@mirahyun@sherxoo @dilfismz@forevervibezzzz1@lariem-blog2 @infinetlyforgotten @maskedcrawford @httpjiprk @youlikeex @twilght-talks @emmiesoverthemoon

#choi seunghyun #t.o.p bigbang #choi seunghyun x reader #top x reader #top bigbang #fic recs

350 notes · View notes