#time to read on our way home again for the second time this month

[paulandjohn]

I stand by what I’ve said in the past about Paul being John’s safe place from the late 50s to around the mid 60s:

‘The best approach to the borderline pattern in psychotherapy is to model stability.  The therapist becomes a stable object.  Every week, the same thing – safe and predictable, and utterly unlike the patient’s childhood world.’

‘If I worked with John Lennon, I would seek meticulously to be the same stable object each and every time he saw me.  I would let him know I welcomed his anger just as I welcomed all his emotions, so long as he put everything into words instead of going into action on unexplored feeling.  I would make certain he never received a response from me other than acceptance and support.  The goal at all times would be to flatten out the gyrations – to offer a Middle Path, the path of the Buddha, the path of moderation.’

‘Just like Pavlov’s dogs, you tend to make predictions based upon your past experiences with the people in your life.  That’s all John Lennon was doing.  He knew the world was not to be trusted because it had betrayed him, cruelly, when he was a child.’

Aidan Quinn as Paul McCartney and Jared Harris as John Lennon in Two of Us (2000)          "I’m sorry.”          “For what?”          "Being such a tosser.”          “Me too, John. Me too.” +

[tbaluver]

HELLLOOOOOOO

I just read a book where the mcs husband freaks out over her water breaking and I was wondering, how would the lads acc react???? It’s ok if you dont want to write about it but i just wanna say that i REALLLLLYYYYY love the work you’re doing!!!!!! ❤️❤️❤️❤️

"My Water Broke!"- The Love And DeepSpace Men

parings in order: Xavier x Reader, Zayne x Reader, Rafayel x Reader, Sylus x Reader, Caleb x Reader summary: how they react when your water breaks and what they would do after a/n: HIHI again my angel !! ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡ PLS you're always so sweet omg thank you so much MWAH MWAH currently kicking my feet reading that, thank you for reading my works ♡(˃͈ ˂͈ ) i hope i did this justice and i hope this was alright ( ◡̀_◡́)ᕤ enjoy reading ! (∩˃o˂∩)♡ any likes and reblogs are always appreciated! enjoy!

⋆｡‧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧｡⋆

Xavier:

The snack in your hand falls to the ground, your appetite disappears when a sharp ache shoots through your lower abdomen. You gasp, clutching your stomach as water drops down your legs. Your eyes meet Xavier’s, your face flushed with a mixture of embarrassment and pain.

It took Xavier a moment to fully process the situation, panic quickly replacing his usual calm demeanor. He rushes beside you, his voice frantic as he asks a flurry of questions. “Are you okay? How much does it hurt? Can you stand? Can you walk?”

He helps you step carefully out of the small puddle that formed at your feet, his hand gently on your back and your arm as he tries to steady you. “It’s alright, I’m here. I’m here. ” He murmurs, hoping it would reassure you in some way.

He tries to remain as calm as he can but panic is surging through his body that he fails to hide it. He hates to see you in so much pain and the urgency to get you to the hospital only makes his worries worse. He quickly helps you to the transport to the hospital, his hand on you the entire time.

He thought maybe it would be best to teleport you there instantly but with you being so far along in your pregnancy, he isn’t sure how safe that would be. The last thing he wants is to take any chances with you or the baby.

When you both arrived at the hospital, Xavier remained beside you at all times until the pain started getting worse. He asked nurses, doctors, anyone who could help you for anything, anything at all, that might bring you some type of temporary relief to take the relentless pain away from you. His voice raised slightly as he spoke to anyone in the hospital, growing increasingly impatient when no one came in to help you even if it was just a minute.

When the nurses finally arrived a minute late, the tension in his head seemed to ease just a tad bit. “Is there anything else I can get/ do for you?” His hand found yours immediately, rubbing soothing circles on the back of your hand. “I think our little prince is eager to come home.”

Zayne:

One thing about Zayne is that he’s always prepared. Always.

The second your water breaks, panic doesn’t register on his face, mostly concern. He stays calm as he gently places a hand on your back, guiding each step to the car. He reassures you the entire way there, urging you to take deep breaths with him as best as you can. The labor bag that had been waiting by the front door months in advance, was already slung over his shoulder, just like he planned. Not a minute to waste.

As soon as he starts the car, his hand finds yours immediately, his thumb rubbing soothing circles on the back of your hand. He keeps his focus on the road but his attention never shifts away from you. 

While he effortlessly drives through the streets, he calls his parents to let them know that you’re both on your way. He listens to their excited congratulations on the other end and he can’t help but crack a smile knowing that you both will meet your little angel soon. The call ends after they mention that they will meet you both there soon.

The drive there felt like an eternity but Zayne remains calm, reminding you to breathe deeply, guiding you through each contraction with the same techniques he’s practiced with you countless times. “Deep breath in..now breathe out. That’s it, you’re doing well. We’re almost there.”

As soon as you pull into the hospital, the nurses are ready to escort you to your private labor room and tend to your needs the moment they see Zayne enter the building. The nurses are aware of his status in the hospital and the last thing they want to do is make a misstep to the chief’s surgeon’s wife during such a crucial time. 

“She might need an epidural or an IV pain relief if her contractions intensify” The nurses squeak, rethinking if they’re even doing their job right in front of such a high-ranking and respected figure in the hospital.

Zayne gives a brief nod. “I’ll notify you if she does,” He responds, before giving his full attention back to you. His hand immediately finds yours again, gently brushing a few stray strands of hair from your face. “How are you feeling now, my love? Is there anything I can do for you?”

He listens to any issues you have, any fears, even the most irrational ones, with the utmost care. He reassures you over and over again, not minding every single one you tell him. “I’ll stay here with you the entire time. I won’t leave either of you.” He murmurs, his eyes locking with yours.

Rafayel:

may his lemurian ancestors save him.

The moment his eyes caught water drops dripping between your legs, his breath hitched. Time seemed to stop and the world around him was shrinking to nothing but the sound of his frantic heartbeat, the realization that it was finally happening. It was time.

His voice was a jumbled mess of panic as he stammered to ask if you were okay and he already knew you weren’t but his mind was racing a hundred miles a minute, frantic thoughts were colliding with each other. It was as if he was also going into labor as well.

He scrambled to help you up, trying to figure out where his keys were and his phone and the labor and delivery bag and- no. His brain finally caught up to him. You both decided that since your baby would have Lemurian blood so water birth was the best way to go.

With trembling hands, he guides you toward the bathroom. He would try to sound reassuring as possible but you can still hear the slight panic and worry in his voice as he urges you toward the large bathtub. He had planned this with you months ago, every detail and every thought, but now it felt like everything was happening too fast.

He settled you into the warm water, his heart pounding as he dialed his Aunt Talia’s number. The moment she picked up, she didn’t even need him to explain, his incoherent sentences made sense enough.

Once the call ended, Rafayel’s went to work to make sure you were comfortable and to make you feel more at ease. He fanned your face urgently, trying to cool the beads of sweat forming along your temple. His hands would later move to massage your hands, your feet, your thighs, anything to soothe you.

“Are you okay? How are the contractions? Does it hurt a lot?” His eyes were wide, filled with concern. He listened to any of your needs, reassuring you the best that he could. “Do you want me to talk to our little glubs? Maybe they’re being a little too rough in there.” He never fails to lighten the mood, your lips tugging into a small smile even at such a crucial time.

He moves behind you, adjusting your hair and wiping away any sweat. “You’re going to be a great mother y'know.” He murmurs, resting his chin on your shoulder as his hands drift down to rest on your swollen belly.

Sylus:

“Sy-!” You gasp, clutching your belly as the water trickles down your legs. Sylus is immediately by your side the moment his eyes notice the puddle forming at your feet.

“I’m here,” he murmurs, his hand gently resting on your back to steady you. “Our little dove is ready to leave her nest?” A faint smile curves on his lips but the worry in his eyes is palpable as he quickly connects with Mephisto to contact the twins to prepare the car.

He helps guide you to the vehicle, supporting you as you slowly settle in. Once you were, his hands found yours again. “You’re doing great, just breathe with me.” He says softly. “Remember the breathing exercises we learned?” You huff in shallow breaths, sweat beading on your forehead. You nod rapidly, the pain tensing up with every contraction.

“Good, good just breathe with me,” Sylus encourages, letting you squeeze his hand tighter with each wave of pain. He remains unfazed no matter how tightly you wrapped your hands around his. He stays calm for you, even though his nerves try to threaten to unravel.

“You’re doing so well, just a little longer alright?” His fingers brush stray strands of hair from your face, wiping the beads of sweat from your forehead. “I’ve got you, I’ve got you..” He murmurs, one hand on your belly, hoping your little dove will make it easy for you in the end.

The moment you arrive at the hospital, you’re swiftly escorted to a private labor and delivery room that Sylus had personally arranged for you. He made sure you had the best doctors and the most experienced nurses at your beck and call. If any nurse fails to meet your needs, he’ll take note of it, but right now, none of that matters. What matters is you and your little one.

Throughout the entire process, he stays with you, only leaving your side momentarily to order the twins to get something for him. Sylus would be observant of your needs and respond accordingly, letting you squeeze tightly on his hand or letting him help adjust your position. 

He can't wait for his little dove to meet her mother. Although his gaze is filled with concern, there’s a flicker of adoration in his eyes. He knows the depth of your strength but witnessing how you’ve stayed resilient for your little daughter throughout the past nine months has made him rethink just how powerful you truly are. He knows deep down she would look up to you just from how strong you are.

Caleb:

You groaned, the pain surging through your body in waves. A whimper escapes your lips as your hands instinctively curl around your swollen belly. Caleb was at your side in an instant, his eyes catching the sight of the wet pool on the floor. His heart skipped a beat as he realized your water had broken.

He leaned beside you, his arms wrapping around you. “Hey...Hey, I’ve got you,” he murmurs, brushing your hair from your face. “I’m right here. We’re gonna get you to the hospital alright, pipsqueak?”

His heart felt like it was pounding out of his chest. The drive to the hospital felt endless, each second felt like it stretched on for hours. Every time he stopped at a red light, he glanced over at you. “Breathe pipsqueak..You’re doing great. We’re almost there.” His brow furrowed in concern every time you gasped in pain and how your body tensed with contractions.

You squeezed his hand tighter with each wave of pain, your face contorting in agony and it made his heart absolutely ache. He wished with every fiber of his body that he could take away your pain and carry it for you. But all he could do for now was stay by your side. “Almost there..Just a little longer okay?” 

When you finally arrived at the hospital, Caleb was there beside you. The moment the nurse helped you settle into your private labor room, his emotions broke free. The reality of it all was too much to hold in.

As he sat beside you, tears welled up in his eyes, his voice shaky. “Thank you..thank you for giving me this,” he whispers, pressing a gentle kiss to the back of your knuckles. He never thought this moment would come and to know that your little baby was on his way was making this dream of having a future with you turn into a reality.

ʚɞ cr. for the divider @/ cafekitsune

ʚɞ thank you to my beta reader @ilovemitsuya hehe MWAH <3

ʚɞ my other works if you want to check it out! Love and DeepSpace Masterlist, Pg.2

[goldenroutledge]

i must be dreaming

pairing: lando norris x fem!reader

word count: 1.2k

prompt: ❛ you’re lucky that you’re cute. ❜

a/n: for my wonderful moot @yearneir, thank you so much for the request! i had so much fun writing this <3

masterlist || be my valentine blurb event 💌

“Knock, knock!” Two knocks sound through the door of Lando’s hotel room, followed by the familiar cheerfulness of Alma, the hotel’s concierge. “Delivery for Mr. Norris!”

Lando’s muscles ache with a soreness that weighs him down into the softness of the duvet, having sprawled out face first onto the bed the second he got back from another long day of testing. The winter months are always the shortest, often flying by more quickly than the season does.

His mind is tired as well, struggling a bit extra to get back into the swing of things after months away from being in the car. He doesn’t recall ordering any room service but if he did, he’s more out of it than he previously thought.

With a sigh of reluctance, he drags his feet towards the door of the stylish hotel suite. His vision is blurry as he rubs the sleep from his eyes and instinctively checks the time on his phone that reads 8:03pm. Definitely way too early to sleep for the night, but a power nap has never hurt him before.

Sure enough, Alma is waiting on the other side of the door with a bright smile and a silver platter in hand. “Good evening, Mr. Norris. I was instructed to bring this to your room along with this letter.”

He takes a deep breath, as if the surprise delivery will make more sense when he gets some more oxygen flowing to his brain. “Oh, thank you. Who’s it from?”

Alma smiles coyly but won’t reveal too much. “I can’t say, but your answer is in the envelope. Can I get you anything else while I’m here, sir?”

“Just Lando is fine.” He politely corrects. “I’m okay, thank you though.”

“Have a nice evening.” Alma disappears down the hallway, leaving Lando to his letter and mysterious silver platter. He’s seen enough movies to know that there’s usually someone’s head under these. His first name is written neatly on the envelope and what catches his eye is the red heart stamped into the wax seal.

He remembers the date, February 14th, and blushes at the thought of you. The both of you had been corresponding on the phone like usual, of course confirming that you had received the bouquet of flowers, chocolates, and a few pieces from your favorite designer that Lando made sure to have delivered to your home, with a promise that he’d be able to properly wine and dine you in a week’s time. He carefully lifts the seal, a childlike grin spreading across his face at the sight of your neat handwriting.

-

My dearest Lando,

It pains me to be apart from you, but the distance will let our hearts grow fonder. I hope you enjoy the present I’ve prepared for you.

Yours truly,

Y/n.

P.S. Call me when you get this. XOXO.

-

His hopes are high for whatever’s underneath the silver dome, perhaps some comfort food like a classic Roast dinner that reminds him of home, just like his Mum makes.

Lando lifts the silver to find not a warm meal, but cold and slimy rolls of sushi making the shape of a heart, dipping cups of wasabi and soy sauce resting in the center.

“What the hell?!” He yelps, visibly startled by the sight. “She knows I hate this stuff.” He’s scrolling to the favorite contacts in his call log, instinctively clicking your name.

When you answer on the second ring smiling like the Cheshire Cat, Lando knows he’s been set up.

“Is this your way of breaking up with me? Sending a plate of fish to my hotel room on Valentine’s Day?” Your laugh pierces through the phone, and he’s still dumbfounded as to how you managed to pull a prank on him all the way from Monaco. “What did I ever do to you?”

“Nothing, I just wanted you to know that I’m soy into you. Happy Valentine’s Day, babe!”

“Aw, very clever. I hope you know that I’m gonna get you back for this. What fruit was it that you are mildly allergic to again? Starfruit, was it? I’m sending 50 starfruit arrangements to our house as we speak.”

“With all the risks you take at work, I’m amazed that sushi of all things has become your greatest fear. How is that?”

Lando scoffs, “I am not scared of sushi.”

“Are you trying to convince me or yourself? Sorry love, the proof is out there. But I wanted you to know that I love you anyway.”

“I love you too.” He grumbles, but there’s no bite behind his words. Lando finally takes a better look at you, but doesn’t recognize the wall in the background. He doesn’t recognize the wall behind you from your house, that is. He looks around his suite, now puzzled as to how your background matches the exact color of the hotel walls. Interesting. “Wait, where are you? You’re not at home are you?”

“I’m in a place that people temporarily call home?” You offer with a mysterious edge to your words and he subtly catches on. You can see the gears turning for him, the realization visible on his face when he moves toward the door once again.

“Wait a second… Are you HERE?! At my hotel?” His incredulous tone translates from the speaker on your phone to reverberating in your ears, behind his hotel room door that you’re standing in front of.

The door swings open and you’re reunited with those sparkling cerulean eyes you know so well. He takes a pause, glancing back and forth between his screen and you, now within arms reach. Wasting time would be a foolish thing to do. Without a care he drops his phone in exchange for cradling your face in his hands before smashing his lips onto yours. You don’t hesitate to wrap your arms around his frame, relishing in how warm he feels against you.

“Fuck, I missed you.” He breathes out, as if his life depends on saying it.

“Surprise! I missed you too, clearly. I’ve been wanting to try my sushi prank for a while now and this gave me the perfect opportunity. Had to get you riled up with something you hate so you’d be extra happy to see me.”

“Not necessary.” Lando murmurs against you, peppering kisses to your lips. “I don’t need anything extra, you know that. It did serve as a nice surprise, though. Definitely better than the sushi.”

You giggle as he shudders at the thought. “Forgive me?”

“You’re forgiven,” Lando sighs, unable to resist your pleading eyes and the warm notes of amber in your perfume that captivate him, “but I hope you know that if anyone else did this to me, and I mean anyone else on this planet, I would not speak a word to them for the rest of my life. However, for you, I can make an exception. You’re lucky that you’re cute.”

You kiss him sweetly, holding hints of satisfaction behind your smile at how well your plan has been executed. “Don’t worry, I plan to make it up to you. It is Valentine’s Day, after all.”

“Just when I thought tonight couldn’t get any better, how did I get so lucky?”

You pinch his cheek teasingly. “You do look exhausted still, are you sure you’re not dreaming of me?”

Lando catches your wrist and presses a kiss to the skin, content with knowing that he’ll dream of you tonight and wake up beside you tomorrow. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

💌: thanks for reading, comments & reblogs are always appreciated!

psst… my requests are open :) be my valentine blurb event 💌

taglist: @marjorieswrld (add yourself here!)

[heejamas]

OUT OF TUNE ˖ 🎙◞⋆ (PART 3)

pairing: producer!beomgyu x producer!femreader part 1 // part 2 // part 3 <3

summary: you and beomgyu have been at each other’s throats since day one at HYBE. both of you are producers, both of you are talented, and both of you absolutely refuse to lose to the other. whether it’s competing for the best demo, fighting over studio time, or bickering in team meetings, everyone knows one thing: you and beomgyu cannot stand each other so, of course, your boss decides to put you two on the same project—producing ENHYPEN’s next album. together. as in, sharing a studio, making creative decisions, and not murdering each other in the process. and suddenly, the tension isn’t just about work.

genre:  enemies to lovers, coworkers to lovers, smut, slow burn, angst with a good payoff // w/c:  22k words warnings: explicit sexual content, mdni!! softdom beomgyu, unprotected sex, drinking, angst, jealously, overworking characters, petnames.

author's note: hi guys!! i finally finished this fic <3 i hope you guys enjoyed reading it as much as i enjoyed writing it <3 i also made a playlist with the songs i mentioned in the fic + a bunch of others that just feel like this story, check it out here <3

Beomgyu had kissed you.

Again. And you had let him. Again.

Except, this time, it wasn’t in a heated argument. It wasn’t in the middle of some stupid, tension-fueled fight where neither of you could tell whether you wanted to kill each other or rip each other’s clothes off. This time, he had kissed you after taking you out. After buying you dinner. After walking you home with his arm wrapped around you, his touch casual, like it belonged there. Like it wasn’t dangerous.

It had been soft. Warm. His lips had brushed against yours like a promise, like something new and terrifying was settling into place between you. And you had kissed him back. Not because you were drunk. Not because you were mad. But because, in that moment, you had wanted to.

Which meant you were completely, irrevocably screwed.

Because Beomgyu had been your rival for months. He had been the thorn in your side, the storm in your sky, the one person in this industry you were convinced you would never— well. Never this. And now, your face was buried in your hands, while Yeonjun grinned at you like he was about to savor every second of this.

Yeonjun grinned, leaning against the kitchen counter with his arms crossed, watching you like he was about to relish every second of this. "Oh, no, no, no. I need to process this properly." You closed your eyes, taking a deep breath, but when you opened them, Yeonjun was still grinning, still watching you like this was the greatest night of his life. "You kissed him," he said, dragging out the words. "Again."

"Shut up," you repeated, but there was no heat in your voice.

Yeonjun ignored you completely, tapping his chin. "And not just anywhere—outside our apartment. Right at the front door. Damn, you guys were desperate."

You groaned again, covering your face with your hands. "I hate you."

"Yeah, yeah," he said, waving a hand. "Now, sit your ass down and start talking."

You sighed but eventually dropped onto the couch, rubbing your temples. "You want the whole story?"

"Obviously."

So, you told him. Not in excruciating detail, but how you and Beomgyu had kissed at work (again), how Seungcheol interrupted, how Yunho and Seungcheol were absolute assholes behind your back, how Beomgyu defended you (which Yeonjun immediately raised an eyebrow at), how you went out for drinks after work, how he walked you home, and finally—

"And then you guys made out in the hallway like a teen drama couple?" Yeonjun finished for you, grinning.

"We didn’t—" you started, then sighed. "Okay, fine, kind of."

Yeonjun cackled. "This is unreal."

You peeked at him through your fingers. "You’re enjoying this way too much."

"Of course I am," he said. "Because this is you—and Beomgyu. Beomgyu. The guy you’ve been complaining about for months. The guy you called your arch-nemesis."

You scowled. "I never called him that."

"You did," he said, smirking. "Twice."

You exhaled, leaning back against the couch. "I don’t know how this happened."

Yeonjun gasped dramatically, clutching his chest. "Holy shit. Someone call Baekhyun—this is bigger news than the album drop."

"Yeonjun."

"No, really, we need a press release—‘Y/N admits she likes Beomgyu after months of acting like she wanted to strangle him in the studio’—"

"I still want to strangle him," you muttered.

"Yeah, but now you also want to kiss him," he shot back.

Your face burned. "I regret this conversation."

Yeonjun grinned, then leaned forward, his voice softer now. "Okay, but seriously? I’m happy for you."

You hesitated, glancing at him. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." His expression was warm now, all the teasing fading into something real. "Look, I know he’s an annoying little shit, but he’s also not a bad guy," Yeonjun continued. "And if he makes you happy—"

You swallowed. "I don’t know if he does yet."

Yeonjun gave you a look. "You literally kissed him at your front door."

You sighed. "Fine. He makes me feel something. I don’t know what yet."

Yeonjun hummed. "Well, whatever it is, just make sure he doesn’t fuck it up."

You raised an eyebrow. "And if he does?"

Yeonjun leaned back, smirking. "Then I kick his ass."

You laughed, shaking your head. "Yeah, sure. That’s definitely gonna scare him."

Yeonjun pouted. "Hey, I could be intimidating."

"You’re wearing pajama pants with cartoon bears on them."

"These are very comfortable," he defended. "But fine, point taken. I’ll get Kai to help."

You chuckled. "Kai wouldn’t hurt a fly."

"Okay, maybe not. But he could guilt-trip Beomgyu into oblivion. That’s almost worse." You laughed again, warmth settling into your chest. Yeonjun grinned, nudging your knee with his. "Hey, relax. I think it’s gonna be fine."

You sighed. "I hope so."

He softened. "And if it’s not, I’m here."

Your throat tightened slightly. "Thanks, Junnie."

"Always," he said, stretching. "Now, I desperately need to sleep."

You nodded, getting up from the couch. "Same."

Yeonjun smirked as you turned toward your bedroom. "Don’t dream about Beomgyu too hard."

"Fuck off," you muttered, flipping him off over your shoulder.

His laughter followed you down the hall. And as you crawled into bed, burying yourself under the covers, you realized, tonight hadn’t gone the way you expected. Not even close. But somehow, for the first time in a while, you weren’t mad about it.

The next few weeks passed in a blur. Days bled into nights, hours slipped through your fingers like sand, and before you even realized it, the album had started coming together, really coming together.

The instrumentals were finalized. The production was polished. The members of ENHYPEN had begun recording their vocals, each of them bringing something alive to the tracks that you had spent months obsessing over. Heeseung is a perfectionist, nailing his parts with precision but always wanting one more take. Jungwon is a natural leader, making sure the harmonies sit right. Sunghoon takes direction well, and Jake is full of energy, throwing out ideas between recordings. Sunoo brings emotion into every note, Jay hypes up the others, and Ni-ki—despite being the youngest—picks things up faster than anyone. You spend most of your days in the vocal booth, guiding them through runs, adjusting layers, making sure everything blends the way it’s supposed to.

And Beomgyu? He’s there. Not just physically, but in a way you didn’t expect. You don’t even question it anymore, the way he sits at the back of the room, his presence always in your periphery. The way he occasionally throws out suggestions, most of them annoyingly good. The way he watches you work, like he’s trying to figure you out.

There’s no formal arrangement, no spoken agreement. But at some point, without either of you really acknowledging it, you start to rely on him. And outside the studio… there’s that. The moments between work. The coffee he wordlessly hands you when he notices you getting too in your head. The way his hand lingers on your back when he leans in to show you something on the soundboard. The nights when he convinces you to take a break, dragging you to the bar near HYBE, ordering rounds of beer and stealing food off your plate like it’s the most natural thing in the world. The nights when, after a few drinks, his fingers tangle in your hoodie, pulling you close, his lips brushing against yours before he really kisses you, slow, lazy, like he knows you won’t pull away. It’s not something you talk about. Not at work, at least.

But it’s there. And you don’t mind. Because somehow, between all of this, between studio sessions and late-night drinking, between teasing remarks and stolen kisses, you and Beomgyu fit into each other’s lives like you were always supposed to be there.

And then, a few weeks after that night outside your apartment, you finish the album. The final track is mixed, the final arrangement locked in. You sit back in your chair, staring at the screen, your heart pounding. It’s done.

Beomgyu lets out a low whistle beside you. “Holy shit.”

You turn to him, still half in shock. “We actually finished it.”

He grins, knocking his knee against yours. “You finished it.”

You exhale, shaking your head. You almost don’t believe it. And then, the door swings open. Baekhyun steps inside, looking way too pleased. “Perfect timing. I was just about to call you both for a meeting.”

Beomgyu groans. “A meeting? We should be celebrating.”

Baekhyun smirks. “We will. That’s what the party is for.”

You blink. “Party?”

“The album launch.” Baekhyun crosses his arms. “Label event, media coverage, important people. Big deal.”

Your stomach twists. “Oh.”

Beomgyu perks up. “Is it open bar?”

Baekhyun narrows his eyes. “Don’t push it.”

Beomgyu leans toward you, muttering, “It’s totally open bar.”

You snort. Baekhyun claps his hands. “Alright, conference room in five.”

You sigh, powering down your setup. “Guess we’re not celebrating just yet.”

Beomgyu stretches. “Give it time.”

The conference room is packed when you walk in. The ENHYPEN members are already seated, along with some producers, managers, and Seungcheol. You inhale sharply, steadying yourself. You haven’t seen much of him since Beomgyu told you everything. You don’t want to think about it now.

You slide into a seat, and moments later, Baekhyun starts running through final updates, the release schedule, the media strategy, the logistics of the launch party. "Romance: Untold," Baekhyun says, nodding toward you and Beomgyu. "Love the name."

A murmur of approval spreads around the table. "It’s perfect," Heeseung agrees.

"I told you it was better than ‘Files of Romance,’" Jay adds.

Baekhyun smirks. “Told you it was just a working title.”

Beomgyu leans toward you, voice low. “You hearing this? We won.”

You shake your head. “Don’t be insufferable about it.”

“I live to be insufferable,” he whispers.

Before you can respond, Seungcheol speaks. "You know," he muses, leaning back in his chair, "I have to say—Y/N, you really outdid yourself with this album." You blink, caught off guard. Seungcheol’s gaze settles on you, his smile smooth, too easy. “The vocal production, the arrangement, the way everything blends—it’s all sharp. Easily some of the best work I’ve seen from you.”

A few heads nod in agreement. Your fingers tighten slightly against your lap. “Uh. Thanks.”

Baekhyun claps his hands together. “Alright, that’s a wrap. Party’s this Friday—be there, look good, and for the love of God, don’t embarrass me.”

People start filing out of the room, but before you can move, Beomgyu leans closer. “You okay?”

You hesitate, then nod. “Yeah.”

He studies you for a second, then nudges your arm. “Good. Because we have a party to dominate.”

You huff. “That’s not how album release parties work.”

Beomgyu grins. “That’s how we work.” And you have a feeling he’s absolutely right.

The venue was nothing short of extravagant. Dim golden lighting, sleek black-and-gold decor, and a curated guest list that ensured the room was filled with the industry’s best. Label executives, producers, other artists, everyone who mattered was here, celebrating your work.

And you looked good. Not just put-together. Not just presentable. Good. Your dress was sleek—black, fitted, with thin straps and a slit up one side that made walking feel like a power move. Understated but striking. The kind of outfit that made you feel in control.

You hadn’t done it for anyone. Not for the photographers, not for the label executives, and not even for Beomgyu. But the second you walked in, his eyes found you. And you knew. You felt the weight of his stare before you even saw him, the way his gaze flickered down, slowly tracing over you before snapping back up. You pretended not to notice. Pretended you didn’t see the way his fingers flexed around the glass in his hand. Pretended it didn’t make your stomach tighten.

Because tonight, the two of you were professionals. No one here knew. No one had any idea what had been happening between you for the last few weeks—the late nights, the stolen kisses, the way his hands had started finding your waist when no one was looking. And that was how it needed to stay.

"Alright," Yeonjun hummed beside you, adjusting his blazer. "Where’s the champagne?"

You snorted. "Can you at least pretend you’re here for the album?"

Yeonjun grinned. "Oh, I’m definitely here for the album. But I’m also here for free alcohol."

You huffed a laugh, shaking your head. "Come on, let’s find the others."

The three of you wove through the crowd, stopping for brief congratulations from a few producers and label reps. And then, you spotted the ENHYPEN members near the bar.

"Y/N!" Heeseung waved you over, grinning. "We were just talking about you."

You raised an eyebrow, stepping up beside him. "Good things, I hope."

Jay smirked. "Very good things. You did produce our album, after all."

Ni-ki grinned. "I think she deserves a toast."

You laughed. "You just want an excuse to drink more."

Jake nudged you playfully. "Maybe. But you do deserve it."

Your chest warmed at the praise. You had spent so much time working on this album that you had barely stopped to consider what it actually meant, not just to you, but to them. You exhaled, reaching for a glass of champagne from the bar. "Fine. A toast, then."

The guys all lifted their glasses, and Heeseung smirked. "To the best producer we could’ve asked for." The glasses clinked, and you took a sip, letting the bubbles fizz against your tongue. The conversation carried on easily, laughter and congratulations blending into the hum of the party.

And throughout it all, you felt him. Felt his presence across the room, the weight of his gaze every time you so much as moved. Beomgyu was talking to Soobin, but his attention wasn’t fully there. Not when you shifted your weight. Not when you tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. Not when you laughed at something Jay said, tilting your head back just enough to expose your throat. His grip on his glass tightened.

And you smirked to yourself, barely resisting the urge to glance at him. If he wanted to play it cool, fine. So would you.

An hour passed. The room had filled out even more, the energy shifting as people relaxed, drinks flowed, and the excitement of the album’s release finally settled in. You had long since drifted from the bar, making rounds, stopping for brief conversations, keeping up exactly the level of professional distance you were supposed to.

And Beomgyu had too. Until now. Because one moment, you were standing by one of the lounge tables, listening to Taehyun say something about the press coverage. And the next, Beomgyu was there, too close.

His hand brushed against your lower back, just barely, and then his breath was at your ear. "You look so fucking good tonight." Your body locked up. Beomgyu’s voice was low, meant for only you. His fingers ghosted over your hip, a touch so fleeting it could’ve been accidental. But it wasn’t. "I’ve been trying to focus all night," he murmured. "But you keep walking around looking like that." Your throat went dry. "You enjoying yourself?" he asked, still too close.

You exhaled sharply, forcing your posture to stay straight. "I was."

He hummed. "Then I won’t keep you."

And just like that, he pulled away. Left you standing there, heart hammering, skin warm where his breath had touched it. Like he hadn’t just completely unraveled you with two fucking sentences. You swallowed, forcing yourself to refocus on the conversation.

Taehyun smirked. "You okay?"

You shot him a look. "Fine."

Yeonjun grinned, sipping his drink. "Uh-huh. Sure."

You ignored them both. But as you glanced across the room, catching sight of Beomgyu’s smirk as he raised his glass to you. You weren’t making it through this party unscathed.

The bathroom was quiet. A rare moment of stillness amid the overwhelming noise of the party. You took a deep breath, smoothing your hands over the fabric of your dress, grounding yourself before stepping back out into the chaos. But the second you did—

"Hey." You barely had time to register the voice before Seungcheol appeared beside you, his usual easy smile in place. "Didn’t think I’d get a chance to talk to you tonight," he said, tilting his head. "You’ve been busy."

You exhaled. "Yeah, well, it’s a big night."

"It is." His gaze flickered over you, lingering in a way that made your stomach twist. "And you’re looking— good." The way he said it, too familiar, too confident, made something in you prickle.

"Thanks," you said, keeping your tone even. "Hope you’re enjoying the party."

"Oh, I am." Seungcheol’s smirk deepened. "More now that we’re talking."

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes. "We see each other at work, you know."

"Yeah, but work isn’t exactly the place to have fun, is it?" He took a slow sip of his drink, gaze still fixed on you. "I was serious about what I said in the meeting. You really killed it on this album."

"I appreciate that."

"I mean it." His voice dipped, his body shifting slightly closer. "It’s impressive. You’re impressive."

You forced a polite smile. "Thank you."

"You know—" he mused, "you don’t have to be stuck at HYBE forever. You’ve got talent. People notice."

You stiffened slightly. "I’m fine where I am."

"Are you?" He hummed. "Because I keep thinking about how someone like you deserves better than some minor group’s project. You could be working with bigger names."

Your stomach turned. "ENHYPEN’s album is a big deal."

"Sure." He smiled. "But I bet you could be doing bigger things. Better things. Maybe with better people." There it was. The way his words twisted, the implication lurking just beneath the surface.

Your jaw tightened. "I’m good where I am, Seungcheol."

"Of course," he said smoothly, unfazed. "Just saying—if you ever want to get out of there, I’d be happy to—"

"She’s fine where she is."

The interruption was sharp and familiar. Your breath hitched before you even turned your head. Because suddenly, Beomgyu was there. He wasn’t just standing beside you, he was between you and Seungcheol, his body angled slightly, his expression unreadable. But his eyes were sharp, dark, not teasing, not playful.

Seungcheol sighed, exhaling through his nose. "Ah, Beomgyu."

"Seungcheol," Beomgyu said flatly. "Didn’t realize you were so interested in Y/N’s career path."

Seungcheol shrugged. "Just making conversation."

"Right." Beomgyu’s lips twitched, mocking. "Well, we were actually in the middle of something, so if you don’t mind—"

Seungcheol raised an eyebrow. "In the middle of what, exactly?"

Beomgyu smiled. "Leaving."

And before Seungcheol could say another word, Beomgyu’s fingers wrapped around your wrist, firm. And then, he pulled you away. You barely had time to register it, barely had time to breathe before he was leading you across the venue, weaving through the crowd with purpose, his grip never loosening.

"Beomgyu—" you started.

"Not here," he muttered. He pushed open a door. A small, empty lounge. Dimly lit, tucked away from the main event. The second the door closed behind you, he turned. And the energy in the room shifted. His jaw was clenched, his breathing uneven, his fingers still curled around your wrist like he couldn’t let go.

Your breath was uneven, your pulse erratic, and the air in the small, dimly lit lounge was thick, too thick, pressing against your skin like a second layer. The bass from the party outside throbbed faintly through the walls, but in here, it was silent. Beomgyu stood in front of you, his chest rising and falling with controlled, shallow breaths. His fingers were still curled around your wrist, firm, warm, like he wasn’t ready to let go. The look in his eyes was unreadable, dark, searching, brimming with something that made your stomach twist and your throat go dry.

"What the hell was that?" you asked, voice sharper than intended, trying to ground yourself.

Beomgyu let out a humorless scoff, raking a hand through his dark hair, making it fall messily over his forehead. "Are you serious?"

You crossed your arms, standing your ground. "He wasn’t doing anything—"

"He was fucking testing you," Beomgyu snapped. His voice was rough, his jaw tight. "Just seeing how much he could get away with." He exhaled sharply, shaking his head.

Your heart pounded. "It’s not your problem, Beomgyu."

His eyes flashed. "Like hell it’s not."

And suddenly, he was too close. His hand was still on you, his fingers now sliding down, tracing the inside of your wrist like he was trying to memorize the feel of your skin. His breath was uneven, his pupils blown wide, and the air between you was buzzing.

"Do you have any idea," he muttered, voice lower now, almost a growl, "how fucking insane you make me?" Your breath hitched. His fingers twitched, like he was holding himself back. Like he was trying so hard not to do something reckless. "I saw you the second you walked into this party," he murmured. "I haven’t stopped looking at you since."

A shiver ran down your spine. You swallowed, trying to keep your voice steady. "Beomgyu—"

"And then I see him—" His jaw clenched. His grip on you tightened. "Talking to you like he fucking owns you, like he has any right to be standing that fucking close—"

"He doesn’t," you cut in, your voice softer this time. Beomgyu’s gaze flicked to yours. Something inside him shifted. And then he stepped closer. So close you could feel the warmth of his skin. So close that if you moved even an inch, your lips would touch.

His next breath fanned against your cheek. His voice was a whisper, but it wrecked you. "I can’t fucking focus when you’re around," he muttered.

Your stomach flipped. A smirk ghosted over your lips before you could stop it. "Good."

Beomgyu’s eyes darkened. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

And that was all it took. A sharp inhale. A flicker of something dangerous in his gaze. And then he was kissing you. Not soft. Not careful. Desperate. His hands moved to your waist, gripping you like he needed to feel every inch of you against him. His lips parted against yours, deepening the kiss instantly, his tongue teasing along your bottom lip, demanding more. You gasped, and he swallowed the sound eagerly, pressing himself closer.

"Fuck," he muttered against your mouth, his voice ragged, "you taste good."

Your fingers curled into the fabric of his blazer, clinging to him as heat rolled through you. "We—"

"Not stopping," he cut in, tilting your chin up with his fingers before kissing you again, harder, more possessive. His teeth grazed your bottom lip, and the sharp sting sent a spark straight to your stomach. His hands slid lower, gripping your hips firmly, and then, he pressed his leg between yours. Your breath hitched. The pressure made you let out a small, helpless sound escaping you before you could stop it, your fingers curling tighter into his jacket. Beomgyu froze. Then, slowly, he pulled back just enough to look at you.

And his expression changed. The arrogance was gone. The playfulness was gone. His gaze dropped to your lips, still swollen from his kisses, then flickered back up to your eyes. "Oh," he murmured, voice dropping to something dangerous. "Did you just moan for me?"

Your face burned. "I—"

"Fuck." His grip on your waist tightened, his forehead pressing against yours as he exhaled sharply. "That was the hottest thing I’ve ever heard."

Your entire body buzzed. "Beomgyu—"

"Say my name again," he murmured against your lips, voice thick with something else, something darker. "Say it while I make you feel good."

And then he moved his leg. A slow, deliberate shift, just enough to press against the heat between your thighs. Your lips parted, a choked noise escaping before you could stop it. Beomgyu groaned. "Fuck, baby," he muttered, his grip turning bruising. "You like that, don’t you?"

Your fingers dug into his arms. "Beomgyu—"

"That’s it," he praised, his mouth trailing down, along your jaw, to your throat. His teeth nipped at your skin before his lips soothed over the mark, sucking lightly. You whimpered, your head tilting back on instinct. Beomgyu chuckled against your skin, pleased. "So sensitive." He kissed down, past your collarbone, murmuring against your skin, "I bet I could get you falling apart from just this, huh?"

Your stomach twisted at the thought. "We—we’re at a party—"

"I don’t give a shit," he growled, nipping at your collarbone, his hands sliding over your thighs, gripping you like he needed to touch you. "I should. I should be worried about someone walking in, but fuck—" He kissed your neck again, hungrier, more reckless. "I can’t stop touching you."

The world outside ceased to exist. The music from the party became a distant hum, swallowed by the heat wrapping around you both. The dim lighting barely illuminated the outline of Beomgyu’s face, his sharp jawline, the messy strands of black hair falling over his forehead. His fingers were still gripping your waist, his breath shallow, his pupils blown wide. His lips were red from kissing you.

You leaned in, brushing your lips against his again, slower this time, testing. But Beomgyu didn’t hesitate, his hands tightened on your waist, pulling you flush against him, his mouth parting against yours, deepening the kiss like he needed it. Your fingers found the lapels of his blazer, gripping tightly as he walked you backward, lips still moving against yours, until the backs of your knees hit the edge of a small couch. And then, with one swift motion, Beomgyu’s hands slid down to your thighs, gripping them firmly. Before you could process it, he lifted you. A startled gasp escaped against his mouth, but he just smirked, effortlessly pulling you onto his lap as he turned around and sat down, settling you exactly where he wanted you, straddling him.

Your dress rode up your thighs with the movement, exposing the soft skin beneath. Beomgyu’s hands immediately found their place there, fingers pressing into the flesh, holding you tight. His touch was burning. Everything was burning. "You have no idea what you do to me," he murmured against your lips, his voice low, almost wrecked.

You shivered, hands sliding up to cup his face, tilting his chin up slightly before diving back in, kissing him harder this time. He groaned into your mouth, his fingers flexing against your skin before one hand slid up to your back, pressing you closer.

His lips left yours just long enough to move to your jaw, trailing down slowly, deliberately, leaving open-mouthed kisses along your throat. You tilted your head instinctively, giving him more access, and Beomgyu took it, sucking lightly against your skin before soothing the mark with his tongue.

"Fuck," he exhaled, his grip on your waist tightening as you shifted slightly, adjusting your position. The friction made his breath hitch, his hands dig into your thighs. You felt the effect you had on him. And it made something ignite in you. Slowly, deliberately, you rolled your hips against him. The reaction was immediate. Beomgyu let out a low, strangled moan, his fingers gripping you harder. "Shit—"

A slow smirk curled on your lips. "You like that?"

His head tipped back against the couch for a second, his eyes squeezed shut as he let out a shaky breath. "You’re gonna fucking kill me," he muttered.

You leaned in, pressing soft, teasing kisses along his jawline, down the column of his throat, feeling the way his pulse pounded under your lips. Beomgyu swallowed hard, his hands roaming up and down your back, like he couldn’t decide if he wanted to hold you there or pull you impossibly closer. "You're so fucking perfect," he murmured, his voice raw, almost desperate. "So pretty, so fucking good—"

You kissed along the edge of his jaw, feeling the way his muscles tensed beneath you. "You talk too much," you whispered, nipping lightly at his skin.

Beomgyu growled, one hand tangling in your hair as he pulled you back down for another kiss. This one was messy, hungrier, his tongue teasing against yours, his hands gripping your waist like he never wanted to let go. You rolled your hips again, feeling the way he shuddered beneath you. And then, with a frustrated groan, he shrugged off his blazer, tossing it to the side without a second thought. You took the opportunity immediately.

Before he could do anything else, you leaned in, pressing your lips to the newly exposed skin, kissing down the side of his neck, letting your teeth graze over his pulse point before sucking lightly. Beomgyu let out a sharp breath, his hands gripping you tighter. "Fuck," he muttered, tilting his head back, letting you ruin him.

You kissed down his throat, down to the hollow between his collarbones, listening to the way his breath hitched, feeling the way his body tensed beneath you. When you pulled back slightly to look at him, his eyes were hooded, lips swollen, chest rising and falling with unsteady breaths. And fuck, he had never looked better. He looked wrecked. All because of you.

His hands slid up to cup your face again, his thumb tracing your cheek before tilting your chin, making you look at him. Beomgyu’s thumb brushed over your bottom lip, his dark eyes locked onto yours, gaze molten, burning. He held your chin in place for a second longer, like he was savoring the moment, the way you looked, the way your breath trembled against his skin.

And then his hand moved lower. Fingers trailing down the line of your throat, slow, deliberate, like he was testing how far he could go. When his fingers wrapped around your neck, his palm warm against your skin, you felt your pulse stutter. And then, a light squeeze. Not enough to hurt, just enough to remind you who was in control. Beomgyu smirked when he felt the sharp intake of your breath.

"You like that, huh?" he murmured, voice dripping with amusement, his grip firm but teasing. Your lips parted, and before you could even think of responding, he leaned in, his breath ghosting over your cheek. "Of course, you do." Your stomach flipped. You weren’t sure when it had happened, when you had lost yourself so completely to him, but at this point, it didn’t matter. Because his lips were on yours again, and this time, the kiss was even hungrier.

He tilted your head back slightly with his hand still around your throat, deepening the kiss, his tongue sliding against yours in a way that made your entire body ache. You felt his other hand travel up your side, fingers ghosting over your waist, up to your ribs, higher, until his palm was covering your chest, fingers splaying over the fabric of your dress.

A quiet whimper escaped you, and Beomgyu groaned, pressing his forehead against yours as he squeezed lightly, his thumb teasing over your covered skin. "Fuck," he breathed, "you feel even better than I imagined."

Your brain short-circuited. "Imagined?"

He chuckled, the sound low and dangerous. "Oh, you have no idea." His lips brushed against your jaw as he spoke, his words dripping into your skin, each one sending heat straight through you. "How many nights I’ve thought about this. About you, sitting on my lap like this. About how fucking perfect you’d feel pressed against me."

Your fingers trembled slightly as they reached for the buttons of his shirt, your breath uneven. "Beomgyu—"

"I should’ve had you like this a long time ago," he muttered, voice darker now, laced with frustration. "Should’ve made you mine the second I realized no one else was ever gonna be enough."

Your fingers worked through the buttons of his shirt with slow precision, the fabric parting inch by inch, revealing golden skin, firm muscle, evidence of how strong he really was, how much restraint he had been holding onto. Beomgyu’s breath was heavy, ragged, his chest rising and falling with each undone button. His hands stayed firm on your hips, his grip bruising, grounding himself, like he was trying to stay in control.

"Fuck," he muttered as your fingers ghosted over his collarbone, your touch featherlight, teasing. "You’re killing me."

A smirk curled at your lips. "Am I?"

You leaned in, your lips brushing against the sharp edge of his jawline, then lower, trailing soft, open-mouthed kisses down his throat. You felt the way his pulse pounded against your lips, erratic, betraying the composure he was desperately trying to hold onto. "Yes, and I'll make you fucking mine." His voice was rough, dark with something possessive, something unshakable.

Beomgyu ripped the rest of his shirt off, tossing it aside like it meant nothing. And fuck, you had seen glimpses before, the way his shirts fit him, the way he carried himself, but this—this was something else entirely. His body was lean, defined, sculpted by years of muscle memory, of practice, of control. His skin was smooth, warm under your fingertips, his chest rising and falling rapidly as you traced your hands down, over his collarbones, over the faint lines of his abdomen.

"You like what you see, mhm?" he teased, voice dripping with amusement, but his tone was strained, like he wanted to keep up the cocky act but was barely hanging on.

You didn’t answer. You just pressed your lips to his collarbone, then lower. Beomgyu sucked in a sharp breath, his hands trembling against you. You kissed down the center of his chest, slow, teasing, feeling the muscles beneath your lips tense as you moved lower, your hands gliding over his stomach. His breath hitched when you sank to your knees.

Still between his legs, still so perfectly in his space, your hands sliding over his thighs as you settled in front of him. Beomgyu let out a shaky exhale, his head tipping back for a second before he forced himself to look at you.

And fuck, the way he looked at you. Like you were a prayer. Like you were the thing he had been craving forever. His fingers found your hair, curling around the strands at the base of your skull, holding you there, his grip firm but controlled. "Look at you," he murmured, his voice thick with something between reverence and ruin. "So fucking pretty on your knees for me."

A shiver ran down your spine. "Beomgyu—"

"Ask, baby." Beomgyu’s grip on your hair tightens slightly, his fingers threading through the strands, keeping you exactly where he wants you. His touch isn’t rough but it’s firm enough to make your breath hitch. His dark eyes watch you carefully, taking in the way your lips part, the way your fingers twitch against his thighs, craving more.

He hums, his thumb brushing over your cheek, his smirk lazy, knowing. "You want this, don’t you?" You swallow, nodding instinctively, your throat dry with anticipation. Beomgyu clicks his tongue, shaking his head slightly, amused. "Use your words."

You exhale shakily, your grip tightening against the fabric of his pants, your pulse hammering beneath your skin. He’s toying with you, loving the power he holds, and you know it. But you refuse to let the moment swallow you whole. "I want this."

His lips curl slightly, that signature cocky smirk dancing at the edges of his mouth. "Say it properly, baby."

Your stomach tightens. You can feel the weight of his gaze, the control he wields so effortlessly, the sheer enjoyment flickering in his eyes as he watches you squirm. You lick your lips, steadying your voice as you meet his gaze head-on. "I want you, Beomgyu. Please."

Beomgyu exhales sharply, his hand sliding down to cup your chin, his fingers pressing into your jaw just enough to make you tilt your head up to him. His expression shifts—less teasing, more raw, like your words just hit him somewhere deep. "Fuck," he mutters, his voice rasping with unfiltered need. His grip on your chin tightens just slightly before he lets go. "Go on then," he says, voice low, thick. "Take my pants off."

You don’t hesitate. Your fingers move to the button of his pants, undoing them slowly, feeling the heat radiating off his body as you tug the zipper down. You push the fabric down his hips, your hands brushing against the firm muscles of his thighs as you strip him, leaving him in just his underwear.

And then, you kneel back, taking in the sight before you. Beomgyu is a mess of contradictions. He’s laid back against the couch, his arm resting over the back like he’s relaxed, in control—but the way his chest rises and falls a little too fast, the way his fingers twitch at his sides, betray him. His body is tense with anticipation, with barely restrained desire, and the way he looks at you, like he wants to devour you whole, sends a wave of heat straight through you.

Your hands skim up his thighs, slow, teasing, as you lean in, pressing a soft kiss to the sensitive skin just above his knee. His breath catches, his fingers flexing against the cushion beside him. "Please…" you whimper, your voice a delicate plea against his skin.

Beomgyu’s eyes darken, his head tilting down to meet your gaze as his hand moves to stroke your hair, his touch surprisingly gentle. "Please what, princess?" His voice is nothing but a husky murmur, but it sends a shiver down your spine. You don’t answer right away, you let your lips trail higher, kissing along his inner thigh, feeling the way his muscles tense beneath you, his breath shuddering as you tease him.

"Let me…" You murmur, your fingers sliding up to grip his thighs, spreading them wider for you. The sheer power shift, the way he lets you take control, yet still holds all the dominance in his touch, makes you dizzy. You glance up at him through your lashes, your expression caught between innocence and temptation. "Let me… please."

Beomgyu's pupils are blown wide, his lips parted, his body trembling slightly with restraint. And then, his smirk returns, slower this time, almost predatory. "Yes, princess…" His voice is a breathless rasp. "Take what you want."

You don’t need to be told twice. Your fingers hook into the waistband of his underwear, tugging it down with excruciating slowness, your nails grazing along his hips as you strip him completely. Your movements falter for just a second as your eyes take him in, fully bare before you. Heat blooms across your skin, your pulse stuttering as the sight of him renders you momentarily speechless. He’s beautiful.

Not just in the way you always knew, sharp jaw, plush lips, tousled hair falling into his dark, expectant eyes, but like this. Completely exposed, all golden skin and defined lines, every inch of him sculpted to perfection. And big. Your stomach tightens at the realization, heat rushing between your thighs as your gaze instinctively trails down, taking in the sheer size of him. Your lips part slightly, your fingers hovering over his skin, hesitant, almost reverent, like you’re still processing just how much of him there is.

Beomgyu notices. A slow, knowing smirk tugs at his lips, his chest rising and falling with steady, controlled breaths as he watches you. His voice is low, teasing, laced with amusement. "Speechless?"

You nod softly as you lean in, your lips brushing his lower abdomen, pressing wet, teasing kisses along the dips and curves of his pelvis. You feel the way his breath stutters, the way his hands clench into fists at his sides, his self-control slipping with every touch of your mouth.

"Fuck," he groans, his hand flying to your hair, fingers curling into the strands, not pushing—just holding. "You’re playing a dangerous game, baby."

You hum softly, feigning innocence as you trail lower, your lips brushing just beside where he wants you the most. You can feel him tense beneath you, his thighs clenching, his breathing uneven. You look up at him again, your tongue peeking out slightly as you hover just close enough to make him ache. "Yeah?" you whisper, teasing. "What do you want, Gyu?"

Beomgyu curses under his breath, his head rolling back before he drags his eyes back down to you, gaze sharp and burning. His fingers tighten in your hair, his grip firm but not yet forcing, just holding, reminding you exactly who’s in charge. His head tilts down, dark eyes watching you, unreadable yet burning with something wild, something barely restrained. "Use that pretty mouth on me," he rasps, voice rough, commanding. "Show me how bad you want it."

You don’t hesitate. Leaning in, you press slow, deliberate kisses along his length, your tongue flicking out to taste him, teasing, testing. You hear the sharp breath he sucks in, feel the way his thighs tense under your touch. And then, you take him into your mouth. Beomgyu exhales harshly, his head rolling back for just a moment, his fingers flexing in your hair before his gaze snaps back to you, completely fixated on the sight of your lips wrapped around him.

"Fuck, baby," he groans, voice thick with pleasure. His free hand clenches into a fist against the couch, trying to keep himself grounded. "Look at you… so fucking good for me. On your knees, taking me like so well."

The praise sends a shiver down your spine, making you moan softly around him. The vibration of it rips another groan from his throat, his hips twitching slightly in response. "Shit—" he grits out, his grip in your hair tightening as you hollow your cheeks, sucking harder, gripping onto his thighs for support.

You love how he reacts to you, how his breath stutters, how his muscles tense every time your tongue glides over him. You let your eyes flutter open, glancing up at him through your lashes, letting him see the way you’re completely lost in pleasing him.

And he does. His jaw clenches, his lips part slightly as he watches you, his pupils dark and blown wide with hunger. His entire body is strung tight with restraint, like he’s one second away from completely losing control. "Fuck, take it," he groans, his voice nothing but raw need.

Your response is to moan around him again, sending another delicious vibration up his spine. Beomgyu curses under his breath, his hand tugging slightly at your hair in warning. You pull away just slightly, your lips gliding lower, pressing wet, teasing kisses along his base, then trailing further down. Beomgyu shudders the second your tongue flicks against his balls, his head snapping down to look at you. His reaction is primal.

"Shit—baby—" His breath is ragged, his body jerking at the sensation. His grip tightens, his fingers threading deeper into your hair as he exhales a shaky, desperate groan. "God, you’re gonna make me lose my fucking mind."

You smirk up at him, licking slowly, teasing, watching the way his expression twists in pleasure, the way he struggles to keep himself from completely losing control. "Good," you murmur against his skin, eyes gleaming with mischief.

Beomgyu lets out a breathless laugh, but it’s broken by another sharp inhale as you take him back into your mouth, this time moving faster, deeper. His head falls back against the couch, his chest heaving as he fights to hold himself together. But you can tell, he’s unraveling.

"Fuck, princess—" His voice is hoarse, breathless, his control slipping with every passing second. He yanks your hair back slightly, just enough to make you look up at him, just enough to remind you who’s in charge. "You wanna make me come, baby?" he growls, his fingers tangling deeper into your hair, his hips starting to twitch up into your mouth. "Then don’t fucking stop."

Your nails dig into his thighs as you obey, quickening your pace, taking him deeper, sucking harder. The sounds spilling from his lips grow rougher, filthier, his body trembling beneath you. "That’s it—fuck, that’s it, princess—" His voice is wrecked now, completely desperate, his breath coming in sharp, uneven pants.

You can feel it. The way he’s holding back, the way he’s teetering on the edge, barely holding himself together. "I’m so close," he groans, his grip on your hair tightening, his thighs clenching beneath your fingers. His dark, lust-blown eyes lock onto yours, and his next words come out in a low, sinful command—

"Take it, baby. Take every fucking drop." A deep, broken moan rips from Beomgyu’s throat as his body shudders, unraveling completely in your mouth. His grip in your hair tightens for a fleeting second before it relaxes, his breath stuttering as he watches you, watches the way you take it all, how you swallow every last drop without hesitation.

And then you look up at him. Your lips are slightly parted, your tongue flicking out to catch the remnants of him, your eyes filled with something that makes his stomach twist—devotion, submission, something entirely yours.

His head falls back against the couch, his chest rising and falling in deep, uneven breaths, the aftershocks still coursing through him. One hand slides down to your jaw, fingers tracing the edge of your lips, his thumb pressing lightly against your lower one, just enough to part them again. "Fuck," he breathes, his voice still thick, still wrecked. "You were made for this, weren’t you?"

He doesn’t let you answer. Instead, he pulls you up effortlessly, lifting you onto his lap, pressing your body against his. His arms wrap around you, holding you close, his grip firm, possessive, as if the idea of letting you go is unbearable.

"You took care of me so well, baby… " he murmurs, his lips ghosting over your temple before trailing down to your jawline. You feel him smile slightly against your skin as your hands clutch at his shoulders, your body still trembling from the sheer intensity of the moment.

His hands slide down your back, gripping your waist, his thumbs stroking slow, lazy circles into your skin. "So good," he praises again, his voice softer now, dripping with satisfaction. Your lips press against his jawline in response, a soft, lingering kiss, and his chest tightens at the gesture. Beomgyu’s fingers move to your chin, tilting your head up so you can’t look anywhere but at him. His grip is firm, a silent reminder of who’s in control. His gaze burns into yours, something dark and unreadable swirling in his expression. "I told you I would make you mine," he murmurs, his voice dipping into a low, almost predatory growl.

A soft whimper escapes you, and Beomgyu smirks, pleased. He sees the way your thighs twitch in response, the way your fingers tighten against his shoulders, as if you need more, need him. "Gyu—"

"Aww…" He tuts, his tone dripping with amusement. "My eager little princess." His fingers trail down your body, slow, teasing, ghosting over your waist before resting on your thigh. His thumb brushes the sensitive skin just above your knee, his touch featherlight, too light. "You want me that bad, huh?" He teases, his smirk deepening as he watches you squirm under his touch. "You just can’t help yourself, can you?"

His hand moves higher, creeping up your thigh, his fingers a slow, torturous promise. His other hand rests against your lower back, keeping you pressed against him, making sure you feel every inch of his growing need for you. "Are you going to be a good girl for me?" he murmurs, his lips ghosting over your ear, his breath hot against your skin. "Are you going to listen to everything I say?"

You nod quickly, breathless, eager and Beomgyu groans at the sight of you like this, so willing, so obedient for him. "Good girl," he praises, his voice softer now, but no less dominant. His fingers finally slide higher, his palm pressing between your legs, feeling the heat radiating from your core. His lips curl into a slow, knowing smirk against your skin. "Let’s see how badly you want it."

You never imagined Beomgyu would be like this. Dominant. Gentle. Dangerous. From the beginning, you thought you knew exactly who he was—the carefree boy with easy laughter, quick-witted jokes, always playful, always teasing you. But now, here, with his darkened gaze filled with hunger, his touch both possessive and reverent, his voice thick with unrestrained desire, you realize you maybe never really knew him at all.

Not like this. Not the way he strips you down with slow, deliberate hands, unzipping your dress and letting it slip off your shoulders before tossing it carelessly to the floor. Not the way his breath catches at the sight of you in nothing but black lace, his lips parting slightly, his tongue darting out to wet them as if he’s already imagining the taste of you.

“Fuck,” he breathes, almost to himself, his fingers tracing along your waist, pressing into your skin like he’s grounding himself. “You’re so fucking beautiful.” His words sink into you, warm and dizzying, as his lips find your collarbone, kissing, sucking, worshiping every inch of skin he can reach. Every praise, every whispered “perfect,” every quiet groan of appreciation makes your head spin.

And then, your bra joins your dress on the floor, and he loses it. His mouth is eager, starving as he trails wet, open-mouthed kisses down your chest, his tongue flicking over your nipple before he sucks, his hands gripping your waist like he needs to hold onto something. His hands wander lower, gliding down your stomach, mapping out the curves of your hips, his touch featherlight as he slides over your thighs. He teases, fingers barely grazing where you need him most, making you whimper in frustration.

And then, everything shifts. In one swift motion, he pulls you back against him, your back colliding with his chest as he leans into the couch, trapping you in his hold. His arms lock around you, forearms pressing into your ribcage, his legs framing yours, keeping you caged.

His breath is hot against your ear as his lips ghost along your jaw, your earlobe, teasing before his teeth sink into the sensitive skin, making you shiver. He hums, satisfied with your reaction, his voice a low rasp against your skin. “I picture you like this…” His hands trail lower, fingers dancing just above the waistband of your underwear, barely touching. Teasing. “Touching yourself when you think of me.”

A shudder rips through you, your stomach tightening, thighs clenching around nothing. His fingers finally slip inside your underwear, dragging through your slick heat before circling your clit, slow, deliberate, just enough to make you whimper. He lets out a breathy chuckle, lips brushing against your temple. “Is it like this?”

You can’t even answer, your breath stutters as his fingers move, lazy and unhurried, his free hand gripping your thigh, keeping you spread open over him. His hard length presses against your lower back, and the thought of him like this, as desperate as you, makes you whine.

“You like it when I talk about you like this, don’t you?” He whispers against your neck, nipping at the skin before soothing it with his tongue. “When I tell you how fucking good you are for me?”

You nod, words are impossible, lost in the haze of him, in the way he’s playing you like he knows your body better than you do. His fingers work you open, his pace torturously slow. “You’re soaking,” he murmurs, his tone almost in awe, his fingers gliding through your wetness with ease. He presses a slow, teasing circle over your clit, his lips curving into a smirk against your jaw. “Fuck, baby. All this for me?”

You whimper, hips twitching in search of more friction, but he takes his time, dragging his fingers through your slick with excruciating patience. He sinks one finger inside you, slow and deliberate, his breath hitching at the way you immediately tighten around him, moaning softly. “Yes, fuck—”

“There you go,” he hums, voice rich with praise. Your head falls back against his shoulder, a breathless moan slipping past your lips as he moves inside you, curling his finger just right before adding another. He sets a steady, unhurried rhythm, pumping into you, his palm pressing firmly against your clit every time he thrusts deeper.

The pleasure builds steadily, an unbearable coil tightening in your stomach as he continues, fingers fucking you open with perfect precision. His lips stay on your neck, murmuring praises, coaxing out every little sound from you like he’s memorizing them. “So wet, baby,” he groans, his voice raspier now, his own breathing uneven. “Dripping down my fingers—fuck, I could do this all night.”

Your thighs start to tremble, pleasure winding tighter, higher, every brush of his fingers sending sparks through you. “You gonna come for me?” he murmurs, biting down on your earlobe before soothing it with his tongue. “Gonna fall apart just like this?”

You nod frantically, hands clutching at his forearm, desperate for something to hold onto as the pressure inside you nears its breaking point. And then he stops. A broken whine rips from your throat as he pulls his fingers away, leaving you throbbing, aching for release. Your hips jerk, searching for friction, but he tightens his grip on your waist, holding you still.

His lips are back at your ear, dark amusement lacing his voice. “You wanna come, baby?” You nod desperately, frustration clear in the way you squirm against him. His smirk is evident in his tone, teasing, full of control. “Then beg for it.”

A desperate whimper leaves your lips as you try to push back against his hand, chasing your release, but his grip tightens around your waist, holding you in place. You shudder, your pride warring with your need, but the ache between your legs is unbearable, your body throbbing with want. “Please,” you whisper, your voice barely there, breathless.

His fingers ghost over your clit, just enough to make you whimper. “Louder.”

“Please,” you repeat, more desperate now, shifting in his hold, but he keeps you still, his restraint only making you needier.

He chuckles, low and dark, his free hand sliding up to cup your throat, tilting your head back against his shoulder. His lips brush against your jaw, featherlight. “I know you can do better than that, princess.”

You swallow hard, your skin burning under his touch, under his dominance, and finally, you let go. “Please, Beomgyu,” you beg, voice trembling, raw with want. “I need it. I need you.”

His grip tightens just enough to make your breath hitch, a satisfied hum vibrating in his chest. “That’s my good girl.”

And then, he gives you exactly what you want. His fingers find your clit again, rubbing firm, deliberate circles, before slipping back inside you, fucking you open with a pace that has you arching against him, gasping his name like it’s the only word you know. “Careful, baby,” he warns, voice low and taunting. “If you’re not quiet, everybody’s gonna hear how good my fingers are fucking you.”

The realization sends a fresh wave of heat through your body. The muffled bass of the music vibrates through the walls, laughter and conversation hum in the background—but none of it matters. You’re drowning in him, in the way he’s looking at you, in the way he’s holding you like he owns you.

Beomgyu smirks. “Unless you want them to hear,” he murmurs, his voice dripping with amusement. “Wanna let them know who’s making you feel this good?”

His words send a shiver down your spine, your body burning with both embarrassment and excitement. He chuckles, dragging his lips down your jaw, your neck, nipping at your skin before whispering against it. “Go on, then,” he taunts, voice thick with desire. “You gonna scream for me, princess? Come hard for me—tell me who owns you.”

Your only response is a broken moan as the coil in your stomach tightens, every nerve in your body wound impossibly tight. His fingers curl just right, stroking over that perfect spot inside you, his palm pressing against your clit with every movement, dragging you higher, closer.

“Beomgyu—” You choke out his name, legs trembling as the pleasure crashes over you, white-hot and all-consuming. Your entire body clenches around him, a sharp cry spilling from your lips as you come undone in his arms.

He groans, feeling you pulse around his fingers, his own need surging at the way you fall apart for him. “That’s right, baby,” he murmurs, voice rough, hungry. “All mine.”

His fingers don’t stop, drawing out every aftershock, making sure you feel every last bit of pleasure. He watches you with a satisfied smirk, loving the way your body shudders against him, the way your chest rises and falls as you struggle to catch your breath.

“You did so good, princess,” he whispers, pressing slow, open-mouthed kisses along your neck, his fingers still tracing lazy circles over your overstimulated clit, just enough to make your thighs twitch. “So fucking good for me.”

His touch lingers, his fingers gliding over your flushed skin, leaving a trail of heat in their wake. He leans in, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear. “But I’m not done with you yet.”

A shiver runs down your spine at the promise in his voice. Slowly, he pulls his fingers from you, bringing them up to his lips, his gaze locked onto yours as he sucks them into his mouth, groaning at the taste of you. “Fuck,” he breathes, his tongue flicking over his fingers before releasing them with a wet pop. “You’re so sweet, baby.”

His hands find your waist again, flipping you effortlessly so that you’re straddling his lap now, facing him. His eyes are dark, his pupils blown wide with need as he runs his hands down your sides, over your thighs, like he’s memorizing every inch of you.

“I need more,” he confesses, his voice low, rough. “I need to feel you completely.” His hands slide to your hips, pulling you flush against him, and you can feel him—hard, straining, aching for you. “You want that too, don’t you, princess?” he murmurs, his fingers digging into your hips. “Want me to fill you up, make you mine?”

His lips find yours, his kiss deep and all-consuming, stealing your breath, your thoughts, everything. He’s still teasing you, rolling his hips up against yours, the friction deliciously torturous, but not enough. You whimper into his mouth, fingers tangling in his hair, tugging him closer. “Please.” His lips curl into a smirk against yours.

He groaned low in his chest, the sound vibrating through you, his breath was shallow, his eyes half-lidded, heavy with need. His hands gripped your waist like they couldn’t bear to let go. "Ride me, princess," he murmured, voice hoarse, laced with the kind of desire that made your stomach tighten. "I want to watch you fall apart for me."

You shivered, heart pounding in your ears as you shifted your hips. The stretch as you sank down onto him was slow, deliberate, breathtaking. His head dropped back slightly, a deep curse escaping his lips as your body took him in inch by inch. You bit your lip at the sensation, your nails digging into his shoulders to keep yourself grounded.

Beomgyu’s hands slid up your thighs, firm and reverent, as though he couldn’t decide whether he wanted to worship you or completely ruin you. "God, baby," he groaned. "You feel so tight."

You moved gently at first, adjusting to the rhythm, the feel of him so deep inside you. But the tension built quickly, each roll of your hips sparking a fire in your belly. It wasn’t just the friction, the heat, the way your bodies fit together like they were made for this. It was the way he looked at you, like you were the only thing that had ever made sense to him.

"Faster," he rasped, his fingers tightening on your hips. "Let go, baby, fuck—"

You obeyed. The sound of skin against skin filled the room as you picked up pace, riding him harder now, chasing the release that curled in your spine. His hands roamed your body like he was trying to memorize you, palms smoothing over your waist, thumbs brushing your nipples, fingers threading through your hair as he pulled you down for another kiss.

"You’re so fucking beautiful," he whispered into your mouth, like it was the only truth he knew. You leaned into him, your hands braced against his chest, your forehead resting against his. His eyes never left yours, even when the pleasure threatened to overwhelm him, even when your moans turned into cries, and his own control began to slip.

"That’s it," he growled, thrusting up to meet you, his voice rough with desperation. "Show me how good it feels. Let me hear you, baby."

And you did. You cried out his name, your body trembling as your orgasm tore through you. Your walls clenched around him, and that was all it took—Beomgyu cursed, his grip bruising as he followed you over the edge, his body shuddering against yours.

For a long moment, you didn’t move. Your bodies were tangled, your breaths uneven, your heartbeats frantic. Then, slowly, you collapsed forward into his chest, your forehead resting against the curve of his neck. And then—

The doorknob rattles.

Your entire body tenses, your breath hitching as your eyes snap open, panic shooting through you. Beomgyu freezes too, his hands still gripping your waist as you both turn toward the door, hearts pounding in unison.

Someone trying to come in. You swallow hard, your mind racing. Shit. Then, voices. Someone outside the door, their footsteps heavy against the floor. “Wait, why’s this locked?” A muffled voice, followed by the sound of someone rattling the handle.

Beomgyu looks back at you, his brows raised slightly, waiting for your call. His lips are parted, his chest rising and falling fast with his still-unspent desire, but his grip on you loosens slightly, giving you an out. You hesitate, your body still buzzing, still needing him. But reality crashes back in like a cold wave, if you stay here any longer, someone will figure it out. You shake your head, exhaling shakily. “We should go back.”

Beomgyu groans, tilting his head back against the couch in frustration. “You’re kidding.”

You bite your lip, already knowing he’s going to make this difficult. “If we don’t, someone’s going to know, Gyu.”

He lets out a deep, exasperated sigh, his hands flexing against your hips. Then, he leans in, lips brushing against your jaw, his voice dropping to a husky whisper. “You know I’m not done with you,” he murmurs, nipping lightly at your earlobe before pulling back just enough to meet your gaze. “And you owe me for this.”

Your stomach tightens at the promise in his voice, at the way his fingers trail one last lingering touch down your thigh before he finally releases you. He watches as you scramble to collect your clothes, his smirk growing when he sees how shaken you still are. He doesn’t move right away, instead, he leans back against the couch, legs spread lazily apart, watching you with dark amusement as he runs a hand through his messy hair. He’s still catching his breath, his lips still swollen from kissing you, his body still burning with the ghost of your touch. And he loves it.

He finally moves, pushing himself up from the couch, stretching slightly before reaching for his clothes. His movements are unhurried, deliberate, as if he’s in no rush to leave the little world you two just created. He grabs his shirt first, then his fingers work at his belt, refastening his pants with ease, like this was just another ordinary moment for him. Except, it wasn’t. Not even close.

Beomgyu's jaw clenches slightly as he tugs his jacket back on, shaking his head like he can somehow rid himself of the frustration pooling deep in his gut. Meanwhile, you move toward the door, pressing your ear against it, holding your breath as you listen for any movement on the other side. Your fingers tighten around the handle, hesitating before slowly cracking it open just enough to peek through.

The hallway is empty. You exhale in relief, throwing one last glance over your shoulder at him. "I’m going first," you whisper, your voice barely above a breath. "Wait a minute before you come out."

Beomgyu tilts his head, studying you, his lips curving into something smug. "Scared someone’s gonna find out what a mess you are for me?"

You roll your eyes, but the heat in your cheeks betrays you. "Shut up."

He chuckles, low and knowing, his eyes still dark with amusement. But just as you turn toward the door, reaching for the handle, his fingers wrap around your wrist, stopping you in your tracks. Before you can react, he tugs you back, firm but gentle, until you’re flush against his chest.

He’s looking at you now, really looking, his gaze flickering between your eyes and your lips, something unreadable swirling in the depths of his expression. There’s no teasing smirk, no playful remark. Just the weight of everything unsaid, everything still buzzing between you like a live wire.

And then he kisses you. His lips pressing against yours like he’s memorizing the way you taste. His hand cups your jaw, fingers sliding into your hair, tilting your head just enough to deepen the kiss. You melt into him instantly, your fingers curling into the fabric of his jacket, clinging. By the time he pulls away, you’re breathless. Dazed.

His forehead rests against yours, his lips still brushing yours as he murmurs, “I’m not done with you.” His voice is low, rough, thick with something dangerous. Your stomach flips, your knees nearly giving out at the sheer promise in his words. But then, he steps back, releasing you, his smirk returning as he watches you struggle to steady yourself. “Now you can go,” he says, voice laced with amusement.

You blink up at him, still caught in the haze of his kiss, before shaking yourself back to reality. With one last glance, one last moment of hesitation, you turn and slip out of the room, carefully closing the door behind you.

Beomgyu exhales sharply, his body finally relaxing as he leans against the door, his forehead pressing against the wood. His fingers drag through his already-messy hair, his eyes squeezing shut for a brief moment. Fuck. He’s so fucked.

He licks his lips, still tasting you, still feeling the warmth of your body against his. His heart is still racing, his skin still burning, and all he can think about is you.

With a quiet groan, he pushes off the door, shaking his head, trying to collect himself. But as he reaches for the handle, ready to step back into the party, there’s only one thought looping through his mind— He needs more. And next time, he’s going to take it.

You stepped back into the party like nothing had happened. Like your entire world hadn’t just shifted in the span of a few stolen moments behind closed doors. Laughter spilled over conversations, and people moved around you, blissfully unaware that your hands were still unsteady, that your lips were still tingling, that your heartbeat was still uneven.

You exhaled slowly, smoothing down your dress, forcing yourself to shake off the lingering haze of him. Then, without hesitation, you made your way toward the bar. A drink. You needed a drink.

The bartender barely glanced at you as he slid a glass across the counter, and you took a sip, letting the cold burn of alcohol ground you. Your fingers tapped against the side of the glass, your mind replaying the last few minutes over and over like a song stuck on loop, his hands, his voice, the weight of his body against yours, the way he had looked at you.

You straightened your shoulders, pushing the thought aside. You had just started convincing yourself that maybe you could pull this off.

"There you are." You barely had time to react before Yeonjun appeared beside you, his presence as effortless as always. He leaned against the counter, eyes scanning your face before narrowing slightly. "You disappeared."

You took another sip of your drink, pretending to be unbothered. “I didn’t disappear. I was just—” You waved a hand vaguely. “Talking.”

Yeonjun raised an eyebrow. “Talking?”

"Yes, talking," you repeated, maybe a little too quickly.

He studied you for a second, then his lips curled slightly, his gaze flickering over your face before settling somewhere lower. "Then why does your lipstick look like that?"

Your stomach dropped. Shit. Your hand shot up to your lips on instinct. Yeonjun just watched, amusement growing by the second as realization dawned on him. "Oh my god," he breathed, eyes widening before he full-on cackled. "Oh my fucking god—"

"No," you blurted, already turning on your heel, "Nope. Absolutely not."

But it was too late. Yeonjun was already following, laughter spilling out of him like he had just uncovered the world’s greatest mystery. "Wait—" He grabbed your wrist, doubling over slightly. "Wait, wait, wait. Oh my fucking god. You were with Beomgyu, weren’t you?"

"Shut up," you hissed, wrenching your arm free, heat creeping up your neck. "People can hear you."

Yeonjun ignored you completely, still laughing as you beelined for the bathroom. "Oh my god, I knew it," he called after you. "I fucking knew it!"

You slammed the door behind you. Your reflection stared back at you in the mirror, lips slightly smudged, hair a little messier than before. You let out a slow breath, gripping the sink. You let out a slow breath, gripping the sink, trying to steady yourself. What the fuck just happened?

Your fingers trembled as you reached for your lipstick, twisting the tube up with a quiet click. You applied it carefully, slow and methodical, as if fixing your makeup could somehow fix the way your heart was still racing, the way your entire body felt like it was buzzing. But it didn’t. Not when your mind kept circling back to him.

To the way he had looked at you. To the way he had touched you. To the way he had sounded, breathless, wrecked, whispering your name like it was something sacred. God. How had you even ended up here? It had always been like this with Beomgyu, hadn’t it? The back-and-forth, the push and pull. The constant teasing, the relentless competition, the stupid banter that never seemed to stop.

And now? Now, you could still feel him, his hands, his lips, the warmth of his breath against your skin. You swallowed hard, dabbing the corner of your mouth where your lipstick had smudged. This wasn’t supposed to happen. This shouldn’t have happened. And yet, when you closed your eyes, all you could see was him.

The party eventually began to wind down. You let yourself blend into the crowd, trying to push away the mess of thoughts cluttering your mind, focusing on the conversations happening around you instead. Yeonjun had reappeared at some point, entirely too pleased with himself, and Taehyun had joined him, both of them now perched on one of the couches, drinks in hand. "You good?" Taehyun asked, raising an eyebrow as you dropped down beside them.

You nodded, even though you didn’t really feel good at all. "Yeah, just tired."

Yeonjun snorted. "Tired, huh?"

You shot him a look. He just grinned, leaning closer. "You were gone for a while—"

"Yeonjun," you warned. He threw his hands up in mock surrender, but the smirk never left his face.

You sighed, sinking deeper into the couch. The music had quieted a little, the energy in the room beginning to fizzle out. People were leaving in waves, slipping out the doors in pairs or groups, laughter and quiet goodbyes trailing after them.

You should go too. And judging by the way Yeonjun was now half-asleep against the armrest, you weren’t the only one ready to call it a night. It took both you and Taehyun to practically carry Yeonjun outside. "He’s not that heavy," Taehyun grumbled, adjusting his grip under Yeonjun’s arm.

You huffed. "Says the guy using me as leverage."

Yeonjun, for his part, was completely useless, mumbling incoherent nonsense as you finally managed to get him to stand on his own two feet. Your taxi would be here any minute. You pulled out your phone, glancing at the time.

That’s when you heard your name. You looked up, spotting Baekhyun a few feet away, standing near the curb, engaged in conversation with another man from the industry. When his eyes met yours, he gave you a knowing smile.

"Get home safe," he said smoothly. Then, after a brief pause, "We’ll have a lot to talk about on Monday."

You blinked. Something about the way he said it made your stomach twist. But before you could even begin to decipher what he meant, he was already turning back to his conversation. You frowned slightly, but exhaustion was already pulling at your limbs. Whatever it was, you could deal with it later.

Your taxi pulled up to the curb. You helped Yeonjun into the car, settling into the seat beside him, finally letting yourself breathe. You sank back, eyes fluttering shut for just a moment.

And then, a feeling. Like someone was watching. You turned your head toward the window. And there he was. Beomgyu. Standing on the curb, hands in his pockets, waiting for his own ride. But his eyes were on you. Your breath caught slightly. He didn’t look away. Instead, his hand moved, slipping into his pocket, pulling out his phone. A second later, your own phone buzzed in your lap. You swallowed, pulse unsteady as you glanced down at the screen.

A message. From him.

[beomgyu]: lmk when you get home

Your chest tightened. You stared at the words for a long moment, lips pressing together. You stared at the screen, your fingers hovering over the keyboard, but you didn’t type anything. Not yet. Instead, you let your phone fall back into your lap, exhaling slowly as you turned to the window again. Beomgyu was still standing there, still watching, still waiting for something you didn’t know how to give him.

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you had been holding, slumping slightly against the seat as the city lights blurred past the window. The weight of the night settled over you. The way Beomgyu had looked at you. The way his voice had felt against your skin. The way he had pulled you in, and then, just as quickly, pushed you away.

You didn’t know what to make of it. Of him. Of anything. So you didn’t think about it. Not now. Instead, you closed your eyes and let the hum of the car lull you into something close to peace, if only for a moment.

You woke up to the sound of your phone vibrating against your nightstand. You groaned, rolling over, face half-buried in your pillow as you reached for it blindly. The screen glowed too bright in the early morning light, your vision still hazy with sleep as you blinked at the notifications.

[beomgyu]: i can’t stop thinking about you

Your stomach dropped. Suddenly, you were very awake. You sat up so fast that your blanket slipped from your shoulders, your heart hammering against your ribs. Your fingers tightened around the phone, as if gripping it any harder would somehow make the words disappear.

I can’t stop thinking about you. You swallowed. No way. No fucking way.

You stared at the message, your body frozen, caught between panic and something you weren’t ready to name. What the hell were you supposed to say to that? Your throat was dry. Your fingers twitched over the keyboard, but no words came. Nothing would come.

But even as you moved, even as you tried to shove the thought aside, he was still there. Still lingering. The heat of his hands on your waist, the press of his fingers against your skin, the way his voice had sounded, low, rough, wrecked, against your ear. Do you have any idea how fucking insane you make me?

A shiver ran down your spine. You squeezed your eyes shut for a second, trying to push it away, but the memories came crashing down anyway.

So you did the only thing you could do. You ignored it. For now. You tossed the phone onto your nightstand, exhaling sharply as you dragged your hands down your face. No. Not now. You needed a second. You needed coffee.

You pushed yourself out of bed, slipping on a hoodie as you padded out of your room, making a beeline for Yeonjun’s. His door was cracked open, the faint sound of groaning filtering through. You pushed it open with your foot, leaning against the doorway. Yeonjun was sprawled across his bed like he had been thrown there, an arm slung dramatically over his face, his blanket half on the floor. His entire existence looked like a hangover. "You alive?" you asked, voice still raspy from sleep.

Yeonjun let out a painful groan, barely shifting. "Barely."

You snorted, stepping into the room. "You look like death."

"I feel like death," he mumbled, peeking out from under his arm. His eyes were bloodshot, his hair an absolute mess. "What time is it?"

You checked your phone out of habit, and your stomach twisted. Beomgyu’s message still sat there. You locked the screen before you could think about it. "Almost ten," you said, crossing your arms.

Yeonjun just made another noise of suffering. Then, with zero warning, he peeked at you again, his voice shifting. "You gonna tell me what’s got you looking like you’ve seen a ghost, or am I gonna have to guess?"

Your heart stopped. "I—" You forced a scoff, too quick. "I don’t look like I’ve seen a ghost."

Yeonjun stared at you. Then his lips curled. "Ah," he hummed, way too amused now. "So this is a boy thing."

Your entire body flamed. "Oh my god, shut up."

He grinned, slow and dangerous. "Wait—wait, is this a Beomgyu thing?"

"I’m leaving." You turned on your heel immediately, making a break for the door, but Yeonjun was faster.

He grabbed your wrist, yanking you back onto the bed with zero mercy. You yelped as you landed next to him, already struggling to get up, but he just slung an arm over your shoulders, trapping you there. "Spill," he ordered.

You scowled, shoving at his chest. "No."

"Spill."

"No."

Yeonjun narrowed his eyes. Then, with a slow, shit-eating smirk— "I’ll start singing."

Your blood ran cold. "You wouldn’t," you whispered. Yeonjun cleared his throat. "Yeonjun, no."

He inhaled dramatically. "OH, I THINK THAT I FOUND MYSEL—"

"OKAY! OKAY!" You slammed a pillow over his face, groaning. "You’re so fucking annoying."

He laughed, victorious, pushing the pillow away. "That’s what I thought. Now talk."

You hesitated. Your fingers curled around the blanket, heart pounding again as Beomgyu’s message flashed in your mind. I can’t stop thinking about you. You swallowed while you showed your phone to Yeonjun, who immediately gasped. You sighed, looking away. "It’s just—" You stopped, frustration bubbling in your chest. "He’s just confusing."

Yeonjun hummed. "Yeah, well. You’re both idiots, so that checks out."

You shot him a look. "Shut up," you mumbled, pushing yourself up.

Yeonjun let you go this time, watching as you made your way toward the door. "You should probably answer him, you know," he called lazily. You didn’t respond. And as you stepped out into the hallway, you definitely didn’t check your phone again. But the words still sat there. Waiting.

You tried to go about your day like normal. Tried. But no matter what you did, he was there. In your head. Even as you made coffee. Even as you scrolled mindlessly through your phone. Even as you curled up on the couch, flipping through Netflix without actually watching anything.

Beomgyu. Beomgyu. Beomgyu. The words on your screen wouldn’t stop echoing. Your stomach twisted every time you thought about it. Because neither could you.

Yeonjun stayed home most of the morning, alternating between dramatically draping himself across the couch and playing games on his phone. But eventually, in the afternoon, he stretched lazily and grabbed his keys.

"I’m going to the gym," he announced, throwing his bag over his shoulder. You hummed in response. You kept your eyes on the TV, even though you weren’t paying attention to a single second of it. "You gonna survive without me?" Yeonjun teased, leaning against the doorframe.

You rolled your eyes. "I think I’ll manage."

He grinned, pushing off the frame. "Alright, if you say so. Try not to combust while I’m gone."

You shot him a glare, but he was already heading out the door, laughing. Your fingers twitched. Your phone was sitting right next to you. Waiting. It would be so easy. You exhaled slowly, staring at it like it might explode. You weren’t the type to text guys. But for some reason, today felt different.

Maybe it was the way he had looked at you before you got into your taxi. Maybe it was the way he had sent that message in the first place. Maybe it was the fact that you couldn’t stop thinking about him too, and it was driving you insane.

Your heart pounded as you grabbed your phone, unlocking it with shaky fingers. You opened your messages. Pulled up his name. Took a deep breath. And typed.

[you]: i can’t stop thinking about you too.

The moment you hit send, your pulse skyrocketed. Seconds passed. The message was read. You held your breath. Waiting. Waiting. But nothing came. Beomgyu didn’t respond. You stared at the screen, heart hammering, but he did nothing. You had no idea what that meant. And somehow, it made you even more restless.

You spent the rest of the weekend pretending you were fine. You weren’t.

Beomgyu had read your message and said nothing, and the longer you went without a response, the worse it got. You tried to distract yourself. Hung out with Yunjin for a bit. Had dinner with Yeonjun. Went on an unnecessary grocery run just to get out of the apartment.

But every free second, he was there. The memory of his hands, his voice, the way he had pulled you so close, like he was scared to let go. And now he was ignoring you? You wanted to scream.

By the time Sunday night rolled around, you had officially given up on getting an answer. Maybe he regretted it. Maybe he had just been drunk. Maybe this was just another one of his stupid mind games.

Fine. If he wasn’t going to respond, you weren’t going to chase after him. Not this time.

Your alarm dragged you out of sleep way too soon, and you groaned, rolling over to shut it off. For a brief second, you thought about skipping work. About calling in sick, or lying about having some urgent errand, or just disappearing off the face of the earth. But no. You had an album to release. And unfortunately, you had to be professional, even when your entire brain was occupied by a certain songwriter. With a sigh, you rolled out of bed, forcing yourself to get moving.

Yeonjun was already up when you entered the kitchen, nursing a cup of coffee with his hair still messy from sleep. "Morning," he mumbled, squinting at you. "You look like hell."

"Gee, thanks," you muttered, grabbing a mug and pouring yourself a cup.

Yeonjun snorted, leaning against the counter. "You excited to go back to work?"

You didn’t answer right away. Instead, you took a long sip of coffee, staring down into the dark liquid. Excited? Not exactly. Dreading it? Maybe.

Because today was Monday. Which meant you’d have to see Beomgyu. And you had no idea what to expect. How the hell were you supposed to look Beomgyu in the eye after everything? After the way he had touched you, held you, whispered filthy things against your skin like he had been waiting to say them? After the way you had felt underneath him, pinned between his hands, his voice praising you, ruining you, claiming you?

You pressed your fingers to your temples, exhaling sharply. Fuck. This wasn’t good. You weren’t some naive idiot who got attached just because someone touched you the right way. But something about him—about this—had been different. And he knew it too.

Which was exactly why he had ignored your message all weekend. And yet, your stomach tightened at the thought of seeing him today. Not with nerves, not with anger, but with something far, far worse. Anticipation. You hated it. You hated how much you wanted to see him. How much you wanted to know if he was thinking about you, too. How much you wanted to know if he regretted it. Or if he wanted more.

By the time you stepped into the HYBE building, the album was practically finished. All that was left was refining the final details. You told yourself that’s what you should be focusing on. Not Beomgyu. Not his hands. His voice. The way he had looked at you like you were something he wanted to ruin. God. Focus.

You made your way through the hallways, nodding politely at a few people who passed, ignoring the slight pit of anxiety settling in your stomach. You weren’t even sure why, until you stepped into your studio. And saw the coffee sitting on your desk.

You froze. There was no note. No explanation. But you knew. Your heart skipped. It was him. You stared at it for a long moment, a lump forming in your throat. It was the same drink you always got. The exact way you liked it.

It was so stupid, so small, so insignificant. And yet, it wasn’t. Because Beomgyu didn’t do things like this. Beomgyu teased you, provoked you, argued with you until you were ready to strangle him. He didn’t leave quiet gestures like this behind. Not for you. You swallowed, your fingers twitching at your sides. Should you text him? Call him out for it? Say something?

Before you could decide, your phone buzzed. A message from Baekhyun.

[baekhyun]: hey, can we talk for a sec?

You let out a slow breath, grabbing the coffee and taking a sip as you sat down. You ignored the way your stomach fluttered. Ignored the way your skin still felt too hot. And ignored the fact that you knew exactly who was responsible for that. You exhaled slowly, staring at the message on your phone.

[you]: sure. be there in a minute.

Sliding your phone into your pocket, you took another sip of coffee, letting the warmth settle in your chest. It didn’t help. Still, you got up, straightened your posture, and made your way to Baekhyun’s office.

When you reached his door, you knocked lightly before stepping inside. "Hey. You wanted to talk?"

Baekhyun glanced up from his desk, motioning for you to close the door behind you. "Yeah. Come in."

You obeyed, taking a seat across from him, studying his face carefully. Something was off. Baekhyun was usually relaxed, even when discussing work, always carrying that effortless charm that made him easy to talk to. But right now, his expression was unreadable, something hovering between serious and hesitant.

Your stomach twisted. "What’s up?"

Baekhyun leaned back in his chair, exhaling through his nose. "Listen… you know I think you’re one of my best employees, right?"

Your eyebrows furrowed slightly. "Uh… thanks?"

"Which is why," he continued, fingers tapping lightly against the desk, "I need to tell you something. And I need you to understand that this is me looking out for you." Your stomach tightened, as you looked at him, letting him continue. He sighed, rolling his shoulders before meeting your gaze. "So, about Seungcheol…"

Your spine stiffened immediately. "What about him?"

Baekhyun hesitated for a second, like he was trying to figure out how to phrase his next words. And then, carefully, he said: "He knows."

Your heart stopped. A beat of silence stretched between you. Your fingers curled around the armrest of your chair, knuckles white. "Knows what?" you asked, voice careful.

Baekhyun gave you a pointed look. "You know what."

Your pulse pounded in your ears. Seungcheol knows. About you. About Beomgyu. Fuck. You swallowed, keeping your expression as unreadable as possible. "That’s… my personal business," you said slowly. "I don’t see how it’s relevant to work."

"You’re right," Baekhyun agreed, nodding. "It’s not. But I’m telling you because I need you to be careful."

You crossed your arms, shifting in your seat. "What does that even mean?"

Baekhyun sighed, rubbing a hand over his face before leaning forward, lowering his voice. "Seungcheol is creative director. That means he has a lot of influence in this company. And for whatever reason, he’s got his eye on you."

A chill ran down your spine. "And that means?"

"It means he’s paying attention to things," Baekhyun said. "To you and Beomgyu. To how you work together, to how you interact. And while I don’t know exactly what he’s thinking, I do know one thing—he’s not the type to sit back and do nothing."

Your jaw tightened. "You think he’ll try something?"

Baekhyun didn’t answer right away. He just watched you, gaze steady, unreadable. "I think he doesn’t like Beomgyu," he said carefully. "And I think he has an interest in you."

You inhaled sharply. There it was. That uneasy feeling in your stomach, the one you had pushed down every time Seungcheol spoke to you. The way his words always felt just a little too… pointed. The way his gaze lingered. The way Beomgyu had told you to be careful. You exhaled through your nose, shaking your head. "I don’t—this is insane. Seungcheol can’t just—"

"I know," Baekhyun cut in. "Which is why I’m telling you first. Just be careful. Be smart."

Your fingers tightened in your lap. You hated this. Hated the idea that someone was watching you like this. That Seungcheol was watching you. That Beomgyu had been right. You swallowed down the irritation curling in your chest. "Got it."

Baekhyun studied you for a moment longer before nodding. "Good." Then, just a little softer, "And Y/N?" You met his gaze. "Whatever this is between you and Beomgyu… make sure it’s worth it."

Your breath caught. Because the thing was— You didn’t know. And that scared you more than anything else.

You didn’t realize how tight your chest had gotten until you were out of Baekhyun’s office, walking quickly down the hall with your arms wrapped around yourself. The fluorescent lights overhead flickered too brightly, the sounds of your coworkers echoing faintly in your ears as your thoughts raced. Seungcheol knows.

Your heart pounded with each step, and all you could think about was Beomgyu—his smile, his voice, the way he touched you like he didn’t care who saw. But he should. Because now, someone was watching. Someone powerful. Someone who didn’t like him.

You paused outside your studio door, forcing yourself to take a breath, to steady your hands before you reached for the handle. When you stepped inside, the first thing you saw was him.

Beomgyu was already there, perched on the edge of your couch, his guitar on his lap. His face lit up the second you walked in, eyes crinkling at the corners as he smiled, really smiled. “Took you long enough.”

Something inside you clenched. The warmth of his expression, the softness in his voice. He had no idea. “I brought you coffee earlier,” he added. “Cause I didn’t know what mood you’d be in, so I just guessed. But, y’know, I’ve been working on my psychic powers.”

You smiled, barely, but it didn’t quite reach your eyes. Beomgyu tilted his head, watching you. “What?” he asked softly. “What happened?”

You shook your head, trying to brush it off. “Nothing. Just… long meeting.”

He set the guitar aside and stood, taking a step toward you. “Was it Baekhyun?”

You nodded, lowering your bag to the floor. “Yeah.”

“He say something about the album?” Beomgyu’s brow furrowed. “Is something wrong?”

“No,” you said too quickly. You avoided his eyes, moving to your desk under the guise of organizing the notes you’d left behind. “Everything’s fine. He just wanted to go over some deadlines.”

Beomgyu didn’t respond right away. You felt his eyes on you, sharp and searching. “You’re lying,” he said eventually, voice quieter. You froze. He stepped closer. “Y/N…”

“I said it’s fine,” you replied, sharper than you meant to. You heard the way his breath hitched, just slightly, but he didn’t say anything right away. He just looked at you, the softness fading from his face as something more cautious settled there. And that was the worst part.

You didn’t want to push him away. You didn’t want to build walls again. But Baekhyun’s words rang in your ears like a warning bell. Whatever this is between you and Beomgyu… make sure it’s worth it. You weren’t even sure what this was.

Beomgyu stepped back, giving you space. “Did I… do something?”

Your throat tightened. You hated that he asked that. Hated the way he looked almost hurt. “No,” you said, forcing your voice to be gentler. “You didn’t.”

But that didn’t make it better. Because you weren’t pulling away from him, you were pulling away for him. And he could tell. He gave a small nod, eyes flicking away. “Okay,” he murmured, almost to himself. “Let me know if that changes.”

You turned to him then, finally meeting his gaze. “It’s not you.”

His eyes lingered on yours. “Then what is it?”

You didn’t answer. Because how could you tell him that Seungcheol might be waiting for one misstep? That you could handle it, but he might not be so lucky? That you were scared for him in ways you couldn’t say out loud?

So instead, you offered a weak smile and said, “Can we just… work for a while?”

There was a beat of silence. A single breath. And then he nodded, once, slow, as if the word itself cost him something. “Yeah,” he murmured, but his voice was thinner now, stretched tight across something fragile. “If that’s what you want.”

You looked away, unable to meet the flicker in his eyes, the way it dimmed just slightly as he stepped back. The room suddenly felt too quiet. “Guess I’ll head back to my studio,” he said, and this time, there was no teasing in his tone. “Let me know if you need anything.”

And before you could say anything, before you could stop him, he was already at the door. When it clicked shut behind him, the sound echoed louder than it should have. You didn’t move for a long moment. Just sat there, frozen, staring at the coffee cup he’d brought for you, the one you hadn’t touched. Your fingers trembled slightly as you reached for it, but it had already gone cold. Just like everything else.

The rest of your afternoon passed in a blur of contracts and emails. Finalizing track credits. Budget approvals. Lining up promotional schedules. You barely registered the words anymore, your hand moved, your eyes scanned, your mouth replied when someone entered your office to ask for your signature, but none of it stuck. You were on autopilot.

Because your head wasn’t in the album anymore. It was on him. Beomgyu.

You kept picturing the way his expression had shifted when you pulled away. Not in body, but in presence. Like he felt you slipping. Like he already knew that the warmth between you was being swallowed by fear. And it was. You were terrified.

Terrified of what Seungcheol could do. Terrified of how quickly everything you’d built with Beomgyu—through fights, through tension, through music, through moments—could be taken away just because someone with too much power had decided they didn’t like seeing him happy.

And that’s what it was, wasn’t it? He was happy. With you. And you were ruining it. Because your fear was louder than your hope.

You stared at the screen in front of you, realizing you’d been hovering over the same file for ten minutes without doing anything. You blinked hard, trying to focus, but the words blurred, your thoughts spiraling again. What if he gets fired? What if Seungcheol says something? What if this is all your fault?

You buried your face in your hands, elbows pressed against the desk. You couldn’t protect him. You couldn’t even tell him what was going on. And worst of all: you weren’t sure he’d forgive you if he ever found out you knew and didn’t say anything.

You wanted to keep him safe. But not at the cost of this quiet unraveling between you. Not at the cost of pretending you didn’t care.

You pulled your phone from your pocket, hesitating for a long moment before unlocking it. His name sat at the top of your messages, unread, untouched since the night he told you he couldn’t stop thinking about you. And neither could you. But now you wondered if staying silent had already done the damage for you.

It was late, again. The building had gone quiet, long emptied by interns and execs and artists alike. You sat curled in your office chair, arms wrapped around yourself as your eyes stayed fixed on your phone screen. You’d been staring at it for ten minutes before finally giving in.

[you]: are you still at the company?

The reply came quicker than you expected.

[beomgyu]: yeah. why?

[you]: can we talk?

Another pause. Then:

[beomgyu]: sure. you know where to find me

You hesitated only a second longer before standing. You didn’t bother gathering your things. Just grabbed your hoodie, slipped into your sneakers, and made your way down the hallway. His studio door was cracked open when you arrived. You paused outside for a beat, just long enough to collect your breath, and pushed it open slowly.

He was sitting on the couch, hoodie sleeves pushed up to his elbows, legs stretched out in front of him. He looked tired, like the weight of the entire week was pressing down on his shoulders. But when he saw you, he straightened slightly.

Before you could speak, he did.

“Before you say anything,” he said, voice steady but low, “I just want you to know I don’t regret anything.”

You blinked, taken aback. “What?”

He scoffed softly, running a hand through his hair. “It’s fine. I mean, I get it. You’re here to break things off, right? Whatever this is.”

You stared at him, mouth parting slightly. “Beomgyu…”

“I mean, technically, we were never even anything, right?” he went on, tone deceptively light, but his eyes were anything but. “So there’s nothing to end. I guess.”

You stepped into the room fully, closing the door behind you. The soft click echoed between you. “Why would you think I’m here to end things?”

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, hands clasped loosely. “Because you’ve been avoiding me all day,” he said. “Because you look at me like I’ve already done something wrong.” His voice softened. “Because something’s changed. And I don’t know what it is.”

You swallowed hard. “It’s not like that.”

“Then what is it like?” he asked, a little more sharply now. “Because I’m sitting here, trying to keep it together, trying not to push you, and it’s driving me fucking crazy, Y/N. But you’re here. So what is it?”

You opened your mouth, but the words caught in your throat. Because you wanted to tell him. You wanted to say everything: about Seungcheol, about Baekhyun’s warning, about your fear of him getting hurt, losing his job, being targeted just for being with you. But you couldn’t. You couldn’t risk it.

So instead, you said the only thing that came close. “I’m scared.”

Beomgyu’s jaw tensed. “Of what? Me?”

“No!” you said quickly. “God, no. Of everything else.”

“Then tell me,” he said, quieter now. Pleading. “Let me in. Let me help.”

Your arms wrapped tighter around yourself. “I just… I don’t want to do anything that could hurt you.”

“You aren’t hurting me,” he said. “But keeping me in the dark? Not trusting me? That’s what hurts.”

You turned away, pacing a step. “I do trust you.”

“Then tell me what the fuck is going on,” he said, standing now, voice low, but intense. “Because I’m standing here ready to fight for you, and I feel like I’m the only one throwing punches.”

That broke something in you. “I am fighting!” you said, voice cracking. “You just can’t see it.”

“Then show me!” he snapped. “Because right now, it feels like you’re walking away.”

You looked at him. Really looked at him. And there he was, raw, open, hurting. For you. Because of you. And for the first time, you saw the vulnerability underneath all the confidence. The boy who had let himself fall, even when he swore he wouldn’t. Even when he thought you were supposed to be just coworkers.

Your voice came out small. “I’m not walking away.”

Beomgyu’s expression flickered. “Then stop acting like you are.”

Silence fell between you. You stepped forward, just a little. “I’m trying to protect you.”

“I don’t want your protection,” he said. “I want you.”

The words landed heavy between you, honest and unflinching. Your lips parted, eyes burning, heart aching. And even though you still couldn’t say everything, you were closer now. One step closer to crossing that line completely. One step closer to choosing him.

And maybe, he was choosing you too.

You stared at him, breath caught in your throat. Your heart beat so loud it was almost all you could hear. “I want you too,” you said, the words tumbling out so fast they almost didn’t feel real. “God, of course I want you, Beomgyu.”

Something flickered across his face, relief, maybe. But it didn’t last long. “Then what the fuck is stopping you?” he demanded, stepping closer. His voice wasn’t angry, not exactly, it was hurt, raw, urgent. “Because you keep saying you want me, and then you push me away like you don't.”

You swallowed hard, backing up a step, not because you wanted to escape him, but because you needed space to think. “Because I don’t want to be the reason something happens to you,” you admitted, hands clenched at your sides. “Because I don’t want to be the reason you lose everything you’ve worked for.”

His brows furrowed. “What are you talking about?” You hesitated. “Y/N,” he said, voice low now. “Tell me.”

You shook your head once, but Beomgyu moved toward you again, gently but firmly catching your wrist.

“I’m not letting you leave here without telling me,” he said, eyes boring into yours. “I’m not playing these half-truth games anymore. Talk to me. Please.”

You stared at him for a long beat. And then you cracked. “Baekhyun called me into his office this morning,” you said, voice hoarse. “He told me Seungcheol knows.” Beomgyu didn’t move. “He knows about us,” you continued, the word still strange on your tongue. “He’s watching us. And not in a vague way. He’s paying attention. Baekhyun didn’t say it, but it’s obvious—Seungcheol’s pissed. And he’s got power, Gyu. Real power. Enough to make your life hell. Enough to kill your career if he wants.” You finally looked up, eyes shining with barely contained panic. “And I know you think you don’t care, but I do. I care. I care so fucking much it makes me sick. And the thought of being the reason you get hurt—”

“Stop,” Beomgyu cut in. Your mouth snapped shut. His eyes were wild with something sharp and intense, but not at you, never at you. “You think I give a fuck about Seungcheol?” he said, taking a step closer. “You think I’m scared of some overhyped director with a God complex?”

“Beomgyu—”

“No, you need to hear this,” he said, voice lowering. “I’ve worked my ass off to get where I am. I’ve built a name from the ground up. Every credit, every song, every fucking sleepless night—you think I’m going to let him take that from me?” Your breath hitched. “If he tries anything,” Beomgyu said, voice like steel, “I will bury him.”

You stared, stunned. “You can’t say that—”

“I can,” he snapped. “Because he’s not untouchable. And I’m not stupid. I know my worth. And if he so much as breathes in your direction the wrong way again—” He broke off, his jaw tight, breathing hard. Then, more quietly: “He doesn’t get to scare you away from me.”

You opened your mouth to argue, to tell him he was being reckless, that this wasn’t just about pride, that the industry was cruel and unfair and it would never be a fair fight, but the words died in your throat. Because he meant it. Every word.

“I’ve never had something like this,” he continued, softer now. “Never had someone who made me want to try. And I’m not about to lose it because some washed-up director has a stick up his ass and a crush he didn’t get over.”

You blinked. “Wait—crush?”

Beomgyu’s mouth curled into a humorless smirk. “You really think he was complimenting your demos because he liked the reverb?” A beat of silence passed. And then you laughed. Just a little. A short, sharp sound that broke some of the tension in your chest. Beomgyu’s gaze softened. “Look… if this gets messy, we’ll figure it out. Together.”

You looked at him, something vulnerable cracking through your guarded expression. “You mean that?” you asked, voice small.

He stepped closer, cupping your face with both hands now. “I mean it,” he said, with the kind of certainty that made your stomach flip. “I’m not going anywhere, Y/N.”

You closed your eyes for a moment, just breathing him in. Letting yourself believe him. Because you did. God, you did. And even if the world was about to come crashing down around you… at least you wouldn’t be standing in the wreckage alone.

You didn’t realize you were holding your breath until he moved. Slow, deliberate, like a predator who already knew the prey wasn’t going to run. His steps were quiet, but each one pressed the air out of the room a little more. His hand rose to your cheek, fingertips brushing the edge of your jaw. Featherlight, but grounding. Like he needed the reassurance that you were still here.

His thumb swept once beneath your eye, like he could erase everything unspoken. Maybe he didn’t know what to say next. Maybe it didn’t matter. You didn’t speak. Neither did he. Not with words.

But the space between you, that thrum of silence packed so tight it felt ready to burst, said everything. You leaned into the touch, just enough. Just so he’d know. And that was all it took. Beomgyu kissed you again. It started slow, like he was still afraid you’d pull away. You didn’t.

Your hands found his shoulders, clutching at the worn cotton of his hoodie. His mouth moved against yours with purpose. You gasped, and he swallowed the sound, one hand moving down to your hip, gripping tight enough to make you gasp again. He pressed forward, guiding you back a step, then another, until your spine met the cool wall of his studio. A quiet noise escaped your throat.

His leg slid between yours. You froze, just for a moment, before the pressure shifted. Your body reacted before your mind could. Hips tilting down, chasing it, mouth parting around a soft, broken sound. One that slipped out too fast to stop. Beomgyu stilled.

The kiss paused. Just long enough for your eyes to meet. And something changed. His gaze sharpened, lit with something feral and tender all at once. There was something reverent in the way he looked at you. "God, you sound so good," he murmured, leaning in to press another kiss—this time, to your neck. "So fucking good."

His leg moved again. Just slightly. Enough to pull another breathy moan from you, one you couldn’t swallow in time. Beomgyu groaned into your skin, and the sound of it, low, rough, wrecked, made your knees threaten to give. He pressed his thigh up again, firmer this time, and you arched, unable to stop yourself. "Look at you," he whispered, trailing his mouth along your jaw. "Unbelievably hot," he continued, dragging his lips along your collarbone. "Unbelievably mine."

The last part slipped out—quiet, rough, like he didn’t even mean to say it. But you felt it.

And you didn’t stop him. Didn’t correct him, didn’t laugh it off, didn’t pull away like you sometimes did when things got too real, too close. You just stayed there, letting the weight of his hands and the heat of his breath settle over your skin. Because maybe, as terrifying as it was, that was what you wanted too. Not a confession shouted across a crowded room. Not a title slapped on something that didn’t need a name. Just this. Him. The feeling of his forehead resting lightly against yours, like you were something he’d been trying to find for longer than he’d admit.

Beomgyu pulled back slightly, just enough to see you clearly. Your lips were parted, your breathing still uneven, and he looked at you like he couldn’t decide whether to kiss you again or fall to his knees. His gaze softened as he reached up, brushing a few strands of hair away from your face, his fingers slow, reverent.

“I’m not gonna push,” he said, his voice low and steady, like it cost him something to say it. “Not tonight. I just… needed you to know what this feels like for me.”

Your throat felt tight, your pulse erratic beneath your skin. You could only nod, because anything else might have made you unravel completely. But he understood. He always did.

He leaned in again, but slower this time, like he was giving you the space to stop him, to change your mind. You didn’t. And when his lips met yours again, there was no urgency, no hunger, just heat and something deeper. His kiss was soft but intense, all-consuming in its own quiet way. You could feel everything in it, every unsaid word, every fear, every time he’d looked at you across a room and thought I wish I could touch her right now.

His hand slid up the back of your neck, cradling your head like he was afraid you’d slip through his fingers. His other hand stayed at your waist, firm and grounding, pressing you just close enough to make your whole body buzz. And when he kissed you again, slower still, deeper, like he wanted to take his time and learn every part of your mouth, your breath hitched against him, and he sighed into you like he was finally getting a piece of peace he hadn’t known how to ask for.

You broke apart only when breathing became necessary, your foreheads resting together, the silence between you thick with everything that had just passed and everything still left to say.

“I don’t know what happens next,” you whispered, barely more than a breath between you. The words felt like they echoed, even in the stillness of the room. Your fingers were still curled in the fabric of his hoodie, anchoring yourself to something you didn’t know how to define.

Beomgyu didn’t open his eyes right away. He just let his forehead rest against yours, breathing you in like he was still steadying himself. Then, slowly, a small smile tugged at his lips. “Doesn’t matter,” he murmured, voice soft but steady. “As long as it’s with you.”

You blinked, and the warmth that bloomed in your chest nearly cracked you open. He pulled back just enough to see your face, and the moment his gaze locked with yours, something in him shifted. Your eyes were glassy, lashes clumped together with the weight of held-back tears, and he stilled.

“Hey…” he said, gently cupping your jaw. “What’s wrong?”

You shook your head, just slightly. “Nothing,” you whispered. “I just…” You swallowed, but the words pushed through anyway. “I don’t want to lose this. I don’t want to lose you.”

The confession cracked open something between you. His thumb swept across your cheek, like he could catch the tear before it fully formed. “You’re not gonna lose me,” he said, firm but impossibly tender. “Okay? Not over this. Not over them. I’m right here.” You let out a quiet, shaky breath, and he leaned in again, brushing his lips against your forehead. “I’ve got you.”

“I’m serious,” you said, pulling back just a little. “This scares me. You scare me. The way I feel about you scares me.”

Beomgyu blinked, but instead of teasing or brushing it off, he nodded. “Good.”

You furrowed your brows. “Good?”

He smiled, brushing his nose against yours. “Means it’s real. Means it’s worth it.”

You stared at him for a long moment. “I think I’m in trouble with you.”

“Same,” he said with a chuckle, kissing the corner of your mouth. “You ruin me.”

You laughed softly through the tightness in your chest, letting your forehead rest against his again. “Then we’re both ruined.”

“Ruined together,” he said, grinning.

You smiled, lips brushing again, slower this time. The kind of kiss that felt like a quiet promise, not a storm. Eventually, he pulled back, his breath still brushing your lips, his thumb still tracing lazy circles against your waist. “We should go,” he murmured, his voice low and a little rough. “Before staying becomes an excuse not to leave.”

You nodded slowly, still processing the way your body buzzed just from standing this close to him. “Yeah,” you said softly. “Probably a good idea.”

As you moved to turn around, his hand reached past you, grabbing your bag off the floor before you could. He didn’t say anything about it, just slung it over his shoulder like it was second nature, like he’d already decided he was carrying it. You blinked at him. “You don’t have to—”

“I know,” he said, cutting you off gently. “Let’s go.”

You followed him out of the studio, steps in sync, your hand brushing against his once before he took it again without thinking. Not possessive. Just quietly his.

The hallway was dim and silent, the hum of electronics behind closed doors the only sound around you. No one else in sight. The world had shrunk to just the two of you, and it felt oddly comforting. When you stepped outside, the air was cooler than you expected, biting lightly at your skin. He handed you your bag as you adjusted your hoodie, his fingers lingering for a beat too long on yours.

You walked side by side through the empty parking structure behind the building, the silence between you calm now, warm in a way that didn’t need to be filled. Streetlights glowed overhead, casting halos onto the concrete. His knuckles brushed against yours every now and then, and eventually, his hand found yours again like it belonged there.

When you reached the main sidewalk that split toward the metro, you slowed. “This is me,” you said quietly.

He stopped beside you. “No, it’s not.”

You turned toward him, one brow raised. “It’s literally right there.”

Beomgyu tilted his head slightly, eyes steady. “You really think I’m letting you take the train this late?”

You narrowed your eyes, playful. “You letting me?”

He just stared at you for a beat. “Come with me.” His voice was different now, not teasing, not pleading. Just simple. Firm. The kind of voice that didn’t push, but didn’t give room for argument either.

You sighed, pretending to be more annoyed than you actually were. “Fine. But only because you’re being dramatic.”

He smirked. “Dramatically thoughtful.”

“You really think you’re charming, huh?”

“I don’t think,” he said, unlocking his car with a click. “I know.” You rolled your eyes, but your lips were already tugging into a smile.

The drive was quiet at first. Not awkward. Just… peaceful. He had one hand on the wheel, the other resting near the gear shift, his fingers tapping lightly to the rhythm of the song playing low on the stereo. You leaned your head back against the seat, stealing glances at him. The way the city lights shifted over his profile—sharp in some places, soft in others, like the night didn’t know how to settle on him. He looked calm. But there was a tension there too, somewhere in the set of his jaw, in the way he occasionally glanced over at you when he thought you weren’t looking.

You weren’t sure what you were looking for in his face. Maybe reassurance. Maybe confirmation that whatever was happening between you hadn’t been imagined or inflated in your head. That this, whatever this was, wasn’t a detour for him.

When he finally pulled up in front of your building, he didn’t say anything at first. Just shifted the car into park, exhaled, and stared out through the windshield like he wasn’t quite ready to let the moment end.

You turned toward him slowly, the weight of the silence between you suddenly heavier than it had been all night. “Are you sure this is okay?” you asked, voice quiet. “Everything?”

He didn’t look at you right away, but when he did, there was something in his eyes that hadn’t been there before. An intensity, quiet and unwavering. His hand reached across the console without hesitation, resting lightly on your knee at first, then moving up, brushing along your arm, until he was cupping your face with both hands. His palms were warm, steady.

“I don’t think I’ve been more sure of anything in a long time,” he said, voice low, almost deliberate. “I know what this is. I know what I want.” Your breath caught. “I want this,” he continued, his thumbs brushing your cheeks like he needed the contact to stay grounded. “I want you. And I know I haven’t always made that easy to believe. I’ve been… inconsistent. Confusing. Scared, maybe. But I’m not anymore.”

You stared at him, something tugging at your chest, pressing in from all sides. “I want us,” he said. “Not just in the studio, not just in dark corners or in between deadlines. I want whatever this turns into, whatever it looks like. I want all of it.”

The words didn’t feel rehearsed. They weren’t poetic. But they were real. Spoken like someone who had been holding them back for too long. You didn’t respond right away. Just leaned into his touch, closed your eyes for a second. Let yourself breathe. Let yourself believe him.

When you opened your eyes again, he was still looking at you. Still holding you like you were something worth holding onto. And for the first time, you didn’t feel the instinct to back away. You didn’t flinch. You just smiled—soft, small, but true.

And then he leaned in. His hand still cradled your cheek, warm and steady, guiding you toward him like gravity had already made the decision for both of you. His eyes searched yours for half a second longer, like he was still asking for permission, even if he didn’t need to.

And then he kissed you. Slow. Warm. Sure. It wasn’t the kind of kiss that tried to prove something. It wasn’t frantic or messy or fueled by tension. It was honest. Steady. The kind of kiss that said, I meant everything I said. I’m not going anywhere.

Your hand found his jaw, fingers curling gently there, and for a moment, everything outside the car, outside this, just faded. You pulled back first, lips barely brushing as you breathed him in, eyes still closed for just a second longer than necessary. Like you wanted to remember the exact feeling of him, before it got blurred by distance or time.

“Goodnight, Beomgyu,” you whispered, voice quiet but full.

His smile was soft, thumb brushing your cheek one last time before he let his hand fall away. “Goodnight.”

You opened the car door and stepped out into the cool air, the city humming gently around you. The door shut behind you with a muted thud, and you took a few steps toward the building before instinct made you glance over your shoulder.

He was still there. Still watching.

You gave him one last smile.

And when he smiled back, it felt like a promise.

A month and a half passed. And nothing fell apart.

If anything, things settled into place in a way that felt… unfamiliar. In the best way. Not perfect. Not romanticized. Just real.

The album dropped three weeks after that night. It didn’t go viral overnight, didn’t crash any servers or cause mass hysteria. But it grew. Track by track, it moved through the charts with quiet authority. Critics noticed first, pointing out the nuance in the production, the way the songs spoke to each other without sounding formulaic, the restraint in places where others might’ve tried to be louder. And then the fans followed. Not just ENHYPEN’s fanbase, but people outside that world too, people who had no idea who you were a few months ago. Suddenly, they did. And they cared.

They don’t mention you by name right away. But then they do. And then they don’t stop.

You start showing up in places you hadn’t been invited to before. Articles, panels, inboxes. Your name, spoken out loud, attached to the word producer without hesitation. You try not to let it get to your head, but still, something shifts. You stop apologizing for your place in the room. You stop minimizing what you built.

The fans get it, too. Not just the ones who already knew the members and the brand, but others, people who found their way to track three and stayed for the whole album. Messages flood in. Tweets. Edits. Comments. Most of them are kind. A few aren’t. But it doesn’t matter. Because the music worked. You worked.

And Seungcheol is quiet now. Whatever threats he thought he could make, whatever moves he had lined up, none of them stand a chance against the numbers, against Baekhyun’s support, against your name finally meaning something too loud to ignore. After the album release, he tries to slide one snide comment into a meeting. You don’t even have to look up, Baekhyun handles it before you can blink. You never hear another word from him. Not directly.

And through all of it, Beomgyu is there.

He doesn’t hover. He doesn’t push. He never once corners you into a conversation you’re not ready for. But somehow, he’s always there. At the end of a long day, when your brain is fried and your feet ache from standing in the booth too long, he’s there—jacket in hand, keys dangling from his fingers, already unlocking his car before you even ask.

He takes you home every night. It’s not a discussion anymore; it’s routine. He doesn’t even bother saying “let me take you,” not since the second week. You just pack your things, walk out, and find him leaning against the passenger side door like he’s been waiting for you for years. Sometimes you talk during the ride. Sometimes you fall asleep, head tilted toward the window. He never minds. He always waits until you’re inside your building before driving away.

He buys your favorite snacks when he does coffee runs. Knows when you need space before you even realize it yourself. He never makes a scene at company events, never touches you in public beyond brushing his hand against your elbow or leaning in a little too close when he wants to say something only you should hear. But there’s something about him that always feels oriented toward you. Like no matter where he is in the room, some part of him is paying attention.

You don’t define it. Neither does he. Maybe because if you did, it might collapse under the weight of expectation. Or maybe it’s because this, whatever this is, feels strong enough without the scaffolding.

And you don’t ask what it means. You don’t need to.

Until one night, when you're both at a company event.

It’s formal, but not suffocating. A celebration dinner for the division’s latest wins. The ENHYPEN album is still holding steady on the charts, streaming numbers better than anyone projected. You're being introduced to people, smiling politely, answering questions about upcoming projects. Beomgyu is somewhere nearby, talking to someone from publishing, a glass of something dark in his hand, shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows in that way that makes you forget what you were saying for half a second.

Later, you find yourselves standing near each other, sharing the same plate of appetizers like it’s second nature. One of the senior assistants—someone who works more with Baekhyun than you—passes by, gives you both a quick once-over, then smiles, too casual to mean anything serious. “You two are such a cute couple,” she says with a wink, already walking away.

The words hit you differently than they should.

You glance at him. He’s still chewing, eyebrows raised, like he’s not sure he heard it right either. Then he swallows and looks at you. And smiles. Not in a smug way. Not teasing. Just soft. Like maybe he liked the way that sounded. You feel the heat crawl up your neck.

“She didn’t mean anything by it,” you say, maybe a little too quickly.

“I know,” he replies. And then, after a pause, he adds, “Still kind of nice to hear.”

You don’t know what to say to that. So you laugh. Quietly. Shake your head like it’s nothing. But your stomach twists a little, and not in a bad way.

When the event wraps up, you both walk out together, the night cool on your skin. He doesn't say anything about the comment again, but when you stop by the curb and he opens the passenger door for you, his hand brushes yours just a little longer than necessary. And later, when you're almost home, he glances at you sideways while stopped at a red light.

“You know,” he says, voice low, careful, “I don’t mind if people think we’re together.”

You turn to him slowly. “Yeah?”

He nods, slower this time, turning to look at you more fully. “It’s not wrong,” he says again, but now there’s no hesitation in his voice. “Actually… it kind of feels right.”

There’s something vulnerable in his tone, bare, honest, but not scared. Just open. The way he’s always been with you, when you really let yourself see it. He isn’t hiding behind charm or sarcasm or the easy smirk he uses when he doesn’t want to say what he’s really thinking. He’s just here, right in front of you, choosing not to hold it in.

You meet his gaze and let yourself soften. Let yourself admit it too. “I think so too,” you say. “It feels right.”

He smiles, slow, wide, unguarded. The kind that starts small but stays longer than it should, like maybe this whole time you were bracing for something that never needed to come.

The rest of the ride is quiet, but no part of it feels uncertain anymore.

When he pulls up in front of your building, the car slows to a gentle stop. You undo your seatbelt, expecting the usual goodnight, the steady little ritual you’ve settled into without saying. But before your hand can reach the door, his fingers curl around your wrist, light but purposeful. You glance back at him.

His expression is unreadable for half a second. And then he tilts his head, his eyes scanning your face like he’s trying to memorize it all over again. “We make such a cute couple,” he says, tone casual, but it lands somewhere deeper. Before you can react, he leans in and kisses you. Just once. Just a press of lips to yours, soft and full of the kind of warmth that makes your heart ache a little.

Then, as he pulls back, he adds, more softly now, like it’s just for you—

“Because you’re such a cute girlfriend.”

You don’t respond right away. Just stare at him, blinking, the words settling over you like sunlight through a window. And strangely, it doesn’t feel like anything changes. It just clicks into place. Like the word had already been there this whole time, quietly waiting its turn.

You smile, then laugh under your breath, because of course that’s how he’d do it, slipping the label in with a kiss and a grin, like he knew you'd say yes before you even said anything at all. “Okay,” you whisper, still smiling. “Okay.”

But when you move to say goodbye, his hand catches yours again. He doesn’t say anything at first, just leans across the console and kisses you once more. And then again. And again. Not deep, not rushed, just soft little presses of his lips against yours, like he’s making up for all the kisses he hadn’t known he was allowed to give until now. One lands at the corner of your mouth. Another against your cheek. Then your jaw.

You laugh again, quiet and warm, and he just keeps going, brushing his nose lightly against yours like he doesn’t want to stop touching you.

“I’m happy,” he says, suddenly. It’s not dramatic. Not a confession. Just a truth he needed to say out loud. “I’m really fucking happy.”

You look at him, blinking slowly, your heart doing something unsteady inside your chest. “Me too,” you say, and you mean it. Every syllable. “I didn’t think I would be. Not like this.”

He smiles, so softly you think you might forget how to breathe. You glance out the window for a second, then back at him. The night’s quiet, and the street’s empty, and something inside you doesn’t want to let this end yet. “You wanna come up?” you ask, voice low. Then, a little lighter, “Yeonjun’s not home. He’s out tonight.”

Beomgyu blinks once. Then grins. “Are you inviting me to a sleepover?”

You roll your eyes, but you’re smiling again. “You’re unbearable.”

“And yet,” he says, already reaching for the door handle, “you keep saying yes.”

The two of you step out into the cool air together. This time, when he grabs your hand, it’s not cautious or quiet. It’s natural. Like it’s always been there.

You lead him toward your building, and the silence between you feels full, not of tension, not of hesitation, but of all the moments that got you here. Steps that built slowly, carefully. A connection that never needed to be rushed to mean something. He walks a little closer than he needs to. His thumb brushes over your knuckles every few seconds like he’s still making sure you’re real. And you let him. You don’t say anything, don’t tease him for it. Because honestly, you kind of need to make sure he’s real too.

You unlock your door. Let him in. And in the minutes that follow, when he drops his bag by the couch and toes off his shoes and wraps his arms around you in your kitchen like it’s the most normal thing in the world, you realize something. You genuinely liked Beomgyu.

It didn’t happen all at once. That’s what you keep thinking. It wasn’t a spark or a kiss or a single moment that flipped everything. It was a slow shift. A gradual realignment. Like something quietly tuning itself inside you, one frequency at a time. And now, lying in bed next to him, watching the way his lashes rest against his cheeks as he sleeps, peaceful, unaware, you realize just how far from the beginning you are. And how far you’ve come.

You think about how it started. The tension. The miscommunication. The friction of two people trying not to see each other too clearly. You think about the late nights, the studio lights buzzing overhead, the silence between you and him, how it used to feel heavy, and now it just feels safe. You think about how many times you almost said too much. How many times you stopped yourself. How many times he didn’t. And then, how he did.

You think about the way he whispered the word girlfriend like it was a natural conclusion, not a surprise. Like the truth had already existed between you, and he was just giving it a name. Because by then, it didn’t scare you anymore. Because by then, you’d stopped questioning what it meant, or how fast it happened, or whether it was supposed to look a certain way.

Because by then, it just felt right.

He shifts beside you, barely awake, and instinctively reaches for your hand. His fingers find yours without hesitation, even in sleep. You smile into the darkness. Because it’s not about the label. It never was. It’s about the feeling. The choosing. The quiet knowing.

You think about how, for so long, you felt out of tune. Like no matter how hard you worked, something was always off. Too loud in the wrong places. Too soft where you needed strength. Like you were always trying to blend into a harmony that never made space for you.

But now, with him, there’s no effort. No strain. Just this quiet, steady rhythm—imperfect, unpolished, but undeniably yours.

author's note: hi 🫶 i finally finished this fic. honestly, thought it was gonna live in the “part 2 and never more” graveyard forever lmao. but here we are. if you’ve been reading since the beginning, thank you!! really. i know this one took its time, had its messy timeline and all, but if you made it to the end, just know i love you a little extra now.

thank you to everyone who read, liked, commented, messaged me about part 1 and part 2. you made me want to come back to this story and give it the ending it deserved 🥹 i also made a playlist with the songs i mentioned in the fic + a bunch of others that just feel like this story, check it out here <3

i hope the ending made your heart feel warm. or at the very least made you want to kiss a problematic but kind-hearted music producer called choi beomgyu.

until the next story 💿

taglist: @czennieszn @iyoonjh @shycreationdreamland @beomsdoll @whatblop @cbgtopia @enhaloveeee @hyunj00 @jnysaln @woncheecks @soobinslvr13 @kejingken @v1shwa-xo @yeovnjin @c1eod1n3 @etherealid7 @naeyerys @stwq2349 @gaonashi @usuallyunlikelyfox @jisungooner @bluecaet@i-am-not-dal @human-misery @jungkooks-right-toe @shihoinyoruichifan-blog @taeandpuppies @90steele @femaleetitan @c-ssiop0eia @beomgyusluver @gumjun @starbear15

[dyingswanpavlova]

"Your girl" - Part 15 | The Salesman x Reader

Summary: What is inside the box?

Warnings: dead dove do not eat, kidnapping, mentions of sexual abuse and other traumatic events in the past, numbness, helplessness, violence, threatening, mentions of blood, mentions of murder and rape, body issues, trauma talk, stockholm syndrome, forced relationship, unhealthy relationship, depression, manipulation, mentions of sexual activities and desires, hinting of suicidal thoughts in the past, stalking, not beta-read, if I've missed any please tell me! mdni 18+!

"Your girl" - The Salesman x Reader Masterlist

„Life. What even is life? An endless, pointless cycle of moments and memories which all serve the sole purpose of destroying my soul?"

“What is this?”

The words were barely even audible, but you could tell that he heard you nonetheless.

You tried so hard to focus on the box and whatever was inside, to be fierce and angry, but all you could truly look at was the bouquet in his hand. A giant bouquet of white roses, just like you had mentioned before. The innocence for which white roses stood, a heart that was inexperienced in love. The secret language of flowers. You had spent a whole afternoon explaining it to him and he didn’t laugh once, he didn’t even smirk. He had been so enamored with your words and the way your eyes shone and sparkled as you spoke about it.

And now he brought them home to you. Of course he did.

It made the pain in your chest grow tenfold. How was it possible? And why did you deserve this? What did you do to deserve it?

Why now?

Why not a month ago, when you had been confused and angry, sad and disappointed, covered in marks and an air of fear?

Why now?

He slammed the roses down onto the bed and rolled his sleeves up.

Did he wash his hands already?

He cracked his knuckles and suddenly you were sure these last few weeks had been no more than a fever dream. You saw yourself, motion- and lifeless, strangled to death by his beautiful hands.

But you fought. You fought so hard to let the anger win over your fear.

“What is this?”

He hummed softly and took a step closer, only for you to back away.

“Can’t you tell?”

You looked down at the box again. It was shaking in your hands. With a few quick, uneven breaths, you reached inside and began to pull out what would, no doubt, cause you nightmares, if you made it out alive this time.

“Is everyone born with a soul? Do some of us end up losing it during the course of our life? And is the soul even real? If it isn’t, why do I feel like I can feel it breaking? Tearing and crumbling? Every time she touches me. Every time she smiles and says it’s what’s best for me.”

The paper was the most prominent, for it was so big. It was crumpled up by a few times, like someone had read it in a fit of rage and attempted to throw it away - but decided against it.

Your cry for help.

You didn’t need more than two seconds to recognize the text. You had written it quite a while ago and you remembered the day vividly in your mind. Sitting at your desk in your childhood bedroom. A storm had raged outside, like it did every so often and you found yourself crying silently, feeling the suffocating weight of your mothers abuse. After she finished punishing you with the belt for what felt like hours, she stroked your hair in a way that was almost affectionate and whispered: “My dumb, stubborn girl. This is for your best. You should know better than to defy me again.”

She then locked you in your room and you spent the next two hours lying on your stomach, crying into your pillow. Every movement was painful and the depression came crashing like a stone rain. The loneliness was the worst. After eventually you stopped crying, because your tears ran dry, you closed your eyes and imagined, how beautiful would it be? How beautiful would it be, if someone came and rescued you. If someone came and loved you.

Loved you to death.

“The darkness surrounds me like a grey cloud. And I want out. Out, out, out. Please, Lord, let me out. Let me swim in the abyss of darkness and send me a dark prince to swim alongside. Let him be broken, like I am and I promise I will set him free. Let others call him overwhelming, let them call him suffocating. Let them call him all the bad things in the world. I care not. I don’t want for his love to be easy. Don’t let him love me conveniently, passively. Let him devour me whole. Let his soul consume mine. Let him be all-consuming. Let him end me with his love. Let me be his and let him be mine. All mine.”

You spent hours of your childhood and youth daydreaming like that. But the outcome was always the same.

You, crying and alone in your bedroom, sobbing to yourself, because no one loved you.

And no one ever would.

Normally, you’d fall asleep after a while. But not that day. The pain was intense and the humiliation that came with it was even worse. You considered watching a show, but even that felt impossible. Reading? Oh, no. You couldn’t bear it. For once, the lovely romance didn’t bring you any comfort, because it wasn’t your own. It only ever reminded you of how you wouldn’t get that kind of affection. That attention.

That love.

Ever.

So, instead, you moved to your desk and began to mindlessly hit the keyboard of your laptop in an attempt to find some comfort in the words. You poured out your heart and soul, because it was all that you got that would keep you from dreaming of dangerous things.

Once you finished typing and you read over the lines, you did something rather odd. You logged into the website, on which you’d normally be no more than a silent reader, a quiet mouse in the walls, a fly, observing and merely existing. And for whatever reason, you really couldn’t tell, you pressed the upload button.

There was your text, your soul bled onto paper. You stared down at it and…

Nothing.

For another hour – nothing.

And eventually you gave up.

No one would read it. No one would understand it. And no one would rescue you.

You parked it in the back of your head and forgot that it existed.

It wasn’t until three months later that you began to work out a plan, apply for jobs, book a flight in the hopes of finding a reason to live, somewhere across the globe.

And when one of the companies actually considered you – it wasn’t the greatest job, but it was a job and it was a real opportunity to leave – you immediately agreed. You ended up destroying the laptop in case your mother found it and tried to find you as well.

“Where did you get this?” You hissed as you stumbled to your feet, the paper crumpled in your hand. He sighed softly and approached you with tiny steps.

“Don’t you know how the internet works, darling? Once you publish something, it belongs to the depths of the network.”

Your frown deepened. “But why do you have it?”

He raised a brow, something akin amusement dancing in his eyes. “I didn’t think that’d be the thing that spooked you the most.”

“What do you-“

All it needed was a short glance down at the box and you felt your blood run cold.

Oh God, this was even worse than you thought. Far worse.

You swallowed, but your mouth felt dry. With a shaky hand, you reached down and carefully touched what remained in the box.

Your driver’s license. So far, so bad. You had lost it a few months ago or so you thought. Somewhere in the streets of Seoul. But did you really? You had asked yourself more than once. Why would you have lost it? You hadn’t driven a car since you came here. You took the bus, the train or you walked. And so you saw no reason to carry it with you, wherever you went. You were sure you had left it in your apartment, in-between credit cards and important papers, which you still needed to sort out. But why would it disappear from the safety of your home? It made no sense. You didn’t want to be paranoid, so you simply told yourself you had lost it.

And there it was.

Your heart clenched painfully in your chest.

You had lost it, months before you even met him. But this wasn’t even the worst part.

No. The horrifying part was yet to come.

There it was – tiny, little you. Cheeky and toothless, not older than four or five. Your father had still been alive then, that was the reason you still held that spark, that gleam in your eyes. Youthful and alive. Happy, even.

A normal girl. Unbroken.

You remembered the tiny photograph. For whatever reason – it couldn’t be love – your mother had kept it. The picture had its place in the living room of your childhood home, right above the chimney. And there she was, staring up at you - the sweet, little brat that you once had been.

Somewhere in the middle of South-Korea.

And it hadn’t been you who took that picture with you.

He had been there. He had been home. He had been in the fucking house.

Back in the day, when you gathered your most necessary things, you didn’t care about tokens or childhood memories. No, you only took what you could wear, eat or pay with and then you left in a hurry. There were no things like childhood pictures. You were sure this picture belonged somewhere in Yorkshire.

A ring from your jewelry box, a near-empty lip gloss you had worn only for yourself, a hair clip, a teddy bear and was that…

Oh, God.

You stared down at the pair of panties that you had worn far more than once in your life. He hadn’t taken that from any cupboard, had he? The faint blood-stain was self-explanatory.

A wave of nausea caused you to shudder and gasp out. You pulled your hand back like you had been burned and the paper fell from your hand.

He was still standing a few feet away, watching your reaction carefully. He obviously hadn’t hoped for disgust and fear, but that was exactly what covered your expression.

“Oh, God.” You whispered breathlessly. Your blood was rushing loudly in your ears and you stumbled backwards, until your back hit the wardrobe. “Oh, God.”

“Don’t panic, alright? Let me explain.”

“Explain?! What is there to explain?! Did you- Were you in my- Fuck!”

Your hands were shaking furiously and you tugged on your own hair, hardly recognizing the pain as such. The real pain was in your chest and stomach. The real pain stood right before you.

“Let me explain.” He said more firmly and took another step closer, ready to free your hair from your bruising grip.

You backed away and stared at him with wide, crazed eyes.

“Stay the hell away from me!”

He exhaled slowly, obviously to calm himself down. He was pretty good at this now. After all, he hadn’t hit you in weeks. But now, he seemed pretty tempted.

“Calm down.” He gritted out. “Shut your mouth and let me explain.”

A cold shiver ran down your spine and suddenly the curtain was lifted again. This was one fucking Joe Goldberg worthy moment. Just that not even that guy had been twisted enough to follow his victim around the whole globe…Or had he? You hadn’t finished the show yet. And you probably never would, after all, you were as good as dead.

“Why?” You heard yourself whisper.

He ran his hands through his hair, leaving it messy in his frustration. He then took a deep breath and loosened his tie.

Oh, he would strangle you. Creative.

“It…It’s complicated.”

You frowned. Ever since you got here, you hadn’t ever before witnessed him get so…flustered? Embarrassed, even. What on earth was this?

Was he even truly angry?

“Speak.” You hissed out. “Speak, or I swear to you, I’ll-“

He raised a hand to silence you and it worked. Your anger only went as far and the fear won. There was obviously still something inside of you that fought for your safety. Your sense of self wasn’t entirely dead. Only beaten to a pulp. An unconscious one.

“I read your text.”

“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. I’m a sinner and I’m not a good person. The thoughts I have, they’re dark and bad. Too bad for anyone to understand, except for the lonely, broken souls which yearn for the same freedom that I do.”

Now it was you who took a breath to calm yourself. Fucking idiot.

“I then…” He groaned in frustration and kept stalking closer like a predator. “I hacked your IP-address. I found out where you lived.”

The wave of nausea became more and more apparent, leaving you gasping and near retching. You felt your mouth run dry and the room spin around you.

“I saw the pictures on your computer.”

Now, that was what caused you to stumble and your knees to give in. He immediately rushed forward, ready to catch you, but you backed away against the other wall, like a caged animal.

The pictures…

The pictures were for no one but yourself. Just a silly girl, trying on her mother’s dress and playing dress-up in her room. You remembered how the dress made you feel. Pretty in a way…but also restrained. You remembered the way your eyes glistened in the photos. Pretty, but sad. What had made you so sad? The way the dress made you feel. And the way you were so sure that you would never, never feel beautiful in a dress.

Never feel confident.

Never feel desired.

“And then?” You croaked out.

“And then I paid you a visit.” He said quietly.

“Dear Lord, I was already on my way to you. How many times? I cannot count. And what kept me here, what kept me? The hope for my dark prince to come.”

“I sat in a fucking Honda for near two days. I hid behind the hillside, so you wouldn’t get suspicious. A few times, I was sure someone would call the cops on me, but no one ever did. No wonder. Your next neighbors lived like a whole mile away. I remember getting so angry and thinking to myself, doesn’t she ever leave the house? But that anger quickly disappeared, when I finally saw you.” He smiled wistfully and tilted his head to the side. His smile seemed oddly genuine and not twisted at all. Unlike the rest of him. “Your mother was walking in front of you and speaking to someone on the phone. I remember thinking that you look nothing like her. She radiated such confidence, but not in a good way. More like…More like someone who takes up all the space in a room. Who sucks out all the air and doesn’t care that she leaves everyone else to suffocate. That bratty make-up and the way she swayed her hips and wiggled her ass around like a dumb dog. Repulsive.”

He sounded so angry.

It left you feeling oddly confused…and somehow comforted. Your first reaction was to be angry and horrified, because he followed you and stalked you all the way back to England. But the way he spoke about your mother, it made you feel so…seen. It was exactly how you saw her. So, you just stood and listened.

“You were different.” He hummed softly. “You looked so fragile compared to her. Like every step you took was a high risk. I didn’t understand it. I kept thinking how beautiful you are. Sad, sure. But beautiful. I kept asking myself why you wouldn’t see that. What a waste.”

Your heart was racing in your chest. It didn’t make any sense. Not a single word that left his mouth made any sense. His actions were a lost cause anyway, but his mind was worse. Whenever you felt like you understood him, he quickly made sure you didn’t. And now everything was different. All that was gone, right? He was a fucking stalker.

He was a murderer. You knew that since you first met him, knowingly, but at least he was open about that.

This, right here. This was a lie. A big, messed up, mean lie.

“None of this makes any sense.” You somehow choked out. “You read a text I wrote and saw a picture of me and that made you travel all the way to England? And why are we- Why am I here? Did you-“

“Let me finish.” He was now close enough to reach out a hand and touch you, but he didn’t. There he was again. The man who was so strangely adamant not to force himself on you.

Was there a reason for that? Would he ever tell you?

Your chest heaved rapidly with every breath you took. You knew there was no way out, except right through. So, you nodded.

Lord, help me.

“All I want is for someone to love me…and to love him in return.”

“I went inside and…” He glanced at the box and smiled to himself. “I know I went a little overboard, alright?” He sighed softly. “But can’t you see it? We’re made for each other.”

“You’re a stalker.” You said quietly. A part of you feared his reaction. But another part of you, the stronger one in this case, feared something else far more.

No matter what he did to you so far – he always seemed clear about it. He had never once come off as confused. Sociopathic, maybe. But he knew what he was doing. He knew that he abducted you. He knew.

But in that moment, something seemed different. And that scared the hell out of you.

He was insane. Of course he was. But his eyes were open about it.

Instead of striking you though, he smiled. A soft smile, with soft eyes. He then reached out a hand and carefully brushed a strand of your hair behind your ear. You squeezed your eyes shut and pressed your back against the wall behind you.

“Don’t be scared.” He said quietly. “Let me finish.”

You kept your eyes closed, but you nodded slowly.

“You wanted someone to rescue you, didn’t you?”

That made you frown and your eyes shot open.

“But that wasn’t you. I made it out of there on my own. I found myself a job. I booked the flight and I left on my own. That wasn’t you.”

He smiled in a mixture of amusement and something else. “Are you sure?”

That gave you pause. “What?”

He sighed softly and kept his gaze fixed on his fingers, still playing with your hair.

“Didn’t you ever ask yourself why you got the job so easily? No interview needed, nothing. They just hired you. Some little girl from England with no experience, except for what she learned in school.” He spoke calmly and softly. And you felt another shiver run down your spine, but not in the same way as it did, when he kissed your neck.

That memory suddenly seemed awfully distant.

Did that even really happen?

“What are you talking about? How would you-“

He shot you a long, suggestive look, his lips twitching treacherously.

“My computer.” You said quietly.

He nodded. “I told you, darling. It’s all in the network.”

“But how did you make them hire me?”

“It wasn’t that hard. Enough money can buy you anything these days.”

You swallowed. “Alright. So, you bribed them to hire me. What else?”

He hummed, feigning thoughtfulness. “Your mother came home late the day you left, didn’t she?”

Your eyes widened. “Is she-“

“No.” He said firmly and slowly shook his head. “No. She just had another client, unexpectedly.”

You took a deep, shaky breath. You were a horrible person. Your thoughts were dark and came from a bad place.

“Good.” You whispered. He raised a brow, like he didn’t believe you. It wasn’t too hard, he could read you like a picture book.

You glanced down at the box again. “So, you were in my house. My computer, my job. What about the rest?”

He smirked and looked down for a moment. “You have something specific in mind, don’t you?”

“Didn’t you care about the blood?” You didn’t know why that triggered you so much. Almost more so than the job. Maybe he had altered your brain chemistry so much, that you now thought insane things to be normal. Twisted ways to be expected. Bad to be good.

“You think I’m scared of a little blood?” He bit his lip and slowly shook his head. “Me?”

You wanted to laugh. It was so ridiculous. Everything was. This whole situation was so sick and at the same time, he was cracking jokes?

“Did you forget that my own desires are rather twisted?” He sighed softly. “I just wanted to be close to you. To feel you. And that was all I had at the time. Except for that one time in your apartment, of course.”

You tried to swallow, but the was no saliva. You tried to breathe, but there was no air.

When you saw the driver’s license, you had assumed as much. But you had also assumed that he had broken in, while you were at work or anywhere else. Not at home.

“Where was I?” You whispered shakily.

“Asleep.” He murmured. “Like an angel.”

You closed your eyes and held onto the wall, but this time he didn’t let you back away and instead he caught you. He pressed his palms against your hips and wrapped an arm around your waist. “Careful.” He whispered.

“Did you…” You swallowed heavily. “Did you touch me?”

His calm expression turned into a frown and he pulled his head back to get a better look at your face. “No.” He said in a tone of voice that made it obvious how offended he felt.

“Forgive me!” You snapped back angrily. “How silly of me to assume!”

He closed his eyes and gritted his teeth, but he took another slow breath to calm himself down. Whatever he did, it was working. His expression relaxed.

“I didn’t touch you.” He said quietly. “I just watched you for a while.”

“Why did you wait so long?”

“What?”

“Why did it take you so long to…” You gestured around the room.

He hummed thoughtfully. “I don’t know. I didn’t want for things to go this way. I wanted to…to meet you. To speak to you. To take you out for coffee maybe. But…I just…”

You listened to him with a patience that surprised you. Of course you wanted to be angry with him, because you knew, despite the mess in your head, that would have been the right way to react. And you were angry. But you weren’t really angry, because he broke in or followed you. Because he stole your things or pulled the strings of your life like you were some dumb puppet.

You were angry, because he never told you about it.

Because he lied.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

His head snapped up and he met your gaze with obvious disbelief. “What?”

You nodded. “Why didn’t you tell me? I had to find out by myself.”

He frowned - and for the first time ever since you had met him – he was truly speechless.

“I trusted you.” You said quietly, without taking your eyes off him. “I accepted your sick bullshit, I took everything you gave me. I forgave you every thing you did to me – to my body and to my mind. I trusted you. And you can’t trust me in return. Why not?”

“I was…”

“Afraid?”

His dark eyes widened and he pulled his head back like you had slapped him. “What? No. Not afraid.”

You scoffed and crossed your arms in front of your chest, feeling far angrier than you expected.

“You slapped me. Punched me. Threatened me. Made me feel like I’m worthless. You deprived me of food, water and goddamn privacy. You ignored me for weeks. And I still forgave you. But you couldn’t even tell me the truth about who you are.”

“Stop this.” He hissed.

“You don’t care for anything except yourself. The only reason why I’m here, is because you thought I was pleasant to look at and pliable. Did you do this more than once? Do you always do it like this? Collect your poor victims online? Is it always people like me, with no family and no one to miss them? Or are some of them more lovable than I am?”

“I’m warning you.” He gritted out between his teeth, his gaze flicking from the floor to your face and back.

“The only reason why I’m here is because you wanted to fuck and me and eventually get rid of me. If I didn’t agree willingly, you would have just taken what you wanted, just like that man-“

“Shut up!” He rushed forward and grabbed your shoulders, pressing you against the wall with, what seemed to be, all his strength. His grip was painful and his movement rough, but the sound of his voice was anything but. It wasn’t an angry exclamation. It was a man, more desperate than you had ever seen before. “Shut up! That’s not true! It’s just not true!”

Your heart skipped a beat and you swallowed thickly. This was either really good or it was fucking bad.

“Then why am I here? Why me?”

His breathing was going shallow and his eyes were wide and almost frightened. It was a sight you weren’t used to at all. He was normally either composed or angry. But never this desperate, never this vulnerable. Not even that one time in the kitchen. Even back then, he kept a semblance of composure, but in this moment, he was too far gone. He looked like he was in pain, like he was aching and you were the reason. This time, though, you couldn’t stop. You needed answers, you needed something.

“Why me?” You whispered again, fighting for air.

“Because I-“ His brows furrowed in a mixture of anger and desperation, while his gaze scanned your face restlessly. He looked like he was on the verge of exploding, of dying, of crumbling into a cloud of non-existence.

“Say it.” You whispered. “Just fucking say it.”

When he still didn’t reply and instead just kept staring at you with those wide, uncertain eyes, it suddenly became too much for you.

“You owe me the truth!” You snapped in a fit of anger. “I did everything for you! I accepted everything! And also, for God's sake, I'm not an idiot! I can tell that there is something, something you want to tell me but your just too afraid to! I don't understand what it is and why it's so hard for you, but, fuck, things are hard for me, too! Despite all this, I never tried to leave, because I didn’t want to! I stayed here, despite everything and you can’t even bring yourself to tell me why you-“

“I love you.”

“Love me unconditionally, love me to death. Love me with his last breath. And I promise you, I promise, I will love him just the same. I will die for him and I will live for him. Let him murder my soul and I will kiss his hand. Let him bathe in my blood and I will apologize for the mess. Let him be as he is, let him be dark, let him be hurtful. Let him suffocate me and I will forgive it. Just let him love me as I am.”

There was no affection in his words. None at all. He bit them out like a curse, like another man would have a degrading slur. The hiss in his voice was all too apparent and so was his anger. There was no affection. Only pain.

You couldn’t bring yourself to care though. All that you cared about was…

“What?” You breathed out.

He closed his eyes and tightened his grip on you. Killing someone wasn’t nearly as hard for him, you could tell.

For a good ten seconds, you didn’t care about the way he said it. But then you suddenly did. And you also cared about the way he couldn’t seem to look at you.

Was he bullshitting you?

Had he just said that?

Was this some kind of twisted mind game?

“No, you don’t.” You nearly spat out. “You don’t even know me.”

His eyes shot open and the look in them was all but terrifying. But again, you didn’t care. You had long made peace with death. That was probably one of the main reasons why you stayed with him and did everything he asked, why your sense of self-preservation left you so early.

You were his girl, after all.

“I don’t know you?” He spat out in return.

“No, you don’t. How would you-“

“Your favorite colors are forest green and apricot.”

He was bullshitting you. It was a mind game.

“Do you really think a stupid color-“

“You never had a boyfriend. Just one kiss. A lost bet. You had your first real crush in High School and it was your teacher. You’re afraid of sharks, but you love orcas. Your favorite food is anything Italian. You hate alcohol. Your favorite book is Wuthering Heights. You favorite season is spring. You favorite musician is that Indie woman and I keep forgetting her fucking name, but you know who I mean. With the long, dark hair. She sounds like she’s crying in every song and she keeps referring to Jim and no one knows if she’s singing about her ex-partner or the drink. Your favorite actress is Sharon Tate. You’re afraid in the dark. You like being called darling. It sounds like something someone would call his partner in a stable relationship. You love Fred and Ginger. The nineteen-twenties are your favorite decade. You prefer Fitzgerald over Hemingway. You cry when you cum. And you love it, when I kiss your neck and call you sweet names, while I’m slowly ripping your body apart. You’re too ashamed to say the word fuck, in any normal situation, but you’d say anything, anything at all, when you’re in the right mood. You wish your mother was dead and you hate yourself for thinking that. One of your biggest fears is birthing a child. You want to write a book. You’re religious. You forgive far too easily, even a sick bastard like myself. You’re-“

By the time he got to the point of mentioning your mother, you felt a fresh wave of nausea wash over you. And suddenly everything was too much. His grip was too tight, the air was too little, your heart beating far too fast.

You didn’t. You didn’t want her to die. You just wanted…just wanted to be free.

Was that the same thing?

Were you horrible like that?

You didn’t even realize you were starting to hyperventilate, not even when he loosened his grip on you and gently cupped your face in his hands.

“Hey.” He whispered. “Hey. Stop. Stop.”

Hot tears ran down your cheeks and he quickly wiped them away with his thumbs.

“Look at me. Look at me.”

He gently tipped your chin up and then wrapped his arms around you, cradling you against his chest and gently running his fingers through your hair.

“Shh.” He made softly, as he gently rocked you back and forth. “Shh. Don’t cry. Please don’t cry.” He whispered.

He was a stalker. He was sick. He was dangerous.

And he knew you.

And he loved you.

He still loved you.

He knew your flaws. And he loved you.

He loved you.

You wrapped your arms around his neck and clung to him tightly, like a child, desperately seeking the comfort and warmth only he could give you. His grip on you tightened and he nuzzled the top of your head, mumbling gentle reassurances and sweet nothings against your hair.

It took forever, but eventually you calmed down.

He made you calm down.

And he loved you.

He cared about you.

And he loved you.

He knew you and he loved you.

After a while, when you finally managed to gently free yourself from his grip and slowly pull your head back, just enough to look at him, he didn’t cower. He stared right back at you, his eyes red-rimmed and his expression softer than ever before.

He was a different man.

You couldn’t tell what it was. But it was there.

It wasn’t just a better mood, a better day, a shift in his demeanor –

It was him. He was different. A different man.

But somehow, he was still the same.

The way he looked at you was the same. Only softer.

The way his eyes shone was the same. Only wiser.

He loved you.

“Do you really mean it?” You whispered, with the innocence of someone who was inexperienced in love.

He bit his lip and briefly glanced down at the floor, before he met your gaze again.

“I mean it.” He whispered back, with the softness of someone who had no idea what love even meant. His lips hovered right above your own and suddenly he didn't seem so bitter any more. "I love you." He whispered against your lips. "I do."

For you, he seemed willing to try.

He would do anything, wouldn’t he? Because you would.

Maybe he would even love you to death.

“Let him love me.”

He loved you.

_______________________________

Tag list 1:

@mitsuki-dreamfree @kpopsmutty69 @heroine-chique @vkeyy @mizuwki @blu-brrys @z0mbi345 @yourpointbreak @ayieayee @freddyzeppsworld @lola11111111 @indifitel6661 @salesmanlover08 @laurenbenoit70 @lalalaa2210 @lila-marshal @auspicious-lilana @0-aubrie0 @lovelyaegyo @theredvelvetbitch @violentbluess @muriels-lover @dorayakissu @eviebuggg @muchwita @ririgy @strxlemon @obsessedwthdilfs @kiwilov3 @misty-q @rlmiku

Author's note:

The most important things first:

Thanks to the lovely @thelastofkryze for the plot twist, because pookie came up with the stalking thing!

And thanks to the wonderful @muchwita for being a grand inspiration of the toxic love part in the letter ("Let others call him (...) love me conveniently, passively.")

Our man's being soft for a reason, guys!

I love you all! 🤍

[foldingfittedsheets]

At this point in our relationship my betrothed is well versed in my compulsive need to help animals. It wasn’t part of their upbringing but it was a huge part of mine. So now whether it’s lost dogs or injured birds they know that for me it’s not a matter of convenience, it’s just the only possible option.

My most notable rescue took place during one of the least opportune times. We were watching a friends boxer puppy, Bella. The dog was dumber than a box of rocks and I took deep offense that at six months old she still didn’t know her own name. My betrothed and I were working with her on that as well as leash manners, so we walked her frequently.

On our way home from a walk I looked across the street and saw a cat. My betrothed didn’t need to ask, it was simply a given that faced with a cat I’d go say hello, so they waited with Bella as I crossed the road.

As I approached the cat several things caught my attention. The first was that he wasn’t wearing a collar. The second was that his coat was greasy and disheveled- this was not a cat that was thriving if he didn’t have energy to groom. The third thing was that he was way too skinny, with bones jutting out from his shabby coat.

The fourth thing I noticed was that this cat was a purebred Bengal.

Now, I understand that it’s suspect to identify cats as bengals. Many people see tabbies and call them bengals. But as a teenager I became obsessed with these cats and went on a hyper obsessive deep dive. I spent hours reading about them, looking at pictures, and dreaming about Bengal cats.

The cat in front of me had unmistakable rosettes, the narrow frame, piercing eyes, and from a very rough estimation probably cost thousands of dollars. There was no world in which he should be wandering my neighborhood with no collar and his ribs jutting out.

Which all led me to one conclusion. He was lost.

The second I realized that it was over. It wasn’t a matter of thinking the situation through it was a simple conclusion: he was lost so I would help him by any means necessary.

This sweet cat showed he was friendly and trotted right over to greet me. I pet him and tentatively went for a lift. He did not care for that. Suddenly we were tussling, and it was instantly clear to me that he was going to stay lost if I couldn’t restrain him, so we pitted all our wiles against each other and at one point I had him agonizingly by just a toe but I refused to let go and finally I had him in my arms, one hand scruffing him and the other supporting his weight.

That’s when I noticed a couple things. There was blood dripping down my elbow. Across the street Bella was going crazy barking and pulling toward me and the cat. And my betrothed was giving me an agonized look.

Without a word they started power walking Bella back to our house. I followed at a slower pace, keeping my grip on this poor lost cat.

It was a warm summer afternoon and several neighbors were out chatting. They saw the circus parade of my betrothed dragging a yelping puppy and me following holding a screaming cat.

Oh yeah. So I forgot to mention. Bengals are not normal cats. They’re bred back with a wild cat and their vocalizations are on a completely different level. The cat in my arms wasn’t meowing or yowling. Instead he was making one long continuous eldritch wailing, oscillating in rage and distress.

My neighbors saw this, me, stonefaced carrying a cat who was casting evil spells with his voice, blood dripping down my arm, while a puppy frantically fought my betrothed to reach us, and they laughed.

I don’t think I’ve ever been more offended that no one offered any assistance, but it was fine. I knew I could count on my betrothed. I slowed my steps slightly again when I saw my betrothed round our corner. I knew they would kennel the puppy and bring a cat crate for me.

Sure enough, I rounded the corner and they had our door open, crate at the ready. I popped the Bengal into the carrier and we shut him into the bathroom.

Then I looked at my shaking, bloody hand. He’s scraped his back claws up me and it wasn’t deep but I was bleeding heavily. Then I looked at my betrothed and started to cry.

They held me while I had a panic attack and helped me thoroughly peroxide my cuts.

“That was so brave, weren’t you scared to grab him?” they asked me.

Truly, no. I think to be brave or scared you need to actually conceptualize what you’re doing and I hadn’t. I saw a cat that needed help, and then there wasn’t options, I just acted. The rule is that when you see a lost animal you help it and I always follow the rules.

They asked what my plan was and I didn’t have one. Where would we put him, in a home with three other cats and a puppy? I don’t know. I just grabbed him.

We ended up calling a friend who’s special interest is dog rescue. She brought her chip reader and a huge dog crate we could keep him in overnight with a disposable little box, food, and water.

He’d been summoning demons behind the bathroom door the whole time, making sounds previously confined to various netherworlds but she bravely uncaged him to read if he had a chip. No, to my surprise. It also turned out he was a love machine despite the ghastly sounds.

We loved on him and gave him small portions of food every fifteen minutes so he didn’t eat himself sick.

The next day we brought him to the local pet rescue, after I called ahead to warn them I was bringing in a Bengal. The lady had a very blasé attitude about this claim, clearly used to people claiming every lost tabby was a rare cat breed.

When she pulled him out of the crate she exclaimed, “Oh my god, it is a Bengal!”

“That’s what I promised. One whole ass Bengal.”

We said our goodbyes to the sweet man, and the posted him on the website as a found pet. He was picked up by his family two days later. I’ll never know how he escaped but I’m certain his family was so grateful to have him returned.

[adore-laur]

in one of your pieces it’s briefly mentioned that the first time they had sex after she gives birth it was really uncomfortable and not good and i was wondering if you’d ever write that ? i love the idea of sex not always being perfect especially after going weeks without it

PERFECTLY IMPERFECT

——

There was a sexual suggestiveness about the toothpick poking from Harry's mouth, and its effect on you could only be attributed to your severe case of sleep deprivation. It was a stupid piece of wood, and yet how it was framed between his plush lips sent prickles of heat surging down your neck and spine. On second thought, perhaps it was the apron tied around his waist as he dipped ripe strawberries in melted chocolate for a Valentine's Day dessert—his long fingers working with skillful precision, the sleeves of his tight long-sleeve shirt rolled up, the romantic gesture of it all. No, maybe it was the baby sling wrapped around his shoulder that held your four-month-old daughter, who was watching his every move. God, and the way he was murmuring to her each step of what he was doing definitely contributed to your rising libido. It was a sight you were still getting used to. More remarkably, it validated your years-long yearning to have children with him.

If humble swagger existed, it came in the form of how Harry carried himself as a father. The casual way he interacted with your baby was as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Walking around the house with her on his hip, going about his daily routine. Always willing to step in to give you a moment to relax. He was dependable, and you cursed your hormones for reacting so rabidly to it.

Maybe the changes your mind and body had gone through were catching up. After months, you finally felt healed from the physical wounds of giving birth. No more stitches or soreness down below. No more bleeding.

Your desire for sex was... almost normal again. You were being a bit sheepish about initiating anything, so you sincerely hoped the hunger in your eyes was communicating to Harry what you couldn't say verbally. The problem, however, was that Harry was too enamored with your little girl to notice your longing gaze. She was the center of his universe now, and you couldn't blame him for orbiting her radiance. She brought a certain euphoria to each day.

You rested your chin on the back of the couch where you observed them and inhaled the sweet scent of chocolate. It was quiet moments like these, where baby cries paused, that warmed your soul. You took time to appreciate the beauty of home, with its familiar waves and friendly birds. The creak of the floorboards and the color of the walls. The rumble of your husband's voice and his gentle presence. And most lovely of all, the adorable coos coming from the life you created.

Your eyes shifted over to the kitchen table, where a tall glass vase with flowers sat. You had woken up this morning to Harry helping your daughter hold a pretty bouquet of peonies to present to you. It came with a note that read, You make our hearts bloom. We love you.

Life was chaotic lately, yet so very blissful.

Harry was humming now as he threw the toothpick away and set the dipped strawberries in the fridge to harden. The plump red flesh encased in delectable chocolate made your mouth water. Such a simple recipe, yet somehow Harry made them taste better than a gourmet baker ever could.

He shut the fridge and moved to the sink to wash his hands. He must have sensed your gaze because he looked over his shoulder and smiled. Just the sight of him in this new role caused a swell of emotion to crash against your chest and crack your heart open.

"I've got an audience," he remarked.

You just stared at his hands supporting your daughter's small body—beautiful, sculpted, and what you had been missing desperately on your skin. It was embarrassing to admit that ever since giving birth, the closest you and Harry had gotten to any sexual intimacy was dry humping. Even then, your stitches had still been healing, so the experience was never quite satisfactory. It was no surprise that you were growing impatient.

"What?" Harry asked, noticing your strange silence.

"Nothing," you murmured, feigning nonchalance.

He chuckled and leisurely walked over to you. "You're blushing."

Your palms flew to your cheeks. "I am?"

"Big time. Are you feeling okay?"

"I... yes, I'm just"—you fanned your overheated face—"feeling a lot of things right now."

His brows scrunched together. Men were so lucky not to experience the rollercoaster of female hormones. You would sound asinine if you attempted to explain why your body was responding to him doing nothing but being a good father.

"I'm stressing you out," Harry stated as a guess.

"Not at all."

"You're having a hot flash?” he guessed again.

“No.”

“Uh… you caught a fever?”

Groaning, you dropped your head face-first onto the couch and mumbled, "I need sex."

"Say it again, please?"

You lifted your head and avoided eye contact as you repeated, "I need sex. I'm healed, and I want to take advantage of this urge before it goes away." Because it would. Your hormones were still regularizing post-birth, so you weren't going to count on getting your libido back to complete normalcy. Instead, you would pounce on every open opportunity.

Harry contemplated your confession for a while, making no show of judgment. "Any blood?" he asked.

"Nope."

"And the stitches?"

"They're dissolved. Can't even tell I pushed a nearly ten-pound baby out."

He smiled, albeit cautiously. "But how do you feel?"

"I'm fine, Harry," you assured. "If you're not feeling it, we don't have to do anything. Just, you know, giving you the green light."

A shadow of sincerity passed over his face. "Who said I'm not feeling it?" You shrugged, and he gently grabbed your chin to raise it. "Look at me." His green eyes held your gaze steadily. "You wanna try?"

"Yeah," you whispered. "I miss you."

"You have me," he said resolutely. "All of me, tonight."

"Oh," you said, not expecting him to jump on board so eagerly.

"Let's shoot for eight o'clock. When the little one goes to bed."

You broke out into a giggle. "So... a sex appointment."

Now it was his turn to blush. "I heard scheduling sex is supposed to help new parents reconnect."

A rush of heat spread to the tips of your fingers. You thought of the multiple instances when you and Harry consolidated spontaneity and sex. It often sprung upon you without warning, like a carnal beast clawing at your skin. And it always involved mutual desire, like a burning ball of tension the size of the sun. The house was memory-stained with reminders of all the ways your body had been worshiped. Over by the kitchen island, Harry had held you captive with his hips pressed flush against yours. The bay window in the living room had sometimes been blemished with handprints. But the bed in which you sleep and wake up to him every morning was where long, intense sessions happened. Harry slowly sliding into you during weekend sleep-ins, providing a warmth and fullness so heavenly. Late-night quickies after being away from each other all day, a little messy yet perfect all the same. Hell, you had even done it in the ocean under the moon. You wanted nothing more than to find that natural groove again.

"Okay." You reached out to squeeze his bicep. "I believe you."

"All right," he replied in the deep, sensual tone he reserved for intimate conversations like these. You looked downward, feeling giddy. Within milliseconds, Harry planted a hot, heavy kiss on your lips before walking away.

With the way your heart fluttered, one would think you had just met him. But you knew his body exclusively, as he knew yours, and tonight would be a test.

——

You stood in the doorway of your closet, sifting through the three pairs of lingerie you owned. They were lacy little one-pieces in off-white, powder blue, and red. It was doubtful they would fit like they used to, but you craved wearing something other than baggy sweats and Harry's shirts. While it gave you pride that you grew life, an insecurity still planted its pesky seed inside. You hadn't looked at your bare body in the mirror since, honestly, you didn't have a clue. It would never look the same again, especially considering you didn't plan to only have one child.

There was a nervous tremor in your hands as you took the red lingerie off its hanger—a slimming color to hide the loose, extra skin that still remained postpartum. You thought about Harry and how he liked to strip away every last piece of fabric blocking him from his touch. Even before pregnancy, during sex, you had never felt the need to accentuate your physicality with frilly, feminine garments. Harry took you in just about anything. Unfortunately, as new parents, there was simply not enough time or energy to initiate anything more than mediocre makeouts. You felt foolish for even bringing up the prospect of sex earlier. Now there was an expectation, and you couldn't guarantee you wouldn't chicken out.

Why were you so jittery? He was your husband, for crying out loud. There was no one you felt more comfortable around.

With a huff, you started undressing yourself just as the sound of the blow dryer stopped. Harry would be ready any minute for this supposed sex appointment. Meanwhile, you were out of practice, self-conscious, and hopelessly horny—he was going to regret agreeing to this.

You tugged the lingerie on, feeling it cinch your torso and breasts. It was tight, the flimsy fabric holding on for dear life. The V-shaped cut revealed the stretch marks lining your hips. The lace was itchy and dug into your skin suffocatingly. Fuck, this was quickly turning into a self-enforced humiliation ritual.

The bathroom door slid open, and Harry emerged in just a pair of white boxers, his hair dry and fluffy. The leftover shower steam made his skin glow, as did the dim lighting. He was effortlessly handsome, while you stood there in too-tight lingerie wondering if you looked desirable enough to stimulate his sex drive. From your perspective, all signs pointed to not likely.

Harry slowly walked toward you, his eyes exploring every inch of your body, and you leaned against the wall while fidgeting with the lingerie's shoulder straps. In the silence of his appraisal, you awkwardly shuffled your feet—it was futile to fake confidence right now.

"My forever Valentine," Harry said quietly, immediately attaching his hands to your waist.

You practically whined, then muttered, "I look ridiculous."

"You're joking, right?" He bent his knees to be eye level with you, a near-crazed look on his face. "Right?"

"It barely fits, Harry."

A slow smirk stretched his lips. "That better not be the only time you say that tonight."

You glared at him for his crude joke and said, "This is silly."

"What is?"

"This whole... rendezvous."

"I think it's fun," Harry said with a carefree shrug.

"But it's different from other times," you admitted.

"How so?" He kissed your neck, his affection warm and a welcome distraction to your disoriented thoughts. He smelled ravishing, the subtle hints of his spice and black vanilla shower cleanser putting you under a spell. A pulse of appetency made you press against him.

"My body," you said.

His hands traveled to your backside, squeezing the flesh there. "This body? The one I'd get down on my knees for?"

In one fell swoop, all your internal heat returned with a rush. "It's kind of a mess," you replied. "I haven't shaved. And my stomach looks like a wrinkly prune, so there's that."

Harry traced his thumb under the lacy hem hugging your hips. "Doesn't bother me. Prunes are delicious."

Deep down, you knew he wouldn't care. He had loved every part of you through pregnancy, with all its mind-bending changes and symptoms. If he had found you sexy then, he would appreciate your appearance now. Though it would take time for you to truly believe it.

"I just want this to be good," you murmured, resting your forehead on his firm chest.

"Hey." He lifted your head and cradled it. "We'll find a way to make this work. Let's take it slow." You nodded, and he leaned closer to whisper, "I know how to get you wet. Don't think I've forgotten."

Truthfully, you were already wet, but you didn't say anything as Harry grabbed your hand and squeezed it before guiding you to the bed. While he had been taking a shower, you had fluffed the pillows and straightened the sheets. You had even sat there and mentally filtered through what positions would be most reasonable. Sex was to be careful tonight. No need for anything crazy.

You climbed into bed, and Harry remained standing. The outline of his hardened cock pushed against his boxers. A flame ignited low in your belly—to get to have him inside you after so long was exhilarating.

When he didn't move to join you, you asked, "What are you doing?"

"Following your lead," he said. "Where do you want me?"

"Um... on your side, I guess. Next to me."

Harry didn't waste any time and got into position, his hand propping his head up. There was an expectant openness in his eyes, and you almost laughed. This was out of the ordinary, but it somehow eased your nerves.

"I want to face each other," you added. "And I... I want you to do that thing where you hold my leg up against your hip."

He hummed, his eyes flashing with something lustful. "Understood. But you're going to have to take your lingerie off."

"Right." You swallowed nervously. "I'll do that."

You stripped while Harry removed his boxers and rolled on a condom. He watched your breasts bounce free, watched the lace slide down your torso and legs. It was your armor against the reality that your body wasn't the same as the one Harry had touched for the first time. But you trusted him and his admiration for the life you brought into the world. There was nothing to be ashamed of.

You lie bare beside Harry now. His gaze turned fond, taking in all of you—no judgment, no confusion, no surprise. But why would there be? He'd been there when your pants stopped fitting during pregnancy. When you hadn't been able to shave anything below your bump. When you had needed help getting off the couch. Christ, he had seen you give birth. It didn't get much more intimate than that.

"Come here," Harry said softly. You scooted down to lie on the mattress facing him. "You're beautiful. This version of your body isn't something to dwell on. Every stretch mark, every wrinkle, every curve is a testament to your amazing ability to grow life."

You were speechless, so you just sprung forward and kissed him.

"Ready?" He smiled against your mouth, and you returned it.

"Ready."

"I'm going to go slow. Tell me if it hurts." Harry grabbed his cock, holding the tip against your entrance. Without you needing to remind him, he bent your leg to rest against his hip, opening you further. He slid himself in, only an inch or two, keeping his eyes locked on yours. It was slow, like he promised, but there was a slight burning sensation. You inhaled sharply and gripped his wrist.

"Too fast?"

You moaned, half in pleasure and half in discomfort. "No, it just... feels rough. Even with the condom on."

"Okay. I won't go further."

"Maybe go deeper and it'll stop."

"No," Harry said, pulling out. "I'm not about to risk making you bleed or delaying your healing. Absolutely not."

"But—”

"But nothing. Your body's obviously not ready yet, and that's okay."

"I'm sorry," you whispered sadly.

"Don't be," he said, stroking your hair. "You thought you were healed, but it's hard to know for sure without actually having sex."

You let out a disappointed sigh. "Well, this was a bust. Back to dry humping for the foreseeable future."

"I'm not complaining." Harry rolled onto his back, then yanked the sheets over his boner. 

"You're serious?"

He patted his lap. "Hop on, baby."

Laughing, you straddled him for yet another clumsy experience. But with his determination to make it enjoyable, it would be perfectly imperfect.

——

[elalfywhore]

we hug now

I have a feeling you got everything you wanted. And you’re wasting time stuck here like me. You’re just thinking it’s a small thing that happened, the world ended when it happened to me.

december 23, 2023, Friday

three times a year. there was three time a year paige and i got to enjoy our 1 on 1 time and not worry about anything or anyone else. the first being in february, id go down to uconn and spend a week there, the second in june; our yearly vacation getaway to whatever tropical beach our hearts desired, the last and final time is december, when paige comes home for christmas.

usually i always look forward to these times of year but this; it’s off. the incident happened a little under a month ago, paige and i still hadn’t really talked about it. hours after i had gotten home from the park, she called; crying and pleading, claiming it was a bad angle. i’m still not sure what to believe but we had left on an agreement, we’d talk about it when she got home for christmas.

now that times here and i cant help but feel like lump in the back of my throat as i read the text i just received from paige.

pooks: just landed, can’t wait to see you baby

read 5:18pm

i sigh, not bothering to respond; id see her soon enough anyways. that’s how it had been lately, id dry text throughout the day and every night paige would facetime me, we’d have small talk until one of us fell asleep.

i still love paige, of course. i’ll never stop loving her, but i can feel my energy running low. i get up; preparing to shower when my phone dings again.

paulina: hey, obviously no pilates this sunday because christmas but maybe tonight we can catch a movie or something?

paulina: if you’d like, im super bored

read 5:29pm

paulina has been, a lot. not in a bad way or anything but it’s the first time i can tell someone has a interest in me besides paige. before going to type up and respond i realize, i’ve never even mentioned paige to paulina. i guess we just never really talked about relationships.

me: heyyy, sorry can’t tonight ): my gfs coming down from connecticut for christmas

read 5:32pm

paulina: oh, that’s cool. didn’t know you had a girlfriend.

delivered 5:35pm

not wanting to engage in awkward conversation, i throw my phone down and prepare to shower; now it’s time to worry about paige.

pulling up to paige’s moms house was nerve-racking. usually it felt normal, like coming home. paige’s mom and i have a great relationship. she’ll call me sometimes to grab lunch or get our nails done together. this last month she hadn’t called, i just assume paige asked her to give me space.

before i can even get out the car, paige is opening the front door like she had been waiting by it. i close the car door behind me and paige is already halfway to me; goofy smile on her face.

“hi, my love.” paige pulls me into an embrace, her voice somehow raspy yet so soft as she leans down to peck my lips. “missed you, s’much.” she buries her face in my neck, breathing in my scent like a dog who missed its owner. my arms come up to wrap around her neck; having to tip toe i kiss the side of her neck, “missed you too.”

we stand in each-others embrace for a bit, taking one another in, in the middle of her moms driveway. she frowns a bit as i pull away, “let’s go inside, it’s kinda cold out here.” she nods to my command, leading the way inside her house.

as we walk in, i’m greeted with the smell of something delicious cooking. “well aren’t you two the cutest thing.” paige’s moms voice rings as we enter the kitchen. “hi mom.” i beam, walking towards where she stands at the stove. “hi, sweet pea. how’ve you been?” she smiles, pulling me into a hug. “i’ve been okay, cooped up.” i say making us giggle. “well, i hope you’re hungry. i made paige’s favorite; pork chops.”

after dinner and helping clean, we head upstairs to paige’s room. my heart pounds with each step up, knowing the conversation that’s coming. as paige opens the door to her room, she looks back at me for a second; she looks just as nervous. she steps back, allowing me to go in first.

i sit on her bed, familiar purple sheets and scents flooding my senses. although i know how hard this talk will be, i can’t help but notice how good she looks. grey sweats hanging from her hips, black t-shirt with not a single wrinkle in it, her hair down and free from her signature braid/pony combo.

paige closes the door, coming to sit beside me. planting her hand on my thigh with a loud exhale she states, “where should we start?” “i’m not sure.” i whisper, choosing to look down at my hands playing in my lap rather than up at her. paige must notice my anxiety going through the roof, “hey, hey.” she grabs my chin, making me look into her intense stare, “we’re gonna get through this, okay?” she whispers. “okay.”

“you know how much i love you, right? how much i value you?” she caresses my face, “i would never, i mean ever, do anything to hurt you, daya. i know how fucking bad it looks but i swear, it was a bad angle. i would never, my love. not with azzi, not with anyone.” she talks soft, slow, unlike herself. tears welt in my eyes and my voice cracks, “why were you holding her like that?” i put my head down, not wanting her to see me cry. “hey, hey, shh. baby, look at me.” she grabs my face, wiping my tears away with her thumbs. “the video only showed like a split second, someone was trying to get past her and she didn’t hear them say excuse me, i swear i was just trying to get her out the way.”

her gaze on me is soft, gentle as always as she hushes away my cries and sniffles with each word.

had i really reacted like that over a bad angle and azzi being in the way of someone?

suddenly, i feel stupid. the tears pour down as embarrassment kicks in. “do you promise?” i hiccup, making her hold her pinky out. “i pinky promise, baby.” she softly smiles, as our pinkies interlock. “i’m sorry, for being all crazy.” i whisper, making her giggle. “it’s okay, baby. i just wish you would’ve believed me instead of ignoring me for a month.”

god, i feel like shit.

“sorry.” i whimper at her response, guilt eating away. “hey, hey, it’s okay my love. we’re okay now.” she scoots closer, wrapping an arm around me, the other turning my face towards hers once again and wiping away tears. “give kiss.” paige whispers, puckering her lips. i giggle softly;

she always knows how to make me feel better.

i lean in, softly pecking her lips, “you can do better than that, baby.” paige bites her lip. i softly peck her lips, one, two, three more times. each peck we melt more and more into each other, each lasting a bit longer than the last. the kiss deepens and paige leans back on her bed, pulling me with her. my legs straddle her and her head makes contact with the pillows, her hands on my hips.

i moan into the kiss as our tongues swirl around one another’s, i grind my hips down into hers; her hands leaving my hips and finding my ass, helping grind me into her. “i missed you, so fucking much.” paige finds the time to say in between kisses. “missed you too, pooks.” i say, breathing heavily. i lean up, pulling my hoodie off of my head, followed by my bra. i stare into paige’s eyes but she’s more focused on my tits on display. her hands immediately go to grab at them, smile on her face. “i can feel how wet you are through your leggings baby.” she softly pinches my nipples, biting her lip.

“do something about it.” i dare but i find myself gasping out as she flips us over, planting herself between my legs, one of her hands sliding down my tummy and into my leggings, “i will.” she smiles, taking my nipple into her mouth.

“jesus christ paige, did you rob santa?” i joke as we lug the dozen gifts into my parents house. “look, i gotta show out this nil money for my in laws.” she goofs back, closing my front door behind her.

although it’s just me and my parents here and i open my gifts at paige’s house every year; my arms are hurting from carrying their gifts inside.

“hi, mr.slicker.” paige greets my dad, putting the gifts up the tree and going to dap him up from his recliner, where’s he’s watching tv. “hey, paige, how’ve you been?” although paige isn’t as close with my parents as i am with hers; i can immediately tell my dads tone is colder than normal. “i’ve been good, just school and basketball.” she manages to keep it calm and cool. “hi, paige.” my mom comes into the living room, presumably from the kitchen. “hi mrs. slicker.” paige’s walks over; giving her a hug. “how are you?” paige smiles, “i’m fine, how’s connecticut treating you?” my mom questions. “it’s been good, i can’t wait for daya to come watch me play.” she nods.

a awkward silence falls over the room and my mom and dad just look at paige, my mom squinting a bit. “let’s do gifts! we’re gonna head to her moms after and lauren’s impatient to open gifts!” i say going towards the tree to hand out the neatly wrapped gifts.

after the most awkward encounter ever to happen in my living room is over, we finally head to paige’s.

paige’s house is a lot different from mine: especially during the holidays. instead of bland thrown together decorations and a quiet house, her house is loud in every way possible. loud with people talking, christmas carols playing, bright green and red all through the house, the smell of honey baked ham. it’s like christmas threw up.

i smile as we walk inside, all of her moms side inside, lauren immediately coming to greet me. “daya!” she exclaims, running to hug me. “hey, girl.” i smile hugging her back, “ready to open some gifts?” “yes! i’ve been waiting like all day.” she groans. “it’s only 4.” paige butts in. “that’s like all day in christmas time.” i say nonchalantly, “shut up.” she giggles.

another thing i loved about being with paige, her house felt like a home. i wasn’t cooped up in my room, left alone with my phone and tv.

“hey.” i greet everyone who turns and cheers and paige and i; an array of hellos and hi’s being tossed our way. some people complimenting our matching grinch pjs. paige’s hand guides me from my lower back, directing me on where to go. once i’m seated paige stays standing, “you hungry, baby?” she lets go of my hand, “want me to go make you a plate?” she offers. “just a little bit.” i smile up at my considering girlfriend. “what do you want? mac n cheese?” “and a hawaiian roll, please.” i cheese, making her giggle. “want something to drink? my mom bought that wine you like.” “please baby, thank you.” i lean up, puckering my lips and she leans down; planting a peck.

“i’ll be right back.”

•

after enjoying my favorite meal of paige’s moms mac n cheese, bread and wine; it was time to open gifts. everyone has gone around once, opening a gift before it turned into a free for all. paige’s mom getting me a new pair of shoes, pilates mat and a basket with my favorite snacks and beauty supplies in it being my favorite gifts of the night.

we help clean up the mounds of gift wrap the covered the floor before taking our gifts and heading upstairs to put them away.

i quickly put my gifts on paige’s bed, ready to go back down and join in on some bingo when i hear the door click shut. i turn to face paige who’s putting her gifts (and some of mine she had to carry because i couldn’t) down onto her game chair and floor. “what’re you doing pooks, don’t wanna play bingo?” i frown as she steps towards me, her strong hands coming to grip my waist.

“don’t worry, pretty girl; we’re gonna play bingo.” she laughs. “i have one more gift for you.” she smiles down at me before biting her lip. “what is it?” my eyes light up.

paige had always been an amazing gift giver, when i turned 19 she bought me my first car. this christmas was clothes, makeup, new chanel bag, snackies.

what could she have to give me in secret?

i ponder, a new strap?

she softly pushes me down to sit on the bed, getting down on both knees, kneeling in front of me. i gasp as she pulls out a little blue box.

“paige.” i gasp out kinda worriedly making her chuckle. “it’s not what you think it is, baby. we got a little more time before that.” she opens the box, revealing a beautiful three rock ring. “paige.” my eyes begin to water. “shh, just listen, baby.” her stare is so intense it feels like i’m gonna melt.

“i love you, more than words describe, i could say it a million times over and it’ll still never amount to how deeply i feel about you. i know things are kinda hard for us right now, me being so far and all but i’m so fucking grateful for how you stand by me. there’s no other girl id rather have by my side. so, it’s only right that i give you this ring. i’m not ready for you to take my last name just yet but this ring is a promise, a promise of how much i love you, how loyal i promise to be to you and how much i promise to cherish you baby.” she finishes, a tear falling down her cheek and my eyes pouring. “will you wear this ring, baby?” her voice cracks. “yes, paige, yes.” she slides the ring onto my right ring finger. we stand at the same time, embracing each other into a hug.

“i love you, daya. so fucking much.” paige whispers, her face buried into my neck. “i love you too, baby.” we stay like that for a few minutes.

when paige pulls back her eyes are puffy and cheeks are red, “let’s go play some bingo.” she says, making me giggle.

after the festivities are done, paige’s distant family leaving and everyone else going to their rooms for the night. paige and daya cuddled in paige’s bed; daya fast asleep, softly snoring into paige’s bare chest.

paige smiles, her hand sliding down dayas unclothed arm, all the way down to the rock on her finger, touching it softly.

paige’s smile fades as she ponders on;

what would’ve happened if she hadn’t believed me? would she still be here right now?

paige felt bad deep down, of course she did. daya was her baby, her everything. everything paige did was for daya and to ensure their future together.

the first year paige spent in connecticut she had been loyal, not even daring to look at another girl in that way. as her sophomore year came around and she grew more confident and comfortable, that changed; especially with traction coming to her name.

she hated sleeping alone; always had and always will. girls were practically throwing themselves at her, at first it was hard for her to lie to daya. she felt so dirty sleeping around with so many girls. before paige left for college, she had only ever been with daya, now she probably would need almost all fingers and toes to count her bodies. so, she cut off most of them and kept the three.

she picked the ones that were easy to deal with. the ones that accepted that they weren’t the ones for her and it was simple college fun. one was a red boned girl, pretty face and cute body. another was a latina, striking features and coke bottle shape. the last was a 6’ point gaurd with a pretty face, paige’s longtime teammate: azzi fudd.

lately, paige had worried about how safe azzi was, since the incident the morning after teds. sure, azzi was clingy after sex but she knew daya and that paige would rather die than daya leave her.

paige sighed, a nasty gut feeling had been plaguing her since azzi popped into her mind when her phone buzzed.

azzi: miss you baby, merry christmas

*one attachment*

read 11:54pm

paige stares at the photo for a second, azzi in the mirror nude, everything on display before looking at daya; still fast asleep. she sighs, using her one free hand to delete the photo and text; turning azzis notifications on silent and putting her phone down.

paige leans down and kisses dayas forehead softly. she’d worry about azzi later but for now, she’d focus on daya.

•

tags : @paigeluvvr @nicebellee

[fashion-runways]

hi!! new pinned post, because the last one had gotten long again-- if you want to read previous posts, here's the first one, here's the second one. the tl;dr from those is that my dad got wrongfully imprisoned abruptly, our place was raided, the cops broke a bunch of shit and took a bunch of our things and still haven't returned them, they left all the broken things for us to spend money in repairing, we had to spend money on a lawyer, trips to visit him, new clothes, medicine and food for him in jail, etc. it was a mess, way more details in both posts. he's back home now, with an ankle monitor because technically his case isn't being investigated yet, they haven't done anything about it at all, the case hasn't moved one ounce lmao it's great, always trust the judicial system and cops!! ugh, anyway!

we found a therapist for my dad who can help her deal with all the stuff he had to deal with while in prison, all the bullying, the depression, the starving, the separation, etc. he needs to get a bunch of other medical appointments, has to get surgery, among other things, but for now things are much better on that front. that being said, he did lose his job and my old redbubble account got suspended without a warning months ago, plus argentina's economy is... really bad right now. food prices rise every day, public transportation prices went up like a 200% in a couple of weeks, salaries are low and stuck there, subsidies are gone, the local peso keeps falling, we have an absolute psychopath as a president who spends more time insulting or threatening anyone who oppose him than caring about people. it's a disaster. for updates on argentina in english, this person on twitter makes very good informative threads if you're interested.

anyway, i used to make around 30/40 dollars a month in redbubble, and that used to help adding up to the donations i got here, and it got suspended, so now i make like 1/2 dollars on teepublic monthly. so... it's a huge loss. there's a lot of things me and my mom are in charge of paying-- groceries, power and water and gas, medicine (she's diabetic, i have some sort of chronic sinusitis), our dog and cat's food and medicines, wifi, phone bills, public transportation, healthcare, my dad's new therapist... so, you know, i really need anything people can donate. even if it's just a single dollar, literally any amount helps. i love fashion so much and i love this blog, i work really hard on it even when my brain says no, and i really appreciate how much you guys love it too. i love seeing people discover new styles, new designers, new things to be inspired by. so, yeah... i'm never going anywhere, but i do need help to basically stay afloat.

as usual, my kofi link is this one: https://ko-fi.com/fashionrunways and my teepublic link is this one: https://www.teepublic.com/user/dinah-lance. thanks for being around and sharing and reblogging my posts, thanks for asking questions about fashion, and of course thanks for helping to the ones who can, and thanks to the ones who can't too, i know how that feels like, don't worry about it. love you 💖

[lanf1an]

SEASONS lando norris x fewtrell sister pt. 6 - australia, march 15 2025

pt.1 pt.2 pt.3 pt.4 pt.5 pt.7 pt.8 pt.9 pt.10

wordcount: 1735

Coming back from the lodge felt like stepping back into the real world. While you settled back in London, splitting your days between work,  catching up with friends and Dylan. Lando’s preseason schedule consumed him completely. Between testing, media obligations, and rigorous training, he barely had time to answer texts. Max was the bridge that kept everyone connected, his group chats filled with memes, updates, and occasional calls to check in.

The first race weekend arrived like a jolt of adrenaline, pulling everyone together again. The paddock was buzzing, cameras flashing, engines roaring, and an unmistakable energy in the air.

You didn’t have to look far to spot the papaya orange of McLaren’s setup. Lando’s teammate for the season, Oscar Piastri, stood just outside, chatting with a group of mechanics. He looked calm, but there was a stiffness in his posture that gave away his nerves.

“Hey, Oscar,” you greeted, stopping by. He turned, offering a polite smile.

“Hey,” he replied. “Excited to be back?”

“Definitely. Though I think you’re the one everyone’s excited for.”

Oscar laughed nervously, running a hand through his hair. “No pressure, right?”

“You’ll do great,” you assured him. “you’ve got Lando to show you the ropes.”

At that, Oscar chuckled, glancing toward the garage. “Yeah, he’s… helpful. In his own way.”

“Translation: he’s been teasing you nonstop?”

“Pretty much,” Oscar admitted, grinning now.

Before you could continue, Lando emerged from the garage, spotting you immediately. His face lit up with a wide grin, and he jogged over.

“Well, well, look who’s here!” he said, pulling you into a quick hug, keeping his arms casually around you as the conversation continued.

“I’m here to keep you out of trouble,” you teased, putting your head back, resting it on his shoulder. “How’s it going?”

“Good. I mean, as good as it gets when you’ve been stuck doing PR interviews all morning,” Lando replied, rolling his eyes.

“Don’t let him fool you,” Oscar cut in. “He loves the attention.”

Lando gasped in offense. “Betrayed by my own teammate. Unreal.”

The paddock was as much about racing as it was about the people who made it feel like a second home since the karting days.

“Finally!” Max called out, spreading his arms, walking over. “Do you know how long I’ve been waiting to see my twin sister grace us with her presence?”

“Max,” you said dryly, but pulling him in a tight hug. “It’s been what, a month?”

“One and a half, but who’s counting?” he shot back, pulling you into a tighter hug. 

“Feels like we never left, huh?” he smiled nostalgically.

“Speak for yourself,” you replied with a small laugh. “Some of us don’t get paid to stand around looking cool.”

Max smirked. “Someone’s gotta do it. Besides, I had to keep an eye on Lando during preseason. He’s useless without me.”

“Fewtrell,” Lando said, glaring at Max.

“You ready for qualifying?” you interrupted. 

He nodded, his usual confidence tempered by the quiet intensity in his eyes. “Yeah. It feels good to be back. Preseason was… long.” He hinted at his break-up with Magui.

“Tell me about it,” you said with a small laugh, thinking about how busy he’d been. You had barely seen him outside of a few fleeting texts and FaceTimes over the last couple of months. Max had told you not to bring up the break-up too much, but you felt bad not being there for him a lot.

As if reading your thoughts, Lando added, “It’s good to have everyone here, though. Makes it feel normal again.”

Before you could respond, a familiar voice cut through the air. “Ah, there she is!”

You turned to see Christian Horner striding toward you, his usual confident grin firmly in place. Behind him, a few Red Bull team members hovered, chatting among themselves.

“Our favorite Red Bull athlete’s girlfriend,” Christian said warmly, clapping you on the shoulder. “Dylan’s been singing your praises all winter.”

Your smile froze for a second, but you recovered quickly, glancing around to find Lando and Max watching the interaction with identical expressions of barely concealed amusement.

“Well,” you started, “I’m sure Dylan exaggerates.”

Christian chuckled. “I doubt it. I heard you were quite the good luck charm last season. Don’t be a stranger around the Red Bull garage, alright?”

“Don’t worry, Christian,” Lando chimed in before you could reply. “She’s not a stranger.’’ crossing his arms.

Christian turned to him with a raised eyebrow. “What’s with the hostility? Feeling threatened?”

Lando grinned. “Not at all. It’s just worth mentioning—she was a McLaren fan first, you know.”

You couldn’t help but laugh as Christian shook his head in disappointment. “Well, I suppose no one’s perfect. Don’t let Zak Brown hear that, though.”

Lando smirked, stepping closer. “Zak knows where her loyalties lie. Right?”

“Careful, Norris,” you said, arching an eyebrow. “Don’t test me.”

Christian laughed, clearly enjoying the back-and-forth, but his attention was quickly pulled away by someone calling his name from the Red Bull garage. “Alright, I’ll let you lot get back to it. But seriously, swing by later—Red Bull is where it’s at, your boyfriend knows”

As Christian walked away, you turned back to find Max and Lando watching you with matching smirks.

“What?” you asked, crossing your arms.

“Favorite Red Bull girlfriend,” Max said, mimicking Christian’s voice. “Hadn’t expected my sister to become that kind of girl”

“Yeah, yeah,” Lando said, rolling his eyes. “At least she knows better than to wear a Red Bull cap in the McLaren garage.”

“Don’t tempt me,” you teased, grinning at his exaggerated look of horror.

-

He won the first race. He actually won the first race of the season. He’d been in F1 for six years but since the wins last year it had been different. You all went out, but Max had to head back early, having an early flight tomorrow for an important meeting. “Didn’t expect you were gonna win” he pestered Lando, hiding his disappointment of having to leave. The club was electric, a blur of flashing lights, pounding bass, and a sea of bodies moving in sync. You nursed your drink at the edge of the dance floor, watching Lando with cautious eyes. Max's voice rang in your head: "Keep an eye on him, alright? He’s been... off since the breakup."

At first, you’d expected to be playing crowd control, pulling Lando out of his usual post-race antics. But to your surprise, he wasn’t bouncing from girl to girl or drowning himself in shots. Instead, he stuck mostly to your side, occasionally wandering off to dance or chat, but always returning.

“You’re not going to drink me under the table tonight, are you?” you teased, leaning closer so he could hear you over the music.

Lando grinned, his cheeks flushed from the heat of the club and the alcohol in his system. “You never know.”

Lando was leaning back, his cheeks flushed from the alcohol and the warmth of the room, his shirt slightly unbuttoned.

“What?” he asked, catching you staring.

You shook your head with a small smile. “Nothing.”

Lando gulped down his drink, his gaze dropping for a moment before he spoke again “So... what about Japan?”

The question caught you off guard, and for a second, you froze. It wasn’t like Lando to address these kinds of things so directly, especially not when he was tipsy, but here he was, his eyes locked on yours.

“What about it?” you asked carefully, buying yourself time. You hadn’t actually told anyone yet.

He gave you a look, his brows drawing together slightly. “You know what I mean. Are you... still thinking of going?”

You exhaled slowly, your fingers tracing the rim of your glass. “Actually,” you said, leaning forward a little, “I’m not going to Japan. Not for a long time, at least.”

His eyes widened slightly, the surprise evident in his expression. “Wait, what? Why?”

You couldn’t help but smile at his reaction. “Because I got a bigger promotion. I’m overseeing the Japan project now, which means I’ll still have to go there occasionally, but not for months at a time like we thought.”

The tension in his shoulders visibly eased, and a slow grin spread across his face. “You’re kidding.”

“Nope,” you said, taking a sip of your drink.

His grin widened. “That’s amazing. I mean, for you. Congrats.”

“Thanks,” you said, raising an eyebrow. “You sound a little too excited, though. Think you can contain yourself?”

Lando leaned forward, his grin softening into something more genuine. “Not really, no.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “You’re unbelievable.”

He leaned back again, his smile lingering. “I’m just glad you’re not leaving. That’s all.”

Another song started, and before you knew it, he grabbed your hand and pulled you onto the dance floor. You laughed, shaking your head, but didn’t resist. His energy was infectious, and it wasn’t long before you found yourself matching his rhythm, letting the music and the drinks blur the edges of the night.

As the hours wore on, Lando got bolder. His hands rested on your waist a little longer, his fingers brushing your bare skin. He leaned in to shout something in your ear, his breath warm against your neck. Normally, you’d push him away, crack a joke, or remind him to focus on something else. But tonight, you let it happen, trying to ignore the shivers his touches sent up your spine and down to somewhere else.

His hands slid to your hips, pulling you closer as the music slowed. You felt his forehead rest against yours, and then his lips brushed yours—soft at first, tentative, testing.

“Lando—” you started, pulling back.

“C’mon,” he murmured, his voice low and rough. “Just this once.”

“C’mon, you,” you shot back, trying to laugh it off, but it came out shakier than you intended. “I’m not going to be your rebound kiss. You’re finally free to actually kiss girls at the club.”

His hands tightened slightly, his gaze meeting yours with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine. “I don’t want to kiss girls at the club,” he said, his voice steady now, the playful edge gone.

For a moment, you were frozen, unsure of how to respond. The weight of his words hung between you, cutting through the haze of alcohol and music.

“Lando…” you started, but he shook his head, stepping back and running a hand through his hair.

“Forget it,” he muttered, “I’m just drunk.”

You didn’t believe him for a second.

-

WN: Hope you guys still like it! Let me know! Took a bit longer this time, but will try to upload again tomorrow!

tl: @ash88-yep @lewishamiltonismybf @harrysdimple05@lex2205 @il0vereadingstuff @martygraciesversion381 @joannaln4 @obxstiles@chaoswithus @motorsportloverf1 @therovanperaastonmartini @acesofspadess

[introspectiveextrovertive-blog]

Hiiii I love Pazzi, Pazzi fics and a slow burn, so I decided to write my own :) this is my first time EVER writing one, and publishing one for others to read at that so please be kind and enjoy :) I am a midwestern lover girl down to my BOOTS so ya know, expect that energy. Lmk if you want more!

Part 1 - The Fair

Summer - 2021

Paige and Azzi have been in each other’s lives for years at this point. They are each other’s constant, and whether they recognize it or not, they both find solace in that. That is why, even technically hundreds of miles apart, they spend every possible second with each other this summer.

Daily FaceTimes aside, they had visited each other a total of 6 times between the months of June and August, taking turns visiting the other.

On the final summer visit before they head to Storrs for the year, Paige and Azzi were attending the Minnesota State Fair, surrounded by family and friends. The air was thick with summer humidity, the sky was starting to turn purple, and the day had been full with fair food and belly laughs. Paige and Azzi could not be happier.

“Yo, quit stealing my funnel cake. You literally have an entire bucket of cookies,” Paige reprimanded half-heartedly, still allowing the younger girl to subtly steal bits of her dessert.

Azzi rolled her eyes with a mouth full of funnel cake and fed Paige a chocolate chip cookie from her bucket. Paige chewed with a slight smile, not realizing she was doing it.

As they walked and ate, straggling behind their family members, Azzi rubbed Paige’s back absentmindedly. In a way it felt domestic, but Paige and Azzi didn’t know this at the time. What Paige did know was that she was just happy in this moment, being together.

“Want to play one of the games? I want a stuffed animal to take home,” Paige said, finding and pointing at a few fair game stands ahead.

“Duh. Let’s try to get a big one,” Azzi nodded, immediately excited to have an opportunity to bring home a memory from today. She was sappy like that, and Paige knew.

Paige grinned and tugged Azzi’s bicep lightly towards a plate breaking stand.

Paige went first, winding up her arm like a baseball pitcher, and let the ball cannon straight to the middle of a plate. Azzi watched, her eyes unable to pull away from Paige’s strong looking forearms and the way her tricep flexed with her throw. For a split second her mind thought, that’s attractive. Her brows furrowed slightly at the unexpected thought, but quickly decided to not let it register that it possibly wasn’t normal to think that of your best friend. She became present again just in time for Paige to snap her wrist with her final attempt, hitting a third plate perfectly down the center, ultimately winning the biggest prize.

Azzi beamed at her friend, feeling a familiar sense of pride she had always affiliated with Paige, “Nice, Bueckers.”

“Slight work,” Paige said casually, smiling lopsided and unknowingly relishing in Azzi’s praise. When the fair employee handed her a massive plush unicorn the size of her torso, Paige handed it to Azzi without a second thought. “Keep it,” Paige told her simply.

Azzi’s eyes widened in surprise, and she smiled slowly, looking into Paige’s eyes. “Really?” She said.

Paige felt warm and happy. She tucked her hands into her short pockets and rocked back and forth on her heels. “Yeah, keep it,” she repeated, “Let’s catch up with our families, they probably are wondering where we are.”

They walked together again in comfortable silence, shoulders bumping slightly every few minutes from their closeness. Paige observed the fair crowd, looking for her and Azzi’s family, Azzi’s slight blush and small smile next to her going unnoticed.

Later, as they sat and laughed with their families, Paige looked around fondly. She couldn’t be happier to be surrounding by so many people she loved, and was so grateful to have brought so many people together through her and Azzi’s friendship. With that thought, she peered down at her best friend sat next to her with a slight smile.

Azzi and her younger brother Drew were playing Sticks, and Paige instantly knew Azzi would let him win.

“Ugh, you’re cheating!” Azzi said in mock frustration, fully aware she was letting the younger boy beat her.

“I’m too good at this, right Paige?” He smiled broadly at his older sister. Paige smiled back, leaning her elbow on the picnic table they sat at and letting her cheek rest on her hand.

“Too good, man. Azzi’s also really bad at Sticks,” she teased, making the younger girl turn towards her with her mouth dropped open in offense.

“So untrue, I beat you all that time,” she harrumphed, turning back to Drew. “Since you’re beating me, and I always beat Paige, you’re like super good at Sticks then Drew. I’m impressed.”

Drew beamed at Azzi’s compliment and Paige felt the familiar warmth settle over her stomach watching the interaction. Her and Azzi made eye contact again, a sudden bubble moment happening between them. The sky was dark, but Azzi’s face was illuminated by the fairy lights hanging above their table and the lightning bugs floating around them that would show themselves every so often. Her skin looked like the smoothest milk chocolate Paige had ever seen, and suddenly she felt her mouth go dry. She only turned away when she felt Drew tugging on her forearm, pointing excitedly behind him.

“Can we go to the photobooth?” He asked.

Azzi turned to where he was pointing, seeing the standalone booth a few feet away, and jumped up instantly. She answered for Paige, “Oh my gosh yeah, let’s go.” She worked with Drew in tugging Paige out of her sat position, to which Paige gave little opposition.

“Guess we’re going to the photobooth,” Paige chuckled, letting herself be dragged by both hands by Drew and Azzi.

Paige slid into the booth first, with Azzi following. With their tall frames, it was a tight squeeze. Their bodies were flush together, and Drew sat comfortably on both their laps. Paige fished for her wallet in her short pocket, making her nose brush Azzi’s cheek from the tight proximity. They both paused for a millisecond at the accidental touch, unnoticed by Drew as he bounced excitedly on both their knees. Paige blinked and finally inserted a dollar bill.

As the timer went off, they laughed and posed quickly. First, all sticking their tongues out. Second, pretending to rizz the camera. Third, with Paige and Azzi both attacking Drew with tickles. Then last, with them all simply smiling ahead at the camera. In the final shot, Paige and Azzi’s cheeks were squished together, their eyes half closed and smiling so brightly it was almost blinding.

As their chuckles died, Drew slipped off them and hopped out of the booth, deciding he had had enough. Azzi and Paige watched as he made it safely back to the table with their family, but silently decided to stay.

“Another?” Azzi asked the older girl, but she already knew the answer.

Without responding, Paige slipped another single into the booth. For the first shot, Paige slipped her arm around Azzi’s shoulder, both tipping their heads together until their foreheads touched and they smiled straight ahead. Next, they both did silly faces, with Paige going cross eyed and Azzi making herself look like a blowfish. Azzi looked over at Paige in between the next shot, throwing her head back and laughing. All Paige could do was stare and smile fondly at her friend, not noticing the third camera flash go off. And in the final moments of the camera timer, with Azzi still laughing happily, Paige leaned over and kissed her best friend on the cheek; on her favorite dimple.

As Paige pulled away and the booth dimmed from their turn being up, they turned towards one another. They both had ghosts of smiles on their faces, silent but lips turned seemingly perpetually upward. It was a quiet understanding between the two of them to not think deeply of what was happening in this moment but to just be here now.

Later, as they slept in Paige’s bed at her childhood home, they had taken turns that night staring at the photobooth pictures without the other knowing as they both kept copies.

Paige, her eyes trailing to Azzi’s bright smile. Azzi, her focus finding itself on Paige’s sharp jaw and happy eyes. A warm feeling brewed in both their chests, one neither could name. Unbeknownst to each other, they had both decided they would be bringing the pictures to school next month.

[sincerelyneo]

omg hello! i missed you so much!!! 💖 would you consider reposting arcade again?? it was legit the best thing i’ve ever read omg i was so sad when i couldnt find it anymore

its fine if you cant tho!! im glad youre backkkk💖💖💖

ofc i can, i’m glad you liked it <3

arcade | p.js

“i’m out of control, full power up”

💿now playing: arcade by nct dream

❯ summary: Jisung’s been nothing but busy lately, so when you hear he got the weekend of your anniversary off, you can’t help but plan something to spend time with him. Expect, the only thing jisung wants after his busy month is you — and he’s not gonna let your silly arcade date get in the way of that.

❯ pairings: jisung x fem!reader

❯ genre: established relationship, smut, fluffish.

❯ words: 3.5k

❯ tags: 18+ minors dni!, smut, fingering, exhibitionism, reader uses she/her pronouns, use of the name baby, jisung takes pictures whilst fingering reader in a photobooth idk???

"You brought us to an arcade for our three year anniversary?"

You look over to Jisung standing by your side as the pair of you stood in front of the arcade entryway with the giant neon sign above your heads.

"Yeah, surprise - who doesn't love a date night with pizza and an arcade?" You grin, trying to hide the look of nervousness fighting to show once you notice his frown.

“Baby,” he groans, whiny, “I thought we were gonna go home after the pizza.”

You may have lied to him about that.

When you told Jisung about tonight’s date, he originally objected. He wanted to have a chilled night in with just the two of you — alone. Something he hadn’t had for the past four weeks he’d been strung up at work. Yet, you insisted that the two of you celebrated your three year anniversary just like you had done for your first and second.

So instead, the two of you came up with a compromise: head to your favourite pizza place, then come home and watch a movie snuggled together on the couch. In Jisung’s mind ‘watch a movie’ was code for letting his hands roam all over your body whilst he watched you whither and squirm, but he figured it was best to not discuss the minute details.

But don’t get him wrong. Just because he wanted to have a quiet night in didn't mean he hasn’t missed you — because oh he has. He’s only bothered the rest of the dreamies with his annual ‘I miss her’ speech every other hour.

And whilst typically Jisung loved to spend every passing minute of the day with you; right now, all he could think about was how much he wanted to be balls deep in the cunt he’d missed so much — not spending his time in some arcade.

"I haven't been inside one of these since I was a little kid," you tell him. “Please Sungie, just for an hour.” You begin tugging on his hands.

“I don’t know, Y/N. Aren’t we a bit too old to be playing in the arcade?” he rubs the back of his neck sheepishly.

“Pretty please!”

You hope the small flutter in your eyelashes is enough to win over the hesitant man. And you know it will because he’s told you several times not to give him those signature doe eyes, because he can’t ever bring himself to say no to them.

"Fine."

He grasps your hand, threading your fingers together as he starts to lead the two of you inside. You're instantly greeted with the loud electronic sound effects from the various games, along with the random music playing inside.

There's lights flashing everywhere, and you notice a bunch of people sitting at the bar and in booths near the front of the arcade, along with a bunch wandering around all of the games.

Jisung looks sideways before gesturing his head to the row of retro games, "what do you wanna play?" He asks.

“You can pick first, because I’m such a good girlfriend.”

He can’t help but smile at you — because he knows you're right.

“How about we play some pinball?

"I take it back," you say with a pointed look, "I’ve seen you play that with Chenle and I’m definitely gonna lose.”

“Too late, you’ve already given me the power,” he shrugs and pulls your arm over to where the game is situated.

“Ugh, Jisung. There’s no point, I already know I’m gonna lose,” you try to protest.

“Stop complaining,” he grasps your hips to turn you around to face the pinball machine then comes to stand behind you.

He takes your hands and places them on the buttons either side of the machine in front of you. You feel your cheeks flush when you feel Jisung’s chin rest on your shoulder, as he guides your fingers over the controls and silently coaches you through the game.

You don’t know how he always does it but even here, he's managing to create some form of sexual tension between the two of you at a pinball machine.

“Jisung..” you whisper as he places teasing kisses along your neck.

“Shhh, I’m just trying to help you out,” his lips brush against your neck as he continues hitting the buttons at a constant steady speed. “Besides, I think I’ve found my new favourite way to play pinball tonight."

Eventually, the ball shoots straight down between the two flippers, drawing the game to an end. He’d been doing so well that you wanted to turn around and kiss him but he pressed you harder against the machine, dipping into the crook of your neck to tease your ear.

"You've got no idea how badly I wish I could bend you over this and fuck you right here, right now."

It sent shivers down your whole body as you felt him grin against your skin when he noticed the sharp inhale of air you sucked in at his words.

Jisung knows you're shy, so he’s not surprised that you try to snake away from his grip at his crude remark.

"Look, we got a new high score," he says while he slips his hands from over yours and slides them up your arms. Pretending he didn't just whisper something that dirty. “We make a pretty good team.”

“Yeah ‘cause you did all the work,” you sulk.

You see the red digital writing flashing on the scoreboard, then his arms snake around to link across your lower stomach and pull you firmer against him. To anyone watching you look like a typical couple being affectionate, but the tension makes it feel the furthest thing from innocent.

"You know exactly what you're doing right now, Jisung Park," you huff, trying to control how flustered you feel, "We’re here to play games."

He presses a kiss to your cheek, before murmuring, "I am playing games. And so far I think I'm winning."

As he speaks he lets one of his hands slip down to graze over the front of your crotch, which he swears is an accident when you sternly say his name. But you can’t deny the way the touch made you jolt before he pulls away and steps back. You’d missed his touch — missed being with him like this.

But this was not the place. So you take his hand and turn the two of you to walk off like nothing happened.

The two of you continued to play a handful of arcade games. The classics, retro games, new games — Jisung had even managed to secure you a fluffy teddy bear from the claw game after you mentioned it being ‘impossible’.

You’d been taking it in turns to choose a game each, but when you mentioned the arcade photo booth, your boyfriend had started to get apprehensive.

After some of your amazing buttering up skills with puppy dog eyes, he agreed and he pulled the curtain back for you to get inside, then closes the door on the booth.

He sat down first on the small seat, and when you went to sit next to him he grabbed your waist and pulled you down onto his lap instead. He takes some coins from his pocket and starts putting them in the slot.

You try to get off his lap to sit beside him before the timer starts but he doesn’t let you.

“Just look at the camera and smile."

Once you hear the timer counting down the two of you start posing. But just before the last beep sounds, you get the idea to grab hold of Jisung’s face and let your lips mush against his cheek causing him to scrunch his nose up.

"That’s not fair," he says the second he hears the beeping start again.You stick your tongue out at him and his eyes narrow. “Fine, if that’s the game we’re playing.”

You both look back at the camera and offer smiles, kisses and peace signs. But at the last beep, Jisung gets the idea to move both of his hands to cup over your chest, groping your boobs.

Your mouth falls open as you gasp in shock while Jisung starts laughing.

You try to pull his hands away, "Okay fine, point taken mister grabby hands."

Jisung is practically giggling to himself, whilst you wait for the timer to start again.

“Alright alright, we'll take a serious one now.” He says, placing his chin on your shoulder, as you both look at the camera.

But once again, as the third beeping starts he quickly says, “Do you think people would notice if I made you cum while we're in here?"

Your body stiffens in shock as the picture is taken. Jisung is bursting with laughter and you're taken aback.

Jisung likes sex. He loves sex in fact — especially with you. But he never does this. Sure he teases you when you're out and about — how could he not when you’re so beautiful and perfect for him. But he’s never insinuated doing something so sexual in public like this before.

But here the two of you are. Waiting for the timer to start again, but this time you’re anticipating the shit he was going to pull when the final beep comes — and he does not disappoint. Because his hands slide up your legs, dipping into your inner thighs and squeezing them.

"Jisung," you warn him, "behave yourself."

The beeping starts again, but Jisung doesn't move his hands, and starts to massage his fingers higher.

When the last tick happens, he moves his face to press a kiss to your jaw, and you feel his breath hitting your skin from his nose.

He starts to inch your legs a bit further apart to let his thumbs graze over the crease where your thighs meet your pelvis.

“Ive missed you so fucking much baby,” he whines. “I need you so bad.”

“Jisung not here,” you sigh as his hands start working to warm up your skin.

“Why not? Wouldn’t you like the thought of me getting you off in here? Trying not to get caught?"

If his face wasn't so close to yours you wouldn't be able to hear him over the loud music in the arcade and how low his voice has gotten.

You give him a confused frown, thinking he surely can't be fucking serious but when you do he takes the opportunity to press his lips against you, kissing you while the camera snaps the last picture.

Your stomach is knotting along with your heart beating faster and you feel that familiar heat between your legs but you’d never tell him that — and he’d never tell you that he knows you keep it from him.

"Would you?" He asks again when he breaks the kiss.

You look at him like he's lost his mind. "You're joking right?" You can't be serious - Jisung people get their pictures taken in here, someone could walk in, you can't-"

He makes your words stop and your breath hitch in your throat as he moves his hand up under your skirt and cups his hand between your legs.

"That's not what I asked you," he says letting his eyes trace over your face, then leans closer, "Would you enjoy it?"

“Jisung, this is so unlike you, are you even hearing what you’re asking me?”

He moves his leg a bit and wedges his heel against the edge of the door so it can't be pulled open, "I know exactly what I’m asking you, so answer me."

"We’re supposed to be taking pictures, Sung,” you try changing the subject, and ignore the pressure of his hand pressed against you.

"Oh god we will," he says like it should be obvious.

And now you’re looking even more caught off guard.

“I'd fucking kill to have some pictures of you getting off. Have them to look at them whenever I’m needy and miss you.”

Jisung starts to massage the heel of his palm very slowly against you, adding more pressure over your underwear as you try to squeeze your legs closed but he holds them with his other hand to keep them apart.

"We can't-" it takes very fibre in your body to attempt to protest this, but you easily allow him to cut you off.

"Yes we fucking can," he has that sly look on his face, "But if you don't want to, we won't. It's up to you. Should I stop?"

You exhale a weak breath as he replaces the heel of his palm with his fingers dancing over your underwear, massaging slow circles that make your hips shift.

"Won’t people think it's weird if we're in here too long." you fumble over your words which makes Jisung smile while he bites on his lip.

"Don't worry I'll be quick," he says knowing you’re only making excuses instead of admitting what you really want.

Your eyes drift closed as you sigh, feeling his fingers move against you to create a friction that's only making the throb between your legs worsen. You have absolutely no common sense when it comes to this man and his fucking fingers.

"Should I stop?" He repeats in a low voice, moving his mouth to start to kiss along your jaw.

As usual with him, your functioning brain checks out while your subconscious takes over and you shake your head feeling your breathing start to go shallow.

"You want me to make you cum, yeah? Is that right baby?" His words are slightly muffled as he moves his free hand from your inner thigh and brushes your hair back over your shoulder so he can move his mouth to your neck, "I need words baby."

You should be rational and tell him to stop. But you don't. You wouldn’t dare. You didn’t want him to. So instead you say what you do want, and breathe out a quiet "yes."

Jisung’s own breathing is getting heavier, and the tension in this small enclosed space feels like it's compressing both of you closer together. When he hears your approval, his hand between your legs bunches up the front of your skirt. When he slips it up he snakes his hand over your stomach to push down into your underwear.

A faint groan echoes in Jisung’s throat the second his fingers feel your bare skin, exploring around your underwear to feel the slickness there.

"You’ve made a mess. Missed me this much, huh?” his voice is low, while he drags his warm lips up your neck.

You only manage to nod your head, your brain focused on squirming your hips to find some kind of friction again. He finally rests the pads of his fingers against your throbbing clit, starting to tease circles that force a quiet whimper out of you. Your eyes are still closed as excitement and neediness flood your nerves.

For doing something that should be wrong, it feels so damn right, and it's all you can think of. Feeling him is all you can think about.

"You sure I can take some pictures?" He checks, keeping his movements steady as your hips start to circle against his hand,

You don't respond at first—you can’t—too caught up in how this is feeling, and when he dips his fingers down to your pussy to collect more arousal on his fingers before moving back to your clit and applying more pressure, your head falls forward as you pant out a strained, "You - fuck, yes, you can."

He chuckles hearing how fucked out you are for him, and he’s only just started. But it’s when you hold onto the thigh he’s been using to pry your legs open that his eyes darken with need.

He keeps his fingers moving while he manages to get some coins he had in his pocket, reaching forward to put them into the coin slot, then pressing the button to start the timer.

When he relaxes back he applies a firmer pressure, and starts to massage your clit in quicker circles; making your mouth drop open with a gasped moan. You can barely hear the beep for the picture anymore, everything around you turning blurry, and all you can hear is your heart beat mixed your heavy breathing.

"That's it baby," he coos, with a gravel to his voice from the tension in it, "God I wish I could fuck you right now. I’ve been dying for it.”

Your skin is burning up, and all you can manage in response is the pants from your open mouth, desperately trying to keep yourself quiet.

You start to grind yourself against him as his fingers work, and feel the hard bulge forming in his pants underneath your ass.

He wasn't kidding when he said he'd be quick, he's already building the pressure in your lower belly, making your stomach muscles tighten, while he moves his fingers in the exact way he knows you love it.

That knot in your lower half tightens, and your legs start to tremble as a louder moan you can't stop comes out of your mouth.

"Fuck—Jisung," you whimper, with your chest starting to heave with rapid uneven breaths.

He only quickens his fingers driving with determination and speed, making sure to keep repeating the same movements that are getting the best reactions from you and when your head falls back as you moan again; his free hand comes up to cover your mouth.

"Shhhh—quiet, remember?" He hushes against your ear, groaning at the feeling of you grinding against him, "I know you wanna cum baby, but there’s no way I’m letting anyone else hear how you sound for me.”

All you can manage is a muffled "mhm" against his hand as your eyes squeeze tighter. That familiar sensation starts to ripple from your centre down your legs and into the rest of your limbs.

The orgasm is speeding towards you, faster than anticipated causing your back to arch up as your hips writhe. Your mind is foggy only able to make out quiet whispers of encouragement coming from Jisung.

As the release ripples through your body and your moans are muted against his hand, Jisung groans again, feeling you shake on top of him. He can’t help but snap his hand away to grasp at your jaw to turn your face and kiss you hard while you ride through your climax.

The kiss is mostly open lips grazing against each other, or trying to connect in messy motions with both of your laboured breathing mixing together. His fingers only pause when you try to pull yourself away from them.

Once your eyes drift open to see Jisung’s, the look in them makes you want to squeeze your legs together again if you could move them currently.

Jisung brings his hand up, and grazes his pointer and middle finger he just used to send your body into a frenzy against your lower lip as a silent request for you to open your mouth. You don’t deny it, taking them into your mouth to taste yourself.

“Fucking hell,” his eyes dart back and forth from your eyes to your mouth. His head rolls back against the wall behind you and he whines in the quiet, "God fucking help me."

Your body is still buzzing, floating down dazed from the high it was on, and you watch Jisung bite down on his lower lip as his brows knit tight together, as his hips shift beneath you.

"Everything okay, Sungie?" It’s the only thing your mushed brain can think of saying as you look down at his strained pants.

"Fuck no," he mumbles, looking like he's trying to compose himself, "But it’s my own fault. I suggested we do this. I’ll deal with myself later.”

"Later?" You ask.

Jisung lifts his head back up, leaning forward to press a kiss to your cheek as he rubs his palm up and down your thigh, "Yeah, later. When we get home and we watch that movie you promised me.”

He thinks you don’t know that he uses the movie thing as a code to fuck you — but you do know — and that’s why you’ve never protested when he puts on another one of those Harry Potter movies he loves.

"You sure you'll be able to wait that long?"

Jisung’s lips lift up at the corners, "I’ve waited weeks for this, I’m sure I can manage a couple more hours.”

He hugs you against him with his arms around your stomach, and back against his firm chest.

"But then again,” he begins “Now I have the memory of how fucking hot watching you get off in here was. That makes waiting like some kind of sick torture to me."

You let out a weak laugh, feeling your cheeks flush more than they already were, "I still can't believe we just did this."

"I can, and there's pictures to prove it," he smiles, pulling the strip of three black and white photos from the dispenser.

[genderqueerdykes]

Disabled Trans Man Needs to Escape Unsafe Home

hi, i'm equinox or johnny, i'm a disabled trans man who is currently living in an unsafe home. i am currently being forced to pay over half of the total despite only making $245/month from the government while my disability case awaits approval. i need to be out of my apartment by the second week of October, as our lease ends around that time.

i have needed to escape for a while now- my roommate is passive aggressive, has been caught lying to me on an unacceptable amount of occasions, attempted to assault a previous roommate, frequently makes uncomfortable and entrapping comments and conversations about me and myself as a trans man, and more.

if you are able to help, please go ahead and follow the link to our GoFundme. if you are not, reblogging this post and sharing the campaign will help more than you can ever realize. thank you for taking the time to read and consider me, i have been homeless off and on for the past several years and i do not want to get into a dangerous situation again. thank you, have a great day

you can also help me these ways:

chime: $Equinoxian

cash app: $glitterGraphix

venmo: Equinoxian

paypal: glittergraphicnightmare@ gmail. com

ko-fi: Equinoxian

[jo-speaks]

good graces ft. quinn hughes

in which…

quinn hughes realizes you'll be okay, with or without him.

warnings: MDNI. brief smut (again, it's like a paragraph), mature language, mentions of cheating, and i think that's all.

track three in short n' sweet (hughes brothers version) series!

When I love you, I'm sweet like an angel

Drawin' hearts 'round our names

And dreamin' of writing vows, rockin' cradles

“What’re you doing?” Quinn asked, wrapping his arms behind you as you shut the oven door, leaving the sweet treat you made to bake.

You took off your oven mitt before sighing and leaning back into his hold. “Baking cookies. You said you wanted some this morning, right?

He let out a soft laugh, “Yeah. How did you hear that though?”

“It’s not like you’re quiet when you’re on the phone with Conor.”

Quinn rolled his eyes playfully, dismissing your comment about how comfortable he was when talking to his teammate. He set one of his hands to lean back against the kitchen island where he felt a piece of paper under his palm. He furrowed his eyebrows, creasing the sheet slightly to pick it up. 

After a quick examination, he realized it was the recipe you had written down for the cookies. In the top corner of it, he saw his initials next to yours, enclosed in a heart. Quinn felt a warm feeling in his chest knowing you had done that, not caring if he saw it or not.

He held the paper in front of your face, which you had buried in the crease of his right elbow. “What’s this?”

You traced your eyes over the paper, “The recipe for the cookies? Don’t tell me you can’t read all of a sudden.” He gave you a thin-lipped look before tapping his finger over the childish drawing causing your eyebrows to lift in realization. “Oh, that. Got bored, thought it was cute. Something we could show the kids.”

Now it was his eyebrows that rose, “Kids? Like our kids?”

“Yeah, two of them. One of each. We can have them after our billion-dollar wedding.” You stated that like it was the most obvious thing in the world. 

Quinn knew you weren’t entirely serious. The two of you had this conversation a few months ago and he knew you wanted him to focus on his hockey career while you focused on your career. You both agreed you didn’t want to rush into anything until you were settled. And since Vancouver had been his home for 6 years and yours for 5 of those when you decided to move in with him, maybe it was time to start putting down those roots together.

Don't mistake my nice for naive

“Y/N, please. You’re being ridiculous. You were the one who told me to come in the first place!” Quinn called out to you as you walked away from him.

You stopped and turned back to face him, “Because I thought you’d have fun celebrating with your team here! Not flirt with the bartender the whole night!”

He rolled his eyes, setting you off even more. “I wasn’t flirting with her! I was getting Brock his drink!”

“Whatever, Quinn. I’m going home.” You sighed, not wanting to continue arguing with him in front of a bunch of people.

“I wasn’t flirting.” He mumbled, defeated.

You almost felt bad for reacting the way you did, but you knew him. The half smile and constant nodding all while keeping his eyes on her lips as they moved. 

You weren’t stupid.

I don't waste a second, I know lots of guys

You do somethin' suspect, this cute ass bye-bye

Like, ooh

Baby, you say you really like it being mine?

So let me give you some advice

After the whole bar argument, you decided to repay the favour a few days later when you had gone out to that same bar with your girlfriends. The same night you knew the Canucks would be celebrating their victory there. You watched the door attentively before a tap on your shoulder caught your attention.

“Y/N, this is Josh. He thought you were cute!” Was the only thing your friend said before walking away. The stumbling in her steps was the only thing you needed to explain the situation. 

Josh rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly as he placed his drink down on the bar and took the seat next to you. He cleared his throat, “Hey. Pretty interesting friend you have there.”

You snorted, “Tell me about it. You should see her sober, she’s still the same way.”

He laughed, “So, what’s a pretty girl like you doing sitting alone?”

Before you could answer, you heard the bar erupt in whistles and clapping. You didn’t even have to turn your head to know who had walked in. Josh glanced over your shoulder, getting a view of the team himself. His focus came back to you when you tilted your head to interrupt his view. 

“Sorry.”

“It’s fine. But to answer your question, I’m just here because I’m pissed at my boyfriend.”

You noticed his face drop before returning to the way it was before, “No way. I’m here because I’m pissed at my girlfriend!”

Your eyes widened at his confession, letting out a small chuckle. “Yikes, you’re an asshole.”

“Yeah?” He propped his arm on the bar, “How are you not?”

“Well for starters, I’m not approaching anyone. Second, my boyfriend just got here, so he knows where I am. And it doesn’t take a genius to know that your girlfriend has no idea where you are.” You answered, seeing the team take a seat at the tables next to where you were sitting.

As Josh sat in front of you, stunned at your words, you caught your boyfriend's eyes. He took a double take, not realizing it was you the first time. You looked away, bringing your attention back to the man in front of you as Quinn kept his on you.

“Who’s your boyfriend?” Josh asked.

You smirked slightly, “Quinn Hughes.

Josh’s eyes widened, “Bullshit.”

Shrugging your shoulders, you placed a hand on his shoulder, pulling him closer so you could talk in his ear and look over it to lock eyes with Quinn. “Don’t believe me? You’ll see who walks over to you when I leave.”

You backed up and got off your stool, heading to the bathroom as you kept eye contact with your boyfriend as you passed him. After you did, you heard him get up, his footsteps going the opposite way from where you were heading.

~

“What the fuck was that,” Quinn grumbled as he got into his car.

You shrugged your shoulders, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Quinn scoffed, “This is fucking gold, Y/N. You were all over my ass for doing the same shit on Tuesday, but when you do it’s all good.”

“Yeah, no. See, the difference between what I did tonight and what you did earlier this week is that I actually wasn’t flirting, I just wanted you to see what it was like to feel how I did when I saw you actually flirting with someone else.” You retorted, knowing how ridiculous the words coming out of your mouth sounded to him.

Yet on some level, Quinn knew you were right. He sighed before reaching over the center console to take hold of your hand. 

“I’m sorry. I wasn’t sober, but I still knew what I was doing. I don’t want to lose you over this, so please tell me what I can do to make it up to you.” He whispered.

You turned to look at him, “You like being my boyfriend?”

He nodded.

“Then don’t lie to me.”

Boy, it's not that complicated

You should stay in my good graces

Or I'll switch it up like that so fast

'Cause no one's more amazin'

At turnin' lovin' into hatred x2

I won't give a fuck about you x3

That was cool

I won't give a fuck about you (Oh) x3

Yeah

“She’s the last person I’d want to piss off,” Jack told his brother over the phone as Quinn finished up telling him the whole bar fiasco the two of you had gone through a month ago. 

“Tell me about it. I’m not just saying this because she’s my girlfriend, but she’s literally always right. It’s getting scary.” Quinn confessed, pulling his car into the parking garage of the apartment complex.

Jack sighed, “Well, shit. Good luck with that, bro. Lukey’s calling you later, I gotta go.” 

Quinn said goodbye to his brother, hanging up the phone as he stepped out of his car, grabbing the bouquet of flowers he had gotten you for no reason. After the whole situation, he knew he couldn’t only make it up with verbal apologies. So he went old-school, settling for getting you flowers whenever he felt like they were needed. 

He stepped into the elevator, rocking back and forth on his heels as he reached your floor, walking out the second the doors opened. 

As he unlocked the front door of your shared apartment, he could hear you talking in the kitchen. 

“Yeah, I don’t know. I didn’t want to forgive him, but he’s making up for it.” You said to whoever you were talking to over the phone. 

Quinn stepped in quietly, your back still turned and your AirPods in your ears as you cooked dinner for the two of you. Still unbeknownst to you, Quinn walked to the hallway across from the kitchen, wanting to hear your conversation. 

Was it wrong to eavesdrop on you? Yes. Did Quinn know this? Also yes. Did he care? Not really. 

You let out a sigh, “Listen. He knows better than to do that to me. He also knows that I’m the last person he wants to fuck with because I can switch up incredibly fast. If he wants to cheat on me, he can go right ahead. But he knows damn well I’ll be out replacing him that same night.”

His face dropped. He knew that you were telling the truth, which is what scared him straight. 

“I don’t give a fuck if he wants to go out with Bella Hadid. If he does that without breaking up with me, I’m going straight to his mother and maybe even social media if I’m feeling petty enough.” You laughed, but there was nothing you were joking about. 

By now, Quinn wanted to ignore any woman that came his way.

“Don’t get me wrong, I love him so much. So much to the point where I would get down on my knee and propose to him. But, if so much as lies to me about anyone or anything, he’s gonna need a good lawyer.”

I'll tell the world you finish your chores prematurely

Quinn lined himself up in between your legs, pushing into you completely in one swift movement. You let out a breathy moan as your nails dug into his biceps. He didn’t move, letting not only you but himself adjust to the feeling. 

“Fuck, Q. You feel so good.” You mumbled, your brain foggy from the feeling of him being buried inside of you.

He mumbled something you didn’t quite understand before pulling out almost all the way before thrusting back into you completely. He did this a few more times before letting out a guttural groan, spilling into you.

This caught you completely off guard. Quinn had never finished this quickly before nor had he cum before you did. When he came to, he realized what had happened.

“Shit.” He mumbled, too embarrassed to move or even look you in the eyes.

You cleared your throat, pressing a soft kiss to kiss lips. “It’s fine, babe.” You pushed his body back, pushing him out of you. “I can just use my hand.”

He shook his head, finding his voice once again. “No, let me do it. I don’t- I don’t know what happened.”

Break my heart and I swear I'm movin' on

With your favorite athlete

Shoot his shot every night

Want you every second, don't need other guys

You were scrolling on your phone, swiping up on all the notifications you were getting from Instagram, seeing as you had just posted. 

Quinn was featured in a few of the pictures, drawing the attention of his friends and fans to your account. Your head was propped up on Quinn’s lap as you lay on the couch as he played his video game on the living room TV. 

One notification caught your eye as you furrowed your eyebrows seeing the DM request that had come through. 

‘rjosi90 wants to send you a message.’

“Hey babe? Who’s this?” You asked, turning your phone around to show him the account.

He paused his game, looking down to look. “You don’t know who Roman Josi is? He was that guy you met at the awards ceremony, remember?”

“Oh! The one you never shut up about!” You teased as soon as you remembered the name.

Quinn rolled his eyes, nodding at your words before resuming his game but keeping his attention on your conversation. “What did he send you?”

You opened the message, your eyes widening as you internally debated on telling him the truth, not knowing how he would react. But, you knew you wouldn’t want him lying to you if he got the same message from another woman, so you decided to be honest.

“He said he thinks I’m pretty and that you’re a lucky guy.” You read, eyes quickly flashing back to Quinn.

His cheeks were red and his eyebrows were knitted together. You looked at his hands, which were now gripping his controller so tight that his knuckles were going white. “Are you gonna respond?”

Hesitantly, you shook your head, “Not if you don’t want me to.” 

Quinn had never been an insecure person, but he wasn’t always confident. And your delayed reaction probably didn’t help. You let out a breath before grabbing the controller out of his grip and setting it to the side. 

You sat up, swinging your legs on either side of his lap and taking his face in between your hands. “Hey. I want you. Only you.”

You pressed a kiss on his lips which he barely returned out of his own frustration. Pulling back, you started to litter kisses all over his face in an attempt to cheer him up. Trailing from his lips to his cheeks, then to his jaw, and stopping on his neck. You sucked on a sweet spot that caused his hands to come up and settle on your hips. 

“I don’t want anyone but you, Quinn.”

You do somethin' sus, kiss my cute ass bye

As you stepped into his room, he quickly shut off his phone and turned it face down. You furrowed your eyebrows as you stood in the doorway.

“Am I interrupting something?” You questioned.

He shook his head rapidly, clearing his throat as he rubbed his hands together before walking over to you. “Just caught me off guard.”

You scanned his face. His cheeks were flushed and his face was sweaty. Not wanting the answer you thought it was, you gave him a look before speaking again. “Was just gonna ask if you wanted to watch a movie with me. But if you’re… busy, I can just watch it by myself.” 

Quinn cleared his throat, “Uh, yeah. Let me just do something really quick and I’ll be right out.”

You simply shook your head, walking out of his room and heading back to your room and laying down on your bed with your laptop in front of you as you curled up in a blanket waiting for your boyfriend.

Even though the two rooms were separated by a small hallway, the walls were still relatively thin. You heard his door open and close but his feet remained still. You could hear the noise of his phone keyboard in front of your door, typing one last thing out before he walked into your room.

“So what movie are we watching, pretty girl?” He asked, setting his phone on your bedside table.

You eyed his phone before looking at him, “Everything okay?” 

He gave you a confused look, “Yeah, why?”

“Sounded like you were typing something important.” You shrugged, not wanting to make a big deal out of what could be nothing.

But, his wide eyes told you everything you needed to know. You sat up, raising your eyebrows in a way that said “Tell me what’s going on.”

Quinn shifted on his feet. “My ex texted me. She was saying she wanted to meet me for dinner and…” He cut himself off.

“And what?” You pressed.

“She wants to try again.”

You scoffed, “Okay. What did you say?”

He took a breath before answering, “I told her about us and that I’ll pass on the dinner because I’m very happy with you.” The way his words came out, you didn’t fully believe him. Yet at the same time, his face and body language told you he was telling the truth. You could tell he was nervous telling you, but you knew he wasn’t lying.

You nodded your head, “Okay.”

“Okay? What does that mean? I can show you the texts if you want!” He rambled.

Pulling him down onto the bed with you, you wrapped the blanket around him as well before setting the laptop in a way where you could both see it while lying down.

“I trust you, Q. If you say that’s what you told her, I believe you.” You whispered.

Boy, it's not that complicated

You should stay in my good graces

Or I'll switch it up like that so fast

'Cause no one's more amazin'

At turnin' lovin' into hatred x2

I won't give a fuck about you x3

Oh, no

I won't give a fuck about you (Oh) x3 

Oh

No, I won't

I won't give a fuck about you, no, I won't

(I won't, I won't, I won't) x2

Quinn sat in the parking lot of Roger’s Arena. You had driven home early, wanting to beat the traffic seeing as the score by the middle of the third period was 0-4. 

The loss of the game and your going home early left Quinn thinking. 

You didn’t need him. 

Sure, you loved him and you loved living with him and the company and affection he gave you, but at the end of the day, you were completely fine being alone. 

The realization had Quinn wiping a few stray tears from his cheeks as he started up the engine of his car. He drove back in silence, hoping you’d be showering and in bed by the time he got home. 

As he focused on the scenery around him in the late hours of the night, that feeling of sadness fizzled into a feeling of relief. If for whatever reason Quinn left you, you would be okay. And now that he understood that, he became even more determined not to lose you.

Because regardless, Quinn Hughes didn’t want to live in a world where you weren’t his.

[the-thing-withfeathers]

for the better

a/n: this is part 2 to know your worth. i’m sorry this took a bit of time but i just wanted to get some requests done before fully getting into this buttt i hope y’all like it.

read part 1!

this one is for @dandelions4us specifically 🫵🏼🫵🏼

pairing: billie eilish x reader

warning: bold-italics are flashbacks. ex-toxic relationship, mention of therapy, toxic coping mechanisms, trauma.

summary: billie tumbles while you thrive. can you manage to find each other again through this all?

•*¨*•.¸¸♪

tick, tock. tick, tock. tick, tock.

the dreadful noise of the second hand going on a full rotation was filling billie’s ears. she was overwhelmed and she didn’t want to be here.

“you mentioned last time that you had a partner…” the woman sat on a leather chair started. she was older and was graying, she wore glasses that were too small for her face. “a partner that you had let down.”

“yeah… i really fucked up there.” billie chuckled dryly. “i was horrible during the end of that relationship. it was amazing at first but after touring, i… i became horrible.”

“why do you think you became horrible?” the woman asked.

billie didn’t want to start therapy but her brother had convinced her to do it. she hated talking things out with a total stranger. but she knew she had to take a step towards getting better one way or another.

“i… i don’t know.” billie sighed in defeat.

“do you think it had something to do with your job?” the woman asked again. this was getting ridiculous. billie felt like the woman knew all the answers but was just trying to get billie to say them, she felt like she was back in school.

“maybe?” billie asked herself. “i think when i got back from touring, i realised how serious things were getting— not just with my relationship but with everything around me. i think i just wanted to be less serious? but i didn’t go about it very well. i royally fucked up. i should have been honest— i think things would have gone so much better.”

“it seems like you have a pretty good idea about what you need to work on.” the woman pointed out, impressed. “it was a lot better than our past sessions where you were lost. it seems like you’re starting to get a better grip on yourself.” she nodded in approval.

“i dunno, i think the break i took from working has been really good to me.” billie smiled a bit, she had decided to stop making music for the time being. it wasn’t forever but it was just to give her time to recover.

“do you want to get back together?” the therapist asked, tilting her head.

“yes. more than anything.” billie nodded. “i miss the love that i used to come home to everyday.”

“you could always call.” the therapist suggested.

“i don’t think i’d get an answer.” she huffed.

“you never know if you don’t try.”

•*¨*•.¸¸♪

that’s how billie ended up at a cafe with her leg shaking under the table, waiting for you.

she hasn’t seen you in months. she heard about you from her friends, she tried not to ask but sometimes it would slip out. your friends reluctantly answered out of pity.

you walked into the cafe. her jaw nearly dropped at the sight of you. a smile tugged at her lips. you had cut your hair and your fashion sense had changed, you cleaned up well.

your eyes scanned the room for billie, a small smile forming when you saw her. she looked almost the same, except she dyed her hair.

you were hesitant to come today, but you had done enough self-growth that you were confident enough to face her again.

you made a beeline for her table, sitting down across from her.

billie thought she knew what to say but she was mesmerised by you. you looked good and healthy, and even more beautiful than she anticipated. she wasn’t prepared to have her breath taken away by you.

“hey.” you said, settling down and flashing a smile at her.

“hi.” she responded, clearing her throat.

“um… hey.” you chuckled, raising your eyebrows. “it’s good to see you.”

“yeah, you look good.” she said as the waiter brought her order over. you ordered something for yourself as well while she was there.

the way your eyes twinkled when talking to someone else, that was never there before. you were always more introverted but suddenly it was like you had all the confidence in the world.

she fell in love with you all over again.

you turned back to look at her after ordering, crossing your legs one over the other. you smiled at the look on her face.

“you look surprised.” you pointed out.

“i mean… a little? you’ve changed… in a good way.” she said, sipping at her coffee. “you seem… um… more—“

“out there?” you completed her thought. “well, yes. i kind of put myself to the test. i finally used my savings to travel over the past few months. i kind of had to fend for myself— that involved putting myself out there.” you explained what you had been up to. “all those work hours finally did me good.”

“that’s… that’s really nice.” she said, staring at her coffee on the table. “where did you go?”

“german, greece, rome—“

“rome? you’ve always wanted to go.”

“mmhm. and i finally did. and i finished up my trip in london. i saw some of our friends that we made when i visited you on tour.” you said, scooting over to make room for the waitress putting your order down.

“that’s good, i know they would have been glad to see you.”

you let silence fall over the table for a second as you took a bite of the biscuit at the side of your plate.

“why’d you call?” you asked, cutting to the chase. you thought that there was no point in the small talk when there was clearly something looming over billie.

“oh!” she didn’t expect you to ask so quickly.

“sorry, it just seems like there’s something you’re wanting to say.”

“yeah… i’m uh, i’m in therapy.” she said, leaning back in her seat. “and i just… we’ve been working on how i can explain myself to you. i feel like you deserve that.”

“i would be lying if i said i wasn’t curious, billie. about our relationship ending…” you said, sighing. “feels like i never got closure.”

“that’s fair! and i guess that’s what i wanted to give you.” she said. “i don’t know why i did what i did exactly, because i could have handled it so much better.”

you nodded in anticipation.

“i felt old.” billie sighed out.

you almost let out a laugh but instead let out a stifled chuckle.

“old?”

“old… yeah, it sounds so silly.”

“billie, you’re not even 25.” you scoffed a little bit in disbelief.

“i know! which is why it’s silly.” she said, a little bit defeated. “it was all too much for me when tour ended. i realised how much i had missed with everyone back home. everyone was going to parties and i was stuck working in the studio all the time. i think our relationship took the brunt of it, it was all getting so serious so i took it out on you.”

you furrowed your eyebrows. “serious?”

“yeah… i used to think our relationship getting more serious and committed meant i had to settle down and grow up. i wasn’t ready for that. but i realised i was wrong. our relationship was my safe place to land, coming home to you was the best part of my day.”

“i didn’t realise you felt that way. i wish you told me.” you huffed a little, crossing your arms. “i would have helped you… whatever it took.”

“i know, and that’s why i regret it so much.”

“i kept replaying that fight in my head when it was all so fresh… i just felt like i was fighting with a stranger.” you felt your heart ache upon reliving those memories. “i had some hope that maybe you’d come to your senses that day, that maybe me saying something would be enough for you.”

“i’m sorry that i didn’t. i was so stupid—“

“the worst part is that i never fell out of love with you for a second.” you confessed.

“what?” she asked, making sure she heard you right.

“i tried. i tried to hate you… believe me, i did. but i couldn’t.” you shook your head, finishing your coffee off.

“could we ever try again?” billie popped the question. she didn’t know what answer to expect from you. sure, you still loved her, but could you put yourself in that position again?

“i don’t know.” you said, truthfully. “it’s taking everything in me not to say yes, but i don’t know if i can do that to myself again. i think i’ve come too far.”

“then let me catch up to you.”

there she was. your billie.

you couldn’t hold back a laugh when you heard her say that.

“oh, billie. it’s good to have you back. it’s for the better.” you sighed through the smile that was plastered on your face. “well, how about this then?”

you took her phone that was sitting down on the table. she had reached out through a mutual friend but you didn’t have any other contact information.

“i’ll give you my number.”

thump. thump. thump

billie could hear her own heartbeat in her ears.

“i’ll give you my number.” you said. billie had just met you that night but she was captivated by you.

you had gotten a job working tech at her release party. she saw you backstage and couldn’t take her eyes off you for a second. the way you tried to make sure that everything was perfect for her.

you were a face in the background and yet you were at the forefront of her mind the entire night.

“and you can call me and tell me where to be.”

“and you can call me and tell me where to be.” you giggled, teasing her a little bit. you found it amusing that one of the biggest figures in the world was chasing after you after the show.

she was panting a little bit, she definitely ran after you. her hands were on her knees for just a second while she introduced herself, trying to catch her breath.

you were on your way to your car, your bag already on your shoulder. she couldn’t let you leave without shooting her shot.

you handed her phone back to her.

you handed her phone back to her. she took it back in her hand and immediately pressed dial, you were still in front of her.

she pressed dial.

you rolled your eyes and picked up the phone, holding it up to your ear.

“tomorrow. dinner… at my place?” she said with a cheeky smile on her face.

“tomorrow. dinner… at my place?”

“sure. i’ll be there.”

“sure. i’ll be there.”

•*¨*•.¸¸♪

a/n: heyyy y’all i hope the switching between flashbacks & current time wasn’t too confusing. but i hope u enjoyed part 2 <33 much love mwah mwah

[xiaq]

In the last year we’ve been in our house, we’ve had an issue with one of our neighbors. He owns the house, but he rents it out all year on Airbnb.

His house/garage shares a back pedestrian alley with ours. Now, he keeps his trash bins at the street 24/7 since he’s not there to take them out on trash day, which means that for the first few months we owned our home, his guests were filling up our bins, the only bins in the pedestrian alley, with trash/recycling (even though they’re right outside our door, not his). They would run out of space and overflow every week and we’d have nowhere to put our trash. We messaged the owner multiple times and he did nothing. So we moved our trash and recycling out to the street as well, which is a hassle, but better than dealing with a bunch of party-trash on a weekly basis.

We left our compost bin, since we step out the back door to empty our kitchen compost container into it almost daily and don’t want to walk all the way around to the street. This bin is bright and very clearly labeled both for our home and for compost.

His Airbnb guests did not care. For the past few months, at least every other week, I am pulling trash (often not bagged) from our compost bin. I’ve added giant signs, I’ve tried putting bungee cords on it so they have to slow down and read the signs. They ignore these measures.

Thursday, after having to completely clean out the bin of rotting party trash (again) so we can use it for compost, we sent a message to the owner (again) that was ignored (again).

Instead of dealing with the trash myself this time, I left if piled outside his back door.

This morning, not only is the trash still piled outside the door 3 days later, his new guests, who checked in Friday, have added an additional bag.

B is still trying to message him and be diplomatic.

I’m ready to burn some bridges.

My first thought is to bring all the trash to the front porch, so someone will be forced to deal with it if they want to get in or out of the home.

My second thought is to tell the city he’s operating an illegal Airbnb. In the city proper, due to the housing crisis, you can only get a rental license if the home is your primary residence and you live there for the majority of the year. He verifiably does not.

Now, I’m not typically a snitch but A this guy has been given multiple (multiple)opportunities to address his guests’ poor behavior and elected not to. B, he’s knowingly contributing to the rise in housing costs which is a dick move in itself.

Frankly I’m not above doing both, at this point.

Thoughts?