#the lyrics from lover always make me cry | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

forlix · 6 months

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𝐜𝐫𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠・h.h.

— you're uninviting, there's no doubt about that, your resolve like unpolished diamond and tongue like broken glass. but hyunjin finds you're not half as impossible as everyone assumes you are.

words・11.1k

pairing・idol!hyunjin x female stylist!reader (inspired by this)

genres・fluff, angst, eventual smut so MDNI, some hurt/comfort, some humor, mc is a bad bitch and hyunjin is a #simp, enemies? to lovers, sexual tension, workplace relationship, mutual pining, slow burn, nonlinear narrative, alternating perspectives

warnings・cunnilingus, overstimulation, creampie (practice safe sex!!), mild dacryphilia. again, MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS THAT INTERACT WITH THIS POST WILL BE BLOCKED.

warnings (cont'd.)・reader vividly remembers an anxiety attack. alcohol is consumed. lots of compartmentalization and imperfect communication. latter half is just kind of sad in general tbh but what do u expect from a fic based off alex turner lyrics

playlist・farewell, neverland by txt・like crazy by jimin・black friday by tom odell・collide by justine skye・crying lightning by arctic monkeys

a/n・call me victor frankenstein bc i've given birth to a MONSTER (except i actually love and care for mine ofc). this was easily the greatest challenge of my fanfiction-writing career and it feels like my magnum opus; i hope it's worth the wait! also a huge shoutout to sahar for being my voice of reason and my biggest supporter :’) i don’t deserve u i love u

Present day. Cannes, France. 5:54 P.M.

You’ve long made peace with the fact that Hwang Hyunjin is incapable of shutting up for more than five minutes.

As it is, the man has a mouth that runs like a cross-country marathon; then throw in his uncanny aptitude for annoying you, and what do you get? A nonstop slew of terrible jokes and teasing quips, tailored according to his thorough mental manual of what gets under your skin hardest and fastest.

This is the reality you live in, presumably because you were evil in your past life, and you’ve steeled yourself to see it through.

But twenty minutes have passed since you and Hyunjin ducked into the back of a cab and gave the driver the show’s address—and, as stunning as the red rooftops and lazuline coastline of Cannes are, you find you’re more interested in Hyunjin’s peculiar silence.

You move your gaze to his face. He’s looking outside, his chin resting upon the palm of his hand, the afternoon sunlight dusting over his chiseled features like polish on pottery; his complexion an exuberant gold against the cream-colored linen that makes up his clothing.

Maybe it’s because you opted for a simpler makeup look today, leaving the most telling contours of his face warm and bare, or maybe it’s because you’ve spent the last year committing his every mannerism and expression to memory. Nevertheless, you see through his pursed lips and tight brow right away.

“Nervous?”

Hyunjin’s head swivels towards you with a small snap, like he’s forgotten you’re here. His lips fall open, their glossy peach color glinting with the small shift.

“No,” he replies reflexively, but then his facade flickers. “Fuck, maybe a little. It’s just hard to believe, you know?”

You do know. It was a huge honor for both of you when Hyunjin was named the newest global ambassador of Versace. For you to be attending the brand’s pop-up show in one of the most beautiful cities in Europe, among some of the world’s most prolific creatives, is truly incomprehensible. Even you’ve been feeling antsy since you landed; you can only imagine Hyunjin’s anxiety.

You have never been good at consolation. You think your mouth is too coarse, your propensity for honesty too strong. But you’ve always known just what to say when it comes to him.

“Just remember who you are.”

Hyunjin takes a few seconds to process your words, but his understanding washes over his whole body; straightens his back; hardens his gaze. You don’t see this change in posture, though. You’re too busy looking anywhere else, all of a sudden feeling quite embarrassed.

Nor do you see the private smile that disperses across Hyunjin’s lips; his eyes softening so, so marginally when they peer at your profile; his hand twitching where it rests on his knee, as if contemplating reaching for you with a mind of its own.

Thirty seconds. That is the amount of time you have left to bask in this otherworldly tranquility. And then he speaks.

“I want you to meet my parents.”

Your arm reacts before your mind can. Without having to turn your head an inch, you smack him squarely in the bicep, sending him crumpling against his door with a bark of a laugh; “please,” he adds, and you’re biting back a smile as you hit him again, with less conviction this time.

The cab driver nearly misses an exit, too busy wondering about the peculiar pair in his backseat and the nature of your relationship. He can’t tell if you hate each other or if you’re married.

One year ago. Seoul, South Korea. 8:42 A.M.

“I still can’t believe you’re abandoning me.”

“For my newborn daughter.”

“Yeah, okay. I still can’t believe you’re abandoning me for your newborn daughter. What does that brat have that I don’t?”

“My genes, to begin with.”

“That’s unfair. She’s using—”

An important-looking pair of women step out of the nearest elevators, the clacking of their heels ricocheting sharply off the lobby walls. Hyunjin straightens his back so quickly he thinks he pulls a muscle. He and Seojun incline their heads in perfect sync, their “good morning”s prim and professional.

“She’s using cheats,” Hyunjin hisses the second the women are out of earshot again, and this wrests a laugh from the older man at last.

Around one month prior, Seojun confided in Hyunjin that he and his partner were expecting their first child soon, and that he would be putting his career on indefinite hiatus to welcome her into the world.

Hyunjin had never felt so conflicted in his life. On one hand, he’d grown closer to his stylist over the last two years than he’d thought possible, and he knew it was stupid to be anything but delighted for him and his expanding family. On the other hand, it was precisely because they’d become so close that he wanted to grab the man by the ankles and shake the decision clean out of his body. He couldn’t imagine a dressing room or tour bus without him.

Today is a Saturday, but it’s also Seojun’s last day with the company. Hyunjin dragged himself to the JYP building at half past eight with much less reluctance than he let on. He wouldn’t have missed it for the world.

“Fourth floor,” Seojun instructs after the pair enter the elevator, and Hyunjin presses a knuckle to the according number. “Thanks.”

The doors slide shut; the floor numbers tick upwards.

“What was her name again?” Hyunjin asks.

“Y/N,” Seojun returns. “Y/L/N.”

“Is she here already?”

“No, she’ll be here at nine.”

There’s a small pause.

“Hyung.”

“Hm?”

“I feel like I’m being married off to another family for political reasons.”

“God, I can’t wait to be free of your theatrics.”

At this, the two men make eye contact; exchange smiles. The elevator announces their arrival to the fourth floor, and they step through the doors.

“You’ll be in good hands,” Seojun reassures. “She’s the best of the best. I hear she’s basically running the industry these days. I’m surprised she agreed to take you on.”

“I’m surprised an old fry like you knows someone like her,” Hyunjin replies, and the look Seojun gives him is so withering that he thinks he pulls a muscle again with his apologetic bow.

“You’re not wrong, though,” Seojun concedes. “We happened to work on the same project back when she was still a small name, and we’ve kept in touch ever since. She’s a great kid. Ambitious, hardworking, strong as hell—”

They arrive outside their destination, and Hyunjin holds open the door to the conference room. Only to find that Seojun has stopped in his footsteps, temporarily stunned by a new realization.

She reminds me of him.

“He’s forgotten how to walk,” the him in question whispers like he’s narrating a nature documentary, and the moment is over. “Is this what fatherhood does to a man?”

Seojun kicks Hyunjin into the room by the seat of his pants.

The minutes pass slowly. Seojun moves his eyes between the door and his phone every few seconds, visibly antsy about the imminent meeting. In the meantime, Hyunjin makes the groundbreaking discovery that these office chairs are absurdly and almost suspiciously comfortable. All it takes is a chin upon his palm and a few seconds of shut-eye, and he’s suddenly slumped over the table, snoring softly into the crook of his elbow.

At 8:57, Seojun’s phone lights up with a new notification. At 8:58, he notices that Hyunjin is asleep, and closes his hand around the crumpled receipt in his pocket. At 8:59, he scrunches said receipt into a ball and launches it in Hyunjin’s direction. It hits him squarely on the head, and the boy is nearly knocked to the floor like a bowling pin.

“For that,” Hyunjin sputters, “I’m the godfather.”

“Absolutely the hell not.”

Then, it is 9:00.

When the door of the conference room opens, Hyunjin is still trying to gather his wits, wondering if the bastard is leaving the makeup industry to secretly pursue a career in professional basketball. He just barely notices the unfamiliar figure who steps into his line of vision.

“There she is,” Seojun greets warmly, rising to his feet right away. “God, how long has it been? Two, three years now?”

You’re not doing anything remarkable when Hyunjin sees you for the first time, simply walking across the room and bowing graciously in Seojun’s direction, but he is immediately under the vague impression that you’re cutting through space as you move, scorching the particles of air that dare obstruct your path.

With his head cocked slightly to the left, like a fascinated puppy, Hyunjin watches the stunning smile that forms on your lips when you take Seojun’s hand; your finger as it tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear with the elegance of rippling silk. His mind feels impossibly slow, like you’ve tapped open his skull and robbed him of his ability to think.

Then, you toss Hyunjin a look over your shoulder, and he’s reminded of lightning forking towards the earth. Terrifying, volatile, beautiful.

“Something like that,” you say, turning back to Seojun, and time starts to move again. “It’s great to see you again, Mr. Lee. Congratulations on the baby.”

“Please, Seojun is fine,” he answers hastily. “And thank you. Thank you for all of this, actually. I can’t tell you how excited we are to have you.”

“You’re too kind—I’m excited too.”

Upon uttering the word “we,” Seojun delivers Hyunjin a fleeting side-eye; he takes the hint and pushes himself to his feet, feeling uncharacteristically clumsy as he moves towards you.

The second time he meets your gaze, it feels wrong, almost, for him to hold it for as long as he does. Like he’s approaching your throne with his chin held high and eyes fixed forward instead of his head sweeping the ground.

Except he swears he senses a strange warmth within the rings of your irises, and he spends every second of eye contact following, chasing it, almost craning his neck with how badly he wants to get a closer look. Until he’s as close to you as is socially acceptable for a first meeting and comes to a halt.

He ends up losing its trail, but he won’t forget that it’s there.

“My client, I’m guessing?” You say, extending your hand. “Y/N. It’s a pleasure.”

Your fingers are freezing cold where they meet his, and Hyunjin already knows that melting the permafrost that coats your flesh and guards your soul will be the tallest task of his life.

But he finds his next words accompanied by an involuntary smirk; he’s nothing, if not tenacious.

“Hyunjin,” he returns. “Pleasure’s all mine.”

Nine months ago. Paris, France. 6:16 P.M.

Hyunjin isn’t sure why—maybe you forget that he can still steal glances at your reflection over your shoulder or through the gaps of your fingers—but he’s learned over the last four weeks that you’re different, gentler, when you’re doing his makeup.

Your cold hands request instead of demand that he angle his head a certain way or suck in his cheeks. Your syllables are rounder somehow, your voice never traveling above a murmur. Even your eyes mellow out when you move in really close, your pupils dilating as you detail the final touches to the fresco you’ve painted upon him.

Your expression doesn’t give you away (it never does), but his hunch is that there’s a sprinkle of doting somewhere among the intense focus. That would explain why he feels like a flower in the moments when your fingertips and gaze move so carefully over his skin, like you’re touching his petals, trying not to tear them.

Too bad you never let him daydream for long.

“Close.”

“Huh?”

“Your eyes. Close them.”

His lashes have hardly brushed his lower lids when you begin to empty what feels like an entire bottle of setting spray on him. At the moist surprise, Hyunjin’s features scrunch up around his nose and he lets out a distraught hack like an old man.

A few seconds later, the barrage stops, and he cracks open a wary eye to scope out his surroundings. You wait until he does this to give his face one last spurt.

“Witch,” Hyunjin mutters, clawing back up the vanity chair.

“Thank you,” you reply, completely earnestly.

And whatever Hyunjin was going to say next suspends instantly on his tongue when you bring the pad of your thumb to the very edge of his lower lip and drag it across the soft flesh. He wonders if you know how hard he tries not to look at your mouth whenever you tend to his. He wonders if there’s anything you don’t know.

“You smudged your lipstick already.” There’s a small streak of coral pink on your hand when it falls back to your side. “See? That’s why we need the setting spray.”

“Uh huh.” And Hyunjin spots a ghost of a smile flit across your face, gone nearly as soon as it appears. The only evidence of it ever existing is the quickened heartbeat it leaves behind within him.

“You’re done, by the way,” you say, stepping aside. “Take a look.”

He slips out of his seat and moves closer to the vanity, peering at his reflection as curiously as if he’s never seen it before. But that’s how he’s felt since he started working with you.

Seojun was right: you are the best that the makeup industry has to offer. Hyunjin has come to understand this for multiple reasons. Your phone screen is incessantly illuminated by new notifications and incoming calls. The other stylists heed your advice like it’s the law. Brushes and pencils move like water when it’s you maneuvering them. And then some.

He would call what you have “talent,” but he knows it’s more than that. You show him a new version of himself every time you turn a mirror in his direction, like there are facets of him that are visible to you and you only. As much as he delights in the notion that you have such intimate knowledge of him, it should be impossible, considering you’ve only known him for two months. So no, it’s not just talent that you possess. It’s some combination of talent, hawkish perception, and raw artistry that is utterly inhuman—and sexy as fuck.

Speaking of sexy. Hyunjin’s look is relatively rudimentary tonight, the makeup light, the outfit a simple black tank top beneath a jacket and pants made of bright red velvet. But it’s the details that tie the whole thing together: the wide, loose sleeves causing the jacket to slip continually off his shoulders; the inner layer tight in all the right places. His face doesn’t look half bad either, with the sultry carmine powder that fringes his eyes and the intentionally mussed state of his hair. He pushes a hand through the dark locks, regarding himself with thorough appreciation.

You appear in his periphery as you start cleaning up your work station. “You can just take the jacket off when your sweat glands start malfunctioning, by the way. I thought you’d appreciate that detail.”

At this, his smize cracks into a laugh, the sound loud and uninhibited and uniquely yours to hear. “You suck.”

He looks away from his reflection just in time to glimpse another of your phantom smiles, and he thinks it’s so painfully on brand that the two times it’s appeared tonight have both been from you making yourself laugh. You might be the most insufferable person he’s ever met. He might be obsessed with you anyways.

“Well?” You implore. “What do you think?”

“No notes.”

It’s the answer you’re expecting. You survey him from head to toe one last time, decide that you, too, are satisfied, and slip your makeup into your bag; hike its strap over your shoulder.

“I’ll see you after the show, then.”

You have an important conference call to attend before tonight’s concert, hence why Hyunjin had to come in early for hair and makeup. This is also the reason why the two of you have been the only people in the dressing room for the better part of an hour.

It’s rare that he ever gets you alone, and he doesn’t want it to end. Not just yet.

“I lied, actually,” he calls. “I do have notes.”

You already have one foot out the door when you hear this, and you turn around so slowly and in such disbelief that he has to fight to constrain his laugh—the concept of imperfection is truly unthinkable to you. Insufferable, like he said.

“Do tell,” you say, dropping your bag back onto the floor.

“You have any jewelry for me?”

You chew on this for a moment. You did have a selection of necklaces prepared for tonight, but they were heavy and numerous, not exactly the best-suited for the group’s dynamic sets. You still like them, granted, and you know Hyunjin would as well.

You articulate all of this to him, and he asks if he can take a look at them anyways. “Come here, then,” you say, the words so tantalizing when they fall from your lips that nearly trips over himself trying to obey.

You take out a flat rectangular box from your bag and set it down in front of the lightbulb-studded mirrors. Hyunjin observes quietly as you show him its contents: three thick, gold chains with varying lengths and boasting different pendants, plus a beaded bracelet and an assembly of rings of the same material. His devious plan aside, he does love the selection.

“You’re sure you won’t be uncomfortable?”

He nods, and you pick up the longest of the three chains; turn to him expectedly. He takes this as his cue to move closer to you, except he overshoots a little, and he feels the tips of his shoes accidentally bump into the ends of yours; discerns the warmth emanating from your body against his own. He expects a withering glare, a kick in the shin, maybe, but you don’t seem bothered by the proximity at all, unblinking as you bring your hands around the either side of his neck and fasten the first necklace with a soft tap. Your fingers then brush over his collarbones to adjust the pendant, and he thinks your hands would have to be numb not to perceive the frantic heartbeat threatening to burst straight out of his skin.

Entire minutes pass before Hyunjin musters the courage to actually look at you. By then, you’re already working on the third and final necklace. It’s not a surprise that your face is mere inches away from his; he’s been watching your reflections out of the corner of his eye; he knows you’re closer to each other than you’ve ever been. But there are parts of you that the mirror doesn’t show—the soft curve of your lashes, the concentrated narrow of your eyes, the shapely protrusion of your pursed lips—and these surprise him so thoroughly that he slips and slides out of his right mind.

You are the type of beautiful that’s been around longer than humans have, the same as that of the true blue color of forget-me-nots. And Hyunjin feels enveloped, intoxicated by you from this minuscule distance. The idea forms numbly in his head that maybe, just maybe, he was put on this earth to admire you.

In this inebriated state, he makes a venturesome decision.

When you finish centering the last pendant upon the his chest, you are about to take a step back and review the updated look, but you’re debilitated by the feeling of fingers grazing over your hip—lightly, so lightly that you mistake them for a gust of wind at first, but the contact is enough to push the small of your back against the edge of the counter. Then, both of Hyunjin’s hands reach behind you, pressing flat against the marble surface, and, just like that, he has you right where he wants you, ensnared between cold stone and hot flesh.

And so begins an equilibrium so fragile that it’ll shatter if one of you so much as blinks the wrong way, your rattled breath fluttering against his lips, his eyes dark and hooded and out of focus as they survey the fine lines of your expression. It still doesn’t give you away (it never does), but he finds that in this moment he just doesn’t care.

“Let me take you out,” he murmurs. “One date.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” You reply under your breath.

“You know what I’m talking about, beautiful.”

Upon uttering that last word, he angles his head almost imperceptibly, the movement challenging, daring you to say something about it. But you don’t. You merely hiss out a whetted “you’re fucking crazy,” and that’s his opening to drag this on a little longer; push your limits a little more.

“About you? Damn straight.”

At this, finally, fucking finally, there is a semblance of something in your face that isn’t just your usual mildly-irritated nonchalance. Instead, he detects surprise in the whites of your eyes as you widen them; as you part your lips with a response that only comes much later.

And he’s surprised by your surprise. Surely, with your skills of observation, you would’ve noticed long ago how his world shrinks down to only you and your gorgeous voice and your confident glare and your shitty sense of humor whenever he’s been granted the privilege of your presence.

This might be the first time he’s admitted it out loud, but he hasn’t tried—hasn’t been able—to hide how he feels about you, not now, not ever. It’s been that way since the moment the sole of your shoe met the carpet of that conference room on the fourth floor of the JYP building.

“Hwang—” You begin.

“Hyung!”

At the sound of a third, new voice, your arms tense like you’re about to shove Hyunjin off of you, but he only leans in further, so that his lips almost graze your jaw and your hands have nowhere to go except the taut surface of his chest. The surprise is gone; now you’re just pissed. He can feel the heat of your furious eyes and the tremor in your hands as you form fists around the fabric of his top. But he takes his sweet time in scooping up the bracelet and rings, and only afterwards does he pull away from you and straighten to his full height.

“Hey, Innie!” Hyunjin chirps, and Jeongin materializes in the doorway, looking thoroughly perturbed by the older boy’s sunny tone. “What’s up?”

In the meantime, you turn around to snap the lid of your jewelry box shut, and it takes a singular glance in the mirror for a truly horrible realization to settle upon your shoulders. You don’t think anybody would be able to tell even if you announced it outright, but you know yourself and the little nuances of your face all too well.

You’re flustered.

You feel like a horror movie heroine breaking the fourth wall.

“Nothing, weirdo. I was just announcing my arrival,” Jeongin says. Thank fuck you did, Hyunjin thinks to himself, completely unaware of the epiphany you’re having behind him. “Chan-hyung mentioned you were here already? Why?”

“She’s in high demand.” Hyunjin points out the she in question by jutting his chin in your direction. “The usual.”

“Ah.”

Jeongin inclines his head towards you in polite greeting. You return his hello, but your expression starts to feel tight when his eyes dart between the strange smile on Hyunjin’s face and your awkward stance (still glued to the edge of the counter) as he drops his duffel by the couch. The boy isn’t stupid, unlike his older counterpart.

“I saw a vending machine on my way here,” Jeongin says, turning to leave the room again. “You want anything, hyung? Noona?”

“I’m okay, thank you,” you say.

“I’ll have whatever you have,” Hyunjin says.

Jeongin flashes a thumbs-up and dips out of the room, perhaps a little more hastily than he intends to come across. And then there are two. Again.

You wait until you can’t hear his footsteps anymore, and then you turn to glower at Hyunjin so intensely that he thinks you’re about to place a curse on his whole bloodline.

Then, your phone starts vibrating, and he knows he’ll live to see another day.

“You still owe me an answer,” Hyunjin calls as you turn around and leave the room.

“Don’t hold your breath,” you reply.

One day, I’ll break her, is the predominant thought that resides in Hyunjin’s head as he slips on the remaining jewelry; watches your figure disappear around a corner. One day, I’ll break his face, is the predominant thought that resides in yours as you stalk away. That’s the two of you, in a nutshell.

Six months ago. Osaka, Japan. 3:03 P.M.

When you walk into the dressing room, you find Haeun hunched over an overflowing photo album with her hands forming fists in her hair, muttering to nobody in particular, “I have no idea what the fuck I’m doing.”

There’s an amused look in your eye as you set your bag down by Hyunjin’s empty vanity chair. She hasn’t noticed your presence yet; approximately three hallways down, the members are rehearsing for tonight’s performance on the main stage of the Kyocera Dome, and the music is so loud that you think you actually saw the walls vibrating while you were in the hallway moments ago.

You rise to your tiptoes and encroach upon her, waiting until she’s within reach to tickle the back of her neck. She nearly flies out of her seat with a shriek that can be heard over the heavy bass.

“Never gets old.” You hand her the photo album that went soaring also, and Haeun snatches it back with an affronted flourish.

“I can’t remember the last time you said hi to me normally, unnie.”

“Me neither, now that you mention it.”

Haeun and Han are your favorite stylist-idol duo in the world because they’re so eerily similar—and it’s adorable. They both illuminate every room they walk into; they both have grins too big for their faces, laughs too loud for their lungs. You always regret leaving your sunglasses at home when you catch sight of the effulgent pair.

But today you cannot detect the usual radiance in Haeun’s voice, nor so much as a hint of her easy grin. Then again, that’s another quality that she and her client share; they’re both well acquainted with the burdens that come with unwavering passion.

Every stylist has their own modus operandi. Haeun’s is a scrapbook of images that she cuts out and saves from catalogs, advertisements, newspapers, et cetera. You’ve seen it many times before, but never in such a state: messy handwriting stuffing the margins to their very brims, numbers and symbols like clusters of rainclouds over a sea of different outfits, arrows and circles and squares highlighting pant cuffs and cascade collars and dangling earrings. Telltale signs that Haeun hasn’t a clue as to what Han will be wearing tonight.

You gnaw on your lower lip, deliberating your next move. You end up placing a firm hand against the album’s cover and pushing it closed.

“Come with me,” you say. “We’re gonna try a new approach.”

Haeun opens her mouth to protest, but unfortunately you have an extensive track record of being right.

“What do you have in mind?” She sighs instead.

“You’ll see.”

With that, you stand up, tuck a small towel under your arm, and angle your head in the direction of the music.

The two of you make your way through the labyrinth of hallways that comprise the venue’s backstage. Eventually, the color of the floor changes from speckled white to solid black, and you step onto the part of the stage that is concealed from the audience by drawn curtains and heavy equipment. You say a quick hello to the group’s manager as you dip past him, and eventually reach the edge of the curtains, where you and Haeun have a good view of the eight members as they run through their setlist for tonight’s concert.

Haeun settles into the spot beside you, still confused as she follows your gaze.

“Let me ask you this,” you say, just audible over the din. “Can you style a performer if you don’t know how he performs?”

And understanding seeps over her features like poured tea.

“I want you to watch him,” you continue. “Tell me how he performs.”

Han’s part begins, as if on cue. His voice rings out through the empty stadium as he ducks to the front of the formation, a microphone held loosely to his lips, his face taut with focus. Haeun stares at him for some time, silently trying to fathom her observations, but she sees you shaking your head in the corner of her eye.

“Don’t think, Haeun. Just speak.”

She blows out a deep breath before obliging. “It’s hard to picture Han doing anything but laughing or making other people laugh, he’s so goofy and lighthearted most of the time. But he’s like a different person on stage. He’s so intense, it’s almost intimidating. Not intimidating in a douchey way, though—you just get the impression that he’s very confident in himself and his music.

You don’t say another word, but don’t need to. She’s hit her stride.

“His voice and enunciation are so clear. It’s crazy how he sounds exactly like the studio recording. Plus, his delivery feels genuine; he’s not just reciting lyrics, but speaking straight from his heart.

“And this is gonna sound bad, but I didn’t know Han could dance. Like, yeah, I knew that he could dance, but not like this. His movements are so sharp that I feel like my attention is being—”

Right there.

She cuts herself off, reaching the same conclusion.

“It’s his turn to talk, and he wants you to cling to his every word," Haeun articulates slowly. "He’s demanding your attention. He needs you to listen. That’s how he performs.”

A satisfied smile bolts across your face like lightning. “Couldn’t have said it better myself.”

Haeun pictures her scrapbook again, and there are now only a few articles of clothing and accessories that fit the framework you’ve helped her forge. She’s almost dizzy with disbelief, tearing her eyes from Han to look at you instead.

“You’re brilliant, you know that?”

“I do, but I appreciate the reminder.”

She can’t help but giggle. It’s a you answer if she’s ever heard one. “Do you do that with all of your clients?”

Haeun asks the question arbitrarily, without thinking. But you respond in a way that she doesn’t think she’s ever witnessed before, and she’s momentarily baffled by the sight: you hesitate.

As the song’s final chorus approaches, Hyunjin is the one folding himself into the center of the eight-person throng. You can only see his back from this angle, but even then it’s palpable how expertly and effortlessly he molds his body to the modulations of the music; how much fervor and feeling he expresses with every jerk of his spine and flex of his hands.

Within a few short seconds, innumerable descriptors and sensations skim the surface of your mind—but one word knocks the rest clean out of the water, the way it always does when you watch Hwang Hyunjin perform.

Artistry.

“No,” you reply. “Not all of them.”

And where better to find inspiration than inspiration himself?

Haeun furrows a brow, understandably puzzled by this response, but you don’t elaborate. Partially because you feel like being coy, but mostly because you know that any explanation you offer will sound like a confession.

The song ends, leaving your ears ringing with the abrupt absence of sound. The members hold their poses with heaving shoulders, staring out into the empty stands until the stage manager’s voice comes through the monitors.

“And that’s a wrap! We’re all set for tonight. Good work, everyone.”

There is a ripple of movement around the stage as the boys relax. Jeongin jogs over to Minho, hoping to review a particularly challenging dance break; the manager asks Chan if he has a second to discuss travel logistics; Seungmin plops onto the edge of the stage and downs the rest of his water; Hyunjin beelines toward you the second he sees you, because of course he does.

You get a good look at him as he skips closer. Stray blonde locks plastered against his damp skin, tank top dyed several shades darker by the perspiration rolling down his neck, the muscles of his arms actually rippling as he swings them around stupidly, a shit-eating smile plastered across his stunning face.

You’re annoyed before he says a word.

“I didn’t know they were letting fans backstage now,” he hums happily. “Want an autograph, gorgeous?”

“Put a sock in it.” You whisk the towel you’ve been holding in his direction. “Wet freak.”

But he catches and tosses it over his shoulder straightaway, and your heart sinks to your fucking ankle. You’ve seen this movie before. You know how it ends.

“No.” You take a shaky step back. “No, nope, don’t even think about—”

The next thing you know, Hyunjin is lunging towards you and winding his arms around your waist, nearly sweeping you clean off your feet as he pulls you into his sweaty embrace. To your complete dismay, your face presses flat against the clammy plane of his chest. “Call me a wet freak again, go on,” he manages to say through his laughter.

In response, one of your hands wriggles free of its slippery prison and snatches the cuff of Hyunjin’s ear with impressive accuracy. He yelps and loosens his hold on you, but doesn’t relent completely, not even when he catches sight of the murderous expression on your face and cackles so forcefully his whole head is thrown back.

You tighten your grip. “Wet,” you seethe, “freak.”

“Ow—okay, don’t make it hot, what’s wrong with you?”

“Wha—what’s wrong with YOU?!”

As the two of you dissolve into your fatuous arguing, Haeun is no longer sure that she’s still standing here. She’s not even sure if she’s in her right mind anymore. She thinks she might be hallucinating the way everything about Hyunjin softens next to you, or the way your biting tone only seems to nibble when it’s him on the receiving end.

“Psst. We’ve been placing bets on them. You want in?”

Han suddenly materializes next to Haeun, and she would have been jumpscared into a different dimension if she wasn’t so fixated upon the bizarre occurrence before her.

But what if she’s not hallucinating?

No, not all of them, you’d said, like you were disclosing a forbidden secret.

“Yes,” she says, and Han beams. “Absolutely.”

Three months ago. Seoul, South Korea. 2:26 A.M.

On a tranquil Saturday night, you’re sitting at your desk, your knees tucked to your chest, the newest episode of your drama playing quietly on your laptop, a half-empty glass of rosé and open sketchbook laid before you. This is your happy place—a safe haven that the trials and tribulations of the real world can’t reach. But you think you’ve really gone and lost your mind when you find yourself thinking about your job.

Well, not your job, exactly. More like the man who makes your job feel fucking Sisyphean.

You know your way around fabric and foundation better than anyone, but you have never struggled with anything as much as you have trying to navigate Hyunjin. You show up to work every day ready to just put some makeup on the man; instead, you wind up stumbling around the potholes of his dimples and the hills of the veins that run over his forearms and hands like a hopeless drunkard. Scouring the creases of his smile and the oscillations of his voice like they’re topographical maps. Mentally replaying your interactions with him time and time again like you’re monitoring security footage, trying to detect illicit activity in every casual touch he leaves on your shoulder or waist; every babe or gorgeous he throws your way, seemingly without a second thought.

You’ve been trying to understand him and his intentions for seven months now, and your efforts have yielded no fruit whatsoever, save for a few theories that you feel insane for even humoring.

You down the rest of the blush-colored liquid, and as you set down your empty glass you notice your fingers itch with a familiar urge. The pen that you’ve been twirling over your knuckles stills, then swivels; its tip hovers over the last free corner of the sheet of cartridge paper below you. And then it presses upon the surface and starts to move, as naturally as if on its own.

When you were little, you came across a children’s book that you no longer remember the name of, about a little girl with a magical pen that brought her every drawing to life. You decided then that you would one day be that girl.

At some point, the subjects of your incessant sketching became almost exclusively runway models and makeup advertisements. You cemented that you wanted to work in fashion as early as your high school graduation, and by then you already possessed the conviction and charisma of the industry’s most experienced members. Your portfolio was stellar; your personality prophesied of wild success. So your career took off, propelled by the neverending positions and projects that various companies continually laid before your feet.

You stand and pad to your kitchen to refill your glass, only to bring the entire bottle of wine back to your room instead. With one hand, you flick the cap off and lift the whole thing to your lips; with the other, you seize your pen again, not wanting to lose momentum.

For the year or so after you joined the industry, you basked in your idyllic prosperity. Even the doodles you scrawled on random napkins during banal business lunches would appear on some of the world’s most renowned faces the next week. You had indubitably become the little girl from your story; made a career out of giving your imagination tangible form. And what a fruitful career it was going to be.

If only you knew how it would strengthen you in ways you never wanted.

The first time someone called you cold, it took you a while to realize that they were talking about you. The phrase was said so casually and lightheartedly that it sounded at first like a piece of unimportant small talk. But the whisper of cold bitch was then followed by a bout of stifled laughter and what was undoubtedly your name. Your heart stopped along with your footsteps, and you looked towards the source: two interns whose names you had yet to learn, while yours was already in their mouths.

You felt nothing until you were three stops away from your apartment, and then the bottom of the subway gave out beneath you and suddenly you were feeling everything. Only confusion, hurt, and rage at first, but then the other emotions that you’d been smothering tirelessly for who-knows-how-long tore free of their cerebral shackles too, and together they formed an amalgamation of anxiety that closed up your throat within seconds.

As your pen studs details into a shapely jawline, you remember how you’d shoved your way off the subway and made a mad dash into the night air. You remember how you collapsed against a utility pole in an unfamiliar neighborhood, how your knuckles paled around the ashen wood, how your tears tumbled over your lips and salted your tongue. You remember wanting to go home so badly that you thought your ribcage would cave in on itself with the weight of it. You remember begging for air, for you.

By the time the oxygen had returned to your lungs, the streets were empty save for you, crouched on the curb, your face buried in your arms, spent, shattered, and alone. You were only nineteen at the time.

You are now twenty-two, and the word “cold” has become a regular guest in the lodgings of your heart. You never invite it over, but you’re no longer surprised to find it at your door. It’s a thief, swiping pieces of you when it thinks you’re not looking—a fragment above the fireplace, a scrap from the cracks between the couch—and you know whenever you’re being robbed, know that you lose parts of yourself upon its every visit. But better that than acknowledging what you lose.

You allow it to walk away with full pockets every time.

Hyunjin does not.

“Three words to describe yourself. Go,” he said a few days ago, the two of you heading back to the tour bus after a filming session.

You were so used to these irrational inquiries of his that you didn’t bother trying to dodge this one. “You first.”

“Smart, sexy, suave,” he said immediately, but burst into a sheepish laugh at the sight of your weary glare. “Fine, fine, let me think. Ambitious, for one. Introspective, definitely—maybe overly so. And artistic. I’d like to think so, at least. Satisfied?”

The most creative person you knew doubting his own ingenuity was absurd to you, but you nodded begrudgingly. It was a good answer, for the most part.

“Now you.”

Honestly, the thief had surfaced the moment you heard the question, but you weren’t sure if you wanted to inform Hyunjin of its existence. Not because you didn’t trust him—you did, more than you had anyone in years—but because you didn’t know what you’d do with yourself if he agreed. You weren’t sure your heart would be able to take it.

When you met the boy’s gaze, though, the carob brown of his eyes was so curious and so comforting that you suspected that was never a possibility.

“Cold,” you mumbled. “I’ve been called cold before.”

There was a pregnant pause. You found yourself holding your breath. And then—

“That’s a joke, right?”

Hyunjin began to count off his fingers.

“Mean. So mean. Impossibly, infuriatingly confident. Talented, stubborn, strong. Funny, sometimes, I guess, though I’d rather you hit me with a metal pipe than admit that ever again.”

At this, you caved; a laugh erupted from your lips, leaving a genuine smile in its wake.

“Determined. Eloquent. Bossy. Some kind of evil, twisted genius. Contemplative, caring, compassionate. Fearless,” he went on. “You get my point. You’re a lot of things, Y/N, but cold isn’t one—”

He was about to say something mind-numbingly stupid. You could sense it in the air.

“—and not just because you’re hot.”

You smacked his bicep, the smile on your face now an uninhibited, helpless grin. And as he vanished into a fit of high-pitched laughter, you thought you sensed him crack open your door and slip your missing artifacts back to their rightful places.

Hyunjin began to climb into the bus, and you caught the cuff of his sleeve, your feet still planted on the pavement.

“Thank you,” you said.

The tremors of his fond chuckle traveled to your very core.

“Idiot,” he sighed softly.

Idiot, you write, and the drawings are complete.

When you stand up, the bottle is mostly gone—and so are you. You splash some water on your face in lieu of your skincare routine and prod the inside of your mouth a few times using a dry toothbrush, and then you dive beneath your duvet and are dead asleep in minutes. Your slumber is interrupted only by dreams of a world where your theories about Hyunjin aren’t just theories.

If you’d had even one mouthful less of rosé, you might’ve remembered that you picked up your phone and opened your most recent conversation somewhere between steps two and three.

[3:10 A.M.] To: Hwang Hyunjin (Stray Kids, JYP) Audio Message.wav

Hi. I’m drunk and I’m going to regret this tomorrow. But that’s tomorrow’s business. There’s something I need to tell you tonight.

After I moved to Seoul, I used to get these bouts of homesickness. Not in a standard ‘I wanna go home’ kind of way, but in a way that felt like a hole had opened up in the ground below me. I was always ready for it to swallow me alive. I would’ve been happy for it to.

But I haven’t felt that way since I met you. I realized this not too long ago, and it threw me for a fucking loop. I’ve never felt seen the way you see me. I’ve never been known the way you know me. Every time I look at you or hear your voice, it feels so much like returning home that I don’t have to dream of it anymore.

You called me fearless the other day, but you’re wrong. I’m terrified. I’m terrified that history is going to repeat itself, that another home will slip through the cracks between my fingers and there will be nothing I can do to stop it. And that’s why I’m so hesitant towards you, towards whatever this is, because I don’t want to go through that ever again.

So the thing I need to tell you is that I care about you. I care so much that I’m scared speaking it into existence will make it real and vulnerable to all the worst parts of the world. But it’s not speaking it into existence if I’m drunk, right? Maybe I have no idea what I’m talking about. Maybe you’ll never even hear this. So it doesn’t count. That’s how that works, surely.

Sorry if this was totally nonsensical. And sorry that I’m so bad at feelings. You must think I’m impossible, and I don’t blame you.

Good night, Hyunjin. Thank you, again.

One month ago. Los Angeles, United States. 12:37 A.M.

When Hyunjin steps out of the hotel’s tall glass double doors, he’s wearing a teatree facemask, and his bags are draped over the crooks of his elbows like he’s an upper-echelon socialite on his way back from a lavish shopping spree. And then he sees you standing next to the curb, and the situation dawns on him in bits and pieces.

You’re the only one here. The vans that were supposed to take you to the airport are nowhere to be seen. Boarding begins in four minutes.

A soft flinch crimps his features. Oops.

“Tomorrow night,” you’re saying into your receiver, but your attention is on him only, your penetrative gaze putting the dead in deadpan. “The absolute earliest. You’re sure?”

When you finish listening to the manager’s response, you heave a sigh that sags your shoulders and end the call with a jab that should’ve splintered your screen protector.

Then, you start walking towards him.

“Hi,” Hyunjin says, his eyes pleading for mercy. “You are so talented and beautiful. I don’t tell you that often enough, do I?”

He expects you to grab him by the cuff of his ear again, to throw him a retort that’s twice as mean as it is witty, something along those lines. But you merely push your suitcase in his direction, and it is then when he notices that your face is hard enough to chip enamel; that your eyes are eerily, entirely empty. The tendril of warmth that’s always dancing among the subtleties of your expressions, that he’s always pursuing to the very borders of his dreamscapes, is nowhere to be seen.

A shiver travels down Hyunjin’s spine as he curls his fingers around the plastic handle.

Something’s not right.

“We’re gonna have to stay here another day,” you say. “Can you check us in? I have some calls to make.”

“Us?” Hyunjin repeats.

“Junghan could only reserve one room,” you reply, your phone already glued back to your ear. “The hotel is fully booked for the next few months.”

With that, you’re already preoccupied with the next thing, turning to the side to reschedule a meeting. But Hyunjin can only stare blankly at your profile, trying and failing to grasp that he’s going to spend a night with the subject of his every daydream. Though you might be leaning more towards the nightmare end of the spectrum at the moment, considering the way your head snaps back in his direction like a woman possessed.

Go, you mouth, and he obliges.

A few minutes later, Hyunjin is in the elevator by himself. He speculates it’s an ingenious, intentional choice that the lights are turned off, so that whoever’s inside can watch the psychedelic lights of Los Angeles sprawl further and wider the higher they go. But he can’t think of anything except for the subzero nothingness where your irises should’ve been.

Hyunjin’s initial guess was that he crossed a line with this missed plane, but the more he thinks about it the clearer it becomes that this isn’t an isolated issue. It’s the culmination of something bigger. Something continuous.

You have become as familiar to him as the lines of his eyes or the ridges of his knuckles. He’s learned where to look for your feelings when he can’t find them in your face; studied your words and the undertones of your voice like they’re verses of scripture. Yet, it was around two months ago when Hyunjin looked at your side profile and couldn’t recognize you. He’d blinked, startled, and then you’d asked why he was looking at you so strangely, and everything returned to normal. He wrote it off as a side effect of sleep deprivation and paid it no more mind that day.

Except it happened again a few days later; again, not too long after, and Hyunjin began to suspect that he was losing his mind. You didn’t seem all that different—a bit more taciturn than usual, maybe, but you’d been busier than usual, too, your workspace always full of empty coffee cups by the end of the day, the pages of your planner more colorful and crammed than ever. The minor variances never struck him as a reason for worry.

“Stupid,” Hyunjin whispers bitterly.

He replays your interaction one more time. You, shoving your suitcase against his palm, telling him to go check in. Him, fastening his hand around the handle, sensing the bottomless void within you, feeling like he’d been dismissed from before your throne.

As he steps off the elevator and walks towards your designated room, he doesn’t understand how or why—but he can’t shake the feeling that he’s failed you.

Nearly an hour passes. The room only has one bed, so Hyunjin turns off the lights, folds himself onto the armchair by the floor-to-ceiling window, drapes a complimentary robe over his shoulders, and tries to sleep. He doesn’t know why he even tries. He’s exhausted, but he knows damn well there’s no hope of him getting any rest until he has you in his proximity again.

He doesn’t look at the door when he finally hears it open, but the knot of tension in his chest comes undone as soon as your silhouette appears in the hallway. He takes out his first real breath since leaving you at the hotel’s entrance.

You hear the sound it makes. You fall still.

“Hyunjin?”

His heart physically aches at how tired you sound. “Yeah?”

“Oh, you’re awake,” you answer. “Move to the bed. You’re not sleeping on that thing.”

He remains where he is, his chin resting on the side of his fist, his eyes glued to the flickering panorama of neon lights below him. You crouch to unzip something, and there’s a heavy thud of metal meeting cloth, presumably your laptop being tossed onto the bed’s mattress.

“Hello? Did you—”

“Is everything okay?”

A short pause follows his interruption.

“I still have a few emails to write, but everything’s been rescheduled, so as long as you don’t miss tomorrow’s flight, too, we should be—”

The robe slides off his lap as he pushes himself to his feet. “That’s not what I mean.”

The only source of light in the room is the lone light above the entrance, but it’s enough for him to see your face and the surprise etched upon it. You open your mouth, utter one syllable, and stop yourself immediately after, stunned into silence by the sobriety in Hyunjin’s expression.

“Enlighten me, then,” you say finally.

“You really don’t know?”

“What is there to know? That you missed a flight and pissed me the fuck off? Trust me, I’m aware.”

“No, that’s not—”

“So what are you talking about, then? Why are you talking in riddles? Fuck, what is it that you want from me?”

There’s real frustration in your voice, and it’s the first time you’ve shown him any emotion in pure, unadulterated form. With this, Hyunjin understands that he was right; this conversation is heading towards a culmination of some kind, and so are you, with the devastating force of a natural phenomenon.

He wonders if you’re prepared to destroy yourself, too.

“I know how you are around me,” you whisper. “You’re always acting like you’re trying to unearth something, and I figure this ‘something’ must be wonderful, because you look at me like I’m made of stars; you speak to me like you’re serenading a lover. But I am constantly, ceaselessly haunted by the possibility that this ‘something’ doesn’t exist, that you’re looking for the wrong thing in the wrong person.

“I know it’s selfish to ask for anything more than what you’ve already given me—you’re so kind, Hyunjin, and you’ve been nothing but since the day we met. But grant me one more wish, even if it is the last time you ever do.

“Tell me what you see in me,” you plead. “Otherwise, I will spend the rest of my life mourning the months of yours that you wasted on me.”

With that, it occurs to Hyunjin, falls upon and cracks open his mind like a piece of firewood, that you have never been aware of—never asked for—the throne you sit upon.

For an indeterminate amount of time, the two of you stay there, standing in silence on opposite sides of your dark hotel room. You haven’t felt anything like this in a long time, your chest heaving with your heavy breaths, your vision muddied by both the lack of light and the desperation searing through your windpipe.

When Hyunjin finally begins to speak, his words wrest the oxygen from your lungs.

“After you moved to Seoul, you used to get these bouts of homesickness.”

Your mind careens; your heart reels.

“They came in a way that felt like a hole had opened up in the ground below you.” He takes a tentative step towards you. “You thought it was going to swallow you alive. You would’ve been happy for it to.”

You never got to listen to your voice note. You were blacked out when you recorded it and horrified when you discovered it in your chat logs the next morning; the wretched thing was unsent so quickly that you couldn’t check for a read receipt.

But there’s not a doubt in your mind that these are your words falling from Hyunjin’s lips.

“You haven’t felt that way since you met me, though.” He is only a few feet away from you now, and getting closer still. “You’ve never felt seen the way I see you. You’ve never been known the way I know you.”

God, you said that? Did you propose to him too?

“You’re terrified that another home will slip through the cracks between your fingers and there will be nothing you can do to stop it.” Hyunjin flattens his left hand upon the drywall next to your ear; pushes you back ever-so-gently against the hard surface. “I must think you’re impossible.”

And he brings his face so, so close to yours; looks at you with so much adoration, so much tenderness, that you feel the final bulwark around your heart fracture—

“I don’t,” Hyunjin breathes, cradling your cheek, “because you’re not. And I want to prove it to you, even if it takes me the rest of my life. That’s what I see in you.”

—and crumble.

You form fists in the lining of his hoodie. Hyunjin’s hand tightens where it lays over the curve of your jaw.

When you crash your lips upon his, he tastes the metallic sheen of electricity and the salt of tearwater both; he witnesses crying lightning, for the first time in human history.

Present day. Cannes, France. 9:15 P.M.

Hyunjin never thinks when he fucks you.

One part of it is that he physically can’t; his cognitive facilities shut down when he has you quivering beneath him, like his desire to pleasure you is too overwhelming for his mind to bear. The other part is that he doesn’t want to. He’s afraid that the voices of cynicism and trepidation that plague his mind every waking moment will taint the actualization of his wildest dreams.

Lucky for him, you manage to erase his mind on a daily basis with only one accidental touch or an apparition of a smile, so he doesn’t stand a chance whenever you let him between your legs.

“Trust me?” He whispers, imprinting the words upon the inside of your thigh.

“More than anyone,” you breathe, and just this has him tenting against his satin slacks.

Hyunjin used to see you scolding managers or moving racks twice your weight and think that was you in your element—tonight, he learned otherwise. You were so confident that even just the way you puffed your chest out prompted heads to turn and low voices to ask for your name; so charming that even by the end of your self-introduction you had every guest you spoke to eating out the palm of your hand.

Eating out your pussy, though, is Hyunjin’s privilege alone.

He wraps his fingers around the hem of your dress and pushes it upwards, creating a halo of red fabric around your midriff; slides your panties off your legs and tosses them over his shoulder. All obstacles out of the way, Hyunjin winds his arms around your thighs and pins your hips to the mattress, slotting himself between your knees as they fall apart. Your ankles fold over the top of his head, and you’re about to ask if he’s okay like this, but then you feel the hot muscle of his tongue trace over your dripping folds—and every word of every language you’ve ever known is dispelled from your brain and your mouth in the form of a stuttered, euphoric moan.

He teases you first, drags his mouth over you so that he’s lapped up all of your slick, and just when you feel your patience thinning he pulls you apart with reverent hands and begins to suckle on your clit, as attentive to your every solicitation as always. You arch your back so high off the bed that your ankles knock Hyunjin’s head down a few inches, but the new angle is even better; grants him access to more of you.

He reinforces his grip around you, presses his torso right up against the side of the mattress, and gorges: sluices your labia until you’re spilling from his chin onto the sheets; flicks against your bundle of nerves until it’s pulsating and swollen on his mouth; fucks his tongue against your favorite spot until you’re curling your toes, seeing the whole solar system.

“Coming,” you blabber after some time. Tell me something I don’t know, he thinks to himself. “Coming, Hyune. I’m—fuck—”

Hyunjin is aware of the way you clench so hard around nothing that your pelvis hurts. He is aware of the way you’re so dilapidated from pleasure that you’re genuinely struggling to breathe. He doesn’t care. He wants to get the cadences of your climax tattooed into the gray matter of his brain, and there can’t be rests in the sheet music, can there?

He presses a hand flat on your stomach in preparation for your body’s protest, then returns his face to its place between your thighs; starts to leave kitten licks around the edges of your puffy folds before you can finish riding out your high. You press your tongue against the back of your front teeth, emitting a pained hiss as you draw a sharp breath, tears stinging at your eyes.

“Son of a bitch—”

“Trust me?” He asks again, his voice vibrating against your sore cunt, and your complaints quiet into whimpers as you bring a hand over your quivering mouth, and nod.

At least Hyunjin bridles his thirst the second time he eats your pussy open, his lips smacking openly and slowly over your every inch except the one that would be truly unbearable for you right now. He’s so rough and so fucking careful at once like he can’t decide between obliterating and worshipping your cunt.

He’ll end up doing both.

Within a few minutes, your legs have gone slack on either side of Hyunjin once again, and another coil has begun to tighten behind your bellybutton, equal parts pain and pleasure—but he knows your pussy just as well as he does your person by now, and it’s not long before the former is compounding with the latter.

Round two has a faster ascent and a steeper drop. He finds your spot again with the precision and ease of a trained marksman and fixates upon it like a man starved. It has your cries devolving to incoherent profanities and, to his unfettered delight, your foot actually shaking, your heel tapping against the back of his neck every time it comes down.

As if referencing a metronome, Hyunjin matches the rhythm of his tongue to your accelerando. Only when your leg is nearly convulsing does he wrap his lips back around your clit; slide two fingers into the place he leaves empty and pumps them into you until you are liquifying, igniting around him, your mewls lamenting the second orgasm he plucks from your core.

After your body has stilled, Hyunjin lifts his head, his face drenched in perspiration and saliva and you. His eyes travel over the slopes of your arms and the hills of your breasts, over the tears streaming from your eyes and staining the pillow you lie on. It is this last bit that has him shrugging off his shirt and undoing his dress pants with one hand, palming his throbbing cock with the other.

He clambers over you, and the kiss that follows is filthy, your mouth falling apart when he rolls your nipples between his fingers, strands of spit suspending between your tongues before dripping down onto your collarbone. You can sense what he wants in his craving lips, his pleading tongue—and you know he won’t ask for it. He’s tested you enough tonight; he’d rather your comfort than his pleasure.

But you guide his leaking head to your entrance, returning his stupefied look with a watery smile.

“Love me?” You ask this time, for the first time.

There is not even a nanosecond of hesitation when he answers, “with everything in me.”

He comes inside you the moment he bottoms out, your name leaving his lips in breathless, desperate repetition like a broken prayer as he topples off the same cliff he’d dropped you from moments ago. You curl a hand in his hair as he stutters against you, bring your lips flush against his ear, and whisper that you love him too—and the sight of you beneath him blurs he also starts to tear up.

This is the reality Hyunjin lives in, presumably because he was a saint in his past life, and it would be his utmost pleasure to see it through.

Two years later. Milan, Italy. 11:28 A.M.

For the last half hour, a ray of sunlight has repeatedly struck the diamond that sits between the second and third knuckle of your ring finger, and the Vogue journalist on the other side of your desk thinks he is slowly losing his vision. But when he asks his final question, your hand comes to a much-appreciated stop, the fountain pen you’ve been twirling around clattering to your tabletop.

“Where do you find your inspiration?”

As the journalist blinks the phosphenes from his eyes, he finally manages to get a good look at the face of Versace’s newest designer, and he detects something ineffable and warm in your expression.

“My inspiration, hm?” You fall silent for a short time, thinking. “If you asked me this at the start of my career, I’d have said ‘people.’ Their postures, their expressions, their wardrobes. I knew I was a goner when I watched a fashion show for the first time and noticed how the models’ attire helped them harness their innate power and grace—I wanted to orchestrate that kind of symbiosis, too. In that aspect, nothing has changed, actually. I still find wonder in human beings, and not just the ones on the runway. I think it would be difficult not to, don’t you?

“Some time ago, a good friend of mine was having trouble with an outfit for her client. She asked me a similar question, and only then did I realize that it was no longer just people that inspired me most, but a singular person. I had always been skeptical of the idea of a ‘muse’ until I met him. But I could only spend so long denying how he ventured closer to my soul than anything ever had, how he knew me and saw me like nobody ever could. He understood my art. He was my art, so—”

Your eyes dart over your ring, and the journalist would’ve flinched out of habit if he wasn’t so mesmerized by your eloquence.

“—where better to find inspiration than inspiration himself?”

A few seconds elapse, and then you clear your throat and straighten your back, returning to your office from your trip down memory lane.

“That’s the long answer, anyways. The short answer would be my fiancé.”

The journalist laughs, and he doubts you’ll give him this next piece of information—but he’ll be damned if he doesn’t try.

“And who would that be?”

He’s right. You don’t answer the question. But you do flash him an enigmatic smile, and for some reason it reminds him of lightning.

🔖 (send an ask to be added)・@astraystayyh・@like-a-diamondinthesky・@fire-08・@starsandrqindrops・@txtxlz・@laylasbunbunny・@strayghibli・@nuronhe

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love-belle · 11 months

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yeah my boyfriend's pretty cool !!!

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ in which they're living the childhood best friends to lovers trope.

for when you just can't help falling in love. ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

social media au // charles leclerc x fem!reader

warnings - language

author's note - just had the most amazing idea for a daniel social media au omg!!! anyways i hope u like this i love you thank you for reading <3

≡;- ꒰ °instagram ꒱

liked by lewishamilton, carmenmmundt, charles_leclerc and 896,525 others

yourusername they say home is where the heart is

7,826 comments

username AIN'T NO WAY

username Y/N?????? WHAT IS THIS???????

username im okay (i am screaming i am crying i am yelling)

username hahahahahahah!! NOT funny babe!!!!!!! u can come home now ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

lilymhe chuckles knowingly

*liked by yourusername*

username WHO THE FUCK

username great another parasocial relationship gone

pierregasly y/n.

-> yourusername pierre

-> pierregasly call me right now.

-> yourusername my phone fell and broke sorry.

username HELP OH MY GOD

username NOT HER QUOTING LONDON BOY

-> username WHAT IF IT'S LANDO

-> yourusername he wishes it was him

-> landonorris literally threw up at the thought

-> yourusername babe ur so nice to me ❤️

-> landonorris get away from me im telling ur bf

-> charles_leclerc oui?

-> pierregasly charles??

-> username CHARLES???

-> yourusername get out of my comment section u hoes and lando i can't WAIT to see you on track this weekend

username NOT Y/N TRYING TO SOFT LAUNCH HER RELATIONSHIP

charles_leclerc no surprise he had to cook considering you can't even make cereal

-> yourusername well fuck u too ig

username this comment section is so chaotic i love it sm

≡;- ꒰ °instagram ꒱

liked by maxverstappen1, landonorris, yourusername and 936,685 others

charles_leclerc eyes like sinking ships on waters so inviting i almost jump in

8,627 comments

username GOODBYE

username NOT CHARLES USING TAYLOR SWIFT LYRICS

username i feel like i've gone to an alternate dimension

username IS NO ONE GONNA ACKNOWLEDGE THE SECOND PICTURE?????? HELLO???????

lewishamilton hope you're both having fun 🤍🤍🤍

*liked by charles_leclerc*

username THE GRID KNOWS SOMETHING I SWEAR

username i have questions

username CHARLES AND Y/N BOTH SOFT LAUNCHING AT THE SAME TIME

-> username i've connected the clues

-> username u didn't connect shit

-> username i've connected them

pierregasly woah rue when was this???

-> charles_leclerc haha well you see

-> pierregasly i'm seeing.

-> charles_leclerc my phone fell in the water ok bye.

-> username charles is fighting for his life rn

-> username dude can't lie for shit 😭😭😭

username i already know she's so ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

yourusername charles is a swiftie confirmed ⁉️⁉️⁉️

-> charles_leclerc in your dreams

carlossainz55 she has changed you

-> charles_leclerc i know, my playlist is literally just taylor swift and harry styles at this point

-> yourusername she clearly has great taste

-> charles_leclerc of course she does, she's dating me

-> yourusername right!!!!! ofc!!!!!!

username everyone knows something

-> pierregasly i don't

-> username same brother 🫤🫤🫤

≡;- ꒰ °instagram ꒱

liked by f1wags_, chxrleslxclxrc, hearts4y/n and 78,637 others

paddock.news charles leclerc and y/n gasly spark dating rumors after "soft launching" simultaneously on various social media platforms. rumors have always surrounded the pair through the years, but this time we believe that they're not just rumors. they have also been spotted out on "dates" as y/n has been attending various grand prix to support her brothers and friend and now apparently, boyfriend. they've also been posting each other on their instagram stories a lot lately. neither of the parties have made a comment about this, though we are rooting for them. for more details, click on the link in our bio.

5,267 comments

username NAH THEY'RE DEFINITELY DATING

username pierre is gonna go crazy omg

username they're so ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

username they're already married in head so 🥱

username no bc they're literally living the childhood best friends to lovers trope

username pierre is gonna lose his mind i can just tell

username praying for charles 🙏🙏🙏

username no bc charles is in for hell of a ride bc y/n's literally everyone's favourite on the grid

-> username imagine having 19 drivers out to k!ll u

-> username not to mention a couple team principals 😭😭😭

username CHARLES MF LECLERC U BETTER SQUARE THE FUCK UP FOR STEALING MY WIFE

username they're so domestic coded in the second slide like 🫤🫤🫤

username what wouldn't i do to be a fly on the wall when pierre and charles see eachother

username my generation's romeo and juliet or whatever

username they're so you're in love by taylor swift coded

username i want what they have 💔💔💔💔

≡;- ꒰ °instagram ꒱

liked by yourusername, pierregasly, carmenmmundt and 892,915 others

charles_leclerc no i don't like the tshirt

tagged yourusername

8,156 comments

username SHUT UP

username IS THIS A CONFIRMATION

username THE FIRST TSHIRT OMG

username i NEED that tshirt omg

lewishamilton personally, i love the tshirt

-> yourusername RIGHT

-> charles_leclerc both of you are so wrong

username HELLO HI WHAT IS THIS WHAT WHATCJWAT

username SIR U CAN'T JUST POST THIS AND DIP

username I NEED THAT SHIRT SO BAD OH MY GOD

username these bitches need to stop playing

username mf say it with your chest that y'all dating

yourusername but u like the one who's wearing it

-> charles_leclerc eh debatable

-> yourusername sorry can't hear u over u sending me 2528298 messages when i went out to get the newspaper from outside our DOOR

-> charles_leclerc STOP

-> username NAH THIS BOY IS DOWN BAD

-> username OUR DOOR?????????

-> username HELLO????

username the real fashion icon of the paddock

-> yourusername real lewis got nothing on me

*liked by charles_leclerc and lewishamilton*

username im so ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️😭😭😭😭😭

pierregasly someone let me out

-> charles_leclerc will you chase me with a fork again?

-> yourusername and will you stop throwing napkins and spoons at my bf???

-> pierregasly yes

-> pierregasly (no)

-> yourusername ur staying in the bathroom

-> pierregasly LET ME OUT

-> username NOT PIERRE CHASING CHARLES WITH A FORK

-> username CAN'T BELIEVE THEY LOCKED HIM IN THE BATHROOM

-> username IM CRYING OMG

≡;- ꒰ °instagram ꒱

liked by lewishamilton, carmenmmundt, charles_leclerc and 916,628 others

yourusername yeah my boyfriend's pretty cool but he's not as cool as me argue in the comments

tagged charles_leclerc

comments are disabled for this post

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carakook · 2 months

Text

Shut Up .・。.・゜✭・.

╔═*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*═╗

“If I fuck you, will you calm the fuck down and listen to me?”

🔞FOR MATURE AUDIENCES🔞

Pairing: Kim Namjoon x Reader

Synopsis: After taking a job as a co-writer, you quickly find that you and your “boss” just don’t get along. Constantly butting heads, disagreeing on things, and he isn’t even nice about it. He’s a fucking dick. He’s always criticizing you in embarrassing ways, but you’ve tried to be patient, ride it out. Over the short time you’ve worked here, the tension has built quickly, and it is clear both of you cannot stand each other. Unfortunately, today is the day you reach your limit after he humiliates you in front of several of your coworkers… and the “conflict resolution” is definitely something you did not expect.

Genre: Enemies to lovers (or hookup in this case), workplace affair.

Pairings: Boss/Writer!Namjoon x Co-writer!Reader

Word count: 7.5k+

Warnings: 18+, Heavy smut!! Hate sex, protected sex (wrap it up), rough sex, face fucking, light slapping (not in the face), a bit of spit play, face fucking, cussing, crying (sort of), heavy conflict, degradation, arguing, name calling, a bit of teasing, cum eating? (Sort of), dry humping, face humping, being slapped with dick (lightly), Let me know if I missed anything!

⚠Disclaimer⚠:This story does not in any way reflect the character of those who are mentioned, it is totally fiction and just for fun. Please don’t take it seriously.

A/N: Hiiii! This is my first one shot. I’ve actually had it in my drafts for a long time but never posted it, I decided to finish it recently and post it here. I hope you like it! I love writing, have soooo many drafted one shots/full on fanfics with each of the boys. A looot of them are with Jungkook, can’t help myself. He’s my lover… 😭 Anyway, if you guys end up liking this I’ll post more. Thank you so much for reading if you do!

╚═*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*═╝

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

There aren’t many things you regret in life. Because if you allow yourself to regret things, you overthink. Overthinking is never a good thing.

See, it wasn’t awful at first. But the moment you met Kim Namjoon, you could tell he had a problem with you. What? You didn’t know. You still don’t know. But he never bothered hiding it.

You powered through, because this was sort of like a dream job for you. You loved writing music, writing lyrics. It was hard to even find a job like this to begin with. So when you got the callback, you jumped at the chance. You were so excited to be working here, and you were familiar with Kim Namjoon. You thought his songs were beautiful, his writing style seemed similar to yours.

Boy, you were wrong.

Not even a week into working here he was heavily criticizing you. But again… you pushed through. Because you were new, he had a right to be picky. This was his studio, he was technically your boss… technically. So you tried to be patient and listen to his criticism.

Which didn’t last long. Because he was not subtle. Arguably, there is a difference between constructive criticism and being blatantly rude and picky. Namjoon was straight-up rude. And at times it was embarrassing.

Nothing you did seemed to satisfy him. Every single time you brainstormed with him and the team, he disagreed with you. Every time you proposed lyrics, he rejected your ideas. Every time you so as much opened your mouth, he had an issue with what you had to say.

You tried to be patient… you genuinely did. But you don’t like feeling disrespected or embarrassed. And you certainly don’t take shit from anyone. So the last two weeks you’ve both been bickering, and the tension is noticeable not only to you and Namjoon but to the entire damn team.

The worst part about it all? You are so fucking attracted to him. He makes your tummy swoop with butterflies. He smells good. He’s tall, his dimples are fucking adorable, and his body… god, he is to die for. The sexual tension is prominent.

If only he wasn’t such a dick.

Today pushed you to your limits. Never in your life have you been more embarrassed.

It all started with a song he was working on. He played the beat, and immediately you were inspired. You got excited. Your attitude was bright, and you immediately jotted the lyrics down on your paper when they came to mind. You seriously thought today would be the day he’d be proud. He would agree. You felt good about it.

Only for him to burst out laughing when he read the lyrics. That wasn’t even the worst part. It’s bad enough that he laughed at you in front of the entire team. But what he said next is what made you lose your shit.

“Oh- shit. You’re serious?”

He stared at you for a moment, taking in your very irritated expression. And then he fucking laughed again.

“Fuck, Y/N. I thought this was a joke. God, I wish it was a joke because it would be hilarious if it was. It sounds like a fucking kids-bop song. You can’t be serious.”

And that’s when all hell broke loose.

You went off on him. In front of everyone. For three minutes straight you cursed him out, waived your hands around, and made it clear how much you cannot stand him and how rude he has been. How humiliated you feel. You’ve always been praised for your writing, so why the fuck doesn’t he like it? You are fucking pissed.

Maybe it wasn’t a good idea to cuss your boss out in front of everyone… but at this point, you don’t care. If he gets you fired by the company, oh-fucking-well.

Namjoon stares at you for a moment once you’re done. Your chest is heaving, your cheeks are red, and your brows are furrowed angrily. Clearly, he didn’t expect your outburst. His nostrils are flared and his jaw is tense, it even does the little tick thing that drives you crazy. Fuck him for being so hot. Fuck him for being so damn hot and such a dick.

He raises a brow at you, tongue in cheek, making that angry face that would be incredibly attractive if it weren’t directed at you. He lets out an angry huff of air before speaking.

“Studio. Now.”

He points at his studio as he says this as if you’re too stupid to understand his words. This pisses you off even more.

“You’re not my fucking boss.”

He scoffs at you, briefly smiling at your bold choice of words. You infuriate him just as much as he infuriates you.

“Actually, Y/N, I am. Studio. Now.”

You know that technically, he is your boss. But you refuse to listen to him after how humiliated he made you feel. In front of everyone, how dare he speak to you this way? Regardless of his weird hate for you. Besides, he can’t fire you. He may be able to request it, but you know that he won’t. From what you’ve heard, It took forever to fill this position. He was picky when it came to hiring someone… which makes this more confusing. You can’t figure out what his issue is with you, especially when he is the one who helped pick you for the job. Regardless, you know that he doesn’t have the patience to do it again. He’s full of shit.

You stand your ground. You won’t back down this time. You’re tired of the disrespect.

“No, Namjoon. Whatever you want to say, you can say it here. You’ve already embarrassed me, so go ahead, do it some more. I’m sure you get off on it.”

No longer smiling, his gaze is dark. He’s pissed. Now he’s a bit embarrassed… that’s what he gets.

“I won’t ask again. You can march your ass upstairs, or I can carry you. Your choice.”

You say nothing, surely he wouldn’t do that. He’s bluffing. Regardless of how harsh he has been towards you, you know that he wouldn’t cross that line. You hope that he doesn’t. The last thing that you want is for him to touch you. Not because he makes you uncomfortable, but because you already have enough dirty thoughts about him. You hate him, yet he turns you on in a way you’ve never felt. Lust driven by pure hatred, it’s a dangerous thing.

But of course, you were wrong, and he never ceases to surprise you. Never underestimate Kim Namjoon.

You stay silent, secretly hoping that he will just back down and continue the brainstorming session. But is Kim Namjoon the type of man to back down? No. He never has been.

He strides over to you quickly, taking big steps in your direction, causing you to miss your chance to run.

He swiftly grabs your waist and hoists you over his shoulder, his fingers digging into your thighs. You don’t even have time to react before he starts carrying you upstairs to the studio. He has no trouble doing so either, carrying you as if you weigh nothing.

You come to your senses and swat at his back while you yell profanities at him, demanding that he put you down, threatening to report him, and telling him that he’ll be fired by morning if he doesn’t stop.

But you know that he won’t. This company would never side with you, no matter what Namjoon did. They relied on him. They didn’t rely on you. You were replaceable, even if it would be difficult. Namjoon is not replaceable.

“Resume the session. If you finish before we’re done, you’re free to go. This may take a while. Don’t interrupt us.”

Hurried nods are sent in his direction, no one dares protest him or intervene. Cowards.

He kicks the door open to the studio, entering with ease, making sure not to hit your head on the doorframe as he walks in. You wish he would have hit your head, knocked you out, hell even thrown you over the staircase. Anything to avoid this humiliation he has cursed you with. You almost wish you would’ve just kept your damn mouth shut.

But the damage is done now. No point in backing down.

He throws you roughly on the couch sitting opposite his desk and then closes the door, locking it before facing you.

You glare at him, chest heaving, heart beating out of your chest. You’re just as pissed as he is. Yet, you still find yourself clenching your thighs together, irritated at the fact that he turns you on so much. You shouldn’t be horny right now… yet you are. The way he squeezed your thighs… fuck. Fuck him. God, fuck him to hell. You hate him.

“What the fuck was that?” You nearly growl at him.

He stands in front of you, arms crossed, looking down on you as if you’re nothing more than a pesky roach that he wants to squash.

“I told you, you could walk, or I could carry you. You made your choice, clearly.”

Fuck him.

“Fuck you, Namjoon. This is ridiculous.”

He laughs. He laughs at you.

Fuck him.

“You are ridiculous, Y/N. Why are you even here, if you can’t take criticism?”

“Are you fucking kidding me? I can take criticism, constructive criticism, something that you are apparently incapable of giving. You’re so fucking mean to me and I’ve done NOTHING to you.”

“No, I-“

You cut him off, unable to control your mouth.

“And another thing, it’s only me that you speak to this way. I’ve yet to see you speak to anyone else the way that you do me. What is your issue with me, why do you hate me so much?”

“Maybe if you-“

You cut him off again, and his jaw does the tick thing. He’s getting angrier, but you do not give a fuck.

“No, this isn’t on me. I earned my spot here, I was hired for a reason, and everyone else respects me, why don’t you?”

“Because-“

Again.

Fuck him.

“There is no reason, you obviously have some sort of sick vendetta against me. You’re fucking insufferable!”

“Me? No, you-“

Again.

And he’s had enough.

“No, fuck you Namjoon, fuck you and this weird ass game you’re playing, you—“

He borderline growls before he pins you on the couch.

You don’t even have time to register what he’s doing, and if you did, you’d slap the shit out of him.

That’s what you tell yourself, anyway.

His lips crash into yours as he hovers over you, one knee perched in between your legs, while his other leg steadies him. He grabs your face with force, so rough that you swear he could break your jaw if he gripped you any harder. His other hand is on the back of the couch, steadying him the same and pinning you in place.

The kiss is no different. His lips assault yours, and he wastes no time in forcing his tongue into your mouth. He kisses you with vigor. A kiss unlike any you’ve ever experienced before. You’ve only ever been kissed like this in your dreams, the same dreams that wake you up in the middle of the night leaving you touch-starved. It’s fucking aggressive and rough.

And of course, you kiss him back. You don’t want to. Yet you do. You don’t want to give in to him. But you do. You can’t help it. As soon as he made his move, you were under his control. He has that way about him, he’s easily able to affect people. You were a different story. You always defied him, disagreed with him, challenged him. Yet, this is the way that he tames you, even if only for a minute. Shit. You’re weaker than you thought.

He nips your bottom lip before pulling back, your jaw still in his grip. His nostrils are flared and his breathing is rigid, as if he’s just as shocked as you are at his actions.

And he is. He has no idea why he just kissed you. He has no idea what came over him. He just wanted you to shut the fuck up, and he acted on impulse. And now he has a raging hard-on, which pisses him off even more. He doesn’t want to want you, in the same way that you don’t want to want him. But you both do.

He whispers, searching your face, studying your reaction.

“Do you ever just shut the fuck up and listen?”

You clear your throat, still trying to come down from the rush of the kiss, adrenaline running through your veins.

“I-“

“Do you know how fucking irritated you make me?”

Suddenly, you have no fight left in you. You feel intimidated. Fuck him.

“Then why-“

“Am I gonna have to kiss you every time you need to shut the fuck up?”

You blink at him, unable to respond. You have no idea what to do, or how to react, and are becoming distracted by the puddle seeping between your thighs.

You haven’t had sex in over a year. You haven’t been able to grow interest in someone enough to give them that piece of yourself again. Your last situation-ship left you simply sick of men. Sex wasn’t appealing enough to go through that again. But, of course, as if the universe is punishing you, Namjoon awakens your sex drive.

You nervously bite your lip and clench your thighs, not even realizing what you’re doing. You’re on the verge of tears, overwhelmed with anger and lust. And this doesn’t go unnoticed by Namjoon.

He looks down at your thighs, and you immediately unclench them. Your cheeks betray you by reddening, thanks to the smirk that very clearly gives away that he knows exactly what you’re feeling right now.

He keeps his eyes on your thighs for a moment before looking up at you. He smirks, raising a brow, giving you a crooked smile that tells you he knows your dirty little secret. Your jaw is still firmly in his grasp.

“Is that it? You’re sexually frustrated? Is that why you’re being such a bitch?”

You try to wriggle from his grasp, embarrassed, angry, horny. You’re starting to wish he would just fire you. Anything to save you the embarrassment of his knowing glare.

“Fuck you.”

He chuckles, bringing his face closer to yours, so close that you can feel his breath touch your lips.

“Yeah? Fuck me? If I fuck you, will you calm the fuck down and listen to me?”

You blink at him again and say nothing. You want to protest, tell him how gross he is, tell him how much you hate him, tell him that he’s the worst. Yet, his idea just makes you hornier. You’ve never had hate sex, and oh fuck, you’re sure that it would improve your mood, even some of the tension between you two.

But it pains you to even admit that. It’s humiliating. He has humiliated you enough.

He moves his hand to the back of your head, angling it upwards so that he has better access to your neck. He places his lips on your jaw, running his teeth up it, leading to the crook of your neck, keeping his lips on you as he speaks his next words.

He grabs your wrist with his other hand, leading it to his crotch, coaxing you to feel him. And he’s hard. So hard that you’re certain a button will break on his jeans. Fuck. He feels giant… You’re so fucked.

“Do you see what you do to me? Never in my life have I had anyone piss me off to the point of getting a fucking boner.”

You can’t help but whimper at his dirty words, but you make sure to bite your lip, preventing yourself from begging him to take you as you so desperately want to. You aren’t one to beg for anything. And you hate him even more for bringing you to that point.

“I’ve thought about fucking you so many times, Y/N. Fucking you to the point that you don’t even remember your own name, and my name is the only thing that you can scream. I just wanna fuck you until you shut the fuck up.”

“Please, just… do it then.”

Word vomit. You thought it but didn’t intend to say it. Yet, you said it. Of course, you did. You’re on the brink of cumming just from his filthy words.

He kisses your neck before speaking. And you can feel him smile as he does so.

Fuck him.

“Oh, Y/N, baby, hearing you beg makes it so tempting. I never thought you’d be the type, considering the amount of shit you talk.”

You croak out, suddenly feeling defensive, “I’m not. I don’t beg for shit.” You weakly push at his chest, even though you both know damn well you don’t want him to stop.

He laughs, pulling back to look at you, keeping his face close.

“Yet, here you are, begging for my cock like a desperate whore.”

You frown at him, feigning offense, when in reality his degradation is making you even more desperate. Why? You don’t know. You’ve never liked being degraded, in fact, nothing turns you off more than being called names… but hearing it come out of Namjoon's mouth? Fuck.

“I’m not a whore.” You whisper.

He tilts his head at you, amused.

“Fucking obviously, you’re acting like you’ve never been touched before. Are you this needy with other men?”

“There are no other men.”

He studies you for a moment, carefully calculating his next move. The way that he looks at you makes you feel insecure, as if he’s a judge on one of those cooking shows, trying to figure out whether he likes the taste of you or not. You have the urge to push him away and take off, his gaze is too goddamn intense.

He is too intense. Never met a man like him.

“Stop looking at me like that.” You mumble, looking away from him.

“Like what?” He asks, furrowing his brows. Amused.

“Like you think I’m the most vile thing on earth.”

He’s taken aback by your response, almost looking offended. Because that is the last thing he was thinking. If only you knew.

“Vile? Baby, I’m so hard for you right now that it hurts, do you know how hot you are when you’re pissed? Fucking annoying, but soooo hot.”

You squirm, your cheeks pinking again. You didn’t expect that. You expected him to laugh in your face and agree. He grunts as he takes in your facial expression. If only you knew what you truthfully do to him. He closes his eyes and scrunches his brows, taking a deep breath before he pulls away from you, leaving you considering getting on your damn knees and begging for him to touch you again.

He chuckles while shaking his head, eyes still closed as he speaks. As if he’s in pain from pulling away from you.

“Yeah, fuck, and you’re cute when you blush. This is fucked. I can’t stand you, yet you’re so fucking cute. What the fuck are you doing to me? Huh?”

Fuck. He’s making this hard. You’re so overwhelmed. So pissed, so horny, you wanna push him away and cuss him out some more, but also you’ve never wanted another man more in your life than you do him right now.

Both of you stare at each other silently for a moment. His jaw keeps doing the tick thing, and you squeeze your thighs tighter, rubbing them together to relieve some pressure. His eyes flick to them, and you don’t even bother hiding it this time. As humiliating as it is, his cock is hard and bulging out of his jeans. So you can’t find yourself caring too much at the moment.

What really makes his resolve waver is the way you’re looking at him, which you don’t even realize. Normally you look at him with such disdain, as if he’s the vile one. But right now? Your eyes are wide and glossy, your lip stuck between your teeth. You’re looking at him almost sweetly. The desperation in your gaze is impossible to hide.

He loses it completely.

“Ah, fuck it.” He declares before grabbing you by your hair again as he sits on the couch. He tugs you roughly into his lap and starts devouring your mouth again.

You let out a little huff of air as he does this, not quite used to the rough handling. But god, it’s fucking divine. You feel as if all of the anger you’ve held for him comes rushing out in the form of kisses and touches. He feels the same.

His hand leaves your hair and he grips your hips, roughly grinding his hard cock onto your pussy. Dry humping like fucking teenagers as you make out aggressively.

Your hands come to rest on his face, framing it as they tremble slightly from the overwhelming emotions. You don’t hold back this time either, licking into his mouth wantonly, letting out little grunts and mewls that make his cock strain and twitch inside of his jeans.

His hands leave your hips to grip your ass, and he fucking groans into your mouth. He slaps it once, testing. When you let out a whine, he slaps it much harder this time, making your body jerk slightly.

He laughs into your mouth and says breathily, “Fuck, you really are a whore aren’t you?”

You bite his lip hard when he says this. You hate it. You love it. You grind down harder onto his clothed cock. He reaches back up to grip your hair and tugs your head back, pulling on it harshly and pulling you away from his mouth.

He grins when he hears you whine at the loss of his lips. “You wanna fucking bite me, huh? Uh-uh, fuck no you don’t.”

He pushes you off of his lap and lets go of your hair, you look up at him with heavy-lidded eyes and confusion. Honestly, you already look fucked out and he’s barely done anything. You’re just touch-starved, so every little kiss and touch is fucking you up. You’re craving relief from both your sexual frustration and the building irritation he’s caused you over the last month.

Before you even realize what he’s about to do, he grabs your hair again, his grip much firmer this time. It actually kind of hurts… yet you don’t stop him. He pushes your face roughly into his clothed cock, and grinds onto your face as he spreads his legs wider on the couch.

Oh fuck.

He grunts as he starts nearly smothering you. When he feels a bit of your drool gets onto his crotch, he yanks your head back, he laughs again, “Bet your big fucking mouth is great at sucking cock. Should we find out?”

You just glare at him. Don’t wanna give him the satisfaction even though every single thing he has done so far has made you borderline cream your pants.

He clicks his tongue, “No? Don’t have anything to say now? Isn’t that funny…”

Fuck him.

He keeps his grip tight on your hair as he uses his other hand to fumble with his zipper and button. Once it’s undone, he whips his cock out. It hits the fabric of his rumpled shirt and is already dripping precum.

Holy. Fuck. His cock is huge. A good nine inches.

He yanks your head forward again, literally smearing your face all over it, humping your face again. His head falls back and he grunts at the feeling. Your skin is just so soft, and the way your makeup is already becoming fucked up is making him go crazy. He’s always loved sloppy sex. And you are fucking gorgeous like this, he thinks.

He grabs his cock with his free hand as he tilts your head back, starts slapping your mouth with it, your cheeks too. The precum starts stringing from your cheek to the tip of his cock, and you can see his pupils dilate even bigger, he almost looks like he’s about to lose control.

He says uncharacteristically softly, “If you want me to stop, pinch my thigh real hard, yeah?”

If you had even a single moment of free thought, you would’ve probably been thankful that he gave you an out. You know despite him being a huge piece of work, he’s not a bad guy. So the fact he’s setting boundaries in your favor, even in the heat of the moment, is comforting. He cares about your safety and comfort. It’s the bare minimum of course, but most men lack even that. It’s why you stopped having casual sex to begin with.

But you don’t have a moment to think because pushes your lips down onto his cock abruptly, your mouth opens on instinct and he shoves himself inside. Doesn’t even ease into it, he just straight up plows his cock inside of your mouth until your nose is pressed against his pelvis.

You cough, and gag, already drooling all over him. Fuck it’s hot. You’ve never been face fucked like this before, but you’re starting to think maybe you’ve been missing out on good sex if this is how good rough sex feels.

You can’t even imagine what his cock would feel like inside of you if it feels this good in your mouth.

When he sees tears start to form, he pulls your hair back, strings of spit and precum connecting from your mouth and onto the tip of his cock. Fuck, it felt so good feeling your throat constrict around his cock. His resolve is wavering heavily. But he’s trying to remain patient. He smirks at you, stroking his spit-covered cock lazily directly onto your lips, causing beads of precum to escape his tip and cover your lips like lipgloss.

“Fuck, look at you. And you haven’t said a damn word. So pretty when you shut up.”

Your cheeks flush and you say petulantly, “Fuck you.” Because even now you don’t wanna give him the satisfaction.

That’s short-lived though because he starts fucking your mouth again. He shoves his cock inside and starts thrusting into your mouth as if it’s a goddamn sex toy. He hits the back of your throat with every thrust, causing you to gag and cough, your hands squeezing his thighs hard but not pinching.

You can take it.

He grunts out, “Fuck… I swear to god I’ll fuck your pretty little mouth every goddamn time you mouth off from now on Y/N, since nothing else has worked so far.”

Each word punctuated by a harsh thrust, he grunts our, “Just shut. the. fuck. up. Fuuuck.”

He keeps fucking up into your mouth, not easing up even for a second. Your eyes roll back in your head, and all you can do is take it. His thrusts only become sloppier and wetter. His head is thrown back and his abdomen starts clenching hard. But he knows you need to breathe. As much as he wishes he could just cum down your throat; he has other plans…

He pulls your head back again, he’s already feeling a bit too close to cumming. He doesn’t wanna cum too fast, he’s certain it would give you more to talk shit about.

He gazes down at you with heavy-lidded eyes, his mouth parted slightly and his breaths coming in fast. You look utterly fucked. Your makeup is ruined completely now, your eyes are red and teary, and your pretty pink lips are swollen. His stomach flutters, because he thinks you have never looked prettier.

He’s always thought you were so pretty. It’s one of the reasons he can’t stand you. He isn’t supposed to want you. You’re his coworker, technically his subordinate.

But none of that matters now, does it?

He doesn’t look much better, his shirt is covered in wet spit and his boxers are ruined too. He should’ve taken his clothes off… but luckily, he thinks it’s so much hotter this way.

His cock twitches against his belly, and he strokes your cheek with his free hand. He murmurs, “You good?”

You nod stupidly at him even as drool dribbles down your chin and your mascara runs onto your cheeks. There’s nothing to say really. You’ve never enjoyed having a dick down your throat so much. And he has effectively shut you up.

He nods and guides your head up, kisses you deeply. His eyes roll back as he tastes his precum on your tongue. So fucking good, he thinks.

He guides your pliant body to lay down on the couch, and then he settles in between your legs, his hands stroking up and down your thighs as he looks you over. God, there is so much he wants to do to you. He wants to use you but also wants to make you come undone as many times as possible.

Maybe then you’ll be more tolerable. Maybe this is what you both need, he rationalizes.

But he’s getting impatient. His cock is standing tall as he looks down at you, visibly pulsating, jerking upward now and then. And fuck, it’s making you impatient too. So much so that you whine at him, “Fuck, stop looking and just do something.”

His jaw ticks. He’s getting irritated. That’s what you think, anyway. But in reality, he’s preening on the fact you’re just as impatient as he is. It gives him an excuse to cut the foreplay and fuck you stupid.

You want him to do something? Oh, he will.

He lets out an almost mocking laugh, “Yeah? Want me to do something about it? You sure?”

You groan and roll your eyes at him, scooting your ass closer to his pelvis on the couch, his cock dripping so much precum, you have no idea how he’s not losing his mind right now. You certainly are. In fact, he’s starting to piss you off again.

Right as you’re about to talk shit, he can immediately tell. He grabs the front of your button-up and he rips it open. Doesn’t unbutton it like a normal person, but fucking rips it open, sending buttons flying on the floor of the studio. You let out a grunt, and blink at him in surprise with your mouth open.

You liked that shirt. Fuck him.

“Fucking seriously? You’re ruining my clothes now?”

Your patience is almost nonexistent at this point. You have drool and precum drying on your chin, you’re so horny it hurts, and he just ripped your shirt open like a wild fucking animal.

But him? It’s like he’s not even paying attention. His eyes are averted downward, tongue flicking over his lips. He looks almost stupid like this. What the fuck?

You look down to see what he’s gawking at, and… Oh. Oh. Kinda slipped your mind that you aren’t wearing a bra today. You were running late this morning and forgot to throw one on. Oops.

Namjoon doesn’t even look at your face at this point. His eyes are glued to your tits. He feels kind of ridiculous, getting this worked up over tits. He’s seen tits many times, it’s nothing new. But something about yours has him salivating, has his cock jerking upward.

He reaches down and starts lightly slapping the sides of your tits, watching them jiggle with a gaze full of hunger, he rasps out, “Not the only thing I’m gonna be ruining.”

One hand remains playing with your tits like they’re fucking stress balls, and Namjoon would argue that they absolutely are. The other hand reaches down and lifts your skirt, causing it to pool around your waist. He looks down a bit further, begrudgingly tearing his eyes away from your perfect tits, his other hand pushing your ruined panties to the side. He groans, nearly growls when he notices how wet you are. Fuck. He’s so close to losing control.

He dips a single finger into your sopping heat, just barely. Moves the creamy juices around before pushing his finger fully inside, squeezing your tit hard in his other hand. Your hips buck up involuntarily and your head falls back against the couch. You fucking hate yourself for the desperate noise that claws out of your throat.

Namjoon is no better, the moment he feels how wet you truly are, he lets a sound that sounds no better than the one you just let out. His breathing picks up, his heart starts beating faster, and his cock is so hard at this point that it’s actually painful. God, you are just so tight. Your pussy is clenching around his finger as if it’s trying to swallow him whole.

“N-Namjoon— please. Fuck. Please.” You beg again, don’t even care how pathetic you sound. A single fucking finger isn’t enough for how badly you want him right now. Want to be filled up and fucked hard. He’s barely moving it too. Just lightly grazing your walls, and it’s so frustrating. You just want to cum. Get it all out.

Namjoons resolve finally breaks when he sees a trickle of creamy white drip out of your pussy and onto the couch, he can’t take it anymore. He genuinely wanted to tease you, make a fucking mess of you. Make you beg and cry for him because of how much you piss him off. But not even he is strong enough to stall, he needs you. Now.

One last slap to the tit, he pulls his hand away and hastily reaches over for his wallet on the side table next to the couch. He pulls a condom out, brings the wrapper up to his mouth, and tears it open. And fuck, that’s so sexy. Your pussy clenches his finger again at the sight, and then he jerks it out of your pussy with a grunt.

You whine at him, almost feeling offended. But Namjoon knows damn well he’s going a little crazy because he just got jealous. Jealous of his own fucking finger. Should be his cock, not his finger. What the fuck are you doing to him?

He doesn’t warn you before he stuffs the same finger, accompanied by another finger, into your mouth. Nearly making you choke just like you did on his cock. Then he tosses the wrapped condom onto your bare chest, “Put it on me. Quick.”

You don’t even hesitate, you grab the condom with shakey hands and fumble it out of the package, all while sucking his fingers clean of your own juices. It only turns you on more, tasting yourself on his skin.

You reach for his cock, grab it with one shaky hand and his hips buck into it a bit. He lets out a little hiss through his teeth because of how sensitive it is, neglected for too long. That’s how it feels, anyway.

You roll the condom onto his cock snuggly and then look up at him expectantly with a desperate but wrecked look. Give him the best ‘fuck me’ eyes you can muster up. He keeps his fingers in your mouth. Doesn’t even move. Again, drawing it out. Attempting to, anyway.

You whine against his fingers, and would probably be begging him if you could talk. But Namjoon can’t take it anymore, lucky for you. He moves his hips forward and uses his free hand to position his cock at your entrance.

The moment the tip is sucked into your tight hole, he snaps. Literally, he snaps his hips forward, burying himself to the hilt. You cry out even with your mouth around his fingers, sounding muffled and wet. Your back arched obscenely because fuck you didn’t expect him to just go in like that.

You’re not complaining though, fuck no.

His head falls back like yours, and he stays like that for a moment, his teeth grit and eyes clenched shut. He removes his fingers from your mouth and grabs your face with one hand, smooshing your cheeks, the other hand coming back up to your tit and squeezing it harshly, as if he just can’t help himself. Squeezing so hard that it kinda hurts. But fuck, it feels so good. You’re starting to realize maybe you have a thing for shit like this.

Doesn’t help when you feel his cock twitching inside of you. It’s just enough stimulation to make your pussy start throbbing around him.

It’s pathetic how close you already are. But god, it feels like he edged you for hours. Even though he barely did anything. You guess you just kinda forgot what actual dick felt like compared to your fingers or a toy.

He starts moving his hips slowly, trying to be patient while your pussy adjusts to his size. But your patience left the moment he entered you.

“Fuck. Go faster, please.”

Your voice sounds high-pitched and a bit loud which you don’t even realize. You can’t control it. He clicks his tongue at this, gives your face a little shake as he says, “Thought I told you to shut the fuck up? Unless you want all of your coworkers to know you’re letting your boss fuck the shit out of you like a whore? That what you want?”

He pulls back out and then slams in again. You let out another cry, body jolting at the force. And he starts just pounding into you.

You asked for this.

How the fuck are you supposed to be quiet when he goes from 0 to 100 like that? Holy fuck.

“Oh, so you do? You want them all to know I’m making you my slut after humiliating you for your shitty writing? C’mon, speak up. Can’t hear you. Use your fucking words.”

All while snapping his hips harshly into yours, out one moment, deep inside the next. You can barely take it. You swear you can feel him in your fucking stomach. Hardly even register his degrading words because you can’t think, can’t speak, can’t even control the loud noises coming out of your mouth, although you desperately try.

Tears prickle your eyes, not because it hurts but because you’re overwhelmed. He’s so hard to figure out. Acting like he’s gonna tease you one moment, and then fucking you like he’s trying to split you in half the next.

He lets out a grunt at your lack of response and ends up squishing your cheeks harder, forcing your mouth open. He leans down slightly and fucking spits in your mouth and then stuffs his fingers back in your mouth, “Actually, just shut the fuck up. Keep your mouth busy and shut the fuck— ah, fuck— the fuck up.”

Fucking disgusting. Fucking hot.

The way his words falter and he loses train of thought for a second makes your pussy clench deliciously around him. Because it’s confirmation that he is just as affected as you are. Just as fucked up right now.

You both look a mess. Your shirt is torn open, your skirt all crooked and pushed up to your waist, and your panties aren’t even fully off. His shirt is still damp with spit, his pants only halfway pulled down and now there’s a creamy white stain on the front of them from your juices dripping down his dick.

It’s heaven, honestly. Or maybe hell. You aren’t sure. But it feels so fucking good.

His hips piston into your cunt hard and fast, and you do your best to focus on sucking his fingers, but the pressure is building fast. You can feel your pussy start to flutter, your clit throbbing, begging to be paid attention to. He can feel it too, it’s making him go crazy because of how responsive you are.

He slams home one more time before staying there, swiveling his hips in a circle so that his pelvis brushes against your clit each time, giving it the minimal amount of attention that has you nearly seeing stars, almost there, but not quite.

“Need more?” He pants out.

You nod your head quickly, his fingers covered in your saliva at this point. Dripping in the essence of you just like his cock. He nods back, removes his other hand from your hip, and settles it at the bottom of your belly, pushing down and placing his thumb over your clit. He starts flicking it fast and starts fucking into you again, picking up the pace so that the room fills with wet squelching noises and skin slapping.

The way he’s pushing onto your tummy while rubbing your clit, Jesus fuck… it’s intense. Makes it feel like he is inside of your stomach. So fucking deep.

Yup. That does it. The stagnant pressure starts building rapidly, he can feel it too. Your pussy starts tightening and fluttering beautifully around his girth. You’re making the prettiest noises, still quiet thanks to his fingers stuffed in your mouth but he can hear you the perfect amount.

God, it’s so perfect, he thinks.

You, you’re not thinking at all. He really is fucking you stupid. Your eyes are continuously rolling back and your hips buck into his thrusts desperately, quickly approaching your climax.

He flicks your clit back and forth, fast but precisely, “C’mon baby, give it to me. Fucking cum all over me. Make a mess. Ungh— god you’re such a fucking slut.”

And that sends you. Out of everything, something about Namjoon calling you a slut just fucking does it for you. You let out a muffled moan, that would be a scream most likely if his fingers weren’t sheathed into your mouth. Your legs tremble and your body shudders through the force of your orgasm.

Your pussy throbs violently, walls rippling around his cock as you finally see those stars. It feels fucking amazing, makes tears fall down your cheek. You can barely breathe because of the force of how fucking good it feels to cum on his cock.

This is his end too. He simply can’t hold back when he feels the vice grip of your pussy desperately trying to keep his cock in place, the rippling of your walls nearly feels like vibrations. He lets out another groan, but it almost comes out like a whine. Very subtly. His face is scrunched up and his mouth open as his hips stutter, his cock spilling and filling up the condom.

It goes on and on. Neither of you thinking about how much you hate each other, only thinking about how good it feels to be together like this. He swears he’s never had sex better than this. You feel the same.

The reality of it all is hate sex is unmatched. Especially when tensions build for so long and you both act as if you can’t stand each other… who knew a fuck could’ve helped with that?

At the last twitch of his cock, when your pussy becomes overstimulated and sore, he collapses on top of you. Both of you panting harshly, catching your breaths as your hearts beat in unison.

He removes his spit-covered fingers from your mouth, and he places lazy little kisses on your skin. He isn’t even sure where, too fucked out to pay attention, just anywhere he can reach while he rests on top of you. It’s an oddly tender gesture. A little sweet, even.

It’s silent for a few minutes. And you both start to realize what you’ve done. You just fucked your technical boss… he just fucked one of his co-writers.

Definitely shouldn’t have happened.

He can’t find himself regretting it though. He feels so light, that he could almost smile. As much of an excuse as it was at first, it genuinely helped with the tension. He’s not quite as irritated with you. Does he like you now? Fuck no.

But the more post-nut clarity comes to fruition… the more he thinks he can tolerate you. Maybe even work with you, compromise with you.

You on the other hand… you don’t know how to feel. You don’t regret it, because fuck, it did help with the tension. You feel lighter too. Not as sensitive. Not as hateful.

Maybe it was for the best. It’s not like anyone has to know, anyway. It’s like couples counseling sort of… except you’re definitely not a couple, and you both still cannot stand each other.

But you can tolerate each other now that most of the tension is gone for the time being.

“You good?”

He tears you away from your thoughts, and you look up at him with bleary eyes. It makes you feel sort of warm and fuzzy inside knowing despite his dislike for you, he’s still checking to make sure he didn’t cross any lines.

Well, he crossed several lines. But, you aren’t complaining. You’re glad he did. Glad he reduced you to this.

“I’m fucking great.”

That earns you a little chuckle. He sighs a breath of relief, was worried he went a bit too hard or did too much, especially since you didn’t set any boundaries beforehand. But you took what he gave you and you took it like a fucking champ, he thinks.

He reluctantly gets off of you because now that you’re both a bit more clear-headed, the couch feels a little too small, and he doesn’t wanna crush you.

His softening cock is still inside of you, so he braces a hand on the couch and slowly pulls out, both of you hissing at the feeling. He watches in awe as your juices flow freely out of you. God, what a pretty pussy, he thinks.

He dips a finger back into your heat, causing you to let out a little noise of surprise. But he removes it quickly, brings his finger up to his mouth and sucks it clean.

“Mmm. Yummy.” He says, wiggling his brows.

Ugh.

He pats your thigh before getting off of the couch, taking the condom off, and tying it up to chuck it in the trash. He stuffs his soft and sensitive cock back into his underwear and pulls up his pants, feeling utterly satiated now. Bubbly and light, even though he won’t show it. He makes his way to the little fridge in his studio and he grabs two bottles of water, tosses you one which you barely catch.

You gulp down the water gratefully, parched considering he stole most of your fucking spit. Asshole.

He begins walking into the bathroom attached to his studio as he says, “C’mon let’s go get cleaned up. Then we can look at those lyrics again and see if it still sounds like kids bop now that I’ve fucked you stupid.”

At your immediate glare, he lets out a laugh, and shrugs innocently, “What? Pussy is magic, can change a man’s mind about a lot of things. Now hurry up, you’re a fucking mess.”

And with that, he’s stepping into the bathroom.

Yeah. Fuck him. Still insufferable.

But god, you really do hope to fuck him again.

#bts #bts fanfic #bts fanfction #bts namjoon #namjoon x reader #kim namjoon #namjoon fanfic #smut #fiction #fanfic #kim namjoon fanfic #bts smut #namjoon smut #kim namjoon smut #faceclaim

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ham-st4r · 1 year

Text

𝐍𝐨𝐛𝐨𝐝𝐲 𝐆𝐞𝐭𝐬 𝐌𝐞 (𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐝𝐨) - 𝐋. 𝐇𝐞𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐮𝐧𝐠

❥ pairing: heeseung + female reader!

♪ warnings: smut, unprotected sex, dirty talk, oral male receiving, rough make-up sex, lover's to ex's, verbal abuse, break up, cursing, crying, arguments, angst, alcohol

♪genre: smut, fluff, angst, drama, lover's to ex's

♪summary: here!

♪number of words: 13,316k

Find your way around!

Hi, hi, this is my most recent work. Nobody gets me. It’s partially based on the song by sza. I was just listening to the song, and I got inspired to write this anyways. I hope you all enjoy it. I worked hard on it, and I’m happy with the way it came out. It’s long, but I hope you’ll be patient and make your way to the end. With that being said, please leave feedback and reblog it always makes my day to see someone complimenting me on my work.

You couldn’t believe it. After all the hard work you put in, it was finally starting to pay off all the sleepless nights, the days you didn’t feel like getting up and recording or writing, all the times you’d spend cuddled up in your boyfriend’s arms crying to him cause no matter what you did, you never felt like it was good enough.

It was all finally over, and with the help of your loving boyfriend being with you every step of the way and cheering you on from the sideline, you had finally been signed by a label, and you recorded your very first single.

You and your boyfriend, heeseung of seven years, held hands as you listened to your song play on the radio for the first time since your official debut. You both sang along softly to the lyrics, and he turned to glance at you with a fond smile cherishing this beautiful moment with his most favorite person in the whole wide world.

He wiped the few tears that trickled down your face with his thumb while the last few seconds of your song played. “I’m so proud of you. I knew you’d make a hit. I never doubted you for even a second” His soft voice comes out in almost a whisper as the song comes to an end, and the soft piano fades out.

You grabbed his hand that was placed on your cheek and brought it to your lips, pressing a gentle kiss to it. “I couldn’t have done it without you,” you tell him sincerely. You can’t even remember how many times you had just thought about quitting, but he never let you cause he believed in you when Nobody else did, and he reminded you of that every single day.

He pressed the button, turning off the radio in his beater that had been getting him to point A to B for the last four years, and pulled out a green velvet box from his jacket. “And I could have never done this thing called life if it wasn’t for you” He smiled with tears gathering in his eyes. You were literally his everything since the day you met at the restaurant he worked at. He remembered the day clearly. It had been unusually busy, and order tickets were stacked. Unknowingly, he accidentally cooked your steak rare instead of medium rare once the waiter brought the food back and told him it was wrong. He felt terrible for messing it up. He took his job very seriously, so he prepared what was probably the best steak he’s ever made and specially hand delivered it to your table, apologizing over and over again before scurrying off back to the kitchen about twenty minutes later, his heart sank when the waiter called his name, he thought he had messed up another order. But he breathed a sigh of relief when he heard the words the waiter spoke. “Table number 7 said that your steak was the best she’s ever had and wanted to thank you for your hard work with a one hundred dollar tip” For the rest of the hectic night, heeseung worked hard with a smile on his face, and when he saw you come into the restaurant a week later, he knew then, and there you were the one, it was like you somehow knew he was having the worst day of his whole career and like magic, you came by and made it the best by giving him the tip of a lifetime and he just knew from that day on he needed you in his life and even though he was on the clock he made sure to get your number while sneaking you a special dessert (one that wasn’t on the menu)

You teared up once again when you saw him open the box as he held your hand from across the beat-up dash in his car. “Heeseung,” you said in absolute awe.

“Y/n, you’re my whole world, and I’m so lucky to have you in my life and to be able to call you mine. Words just aren’t enough to express how I feel about you,” he said with a shaky breath, the first tear finally rolling down his cheek. “And even though I tell you every day, I just want you to know that I love you, and I’ll never stop loving you. It’s been a really tough past couple of years for us, but I wouldn’t want to spend those years with anyone else 'cause Nobody gets me like you” His lips upturned into a small smile when he saw the surprised look on your face. "I know I'm not perfect, but I promise I'll love and take care of you until the end of time" He turned the small box showing you the ring. It wasn’t big, it wasn’t fancy, and the diamond wasn’t the size of a rock, but it was enough for you cause you knew he was proposing to you from his heart, and no ring could ever compare to the amount of love his heart held for you. “I’m so proud of you, and I’m so happy that I have someone as special as you in my life” He smiled as more tears cascaded down his pretty face. “So,” he looked at you with nothing but pure love and adoration in his eyes, and with one last shaky breath, he popped the question. “Will you marry me?”

You sat there in silence, unable to understand how you were so blessed to have your debut song played on the radio and the love of your life proposing to you all on the same day. Without a doubt, this was definitely the best day of your whole entire life, and you’d never forget it, not in a million years.

He felt his heart drop the more seconds that passed, and you didn’t say anything after a while. He took your silence as apprehension, so he tried to reassure you that he was the one for you. “I-I know your parents aren’t fond of me, and I need a new car, and I need to buy a house, bu-“You cut off his rambling and kissed him. He kissed you back immediately without any hesitation.

“Yes, yes, heeseung a million times yes!” he chuckled breathily and grabbed your shoulder across the cup holders bringing you closer as he locked lips with yours.

You pulled away, leaving just the tiniest gap between the two of you. “I want to marry you. I don’t want anybody else but you, and I don’t care what anyone thinks about you cause you’re all I’ll ever need” He leaned his forehead against yours, his warm breath tickled your nose as he distanced himself from you, and took the silver diamond embedded ring out of its little box.

His hands were shaking with nerves and excitement, and so were yours as he slipped it onto your ring finger. “I love you so much” He held your hand in his, tracing the ring with his thumb as he smiled at you.

“I love you too” You squeezed his hand and squealed in excitement.

He rolled down the window, and you looked at him in confusion cause it was literally cold and raining outside. “She wants to marry me!” He screamed proudly out the window catching the attention of the people passing by, some smiling and others giving him weird stares, but he didn’t care. He just wanted the world to know that you were his now and forever.

“Oh my god!” You giggled and cupped your hand over his mouth.

He grabbed your wrist and guided your hand to cup his cheek as he smiled widely. “My fiancée,” he leaned in to kiss you some more, and neither of you bothered rolling up the window, too lost in the moment and the softness of each other's lips to care about anything else.

Everything was going great since the release of your hit single you and heeseung finally got some free time and were now cuddled up on a small couch in your studio apartment, currently talking about your wedding and everything you should get and who to invite.

“I’m going to make sure our wedding is perfect. I promise” He kissed the crown of your head, holding you just a little bit tighter.

“We should get little mini me’s, and you’s on our cake” His chuckle filled the otherwise silent apartment, and it made your heart melt. You loved the sound of his laughter. No matter how bad of a day you had, his laugh could always make it all better.

“That would be cute,” he said as he envisioned it. He could see everything slowly coming together the more and more you both planned and talked about it.

You looked up at him and pecked his lips sweetly. “I was thinking about planning it for this summer,” he said a little reluctantly. He knew it was soon, and he didn’t want you to feel pressured, but the timing to him seemed perfect.

“Really?! I always wanted to get married in the summer since I was a little girl,” you said as you felt the excitement rising.

“Then I guess that’s settled,” he says with a smile as he plays with the ring on your finger.

You both sigh in contentment, enjoying each other’s company until the loud ringing of your phone breaks the peaceful moment.

“I’m not answering that,” you say, snuggling up closer to your fiancé and hugging him tighter, not wanting to leave his warm, comforting embrace for one second.

“But baby, that might be Steve. You’ve been waiting on him to call for a while now,” he says, knowing how badly you’ve been wanting to get an opening gig, and this phone call might just be you finally getting that chance.

It’s a good thing you had heeseung cause he was always the logical one out of the both of you.

He moved his hands off of you, allowing you to take the call. “I’ll be waiting” He smiles at you softly.

You finally get up to answer it, and he was right. It was your manager, Steve, and as exciting as the news was, you couldn’t have gotten it at a worse time.

You hang up and trudge back over to heeseung, who was patting his lap with a tired smile on his face. “Was it him?” He asks excitedly as he wraps you back in his arms again.

“Yes,” you mumble into his chest.

“I take it the news wasn’t any good…” he muttered with a sad tone.

“The news was great” He leaned back and looked at you, confused.

“Then why the sad face?” He asks while stroking your cheek.

“I got invited on tour to open up for a well-known group, and they said I’d gain a lot of experience and a bigger audience.” You explained.

“What?! Baby, that’s great news! I’m so happy for you!” you knew he’d be excited for only a moment before you broke the terrible news to him.

“It’s a summer tour, and it’s this year, and we were going to have our wedding in the summer this year….” You said sadly, and you watched his smile lessen until it was nothing but a frown.

“Oh….not great” It was silent for a few minutes before he was being the heeseung you knew, always trying to turn a bad situation into a good one no matter how terrible the circumstances were. “Look at me, love. I’m not going anywhere, okay? We can have the wedding next year” He cupped your cheeks and made you look at him, smiling at the little pout on your lips. “And besides, this is your career we’re talking about. Sure, I would love to call you my wife and be your husband, but you know what, I would love just as much?” He asked with a smile.

“What?” He squished your cheeks and kissed your pout away, replacing it with a smile.

“To see my fiancée living her dream and performing in front of millions of people after knowing what it took to get here, seeing you perform for the first time on stage, will be the happiest day of my life.”

Tears had welled in your eyes, and not a day went by where you weren’t grateful for him. He always knew just what to say to make you feel better.

He was literally perfect.

He wiped your tears before they got halfway down your cheeks. “No more crying in the studio,” he said as his voice cracked slightly. “We’ve done enough of that already” He released a heavy breath while hugging you tightly in his arms.

“Yeah, okay,” you whispered and smiled past your tears. “I love you so much I don’t know what I’d ever do without you.”

“I love you too, and don’t even think about it cause you’ll never be without me.”

You held each other in silence, enjoying the rest of the time you had left until the tour started.

You had been preparing everything for your upcoming shows rehearsing over and over again to make sure everything was perfect. After all, this was your first time performing on stage, and it had to be nothing but the best, no less.

“Baby, you’re going to do so good,” Heeseung startled you. He had been watching you from afar after quietly entering the studio with the spare key that you had made for him on your one-year anniversary. He had just got off of work and came to the studio after cooking you both dinner before he left the restaurant.

“Hee!” You squeal, taking off your headphones and running over to him, peppering his face with kisses.

“Hello to you too, baby,” he chuckled and set his bags down before picking you up and kissing you as you instinctively wrapped your legs around his waist. “You miss me?” He said on your lips, teasingly swiping his tongue along them.

“I always miss you,” you whined into the kiss, and his hands moved down to your butt, squeezing it as he groaned from the feeling of your plump lips pressing against his.

After a hard day of work, feeling your lips on his was nothing short of heaven.

“Me too,” he released a breath and opened his mouth, letting your tongue explore every inch of him, but before you two got too carried away, he broke the kiss and set you back down after pecking your lips one last time. “I made us dinner,” he smiles, and you can see the exhaustion all over his features even though he tried his best to hide it, but nothing could get past you. You’ve known him for 8 years. “It’s been a while since you left the studio, and we had a date, so…” he let go of your waist and picked up the bags he brought, pulling out a bottle of your favorite wine.

“I took it upon myself to bring the date to you” He wiggled his eyebrows with a goofy smile.

“What did I do to deserve you?” You hugged him by his waist.

He set the bottle down and copied your action. “Oh, I don’t know,” he pretended to think. “But if I had to say, it’s probably because you’re the best person to ever walk this planet, and you deserve nothing but the best.”

You couldn’t believe it even after years. He could still make you feel butterflies with his effortless compliments.

“I love you so much. Did you know that?” You ask, playing with his little cravat.

“I do, but If I didn’t, I know you’d just remind me every day anyway” He pecked your forehead. “I hope you’re in the mood for steak,” he says.

“I’m always in the mood for steak,” you smile brightly. That was the first meal you both shared on your first date together. Of course, you’d always be in the mood for steak cause it always took you back to that wonderful day.

“That’s my girl. Now go sit your pretty butt down while I get your dinner.”

“No, I’ll do it.” You insist. “You just go sit and rest, okay?” You could see he was hesitant at first, but he quickly gave in cause his feet were killing him, and he was more than exhausted from picking up extra hours.

“Fine, but just this one time” He took his chef jacket off and hung it up at the door.

“That’s my boy,” you say, mimicking his words from earlier with a smile. As soon as he turned around, you took the opportunity to pat him on his butt.

“Y/n!” He squeaked and spun around, looking at you in shock. You’d never done that before. “What was that?” He asked, and you could see him blushing.

You just shrugged with a smile, and you would definitely be doing that a lot more from now on to see his cute little reaction.

During dinner, you both chatted about your jobs and how he’d been working late shifts and taking extra days.

No wonder he looked so tired, you thought.

You guys weren’t together as often as before with all the preparations you were doing for your tour. You didn’t get to keep up with the happenings, so when you did get together, the last thing you wanted was to talk about work, but luckily tonight, you both had the night to yourselves to talk about any and everything. “You should take a break, babe” He shakes his head slightly, dismissing your comment drinking the last bit of wine from his glass.

“I can’t. With the wedding coming, I need as much as I can get, you know that baby, plus I still need to save for a new car,” you just sighed.

“Hee, I make enough money for the both of us now we can live comfortably, so why do you insist on working?”

“Cause it shouldn’t be that way!” He raised his voice in frustration, not with you but with himself. “I’m supposed to take care of you, and I can barely take care of myself. Your parents even said it I’m a deadbeat that's no good for you, so to change that, I have to show them that I can provide for you that I can provide for us.”

As soon as he said that, you knew this was about way more than just making money, and he was dealing with more than he was letting on.

You pushed the empty plates aside and sat next to him on the couch, looking at his apologetic face. “I’m sorry I didn’t mean to yell, okay baby? I’m just a little stressed. Lately, that’s all” He put his hand on your knee, squeezing it softly. “I won’t do it again,” he promised.

“I know, it’s okay, hee” You rubbed his back soothingly, and he closed his eyes, exhaling a deep breath. “Lay back” He looked at you confused, but when he saw you weren’t saying anything else, he laid back slowly with his head on the armrest of the sofa. “Feet up” He did as you said and placed his feet on your lap, but he was still skeptical of your motive. “Just close your eyes and relax,” and he did, too tired to question your intentions anymore.

A low hum settled in his chest as you slowly massaged his feet, rubbing the balls of each calloused foot.

You gently pinched his heel and rubbed it up and down, adding slight pressure to soothe away any aches and pains. “That feels….” He trailed off, not being able to find the right word to describe how good it felt. You chuckled lightly and continued massaging him.

Your hands trailed up to his long legs, rubbing the taut muscles of his calves.

He felt shivers all over his body from your gentle, loving touch.

You moved to his thighs as you felt them tensing under your palms. “That feels good,” he breathes out, and you smile as a warm feeling spreads across your chest as you watch him start to relax the more you caress his tired aching body.

“Turn over for me” He quickly flipped over and rested his cheek on the backs of his hands, waiting on your next move.

You put your hands under his shirt, gliding your fingers all over his back. “I know that you’re stressed, and I know you’re dealing with more than you’re telling me” He tensed up when you said that, and you sighed. “I just want you to know no matter what, I’m here for you, so don’t stress yourself out too much, okay?” you could instantly feel him loosening up again from your reassuring words, and it warmed your heart that you could be of assistance to him when he was feeling low.

“Okay, thank you, love,” he whispered, and that’s all you needed to hear from him right now. You were going to let him open up to you when he was ready.

“You have so many knots” He chuckled loudly at that but winced when you pressed down a little too roughly to massage them out. “Sorry,” you said in a tiny voice.

“I think since you hurt me, you should make it better” You rolled your eyes playfully even though he couldn’t see you. You lifted up his shirt and leaned down, placing a few kisses there as his breath hitched in his throat.

“Better?” You asked.

“Much better” He squeezed onto the cushion under him, eyes rolling back in his head, and he might have been enjoying this a little too much as he felt himself getting more and more turned on by the second.

After successfully working out the knots in his back, you told him to roll over on his back once more. “Ooh, what’s next?” He said giddily.

“I’m glad you asked,” you smirked. “Take off all your clothes now,” you said sternly, and the look on his face was completely priceless as he was trying to register what you had just said.

“What? W-why?” He laughed awkwardly and avoided eye contact with you. “I mean, a-are you sure? I haven’t even had the chance to showe-“

“Less questions, more doing” He stood up and quickly got rid of his shirt and pulled down his zip before dropping his pants.

“Those too,” you said after looking at his cute, questioning face.

“Okay,” he whispered and took a deep breath feeling overwhelmed by your sudden boldness as he freed himself from the tightness of his boxers, his dick standing up right away from how hard he had already gotten.

You bit your lip at the sight of him. Even after eight years, he still managed to amaze you in every single way.

He laid back down on the sofa as you sat between his legs, gulping loudly while watching you run your fingers over his tense abs.

He put his hands behind his head, biting on his lip softly when you kissed his thighs, and somehow, just that little bit was enough to make him impatient.

“Baby… I’m really sorry, but I don’t think I can wait” His dick twitched at the same time the words left his mouth. As much as he wanted to see what else you had in store for him, he’d have to find out another time cause, right now. He couldn’t wait to feel your mouth around him.

“Don’t apologize, baby, just relax tonight is all about you” You kissed his tip, a string of clear precum creating a connection between your lips and his pinkish tip.

You licked his warm shaft running your tongue along the protruding veins. “Shit baby, you always know how to make me feel so good” His stomach was tensing with every wet lick and swirl of your warm tongue.

Wordlessly you locked eyes with him and took half of him in your mouth, bobbing your head up and down slowly.

“Oh fuck” he whined, eyes rolling back in his head immediately. It had been a while since you and him both got to spend intimate time together and just being like this with you after so long was like a dream come true.

He really missed this. He missed the feeling of your loving touch, and he missed being able to hold you and kiss you and tell you how much you mean to him in the privacy of your bedroom.

You used your other hand to stroke what couldn’t fit down your throat, and his moans increased in volume as he impatiently bucked his hips up, gagging you when he did so. “Sorry, it just feels so g-good,” he moaned, chest heaving up and down as he opened his eyes and stared down at you sucking him nearly all the way in while your hand made its way to his balls, cupping them gently just the way you knew he liked. “That’s it, love, just like that.”

You hummed around his shaft as he slid further down your throat till your lips were stretched around his thick base.

He moved his hand from behind his head, stroking your cheek lightly, before placing it on the back of your head, not to guide you but just so he could feel closer to you. “I’m so close,” he whispers shakily while feeling his tip hitting the back of your throat as you hallowed your cheeks.

Seconds later, you could feel his warm liquid invading your mouth and trickling down your throat. You kept your head still as he bucked his hips up and unknowingly gagged you again, causing you to tighten up around him. “Fuck baby,” he releases a low growl as you feel the rhythmic pulsating of his cock on your tongue.

You sucked him through his high, careful not to hurt him, knowing how sensitive he always was after cumming.

He watched you pull off of him as he caught his breath. He cupped your cheek with his palm and wiped the remaining cum off the corner of your lips with his thumb. “That was wonderful,” he chuckled breathlessly.

You smiled at him and leaned down again, kissing his abdomen to his stomach and all the way to his sweaty chest, stopping and swirling your tongue around his perky nipple while your free hand flicked the other hardened nub.

His little whimpers turned you on like crazy, but you ignored your pleasure cause right now, everything was about him and him only, and besides, his pleasure was your pleasure anyways.

He clutched onto your shirt tightly as you switched to his other nipple pulling it between your lips gently.

You could feel him arching up into you as he hugged you tightly to his body. “Y/n fuck, I need to feel you now,” he cried out, and you knew when he said it like that, he meant right this instant.

“I’m all yours,” that’s all he needed to hear, and then he was leaning up and taking you in his arms to the shower as you sucked and kissed all over his beautiful neck.

After your intimate time in the shower, he ran a bath for you both.

He was lying in the tub with hazy eyes, slowly stroking your shoulders and drawing random shapes on your skin, occasionally covering you with the suds from the bubbles he added.

“I’m serious, you know?” You brought up the conversation from earlier, and you heard him sighing behind you as you clasped your hand with his. “Just think about it for me, please?” You scooted closer to him, and he held your waist with his other hand.

“What exactly are you asking me to do, baby?” he kissed your neck sensually, and you tilted your head to the side, giving him access to nibble and gently bite your skin.

“I’m asking you to quit,” you put it simply as you reached your hand behind you and pulled him closer by his neck as he sucked even more hickeys on your skin.

“You know I can’t do that,” he mumbled, too occupied with kissing you to respond with a longer explanation.

“You can and you will. I can’t stand seeing you so tired, hee, you know that”

“I know, I know” He moved his head next to yours and spoke lowly into your ear. “Okay,” he caved in, but he knew you were right. He could work for ten years straight for seven days a week, but if he stayed at that dead-end restaurant, it still wouldn’t be enough to give you the life he wants you and him to have.

“Don’t worry about a thing. I have us, okay?” You reassured him, and it would be hard for him to accept that for a while but with you, he knew everything would be okay.

“Okay,” he nibbled on your ear lobe, using the tip of his tongue to lick the shell of your ear. “Well, since I’m now jobless, I think I have an idea of what to do with all this free time.”

“Yeah? Tell me all about it.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll tell you everything when we get to the bedroom.”

You chuckled, blushing at his little insinuation. You knew neither of you would be getting any sleep tonight.

“Morning, my love,” heeseung whispered in the quietness of your bedroom.

“Morning,” you greeted him back groggily with your morning voice.

“Last night was great” His smile reached the corner of his eyes, creating those little wrinkles on his face that you loved so much.

“It really was” You brushed some hair out of his eyes and stroked his cheek.

“What are your plans for today, Hmm?”

“Recording, recording, and more recording,” you sighed.

“Right,” he frowned. He wasn’t taking this time apart well at all, you were literally his everything, and without you, he couldn’t help but feel like a piece of him was missing. “Don’t worry too much, alright?” he kissed the hand that was resting on his cheek still. “I heard you last night. It was beautiful” He kissed your forehead sweetly.

“Really?” You asked with puppy eyes.

“Really” He smiled but frowned when you got out of bed.

Your eyes had landed on the clock, and you were almost late for your studio session today. “On no, I’m gonna be late” You rushed out of bed and messily grabbed some clothes.

“I can drive you,” heeseung offered, about to stand up, but you pushed his chest so he could lie back down.

“I’m gonna be gone till midnight. My schedule is completely packed. You just rest till I get back, okay?” you kissed him when he tried to protest, and he just flopped back down on the pillows.

You quickly did your hair and freshened up in the bathroom. “Bye, babe,” you said before bolting out of the door, not even giving him a chance to say it back.

“Bye, I love you,” he mutters to himself. “What am I gonna do now?”

Heeseung did absolutely nothing all day but sleep until he felt the bed dip down as you wrapped your arms around his waist.

The clock read 2:17 am, and his heart ached for you as he hugged your tired body closer to his chest. “Goodnight, love,” he whispered to you.

“Night, hee,” that’s all you could say before you both fell fast asleep.

Things went like this for the next couple of months, you coming home late, and heeseung was left at the apartment alone, and lately, the tension between you and heeseung grew over just the littlest things. You both had been exhausted him emotionally while you physically, and when he took it upon himself to clean your desk in the studio cause he was bored, that just opened the door for an argument to ensue. Although that was far from his intention, he just figured instead of being lazy while you were out winning the bread, he could at least surprise you with a tidied up workspace.

But apparently, that wasn’t as good of an idea as he originally thought.

“I don’t understand why you would even touch it,” you say, annoyed you had come back early from rehearsals, and nothing was the way you had left it, and now you couldn’t find your lyric sheets. “Can you do anything right?” You said irritatedly.

“Love, I’m sorry I just wanted to do something nice for you, that’s all,” he mumbled, feeling guilty that he messed up your things. “I put it in the top drawer with the rest” He could have sworn he did.

“If you want to do something nice for me, you can get out of my sight. I leave soon, and now I won’t have time to pack or practice cause you had to do something stupid,” you snapped.

“I can pack for you,” heeseung offered.

“Don’t bother. You’ll probably just mess up something else.” You angrily leafed through all the scattered papers. “Useless,” you mumbled, but he heard it loud and clear.

That was it. He wasn’t going to stand for your behavior anymore. It’s fine if you’re irritated. He understood that, but he wasn’t going to allow you to disrespect him.

“Stop!” He raised his voice at you, and you flinched. He took long strides over to your desk and pinned you against it with his large frame pressing your back into the knobs on the drawers that dug into your flesh as he stared down at you, and his heavy breath fanned across your face. “Don’t talk to me like that ever again.”

You stood still, heart beating rapidly in your chest. “I-I’m sor,” you muttered with fear in your eyes, and his expression softened a bit, but he still remained stern.

“I put those fucking sheets together. It was you that moved them” He pressed his lips onto yours, roughly taking your breath away from his hard tone yet soft touch.

He separated from you momentarily and stripped your shirt off, leaving your top half fully exposed from your lack of a bra. He squeezed your breasts roughly, and you moaned into his mouth as his tongue swirled with yours.

You moved your hands from the desk pulling his shirt up, and he smirked into the kiss, moving back so you could pull his shirt off, leaving his dark hair messy atop his head. “Hee,” you whimper.

“Be quiet” He pushed you roughly into the desk, rutting his hardened bulge against you. “I’m gonna get rid of this bitchy attitude of yours” Never ever has he talked to you like that before, and for some reason, you kind of like this new side of him. The thought of him putting you in your place excited you.

He stuck his hand in your shorts, palming over your mound and grazing your clit with his palm.

You threw your head back and moaned loudly as he zeroed in on your neck, leaving sloppy wet kisses behind your ear, decorating your neck in red marks that would be a deep purple by tomorrow.

He took his hand outside of your shorts and pulled them down around your ankles. He kissed you as best as he could while he pulled his pants and underwear down, the jean material pooling at his feet. “Turn around,” he ordered and shoved your face against your stupid work desk. “If you’re gonna apologize, you better do it right,” he smacked your ass harshly. “Say it!” another loud smack bounced off the walls in the small studio. “Why so quiet now, hmm? Just a moment ago, you weren’t shy to call me useless” He stuck his fingers in your wet cunt without warning, pumping them in you roughly.

“Fuck!” Your legs were already shaking as you tried to hold yourself up by placing your hands flat on your desk. The brutal pace of his fingers was mind-numbing as you helplessly clamped down around his digits.

“Cause you know I didn’t fuck up your stupid little lyric sheets, is that it?” He slapped your ass again, completely unforgiving with the strength of his harsh smacks.

Now that he mentioned it, you did remember seeing them earlier, but you don’t know where you put them, and you were too full of yourself to admit it. “I don’t k-know,” you lied.

“Sure? Cause I think you do” He slowed the pace of his fingers gradually until he came to a sudden pause. “If not, then I guess I was wrong” He smirked behind you, pulling out his fingers that were sticky with your essence and sucking on them greedily.

You were still bent over, clenching around nothing and trying to back your ass up to feel him and have him touch you in any way, but he didn’t.

“Guess I don’t need to fuck the attitude out of you after all,” you heard his belt rustling behind you, indicating that he was going to pull his pants back up and leave you bent over, unsatisfied and still aching for his cock.

“No! Please, I’m sorry it was me I-I moved them,” you admitted embarrassingly. “I’m sorry.” You whimpered.

He turned you over and lifted you on top of your desk, messing up everything he had just cleaned and organized. “Say it like you mean it” He stared down at you smirking at how needy and desperate you looked as you spread your legs wide open just for him.

He rubbed his leaking tip between your legs, coating himself in your wetness as you held onto his waist for support.

You kept your lips sealed, but after a minute of his heavy cock gliding across your pussy and teasing your clit with his wet tip, you couldn’t take it anymore. You needed to feel him.

You were going to apologize again, but thankfully he had mercy on you and pushed it inside, stretching you out with his big tip.

However, he didn’t have mercy on you like you once thought cause he stayed still after that, not moving even an inch.

“Please, hee, I’m so sorry. I’ll never say anything like that again,” you begged with tears almost in your eyes.

“I know you won’t” He pushed in all the way without warning, splitting your pussy open on his dick as he nestled deep inside you. “I’m gonna make sure of that” He put his hand on your throat, choking you lightly as he slammed into you, his hips colliding with your thighs as fast clapping noises filled up your studio. “The only thing you’re gonna be saying when I’m done with you is my name,” he grunted loudly while plowing into you ruthlessly, not bothering to even let you adjust properly.

“Heeseung,” you choked, barely able to speak from his grip on your throat and the brutal pace of his hips as your walls squeezed around his dick. “Fuck” you moan.

“Not so useless now, am I? I feel your little pussy sucking me right in.” His hips stuttered a bit, feeling you clench on him even tighter from the filthy words he spoke to you. “Open up that dirty little mouth” You did as he said, opening your mouth wide for him.

He spat in your mouth while fucking into you faster. Your fucked out state was making him go completely animalistic the longer you stared at him, and you were unable to speak cause how good he was doing you. Finally, after months, you were finally paying attention to him and only him in this shitty little studio of yours.

His swollen balls smacked against your ass. You spread your legs wider trying to feel every inch of him even though he was already buried to the hilt inside you and kissing your cervix repeatedly with his tip. “Nothing to say now, huh?” He teased, loving how you looked at him with your watery eyes, mouth full of his spit as you let him take you raw on your precious work desk.

He moved his hand from your neck, and his saliva trickled down your throat. You swallowed every last drop of it, eyes rolling back when his hips snapped into you, roughly jerking you back and forth on the desk.

You choked out his name as best as you could but stopped halfway when he rubbed your sensitive bud that was pulsating and desperately in need of his attention.

“Gonna cum already?” He chuckled and bit his lip, eyebrows clashing together as he slid in and out of you. “So much for me not being able to do anything right” His eyes flickered down to your breasts that were sloshing from his vigorous pace, and just the sight and the sound of your squelching pussy each time he rammed into was enough to have him mere seconds away from coming.

“Yes, hee,” you dug your nails into his waist while biting your lip. “I’m so close.”

He winced from the slight pain, but that only brought him more pleasure. “Cum on my cock, baby,” he circled your clit with his thumb, sending you to your breaking point as you came around his cock with silent cries of his name. “oh fuck!” He moaned loudly as he came from the tightness of your pussy clenching around him so deliciously, filling your insides with his warm cum.

He leaned down, locking his lips with yours, tiredly thrusting inside you as he finished at the same time with you.

He touched his sweaty forehead with yours breathing heavily as his legs began to feel numb.

You cupped his cheek and brought him in for a short but passion-filled kiss. “I’m sorry, hee,” you apologized again for lashing out at him. You truly felt bad. “It was all my faul-“

“Shhh, don’t worry, love. I understand. Let’s just forget about it and get you cleaned up. You had a long day” He pulled out and picked you up off your desk, as multiple sheets fell off of it. It was the ones you were searching so frantically for. “I’ll pretend I didn’t just see that,” he chuckled, and you hid in his chest.

“Thank you,” you muttered shyly as he walked you to the bathroom.

“Are you okay?” He asked once you got in the shower and cleaned you gently with his hands. “I didn’t hurt you anywhere, did I?” He looked at you with worry in his eyes. He knew he had gone rougher than usual due to his own frustrations at the time.

“No baby, you could never hurt me,” you assure him.

“Okay,” he whispers and kisses you slowly as he trails his hands up your sides, and you wrap your arms around his neck.”

“I love you, hee” You rested your head on his chest, listening to his calming heartbeat as the warm water from the shower cascaded down your bodies.

“Of course you love me,” he giggled, and you smiled. “I’m still going to pack for you, too” You tried to protest, but he just pushed his index finger to your lips. “And I love you too” He hugged you close and cherished what time was left before you had to go on the road.

Unfortunately, as easy as it was to make up after your first couple of fights with mind-blowing sex, now it just wasn’t that simple.

Especially after your schedule kept getting packed as the tour date was approaching, and now you had no time to talk things out cause you were too busy either working or sleeping.

And luck wasn’t on your side today either, as you and heeseung were in your tenth fight this week.

“All I’m saying is that I miss spending time with you. I don’t even get to see you anymore. You’re gone when I wake up. You don’t call or reply to my messages” He rubbed his temple in frustration. “I mean, I wake up at three in the morning to an empty bed, and you can’t even at least answer my calls. I’m just worried about you, baby, that’s all” He tried to hold you, but you didn’t have time for that. There were only a few hours left before you had to go, and here he was, trying to patch things up before you went away for a whole three months, and you just didn’t have the time for him right now.

“I work late, and you know that. I don’t see why you can’t just leave me alone. I have to put my phone on mute 'cause you just won’t stop texting me” You were haphazardly throwing some extra stuff into a suitcase.

“Well, If you’d just answer, I wouldn’t have to keep texting,” he scoffed. “Didn’t know it was a crime to fucking miss my fiancée.”

“How can you miss me when I see you every day?” you argued.

“Yeah! And that’s it, you just see me, you don’t pay attention to me. We haven’t talked in weeks. I only see you running out in the morning. It’s been months since we’ve touched and made love, and I miss you so fucking much. You don’t understand. It’s always so quiet and lonely when you’re not here” He lowers his head and picks at his nails nervously. He hated having these arguments, and he hated that he was having them with you the most.

“You knew this was what you were signing up for” You didn’t know what came over you to treat him so roughly, but he was just wearing you out lately. You had more important things to focus on, and him whining like a baby wasn’t on that list. “I can’t babysit you all the time. Maybe if you did something other than sit home all day and wait for me, you might not feel so lonely,” you spat without even looking at him, completely missing the hurt look that took over his features.

“You’re the one who told me to quit my job, and as soon as I did, you just disappeared from life and acted like you don’t even know me,” he answers with anger laced in his voice. He couldn’t believe the audacity of your words. Him quitting his job was literally your idea.

You sighed. You didn’t have any more time for his nonsense right now. “Well, I don’t care anymore. Go get a job, fly a kite for all I care” You had no idea that you were crushing him to pieces right now, too busy wrapped up in your own world that you forgot he was the reason why you were even here in the first place. “My parents were right about you. You are a deadbeat” You laughed pathetically, letting the stress of the situation go straight to your head and saying any rude thing that came to mind.

You somehow felt like it was justified for you to say such things cause right now, he was the one being hard-headed, not you. He knew you had more things to worry about right now, and he just wasn’t one of them. “I know what it is. You’re just trying to hold me back. I’m this close to my dream, and you just don’t want to see me happy.”

“What the fuck are you even on about?” He did his best to stop his voice from cracking. “I was with you every step of the way. I was there for you when no one else was. I gave you my all 'cause that’s what you deserved, I wanted you to succeed more than anyone else, and you know that” He paused for a moment to compose himself. “But now I’m not so sure anymore” The first tear rolled down his cheek, and he hated it. He hated the fact that, for the first time, he was crying alone. You were no longer sharing pain together now. You were the ones causing it for each other. “I literally fucking proposed to you 'cause I love you. I never would do anything to hurt you or our future.”

“Ha! Love? I’m sure you just were trying to tie yourself to me and use me for my fame.” Little did you know it was you who let the fame get to you. You allowed yourself to feel higher and more important than anyone else, including your own fiancé.

He let out a shocked gasp at your words. For the first time in his life, he was left speechless.

For the first time, he didn’t recognize you as the girl who gave him his first and only hundred-dollar tip.

He saw you as someone who lost their way along the road and forgot where they came from.

This wasn’t the y/n he fell in love with.

As devastating as it was for him, he just couldn’t see you two getting over this. It had been months since you started treating him this way, and It was just too high of a mountain to climb, no matter how much he wanted to be there for you. You just weren’t letting him, nor were you there for him. The last months have been nearly insufferable. He had no idea how much your career would impact the relationship, but the last week has shown him that your job was more important than him, and if he wasn’t your number one anymore, what was the point of all this fighting and suffering just to call you his fiancée?

It wasn’t worth it. Not anymore. It wasn’t.

He couldn’t do this anymore for the first time in the eight years he’s known you. He put himself first. “Since work is more important than us, you can have fun with your new relationship,” he mumbled as his voice finally broke while slipping the ring you got him off his ring finger and setting it in front of you on your desk. “Hopefully, your career can give you more than I ever could,” he turned away, leaving you speechless.

Why couldn’t he just see that you had a life to live? Why couldn’t he just understand your point of view? You thought.

He went to your bedroom and gathered up his stuff quickly. You watched him walk out the front door without looking back, and it was only after he shut the door did you regret everything that had just happened.

The silence crept up on you slowly but surely, and you were still in shock that he was actually gone eight years down the drain in the blink of an eye.

But it was too late now.

You said things that couldn’t be taken back, and even if you apologized, you’re not even sure that would erase all the horrible things you’ve said and done to him in these past months.

You wanted to forget everything and run after him so he could take you back into his arms, but you were scared to, so you foolishly let him go.

Cause If you were him, you wouldn’t take yourself back.

It had already been a year since your tour, and your career had skyrocketed beyond what anyone could have ever expected.

Except for one person.

Heeseung.

He always believed you could do anything. “I was there for you when no one else was” Those words rang in your ears over and over again as tears rolled down your cheeks. You looked down at the city view from your penthouse. “Fuck!” You screamed into the night sky, slamming your empty wine glass on the cold cement.

You tried to forget him, but every time you did anything, he took up every little crevice of your brain, and no matter what, you couldn’t escape him.

Even when you went on dates to try to get over him all you could think of was him, and the late nights he came to the studio bringing the date night to you (as he called it) with his very own cooked steak and your favorite wine.

The one relationship you were in after him (if you could even call it that) was a complete total disaster, and you were stuck dealing with a deadbeat. All he did was complain and tear you down. Criticizing your every move, He never gave you any support, and he was only interested in how much money your next show would net so he could bum off you.

He wasn’t even half the man heeseung was when he was with you.

You stayed with him for months cause you felt like that’s all you deserved, but after you found out that he cheated on you, you quickly broke things off with him.

Not cause you actually were hurt, or you cared about him, but you refused to associate yourself with a person like that.

You sighed at the memory.

Since that train wreck, you looked countless men in the face and turned them down every single last one cause no matter what, you could never get over him. Every time you looked at a man, you could still only ever see heeseung’s face.

All you could think of was heeseung 24/7, and no matter what, he always treated you with the utmost respect. You didn’t always agree with things, and you both had your fights here and there, but he was the first one to apologize and talk things over, always willing to understand your side no matter what.

You missed him so bad you cried yourself to sleep countless nights thinking of what you could have been if you hadn’t been so careless with your words and so dismissive of his feelings. If you could go back in time, you would reverse everything. You wouldn’t even think twice about it.

You couldn’t help but daydream about him coming to your concerts and being your number-one fan, and celebrating your first show together with you. You just know that he would have been so happy for you, and those would have been the best moments of your career, without a doubt.

But if you were being real, you deserved less. He should’ve never been the first one to apologize for all the times you fought. He should have never been made to feel like less cause you put your career over him cause he definitely wasn’t. He was worth more than any career in the whole entire world.

But now, all you could do was hang on to the little bit that was left of him.

You took his engagement band with you everywhere, and you never took yours off except for during interviews, so you wouldn’t raise any questions. You know you should have, but you just wanted to keep everything that made you hold onto the memories of when you two were together and happy.

Some nights, you just wanted to call him and tell him you wanted him back and you didn’t want to see him with anyone else but you, that no one else made you feel the way he did, as selfish as it was, you just wanted to tell him you wanted him to be yours again.

Cause no matter how hard you try. You just couldn’t let him go.

As you stared at the empty bottle of your favorite wine on your nightstand, even that reminded you of him, and like every night since your break up, you cried yourself to sleep.

Heeseung was back at his old restaurant job. Luckily for him, he left on good terms with everyone, and they were happy to have him back cause he was by far the best cook and worker there.

He was currently cooking and serving up dishes, frantically rereading order tickets to make sure he got all the orders correct.

It was only when he hit the bell and yelled, “Order for table fifteen,” that he heard an oh-so-familiar voice. He looked up at one of the TVs in the top left corner of the restaurant, and he was captivated by who he saw.

After a year, he remembers all the lyrics to that song, and he remembers reciting them to you a few weeks before your tour. That was one of his favorites from you.

Heck, all your songs were his favorite.

It was one of the first songs you had ever written. It was about how you two first met.

He couldn’t help but smile as he watched you live your dream. As much as you hurt him, he still just couldn’t forget about you. He tried to go out a little and find someone new, not to replace you but to move on, but that quickly came to an end when every time he even looked at a girl, all he saw was your pretty face.

Yeah, you said some really terrible things, but he knew deep down you didn’t mean that it was just a hard time for you both, but he knew things wouldn’t have worked. That’s why he didn’t go running back to you after all this time apart. He had done some thinking, and though he couldn’t see it right away, he knew your guy's breakup was inevitable.

Apart of him wishes, he didn’t walk out on you that day, but what would have changed? You were too busy for him. There was no longer a slot for him in your busy schedule anymore. He chalked it up to the right people wrong time.

Call him whipped. He didn’t care cause no matter what, you’d always be his girl, and he’d always be your number-one fanboy.

He sang along as he watched you fondly on the TV. He knew you had what it took to get where you are today. A doubt never crossed his mind when he first saw you perform. He knew you were made for it.

As you held the last note of the song, he held his breath, not blinking even once so he could capture this beautiful moment and store it in his heart forever. What could he say? He was a very sentimental guy.

Unknowingly he clapped for you while all his other co-workers were bumping into him and shouting his name so he could get back to work.

“That’s my girl” He smiled proudly as the camera panned back and showed thousands of people in the crowd supporting you.

“In your dreams, kid, now stop daydreaming about a girl that doesn’t even know you exist. I need five more steaks, medium rare” His boss patted his shoulder lightly.

“Yes, chef!” Heeseung answered while wiping his hands on his towel before preparing fresh steaks for all the waiting customers. “If only he knew,” heeseung whispered and smiled to himself.

And if only he had of looked up for just a second, he would have noticed the camera do a close-up of your face and give him a clear view of his engagement band hanging off the dainty chain that you wore around your neck every performance.

As much as heeseung wanted to ignore it, he couldn’t. The billboards were literally everywhere, and he’s not sure if he was zeroed in on them just because it was you or if it was that you were really just that popular that your world tour was marketed on literally everything.

Though it didn’t much matter anyways cause he still saw it, and he had already purchased a front-row ticket to see you live in his city, one that he may have bought on resell, and he also may have spent his months' savings to get it.

He wasn’t stalking you, but he knew you had moved out some time ago after randomly hearing people chatting about you, and he might have watched a couple of your interviews from time to time just to see how you were doing.

Sadly, you never mentioned him in any of them, but why would you? You both literally broke things off a year ago. You probably didn’t even think about him anymore, or maybe you did, but he couldn’t really say.

Of course, he thought of calling though he wasn’t sure why exactly but whenever he did he reached the dial tone it didn’t come as a shock he knew when you moved you changed your number too, but it didn’t stop him from ringing a few times maybe it was just out of habit.

The idea of seeing you after all this time made him extremely nervous, but he just needed to see you one last time in person just to get the last little bit of closure his heart yearned for after missing you for a whole year.

Your nerves were going absolutely crazy. You were about to take the stage in five, and no matter how many shows you had done, this one definitely meant the most to you cause it was in your hometown. It was where everything began.

More importantly, it was where you and your favorite person met and got engaged.

You grabbed his ring, bringing it to your lips and kissing the silver band softly.

You thought back to everything that happened, and you knew no matter how things ended, heeseung was somewhere, and he was proud of you.

That’s just the type of guy he was, never one to harbor any malice in his heart. He was the true definition of an angel.

“On in two,” You heard in the background of your thoughts, and with that, you wiped your tears before straightening out your clothing and taking a deep breath.

“You’re gonna do great,” you muttered to yourself.

That’s what heeseung would have said if he was here right now and if you didn’t have that knowledge, you’re sure you wouldn’t have been able to take the stage.

You looked at the crowd from behind the curtain, and your heart sank even further. As shallow as it sounds and as dramatic as you were being, you couldn’t help but think this is what you traded heeseung for. This is what you gave up the love of your life for.

As you were lost in the thought, the final minutes passed, and before you knew it, you were going up on stage as the crowd roared for you.

Heeseung had been pacing back and forth on his lunch break. Today was the day of your concert, and he was chickening out. He got called into work today on his day off and deemed that to be more important than seeing you.

That’s what he tried to convince himself of, but he knew it was just him being a scaredy cat.

Your concert must have been on for at least an hour, and he had to drive at least half an hour to get to the venue.

Without thinking or notifying any of his co-workers, he got in his same little beater and sped off to the venue as fast as possible.

He may have been honked at, and he may have honked back, but after running at least two red lights and changing lanes without his signal, he was parked in front of the venue, hearing the music blasting throughout the arena.

He dashed out of his car and thanked whatever higher being that was out there cause, luckily for him. They haven’t shut the doors yet.

He got a couple of weird looks as he made his way through the crowd, still in his work uniform, but he didn’t care as he nearly tripped while trying to find his seat, row 1, seat 7. What coincidence, he thought you sat at table number 7 the night he first saw you, and now he was sitting in seat 7 the first time he saw you perform. “Lucky number 7,” he said and smiled.

Once he found his seat, he looked up from his ticket, and his heart nearly stopped as he heard the last bit of your latest song.

His mouth parted in awe, and in the moment, he wasn’t sad and thinking about your breakup. He wasn’t going to see you to try and win you back.

He just wanted to watch his baby perform in front of thousands in your guy’s hometown, just like you and him always talked about always dreamed about.

Once your song ended, the lights dimmed, and you went backstage to change your outfit, getting ready to sing your unreleased song.

It was something special you had prepared just for this stop in your hometown.

You knew it would only break your heart even more to do this, but you had to. It felt right.

You changed into the same outfit the day heeseung proposed to you, looking at yourself with a forced smile in the mirror. You prepared yourself for your final song.

The loud cheers were drowned out by your seemingly never-ending thoughts today. The concert was everything you dreamed of and more it’s just too bad that Heeseung wasn’t here to see how far you’ve come.

You just wished you hadn’t said what you said and did what you did. It was selfish and hurtful, and you can’t imagine what he must have felt like. He literally sacrificed so much for you. But you were too stuck up to put yourself in his shoes for one day. You think maybe if you had of just listened to him one of the countless times he tried to express how he was feeling, maybe that dreadful day would have never come, and maybe he’d be in the front row watching and cheering you on right now as you sang your 15th and final song of the night.

Your feet moved on their own as you walked onto the dark stage. You stood in the middle, a spotlight shining above you that slowly panned back to the crowd, now giving the room a warm feel.

Everyone cheered loudly once you came back out on the stage, and you thanked them with a warm smile once they had quieted down a bit. “I have something special planned, but before I perform my last song, I’d just like to thank each and every one of you for coming out tonight.”

You were overwhelmed by the crowd noise, but you were so grateful for how loved you were by so many. “As a lot of you know, this is my hometown, and I made my first hit single in a little studio just about fifteen minutes from here” The crowd went silent and held on to every word as you gave your final speech. You were even more grateful for how respectful your fans were. “Performing here has always been my dream, and now that it has become a reality, this moment now holds a special place in my heart, and I’ll never forget this for years to come” You fought back the tears and tried to finish. What you prepared without getting too emotional.

“You can do it,” Heeseung muttered as he watched you wiping a few stray tears and holding the mic up to your mouth once more as the crowd encouraged you by cheering and whistling. “That’s my strong girl” He smiled proudly as you started to speak again.

“One thing a lot of you don’t know is that I used to share that studio with my boyfriend, well actually fiancé and now ex” You could hear the crowd gasping at the news that you’ve never told anyone, not even your parents cause you knew no matter what you told them they’d blame it all on heeseung and he didn’t deserve that especially cause it was all your fault.

Heeseung immediately froze up. Were you talking about him?

No.

You must be talking about someone you met after him, he quickly concluded.

“I wrote this song for him because he’s the reason I’m standing on this stage tonight in front of you all right now when no one else believed in me. He did. When I couldn’t afford the rent for the studio, he worked extra shifts just to make my dream come true.”

This sounded a lot like the experiences you both went through, but heeseung didn’t want to get his hopes up. It’s been a year. You could have had multiple ex’s by now, for all he knows.

“I never forgot the day he proposed to me. It was the best day of my life. My first single had just finished playing on the radio, and out of nowhere, he popped the question, and of course, I said yes” You smiled softly.

Now he was positive you were talking about him, and he teared up immediately. He remembers that day like yesterday. No wonder you were wearing that outfit. It all made sense to him now, and he was more than grateful that you mentioned him at your live show.

“Everything seemed to be perfect. My career was taking off. We were going to get married in the summer of last year, but my tour came up, and we spent less time together and more time fighting until one day, I said a lot of things that I didn’t mean, and that led us to break up” you said heartbroken you knew you were sharing a little bit too much, but you hoped after performing here and getting all this weight off your chest it would help you heal even just a little bit.

More loud gasps and murmurs were heard, but you didn’t let it get to you too much cause people always had something to say, rather it was good or bad.

Heeseung couldn’t stand to watch you so vulnerable up there and all alone. He wanted to jump on stage and pull you in his arms and tell you that everything was okay.

“As bad as this might sound if I could, I’d trade my career to have him back” You took a deep breath. “I’d give up all this just to call him mine again.”

“Stop saying nonsense,” heeseung’s voice cracked as he smiled sadly, a tear escaping his eye and trickling down his cheek.

“If he were here, I would tell him I’m sorry for everything and that he was right and tell him just how much I still love him” No matter how hard you tried to fight it, you couldn’t hide the pain in your voice as you spoke those words straight from your heart.

“I love you too, baby. I promised I’d never stop loving you” He’s a thousand percent sure he was getting weird stares, but once again, he didn’t care. Nothing else mattered but you, him, and this once in a lifetime moment.

You tried to lighten the mood a bit before your last song. “Oh, and one more thing, I’m in the mood for steak,” you laughed, and so did the crowd. Even though they had no idea what you meant by that, you knew heeseung would, though, but you were still thankful that they played along.

“Always in the mood for steak,” He laughed quietly and blinked his tears away, dabbing his nose.

You gave the crew a thumbs up, and your final song played. “Thank you all for coming tonight. It has been an honor to perform here. This is my unreleased song dedicated to my wonderful ex-fiancé. It’s called “Nobody gets me,” you spoke softly into the mic. “Thank you for everything, and thank you to everyone who traveled to come see me. Please have a safe trip home. I love you all.” You blew a kiss to the audience.

Heeseung was taking in the moment glancing at the crowd as they all watched you with phones in their hands and the flashlight on. This is what you both always dreamed of big lights, thousands of people, and him proudly cheering for you in the crowd.

Halfway through the song, his ears perked up at the familiar words you sang.

♪ Nobody gets me like you.

How am I supposed to let you go? Only like myself when I'm with you.

Nobody gets me. You do♪

He remembered telling you those words the day he proposed, and his heart nearly leaped from his chest.

You remembered.

♪If I'm real, I deserve less If I was you, I wouldn't take me back. I pretend when I'm with a man, it's you, And I know that it's too late.♪

The next few lines made his heartache. He didn’t feel that way at all. He would have taken you back in a heartbeat if you had of just called and apologized.

♪I don't wanna lose what's left of you.♪

You subtly pointed to the engagement band around your neck, and he didn’t miss it. If his eyes were correct, that was his ring.

After seeing that there was no way he was going to leave without seeing you again, he had so many questions to ask.

Your eyes searched the faces in the crowd, something you did from time to time to connect with your audience. You saw one face that stood out from the rest, and you could have sworn you were dreaming or someone was playing tricks on you cause there’s no way lee heeseung, your ex-fiancé slash love of your life, was watching you perform with the brightest smile on his face.

But even when you blinked and looked again, he was still there, giving you a shy wave with a sheepish smile as you teared up. The song was coming to a close, and you only looked at him the whole time.

♪You do Nobody gets me, you do (do) You do Nobody gets me, you do (do, ooh) You do, Nobody gets me, you do (do, ooh)♪

You looked directly into his eyes, not blinking for even a second as you closed out the song with tears in your eyes.

♪Nobody gets me. You do.♪

The lights dimmed, and all you heard were cheers as you made your way to the dressing room, clutching your chest while everyone congratulated you on your amazing performance backstage.

What is he doing here?

How was he here?

Why was he here?

Did a friend drag him here, or did he actually come to see you so? Many questions were swirling in your head, and it gave you a headache.

You were nearly hyperventilating as you took a drink from your cold water bottle.

You had been sitting there thinking about the last performance thinking about the way he looked at you with that beautiful smile of his.

He looked just the same.

“There you are,” you heard the voice of one of your managers. “Look who came to see you,” Steve smiled. He had known you and heeseung since way back, all the way back before you made your first single. He was the one that set up your tour last summer. He didn’t know why he started seeing less and less of heeseung as time passed or how you two ended, but when he asked. You just told him you were taking a break, and he never brought it up again since you seemed sensitive about the topic.

You turned in your seat, having a feeling you already knew who it was, and when your eyes met, you could have sworn you stopped breathing.

There he was in all of his beauty, and you smiled slightly when you saw him still wearing his chef jacket.

He smiled back at you shyly, and wow, were you absolutely gorgeous, just the way he remembered you. He knew it’s only been a year, but still. “Thank you, Steve. I owe you one,” heeseung shook your manager's hand.

“Hey, how about one of your infamous steaks? Since we’re in town,” Steve patted heeseung on the back with a light chuckle.

“You got it,” heeseung agreed, and Steve waved at you both before leaving you two alone.

Now that heeseung was alone with you for the first time in a year, the nerves had built up all over again. Still, he took confident strides toward you before he could even make it to you. You were already sprinting over to him with tears in your eyes as you wrapped your arms around him tightly.

You knew you had no right to, but you couldn’t help yourself.

He automatically welcomed you into his embrace, and it felt like you were never apart for even a second. That’s just how familiar you felt to him.

“Hey, it’s okay, don’t cry, it’s okay,” he shushed you and patted your head softly.

“I’m so sorry,” you said over and over again. Finally, after a year, you could say the words that you should have said the day he left, even before the day he left.

His heart broke at the sound of your weak sobs, and he couldn’t help but tear up as well. He always cried when you cried cause no matter what, he never wanted you to be alone in anything that you did. If you were happy, he was happy with you. If you were sad, he was sad. He was never in between. “It’s all okay now, baby. I forgive you.”

When he said baby, you literally froze in your tracks and pulled away from him. “Baby?” You asked with a confused tone fighting back a smile after hearing him call you that after so long.

“Yes, you never stopped being my baby” You pulled him even closer to you, pressing a kiss on his lips, both of you getting a taste of the salty tears that stained both your cheeks.

“Hee,” you mumbled breathlessly and looked him in the eyes. You were so nervous about doing this, but you had to. You pulled away from the hug and unclasped your necklace, taking off his ring. “I-“He had already outstretched his hand, waiting for you to slip his ring back on his finger where it belonged. “I love you so much, hee” He pulled you into another tight hug, rocking you back and forth gently.

“I love you too, I love you, I love you, I love you” He playfully kissed every inch of your face, and though few words were shared since seeing him again, your performance and his silver ring shining on his finger said more than a million words.

You giggle, and it was music to his ears to hear after so long. You played with his little cravat on his chef jacket just like before, and he smiled brightly. “So, are you still in the mood for steak?” He chuckled with a raise of his brow.

“I’m always in the mood for steak” He hooked his arm around your waist, leading you two out of the back of the venue. You’d get Steve to cover for you for your sudden disappearance.

“That’s my girl” He leaned down and kissed your lips sweetly as you clutched onto him tighter. “Just wait till chef sees this,” he smiles proudly at you.

You just looked at him quizzically, and he just gave you a smile. “Did you enjoy the concert?” You ask him excitedly.

“Well……” he chuckles nervously. “How about we talk about it over dinner, Hmm?”

“Sure” The smile never left either of your faces as you drove to the restaurant in his beater, hand in hand.

As you look at him, he stares back at you with that one-in-a-billion smile of his, you made a promise to yourself to never hurt him again, and you swore you’d do whatever it took to keep him and that beautiful smile on his precious face.

Cause you’d never find anyone else that gets you like him.

FIN.

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