#He’s a good guy he’s been through a lot but is making the best of his circumstances

[burymagdalene]

Drip by Drip - S. Reid x Reader

In which the nine long days spent apart ends in a harmonious reunion of a needy shower spent together.

pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader genre: plain smut. (18+ pls pls) I didn't even write 70k words of plot before like I usually do. tags: softdom!Spencer, shower sex, age gap (or could also not be...) pinv, a possessive vibe, fingering, handjob, making out, multiple things being very wet...playing with your tits, creampie, finger sucking, praise, & desperation! wc: 3.3k a/n: More of this. I had a lot of fun writing this even though I kind of felt really dirty to the point of religious guilt as a non-religious person so I hope you guys like it! <3

Your body finally relaxes after what feels like the longest day you’ve had all week once Spencer's shower stream washes over you.

Nine days. Nine brutally slow days of watching over Spencer’s apartment- or torturing yourself by being reminded of his belongings for over a week.

When he first left, you’d been naive. Spencer hasn’t been away for over a week since you’ve started dating. The first time he was gone for three days you felt like you were going to faint. You wish you still had those champagne problems as you’re washing yourself for the trillionth time alone in Spencer’s shower.

The past 24 hours have been especially hard. You were woken up at 5:00 am with Spencer calling you before he had to get ready in the hotel and go out to do whatever had taken up so  much of his time in Boise, Idaho. 

First, good news: He thinks there is a break in the case, and should be getting home later.

Second, great news: Spencer has conveniently woken up with a hard on that's throbbing helplessly against his stomach.

Which sounds like a heavenly wake-up call. But in the FBI he has to be adaptable to the quickest changes in plans.

Five minutes into purring into your side of the phone while touching yourself to Spencer’s groans, another charming individual begins to call Spencer as well. His boss.

So, tucking himself into the band of his underwear, Spencer leaves again. You could’ve finished yourself off, but self pity got the best of you as you drift off to sleep.

A painfully slow and hard day at work followed, rude people and small mishaps on your part that were blown out of proportion to make you feel worse. A crappy self made dinner that took longer to cook than to eat.

But in Spencer’s shower, you’re able to unwind, happy in knowing you can spend the end of a bad day in your lover's space. Regardless of if he’s here or not. Which is another problem, you haven’t heard from him since he was panting on the phone earlier– so it’s safe to say he probably will not be coming back today because of the rush in which he had to hang up earlier.

Over the water pattering against tiles, you do not hear the key jingle and door shut that signifies Spencer’s long-awaited return. Head down and eyes closed, most of your senses are just focused on trying to unwind.

Spencer, placing his bag down in the kitchen, can hear the shower going and immediately saunters over. Not having a plan, but just to show that he’s finally back. He can’t fathom being home right now without alerting you.

Slowly, as if not to scare you too badly, he probably will though, he slips in through the bathroom door, places his toiletry bag down on the sink.

You’re a bit unfocused, but not completely to the point of missing this. Out of your peripheral vision you see the slightest movement and your head whips to the side. Spencer. You could fucking melt.

Through the steam that has built up, you can make out his slouched figure and contrasting pleased smile. You can’t help yourself, with soft dripping skin you swing his shower door open to greet him.

“Spencer,” you whisper out in shock, trailing water onto his bathroom floor. “Oh my God.”

“Hi my baby-” He reaches out to swipe away some droplets on your face, but doesn’t finish. You’re pulling him into a tight, wet hug.

Arms slung fiercely around his neck, he barely buffers in returning your hug with his jacket-clad arms around your waist.

In the back of your mind you’re aware that the water on your breasts and stomach are soaking through his undershirt. That your clean hair is dropping water onto the shoulder of his jacket. You’re also aware how expensive a suit is. 

The harsh disparity from the cool air sticking to your wet skin from the hot (frankly, too hot) shower you were in previously is pebbling your nipples against his now soaked-through button up, your skin is covered in goosebumps that he’s swiping away with his thumb. 

A low hum into your ear as he’s trailing his thumb nail against the sensitive part of your inner waist, “Angel girl,” a deep sigh, “I missed you so much.”

Your arms tighten around him, forehead landing on his wet shoulder, you could cry. You could laugh maniacally. Either way, you feel cemented against his frame, the only warmth being produced near you since stepping out of the shower.

A small indent in your lower stomach is being formed from his belt digging into your pliable skin. You feel like a fresh heap of soft clay ready to be moved and constructed into anything Spencer’s hands can make of you. You feel utterly his.

You pull away slightly, uncomfortable from where his buckle was pressing against your belly. Pulling one hand away you trace it with a fingernail, Spencer and you both looking down at it between your bodies. Both noticing the drastically different attire. 

A chuckle slips from your lips without thinking, “you branded me, look.”

Spencer’s thumb stops rubbing circles into your side, a shiver rolls down your spine. Daring to look up at him, you’re met with his dark eyes resembling magic 8 balls. An underlying fortune there too: Outlook Good.

Warm hands are soon softly gripping your cheeks as you’re being pulled into a burning kiss. His lips against yours after all this time, you moan immediately. Dry and soft and pillowy he’s swallowing you and pulling you flush against him, buckle be damned.

Water from your hairline is rolling over your cheeks and soaking the cuffs of Spencer’s sleeves. You haven’t pulled away far enough, but you can bet that the white button up he’s wearing is see through.

You’re freezing, the air from the bathroom is torturous, your skin on high alert. It’s making you push yourself onto Spencer so hard he stumbles back. He grabs your ass to steady you both for a moment and you bite harshly onto his bottom lip.

“God, my girl,” Spencer shivers against you when he feels your cold hands seek warmth under his shirt, “My perfect girl, I can’t believe how much I missed you.” He places a kiss onto the top of your head.

Speaking into his shoulder, “I missed you too, I feel crazy. Such a bad day.”

Both of his hands slowly trail up your waist till they meet the side of your boobs, you pull your lips in to conceal a whiny moan.

“I’m sorry I left you hanging earlier, did you finish?”

“N-no, went back to bed.”

He groans against your head. Placing his hands firmly on your hips to push you away slightly, taking a long good look at your naked frame. You feel exposed, embarrassed, and hot. Looking back at him, his perfect suit, deliciously tainted by your wet body print, chest visible through the wetness.

One of his thumbs wanders from your hip, back to the small indent of his buckle, rubbing it back and forth. This time you can’t help but whine.

The tension is tangible and painful. Your hands feel stuck to your sides before you snap out of it, pulling him close by the tie before you try to remove it with slippery hands.

Tight and hard to undo because of the wet nature of his garments frustrates you as you try to untangle Spencer from his tie. Him being clothed feels utterly unbearable. Through half-lidded eyes and a lazy smile, he watches you struggle with the tie.

“Here- honey, let me.” Spencer's removal of the tie, his fingers taking it off rather steadily compared to your shaking ones. Though the excitement zipping through him equals yours.

You latch onto him again, completely devoted to his presence, there’s no way in hell you’re letting that much distance and that much time separate you again. Tugging one side of the collar of his jacket you slip it off of him, he grabs your wrist.

“I’m here, I’m here,” A wet kiss to your begging mouth, “Get warm in that shower, you’re trembling. I’ll be there in 30 seconds. Can you wait that long for me?”

“Y-yeah.”

“Knew it. Good girl.”

With that, your stomach plummets and you spin on your heels back to the shower. It’s almost orgasmic in itself to find yourself under the hot water pressure again. 

The door is almost completely steamed up now, you can hardly make Spencer out through it. You can only see movement and more of his tanned skin being exposed through a murky lens.

You can’t help it, greedy fingers come down to rub a few circles onto your clit as he finishes undressing and approaches you. The weight and stress of the nine days going straight to your clit to be absolved.

The door swings open, mercy.

You don’t feel polite enough to stop the rubbing, Spencer doesn’t seem to mind, mumbling “Jesus.” under his breath before meeting you with a kiss under the shower head.

His tongue rolls slowly against yours, making your toes curl in on themselves where you stand. Fingers picking up against yourself you moan into his open mouth, he pulls his face back to watch you. 

A kiss against your throat makes you whimper and pull your head to the side for another one to be placed. 

With Spencer’s rock hard dick against his stomach in your line of vision you wince while removing your hand from yourself, your hips instinctively kicking up to chase where your hand is now grabbing the base of Spencer.

He hums low, a bead of precum leaking out to be washed away by the stream. You glide your hand quickly, a desperate attempt to hear more of his moans vibrate against your skin. 

“Slowly, baby-” He gasps as you circle his head.

You can’t let up, you barely feel in control of your body. Your head is spinning, you just can’t believe he’s with you.

Finally, a louder moan is cut from Spencer’s lungs as his hips slowly fuck against the fast pace of your fist. The tip of his dick barely ever encases in your hand as he does so, only able to feel the sensation of bottoming out when he’s inside you.

While you’re distracted, moaning brokenly into the suffocating air and pumping your hand against Spencer’s throbbing length, Spencer trails down to pet your clit again for you.

“Fuck, I missed you. I miss touching you like this, the way I can feel your heartbeat in it, baby-” He draws out the last word in disbelief. You felt the thrumming against your own fingertips earlier, so by now you’re sure it’s fluttering against his hand in an obscene way. 

His middle finger circles your entrance. Your heart is in your throat. 

“Please-” You sob out, being teased right now would end you forever.

“Mhm. I am.”

Taking his time feeling against your spongy walls where his thumb continues its circles against your bundle of nerves, your hand against his cock grows sloppy.

You squeeze your eyes shut, the muggy air making you deliciously light headed against his ministrations. 

The second finger brings a delightful stretch, your head falls back against the wall as you whine. It’s been a while. You harness some sort of defiance that refuses to fuck yourself when he’s gone. The week of nothing stretching you out causing for a tight suction around his two fingers as he fucks into you.

“Tight, baby. It’s been too long. I left you too long, my poor thing.”

Though your hand slowed against his cock, you’re still trying to keep up simulation for him, not wanting to be a cruel tease when he’s working against you so perfectly. Spencer pulls that hand away eventually though. Without explanation, you know he was about to cum. His stomach always flexes and twitches when he’s using all his willpower to hold back.

“Need it. Need you-” You gasp against his lips. Totally overzealous. Spencer knows the way you’re tight around him, you’re going to need a third finger to take him without your common whiny complaints.

Teeth knocking together, he continues to tongue kiss you. He wants to expedite this process of feeling you around his cock just as much as you do, he just has more willpower than you. You can mumble and beg and plead till tears well up in your eyes. His stomach swirls with a burning passion because of it, but he has no capability to hurt you. 

So you get another long finger inside you.

You let out a high pitched whimper- proving yourself wrong immediately. You needed to be stretched out this way. Damn his perceptiveness.

Your eyes roll back and your hips roll against the fingers rubbing against that sweet spot in you that shakes your thighs.

“You gotta keep yourself open for me when I’m gone, love.” He whispers brokenly into the thick air around you.

“Can’t. Only you.” You grumble back.

Spencer can’t get into the health benefits of taking care of yourself this way, especially in the long periods when he’s away. He can tell you’re bordering speechlessness and he’s dizzy enough to follow your technique of just letting out pretty moans.

A tiny trail of white essence pools around his fingers and he nearly keels over. You’re definitely ready to take him now. Seeing the ways he makes you feel good in the mess you make always drives him to the brink of insanity.

“Taking them out now. Gonna give you what you want. Feel ok?” He whispers into your ear before nibbling the lobe softly before parting to analyze your face.

“Feel reallyy good, Spence.” You smile a dazed grin at him, eyelids fluttering shut. Bringing the fingers that were just inside you to his lips he sucks them off and bites down on his fingers a bit too hard at the divine taste.

“Do you want to turn around for me, angel?”

Spencer’s trying to think of the best way to do this. His shower is nice, but isn’t the biggest shower in the world, he lives in an apartment in D.C. after all. He’s gonna have to fuck you from behind.

“Yeah, course.” You shift slowly, forearms out to brace yourself against the cold wall. Sticking your butt out playfully, he grips it softly, lines his cock against you.

“You feel okay? Ready?” He plants a kiss on your shoulder, you turn your head to make eye contact, you and Spencer usually can’t go too long without looking into each other's faces.

“Feel okay, really want you baby.”

Your head stays tilted to the side and your temple rests against the wall as he nudges his head against you.

Opening you up just enough, the stretch of all of him after a considerable amount of time has you keening.

The hand not gripping your waist moves up to cup one of your tits, rolling the sensitive nipple between his fingers.

“Fuck-” you whimper out meekly.

Letting him all the way in, he squeezes your breast for purchase. Looking at how he’s fully settled inside you, Spencer begins peppering soft kisses over your shoulder and spine, calming you and himself down.

Using the wall as leverage you slowly move yourself back against him, notifying Spencer you’re ready to be taken.

Gasping, he pulls almost all the way out to slowly fuck himself in again before settling on a good, unyielding pace. The feeling of your warm skin under his hands, warm cunt around his dick and warm water falling against his back is making him feel like he’s on a cloud. Completely blissed out having you in his arms again.

You groan (rather unladylike while getting fucked this way) and circle your hips against his thrusts. Spencer peers up at you, making sure your face isn’t holding any tension that could be read as something hurting. Instead you just open your mouth, ready for a finger.

Begrudgingly, he takes his hand off your breast to place his thumb down on your tongue, you moan happily and smile around him as your teeth scrape him lightly when he finds a delicious spot in you to pound at. 

Overwhelmed, he has to look up at the ceiling. He’s been so pent up that letting his hips move in autopilot against you, the quiet sopping sound of you two together over the water falling, the base of his spine tingles.

“Still okay?”

He asks at your closed eyes, you gurgle out an uh-huh against his thumb, drool rolling down your chin to be forgotten in the shower.

“Kay- good.” He kisses your cheek.

Feeling his orgasm beginning to build, Spencer takes his hand from your waist to move to the front of your hips where your clit is exposed.

A trembling bite is met against his thumb as he uses three fingers against you in relentless circles. Keeps his hips going the same pace.

“Spence- you’re gonna make me cum.”

“Ha- trying to, doll.” His eyebrows furrow- trying to hold back long enough so he can fuck you through your orgasm, though the tone of your voice is making that increasingly hard.

Your head lolls back against his shoulders and with a few “ah, ah, ah’s” you’re coming hard all over him.

“Good, yeah. You’re okay, feel so good f’me.” He whimpers as you begin to pull his orgasm from him. His hips still against you at your deepest point as you let out a tiny mewl at the stimulation. Tongue pushing out his thumb to moan freely.

He rocks himself inside you while holding your hips up, making sure no slips occur in his bathroom today. Spencer keeps grinding and rubbing your clit until you’re both shaky with overstimulation, and till you mutter out a “can’t-”. He doesn't argue with that.

The shower water is beginning to chill as he watches his cum slide down your thighs into the basin. Spencer is rubbing your arms soothingly up and down till he pulls you against him. 

“You wanna get out, pretty?”

“Cold.” You shudder.

Your legs feel like jelly when he’s wrapping a towel around your shoulders and ushering you into his bedroom. Another towel tied lowly on his waist he pulls an FBI hoodie over your raised arms and boxers up your legs. His own robe pulled off the door to drape over himself.

The tender attention you receive no matter what type of sex you and Spencer have always heats your cheeks with delight. A tender pressure is being massaged into your thighs with the lotion you brought over from your own apartment, and your eyes flutter shut as he mumbles something along the lines of “princess.. blah blah blah…” to you.

“Please never be away from me that long again. I really missed you, Spencer.”

All warmed up and soft from his pampering, you lie against his rising and falling chest.

“I know. I did too. It’s strange, I feel like when I’m with you, you act as my circadian rhythm. You ground me and keep me in check, I know when to wake up when you do. I sleep better, eat better. When we’re apart I struggle with that. You’re a resounding part of my day.”

You nuzzle against his chest, preening at his words. 

“I love you so much.”

“My baby, I love you too.”

Squished together tightly in a way that’s breeding an almost uncomfortable warmth, you and Spencer fall asleep. Hearts mirroring each other in matching soft and measured beats, the 216 painful hours apart start healing with every drum in your chests.

[karimitic]

Holy shit you're well versed! That's refreshing to see and absolutely AAAAHHH YES. To see :D

Dad's been reincarnated is so funny and so cute! :D It's also a nice twist on the isekai genre! I think I'm halfway through the anime and for once I'm really like "I really wanna know how they handle the end" that doesn't happen often

YO SHIROGANE AND KAGUYA FUCKED? Sequel to that one sick kaguya episode lol I'll have to read it when I find a way to finish S2

Yeeess I love their artstyle and their vibe! I'm actually one of the persons that encouraged the artist to make a story out of it! I used to follow them a lot back when I was active on instagram, have you checked their website? It's got more lore and shit too!

Saaame, I only read Emmy's beginning back when it started and I didn't continue it, shame on me, it banger.

Yeah that's normal, it's pretty niche because it's an italian guy in a convention booth that told me it was his webtoon lol. (Still haven't read it but he told me he drew everything by hand)

Ooohh you should defo read I Was Born To Work Retail! Not only Pear's artstyle is gucci af, he's also a very good storyteller! His stuff gives me tension and make me feel emotions like few things does! It's 100% my favorite webtoon out of the bunch.

I had other favorites but the authors all stopped for different reasons, like Bullshit Of Detroit was my former favorite because it had a very goofy cartoon duo vibe and I just love it because it's pure comedy but the author stopped uploading because she got out of college and pursued their model career so it's not that she doesn't want to draw anymore but that she doesn't really have time anymore to do so, which makes me pretty sad for the webtoon but I'm also super happy she got to work her dream job and I wish only the best for her, so she's basically the only model I actually follow on instagram

[vitalverstappen]

Man's Best Wingman - C. Leclerc

summary: they say dogs are a man’s best friend, but a certain dachshund may be man’s best wingman

pairing: Charles Leclerc x veterinarian!reader

warnings: none ( i mean use of y/n if you count that)

word count: 2.6k

It was no surprise that Charles Leclerc adored animals, specifically dogs. So, when word spread like wildfire around Monaco that he had adopted Leo, it was only a matter of time before the duo showed up in your clinic. 

You had heard about Leo from the gossip mill - Charles had been spotted walking the dog around the streets of Monte Carlo, and the photos of the two of them quickly made the rounds on social media. The sight of the Formula 1 driver, usually so composed and intense, walking around with an adorable dachshund puppy had the whole city cooing with affection. 

You had been working as a vet for a few years now, as one of the only ones in Monaco, so you were no stranger to having a celebrity walk through your doors. In fact, you had Alex Albon walking through your doors practically every month with the zoo he had. But hearing your techs swoon at the fact Charles was in your clinic, made you question how big this guy really was. 

“Y/n, Leo Leclerc is in room four for you. He’s here for his routine exam. So far everything looks good,” one of your techs said. 

“I bet Charles looks even better,” another one called, overhearing the conversation. 

Your eyes rolled, but you couldn’t help but chuckle at their remarks. “Focus on Leo, not Charles,” you teased, though you knew their excitement was understandable. 

Taking a deep breath to prepare yourself, you grabbed your stethoscope and walked toward room four. You were a professional, after all, and your job was to make sure Leo was in tip-top shape, not to let the celebrity connection distract you. 

As you knocked lightly on the door, you heard a soft voice call from the other side. “Come in!”

You opened the door to find Charles sitting on the exam table, with Leo happily bouncing around at his feet. The little dachshund’s tail wagged furiously as soon as he spotted you, making a beeline for you as though he’d known you for ages. 

“Hey there, Leo,” you said, crouching down to meet the enthusiastic puppy. You pet him for a second before standing back up. “I’m Dr. Y/L/N, but you can call me Y/N. I’ll be your primary veterinarian.”

Leo’s little tail wagged even harder at the mention of his name, and you couldn’t help but to smile at the sight. His big brown eyes stared up at you, full of trust and excitement. 

“It’s nice to meet you, Y/N,” Charles said as he got off of the exam table. His smile was easy, and you noticed how much more approachable he looked when he wasn’t in his racing suit. “I’m glad to see you’re the one handling Leo today.”

You nodded, doing your best to focus on the task at hand, though your heart was pounding into your throat. “He’s a cutie. And I’ve heard a lot about him from the clinic’s gossip mill. Seems like you two are quite the duo.”

Charles chuckled lightly, glancing down at Leo, who was now sitting patiently at his feet, as if sensing the shift in attention. “Yeah, Leo’s been a good distraction for me. Definitely makes my life a bit more fun, and I think he’s a great companion for my downtime.”

You turned to Leo, picking him up and placing him on the exam table, where Charles once sat. “He’s got a lot of energy for a little guy. Looks like he’s been keeping you on your toes.”

Charles shrugged, the slightest hint of amusement in his expression. “He definitely does, but I love having him around. Plus, he’s a great way to relax after a stressful weekend, just walking him around and enjoying the quieter side of things.”

“Sounds perfect,” you replied, settling your stethoscope into place. “Let’s make sure everything is going well with him. I’ll just start with a quick check-up, get his vitals and make sure he’s healthy.”

You focused on Leo, quickly going through the routine exam. His heart rate was normal, his coat was shiny and healthy, and his eyes were bright. After a quick examination, you looked up at Charles. “He’s in great shape, Charles. No issues at all. He’s a happy, healthy little guy.” 

Charles sighed in relief, his smile widening. “I’m glad to hear that. I was worried I might be doing something wrong.”

“Not at all,” you assured him, chuckling. “You’re doing everything right. It’s clear you care about him a lot.”

You scooped Leo into your arms and informed Charles you would be taking Leo into the back room to give him his shots. What you didn’t mention was that it was also an opportunity for all of the techs to fawn over the puppy. 

Once you brought Leo back into the exam room, Charles' eyes lit up, though you were unsure if it was at you, or the dog. You gave him a few instructions for Leo’s next few weeks, including a reminder to keep up with his vaccinations. “He’s good to go! Just a few follow-ups, but nothing to worry about.”

You bid goodbye to the driver as you guided him up to the receptionist's desk. There, you gave instructions on the next exam date. 

Charles had the day of the exam circled on his calendar the minute he got home. Sure, he wanted to be a good dog dad and pay attention to Leo’s appointments, but he also couldn’t wait to see you again. 

Unfortunately, he didn’t realize that since Leo had done so well, the follow up appointments that had been scheduled were only with the techs, not with you. He went through with the appointments, but in the back of his mind, he had to find a way to see you again. And thankfully, Leo gave him plenty of excuses. 

It all started when Leo ate a blade of grass. 

Now, Charles knew that eating grass wasn’t going to kill his dog, but he was worried it might make him a little sick… and he wanted to see you again. 

So, he scheduled an appointment.

As soon as you saw Charles and Leo’s names on the schedule, a smile tugged at the corner of your lips. You tried to shake it off, you were just doing your job, but there was something about seeing him that made you feel a little lighter. 

As the time drew nearer, you found yourself making sure everything was in order, the clinic bustling with its usual activity. Your techs were curious no doubt - they’d fawned over the duo when they took care of the dog’s follow up appointments, and definitely talked about the “celebrity dog dad” a little more than they probably should’ve. 

“Y/n, Charles and Leo are in room three for you. He mentioned Leo had eaten some grass earlier today, but so far, everything seems normal,” your tech informed you 

You walked towards the exam room, preparing yourself to see the driver and his dog again. As you entered, you saw Charles sitting on the chair this time, gently scratching behind Leo’s ears. The little dachshund’s tail was wagging, and he immediately perked up when he saw you, jumping down from Charles’ lap. 

“Hey, Leo,” you greeted, crouching down to pet the excited pup. “What’s all this fuss about grass, huh?” 

Charles looked up from his phone and smiled when he saw you. “Hey, Y/N. Yeah, Leo decided to sample some grass this morning, and now I’m just a little paranoid.”

You chuckled, standing up to meet his gaze. “I wouldn’t worry too much about it. Dogs eat grass all the time. Most of the time, it’s harmless. But let’s take a quick look just to be sure.”

You began your routine examination of Leo, checking his belly, feeling for any signs of discomfort, and listening to his heart. Leo seemed perfectly fine, happily squirming and wagging his tail as you worked. 

“See?” you said, glancing up at Charles. “He seems to be in good spirits. No signs of anything bothering him.” 

Charles let out a relieved sigh, but there was still a hint of concern in his eyes. “Yeah, I’ve just been overthinking it. But I’m still getting used to being a dog dad, you know?” 

You smiled warmly, meeting his gaze. “Like I said at our first appointment, you’re going great, Charles. Leo’s in good hands.” 

He looked at you with a soft smile, and for a moment, there was a brief pause in the conversation. It was like neither of you wanted to break the moment, but eventually, Charles cleared his throat and stood up. 

“Thanks again, Y/N. Seriously,” he said, giving you an appreciative look. “I’m glad I came in today, even if it was just for a little blade of grass.” 

“It’s no problem at all,” you replied, trying to keep your composure. “Take care of Leo, and we’ll see you for the next check-up.” 

But you saw him much sooner than the next check-up. 

Only a few weeks after the grass related appointment, your receptionist came into the back area, where you and your techs were prepping for surgery. You had a busy day ahead of you, with having back to back appointments all day, and the only break you got was your thirty minutes of lunch. 

“Mr. Leclerc is on the phone,” your receptionist began, causing a bunch of oooo’s from your staff. “He said that Leo stubbed his toe and wanted to see if you had availability for today.”

You paused for a moment, wiping your hands on your scrubs as you turned toward your receptionist. “Leo stubbed his toe?” you asked, trying to suppress a smile. You could hear the excitement in your staff’s whispers behind you, but you didn’t want to give them the satisfaction of knowing how much Charles’ calls were starting to feel like little breaks from the clinic chaos. 

“Yeah, that’s what he said,” your receptionist replied, her tone amused. “Should I tell him to hold on or that you’re in surgery?” 

You quickly ran through your schedule in your head. It was packed, but a stubbed toe? You could squeeze that in. You didn’t want to seem like you were too eager, but you couldn’t help but feel a little excitement at the thought of seeing Charles again. 

“I can take a shorter lunch,” you said, giving your receptionist a quick nod. “Schedule him for the last twenty minutes of that half hour.” 

Your receptionist raised an eyebrow but didn’t say anything as she turned to make the call. As soon as the door closed behind her, your techs immediately leaned in, their eyes sparking with curiosity.

“You know you two aren’t fooling anyone, right?” one of them teased. “You’re excited to see Charles again.

“And he’s got to be wanting to see you if he’s making an appointment over a stubbed toe,” another one chimed in. 

You rolled your eyes, trying to stifle a grin. ‘It’s just a stubbed toe,” you replied, but your voice betrayed you, laced with a hint of amusement. “He’s just a concerned dog dad. Nothing more.” 

Your techs exchanged knowing glances, clearly not buying it. 

“Uh-huh,” one of them smirked. “A ‘concerned dog dad’ who keeps calling in for the tiniest little thing. Sure.”

“Maybe you should get him a frequent flyer card,” another suggested, grinning. 

You shook your head, trying to ignore the warmth growing in your cheeks. “Focus, guys. You have things to do, remember?” 

They held up their hands in mock surrender, but you could still feel their eyes on you as you turned back to finish prepping for the day. 

When the status of Leo’s appointment changed to “arrived” on your computer, it took everything in you to remain calm and composed. The butterflies in your stomach only grew as you heard Leo’s excited barks from down the hall. 

Once your techs informed you that the Leclercs were ready to see you, you made your way to the exam room, trying to keep yourself steady with every step. When you opened the door, Charles was sitting there, looking as relaxed as ever, with Leo perched on his lap. 

“Hey there, you,” you greeted Leo first, just like you always did. “I heard you got a stubbed toe this time around.”

Charles chuckled, giving you a sheepish look. “I know, it’s ridiculous. But he seemed to be limping a little, and I didn’t want to take any chances.”

You nodded, appreciating his concern for his dog. “It’s never ridiculous to take care of our furry friends,” you said, your eyes briefly meeting his. There was a warmth in his gaze, and for a moment, the world seemed to slow down. 

You got Leo up on the exam table, gently checking his paws and making sure everything looked good. As you worked, you noticed Charles’ gaze lingering on you - though this time, it felt different. His smile was softer, more intentional, and there was something in his eyes that made your heart skip a beat. 

Finally, after checking Leo’s paw, you turned to Charles. “Good news. It’s just a little sore, probably from the way he landed. No major damage.”

Charles visibly relaxed, his tension easing as he gave a small sigh of relief. “I’m glad to hear that.” 

As you gave Leo a few gentle pats and wrote down the instructions for recovery, you could feel Charles’ eyes on you again. There was a quiet moment between you two, one that made the air feel just a little thicker, like there was more unsaid than spoken. 

“Thank you for always being so patient with me, and with Leo, and I appreciate you squeezing us in at the last minute,” Charles said, standing up to walk toward the door. He paused for a beat, then glanced back at you with a small but meaningful smile. “Would I be able to squeeze into your schedule again sometime, for coffee or drinks?”

You felt your heart flutter as the words hung in the air. It was the question you’d been waiting for, yet the reality of it still made your breath catch in your throat. For a second, you just looked at him, the familiar warmth in his smile making your pulse quicken. 

You tried to play it cool, but you couldn’t hide the slight blush creeping onto your cheeks. “I think I could make some time for you,” you said, your voice soft but sure. “I’m not usually this free, but for you? I’ll make an exception.”

Charles’s smile widened, and you could see a spark of relief in his eyes. He stepped back into the room, the distance between you narrowing as he moved closer. “Tomorrow? After work?” he asked, his tone a little more tentative, as if waiting for your confirmation. 

You nodded, your heart racing a little faster now. “Tomorrow works. Let’s say, six?” 

He gave a small, excited nod, clearly trying to contain his enthusiasm. “Perfect. I’ll pick you up. I’ll make sure not to keep you waiting.”

You both stood there for a moment, the air thick with anticipation, before he gave a final smile and turned to leave. “See you tomorrow, Y/N.” 

As he exited the room, Leo wagged his tail, clearly eager to follow. You watched him walk out, a mixture of excitement and nervousness bubbling up inside you. You leaned against the exam room table for a second, trying to catch your breath, before shaking yourself out of the daze. You still had a job to do, but you couldn’t help but smile to yourself as the thought of tomorrow played over in your mind.

[maddie0101]

about damn time pt.1

— based off of THIS request. I hope you like it @anbernen ! ❤︎

summary: you had a normal life, up until an encounter with the impossible nearly killed you. now, your best friend, dean winchester, has pulled back the curtain on what really goes bump in the night. when you finally convince him to take you on a hunt, he gives in. what could possibly go wrong?

warnings: reader had a normal life, protective!dean, worried!dean, best friends to lovers, cute shit, cussing, underlying sexual tension, smut ish? (contains reader & dean taking care of themselves) , pinning, fluff?, nicknames bc it’s dean, lots of tension, probably way more but i suck at tags.

word count: 6.6k

note: this was supposed to be a short little oneshot but if you guys know me then you know how insane I am. yeaah…now it’s a three part mini series :) enjoy!

series masterlist next part

Dean had never been good at making friends.

Sam was always the social one, the kid who could walk into a new school and have a lunch table full of friends by the end of the week.

But Dean? He had people he joked around with, kids he’d nod to in the hallway, maybe the occasional drinking buddy once he got older, but real friends? The kind that stuck? He never let himself have those.

Until you.

He met you in some small town, one of the many places he and Sam passed through, another forgettable stop on their never-ending road trip.

But you weren’t forgettable. Not even close. You were the first girl he ever looked at and thought, Damn. And then, almost immediately thought, Don’t even think about it.

Because somehow, despite all the walls he kept up, despite knowing he’d be gone sooner rather than later, you wormed your way in. You didn’t just laugh at his jokes, you made him laugh, really laugh, the kind that made his ribs ache. You didn’t just tolerate his music, you argued about which Zeppelin song was best. And you didn’t just exist in his world, you carved out a space in it, one that felt so natural, he forgot it hadn’t always been there.

For the first time, Dean had someone who wasn’t family but felt damn close. And he wasn’t about to screw that up.

So yeah, you were drop dead gorgeous and yeah, maybe sometimes he let his eyes linger too long when you weren’t looking. Maybe sometimes his mind wandered into dangerous territory late at night when it was just him and his thoughts.

But friendship? That was something real.

Something he didn’t have to leave behind. And Dean didn’t get to have nice things, but he’d be damned if he let himself ruin this one.

Dean didn’t know how it happened, but somehow, you became his best friend.

It started off slow, stolen afternoons in diners, late-night phone calls, the kind of bond that built itself brick by brick. He couldn’t remember exactly when it had happened, when you’d become his person, but looking back, it felt inevitable. Like gravity.

Whenever he was anywhere remotely close to your small town, he made excuses to swing by. A refuel, a food stop, needing a place to crash—any reason to see you, even if it was just for a few hours.

He told himself it was nothing. Just a friendship. Just a little bit of normalcy in the middle of his chaotic life, but he knew better.

Dean didn’t do normal. And yet somehow, with you, it felt easy.

It was late nights in that little diner off Main Street, the one with the shitty coffee and the old jukebox that never worked right. You’d sit across from him, stirring too much sugar into your cup while he ate a piece of pie, and you’d talk for hours.

You’d tell him about your day, about the things you wanted out of life. Sometimes he’d tell you about his too—leaving out the monsters, of course. He told you about the road, the places he’d been, the things he’d seen. He spun half-truths, made his life sound like some endless road trip instead of the bloody war it really was.

Because you weren’t supposed to know that part of him. He wanted to keep you separate from it, untangled from the darkness that followed him. So he never told you the truth. Never let you too close.

But the thing was—You already were close.

It was the late-night phone calls when he was too wired to sleep after a hunt. He’d call just to hear your voice, just to feel something real on the other end of the line. You’d answer every time, no matter how late, your voice groggy but warm.

“Dean? You okay?”

“Yeah, sweetheart. Just… wanted to talk.”

And you would. About everything and nothing. Until his pulse settled, until the world didn’t feel so heavy. It was the way you always knew when something was off.

“Where are you?” you’d ask, suspicion laced in your voice when he was being too vague about where he’d been.

“Oh, you know. Here. There. The usual.”

“Uh-huh. That’s not an answer, Winchester.”

You were relentless, prying without even knowing it, but he loved that about you. It meant you cared. And god help him, he liked being cared about. It was the fact that, without even trying, you’d become the one person he couldn’t stay away from.

And maybe, just maybe—he didn’t want to stay away.

So he kept coming back. Kept sneaking away to see you, calling when he couldn’t. You had no idea how deep he was in it, how badly he wanted to tell you the truth—how many times he almost had. But every time he thought about it, all he saw was you getting hurt.

So he kept lying, pretending. Because with you, he didn’t have to be Dean Winchester, the hunter.

He could just be Dean.

But not all good things last forever. Especially not for Dean.

For a while, it had almost felt too easy—sneaking into your little town, slipping into your life like he belonged there. Like he wasn’t just a drifter passing through. He let himself believe, even if just for a little while, that this could last. That you were safe. That the world he lived in, the nightmares he fought, wouldn’t touch you. But monsters didn’t give a damn about what he wanted. And one night, everything changed.

It started with a phone call. His phone buzzed against the cheap motel nightstand, the sound barely cutting through the quiet hum of late-night TV. Dean almost ignored it—he was tired, had been driving for hours, and the last thing he wanted was another case dropping in his lap.

But when he saw your name flashing on the screen, something in his chest tightened.

You never called this late.

The second he answered, he knew something was wrong. There was no teasing remark, no easy “Hey, Winchester” to greet him. Just heavy breathing and the faintest shake in your voice when you said, “Dean?”

He sat up immediately, muscles tensing. “I’m here. What’s wrong?”

Then, in a panicked rush, you told him. About the thing that had broken into your apartment. How it had your face. How it moved like you, talked like you—how for a split second, you thought you were losing your damn mind.

Dean was already yanking on his boots, keys clutched tight in his fist. “It’s a shifter,” he said, forcing his voice to stay steady. He needed you calm. Needed you alive. “Listen to me. Do you have anything silver?”

A rustling noise sounded from the phone's speaker. Then, “I—I think. There’s a necklace in my dresser—”

“Not good enough. You need a weapon.”

“Dean, it’s coming.” He heard it then—a noise in the background, the sound of something moving, the faintest creak of floorboards. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up. “Get a knife, anything,” he ordered. “Aim for the heart, go for the kill shot. Don’t hesitate.”

“Dean, I—”

The line went dead and Dean's heart dropped into the pit of his stomach. “Shit.”

Dean was out the door before he could think, speeding through the dark streets, his heart hammering against his ribs. The entire drive, all he could think about was getting to you in time.

But when he got there—He was too late.

Not too late, not in the way that mattered most, but—The door to your apartment was wide open.

Dean barely registered the sound of his own boots pounding against the floor as he rushed inside, gun drawn, instincts screaming. He had played out worst-case scenarios the entire drive over—found you dead, found you gone, found whatever thing had come for you still standing over your body, smirking in the way only monsters could.

But nothing could have prepared him for this.

You stood in the middle of your living room, drenched in blood.

It was everywhere—splattered across your face, streaked down your arms, soaking into the fabric of your shirt. The knife in your trembling grip dripped with something dark and wet, forming a thick pool on the hardwood floor beneath you.

And at your feet was the body—the fucking body.

It was wrong. Twisted. A half-shifted mockery of you. Your own face, but not. The features warped and melting, frozen mid-transition as if the thing had died trying to wear you like a second skin.

Dean’s stomach dropped.

You weren’t just shaking. You were trembling. Your breath came in short, erratic gasps—eyes blown wide, wild, as if you couldn’t quite process what you were looking at. Or maybe, more terrifyingly, that you could.

You swallowed thickly, eyes locking onto his. Your voice was barely above a whisper, hoarse and broken “What the fuck was that thing?”

Dean’s grip on his gun tightened. He had been too late. Not too late, not in the way that mattered most, but—fuck. You weren’t supposed to see this. You weren’t supposed to live this.

Your hands curled into fists, nails digging into your palms as you stared down at the body like if you looked long enough, maybe it would make sense. Like if you blinked, it would disappear, and you could wake up from this nightmare.

But it didn’t. And you wouldn’t.

Dean took a careful step closer. “Hey, sweetheart,” he murmured, voice low, steady, the way he would talk someone off a ledge. Because that’s where you were right now, teetering at the edge of something dark and sharp and permanent. “You with me?”

You let out a shuddering breath, barely nodding.

But you weren’t, not really. He could see it now—the thousand-yard stare, the way your fingers clenched and unclenched around the knife like you still weren’t sure if you needed to fight for your life. The way you stood, knees locked, barely breathing, as if one wrong move might break you.

It had been self-defense. It had to be.

But that didn’t mean it hadn’t fucked you up. Killing something was one thing. Killing something that wore your face? That was a whole different kind of horror.

You inhaled sharply, trying to steady yourself, but when you lifted your hands, your gaze snagged on the blood. Not the shifter’s. Your own.

A jagged gash ran along your forearm—shallow, but deep enough that the crimson dripped in slow, fat droplets down to your fingertips. You flexed your fingers, watching them move like they weren’t even yours. Like you weren’t sure if you were still real.

Then, barely above a whisper, your voice cracked “It said something about how I’m connected to the Winchesters now.” You swallowed hard. “What does that mean?” Your voice wavered, still raw, still shell-shocked. “And how did you know how to kill it?”

Dean froze. The words settled like lead in his chest, heavier than they should’ve been. He didn’t let things get personal. He didn’t let people get close.

But you? You had slipped past every wall he had without even trying. And now, something had noticed.

His jaw clenched, a slow, creeping anger coiling under his skin like something toxic. Not at you. Never at you.

At them. At whatever son of a bitch had set its sights on you. He couldn’t do this. He wouldn’t do this. He wouldn't let you become another name to carve into his ribs, another ghost to carry.

Which meant you only had one option. Dean exhaled, voice tight. “Pack a bag.”

You blinked. “What?”

“You’re coming with me.”

Your brows furrowed. “Dean—”

“No arguments.” The words came sharper than he intended, but he needed you to listen. Needed you to understand that this wasn’t up for debate. “If something out there knows your name—knows me—you’re not staying here.”

You hesitated, glancing around—at the blood, the wreckage, the body still caught between stolen faces. The realization settled in your expression, something raw and shaken but understanding.

Your life, as you knew it, was over.

There was no going back.

And when you finally nodded, Dean let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. Because from this moment on, whether you liked it or not—You were in this life.

And he wasn’t about to let anything take you from it.

The bunker was a freaking labyrinth.

From the moment Dean led you inside, duffel slung over his shoulder, exhaustion written all over his face, you felt like you’d stepped into another world. The place was massive—high-arched ceilings, endless hallways, dim overhead lighting that flickered just enough to make the shadows stretch long. It smelled like old books and gun oil, metal and dust.

And it was quiet. Unnervingly so.

Dean tossed his bag onto a table in what he called the war room—a massive space with an old map of the world lit up across the table, covered in notes, scribbles, and markings you didn’t understand.

“Sit,” he said, pulling out a chair for you. He didn’t sound tired anymore. If anything, his voice had that clipped, serious edge you weren’t used to, like he was preparing to lay something heavy on you. Which, as you were quickly learning, was exactly what was about to happen.

And so, for the next two hours, you got the crash course on what the hell Dean Winchester really did for a living. He didn’t sugarcoat it at all. He told you everything. The good, the bad, the ugly.

That monsters were real, actually, fucking real. That the thing you killed in your apartment? A shapeshifter. That there were demons, ghosts, werewolves, vampires, witches, things that went bump in the night that you weren’t supposed to know about. And angels. That was the one that almost made you laugh. “You’re shitting me.”

Dean leaned back in his chair, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “Wish I was.”

Your head spun. You wanted to call bullshit, wanted to believe that this was some sick prank or a fever dream or something that would make sense in the morning.

But it wasn’t. Because you had already seen it. You had watched a creature with your your face shift try to kill you. You had stabbed a fucking thing in the heart with a silver knife and watched it die, twitching at your feet like a broken machine.

And now, you were sitting in a secret underground bunker, hearing about how this was Dean’s life.

It took a while for it to sink in, honestly. But once it did, you realized something else—this was your life now, too.

At first, you kept busy. You had to, or your own thoughts would eat you alive.

Sam was more than happy to dump research on you, burying you in lore books, faded manuscripts, and half-legible scribbles from old hunters long dead. He taught you how to read Latin, how to dig through old archives for the weirdest shit imaginable, how to trace supernatural patterns in a way you never would’ve noticed before.

But Dean? Dean was different. He had other plans.

“You’re not just gonna sit around playing librarian all day,” he told you one afternoon, his voice casual, but his expression anything but. Before you could ask what he meant, something came flying toward you.

Your hands shot up on instinct, fingers fumbling around the object before you finally got a grip on it. A second passed before you looked down, realization settling in.

A wooden practice knife. You raised an eyebrow, glancing up at him. “Seriously?”

“Seriously,” he echoed, arms crossed over his chest. “If something comes after you again, I want you to be able to defend yourself properly.”

There was no arguing with that look—the one that told you he had already made up his mind.

And so, Dean trained you. You hated him for it at first because he didn’t go easy on you. Not even for a damn second.

The first time you squared up with him, he didn’t even hesitate. One moment, you were gripping the knife, determined to prove yourself, and the next—you were flat on your back, the wind knocked clean out of you.

Dean towered over you, shaking his head. “You’re lucky I’m not a real monster. You’d be dead already.”

You groaned, staring up at the ceiling. “Maybe just kill me now.”

But he didn’t let you quit. He made you throw punches until your knuckles ached, made you dodge and block until your muscles burned, made you repeat the same damn moves over and over again until you got them right.

“You’re thinking too much,” he told you after you failed to land a hit for the third time in a row.

“No shit, Sherlock,” you snapped, breathing hard, sweat sticking to your skin.

Dean smirked. “Cute.”

God, that look he gave you—the cocky, infuriating, hot as hell smirk that made you want to punch him in the face just to wipe it off. He was all rough hands and sharp words, pushing you harder every day.

You weren’t the worst student he’d ever had, but still, he had no idea how the hell you’d managed to take down that shifter on your own. Luck? Instinct?

Either way, it wasn’t good enough.

And you could feel it—the tension thickening between you both with every training session. The way your bodies moved around each other, the way your breath mixed as you dodged each blow, the way he would grab your wrist, pulling you flush against him when you got too sloppy.

One afternoon, he had you pinned against the wall, his forearm pressed against your collarbone, holding you still. Your chest rose and fell against his, breathless, your skin burning where he touched you. “You keep dropping your left side,” he murmured, voice low, rough.

You swallowed hard, staring up at him. “I know.”

His eyes flickered to your lips—so fast you almost missed it, almost. But then, just as quickly, he was gone, stepping back, that damn smirk back in place. “Then stop doing it.”

That night, you spent an embarrassing amount of time lying awake, thinking about the way he had looked at you.

The boredom was killing you. And at first, it wasn’t so bad.

The bunker was massive, filled with books older than your grandparents, weapons you weren’t even allowed to touch without supervision, and endless hallways that you swore led to nowhere. You had training to focus on, bruises to ice, whiskey to steal from Dean’s stash when he wasn’t looking.

But ready or not, boredom came creeping in like a goddamn sickness. Because every time Sam and Dean left for a hunt, you were stuck. Alone.

The first few times, you didn’t mind. It was kind of nice, actually. Peaceful. You could sprawl out on the war room table, pick up one of those dusty old lore books, and pretend you weren’t completely out of your depth in this life. You started teaching yourself different languages, then flipping through pages of exorcisms just to pass the time. You memorized sigils and symbols, even started picking up bits and pieces of other languages such as Enochian, ancient Sumerian, shit you’d probably never even use.

But after a while, the silence got to you. The bunker was too big, too still. With no goddamn windows, no way to tell if it was day or night without checking the old clock on the wall. You used to love having all this space to yourself, but now? Now it felt like the walls were closing in. Like you were rotting down here, waiting for something to happen.

So you cleaned-- And cleaned--And cleaned some more. Until every single room in the bunker was spotless. Until you’d done all the laundry—yours, Sam’s, and Dean’s, just for something to do. You even took the time to fold their clothes because, let’s be honest, those two were a freaking mess.

You weren’t looking for them, honestly.

It wasn’t like you set out to dig through Dean’s stuff with the intent of uncovering his most embarrassing secrets. You were just trying to be nice—helpful even. Laundry was one of the only things keeping you sane while the guys were gone. It gave you a purpose, something to do.

But this? This was a fucking goldmine.

You held up the offending fabric, eyes widening in absolute horror before the laughter burst out of you, uncontrollable and borderline manic.

Dean Winchester, the badass hunter, feared by demons, monsters, and even some angels—owned underwear covered with hot dogs.

Your stomach hurt from how hard you were laughing, tears actually pricking at your eyes. And just when you thought you could breathe again, you reached back into the laundry pile and—Oh, oh, it got better.

Bright red socks, obnoxious and ridiculous, with the words 'SEND NOODS' printed across them in bold white letters. And the kicker? They had little cartoon ramen noodles on them.

You actually had to sit down on Dean’s bed to take a second and regain your breath.

Because of course this was Dean. Tough, rugged, walks-like-he-owns-the-room Dean, the man who could kill a monster without breaking a sweat, but who also shoved extra packets of hot sauce into his pockets every time you got takeout because he might need them later.

The same Dean who grumbled about bad movie plots but still secretly loved them, the same Dean who would throw a flirty wink at a waitress and then turn around and give his leftovers to a stray dog outside.

He was a contradiction. A mess of sharp edges and soft spots, of cocky grins and stupid jokes mixed with genuine, heart-wrenching moments of kindness.

And you loved him for it.

The realization had hit you like a truck. Dean wasn’t just your best friend. He wasn’t just the guy who had saved you, who had trained you, who had made sure you weren’t alone in this life.

He was the man you wanted.

And not just in the sweet, romantic, oh, let’s go on a date and hold hands kind of way.

No. It was the kind of want that made your skin burn, that kept you up at night with images of him pressed against you, mouth hot and claiming, hands gripping your waist like he needed you.

And it wasn’t just a one-time thing either.

It was constant.

Like when he walked around in nothing but a towel, fresh from the shower, water still dripping down his broad shoulders, the scent of his soap—god, that soap, clinging to the air.

Or when he leaned over you at the library table, arm brushing yours, voice low and gruff in your ear as he pointed something out in the lore book, and you had to physically stop yourself from turning your head just to get a whiff of his damn cologne.

And then there were the moments that really tested your willpower.

Like when Dean was working on the Impala. God help you, when Dean was working on Baby.

It shouldn’t have been so mesmerizing, shouldn’t have made your mouth go dry or your stomach twist into knots. But damn if it didn’t.

There he was, under the hood, sleeves pushed up, exposing those strong forearms—the ones you’d stared at countless times and never got tired of. The muscles in his back flexed beneath his Henley as he leaned over, hands expertly twisting a wrench, brows furrowed in concentration.

And then there was the grease. Smudged across his forearm, streaked along his jaw, a little bit on his cheek. It shouldn’t have been hot, but it was.

You swallowed hard, heat creeping up your neck as you watched him, completely entranced. You tried to be subtle about it, really, you did. But your thighs pressed together on instinct, trying, failing to find some kind of relief.

Dean had always been a gorgeous man. That was just a fact. His sharp jawline, the freckles dusting his nose, the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled. And that voice—gravelly and rough, especially in the mornings or when he was pissed off.

You’d always been attracted to him, but it had been manageable. A quiet, buried thing. At least, it had been. Because lately? Lately, it was getting bad. Like the time he caught you blushing—really blushing.

It was nothing, just a stupid little moment in the kitchen. You were making coffee, minding your own business, when Dean strolled in, half-awake, wearing nothing but his boxers. He yawned, stretched his arms above his head, his abs tightening, that faint happy trail disappearing beneath the waistband.

Your eyes snapped away, cheeks on fire, and you could feel his smirk before he even said a word.

“Somethin’ wrong, sweetheart?” His voice was still thick with sleep, rougher than usual.

“Nope.” You turned your attention back to the coffee pot, praying to whoever that he wouldn’t press it.

But of course, this was Dean. He stepped up beside you, close enough that his body heat was noticeable, close enough that his scent—leather, whiskey, and oil wrapped around you like a goddamn trap.

“You sure? ‘Cause you’re lookin’ a little pink there.”

You scowled, keeping your eyes firmly on the coffee. “It’s warm in here.”

“Mm-hmm.”

Stupid smug bastard. You rolled your eyes.

But that was nothing compared to the other time. The time he really, really pushed you over the edge.

It was late. You were both in the library, going over lore books. Nothing exciting, just another normal night. And then—he did it. Completely unintentional, completely innocent.

He was leaning back in his chair, flipping through a book, and at some point, he rolled his shoulders, stretching his arms behind his head, muscles shifting beneath his Henley. And then he let out this low, satisfied groan.

And that was it. Game over. A pulse of heat shot straight to your core so fast it actually took your breath away. You squeezed your thighs together hard, trying to curb the ache, trying to breathe, but it didn’t help. It didn’t do anything.

Thankfully, Dean didn't notice. He just kept reading, oblivious to the fact that he had just wrecked you.

You barely made it to your room before you lost it.

The second the door shut behind you, you pressed your back against it, heart hammering, breath shallow. The heat pooling in your belly was impossible to ignore, the ache between your thighs maddening.

Jesus Christ. Dean Winchester was going to ruin you.

You swallowed, chest rising and falling as you tried to steady yourself. But it was useless. The second you closed your eyes, all you saw was him from that time you watched him work on Baby.

The grease smudged across his fingers, the way his biceps flexed as he worked on Baby, the sweat rolling down his neck in the heat of the garage. That sharp, smug smirk when he caught you staring too long. The way his voice roughened when he was exhausted, dropping into a low, gravelly drawl that sent a shiver down your spine.

If he ever figured it out, he’d destroy you.

A quiet, frustrated sigh left your lips as you squeezed your thighs together, but it wasn’t enough. The pressure only made it worse.

Your fingers moved before you could think, slipping beneath the waistband of your sweats. The first touch sent a shudder through you, an exhale leaving your lips as your body immediately reacted. But it wasn’t your own hand you were imagining.

It was his.

Calloused fingers skimming over your skin, teasing you, dragging over your sensitive flesh like he had all the time in the world. “Look at you,” his voice rasped in your head, the deep, husky tone laced with something dark, something possessive. “Knew you’d be sweet for me.”

Your breath hitched as your fingers moved faster, chasing the phantom sensation of his touch.

Dean, pressing you up against the Impala, his hands gripping your hips, pinning you there. His breath ghosting against your neck before his teeth scraped against your pulse. Your other hand clutched the fabric of your shirt, nails digging in as the pleasure built.

“Tell me how bad you want it, sweetheart.”

A quiet whimper slipped from your lips as you imagined him, imagined those same rough hands holding you down, spreading you open, teasing you until you were trembling, begging—And God, you would beg.

Your back arched, the pleasure coiling tighter, your body wound so tight you thought you might snap—

“Dean—” His name left your lips in a ragged gasp as you unraveled, waves of heat crashing over you. Your muscles tensed, thighs shaking, your own hand barely enough, because fuck, you knew nothing would ever compare to the real thing.

You stood there for a moment, skin flushed, heart still pounding. But as the high faded, another thought settled heavily in your chest.

This wasn’t just lust. Wasn’t just some reckless attraction. You didn’t just want Dean Winchester.

You were in love with him. Hopelessly, dangerously, in love with him. And if you weren’t careful? You were going to get burned.

But even that wasn’t enough to keep the boredom away. After all the cleaning, the laundry, the books, the languages—you had nothing left.

And it wasn’t just boredom anymore. It was loneliness. The bunker was too damn quiet without them. No sarcastic remarks from Dean, no long-winded research rants from Sam, no arguments over what food to order.

Just you. You wanted out. Wanted more.

And so, one night, as Dean was packing up his duffel, getting ready for another job, you finally snapped “I’m coming with you.”

Dean didn’t even look up. “No, you’re not.”

Your hands curled into fists. “Dean.”

He sighed, zipping his bag before finally turning to face you. “Look, I get it. You’re sick of being cooped up. You want to do something. But hunting isn’t a goddamn road trip, sweetheart.”

“I know that,” you shot back. “You think I haven’t been paying attention? I’ve trained. I know how to handle myself.”

Dean’s jaw tightened. “It’s not the same.”

You scoffed, crossing your arms. “How the hell would you know? You never let me come.”

His eyes snapped to yours, and for a second, something flickered across his face, annoyance, maybe? or something deeper, something more hesitant. “Because it’s dangerous.”

“So is staying in the bunker and losing my mind,” you shot back. “I’ve been stuck down here for months, Dean. I research, I train, I do everything you ask—but I have no idea what it’s actually like out there. I want to see what you do. I want to understand it. And I want to understand you.”

That made him freeze.

It wasn’t the argument he was expecting. He was used to hearing, I can handle myself, or I just want to be useful, but this? You weren’t just asking to hunt. You were asking to know him.

And that scared the shit out of him.

Dean swallowed hard, running a hand over his jaw as he turned away, pretending to busy himself with his duffel bag. He needed to shut this down, fast. You had no idea what you were asking for.

“Look, I get it,” he muttered. “The bunker’s boring. But this life? It’s not what you think it is.”

You shook your head. “I don’t think it’s glamorous, Dean. I know it’s brutal. I’ve seen the aftermath, I’ve seen you come back with bruises and stitches and that dead look in your eyes. But that’s exactly why I want to go. Because I feel like I only know part of you. I see the guy who fixes cars and drinks shitty beer and argues with Sam about movie references—but I don’t know the hunter. And if I’m going to be part of this world now, I want to understand all of you.”

His stomach twisted. Because you already did know him. You knew him better than almost anyone. And maybe that was the real problem.

Dean had spent years forcing himself to keep his distance, making sure he never let anything slip.

But it was getting harder.

Every damn day, it got harder. Because the real truth? He didn’t just love you. He was in love with you.

It had started as something small—just admiration, just attraction. But then it grew, creeping into every part of him, sinking its claws deep. You were the only person, besides Sam, who made him feel like he wasn’t just some soldier marching toward an inevitable end.

And the worst part? You had no fucking clue.

Dean couldn’t risk telling you. Couldn’t risk ruining what you had. So instead, he locked it down, buried it beneath sarcasm and forced nonchalance, kept his hands to himself even when he ached to pull you close.

Sure, hunting was hell. Dean had been through it all—bloody fights with creatures that could tear him apart, near-death experiences more times than he could count, nights spent in shitty motel rooms with nothing but whiskey and nightmares for company.

But the bunker? Christ, it was torture now.

There was nowhere to hide from you. No distance to put between himself and the way you unknowingly drove him out of his goddamn mind. You had no clue. No fucking idea what you did to him.

It was the little things, the casual, effortless way you existed in his space, like you belonged there. Like you’d always belonged there.

The way you walked around in his shirts sometimes—shit you probably didn’t even think twice about. But Dean did, he thought about it constantly.

Because his shirts swallowed you up, the fabric hanging loose off your shoulders, barely covering your ass, and it took every ounce of willpower he had not to stare. Not to imagine what it would be like if you were wearing nothing underneath, if he could just slide his hands up those bare thighs and fuck you senseless.

Fuck.

And then there was the stretching. It wasn’t even intentional, wasn’t like you were trying to kill him, but fuck if it didn’t wreck him. Like when you’d wander into the kitchen first thing in the morning, hair a mess, still sleepy-eyed, and reach your arms over your head in a slow, lazy stretch that had your back arching just right.

And that wasn’t even the worst of it. The worst was when you’d yawn, soft and content, lips parted slightly, making these little noises that sent Dean’s brain straight into the gutter. Because all he could think about was how you’d sound if he had you underneath him—if he was pulling those sounds from your lips himself.

And if that weren't enough, thats when the heat would settle low in his stomach, spreading like wildfire, and before he could even think about stopping it—bam. Instant boner.

But then came the real problem, hiding it. Which was a hell of a lot harder than it should’ve been.

Like the time you flopped down next to him at the kitchen table, stretching with a soft groan, and he nearly choked on his coffee because holy shit, that sound went straight to his dick. He’d had to shift in his seat, subtly adjust himself under the table, and pray to every goddamn angel in existence that you didn’t notice.

Or the time you asked him to pass you something from the top shelf, and when you reached up to grab it, your body brushed against his, just barely, but fuck—he had to back up so fast he nearly knocked over a chair.

And then there was the absolute worst moment.

The time you hugged him. You’d been in a good mood about something, probably after kicking his ass at poker and you just threw your arms around him, squeezing tight, your body pressed right up against his.

And Dean? He fucking froze. Because all he could think about was how warm you were, how you fit against him perfectly, how easy it would be to slide his hands down, grip your hips, pull you in even closer—

And then it happened again. Another traitorous, fucking boner. Dean had never panicked so hard in his life. He patted your back stiffly, pulled away before you could notice, and immediately sat down at the nearest table, praying you wouldn’t ask why he suddenly had to stay seated.

Jesus Christ, he was a mess.

And it wasn’t just the physical frustration—it was you. It was the way you felt like home. The way you didn’t even realize you’d completely wrecked him.

And the worst part? He didn’t think he’d ever stop wanting you. He’d have to force himself to look away, think about something else, anything else, but it never worked.

And that’s how he found himself here. In the shower, water scalding hot, one hand braced against the tile while the other wrapped around his painfully hard cock. He bit down on his lip, squeezed his eyes shut, and let the images take over.

You, sprawled out on his bed, looking up at him with those wide, teasing eyes. You, wearing his damn shirt, nothing underneath, your skin soft and warm as he slid his hands underneath the fabric.

You, gasping his name as he finally got his mouth on you, kissing, licking, tasting—

A deep, guttural groan ripped from his throat as he came, pleasure crashing through him so hard his knees nearly buckled. He stood there for a moment, chest heaving, forehead pressed against the cool tile.

And then, like always, came the guilt. Because you weren’t his and you had no idea how fucking badly he wanted you to be.

But then there was Sam. And Sam, Dean's annoying little brother? He saw everything.

“Dude,” he’d said once, shaking his head as they packed up for a hunt. “You’re pathetic.”

Dean scowled. “Excuse me?”

Sam just grinned, tossing a knife into his bag. “You gonna tell her, or you just gonna keep sighing longingly every time she walks by?”

“Shut up.”

But Sam didn’t shut up. Ever. Especially not when Dean constantly checked his phone on hunts. The moment he and Sam rolled into a new town, Dean was texting you, calling you, making sure you were okay.

Sam would tease him relentlessly. “You just talked to her an hour ago.”

“Yeah, and?”

“You’re like a clingy boyfriend.”

“Eat a dick, Sammy.”

But Sam wasn’t wrong. And now you were standing in front of him, looking at him like he was some goddamn puzzle you were trying to solve, and it was taking everything in him not to crack.

Because you wouldn’t let this go. You were relentless, you'd bring it up every damn day, and the more you would push, the weaker his resolve would get.

But the worst part about it all? You were right. You should see all aspects of him. If you were really going to be part of this life, you needed to understand it.

That didn’t make it any easier but Dean let out a long breath, rubbing the back of his neck. “Fine.”

You blinked. “What?”

“One hunt,” he said, meeting your gaze. “Just one. No arguments.”

A triumphant grin spread across your face as Dean groaned. “I already regret this.” But so did his gut because something about this felt wrong, and it was too late now.

series masterlist next part

author’s note:

let’s say it in unison now, maddie is fucking insane! lmfaooooo. I honestly just kept thinking of more stuff to write and before I knew it I had an 11k fic sitting right infront of my face. I didn’t want to make the ‘oneshot’ too long so I decided to split it up into three parts, hence the ‘mini series’ :)

also, special thanks to @aylacavebear for helping me with this little mini series. I don’t know what I’d do without you!

I really hope you like it @anbernen ! if you don’t like smut you can always skip the third part :) I just felt like this story needed a little smut so I went ahead and wrote it lmfao. hehe, enjoy! ❤︎

— requests are open.ᐟᅟ please read request rules.ᐟᅟ

tags:

@freeluigihesbae @aylacavebear @supernotnatural2005 @bettystonewell @lieutenantchaos @bejeweledinterludes @ambiguous-avery @star-yawnznn @exansation @darkrose064 @megara0224 @saturnsooya @miss-marmalade (lmk if I’ve missed anyone or if you’d like to be taken off the list) btw I apologize for the small spam..

If you would like to be tagged please fill out THIS form and I will add you to the list! ❤︎

my works

© maddie0101 do not copy or repost my works without my permission

[bunnithechubs]

transcript:

V: Are you nervous? I told you they are going to like you.

R: I just feel really underdressed and tired.

V: Babe, this side of my life is about as normal and wholesome as it gets and you look amazing, as always.

R: Maybe I’m not in the socializing mood.

V: Do you want to head back home? We’re already here, might as well push through. My brother will understand remember he’s got a very pregnant wife.

R: I’m okay.

V: Well, if you change your mind just let me know.

R:Will do. How much older is your brother?

V: About 5 years, he acts like he's my dad though.

R: That bother’s you?

V: Sometimes, [shrugs] he can be a bit of a control freak.

R: He means a lot to you though.

V: What makes you say that?

R: The way you light up when you talk about him. Also, you never miss his calls. In fact you get upset if you don’t talk to him every week.

V: Are you calling me clingy?

R: I’m the same way with my dad, I just find it interesting.

V: I guess I just want him to stop worrying about me.

R: Then maybe stop giving him a reason to…

V: It smells good in here!

C: Hey Vin, welcome Reina. Nice to finally meet you.

R: Same, thank you for having me over.

C: Any time, this here is my wife Kitty and our daughter Maeve.

K: [Mae hides] She’s shy at first but she’ll warm up.

R: I get it, meeting someone new is a lot.

C: Well, Kitty made a mean meal let’s sit down and eat.

K: Reina, let us know if you need anything. We appreciate you coming after working and on short notice.

R: Thanks, it wasn’t a big deal.

C: Babe, I’ll set the table. Vin you mind giving Kitty a break?

V: You know I never say no to my princess, come here Mae!

C: So, Vinny told me that you just moved the city a few months ago. How are you liking it?

R: I visited it before but I feel like I’m still finding out stuff about it. I didn’t even know there was a suburb like this just outside of it.

V: I’ve been trying to show her more of the city but it’s hard when I’m in season.

R: How do you guys like New Crest?

K: It’s nice because it’s so family centered but we eventually want to make our way to Henford. That’s where my family is.

R: Vinny mentioned you’re not a city native either.

Kl: Not even close, but I love the city. I just get really home sick. Do you miss home too?

R: I miss my family, not so much the Valley. It’s hard to know who’s your friend or enemy over there.

C: I can see that, glad you’re liking it in the city then. Hopefully Vinny is being on his best behavior.

V: [smirks] Reina’s got a good leash on me, no need to worry there.

R: Was Cain the same when you met him?

K: [laughs] oh, he was worse. Yet look at me now? Married with soon to be two kids.

R: You both seem really happy though.

C: You meet the right person and it changes your perspective on life. Never thought I would be a dad.

V: He’s a great dad and husband- don’t let him fool you.

R: I can tell, Mae seems like a really happy baby.

K: Don’t let her give you baby fever now.

R: I’ve got a few nieces and nephews. No baby fever for me- Vin on the other hand.

K: [smiles] Mae has that affect, hence me being pregnant currently. Vinny mentioned you’re an actress?

R: Aspiring- I did a few day time tv shows. I’ve been trying to break into the cinema world but it’s taking a bit longer. I’ve been focusing on my online presence for the time being.

K: Well, if it’s a legal issue I could put you in contact with great lawyers.

R: I might take you up on that, my contract has been the root cause of my issues.

R: Thanks for the meal, it was delicious.

K: No problem. It feels good to make something we’ve been really bad at cooking now that we’re in the final trimester.

V: When dad moves in put his ass in the kitchen.

C: [laughs] that’s the plan. Hey, do you mind putting Mae to bed while I get these dishes cleaned?

V: Yeah, no problem.

R: You’re cute with your niece. Like a different version of yourself.

V: She thinks I’m a super hero so… I guess I want to keep that image up for her. What do you think about my brother?

R: He’s cool. To be honest, I like his wife better than him.

V: [laughs] Told you, everyone loves her.

R: They are really cute together. You can tell they were meant to be.

V: So what do you think? Think we can have a life like this?

R: Maybe in the future. I’m not really ready for all of this Vinny.

V: I’m not talking about right now, Reina. Who said you won’t get time alone? I work most of the day when I’m in season.

R: It’s my boundary, Vinny. I’m not ready for it. I already told you that you need therapy if you can’t bare the thought of living on your own.

V:Are you trying to hide something from me?

R: I don’t hide anything. You know that. If you feel that way then…

V: Therapy. Got it.

R: I’m not your brother’s wife. I can’t fix all your problems, Vin. You gotta do that for yourself. Not because you love me.

V: Sometimes I think you don’t like me.

R: Now that’s ridiculous.

V: Then prove it to me.

[heejamas]

out of tune ˖ ୨ 🎙◞⋆ ☆

pairing: producer!beomgyu x producer!femreader

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

genre: enemies to lovers, coworkers to lovers, slow burn, angst with a good payoff // w/c: 27k // warnings: not entirely proofread, smoking (reader and beomgyu smoke), drinking, angst, jealously, overworking characters, classic enemies to lovers type of plot

author's note: GUYS. i’m finally releasing this prisoner that’s been rotting in my drafts for a million years this one’s a longer fic, so i’m splitting it into part 1 and part 2! it’s definitely a slowburn, and also my first time writing a full-length fic like this. depending on how much y’all like it, i’ll drop part 2 👀 so let me know what u think!! hope u enjoy <3

The HYBE cafeteria was unusually bright today. Or maybe that was just your headache talking.

You sat slumped at one of the corner tables, your laptop was open in front of you, but the words on the screen blurred together every time you tried to focus. Your body was in the office, but your soul was still somewhere on the dance floor from last night.

You were never drinking again.

A cup of coffee slid into your line of vision. You blinked, slowly lifting your head to see the familiar figure dropping into the seat beside you.

“Rough night?” Taehyun asked, amusement laced in his voice.

You didn’t answer, just wrapped both hands around the coffee like it was a lifeline and nodded your thanks. You took a sip, the bitter warmth cutting through the fog in your brain, and exhaled through your nose.

“You didn’t answer my question,” he pressed.

You finally peeled off your glasses and turned to him with a deadpan expression. “Do I look like I had a peaceful night?”

Taehyun let out a soft laugh. “No. You look like someone who made a lot of bad decisions and is currently regretting all of them.”

You sighed. “That’s exactly what happened.”

Taehyun was one of the few people in this building you actually liked. As a manager for a junior HYBE group, he wasn’t directly involved in your work, but somehow, over shared coffee breaks and snarky side comments during meetings, you had become friends. He was calm, observant, and, most importantly, he never judged you when you showed up like this.

“Who dragged you out last night?” he asked, leaning back in his chair.

“Yunjin,” you mumbled, rubbing your temple.

Taehyun whistled. “That explains it. She doesn’t just go out—she goes out.”

“Tell me about it.” You shook your head. For a few moments, you just sat there, sipping your coffee in comfortable silence. The caffeine was starting to work, clearing the fog in your brain just enough for you to remember why you had dragged yourself out of bed in the first place.

“Anyway,” Taehyun said, as if reading your mind, “you think you got it?”

You glanced at him. “Got what?”

“The ENHYPEN album. You think you landed the producer role?”

You exhaled slowly, fingers tapping against your coffee cup. “Yeah. I mean, I should. I have the best pitch. It’s mine to lose.”

Taehyun hummed, watching you carefully. “Unless…”

You groaned, already knowing where this was going. “Unless the company decides to give it to Beomgyu.”

His lips quirked up slightly, but he didn’t deny it. You resisted the urge to roll your eyes. If there was one person in this entire company who got under your skin more than anyone else, it was Choi Beomgyu. Beomgyu, your so-called “rival.” Beomgyu, the golden boy of the production team. Beomgyu, the one person standing between you and total creative dominance.

Since the moment you started working at HYBE, the two of you had been locked in a never-ending competition. You were both young, both talented, and both desperate to prove you were the best. Every project turned into a silent battle. Every meeting became a chance to outshine each other. Every time you thought you had the upper hand, he came back swinging with something better.

And, worst of all, he was good. As much as you hated to admit it, Beomgyu was one of the most talented producers in the company. His compositions were sharp, his sound design was clean, and when he wasn’t being an arrogant pain in your ass, he actually had an ear for what made a song great. But that didn’t make him any less infuriating.

“He’s been talking about it a lot,” Taehyun said, watching your reaction.

“Of course, he has,” you muttered. “He loves the sound of his own voice.”

Before Taehyun could press you, your phone buzzed with a notification. Your stomach flipped when you saw the email preview on your screen.

[HYBE Entertainment] Producer Assignment for ENHYPEN’s Next Album

Taehyun caught the way your shoulders tensed. “Well?”

You swallowed hard, took a deep breath, and opened it. And then, in bold letters, you saw it:

Lead Producers: Y/N & Choi Beomgyu.

You stared at the screen, unblinking.

Taehyun leaned over. “So?”

Slowly, you turned to him. “I hate this company.”

You barely had time to process your misery before you were ushered into one of the production meeting rooms. The headache was still lingering, but the coffee had helped enough that you could at least pretend to be functioning.

Across the table sat Baekhyun, ENHYPEN’s main A&R manager, flipping through a thick binder filled with concepts, references, and scribbled notes. He was in his mid-thirties, sharp-eyed and always impossibly put-together, the kind of guy who could walk into any room and immediately command attention.

“You look like hell,” he said, not even bothering with a greeting.

“Good morning to you too,” you muttered, dropping into your chair.

Baekhyun smirked, but didn’t push further. Instead, he slid the binder toward you. “Alright, let’s get to it. This is going to be ENHYPEN’s biggest album yet. They’re growing like crazy, and we need something that reflects that—something bold, mature, but still fresh.”

You nodded, flipping through the pages. There were mood boards, keywords, visual concepts—deep reds, blacks, a contrast of sharp and soft. “So, a sexy vibe,” you noted.

“Sexy, but not just for the sake of being sexy,” Baekhyun clarified. “It’s not about being provocative, it’s about confidence, about knowing your worth and expressing it. It needs to feel natural, not forced.”

“Got it,” you said, scanning a page filled with song references—everything from dark R&B to stripped-back acoustic ballads. “And the sound?”

“We want duality,” Baekhyun said, leaning forward. “Something sleek, something intense, but balanced with softer, more emotional tracks. Like… a contrast between the chase and the catch.”

You smirked. “So basically, heartbreak wrapped in temptation.”

Baekhyun snapped his fingers. “Exactly.”

You nodded, your mind already racing with ideas. This was the kind of project you thrived on, creating an album that told a story, something cohesive but layered, something that felt alive.

“I can already hear it,” you murmured, flipping to a blank page and jotting down rough ideas. “We need instrumentals that hit deep, a mix of live elements and modern production. R&B basslines, warm analog synths, breathy vocals in the right places…”

Baekhyun grinned. “See? This is why I knew you were the right person for this.” Your ego swelled, but before you could respond, he casually added— “And why Beomgyu is the perfect person to work on this with you.”

Just like that, your mood soured. You shut the binder and looked up at him, unimpressed. “Really?”

Baekhyun laughed. “Don’t start.”

“I’m just saying—”

“You’re just saying that you don’t like him. Which, frankly, is why this is going to be so interesting.”

You huffed, crossing your arms. “We have completely different styles.”

“Which is exactly why this works. You bring structure, he brings unpredictability. You focus on energy, he focuses on emotion. You push each other, even when you don’t realize it.” You groaned, but you knew he wasn’t wrong. Baekhyun leaned back, watching you with an amused glint in his eyes. “You know, if you two weren’t so busy trying to one-up each other all the time, you might actually make a great team.”

You scoffed. “Doubtful.” Baekhyun only shrugged, a knowing smile on his face. You sighed, standing up and gathering your notes. “Fine. If this album flops, I’m blaming you.”

He smirked. “Noted.”

You turned toward the door, bracing yourself for the inevitable headache that would come from working directly with Beomgyu for the next few months. But as soon as you pulled it open, you nearly walked straight into someone.

Someone tall, with long black hair falling messily over sharp eyes that gleamed with something infuriatingly smug. His features were all sharp angles and effortless confidence, full lips curled into a smirk, the kind that made your blood pressure spike before he even said a word.

Choi Beomgyu.

Dressed in an oversized black hoodie layered under a leather jacket, silver chains peeking out from the neckline, and ripped jeans that looked both expensive and carelessly thrown on, he looked every bit like the type of person who thrived in controlled chaos. Like someone who knew exactly how to get under your skin and enjoyed every second of it. And he always made it look easy.

Your stomach twisted, not with nerves, not with excitement, but with that same frustrating mixture of irritation and awareness that always came with him. Because no matter how much you tried to ignore it, Beomgyu had a presence. The kind that made a room feel smaller when he walked in, like he pulled all the energy toward himself without even trying.

He was leaning casually against the doorframe, like he had been waiting for you to walk straight into him. His dark eyes flickered down at you, amused. He chuckled, stepping aside just enough for you to pass. But before you could make your escape, Baekhyun called from inside the room—

“Beomgyu, perfect timing. Y/N and I were just talking about how great you two are going to be working together.”

You clenched your jaw. Beomgyu turned to you, raising an eyebrow. “Oh yeah?”

“No,” you deadpanned. “We weren’t.”

Beomgyu grinned, clearly enjoying himself. “Too bad, cause I think we’re going to have so much fun.”

You took a slow breath, reminding yourself that murder was illegal. Then, without another word, you pushed past him and walked out of the room. Behind you, you could hear him laugh under his breath.

This was going to be hell.

By the time you finally stepped out of the HYBE building, the sky had already melted into deep shades of indigo. The day had been long, hours spent inside the studio, fine-tuning beats, layering harmonies, trying to shape the skeleton of a project that didn’t even exist yet. Your brain felt like mush, the melodies still buzzing in your head like an overplayed song on repeat.

You shoved your hands into your jacket pockets, letting the cool night air wake you up a little as you made your way toward the subway. Your body ached, exhaustion settling into your bones, but your mind wouldn’t shut up.

It was annoying how easy it was to think about the project, how ideas kept forming without you even trying. Even more annoying? The realization that, in some twisted way, Beomgyu was actually a good fit for this album. You hated that it made sense.

Because as much as you wanted to believe you could do this on your own, you weren’t stupid. You knew your strengths, you were a producer first, a composer second. Melodies came naturally to you, the kind that could make someone feel something without even needing lyrics. But lyrics weren’t your strong suit. You could write, sure, but not the way Beomgyu could.

That was the problem. He was good. And he knew he was good.

His songwriting had this effortless quality, like he wasn’t just writing songs, he was telling stories. He knew how to take a concept and turn it into something that felt real. And if this album was supposed to be all about desire, longing, and the push-and-pull of emotions, then yeah, maybe he was the right person for this. But you’d rather die than admit that out loud.

With a tired sigh, you pushed the thought away as your train pulled up to the station. You just needed to go home, take a hot shower, and vent to the one person who wouldn’t hesitate to call you out on your bullshit.

By the time you unlocked the door to your apartment, you could already hear the faint sound of music playing from the living room.

Yeonjun was sprawled across the couch, laptop balanced on his stomach, probably tweaking some mix for one of his own projects. He worked at SM, but somehow, despite the constant rivalry between companies, the two of you had ended up as roommates.

Not that it was surprising. You had known each other for years, long before either of you had started working in the industry. Your friendship had survived everything: late-night study sessions in college, chaotic moving days, and now, the shared struggle of being overworked producers.

When you enter your place, the smell of something warm and familiar wrapped around you instantly. “You cooked?” Your voice came out halfway between shock and suspicion.

Yeonjun, who was also eating his ramen, looked up to give you an unimpressed look. “First of all, rude.”

You let out a breathy laugh, kicking off your shoes. “I mean, last time you ‘cooked,’ we almost set off the fire alarm, so forgive me for being a little traumatized.”

Yeonjun rolled his eyes but didn’t argue. Instead, he gestured toward the table, where two bowls were already set out. “Sit. Eat. You look like you just survived a war.”

You groaned, dragging yourself to a chair. “I feel like I just survived a war.”

He lifted up, and sat across from you, resting his chin in his hand as he watched you take the first bite. The warmth of the broth was immediate, soothing the tightness in your chest that you hadn’t even realized was there. Yeonjun waited until you had eaten a little before speaking again, voice softer now. “Long day?”

You exhaled, rolling your shoulders. “Yeah. But…” You paused, picking at your noodles with your chopsticks. “I got it.”

Yeonjun blinked. “Got what?”

“The Enhypen album,” you said, finally looking at him. “Baekhyun gave me the project.”

For a second, he just stared at you. Then, his face lit up. “Oh, shit!” He practically lunged over the table to shake your shoulders. “Y/N, that’s huge! Why didn’t you say that first?”

You laughed, swatting his hands away. “I was getting there!”

“You deserve this,” he said, grinning as he leaned back again. “Seriously, they couldn’t have picked anyone better. I knew this was yours.”

His words sent a strange warmth through your chest, one that had nothing to do with the ramen. “Thanks,” you murmured, a small smile tugging at your lips. “I really wanted it.”

Yeonjun’s smile softened. “And now you have it.” Then, after a beat—“Wait, this means you’ll be locked in the studio for months. I’m never gonna see you.”

You snorted. “Please. You’ll be begging me to stop ranting about synth layers by the end of next week.”

“Okay, yeah, probably.” He smirked. “So, what’s the concept?”

You sat back, letting your head rest against the chair as you thought about it. “Sexy, but in a romantic way. Like… polished, expensive. Desire, but not in a loud way. It’s supposed to be smooth. Mature. A little dangerous, but still aching for something real.”

Yeonjun let out a low whistle. “Damn. Sounds like a dream album.”

You nodded, your fingers drumming absentmindedly against the table. “I spent all day trying to build a soundscape that fits that vibe. The melodies are coming together, but…” You hesitated. “It’s missing something.”

Yeonjun raised an eyebrow. “What?”

You exhaled, tapping your chopsticks against your bowl. “Lyrics.”

He didn’t say anything, just tilted his head, waiting. You sighed, rubbing your temple. “Baekhyun thinks it’s the kind of album that needs a really strong lyrical identity. It has to feel intentional. Like every word matters. And… I get it. But that’s not really my strong suit, you know?”

Yeonjun nodded, chewing on the inside of his cheek. “So… you need a songwriter.”

You let out a humorless laugh. “Yeah. And that’s the problem. Because Baekhyun already assigned me one.”

Yeonjun’s lips curled at the edges. “Lemme guess.”

You groaned, dragging a hand down your face. “Yep.”

His grin stretched wider. “Beomgyu.”

You pointed your chopsticks at him. “Don’t start.”

He just laughed, leaning back against his chair. “I mean, I get it. He’s good. And if the concept is all about longing, I hate to admit it, but that’s his thing.”

You exhaled sharply. “I know. That’s what’s pissing me off.”

Yeonjun chuckled. “So what, you guys are just gonna be stuck in a studio together for the next few months?”

You poked at your ramen. “Pretty much.”

“You gonna survive that?”

You scoffed. “I’ll manage.”

Yeonjun gave you a knowing look. “You say that now, but I know you. You’re gonna drive yourself insane over this.”

You groaned. “Ugh. Don’t remind me.”

He nudged your foot under the table. “Hey. For what it’s worth, I think this is gonna be good for you.”

You frowned. “How?”

“Because,” he said simply, “Beomgyu pushes you. You hate it, but you need it. And whether you want to admit it or not, the two of you working together? It’s gonna make something insane.”

You stared at him for a long moment, then sighed, dropping your head onto the table dramatically. “Why do you have to be so right all the time?”

He laughed, reaching over to ruffle your hair. “It’s a curse.”

You swatted his hand away, but the heaviness in your chest felt a little lighter. Maybe Yeonjun was right. Maybe this was exactly what you needed. But still, if Beomgyu so much as breathed wrong, you were going to kill him.

The sound of your alarm was the first thing you registered. Sharp, insistent, and entirely too aggressive for this early in the morning You groaned, rolling onto your side to slap at your phone blindly. A soft knock came from your door.

“You alive in there?” Yeonjun’s voice was muffled but amused.

“Barely,” you grumbled.

The door creaked open slightly. “You’ve got ten minutes before I leave. If you’re not ready, I’m not waiting.”

Liar. He always waited. Still, you forced yourself up, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. You barely had time to throw on some semi-presentable clothes before you were slipping into Yeonjun’s car.

The drive was comfortable, filled with sleepy silence and whatever playlist Yeonjun had on shuffle. Every now and then, he’d hum along to a song or tap his fingers against the steering wheel, the familiarity of it making your exhaustion a little easier to bear.

“Big day?” he asked eventually.

You sighed. “Yeah.”

Yeonjun glanced at you. “You nervous?”

You shook your head. “No. Just… mentally preparing myself.”

He smirked. “For the album or for Beomgyu?”

You shot him a glare. “Drop me off right here. I’ll walk.”

He snorted, pulling up in front of the HYBE building. “Good luck,” he said as you unbuckled your seatbelt. “Try not to freak out.”

“No promises,” you muttered, stepping out.

As you made your way inside, the familiar hum of the building’s early morning routine surrounded you, employees shuffling in, conversations murmuring in the background, the faint notes of music drifting from a nearby studio. Your first stop, as always, was the company café. You needed caffeine. But as you approached the counter, your mood soured instantly.

Because standing there—already engaged in conversation—was none other than Beomgyu.

And he wasn’t alone. Taehyun, of all people, was with him, the two of them deep in discussion. The sight made your stomach twist weirdly. You had always found it strange how someone as levelheaded as Taehyun could willingly spend so much time with him.

You weren’t sure what they were talking about, but the second Taehyun spotted you, his face lit up. “Morning, Y/N,” he greeted, completely oblivious to the way your eyes immediately locked onto Beomgyu.

“Morning,” you replied, forcing yourself to focus on Taehyun instead. “Didn’t know you two were having a little coffee date.”

Taehyun rolled his eyes, but Beomgyu, ever the opportunist, smirked. “Jealous?” he asked.

You scoffed. “Of what, exactly?”

Beomgyu shrugged, stirring his coffee lazily. “Me. Him. This moment of pure camaraderie.”

You gave him a deadpan look. Taehyun sighed, shaking his head. “I don’t know why I even try.”

Before you could respond, Beomgyu leaned against the counter, regarding you with that ever-present smugness. “Baekhyun told you about the meeting, right?”

You narrowed your eyes. “What meeting?”

Beomgyu’s smirk widened. “Figures.”

You groaned. “Beomgyu.”

The songwriter just lifted his cup to his lips, clearly enjoying this. He swallowed his sip of coffee, dragging out the silence before finally saying, “Baekhyun scheduled a meeting for us. With Heeseung.”

Your brows furrowed. “Heeseung?”

“He’s co-producing some of the album,” Taehyun explained. “He’s been really hands-on with this comeback.”

You nodded slowly. You had known Heeseung was involved, but this was the first you were hearing about an actual meeting. “So when is this happening?” you asked.

Beomgyu glanced at his watch. “In about… twenty minutes.”

You inhaled sharply. “Are you serious?”

Beomgyu grinned. “What? You need more time to prepare?”

You opened your mouth, probably to say something regrettable, but Taehyun quickly stepped in. “Okay, let’s not start this before a meeting.” He shot you both a pointed look. “Try to behave, yeah?”

You exhaled sharply, turning back to the counter to grab your coffee. “Fine. Let’s get this over with.” You turned on your heel, shooting him one last glare before heading for the conference room. This was going to be a long day.

The conference room is sleek, all clean lines and soundproofed walls, but the air inside feels thick with expectation. You lean against the table, arms crossed, trying not to let the weight of the situation sink in too much. Across from you, Beomgyu sits with his usual careless ease, twirling a pen between his fingers like he’s got all the time in the world.

Baekhyun flips through the binder of notes, while Heeseung sits beside him, watching everything with that sharp, unreadable gaze of his. Heeseung is a lot of things, an incredible performer, a perfectionist, and most of all, observant. Even now, you can feel him studying you and Beomgyu, picking up on things you aren’t even saying out loud.

"Alright," Baekhyun says, snapping the binder shut. "This album is going to be big, but we need it to feel cohesive. That’s why I brought you three together." He nods toward Heeseung. "Heeseung's been working on the overall creative direction with the group, so he’s got a vision for the sound. But you two—" he looks between you and Beomgyu, "—need to bring that vision to life."

Heeseung leans forward, clasping his hands together. "I have some ideas for the emotional beats of the album. I think it should feel… layered. Not just desire for the sake of desire, but something deeper. Craving, frustration, vulnerability. The kind of push-and-pull that makes people feel something."

You nod, already picturing melodies in your head. "I get that. It can’t just be surface-level. The production has to carry that duality too, something sleek but aching underneath."

Beomgyu hums beside you, finally paying attention. "I like that. But we can’t overcomplicate it. It still has to hit immediately, you know? If the production is too… pretty, it won’t land."

You glance at him, raising an eyebrow. "I wasn’t planning on making it ‘pretty.’"

His lips curve into a smirk. "You say that, but your demos always start out all delicate before you drown them in atmosphere."

You scoff, but before you can fire back, you remember something. You pull out your phone, scrolling through your files. "Actually, I have something. It’s just an idea, but…" You trail off as you connect to the speaker and press play.

The room fills with the soft hum of synths, a deep bassline kicking in a second later. The melody is restrained, almost hesitant, but there’s tension in it, a slow build that promises something bigger. Baekhyun leans back in his chair, nodding along, his fingers drumming lightly against his knee. Heeseung listens with his head tilted slightly, his brows furrowed in thought.

But it’s Beomgyu you’re watching.

His usual air of disinterest is gone. He’s listening—actually listening—his fingers absentmindedly tapping a rhythm against the table. His lips part slightly, his head tilts, and then, without saying a word, he grabs his notebook, flips to a blank page, and starts writing.

You should be annoyed. Maybe you are. But more than that, you’re intrigued. Because you recognize this version of him, the one who isn’t just all cocky smirks and sharp remarks, but the one who gets lost in the music the same way you do. The one who doesn’t just hear songs, he feels them.

And maybe it’s because you recognize it, or maybe it’s because you can already hear something forming in your own mind, but before you even realize it, you’re reaching for a pen.

The two of you don’t speak at first. You don’t need to. Beomgyu jots something down in a messy scrawl, then taps the edge of his notebook twice before turning it toward you.

Won't you give it to me? Our secret

You stare at it for a second, then shake your head. "Too direct," you murmur, crossing out a word with your pen. You rewrite it underneath—

Won't you let me in? Our secret

Beomgyu’s eyes flicker with something—approval, maybe, or just excitement—and he immediately scribbles something in return, adjusting the cadence of the next line to fit. Back and forth, line by line, the song starts to take shape. He throws out a melody, you refine it. You hum a transition, he finds a way to make it sharper.

At some point, you pull your chair closer without thinking, angling yourself toward him as you lean over his notebook. He shifts too, elbows resting on the table, so close now that you can feel the warmth of his arm next to yours. His knee bumps against yours, but neither of you moves away.

Your phone is still connected to the speaker, and every now and then, you pause to tweak the demo, adjusting a chord, adding a reverb effect, testing how the lyrics sit against the melody. The more you work, the more the energy builds.

It’s like a high. The thrill of chasing an idea, of catching it just before it slips away. Baekhyun exhales a quiet laugh, finally breaking the silence. "Well, damn," he mutters, amused.

You glance up, only now remembering that he and Heeseung are still in the room.Heeseung is watching the two of you with his arms crossed, one brow raised like he’s witnessing something he wasn’t expecting. "Is this how you two always work?"

Beomgyu leans back in his chair, stretching his arms over his head like he didn’t just spend the last twenty minutes hyper-focused beside you. "We've never worked together"

Baekhyun smirks. "That's a shame."

You open your mouth to argue, but then you stop. Because the truth is, you don’t actually know how to explain it. You and Beomgyu have spent so much time trying to one-up each other that you’ve never really thought about what it feels like when you work together.

And maybe you don’t want to think about it too much now, either.

Beomgyu is watching you, his expression unreadable, like he’s waiting to see what you’ll say. You hesitate for half a second, then roll your eyes, reaching over to shut your notebook.

And maybe it’s just the adrenaline from the session, or maybe it’s something else entirely, but as you gather your things, you can’t shake the feeling that this—whatever just happened between you and Beomgyu—is something you’re going to be chasing again.

The moment you step into the hallway, you exhale, feeling the lingering buzz of the brainstorming session still thrumming under your skin. Your mind is moving too fast, melodies and lyrics weaving together even as you try to shake them off.

Before you get too far, Heeseung catches up to you, matching your pace effortlessly. "That was impressive," he says, hands tucked into his pockets.

You glance at him, eyebrows raised. "What was?"

He smiles knowingly. "Don’t play dumb. The way you and Beomgyu just… locked in like that. You guys have a really strong creative dynamic."

You scoff. "Please. It was a one-time thing."

Heeseung just hums in amusement. "Sure," he says, voice dripping with skepticism. "But seriously, I really liked what you did with the demo. That shift in the pre-chorus? That was smart."

The unexpected praise makes your steps falter slightly. You work with a lot of talented people, but compliments from someone like Heeseung, who has an ear for every small detail, actually mean something. "Thanks," you mutter. "Still needs work, though."

Heeseung nods. "Yeah, but that’s what makes it exciting. You and Beomgyu had some really solid ideas in there. I can already tell this album is gonna be something special."

There’s something in his voice, genuine, excited. It’s the same kind of excitement you feel when a song starts coming together, when you can hear the final product before it even exists.

And maybe—just maybe—that feeling is stronger now because of how easily you and Beomgyu fell into rhythm together. Not that you’re going to admit that.

Before you can respond, you hear footsteps approaching. Beomgyu slows as he reaches the two of you, glancing between you and Heeseung with mild curiosity. "What’s this? A secret meeting?"

You roll your eyes. Heeseung chuckles, shaking his head. "Relax, man. I was just telling Y/N how good that session was. You guys really work well together."

Beomgyu gives you a look, something unreadable flickering in his dark eyes, but he doesn’t comment on it. Instead, he tilts his head toward Heeseung. "You heading out?"

"Yeah," Heeseung nods. "But I’ll catch up with you guys later."

With that, he gives you one last easy smile before walking off, leaving you alone with Beomgyu. Big mistake. The second Heeseung disappears down the hall, Beomgyu turns to you with a lazy grin. "So," he drawls, "what did he say about me?"

You narrow your eyes. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me," he says, shifting his weight against the wall. "Did he say I was a genius? A lyrical mastermind? The only reason this album is gonna be good?"

You glare. "Wow, and here I was thinking you couldn’t possibly get more unbearable."

Beomgyu just laughs, completely unfazed. "I’m serious, though. You should really start getting used to working with me. I mean, if this first session was any proof, we make a great team."

You cross your arms. "Yeah, alright"

Beomgyu tilts his head. "Anyway, I’m gonna be in my studio for a bit—working on some ideas. You know, since I’m so dedicated."

You raise an eyebrow. "And this concerns me how?"

His smirk is instant, sharp. "Because, genius, that demo we worked on still isn’t finished. And if I remember correctly, you’re kind of obsessed with making things perfect."

You exhale through your nose, already feeling the trap he’s setting. "I’ll work on it on my own."

"Sure, sure," he muses, rocking back on his heels. "Except… we both know it’s better when we do it together."

You roll your eyes. "I don’t ‘do things together’ with you, Beomgyu."

He grins, leaning in slightly. "You did today." Your fingers twitch at your sides. You hate that he’s right. You hate that, for a moment, working with him didn’t feel like a battle, it felt electric.

Beomgyu seems to know exactly what you’re thinking, because he shrugs, all casual confidence. "I mean, if you wanna waste time trying to fix it alone, be my guest. But you saw how fast we worked together. We could probably finish a whole verse in an hour—less, if you don’t get distracted staring at me."

You scoff. "Oh my god. You're unbelievable."

"You keep saying that, but you still haven’t said no."

You open your mouth to argue, but then, against all logic, you hesitate. Because he’s right. Again. For as much as you can’t stand him, the truth is undeniable: when you and Beomgyu get into that creative zone, things happen. He watches you carefully, amusement flickering in his dark eyes as you consider it. Finally, with a heavy sigh, you relent. "Fine. Maybe I’ll stop by later."

Beomgyu beams, clearly way too pleased with himself. "Knew you would."

"Don’t get cocky."

"Too late," he says, already turning to leave. But just as he starts walking away, he throws one last remark over his shoulder— "Can’t wait to see how long you last before you come running to my studio."

You swear under your breath, clenching your fists. That smug little—No. You’re not letting him get to you. You pull out your phone, ignoring the way your heartbeat is still uneven, and type out a quick text.

[you]: are you at the company?

Taehyun responds almost instantly.

[taehyun]: Just finished up. Why? [you]: meet me outside [taehyun]: …Are you about to fight someone? [you]: just fucking get there jesus

Shoving your phone back into your pocket, you reach for the crumpled pack of cigarettes in your jacket. It’s a bad habit—one you don’t let yourself fall into often—but it’s always been your go-to when you feel like you might actually explode.

You light up, inhaling deeply, letting the nicotine settle in your lungs as you lean against the wall. The city hums around you, cars passing, distant chatter from people walking by, but your head is still full of Beomgyu. His smirk, his voice, the way he gets under your skin so damn easily.

You take another slow drag. A few minutes later, footsteps approach, and then—

"You really need to quit that," Taehyun says, stepping up beside you.

You exhale, watching the smoke dissipate into the night air. "Yeah, yeah."

He looks at you for a moment, then sighs. "Beomgyu?"

You shoot him a glare. "I hate how predictable that was."

Taehyun just laughs, shaking his head as he leans against the wall next to you. "Alright. Tell me what happened."

And you do. Between slow drags of your cigarette and exasperated hand gestures, you let it all out. Beomgyu’s arrogance, his teasing, the way he makes you want to strangle him and throw yourself into another session with him at the same time. Taehyun listens, nodding along, his expression somewhere between amused and exasperated.

When you finally finish, he exhales, running a hand through his hair. "You know," he says, "for someone who ‘hates’ working with him, you sure as hell can’t stop talking about him."

You groan, dragging a hand down your face. "I swear to god, if you say one more thing—"

"Relax," he grins, bumping his shoulder against yours. "I’m just saying. If this keeps up, this album’s gonna be fun to watch."

"Fun," you mutter, taking one last drag of your cigarette before flicking it away. "Yeah, sure. If Beomgyu doesn’t kill me first."

Taehyun snorts. "I dunno. You’re the one smoking like you’ve just seen your life flash before your eyes." You shoot him a glare, but he just grins. Taehyun shifts beside you. "So, you’re going this weekend, right?"

You frown. "Going where?"

"The HYBE party," he says, like it should be obvious. "Producers, execs, big names—basically a ‘who’s who’ of the industry."

You make a face. "Oh. That thing."

"Yes, that thing," he deadpans. "Don’t tell me you weren’t invited."

"I was."

"And?"

"And I ignored it."

Taehyun groans. "Of course you did."

You roll your eyes. "Why would I waste my time going to that? It's just a bunch of industry people getting drunk and kissing each other’s asses."

"Yeah," he says, "and that’s exactly why you should be there."

You huff, leaning back against the wall. "Taehyun, I barely have time to eat, let alone go make small talk with people I don’t care about."

He gives you a pointed look. "If you want more people to care about you, you need to start showing up to these things."

You open your mouth to argue—but then his words hit you in a way you weren’t expecting. Because you’ve heard them before. Not from him. You’re good, but no one’s ever gonna notice if you never leave this cave.

Beomgyu’s voice, unshakable, rings through your head.

It was late—too late, really, for either of you to still be in the studio—but you had been working, tweaking a demo, lost in your own world. And then he had walked in, leaning against the doorframe with that lazy smirk, watching you like he had you all figured out.

At the time, you had rolled your eyes and told him to fuck off. Now, standing here, you hate that his words come back so easily.

Taehyun must notice the shift in your expression because he nudges your shoulder. "Hey. You okay?"

You blink, shaking the thought off. "Yeah. Fine."

"Uh-huh," he says, unconvinced. "So, you’re going?"

You sigh, kicking at the pavement. "I’ll think about it."

He smirks. "That means yes."

You groan, "I hate you."

"You hate a lot of people," Taehyun teases, already stepping away. "But I’ll see you at the party, yeah?"

You don’t answer. But the thought lingers, anyway.

The walk back inside feels heavier than before. Maybe it’s the cold finally settling into your skin, or maybe it’s the fact that Taehyun’s words—and Beomgyu’s, fucking Beomgyu’s—are still bouncing around in your head.

You push the thoughts away as you step into your studio, shutting the door behind you. This is what you need. Work. Something to focus on. Something that doesn’t smirk at you like it knows you better than you know yourself.

Sitting down in front of your computer, you slip your headphones on and pull up a track you’ve been building. The beat kicks in, a deep, pulsing rhythm, crisp percussion layered underneath. You tweak a synth, adjusting the filters until it hums just right. The bass needs more weight. You push it up, listening as the sound thickens, your fingers moving without thinking.

The door swings open. You pull your headphones off, already prepared to tell whoever just barged in to knock first, but the words die on your tongue when you see who it is. Soobin.

He pauses in the doorway, one hand still on the knob, blinking at you like he wasn’t expecting to see you here either. His eyes, soft, dark, perpetually kind, widen slightly before he lets out a small laugh, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Oh—shit. Sorry," he says. "I thought this room was empty."

You shake your head, waving a dismissive hand. "It’s fine. You’re not bothering me."

He hesitates for a second, shifting on his feet like he’s not sure if he should stay or leave. You take him in properly, his hoodie slightly oversized, the sleeves pushed up just enough to reveal his wrists, his hair slightly tousled like he’s been running his hands through it all day. Soobin has always had this way about him, gentle, easygoing, warm in a way that makes people feel safe without even trying.

Soobin steps further into the room, leaning against the doorframe with that easy, almost shy smile of his. "So," he starts, his voice warm and easy, "how’s the project going?"

You lean back in your chair, giving a small shrug, trying to look casual despite the knot in your stomach. "Yeah, it’s going… well. I’m happy with how the beat is shaping up. Just need to refine a few things."

Soobin smiles, his gaze drifting to the computer screen, clearly not just focused on the music. There’s a softness in his expression, like he knows when you’re holding back, but he doesn’t push. "Beomgyu said you two were going to be working together on the new album," he says casually, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, still lingering by the door.

The mention of Beomgyu makes you stiffen for a split second, but you force yourself to remain composed. You try to play it cool, even though the words "working together" feel like they’ve got a much sharper edge to them.

"Yeah," you say, keeping your voice neutral. "Baekhyun put us both on the project. Not really my first choice, but… it is what it is."

Soobin tilts his head slightly, his eyes narrowing just a touch. "Hmm."

You raise an eyebrow, sensing that there’s something more to his reaction than he’s letting on. "What? What’s up?"

Soobin shrugs, his smile returning, but it’s a little softer now, like there’s something he wants to say but he’s not sure if he should. "I’m just surprised. Beomgyu never really talks much about the people he works with, you know?"

Your heart skips a beat. "What do you mean?"

He looks at you thoughtfully for a moment, his eyes flicking to the screen again before meeting yours. "I mean… he mentioned you, actually. Said your work was 'solid.' Which, for him, is practically a compliment."

You blink. Beomgyu? Complimenting you? It takes a moment for the words to fully sink in. "Wait, seriously?"

Soobin chuckles, shrugging. "Yeah. Maybe he’s not as much of a jerk as you think." He pauses, eyes twinkling with amusement. "Or maybe he’s just trying to get under your skin."

You roll your eyes, though there’s a small smile playing at the corner of your lips despite yourself. "I wouldn’t be surprised if it was the second option."

Soobin seems to think about that for a moment, his expression thoughtful. "But hey, maybe working together will surprise you."

You shoot him a skeptical look, but there’s something in Soobin’s voice, something sincere, that makes you pause. "Maybe," you say, your tone softer. "I just don’t know if I’m ready for that kind of surprise."

Soobin chuckles, stepping back toward the door. "Well, if anyone can handle Beomgyu’s ego, it’s you."

You watch him leave, his figure disappearing behind the door with that usual, casual air he carries, but his words stay with you. If anyone can handle Beomgyu’s ego, it’s you.

You take a deep breath, leaning back in your chair, eyes fixed on the blinking cursor on your screen. The beat you’ve been working on earlier suddenly feels distant, like it’s just background noise to the thoughts swirling in your mind.

You didn’t expect Soobin to say that. In fact, you didn’t expect him to even mention Beomgyu.

Beomgyu's ego. The words replay in your head, and you can't help but feel that familiar bitterness rise in your chest. He was arrogant, always so sure of himself, as if he thought he could charm his way into every room he walked into—every meeting, every collaboration, every conversation. But that wasn't the worst part. No, the worst part was how effective it was. He was good at what he did. So good, it made you sick to admit it.

Your fingers hover over your keyboard, but you don't type anything. Instead, you let your mind wander back to the countless times you’d crossed paths with Beomgyu. From the first time you’d met him, there had always been this unspoken tension between you two. You could never quite pinpoint why, but it was always there, like a challenge, an unspoken game.

Beomgyu was never afraid to speak his mind. Never afraid to push you, challenge you, throw something in your face to see how you'd react. He wasn’t the type to back down, especially not in a field like this, where every day felt like a battle for the top spot.

And yet, in all the years you’d worked alongside him, you’d never been able to figure him out. You hated how unpredictable he was. How he’d come in with that cocky grin, take control of a room with nothing more than his presence, and leave you second-guessing everything about the project you’d just finished.

It wasn’t just his confidence that grated on you. It was the way it worked. How easy it was for him to charm clients, co-workers, everyone. You’d always been the opposite, quiet, focused, just a little too serious for the industry’s taste. But Beomgyu? He could weave his way through conversations, make jokes, make everyone like him.

You weren’t so good at that. You weren’t good at pretending things were okay when they weren’t, and you definitely weren’t good at ignoring the way Beomgyu’s presence made your heart race just a little too fast.

You pull your headphones back on, the sound of the track filling your ears, but it doesn’t help. You can’t stop thinking about him. About his stupid smile, the way he’d always act like he knew more than you, the way you’d find yourself questioning every decision you’d made just because he disagreed with it.

You stare at the screen, tapping your fingers absentmindedly on the desk. The ping of a new message from the company chat pulls you out of your thoughts. You glance at the screen, already knowing who it is before you even look. Beomgyu.

You almost groan, but instead, you open the chat without thinking too much about it. His message is short—typical Beomgyu. And, of course, he has to type in all lowercase letters, just like you do.

[beomgyu]: you coming to work with me today or nah?

You lean back in your chair, staring at the message for a second. He always had to throw in that annoying casual tone, like you were just some kind of colleague he could poke fun at. Not that you were going to let him get to you.

[you]: maybe

The typing bubble shows up immediately, and you can already tell he’s typing a response. Of course, he wouldn’t leave you hanging.

[beomgyu]: alright, i’m coming over. don’t run away this time.

You lean back in your chair, exhaling deeply. As much as you’d like to ignore him, you know that when Beomgyu’s around, the work somehow gets done. Annoying as he is, he’s good.

A few minutes later, you hear the soft sound of the door to your studio creaking open. You don’t even look up from your computer at first, but you can feel his presence in the room. It’s hard to miss, he’s got this way of filling up space with his confidence, as if he belongs in every room he enters. "That was fast," you say, still clicking through your files.

"I was already on my way," Beomgyu replies smoothly. His voice is light, teasing, but you can hear the subtle scratch of his hoodie against his skin as he moves, stepping closer.

Only then do you finally glance up. He’s leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, head tilted slightly as he watches you like he’s already won something. "Thought you’d be hiding from me again," he muses.

You huff a quiet laugh, rolling your eyes. "I wasn’t hiding. Just… working. Something you should try sometime."

Beomgyu pushes off the frame, walking toward you with that effortless, too-cool confidence that somehow never looks forced. He doesn’t take the bait. Instead, he nods toward your screen. "What have you been working on, then?"

You hesitate for a beat. It’s not like you don’t want to show him, it’s just that you know how this goes. He’ll have something to say, and you’re not sure if you’re in the mood to let him have an opinion today. Still, your fingers move on their own, pulling up the track. "A beat," you say, pressing play. "Something I was messing with earlier."

The studio fills with the low pulse of a kick drum, steady and clean. A deep bassline follows, smooth but weighty, the kind that makes your chest vibrate. You keep your eyes on the screen, tweaking the volume slightly, but you can feel Beomgyu’s gaze shift. He’s listening. Really listening.

When the beat fades out, you finally glance at him. His usual smirk is gone, replaced by something unreadable. He stays quiet for a moment, and just when you think he might actually be serious for once, he speaks.

"It’s… not bad," he says, dragging out the words just to be annoying.

You scoff. "Not bad?"

He shrugs, fighting a grin. "I mean, I expected worse. But yeah. It’s solid." You stare at him for a second before shaking your head. Beomgyu finally laughs, a soft, genuine sound, before nudging your chair lightly with his knee. "Come on. Let’s make it better."

You side-eye him. "Since when are you this eager to work?"

He gives you a slow smirk. "Since I found out I have to prove I’m better than you."

You scoff but don’t argue. Instead, you press play again, letting the track fill the studio once more. The beat hums through the speakers, crisp and layered, but something still feels… incomplete. It’s a skeleton, a strong foundation, but it needs something to make it breathe.

Beomgyu’s fingers drum lightly against the desk, following the rhythm. "The bass is solid, but it needs more texture," he muses, his voice slipping into something more thoughtful. "Maybe a reverb on the snare? Just enough to make it feel bigger."

You hum, considering. "That could work." Your hands move quickly, adjusting a few settings, adding the effect he suggested. When you play it back, the subtle change makes a difference. The beat hits deeper, lingers in the air.

Beomgyu tilts his head, listening. "Yeah… that’s better," he mutters, almost to himself. Then he leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Alright, now lyrics. What’s the vibe?"

You purse your lips, thinking. "Baekhyun wanted something sexy but with emotional weight. Not just a throwaway club song—something that actually sticks with people."

Beomgyu hums, tilting his head. "So, like… temptation?" You glance at him, curious. He gestures vaguely with his hands. "Something that feels like you shouldn’t be doing it, but you want to anyway. You know, that whole ‘I’m trying to stay away, but I keep coming back’ thing."

You hesitate, but that actually makes sense. Your fingers hover over the keyboard as you type a few rough phrases, trying to capture that idea. "Something like…" you murmur to yourself, voice trailing off as you think.

Beomgyu shifts closer, his shoulder almost brushing yours as he watches your screen. "Try flipping it," he suggests. "Instead of ‘I can’t stay away,’ what if it’s more like ‘I know you don’t want me to stay away’?"

Your fingers pause. You glance at him. His eyes flicker with something unreadable, like he knows exactly what he just did. You scoff lightly, shaking your head. "You would think of it that way."

Beomgyu grins. "What can I say? I like a little push and pull."

Rolling your eyes, you type out the line anyway. And to your annoyance, it works.

From there, the writing flows easier. He throws out ideas, some ridiculous, some brilliant. You counter them, sharpen them, adjust the phrasing. He tests melodies under his breath while you tweak the instrumental to match. The push-and-pull dynamic you usually hate about him actually fuels the process, and before you know it, the bones of the song are coming together.

At some point, Beomgyu gets up and paces the room as he mumbles lyrics under his breath, testing cadences. You watch as he stops, rewinds, repeats lines to himself like he’s working out a puzzle. It’s the most serious you’ve seen him look all day.

And, annoyingly, you find yourself thinking, not for the first time, that Beomgyu is actually really good at this. You shake the thought away. No need to inflate his already massive ego.

Eventually, you both get so lost in the work that time stops mattering.

As Beomgyu stretches, his arms extending above his head, the hem of his hoodie lifts just slightly, revealing a sliver of skin. He lets out a low groan as his back pops, shaking off the hours spent hunched over the desk. You barely register it, too lost in the sound of the track looping softly in the background, but then you catch the way he suddenly stills.

His gaze flickers to the clock on the wall, and his expression shifts. "Holy shit," he mutters, rubbing the back of his neck. "It’s past midnight."

The words barely register at first. Your brain is still swimming in melodies, unfinished lyrics, and the lingering energy of collaboration. But then the weight of time settles in, and you finally blink, pulling yourself back into reality.

You sit up straighter, stretching out your fingers before glancing at the studio door. The hallway beyond is silent. The once-busy building has gone eerily still, the distant hum of conversations and footsteps long gone.

"Shit," you murmur, running a hand through your hair. "Didn’t even notice."

It’s not surprising. This happens sometimes, getting so lost in the process that hours slip by unnoticed. But something about tonight feels different. Maybe it’s the fact that you didn’t just work alone. That, for once, Beomgyu wasn’t just a distraction or an annoyance, but someone who helped.

Beomgyu, meanwhile, is watching you with something unreadable in his eyes. Then, as if snapping back into his usual self, he lets out a small breath and leans against the edge of the desk. His smirk creeps in, lazy and familiar.

"Wanna grab a beer?"

The words are so casual, so effortless, that it takes you a second to process them. You snort, already shaking your head before he can even try to convince you. "Not even if you paid me."

Beomgyu clicks his tongue, feigning deep disappointment, like you just shattered his fragile dreams. "Tsk. Alright, alright. I get it. You’re all work, no fun."

You roll your eyes, but before you can fire back, he leans in slightly. Not close enough to invade your space, but just enough that his voice drops a fraction, almost like he’s sharing a secret.

"I’ve got until the album drops to change your mind."

There’s something about the way he says it. Not teasing, not pushy, just confident, like it’s already a done deal. Like he knows you’ll give in eventually.

You scoff, but the corner of your mouth betrays you, just the tiniest flicker of a smile before you school your expression back into indifference. "Good luck with that," you mutter, standing up and stretching your arms.

Beomgyu watches you for a beat longer before pushing off the desk, stuffing his hands into the pocket of his hoodie. He doesn’t say anything else, just hums in amusement as he heads for the door, his posture loose and easy.

And somehow, you already know. He won’t drop it.

The dream was still vivid when you woke up. The melody, the lyrics, everything had felt so real, like the song had already existed somewhere in your mind, just waiting to be found.

You barely remembered throwing on your clothes and rushing out the door, but now you were here, practically jogging through the HYBE hallways, desperate to get the words down before they slipped away.

Your mind was a mess of half-formed ideas and lingering dream logic, but the one thing you knew for certain was that this had to be written today. The only problem? Beomgyu was nowhere to be found.

You’d expected to see him the second you walked into the studio, already lounging in his usual spot, feet up on the desk like he owned the place. But the room was empty. No bags, no coffee cups, no signs of life.

You frowned, pulling out your phone on instinct, but there were no messages. No snarky texts from him, no last-minute updates about being late. Nothing. You tried not to dwell on the fact that it unsettled you. That you were even looking for him in the first place.

Instead, you headed back into the hallway, hoping to run into someone who knew something. That someone turned out to be Taehyun, who was standing near the vending machines, scrolling on his phone. "Hey," you called, walking up to him. "Have you seen Beomgyu?"

Taehyun barely looked up, but the slight smirk on his face told you he’d heard you just fine. "You’re looking for him?"

You folded your arms. "I just need to talk to him about the album."

He hummed, finally glancing up from his phone. "Sure. About the album."

You sighed. "Taehyun—"

"I haven't seen him," he cut in, clearly enjoying this way too much. "And even if I had, I don’t think I’d tell you. This is way too entertaining."

You rolled your eyes. "Unbelievable."

"You could just text him, you know," Taehyun pointed out.

"I could," you admitted, "but I shouldn’t have to."

Taehyun just shrugged, biting back a grin. "Well, if you’re that desperate, good luck."

You groaned, turning on your heel and heading down the hall. Desperate. Right. Beomgyu wasn’t the only person you could talk to about music.

So, instead of wasting time looking for him, you made your way to a different part of the building, where you knew you’d find people who actually showed up to work. Enhypen's break room was surprisingly lively when you walked in.

Heeseung was sitting at the center table, scrolling through his laptop, while Jake and Jungwon were arguing about something (probably a game) on the couch nearby. Sunghoon and Sunoo were by the fridge, debating which energy drink was less likely to kill them, while Jay and Niki were huddled over Jay’s phone, watching a video of some kind.

The moment you stepped inside, seven pairs of eyes turned toward you. "Whoa," Jake said, blinking. "You actually left your studio?"

"She exists outside of work?" Sunoo added, looking genuinely fascinated.

"Crazy, right?" Jay smirked. "I thought she was just a myth."

You sighed, dropping into the chair across from Heeseung. "Hilarious. All of you."

Heeseung closed his laptop, leaning forward with an amused grin. "So, what brings you here?"

The others perked up, too, the room’s energy shifting as they all turned their attention to you. You hesitated for only a second before reaching for your phone, pulling up the rough voice memo you’d recorded half-asleep that morning.

"I had this dream last night," you explained. "It was kind of abstract, but there was this melody, and I woke up with the start of a lyric in my head. It’s not much yet, but—"

"Play it," Jungwon interrupted.

You did. The room fell silent as the low, dreamy hum of your voice filled the space. It was raw, just a melody over soft chords, the words barely formed, but you could already hear the potential in it.

When it ended, there was a beat of silence. "That’s sick," Niki said immediately.

"It sounds kind of nostalgic," Jake added. "Like something that pulls you back to a specific memory, even if you don’t know what memory it is."

Heeseung nodded, thoughtful. "The vocal layering could be really cool if you lean into that hazy, dreamlike feel."

You took mental notes as they spoke, their excitement feeding into your own. Collaborating like this, bouncing ideas off of people who genuinely loved music as much as you did, was one of your favorite things. For the first time that morning, you forgot about Beomgyu entirely. Almost.

Because as the conversation started winding down, you found yourself asking, "By the way… has anyone seen Beomgyu today?"

Heeseung raised an eyebrow. "He’s never here on Thursdays."

That made you pause. "What do you mean?"

"I don’t know the details," he admitted, "but every Thursday, he just… doesn’t show up. It’s like his unofficial off day or something."

You frowned. "And no one questions that?"

Jay shrugged. "He’s Beomgyu. He gets away with a lot."

That was true, but it still felt odd. Beomgyu was everywhere, all the time. It was part of his personality, the way he always had to make himself known, make his presence felt. So, why did he suddenly disappear once a week? And more importantly… Why did you care?

The glow of the computer screen was the only thing illuminating the studio now. You leaned back in your chair, rubbing at your eyes as the melody you’d been playing on loop for the past twenty minutes continued to hum faintly through the speakers.

The demo was coming together, slowly but surely. You had the skeleton of the track—the instrumental was rich, the atmosphere was there, but the lyrics still felt incomplete. No matter how much you tried, you couldn’t quite find the missing piece.

You sighed, stretching your arms above your head before rolling your chair back slightly. The worst part? You knew exactly what was missing.

Beomgyu. You hated that realization.

As much as you wanted to deny it, things just worked when he was around. Ideas flowed easier, the process felt smoother—hell, even when you were annoyed at him, it still fueled the energy in the room. The back-and-forth, the push and pull, it all somehow led to better music.

And today, without him, it felt like dragging a boulder up a hill. You shook your head, refusing to dwell on it. It wasn’t like you needed him. You’d been making music for years before he ever stepped into your life.

Still, as you saved the latest version of the demo and shut your laptop, you couldn't shake the irritation bubbling in your chest. What the hell does he even do on Thursdays?

Pushing the thought away, you grabbed your jacket and slung your bag over your shoulder. You’d been here too long already, and at this point, you weren’t getting anything else done tonight. Just as you stepped out into the hallway, your phone buzzed in your pocket.

[yunjin]: we’re at hyehwa. bring your tired workaholic ass over here [yunjin]: before you ask, yes, yeonjun is here. yes, taehyun is here. and yes, hueningkai is here. no excuses

You exhaled through your nose, the corners of your lips twitching upward despite your exhaustion. Of course they were at Hyehwa, the bar that had somehow become your unofficial meeting spot over the years.

For a moment, you debated going straight home. But then you thought about how much time you’d already spent alone in the studio tonight, trapped in your own head. Maybe you needed a break after all.

The second you stepped inside, the familiar warmth of the bar wrapped around you like a worn-out leather jacket. The dim lighting, the low hum of conversation, the clinking of glasses, it was the kind of place that always felt easy, no matter how long the day had been.

And, as expected, your friends were easy to find. Yeonjun was the first one you spotted, lounging in the booth like he had no bones in his body, one arm draped over the back of the seat. Taehyun was sitting next to him, scrolling through his phone, while Hueningkai was across from them, laughing at something Yunjin was saying. There were already a few empty beer bottles on the table, condensation still dripping from them.

You rolled your eyes as you walked over. "You guys started without me."

Hueningkai beamed. "Of course we did. You’re late."

You slid into the seat next to Yunjin, ignoring the way they were all looking at you like you were some rare specimen that had just wandered into the wild. "Yeah, yeah," you muttered, flagging down the bartender for a drink. "I was working."

"We know," Taehyun said, side-eyeing you. "You’ve been working non-stop."

Yunjin leaned in, resting her chin on her hand. "So? How’s the album going?"

You hesitated, drumming your fingers lightly against the table. "It’s… coming together."

Yeonjun squinted at you. "That doesn’t sound convincing."

You sighed. "It’s fine. Just a long day."

Taehyun raised an eyebrow. "A long day or a long day without Beomgyu?"

You froze mid-sip, the beer bottle barely touching your lips before you slowly lowered it back down to the table. "I’m not talking about him right now," you said flatly, setting the bottle down with a quiet clink against the wood. "I’m here to have a drink with my friends, not to analyze my work situation."

Taehyun smirked like he knew exactly what you were doing. Yeonjun raised his hands in surrender, but the knowing look in his eyes was still irritating. Hueningkai, ever the agent of chaos, just grinned.

"Alright, alright," Yunjin said, leaning back. "No Beomgyu talk. But, speaking of things you do need to talk about—" She fixed you with a pointed look. "You’re coming to the HYBE party, right?"

"I'm thinking about it," you corrected, crossing your arms. "I have work to do. I don’t have time to stand around making awkward small talk with industry people who don’t even know my name."

Yunjin groaned, dramatically letting her head fall against the table before snapping back up with renewed determination. "Listen. You spend every waking moment working on this album. You need to breathe. Plus, I’m going."

"And?"

"And that means you have no excuse not to."

You snorted. "That logic is flawed."

"It’s actually foolproof," she argued. "And you know who else is going? Taehyun."

You hesitated, glancing at Taehyun, who only gave you a small shrug like it wasn’t that big of a deal. Maybe it wasn’t. And maybe… just maybe… you were a little tired of feeling like a ghost in this industry.

"…Fine," you muttered.

Yunjin’s face lit up. "Yes!"

"I’m going with you and Taehyun," you clarified. "And if it sucks, I’m leaving early."

"Deal," she grinned, clinking her beer against yours.

As the conversation moved on, you took another sip of your drink, pushing away the nagging thought that had been lingering at the back of your mind. Because you knew exactly who was going to be at that party. And whether you admitted it or not, part of you was already wondering if you'd run into him.

When you woke up, sunlight was already spilling through the curtains, the golden hue casting soft shadows across your room. For a few blissful moments, you lay there, staring at the ceiling, letting yourself exist in the quiet. But the minute your mind fully registered what day it was, that peace shattered. The HYBE party.

You groaned, rubbing a hand over your face. Part of you still wanted to back out. It wasn’t like anyone would really care if you didn’t show up. You weren’t the kind of person people noticed at these events. And yet… you’d already agreed to go.

Dragging yourself out of bed, you padded into the kitchen, still in your oversized sleep shirt, your hair a mess from sleep. To your surprise, Yeonjun was already up, standing by the coffee machine, scrolling through his phone. "You’re awake early," you mumbled, voice still thick with sleep.

He glanced up, smiling lazily. "And you look like you got hit by a truck."

You scowled, reaching for a mug. "Thanks."

Yeonjun chuckled and, before you could react, he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into a warm embrace. "You looked like you needed it," he murmured against your hair.

For a second, you stiffened, but then you exhaled, letting yourself melt into him, pressing your face against his chest. He was warm, solid, and familiar. The kind of comfort that didn’t need words. "…I don’t know why I feel weird about tonight," you admitted quietly.

Yeonjun didn’t let go, just rubbed small, soothing circles against your back. "You don’t have to go if you don’t want to."

You sighed. "I know. But… maybe I should go. Maybe I need to stop avoiding these things."

He hummed in agreement, waiting a beat before asking, "Beomgyu’s gonna be there, huh?"

You groaned into his shirt. "Why are you like this?"

He laughed, finally pulling back just enough to meet your eyes. "Because I know you. And I know that’s part of what’s making you overthink this."

You didn’t deny it. Because as much as you hated to admit it, a small part of you was wondering—if you went, would you run into him? And if you did… then what?

The day dragged on slower than usual, each hour stretching endlessly as you fought to keep your mind occupied. You had promised Yunjin you’d go to her apartment to get ready together. As much as you had hoped the day would pass without the need to confront your nerves, the time had come. The tension in your chest flared up again, and for a split second, you wished you could back out. But you couldn’t.

When you arrived at her apartment, Yunjin was perched at her vanity, still in a robe, mascara wand frozen mid-air as she turned to look at you. "Took you long enough," she teased, a grin pulling at her lips.

On the bed, Taehyun was sprawled out, scrolling through his phone with that signature, mildly unimpressed expression he always wore. "I’ve been trapped here for thirty minutes," he deadpanned. "Save me."

You snorted, already feeling more at ease. This was exactly what you needed, the mindless chatter, the shared chaos of getting ready, and the reminder that not everything in your life had to revolve around late-night studio sessions and a certain annoying producer who lived rent-free in your head.

By the time you were all dressed and out the door, the city lights stretched out in front of you, buzzing with life. The party was already in full swing when you arrived, the familiar pulse of bass-heavy music vibrating through the ground, bodies moving under dim lights, and the haze of cigarette smoke lingering in the air.

Yunjin led the way, slipping effortlessly into the crowd. Taehyun trailed behind with his usual nonchalant vibe, and you… well, you were busy doing exactly what you promised yourself you wouldn’t do: scanning the room for him.

And then, you saw him.

Beomgyu stood near the corner of the room, deep in conversation with Soobin. It was the kind of effortless, laid-back energy that somehow made him stand out in a room full of people trying too hard.

He wasn’t drowning in one of those oversized hoodies he always wore in the studio. No, tonight was different. He had on a simple black button-up, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, showing just enough of his wrists to make you irrationally annoyed. The fabric clung to him in all the right places, and paired with black jeans and silver rings on his fingers, he looked…

You blinked, irritated at yourself. No. Absolutely not.

But your eyes betrayed you, tracing the way he casually ran a hand through his hair as he laughed at something Soobin said. He looked relaxed, like he belonged in this kind of environment, like he wasn’t the same Beomgyu who spent hours annoying the life out of you in the studio. And worse, he looked… good. But you would literally rather die than admit that out loud.

What you didn’t know was that, from across the room, Beomgyu was watching you just as intently.

He leaned against the wall, drink in hand, nodding absentmindedly as Soobin spoke, but his attention kept slipping, drawn back to the way you moved through the crowd. The way your eyes flickered around the room, pretending not to be looking for him. The way you laughed at something Yunjin said, even though you were clearly trying to hide how uncomfortable you felt being here.

It was unfair, really. How easily you occupied space in his head without even trying.

"Are you even listening to me?" Soobin’s voice cut through his thoughts.

Beomgyu blinked, tearing his gaze away from you. "Huh?"

Soobin sighed, already used to this. "I said, how’s the album coming along? Baekhyun’s been hyping your demos, but you’ve been suspiciously quiet about working with Y/N."

Beomgyu scoffed, taking a sip of his drink. "It’s… fine."

Soobin raised an eyebrow. "Fine?"

Beomgyu hesitated, rolling the glass between his fingers. "She’s annoying," he muttered. "Thinks she knows everything. Always overcomplicates the production and acts like she’s too good to work with me."

Soobin let out a quiet laugh. "Right. And that’s why you’ve been writing the best shit of your career since you two started working together."

Beomgyu shot him a look. "Shut up."

"You like working with her," Soobin said, deadpan.

"I do not," Beomgyu snapped, a little too quickly.

Soobin’s grin only widened. "No? Then why do you keep staring at her like that?"

Beomgyu’s jaw clenched, eyes flickering back to where you stood with Yunjin and Taehyun. You looked good tonight. Too good. And it was pissing him off. Because ever since that stupid studio session where you accidentally made magic together, he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about you.

The way your mind worked. The way your fingers moved across the keyboard, tweaking melodies until they hit just right. The way you bit your lip when you were focused, completely lost in the sound.

You made him crazy. And maybe that’s exactly why the album was turning out the way it was, raw, sharp, full of tension. It wasn’t just music. It was you. Beomgyu sighed, running a hand through his hair. "She drives me insane."

Soobin smirked. "And here you are saying that you don't like working with her."

Beomgyu glared at him. "I swear to god, Soobin—"

"Come on," Soobin grinned. "You’re just not ready to admit that this whole ‘hating each other’ thing is actually… kind of your thing."

Beomgyu didn’t respond. Because deep down, he knew Soobin was right. And that terrified him.

You weren’t exactly expecting Baekhyun to pull you aside at this party, but here you were, following him through the crowded room as he weaved between people with practiced ease. "Y/N," he started, glancing back at you with a smirk, "I’ve been meaning to introduce you to someone."

You barely had time to ask who before you found yourself face to face with Choi Seungcheol, one of HYBE’s creative directors. He was taller than you expected, dressed in a sleek black suit that somehow made him look more approachable than intimidating.

"Y/N’s producing the new Enhypen album," Baekhyun introduced casually.

Seungcheol’s eyes lit up with recognition as he extended his hand toward you. "Ah, I’ve heard about you. Your demos are impressive."

You shook his hand, hiding the way your stomach flipped at the compliment. "Thank you. I’m… still figuring things out."

"You and everyone else in this company," Seungcheol chuckled. His tone was light, polite, the kind of effortless charm that only someone who’s been in the industry for years could pull off.

The conversation flowed easily from there. Seungcheol asked about your creative process, subtly throwing in references to producers you admired, showing he actually understood what you did. It felt… good. Like for once, someone saw you as more than just “the girl working with Beomgyu.”

Which was exactly when Beomgyu appeared. You didn’t notice him at first, too caught up in whatever Seungcheol was saying, but you felt it. That weird shift in the air when someone’s eyes are on you.

Beomgyu stood just a few feet away. You forced yourself to ignore him, focusing back on Seungcheol, who was mid-sentence about the new creative direction HYBE was taking. But from the corner of your eye, you saw Beomgyu lingering, not quite joining the conversation, but not leaving either.

It was annoying. Typical, actually. You knew exactly what he was doing, standing there, listening, watching. Almost as if he was waiting for the right moment to insert himself. And, of course, he did.

"Y/N," Beomgyu’s voice cut in smoothly, "Baekhyun’s been looking for you."

Your eyes narrowed as you turned to face him. "Funny. I’ve been with Baekhyun for the past ten minutes."

Beomgyu’s lips twitched, but his gaze flickered, just for a second, toward Seungcheol. "Guess he forgot to mention it." There it was. That subtle edge in his voice. Not enough for anyone else to catch, but you knew him too well by now.

Seungcheol seemed unfazed, stepping back slightly as if sensing whatever weird energy was happening between you two. "I’ll let you handle that," he said, offering you a polite smile. "It was great meeting you, Y/N. I’ll keep an eye out for your work."

"Likewise," you replied, hoping your voice didn’t sound as awkward as you felt. Seungcheol disappeared into the crowd, leaving you and Beomgyu standing there in uncomfortable silence. You turned to him, arms crossed. "Really? What was that?"

"What was what?" Beomgyu replied, all fake innocence.

"You’re ridiculous," you muttered, already moving past him.

But before you could disappear into the crowd, you heard him mumble under his breath, just loud enough for you to catch:

"I bet he doesn’t even know what a compressor does."

You stopped dead in your tracks, spinning around to face him. "Oh my god, you’re actually jealous."

Beomgyu blinked. "What? No."

"You totally are."

"I just think," he said, with that infuriating smirk, "that some people like to talk more than they actually create."

You stared at him, half in disbelief, half wanting to strangle him. "Unbelievable," you muttered, turning away again.

"Where are you going?"

"Away from you," you shot back over your shoulder.

But as you pushed through the crowd, your heart was pounding for reasons that had nothing to do with the music. And somewhere behind you, Beomgyu stood there, running a hand through his hair, wondering what the hell you’d done to him.

The night pressed on, and you let yourself slip into the chaos of the party.

Yunjin dragged you to the dance floor, her hand wrapped around yours as the bass vibrated through your chest. Taehyun hovered nearby, doing his signature head-bop move with a drink in hand, pretending he was too cool to enjoy himself when, in reality, he was having the time of his life.

You allowed yourself to let go for a bit, letting the music drown out the noise in your head, the pressure of the album, and, most importantly, the fact that Beomgyu was somewhere in this room, probably still brooding after whatever weird stunt he pulled earlier.

But even as you danced, laughed with Yunjin, and stole sips from Taehyun’s drink, you felt it. That annoying awareness of him.

You caught glimpses of him through the crowd, leaning against a wall, talking to Soobin, occasionally scanning the room. And somehow, every time your eyes accidentally met, he’d hold your gaze for just a second too long before looking away, leaving something heavy and unspoken lingering in the air. It was messing with your head.

You slipped out to the smoking area, grateful for the cool night air against your skin. There were a few other people scattered around, some making out against the wall, others huddled in quiet conversations, but you found a spot in the corner, leaning against the railing as you lit a cigarette.

It was a bad habit, one you only fell back into when you were stressed. But tonight, it felt… necessary.

The first inhale burned your lungs in that oddly comforting way, and you let your head fall back, eyes closing for a moment as you exhaled. You barely heard the door creak open behind you, but the familiar voice made you tense instantly.

"Wow. Didn’t peg you as a smoker."

You opened your eyes, already irritated. "Of course, it’s you."

Beomgyu stood a few feet away, hands shoved in his pockets, watching you with that same infuriating expression he always wore, somewhere between amused and way too pleased with himself. He huffed a quiet laugh, stepping closer until he was leaning against the railing beside you.

"I’m not stalking you," he muttered, eyes flickering to your cigarette. "I just needed air."

"Right," you replied, taking another drag. The silence between you stretched for a moment, surprisingly comfortable. The muffled music from inside bled through the walls, mixed with the distant sounds of traffic from the streets below.

"I didn’t know you smoked," Beomgyu said quietly.

"I don’t," you replied. "Only when I’m overthinking."

He glanced at you. "What are you overthinking about?"

You hesitated, unsure why you were even entertaining this conversation. "The album," you finally said. "And… other things."

Beomgyu hummed, eyes fixed ahead. "Same."

That surprised you. For some reason, you always assumed Beomgyu was immune to self-doubt, that everything came easy to him. But now, standing here under the dim light, he looked tired. Almost like he was carrying the same weight you were.

He grinned, and for a moment, the tension between you softened into something else. Something unfamiliar. You took another drag of your cigarette before handing it to him without a word.

Beomgyu raised an eyebrow. "Oh? You’re sharing with the enemy now?"

"Take it or leave it," you muttered.

He hesitated for half a second before accepting it, bringing it to his lips and inhaling slowly. You hated how attractive that looked. And of course, Beomgyu caught you staring.

"Careful," he said, handing it back to you with a smirk. "If you keep looking at me like that, I’m gonna start thinking you actually like me."

"God, I regret this already," you groaned, turning away.

But Beomgyu just chuckled, leaning closer until his shoulder brushed against yours. "Too late," he murmured. "You let me in."

You took the cigarette back from Beomgyu, bringing it to your lips again as the cold air pressed against your skin. For a moment, neither of you said anything. The music from inside thumped faintly in the background, but out here, it felt like you were in a completely different world, one that was quieter, slower.

"So," Beomgyu started, breaking the silence, "have you thought more about track five?"

You nearly choked on the smoke. "Are you seriously talking about the album right now?" You turned to him, disbelief written all over your face. "We're at a party."

Beomgyu shrugged. "What, you think I know how to do small talk?" You huffed, half amused, half annoyed. "You were literally talking about work with Seungcheol earlier," he quipped, stealing it from your hand again.

You let him, watching as he took another slow drag before handing it back. You groaned, already regretting letting him stay out here. "Oh my God. Don’t."

"I’m just saying," Beomgyu muttered, gaze fixed on the ground. "He was totally flirting with you."

You rolled your eyes. "He was being polite."

"He called you talented and touched your arm twice," Beomgyu deadpanned. "That's textbook flirting."

You let out a sharp laugh. "Why do you even care?"

Beomgyu hesitated. "I don’t care," he said, a beat too late.

You narrowed your eyes at him. "Sure." Your breath hitched slightly, but you masked it by taking another drag of the cigarette. Beomgyu shifted beside you, leaning his weight against the railing. "You know," you started, voice low, "for someone who allegedly doesn't care, you spend an awful lot of time ruining my conversations."

Beomgyu let out a soft scoff, eyes fixed somewhere ahead. "You looked bored."

"I wasn’t bored."

"You were faking interest," he replied without hesitation. "You do that thing where you tilt your head slightly and nod, but your eyes are already somewhere else."

You blinked, caught off guard. "Didn’t know you analyzed me that much," you muttered.

"I don’t," Beomgyu replied too quickly.

You just hummed in response, taking another slow drag. The distant hum of the party buzzed faintly behind you, but out here, it felt like you’d slipped into some strange, quieter version of reality.

Your eyes flickered to him again, noticing the subtle tension in his posture, the way his fingers tapped against his rings, the same nervous habit you’d seen in the studio when he thought no one was looking.

You hesitated before speaking again. "Why don’t you work on Thursdays?"

Beomgyu stilled. You almost regretted asking, but he didn’t look at you, didn’t deflect like you expected him to. Instead, he let out a slow breath through his nose.

"I visit my mom," he said quietly.

Your breath caught in your throat. "What do you mean?"

"She’s been sick for a while," he added, almost like he was saying it more to himself than to you. "Autoimmune thing. Thursdays are… her day."

Your grip on the cigarette faltered slightly. You hadn’t expected honesty. You turned to him, but his gaze remained fixed ahead, like saying it out loud would make it heavier. "I didn’t know," you said softly.

"Yeah," he replied, almost like he was amused by your reaction. "Why would you?"

You wanted to say something, but words felt too fragile for whatever this was. So you didn’t. You just stood there, feeling that strange shift in the air, the one where he felt less like your annoying rival and more like… You weren’t sure what.

Beomgyu glanced at you then, catching the way you were looking at him. "What?" he asked, almost defensive.

"Nothing," you replied, turning away.

But it wasn’t nothing. It was everything you’d never noticed about him until now. You pressed the cigarette against the railing, watching the ember die out. The air outside felt heavier than usual, but maybe that was just the way Beomgyu’s presence filled every empty space.

"I should head back," you muttered, more to yourself than to him.

Beomgyu didn’t look at you. He stayed leaning against the railing, gaze fixed on some distant point in the city, jaw tight like he was holding something back.

"Do yourself a favor," he said suddenly, voice low. "Be careful with who you let think they know you."

You frowned, turning to him. "What?"

Beomgyu exhaled slowly, like he already regretted speaking. "These people," he gestured vaguely toward the noise inside. "They’ll act like they want you around. Like they see potential in you. But they don’t actually care. They just want something to say they discovered first."

You blinked, caught off guard. "You think that’s what Seungcheol was doing?"

Beomgyu scoffed, eyes flickering to yours. "I think you’re too naive to notice when people are looking at you for the wrong reasons."

You stared at him, searching for whatever this was, this strange tension that always seemed to surface when the two of you were left alone. But before you could step inside, Beomgyu spoke again.

"I’m serious, Y/N." His voice softened slightly. "You're new to this. You think people in this industry want you to win, but they don't. They want you to be grateful. They want you to be quiet. And the second you stop being useful to them, they’ll move on."

You hesitated, hand hovering over the door handle. "And you?" you asked quietly. "What do you want from me, Beomgyu?"

For a moment, he didn’t say anything. Then, barely above a whisper:

"Nothing."

You turned back, but he was already looking away, like he hadn’t just said something that would stay stuck in your head for weeks. You lingered for half a second before slipping back inside, the noise of the party swallowing you whole.

But somehow, you could still feel him. And that scared you more than anything.

The party felt louder when you stepped back inside, but maybe that was just the ringing in your ears from whatever the hell that conversation with Beomgyu was. You pushed through the crowd, head spinning, eyes searching for familiar faces. Yunjin and Taehyun were by the bar, Yunjin holding a half-finished drink and Taehyun looking like he was ready to disappear from this place an hour ago.

"I’m heading out," you told them.

Yunjin pouted. "Already?"

"I’m… tired." You offered her a weak smile, not really in the mood to explain why your chest felt weird or why Beomgyu’s words kept looping in your head.

Taehyun raised a brow but didn’t question it. "Get home safe."

You nodded, squeezing Yunjin’s arm lightly before slipping away. As you stepped outside, the night air hit you harder than you expected. You pulled out your phone and hesitated for a moment before typing:

[you]: where r u?

It didn’t take Yeonjun long to reply.

[yeonjun]: me and kai just found a sketchy fried chicken place that’s probably violating health codes. u want in?

You smiled.

[you]: can u come pick me up? [yeonjun]: omw.

You waited by the curb, the distant hum of the city filling the silence Beomgyu had left in your head.

When Yeonjun’s car pulled up a few minutes later, you moved toward it, already feeling the tension ease at the thought of greasy food and whatever chaos he and Kai were on tonight. But as you reached for the door handle, your eyes flickered to the side.

There, a few feet away, Beomgyu stood near the entrance, Soobin beside him, waiting for their own ride. You weren’t sure if he saw you first or if he was already looking, but when your eyes met, something heavy passed between you.

His gaze shifted to Yeonjun in the driver’s seat. Then back to you. You stepped into the car, shutting the door behind you.

"Why do you look like you’ve seen a ghost?" Yeonjun asked as you buckled your seatbelt.

"Nothing," you muttered.

Through the glass, you caught one last glimpse of Beomgyu, standing there with Soobin, hands shoved into his pockets, his gaze still following you as the car pulled away. Something about the way he looked at you sat uncomfortably in your stomach, like he was trying to figure something out but refused to admit he cared enough to.

You turned away, resting your head against the seat.

Beomgyu watched the car disappear down the street, jaw tightening.

Soobin, who’d been standing quietly next to him this whole time, finally spoke, breaking whatever strange daze Beomgyu had fallen into. "So… that guy in the car," he nodded toward the street where Yeonjun’s car had disappeared, "is that her boyfriend?"

Beomgyu’s jaw tensed almost instantly. He felt the muscle in his cheek twitch as he forced himself to keep his expression neutral. "How the hell would I know?" he muttered, too quickly. "It’s not like I’m friends with her."

Soobin let out a short laugh, "Yeah," he said, nodding slowly. "That’s definitely something someone who doesn’t care would say."

Beomgyu didn’t respond. Mostly because he couldn’t. Because Soobin was right. And that fact made something burn in his chest in a way he didn’t know how to handle.

It wasn’t like he cared who you left with. So instead of acknowledging whatever the hell this feeling was, Beomgyu just scoffed, shoving his hands deeper into the pockets of his jeans. "Whatever," he muttered. "She’s not that interesting anyway."

Soobin snorted. "Yeah, keep telling yourself that."

Beomgyu shot him a glare, but Soobin just grinned, already knowing exactly what was happening. Because it was obvious to everyone but Beomgyu. He wasn’t just annoyed with you. He was already losing. And worse, he didn’t even realize he was playing.

The weekend passed in a blur of chaotic laughter and burnt virtual pizzas. You'd spent most of it holed up in your apartment, playing Overcooked with Yeonjun and Kai. Between screaming at each other in the kitchen and ordering way too much takeout, you actually felt… okay.

It was easy to forget about Beomgyu when you were surrounded by Yeonjun’s easy energy and Kai’s ridiculous commentary. Easy to forget how weird you’d felt after that conversation outside the party. How something about the way Beomgyu looked at you that night had stuck to your skin, refusing to leave.

But now, Monday morning had arrived, dragging you back to reality.

Yeonjun’s car rolled through the streets of Seoul, the city still half-asleep as the sun painted soft light across the buildings. You stared out the window, anxiety already bubbling in your chest at the thought of stepping into that studio again.

"You’re spiraling," Yeonjun said, breaking the silence.

You turned to him with a frown. "I’m not spiraling."

"You are," he replied easily, eyes still on the road. "You always do this before big projects. You convince yourself you're not good enough, overwork yourself to the point of insanity, and then act surprised when you have a breakdown in the bathroom."

"That happened one time," you muttered. Yeonjun shot you a look "Okay, twice," you admitted.

He sighed, softening. "You’re too hard on yourself, Y/N. You’re one of the most talented people I know. You just… need to stop letting other people’s opinions get in your head." You chewed on the inside of your cheek, not fully convinced but too tired to argue. When Yeonjun pulled up in front of the HYBE building, he shifted in his seat to face you. "Don’t let him get to you," he said, like he could read your mind.

Your stomach twisted. "Who said this is about him?"

Yeonjun raised a brow. "You forget I’ve known you since forever. I know how your brain works. You groaned, pushing the door open "Y/N." You paused, turning back to him. Yeonjun leaned over, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. "Go make history."

You smiled despite yourself. "You’re so cringe."

"And you love it."

You rolled your eyes and stepped out of the car, shutting the door behind you.

As Yeonjun drove off, you turned toward the entrance, and immediately froze. Beomgyu stood a few feet away, leaning against the building’s brick wall, cigarette balanced between his fingers. He was watching you, eyes slightly narrowed, hair messy like he’d been here for a while.

You blinked, caught off guard. "Since when do you smoke?" you asked, voice laced with confusion.

Beomgyu brought the cigarette to his lips, inhaling slowly before replying, "Felt like it."

His voice was flat, uninterested, but his eyes lingered on you a second too long. You didn’t know what you were expecting, maybe some cocky remark, some teasing jab about how you were already looking for him first thing in the morning, but this wasn’t that.

Your eyes flickered over him. Messy hair, dark hoodie slightly wrinkled, the usual sharpness in his gaze dulled by something you couldn’t quite place. You weren’t sure if it was exhaustion or irritation or something else entirely, but the longer you looked at him, the more uneasy you felt.

You glanced at the cigarette between his fingers, then back at him. "You know," you started carefully, "when I offered you one at the party, it wasn’t supposed to be, like, an invitation to pick up a habit."

Beomgyu finally looked back at you then, eyes dark, unreadable. "And yet," he said, taking another drag, "here we are."

You sighed, rubbing a hand over your face. "Beomgyu."

"What?" he muttered, flicking ash onto the pavement.

You hesitated. You didn’t know what you wanted to say, really. That he looked like shit? That something about him felt off, wrong, like a version of him you weren’t used to seeing? That, for some reason, it actually bothered you?

Instead, what came out was: "You shouldn’t."

He scoffed, shaking his head. "You shouldn’t either." You opened your mouth, then shut it. He wasn’t wrong.

A heavy silence settled between you. You weren’t sure how long you stood there, watching the embers at the tip of his cigarette burn down, before he finally crushed it under his shoe.

"You’re gonna be late," he muttered, nodding toward the entrance.

You studied him for a beat longer, but whatever was going on with him, he clearly wasn’t going to tell you. And you weren’t about to push. So, you simply nodded and stepped past him, heading toward the doors.

Beomgyu watched as you stepped inside without another word, your expression unreadable. Something about it left a bitter taste in his mouth.

He clicked his lighter open and closed absentmindedly, the metallic snick breaking the early morning quiet. His fingers itched to pull out another cigarette, but he hesitated, staring at the crushed remains of the last one under his shoe.

This wasn’t supposed to bother him. None of this was supposed to bother him.

His eyes drifted toward the spot where Yeonjun’s car had been parked just minutes ago.

He knew who Yeonjun was—everyone did. One of the youngest producers at SM, annoyingly talented, the kind of guy whose name always came up in conversations about industry golden boys. Beomgyu had seen his work before, even respected it in a distant, objective way. But what he hadn’t known was that you and Yeonjun were close.

Beomgyu had never cared to pay attention to your life outside of work. As far as he was concerned, you existed within the walls of HYBE, always one step ahead of him, always in his way. That was just how things were. But now, his brain kept circling back to the sight of you stepping out of Yeonjun’s car, back to the way Yeonjun had leaned in, pressing a kiss to your forehead like it was second nature.

His grip on the lighter tightened. He didn’t understand it.

It wasn’t like you didn’t have a life outside of the studio. It wasn’t like he expected you to just… exist in the same orbit as him, only crossing paths when necessary. It wasn’t like it bothered him.

Beomgyu scoffed under his breath, shaking his head. What does it matter? It doesn’t. It’s none of my business.

He reached for another cigarette, but before he could light it, his fingers hesitated over the lighter. Instead, with a sharp exhale, he shoved both back into his pocket and pushed himself off the wall. There was work to do.

The pre-chorus had been frustrating you for days, and as much as you hated to admit it, Beomgyu had an ear for this kind of thing, he always knew how to make a build-up feel effortless, how to land the right emotional weight in just a few bars. You could spend another three hours trying to figure it out yourself, or you could go straight to the person who could fix it in ten minutes.

You exhaled sharply, running a hand through your hair. The last thing you wanted to do was go to his studio. But you weren’t about to let your own stubbornness slow this project down. So, before you could second-guess yourself, you grabbed your notebook and pushed yourself up from your chair.

When you knocked on the door, there was no immediate response. You hesitated before pushing it open anyway, Beomgyu never cared about formalities, and you weren’t in the mood to wait around.

The room was dimly lit, monitors casting a faint glow against the walls, soundproofing panels muting the outside world. Beomgyu was at his desk, hoodie draped loosely over his frame, fingers tapping absentmindedly against the surface as he stared at his screen.

He didn’t look up when you walked in. "You busy?" you asked.

There was a pause before he finally sighed, dragging his gaze away from the monitor. "What do you want?"

You frowned at his tone, disinterested, distant. "I need a second opinion on the pre-chorus," you said simply. "Something’s off, but I can’t figure out what."

He nodded once, pushing his chair back and gesturing lazily at the extra seat beside him. "Fine. Play it."

You sat down, plugging in your USB and pulling up the track. The moment the instrumental filled the room, you forgot about everything else. Your frustration, his mood, it all faded into the background as you focused on the music.

Beomgyu listened in silence, his expression blank as the pre-chorus built up, then crashed into the chorus. When it ended, he rolled his chair slightly forward, resting his elbow on the desk.

"The chord progression in the build-up is too predictable," he muttered. "You need more tension before the drop, otherwise it just falls flat."

You nodded, adjusting some of the notes. "Like this?"

Beomgyu leaned in slightly, watching the screen. "Move that second chord up a half step. And stretch the last measure—make it drag just a little longer before the hit."

You followed his instructions, layering in the adjustments before playing it back. This time, the build-up carried more weight, pulling in a tension that hadn’t been there before.

You turned to him, and for the first time since you walked in, you saw a flicker of something in his eyes, satisfaction, maybe. But just as quickly as it appeared, it was gone. "Better," he said simply.

You studied him for a beat, something about his demeanor still nagging at you. Normally, Beomgyu would’ve had more to say—some kind of sarcastic comment about how he had to fix your mess again, or at least a self-satisfied smirk. But instead, he just leaned back in his chair, looking tired.

You debated saying something, asking something, but before you could, he spoke again. "That all?"

It wasn’t sharp, but it wasn’t warm either. Just neutral. And for some reason, that made your stomach twist. "…Yeah," you muttered. "That’s all."

You unplugged your USB, pushing your chair back. Beomgyu didn’t say anything else, just turned toward his screen like you had never been there in the first place.

Then, without another word, you turned and walked out. The door shut behind you with a quiet click, leaving Beomgyu alone in the dim glow of his studio, the silence stretching longer than it should have.

You had been in the studio for hours.

The kind of hours that made your back ache from sitting too long, that made the glow of the screen start to blur, that made every melody sound wrong no matter how many times you tweaked it. It just wasn’t clicking today.

You had gone through four different versions of the same verse, rearranged the chord progression twice, even scrapped an entire section just to start over, only to end up in the same place, frustrated and stuck.

You hated this feeling. It wasn’t the kind of creative block where nothing came to you. It was worse. The kind where everything came to you, but nothing sounded right. Nothing felt like it was enough.

By the time you checked the clock, it was already late. Later than you realized. With a heavy sigh, you shut your laptop and rubbed at your temples, willing the tension headache forming behind your eyes to go away. You weren’t going to get anything done like this.

So, you grabbed your bag, checked your phone, and sent Yeonjun a quick text.

[you]: can you pick me up? i’m done for today. [yeonjun]: omw. 10 min.

You exhaled, pocketing your phone before stepping out of the building.

The night air hit you immediately, crisp and cool against your skin. The city was quieter at this hour, the usual rush of people and traffic subdued into a low hum. You stood near the curb, crossing your arms as you waited, letting yourself breathe for what felt like the first time today.

And then, of course, you spotted Beomgyu. You hesitated before walking over, stuffing your hands into the pockets of your jacket. The familiar scent of cigarette smoke hung in the air, curling around the dim glow of the streetlights.

You stared at him, momentarily taken aback. "You shouldn't keep smoking," you said, your tone quieter now.

His fingers twitched slightly around the cigarette, but he didn’t respond right away. Instead, he brought it back to his lips, inhaling like he was trying to make a point, though you weren’t sure if it was to you or to himself. "Look who's talking" he muttered.

You watched him carefully, the way his jaw tensed, the way his shoulders sat just a little heavier than usual. This wasn’t the same Beomgyu who spent half his time annoying you, smirking like he had the whole world figured out.

You hesitated before speaking again. "It wasn’t a good day."

Beomgyu let out a short, humorless laugh. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." You exhaled. "I couldn’t get anything to sound right. I swear, the harder I tried, the worse it got."

He didn’t say anything at first. Just stood there, the faint glow of the cigarette flickering between his fingers. "You’re too hard on yourself."

You blinked, turning to him. "What?"

Beomgyu flicked the ash off the end of his cigarette, his expression unreadable. "You think too much. You want everything to be perfect on the first try."

Your brows furrowed slightly. "That’s how it works, though. If it’s not good enough, then I have to keep going until it is."

His lips curled slightly, not a smirk, not a frown. Something in between. "And what if you’re the only one who thinks it’s not good enough?"

You didn’t have an answer to that. Beomgyu didn’t wait for one. He took another slow drag, then exhaled, watching the smoke disappear into the air. You glanced down at your phone, checking the time. Yeonjun would be here soon. Beomgyu, ever observant, noticed.

His voice was colder when he spoke next. "Waiting for your boyfriend to pick you up?"

You blinked, caught completely off guard. "What?"

Beomgyu gestured lazily with his cigarette, his expression unreadable. "That guy. The one who dropped you off this morning."

You stared at him for a second, processing. And then, a laugh bubbled out of you, unexpected and breathy. "Yeonjun?" Beomgyu didn’t react. Just stared at you, like he was waiting for an answer. You shook your head, still half-amused. "He’s not my boyfriend."

Something flickered in his expression, too quick for you to catch. But before you could think too hard about it, a familiar car pulled up to the curb.

Yeonjun honked the horn once, rolling down the window. "Let’s go, loser."

You pushed off the railing, turning back to Beomgyu. "See you tomorrow."

He only nodded, taking another slow drag of his cigarette. And as you walked toward the car, you didn’t notice the way his gaze lingered on you a second too long.

Beomgyu's drive home felt longer than usual. Maybe it was because the city was too quiet at this hour, the usual rush of people and traffic reduced to distant hums. Maybe it was because his thoughts had been too loud all day, refusing to settle even now.

Or maybe it was because of you.

Beomgyu clenched his jaw, fingers tightening slightly around the steering wheel. He didn’t like that. Didn’t like the way you lingered in his mind long after you had already left. The way your voice still echoed in his ears, the way your laugh, short, breathy, surprised, had caught him off guard when you realized he thought Yeonjun was your boyfriend.

Why the hell did I even ask that? He scoffed under his breath, shaking his head. It didn’t matter. It shouldn’t matter.

In the week that followed, something had shifted.

It wasn’t obvious at first, just small things. A missed comment here, a glance avoided there. But as the days passed, it became impossible to ignore. Beomgyu was different.

You had spent so much time fighting him for space, rolling your eyes at his smug remarks, bracing yourself for whatever new way he’d find to get under your skin. And now, suddenly, there was nothing.

No teasing. No playful jabs. No sarcastic smirks across the studio. It wasn’t that he was rude. If anything, he was polite, too polite. The kind of detached professionalism that you had never associated with Beomgyu before. It was driving you insane.

You barely saw him on Tuesday. Which wasn’t uncommon, sometimes, you worked separately, each focused on different aspects of the album. But usually, even on those days, you’d cross paths in the break room, or he’d pop into your studio just to complain about how much better his demos were than yours.

Beomgyu was already in the studio when you arrived on Wednesday morning, sitting at the mixing console with his headphones on, completely absorbed in whatever track he was working on.

You hesitated in the doorway for a second, waiting for him to acknowledge you. He didn’t. Not until you cleared your throat and said, "Morning."

Only then did he glance up, giving you a small nod. "Morning."

That was it. No comment about how tired you looked, no sarcastic Wow, you actually showed up on time?—just morning. You forced yourself to ignore the weird weight in your chest as you sat down and pulled up your own files.

On Thursday, when you arrived at the HYBE building that morning, something about the usual rhythm of your day felt… off.

And then it hit you. Beomgyu wasn’t here. Beomgyu never worked on Thursdays.

The hours passed, your progress slower than usual. By lunchtime, you gave up and went to the break room, hoping food would help clear your head.

Enhypen was already there, sprawled across the couches and chairs like they lived in this building. You slid into a seat next to Jake, barely registering the conversation around you as you scrolled through your phone.

"You good?" Jungwon asked, eyeing you over his drink.

You blinked. "What?"

"You just seem distracted," he said. "More than usual."

You shrugged. "Just a slow day."

Jake nudged your arm. "Maybe you just need to get out of the studio for a bit. Reset your brain."

"Maybe," you muttered.

A pause. Then, before you could stop yourself— "Did Beomgyu eat before he left yesterday?"

The words left your mouth before you even thought about them, and immediately, you regretted it. Heeseung raised an eyebrow. "Why?"

"No reason," you said quickly, looking down at your phone. "I just… I know he forgets to eat when he’s working."

Heeseung hummed. "Honestly? I have no idea."

Sunghoon glanced up from his drink. "You could just text him and ask, you know."

You scoffed. "Like I care that much."

Jungwon smirked. "Uh-huh." You ignored them, tapping your fingers against your cup. It wasn’t a big deal. Beomgyu could take care of himself. That’s why, on Friday, you gave up.

If Beomgyu wanted to be distant, then fine. Let him be distant. You weren’t going to sit here and try to figure out why he had suddenly decided to act like you were nothing more than a coworker.

At least, that’s what you kept telling yourself. But when you walked into the studio that morning, the first thing you noticed was that his bag was already there. You weren’t sure why that made your shoulders relax slightly.

You ignored the thought as you set your things down, pulling up the demo you had been struggling with all week. Your goal was simple: work, focus, and not let whatever this was with Beomgyu get in your head.

But apparently, he had other plans. Because suddenly, after an entire week of acting like you barely existed, he was everywhere.

The first time he appeared in your studio, you barely reacted. "Hey," he said casually, leaning against the doorframe, hands stuffed into the pockets of his hoodie. "Can you listen to something real quick?"

You gave a short nod, sliding your headphones down to your neck as he walked in. He played a section of the track he had been working on, something stripped down, mostly just melody and chords. "It feels empty," he muttered, frowning slightly. "I don’t know if it needs more layering or if I should just change the chord progression entirely."

You listened, trying to focus on the music instead of the fact that this was the most he had spoken to you all week. "It’s fine," you said, keeping your tone neutral. "Just needs a little more texture."

Beomgyu nodded, thoughtful. "You wanna add something?"

You hesitated, fingers hovering over your keyboard. "You don’t need my help."

He shrugged, tilting his head slightly. "Yeah, but you’re good at this part."

You blinked, caught off guard by the compliment. But instead of responding, you just reached for your mouse and started tweaking the mix, ignoring the way he stood behind you, watching.

By lunchtime, you had stopped keeping track of how many times he had walked into your studio.

"Hey, quick question—" "Hey, do you have the latest version of—" "Hey, can I borrow—"

It was endless. At first, you had answered him normally, keeping things short, professional. But the more he did it, the more irritated you became. Not because he was being annoying. But because why now? Why spend an entire week pretending you didn’t exist only to suddenly act like everything was normal? You weren’t going to play along.

So, by the fourth time he showed up at your door, you barely even looked up. "I’m busy," you muttered, clicking through your project files.

Beomgyu blinked. "I didn’t even say anything yet."

"You were going to."

He hesitated, then let out a small chuckle. "Damn. Am I that predictable?"

You didn’t answer, just continued working. For a moment, he didn’t move. Then, out of the corner of your eye, you saw him shift slightly, like he was about to say something.

But instead, he just exhaled and muttered, "Never mind," before walking away. You ignored the strange twist in your stomach and forced yourself to focus on the screen.

You had just finished saving your project when you decided to take a break, stretching your sore muscles before stepping out into the hallway. You weren’t planning on running into anyone, but as soon as you turned the corner, you nearly walked straight into Seungcheol.

"Oh," you said, stepping back slightly. "Sorry."

He smiled, easy and confident. "No need to apologize."

You already knew him, Baekhyun had introduced you two at the HYBE party last week. And while your first meeting had been brief (and rudely interrupted by Beomgyu), you remembered how intently he had listened when you talked about your work.

"You’ve been keeping busy," he mused, crossing his arms. "Baekhyun showed me some of the demos from your sessions. I was impressed."

Something warm settled in your chest. "Really?"

Seungcheol nodded. "You have a good ear. I meant to follow up after the party, but you disappeared before I could."

You huffed a small laugh. "Yeah, sorry about that."

Seungcheol’s gaze stayed steady. "If you ever want to share more of your work, my office is always open. I’d like to hear what else you’re capable of."

It wasn’t an empty offer, you could tell. This was an opportunity. And you weren’t about to waste it. "I’d love that," you said sincerely.

Seungcheol smiled, lingering for just a second longer than necessary before nodding. "I’ll be waiting, then."

And with that, he walked past you, disappearing down the hall.

You barely had a second to process before you felt it, that shift in the air. A presence behind you. You turned slightly, and there he was. Beomgyu was standing just a few feet away, hands shoved deep in his pockets, expression unreadable. Your breath hitched slightly, but you forced yourself to act normal.

Beomgyu's gaze flickered briefly down the hallway where Seungcheol had disappeared. Then, finally, he looked back at you. "You should be careful with him," he said, voice flat.

You frowned. "What?"

Beomgyu tilted his head slightly. "Seungcheol. He doesn’t offer that kind of thing just to anyone."

There was something in his tone, something that wasn’t quite neutral. You crossed your arms. "I know that. He’s creative director. It’s literally his job to look for talent."

Beomgyu scoffed, gaze dark. "Right. Sure."

Your frown deepened. "What’s your problem?"

"Nothing," he muttered, already turning away. "Forget it."

And just like that, he walked past you, heading back to his studio without another word. You stood there, confusion and irritation swirling in your chest. What the hell was that?

So, after that, you had spent the entire day locked in your studio.

It wasn’t intentional at first, you had just wanted to get some uninterrupted work done, to make up for how frustrating this week had been. But one track turned into another, one minor adjustment turned into an hour of tweaking, and before you knew it, the sun had set and most of the building had emptied out.

You barely noticed. At some point, Taehyun had texted asking if you wanted to grab dinner, and you had ignored it, too caught up in your work to even think about food.

It was only when your screen blurred in front of you, exhaustion pressing against your temples, that you finally admitted defeat. You packed up slowly, rubbing at your tired eyes as you stood. The quiet hum of the studio, once comforting, now felt suffocating after being inside for so long. You needed air.

When you opened the door, ready to leave, you nearly tripped over something. A cup. An iced americano, sitting neatly in front of your studio, condensation beading against the plastic.

You stared at it, confused, before noticing the small note taped to the lid. Your brows furrowed as you peeled it off, unfolding the paper between your fingers. The handwriting was messy, slanted, but familiar.

don’t pass out in there

Your lips parted slightly. There was no signature, no indication of who it was from. But you knew. Of course you knew, it was Beomgyu's handwriting.

Your fingers tightened around the note as your heart did something stupid in your chest, something warm, something soft, something you did not want to acknowledge.

Because what the hell was he doing? He had spent the entire week keeping his distance, barely speaking to you, only to suddenly spend the whole day in your space asking for your help. And now this?

You exhaled sharply, trying to shake off the strange feeling settling in your stomach. Maybe this was just some weird attempt at making up for how weird he had been all week. Or maybe he was just screwing with you again, playing some long game you didn’t understand. Or maybe… maybe he just noticed.

Noticed how hard you were working. Noticed that you hadn’t taken a break all day. Noticed you.

You clenched the note tightly before shoving it into your pocket. Your confusion hadn’t gone away. If anything, it had gotten worse. But as you picked up the coffee, taking a slow sip, you realized something else. For the first time all week, Beomgyu had made you smile.

When Saturday morning arrived, you forced yourself to push work aside. No checking mixes, no tweaking arrangements, no thinking about deadlines. Instead, you spent most of the day in the apartment, lounging on the couch while Yeonjun flopped down beside you, mindlessly flipping through TV channels.

"Are you actually not working today?" he asked, stretching his arms above his head.

"I told you I’d take a break," you muttered, though even as you said it, your fingers twitched with the urge to check your email.

Yeonjun narrowed his eyes. "Yeah, but you suck at taking breaks."

You rolled your eyes. "I’m trying."

"You better be," he said, nudging your leg with his foot. "We have a big night ahead."

Ah. Right. The party. You had promised Yunjin and the others that you’d actually go out tonight, no bailing at the last minute, no pretending you were too busy with work.

It wasn’t that you didn’t like going out. It was just that sometimes, after spending all week drained from work, the last thing you wanted was to force yourself to be social.

But tonight, you needed it. So when evening rolled around, you found yourself in front of your closet, sifting through outfits while Yeonjun lounged on your bed, watching with an amused expression.

When you were finally ready, Yeonjun whistled. "Damn. If I didn’t know you, I’d think you actually wanted to impress someone tonight."

You scoffed. "I just want to have fun."

Yeonjun smirked, but thankfully, he didn’t push it. Instead, he just slung an arm around your shoulders as you both headed out.

The place was already packed when you arrived, the bass from the music thrumming through the floors as bodies filled the space. You spotted Yunjin first, standing near the bar with Hueningkai, Taehyun, and a few other familiar faces. She waved excitedly when she saw you, immediately pulling you into a hug.

Yeonjun handed you a drink, and you gladly took it, letting the warmth of alcohol relax your shoulders as you settled into the atmosphere. For the first hour, it was easy. You danced with Yunjin, laughed at Taehyun’s terrible attempts at flirting with someone near the bar, took ridiculous selfies with Hueningkai.

It felt normal. And then, as you were making your way back from the bar with a fresh drink in hand, you saw him.

Beomgyu.

Your steps faltered for half a second before you recovered, eyes flickering over the scene in front of you. He wasn’t alone, he was with Soobin, Heeseung, and Jungwon, all of them gathered near a booth in the corner.

But what caught your attention wasn’t the fact that he was here. It was the fact that he was already drunk. You could tell immediately, the way his smile was looser than usual, the way he leaned slightly against Soobin as he talked, the way his gaze was just a little too unfocused.

And then, as if he could feel you looking, his eyes found yours. For a second, neither of you moved. Then—

A slow, lazy grin spread across his lips. You barely had time to process before he was pushing off the booth, making his way toward you. You braced yourself.

"Look who it is," he drawled, stopping in front of you. His voice was warm, teasing, the opposite of how he had been all week. "Didn’t think I’d see you here."

You raised an eyebrow. "Didn’t think I’d see you here either."

Beomgyu let out a breathy laugh, tilting his head slightly. "Why? You think I just sit in the studio all day?"

You crossed your arms. "You literally do."

"Fair point." He took a sip of whatever drink he was holding before glancing over your shoulder, his gaze flickering toward the group of people you had been with. "You come with Yeonjun?"

You blinked at the question, caught off guard. "Yeah?"

He hummed, expression unreadable. Before you could say anything else, Soobin and Heeseung appeared beside him, greeting you easily. "Hey," Heeseung said, flashing his usual friendly smile. "Didn’t expect to run into you tonight."

You shrugged. "Trying to be social for once."

Soobin chuckled. "That’s new."

Jungwon, who had been hanging back slightly, smirked. "Are you guys gonna fight here, too, or do you save that for work?"

You rolled your eyes. "We don’t fight."

Beomgyu snorted. "Oh, we definitely fight."

The group laughed, and despite yourself, you felt your shoulders relax slightly. This was weird. You weren’t used to seeing Beomgyu like this, loose, relaxed, actually enjoying himself instead of glaring at a screen for hours. For a second, you let yourself take him in.

Beomgyu looked… different. Not in a drastic way, but enough for you to notice. He wasn’t in his usual oversized hoodie or the comfortable, slightly-wrinkled clothes he practically lived in at the studio. Instead, he was wearing a black shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, the fabric slightly unbuttoned at the top, showing just enough skin to be annoying. His silver jewelry caught the dim lighting of the room, glinting slightly as he shifted his drink from one hand to the other.

It suited him way too well. You hated that you noticed that. And then, just as you were about to shake the thought away, his gaze flickered over you.

You weren’t sure what you expected, maybe another cocky remark, another teasing jab, but instead, his eyes moved over your outfit in a way that made your skin prickle with awareness. "You always wear black," he murmured, almost to himself, but his voice was just loud enough for you to catch.

You raised an eyebrow. "What?"

He took another sip of his drink, tilting his head slightly. "I don’t think I’ve ever seen you wear color."

It wasn’t true, not entirely, but the fact that he had even noticed made something twist in your stomach. "You don’t exactly pay attention to what I wear, Beomgyu," you shot back, crossing your arms.

Beomgyu hummed, his eyes still on you, dark and unreadable. "You think I don’t?"

There was something about the way he said it, something that made your throat go dry. You refused to acknowledge it. Instead, you forced a scoff, shaking your head. "You’re drunk."

"So?" He took another sip, then smirked. "Still got eyes, don’t I?"

And then, just as quickly as it appeared, Beomgyu leaned back, shifting the energy entirely. "Anyway," he drawled, glancing over at the people you had been with earlier, "are you gonna introduce me to your little friend group, or are you scared they’ll like me more than you?"

You blinked, thrown off by the sudden change. "What?"

He gestured vaguely with his drink. "I don’t know half the people you hang out with. Thought I’d be polite and say hi."

You narrowed your eyes. "Since when are you polite?"

Beomgyu tilted his head, studying you like he was trying to figure something out. His smirk wasn’t as sharp now, still there, still insufferable, but softer around the edges, like he was letting himself enjoy this. "Come on," he murmured, leaning in slightly. "Introduce me."

You scoffed. "Why do you even care?"

"Maybe I just wanna see how you talk about me when I’m not around." He grinned, slow and teasing. "Bet you make me sound like a villain."

"You are a villain," you shot back.

"And yet," he mused, taking another sip of his drink, "here you are, still standing here with me instead of running back to your actual friends."

You opened your mouth to retort, but before you could, a voice cut in.

"So," Yeonjun mused, stepping up beside you, eyes flickering toward Beomgyu. "You’re the Beomgyu, huh?"

Beomgyu didn’t miss a beat. "And you’re the Yeonjun."

Your stomach dropped. This was not happening.

They stared at each other for a moment, taking the other in. Yeonjun looked relaxed, but his sharp gaze held a flicker of curiosity, like he was trying to decide if Beomgyu was worth his time. Beomgyu, for his part, seemed perfectly at ease, his usual smirk still playing at his lips, shoulders loose, like he found this whole thing amusing.

And then, to your horror, they both grinned. "I’ve heard a lot about you," Yeonjun said, crossing his arms.

"Same," Beomgyu replied. "Didn’t think we’d actually meet like this."

You narrowed your eyes. "You two know each other?"

"Not personally," Yeonjun said, shrugging. "But come on. We work in the same industry. I know his work. He’s good."

Beomgyu smiled, tilting his head. "I know your work too, by the way. Not bad."

Yeonjun raised an eyebrow. "Not bad?"

Beomgyu grinned. "I’d say pretty good, but I don’t wanna inflate your ego this early in the conversation."

Yeonjun laughed. "Fair enough."

You looked between them, deeply suspicious. "Why does it feel like you two are getting along?"

Beomgyu glanced at you. "Why? You want us to fight?"

Yeonjun rolled his eyes. "Relax, Y/N. Not everything has to be a battle."

You huffed, taking another sip of your drink. "So," Beomgyu mused, eyes flickering between you and Yeonjun, "how do you two know each other anyway?"

Yeonjun barely hesitated before answering. "College," he said with a small grin. "We met during our first year and just… clicked. Ended up being inseparable after that. And now, we live together."

Beomgyu’s brows lifted slightly, his expression shifting, not in surprise, not in jealousy, but something closer to genuine interest. "Oh, that’s cool," he said, nodding. "Didn’t expect that, but it makes sense."

You glanced at him, skeptical. "What’s that supposed to mean?"

Beomgyu shrugged, looking at you. "I don’t know, I just didn’t really picture you as the roommate type. I figured you’d be one of those people who hates sharing a space with someone."

Yeonjun snorted. "Oh, she definitely does."

You shot him a glare. "I do not."

"Sure," Yeonjun said, amused. "That’s why you leave your headphones on all the time and act like I don’t exist when you’re in work mode."

Beomgyu laughed. "Yeah, that checks out."

You rolled your eyes. "Are you two bonding over making fun of me?"

"Absolutely," Beomgyu said easily.

Yeonjun grinned. "It’s kind of fun."

You groaned, rubbing your temples. Beomgyu ignored you, still focused on Yeonjun. "So what’s it like living with her?"

Yeonjun hummed, considering. "Honestly? Not bad. We’ve got our system. We both get busy with work, so we give each other space, but it’s nice having someone around who actually gets it, you know? Plus, she’s a decent cook."

You scoffed. "Now that is a lie."

"It’s not!" Yeonjun defended. "She has, like, three solid recipes."

Beomgyu laughed. "Okay, now I really need to know what these are."

Yeonjun counted on his fingers. "Kimchi fried rice, pasta, and… something that she refuses to name, but it’s actually good."

Beomgyu turned to you, intrigued. "What’s the mystery dish?"

You crossed your arms. "I’m not telling you."

Yeonjun smirked. "She’s embarrassed because it started as a ‘let’s throw random shit together and see what happens’ meal, but it accidentally turned out good."

Beomgyu grinned. "That’s kind of impressive."

You sighed, shaking your head. "Why are we even talking about this?"

"Because I’m curious," Beomgyu said simply.

You didn’t really have a response to that.

Something about the way he said it, not teasing, not smug, just genuinely interested, made you feel a little off balance. You were used to bickering with him, used to sharp words and playful jabs. But this? Him actually wanting to know about your life? That was new.

And for some reason, it made your stomach flip.

Yeonjun glanced over his shoulder toward the bar, then let out an exaggerated sigh. "Well, as fun as this has been, I gotta go. Yunjin’s waiting on her drink, and if I take too long, she’s gonna start a manhunt."

With a final chuckle, Yeonjun clapped a hand on Beomgyu’s shoulder, shot you a look that was somewhere between good luck and I’m enjoying this way too much, and disappeared into the crowd.

You exhaled, already bracing yourself for whatever Beomgyu was about to say now that you were alone. But instead, "So," he said, turning to you, eyes practically shining. "Did you like the coffee?"

You stilled. You had known it was him the second you saw it, left outside your studio door Friday night, your exact order scribbled on the side of the cup in handwriting you recognized immediately. He hadn’t signed his name, hadn’t said anything, just left it there like some anonymous act of kindness.

You sighed. "It was fine."

"Fine?" he repeated, looking personally offended. "That was good coffee."

You narrowed your eyes. "Why did you even do that?"

He blinked. "Huh?"

"The coffee," you said, crossing your arms. "Why’d you leave it?"

He scoffed, like the answer was obvious. "You were working too much."

You frowned. "And?"

"And," he said, dragging the word out, "I saw you in there, looking half-dead, and figured you needed it." Your lips parted slightly. It was such a simple explanation. No teasing, no ulterior motive, just that. Beomgyu, meanwhile, seemed completely unbothered by your confusion. "I mean, I could’ve let you pass out on your keyboard, but I’m a good person," he said, grinning.

You scoffed. "Sure. That’s why you did it."

"Obviously," he said. Then, with zero hesitation—"Hey, you smoke, right?"

You blinked at the sudden shift. "What?"

"If you wanna go outside for a bit, I’ll come with."

Your brows furrowed. "Why?"

He shrugged, still smiling. "Why not?"

You stared at him, trying to figure out what the hell his angle was here. This was strange. All of this was strange. Beomgyu wasn’t being mean. He wasn’t teasing you just to get under your skin. He wasn’t smirking like he had some grand plan to annoy you. He was just… talking. Open. Chatty. And worst of all, nice. You didn’t trust it one bit. But still, for some reason, you found yourself nodding.

"Fine," you said, already turning toward the exit.

And as the two of you stepped outside, you couldn’t help but feel like you had just agreed to something far more complicated than a smoke break.

The night air was crisp as you stepped outside, the cool breeze biting at your skin. The distant hum of the city filled the silence, car headlights flashing by, conversations drifting from people walking past. Beomgyu fell into step beside you, hands shoved into his pockets, his presence oddly easy despite how complicated he made everything feel.

The two of you had been in sync somehow. You weren’t used to that. With Beomgyu, everything was usually sharp edges and competition, but tonight had been… easy. And now, out here, with no studio walls between you, no music to drown out the noise in your head, you felt like you should say something.

You were still trying to figure out what the hell was up with him tonight when a voice called your name.

“Y/N?”

You turned toward the sound, and your stomach immediately flipped.

Yunho.

The last person you expected to run into tonight.

He was leaning against the railing near the edge of the building, dressed in a fitted black turtleneck and an open wool coat, the kind of outfit that made it impossible to forget just how unfairly good-looking he was.

You two used to hook up a while ago, and you hadn’t seen him in months. Hadn’t spoken since things had fizzled out, no big falling out, no dramatic ending, just… a slow, mutual silence.

You barely had time to react before he was stepping closer, wrapping his arms around you in an easy, confident embrace.

“Been a while,” he murmured, voice warm against your ear.

The hug lingered. A little longer than it should have. Beomgyu hadn’t said a word, but you could feel him there. Standing just a few feet away, watching.

When Yunho finally pulled back, his hands slid down your arms before he let go completely. His gaze flicked past you, landing on Beomgyu, curiosity sparking behind his eyes. He waited, expectant.

You hesitated. Just for a second. “This is Beomgyu,” you said, forcing your voice to stay even. “He's my… coworker.”

The second the word left your mouth, you knew it was the wrong one. You didn’t have to look at Beomgyu to know he heard it loud and clear.

Yunho’s expression didn’t change, if anything, his amusement deepened as he extended a hand toward Beomgyu. “Nice to meet you, man.”

Beomgyu took it, but the shake was brief, impersonal. “Yeah,” he said flatly.

The energy shifted, thickening with something unreadable. You could feel it brewing, creeping into the air like a storm about to break, but Yunho didn’t seem to notice. Or if he did, he didn’t care. Instead, he turned back to you, eyes glinting with something playful. “I was actually heading out, but if I’d known you were here, I would’ve stuck around longer,” he mused, tilting his head. “Maybe next time.”

The words were casual, but the way he said them? Not so much. And Beomgyu caught it. You saw it in the way his jaw tightened, the way his fingers curled slightly in his pocket, the way his shoulders squared just a fraction.

Yunho shot you one last lingering glance before stepping away. “See you around, Y/N.” He turned around, and silence settled between you and Beomgyu, thick and suffocating.

You let out a slow breath, bracing yourself for—what? A sarcastic comment? A joke? Some passive-aggressive remark about your taste in men? Something. Anything.

But Beomgyu just pulled out a cigarette, placed it between his lips, and lit it, his expression unreadable. He didn’t look at you. Didn’t say a thing. You frowned, watching as he took a slow drag, exhaling a stream of smoke into the cold air.

“Hey,” you said finally, tilting your head at him. “You okay?”

Beomgyu exhaled another lazy puff of smoke, gaze still fixed somewhere off in the distance. “What do you mean?”

Your frown deepened. “You’re suddenly being quiet.”

He let out a humorless chuckle. “And?”

You huffed, crossing your arms. “Seriously, what’s your problem?”

“No problem,” he murmured. “Just enjoying my smoke break.”

Something inside you twisted. You took a deep breath, trying to keep your patience. “Beomgyu—”

“You don’t have to explain yourself, you know.” He finally glanced at you then, dark eyes half-lidded, his expression unreadable. “That guy,” he said simply. “You don’t have to explain anything about him.”

The words shouldn’t have bothered you. But they did. “Jesus Christ,” you muttered, shaking your head. “I wasn’t planning on it.”

“Good,” he said. And just like that, he looked away again, as if that was the end of the conversation. As if he didn’t care.

And that—finally, finally—pushed you over the edge.

You let out a sharp, bitter laugh. “You’re fucking unbelievable.” Beomgyu didn’t react. Just took another slow drag of his cigarette. That only pissed you off more. “You keep doing this shit,” you snapped, voice rising. “One second you’re nice to me, then you’re cold again. Then you’re pushing my buttons just to get a reaction—what the fuck do you want from me?”

Silence. Beomgyu’s expression didn’t change, but his grip on the cigarette tightened just slightly.

You shook your head, letting out a sharp breath. “I swear, I don’t get you. You act like you hate me, but then you do shit like leave me coffee. You act like you don’t care, and then you get all weird and broody all of the sudden. You make no fucking sense.”

Beomgyu took one last drag before flicking the cigarette onto the ground, grinding it out with his shoe. “I never said I hated you.”

Your breath hitched. It was quiet. Just five words. But something about the way he said them, low and deliberate, made your pulse stutter. His gaze was steady, fixed on you with an intensity that made your skin prickle. And suddenly, you realized, this was the first time either of you had ever really talked about it. About whatever this was.

Beomgyu shifted, hands slipping back into his pockets. His voice dropped just slightly, almost like he didn’t want you to hear it. “But you’re right about one thing.”

You swallowed hard. “What?”

He took a step closer. Not much, but enough that you could smell the faint trace of smoke on his clothes, feel the warmth of him even in the cold. “I do like pushing your buttons.” His lips twitched—just barely, just enough to let you know he wasn’t done. He tilted his head slightly, dark eyes flickering with something unreadable. “It’s fun watching you try so hard to pretend you don’t like it.”

And just when you thought that was it, that he was done messing with your head for the night, he added: “But don’t worry.” His voice was light, almost casual. “I don’t care either way. After all, like you said… I’m just your coworker.”

He smirked. Just a flash of teeth, just enough to make your stomach twist. Then he turned on his heel and walked off, leaving you standing there, heart pounding, head spinning, caught between wanting to kill him and—

No.

You weren’t even gonna finish that thought.

my masterlist | previous fic

author's note: ok so i KNOW this fic got way longer than i originally planned but here we are lmaoo. i’m already working on part 2 and really hope y’all like this first part so i can post the second one!! also, i wanted to have this done in time for beomgyu’s birthday but yeah… that didn’t happen lol. anyway, hope y’all enjoy <3

[maskedcrawford]

Don't Tell Him

Bang Chan x Reader

Summary: What happens when your best friend thinks you like another guy?

Warnings: Slight angst? But its a happy ending

A/N: I've had this idea for a minute and I decided to add Bang Chan, Han and Hyunjin to my Masterlist so I hope you guys enjoy!

Requests are OPEN

You step out of the shower, skin still warm from the scalding water when your roommate, Bang Chan, shut the door to your apartment. Your heart rate slowly increases. You had texted him earlier, now regretting it, saying that you wanted to talk to him and that it was serious.

Living with the guy you’ve been in love with since you were a teenager had its advantages, you guys had movie nights, little ‘friend dates’ as Chris would call them, and you guys were able to talk about anything and everything, except for your massive crush on him obviously, but tonight that’s exactly what you were going to try to do, sort of.

“I’m home,” he calls out setting his keys on the end table.

“Be out in a sec!” Your voice travels through the silent apartment. Chris sits down, a slight furrow to his brow as he contemplates what you want to talk to him about. Had he done something? Was there some midlife or on-going crises in your life? What did you need from him? Did someone hurt you. Heaven forbid that be the case. Chris would do whatever he needed to, to make sure you’re safe. It's one of the things you love most about him.

You get yourself changed and walk into the living room. You can see the exhaustion on his face. Long days at the studio were taking a toll on him.

“Welcome home,” you give him a smile and he looks at you, searching your face for any sign of discomfort or worry or anything having to do with your text earlier that day.

“What’s going on,” he drawls. Your heart beat quickens as your try to figure out how to bring it up. You step into the small kitchen, a bar separating the living room from it, and he watches you meticulously.

“I wanted to ask you something,” you begin with your stomach in knots, “I want to know what’d you do if someone you knew told you they liked you,” you trail off, praying he doesn’t see through your question.

“Well, it would depend on the person. Why? Who thinks I’m fine?” His smirk is strong and you can hear it in his voice. He flexes his muscles dramatically and you catch it out of the corner of your eye.

“I’m asking because there’s this guy, and I’m close with him,” Chan’s face falls instantly as he puts his arms down. He wouldn’t admit it outright, hell he denied it for years, but he liked you a lot. You’re his home. You’re his safe place and his comfort. You’re his person.

“You like someone? Who,” his curiosity peaks.

“Just a guy, Chris,” your voice is serious, and he notices by the lack of playfulness in your voice that this is serious for you.

“Ok, what guy?” He sits down on the stool across the bar from you.

“He’s a friend.”

“Have I met him?”

“Not exactly,” It comes out more like a question than anything else. You take your bottom lip in between in your teeth as you see him think. He has this adorable way about him where you can see the wheels in his head turn when he's in deep thought.

“What does that even mean?”

“It doesn’t matter, my point is,” you take a breath, “I’m close with him and I like him as more than a friend.” Chan feels a slight ache in his chest at your words but keeps his face neutral.

“Ok, and I’m guessing you want to tell him?” You nod as you take a drink of water. His stare is intense and you need something to somewhat shield you.

“Quit trying to figure out who it is,” you say and he smirks at your slightly frustrated attitude.

“I’m sorry but I’m curious.”

“Curiosity killed the cat,” you point out.

“Good thing I’m not a cat,” he says as he leans over the bar with a smirk. He gets up and walks into the kitchen suddenly thirsty himself, but not for water.

“You know you can tell me anything,” he says trying to sound casual, but there's a hint of something suggestive in it too. Like he's testing the waters without admitting anything. He positions himself next to you.

“I know, I just, don’t know how I want to do it and I want it to be kept secret,” your face flushes slightly as you look at him.

“Well, if it were me,” he says taking another step forward. You two have always been close, and him being touchy as it is, being ‘too close’ was never an issue; rather it was more comfortable that way. Until tonight that is. Tonight, the close proximity felt charged.

“Go on.”

“I’d want her to just be honest with me. I mean, what is a relationship without honesty?” he grimaces internally because he knows he hasn’t been honest with you. All you can do is nod your head.

“What if it was your best friend?” You mumble. He quirks a brow.

“You’re my best friend,” he half laughs. You nod acknowledging it.

“So, if you told me you liked me,” he begins his heartbeat too quick for its own good. He swears he could have heart attack, “I think we’d be ok.” Now your heart is the one beating out of your chest.

“You could live with that?” The question is met with silence and the two of you can notice the shift in the air. He slides even closer to you, close enough that now you’re looking up at him through your lashes.

“Well, yeah,” he shrugs as his gaze on you turns into one of care and comfort. You can’t say anything, you can’t even meet his own gaze after a minute, because you can tell his eyes are searching yours and you’re afraid if he searches too long he’ll find the truth.

“What if it ruined everything,” you ask softly, looking at the floor.

“It wouldn’t,” he whispers back. Your lip subconsciously forces its way between your teeth.

“What if it does between me and him,” you ask now gathering courage to meet his eyes again. His face falls and you catch it, though he's quick to recover to a neutral position.

“Well, then he doesn’t deserve you.” He walks to the living room rubbing the back of his neck.

“You wanna watch a movie?” he asks and you shrug.

“I'm kinda tired, I wanted to go lay down.” You had the information you needed, but you weren’t trying to test the theory in the same night.

“So cuddles and a movie it is then,” he smirks and you roll your eyes with a satisfied grin.

“But if this guy likes you back, he needs to understand our cuddles are non-negotiable. I still get my y/n time.” His tone is playful but you know good and well he means it.

You both get settled in your bed, snuggling up to one another. Chan picks out a scary movie and you whine hiding your face in his chest.

“Channie, you know I hate scary movies.

Exactly.

A slight smirk appears on his face.

“Let’s just see how bad it is, if you really hate it I’ll turn it off.”

“What if I have nightmares,” you pout a bit.

“Then I’ll be here to protect you,” he hugs you closer to him and you roll your eyes with a sigh of defeat.

“Fine,” you grumble not excited for the movie. Chris reasoned that if you were going to confess and potentially get with another guy, he’d take all he could get from you before he possibly couldn't. He knew aspects of your friendship would have to change like they had with previous relationships.

The horror flick plays and, as you suspected, you hated it. There are jump scares that cause you to hide your face in his chest as well as a creepy ghost girl that makes you cling to his neck.

“I don’t like it,” you whisper in his ear as she starts to laugh on the screen. He quickly grabs the remote, your body held firm against his, and turns the movie off.

“All right, all right, it’s off.” He whispers but you don’t retreat. Heholds you close, letting you calm down. Taking note of the way your hair smells fresh of shampoo and your perfume that smells divine; almost like God himself made it special for just for him to breathe in. He revels in the small skin to skin contact he’s experiencing with you in your tank top and him shirtless. How it sends volts of electricity through him and his heart beat thrums in his ears. He swears you can hear it.

You notice he doesn’t release his hold on you, and its not unlike Chan to comfort you, but this somehow feels different; the air charged with something that you couldn’t quite place.

“So, when are you going to tell him?” Chan mumbles as he holds you.

“I dunno,” your voice is sheepish.

“Maybe you shouldn’t,” Chan’s face grimaces at his selfish advice. You pull back; a miniscule frown on his face.

“What do you mean?” Your faces are inches from each other both of you steal a glance at the others lips at the same time.

“Well, if you aren’t sure,” now he can’t meet your gaze. He knows it's selfish. He wants you to be happy, but he wants to be happy too, and he was willing to take what he could get from you.

“But I think he deserves to know,” you whisper and his eyes meet yours.

“Don’t,” his voice is pleading with you now and you tilt your head in confusion.

“Don’t what?” he cuts you off.

“Don’t tell him. Let him tell you.” He tries to sound supportive.

“Chan,” you begin but once again he cuts you off.

“If he wants you,” he takes a deep breath as he knows his next words are him basically calling himself out, unbeknownst to you, “He should shout it from the roof tops. He should be willing to tell you.” You consider his words, realizing he was right, but this also sent an ache into your chest because he hadn’t been shouting anything about you ever. Maybe Chan just saved you from crippling regret and embarrassment.

Both of you look at each other for a moment, neither of you sure what to say next. You put your hand on his face, rubbing small circles with the pad of your thumb. His eyes close at your touch as he basks in it.

“You’re a good friend,” you smile sadly, voice barely above a whisper.

“I’d be a better boyfriend,” his tone is serious and your breath catches in your throat.

“Huh,” you say confused.

“Y/n,” he sighs and forces himself to look you in the eyes, “I like you, ok? I’m the one that wants to shout from the rooftops that you’re my girl.” His face flushes red as you stare at him, eyes moving between his dark ones, searching for any sign of a joke.

“Chan,” you breathe and he continues.

“I want to be the one you come to with your problems, I want to be the one you lay beside each night, I want to be the one who holds you when you need to held or drives you places when you want to be a passenger princess,” he smirks at the thought.

“Chan," you repeat but he shakes his head.

“I know this could fuck it all up and I know you like this guy, but I can’t just let you go and tell him without telling you that I’m in love with you,” he breathes out and your heart swells. Love? His eyes look behind you, sadness evident in them and you cup his cheeks with both hands, bracing yourself on his chest.

“Chan,” your smile is as big as ever. His eyes flick to you and he notices your face.

“First of all, you all ready do those things,” you giggle quietly.

“Well yeah, because I want to take care of you. I guess I’m trying to show you I’m more than capable and I want to.” Your smile crinkles your eyes just a bit as it grows.

“Why are you smiling like that?”

“Because you big goof, it’s you I like,” your face is now red as you admit your feelings to him and relief takes over as he wraps his arms around your waist, pulling your more into his body.

“Wait, for real?” He searches your eyes this time.

“For real,” you kiss his nose delicately before dropping your hands from his face to lay flat against his chest. One hands cups your cheeks as the other slowly snakes its way around to cradle the back or your neck.

“Y/n,” he whispers as he steals yet another glance before you give a slight nod and he crashes his lips to yours in a passionate fiery kiss. It's slow, deliberate, as if everything he’s ever felt for you is poured into this moment of endless desire and affection.

He pulls away for a moment for air. Both of you can feel the other’s breath on your face, but it's intoxicating and inviting.

“I love you too,” you breathe out and you swear the boy looks as if he just won the lottery.

“Say it one more time,” he pleads and you giggle.

“I love you Chrisotpher Chahn Bahng,” he groans and smushes you to him completely, your face buried in his neck as you let out a small squeal and a giggle.

“I love you too, y/n,” he says with a kiss to your forehead.

That night, the two of you lay in bed, staring at each other. Both of you are mesmerized by the other; the look of love is evident in your eyes. You eventually drift off to sleep in his arms; him keeping his promise to protect you if you have any nightmares.

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[hyperlexichypatia]

Even if I weren't philosophically a psychiatric abolitionist, I think I would still hate the way fiction uses psychiatry and pop psychology and "mental illness," because it's just lazy characterization.

Fiction has the potential for rich and illustrative exploration of character motivations, desires, influences, inner lives, values, decision-making, and you went with... "a brain disease made them do it"? Really?

"Why did this character try to kill his own sister?" "Because he knew that she would recognize their grandmother's coin collection and would figure out that her brother was the one who stole their uncle's inheritance." ^This is interesting! What a conniving, manipulative character! I feel rewarded for investing in this book!

"Because he's a Malignant Narcissist Sociopath." ^This is boring as fuck. I read this whole book and the explanation ends up being "ontologically bad person disorder"?

Occasionally it circles around to So Godawful It's Hilarious, like Batwoman, which centered an entire season arc around "The Bad Guy is Bad because of a magic brain science button that switched his brain to 'evil' and he needs another magic brain science button to switch his brain back to 'good.'" Literally borrowed the plot of Bart Simpson's evil Krusty doll. And I don't care about creator intent -- according to me, this is an absolutely hilarious parody of psychiatric culture. Yeah, that is the logical conclusion of "brain disease made them do it" bullshit, good job!

I started to compare it to the "devil made them do it" trope, but that's unfair -- there are a lot of interesting, nuanced demonic possession stories, and the idea of a "devil" can be used to explore the nature of morality, free will, forces beyond our control. I don't believe in literal "real" (inasmuch as "real" is a meaningful concept) demonic possession, but at least it's an interesting fictional lens. Neurobullshit isn't even interesting.

I've seen criticism lately of stories where "the characters talk as if they've been to therapy", and sure, that annoys me too. But I've also seen this criticism applied when characters just have a modicum of emotional awareness or expression, and... do you think therapy is a prerequisite for having feelings? Even in a real-life context, I've seen people say things like "She must have been through a lot of therapy to get to that point" when a person, like, stands up for themself or expresses their wishes. Do you think no one did these things before therapy was invented? Once I saw a story written in the 1940s praised for its depiction of the main character's grief at his best friend's death, because it was "remarkable for a time before post-traumatic disorders were widely understood." Do you really think no one was writing about grief and loss before modern pathologizing terminology? Do you think people were all emotionless robots until someone invented feelings in 1995?

Psychiatry is an inaccurate way of conceptualizing human emotional experience; it's an oppressive way of conceptualizing human emotional experience; and it's also an incredibly boring way of conceptualizing human emotional experience.

[appellatedefender]

Some thoughts about Matt’s client, Leroy Bradford. I did appellate indigent criminal defense work for 20 years and had quite a few clients like Leroy (except that most of them were long-term guests of the state, unlike Leroy, who is facing a misdemeanor theft charge).

Matt gets an early morning phone call from Kirsten, asking him to cover an appearance in Leroy's case. So Matt puts on his suit and heads downtown. If anyone was wondering what a lawyer's life is like, this is it. Having to scramble to cover an appearance or a deposition or a meeting for a partner or associate at the last minute is part of the job. Very realistic if you're a criminal defense lawyer or a civil litigator.

Leroy has a shitty life and has had a shitty life since day one: absent/addicted/incarcerated parent or parents, bad neighborhood, bad housing, bad schools, bad diet, bad or no healthcare, no job, no money. Maybe it was even worse, and he grew up in foster care. The system that is supposed to help him is difficult or impossible for him to navigate and sometimes makes things worse instead of helping him. You want to empathize with him, you do empathize with him. But he’s not a likeable guy (and not only because of his ableist comments about Matt’s blindness), and you have to admit he’s brought a lot of his troubles on himself. Matt’s comment about not thinking about the consequences of his actions is right on the mark.

So what do you do as his lawyer? You can’t fix his shitty life. You’re his lawyer, not a social worker. So you put aside his unlikeability and, in Matt’s case, his ableist comments, and you do your best for him. In this case that means getting the best possible deal for your client. Which Matt did.

It’s a little unrealistic that Leroy would be pissed off at Matt when he comes back to tell Leroy about the offer. He’s been through the legal system enough times to know that it’s a very good deal. Finally he shrugs and says it doesn't matter.

On a happier note, Matt’s negotiation with the ADA is a delight. In real life, there probably would be a line of attorneys waiting to talk to Sofija, and little or no time for flirting, but who cares about real life when you can get a scene like this?

The scene takes place in the misdemeanor arraignment courtroom. Sofija has a whole stack of cases she’s handling. The goal is to “dispo” (get a disposition in) as many cases as possible so they can be removed from the court’s docket. So she’s negotiating with Matt to try to dispo Leroy’s case. As has been suggested elsewhere, maybe she didn’t get the DA’s memo (after the Ayala trial) instructing her not to cooperate with Matt. Or maybe she's just doing her job. Or maybe flirting with him is too much fun to pass up. Whatever the case, she and Matt negotiate at the same time as they are flirting and eventually strike a deal. Priceless.

One final thought about Leroy. Sadly, our society considers people like him disposable and begrudges every penny spent on them. Yet as Leroy correctly observes, feeding him would be cheaper (and more cost-effective) than incarcerating him.

[athenagc94]

Dear Daddy Long Legs - Chapter 16

Jason Todd x Fem!Reader

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Chapter 16

Two hours to midnight.

Two hours and nine minutes to be exact, but who was counting?

Certainly not Jason.

That left at least three hours until he saw you.

Jason knew he didn’t have to fill that time with crime or vigilante work, but the thought of sitting at one of his safehouses—alone—with his thoughts sounded as appealing as chewing on glass.

So, work it was.

He arrived outside the well-maintained townhome located east of Gotham Heights fashionably late. The homes on this block weren’t quite Wayne-level with their extensive grounds and sculpture gardens, but pretty damn close. He felt like a regular Nick Carraway rolling up to a Gatsby party which he hadn’t felt since living with Bruce.  

Inside, a New Year’s Eve party was already in full swing. It made slipping inside unnoticed easier now that champagne and liquor had softened the senses. He grabbed a flute from the tray placed near the door and wove through the partygoers, each of them dressed in similar shades of beige and white. The symbolism wrote itself. He clocked every face and gun-shaped lump hidden beneath their suit coats.

Most of the guests were members of prominent mob families from across Gotham. Of course, they’d be armed to the teeth. He expected this and planned accordingly with his guns hidden beneath his ratty sports coat. No one even looked his way.

He spent the last three weeks memorizing the layout of the Riviera home for this moment. Every exit for quick getaways and every alcove for hiding. He took two laps around the first floor to ensure he had it right. A lot of planning went into the night. A lot of patience too. All that work would finally come to fruition if things ran smoothly.

Normally, he wouldn’t give two shits about the Rivieras who for the most part kept to themselves. Their dirty money came from rigging casinos to play in their favor, so Red Hood ignored them. Or at least that was the case until he learned they had intimate ties to Roman Sionis. His contacts pointed him toward the family because they apparently knew where he was and why he’d gone underground.

With the sudden rise in unsanctioned drugs on his streets, Jason had his hands full. He would prefer to be off with the Outlaws, but he had to settle things in Gotham first if he wanted a business to come back to in a few months. It was easy enough to bully Sionis into submission, but he needed to find him first.

Jason decided to drop by the party and see what he could glean off its guests. Alcohol loosened lips. Secrets were bound to come to light as the night wore on, but he knew his best chances lay with Aldo Riviera’s eldest son, Luca.

The Riviera family owned several casinos on Park Row. Hanging at Luca’s usual haunts put Jason on his radar. He took a page from Bruce’s book and played it dumb and docile at the poker table. Jason, who loved a good game of poker and was pretty good at it, had to swallow his pride and throw his hands until Luca took notice. He was the type of guy who needed to surround himself with losers to feel good about himself.

Shocker.

He knew he wouldn’t be able to pull off the pretty boy schtick like Dick or Damian, but with his slightly crooked glasses and the awkward hunch of his shoulders, Jason played the part of non-threatening lackey to perfection. Luca made nice with him and that’s how he found himself invited tonight which was… the only party he’d been invited to. Not that he didn’t have friends. They were just busy or off-world or—

Whatever.

Jason didn’t have to explain himself to anyone.

Parties were boring anyway.

He just had to make it an hour or two before Luca got too shit-faced to have a filter. It happened often enough when they hung out. Luca liked to hear himself talk. With a few pointed questions, he’d have him rambling about Sionis in no time.

“Jacob!”

Jason sighed. It would have been smarter to give Luca a different name than the one he gave you, but he already teetered on the cusp of an identity crisis without adding another fake name to his roster.

So, Jacob, it was.

He donned a timid smile and turned toward Luca. His brown hair swooped down like a stroke of ink, falling just above his eyebrows where an old scar bisected the left one. Handsome, Jason supposed, if not for his rancid personality and a smarmy smile. He sat with three other men in leather armchairs near fire in the sitting room. A pretty, young woman sat on the arm of his chair with a vacant smile that didn’t reach her eyes, his hand resting on her bare thigh.

Luca waved him over with the hand holding a flute of champagne. Jason obliged and settled in the chair closest to him. He nodded to the other three, their faces vaguely familiar, but not their names.

“Bout time you showed up. I was wonderin’ if ya would come or not.” Inebriation made his Jersey accent more pronounced.

Good, Jason thought. That would make this easier.

He let his accent deepen and said, “And miss out on all the fun? Not a chance.”

“If ya wanted real fun, we shoulda met at the casino instead. I’m itchin’ for a few games of poker to ring in the new year. My old man likes to pretend he’s distinguished with the bubblies and fancy canapes that make you hungrier than you were before ya ate them.” His lip curled as he downed his champagne like a shot. “What I’d give for a little fun. I just got back from my holiday in Spain and let me tell ya—”

And he was off.

Jason settled back in his seat while Luca went on and on about his trip and how much he didn’t want to be back in Gotham. Yeah, well, Gotham would probably be better off without him anyway.

His date stayed perched on the arm of his chair, not that Luca acknowledged her beyond that ever-present hand on her thigh. Jason stared at the Persian rug under his boots to avoid looking at them.

It wasn’t the first time Luca had used a woman as a prop, but it boiled his blood every time. Jason couldn’t wait until this was over so he could punch him into the next county for deigning to lay his hands on a woman.

Every so often, Jason pressed his flute to his lips and pretended to drink his champagne. He couldn’t remember the last time he drank for real, but now wasn’t the time to start.

Jason knew plenty of yappers. Steph was one of them, but her inane chatter was regrettably endearing and personable. Surprisingly, Damian was another, but at least his predisposition to monologue like a Bond villain was somewhat entertaining. Luca was neither endearing nor entertaining. His anecdotes quickly spiraled until they lost the plot. Jason was forced to sit back and listen as if he was some great weaver of tales.

A glass of gin quickly replaced Luca’s empty glass. When that was gone, another glass quickly replaced followed thanks to his lackeys.

His mind wandered while Luca talked. Mostly to you. Exclusively to you. Asking about your plans tonight had been spur of the moment. He figured you already had plans with Steph, and he could pretend that he wasn’t the loser with nothing going on.

But his innocent question led him to leaving you apartment with your number. You texted him an hour after he left—just to make sure it was legit. It seemed rude not to text back despite his insistence to use his number sparingly. And maybe that text turned into a handful scattered over the next few days.

Damn it. He couldn’t even follow his own rules.

Allowing himself to see you regularly should have made this wanton ache in his chest go away.

That’s what he kept telling himself, isn’t it?

First it was the letters. When the letters grew stale it was catching a glimpse of you in the crowd. Now that merely existing in your presence wasn’t scratching the itch anymore, Jason was afraid to learn what came next.

Deep down, he knew what came next. You two had already toed the line with increasingly frequent touches that left him tingly and hot, but he was hesitant to take the plunge into absolutes. You enticed him. Your feel, your smell, your taste. Jason could easily lose himself in you and that frightened him.

What happened if—when that stopped being enough too.

What you had was fine, he tried to reason with himself.

It had to fine. Jason didn’t want to rush things simply because he was too pitifully touch-starved to control himself. But that didn’t stop his mind from imagining what could be if he threw caution to the wind and went for it.

Your fingers combing through his hair, knotting in his curls.

How your lips would feel peppering along his jaw and down his neck until you reached the pulse-point and just—

His groin tightened.

Shit.

Nothing more than a slight stirring between the belt line, but it had him sitting a little straighter. Jason shifted his legs to hide whatever the fuck was going on down there, shoving thoughts of you from his mind as he tried to refocus on Luca.

Focus, he told himself, Get the information and leave.

“I can’t wait for somethin’ interestin’ to happen,” Luca continued as he swirled the contents of his glass, “Things have been quiet since I got back, and quiet ain’t cuttin’ it anymore. My old man said to be patient. Things will be gettin’ interestin’ once the new year starts.”

Jason curbed his anticipation. “Oh?”

“An old friend is makin’ a big comeback.”

Finally.

“Cobblepot?” one of his friends provided, looking quite proud of himself.

“No, dumbass. Cobblepot ain’t no friend of my old man’s,” Luca snapped. His fingers dug into his date’s thigh. She hid her discomfort with another placid smile. Jason fisted his glass, resisting the urge to break it over Luca’s head. “You didn’t hear it from me, but Sionis is planning his comeback. What with Hood bullyin’ him all the time, he decided to work from the shadows for a few months, offerin’ a breadcrumb here or there to keep the fucker off his track.”

Jason chewed the inside of his cheek. “Did he?”

“Yeah, and the sucker fell for it. Hook, line, and sinker.” Luca took a sip of his gin with a triumphant smile. He acted as if he’d been the one to best Red Hood. If only he knew the company kept, he might not look so smug.

The warehouse, the cartel, the threads that all seemed to lead to dead ends had been purposeful. Jason had been pulling his hair out trying to connect them to something relevant, and now he knew why nothing made sense.

Black Mask was fucking with him.

Pretty ballsy for a man who wasn’t immune to bullet holes.

“Hood’s going to find out,” another guy said, clearly put off by the prospect of getting on his shit list.

“And when he does, he’ll be pissed. No offense but Sionis gets his ass handed to him when Hood decides to—”

Luca threw his gin on the ground, silencing the contrarians with shattered glass and the stink of liquor. The others sank back in their seats, quaking while Jason stared at his feet with a frown.

“Hood can’t be everywhere at once. Not even his connections can help him here. Hell, I don’t even think the Bats know what he has up his sleeve. He’ll be the terror that sweeps through Crime Alley, through all of Gotham.”

Jason snorted.

“Somethin’ funny ‘bout that, Jacob?”

He quickly masked it with a cough. “N-Not at all.”

“Didn’t think so.” His attention fell to the shattered remains of his glass. “Look what you fuckers made me do. Now, I need another drink.”

So, close, and yet so far.

Black Mask was on the move, but Jason needed more than that before he could plan. If Sionis wanted to play games, he was more than happy to do the same. Jason loved a good game, especially if it meant he could be petty. Spite was the only thing that kept him going some days.

Jason shoved out of his chair before he ripped off the hand that remained steadfast on his date's thigh. He’d like to see Luca try to use a woman with bloody stumps for hands.

“I’ll grab you something. Gotta piss anyway.”

There was a bathroom down the hall, second door on the right. He blew past it, flexing his fingers to expel the pent-up rage that simmered beneath his skin. This was why he hated going undercover. It was easier to point a gun in someone’s face until they pissed themselves with fear.

No one noticed as he slipped into the drawing room where Aldo Riviera entertained more prominent members of Gotham’s underbelly near the large bay window that overlooked the street. Luca resembled the patriarch with his square jaw and hooded eyes, albeit a lot younger and without the potbelly hanging over the waist of his jeans. Aldo puffed on a cigar, filling the room with a smoky haze that softened his vision.

Jason decided to take a lap or two to see if someone else knew something before he headed back for another round of meandering story time.

“...operation ruined thanks to the Bat...”

“...the one with the sword...clean off...”

“...fuckers are out during the day now too...”

He ground his teeth and moved on. So much for that plan. He left the drawing room and ducked between two large curio cabinets in the narrow corridor to steel himself for another chance at teasing information from Luca.

Midnight could not come soon enough.

From the corner of his eye, he registered a figure as they passed, paused, and doubled back. A platter of delicately crafted canapes came into his line of sight “Did you want one?”

He startled, rattling the items in the cabinet. he managed to catch to steady it before something broke.

That voice.

It couldn’t be...

You said you had to work.

Oh, God, you were a server for a catering company.

His stomach flipped as he looked up to meet your gaze. The faint quirk to your lips betrayed what he already suspected.

“Well, if it isn’t the elusive Mr. Darcy.”

--------------------------

A/N: Let the chaos begin! I am very excited about sharing this next arc with you guys. I think you will (hopefully) leave it with more than crumbs :)

--------------------------

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[tealvenetianmask]

Why Stolas's Story Is a Neurodivergent Story

And what that means for what's ahead.

Like a lot of fans, I see Stolas as autistic. This isn't a diagnosis post. But yes, something something special interests, dinosaur arms, persistent difficulty fitting in with his own social class, anxiety about social situations, frequent difficulty reading people and/or noticing others' emotions (especially when caught up in his own thoughts), masking, etc. etc. etc.

I want to talk about how Stolas's character arc tells a really well written (and potentially very uplifting) story about what it's like to be neurodivergent.

So what would be in my ideal neurodivergent story? Well I'd rather stay away from true utopia and have it reflect what it feels like to be neurodivergent in society today. So the character would struggle, not because their traits are bad, but because society isn't built for them. As the story progresses, the character might find happiness in unexpected ways and begin to look beyond society's rigid expectations for what a "good life" looks like. And then, hopefully, after some twists and turns, this character reaches a kind of self-acceptance where they are more themselves than ever, proud of who they are, and maybe even able to help change their society for the better.

Stolas's character arc IS this story.

Act 1: It's hard trying to fit into a neurotypical world.

Stolas is taught to mask his true emotions and follow strict social expectations as a child. He isn't living in just ANY neurotypical culture. The Goetia are old and set in their ways, and have rigid expectations for what one does and does not do. He's playing the social game on "hard mode" from the beginning.

I think one thing that helps make Stolas high masking is the way in which his special interests are socially acceptable within his social sphere. Stars and plants? Books? Well he's a nerd, and no one wants to be his friend, but of course a guy with his particular destiny-assigned-in-childhood would like things like that.

Stolas develops a few different types of masks. One is the "I'm fine" mask where he pretends not to be emotionally affected by what's going on around him.

The other is this sort of "powerful" mask. A character who is in control of everything and plays into his society's ideas of how a Goetia should interact with the rest of the world. It usually means acting demeaning toward Blitz in order to preserve the facade of what a powerful prince of Hell is supposed to be. And he's conscious of putting on an act when he uses it.

But anyway, the masks cover up a person who is deeply unhappy in his prescribed role and doing his best to act correctly for others . . . his father's expectations and then his daughter's wellbeing, instead of for himself. I like that HB has him STILL not fit in among the Goetia despite his best efforts. It's an experience that a lot of neurodivergent people know too well.

By the way, I LOVE how Mastermind brings us Stolas doing something truly subversive with this "powerful" mask, playing into his society's expectations in order to, in a small way, undermine their power. BUT that's me getting ahead of myself.

Act 2: The neurodivergent character learns that there are other ways to be.

I think that Stolas has been dipping his talons into this part of his story for two seasons now but has been hesitant to envision himself as anything but a prince of hell. We're going to see him fully engulfed in working through these questions in Season 3 because of his banishment.

Blitz is of course the major catalyst for Stolas questioning his commitment to conformity and acting outright rebellious at times.

I think it's neat that Blitz is so clearly neurodivergent himself. We tend to find each other . . . if you're reading this and are neurodivergent, take a look at your closest friends. And these two share a kind of chemistry and appreciation for one another that most of Hell seems not to see in them.

BUT until he's banished, Stolas doesn't really reach for a situation where he doesn't need to act out his prescribed role. Even when he pursues a relationship with Blitz in earnest, he does so with the expectation that he'll somehow balance this relationship with satisfying the expectations of his upper-class peers.

Act 3: Radical Self-Acceptance?? Hopefully!

Now we can only speculate.

I think that despite realizing that he wants something else, Stolas still fundamentally believes that something is wrong with him. He doesn't understand yet that his enthusiasm for his interests and his emotiveness, for instance, are part of what makes him wonderful. He doesn't see yet that being different might even help him change a society that is deeply flawed.

I can't wait to see Stolas truly have fun in Imp City, and do things there that he's truly proud of.

Whatever happens with his literal powers, he might figure out that he's most powerful when he doesn't act like a "powerful prince" but instead acts like himself and proudly questions his society.

And there's a lot of "The Circus" in this post because @akirathedramaqueen and I had a major brainstorm while we were rewatching that episode. More new ideas about old material to come soon hopefully!

This post is a follow-up on this literal fever ramble from yesterday about Blitz as a neurodivergent character. And yes, I think neurodivergent stories map onto queer stories quite nicely.

[star-41306]

Reckless Driving

‘What’s his motive? Lucas has said he’s one of the good ones, right?’

Before

I didn't mean to kiss you I mean I did, but I didn't think it'd go this far

The lunchroom is packed today. Mike, Dustin and I are sitting in our usual spot in the corner, El and Max sitting at the opposite table engrossed in their own conversation. I’m helping Mike with his Spanish 3 class, asking him the prompts on the cards with my decent speaking ability, when Mike says in English, “Man, this Spanish test is gonna kick my ass.” 

Mike wallows in his self-pity, burying his head against the leftover flashcards in his hands.

“When is Spanish not kicking your ass?” Dustin comments, right when I say, “Come on Mike. It’s not that bad. Let's try again.”

Mike glares at Dustin, then with a lighter look says to me, “Okay, yeah. You’re right.” He pauses to sigh, then says, "What would I do without my favorite tutor?” Mike gives me a sincere smile. I feel redness grow on my face at his words. ‘Get it together, Will.’

“Fail?” Dustin quips with a self-satisfied look, fork in hand. It turns into a grimace as he feels Mike stomp on his shoe. “Hey! Am I wrong?” 

I tune out the rest of their bickering, sensing something. Feeling watched, I turn my head to the side. I vaguely recognize the eyes looking back at me. I glance at the rest of the people at the table, spotting Lucas next to the person staring. ‘Chance,’ It hits me.

Every Friday, Lucas sat with his basketball friends, Chance being one of them. My eyes bounce between Chance and Lucas, unable to maintain eye contact with his heavy stare. My eyebrows furrow. ‘Why is he looking at me like that?’

He abruptly looks away as one of the other Basketball players says something to him. I decide to do the same. ‘Weird.’ 

I didn't mean to kiss you Now you can't focus on the road when I'm in your car

I listen to the rest of Mike and Dustin's dispute until the bell rings. 

“Saved by the bell!” Is what Dustin ends on. As we all grab our bags and Mike packs up his study gear, I feel eyes on me again. I try to ignore them as we walk to our lockers, but it ends up a difficult feat when I hear the recognizable voice of Lucas behind us. 

“Yeah dude, I’m not sure. Christian Academy has definitely gotten better over the years. I’m kinda freaked for this upcoming game.” Chance nods in reply.

The two of them catch up as we make it to our destination. Chance leans his side against the wall, waiting for something.

“Hey guys.” Lucas acknowledges, turning the pad of the lock on his locker.

“Hey man.” Mike responds, fiddling with his own lock.

I would give a comment back, but I’m struck by the same eyes from earlier still staring. Goosebumps raise on my neck. ‘Creepy.’ I think, opening up my locker to grab a canvas and some other things for my upcoming art class.

Now we're going 100 Your hands aren't on the wheel 'Cause you're just staring at me like you're not convinced that I am real

 I’m spun up in my thoughts when Mike's soothing voice hits my ears. “Hey, Will. I’ll see you later, okay?” I glance at Mike's slightly concerned look and give him a reassuring one. “See you later,” I wave goodbye.

I hear the rest of them make their exits. I’m stuck juggling all my supplies, when a note appears on the shelf in front of my face. I turn my head to the culprit, seeing him walk away after shooting me a discreet wink. ‘Okay, that's Really Weird.’ My curiosity gets the best of me. I set my stuff back down with a sigh, reading the note with wide eyes.

Byers,

Meet me after school 

Picnic table behind the school at 2:30

-Chance

I go through the rest of the day slightly paranoid. ‘Why the hell does he want to meet up with me?’ I ask myself during final period. I thought back to the last few years. After Lucas made it with the popular kids and I came back with a sweet tan and cool stories from California, the bullying dialed down by a lot. Yeah, there are still lingering rumors, but I haven't been pushed or shoved in maybe 2 years. ‘What’s his motive? Lucas has said he’s one of the good ones, right?’

Once the last bell of the day rings, I’ve made my decision. ‘Really, what’s the worst that could happen?’ I walk out of the building, backpack on, picking the paint flakes left on my nails from earlier. ‘That one’s gonna stain,’ I think.

I grab my bike and guide it through the grass, then find the trail that leads to the Picnic table. Nervously staring at the ground, I prepare myself for what's to come. ‘Here goes nothing I guess.’ 

As I trek down the path, I spot the table in the clearing. ‘Empty.’

I prop up my bike on a tree and then check my watch. ‘2:30’ it says. ‘I guess i’ll wait’

It’s 2:35 when I hear the rustling of a bush.

“Byers, you showed,” Chance says casually, hands shoved in his lettermen's' pockets

“Uh. Yeah. What is this about?” I try to respond the same, but I’m unable to hide my nervous energy.

“Nothing much. I just have a favor to ask.” ‘Favor?’ 

“What kind of favor? Do you need, like, a tutor or something?” I think back to mike because ‘When am I not.’ 

He chuckles, shaking his head “uh, no, nothing like that.” He’s playful in his reply. I grow more confused. Picking at the paint again, I finally get out, “Then.. What is it?”

There's a pause, then a breath, and then Chance says something I’d never expected.

“I just wanted to see if the rumors were true” I feel the blood leave my face. We are enveloped in silence; the only sound is the wind swaying the trees.

Wanting to escape the silence, I say, “What?” quite enough I’m afraid he can’t hear me.

“The rumors. Are they true?” He appears careless, but I can tell from his surveying that he’s just as nervous as I am.

“I don’t know what you're talking about,” Is what I say, Even if I definitely do. 

“You’re gay, right? Look man, I won't tell anyone.” Chance still looks around nervously, then, “I’m kind of... In the same boat.”

“You’re, you’re what?” The blood comes back to my face. ‘What did he just say?’

“That's what this is about. I figured if anybody, you at least, might understand.” He looks at the ground, ashamed.

“Oh,”

“Yeah.”

Silence. Very awkward silence. I decide to be the one to break it.

“So, the favor... What. what do you mean?” I grow nervous again. Chance makes me uneasy even with the reveal. A favor could mean a lot of things.

“I was thinking. Maybe you would want to, I don't know, come over or something. My parents shouldn’t be home for a couple hours. Nobody would find out,”

‘I’m going insane. Some sort of wizard must have cast a spell on me, and this is some kind of fucked up vision.’

“Look. I know this is weird. But I figured you might be up for it. Y'know, being one of the only rumored queers in town. It’s not like you try to hide it” Okay, I should say no, especially with that last comment. But then he says,

“Just think about it. When's the next time you'll get some action like this?” And he has a point. Before today, I had felt completely alone. The only gay guy in Hawkins. 

And now we're at 180 And I can finally see But then it's over in a second, crashed the car into the tree

I’m desperately trying to get over Mike. Maybe this is my chance. ‘Ha. Chance.’ 

After much debating, I say, “Okay.” If Chance is surprised, he doesn’t show it. 

“Okay.” He looks at me with that weird stare again. ‘Maybe this is a mistake. I mean, I still don’t know what he wants from me besides coming over.’

“Just kissing, alright? I’m not. I don’t want to do anything else.” Chance looks surprised by that, not expecting me to say his motives out loud.

“Yeah, sure. We can just make out.”

“Cool”

“Uh huh. Yeah. Just,” Chance looks over to the bike “Bike over in about 30. Leave it on the side of the house behind the bushes. I don’t want anyone to see.”

“Sure.”

Yeah, I can see it all happen You'd rather die than take your eyes off me

“Okay,” Chance walks up to me, looks around paranoid, then grabs my face quick. I have no time to think before his lips hit mine. My eyes are left open in shock. ‘My first kiss.’

“I’ll see you, yeah?” He backs up, looking sheepish. He hands me a paper from his pocket with his address and a short description of his house. I’m stunned but manage to get out a short, “Yeah.”  

He leaves quickly through the bushes, and I’m left with my sentiments. ‘What just happened?’

I stand there for I don’t know how long. I realize I need to get going before I lose precious time. I look at the address one more time before grabbing my bike and heading to his house. On the way, my internal monologue is a mess. 

‘What if someone finds out? Bad idea. This is a BAD IDEA. Do I even like Chance like that? I don’t even know the guy all that much. I mean, he is attractive. With his dark hair, tan skin, and lean muscles. Okay, definitely attractive. But Mike… What the hell do you mean, ‘but mike,’? You are trying to GET OVER HIM. There is no way he likes you like that. I mean, he dated El freshman year! He’s straight as an arrow,'

‘Finally.' 

I see his house standing tall in the middle of the neighborhood. It towers over me as I approach. I slip off of my bike and quickly tuck it in the bushes next to the house. I make a brisk walk to the front door, ringing once and glancing around at the rest of the houses.

I don't love you like that I'm a careful driver And I tell you all the time to keep your eyes on the road But you love me like that You're a reckless driver And one day it'll kill us if I don't let go

Chance answers, pulling me in fast, and glances around in the same manner. Then he closes the door and locks us in. 

“Hey Byers. Long time no see.” He shoots me a wink.

“Uh, yeah, sure.” I give a small laugh. He chuckles back.

“Alright, this way.”

---

AN: This is officially pt.0!! The rest will be moving forward. Thank you!! If you would like to be tagged for future uploads, please comment!

Tags: @udkmehahaha @ode-to-berlermo

(pt.1) (pt.2)

[jackass-jones]

Shinjiham is cute when it’s romantic but tbh I think i vastly prefer the idea of them being best friends instead. Like, neither of them really saw it coming and weren’t really looking to get another best friend (Shinji has Akihiko, Kotone has Junpei and Yukari respectively) but it happens anyway. Kotone takes a liking to Shinji much faster than she does anyone else and I’d say a big reason is just the fact that he’s so reserved that it allows Kotone to do most of the talking while he just listens and they love this arrangement cuz Kotone doesn’t get to talk about her own interests very much. Though I think some of her needs to talk to Shinji stems from this insecurity that he isn’t happy in the group and she has this people pleasing problem and wants everyone to be happy so she makes a much bigger effort to talk to Shinji. And it’s very unfortunate because Shinji intentionally acts cold and distant because he doesn’t want to form any attachments because he wants to die soon, but aaaaaaaagh dammit this girl just keeps talking to him and being sweet and encouraging him to engage in his interests and share them with the others and he just can’t seem to say no when she’s got those damn puppy eyes. And Kotone is just able to get him out of his shell by being persistent but not in an overwhelming way, she’s very cheerful and supportive of him. And Shinji is able to offer her support by encouraging her to talk about herself and by making sure she’s taking care of herself. They just click really well and make such a positive dent in each other’s lives and it’s all about basic acts of kindness going a long way you know?

[sieglinde-freud]

asugis honestly such a cool character locked behind 1) the most horrible plot device in any game ive ever seen in my life and 2) looking too much like a guy from the last game and it SUCKS because he was basically already given a great character concept with all the saizo stuff but then intsys was like “wait but what if was also gaius?!” which killed the appeal for most people. which i get, but hes also just… like he has some similar speech patterns but they were both brought up so differently and in wildly different contexts its like… hes really… not gaius… the most hes got is like the sweets thing but even then they both go about the candy thing pretty differently so? its just the fucking hair. which, by the way, asugi doesn’t even look good with gaius orange. like omg… idk man i think asugis a really fun guy with good supports all around and it just sucks hes brought down by the worst gimmicks of all time

[edettethegreat]

10/10 manga for pulling a “we’ll defeat you with the power of friendship!!” “That’s… incredibly ignorant of you. I’m significantly more powerful, whether or not you have friends won’t impact this fight”

[allthepandasintheworld]

I just realized I can’t say Rene and Alois live in my head rent free. Like, they do pay rent.

The rent is emotional support