#drop 2 chords

[apples4wce]

i saw @kithtaehyung's post about wips and it inspired me to actually sort through my wips (i included i dig it even though i've already posted a part of it just because i really only posted the prologue)

i'd say smoke is my main wip i'm working on but i've been putting a lot of energy into hiss and moan lately

a bunch of these are just oneshots :p

[leurdhavemerky]

Only in His Dreams (Part 1/2)

Viktor yearning for you harddd.

Contents: Academy/scientist gn!reader, you're starring in one of his dreams, suggestive

Word count: 400

Viktor's new hobby is admiring you from afar. He adoringly observes the details of your face while you work. His heartbeat quickens as you enchant him during conversation, even if you're speaking about ordinary lab procedures. Those rare interactions are magical.

He wishes he could summon the courage to initiate something. Anything. Making small talk, asking a question, or just greeting you by name- if you even knew his.

Viktor drifted to sleep one night, a marbled swirl of emotions painted on the canvas of his subconscious.

----

A light pink haze clouded his vision, and his face felt feverishly hot. Viktor was vulnerable, standing alone in the living room of someone else's home. He couldn't see straight. It was all a bit blurry- a watercolor piece. He tried to speak, yet it felt as if his vocal chords were coated in thick honey.

An unidentifiable humming began, faintly at first. The subtle tune eased his nerves, and he was sure that he was safe, even in this house of mystery.

Viktor finally lifted his cane and began to wander slowly, suspecting that the rose-scented trail of pink fog he followed had something to do with his weary state.

Warm light spilled out of a small crack between the sides of a door and it's frame. The trail ended here, where the soothing humming grew prominent.

Viktor's hands instinctively opened the door, before his mind registered the action. The hinges creaked quietly, revealing the singer.

It was you, just out of a hot shower, small drops of water still clinging to your skin.

Viktor swallowed and his pupils dilated, shocked by his unintended intrusion. Through the warm steam left over from your shower, you hadn't noticed him, and you continued your sweet song, wrapping your heavenly body in a thin towel.

Was he invisible to you? He turned to the slightly steamy mirror, but the reflection that belonged to him was missing. He glanced back at the angel before him. With a soft gaze, he admired you, and opened his mouth, but only a light, desperate breath would come out.

----

He stirred awake, whispering your name longingly. Each sound left his lips slowly, passion-filled. Viktor tensed his grip on his cold pillow, coming out of the romantic trance. He groaned, realizing that his hands weren't tracing your features.

Something. Anything.

Part 2 here

[gay-dorito-dust]

hellooo, your writing is amazing so far i love it 🫶🏼

Could you do one for Hobie x fem reader, where the reader is friends with SpiderPunk AND Hobie. But she doesn’t know they’re the same person. And one day lovergirl rants about her fat ah crush on Hobie to him??

First off, thank you for enjoining my writing, I try my best with what working brain cells I have left 🤣

Ooh I love this idea very much! But I might make it a two parter cuz I defiantly went off request…oops…

Part 2

You were just minding your business, chilling on the roof top of an abandoned apartment complex, mind a million miles elsewhere on a certain somebody when a flash of red and blue caught your eye and before you knew it; you company of one had became a company of two.

‘Heya Spidey, how are things?’ You greeted.

He shrugs, ‘the usual but what about you lil missis,’ he playfully nudges you, ‘head so far off into the clouds I’m actually feeling a little neglected over here.’ You laughed, shoving him away by his arm. ‘Oh come off it, will you? I just been thinking about this guy I’ve liked for a while now.’ You admitted and Hobie’s interest was immediately peaked.

For as long as he knew you, Hobie could barely remember the last time you had ever admitted to him in fancying someone, besides from a couple of incidences from way back that ended up backfiring; but other then that, you kinda made it a point not to talk about it, maybe in due to him thinking that whoever you did fancy at the time weren’t worth the effort you’d give had you perused them. You had often called him overprotective whenever you tell him about your crush of the week but Hobie would defend himself by saying he was merely looking out for you and didn’t want you getting hurt by some douchebag.

‘You don’t have to defend me from everything Hobie,’ you once told him as you were patching him up from beating the breaks off of your last crush because they were chatting shit about you behind your back, ‘whilst as sweet as it is but you can’t always be there to look out for me.’

‘Watch me.’ He replied, his view remaining completely unchanged. You sighed, knowing that once Hobie’s mind was made up, nothing you nor anyone else could do to change that. He was an akin to that of an immovable object when it came to his beliefs and views and it was amongst the many things you adored and admired about him most.

‘Oh yeah? And who’s the lucky guy?’ He asked casually leaning back on his arms, watching as you brought your knees close to your chest before resting your chin upon them as your eyes gaze out at nothing in particular; something Hobie noticed you often do when you were particularly in your feelings and needed something to hold onto and ground yourself before you became adrift in your own sea of emotions. It was cute to see you tucked in on yourself so tightly that he couldn’t be more thankful for the fact that you couldn’t see how dopey he must’ve looked beneath his mask.

‘Hobie. Hobie Brown.’

He blinked twice, nah, he must’ve heard that wrong, surely, his hearing must be going all scewiff.

‘Hobie Brown.’ He said his own name as though it was the first time he was ever saying it. Upon seeing the way your shoulders drop and your body becoming at ease upon hearing his name, along with the way you smiled gently and how your eyes seemed to beam with newfound light which all had only helped In affirming to Hobie that he did indeed hear you the first time. ‘What is it about the guy that’s got you all up in knots?’ He asked, trying to act as though you didn’t just indirectly admitted that you’ve got a crush on him to him.

‘Where do I start.’ You started, unable to fight against your own feelings that were swelling up within your chest when an image of Hobie appeared in the forefront of your mind, he was sat on your bed, eyes closed as he allowed himself to get lost within his guitar rifts, his calloused fingers expertly transitioned from chord to chord as it were muscle memory. ‘He’s just so cool and awesome and so forthright and opinionated in his views and beliefs that he’s not afraid to back down from a fight should it come down to it.’ You tell him with a sense of fondness in your voice.

Hobie was quick to notice how your hand fiddle with one of the many handmade pins he’s made you that you always paired up with any and every outfit you ever wore, even if they styles did clash but you didn’t seem to care; Whatever the reason for you reaching for the pins were, whether it’d be out of a need to feel out the closest thing you had in regards to him or it was just something you did out of habit, made Hobie warm within his chest that soon spread throughout his body. ‘Sounds like me and this Hobie guy are more alike then I originally thought.’

Your fingers stopped their fiddling and you suddenly looked at him as though you were just now realising something with the way your eyes bore into him, Hobie thought that you might’ve developed the ability to see through the mask that withheld his identity and into him, so much so that he couldn’t help but make a comment on it, ‘stare at me any harder sweetheart and your stare might burn right through my mask.’ You must’ve been deep into your thinking as you didn’t seem to have noticed that he had spoken at all and Hobie was starting to think that he might’ve been too relaxed with you as Spider-Man that you might have started to have it pieced together in your mind; after all you were smart, more so then what you give yourself credit for.

‘Now that you’ve mentioned it you and Hobie do share some of the same attributes and habits, I’m also pretty sure your similar height wise and even though your mask muffled your voice, it fills me with a sense of familiarity that it’s hard for me to put a finger on.’ You said as you leaned closer to him until you were partially merely a breath away from each other. Hobie didn’t know he was holding in a breath until you shrugged ‘but I could just be grasping at a straws, so I won’t dwell on it as much.’ and moved away from him back to your previous position.

As much as he would’ve loved to have you figure out his identity on your own terms. Hobie would prefer it best if he were the one to reveal himself to you but the moments where he wanted to never felt right and he didn’t want to you in danger by doing so, but he knew that there’d come a time where he would be greeted with a choice in wether to tell you the truth as to who he was or continue living like he has currently and potentially loose your trust because of his lack of transparency; Hobie couldn’t bear to think of loosing your trust but just as he has always done since becoming your friend, he was merely looking out for you and for your safety as they were always his top priorities.

[writers-potion]

Scenes: The Basics🏕️

The Four Chords of a Scene

The scene is a fictional unit that comprises of the following:

Two major chords: Action + Reaction

Two minor chords: Setup + Deepening (be kept to minimum)

A "beat" is a smaller unit within a scene. You can think of this as a paragraph.

1. Action

Action happens when a character does something in order to attain his main objective. In a given scene, he has a scene purpose.

This can include: yelling, shutting the door, fighting, crying, pulling someone back, hugging....basically when your character does something or the other to alleviate the pain or take part in conflict.

2. Reaction

A reaction scene is how a Lead character feels emotionally when something happens to him.

A literary novel may feel like a lot of reaction scens because they are generally more about the interior life of a character.

Reaction is often done in "beats" where the character moves from (1) questioning himself, then (2) providing self-justification to (3) being angry beyond reason, etc.

You can put a "reaction beat" (not a whole scene!) in the middle of action so we know how the character is feeling.

3. Setup

These are things that must occur in order for subsequent scenes to make sense.

All novels need a certain amount of setup to show who the Lead is, what he does and why.

Build in some problem, however slight, to the setup scene. It can be just an alarm ringing or door suddenly opening - something that brings immediacy.

4. Deepening

Deepening is to novel as spice is to food.

This is what you mix to deepen the reader's understanding of character or setting. Make it fresh, drop it in strategically.

Deepening chords are interesting/shocking/fun and kind of in line with the overall theme, but they don't serve a particular purpose.

If you like my blog, buy me a coffee☕ and find me on instagram! 📸

[pricegouge]

Absolutely drooling at the thought of stepcest with price.

Like imagine him meeting and marrying your mother in a whirlwind romance while you’re out of the country. Like most military men it was a speed run through the stages of the relationship and he has a ring on her finger within 2 months.

Because of this, that and the other you weren’t able to make it to the wedding but you’re home now, so eager to meet this new man in your moms life who has her glowing and over the moon at every little thing he does.

It’s a shame he’s such a fucking pervert.

The first time you meet he lights up, a smile so wide it makes his eyes crinkle and you see a mouthful of teeth. He comes in for a hug that lasts a hair too long but you don’t even notice, too caught up in everyone’s infectious energy.

It only snowballs from there. Touches start lingering, hands are placed either too high or too low to be completely innocent, innuendo dripping from every word.

It’s mortifying how it makes you drip.

You’re in your room with your hand shoved down your pants, biting the knuckles on your other hand to try and keep yourself quiet, rubbing/tugging furiously trying to keep your mind from wandering to what John looked like this morning when he was cooking breakfast—shirtless giving your eyes plenty of real estate to land on. His strong body covered in a healthy layer of pudge and hair alike which made you want to lick him.

So now you’re rubbing one out trying your hardest not to think of your stepfather as you make yourself cum.

It works until he opens the door right as you’re hitting that wave, “Hey kiddo, do you—“

The John! that slips out was supposed to be admonishing, a chastisement and demand he leave all wrapped in one word. What actually happens is your voice hitches on a moan as you spasm and it comes out as a long, drawn out Johhhhnn as you cover your fingers, maintaining eye contact the whole time.

You see him swallow roughly before he takes a step inside, closing the door behind him, “You need help with something, sweetheart?”

I’m 🫠🫠🥵

<33

cw: f!reader (chubby if you squint but mostly size neutral). stepcest, implied agegap (reader is legal), dubcon but reader is definitely into it. masturbation. infidelity/cheating. daddy kink. bratting but john is not looking to tame it, stuffie humping, dacryphilia, overstimulation, fingering. slut shaming, if you squint (john is a brat and a slut enthusiast.) some angst, as a treat. abrupt ending

christ but you hate him. the immediate drop you'd felt when you'd met, the high of thinking your mom had finally found someone to make her happy (even if it all seemed a little rushed) to the low of returning from your gap year abroad to find that pervert sitting at the kitchen table, knowing instantly he was no good just based on how he leered at you. you're no stupid, you've seen that look before, but your mom's completely oblivious. doesn't see the way his heavy mits linger on you, or believe when you say he's no good. honeymoon stage, you figure; she'll come around, she's a smart woman.

but john does not let up as time lingers on, and your mom carries on with her blinders in place. you're not sure what's worse, watching your mother continue to delude herself, or returning from break every semester to find a warmer (if not far more inappropriate) welcome in john's arms with each passing instance.

or how it makes you leak like a sieve when he eyes you from across the dinner table your first night back every time, hunger growing with each passing month. you're ashamed to admit you think about it sometimes, the way he chews through your mom's too-though steaks while pretending to listen to you chatter about your classes. his heavy fist flexes around his steak knife when his eyes inevitably flick down to your chest - like clockwork, every fifth mastication, chords of his neck flexing. he breaths heavy through his nose, half-hearted huffs when you say something funny, always a beat too late because he's not listening, but he shares a patronizing smile with your mother when she turns to see his reaction every time and she simpers, always delighted to have her little family all gathered 'round.

she's conveniently absent in all your little fantasies, nowhere to be found when you're biting your knuckle to suppress your gasps, teetering on the edge of another frustrating orgasm in your childhood bed. it's always the same, the release so baddirtywrong good it leaves you breathless and shaking, better than any drunken hookup or tenderhearted ex. but the drop when you realize what you've done (again) kills you every time, drops you down a ravine you struggle to find your way out of for days. you take it out on john, usually, snide comments and pissy frowns. he delights in it, annoyingly. sometimes, much to your horror, he even adopts his concerned father figure voice and asks what's on your mind, kiddo? anything i can do to help?

he knows.

maybe that's why you're a little louder one evening, your mother gone out for some girl's night paint and sip thing you'd avoided like the plague. john looks at you like he knows what you're after when you beg off, but he can't because it's not a thing yet, right? he certainly keeps to himself once you retire to your room, banging around downstairs in his own little corner of the house. so you're not chancing anything when you unmute your video, and there's no real harm when your muffled gasps start leaking past the knuckles pinched between your teeth, dribbles of spit and drool slicking your lips. you're close, fingers working furious circles over your clit when he enters, the tail end of the question he'd had for you leaving in a quiet huff when he registers the sight before him, the way his name sounds from your lips - different here, breathy as opposed to the whines he's used to you spouting off.

it's the last thing you need, his eyes on you. shock and embarrassment seem like distant concepts to you here, at that earthshattering peak you always stave off as long as possible, your pleasure pulled from the man you swear you hate. (your mother's man.)

john takes advantage of your comedown, that mindless period after you've wrung yourself out thinking of him when you're good for nothing but twitchiness and achy, empty whines. he shuts the door behind him, lock pin turning into place loud as a gunshot. it's still not enough to rouse your senses, not when his voice is so low and soothing, his hands so heavy where he drags his palms along your flank like a spooked horse.

"thought i heard you calling for me. you need help with something, sweetheart? need daddy to fix it?"

you're not even sure what you're agreeing to when you nod, chin wobbling because that terrible well of emotions you usually fall into after nights like this is looming. you cling to him like a lifeboat, fingers finding purchase on the band of bare skin at his forearms. his muscles flex in your grasp when he pulls you into his lap, the bunching of his tendons never hardening - barely even trying.

the way he holds you is achingly sweet, not at all the rough treatment you'd always envisioned. it hurts worse somehow, the tenderness feeling undeserved. he doesn't seem to notice your dilemma, or perhaps is better at recognizing it for what it is.

"not what you need, is it? c'mere, let me show you something. good trick for those nights when you're on your own," he winks, far too jovial and conspiratorial as he plucks your big stuffed bear from the foot of the bed and lets it flop pitifully on it's back in the middle of the bed. it's stupid thing, a dumb souvenir he got you when the three of you had last visited the zoo. you're too old for it and you were a complete shit about it when he buckled it into the seat next to you on the drive home, but that doesn't stop you from giving it a place of honor on the bed.

secretly, you'd even named it after him, but you weren't going to make a peep about that.

his palms linger when he guides you to straddle it, some hard grained reaction in you flicking a low simmer of annoyance on in your belly. logistically, you know you're both past that point now but old habits die hard, and revulsion has always been easier to process than -.

well.

"let's see you ride it, sweetheart. show daddy what you've learned off at uni."

"stop calling yourself that," you bite, but it's rendered toothless by the soft feeling of the bears fur against your sensitive clit and john only laughs at you.

"yeah? you wanna sing my name for me again instead?"

fuck it. you'd rather his hands on you anyway, anything but this embarrassing display. "you gonna make me?"

frustratingly as always, john doesn't rise to the bait. "wanna see if you can even get yourself off properly first."

"fuckin' -," you hiss, hips working harder against the yielding fabric. it's not enough, but you'll be damned if you ask him for help, not when you're still balanced precariously on the edge of that deep pool and he's not helping.

john just tuts, swats your ass lightly, like he does when you're in his way in the kitchen. "language."

he doesn't take pity until you're whining, tears of frustration and an unspoken neediness spilling from across your cheeks. he's behind you when he notices, watching your movements with his chin tucked over your shoulder and bull-like breaths spilling across your tight nipples. his face tilts toward yours, soft lips against your temple as he murmurs encouraging words when he tastes the salt on your skin and tilts your head to him with a big palm on your neck, fingers framing the hinge of your jaw. he inspects you a moment, tears shining like jewels in your lashes and the spacey look in your eyes he manages to catch before your gaze flits away. he tuts again, softer this time - aimed at himself.

"oh, honey. can't do it can you? that's okay, i'll help. what you wanted from the start, isn't it? was daddy being mean?" but he's not, not anymore, words more like kisses high on your cheek, palms heavy but gentle as he grips your hips, grinding you down harder against your stuffie. he cants your hips back, arches your spine. it pushes your puffy clit further into the soft fabric and you whine, chasing it with his guidance. when he pulls you back for every downstroke, you can feel the heft of his erection between your cheeks through his jeans.

he says he'll make it up to you, but he lies, his ministrations only serving to drive you more insane, your clit dragging uselessly until your back is arched so hard you've managed to bend yourself back up against him, your shoulders knocking against his broad chest. he's murmuring more nonsense as he licks your tears away but you're beyond listening, too lost in the rumble of his voice and the way it twines with your pathetic begging - his cock, his tongue, his hand, anything.

"you gotta say it first, baby."

you're beyond asking for clarification, but john doesn't seem to need it.

"gotta use your big girl words, ask daddy for help if you can't do it yourself."

"oh, fuck you," you hiss, tension in your spine snapping, letting you sag down to the bed.

john doesn't stop moving your hips, just sidles up closer behind you to rub your seam against the placket of his trousers. "only if you ask pretty. i hear you up here, panting and moaning when you think you're being quiet. think that's the best you can do, sweet pea? won't let me teach you better?"

he's smug when you look back over your shoulder at him, leaning over your with one fist planted on your bed. he looks just as fuzzy as your stuffie with his sleeves rolled up and his chest hair poking out at his throat. you know from watching him mow the lawn shirtless how it carpets his chest and belly, how the plush skin there tightens with hidden muscle when he rakes. you wonder if it would feel as good to ride his belly as it does your bear.

"see you looking," he rumbles after a moment. "you wanna touch me, baby? you can, just gotta say -."

"daddy." john's bushy eyebrow arcs expectantly.

"was that so hard?" his voice betrays how long he's waited to hear it, and despite yourself you cave.

lying, you tell yourself you'd put up more of a fight if you weren't already crying. "daddy, will you fuck me?"

"oh sweet girl," he coos, laying down over you and crushing you into the mattress, his arms folding under your chest to hold you close so he can shower your face in kisses. he's still fully clothed, buttons and flies digging into your skin. "that how those boys you've been with do it? gotta ask for my fingers first, sweetheart. here, i'll show you."

you roll with him when he does, wind up with your back pressed against his front as he spoons up behind you. his calluses catch on the sensitive skin of your thigh when he hooks it over your hip but you're too worried about how exposed you are to mind, your hand ducking to cover yourself futilely before he bats it away. he says he wants to see all of you while groping handfuls of every inch he can reach, wants to see how well he's been taking care of you.

that neediness in your chest pulses with your cunt and you can't help but whine, fresh tears collecting unbidden.

john gentles you with more kisses, sneaks a lick to the pads of his fingers between them. "okay," he soothes, "okay, sweet thing. quit fussin'. i'll help."

and he does, fingers at once gentle and strong as he works soft circles over your clit. you're soaked but he dips down to collect slick anyway, rubs it into your swollen flesh like medication. despite only cumming once, your skin feels overworked and sensitive and his free hand locks like a bar across your hips when you flinch away on instinct, holding you still so he can make you take it as he finally works you through your second orgasm, the crest of pleasure coming embarrassingly quick and leaving you a panting, sweaty mess in his arms, a litany of daddy's the only comprehensible thing you can manage because now that you've said it you can't stop because it's him, it's john.

patience finally (finally, after all these years of testing it) snapping, he doesn't give you much time to recover, his voice gravel-rough and saw hewn as he spouts praises, contrasting his sweet words with a thick, threatening finger at your entrance. you hiccup when he slides in, tears flowing freely down your cheeks because it's sogoodtoomuch and he zeroes in on the spot that has your very womb clenching in record time, two fingers buried so deep in your cunt you can feel his wedding ring when it slips past your lips. it takes you by surprise how good it feels but it shouldn't, not with john's voice in your ear muttering about the boys you've been with being too small and eager to find it.

"but that's okay, sweetheart. daddy's got you now, doesn't he? he'll show you. gotta teach you so no one takes advantage, don't i? show your worth. show you how a real man treats his princess, hm? and we'll have to talk about what a slag you've been later, sweetheart. just a little reminder you can always come to me if you want to try out so much stuff. daddy'll keep you safe."

[bidamonalbarn]

PLEASE infodump about drake

okok this is specific to the drake/kendrick drama but i can also do a drake one too - im assuming you know basically nothing. & i barely know this shit so correct me if im wrong. also this will be routinely updated so! check in :D

2011 - Take Care (album) by Drake features Kendrick Lamar on the track Buried Alive Interlude

2012 - Drake has Kendrick open for his Club Paradise Tour. The same year they both feature on A$AP Rocky's song Fuckin Problems (also with 2 Chainz)

2013 - Kendrick called out a few rappers (J. Cole, Pusha T, Big Sean, etc.) including Drake. Drake responds saying he had no response, basically. They do this again the same year (Kendrick says shit, Drake doesnt respond)

2016 (ish) - They continue subtle beef (Kendrick saying Drake has ghost writers, Drake saying Kendrick "sold out")

2023 - First Person Shooter by Drake and J. Cole drops (their first collab since 2013). In the song Drake mentions "the big three" in reference to himself, J. Cole, and Kendrick

2024, Mar. - Like That by Metro Boomin' and Kendrick Lamar drops. In it Kendrick responds to Drake, saying "the big three ... it's just big me", implying that Kendrick is above Drake and J. Cole. Drake attempts to ban Like That from the radio.

2024, Apr. - Push Ups by Drake is released. The song is about how Drake believes Kendrick is being extorted - the track referencing the phrase "drop and give me 50".

2024, Apr. - Taylor Made Freestyle by Drake is released, his second diss track at Kendrick. Here Drake disses Kendrick for "selling out" specifically in reference to Bad Blood by Taylor Swift ft. Kendrick Lamar. Drake also used AI vocals of Snoop Dogg and Tupac - this resulted in him almost being sued by Tupac's Estate. Drake wiped the song from his sites

2024, Apr. - Euphoria by Kendrick Lamar is released. The track is 6 minutes long, cut down from its original 19 minutes. The title is in reference to the TV series Euphoria which Drake is an executive producer of - it's also referencing the sexualisation of underage people, something done by the show and (allegedly) Drake himself. Within the track Kendrick makes fun of Drakes accent, how Drake says the n-word, how Drake dresses... and a fuck load more

2024, May. - 6:16 in LA by Kendrick Lamar releases, less than 72 hours after Euphoria dropped. This track specifically disses Drake for having ghost writers/lots of co-writers. He also implies that Drakes friends are stabbing him in the back and selling his info. This track is co-produced by Jack Antonoff, who co-writes and co-produces for Taylor Swift.

2024, May. - Family Matters by Drake is released. I want to be honest with you, i didn't listen to this until i got this ask. This track implies Kendrick beats his wife. Drake also disses other rappers such as A$AP Rocky, Future, etc.

2024, May. - Drake releases a Buried Alive Interlude Parody on his Instagram

2024, May. - Meet the Grahams by Kendrick Lamar is released. In this track (which is by far my favourite of all the tracks) Kendrick calls Drake a deadbeat dad and accuses Drake of having another secret child (apart from Adonis). Kendrick has a verse dedicated to this supposed child in which he basically parents her - teaching her all the things Drake wont. He also implies Drake struggles with alcohol and gambling

2024, May. - Not Like Us by Kendrick Lamar is released. The fourth diss track from Kendrick. In this track Kendrick alleges that there's pedophiles and trafficking within OVO (an indie record label founded by Drake). Kendrick also says that every rapper who's complimented Drake is lying and now hates him for using Tupac's vocals through AI. This track includes my favourite line "Tryna stike a chord and it's probably A-Minor"

[reallyromealone]

Please a part 2 to Surprise! You're a dad! Rindo x reader.

Title: surprise you're a dad!

Chapter: 2

Fandom: Tokyo revengers

Characters: Haitani brothers

Fic type: fluff, omegaverse

Pairings: Rindō Haitani x reader

Warnings: male reader, reader insert, omegaverse, mpreg, birthing, male giving birth, Omega male reader

Notes:

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

Did you know?

The brother of your baby daddy was somehow more persistent than the actual baby daddy?

Because apparently that was a thing!

Ran bad been persistent despite his brother keeping his distance, popping up randomly to spend apparent quality time with his 'brother-inlaw' and following him around like a lost puppy "do you have ultrasound photos?" He asked curiously as he sat in (name)s little house, Rindō may have not wanted to take a role in the babies life but Ran did.

Ran was deeply obsessed with family, the brothers having grown up without their parents and raised primarily by their grandfather whom they loved dearly "you know... You don't have to do this" (name) whispered, it felt nice to have support even if they were probably doing it out of guilt of their siblings negligence "I know Rindō doesn't think the pup is his and I know you're probably doing it from pi--" "did I ever say I was doing it from pity?" Ran cut the Omega off seriously "I'm not here for pity purposes, that's pathetic of me to do and I stated why I'm here."

The Alpha pointed to the others belly "I'm here for that little pup in your belly and by extension you, I know that kids a Haitani, you think I haven't done digging on you Mr Dean's list? Besides you reak of Rindō" he said simply and (name)s eyes watered, he had been alone for months and having his pups uncle support him made his heart melt "be this pups god father" he said simply and Ran smiled softly, already feeling a soft spot for the spikey omega "I'll make sure that kids cared for"

For the past month and a half, Ran had been a good support while Rindō seethed, he was unsure how to handle the fact he could be a father and outright refusing the omegas claims even if he didn't seek him out.

What if he was waiting to just drop the kid on him or collect child support when the kid was older! Guilt him with a baby!

He wasn't fucking having it.

And he was pissed that his brother would spend money on the Omega and all that shit, ignoring his inner instincts to be near the Omega who had his claim bite and dive harder into work to avoid dealing with the situation.

It wasn't until the dead of night when Rindō went into a convenience store to grab a drink, finding a particularly annoying job as Ran and kakucho waIted outside on their bikes "your total is 2.48, cash or card?" Rindō looked up from his phone to see (name) sitting there bored, staring at him with disinterest s his hand rested o his stomach "why the fuck are you here?" He snapped and (name) rolled his eyes "working? What else would I be doing, hosting the met?"

"It's like two am! Youre an Omega!"

"I'm doing what I must to care for my pup, I don't need your concern" he waved Rindō off, already annoyed and the other rolled his eyes "clearly since you're taking handouts from ran" that struck a chord with (name) who stood up angrily "I haven't accepted shit from him, he comes over to see ultrasound photos and bother me for tea!" The Omega raged "I am not some gold digging Omega looking for a wallet, I was fine before this and I don't need you making wild accusations when I wasn't even seeking you out" (name) was not afraid to go toe to toe with the other, close to baring his fangs the sound of the doors chime went off "Yo Rinny, Kakuchos getting t...ired" ran looked at the angry Omega and his brother and sighed "Rindō can you behave for once? Sorry my brother was an iPad baby" Rindō looked betrayed at his brother who in turn looked at him "I think we need a family sit down" Rindō seethed out and Rindō wanted to pull his hair out.

"Sorry you were dragged here" (name) said to the Kanto Manji man who he learned was named kakucho, offering him tea as they sat in (name)s house, Ran buying the Omega new furniture despite the omegas protests "the fuck is even happening?'" the Haitani brothers were arguing in the backyard as (name) sighed "Rindō is the father to my pup, I don't want him to be in my pups life and he doesn't want to be in the pups life but is convinced I want to baby trap him despite me repeatedly telling him I don't want him in my life" the Omega said calmly and at a semi fast pace "Ran is hell-bent on being the uncle to his niece and keeps buying me things despite me not needing it and I just want to raise my child and not deal with any of this" kakucho was shocked at this as he looked at (name) who looked done.

"Wow"

"Yup"

"Rindō? Really?"

"Yeah..."

"Why don't you want him in the kids life?" Kakucho asked and (name) sighed "you know what job you have, what you do every day and what you're becoming... Could you imagine a child being mixed in that?" He looked serious as he stared at kakucho who didn't hesitate to answer "it would put a target on them" "exactly, my daughter would be targeted immediately... I just want to raise my kid in peace"

"Would you ever let him be in his kids life?"

"If he wanted sure but he doesn't and I'm not keen on someone who blames Soley me for something that takes two to tango" he grumbled and kakucho snorted "well I'm glad the kid has an uncle at least"

"Ran will be a good uncle, he's already obsessed with his niece" (name) joked as the Haitani brothers walked in bruised and quiet "Rindō what do we say"

"Sorry for being an asshole"

"And?"

"I am now aware you have no interest in baby trapping me for money" he grunted angrily and (name) rolled his eyes "glad you joined the party" (name) huffed as he sipped his tea "again sorry you had to be dragged into this" he said to kakucho who was fairly surprised at how calm the other was, being in the same room as some of the most dangerous men in Japan.

"This was surprisingly pleasant despite it all" he said back as (name) tried to get up to walk to the door, taking a moment before getting up triumphantly "thank you again for the tea"

"Of course, drive safe"

"I won't!"

"He's pleasant" (name) said simply as kakucho drove off and the Haitani brothers were sitting on the couch, (name) sitting on the comfy chair as they fell into silence "if you ever decide... That you want to be in this kids life, you're welcome to- don't worry you don't have to pay anything but if you ever decide you're welcome" an olive branch, Ran was already a big part in the pups life and he wanted Rindō to have the option if he wanted.

"I'll consider it when we do a paternity test"

"We can absolutely do one and I can't wait to tell you to pound sand when it comes back a match" (name) said calmly and Rindō glared and Ran sighed, these two were oil in water.

How did they even get far enough to mate?

Beyond him.

It would be six weeks later that (name) went into labor, terrified of being alone as a nurse comforted him as he had a contraction "I'm here for my niece" Ran said calmly, hair cut and in a suit and sunglasses. Thankfully that new tattoo he got covered by makeup as he plopped beside his almost brother in law "oh and you" he teased as (name) glared "not- fuck!- the time right now!"

Five hours it took for (name) to birth a beautiful baby girl, the first thing they noticed was her face, she had (name)s hair and skin but... She looked like Rindō even as a newborn "well we may not need that paternity test" Ran joked and (name) wanted to sleep.

But they did a paternity test and surprise surprise!

Rindō was a dad.

And ran watched as Rindō sat shocked "was there not a thought in your head that you could be the father of that child? You wanted (name) enough to claim him but so easily believed he was screwing other guys"

"I-i just..."

"Do you want to be in your daughter's life?" Ran asked genuinely and Rindō nodded slowly, head in hands "you for some ass kissing, he's not gonna trust you one bit"

"Fuuuuck"

"That's a weird way of apologizing"

[misted-dream]

SWEET TOOTH ﹒⌗﹒🍨 ﹒ ౨ৎ˚₊‧ 마크 + gn!reader

in which . . . both you and mark can’t sleep so your solution is a guitar and some tiramisu.

contents | friends/roommates with tension, fluff idk is this what fluff is

word count | 1k

a/n | oh i’m so in love with mark. also came across a yt video abt guitar that inspired this whole thing

the cool winter breeze blows past you as you open the door to the fire escape. you step outside, careful to not drop the spoons on the plate you’re holding. mark’s back is turned towards you. a guitar in his hands, the low strums blend wistfully with the nonstop strains of the city, even well into the night. the sky, neither fully dark nor yet touched by dawn, drifts in a liminal hush.

he looks back at you, then at the plate in your hand. “what’s that?” he asks with an amused smile.

“tiramisu,” you set the plate down gently between you and mark before sitting next to him, overlooking the horizon.

“never known you for a midnight snacker,” he comments as he picks up one of the spoons.

you pick up the other, “guess you don’t know me well enough.” you dip the edge of your spoon into the tiramisu, cutting through the layers with barely any resistance.

mark does the same, and without a word, both of you bring the dessert to your mouths in unison.

the sweetness and the bitterness mingles together in a quiet, unspoken agreement.

you look up, and mark is staring back at you.

“what?” you pull your eyes away in favour of another scoop.

“nothing,” he breaks into a gentle chuckle. “it’s good, where’d you get it?”

“is it so hard to believe i can make something good for myself?” you put forward before taking another bite, leaning towards mark with your palm planted on the cold, metal platform.

“no, no,” he shakes his head, eyes widened slightly. “it’s just… it’s good, that’s all i’m saying.”

you can’t help but smile. “i lied—i got it from a bakery 2 blocks away,” you put the spoon in between your lips, freeing your hand so you can point in some obscure direction that mark can pretend to know.

mark tilts his head, “y’know, you have to stop doing that.” he sets down his spoon on the rim of the plate.

“doing what?”

“lying,” mark seemingly turns his attention back to the guitar rested on top of his lap, positioning his hands over the strings. “have you never heard of the story? the one with the boy and the wolves?”

the metal clinks against the ceramic when you put your spoon down. “the boy who cried wolf?” you ask, stifling your urge to laugh.

“yeah, that one,” he strums a soft chord following his words.

“nope, never heard of it.” you reposition yourself, crossing your legs and leaning back against the building.

mark shoots a glance at you over his shoulder, eyes squinting at you slightly.

he turns back around, head down focused on the movement of his fingertips. you feel the coldness of the bricks through your shirt against your shoulder blades, spreading through the entirety of your back. in the distance, stars flicker like the streetlights below you—some burning bright, others barely a whisper.

mark begins to play a familiar melody, the same one you’ve been hearing throughout your apartment the whole month. it opens with a gentle hesitation, as if the notes themselves are unsure of their place in the world. he’s been working on this very piece for a while but he’s never played it for you. you’ve asked and he’s critical of his work, but sometimes listening through the walls that separate the two of you at night was enough. you don’t suppose he knows exactly how thin the walls are.

the tune fills the air. you take in a deep breath, shoulders relaxing, and you can feel your heartbeat starting to synchronise itself with the rhythm of his music.

each strum feels deliberate, carrying with them the weight of his thoughts. there’s solace intertwined into the song. the low, resonant notes hum steadily, grounding the piece, while the higher strings weave a wandering tune above—a certain lightness pricking at your skin and reverberating in your bones.

there’s an unexpected pause that lingers for a few brief moments before mark picks the melody back up again right where he left off. you notice the subtle bobbing of his head along to the rhythm, a habit he has with anything music-related. there’s a rawness in the sound. a flourish that suggests an impromptu riff. the tune comes alive, shaped delicately by his bare and calloused hands.

the final note rings out, hanging in the air like a quiet exhale. it doesn’t demand applause or recognition; it simply exists.

and before long, it fades away into the skyline.

a heavy silence follows. one that mutes all the city noise under you. one that blankets the two of you under the void of the sky.

“so…” his voice teetering on a whisper, “…what do you think?”

you lean forwards coming off of the wall, pulling your knees together and wrapping your arms around them. mark meets your gaze with a sincerity so profound it renders you speechless for a moment. “i think it’s perfect.”

he rolls his eyes, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “don’t make me bring up the wolves again.” he drops his head, mindlessly strumming at a string.

“shut up with that,” you give him a gentle push that nudges him away from you. mark chuckles. “i’m not lying. i love it.”

when your eyes lock again, it’s like a flame has set you ablaze. a heaviness that weighs down on your chest with every second his eyes linger on yours.

he mutters, “thanks,” sheepish all of a sudden.

mark turns his head towards the horizon. “the sun’s gonna rise soon,” he comments, prompting you to look off into the same direction.

“yeah, we should get some rest,” you say as you stand up, dusting off your hands on your pajamas.

you’re about to head back inside when mark’s voice stops you.

“same time tomorrow?”

[sweetmisery]

first kiss with piwon | hyung line

pairing: theo | keeho | jiung x female!reader

genre: fluff

a/n: just a little drabble of sharing your first kiss with piwon, hope you like it :) pt 2 with maknae line will follow soon!

part 2 - maknae line

THEO - Between the Strings

The recording studio was dimly lit, as Theo sat there alone, his fingers fumbling on the guitar strings. His brow furrowed in frustration as he plucked and strummed the same chords over and over again. His lips moved silently as he worked through the song under his breath, his fingers slipping once more on the neck of the guitar.

“Come on,” he muttered to himself. He let out a frustrated sigh, slumping over the guitar.

It had been weeks since Theo had felt like himself. The pressure to finish the new album, the late-night recording sessions, and - most of all - the tension between the two of you were getting to him.

He didn’t know why things had become so awkward. At first, everything had been easy - your quick wit and creative eye as the groups stylist had made every interaction exciting, even fun. But lately, something had shifted. Theo found himself tripping over words around you, and he couldn’t ignore the way his heart raced every time you walked into the room.

You hadn’t seemed unaffected either. Your usual sharp comebacks had softened, replaced by a hesitance he couldn’t quite read. Every time you brushed past him backstage or adjusted something on his outfit, he’d catch you looking away a little too quickly.

Theo strummed the wrong chord again, his frustration bubbling over. He cursed under his breath, shaking his head.

Then the door flew open with a bang.

You froze in the doorway, wide-eyed. “Oh god, Theo, I’m so sorry! I thought this room was empty!”

Theo startled, nearly dropping his guitar as he turned to face you. His pulse quickened, the sight of you making it impossible to find his voice for a moment.

“No, it’s fine!” he said quickly, standing up so fast he almost knocked over the stool. “You’re fine. Really.”

“I didn’t mean to interrupt,” you said, already backing toward the door. “I’ll just-”

“No!” The word came out louder than Theo intended, and he winced at himself. Clearing his throat, he added more quietly, “I mean, don’t go. I could, uh… use your help.”

Your eyebrows knitted together in confusion. “My help?”

Theo set the guitar down, running a hand through his already messy hair. “Yeah. I’ve been working on this song, but I’m stuck. I just need someone to listen, and everyone else is… busy.” He left out the part where he didn't even ask anyone else.

For a moment, you hesitated, your hand still on the doorframe. Then you nodded. “Okay. Sure. I can do that.”

You stepped into the room, closing the door behind you. Theo swallowed hard, suddenly hyper-aware of how close you were as you leaned against the wall.

“I’m still figuring out the melody,” he said, his voice quieter now.

Then he started to play.

The first notes were soft, tentative, but as his fingers found their rhythm, his voice followed. The melody unfurled like a thread in the air, and when Theo sang the first line, you froze.

His voice was rich and haunting, a perfect match for the bittersweet lyrics. The emotion in his tone was palpable, like he was pouring pieces of himself into every word. You couldn’t look away.

Leaning against the wall, you let yourself get lost in the sound. It wasn’t just that his voice was beautiful, though it was. It was the way he sang with such vulnerability, as if baring his soul.

When he finished, the silence in the room felt almost holy.

“That was…” you began, but the words wouldn’t come.

Theo set the guitar aside, shaking his head. “Terrible, right?” He gave a self-conscious laugh, breaking the spell.

“No!” you said quickly, your voice firm. “Theo, that was… incredible. Your voice- it’s-” You stopped, heat rushing to your cheeks. “I mean, it’s beautiful. The whole thing is.”

Theo’s gaze met yours, and for a moment, something passed between you, an unspoken connection that made your heart race. But as quickly as it had disappeared, the tension returned, settling heavily between you.

“I, uh, should probably go,” you said, pushing off the wall.

Theo’s heart sank, but he nodded. “Yeah. Thanks for… listening.”

You smiled faintly, your fingers lingering on the doorknob for just a moment before you slipped out, leaving Theo alone with his unfinished song - and the sound of your voice still echoing in his mind.

-the next day-

The next day, Theo couldn’t get you out of his head. The way you’d looked at him during the song, the way your voice had softened - it played on repeat in his mind like an earworm he couldn’t shake.

He told himself he was imagining things, that he’d misread the moment. But when you walked into the studio again that afternoon, this time deliberately, he felt hope flicker to life.

“Hey,” you said softly, lingering by the door.

Theo straightened up on the stool, setting the guitar down as if unsure what to do. “Hey.”

“I was thinking about your song,” you said, stepping inside. “And I realized… I need to hear it again.”

“You do?” Theo's surprise melted into a small smile.

You nodded, your expression a mix of nerves and determination. “Yeah. I think… I wasn’t really listening yesterday. Not the way I should’ve been.”

Theo’s throat felt dry, but he nodded. “Okay. Yeah. I’ll play it for you.”

He started the song, his fingers moving more confidently this time. But as the melody filled the room, his gaze drifted to you. You weren’t leaning against the wall like before - you were standing closer, watching him with an intensity that made his heart race.

His voice was mesmerizing - angelic, even. The emotion in it was undeniable, raw and achingly real. It made your chest tighten, your breath catching as you took a step closer to him.

By the time he finished, you were standing just a few feet away, your heart pounding.

“That was…” you began, but your voice broke. You took another step forward. “Theo, that was incredible.”

His eyes met yours, his expression soft but searching. “Thanks,” he murmured. Theo set the guitar aside, standing up so that you were just a foot apart.

The tension between you was thick now, impossible to ignore. For weeks, you’d both danced around whatever this was, but now there was no escaping it.

”You know…,” Theo said softly, taking a step closer. ”Things have been kinda weird between us lately.”

You swallowed hard, nodding. “Yeah, they have.”

“I don’t know why, but…” Theo said, his voice low. ”I don’t want it to be like that anymore.”

You looked up at him, your eyes wide. “Me neither.”

For a moment, neither of you moved. The air felt electric as Theo suddenly took a tentative step closer, his gaze flickering to your lips.

“Can I…?” he began, his voice trailing off.

You didn’t let him finish. Instead, you closed the distance, your lips brushing his.

Theo froze for a split second, then melted into the kiss, his hands coming up to cradle your face. His lips were soft, warm, and impossibly gentle, and the sound of his breathing mixed with yours, creating a music of its own.

When you finally pulled away, Theo’s forehead rested against yours, both of you smiling through the nervous energy still buzzing between you.

“So,” you teased, your voice still breathless, “guess I should storm into recording sessions more often.”

Theo laughed, the sound warm and genuine. “You’d be my favorite distraction.”

You grinned, your fingers brushing against his as the two of you stayed close. The guitar still sat on the stool behind him, but the song felt complete now, even without another note being played.

KEEHO - Drenched in Love

The rain began as a soft drizzle, cool against your skin as you walked beside Keeho. The two of you had just left the café, where your usual flow of chatter had been replaced by long, quiet stretches. It wasn’t uncomfortable, but it felt different - charged, somehow.

“Guess we didn’t check the weather again, huh?” Keeho said, his laugh cutting through the sound of raindrops hitting pavement. His dark hair was already damp, strands clinging to his forehead in a way that made your stomach do an unwelcome little flip.

You pulled your jacket tighter, though it did little to keep the rain, or your emotion, at bay. Being with him had always been easy, effortless. But lately, you’d felt something else creeping in, something that made you hyper-aware of how close he was or how his smile lingered when he looked at you.

By the time the rain picked up, the two of you had ducked under the awning of a closed bookstore. It was familiar ground, a place you’d stopped at countless times to joke about bad book titles or dream up absurd stories. This time, though, neither of you seemed to know what to say.

Keeho leaned against the wall, his hands shoved into his jacket pockets. “Hey,” he said, his voice quieter than usual.

“Yeah?” You tried to sound casual, but it came out more uncertain than you’d hoped.

“You’ve been…” He paused, his gaze flicking to yours before darting away again. “I don’t know. You’ve been kind of different lately.”

Your heart skipped. Was he guessing at the feelings you’d been struggling to keep hidden? The ones that made your chest ache whenever he smiled at you like you were the only person who mattered?

“What do you mean?” you asked, hoping you sounded more composed than you felt.

Keeho hesitated, one hand lifting to rub the back of his neck, a habit you knew well. “I mean, not in a bad way. Just… I don’t know how to explain it.”

The rain filled the silence that followed, the steady rhythm matching the nervous thrum of your heartbeat. You wanted to say something, to push him to clarify, but fear rooted you in place.

“It’s probably stupid,” Keeho added with a quiet laugh, his eyes meeting yours for a fleeting moment before looking away again.

“It’s not stupid,” you said quickly, your voice firmer than you expected. “Just tell me.”

He turned to face you fully then, and the intensity in his expression made you forget the chill of the rain. “I don’t want to mess this up,” he said, his voice barely audible over the downpour.

Your throat tightened. “Mess what up?”

Keeho opened his mouth as if to answer, but a sudden crack of thunder made you both jump, the sound splitting the air and breaking the tension. You laughed nervously, the momentary distraction easing the tightness in your chest. Keeho’s laughter followed, warm and familiar, and for a second, things felt normal again.

But then his hand brushed against yours - whether by accident or not, you couldn’t tell - and the warmth of his touch sent a jolt through you. He didn’t pull away, and neither did you.

“We should probably find better shelter,” he said, though he made no move to leave.

You nodded, but your feet stayed rooted to the ground. His gaze found yours again, and this time, it didn’t waver. The rain fell harder now, soaking through your jacket and chilling you to the bone, but you hardly noticed.

“Keeho,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Yeah?” he asked, stepping closer.

The distance between you seemed to vanish in an instant. You could see the rain clinging to his lashes, the way his lips parted as if he wanted to say something but wasn’t sure how.

“I-” Your words faltered, caught somewhere between your head and your heart.

Before you could gather the courage to continue, a gust of wind whipped around you, scattering rain in chaotic waves. Keeho laughed, reaching out instinctively to steady you as the storm raged on. His hand wrapped around your arm, and the touch was electric, sending heat coursing through you despite the cold.

For a moment, the world seemed to fall away, leaving only the two of you standing there, soaked and shivering but unmoving. The words you wanted to say hovered on the tip of your tongue, but you didn’t need to speak them to know they were written all over your face.

So were his.

The rain was relentless now, soaking through every layer of clothing. You and Keeho were still standing there, frozen in a moment that felt like it had been years in the making. His hand lingered on your arm, his warmth a stark contrast to the chill seeping into your skin.

He didn’t let go.

The world around you seemed to blur, the pounding rain and rumbling thunder fading into the background. All you could focus on was him, the way his dark eyes searched yours, like he was trying to find the courage to take the leap you both knew was coming.

“Keeho,” you whispered, not trusting yourself to speak any louder.

His name on your lips seemed to break something in him. He took a small step closer, his fingers tightening slightly against your arm. “I… I’ve been wanting to say something,” he began, his voice low but steady. “But I didn’t know if-”

“Me too,” you interrupted, the words tumbling out before you could stop them.

His eyes widened slightly, his breath catching in his chest. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You nodded, and suddenly the words came easier. “I didn’t want to mess things up either. But… I can’t keep pretending that I don’t feel this.”

Keeho let out a shaky laugh, a sound of relief and disbelief. “You have no idea how long I’ve been trying to figure out if you felt the same way.”

The vulnerability in his voice made your chest ache. How could you not have seen it? The way he looked at you, the way his hand would linger when he touched your shoulder or brushed against your fingers. It had always been there, just below the surface, waiting for one of you to acknowledge it.

And now there was no going back.

“I guess we’re both pretty bad at this,” you said, trying to lighten the mood.

Keeho grinned, his usual confidence creeping back in. “Maybe. But we’re figuring it out, right?’’

His words hung in the air between you, and for a moment, neither of you moved. The rain poured down, soaking you both to the bone, but the cold didn’t matter anymore.

Keeho’s hand slid down your arm, his fingers brushing yours before settling on your hand. The touch was tentative, like he was waiting for you to pull away. But you didn’t.

Instead, you took a step closer, your free hand lifting almost instinctively to push the wet strands of hair out of his face. His breath hitched at the contact, and for a heartbeat, the only thing you could hear was the sound of your own pounding pulse.

And then he leaned in.

It was slow at first, as if he was giving you every chance to stop him. But you didn’t. You tilted your head up to meet him halfway, your heart racing as his lips brushed against yours.

The kiss was soft, almost hesitant, but it was enough to set your world spinning. Keeho’s hand tightened around yours, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you. The rain continued to fall, cold and unrelenting, but all you could feel was the heat of his touch, the warmth of his lips moving against yours.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his breath warm against your rain-chilled skin. “Was that okay?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

You laughed, the sound breaking through the storm. “More than okay.”

Keeho smiled then, the kind of smile that made you feel like nothing else in the world mattered. “Good,” he said. “Because I’ve been wanting to do that for a long time.”

You didn’t know what would happen next, but in that moment, you didn’t care. The storm could rage on around you, but all that mattered was that you were here, together, no longer hiding what you both felt.

And as Keeho pulled you back into another kiss, you realized you didn’t want to be anywhere else.

JIUNG - Before You Go

The styling room was unusually quiet, the hum of activity that normally filled the space replaced by the soft rustle of make-up supplies being packed into your suitcase. You moved systematic, putting the powder brushes into a small etui and tucking it into the case. The air carried a bittersweet tension; it was strange to think that tonight would be the last time you’d close this door behind you.

Working as P1Harmony’s stylist had been more than just a job. You had shared laughter during fittings, offered comfort during stressful shoots, and your heart ached, not just for the job you loved but for the unspoken feelings you had buried deep inside for Jiung.

You couldn’t pinpoint when your feelings for him started to grow, but over time, his subtle smiles and quiet moments with you had become the highlight of your day. Of course, those feelings could never be acted upon. Being a stylist for an idol group meant following unspoken rules, and dating an idol was taboo.

It wasn’t easy to walk away, but this job could no longer sustain the financial pressures you faced. The offer from another music label was too good to pass up, even if it meant leaving behind the people you had grown to care for deeply.

You sighed, brushing aside the wave of emotion that threatened to consume you. “Just a few more things,” you whispered to yourself, trying to keep the ache in your chest at bay.

Suddenly, the door creaked open. Startled, you turned to see Jiung standing in the doorway, his dark eyes scanning the room before locking onto you. He was dressed casually, a black hoodie pulled over his head, but the way he stood there made your heart race.

“I thought I might find you here,” he said softly, stepping inside and closing the door behind him.

“Jiung,” you said, your voice catching slightly. “I didn’t expect-”

“I.. I wanted to see you one last time,” he interrupted, his gaze never wavering. “Before you leave.” His words hung in the air.

You swallowed hard, unsure of what to say. The intensity of his presence in the quiet room made it hard to breathe.

You forced a smile. “You’ll be fine without me. You’ve got a great team-”

“Don’t say that,” Jiung interrupted, his voice trembling slightly. He took a step closer, his eyes searching yours. “Do you really have to go?”

His question caught you off guard. “Jiung, it’s not that I want to leave,” you admitted, avoiding his gaze. “I just… need something different. I need to pay off some debts, and-”

“I know,” he interrupted. “But… if it's about the money, I will talk to our boss. I'm sure they are willing to match your new offer. You don't have to leave."

You shook your head, feeling tears prick at the corners of your eyes. "It's not just the money. I thought maybe it was time for something new, even if it hurts to leave."

Jiung frowned, his brows knitting together. "But you love working with us, right?"

"Of course, I do," you said, your chest tightening. "It's not an easy decision."

“Please don’t go,” Jiung said, his voice breaking slightly. “I don’t know how I’m supposed to handle not seeing you anymore.

His words struck a chord deep inside you. The thought of leaving P1Harmony, of leaving Jiung, had been tearing you apart. But you had convinced yourself there was no other option. Now, standing here in the intimate stillness of the styling room, his plea cracked the walls you had built around your emotions.

"Jiung, what are you saying?" You whispered, barely trusting your voice.

He took another step closer, reaching out hesitantly, his fingers brushing against yours before wrapping around your hand. His touch was warm and grounding, sending a jolt through your body.

Jiung took a deep breath, his gaze locking with yours. "I should've said this sooner, but l didn't know how. I was scared. Scared of what it could mean for me... for us. But now, with you leaving, I can't keep it in anymore."

Your heart was beating fast in your chest as he hesitated, searching for the right words.

"I like you," he confessed, his voice trembling slightly. "No, I- I think I've fallen for you. I don't know when it started, but every time I see you, I feel... I feel something I can't ignore. And now, knowing you won't be here anymore, it's killing me. I had to tell you, even if it's too late."

The world seemed to stop. Jiung’s words hung in the air, and for a moment, all you could do was stare at him, stunned. Jiung - the person you had been secretly pining for - felt the same way about you?

“Say something,” he urged, his voice cracking.

"Jiung," you said, your voice barely audible. "I... l feel the same way."

His eyes widened, a flicker of hope replacing the nervousness on his face. "You do?"

You nodded, a smile breaking through despite the tears threatening to spill. "I've liked you for so long, but I thought it was impossible. I thought you'd never feel the same."

He let out a shaky laugh, relief washing over him. "I should've told you sooner."

Before you could reply, he closed the distance between the both of you, his free hand gently cupping your cheek. Your breath hitched as he leaned in, his lips brushing against yours in a kiss that was soft, tentative, and full of emotions you had both kept buried for far too long.

The kiss deepened, and you felt a thousand butterflies take flight in your chest. Jiung’s hands gently cupped your face, and for the first time in what felt like forever, everything felt right.

When he finally pulled away, his forehead rested against yours. You were both breathing hard, your emotions tangled in a beautiful mess.

“Please stay,” Jiung said, his voice barely above a whisper. “We’ll figure it out. Together.”

You hesitated. “Jiung… this is risky. What if someone finds out?”

“I don’t care,” he said firmly, his eyes locking onto yours. “I care about you. And I can’t let you leave without trying.”

Tears welled up in your eyes. “I didn’t want to leave in the first place. But I thought it was better this way. I thought… I thought you didn’t feel the same.”

Jiung smiled softly, brushing a tear from your cheek. “I’ve felt this way for so long. I just didn’t know how to tell you. But now that I have, I can’t let you go without a fight.”

His words melted the last of your doubts. “Okay,” you whispered.

“Okay?” Jiung asked, his eyes lighting up with hope.

You nodded. “I’ll stay. But we have to be careful.”

A relieved laugh escaped his lips, and he pulled you into a tight hug. “Thank you. Thank you for staying.”

As he held you close, you couldn’t help but smile. For the first time in a long time, the future felt bright, even if it was uncertain. Whatever challenges lay ahead, you knew you’d face them together.

© sweetmisery - please do not repost my works! ♡

[bloodstainedsapphic]

guitar teacher!ellie x smartass!reader thank you for all the meet-cute requests @thatdammchickennugget -- they are my absolute favorite and this one is a classic. i plopped a lot of my real life into this lmao. i kinda wanna do a spicy part 2 here. idk. we'll see!

you wait with bated breath inside the cramped, soundproof lesson room at your local music store, where you signed up on a whim to learn the guitar. it’s an impulse decision, really—all but doomed to be just another tick off the ever-expanding list of random cool skills you’ve tried. at the very least, you hope maybe you can whip this one out to “impress the ladies.” maybe even serenade them with some songs and actually sound good doing it—lord knows many have endured the clunky chords of a red hot chili peppers song from some mediocre man already.

you clutch your new guitar semi-awkwardly, plucking the strings and lightly tapping the cool basswood. you can tell that the tune is off, but damn if you know how to fix it. you wonder if you’ll abandon it after the first 40 minutes, just like most other hobbies you’ve sampled.

in your hasty decision-making, you hadn’t even requested a specific teacher. you’d only ever seen middle-aged men employed here, which is fine. you trust their experience, picturing some warm-hearted old rocker coming in and showing off his tried-and-true tricks. what you don’t expect, then, is when the door opens and a girl your age enters the room, extending her hand to shake yours.

“hi, my name is ellie. you’re the one here to learn guitar, right?”

you shake her hand, eyes glancing over her form, trying not to seem like a dumbfounded creep. jeez, she’s cute. she has reddish-brown hair in a choppy bob, freckled cheeks, green eyes, and a dorky smile. she’s adorned in a faded blue jacket rolled up to her elbows, revealing arm tattoos, and a ragged t-shirt with a band you’ve never heard of. and this is the cutie who will watch you fiddle with out-of-tune strings and act like a complete dumbass? you half hope the ground will swallow you whole.

“yeah,” you manage to reply once you remember how to speak. “that’s me. word of warning: i really don’t know what i’m doing, so i’m, like, a total beginner.”

ellie chuckles reassuringly, likely having heard that tired statement a million times over. she gently picks the guitar up from your lap, inspecting its quality. of course, in her hands, the instrument looks like it was made to be held by her. “hey, that’s fine. everyone starts somewhere, right?” she gets to tuning the strings as naturally as breathing.

“so, what’s got you interested in learning?” ellie suddenly asks, just to fill the dense silence of the room. your mouth runs dry, struggling with a response that doesn’t sound as idiotic as “i’m an obnoxious flirt.” she catches onto your fumbling, adding, “what? wanting to look like a badass guitar god, hm?”

“calling yourself a badass, then?” the tongue-in-cheek question escapes before you can rein it in. ellie pauses her tuning to look up at you, and your heart drops to your stomach. she’s going to kick you out, you reckon.

“i mean… you are staring at me with your mouth open. must be in awe of my guitarist badassery or something. i don’t mind,” ellie replies with a knowing, smug smile, then returns to helping your sorry ass tune up your guitar.

yep, you definitely need that hole in the ground right now.

after that rocky introduction, the lesson takes on a more professional atmosphere, with ellie explaining the basics. she teaches you about the body of the instrument, the strings, and some basic history—you name it, and she knows it. it’s clear that ellie is enthusiastic about the guitar, her interest rubbing off on you, which does not help your case with how cute you already find her.

you try your best to be a good student, which isn’t the energy you typically bring to all your other short-lived courses. there is something special about ellie’s passion—how her lips move as she speaks about it, how her eyes light up, her fingers curling against the strings while demonstrating songs—it compels your attention. you listen respectfully to the multitude of rambles she embarks on and cuts short whenever ellie realizes she has led you too astray from the basics.

at approximately the 38th minute of the 40-minute lesson, you realize that you haven’t attempted to actually play the damn thing. ellie must have come to the same realization, flashing a tilted smile, hoping you aren’t too annoyed that this instructional course devolved into a ted talk, a worry she couldn’t possibly be more wrong about.

ellie assists your clumsy self in positioning the guitar onto your lap, showing you how to hold it correctly. the closeness has your heart racing, and every touch sends shivers through you—you hope the internal gay panic doesn’t translate outwardly. ellie takes her time helping you press your fingers onto the correct strings and frets to play a simple “c chord.” her fingers guiding yours with such precision causes your thoughts to veer into thousands of inappropriate possibilities. the pose feels a tad contorted, your fingers placed in a way totally foreign to you, but her reassurance builds your confidence to try. she crouches before you, making final adjustments before her greens glance back up to you expectantly, waiting for you to try.

you strum the one chord—a passable sound that resonates throughout the guitar. it gets the job done but, of course, lacks the flow that ellie could have had. but ellie is proud, her genuine smile and silly applause flustering you.

you find yourself feeling more accomplished in this single instance than in the last three skills you’ve tried combined.

“good start, guitar god. i’ll show you another one—if you think you’ll stick to a second lesson,” ellie then suggests, an endearing smile on her face as she watches you absent-mindedly fiddle with the individual strings a bit more. an effective bargaining tactic for sure.

“yep, no problem.” easiest commitment you’ve ever made.

"hell yeah," ellie rejoices, reaching out one last time to high-five you. she looks delighted. just happy to have a new, consistent student, of course--that has to be it.

you sign up for another lesson after—and maybe another. and another.

[kalivodas]

i CRAVE roommate!gaz who lowkey makes your jaw drop everytime you see him chilling on the couch in an exercise tank top and shorts with his stupid little perfect smile

FALSE GOD — kyle garrick

might’ve started drooling i fear roommate trope means everything to me !! enjoy this quick lil thing i spit out

warnings gaz is hot and cocky what’s new

KYLE GARRICK HAD a sickness. an insatiable hunger at the base point of his skull that told him to strum your nerves like raw guitar chords.

he followed it’s beck and call. ignored every one of yours.

that’s why he teased you like this. he needed you to admit the things he saw dance behind your eyes when he called you sweet little names.

his head dipped on the back of the couch, chiseled jaw grinding as his body stretched. a large palm laid flat on his taut belly, thumb hooked just past the waist band of his shorts.

you opened the door, and his stupidly beautiful face split in a grin. it was truly nothing you’d hadn’t seen before, you seemed to always catch kyle at the worst times.

“go take a shower, you whore.” you throw at him, then your keys and bag.

he tosses it to the side with a grunt.

“i’m not a whore,” he says simply, but the way his left eyebrow arches up — you question the validity of the statement. he cocks a forearm up behind his head, flexes it, and you know it’s a lie. he fucking knows he’s hotter than a two dollar pistol. and it irks you.

but damn it, he was pretty enough to lick the sweat off of.

“staring at me like you could eat me and i’m the whore,” gaz scoffs, and some acid bitten laugh falls from your mouth.

“oh, you’ve done it now, garrick.”

you lunge at him, crossing the couch in a few lousy jumps before you start throwing cushioned blows into his abdomen. you ignore that it feels like you’re hitting bricks.

he tips his head back and laughs, actually lets you land some of those strikes before he kicks a leg under you. his hands follow your wrists, pin them together and then you to the couch.

a gasp falls out of your mouth before you can stop it.

your eyes jump around frantically, some pathetic attempt to ease the concrete set gaze he has on you. you struggle against his grip, but it’s unwavering. makes a coil tighten in your stomach.

“kyle, let me up,” you huff, but he’s beaming like a damn cheshire cat.

“no.”

you jerk against the restraint again. “please?”

he cracks, and the bruising of your arms briefly alleviate, but when your eyes find his, he pushes down harder.

“admit you like me,” he coos, and it sounds foreign coming out of his pretty mouth. this six something, two hundred pound man, pinning you to your shared sofa, almost pleading with you to admit something so juvenile.

you laugh. “i don’t.”

“do too,” he rebuttals.

“do not.”

he hikes a meaty thigh between your legs and pushes it against you. something that stings you like arsenic and warms you like whiskey hits the back of your throat. he feels the heat of you against him and has to bite his cheek not to vocalize it.

“do too. i can feel you, lovie.” at least he tried.

your head lolls to the side. you can feel his eyes burning fever onto your turned cheeks. “fine.”

“fine what?” he implores, and his free hand falls to squish your chin, make you look at him again.

“fine, ithinkyou’rehot.”

“hmm?” he’s not having it. prick.

“you’re beautiful and you make me sick when you look that good sweaty as a mug. happy?”

he nods and licks his teeth. you can tell he feels accomplished, like he’d won something out of a claw machine. maybe he had.

“yes.” he grinds his leg again just to see you swallow a whine then releases you from his sick vice. pats your cheek for good measure. “thanks, pretty little dove.”

when he rises to his feet to go off and shower as you’d originally suggested, there’s a twisted triumph etched on his face. it makes your eyes roll. he’s honestly just glad you caved before he had to start walking around the house naked.

a/n : begging someone to ask for a part 2 im drooling

the part 2

[goblin-jr]

Tell me, where’s your hiding place?

Pairing: Clark Kent x Reader, Red K! Clark

Summary: Seven years ago, Y/N crossed paths with a mysterious stranger in the back alleys of Metropolis. He saved her life without a second thought, then vanished into the night, leaving nothing but questions. Now, she’s face-to-face with a dorky reporter who seems all too familiar.

part 1 . part 2 . part 3 . part 4 . part 5

complete

words: 6.7k

💌 💌 💌 💌

The night Y/N left home, the sky was heavy with rain, as if the universe itself was mourning her departure. She clutched the strap of her silver guitar case, her knuckles turning white as she stepped off the creaky porch for the last time. Behind her, the house was dark, the silence inside more oppressive than any shouting match she had endured. Her heart pounded, but she didn’t look back. Looking back meant hesitation, and hesitation meant staying. And she couldn’t stay. Not anymore.

With nothing but the clothes on her back, a handful of crumpled bills, and her guitar, she made her way to the bus station. The wind bit at her exposed skin through her thin jacket, but she barely noticed. Every step forward felt like breaking free from chains that had bound her for too long.

The Greyhound ticket to Metropolis was more expensive than she’d expected, nearly draining her meager savings. But as the bus rumbled to life and pulled away from the station, she felt something she hadn’t in years—relief. The headlights cut through the darkness, illuminating a future she had yet to figure out. It didn’t matter. All that mattered was that she was leaving.

Metropolis was nothing like the small town she had escaped from. It was bigger, louder, and faster than anything she had ever known. Towering skyscrapers stretched high into the sky, their windows glimmering like scattered stars. The streets were filled with honking cars, flashing billboards, and an unending sea of people. The first night, she wandered aimlessly, overwhelmed and exhilarated all at once.

She spent her first few nights sleeping in bus stations and all-night diners, nursing cups of cheap coffee to keep from being kicked out. The exhaustion weighed heavy on her, but the alternative—going back—was unthinkable. Instead, she tightened her grip on her guitar and pressed on.

Her first gig was at a dingy little bar tucked between a laundromat and a convenience store. The neon sign flickered, barely holding on to its last bit of light. She had walked in, desperate, and begged the manager to let her play for tips. He had eyed her skeptically before shrugging and jerking his thumb toward the tiny stage in the corner.

The first few nights were rough. The crowd barely paid attention, too busy drowning their sorrows in whiskey and half-hearted conversations. But she kept playing, pouring every ounce of emotion into her music, as if she could rewrite her past with each chord. Eventually, people started to listen. A few would nod along, some would toss a couple of bills into the open guitar case at her feet. It wasn’t much, but it was something.

Days blurred into weeks. She played wherever she could—street corners, subway stations, coffee shops. Anything to scrape together enough money for food and a place to sleep. But the city was unforgiving. Rent was astronomical, and no matter how hard she tried, the money ran out faster than she could earn it.

She learned to go without. Skipped meals. Slept in parks when she couldn’t afford a motel. She told herself it was temporary, that things would get better. But as the nights grew colder and her savings dwindled to nothing, the weight of reality pressed down on her.

One evening, after a particularly brutal night of playing to an indifferent crowd, she counted her earnings and felt her stomach drop. Five dollars and some loose change. Not even enough for a proper meal, let alone a roof over her head.

She sat on the edge of the sidewalk, pulling her jacket tighter around her as she stared at the blinking lights of Metropolis. Her dream had brought her here, but dreams didn’t keep you warm. Dreams didn’t feed you.

A wave of despair crashed over her, heavier than ever before. She had fought so hard to escape, but now she was faced with a different kind of prison—one built of hunger and uncertainty.

She let out a shaky breath and looked down at her guitar, tracing her fingers over the silver finish. It was the only thing she had left. Her last connection to the girl who believed she could be something more. But belief didn’t pay rent.

A thought crossed her mind, one she had been avoiding for weeks. She could sell it. Pawn it off for enough cash to buy herself a few nights at a cheap motel, maybe even a meal that wasn’t from a dollar menu. But the idea of parting with it felt like cutting out a piece of herself.

Her grip on the guitar tightened. She wasn’t ready to give up. Not yet.

With renewed determination, she stood, brushing off her worn-out jeans. She had survived this far. She would find a way. She had to.

—

Y/N had learned to navigate its streets over the past few months, though it often felt like the city had more to take from her than it was willing to give. She had her guitar, a few dreams, and nothing else. No money, no plan. Just the hope that one day, she'd find a stage big enough for her voice to echo across the world.

But tonight? Tonight was different. Tonight, the streets felt colder. The wind bit at her skin as she wandered down a dark alley, hoping to cut through and avoid the city’s usual buzz. She was tired, her back aching from lugging her guitar, and she was dangerously close to giving up for the night.

She was halfway through the alley when she heard it. The unmistakable click of boots on the pavement.

“Hey, pretty lady, you lost?”

Y/N stopped in her tracks, her hand instinctively gripping her guitar case tighter. The voice was smooth, too smooth, and there was something just... off about it. She didn't need to turn around to know that trouble was creeping up behind her. But she wasn’t about to show fear. Not now.

She forced a smile, glancing over her shoulder. “Do I look lost?”

Three men stepped into her path. The leader, tall with a scar slashing down his face, smiled like he was about to enjoy a meal. His two buddies flanked him, eyes sharp and calculating.

“Not really,” the scarred guy said, his voice dripping with malice. “But you sure look like someone who needs some... company.”

Y/N's heart rate spiked, but she kept her composure. “I’m good, thanks. Don’t need any company tonight.”

Scarface stepped closer, his smirk widening. “Nah, I think you do. You don’t wanna be walking around these parts alone, sweetheart.”

The hairs on the back of Y/N’s neck stood on end. She had to think fast—there was no way she could fight all three of them off. As one of the thugs reached out to grab her arm, she swung her guitar case at him, the metal hitting his side with a satisfying thud.

The other two men grabbed her, causing a scream to escape from her throat. 

But before she could react further, the sound of someone clearing their throat broke through the tension like a clap of thunder.

“Wow, you guys are real charming,” a voice said, dripping with sarcasm.

Y/N whipped around, her breath catching in her throat. Standing just a few feet away, leaning casually against the alley wall, was a man who didn’t seem fazed by the three thugs at all. His posture was relaxed, almost bored, like he was waiting for something mildly interesting to happen. His clothes were sharp—too sharp for this part of town—and there was a mischievous grin plastered across his face like he’d just walked into a comedy show.

It took Y/N a moment to realize that he was the one who had interrupted the confrontation with nothing more than sheer presence.

“Who the hell are you?” Scarface barked, stepping toward him. “This is none of your business.”

The man—Kal, as he later introduced himself—shrugged nonchalantly, pushing himself off the wall. “Oh, I think it is,” he said with a grin that could only be described as devilish. “Can’t stand the sound of screaming. Really kills the vibe, y’know?”

Y/N couldn’t help but blink, slightly thrown off by his carefree attitude. It was clear he wasn’t here to help for any reason other than his own amusement. He didn’t even look at the thugs as he lazily kicked one of their legs out from under them, sending him sprawling onto the ground.

Scarface was clearly not used to being dismissed. He snarled and swung a fist at Kal, but Kal ducked with exaggerated slowness, like he had all the time in the world. Then, with a flick of his wrist, he sent the thug flying into the brick wall with a barely noticeable push. The sound of a body slamming against concrete echoed down the alley.

The two remaining thugs hesitated, but before they could react, Kal grinned again, this time giving a little wave. “You’re gonna need to hurry up if you’re planning on getting me. I’ve got places to be, and honestly, I’m already bored.”

One of the thugs ran at him, and Kal simply side-stepped, tripping the guy with the toe of his boot. “I should have just gone home,” Kal muttered to himself. He glanced at Y/N as the last thug fell with a yelp. “Honestly, all that screaming was getting on my nerves. Guess I had to do something about it.”

Y/N stared at him, wide-eyed, the adrenaline still coursing through her veins. “Are you insane?” she asked, taking a shaky step back. “Who the hell are you?”

Kal stretched like he hadn’t just single-handedly taken down three guys, like he hadn’t just thrown the law of physics out the window with his ridiculous display of strength. “Me? Oh, I’m just the guy who came to save your ass. You’re welcome, by the way.”

He looked at her for a beat, his eyes scanning her face, before his grin widened. “But hey, don’t go thinking this means I’m some kind of hero.” He shot her a wink. “I’m just here to make my night a little less boring.”

Y/N blinked, still reeling. “You didn’t do that to help me?”

“Help you?” Kal snorted. “I just did it so I could get some peace and quiet. Ever heard someone scream for five minutes straight? Drives you insane.”

She couldn’t decide whether to laugh or punch him. “That’s your idea of a rescue?”

Kal looked her up and down with a lazy glance. “You seem fine now. Don’t go thinking you owe me anything.”

Y/N crossed her arms, trying to steady herself, but something about his casual attitude—his complete lack of concern—bothered her in a way she couldn’t explain. He was reckless, dangerous, and completely unpredictable. But there was also something... oddly human beneath it all. Something that wasn’t entirely cold.

He stepped closer, the playful smirk never leaving his face. “You’re lucky, though. Pretty girls like you... well, you know what happens to them in dark alleys, right?”

Y/N’s stomach twisted, but she refused to let him get the upper hand. “I’m starting to think you’re more trouble than those guys,” she shot back, her voice sharp.

Kal’s grin turned even more mischievous. “Oh, I am trouble. You’ll get used to it.” He cocked his head, as if sizing her up. “You sing?”

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “What?”

“Sing. I saw your guitar case back there.” Kal’s grin turned sly. “You’ve got a voice, right? I could use something to pass the time, and honestly, it’ll be more entertaining than whatever you were planning to do tonight.”

“I don’t take requests,” she snapped, though part of her was curious why this guy thought he could tell her what to do.

Kal didn’t even flinch. “I’ll let you crash at my place for the night,” he said, voice casual as if he were offering her a cup of coffee. “Nice couch. A shower. And I’m dying to hear you play.”

Y/N just stared at him. "And what's the catch?"

Kal waved his hand dismissively. "Oh, you know, no big deal. Just... entertain me. You know, sing, play your guitar, whatever. If I’m gonna let you crash at my place, you might as well make yourself useful.”

Y/N felt her temper flare, but deep down, she knew she didn’t have much of a choice. She was on the verge of exhaustion, and this strange man had just saved her life. Even if he was... well, him, she could probably use a place to sleep.

“Fine,” she muttered, tossing her guitar case over her shoulder. “I’ll sing. But I’m not doing it for you. I’m doing it for me.”

Kal’s grin was practically ear-to-ear. “Now that’s the spirit.” He turned and started to walk away, not looking back. “C’mon. Let’s get out of here before someone tries to ruin my fun.”

Y/N hesitated for a moment, her heart still racing from the encounter, but something in his voice—the challenge, the unpredictability—pulled her forward. She followed him, knowing this strange arrangement was only the beginning of whatever bizarre thing was about to unfold.

As she walked behind him, she couldn’t shake the feeling that Kal was dangerous. But there was also a part of her that liked it.

—

Y/N followed Kal through the sleek streets of Metropolis, still trying to make sense of the night. One minute she was being harassed by thugs in an alley, the next, she was walking into a penthouse that looked like something out of a high-end magazine. Kal didn’t seem to care that he had just picked her up off the street—he was just doing whatever came naturally to him, with no hesitation. Y/N, on the other hand, felt like an intruder in his world. But she didn’t have many other options.

Kal led her into the building without breaking a sweat, pressing the button for the elevator’s top floor as if it were nothing. Y/N could only look around, her mind racing as she tried to understand who this guy was. He didn’t look like some rich playboy. He looked... like someone who didn't take anything seriously.

The elevator doors opened to reveal a penthouse that made her stomach drop. It was vast—wide, open spaces, high ceilings, sleek furniture, walls of glass that looked out onto the sprawling city below. This wasn’t just wealth; it was luxury. Everything looked perfect in the kind of way that made her feel out of place. But Kal didn’t seem to notice or care. He walked in like he owned the place, not giving her a second thought.

Once inside, Y/N’s eyes flicked to the massive king-sized bed in the corner of the room. She could already tell it was the only one in the penthouse, and her stomach twisted. Kal caught her gaze and immediately broke the silence, his voice as casual as ever. "That’s my bed," he said, pointing toward it. "Freeloaders get the couch."

Y/N froze, trying not to show how much his words stung. Freeloaders. That was what she was now—she was just here because she needed a place to stay. She didn’t belong in a place like this. The couch, sure, but the bed? That was his domain, not hers.

Her mind was still racing when Kal turned toward her with a small, amused smirk, clearly oblivious to her thoughts. "Anyway," he said, "that’s the couch. Sit there. Sing."

Y/N didn’t have the energy to argue. She grabbed her guitar case and sat on the couch, the weight of the situation bearing down on her. She wasn’t sure what she expected from this night, but it wasn’t this. She didn’t even know what she was doing here.

She opened the guitar case, pulled out her silver guitar, and started tuning it absentmindedly. She couldn’t remember the last time she had felt this out of place. But playing always helped. The strings felt like home, even if the room around her didn’t.

As she began to strum the first few notes, she noticed Kal standing nearby, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, watching her closely. His eyes were fixed on her guitar, his lips quirked in the smallest of smiles, but there was something in his gaze that caught her off guard. He wasn’t making fun of her, wasn’t rolling his eyes. He was... listening.

Y/N sang, more for herself than for him. Music was her escape, the one thing she could control. As her voice filled the room, she felt the tension in her body start to ease, her fingers moving fluidly over the strings.

She caught a glance of Kal’s face in the light, and for a moment, she hesitated. He didn’t look like someone who was much older than her—maybe a year or two at most. His face was sharp, but there was something almost childlike about it, an intensity that didn’t belong to someone with his kind of power. How did he afford this penthouse? Why was he alone? Was this some kind of game for him? He didn’t look like someone who belonged in this world, but somehow, he was here.

She didn’t linger on it long. She couldn’t afford to. She finished her song, feeling his gaze on her, wondering if he was going to say something snarky or dismissive, like he usually did. But the silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable—it was just... there. She looked up at him, waiting for the punchline.

Finally, Kal broke the silence with his usual casualness, though there was something in his voice that made her pause. “Not bad,” he said. “Better than most people I’ve heard.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “That’s it? Not bad?”

He shrugged, a small grin tugging at his lips. “You’ve got a decent voice. You might actually have something worth listening to.”

Y/N wasn’t sure whether to feel insulted or relieved. She wasn’t here to impress him. She just needed to keep her head above water.

She sat back, letting the tension in her shoulders drain. “So, what now? I did the song thing. You satisfied?”

Kal’s expression turned thoughtful, almost lazy. “Yeah, for now. I told you before. You crash here when you need. But you keep up your end of the bargain, alright? You sing, you stay. That’s the deal.”

Y/N stared at him for a moment, trying to gauge his intentions. He seemed relaxed, but there was something... off about him. She couldn’t quite put her finger on it, but she was starting to realize that Kal didn’t take anything seriously. He didn’t care about much—except maybe the entertainment.

She couldn’t quite decide if that made him more dangerous or just... sad.

“You really live like this?” she asked, gesturing around at the luxury of his penthouse. “How old are you, anyway? I swear, you look like you’re still in high school.”

Kal’s eyes flicked to her, and his smirk widened. “I’m a bit older than that, trust me,” he said. “And as for this place? Let’s just say I’ve got a way with... resources.” He glanced toward the window, and for a second, there was something in his expression that wasn’t just cocky. It almost looked... reflective.

Y/N didn’t press. Whatever his deal was, it didn’t really matter. She had her own problems. And, for now, this was her best shot at staying off the streets.

“Fine. I’ll take your offer,” she said, standing up from the couch. “But this arrangement? It’s your idea. I’m just trying to survive.”

Kal shrugged nonchalantly. “Sure, whatever. You’re here now, and that’s what matters.” His eyes flicked down to the silver guitar resting on the couch next to her, and he noticed something. He raised an eyebrow and smirked. “Hey, Songbird,” he teased, nodding toward the small bird decal on the body of her guitar. “Nice touch. You know, I was wondering if I should start calling you that.”

Y/N blinked at him. “Songbird?”

Kal chuckled darkly, his eyes glinting with mischief. “Yeah. You’ve got the whole bird thing going on. You sing, and you’ve got a bird on your guitar. Songbird seems fitting, don’t you think?”

Y/N let out a sharp laugh, not really sure if she should be offended or amused. "You’re ridiculous."

Kal didn’t even flinch. “Yeah, I know. It’s one of my best qualities.” His eyes softened for a second, and there was an almost playful edge to his voice. “But seriously, keep the songbird thing in mind. You might grow into it.”

Y/N sighed, still trying to shake off the weirdness of everything that had just happened. She grabbed her guitar and slung it over her shoulder, walking over to the couch. “I’m crashing here tonight, but don’t think you’re gonna make me your personal jukebox.”

Kal watched her as she plopped down on the couch, his gaze sharp. "Oh, don’t worry. I’m not that predictable." He grinned. “Songbird.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t help but feel a little relieved. She wasn’t sure what this weird deal was becoming, but for now, the music was the one thing that made sense.

Kal didn’t respond, only leaned against the wall, watching her with that same cocky grin on his face.

“Just remember, you asked for it,” she muttered under her breath as she made her way toward the couch.

Kal raised an eyebrow, his expression unreadable for a moment before he spoke again. “Yeah, I did,” he said, his voice soft but still sharp. “And don’t forget, this is your deal. You play, you stay. Simple as that.”

Y/N sat back on the couch, letting the silence fall around them, the weight of their new arrangement hanging in the air between them. For now, this was enough.

—

As the days bled into weeks, Y/N began to settle into a strange, unspoken rhythm in Kal’s penthouse. She had come to rely on the quiet, the isolation of his apartment that wrapped around her like a cocoon. The city outside felt far away, distant and muffled by the thick glass windows. It was safe here, at least in a way. She wasn’t constantly running from the chaos of her old life, and Kal... Kal was there, too, unpredictable and wild as ever.

But the more she spent time around him, the more she noticed things that didn’t add up. He was strong—unnaturally so. Sometimes it was the way he casually lifted heavy objects without a second thought, or how his muscles rippled when he moved, always so fluid and precise. Y/N had seen strong people in her life, sure, but there was a kind of effortless power to Kal that felt... off.

It wasn’t just his physical strength either. It was his behavior. His sudden bursts of energy, the reckless energy that seemed to have no bounds. One moment, he'd be the careless, cocky guy with a snarky joke on his lips; the next, he'd slip into moments of profound silence, his gaze distant, unfocused, as though he was somewhere else entirely. He’d disappear without explanation, sometimes for hours. One night, he left after she’d fallen asleep on the couch, only to return at dawn, still holding onto that same wild, untamed edge he always had.

Y/N didn’t ask about any of it.

There were questions that lingered, things she couldn’t ignore, but she learned early on that pushing Kal to explain himself only made him retreat into that shell he was so good at maintaining. He didn’t like to be questioned. He didn’t want her to probe into the spaces he kept hidden from the world.

So she didn’t.

There was an unspoken understanding between them: she would stay quiet, and in return, he wouldn’t get too close. She didn’t ask him where he went or why he looked so haunted sometimes. And he, in turn, didn’t ask her about her life outside of his penthouse—about why she was really in Metropolis or what had made her run away from her past. They just existed in their own bubble, two people living parallel lives, barely touching but sharing the same space.

Kal seemed to appreciate that. He never seemed annoyed by her silence, never seemed to mind when she let him keep his secrets. And in his own way, he started to acknowledge the little things she did for him. He didn’t give compliments easily, but once, when she was playing a soft tune on her guitar, he’d caught himself saying, “I like that you don’t ask dumb questions. You’re not like everyone else.”

Y/N had looked up from her guitar, surprised at the sudden honesty in his voice. She’d opened her mouth to say something but closed it again, unsure of how to respond. Kal didn’t elaborate, just gave her a smirk before walking off. But those words stayed with her. It was strange, hearing him admit something that wasn’t wrapped up in sarcasm or bravado.

Despite his gruff exterior, Kal was starting to soften around her. And maybe she was softening, too. She’d never intended for any of this to happen—the closeness, the quiet moments they shared—but now, it seemed natural. She played for him more often, the simple strums of her guitar filling the silence between them.

Kal, for all his chaotic energy, became a steady presence in her life. He didn’t talk much, but he listened when she played. And that, in itself, was something she hadn’t expected.

He would sit on the couch, his feet propped up on the coffee table, eyes closed, but Y/N could always feel his gaze on her—intense, almost as if he were trying to understand her through the notes she played. Sometimes, she thought he looked at her like he was trying to find something. She wasn’t sure if it was about her or about himself, but it made her uneasy in a way she couldn’t quite explain.

The first time she really noticed it was when she played a song that was more than just a song—it was a piece of herself, raw and vulnerable. The lyrics came from a place of longing, of wanting to escape, of trying to outrun the ghosts of the past. As she played, she felt herself losing control of the music, the emotion spilling out. She was giving him a piece of her, but she didn’t even realize it until it was too late.

Kal didn’t stop her, though. He didn’t say a word. But when the last note faded away, he sat there in silence for a long time. When he finally spoke, his voice was low and almost... gentle.

“That was good. Really good.”

Y/N couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at her lips. It wasn’t much, but it was something. Kal’s approval, or whatever it was, felt like a small victory. She didn’t need him to say more, though. It was just nice knowing that for once, he was actually listening. Not to her words, not to the outside world, but to her music.

And that became their rhythm—her playing and him listening. It was unspoken, but it was enough.

Despite his recklessness, despite the way he still kept a certain distance from her, Y/N could tell something was shifting in him. His behavior was still unpredictable—he was still prone to disappearing into the night, still reckless in the way he treated the world around him. But with her music, there was a subtle shift. A softening. Kal found something in her songs, something he couldn’t find anywhere else. He never admitted it, but Y/N could see it in the way he relaxed when she played.

One evening, after a particularly rough day in the city, Kal had come home late. He was quiet, even by his standards, and it didn’t take long for Y/N to realize he wasn’t in the mood for company. She had been playing her guitar quietly when he dropped onto the couch, eyes unfocused.

He hadn’t said much, pacing around the apartment, checking his wrist every few minutes, fidgeting with his class ring like it was something more than just a piece of jewelry. Y/N had been used to his erratic behavior by now, but there was something in his movements that felt... off. She’d tried to get him to talk, but he just shrugged it off with one of his usual nonchalant smirks.

By the time the sun had set, he’d grown quieter, the energy in the room heavier. They were sitting on the couch, her guitar resting on her lap, when he suddenly stiffened. It was subtle at first, a brief wince across his face. But then, his whole body seemed to freeze. He gripped his chest, his breath catching in a way that made Y/N’s heart skip.

“Kal?” she asked, setting her guitar down, standing quickly to move toward him. “Are you okay?”

But before she could reach him, Kal collapsed to the ground, his body trembling violently, the pain clear in his face. He gasped for breath, his hands clutching at his chest like he was trying to hold something in.

“Kal!” Y/N knelt beside him, panicked.

It wasn’t until she saw the faint glow under his shirt, the burn that was radiating from his chest, that she understood. Kal ripped his shirt open to reveal the biggest scar Y/N had ever seen. It looked like it was burned into his skin, pulsing with unnatural light, as if alive, and Kal was struggling to keep himself together under its weight. His breath came in sharp, painful gasps, and the glow grew more intense with every passing second.

“Kal, what’s happening?!” Y/N asked, voice frantic, but he couldn’t respond.

He reached up, his fingers shaking as he tried to pull the class ring from his finger, but it wasn’t easy. His hand was trembling so violently that it took several tries before he finally managed to slip it off. As soon as he did, the glow of the brand seemed to fade, but his breathing didn’t even out.

“Kal, you need to rest,” she urged, lifting his arm to help him stand. “Come on, let’s get you to bed.”

He didn’t fight her as she helped him to his feet, though he was clearly struggling to stay upright. The moment he stepped forward, his legs buckled, and he collapsed back onto the floor, unable to stand.

Y/N’s heart was pounding. She didn’t know what else to do, so she did the only thing she could think of: she helped him into his bedroom. She guided him to the bed, her hands shaking as she tried to make him as comfortable as possible.

Kal barely registered her touch, his eyes glazed and distant. She could see the deep exhaustion in his face, the way the light from the brand had drained all the color from his skin.

“Just… just lie down,” she whispered, pushing him gently into the bed. He didn’t fight her, but his expression was so hollow, so empty, that it made her chest tighten.

Once he was settled, Y/N stepped back, watching him for a moment. His eyes were closed now, but his body was still tense, his muscles rigid with the strain of whatever the brand was doing to him. It was clear he was fighting something inside of himself.

Y/N took a breath, standing there for a long moment, unsure of what to do. But then, before she could move, Kal’s hand shot out, grabbing her wrist.

“Stay,” he muttered hoarsely, his voice raw and strained.

She didn’t hesitate. She sat down beside him, placing her hand over his where it still gripped her wrist. For a moment, they were just silent, her fingers intertwined with his.

She didn’t ask him what was going on. She didn’t ask why he was in pain or what the mark meant. She didn’t ask for any explanations.

Instead, she simply stayed.

Kal’s breathing evened out slowly, his body relaxing slightly as he adjusted to the quiet presence beside him. But something in his expression shifted. His eyes opened, and he looked at her, really looked at her, for the first time in what felt like forever. There was something in his gaze—something vulnerable, something raw. And before she could even register what was happening, he tugged her closer, pulling her into bed with him.

Y/N froze for a moment, surprised by the closeness, but Kal didn’t seem to care. His grip on her was steady, like he needed her there, like he couldn’t quite hold it together without her.

She didn’t protest. There was a strange stillness in the air, one that neither of them seemed to want to break. She lay beside him, the warmth of his body pressed against hers, and for a long while, neither of them spoke.

Kal’s fingers still clutched the class ring in his hand, the heavy metal like a tether between him and whatever he was running from. Slowly, after a few minutes, he slipped the ring back onto his finger.

As soon as the ring touched his skin, his breathing evened out completely, the pain seeming to vanish like it had never been there at all. But the shift in the air, the quiet tension between them, lingered. Kal didn’t move, didn’t try to pull away.

They stayed like that for the rest of the night. Not talking. Not asking questions. Just sharing the silence.

And though there was nothing between them but the unspoken, a new understanding passed between them in that quiet moment. Something had changed.

–

The days following that night felt strangely normal. Despite everything that had happened—the quiet, the unspoken moments, the way Kal had pulled her into bed with him and then slipped the ring back on, the intense weight of everything unsaid—things had just... resumed. They had gone back to their usual, odd routine.

Y/N didn’t ask about it. She didn’t question what had transpired between them. She didn’t need to. Kal didn’t talk about himself much, and she wasn’t in any position to push him. She simply spent her days doing what she did best: writing music, playing her guitar, living in the space Kal had given her, the penthouse that now felt like an odd combination of sanctuary and mystery.

And Kal? He was there, sometimes. He would disappear for a few hours here and there, always leaving with that same cold, faraway look in his eyes, but he’d always return, the tension in his shoulders just a little looser. They never spoke about the night the brand had burned—never mentioned the quiet, strange bond that had formed between them.

And then, one night, she came home to find it all gone.

She walked into the penthouse, humming a new melody she had been working on, the notes still fresh in her mind. She was excited. She had written something that felt important. Something that felt right. She had been itching to share it with Kal, eager to see if he’d pick up on the small changes in her sound.

But when she stepped inside, something felt off. There was no sign of Kal, not a trace of him anywhere. His jacket was gone from the back of the chair, the clutter of his usual disarray absent. The place felt… empty. Unfinished.

"Kal?" she called out, expecting him to appear from around the corner with that cocky smirk of his, but there was no answer.

She wandered through the apartment, heart pounding a little faster, until she reached the living room. Her eyes fell on the coffee table, where two things immediately caught her attention: a set of keys, and a piece of paper.

Y/N’s stomach dropped as she approached, her feet dragging her to the table as if drawn by some force she didn’t understand. The keys were familiar, the silver glint of them a reminder of the penthouse she had come to call home. The paper, however, was what made her stop in her tracks.

It was the deed to the penthouse. But something was different. Her name was written across the top—scrawled in Kal’s handwriting. The deed was now hers.

She reached for it slowly, as if afraid it would disappear in her hands, her heart suddenly too loud in her chest. Her fingers skimmed the paper, her breath caught in her throat. There was no note. No explanation. No message from Kal. Nothing to tell her why.

Y/N stood in silence, the weight of the paper heavy in her hands. The apartment around her felt like a shell, empty and distant. The silence stretched on, oppressive in its stillness. She wanted to call out to him. She wanted to understand, to know why he was gone, why there was no goodbye.

But there was no answer. No sound.

She looked around the apartment again, her heart aching, her thoughts swirling. Where had he gone? Why had he left without a word? And why had he given her the keys, the deed? What had it all meant?

Her mind refused to settle on an answer. All she had were the keys in her hand and the empty apartment around her, like a stage that had once been filled with something important, something real, and now was nothing more than a backdrop for memories she didn’t understand.

Y/N stood there for what felt like an eternity, her thoughts a tangled mess of confusion and questions. She wanted to ask him. She wanted to demand an explanation. But she knew, deep down, that he wouldn’t have given her one.

Kal had never been good at goodbyes. He didn’t need to say anything. His absence spoke louder than any words could.

And as Y/N stood there, alone in the silence of the penthouse that was now hers, she couldn’t help but wonder if she had ever truly known him at all.

—

Seven years later

—

Clark Kent sat at his desk at the Daily Planet, his fingers hovering over the keyboard as he sifted through the latest news. His mind was still lingering on the morning’s breaking story when Perry’s voice cut through the newsroom.

“Kent! My office. Now.”

Clark groaned inwardly but didn’t argue. He stood up, straightened his tie, and walked over to Perry’s office, already anticipating whatever mess he was about to walk into.

Perry didn’t even look up as Clark entered, tossing a file onto the desk in front of him.

“You’re covering for Sasha today,” Perry grunted, his voice gruff as ever.

Clark raised an eyebrow. “Sasha? I don’t cover entertainment.”

Perry shot him a sharp look. “Well, you will today. Sasha’s sick last minute, and the interview’s already set up. I’m not sending anyone else, and you have the afternoon free. The subject’s recording a new album, and we need an interview for the front page.”

Clark frowned, his frustration mounting. “This isn’t fair, Perry. I’m a serious journalist. I’ve been covering hard news—”

“You’ll be seriously unemployed if you don’t do this,” Perry interrupted, cutting him off with a sharp tone. He was dead serious, no room for argument.

Clark’s jaw tightened. “Fine,” he muttered, leaning over to glance at the file Perry had handed him. He opened it up, expecting some pop-star fluff piece. What he didn’t expect was the name written across the top.

Y/N.

It didn’t register at first—just another pop star. Another headline. No big deal. His eyes skimmed the rest of the file, reading about her latest album and upcoming tour, but the name didn’t mean anything to him.

He looked back at Perry. “Who is this? Some random pop star?”

Perry leaned back in his chair with an exasperated expression. “Seriously? Forbes 100 most influential people, 4 time Grammy winner?”

Clark stared back with a blank expression. Perry sighed.

Clark threw the file into his bag, frustrated but resigned. He’d cover this like any other assignment, even if it meant interviewing some famous musician who didn’t matter in the grand scheme of things.

“Get going, Kent. You’ve got an interview to do.”

-- a/n: this is just the prologue. this story has been completely mapped out and is a wild ride. hope you all enjoy :)

[hannieoftheyear]

Wedding songs & Carillons (l.jh)

So many years playing together, so many love songs connecting you, coming to an end. Jihoon's convinced this is his last goodbye, and you fear you'll lose him forever.

✧˖* pairing: guitarist!woozi x harpist gn!reader

✧˖* w.c: 2,9k

✧˖* genre: wedding band au, coworkers to lovers, angst, fluff.

✧˖* content warnings: confessing repressed feelings, crying, kissing.

🎧: marry you — bruno mars, if you leave me — seventeen, risk — gracie abrams

✧˖* note: I wrote this for @k-vanity 's love in the mix event! I had the idea of a wedding band au for a while and this was the perfect moment to write it!

✧˖* note 2: i did not proofread the second half, i'm sorry if there are any mistakes!!

dividers used

hope you enjoy ♡ let me know your thoughts!

As the wedding planner signals to start playing, and the first notes echo around the venue as the door opens and the bride and groom appear, taking their first steps as a married couple, your heart can only sink.

The piano and your harp harmonize in a beautiful mesh of melodies, creating the perfect atmosphere for the guests to admire the couple’s beauty and dance moves. So many years of playing with the same band allowed you to learn to be in sync, and to know which instruments go well together in which parts of the weddings. That's why, a few meters to your left, waiting for his turn and avoiding looking at you, sits Jihoon with his guitar.

It's impossible to think of a future in which he's not present. You wouldn't be in the band if it wasn't for him.

You've spent many years by his side, following his orders, learning all his tips and tricks and watching him form a band he could be proud of.

Jihoon could seem cold, a workaholic, and a severe leader that always wanted to be in control. But, somewhere in between the rehearsals in his garage and the parties you got hired to play in, you got to know the real him, the one that hid behind that harsh exterior.

On the job, Jihoon was as hard on himself as he was on the band. He knew what he wanted for himself and for the band, and he didn’t stop until everything reached the point he wished for. But deep down, he was a sensible man. His cold persona always melted when the wedding vows were exchanged, you could see it in his eyes, and you’ve caught a few glimpses of tears falling down the side of his face at the more sentimental ones. When a wedding planner requested a new song, he’d make you practice until it was ingrained in your muscles. But, as ruthless as he seems, he cares about his bandmates, and wouldn’t force you if you didn’t feel like yourself and asked to leave early.

It’s unclear to you when it happened.

Maybe it was when you graduated college and he was the first to hug and congratulate you.

Maybe it was when you just couldn’t get a song right and he stayed the night helping you practice.

Maybe it was when he comforted you after you went on a date with an asshole, and he made sure you were okay before dropping you off at your place.

Or perhaps it was when you had a tiring event in the suburbs, and on the ride back home he fell asleep on your shoulder.

You’re madly and deeply in love with Jihoon, with all his strengths and flaws, his talents and his occasional clumsiness, the loud laugh he lets out when you make a stupid mistake, the way his voice softens when he teaches a new song, his focused face when you’re arranging a new setlist, his hands playing the guitar like it’s his second nature.

It’s unclear when it started, but you realized too late. And after today, you’re not sure if you’ll ever see him again.

By the time the first song’s over, your hands have been playing on autopilot with your gaze lost to the floor below you, trying to resist the tears, or at least delay them until it makes more sense for them to come out.

You hear him before you see him. Jihoon comes to the stage along with the singer, and as he plays the first chords of the next song, the one you’ve been practicing non-stop since the new guitarist to replace him was hired, you barely have time to react before your hands move automatically again.

The wedding classic begins playing at the rhythm of your band, Jihoon’s guitar leading all of you for the last time, and you can’t stop the flash of nostalgic memories from appearing in your mind.

It feels like you spent a whole lifetime with him by your side.

Since he found the only video of you playing the harp you dared to post on youtube, and encouraged you to meet him and practice with the band, you haven’t looked back.

But everything has to come to an end, and it just so happens that your life with Jihoon is concluding right when you accept your feelings towards him. Some might call it cursed fate, you’ve started calling it the consequences of your stupid love-filled actions. But what could you have done? Stand in the way of the life he always wanted? Prevent him from following his dreams? Love means to want to see him happy, and if that happiness is waiting for him somewhere far away from you, then you have to let him go, even if that means you’ll never see him again.

So, yeah, you helped him get a famous producer's number. You talked to one of the friendlier wedding planners and asked her if there was a chance said producer could be invited. You stayed over-hours with him to correct even the smallest mistakes on his technique. You cheered for him when the producer offered him an internship on the other side of the country. Jihoon was finally able to do what he always wanted, and you were there for him every step of the way. Though it killed you inside.

“Thank you for everything guys, really, I’ll miss you. Give me a call if you’re in the city!”

It worsens when the wedding suddenly finishes. In the blink of an eye, without realizing, your last job together came to an end, and he’s actually leaving you.

“I’m sorry to leave so suddenly, but there’s a lot of stuff to figure out at home.” Jihoon apologizes as everyone’s packing their stuff in the backroom.

Air can’t find its way inside your lungs, blood doesn’t pump from your heart. Everything stops.

“You’re lucky we had the go away party yesterday! I’d kick your ass if not.” Someone jokes, but you can barely comprehend that Jihoon’s really leaving for good. In that exact moment.

Everyone goes hug him one last time, wishing him good luck with big smiles and pats in the back. But you’re incapable of doing so, frozen in place watching everything happen from the sidelines.

Jihoon opens the door, looking back one last time, and as your gazes connect, his pleading eyes begging for you to do something, the only muscle on your body that moves is your smile, barely there, as the only form of goodbye you’re able to give.

It’s when the door closes shut and you hear his steps echoing outside that you realize. It’s now or never. If you don’t pour your heart out to him, you’ll never be able to. You’ll have to live with that decision for the rest of your life.

Dropping what you were doing, your legs make the decision for you, running outside, after him.

The blinding sunlight takes a few seconds to get used to, but you scream his name, and his figure gets clearer and clearer ahead of you, until he stands right in front of you with a questioning look on his face. Whatever you had planned to tell him in the few seconds it took you to get to him, completely vanished at the sight of him.

You pause, catching your breath and staring into his eyes as your brain dwells on what to do. He’s so close, waiting for you, but with little patience. And just when he opens his mind to question you, you settle on what to do.

Your arms wrap around his neck as you rest your chin on his shoulder, hoping that, this way, what you can’t put into words translates into a tight hug. Jihoon reciprocates immediately, enveloping you in the warmest embrace you’ve ever felt, and the squeeze he gives you pushes you over the edge, releasing the stream of tears you’ve been trying to hide until he left.

“I couldn’t let you leave without saying goodbye.” You murmur into his neck, feeling his heartbeat so close to yours. “We’re gonna miss you.”

At those words, Jihoon breaks the long hug, with a subtle coldness in his stare that lets you realize you need to say more.

“I am.” Your heart urges you to clarify. “I’m gonna miss you. So much.”

The weight on your shoulders lifts at your words, letting you breathe for the first time in weeks.

“I should’ve told you sooner,” you continue, “but I felt that it wasn’t my place, that it was too selfish of me.”

“It’s okay.” Jihoon’s soft voice makes you connect your eyes with his, after avoiding them before in case you were out of line. “I’m gonna miss you too.”

“No, but, you don’t get it.” You’re irritated at yourself for not being able to find the right words. “I can’t imagine doing this without you.”

“The band’s going to be fine.” He chuckles, and your insides do cartwheels at the sound. “You’re the best, I made sure of that.”

“I know, the band’s awesome. Wedding planners are gonna be tired of always calling us.” However you found it in yourself to joke, it quickly goes away. “I mean living. I can’t imagine a life without you in it. The songs we play won’t change, the band will keep going, but it won’t be the same, because you won’t be there.” You’re losing your breath, but it doesn’t matter. You need to say what you feel, in whatever way possible. “You’re the one that gave my life a meaning. I-, I don’t think you realize how much you changed me, for the better.”

Tears begin building up at the corners of your eyes. His imminent, unescapable farewell being the last thing you want to hear.

“Don’t cry, please.” You feel the hold of his hand on your shoulder, a quiet comfort that just makes you break down even more. “You helped me too. I wouldn’t have dared to try if it wasn’t for you. Thank y–”

“No, you can’t thank me.” You can’t let him. “Of course I helped you. It’s what you’ve always dreamed of.” How could you not? It’s obvious. “I’d do anything to see you happy, accomplishing everything you deserve to.” Even if it meant dealing with losing him forever.

Jihoon’s lips part in an intent to speak, but you’re quick to interrupt him. “And I know what you’re gonna say.” Maybe, if you keep talking, he’ll never say his final goodbye, and he’ll stay by your side forever. “You’re gonna say that you’d do the same for me, and I know you would. But I,” the church bells sound above you, a reminder of the little time you have left, and the words cascade out of you, “I’d do anything for you. Even standing outside a wedding venue that’ll kick us out in twenty minutes, embarrassingly crying in front of you telling you how much I’m going to miss you. Get back in contact with my ex to ask them for their producer’s friend’s number. Help you practice over and over again, and help you pack your things even if it ends with you on the other side of the country, far away from us, from me.”

His face softens with each word you put out to the world, eyes never leaving off you and your endless ramble of feelings.

“I don’t care if this is too out there, or too out of place, but I know it's my last chance to tell you that I love you.” At those words, you finally breathe. “I love you, more than a partner in the band and more than a friend. So much that I’m willing to help you move across the country and never see you in person again only to make you happy.”

“I–, I don’t know what to say.” Speechless, Jihoon doesn’t take any step away from you, the hand holding you close sliding down your arm until it reaches your wrist.

“You don’t have to say anything.” Even if your heart breaks. “I needed to get it off my chest, to tell you before you left.”

A wave of noise fills the silence, the wedding guests leaving the venue to head home interrupting the moment. You know it’s your sign to leave, and Jihoon’s continued silence doesn’t really persuade you to stay any longer either.

You mutter a quick goodbye under your breath, but you don’t get to go far, as his hand, tight around your wrist, pushes you back in front of him.

“You say I don’t realize how I changed you,” he begins, your eyes widening in slight shock at his sudden boldness, “but you’re oblivious to your effects on me too.” His words take the little breath you had left away.

“You don’t have to.” You only reply, convinced he’s just trying to make you feel better.

“Stop with that. Just let me finish what I have to say.” A part of you wants to chuckle at the use of his teacher voice, but you instinctively comply nonetheless. “I think I always thought of you as one of my closest friends. Seeing you evolve over the years we’ve worked together and grow into the amazing musician you are today, I’m so proud to be able to call you my friend. But in these past months, we’ve spent a lot more time together, and you helped me so much. You made me realize that my dreams were possible, you opened the way for countless opportunities and pushed me to work hard for them.” You’ve forgotten how to breathe. It feels like fire anywhere Jihoon looks and touches, your hands, your cheeks, your lips. “I realized I can’t live without you.”

“What are you trying to say?” The capacity to think has left your brain, leaving only a melted shell of you.

“I love you too.” Those three words you never expected to hear from him, so warm and full of truth. You can’t retain the tear that drips down your face. “We've seen so many couples choose to spend their lives with one another, and thinking about the future, I'm sure I want to spend mine with you.”

Jihoon’s body’s so close to yours, between the overthinking and the crying, you didn’t realize his chest almost bumps with yours, his face barely inches away from yours, his eyes shining looking straight at yours.

“What are we going to do now?” It’s too much for you. Your brain freezes as his eyes drift down to your lips, you can’t think, can’t move.

“First, I’m going to kiss you.” He says with a voice you’ve only heard in your dreams, full of tease and want.

You lean into the warmth of his hand on your cheek, tilting it just in time to feel his soft lips against yours.

Whatever you imagined his kiss to feel like, every single particle of your body exploding into fireworks was never in the picture. Your lips tingle as his glide over yours, electric and determined, a translation of feelings neither of you were able to put into words. If the whole of your skin blushing wasn’t enough, his hands travel to hold your waist, tight and secure to keep you from backing away. As if you ever would.

His hair feels soft between your fingers, tugging at it as you wrap around him to feel him around you even more.

If it lasts three seconds or ten minutes, you don’t know. But when your lungs sting at the lack of air, you’re forced to unmold your mouth from his, dreadingly. Both of you refrain from untangling your limbs, his arms around your waist and your around his neck keeping you both close.

“What’s the second thing?” You ask in a breathless attempt to ease the tension.

He chuckles, and the last of the fireworks inside your body erupt once and for all. You could never get tired of the sound.

“Come with me.” Another three words from him, but ones you’ve never even thought of hearing, that leave you breathless.

A thousand words fight to get out of you at the same time, muttering syllables and then going back to being stunned. “Wha- How? The band, I can’t just leave, and where- where would I live? Oh, god. There’s so much stuff to figure out.” Not even saying no, you instantly begin worrying about the future.

Jihoon’s lips on your again interrupt your frantic ramble, and you melt instantly. He seemingly learned how much effect he has on you quickly.

“We’ll find someone. You can teach them everything and come live with me after.” He shrugs, as if he didn’t just tell you he wants you to move in with him! “I have space for you, and you can come work with me, produce with me. If you want to, of course.”

He’s so serious about it, you don’t doubt it’s what he truly wants.

“You’ll get tired of me.” He smiles at your words, knowing your answer.

“Never.”

thank you so much for reading!

[mydearesthrry]

hi!!! could u maybe write musician reader x harry idea dumping in the middle of the night???

a/n: u get it. this was fun to write teehee. song used is ‘a love letter from the sea to the shore’ by delaney bailey! enjoy :P (this got away from me.)

warnings: nothing, cute fluff from our fave knuckleheads!!!!

“hi baby angel, what are you doing?” harry murmured, a grin on his face as he walked into the living room, seeing his wife sitting on the floor with her guitar on her lap.

“writing something, i think,” she grumbled, scratching aggressively at her shoulder since her guitar strap was rubbing against it. “something’s not working here.”

“well, what’ve y’got so far?” he asked, plopping himself next to her, resting his chin on his hand that was propped up on his knee.

“um, i’ll play it for you,” she shifted in her spot to face him, itching her nose as she scooted. “i’m thinking it’ll be called like, ‘a love letter from the sea to the shore’? i mean, i basically say it in the first verse anyway.”

“cute!” he replied, making her giggle softly.

“okay, um,” y/n began strumming, eyes closing as she played the round of chords she had in mind.

‘cause you hold in my tide

i would die a thousand times

just to see you in another life

stopping after the second chorus, she drops her chin to her chest, hair curtaining around her face as she groans in annoyance. “i can’t figure out the fucking bridge.”

“baby, that was beautiful.” harry says seriously, eyes shining with adoration and utmost love.

“shut up. help me write this bridge.” she muttered, but leaning to press a kiss to his lips in gratitude.

“hm… what if y’like, made it still ocean themed? like slow down the song at that part and make it so it sounds like the water’s coming back up the shore.” he explained casually, not realizing how complicated that sounded.

“what?” she questioned, a confused furrow in her brow.

“like, hold on, give me the guitar.” he held his hands out to grab it, settling it on his lap against his tummy when it was in his possession. harry furrowed his brow, humming a little before just barely singing the words, ‘my love’.

y/n watched as he used relatively the same chords to strum a different pattern, already filling in the gaps with his hums. “i got it! h, wait!”

“see, there y’go lovie. jus’ needed a little boost, hm?” he smiled widely, his bunny teeth peeking out.

“god, we’re fuckin’ good at our jobs.” she murmured after rerecording the song with harry’s added bridge. a giggle left harry’s throat at her look of relief, high-fiving her as she set her guitar back on the stand.

“should i release it? i think we could probably record it tonight.” y/n shrugged her shoulders nonchalantly, standing from her place on the floor.

“y’wanna record this song right now? its 2:45 in the morning, sweetheart.” he chuckled at her, standing up after she did.

“yeah, honestly. wanna be my producer for the night?” she giggled, moving towards him slowly, her hands coming to rest on his chest, then fanning out to the nape of his neck.

“sure, baby. if that’s what y’want.” harry promised, his hands resting on her hips. leaning forward, he pressed a kiss on her forehead, both cheeks, and eventually her lips, savoring the flavor of her chapstick that she loved to use before bed.

“i do want that, please?” she whispered between them, pecking his lips again.

“alright, lead the way, angel girl.”

———

liked by harrystyles, sabrinacarpenter, charles_leclerc, and 4,262,819 others

yourinstagram: my new song ‘a love letter from the sea to the shore’ is out may 1st 💌 written & produced by me and husband harrystyles eeeeek i love this song i cant wait for it to be yours!!!!!!!

view all 19,552 comments

landonorris: so excited y/n/n!

sabrinacarpenter: omfg stop

user1: THEY WROTE IT TOGETHER AND PRODUCED IT TOGETHER STOP 😭

harrystyles: I love nothing more than I love you. Thank you for letting me work on this with you. H Xxx

> yourinstagram: harrystyles the sea to my shoooooreeeeeee i love u to pieces and pieces and pieces!!!

niallhoran: Yay bug! Can’t wait to hear it ❤️

user2: y/n probably painted the cover art im unwell

user3: “i love you too much to drift completely” BRUH IM DONE THEYRE SO 😭😭😭

[lexirosewrites]

This has been in my brain for a HOT MINUTE so it will b long

A!Eddie & Corroded Coffin didn't make it in the rock n roll world, the band certainly tried but they all found tht it wasn't the fulfilling kind of work they wanted or needed. So one by one they all ended up moving away from California some of them went back to the midwest.

B!Gareth left first, he'd found a passion for teaching after taking on a few tutoring jobs to pay the bills so after a lot of talking he went back to school in Indianapolis where he could b near family. A!Freak went as far as they could without needing a passport & moved to NYC where they built a fulfilling & even successful career in the Broadway circuit as a musician. Jeff & Eddie ended up leaving together, even staying together as roommates briefly in Portland bc going back to the midwest felt almost like giving up completely but when Jeff's dad passed away he went home to Indiana for the funeral & just didn't come back, Eddie wasn't resentful abt it he was even ecstatic for A!Jeff when he got a call a half a yr later where Jeff told him he'd moved to Chicago & found work w the USPS tht gave him time to volunteer in an after school program teaching guitar. Eddie stayed in Portland working in a mechanic shop till Gareth invited all of them to watch him walk the stage to accept his teaching degree.

It was a touching reunion for everyone & after a lot of drinks Eddie admitted he hated Portland & admired how Gareth & Jeff were shaping the minds of tomorrow & was proud of Freak for the career they'd built in NYC. In the end, Eddie ended up hopping around the couches of his bandmates in their different places in the country till he found work he enjoyed in Chicago as a line cook & he volunteered w Jeff till slowly but surely Eddie became a go to guy for the program to call & then a yr later the director of the program said she was recommending him to a teaching position at the fancy after school youth art institute her friend ran. Jeff had turned down the position when she'd asked bc the pay wasn't much better & he enjoyed his work w the USPS

Eddie gets a job at this youth art institute & he thrives. He still volunteers & through his efforts the art institute expands their scholarship program. He meets one of the ballet instructors, B!Chrissy, & they're fast friends even platonic soulmates some would say. When Eddie introduces Chrissy to Jeff at Eddie's birthday party in late June he was very unsubtle abt his matchmaking intentions & he was vindicated when they admit to him tht they're dating not even a month later.

When August arrives Chrissy starts talking abt preparing for auditions for The Chicago Ballets annual production of The Nutcracker, apparently the institute got to bring a number of students to audition for the roles reserved for children or teens along w other ballet schools of the city. The students of the ballet classes become even more serious in their lessons, many of them signing up for the one on one lessons offered specifically to prepare for the auditions. Eddie's favorite guitar student, O!Max, was best friends w 2 ballet students (B!El & A!Lucas) in a way tht was clearly developing into a romance btwn the 3 & so the one on one lessons he taught her became mostly her practicing chords while raving abt how hard the 2 were working, tht Lucas' dream was to one day b cast as the cavalier who dances w the sugar plum fairy & tht El hopes to one day b cast as the dew drop in the Waltz of the Flowers.

Two days before auditions the ballet students of the institute get visited by members of the Chicago Ballet Troupe. The youngest get to meet & interact w the dancers cast in roles that'll directly interact w them should they b cast. The teens get the most exciting visitors is the consensus Eddie picks up on, apparently it is somewhat tradition for the dancers cast as The Snow Queen, The Dew Drop, The Sugar Plum Cavalier & The Sugar Plum Fairy to visit w the teens. Chrissy gets a glint in her eye when she insists Eddie come along w them to dinner after classes because her friend from dance school is one of the cast members visiting the teens.

He walks into the restaurant, is led by Chrissy to the table practically overflowing w tall athletic bodies, & promptly plopped into the only remaining seat next to the most gorgeous male omega Eddie has ever laid his eyes on. Chrissy introduces him as Steve Buckley, the first male omega to b cast as The Sugar Plum Fairy in literally any major production of The Nutcracker put on by a major troupe. Eddie knows his eyes get gooey especially when he catches the briefest whiff of the sugar sweet scent tht resembles baked apples when Steve leans closer to hear him better over the noise of the restaurant.

A lot happens after auditions & during production, El is cast as one of the snowflakes & Lucas is cast as a party goer & toy soldier but he impressed the production team so well he was given the position of understudy to The Sigar Plum Cavalier. Steve & Eddie grow closer till they finally kiss after the final curtain of the annual production. Chrissy & Jeff move in together & after Chrissy gets pregnant Eddie is asked to b one of the witnesses when they go to the courthouse to register their bonding. Steve takes over for chrissy when she goes on maternity leave.

Four years later steddie have also bonded & Steve gives a final performance of The Nutcracker before retirement, he was honored to b cast as Sugar Plum one more time & to b there w Lucas as he debuted as not only an official dancer w the Chicago Ballet Troupe but as The Sugar Plum Cavalier. Steve would have stayed longer as a dancer but he wanted to b a mother & Ballet doesn't give much allowance for a dancer to b pregnant. So Steve takes the offer of a teaching job w the same youth art institute where chrissy & his mate work & steddie move to the same Chicago suburb as chrissy/Jeff when they officially begin trying for a baby

Joan Riot Munson is born at exactly noon the following year on the first day of the annual production of The Chicago Ballet's Nutcracker 🥰🩰

we love an omegaverse ballet AU!!!💕

(this is the last ask i have in my inbox for slick sunday, but if i see any come in while i’m out, i’ll try to answer and post!)

[munson-blurbs]

Single Dad!Eddie x Fem!ReaderSeries

1 | 2 | 3 | 4

Summary: Eddie's guard is back up after overhearing people gossiping about a secret that only you would know about. When he lets his animosity take over, the damage may be too great to repair.

Warnings: angst, Eddie is really mean to Reader, mentions of CPS, Reader's grandma has Alzheimer's, slowburn, strangers to enemies to lovers, angst, Eddie is 30, Reader is 28, no use of y/n

WC: 3.7k

Chapter 4/20

Scruffy!Eddie edit credit to @eddiemunsons-missingnipple Divider credit to @saradika

Eddie is still fuming when he pulls into the music store’s parking lot. He’s opening today, and his hands tremble as he fumbles with the keys. All of those parents are going to know that he’s a failure of a father.  The Munson reputation clung to him like a bloodsucking leech, regardless of his numerous attempts to shed it. He’s destined to be an outcast at best and a monster at worst. 

Finally managing to unlock the door, Eddie flicks on the lights, blanketing the shop in a hazy glow. The silence is deafening, and he swears that his brain will implode if he doesn’t get some background noise. He walks to the section labeled ‘METAL’ as if on autopilot, grabbing Metallica’s Master of Puppets and shoving the cassette into the player. Ash insists that they play classic rock over the crummy little sound system; something about it being ‘palatable’ for the customers, but she’s not here to scold him. 

He thinks back to when this album was released, towards the end of his third senior year. The good ol’ days, when I only worried about passing O’Donnell’s class and planning Hellfire campaigns, he thinks wryly. But, no; that isn’t quite true. He’d had to worry about the trailer getting repo’d, or whether he and Wayne could stretch their food stamp budget enough to feed two grown men. Concerns that his uncle had tried to hide from him until he no longer could. 

“Ed, you’re eighteen now,” Wayne had said, just one month after Eddie’s birthday, “and I’m gonna need you to start payin’ some bills around here.”

At the time, Eddie thought he was just being a bastard. It wasn’t until a few days later when he’d spotted the envelope marked PAST DUE in bold, red letters that he realized it wasn’t a punishment, but a necessity. 

He’d been selling for Rick ever since. Well, until now. 

“Battery” fades out to “Master of Puppets,” and Eddie flips the CLOSED sign to read OPEN. He glances at the calluses on his hands and smiles sadly, thinking of all the hours he spent learning the chords in his room. After weeks of non-stop practicing—Hetfield’s solo was a bitch—he’d raced down to Gareth’s garage and played all eight minutes straight through. Watched as his friends’ jaws dropped in awe. Gave him a standing ovation. Told him he was a fucking rockstar. 

“You’re a rockstar, all right,” Eddie sarcastically grumbles now, clanging a roll of pennies against the counter before dumping them into the till. “Getting ready to drop your new hit single: Do you want a receipt with that?”

His morning has been nothing short of monotonous: help the customer find what they want, ring them up and make small talk, and then organize (or, in his case, pretend to organize) the store when it’s not busy. 

There’s too much down time for him to be left alone with his thoughts. As soon as he has a moment to himself, he’s ruminating on his regrets of the past. He turns up the music volume in a half-hearted attempt to drown them out, but they manage to worm their way into every nook and cranny of his brain. 

Eight years ago, a twenty-two year old Eddie Munson left his podunk town of Hawkins, Indiana to pursue rock stardom. He’d driven to Chicago with only the pocket change he’d saved up and his guitar on his back. A big city for a man with even bigger dreams. 

It didn’t take him long to realize that being Eddie Munson meant next to nothing in a place that was bursting with musicians desperate for the chance to become famous. He appreciated the anonymity at first; he could blend in without being chased by taunts of Freak or Loser. But after nearly a full year of auditions where he was just another guitarist who could carry a tune, he’d started to lose hope. Prepared to return to Hawkins with his tail between his legs, he’d stopped at the nearby bar for one last drink. 

“We can’t go on without a lead singer and guitarist!”

A frantic voice captured his attention, drawing his gaze from the pint of beer in front of him. 

“Well, Sam bailed. Again,” another man points out, tone heavy with irritation. “So either we go on without him, or we don’t go on at all.”

Eddie finds himself standing up and walking into a conversation where he was never invited. “I, um, play guitar. And sing?” He winces as it comes out like a question. “I can show you, if you want.” What was he doing? He couldn’t line up a gig to save his life, and now he’s offering to play for some band he doesn’t even know?

The two guys, both about his age, exchange a dubious look. “All right,” says one with shaggy dark hair. “Let’s hear what you got, Guitar Boy.” He hands him his own guitar, and Eddie adjusts the strap before diving headfirst into the chorus of the first song that comes to mind:

If you think I'll sit around as the world goes by You're thinkin' like a fool 'cause it's a case of do or die Out there is a fortune waitin' to be had You think I'll let it go you're mad You've got another thing comin'

The other guy cocks his head, a delighted smirk spreading across his face. “Judas Priest. Solid choice.” He paces a bit, twirling a drumstick between his fingers. You got a name, Guitar Boy?” he asks.

Eddie nods. “Eddie Munson.” He sticks out his hand, silently willing it to stop trembling, and shakes theirs.

“I’m Marcus,” the shaggy-haired man says. “This is Bryan. I play backup guitar; he’s on drums. Our bassist should be here soon; his name’s Pete.”

“And Sam was our lead guitarist and singer, but he’s a fucking asshole,” Bryan quips, and Eddie chortles at his brazen attitude. “Anyway, we mostly do covers…check out the setlist and see what you know.” He hands Eddie a crumpled piece of paper, filled with familiar songs and artists.

“I can do any of these,” Eddie says, a satisfied warmth filling his chest as he watches the guys grin even wider.  

“Tell ya what,” Bryan says, plopping behind a drum set plastered with a logo reading Hard Knox. “If you don’t suck tonight, you can play with us permanently.”

“Yeah,” Marcus agrees. “We’re gonna be big, man. We just need someone to help us get there.”

“Let me run back to my place and grab my ax,” Eddie tells them, adrenaline propelling him to his apartment. This was it. This was the break he needed. Just as he was about to give up, God or fate or destiny or whoever was finally giving him a chance to prove himself.

The show went off without a hitch; Eddie’s guitar skills bringing a normally quiet audience to their feet. Bryan clapped him on the back as he looked at Pete and Marcus; the three nodding at each other. “Welcome to Hard Knox!” he announced.

“Sam leaving was the best thing to happen to us,” Pete laughs in agreement. A bartender in a tight skirt and fishnet stockings brings over a round of shots, and the four men clink glasses.

“Fuck Sam!” Eddie shouts before taking the drink. The tequila burns as it coats his throat, but he doesn’t dare reach for the lime. No, he has something to prove.

“Fuck Sam!” the rest of the band echoes enthusiastically. Their choral response reminds Eddie of the way Corroded Coffin used to be before he’d left: when he’d say something, Jeff, Gareth, and Danny would listen. He was born to be a leader.

Things started to fall into place. His one night endeavor with Hard Knox turned into a biweekly gig at the bar, which eventually turned into shows almost every night at various venues across the city. He’d even convinced the guys to play some original work of his, reminding them that cover bands don’t get record deals. 

He had a steady income. A group of friends who appreciated him and his music. Beautiful women who eagerly threw themselves at him at the end of the show. And then it would repeat the following night in a new place. Everything was perfect.

Until it wasn’t.

Last night’s chaos has you all disheveled; it wasn’t until you got to work this morning that you realized you hadn’t even packed your lunch. You try to convince yourself that you can wait until you get home to eat, but about fifteen minutes before your break, your stomach lets out an embarrassingly loud growl.

“I’m gonna run to the deli and grab something,” you tell Will, throwing your jacket over your shoulders and digging out your car keys. “Want me to pick up anything for you?”

“Uh, Tylenol?” he grimaces, rubbing his temples. The kids had music class today, and the sounds of ten preschoolers singing off-key combined with their clashing tambourines served as a recipe for a pounding headache. “And maybe a bag of sour cream and onion chips?”

“You got it.” You shoot him a thumbs-up as you make your way to the parking lot as quickly as possible, determined to get your food before the lunch rush starts.

You manage to just beat out the crowd of hungry nine-to-fivers, grabbing a veggie wrap to-go. Crunching on a cucumber slice as you take a big bite, you start back towards your car, but the music store next door catches your eye.

A check of your watch confirms that you have a few minutes to peruse, maybe grab a copy of the new Toni Braxton cassette you’d been wanting. If there was ever a day to treat yourself to a little gift, it’s today. Your mind is foggy and your body feels like it’s dragging sandbags as you make your way over. You knew that taking care of an ailing relative would be physically demanding, but you weren’t prepared for the emotional toll it would take. Seeing your grandma helplessly laying on the bathroom floor scared drew all of the oxygen from your lungs, filling your body with worry. And just a few hours later, she was furiously swearing at you, claiming to hate you. She’s an ever-swinging pendulum, and you’re downright exhausted.

A small glob of hummus lands on your lower lip, and your tongue licks it off haphazardly as you push open the door to the music store. The jingle of the bell is meant to alert the employees that a customer has entered, but when you look around, there’s no one there to help you.

You walk towards the aisle labeled R&B, starting by thumbing through the “B” section–nothing. Perplexed, you make your way to the “T” section, still with no luck. Was Toni Braxton so popular amongst Hawkins residents that they’d bought out every copy of Secrets?

“You can’t eat in here,” a terse voice calls out. You’re so startled, you nearly drop your sandwich. A piece of tomato flies out of the tortilla when you jump, hitting the linoleum flooring, and the irritated person sighs. “Aaand this is why.”

You pick up the fallen vegetable and turn around to see Eddie Munson standing before you. “You scared me!” you say, but your body visibly relaxes. Twenty-four hours ago, you never would have guessed that he would have a calming effect on you. How quickly things can change, you muse silently. “Can you help me find the new Toni Braxton? The Secrets cassette?”

Eddie scoffs, crossing his arms over his chest. “Can you follow simple instructions? No. Eating. In. The. Store.” He rolls his eyes. “Just because you teach preschoolers doesn’t mean you get to act like one.”

The smile that briefly danced across your lips slips into a frown. What the hell happened in the few hours since he’d dropped Harris off at school? Did you imagine that you two had gotten along?

“Are you okay?” you ask, brows furrowed in confusion. “I-I can put the wrap in my car, just give me a sec…”

He shakes his head. “No, actually, I’m not okay,” he sneers. “But I bet you knew that already.” He shifts his posture so he’s standing a bit taller. “Y’know, you have some fuckin’ nerve, coming in here after what you did.”

“Did I miss something?” Your voice gets smaller with the gnawing feeling of brewing confrontation acting as a brick on your chest. “I thought–”

“Tell me what you thought,” he interrupts, leaning on a box of tapes. “Wait, no; let me guess. You thought that because I rejected you, you could go around blabbing my personal business around the school.” He scrunches up his face, biting his lip as he looks at you. “Did I get it right?”

“Your personal business?” 

“Mhm,” he answers pointedly, spinning a skull ring around his finger. “Is that not it? Was it because you were embarrassed that I heard your grandma say that she hates you? I don’t blame her, by the way.”

Your force your gaze to remain trained on him, staring into his brown eyes that have hardened with fury. “She doesn’t hate me,” you breathe out, “she just can’t remember me anymore. When she knew who I was, she loved me. A lot.”

“Yeah, whatever you say,” Eddie rolls his eyes. “That doesn’t take away from the fact that everyone and their goddamn dog knows about the CPS report.” 

“What CPS report?” you ask, a sinking feeling settling in your stomach. “Is Harris okay?”

He takes one look at your puzzled expression and barks out a harsh, incredulous laugh. “Seriously? You can drop the innocent act.”

“I seriously have no idea what you’re talking about!” you snap, frustrated at his unwillingness to hear you out and your own lack of understanding. “All I know is that this morning, you didn’t hate me–or maybe just hated me a little less–and now you’re back to being the worst human being I’ve ever met.”

Eddie scratches at the shadow of a beard that’s formed on his jawline; an itchy reminder that he didn’t get to shave last night. “You should consider yourself lucky if I’m the worst person you’ve ever met. Tell me, what have I done? Thrown some insults your way?” He claps his palm to his chest exaggeratedly. “How ever did you survive?”

“Mock me and my teaching skills, pretend like you’re going to call when you knew damn well that you weren’t, call me a bitch, and your latest and greatest,” you counter, ticking off the instances on your fingers, “accuse me of something I didn’t do.”

He considers this for a moment, taking a deep breath before speaking again. “So you’re trying to tell me,” he starts, gritting his teeth, “that we were in the same wing of the same hospital at the same time, but you weren’t the one who told people about the CPS case they opened on me?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying,” you hiss. 

“Then how the fuck did Carol Perkins find out about it?!” His volume raises to a roar, and you wince at the sting it leaves echoing in your eardrums. “Because I fucking heard her talking about it with Steve Harrington! So if you, the person who was there, didn’t open your mouth and tell her, who did? The CPS fairy?”

“I don’t fucking know!” you shout, swallowing thickly in a meager attempt to bide time before the tears inevitably leak from your eyes. “I don’t know, but it wasn’t me.”

Eddie rakes a hand through his frizzy curls, smacking the other on top of the nearby box. “Just…just get out,” he mutters. “I can’t listen to any more of your bullshit.” He starts back towards a door marked EMPLOYEES ONLY before turning back around, eyes narrowed. 

“Y’know, I wouldn’t have hooked up with you that night if I knew that this is how you handle a one-night stand,” he says, pursing his lips as he steps closer to you. “And I never should’ve let Harris step foot in your classroom. I would drive him to a school in goddamn Timbuktu if it meant having you out of my life.” He pauses, scraping his teeth across his lower lip and exhaling a terse laugh. “It’s too bad I can’t forget about you like your grandma did.”

The words knock the wind out of your lungs. Your knees buckle slightly, and you have to steady yourself on the closest shelf. Tears blur your vision as your legs carry you out of the store; you feel yourself walking, but it’s like an external force has control of your body. The words fuck you sit on the tip of your tongue, or maybe you say them—it’s too hazy to tell. The world is covered in a shiny layer of cellophane; you can see everything, but you can’t touch. 

You’re crying too hard to drive, so you sit behind the wheel, seatbelt clicked in place, letting out sobs that leave your whole body shuddering. It’s all too much, and though you logically know that Grandma didn’t want to forget you, his comment hit a raw nerve.

It wasn’t a straight path; Alzheimer’s never is. A few months ago, she could remember you in the morning but forgot you by the afternoon. She would call you by name at 9 AM but ask who you were at 2 PM. One day you were her granddaughter; the next, you were a total stranger. You thought it couldn’t hurt more than it already did, but the repeated reminders that she no longer recognizes you at all is a constant knife through the heart.

You’ll be late if you don’t start driving back to work now, so you turn the key in the ignition and adjust the gear shift to reverse. As you look up to glance in the rearview mirror, you catch sight of him. He’s dumbfounded, and you could laugh at how ridiculous it is that it took him seeing you bawling in your car to realize that he went too far this time.

Unable to stomach the thought of further confrontation, you take a deep breath and drive away, leaving him to mull over what just happened.

He’d assumed you’d left already when he’d walked outside for a smoke break, placing a cigarette between trembling fingers before he’d even left the store. He almost drops the lighter on his scuffed sneaker when he sees you hunched over, resting your arms on the wheel as your body heaves. He’s not sure how long he’s been staring when you lift your head, exposing tear-streaked cheeks and red-rimmed eyes. Your gazes lock for just a millisecond, but it tells him everything he needs to know. 

It wasn’t you.

When Eddie arrives at the school for pick-up, he scours the crowd of impatient parents for Carol. He finds her talking with another mom; no doubt spreading more gossip about him. Maybe he shouldn’t have pretended that their Satanic cult rumors didn’t bother him when they were back in high school. Maybe if they knew, they would understand that he’s just a goddamn person trying his best, just like everyone else.

“Hey,” he starts, pushing the fear from his voice and willing his strength to remain unwavering. “Who told you about the CPS stuff?”

Carol plasters an obviously fake smile on her face as she responds. “I don’t know what you mean,” she says simply. Her carefree tone pushes Eddie to his limit. 

“Cut the bullshit,” Eddie growls, quickly losing his temper. “I heard you talking to Steve Harrington about it. So either you tell me now, or I’ll make sure your husband knows about that guy I saw you with at the Hideout a couple of months ago.”

Her face blanches, color draining from her cheeks. “It was Jason Carver,” she mumbles, biting her thumbnail. “His wife, Chrissy, is a nurse at the hospital and saw the report. She told him, and he’s been telling, well, everyone else.”

Eddie swears that steam is billowing out of his ears. Everything is coated in a red haze, and he finds himself unconsciously clenching and unclenching his fists. “Where is that sonofabitch? I’m gonna punch him in his smug little–”

“Mr. Munson?” you cut through his rant. His head snaps in your direction. You’ve fixed your makeup; if Eddie hadn’t seen you crying earlier, he would’ve been none the wiser. “Can I speak to you for a moment?”

“Y-Yeah,” he stammers, shifting his weight to the balls of his feet. “Actually, I needed to tell you someth–”

“I think you’ve said enough today,” you say, voice calm but firm. “I just wanted to give this to you before Harris comes out.” You hand him a pink piece of paper. “It’s a transfer slip. Starting next week, Harris will be in Ms. Marion’s class. I didn’t tell him anything about it, so you can say whatever you want. I don’t care anymore.” That’s not quite true; the idea of Eddie feeding Harris lies about you makes your stomach curdle, but there’s only so much you can control. 

Eddie’s, usually quick with a retort, is uncharacteristically quiet. “I, um, I thought…the secretary told me that all of the classes were full.” It’s a cop-out, but he can’t push himself to tell you what he knows now. Not when you’re already bruised. 

“They made an exception because I was the one who requested it this time,” you explain, clenching your jaw. “Looks like you got your wish. You can forget about me now.”

He takes the paper and shoves it in his back pocket. The confession is on the tip of his tongue, an apology not far behind. Say it, he berates himself. Just fucking say it. You might be able to fix this if you just—

“I’ll go get Harris,” you tell him, breaking into his thoughts. “Good-bye, Mr. Munson.”

--

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