#the part that no one wants to hear of course

[un-fwuit-un-fwog]

Sometimes, crying is the strong thing.

Part eight of The Rain series

Synopsis: Jamil and Kamil visit The Prefect in the infirmary after Ramchackle's collapse.

TW: Kalim is ooc(? (Personally I think it's just a side of his character we haven't seen), the usual for this series ig

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8 (here), Part 9 (coming soon), . . .

After Idia's visit, you were given another period of rest. The reason was given as not wanting to make you too exhausted with too many consecutive visits in a short period of time.

Your first visitor after your rest period was Jamil.

You didn't even notice him enter. You were only alerted to his presence when the savory scent of a homecooked meal wafted into your nose.

You tilted your head to look at him and were met with the boy's ever-stoic expression. "I know you like that one dish I make, so I crafted up a version of it that would be easier to digest and not too rough on your stomach." He set the insulated bag on your nightstand as he spoke.

You had been given longer to recover than last time, so by now your throat was doing much better. It wasn't in tip-top shape, but it was better: good enough for you to have simple conversations. "Thank you, Jamil." your voice was raspy from misuse and hardly recognizable as your own.

"There's no need to thank me. It was a simple task." Jamil brushes off your thanks and takes a seat in the chair next to your bed. "Kalim will be coming tomorrow, although, I'm sure you've already been informed."

You nod softly at his words. "I was surprised to see his visit listed as after yours."

Jamil's mouth forms a firm line: "Yes, well, this isn't a scenario I was willing to put myself after him in."

His words were spoken in his usual, nonchalant tone, but the significance of them wasn't lost on you. "I'm proud." you smile.

Jamil simply scoffs before taking the bag off your nightstand and pulling out a thermos. "I heard you can't eat on your own at the moment." he explains as he opens the container and pulls a spoon from the bag. He shifts to take a comfortable position next to you on the bed, being sure to be hyper aware of all of your injuries as he does.

He spends most of his visit feeding you and explaining to you the situation with Ramshackle (only after he made sure you were up to hearing it, of course). After the incident, Kalim had demanded a team be brought in to check the remains of the building for any sign of sabotage. He was worried that after the VDC, someone who may have had it out for him had heard of his stay there and his friendship with you and shifted their target to you. The scene was certainly compromised from the initial rain and the use of Leona's unique magic, but there was still plenty to investigate. The moment the team Kalim hired showed up a barrier was put over the scene to prevent any further damage (a spell all the teachers made sure to learn from them (the rescue would have been easier on everyone (especially you) after all if the rain hadn't been a factor.)) No foul play was found in the typical sense. However, there were many 'repairs' that bordered on malice with how poorly they were done. That and the multitude of complaint letters found in the Headmage's office, proving he was aware of the dire state Ramshackle dorm was in, were used as evidence for his arrest.

There's a moment of silence as Jamil packs the thermos and spoon back into the bag before he speaks: "I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"Many of those letters to the Headmage were from me. I saw the state the dorm was in during the VDC, but I took no action to help you further than simply sending in letters. I'm supposed to be a guard trained for disaster, yet I failed to protect you from one that I so clearly saw coming."

"Jamil-"

"No. Don't. I know what you're thinking. I-. . .I just wanted to get that off my chest." With those words, he abruptly takes your hand, giving it a gentle squeeze, and leaves.

He was right. He was trained to be a guard capable of handling any disaster that came his way. He was trained to keep his demeanor calm so as not to cause any extra stress to a victim. He performed his job beautifully in that aspect.

However, the twitch of his eyes as he left so abruptly and the soft choked sounds coming from the other side of the door didn't escape you.

"I hope you know just how warm your food was. How much it made me feel loved." you mumble. Whether or not your words reach him through the door, you're unsure.

Kalim was indeed next; however unrecognizable he was.

His face lacked its usual cheery charm and was instead overtaken by a seriousness you'd never see in him before.

He walked in and stood next to your bed, examining you. Without a word, he sat a small, safe distance from you on the bed.

Just as you were about to speak, he broke the silence: "My family is covering the legal fees that will come with the court case following Dire Crowley's arrest. I'll make sure you get the justice you deserve."

He spoke so coldly that you had to do a double take to make sure this was really Kalim. You knew that he was touchy on the subject of poison: having had people make attempts on his life in that manner before. You also knew that he was the one who ordered the investigation that got Crowley arrested in the first place, but you hadn't expected this change in demeanor.

"You may think I'm going overboard," he mutters "but as far as I'm concerned, his negligence might as well equate to an attempt on your life. Those deserve to be taken seriously."

His expression is cold, so much so it gives you chills. "Kalim." you whisper.

He cuts you off. "I want to." It's like he read your mind.

He gently brushes your hair out of your face and kisses your forehead. Taking one of your hands in his, he rubs gentle circles on it with his thumb. "Rest." he mumbles.

You can tell that his eyes have begun to water. "Rest with me?"

He's hesitant, but he lays down, keeping his careful distance while still holding your hand. The moment his head hits the pillow he's out like a light. You can only imagine how little sleep he's been getting.

As the tears dribble down his sleeping face, you gently reach out to swipe them away.

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[heejamas]

OUT OF TUNE ˖ 🎙◞⋆ (part 2)

pairing: producer!beomgyu x producer!femreader

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

genre:  enemies to lovers, coworkers to lovers, slow burn, angst with a good payoff // w/c: 26k // warnings: not proofread, MDNI!! smoking (reader and beomgyu smoke), drinking, angst, jealously, overworking characters, making out, petnames, dry humping

author's note: you guys loved part 1 so much that i decided to drop part 2!! i wasn’t originally planning on posting this so soon, but all the love and reactions made me wanna share it with you asap. hope you enjoy <3 READ PART 1 HERE // PANIC IS OUT NOW <3

The night was quiet, but Beomgyu’s mind wasn’t.

It had started with a question. A simple, stupid question that he never should have asked.

Waiting for your boyfriend to pick you up?

You had blinked at him, caught off guard, before letting out a soft laugh—so casual, so oblivious to what you had just done to him. "Yeonjun? No. God, no. He’s just—" You shook your head, still smiling. "He’s not my boyfriend."

Beomgyu had scoffed, looking away before you could see how tightly his jaw had clenched.

It didn’t matter. It didn’t matter that you weren’t with Yeonjun. It didn’t matter that you had laughed, like the thought had never even crossed your mind.

And yet, by the time he pulled into the parking lot of his apartment that night, exhaustion was settling deep into his body, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep. He rarely did these days, not properly, anyway.

The hallway to his apartment was quiet, dimly lit, the familiar flickering of the overhead lights casting long shadows against the walls. It wasn’t a bad place. Spacious, modern enough. But it felt empty.

As soon as he stepped inside, he tossed his bag onto the couch and went straight to the kitchen, grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge. His shoulders ached from hunching over his desk all day, his head heavy from staring at screens for too long.

Still, instead of going to bed, he pulled out his phone and scrolled through his call log. His thumb hovered over the contact labeled Mom, but for some reason, hesitation rooted him in place.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to talk to her. It was just that… sometimes, it was easier to pretend things were fine when he didn’t hear how tired she sounded. Still, after a few moments, he forced himself to dial.

When she picked up, her voice was soft, laced with the kind of exhaustion that came from being sick for too long. "Gyu-yah."

His chest tightened. "Hey, Mom."

"You’re calling late," she murmured, a small smile in her tone.

"You’re awake late," he echoed his earlier words to his brother.

She chuckled lightly. "Guess it runs in the family." Another beat of silence. "You’ve been working a lot, haven’t you?"

Beomgyu leaned against the counter, closing his eyes briefly. She always saw right through him. "Yeah. Big project."

"Hm. And how’s that going?"

He exhaled, rubbing his fingers over his temple. "It’s—" He hesitated, searching for the right words. "Harder than I thought."

"Isn’t it always?"

He huffed a quiet laugh. "Yeah."

His mother’s voice softened. "What’s making it difficult?"

Beomgyu rolled his shoulders, shifting against the counter. He could lie, say it was just the usual stress of production, deadlines piling up, expectations weighing on him. That was part of it, sure. But there was something else. "She’s… challenging," he admitted before he could think better of it.

A pause. Then, amusement slipped into his mother’s voice. "She?"

Beomgyu regretted his wording immediately. "I meant the project is challenging." His mother hummed knowingly, and somehow that was worse than if she had outright called him out. He sighed, tipping his head back. "It’s just—I don’t know. I’m used to working on my own. Or at least, if I do work with other people, I don’t have to think about them all the time."

"All the time?"

He gritted his teeth. "Not like that."

His mother just laughed softly, as if she had already heard this story before. "That means they’re good, doesn’t it?"

Beomgyu scoffed. "More like they piss me off."

"That’s the same thing sometimes." He rolled his eyes, but a small, unwilling smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "Does she make your job harder?" his mom asked after a moment, more thoughtful now.

Beomgyu exhaled slowly. "She makes my job better."

It was the truth. And he hated that. Because you did. Even when you were annoying, even when you were frustrating, even when you made him want to slam his head against the mixing console, you still made the music better.

And that should be the only thing that mattered. Should be.

His mother hummed softly, as if she could hear everything he wasn’t saying. "Some people just have a way of getting under your skin," she murmured. "And sometimes, that’s not a bad thing."

Beomgyu didn’t respond to that. Because he wasn’t sure he liked where his thoughts were heading. After a while, he let her rest, hanging up the call and tossing his phone onto the couch. He should go to bed. But instead, he found himself standing in his kitchen, staring at the dark city skyline through the window, mind circling back to the same damn thing. To you.

To the way you had looked at him earlier, confused by his mood. To the way your voice had softened when you told him you weren’t having a good day. To the way you had laughed at the idea of being with Yeonjun, so casually, like it wasn’t even a possibility.

He didn’t know why that last part stuck with him the most. And he really didn’t like that he cared enough to wonder.

And now, standing in the middle of a crowded party, staring at you across the room, he realized: You had never really left. You were looking at him. Even with the haze of alcohol buzzing in his system, even through the blur of shifting bodies and flashing lights, Beomgyu felt it—sharp and unmistakable. The way your eyes found him, held him, even for just a moment. The way your expression flickered, unreadable, like you were trying to piece together something that neither of you had the words for.

And for the first time that night, he wasn’t sure if he wanted to smirk or swear. Because he liked it. He liked that you were looking. He liked knowing that, no matter how much you fought him, no matter how much you denied it—there was something there. But then, you looked away. Like it hadn’t meant anything. Like he didn’t mean anything. And something twisted deep in his chest, hot and sour. So, naturally, he did what he always did. He let his mouth run before his brain could catch up. "But don’t worry," he said, voice light, almost lazy, but aimed with precision. "I don’t care either way. After all, like you said… I’m just your coworker." The words landed exactly how he intended. He saw it—the way your shoulders tensed, the way your lips pressed together. The way something flickered in your eyes, so fast that if he blinked, he might’ve missed it. Then he smirked. Just a flash of teeth, just enough to make your stomach twist. And before he could second-guess himself, before he could let the alcohol-fueled honesty catch up to him, he turned on his heel and walked off, leaving you standing there, heart pounding, head spinning, caught between wanting to kill him and— No. You weren’t even gonna finish that thought.

You let out a slow, frustrated breath, running a hand through your hair. You needed to get out of your own head. You needed a drink. And after that, you needed Yunjin.

The party was still buzzing when you stepped back inside, the room warm and crowded, laughter spilling over the music. You spotted her near the bar, leaning against the counter, drink in hand, mid-conversation with some guy you didn’t recognize. You marched straight up to her, grabbing her wrist.

“I need to talk to you.” Yunjin barely had time to react before you were pulling her away from the noise, past groups of people, through the doorway leading to one of the quieter lounge areas.

Once inside, she gave you a look, raising an eyebrow as she took a slow sip of her drink. “Damn. No ‘hey, how are you?’ Not even a ‘you look great tonight, Yunjin’?”

You groaned, dragging a hand down your face. “Not now.”

She studied you, then smirked knowingly. “This is about Beomgyu, isn’t it?”

You stiffened. “No.”

“Uh-huh,” she said, completely unconvinced. “Go on…”

You exhaled sharply, slumping onto the couch, rubbing your temples. “I don’t know what the fuck is wrong with me.”

Yunjin sat beside you, kicking off her heels, posture casual. “Alright, let’s hear it.”

You hesitated, staring at the floor, feeling strangely vulnerable all of a sudden. It took a few seconds before you found your voice. “I—” You stopped, frowning. “I don’t even know what I feel right now. I’m just… frustrated.”

She hummed. “At him?”

“At everything,” you admitted. “At this whole fucking project. At the way he gets under my skin so easily. At the fact that—” You cut yourself off, clenching your jaw.

Yunjin, sharp as ever, caught it immediately. “At the fact that what?”

You hesitated, gripping the edge of your seat. “I want his approval.” The words came out quiet. Frustrated. “I don’t know why. I just—I hate how much I care about what he thinks. Every time we work on something, I catch myself waiting to see how he reacts. Like, I tell myself it doesn’t matter, that I don’t need him to validate me, but then—” You exhaled sharply, shaking your head. “But then he does. And it fucks with me.”

Yunjin listened, her expression unreadable. “Do you want his approval?” she asked. “Or do you want him?”

Your head snapped toward her. “What?”

She shrugged, completely unfazed. “I mean, you’re so worked up over him, and yeah, some of it is because of work, but…” She tilted her head, giving you a look. “Is that all it is?”

Your stomach twisted. “Yes,” you said immediately. Yunjin just stared at you, unimpressed. You crossed your arms. “It is.”

Silence. Then she smirked, slow and knowing. “Liar.”

You groaned, shoving your face into your hands. “Oh my god, shut up.”

She laughed, nudging your foot with hers. “I mean, come on. This whole thing screams unresolved tension. You two have been circling each other for months, pretending you’re just rivals when clearly there’s more to it.”

You lifted your head, glaring. “There isn’t.”

“Okay,” she said, amused. “So if he kissed you tomorrow, you wouldn’t think about it for the rest of your life?”

Your brain short-circuited so violently that you actually choked on air. “What—”

Yunjin grinned. “Exactly.”

You scowled, but the damage was done. The thought was already planted in your head, unshakable. Beomgyu, close. Beomgyu, leaning in. Beomgyu, looking at you with that stupid, unreadable expression of his before—

Nope. You refused to entertain this. You grabbed her drink, downing the rest of it in one go, ignoring the way she laughed at you. “I hate you,” you muttered.

“No, you don’t,” she teased. “But you do have a thing for Beomgyu.”

“I don’t.”

“You do.”

“Shut up.”

“Denial isn’t a good look on you, babe.”

You groaned, sinking further into the couch, your mind an absolute mess. Because no matter how much you wanted to deny it, Yunjin wasn’t completely wrong.

The music pulsed through the party, deep bass reverberating in your chest as you let yourself sink into the moment. The weight of the conversation with Yunjin still lingered in the back of your mind, but you shoved it aside, focusing on your friends instead—on the warmth of Yeonjun’s arm slung over your shoulder as he dramatically belted the lyrics to whatever song was playing, on the way Taehyun shook his head at him, on Hueningkai laughing so hard at something that he nearly dropped his drink. You let yourself get lost in it.

And then, eventually, the night began to wind down. People started leaving in waves, slipping out the doors in pairs or groups, laughter and goodbyes trailing after them. Your own friends were still lingering, but you were exhausted, drained from the long week, from the constant push and pull inside your head.

You needed sleep. You told them as much, earning dramatic protests from Yeonjun that didn't want to leave with you, a teasing “boring” from Yunjin, and an understanding nod from Taehyun. Hueningkai just patted your shoulder. "Get home safe," he said, voice warm.

Near the entrance, just a few feet away, Beomgyu stood against the wall, shoulders tense, arms crossed over his chest. He wasn’t talking to anyone, wasn’t laughing, wasn’t even pretending to enjoy himself. He was just there, like he had been standing in that same spot for too long, stewing in whatever storm was brewing behind his unreadable expression.

And he was looking at you. Even in the dim lighting, even from across the room, you could feel the weight of it—heavy, unwavering, pressing against your skin like static before a thunderstorm. There was something sharp in his gaze, something unsettled. Irritated. His jaw was tight, his fingers flexing slightly against his bicep, like he was holding something back. But from what? From you?

The noise of the party faded into the background, drowned out by the heavy thrum of your own heartbeat. You didn’t know why you were still standing there. You didn’t know why the sight of him like this made something twist sharply in your stomach, something restless, something uneasy.

You exhaled sharply, breaking the moment before it could turn into something you weren’t ready to name. Without another glance, you turned on your heel and walked out of the party.

You didn’t know what you felt.

But whatever it was, you hated it.

Just like you thought you hated Beomgyu.

You woke up feeling like absolute shit.

The kind of headache that pounded behind your eyes, the kind of dryness in your throat that made you regret every decision from the night before. You groaned, burying your face in the pillow, willing the pain to go away.

It didn’t. Of course it didn’t.

Memories from last night filtered into your mind slowly, fragmented, like puzzle pieces that didn’t quite fit together at first. You remembered the warmth of the alcohol in your veins, the steady bass of the music vibrating through your chest, the feeling of actually having fun for once—until you saw him.

Beomgyu.

You squeezed your eyes shut, as if that could make the memory disappear.

Beomgyu, drunk and loose-limbed, flashing you that easy, lazy grin that made your stomach flip before you could even process why. Beomgyu being nice, too nice, his words softer than usual, his teasing edged with something warmer.

And then, just as quickly as it came, it was gone. The shift. The way his smile dimmed when he saw you talking to Yunho. The way his fingers curled slightly around his drink, his jaw tightening just enough for you to notice. The way his gaze darkened, cold and distant again.

And right before he walked away, he had turned to you with that unreadable look in his eyes, that frustrating mix of amusement and distance, and had said— "After all, like you said… I’m just your coworker."

Your stomach twisted. You threw the blanket off you, forcing yourself to sit up, because if you laid here any longer, you were going to start throwing things.

The apartment was dead silent, except for the faint sound of someone snoring in the living room. You got up carefully, wincing at the headache that pulsed through your skull, and padded out of your room. Yeonjun was passed out on the couch, one leg hanging off the side, his face smushed into a pillow. You sighed, grabbing the nearest blanket and draping it over him.

Then, as you turned toward the kitchen, you nearly tripped over two bodies sprawled out on the floor. Hueningkai and Taehyun. Both dead asleep, Kai using a hoodie as a pillow, Taehyun curled up in the most uncomfortable-looking position you had ever seen.

You stared at them for a long moment, then sighed again, rubbing at your temples. You needed coffee. You needed out of this apartment. That's why you decided to grab coffee somewhere else.

It was still too early for the world to feel real. The streets were quiet, the sky dull with that soft, overcast light that only came on hungover Sundays. You wrapped your jacket tighter around yourself as you pushed through the doors of the coffeeshop, craving caffeine more than you had ever craved anything in your life.

You were so focused on getting to the counter that you didn’t even notice him at first.

"So we really had the same idea, huh?" You blinked, turning toward the voice. Soobin was sitting at a corner table, hoodie pulled up over his messy hair, looking just as wrecked as you felt. His iced coffee sat half-finished in front of him, condensation dripping down the sides.

You stared. "Holy shit. You look like hell."

He scoffed. "Thanks. You’re glowing this morning."

You snorted, finally ordering your drink before sliding into the seat across from him. "Didn’t expect to see you here."

Soobin hummed. "Didn’t expect to be here. But I woke up with a headache from hell and figured coffee might bring me back to life."

"Same." You took a slow sip of your drink, wincing as the cold hit your stomach. "Last night was… a lot."

Soobin huffed a quiet laugh. "Yeah. Some more than others."

You narrowed your eyes. "What’s that supposed to mean?"

He just smirked, shaking his head. "Nothing. Just… Beomgyu was in rare form last night."

You stiffened slightly. If Soobin noticed, he didn’t mention it. "That drunk?" you asked, voice carefully neutral.

"Drunk enough to be nice," Soobin mused. "Which, you know, is when you should be really concerned." You huffed a laugh, but it didn’t quite reach your eyes. Soobin watched you for a moment, something thoughtful in his expression. "You know," he said eventually, stirring his drink with the straw, "he’s not as much of an asshole as he tries to be."

You raised an eyebrow. "Could’ve fooled me."

Soobin chuckled. "Yeah, he’s good at that. But—" He tilted his head slightly, studying you. "—he respects you."

You hesitated. It wasn’t that you didn’t believe that. You knew Beomgyu took you seriously, he wouldn’t compete so hard with you if he didn’t. But respect wasn’t the word that had been echoing in your head since last night.

Soobin leaned back in his chair. "And maybe he likes your work a little too much."

Your heart skipped, just once, just enough for you to feel stupid. You forced out a scoff, shaking your head. "Right. Sure. That’s why he spent half of the night treating me like shit."

Soobin’s smirk barely twitched. "I never said he handles it well."

You stared at him, trying to figure out if he was messing with you. But there was nothing teasing in his gaze, just knowing amusement, like he had already seen how this story played out before you even knew what page you were on.

You hated that. You hated that something about it made your stomach twist.

So, you stood up, grabbing your order. "I need to go before you start giving me life advice."

Soobin grinned, unfazed. "See you Monday, then?"

"Yeah, yeah," you muttered, already heading for the door.

But even as you stepped out into the cold air, the caffeine still not fully kicking in, Soobin’s words stuck with you. Maybe he likes your work a little too much. Whatever that meant, you weren’t sure if you wanted to know.

The walk back to your apartment was slow, the cool morning air doing little to clear the fog still lingering in your head. The coffeeshop bag swung gently at your side, filled with coffee and a few pastries, not because you were feeling particularly generous, but because you knew the three idiots waiting for you would need it just as much as you did.

When you finally pushed the door open, the apartment was still a disaster.

Yeonjun was awake now, sprawled across the couch in the same position you had left him in, scrolling through his phone with half-lidded eyes. Taehyun and Hueningkai were still on the floor, looking like they had barely moved.

You let the door shut behind you with a soft thud, and all three of them flinched.

"Jesus," Yeonjun muttered, rubbing his face. "Not so loud."

You rolled your eyes, tossing the bag onto the coffee table. "Brought coffee. If any of you die, it’s not my fault."

Hueningkai groaned, blindly reaching for the bag without sitting up. "You’re an angel. A mean one, but an angel."

Taehyun sat up with effort, running a hand through his already-messy hair. "Where’d you go?"

"Coffeeshop," you said simply, grabbing your own cup before sitting on the arm of the couch. "Needed air."

Yeonjun stretched his arms above his head, then let them drop dramatically. "Did we ever figure out what happened to Yunjin?"

"Yeah," Taehyun answered, taking a sip of his drink. "We got her home safe. She passed out halfway there."

"Typical," Yeonjun muttered, shaking his head.

Hueningkai yawned. "We were too drunk to go back to our own places, so we crashed here. Hope you don’t mind."

You shrugged. "I figured. You were taking up half my floor." You shook your head before speaking again. "Ran into Soobin there, in the coffeeshop."

That got their attention. Hueningkai snorted. "Damn, everyone had the same idea."

"Yeah," you mused, stirring your straw through your drink. "He looked just as bad as me. Maybe worse."

Yeonjun hummed. "He drank a lot last night."

"Yeah," you agreed, then took a slow sip of coffee before adding casually, "But he said Beomgyu was worse." You expected some reaction. A laugh, a sarcastic remark, maybe even an exaggerated groan. What you didn’t expect was the subtle way Yeonjun and Taehyun exchanged glances. You frowned. "What?"

Yeonjun exhaled, setting his drink down. "Nothing—just…" He hesitated before continuing, "after you left, Beomgyu and Yunho got into it."

You blinked. "What?"

Hueningkai nodded, chewing slowly. "Yeah. Not, like, a full fight or anything. But they were arguing. And it wasn’t friendly."

You sat up slightly. "Over what?"

Yeonjun shrugged. "No clue. Heeseung and I stepped in before it got worse, but they were both pissed."

Your mind raced, replaying the night. Yunho had been fine when you left, normal, flirty, acting like he always did. And Beomgyu? Beomgyu had been weird. The shift had been so sudden, one second he was being nice, playful, softer than usual. The next, cold, distant. And now, apparently, he had also picked a fight with Yunho. None of it made sense.

You drummed your fingers against your cup. "What did Yunho even say?"

Taehyun shook his head. "Dunno. But whatever it was, Beomgyu hated it."

You scoffed lightly. "So what? He was already pissed at me."

"Was he?" Yeonjun asked, raising an eyebrow.

You frowned, opening your mouth to respond, but nothing came out. Because, honestly? You didn’t know. He had been acting off all week, distant and unreadable. And then last night, he was the opposite, warm, teasing, close. And then, again, the shift, cold. Your head hurt just thinking about it.

"I don’t care," you muttered, standing up and stretching. "I’m taking a shower. If you guys are still here when I’m done, I’m kicking you out."

Taehyun smirked. "Love you too."

You rolled your eyes, but as you walked toward your room, the weight of Yeonjun’s words lingered. Whatever it was, it clearly got under Beomgyu’s skin. But why did that matter? And why the hell did you care?

The car ride to work on Monday was quiet, but not in a peaceful way.

Yeonjun was dropping you off like usual, his music playing softly in the background, but you weren’t really listening. Your thoughts were elsewhere, circling, looping, pulling you into an endless spiral of what the hell is going on with you and Beomgyu.

You had spent the entire Sunday trying not to think about him.

Trying not to think about the way he had been so warm, so teasing, so himself, until he wasn’t. Trying not to think about Yunho, about their argument, about the way Beomgyu looked at you when you left.

And yet, here you were, staring out the car window, still thinking about it. Because now you had to see him again. And you had no idea which version of Beomgyu you were going to get. The smug, infuriating one who lived to push your buttons? The cold, distant one who had barely acknowledged you all week? Or the version from the party, the one who looked at you like he knew exactly what he was doing to your head?

Which was exactly why you didn’t want to talk about this. Because if you said it out loud, then it would feel real. Instead, you just turned back toward the window, watching as the HYBE building came into view.

You made it to your studio without seeing Beomgyu. Thank god.

You hadn’t even realized you had been holding your breath until you shut the door behind you, exhaling slowly. The last thing you wanted was to run into Beomgyu in some awkward hallway moment, trying to pretend like everything was fine when clearly nothing was.

So you did what you did best. You threw yourself into work.

The hours slipped by, your fingers moving almost mechanically over your keyboard, your mind hyper-focused on mixing, arranging, tweaking. It was easier this way, easier to pretend that nothing had changed, that your work was all that mattered.

You didn’t see Beomgyu once. Not in the hallway, not in the break room, not even in the usual spaces where he always seemed to be. Maybe he was avoiding you too. You tried not to care. Tried not to think about it.

But then, just as the day was winding down, just as you were finally about to pack up and go home, there was a knock at your door.

You frowned, pushing your chair back. "Come in."

The door swung open, and standing there, looking as serious as ever, was Baekhyun. "Hey," he said, stepping inside. "Got a minute?"

You straightened slightly, your pulse kicking up for no reason at all. "Uh… yeah, of course."

Baekhyun shut the door behind him before turning to face you. His expression was unreadable, calm, neutral, but with a weight behind his eyes that made your stomach churn. You had a bad feeling about this.

"Listen," he started, crossing his arms. "I wanted to tell you this before you heard it from someone else."

You swallowed. "O���kay?"

Baekhyun exhaled, then said, "Beomgyu dropped out of the project."

The words didn’t register at first. You just blinked at him, waiting for him to say something else. But he didn’t. Because that was it.

You sat up straighter, confusion flashing across your face. "What?"

"He asked to be reassigned," Baekhyun clarified. "You’re the sole producer now."

Your stomach dropped. "He what?"

Baekhyun sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "I don’t know what happened, but it wasn’t about work. His excuse was weak as hell. He just said he ‘wasn’t the right fit for the project’ and left it at that."

You stared at him, your brain struggling to process. Beomgyu, who never backed down from anything, had quit? Beomgyu, who had spent the last few weeks going head-to-head with you, challenging you, pushing you, had walked away?

Just like that? Your pulse roared in your ears. "Why?" you demanded.

Baekhyun shook his head. "I have no idea. And honestly, I don’t have time to figure it out. The album still needs to get done, and now it’s all on you."

You barely heard him. Because all you could think about was him.

The way he had been acting all week. The way he had been acting at the party. The argument with Yunho. The distance. The sudden shift. And now this.

Beomgyu didn’t just quit. Not unless there was a reason. But what the hell was it?

Baekhyun sighed, checking his watch. "Look, I have to run, but if you need anything, let me know."

You nodded stiffly, barely registering as he left the room, shutting the door behind him. And then you were alone. Alone with the news. Alone with the confusion. Alone with the sharp, twisting feeling in your chest that you refused to call anything other than frustration.

Your brain spiraled. Your hands clenched into fists against your desk, your pulse hammering in your ears. Beomgyu quit? Just like that? Without saying a word to you? Without even giving a proper reason?

It made no sense. None of it made sense. You sat there, staring blankly at your screen, but you weren’t processing anything. All you could think about was him.

You exhaled sharply, pushing back from your desk. You weren’t going to sit here and let your thoughts drive you insane. If he wasn’t going to come to you, then fine. You’d go to him.

The building was nearly empty. Most people had already gone home, leaving only a few scattered producers and trainees still working. The silence felt heavier somehow, like even the air itself knew something was wrong.

You walked straight to his studio first. Locked. No lights inside. Empty.

Your jaw tightened as you turned away, moving faster now. Fine. Maybe he was in the break room.

You checked there next, stepping inside and scanning the area. Nothing. Not even a half-finished cup of coffee or an abandoned snack, things that always seemed to be left behind whenever Beomgyu was around.

Your fingers twitched at your sides. You were already walking before you had fully decided to, heading down the hallway toward the smoking area outside. You shoved the door open, stepping onto the dimly lit balcony. The cold air bit at your skin, but you barely noticed. Because the space was completely empty. He wasn’t here.

You let out a frustrated breath, running a hand through your hair. Where the hell was he?

After a few more seconds of standing there uselessly, you turned back around, forcing yourself to accept that you weren’t going to find him tonight. Maybe he had already gone home. Maybe he had been home this whole time, avoiding everything and everyone. Maybe you were wasting your energy trying to chase after someone who clearly didn’t want to be found.

Defeat sat heavy in your chest as you trudged back toward your studio, exhaustion sinking into your bones now that the adrenaline had faded. You should just let it go. Just let him go.

But when you stepped inside your studio—

You froze. Because there he was.

Sitting in your chair, arms resting on the desk, staring at you like he had been waiting. Like he had known you’d come looking. He had that look on his face. That stupid, pathetic, guilty expression—like a kicked dog, like he knew exactly what he had done, like he was bracing himself for the storm he knew was coming.

You shut the door behind you harder than necessary, your heartbeat roaring in your ears. Beomgyu swallowed, his hands tightening slightly where they rested on the desk.

"Listen—"

"Listen what?" Your voice snapped through the air, sharper than you even intended, but you didn’t care. Because after everything, this was what you got? A half-hearted listen? No. Not happening. You crossed your arms, glaring at him. "Go on, Beomgyu. I’d love to hear it."

The words hit the air like a match against gasoline. Beomgyu exhaled sharply, rubbing his palms against his jeans before leaning forward, elbows on his knees. His gaze flickered up to meet yours, hesitant, cautious. "I just—" He ran a hand through his hair, frustration leaking into his voice. "It wasn’t working."

"What wasn’t working?" you demanded. "Because from where I’m standing, the only thing that wasn’t working was you deciding to disappear without saying a damn word to me—"

"Would you just let me talk?" Beomgyu snapped, his voice cutting through yours.

You froze. He never raised his voice at you. Not like this. Not with something heavy sitting behind it, something too close to something real. You set your jaw, arms tightening over your chest. "Fine. Talk."

He let out a bitter chuckle, shaking his head. "You think I wanted to leave the project?"

You blinked. "You literally did."

"Yeah," he snapped. "And maybe if you weren’t so stuck in your own head all the time, you’d realize why."

Your stomach twisted. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

Beomgyu scoffed, pushing himself up from your chair. "It means," he said, voice low, controlled, "that I warned you about people you let in in your life, and you didn’t listen."

And there it was. The shift. The argument that had started as one thing—the project, his sudden absence, your frustration, suddenly becoming something else. Your hands clenched at your sides. "This is about Seungcheol?!"

He let out a sharp laugh, running his tongue over his teeth. "Wow. Look at that. You do listen sometimes."

You took a step closer. "And what exactly is your problem with him?"

Beomgyu’s jaw ticked. "My problem," he muttered, "is that you’re so damn naive sometimes—"

"Excuse me?"

"You think everyone is exactly what they show you," he continued, voice rising slightly. "You think people don’t have their own reasons for the things they do, for why they pay attention to you—"

You felt something sharp crawl up your throat, something dangerously close to real anger. "And why the fuck does that matter to you?"

Beomgyu’s breath hitched, just for a second, just enough for you to see it. And then, just as quickly, his face hardened again. "It doesn’t," he said flatly.

You let out a sharp, humorless laugh. "Right. Got it. So, you threw away an entire project, left me with all the fucking work, because you suddenly don’t care?"

Beomgyu’s hands curled into fists. "I left because I knew this was going to get messy."

"It’s already messy, Beomgyu!" you exploded. "You made it messy! I thought we were a team—I thought, for once, that maybe you weren’t just trying to be better than me, that maybe we actually worked well together, but no—of course not, because you had to fucking run the second it got complicated—"

"Are you even hearing yourself?" His voice was sharp, eyes blazing. "Do you really think I left because of the fucking project?"

You opened your mouth—then shut it. Because, no. You didn’t believe that. Not for a second. Because if this was just about work, then Beomgyu would’ve fought harder. He always fought harder.

Your breath was shallow now, your heart racing against your ribs. There was only a foot of space between you.

You could hear his breathing, sharp, uneven. You could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his fingers twitched at his sides like he was fighting the urge to do something. And you could feel it, how the air between you had shifted, thickened into something neither of you knew how to name.

This wasn’t just about work. This wasn’t just about Yunho, or Seungcheol. This wasn’t just about Saturday night. It was about everything. But neither of you were ready to say it. Neither of you knew how.

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to keep your expression neutral. "Then why did you?"

His jaw clenched. "I told you—"

"No," you cut him off, stepping even closer, your anger outweighing your restraint now. "You didn’t. You keep talking in circles, Beomgyu, but you haven’t told me shit. You just keep—acting like I’m supposed to read your fucking mind."

Beomgyu exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through his hair. "Because you don’t get it!"

"Then make me get it!" you snapped.

His eyes flashed, dark and burning. Then, suddenly—

"You drive me insane."

The words hit the air before he could stop them, before you could process them, and for a second, the room froze. Your breath caught.

Beomgyu’s lips parted slightly, like he couldn’t believe he had actually said it out loud. His chest rose and fell unevenly, like he had been holding onto those words for too long, like they had just ripped their way out of him.

You felt your stomach twist, your skin heat, your pulse roar in your ears. Because he wasn’t looking at you with anger anymore. He was looking at you like you were something dangerous. Like you had the power to ruin him. Like you already had.

"Ever since we started this fucking project," he continued, voice rough, "I haven’t been able to think straight. I go home, and I still hear your voice in my head. I wake up, and I’m already wondering what kind of mood you’ll be in, if we’re gonna fight, if we’re gonna work, if—" He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "It’s you. It’s always fucking you."

Your pulse slammed against your ribs. This, whatever this was, it had been bubbling under the surface for so long, hidden under sharp words and competition and a rivalry neither of you had ever actually needed.

"You fucking ran." Your voice was quieter now, but not softer.

Beomgyu’s brows pulled together. "I had to."

"No," you countered, stepping closer. "You wanted to. Because it was easier than—than whatever this is. Because you can’t handle anything you can’t control."

Beomgyu let out a sharp breath, tongue running over his teeth. "You think I’m the only one running?" You hesitated. That second of hesitation was all it took.

Because then, suddenly, Beomgyu’s fingers curled around your wrist, not pulling, not forcing, just grounding, and you felt the warmth of his skin burn into yours. "You tell me to stop running," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper now. "Then tell me to stay."

Your heart nearly stopped. The challenge in his tone, the weight behind it, felt like stepping off a ledge. You stared at him, your throat tight, your head light, your pulse a fucking mess. Because this wasn’t how things were supposed to go. This wasn’t the plan.

And yet, your fingers tightened slightly around his. Barely, just enough for him to feel it. Just enough for something inside him to snap.

You barely had time to process it before Beomgyu moved.

His hands found your face first, warm, calloused fingers cradling your jaw like he needed to hold you in place, like he was afraid you’d pull away before he could do what he had been holding back for too long.

The space between you disappeared, and then his lips were on yours.

The first press was firm, almost hesitant, like he wasn’t sure if you’d kiss him back, if this was something he was allowed to take. But then you gave in. A sharp inhale, a slight tilt of your head, the way your fingers fisted into his hoodie, yanking him closer. That was all he needed. Because once Beomgyu realized you weren’t stopping him, that you weren’t pushing him away, he lost it.

The kiss got harder, deeper, his lips parting against yours as his hands slid from your jaw to your waist, fingers gripping your sides like he was pissed off—at you, at himself, at the entire world for making him wait this long.

You made a sound against his mouth, but it wasn’t protest. It was frustration, relief, disbelief that this was even happening. Because fuck, he kissed like this? Hot and desperate and messy, like he had been waiting for this for longer than even he was willing to admit. Like he had no idea where to put his hands because he wanted to touch you everywhere.

You felt his teeth graze your lower lip, just barely, just enough to make you gasp, and he took full advantage of it, deepening the kiss, pressing himself into you until your back hit the door behind you.

All you could process was him, his lips, his warmth, the way one of his hands slid up, fingers curling around the back of your neck, angling your head so he could kiss you even deeper, even dirtier. Your fingers dug into his hoodie, tugging him forward, not willing to let him have all the control. He groaned at that.

A soft, frustrated sound that sent a thrill through your body, because you had never heard him sound like that before, had never imagined that you could pull that sound from him. And then, just when the heat between you had grown unbearable, just when his hands started to wander, gripping at your waist like he wanted to pin you there forever—

You both realized what was happening. Realized that this was you and him. That this was real. That this wasn’t something either of you could take back. So you pulled away first. Barely, just a few inches. Just enough to catch your breath. Beomgyu didn’t move.

His forehead pressed against yours, his breath warm and uneven against your lips, his hands still gripping your waist like he couldn’t let go. Your chest heaved, heart hammering so loudly you swore he could hear it. Neither of you spoke. Neither of you could. Because whatever line had been there before? You had just obliterated it.

His breath was uneven, and the silence between you both stretched longer than either of you had anticipated. The air in the studio felt thick now, charged with something neither of you quite knew how to handle.

Finally, you broke the silence. Your voice came out rough but firm as you looked at him. "You… you can’t just walk away."

Beomgyu’s hand twitched at your waist, his grip still there, like he was trying to hold onto something real in the middle of all the chaos between you two. His lips parted, but he hesitated, like he wasn’t sure what to say next.

"You want me to stay?" he asked, his voice quieter now, more vulnerable than you expected. "You really want me to stay?"

You swallowed hard, a knot forming in your throat. It wasn’t that simple. But then again, it was. "I do," you said, your words coming out with an honesty you couldn’t take back.

The air seemed to crackle around you both, and Beomgyu finally let go of his tight grip around your waist, but not completely. He just let his hands fall to your sides, his touch lingering as though he was afraid of pushing too far.

And there it was. The line had been crossed. The weight of your words hung between you, settling like something inevitable. Neither of you moved, but there was something different now, something undeniable that shifted in the space you shared.

Beomgyu’s eyes softened for the first time, he leaned in again, his hand gently cupping your cheek this time, as though he was finally allowing himself to believe that this wasn’t just another fleeting moment, another mistake. His touch lingered for a moment longer, his hand soft on your cheek as though he were afraid that if he moved too quickly, everything would fall apart. His eyes searched yours, the intensity of the moment hanging between you, thick with unspoken words. His lips parted slightly, as though he was going to say something, but the words seemed to get stuck in his throat.

For a long moment, all that was heard was the sound of your breaths, his shaky, yours quick. But then, just as quickly as he had leaned in, Beomgyu pulled back.

The change was immediate. His hand dropped from your cheek, and there was a flicker of something in his eyes, something almost… regretful. You could feel the tension in his body shift, a quiet storm brewing in him that you couldn’t quite understand.

"Beomgyu…" you started, but before you could get another word out, he turned away from you.

Without a word, he walked toward the door. Your chest tightened, confusion and frustration flooding your senses as you watched him move. You didn’t know whether to call out, to beg him to stay, or to just let him go and pretend that this whole mess hadn’t happened. But no matter what, you felt a pit in your stomach, a weight you couldn’t shake off.

Beomgyu reached for the handle, his back still to you, and for a brief second, you thought maybe he would say something—anything. Maybe he would explain himself, finally tell you what was going through his head. But instead, he opened the door. The sound of the hinges creaking was like a cruel reminder of what was happening.

He stepped outside, and for a heartbeat, the door remained open, leaving you to watch him through the gap. His expression was unreadable, his body stiff. Then, without looking back, he closed the door behind him, the sound echoing through the room like the finality of everything.

And just like that, you were left alone.

Your heart pounded in your chest as you sat down, staring at the door, still hearing the faint click of it locking in your mind. You couldn’t move. You couldn’t breathe. It felt as though the world had tilted on its axis, leaving you floating in the aftermath, unsure of what had just happened. What had changed? Why did it feel like you were left with nothing?

Everything was so… messy. You had never felt so raw, so exposed, and yet, Beomgyu had walked away without a single word. The silence that filled the room now was deafening. You wanted to scream, to shout, to demand answers, but all you could do was sit there, trying to make sense of it all.

Had you been wrong to ask him to stay? Did you push him too far, too soon? Or was this all just another part of that complicated dance you two had been doing from the very start?

You didn’t know. All you knew was that the studio felt emptier now, quieter. And Beomgyu… Beomgyu had walked away. The silence in the studio was suffocating.

You sat there, unmoving, eyes still locked on the door even though Beomgyu was long gone. Your hands were trembling in your lap. The lump in your throat tightened, and before you could stop it, a sharp, broken breath escaped you. Until the tears spilled over, hot and relentless, blurring your vision and burning your cheeks.

You sucked in a shaky breath, gripping the edge of your desk like it was the only thing keeping you grounded. You never cried over shit like this. Not over work. Not over him. You hated this. You hated feeling like this.

You blinked rapidly, wiping at your face with the sleeve of your hoodie, but the tears wouldn’t stop. Your breath came out in uneven gasps, the weight in your chest growing heavier by the second.

You needed to leave. Your fingers scrambled for your phone, your vision still blurred with tears as you unlocked it and pulled up your messages. You barely even thought before typing.

[you]: can you pick me up The response came within seconds.

[yeonjun]: on my way. stay there.

You let out a shaky breath, gripping your phone like it was the only thing keeping you from completely unraveling.

The second you slid into Yeonjun’s car, the dam broke.

The moment the door shut behind you, the sobs you had barely been holding in ripped out of you, raw and unfiltered, shaking your entire body.

Yeonjun didn’t hesitate. Didn’t ask any questions. Didn’t push. He just reached across the console, one hand on your back, grounding you. "Hey, hey, hey," he murmured, his voice low and calm as he rubbed small circles. "I got you, okay? Just breathe."

You shook your head violently, pressing your palms into your eyes, trying, and failing, to stop crying. "I—I don’t—" A sharp inhale, a choked-out sob. "I don’t even know why I’m crying."

Yeonjun let out a soft breath, like he already knew that was a lie. You sucked in another shaky breath, leaning your head back against the seat, staring up at the roof of the car. For a few minutes, neither of you spoke. Yeonjun just drove.

The car was quiet, save for the steady hum of the engine and the occasional sound of your sniffles as you tried to get your breathing under control. Yeonjun didn’t say anything right away. He didn’t press, didn’t demand answers. He just waited and held your hand while he drove. Slow, steady, like he had done this a hundred times before. Like he knew you needed the silence before you could find the words.

And when you finally did, your voice came out small. Tired. "He quit the project." Yeonjun’s grip on the wheel tightened slightly, but he stayed quiet, letting you continue. "I don’t—I don’t get it," you said, shaking your head as you wiped at your eyes with your sleeve. "I was working all day, and then Baekhyun came in and just dropped it on me like it was nothing. Like it was some casual decision Beomgyu made, and now I’m just supposed to deal with it—"

Yeonjun exhaled sharply. "Wait. He just left? No warning? No explanation?"

You let out a shaky breath. "Nothing. I—I went looking for him, but he wasn’t anywhere. Then when I finally gave up and went back to my studio, he was just there, like he had been waiting for me or something." Yeonjun frowned, but he didn’t interrupt. "And I was so fucking mad," you admitted, voice thick with frustration. "I just—I don’t understand him. He always has to push my buttons, always has to act like he doesn’t care about anything, but then he turns around and does this. Like it means something, but then he—he just—"

Your breath hitched. You squeezed your eyes shut, your chest aching. "And then he kissed me," you whispered.

Silence. Yeonjun inhaled slowly. "What?"

Your hands clenched in your lap. "I don’t even know how it happened. We were yelling at each other, and it just—it happened."

Yeonjun didn’t respond right away. His fingers flexed around the steering wheel, his brows furrowing as he processed what you just said. "And then what?" he asked, quieter now.

Your throat tightened. "And then… he left."

Yeonjun let out a slow, controlled breath. "What a dick." You let out a weak, wet laugh, shaking your head. "Yeah, well, I mean it." He tightened his grip on the wheel before exhaling, forcing himself to soften.

Then, carefully, he reached over, his fingers curling around your knee, grounding you. "Hey." You sniffled, not looking at him. Yeonjun’s voice was softer this time. "Did it mean something to you?"

Your breath caught. Because, fuck. It did. It did, and you hated that. You let out a shaky exhale, running a hand over your face. "I don’t know," you lied.

Yeonjun hummed like he didn’t believe you for a second. He didn’t push, though. Instead, his thumb rubbed slow, calming circles into your knee. "Look, Y/N… I don’t think Beomgyu ran because he didn’t care. I think he ran because he does."

Your chest ached. "Then why not just fucking say that?"

Yeonjun sighed, turning onto your street. "Because people are dumb. Men are dumb. And Beomgyu’s spent years convincing himself that he doesn’t care about anything. You think he’s just gonna wake up one day and admit that he cares about you?" Your breath stilled. Yeonjun just shook his head. "He’s an idiot. That’s all it is."

You let out a weak laugh, leaning your head against the window. "Yeah," you murmured. "That makes two of us."

Yeonjun pulled into your apartment complex, shifting into park before turning to you. He didn’t say anything for a second, just watched you carefully, his eyes warm and steady. Then, gently, he reached out, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. "You’re not an idiot," he murmured. "You just care too much, and you’re scared."

You scoffed. "No shit."

You swallowed hard, your throat tight. He let that sit for a second before shaking his head. "You know what I think?" Yeonjun hummed, thoughtful. "I think he’s scared, too."

You stiffened slightly. "He didn’t seem scared when he left me standing there."

"Yeah?" Yeonjun mused. "Then why did he leave at all?"

You frowned, glancing at him. "What do you mean?"

Yeonjun sighed. "Think about it. If Beomgyu was just messing around, if this was just another game to him—he wouldn’t have left. He would’ve stayed. Would’ve laughed it off, made some cocky comment, pretended like it meant nothing." Your stomach twisted. Yeonjun turned toward you, his expression softer now. "But he didn’t, Y/N. He ran."

You let that sink in. Because maybe Yeonjun had a point. Maybe Beomgyu leaving wasn’t just some asshole move. Maybe he had been just as freaked out as you. The thought made your chest tighten all over again.

Yeonjun reached over, squeezing your hand once before letting go. "You don’t have to figure it all out right now," he murmured. He gave you a small smile before reaching over, pulling you into a hug. "You’re gonna be okay," he murmured against your hair. "I promise."

You let out a shaky breath, gripping onto him a little tighter. You weren’t sure if you believed him. But for now, you needed to. You sighed, leaning back against the seat, exhausted. But even as Yeonjun turned off the car, even as you sat there, trying to steady yourself, one thought wouldn’t leave your mind.

Beomgyu had run. But what the hell was he running from?

The question rattled in your mind, looping over and over as you stepped into your apartment, your limbs heavy with exhaustion.

You barely remembered saying goodnight to Yeonjun. You barely even registered the moment you locked yourself in the bathroom, turning on the shower and stepping under the scalding water.

Steam filled the space around you, thick and hazy, but it did nothing to quiet the storm in your chest. You tilted your head back, letting the water soak through your hair, tracing down the curve of your spine. Your breathing was still uneven, your mind still too loud.

You were supposed to be fine. It wasn’t a big deal. So what if he had kissed you? So what if he had left? You and Beomgyu had been dancing around each other for years—this was just another part of the cycle.

Right?

You squeezed your eyes shut, inhaling deeply through your nose. Then why does it feel different this time? Your fingers curled into fists.

You could still feel his hands on your waist, his breath against your lips. Could still see the flicker of hesitation in his eyes right before he pulled away. Could still hear the sound of the door clicking shut as he left.

You sucked in a sharp breath, forcing yourself to push the memory away. You weren’t going to do this. You weren’t going to sit here, overthinking every second, every glance, every fucking thing about Beomgyu.

So instead, you stayed under the water until your skin was raw, until the ache in your chest dulled into something you could ignore.

And despite everything—despite the storm in your chest, despite the weight in your head—you managed to fall asleep. But you woke up feeling like your body was still stuck in yesterday.

Your limbs were sluggish, your mind groggy, and the second you remembered why, your stomach twisted unpleasantly. You groaned, dragging a pillow over your face, trying to will yourself back to sleep.

But outside your door, you could already hear Yeonjun moving around the kitchen. You forced yourself out of bed, padding into the living room to find him standing by the stove, frying eggs like he actually knew how to cook. You frowned. "What are you doing?"

Yeonjun glanced over his shoulder. "Making breakfast."

"You don’t cook," you pointed out.

"Yeah, well, desperate times." He nodded toward the table. "Sit."

You sighed but obeyed, rubbing at your temples as you slumped into a chair. A minute later, Yeonjun set a plate in front of you, eggs, toast, and a coffee. You blinked. "You’re really committing to this whole overbearing best friend thing, huh?"

Yeonjun smirked, plopping down across from you with his own plate. "You love it."

You rolled your eyes but took a bite of the eggs anyway. They were… passable. Yeonjun watched you carefully between bites, waiting. You sighed. "I will be fine, you know."

He hummed. "Yeah, I know." He took a sip of his coffee, then added, "But are you fine right now?" Your fingers tightened slightly around your fork. You didn’t answer. Yeonjun just sighed, reaching across the table to squeeze your wrist. "You don’t have to be fine yet, Y/N."

Your throat tightened. So instead of answering, you just nodded, pushing your food around your plate. Yeonjun didn’t push. Just let you sit there, existing, until you finally managed to eat something.

When it was time to leave, he drove you to work again, filling the silence with easy conversation, talking about his projects, making fun of bad drivers, anything to keep your mind off of what was waiting for you at HYBE.

But the second you stepped out of the car, the weight returned. The anxiety crept back into your bones. Because today, you had to see Beomgyu. And you had no idea what was going to happen.

You made it to your studio without running into him. You didn’t know whether that was a good thing or a bad thing.

But instead of sitting there, drowning in your own thoughts, you pulled out your phone. Your fingers hovered over the screen for a moment before you typed.

[you]: taehyun, i need to talk to you [taehyun]: About what? [you]: just… when you have a second. come by my studio [taehyun]: Be there soon.

You exhaled, setting your phone down. You didn’t know why you needed to talk to him. But right now, Taehyun felt like the only person who could give you some kind of clarity. And clarity was exactly what you needed.

It didn’t take long for Taehyun to show up. You barely had time to fully gather your thoughts before there was a soft knock at your door, and then he was stepping inside, hands in the pockets of his hoodie, head tilting slightly as he studied you.

"Alright," he said, shutting the door behind him. "What’s up?"

You opened your mouth, then closed it. Because now that he was actually here, you weren’t sure where to start. Did you tell him about Beomgyu quitting? The fight? The kiss? Did you tell him about the way your heart had completely fallen apart when Beomgyu walked out of that room?

You exhaled, rubbing your temples. "This is stupid."

Taehyun raised an eyebrow. "Well, now I definitely wanna hear it."

You shot him a dry look, but he just crossed his arms, waiting. So you told him. Everything.

How you found out that Beomgyu had quit. How you had gone looking for him. How he was already waiting for you when you got back to your studio. The argument and then… And then the kiss.

Taehyun listened carefully, barely reacting at first. Just nodding, humming occasionally, letting you spill everything you had been holding in since last night. And when you finally finished, slumping back into your chair with a deep breath, he exhaled slowly, shaking his head.

"Jesus Christ," he muttered. "You guys are exhausting."

You let out a short, humorless laugh. "Tell me about it."

Taehyun was quiet for a moment, thoughtful. "He’s an idiot," he said. You blinked. "He is," Taehyun repeated, sitting on the edge of your desk. "Beomgyu is… complicated. He’s impulsive, and reckless, and sometimes he doesn’t think before he acts. But he’s not bad, Y/N."

You frowned, shifting in your seat. "I never said he was bad—"

"You didn’t have to," Taehyun interrupted. "You’re pissed, and you should be. He left you with an entire project and just disappeared. That’s a dick move."

You scoffed. "Glad we agree on that."

"But," Taehyun continued, leveling you with a look, "you also know that if this was just about work, he wouldn’t have left."

You stiffened. Because, yeah. You did know that.

Taehyun sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Look… I’ve known Beomgyu for a long time. And I can tell you one thing for sure—he’s confused as hell about you." Your stomach twisted. "Beomgyu’s not used to… feeling things like this. You know him—he jokes, he messes around, he acts like nothing ever really matters to him. But this? You? This is probably the first time something has actually gotten to him in a way he doesn’t know how to handle."

You looked away, fingers tightening slightly around the edge of your desk. "He looked at me like…" You hesitated, searching for the right words. "Like he regretted it."

Taehyun hummed. "Maybe he did." Your heart sank. Taehyun must have noticed your expression, because he shook his head quickly. "No—not like that. Not in the I wish I never kissed her way. More like… Fuck, what did I just do?"

Your breath hitched. Taehyun leaned forward slightly, watching you carefully. "Y/N… if Beomgyu didn’t care, he wouldn’t have left. He wouldn’t have pulled away. He wouldn’t be acting like this at all."

You swallowed hard. "Then why didn’t he just say something?"

Taehyun sighed. "Because he’s a coward."

You blinked. "Wow. That’s blunt."

"Yeah, well." He shrugged. "Someone has to say it."

A short silence stretched between you, the weight of everything still settling in your chest. And then, Taehyun’s voice softened slightly. "I know you want to see him." You inhaled sharply, but before you could argue, he continued. "But you won’t," he said simply. "Not for a while, at least."

"What do you mean?"

Taehyun rubbed the back of his neck. "I overheard Baekhyun talking to some of the staff this morning. Beomgyu asked for a week off before getting reassigned to another project." Your stomach dropped. You opened your mouth, closed it, then opened it again. Taehyun hesitated. "He’s not ot gone. Just… off the grid for a bit."

You swallowed hard. A week. You had a week without him. A week to focus on work. A week to stop feeling like this. A week to—

To what? Forget about him? Pretend none of this ever happened? Pretend that the past twenty-four hours hadn’t completely flipped your world upside down?

You clenched your fists in your lap, nodding stiffly. "Okay."

Taehyun studied you for a moment. Then, finally, he sighed and reached out, squeezing your arm. "You’ll be okay," he murmured.

You let out a shaky breath, forcing a nod. "Yeah."

But as he walked out of the room, leaving you alone with your thoughts, one thing was clear. You weren’t sure if that was true.

The first day without Beomgyu was easier than you expected.

Maybe because you were still fueled by frustration. By anger. By the exhaustion of the past few days. It was easier to channel all of that into work, to drown out the silence with layers of sound, synths, drums, melodies, anything to keep your mind occupied.

You convinced yourself that you didn’t need him here. Didn’t need his input, his annoying commentary, his stupid smirk when he knew he was right about something. And for a little while, you almost believed it.

But then the second day came. And the third.

And by Wednesday, you realized just how much space Beomgyu used to take up, physically, mentally, emotionally. The studio felt different without him. Too quiet.

You had spent so long being annoyed by his presence, by the way he was always around, always making some offhand comment, always pushing your buttons just because he could. And now it felt like the air had been sucked out of the room. Like the silence was mocking you. You tried to ignore it.

Tried to focus on the album, on the endless meetings with Baekhyun about tracklists, on your studio sessions with the Enhypen members.

Jake had mentioned that they were excited about the project. Jungwon had suggested a few ideas for the second track. Heeseung had even sat with you for over an hour, working through some of the melody transitions.

It was good. The work was getting done. Everything was moving forward. So why did it still feel like something was missing?

By Thursday, Yeonjun had stopped asking if you wanted to talk about it. At first, he had tried, little things, subtle attempts to get you to open up.

"You seem really focused on work this week," he had mused over dinner on Tuesday. "Trying to distract yourself?" You had rolled your eyes, shoving a bite of food into your mouth just to avoid answering.

By Wednesday, he had simply given you a long, knowing look before sighing. "Okay. I get it. You don’t want to talk about it."

And you didn’t. Because what was there to say? That you missed him? That you had caught yourself glancing at his empty chair during meetings? That every time you pulled up a demo, you could still hear his suggestions in the back of your mind? That you had started a dozen text messages, only to delete them before even finishing the first word? No. You weren’t going to do that.

You weren’t going to let Beomgyu live rent-free in your head while he was off doing whatever the hell he was doing.

So by Friday, you had convinced yourself that you were fine. That you were moving on. That you had finally, finally stopped thinking about him. At least, until you walked into your studio that morning.

And saw the letter sitting on your desk.

At first, you thought it was just another memo from Baekhyun. Or maybe some notes from one of the Enhypen members. But then you got closer. And you saw his handwriting.

For a moment, you just stood there, frozen in the doorway, staring at the folded piece of paper like it might disappear if you blinked. Then, cautiously, you stepped forward. Your fingers hesitated before reaching for it. The paper was slightly creased, as if he had folded and unfolded it multiple times before finally deciding to leave it here. No greeting. No explanation.

Just one simple sentence, scrawled in messy, familiar ink.

i think this fits for track 1

Your heart pounded in your chest as your eyes flicked down to the lyrics below. And the second you started reading, your breath caught.

Just the two of us, getting deeply moonstruck Oh, you make me go crazy over you, you, baby Let me hold you close, I want to feel you until the end of the night Fly this night above the rising moon Crazy over you, you, baby We can take it slow Moonstruck in ecstasy

Your fingers clenched around the edges of the paper. This wasn’t just a song suggestion. This wasn’t just another track for the album. This was Beomgyu, talking to you the only way he knew how. Your pulse roared in your ears.

Because, fuck. You weren’t stupid. You knew exactly what this meant. And now, you had no idea what the hell you were supposed to do about it.

You sat at your desk, gripping the paper so tightly it was a wonder it hadn’t torn yet. Your eyes kept flicking over the words, tracing the messy, slightly smudged ink of his handwriting. Moonstruck.

You read the lyrics again. And again. Each time, they felt heavier.

I'm so intoxicated, getting more and more into you, baby

What the fuck was he trying to say? You tried to rationalize it. Maybe he had written it before everything that happened. But that didn’t make sense, did it?

Your fingers curled into the fabric of your hoodie as your mind looped back to that night. The way he had kissed you. The way he had run. And now, instead of an explanation, instead of a conversation, he left this? A song?

You exhaled sharply, forcing yourself to push it aside. If Beomgyu wanted to talk in lyrics, fine. You would make sure they were heard.

The Enhypen members were already lounging around their practice room when you arrived. Sunghoon was sprawled on the couch, lazily scrolling through his phone. Jungwon and Jay were flipping through notes on the album’s concept. Jake was throwing a crumpled-up piece of paper at Sunoo, who swatted it away with an exaggerated groan.

The second you stepped in, Heeseung perked up. "Oh, hey, you’re here. What’s up?"

You inhaled deeply, clutching the paper in your hands. "We have a song."

That got their attention. Sunghoon sat up properly. Jay leaned forward, brows raising. Ni-ki, who had been half-asleep in the corner, immediately straightened, eyes flicking toward you.

You placed the lyrics down on the table. "It’s called Moonstruck," you said, keeping your voice steady. "Beomgyu wrote it."

A beat of silence. Jungwon blinked. "Wait. Beomgyu?"

You nodded stiffly. "Yeah."

Jake leaned in, scanning the paper. "When the hell did he even—?"

"I don’t know," you admitted, arms crossing over your chest. "But it’s good. And I think we should use it."

They didn’t argue. Instead, they took the next few minutes carefully analyzing the lyrics, murmuring about which parts fit their vocal tones best.

"Pre-chorus has to be Ni-ki and Sunghoon," Jay noted, nodding to himself. "Their voices will carry this section perfectly."

Ni-ki grinned. "I do sound good under moonlight."

Sunoo groaned. "God, shut up."

Jake chuckled, shaking his head. "The first verse has a nice flow. Maybe Heeeseung and Jay can split it?"

You nodded. "Yeah, that works."

As they discussed vocal distribution, you quietly worked on the arrangement, playing with some of the melodies on your laptop. And as much as you hated to admit it, the song was beautiful.

The harmonies, the depth, the longing in the lyrics—it all weaved together into something intoxicating. Something that felt like Beomgyu. And, more terrifyingly, something that felt like you and Beomgyu.

You poured yourself into it. Every ounce of frustration, every unanswered question, every lingering moment of that damn kiss, you put it all into the music. If Beomgyu wanted to communicate this way, then fine. You would answer him in the production.

By the time the first rough demo was put together, the entire room had shifted. The members listened intently, nodding along to the beat, already humming harmonies under their breath.

And when the final note played, Heeseung let out a low whistle. "Okay," he muttered. "That was… insane."

Jake leaned back against the couch, arms crossed. "This might be one of the strongest songs on the album."

Ni-ki grinned. "It’s sexy."

Jungwon rolled his eyes. "It’s romantic, you idiot."

Sunghoon smirked. "Both."

You stared at the screen, fingers still hovering over the controls, heart pounding in your chest. You had lost track of time, lost yourself in the production, in the process of turning Beomgyu’s words into something real.

Heeseung stretched his arms over his head, glancing over at you. "How the hell did this come together so fast?"

You hesitated. Then, before you could think too much about it, the words tumbled out. "Because Beomgyu wrote it."

The room fell quiet for a beat. You swallowed, suddenly feeling exposed under their stares. You ignored the pointed looks, turning back toward the screen.

You had done what you needed to do. You had taken Beomgyu’s song and made it something real. And yet, as you sat there, staring at the lyrics again, one thought lingered.

This was his way of talking to you. But when—if—you finally saw him again… Would he have anything else to say?

The weekend arrived quietly, slipping in like a breeze through an open window. For the first time in what felt like forever, you allowed yourself to exist outside of work, outside of the chaos, outside of the constant hum of him in the back of your mind.

You spent Saturday sprawled across the living room floor, limbs tangled with Yunjin’s as she attempted (and failed) to beat Hueningkai in a Mario Kart tournament.

"HOW is this fair?!" she screeched, gripping the controller like it personally offended her. "This little shit has been in first place for the entire race—"

"Skill issue," Hueningkai mused, barely sparing her a glance as he executed yet another flawless turn.

Taehyun cackled from his spot on the couch. "Face it, Yunjin, you’re bad at this game."

"You’re supposed to be on my side!"

"I would be," Taehyun said easily, taking a sip of his soda. "If you were winning."

Yunjin let out an exaggerated wail, flopping back onto the floor in defeat as Hueningkai crossed the finish line with ease. You laughed, stretching your legs out, your shoulders relaxing in a way they hadn’t all week.

This was nice. No tension, no overthinking, no lyrics folded neatly onto your desk like an unanswered question. Just this. Just them.

Yeonjun, who had spent the afternoon attempting to make cocktails, only to get tipsy himself after "taste testing" every single one. Hueningkai, who had somehow convinced everyone to build a fort in the living room, resulting in a half-collapsed mess of blankets and fairy lights that no one had the energy to fix.

Taehyun, who had made it his personal mission to bother you at all time, poking your cheek, stealing your hair tie, purposefully messing up your playlists just to get a reaction out of you. And Yunjin, who was now lying dramatically across your lap, still mourning her loss. "I hate this game," she mumbled into your hoodie.

"You say that every time you lose," Yeonjun reminded her, nudging her foot with his own.

She groaned. "Because I do."

You chuckled, resting your head against the couch cushions. For the first time in days, your mind felt quiet.

Maybe Beomgyu was just a phase. A storm that had come and gone, leaving only a few stray raindrops behind. Maybe by Monday, you would go back to work and it wouldn’t hurt anymore. Maybe.

It wasn’t until Sunday night, when the apartment had finally settled into silence, that something shifted. Everyone had gone home. Yeonjun had retreated to his room, muttering something about a deadline he had been procrastinating. And you were alone.

The weight of it settled over you slowly, like an old sweater you hadn’t worn in years but still fit perfectly. You weren’t sure when you reached for your guitar. Hadn’t even realized you were doing it until you were sitting cross-legged on your bed, fingers ghosting over the strings. It had been a while.

Too long since you had written something for yourself. Too long since you had let yourself sit in the mess of your own emotions, instead of tucking them neatly into productions meant for other people’s voices.

You plucked a few chords aimlessly, letting the melody come to you naturally. Something soft. Something slow. And then—without meaning to—you started to hum. A tune that wasn’t meant for the album. A tune that wasn’t meant for anyone.

The words slipped out like a confession, too quiet for anyone else to hear. You didn’t even think about them. You just sang.

Your fingers stilled. The room felt too small. You closed your eyes, exhaling through your nose. And then, with trembling hands, you picked up a pen and started to write. Not because you wanted to. But because some things were too heavy to carry in silence.

The first chord rang out soft and hesitant, barely louder than the steady hum of the city outside your window. You pressed your lips together, fingertips finding the familiar weight of the strings, the slightly worn frets beneath them.

And then, you started to sing.

This is the first day of my life Swear I was born right in the doorway I went out in the rain, suddenly everything changed They're spreading blankets on the beach

The words came slowly, carefully, like they had been waiting for you to let them out. Your voice was quiet, almost unsure at first. But as the melody settled into you, as the lyrics unfolded with each passing chord, something in your chest loosened.

Yours was the first face that I saw I think I was blind before I met you And I don't know where I am, I don't know where I've been But I know where I want to go

Your breathing evened. Your fingers moved more fluidly. And suddenly, it wasn’t just a song anymore. It was him.

The memories bled into the music, uninvited but unavoidable. The late nights in the studio, the sharp bickering that always gave way to something deeper. The way he looked at you sometimes, like he knew you, like he saw through every wall you had ever built and wasn’t afraid to push past them.

So if you wanna be with me With these things there's no telling We just have to wait and see But I'd rather be working for a paycheck Than waiting to win the lottery Besides, maybe this time is different I mean, I really think you like me

The realization settled slowly, creeping in like the soft glow of headlights through your window. You missed him. Not just as a producer, not just as a coworker, not just as the person who had spent years getting under your skin.

You missed him. His presence, his voice, the way his eyes flickered with something unreadable when he looked at you. The way you had always convinced yourself that the tension between you two was nothing but competition.

But now? Now, as you sat here with a guitar in your lap and a song that tasted like confession on your tongue, you weren’t so sure anymore.

The words hung in the air, delicate and fragile. And for the first time in weeks, you stopped running from the truth. It wasn’t just a rivalry. It wasn’t just frustration. It wasn’t even just a stupid, fleeting crush.

You liked him. And that was terrifying.

The car ride to work felt different today.

You weren’t as anxious as last week, your chest wasn’t as tight, your hands weren’t as clammy, but there was still something unsettled in you, something quietly nagging at the back of your mind.

Because today, Beomgyu was coming back.

And you had no idea what that meant. No idea which version of him you’d be facing. No idea if he’d pretend like nothing had happened, if he’d be cold again, or if he’d acknowledge it, that stupid, reckless, earth-shattering kiss. Or, if you'd even seen him today.

The HYBE lobby was already buzzing with early-morning energy. You kept your head down as you made your way toward the café, deciding that you desperately needed caffeine before facing the rest of the day. When you stepped inside, the familiar scent of espresso and vanilla filled the air, the quiet hum of conversation washing over you like white noise.

You spotted Taehyun near the counter, casually scrolling through his phone as he waited for his order. "Morning," you greeted, sliding into line beside him.

Taehyun glanced up from his phone as you slid into line beside him. "You’re here early," he remarked, taking a sip of his coffee.

You shrugged, adjusting the strap of your bag. "Figured I’d try something new. Maybe if I start my day with caffeine instead of stress, I’ll live longer."

Taehyun smirked. "Doubt it. But I respect the effort."

You hummed, stepping forward as the line moved. "What about you? Thought you weren’t a morning person."

"I’m not," he admitted, stuffing his free hand into the pocket of his hoodie. "But some of us have obligations."

You snorted. "Right." You huffed a quiet laugh, shaking your head as you reached for your phone. And just as you unlocked it, a notification popped up at the top of your screen.

[baekhyun (HYBE)]: meeting on the 18th floor. 10 minutes.

Your stomach twisted slightly. Taehyun must’ve noticed the shift in your expression because he raised an eyebrow. "Everything good?"

You exhaled, locking your phone and slipping it back into your pocket. "Yeah. Just got called into a meeting."

He hummed, sipping his coffee. "Just you?" You nodded, grabbing your drink from the counter. Taehyun studied you for a beat before smirking. "Well. That’s suspicious."

You shot him a flat look. "Everything is suspicious to you."

"And yet, I’m usually right." Taehyun smirked. "Good luck, warrior."

You shot him a dry look before turning to leave. But as you made your way toward the elevators, your chest tightened slightly. You weren’t nervous. At least, that’s what you kept telling yourself.

But the moment the elevator doors slid open, your breath caught in your throat. Beomgyu was already inside.

He stood toward the back, hands shoved into the pockets of his hoodie, the sleeves pushed up just enough to reveal the veins in his forearms. His dark hair was slightly tousled, messy, like he had run his hands through it too many times this morning.

Your heart did something stupid in your chest.

You hesitated for half a second, debating whether you should just wait for the next elevator, but then Beomgyu’s eyes met yours. And you couldn’t run. Not again. So, stiffly, you stepped inside.

The doors slid shut behind you, and the silence pressed in like a heavy weight. You swallowed. Beomgyu said nothing. You could feel him there, standing just a few feet away, but he didn’t look at you. His jaw was set, his gaze fixed on the doors in front of him, his entire body wound tight.

The tension was unbearable. So, stupidly, you spoke first. "You’re back."

His lips pressed together slightly. "Yeah."

You exhaled slowly, nodding. The elevator climbed higher, the numbers blinking above the doors, but the silence remained.

"I saw the tracklist update," Beomgyu said, voice even. "You kept Moonstruck."

Your breath hitched. For the first time since you stepped inside, he looked at you. And suddenly, you were back there. Back in the studio. Back in the moment he kissed you like it meant something. Back in the moment he ran.

You swallowed hard, gripping your coffee cup like it could anchor you. "Yeah," you said, keeping your voice steady. "It’s a good song."

Beomgyu’s gaze flickered, just briefly, just enough for you to see something shift. But he didn’t respond.

The elevator slowed. And before either of you could say anything else, the doors slid open. 18th floor. You stepped out first, pulse hammering against your ribs. But just before the doors shut behind him, you heard Beomgyu exhale a quiet—

"See you around."

And fuck. You were not ready for this.

Your legs carried you toward the meeting room, but your mind was still in that elevator. Moonstruck. He had noticed. You didn’t know why that made your stomach turn. Why it sent a hot, prickling feeling down your spine.

You had convinced yourself that the song was just work, just another track, just another piece of the album puzzle. But hearing him say it? Knowing that he knew?

It made it real. And the way he had looked at you when he said it, like he was waiting for something. Like he wanted an answer. But you didn’t have an answer. Because what were you supposed to say?

You inhaled sharply, pushing open the door to the conference room. And the second you stepped inside, you regretted it. Because sitting at the table, next to Baekhyun, was Seungcheol.

His eyes flicked up to yours immediately, and his lips curled into that same knowing smile he had given you at the HYBE party. "Ah," he mused. "Finally, our star producer has arrived."

Your stomach twisted. You forced a polite smile, slipping into the seat across from them. You had no idea what this meeting was about. But suddenly, you had a feeling it was going to be a lot.

You sat down, adjusting your posture, trying to ignore the sudden unease creeping into your chest. It wasn’t like you had anything against Seungcheol, he had always been perfectly pleasant whenever your paths crossed.

At the HYBE party, when Baekhyun introduced you, he was polite, curious, asked questions about your work that felt genuine. A few days later, in the hallway, he reinforced that same interest, saying he wanted to learn more about your creative process, that he admired what you were doing. It made sense, he was HYBE’s creative director, after all. It was his job to connect with the producers.

But then he happened. Beomgyu. With his endless stubbornness, his unwarranted judgment, his obvious disdain for Seungcheol.

He didn’t trust the guy. And he made that very clear, not just at the party when he interrupted your conversation, but later, in the hallway, with the way he threw out casual, cutting remarks, as if it was obvious that Seungcheol had ulterior motives.

You had ignored him. Because Beomgyu was always like that, poking, provoking, saying things just to get under your skin. But now, sitting across from Seungcheol, watching the way he smiled at you, the way his gaze lingered just a little too long, something inside you hesitated. And that was when you realized, that voice in my head isn’t mine. It’s Beomgyu’s. The thought irritated you. You didn’t need him planting ideas in your mind. Seungcheol had done nothing wrong.

He had never been inappropriate, never crossed any lines. If you were uncomfortable now, it was only because Beomgyu had convinced you that you should be.

Seungcheol leaned forward slightly, resting his hands on the table. "I was really pleased when I heard you’d be leading the production on your own," he said, his voice smooth, effortless. "I think you deserve it—this is a great step forward in your career."

You blinked, keeping your expression neutral. Something about the way he said it bothered you. Because the truth was, you hadn’t minded producing the album with Beomgyu. He was a good producer. One of the best, actually. And despite all your frustrations with him, you couldn’t deny that the work had been better when he was there.

You licked your lips, choosing your words carefully. "I never had a problem sharing the workload," you replied smoothly. "Beomgyu is incredibly talented. The album was going really well with the two of us working together."

Seungcheol didn’t react immediately. Instead, he just smiled a little, as if he had been expecting you to say that.

Next to him, Baekhyun, who had been flipping through some papers, glanced up. "Beomgyu’s decision to leave was personal," he noted, sensing the tension. "He requested to be removed. It had nothing to do with the quality of your work together."

You nodded, but Seungcheol simply let out a quiet, almost amused chuckle. "That sounds like something he’d do," he murmured, almost to himself.

You frowned. "What do you mean by that?"

Seungcheol met your gaze, tilting his head slightly, his expression unreadable. "He’s impulsive," he said simply. "Always has been. He doesn’t handle things well when they don’t go his way."

Your jaw clenched. Something about the way he said it bothered you. It wasn’t what he said—it was how he said it. His tone was too calculated, his words too deliberate, like he was trying to implant something in your mind without directly stating it. And maybe you were being paranoid, but it almost felt like he was waiting for a reaction from you.

You kept your face carefully blank, but you couldn’t stop the words from slipping out. "Or maybe he just had a valid reason for leaving," you said, keeping your voice light but firm. "Whatever it was, he’s one of the best producers here. He always delivers, and he knows exactly how to handle pressure when it matters."

Seungcheol raised an eyebrow, like he was mildly surprised by your defense. But instead of pushing, he just smiled again. "If you say so."

Baekhyun cleared his throat, flipping to another page. "Anyway, now that you’re leading the project, we need to finalize some decisions about the album direction. We have to lock in arrangements before we move forward with recording."

You nodded, relieved that the conversation was shifting back to work. The meeting had gone on longer than expected. You had been so focused on the album’s direction, discussing arrangements and potential changes to the tracklist with Baekhyun, that for a moment, you managed to forget about Seungcheol entirely.

Until you didn’t. Because at some point during the discussion, as you were leaning over the table, flipping through some production notes, Seungcheol’s hand landed on your arm.

Not aggressive. Not too much. Just enough. Enough to make your shoulders stiffen, enough to make your fingers freeze mid-page, enough for that cold, uncomfortable feeling to creep down your spine.

It was subtle, an easy touch, light pressure on your forearm as he leaned in slightly. "I really admire how dedicated you are," he murmured, his voice smooth, casual. "It’s rare to find someone so talented and hardworking."

Because now, you saw what Beomgyu saw. Maybe he had been dramatic. Maybe he had been exaggerating. But Seungcheol was flirting with you. And for the first time, you couldn’t ignore it.

You swallowed, keeping your eyes on the papers in front of you, pretending not to notice the way his fingertips lingered a little longer than necessary before he finally pulled away.

This was work. This was a meeting. You weren’t going to make a scene. You shifted slightly in your chair, tucking your arm out of reach, nodding stiffly. "Thanks," you said, your voice carefully neutral.

If Baekhyun noticed anything, he didn’t react. He simply continued walking you through the album structure, his focus locked on the material in front of him. But your focus was gone. Because now, every single word out of Seungcheol’s mouth sounded different.

When he agreed with your ideas, it wasn’t just professional, it was deliberate. When he smiled at you, it wasn’t just friendly, it was calculated. And Beomgyu’s voice, the one you had sworn you wouldn’t listen to, was ringing in the back of your head, loud and unshakable.

You should be careful with him.

By the time the meeting wrapped up, you were exhausted, not from the work, but from everything else. You had barely finished stacking your papers when Seungcheol stood up, stretching his arms with an easy smile. "Well," he said, buttoning his blazer, "this was productive."

You hummed noncommittally, hoping that was the end of it. But as he reached the door, he paused, glancing over his shoulder at you. "Oh, and by the way—" You looked up. "The invitation still stands," he said, that same smile playing on his lips. "You should drop by my office sometime. I’d love to go over more of your work."

Something about the way he said it made your stomach twist. Before you could respond, he was already walking out, leaving you alone with Baekhyun. The second the door shut, you let out a slow breath, pressing your fingers to your temple.

Baekhyun sighed, setting his notes down. "Alright," he said, leaning back in his chair. "I know that look. What’s on your mind?"

You hesitated for half a second before deciding—fuck it. If you didn’t say something now, you were going to explode. "Look," you exhaled, straightening. "You’re my boss. I respect you. I like working with you. But I need to be honest—"

Baekhyun raised an eyebrow. "Go on."

You licked your lips, forcing yourself to meet his gaze. "That whole meeting just made me really uncomfortable."

His expression shifted slightly, his features smoothing into something unreadable. "Because of Seungcheol?"

"Yes." You didn’t hesitate. "It’s not just today. It’s been happening for a while. I didn’t want to make assumptions, but now I—" You shook your head, exhaling sharply. "I don’t know. The way he talks to me, the way he acts… It doesn’t feel like it’s just about work."

Baekhyun didn’t answer immediately. He watched you carefully, considering your words before finally sighing. "Yeah," he muttered. "I figured as much."

You blinked. "Wait, what?"

Baekhyun rubbed his temple. "I had a feeling this might happen eventually. Seungcheol has a reputation—he doesn’t always separate work from… other things."

Your stomach sank. "So it’s not just me," you muttered.

Baekhyun hesitated before shaking his head. "No. It’s not just you."

You exhaled, leaning back in your chair, processing. Baekhyun watched you for a moment before continuing, his voice lower now. "Listen, you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. If he makes you uncomfortable, I’ll back you up. But I also know how these things can be tricky, so… what do you want to do?"

You stared at him. You hadn’t expected that. You hadn’t expected someone to actually ask. You swallowed, gripping the edge of the table. "I just… I just want to do my job."

Baekhyun nodded. "Then that’s what you’ll do."

And for the first time that day, you felt like someone was actually listening. You sighed, rubbing a hand over your face. "Honestly… I didn’t want Beomgyu to leave the project."

Baekhyun leaned back in his chair, watching you closely. "Yeah, I figured."

You hesitated for a moment before continuing, choosing your words carefully. "It wasn’t perfect, working with him. We fought a lot. We had different approaches. But the album was better when we were both on it. And now, I don’t know… it just doesn’t feel the same."

Baekhyun hummed thoughtfully, tapping his fingers against the table. "You know," he started, "when he asked to leave, I thought it was weird too."

Your brows furrowed. "Weird how?"

Baekhyun exhaled, tilting his head slightly as if trying to recall the exact conversation. "For starters, the excuse he gave me was bullshit. He said he just had ‘other priorities,’ but it didn’t add up. He didn’t have anything urgent lined up. He wasn’t being reassigned yet. If anything, he was in the perfect position to stay on the project."

Your stomach twisted. "Then why did he do it?"

Baekhyun studied you for a moment before answering. "Because of you."

Your breath hitched slightly. "What?"

"He told me you were the perfect person for this album," Baekhyun said simply. "He said that if anyone deserved to take full control of it, it was you. That you understood the vision, that you had the best instincts for the sound, that this was your project."

You blinked. Baekhyun smirked slightly. "He also said he’d still be available if you needed anything—which was interesting, considering he was insisting on stepping away."

You swallowed, shifting in your seat. "So… he didn’t leave because I was in the way."

Baekhyun raised a brow. "No. He left because he thought he was."

Your chest tightened, your fingers clenching slightly over your notebook. Beomgyu thought he was in the way? That didn’t make sense. That wasn’t how this worked.

You had spent years competing with him, matching his energy, pushing yourself to outdo him the way he pushed himself to outdo you. You thought he saw you as a rival, as someone to challenge, someone to beat.

This didn’t sound like someone trying to win. This sounded like someone stepping aside. And suddenly, for the first time since that damn kiss, you wondered— Had you misunderstood everything?

The meeting wrapped up soon after, but your mind was far from settled. Baekhyun left first, offering you a knowing look as he walked out. Seungcheol was already gone, thankfully, leaving the room feeling a little lighter.

You stayed behind for a moment, fingers tapping restlessly against the table, thoughts still tangled in everything Baekhyun had just told you. Beomgyu thought he was in the way. He stepped back because of me?

The idea felt foreign, almost ridiculous. But the more you sat with it, the more you replayed every interaction, every lingering glance, every almost-argument that dissolved into something softer. Maybe it wasn’t ridiculous at all.

You exhaled sharply, pushing the thoughts aside as you gathered your things and made your way back to your studio. By the time you stepped inside, something had already shifted in you. Because for the first time in days, you wanted to write. Not because of deadlines. Not because of expectations.

But because something inside you was begging to be let out.

You locked the door behind you, took a deep breath, and crossed the room, fingers reaching for the guitar propped against the wall. It had been there for a while, untouched, gathering dust in the chaos of everything else. But the second your fingers curled around the neck, something inside you settled.

You didn’t know why, but you wanted to record this song you wrote on Sunday night. First Day of My Life. You knew it wouldn’t fit the album. It was too raw, too stripped-down, too honest. It wasn’t meant for Enhypen’s project—it wasn’t meant for any project.

But still. You adjusted the mic, positioned the guitar properly, and pressed record. And then, you played.

Your fingers moved over the strings carefully at first, but then muscle memory took over, and suddenly, it was effortless. The chords flowed easily, filling the quiet studio, wrapping around you like something safe, something familiar.

And then your voice followed. The words came soft, steady.

“Yours was the first face that I saw…”

You thought about the way he looked at you when he didn’t think you’d notice. The way his lips parted like he wanted to say something but never did.

“I think I was blind before I met you.”

Your breath hitched slightly, but you kept going, pouring yourself into every note, every word. The melody washed over you, unfiltered and vulnerable, and for the first time in a long time, you weren’t thinking about what came next.

You were just feeling. And when the last chord faded into silence, you opened your eyes slowly, exhaling shakily. You sat there for a moment, staring at the blinking red light on the recorder. Then, without hesitating, you saved the file.

You stared at the tape sitting on your desk. And it stared back.

You had written a post-it, your handwriting slightly messier than usual, because your hands had been shaking when you wrote it.

wanted the opinion of the best songwriter i know.

Your stomach twisted. This was stupid. It was so stupid. And yet, you grabbed the tape before you could overthink it.

The hallways of HYBE were quieter now, most people already heading out for the evening. You didn’t know where Beomgyu was, but you hoped, prayed, that he wasn’t in his studio right now. Because you weren’t ready to see him. Not yet.

Your footsteps were light as you reached his studio door. It was closed, the small light inside turned off. Empty. Good. You slipped inside quickly, ignoring the way your heart was pounding against your ribs. You set the tape down gently on his desk, smoothing the post-it out with your fingers. And then you stepped back. You stared at it for a moment longer, your pulse hammering in your ears.

He might not even listen to it. He might throw it away. He might ignore it completely. But still, you left it there. And as you walked away, your chest felt lighter. Because for once, you weren’t running. You were giving him a chance.

You were late.

Not catastrophically late, but late enough that you were definitely pushing it. Yeonjun had texted you when he woke up, asking why the apartment was unusually quiet, only for you to send back a half-panicked “I overslept, don’t judge me” before practically rolling out of bed.

You hadn’t meant to stay up so late the night before. But lying there, staring at the ceiling, replaying every single second of the last few days in your mind?

That was apparently more important than sleep.

By the time you rushed into HYBE, coffee was your only priority. You barely had time to breathe as you dodged people in the hallway, some of them calling your name, others trying to get your attention.

"Y/N, do you have a second?" "Hey, I sent you that file, did you get a chance to look at it?" "Oh, Y/N—can you check in with the Enhypen team later?"

The words blurred together, the weight of everything pressing against you as you nodded, mumbled vague acknowledgments, and kept walking. Because, in the end, none of it mattered. Not right now.

Not when the only thing on your mind was getting to your studio and catching your breath before the day swallowed you whole. You reached your door, exhaled sharply, and pushed it open.

And froze. Because there, sitting casually in your chair like he belonged there was Beomgyu. Holding the tape.

Your stomach dropped. The scene was so eerily familiar that for a split second, you thought you had hallucinated it. The way he was slouched slightly in the chair, the way his fingers turned the tape over slowly, like he was still processing it.

The way his dark eyes flicked up to meet yours, and how, in that exact moment, you saw it. You saw the feeling written across his face. Soft. Open. Maybe even a little wrecked. You sucked in a sharp breath and, without thinking, shut the door behind you. A beat of silence passed.

"You wrote this," Beomgyu murmured, his voice quieter than you expected.

It wasn’t a question. You swallowed hard. "Yeah."

His fingers tightened around the tape slightly. "Was it for the album?"

You shook your head. "No. It doesn’t fit the concept. I just… wanted to record it."

Beomgyu exhaled, slow and measured. "It’s beautiful."

The words hit you in a way you weren’t prepared for. You blinked. He wasn’t teasing. He wasn’t throwing in a sarcastic remark, or a smug smile, or anything that would make this easier to brush off. He just meant it.

And it made your chest ache. You shifted slightly, gripping your coffee cup a little tighter. "You listened to it?"

Beomgyu nodded, still looking down at the tape. "Twice."

Your breath hitched. "Twice?"

His lips twitched, just barely. "Maybe more." You let out a short, breathy laugh, shaking your head. A pause. "What made you write it?"

Your fingers curled slightly over your cup, heat pressing into your skin. You could lie. You should lie. But you didn’t. You licked your lips, shifting your gaze to the floor for a second before looking back at him. "I don’t know. I guess I just… needed to."

Beomgyu studied you for a long moment, the weight of his gaze settling over you like something heavy. And then, so quietly you almost didn’t catch it, he says: "It felt like something you needed to say."

Your heart stumbled. Because maybe it was just your imagination. Maybe you were hearing things that weren’t there. But the way he said it, like he understood, like he knew.

Beomgyu’s fingers drummed lightly against the tape, his gaze flickering between you and the guitar leaning against the wall. The silence between you felt fragile, like if either of you moved too fast, it would shatter. Then, without a word, he reached for the guitar. You raised an eyebrow as he adjusted it on his lap, fingers testing the strings before looking up at you again. "Pass me the chords?"

You hesitated, but eventually nodded, grabbing a piece of scrap paper and jotting them down quickly. When you slid it across the desk toward him, his fingers brushed yours as he took it, sending something electric up your spine.

Beomgyu studied the chords for a moment, then started playing. Slow, tentative, like he was feeling out the song in his own way. And before you even realized what you were doing, your lips parted—

"This is the first day of my life…"

The words came out softer this time, more intimate. You weren’t just singing anymore, you were sharing something. Beomgyu kept playing, his eyes locked onto you now, his expression unreadable.

"Swear I was born right in the doorway…"

You swallowed hard, voice faltering slightly when you saw the way he was looking at you. Like there was something he wanted to say. But he didn’t. He just kept playing. And so you kept singing.

"Yours was the first face that I saw… I think I was blind before I met you."

Something shifted in the air. You weren’t sure if it was you, or him, or just the weight of everything that had been left unsaid between you two for so long.

But for the first time, it felt like neither of you were trying to fight it.

When the song finally came to an end, the last note fading into silence, Beomgyu exhaled slowly, letting his fingers rest against the strings. And then, so quietly you almost didn’t catch it—

"I’m sorry."

You blinked, caught off guard by the sudden softness in his voice. "For what?"

He looked down at the guitar, running his thumb absently over the wood. "For dropping the album."

Your chest tightened. "You didn’t have to," you murmured. "I never wanted you to."

He let out a dry chuckle, shaking his head. "I thought… I thought you’d work better without me."

You frowned. "That’s not true."

Beomgyu hesitated, his jaw tightening slightly. "I didn’t want to leave you alone." He inhaled sharply, like he was steadying himself. "But I didn’t want my feelings to get in the way."

Your breath hitched. Your heartbeat pounded in your ears. Slowly, carefully, you asked— "What feelings?"

Beomgyu tensed. For a second, he looked like he wanted to say it. Like he might say it. But then something closed inside him. His shoulders stiffened, his fingers gripping the guitar a little tighter. And when he finally spoke, his voice was quieter. More distant. "It’s hard for me."

You furrowed your brows, confused. "What is?"

Beomgyu swallowed, looking down. "This. Talking. Saying things out loud." His lips pressed together for a moment before he let out a soft, humorless laugh. "It’s easy to write about it. To turn it into lyrics. To make it rhyme and feel poetic and beautiful."

He shook his head, exhaling through his nose. "But when it’s real? When it’s not just a song?" He shaked his head. "In real life, it’s harder."

You stared at him, heart twisting. Because this was him. This was Beomgyu without the smirks, without the teasing, without the carefully crafted walls. And for the first time, you realized, maybe this wasn’t just difficult for you.

Maybe he didn’t run because he didn’t care. Maybe he ran because he did.

Your heart pounded, your throat felt tight, but you forced yourself to breathe, to steady your voice. "What did you mean by that?"

He exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand over his face. "You know what I mean."

"Do I?"

Beomgyu let out a dry laugh, shaking his head. "Come on, Y/N."

There was something in his voice, frustration, exhaustion, something too tangled up in itself to pull apart. You frowned. "I don’t want to assume."

"Right," he muttered. "Because assuming things with me has always worked out so well."

Your chest tightened. "Beomgyu—"

"I—" He exhaled, running a hand through his hair, then finally, finally, looked up at you. And god, you hated the way it made your breath catch. The way his eyes, dark and searching, made you feel like you were standing at the edge of something.

Like if you took one more step, there’d be no turning back. But before you could say anything—before he could say anything—the door creaked open.

Both of you turned at the same time.

"Hey," a familiar voice broke through the tension. "Think I left my pen with you earlier."

Seungcheol. His voice cut through the tension like a blade, sharp and unexpected. He stepped inside, eyes flickering between the two of you, taking in the scene—the guitar in Beomgyu’s lap, the tape on the desk, the way neither of you seemed to be breathing.

You turned toward the doorway, blinking as he leaned against the frame, his usual easy confidence settling into the room like he belonged there. Beomgyu’s entire posture shifted. It wasn’t obvious, no clenched fists, no outright glare, but you saw it anyway. The slight stiffening of his shoulders, the way his fingers curled subtly against the guitar.

You exhaled, stepping toward your desk. "Yeah, I think you did."

Seungcheol grinned. "Knew it."

You grabbed the pen and handed it to him, your fingers barely grazing before he pulled away. "Thanks, sweetheart," he said, easy, casual. "See you later."

And just like that, he was gone. The door clicked shut.

The silence that followed was worse than before. You turned back to Beomgyu, and immediately knew something was off. He put away the guitar, his arms crossed, expression unreadable, but his jaw was tight. "You going along with him?" His voice was sharp, cutting.

You frowned. "What?"

"Seungcheol," Beomgyu said, eyes locking onto yours. "You going along with his shit?"

Your frown deepened. "No. What the hell are you talking about?"

He scoffed, shaking his head. "I told you not to trust that guy."

"And I didn’t," you snapped, "I just gave him back his damn pen."

Beomgyu’s jaw clenched, his frustration spilling out in waves. "Yeah? Well, maybe you should know what your old friends are saying about you before you act like I’m being dramatic."

You stared at him. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

He exhaled, running a hand through his hair, like he was trying to decide if he should even tell you. But then, his eyes darkened, and whatever hesitation he had burned away. "You remember Yunho?"

Your stomach twisted. Of course you remembered Yunho. Beomgyu didn’t wait for your answer. "After you left the party, he came up to me," he said, voice tight. "Started making conversation—asking if I worked at HYBE, shit like that. And then, out of nowhere, he says he knows Seungcheol."

Beomgyu watched your reaction closely, but he didn’t stop. "And then, Yunho tells me he used to fuck around with you," he continued, voice growing harsher, "but dropped you because, in his words, you were ‘too desirable.’"

You flinched. Your fingers curled into your palms, nails pressing against your skin. "What?"

Beomgyu let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. "Yeah. And apparently, Seungcheol’s been waiting for his turn. ‘Dying to get a piece,’ is what he said."

The words hit like a punch to the gut. Your heart pounded. "You’re lying."

Beomgyu’s gaze snapped to yours, sharp, furious. "I fucking wish."

You felt sick. But Beomgyu wasn’t done. "And then," he continued, voice low, "this motherfucker—this piece of shit—starts talking about how he doesn’t go for ‘girls who get around’ because he has standards." Your breath hitched. "That’s what he called you," Beomgyu said, voice flat. "A girl who gets around."

A sharp, ugly silence settled between you. Your pulse was roaring in your ears, rage and humiliation coiling together in your stomach like poison. "You fought him."

Beomgyu scoffed, shaking his head. "No. We talked."

You frowned. "Talked?"

"Yeah," he said, jaw tight. "He was acting like he had some kind of moral high ground," Beomgyu went on, voice sharpening. "Like he wouldn’t go for a girl who’s ‘too easy’—but oh, Seungcheol? Seungcheol was dying for a chance with you. And the way he talked—" Beomgyu exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "It pissed me off."

You swallowed hard, something ugly and bitter crawling up your throat. "So what, you argued with him?"

Beomgyu’s eyes flickered with something unreadable. His expression darkened. "Don’t do that."

"Do what?"

"Act like it doesn’t bother you," he snapped. "Act like it’s nothing when people say shit like that about you. I know you, Y/N."

Your breath caught. Because he wasn’t wrong. But you weren’t about to admit that. The air between you crackled with tension. His expression flickered. You should’ve let it go. Should’ve walked away. But something about the way he was looking at you made something snap inside you.

You shook your head, frustration burning beneath your skin. "You’re exhausting," you muttered, voice sharp. "One second you’re quiet, then you’re nice, then you’re picking fights, then you act like I’m just some coworker—"

Beomgyu’s expression flickered, something dark flashing in his eyes. "You think I treat you like that?"

"You tell me, Beomgyu," you snapped. "Because I have no fucking clue what you want from me."

The words hung in the air like a threat. His jaw tightened, his fingers flexing at his sides. "Don’t act like you don’t know," he said, voice rough. "Act like this is just me playing games—like I’m trying to play with you just for fun."

You let out a sharp, humorless laugh. "Aren’t you?"

Beomgyu’s entire body tensed. "Are you serious right now?"

"Yes, I’m fucking serious!" You took a step closer, rage bubbling up from every place you had been shoving it down. "You kissed me, Beomgyu. And then you disappeared for a fucking week. No texts, no calls, nothing. And then you show up at work like it never happened—like I should just be fine with that."

His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard. "It wasn’t like that."

"Then what the fuck was it like?"

He ran a hand through his hair, fingers tugging slightly at the strands, like he was trying to pull himself together. "I needed time."

You exhaled sharply, shaking your head. "Bullshit."

Beomgyu scoffed. "Oh, so now I’m the bad guy?"

"You’re not the fucking victim," you shot back. "You don't get to kiss me like that, make me think—"

You cut yourself off, biting down hard on the words before they could spill out. But it was too late. Beomgyu was already looking at you like you had just punched the air out of his lungs. Like he knew exactly what you were about to say.

The air between you was too thick, too charged, suffocating and electric all at once. His hands curled into fists at his sides, his chest rising and falling unevenly. "You think I don’t fucking feel it too?" His voice cracked slightly, rough and raw. "You think this is easy for me?"

Your breath caught. "Then why do you keep running from it?"

Beomgyu exhaled sharply, something desperate in his gaze. "Because I don’t know what to do with it!"

Silence. His confession settled between you like an exposed wire, dangerous and crackling with heat. His jaw clenched, like he hated admitting it, like he hated feeling this much. But then, his expression shifted, morphing into something sharper, something wrecked.

"Fuck, Y/N," he muttered, voice strained. "You don’t get it. You don’t fucking get it."

"Then make me get it!" you yelled, frustration boiling over. "For once in your goddamn life, just say it!"

Beomgyu’s breath hitched. For a second, he didn’t say anything.

"Because I can’t fucking want you this much and still pretend it doesn’t matter!"

Your entire body locked up.

Beomgyu exhaled sharply, chest heaving, his eyes dark and so fucking serious it made your stomach flip. "I can’t—" He dragged a hand over his face, voice lower now, wrecked. "I can’t pretend that this thing between us doesn’t fucking kill me every time I try to ignore it." Your heart was a wildfire in your chest. Beomgyu let out a sharp laugh, one that sounded more like frustration than amusement. "I don’t know how to fucking want you without ruining everything else."

The words hit harder than they should have. The words hit harder than they should have. Because that was it, wasn’t it? That was why he ran. Why he pushed, pulled, disappeared, came back. Why he kissed you and then left.

Because he wanted you. But he didn’t trust himself with you. The realization sat heavy in your chest. And for the first time, you saw it, the fear beneath the anger, the hesitation beneath the frustration.

Beomgyu didn’t just want you. He was terrified of wanting you. And you didn’t know what scared you more. The fact that he was afraid. Or the fact that you weren’t.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The air between you was stretched too thin, humming with something neither of you knew how to control. Then, Beomgyu exhaled, deep, uneven. His gaze flickered downward, his fingers flexing at his sides like he wanted to reach for something but couldn’t bring himself to do it.

"I’m sorry," he said.

The words were quiet, but they landed with the weight of something long overdue. You swallowed. His lips parted, then closed. He let out a slow breath, shaking his head slightly, like he didn’t even know where to start. "For kissing you," he murmured. "For leaving. For not talking to you for a week like a fucking coward." His jaw clenched. "For making you think that it didn’t mean anything."

You stared at him, heart pounding. "And did it?" you asked, voice barely above a whisper.

Beomgyu lifted his gaze then, something wrecked behind his dark eyes. "You already know the answer to that."

Your breath caught. He was looking at you differently now. Not with frustration, not with hesitation, but with a kind of certainty that sent heat curling in your stomach.

Then, before you could even process it, he took a step back. "Come with me," he said.

You blinked. "What?"

Beomgyu turned, already heading toward the door. "Come on," he repeated, glancing back at you. "I wanna show you something to prove it."

Something in his voice made your pulse jump. Still, you hesitated. "Show me?"

He didn’t answer. Just held the door open, waiting. And for some stupid, unexplainable reason, your feet started moving.

The walk to his studio was silent. Not tense, not uncomfortable, just charged. You could feel it, the way he was holding something back, something big. His pace was quick, purposeful, like if he didn’t move fast enough, he’d lose his nerve.

When you reached his studio, he pulled out a keycard and swiped it, unlocking the door before stepping inside. You followed hesitantly, eyes flickering over the dimly lit space.

Beomgyu didn’t say anything at first. Instead, he walked over to the soundboard, pressing a few buttons, adjusting the controls. A small red light flickered on in the recording booth.

Your stomach flipped. "What are we doing?" you asked, voice quieter now.

Beomgyu turned to face you, his expression unreadable. "I want you to hear something."

And then, he pressed play. A soft, melancholic guitar filled the room. Your breath caught immediately. You recognized it before he even started singing. Moonstruck.

But it wasn’t the version you had heard before. It was him. Beomgyu’s voice. Low, warm, just slightly raspy—vulnerable.

Your mind had barely caught up to the fact that he had recorded this himself when he spoke again. "I think you know why I wrote this," he said, voice quiet, steady. Your head snapped toward him, but he wasn’t looking at you.

He was looking at the recording booth. And then, he moved. Slowly, purposefully, he reached for the door handle and pushed it open, nodding his head for you to follow. "Come here."

Your pulse stuttered. You should’ve stopped. Should’ve said something, anything to break whatever the hell was happening right now. But you didn’t. Instead, you stepped inside. The door clicked shut behind you.

Beomgyu pressed a button near the panel, locked. He finally turned to face you then, and, fuck, he was close. "I don’t want anyone interrupting this time," he murmured.

Your breath caught. The air inside the booth was thick, the music still playing softly through the speakers. Beomgyu took another step forward, and this time, you didn’t move away. "You know what this song is about," he said, voice lower now.

You swallowed hard. "Beomgyu—"

"You know," he repeated, softer.

You couldn’t breathe. Because he was right. You knew. You had known since the first time you read the demo, since the first lyric. This was about you. And now, standing here, locked inside a booth with him, his voice bleeding through the speakers, warm and raw and real, you had never been more aware of it.

Beomgyu reached up then, fingers barely grazing your wrist. Not pulling, not pushing. Just there. A question. A hesitation. You didn’t know who moved first.

Maybe it was him. Maybe it was you. But suddenly, there wasn’t space between you anymore. His hand slid up, over your wrist, your forearm, until his fingers curled gently around your jaw. Your lips parted slightly, breath uneven, your pulse roaring in your ears.

Beomgyu’s gaze flickered down to your mouth. And then, he kissed you.

It wasn’t rushed, wasn’t messy, just slow, lingering, like he wanted to memorize the way you felt against him. His fingers curled tighter against your jaw, tilting your head just enough to deepen the kiss, to let himself drown in it.

And you let him. Because right now, nothing else mattered. Not the past, not the fear, not the things left unsaid. Right now, there was only this. Only the music, still playing softly in the background. Only him.

The kiss deepened before you even realized it was happening. Beomgyu wasn’t hesitant anymore. He wasn’t uncertain, wasn’t holding back, he was in it, pressing into you with a kind of desperation that made your head spin. His fingers dug into your jaw, tilting your face just the way he wanted, his lips parting against yours, taking.

Your back hit the wall of the recording booth, and he was on you in an instant, one hand braced against the panel behind you, the other sliding down, grazing the side of your neck, the bare skin of your arm, like he needed to feel you.

You barely had a second to breathe before he kissed you again, harder this time, almost rough, a low sound slipping from his throat as you pressed up onto your toes, your fingers curling into the front of his shirt.

"Fuck," he muttered against your mouth, voice already wrecked. "You have no idea how long I've wanted to do this."

Your breath hitched. "Then why did you run?"

His teeth grazed your bottom lip, his fingers tightening around your waist. "Because I’m a fucking idiot," he murmured, pressing another kiss against your jaw, then lower, dragging his lips along your neck. "Because I didn’t know if you—"

You cut him off, pulling him back to you, kissing him harder, more insistent. Beomgyu groaned against your lips, his body pressing flush against yours now, his hand slipping down to grip your thigh, hiking it up against his hip. His touch burned, warm and firm, like he needed you closer, needed to close the space that still existed between you.

"Tell me to stop," he muttered, his mouth trailing down, lips brushing the sensitive spot just below your ear. "Tell me to stop, and I swear I will."

You swallowed hard, fingers digging into his back. "I'm not telling you to stop."

That was all it took. Beomgyu made a low, almost guttural noise, like something inside him had just snapped. The next kiss was different. Messier. Hungrier. His hands were everywhere, sliding up under the hem of your shirt, skimming over bare skin, gripping your waist tight enough to leave bruises. Your body arched into his touch, your breathing uneven, heat pooling deep in your stomach as his fingers dug into your hips.

"Say it," he muttered against your lips, voice rough with something you couldn’t quite place. "Say you want me, too."

You let out a shaky breath, barely able to think. "I want you, Beomgyu."

He groaned, pressing his forehead against yours for a split second before kissing you again, slower this time, but deeper, like he wanted to drown in it. Then, suddenly, his grip tightened. He lifted you effortlessly, guiding you up onto the small ledge of the booth, your legs wrapping around his waist, his body slotting between your thighs like it was meant to be there.

Your pulse roared. He was so close now, every inch of him pressed against you, his breath uneven, his fingers tracing slow, deliberate circles against the skin just above the waistband of your jeans. "You drive me fucking insane," he muttered, his lips brushing over yours between each word. "I can’t think straight when I’m around you."

You barely had time to process that before his mouth was on your throat again, biting, sucking, dragging his lips down and down and down. Your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan, his hips pressing forward on instinct. The friction made you gasp, your legs tightening around him. "Shit," Beomgyu swore, his forehead dropping against your shoulder.

For a moment, neither of you moved. Your breathing was uneven, your body burning, your skin thrumming with heat where he touched you. Then, slowly, Beomgyu lifted his head. His gaze met yours, dark, unreadable. His hands flexed against your waist, like he was trying to ground himself. "I don’t want to fuck this up," he murmured, voice strained. "Not with you."

Your chest ached. Because he wasn’t saying I don’t want this. He was saying I don’t want to ruin it. Your fingers traced lightly along the back of his neck, your breathing still shaky. "Then don’t," you whispered.

Beomgyu swallowed hard. "I’m trying." He was still close. His forehead was still resting against yours, his hands gripping your waist, his body pressed between your legs like he wasn’t ready to pull away yet.

Your breathing was uneven. So was his. And then, like some invisible force snapped between you, his lips were on yours again. This time, there was no hesitation. He kissed you like he had been starving for this, like he was finally letting himself have what he had wanted for so long. His fingers dug into your waist, pulling you against him, his body heat swallowing you whole as his mouth moved against yours, deep and urgent.

You gasped slightly when he tilted your chin up, angling the kiss deeper, his tongue teasing against yours just enough to make your stomach tighten.

You felt like you were burning. Everywhere he touched, everywhere he pressed, lit up. Your arms wrapped around his shoulders, fingers threading through his hair, tugging just enough to make him let out a low, almost desperate sound against your lips. His hips pressed forward, instinctive. "Beomgyu—" you breathed against his mouth, barely able to think.

"Mm?" He didn’t stop. Just kissed along your jaw, down your neck, biting down lightly at the sensitive skin there before soothing it with his tongue.

A shiver ran down your spine. "We should—"

He kissed you again, cutting off your words, his hands gripping your thighs, holding you steady against him. "Say it later," he muttered, voice rough, lips brushing against yours. "Say it after I kiss you again."

And then he did. Harder this time. Deeper. Your body arched into his without thinking, heat curling in your stomach, your hands gripping onto his shirt to keep yourself steady. You could feel everything. His heartbeat, heavy and uneven against your chest. The way his fingers flexed against your skin like he was trying to memorize the way you felt. The low, unsteady sounds he made every time you moved against him, every time you kissed him back just as desperately.

It was too much. You broke away first, chest rising and falling, trying to catch your breath. Beomgyu didn’t move. He stayed close, lips still brushing against yours, eyes dark and heavy-lidded. Your fingers were still curled in his hair. His hands were still gripping your waist.

"We should stop," you murmured, forcing the words out before you lost your grip on reality completely. "Beomgyu, we’re— We’re at work. It’s not even noon."

Beomgyu let out a slow, shuddering breath. "Fuck." He still didn’t move. You could see it, the way his jaw clenched, his eyes flickering over your lips like he was debating whether to listen to you or keep going anyway. Then, finally, he exhaled sharply, resting his forehead against your shoulder for half a second before stepping back. "Yeah." His voice was strained, rough. "You’re right."

The air felt thin without him against you. You took a slow breath, trying to calm the racing of your pulse, trying to ignore the way your body still buzzed from his touch. His fingers brushed over your thigh before he pulled away completely, straightening his shirt, raking a hand through his hair.

You slid off the ledge, steadying yourself as you smoothed out your clothes. "I should get back to work," you muttered, voice still slightly breathless. "The album—"

Beomgyu gave a humorless chuckle, rubbing a hand over his face. "Yeah. Right. The album."

Neither of you moved. Neither of you looked at each other. Because you both knew, work was the last thing on your minds right now. But still, you turned toward the door, reaching for the handle. "I’ll see you later," you mumbled.

Beomgyu hummed in response, something unreadable in his expression. "Yeah."

You pulled the door open, and then, just as you were about to step out, his hand caught your wrist. Before you could even process it, he tugged lightly, just enough to make you turn back, and pressed a soft, lingering kiss against your lips. It was barely a second. Barely anything. But it hit you like a fucking meteor. He pulled away just as quickly, his eyes flickering over your face, watching your reaction. You didn’t move. Couldn’t move.

Because what the fuck was that? Not the heat, not the urgency, not the kind of kiss that made your head spin and your knees weak, but something softer. Warmer. Something that made your stomach tighten in an entirely different way.

Beomgyu’s lips quirked upward slightly, like he could see the way your brain had short-circuited. "Go work," he murmured.

You blinked. "Right." And then, without another word, you turned and walked out, your heart still pounding.

You spent the rest of the afternoon in your studio. Hours passed. You barely noticed.

The only thing grounding you was the music, the way it pulsed through your headphones, the way it filled every inch of your studio. The way it made everything else, the tension, the heat, the weight of Beomgyu’s touch, fade just enough for you to breathe.

Your fingers moved instinctively, layering melodies, adjusting levels, smoothing over instrumentals. Every track you touched felt electric, the ideas spilling out of you faster than you could process them. Maybe it was adrenaline. Maybe it was something else. But whatever it was, you let it take over.

The hours blurred together, stretching into one long, unbroken moment of creation. A new beat took shape, fast, sharp, pulsing with urgency. You molded it into something heavier, something alive. You adjusted the bass, the synths, the vocal layers, adding a deeper texture, something that ached in all the right ways.

Then another track, smoother, melancholic, intimate in a way that made your chest tighten. You let the guitar linger in places it normally wouldn’t, let the reverb stretch out just enough to make it feel like the song was breathing.

Another, this one bold, unrelenting, filled with heat and confidence. It demanded attention, crackled with something fierce. You didn’t stop. You couldn’t stop. Your eyes flickered to the screen as the tracklist took shape in front of you:

XO (Only If You Say Yes) Your Eyes Only Hundred Broken Hearts Brought The Heat Back Paranormal Royalty

A solid foundation. A damn good foundation. By the time you finally leaned back in your chair, exhaustion was creeping in, settling into your limbs, but there was a different kind of satisfaction sitting beside it. Because you had done it. Most of your work was done. And maybe, just maybe, you had needed this. The music. The escape. The chance to turn everything swimming in your head into something real.

With a deep breath, you saved the files, powered down your setup, and began gathering your things. Your jacket, your bag, your phone, shoving everything into place as you checked the time. Late.

The sun had already set by the time you stepped outside. The air was crisp, the streets quieter now, the city humming with the distant sounds of life. You exhaled, adjusting the strap of your bag over your shoulder as you turned toward the metro station.

And then—

"You took your time."

Your steps faltered. Beomgyu was waiting. Leaning against the side of the building, hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket, his head tilted slightly as he watched you.

Your brows furrowed. "What are you doing here?"

Beomgyu smirked. "Told you I had until the album dropped for you to change your mind."

You blinked. "Change my mind about what?"

His smirk widened. "About getting a drink with me."

You stared at him. "Are you serious?"

"Dead serious," he said, pushing off the wall, stepping closer. "You spent the whole day in that studio. You need a break."

Your lips parted slightly, caught between irritation and something closer to amusement. "And you decided you’d be the one to provide it?"

Beomgyu shrugged. "Obviously."

You shook your head, exhaling. "I was planning to go home."

"Okay," he said easily. "You can still go home."

You frowned. "What?"

"After one drink," he clarified. "Then you can go home."

You let out a short laugh, shaking your head again. "You’re impossible."

"And yet," he mused, rocking back on his heels, "you’re still standing here, considering it."

Your jaw clenched. Because he wasn’t wrong. The exhaustion was still there, but so was something else, something that made you hesitate, something that made you want to say yes. Beomgyu noticed.

And so he tilted his head, lowering his voice just slightly. "Come on, Y/N. Just one."

You stared at him for another long moment. Then, before you could stop yourself, "Fine."

Beomgyu smirked, shoving his hands deeper into his pockets as he led the way. "You know," he mused, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye, "you’re a lot more fun when you don’t overthink things."

You scoffed. "I’m not overthinking anything."

He grinned. "Then why do you look like you’re already regretting this?"

You huffed, shoving your hands into your jacket. "I’m not."

Beomgyu just hummed, like he didn’t believe you, but didn’t feel like arguing. Instead, he turned down a quieter street, leading you toward a bar tucked between two buildings, a cozy-looking place, warm light spilling from the windows, the scent of grilled meat drifting through the air.

You hesitated. "This is where we’re going?"

Beomgyu glanced at you, amused. "Why? You don’t like barbecue?"

Your stomach growled at the thought. You sighed. "I do, a lot."

He just smirked, pushing open the door. Inside, the atmosphere was just as inviting as the smell. Low, warm lighting. Laughter. The quiet clinking of glasses. The faint crackle of meat sizzling on the built-in grills at the tables. It was comfortable. And you hated that it made you relax a little.

Beomgyu led you toward an open table near the back, sliding into the seat beside you instead of across from you, leaning back like he had done this a thousand times before. Which, knowing him, he probably had. "You come here a lot," you muttered, glancing around.

He grinned. "I have good taste."

You rolled your eyes. A server appeared, and Beomgyu barely had to glance at the menu before ordering beef short ribs, pork belly, a few side dishes, and two cold beers.

You raised an eyebrow. "Ordering for me now?"

Beomgyu shrugged, tapping his fingers against the table. "You like barbecue. You like beer. I connected the dots."

You leaned back, crossing your arms. "What if I suddenly decided I hate all those things?"

Beomgyu smirked, resting his chin in his hand as he looked at you. "Then you’d be lying." You narrowed your eyes at him.

The beers arrived first. Beomgyu picked up his glass, tilting it slightly toward you. "To finishing most of the album in one day."

You huffed, clinking your glass against his. "To having nothing better to do than drag me to a bar."

Beomgyu just grinned before taking a sip. The beer was cold, smooth, the kind that went down easily after a long day. And as much as you hated to admit it, this, the warmth of the place, the comfort of the food, the quiet hum of conversation around you, felt nice.

You set your glass down, glancing at him. "Alright," you muttered. "You win. This isn’t terrible."

Beomgyu smirked, leaning in slightly. "High praise coming from you."

You scoffed, taking another sip. "Don’t get used to it."

And then, the food arrived. Plates of sizzling meat, steaming side dishes, the aroma so good that your stomach twisted with hunger. Beomgyu grabbed a pair of tongs, flipping the short ribs on the grill, moving with too much ease.

You eyed him. "You really come here a lot."

He smirked. "Told you."

You sighed, watching as he expertly cooked the meat, barely thinking before reaching for the lettuce wraps, stacking up the perfect bite, then placing it in front of you. Your eyebrows lifted. "Are you seriously making me food right now?"

Beomgyu shrugged, sipping his beer. "What, you want me to feed it to you, too?"

You scoffed. "I can make my own wrap, Beomgyu."

"Yeah, but I already did it." He nodded toward the plate. "So eat."

You rolled your eyes but took it anyway, biting into the warm, flavorful wrap. You weren’t sure if it was the exhaustion, the hunger, or the fact that Beomgyu was sitting so close, watching you eat with an amused expression, but something about this moment made your chest feel too full. You pushed the thought away.

"So?" he asked, watching you chew.

You swallowed, setting your chopsticks down. "It’s fine."

He snorted. "You are so bad at compliments."

"No," you corrected, taking another sip of beer. "I just don’t like boosting your ego."

Beomgyu grinned. "Too late for that."

The conversation flowed easier after that. The second beer turned into a third. The food disappeared, leaving just the sound of clinking glasses, the occasional glance that lingered too long, the way your shoulders brushed when you leaned forward to reach for something.

Somewhere between another drink and another teasing remark, you realized something: You were having fun. And Beomgyu knew it. His smirk never wavered, his eyes never left yours for too long, his voice never dropped that teasing lilt that made your pulse stutter more than it should. And maybe it was the alcohol. Or maybe it was just him.

But as you sat there, half-listening to him ramble about some ridiculous story, you realized, you didn’t really want the night to end. And by the time the last plate had been cleared and the third beer had been emptied, you were warm all over. Not drunk. Just loose.

The world felt a little softer around the edges, your limbs lighter, your thoughts slower but comfortable. Beomgyu, across from you—no, beside you, because he had sat next to you like it was the most natural thing in the world—was in the same state, his body relaxed, his usual sharp-edged energy dulled by alcohol and good food.

You tapped your fingers idly against the table, staring at the condensation on your glass. "So," you muttered, "you never told me—what do you think of the album name?"

Beomgyu blinked, then frowned slightly, turning his head to look at you properly. "What album name?"

You exhaled, stretching your arms over your head. "The one Baekhyun’s thinking about. ‘Files of Romance.’"

His reaction was instant. Beomgyu made a face like you had just told him the worst news imaginable. "Nah, not my personal taste."

You raised an eyebrow. "You hate it that much?"

"Hate is a strong word—" he paused, reconsidering. "—but yeah, I fucking hate it."

You laughed. "Why?"

Beomgyu turned in his seat, facing you fully now, one arm resting on the back of your chair. "Because it sounds like some 2010 Wattpad fanfiction. ‘Files of Romance’—what is this, a collection of love letters? A secret diary? An unfinished manuscript?*"

You smirked, tilting your head. "It’s poetic."

"It’s cheesy," he corrected.

You rolled your eyes, taking another sip of beer. "Okay, then what would you call it?"

Beomgyu hummed, thinking for a moment. Then, he looked at you. And something in his gaze shifted. His smirk faded, not completely, but enough for you to notice the way his expression softened slightly. "Romance: Untold."

The words settled between you like something heavy. Your fingers stilled against your glass. "Untold?"

He nodded. "Because that’s what this album is, isn’t it? All these songs, all these stories—" he tapped his fingers against the table, voice dropping slightly. "It’s about things people don’t say out loud. Feelings left unsaid. The in-between moments, the things you can’t admit, the things you only let yourself feel when no one’s looking."

Suddenly, this wasn’t about the album anymore. Beomgyu wasn’t looking at you like a producer talking about work. He wasn’t critiquing an idea, wasn’t just throwing out another title. He was talking about you and him.

Your lips parted slightly, heart picking up speed. "That’s…" you hesitated. "That’s actually not bad."

Beomgyu grinned. "Not bad? Come on, admit it—you like it."

You exhaled, shaking your head. "You’re impossible."

"And you’re predictable," he countered easily, taking another sip of his beer. "You act like you hate everything I say, but deep down, you know I’m right most of the time."

You scoffed. "Most of the time?"

"Mm-hmm." He leaned in slightly, his smirk turning just a bit more smug. "Like right now."

Your eyes narrowed. "Beomgyu—"

"Say it," he murmured, voice lower now, the playful edge still there but thicker, like something else was creeping beneath it. "Say you like the name."

You exhaled sharply, pressing your lips together. He was so annoying. But also, he was right. You sighed. "Fine. It’s… a good name."

Beomgyu smirked, triumphant. "See? I always win."

You rolled your eyes, taking another sip. "You don’t always win."

"Pretty close to always," he teased, nudging your leg under the table. "And anyway—" his gaze flickered over you briefly before settling on your lips. "I get the feeling you like it when I win."

You swallowed, shifting in your seat, trying to ignore the way your skin felt hot under his gaze. "You’re drunk."

Beomgyu smirked. "Tipsy."

"Same thing."

"Not even close." His fingers tapped against his glass, his smirk lingering. "You just don’t wanna admit I’m fun outside of work."

You snorted. "Fun is a strong word."

"And yet," he murmured, leaning in slightly, "you’re still here."

He wasn’t wrong. You could’ve left at any time. You could’ve said no to this drink. You could’ve cut this conversation short the second it started feeling like more than just talking. But you didn’t. And now, sitting here, so close to him, so aware of every movement he made, every glance, every shift in his voice, you couldn’t pretend that it was just because of the album anymore.

You cleared your throat, forcing yourself to look away. "We should probably head out soon."

Beomgyu hummed, like he knew exactly what you were doing but didn’t feel like calling you out on it. "Yeah, yeah."

Neither of you moved. Instead, he let his arm stretch across the back of your chair, fingers tapping against the wood in a slow, easy rhythm. "Romance: Untold," he repeated, more to himself now. "Yeah. I like it."

You exhaled. "Me too."

And somehow, you knew, this wasn’t just about the album. This was about you and him. The story neither of you had told yet. But one that, deep down, you both knew was already being written.

The night air was cooler now, a crisp contrast to the warmth still buzzing under your skin from the drinks. The street outside the bar was quiet, only the occasional car passing by, headlights flickering against the pavement.

Beomgyu stretched his arms over his head, then shoved his hands into his pockets. "Alright, let’s get you home."

You raised an eyebrow. "You’re not driving."

"Obviously not," he said, rolling his eyes. "I’m not a fucking idiot."

You let out a breathy laugh. "So what’s your plan?"

Beomgyu tilted his head, smirking. "Gonna take the subway with you."

You blinked. "You don’t have to do that."

"I know." He started walking. "Come on."

You hesitated, but ultimately followed, falling into step beside him. The subway station wasn’t far. The streets were quieter here, the hum of neon signs flickering against the damp pavement. It felt… nice. Comfortable. Like the two of you had slipped into something easier than usual.

The train arrived just as you stepped onto the platform. You both boarded, sliding into a seat near the back of the car. "So," you mused, resting your head against the window. "Tell me something I don’t know about you."

Beomgyu hummed, stretching his legs out in front of him. "Something good or something stupid?"

"Good," you said. "And don’t say something obvious."

Beomgyu smirked, tapping his fingers against his knee. "I’ve wanted to do music since I was ten."

You blinked. "Really?"

"Yeah." He leaned back, gaze flickering up toward the train ceiling like he was remembering something. "I used to listen to my older brother’s CDs all the time—Nirvana, Radiohead, The Strokes, My Bloody Valentine. I’d sit in my room with those shitty little wired headphones and just obsess over the sounds, the production, the way the lyrics hit different when you were alone in the dark."

You tilted your head, watching him. "I never took you for a rock band guy."

Beomgyu scoffed. "What, you think I only listen to industry shit?"

"I mean… kinda."

He clutched his chest dramatically. "Wow. The disrespect."

You laughed. "Okay, okay. What’s your favorite album of all time?"

Beomgyu exhaled, tapping his fingers against the seat. "Damn. That’s hard."

"Come on," you nudged his knee with yours. "You’re a music guy. You have to have a number one."

He thought for a second. "‘Loveless’ by My Bloody Valentine."

Your brows lifted. "Shoegaze?"

"Shoegaze," he confirmed. "That album changed me."

You smirked. "Oh, so it’s that serious?"

"It’s life-changing serious," he said. "I mean, listen to ‘When You Sleep’ and tell me that shit doesn’t make you wanna dissolve into the floor."

You chuckled. "Okay, fine. I’ll listen."

"You better."

The conversation flowed easily after that. Beomgyu rambled about different albums, breaking down the exact moment he fell in love with certain sounds, which producers he admired, which live performances made him feel something real.

And you listened. Really listened. Because even though he talked a lot—too much, sometimes—this was different. This was Beomgyu talking about the thing he loved. And it made you want to know more.

By the time you reached your stop, the train car was nearly empty. The streets were quieter now, the air even cooler. Beomgyu walked beside you, hands shoved into his jacket pockets, his usual smirk still tugging at his lips. And then, without warning, his arm slung over your shoulders.

You stiffened. "What the hell are you doing?"

Beomgyu grinned. "Relax. You looked cold."

You scoffed, but didn’t pull away. "You just wanted an excuse to be annoying."

"And?" he teased. "Is it working?"

"Always."

Beomgyu chuckled, squeezing your shoulder lightly before letting his arm stay there, draped over you like it belonged there. And, for some reason, you let it. By the time you reached your apartment building, the air between you had shifted again, lighter, charged, something humming just beneath the surface.

Beomgyu turned to face you, his smirk softer now. "Well, that was fun."

You raised an eyebrow. "Oh? You admit I’m fun now?"

"I didn’t say that." He grinned. "I said that was fun."

You rolled your eyes, stepping toward your door. "Whatever."

But before you could reach for the handle, Beomgyu caught your wrist. You turned. And suddenly, he was right there. Closer than he had been all night. The teasing was gone from his face. His eyes flickered between yours, his fingers still wrapped loosely around your wrist. And then, he leaned in. Slowly. Deliberately. Like he was giving you time to stop him.

But just as his lips were inches from yours, the door swung open.

"Well," Yeonjun’s voice rang out, amusement laced through every word. "What do we have here?"

Your stomach dropped. Beomgyu’s entire body went rigid. Yeonjun grinned, stepping onto the porch, holding a tied-up trash bag in one hand. "I was just taking out the garbage, but this is much more interesting."

You groaned, pulling away from Beomgyu instantly. "Yeonjun."

"What?" Yeonjun feigned innocence, looking between the two of you. "I didn’t know we were having late-night meetings outside the apartment."

Beomgyu exhaled sharply, pressing his fingers against his temple. "Great timing, dude."

"I try my best." Yeonjun smirked. "So… are you gonna kiss, or should I give you some privacy?"

"Yeonjun, I swear to God—"

"Alright, alright, I’m going!" He held up his hands, stepping off the porch with a laugh. "But we will be talking about this later, Y/N."

You shot him a glare as he disappeared down the walkway, humming to himself. The second he was out of earshot, you huffed. "Unbelievable."

A beat of silence passed. "So…" Beomgyu shifted, glancing at you. "Where were we?"

A slow smirk tugged at Beomgyu’s lips. His head tilted slightly, his eyes flickering down to your mouth, just for a second, just enough for your breath to catch. He was waiting. Waiting to see if you’d push him away, if you’d roll your eyes and disappear inside, if you’d cut this tension off before it turned into something real.

But you didn’t. And that was all he needed. Beomgyu took a slow step forward, closing the space between you with the kind of confidence that sent your heart slamming against your ribs. His fingers brushed against yours, hesitant for only a moment before he tilted his chin down, leaning in. And then, finally, he kissed you.

It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t urgent or rough or anything close to what you had before. It was gentle. Soft in a way that made your stomach flip, slow in a way that made your knees feel weak, like he had all the time in the world to memorize the way you felt beneath his lips. Beomgyu wasn’t pushing. He wasn’t taking. He was giving. And you let yourself take it.

Your fingers curled against the front of his jacket, tugging slightly as you kissed him back, sinking into the warmth of it, the quiet rightness of it. Beomgyu let out a soft sound against your lips, half a sigh, half a laugh, before tilting his head slightly, deepening the kiss just enough to make your stomach tighten.

His hand came up, brushing against your cheek, fingers tracing the line of your jaw, slow and deliberate, like he was trying to remember this. Like he had wanted this for too long. You could feel his smile against your mouth, feel the way his fingers flexed slightly, like he wanted to pull you closer but was holding back.

And then, someone cleared their throat. Loud. Pointed. Beomgyu stilled for half a second, then pulled back, blinking like he had just been shaken out of something. Slowly, almost painfully, you turned toward the sound.

Yeonjun. Standing in the hallway. Arms crossed. Smirking. "Really?" he mused. "Right outside the door?"

Your stomach dropped. "Yeonjun—"

"You guys didn’t even wait five minutes after I left?" he continued, shaking his head. "Damn, Beomgyu. You work fast."

Beomgyu groaned, dragging a hand over his face. "For the love of God—"

Yeonjun just grinned as he stepped inside. "Don’t let me stop you. I was just coming back."

You wanted to die. You wanted the ground to open up and swallow you whole. Beomgyu exhaled sharply, muttering something under his breath before taking a small step back, running a hand through his hair.

You cleared your throat, trying to ignore the way your skin burned. "I should go inside."

Beomgyu looked at you, his expression unreadable for half a second before he smirked. "Yeah. Probably."

You hesitated. "Goodnight, Beomgyu."

He tilted his head. "Goodnight, Y/N."

And then, because he couldn’t help himself, he leaned in one last time. A quick, teasing peck against your lips. Barely a second. Barely anything. But it sent your stomach spiraling.

Then, before you could even react, he turned toward the stairs, shoving his hands into his pockets. "See you at work," he called over his shoulder. And with that, he disappeared.

The second the door shut behind you, your back met the wood, and you let out a sharp breath. What the fuck just happened? Your fingers hovered over your lips, the ghost of Beomgyu’s kiss still lingering, the warmth of his touch still burning on your skin. Your heart was still racing, your mind still spinning, and—

"Oh, this is so good," Yeonjun’s voice cut through your spiral, full of glee.

You groaned. "Please. Shut up."

author's note: i hate to do this… but we’re getting a part 3. there was just too much to fit into this chapter, and things are about to get tense next time. if you want to be on the taglist for the next part, let me know in the comments!

ALSO i wrote this fic way before beomgyu even announced PANIC 😭😭 so pls go give him all the love bc he looks AMAZING the song is perfect and i swear the beomgyu i wrote is the same beomgyu who wrote panic did i just win????? 😭💘

taglist: @czennieszn @iyoonjh @shycreationdreamland @beomsdoll @whatblop @cbgtopia @enhaloveeee @hyunj00 @jnysaln @woncheecks @soobinslvr13 @kejingken @v1shwa-xo @yeovnjin @c1eod1n3 @etherealid7 @naeyerys

READ PART 1 HERE <3

[dilf-docs]

Strobbing Lights, Circled Calendars

harry castillo x younger fem!reader

summary: of course you're bound to see him here -- harry castillo, one of your dad's bestfriends and main sponsors of this gala. you'll need a mountain of champagne to make it through the night without losing your temper, but harry has never made it easy.

warnings: 18+ (minors dni), age gap, (eventual) smut, foes to hoes, (one sided) enemies to lovers, angst, rich ppl (yes that's a warning), slowburn, reader may be a bit of a cunt (sorry if this x reader fic is mischaracterizing u), ft. dbf!harry (love this trope so much and had to squeeze it in, my bad)

word count: 3,898 words

side note: I KNOW the movie isn't out yet but the mental illness and hypefixiation combo is killing my ass lately. besides, i alr posted this in wattpad (oc version tho), and thought why shouldn't i post it here too; we all deserve rich sugar daddy gentleman pedro AMIRITE ++pls i wanna see ur comments and reblogs, lemme know what u think!!! :,) we're still far far away from that type of interaction wINk WoNK so for now, enjoy(??) their annoying banter and try to get my vision okBYE

part: prev | masterlist | next

Your parents divorced when you were a kid.

Your birthday had been a day before, the sun casting it's rays as your feet walked barefoot through the marble frigid floors; it could've been an omen about the cold to come. Around you, staff scrubbed floors with remanents of confetti. Some balloons were still standing in the garden. There was some leftover cake in the fridge.

"Y/n. You're awake"

Your father's gaze was one of pity. You were too young to understand that.

"Where's mommy?"

You hadn't even opened the mountain of presents awaiting in the living room and Sofía Reyes was gone.

She never came back.

Maybe that's why you hate your birthday. Maybe that's why you hate marriages. Love. It was a cruel lie sold to you and then taken away, to be locked behind a part of you that died the day you turned eight. You were forced to grow up, devoid of the loving touch of a mother who didn't hesitate to leave you behind like the discarded dolls you tore that day, futile attempts of replicating her touch with the maids, a sea of faces who failed to last long, characters broken by your desperate wails and short temper.

All you had was the rage of an unloved child. Hate.

Hate turned into resent, then barely a quiet rage, enough to carry you through cold interactions and your father's second, third, fourth, now fifth marriage. Enough to fuel the determination that had driven you to excel in your classes. Conquer. Crush. No one dared to mess with you. And that's what made you raise to the top: the best of the very best. Paired with your father's money and contacts, a few years later and you were New York's most sought after divorce lawyer.

It filled you with a wicked pride. A cruel sense of satisfaction of some sorts. May be the power of ending what once was love, and now had dwindled into apathy, bitterness or just the cold silence of a foretold death, ending with just the twisted knife of your signature. In a way, it made you feel like a god: capable of doing and undoing what people considered sacred. You laughed about that. Forever was, indeed, the sweetest con.

You didn't believe in love.

And you were final about it, just like with everything else.

"Mrs. Wallace is outside" your secretary's voice chimes in. You told her to stop using the phone and instead come to your door directly: you never know when you could answer and it'd be your dad, the last person you want to hear ask you about anything going on in your life. "Should I tell her to come in?"

Your latest client. About to end a marriage of almost two decades because her husband cheated. The goal? Keep her lavish lifestyle, which meant winning a part of his money.

Of course, she had come to your office for help.

"Yes. Thank you"

You search for her file in your computer, feeling disoriented all of a sudden.

"Um, I'm sorry, Caro" she stops on her tracks at your office's door. "What day is today?"

"June 17th"

It's today.

Carolina quirks an eyebrow, and you hate the way she squints her eyes, as if to decipher you.

"Should I clear your schedule for the rest of the day?"

A beat goes by.

"No" you resume your typing, probably to avoid her gaze or to busy yourself. Maybe both. "As a matter of fact, pack it up as much as you can"

She sighs, turning her heels, not before looking at you one last time.

"Happy birthday, Ms. Beaumont"

She leaves you alone, closing the door softly after her. The Reyes is silent, as the room. You shake your head, typing your thoughts away.

There is nothing to celebrate.

The door flings open, the loud click of heels against your office floors. You just hope Mrs. Wallace doesn't ruin your handmade carpet from Morocco with her shoes.

"Hello, Y/n!" her voice may be annoying, but at least she took the weight of your last name off. "Ugh, I've been dying to see you"

"It's good to see you too, Mrs. Wallace"

"Drop that. Just Mia" winking while placing her Hermès on the chair to her side. "And it's all thanks to you"

Mia isn't an awful person, just annoying. Annoyingly rich.

You pull out a stack of documents neatly organized inside a carpet.

"Okay, so I just need you to check this documents-"

"No need" she's quick to dissmiss coolly, in that elegant yet frigid way of her kind. Then, her red lips (try to) form a smile through her botox injections. "Do me a favor and entertain this soon to be divorcee, dear. Show me your client list, maybe set me up with another hot-"

You let out your first real laugh in a while.

"Oh, you're funny Mia! But I'm not a matchmaker" you lean back in your chair, giving you a perfect peek of your degree, diploma and doctorate. You smile, satisfied. "See those behind you? I don't bring couples together. I tear them apart"

She stares at you, dumbfounded.

"That was cold" Mia deadpans.

Bit ironic, innit?

You shrug, unbothered. "It's my job and I'm the best. Which is why you came to me, right?"

She nods, slowly.

"Well then!" you clasp your hands together, startling the blonde woman. "Let's get back to what matters, shall we? I promise you that pathetic excuse of a husband you have named Mark will pay"

There's only two things you know: money and heartbreak. Born into New York's posh society, all your life you've been surrounded by the lavish of the elite world: a world that smells like unaffordable cologne, brands, burnt cigars, exclusivity and superciliousity.

You're as familiar with extravangance and parties as you are with big lonely houses and no one to call when you're down. It is all a blur of strenuous music of bars and drinks down, but when it's quiet, it's all about the silence like someone has died.

It's the price to pay, you think as you look down, to the tiny passerby walking on the bustling streets. You like to wonder about their lives and if they're happier than you, a secret torture kept hidden between you and the glass walls of your office at the firm.

You're already thinking what movie you'll choose for tonight as Joaquín, your personal chauffeur, drives up to your apartment.

He opens the door for you, lending a hand.

"Have a good night, Ms. Y/n"

For some reason, be it his respect for your chosen aphony or the familiarity not to be confused with warmth, you let him address you by your name, unlike the rest of your staff.

"Thank you" a word so small and repetitive yet foreign in your lips.

No congratulations, but his last look over the shoulder and nod may be. He probably is the only one who has seen the faces of distate as you answered your phone through his rearview mirror, displeased at the words of supposed affection of your acquaintances.

As you step inside, the bright lights and minimalist decoration wash over your tired form.

"Ms. Beaumont" it's your concierge. Your feet are killing you, and all you want is to take a bath and order some sushi. Not more human interactions for the day. "There's someone waiting for you"

Just what you needed.

"It's nine, Clark" you seethe his name, rolling your eyes. "Who could possibly need me?"

"Hey, little one"

Never have those words felt more out of place. He has never felt more out of place.

"Dad" you force a smile. He takes some strides across the lobby until he's stading in front of you, close as to see the new spots on his skin but not enough to be at hug's length. It's not like you ever did. "You could've called, you know?"

To say those two words I could care less about.

"It's important" he makes a gesture of remembering. "Oh! Happy birthday, by the way" you didn't expect less, "how much is it?"

Of course he didn't cross half Manhattan to congratulate you.

"Twenty-six" you reply, nonchalant.

"Time flies by, does it?" he tries to sound nostalgic, but it falls flat and artificial, as a rehearsed speech. It all felt like that, anyways.

"It does" you cut his bullshit off. "What do you want?"

He laughs, loudly. "Ah, that's my girl! Look at you" he points your suit, making your cheeks flare up between anger and embarrassement. "In this tight attire, talking like a bussiness woman!"

Your father looked as if you had slapped him in his face when you told him you wanted to be a lawyer. He could've cut you off, but you were his only family. I will make you proud, you assured him. At the end of the day, above all, you were still a daughter. So you used his money and your skills to build where you stand today. Despite it all, he still found ways to put you down and make you feel eighteen again, as the weak little girl who quietly cried herself to sleep, Yale acceptance letter tucked harshly in the trash.

But he started this.

Your father would never understand this choice was his fault.

"Now, let's talk, then" you snicker a small finally in there. "Impatient one, as always. Aren't you? Here, take a look for yourself"

He hands you an envelope. It doesn't take you two to put the pieces together.

"You're kidding me, right?"

"Annabelle is sick" he's quick to explain. "I want you to come with me"

Sick could mean many things: the flu, sick of me... Maybe he'll show up in a few months at your office to end his fifth.

You quirk an eyebrow, annoyed. "Do you want me or need me to?"

"Whatever suits you" he adopts that posture of his, as to indicate the conversation is over. "I just need you to be there"

Not an option. You eye the envelope again, tearing it open. The first words you see, big in bold are Open Bar. You place the invitation inside again, not bothering to read the rest. That's enough for now.

"I will be"

If you knew all that was to come, you would've declined.

The image of your father on the lobby of your apartment, one he just hadn't bothered to visit since you moved in two years ago, has been in your mind since last night.

Why was he there? It must've been important.

"What do you mean you were busy?" your friend, Rachel, huffs. You roll your eyes at her over the top voice for a simple conversation at brunch. Your head pounds, probably for tonight's event or the guilty bottle of wine emptied alone now turned hangover.

"I was working" you reply, stuffing a bit of salad on your mouth to avoid a gag.

"You're always working" she's quick to counter. "You're supposed to have fun in your birthday! And, you know, reply to your friend's texts"

You look at a spot on the white tablecloth.

"You know I'm not one to celebrate my birthday. We can go out any other day you'd like"

Rachel twirls a loose strand of her curly ginger hair, absentminded.

"You still ignored me"

You stiffle a laugh. "Should I apologize?"

"You never do" she leans back on her seat. "By the way, what's that?"

Your phone chimes in again, as on cue.

"Ugh, it's Nessa. No idea? My personal stylist, Rach" you turn off your phone, annoyed. "I don't get the point of validating my appointment. If I booked it last minute, urgently, why would I cancel?"

Rachel wiggles her brows, teasingly.

"Is it for a date? Please tell me it's for a date"

Last time you went on one, it was last year; you just didn't want to go to Rachel's New Year's Eve party alone. You haven't spoken to Barret (or was it Baxter?) ever since.

"It's a gala" you sigh.

"That's pretty much the same to me" she raises her glass. "Any cute boys going?"

"I didn't check the invitation. My dad forced me to go" you yawn. "Is it important, anyway? It's for The Rockefeller Foundation"

"Figures. My dad is going" she casually mentions, diving back to her forgotten croissant.

"Wait" a beat. "If my dad and your dad are going, then-"

"Harry Castillo" you seethe.

He's in the back, surrounded by a crowd, wrapped around his finger. He may be aware, by his charming smile. All the world, licking at his hand for scraps of his precious attention, hovering around as dirty flies over the most exquisite banquet. Harry is like the sun: everyone can't help but orbit around him, drawn by his light.

But he was never like the others.

Which is why you despised him.

Him, who is now walking towards you with purposeful strides and a polite smile.

"Ah, David!" his voice utters in a deep tone. It's cheerful, too cheerful for a gala full of the cold echo of cutlery and rehearsed smiles. "How's Annabelle?"

"Sick" he smiles, but it sounds scornful. "Do you remember my daughter, Y/n? She's here on behalf of her"

Your father offers the same tight smile your way. Behave, as if you were the same little kid who cried to be taken home.

He lets out a boisterous laugh. "Of course I do"

Him, who knew exactly how to get under your skin: could be the way his brown orbs shine with sincere warmth as he leans forward, or his tone, charged with an autority that demanded respect. Like the world owed him a favor just for existing. But it is too the way he takes in your hand, chapped lips pressing against the soft of your skin, the sound of a kiss as he whispers your name like he owns it: as if Harry Castillo was the only man capable of saying it.

You can feel his moustache scratch your palm. Can feel his cologne start to invade your nostrils. Your mind. Your common sense. Your head spins, but you haven't even had a drink yet.

What is happening and why does he look at you like he knows?

"Always a gentleman, my friend" your father bursts your train of thoughts.

"Someone has to" he replies, velvet voice laced with something you can't quite place.

Why does he affect you so much, down to the marrow of your silver bones?

"Don't you think so, Y/n?"

"What?"

"The world needs more people" your father speaks, "like Harry"

More people with gelled curls pulled backwards. With expensive cologne that enters the room before they did, as intoxicating as their presence. With more new spots on their skin, blooming as the grays that have started to sprout between the chocolate of their hair.

More people who preferred a dinner and conversation over a club and a drink. Who took their time to search all of Manhattan for the perfect bouquet. That kissed with a force so inebriating, your cheeks turned vinious and body went limp.

More people who still believed in love. Good old-fashioned lover boys.

You purse your lips. "Sure thing. Would be wonderful"

Harry Castillo gives you his best smile. "I'm glad you agree"

You so desperately need a drink.

Outside, the world seems quiet.

Just at your feet, cars zoom and people walk, sounds beating raw with the hearbeat of a city that never sleeps.

But up here, you like the con of a lull night.

For a moment, it's like the world let's you breath, and no matter how much you love the club's strobbing lights and loud beat, or the sharp edge of words thrown in the court's enclosed space, you would still choose this fleeting moment of calm.

Your heart has never felt at peace.

"You have a bit of a habit of running away, don't you?"

Your breath steadies a bit. Like you expected this to happen.

"And you have one of prying into other people's bussiness"

Just like that, your wall is up again, long gone the sense of silent ease.

He chuckles, lightly so. "It's kind of what I do for a living. Guess old habits die hard"

Speaking of which, he pulls out a cigarette from his pocket.

"Do you mind?"

You look at him, puzzled. He pats his pristine suit, then shoots you an apologetic smile.

"I seem to have forgotten my lighter"

"I quit"

He raises an eyebrow. "Good for you" but his tone is full of mockery.

Like he doesn't believe you to be capable of holding to your promises.

Surrendering to Harry felt easy, not humiliating. It's not like you would be the first, nor last to do so.

"I still carry some for emergencies"

It's the same lighter he's seen all this years, accompanying you on lonely balconies and packed rooms, yet looking as new as the day you were given so, because you had a knack for caring too much.

It had an S, a B and an R, but even as he heard some things, he never dared to ask why you treasured it so much.

"Is this an emergency enough?"

The corner of his lips curve upwards at the same time he leans closer. You recognize the Myrrhe Mystère he's bathed his honeyed skin in.

You flicker the light once.

"Come closer and find out"

You flick it again, and it's just him and you, in that terrace, the wind blowing hard but not enough to kill the flame: for a moment, barely seconds, the blaze bathes his auburn eyes in a warm glow, as if they were the very same fire in your hand.

"There you go" voice impossibly soft.

This is hate: the way your breaths seems to mingle with your pulse, paused. Afraid to reveal more than meets the eye. The way your voice reduces to a whisper, as if speaking loudly would give your thoughts away.

This is the real reason you hate him: because no matter how many roads you take, the world is a sphere, and at the end of the day, it all leads to Harry Castillo's irritating, irksome and exasperating way of haunting your mind when you give him just a small space.

But that was him. Demanding. It was never enough. He needed more: even in the scope of your thoughts. Consuming. As the cigarette that hangs from his lips.

"Thanks" he pulls back, taking a drag. "Aren't you a doll?"

You remain emotionless. You try. Try, try, try.

"Dolls don't speak. They just look pretty"

Another drag. Slow. Your eyes drift to the shape of his mouth.

His eyes find yours, smirking. "Then you're already halfway there"

You give him your back, already done with this conversation. But he isn't: something about rich people and not knowing how to lose. You know it all too well, carry the disease yourself.

Harry Castillo always needs to have the last word. Like the last bullet of a gun.

It's got to land.

"You know, you're just like your dad"

The bitter aftertaste of champagne bubbles up your throat. You turn around, with pounding head and heart.

"I'm his daughter" you reply.

"I mean you're shit at pretending"

You laugh, incredulously. "Oh, aren't you a know it all? What, is that your job too?"

"Sometimes, we enjoy doing things that aren't our duty. Nonetheless, they capture our interest"

You feel a myriad of things: angry, humiliated, brave, stupid. Briefly reminds you of Rufus, your dad's old hunting dog. When he got sick, he got mean and angry. Bit the hand of his owner and licked it after.

"And what could I possibly offer to capture yours?"

He smiles. You feel him walk closer, cut the distance between your cold bodies, until the green of his ring becomes clear in your visual field.

"Your inability to keep your lies alive"

You forget how to breath until his arm brushes past yours. He kills the cigarette with a learnt casualty, the flame going out with a hss. His body remains rooted in place, caging you against the cold metal until it presses on the bare back your dress shows.

"Fuck you, Harry" you seethe.

How he always managed to ruin your day was a mystery, but it's always been like this: the push and pull, until someone gives in.

Small cuts until the wound is too big to ignore.

Dards thrown against the biggest of dartboards to exist, where every hit hurts.

"S' not the first time I've been told so" he chuckles. "Not by you, either. Looking forward to that"

The bewilderment in your face must be obvious by the way he smiles, sadly so. He starts to walk away, back to the on-going party.

"Hey! Where are you going?" you shout, "this isn't over yet"

You think he mumbles a You can't have it all.

"I can" you feel your body shake with vitriol. "Don't you know who I am?"

Why do you keep letting him get away with it?

You tell yourself each time that this is it, but it's impossible to ignore how he always makes you lose the mask you have carefully crafted.

He's like a mirror, but where light meets his reflection, you meet the darks of his shadow. It's like his sole purpose it's to remind you of the filth within you and the heavy weight of the crown with your father's last name. The more you stare at his eyes, the easier is to pick apart the flaws you know but don't feel in yourself to change.

It's like he knows you. Like Harry truly sees you for who you are: past your silver spoon, your spiteful remarks meant to wound, night life, expensive brands and opulence.

Worst part? He doesn't seem to mind the crisp of your rotten skin. You don't, either: a burnt child loves the fire.

"I do" he replies, his soft remark washing over your ember flaming anger. "But do you?"

You let him walk away. It's too much. You look at the the expanse of water surrounding the island, all to not drown on his eyes and the thoughts in your head he always makes you second-guess.

Pathetic.

Then, one final time, he turns around, glancing at you deeply, as if remembering something.

"I know it was yesterday but, happy birthday, Y/n" whispered in a fragile breath that gets lost in the sea of buildings and smog of Manhattan.

It lingers. Like his perfume over your clothes and the smell of the smashed cigarrette against the railing. It too lingers like the weight that's pressed over your chest and you can't name.

He doesn't wait for an answer. You don't have one.

And then he leaves.

You look to the skycrapers, coldly trying to replicate the beauty of the stars above, trying to reach the sky but falling short.

Trying, trying, trying.

You close your eyes and breath.

Falling, falling, falling.

Two words. Almost two decades of hating it. All it took was Harry Castillo's mouth to utter them as if it was important.

You shake your head in disbelief.

Because, for the first time in a lifetime, your birthday feels like it matters.

cr: divider @kodaswrld / gif @a7estrellas / 🏷: @io12n @dowscal @oscar-isaac @joelscowgirl @jxvipike @klarkapascal @lostinmyownmaze @folklore-barnes @alinacecee @sukitruqui (comment if u wanna be tagged!)

[littelovelunette]

Fuck it

what are some of YOUR favorite HCs for our ladies? Any subjects, just things you haven't been able to bring up or talk about through requests

I wanna hear your thoughts :3c

~💜

Oh my gosh, finally someone wants to hear me outttt, you're the sweetest, anon 💜, thank youuu

Headcanons (Ft. Sevika, Ambessa Medarda, Violet, Jinx)

Author's Choice

Sevika

Multilingual through and through but sometimes a little bit of this language slips in through a little bit of that language because there's just so much in her vocabulary that she can't get across by using one singular language (Am I projecting? Yes.)

Sensitive to South Asian stereotypes and butch lesbian stereotypes

Likely to beat someone up over it

Grew up in a mysoginistic society which made her feel that she was somehow below men in the past but she doesn't let that affect her now

Considers dyeing her hair because she's insecure of the gray

In her past relationships, her ex girlfriends always made her feel like she needed to wear the pants in the relationship, so she never really was the one being spoiled, spooned or even simply headpatted

Loves being able to show even the slightest bit of feminity when she can with you, but it's rare because she's so insecure of it

If you bring it up, she'll say "Ridiculous," with a scoff and a head shake

Immensely insecure ever since she lost her arm and struggles with body image issues. Please reassure her

Has anger issues and breaks things when she's angry

She's just a kitten when she's angry so hold her close and hug her. Tell her it's okay and coo praises to her

No matter what I've seen other authors say, I think Sevika does get sort of abusive when she's angry, but she doesn't hit you of course. Instead, she slams and breaks things in the house

Ambessa Medarda

Brings you expensive gifts just because she can

When you sleep next to her, Ambessa hums a song and you can't help wonder of her melodious voice, and that she should sing more

Makes honey tea for you with her own hands and goodness does it taste like heaven, she tastes better though

Kneels down and does your straps for you even if her ego is so high, she loves kneeling before you in front of people to flash the dynamic of your relationship with her

Likely to propose only if you share the same loyalty for family as her

Eye contact means everything to this woman whether it's a normal setting, intimate setting or simply sex— look into her golden eyes and whisper "I love you"s

Would figuratively die out of concern if you ever got hurt in any way possible, wouldn't let you out of the Medarda Estate in fear you'll get hurt again. It may take a while for her trust in the world to build again, but she's not all that controlling

Shockingly lets you wear whatever you want to wear when outside but don't expect her to coddle you and take her time stripping you form those clothes. She is feral, she'll tear them off

Her love language is providing all sorts of protection that you need from whoever even if it may be the most dangerous person on the planet, you're safe with Ambessa

Vows to keep you safe whenever you fall asleep, mumbling them to herself as a constant reminder that whatever happens, her loyalty was to you and her family

Her kisses are surprisingly warm, gentle and calculated. She doesn't want to rush, and takes her sweet time. Sometimes it's barely tongue, and she just enjoys the feeling of your sweet lips against hers

Violet

Although she claims she doesn't care for your commands, if you told her to sit she'll sit

Favorite part of your body is your boobs no matter if they're big/small. She'll bury her face in them and even use them as stress balls. Nothing lewd really, she just likes sniffing them. What a pervert but come on, it's Vi

Loves interlacing her fingers with yours, rubbing the top of your hand with the pad of her thumb

Always carries sanitary pads/tampons for you to be your saviour at times of crisis

Can't stand your pout or your tears. Crocodile tears or not, Vi is buying you whatever you want or beating someone up over something that you want. She can't stand seeing her princess all pouty

"You're not scared of me, are you?" Vi's sometimes afraid what impression she gives off to you

Worried because you may be exposed to Shimmer. She doesn't care what the living conditions are, but she doesn't want you to get addicted to any sort of substance that can cause your life to go downhill

Stares at you so much you're sometimes worried whether she's even listening to what you have to say, or when you're just casually conversing she's staring at you as if you've grown two heads.

In reality, Vi takes one long look at you, one that could battle a stare contest, and decides you're too good for her. But she'll never say that out loud in fear you're gonna leave her

Scared she's gonna lose her shit and hit you when she's angry because poor baby has anger issues

Very much capable of confidently arguing with a child and losing

Jinx

Has anxious attachment issues with you, she knows it and you know it. But you both silently acknowledge that

Perfect dates mean bombing and terrorising Pilties with her... Or, you both could decide on a sugar marathon. Whichever you prefer

Her love language is putting effort into remembering the things that you like, often stealing the best of it from Piltover. Jinx makes you your favourite weapons in your favourite colour, with little scribbles that say you belong to her

Blushes when you hug her and she awkwardly returns it back but when she gets comfortable she can't stop hugging you

If you ever left her, she'd actually lose her shit, she's way too attached with you

Overthinks the whole love confession thing before you both dated and she lit your yard on fire with the words "I LOVE YOU"

Cried in your arms after Caitlyn shot her middle finger off. She was so upset, you almost gutted the woman for doing that to your baby

Sometimes she loses her shit, hallucinates and you wake up tied to her chair, her knife poking at your heart. "Love me. Love me. Love me." She repeats, her voice hoarse from screaming and crying. Jinx calms down eventually, unties you and asks you if she scared you. You always tell her no and give her headpats

Jinx is way too scared of relying on anyone emotionally and you can tell. You don't force her to trust you immediately but it is a slow process, she slowly starts to open up more

Swings her legs back and forth from the edge of the bed while you do her hair. Your arm workout is doing her hair

You motivate her to actually take care of herself, eat properly and shower. But you have to do it all with her

Surprisingly can pick you up

[invincibledc]

OMG I NEED MORE JACK QUINN IM GNAWING AT MY CAGES AHHH ONESHOTS, STORY, KIDNAPPED TROPE ANYTHING AHHHG

۶ৎ𝐒𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐧’ 𝐒𝐨𝐮𝐫

────୨ৎ────

𝐉𝐀𝐂𝐊 𝐐𝐔𝐈𝐍𝐍 (𝐎𝐂) 𝐗 𝐁𝐀𝐓𝐁𝐑𝐎!𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑

ᯓ★ Synopsis: it’s sweet when he cares for you, and then it’s sour when he wants to be funny.

ᯓ★ Genre: fluff oneshot

ᯓ★ Info: this OC is an OC I’m written for my own amusement. He’s the son of Harley Quinn and joker. Full name, Jacklyn Oswald Quinn. I got bored. Reader is the twin brother of Damian, but Damian is the older twin of course. Im only a writer so you can imagine who he looks more like but all I can is he is handsome canonically in my head and anything. Boy’s crazy but handsome.

ᯓ★ Word count: 826

It was a dark and stormy night, and you were dressed in matching slick pajamas while Jack wore grey sweatpants and a white shirt. You were at his condo, a refuge for him away from his father, The Joker. Or just from the world itself.

He sat entranced by the TV, oblivious to your approach with a bowl of popcorn. His blonde hair was damp, clinging to his forehead, and his blue eyes were lost in thought.

“Jack?” you called, breaking through his distraction. A smile instantly appeared on his face as you took a seat beside him, placing the popcorn on your lap. “Yeah, puddin'?” he responded in his raspy voice. But you shot him a look, one that immediately wiped the grin off his face.

“You’re not fine,” you stated firmly. “Just because you're the Joker's son doesn’t mean you have to be like him.” Your tone was soft yet resolute, and he leaned into your fingers as you brushed through his hair.

“Of course, baby…” he replied, his eyes softening with sincerity. You could see the love in his gaze as he pulled you onto his lap, wrapping his arms around your waist.

Your thighs pressed firmly together as you locked eyes with Jack, exuding confidence. He leaned in and gave you a quick peck on the lips.

“Alright, what movie are we watching this time?” he asked, diverting his attention to the bowl of buttery popcorn.

“I’ve picked The Exorcist. It’s the perfect choice for a dark and stormy night,” you declared confidently, wearing an assertive smile. Jack couldn’t help but chuckle.

“You’re so cute, baby.” As you got off his lap, he started playing the movie you selected. You settled next to him with the popcorn bowl in your lap. The movie began, and Jack rested his head on yours, his hand securely on your waist as he took a generous handful of popcorn and stuffed it into his mouth.

When it gets to the part of Regan spider walking down the stairs with blood in her mouth, you can't help but cringe. In fear, of course, it was so scary, a spider walking down the stairs, blood dripping from her mouth.

Jack noticed this, inside he was smirking, realizing this was such a good boyfriend moment. On the outside, he frowns, pushing your head into his neck.

There you smelt his woody scent, you also felt his breathing pattern. “It's okay baby, I'm here,” he says softly, his natural hoarse voice soothing you.

Throughout the movie, you were relaxed against the blonde-haired male, as he was your protector from the scares of the movie. Finally, it was midnight, Jack yawned, stretching his arms whilst looking at you.

“You good, babe?” he asked, noticing your calm demeanor, even though he knew your feelings about horror movies despite being the one to choose them.

“I’m completely fine,” you replied confidently. Jack raised an eyebrow and stood up from the couch, prompting you to look at him directly.

With his hair finally dry, he added, “If you say so, I’ll be in bed waiting for you. Just wash the bowl, alright, love?” His tone was soft yet firm. Nodding, you stood up and walked to the kitchen, hearing his footsteps as he headed upstairs.

You prepared to wash the bowl, filling it with soup and warm water while scrubbing away the remnants of butter. You hummed a soft tune, deliberately ignoring the rain tapping against the window of the condo.

The room was dimly lit by the moonlight, creating a surprisingly relaxing atmosphere despite everything else. Once you finished with the bowl and dried your hands, you made your way to the stairs.

As you approached the bedroom, you halted, noticing the door was ajar. Jack wasn’t fond of closed doors—or even slightly open ones. You raised an eyebrow and approached the door cautiously, calling out his name with a mix of concern and curiosity.

“Jack?” you said softly, pushing the door open. The bed was untouched, and your heart raced as you scanned the room, anxiety creeping in.

“Jack?!” you exclaimed, ready to turn and run when suddenly, Jack popped up.

“Boo!” he exclaimed, catching you completely off guard.

You didn't even scream, you punched him in his face on instinct, even flipping him onto his back. Your killer instinct ended before you could kick his head in, he yells for mercy with a slightly scared but amused face.

“Babe! It's me! Calm down puddin'.” he says. You scoffed and got off him. “Jack. That wasn't funny.” Jack couldn't help but laugh, standing up and dusting himself off.

“Sorry sorry, but you lied about being fine. You can't even handle scary movies,” he says, going to hug you, but you swiftly move from him.

“Nah uh. Nope, you’re sleeping on the couch,” you said firmly and laid in the bed, ignoring the kicked puppy face from Jack who whined.

“Noooo cmonnn…”

“Nope.”

[traveler-at-heart]

Doctor's In - Part 19

Summary: Wanda plans a proposal.

Wanda Maximoff x F!R

It’s hard to believe what you’re hearing.

“I’m sorry, just one more time. I want to make sure I’m getting this right” you plead, trying really hard not to scream.

“I cut my finger in a broken glass” the man explains, calmly. And then he adds the stupidest thing you’ve ever heard. “I cauterized it with a lighter”

Of course! Why would anyone go to the ER when they can just burn their skin off.

“Right. So… let’s try to not do that when medical care is nearby. I’ll apply a bandage and give you a cream”

You work in silence, until he speaks again.

“While I’m here, could I get circumcised?”

With a sigh, you stand up, asking Bucky to finish off for you. Tale as old as time, people thinking that the ER is open for anyone with a strange mole or pain that is not life threatening.

Your phone rings and your shoulders relax immediately.

“Hey, love”

“Hi. Boy, you sound tired” Wanda says, surprised that you’re so defeated after a few hours into your shift. You rarely complain.

“I’ve had the weirdest day, that’s all. People testing my patience, putting nail glue instead of eyedrops”

“Yikes”

“Guys asking if we perform circumcisions”

“Gross. But do you?” she jokes and you laugh.

“Dear God, no. As a lesbian, I’d rather not deal with that area unless it’s truly an emergency”

“Mmhm, and yet you’re so good when you’re wearing the strap” she teases, making you crash against the vending machine. Fortunately, the force knocks a bag of chips and you smile, picking it up.

“Number one, tease. You still owe me over that lap dance. And two, wanna go out tomorrow?”

Wanda’s entire demeanor changes after that, and it’s really hard not to get worried. She’s been like this ever since you mentioned Sokovia.

“I have a lot of work to finish, you know the book release is soon, plus Wendy…”

“Yeah, no. I get it. That’s fine. Maybe I can take the kids out to give you some peace and quiet”

“You know what, my mom loves bowling. Why don’t you all go?”

“Sure” you say, agreeing to anything Wanda suggests. “Alright, I’m getting paged. Hope it’s an actual emergency this time”

“I hope so too” Wanda says, smiling,

“Love you” you say, a bit worried she won’t say it back, but she does and there’s nothing different about the way she replies, adding a soft “my love” before hanging up.

So, maybe it’s all in your head.

Right?

—

Wanda hates lying to you.

The thing is, she still has to figure out a way to propose. It’s technically not hard to get everything ready without you noticing, considering your shifts can take more than a day. If she only knew exactly what to do.

She’s looking around her studio, thinking about the things you like. Her eyes eventually settle on a copy of her latest book. Thankfully, Laura never had the dedication changed, so she could still give it to you.

Or, she could give you a special copy with something entirely different.

As her mind begins to come up with a plan, Wanda smiles to herself.

Finally, she knows where to start.

—

It feels weird to have the entire Maximoff gang, minus your beautiful, stunning, out of this world girlfriend.

Darcy would call you a simp if she could hear all your thoughts.

But you miss Wanda and even if you knew she wasn’t joining you tonight, you’re still following her like a lost puppy.

“You’re absolutely sure?” you say, your hands around her waist.

“Yes, detka. I’m sorry. But we’re going to the wedding tomorrow and that’s going to be fun, right? You’ll have me all to yourself”

“Ok” you sigh dramatically, sinking your face in the crook of her neck. “I just miss you”

“Me too. If I’m not too tired we could watch an episode of The Golden Girls when you’re all back” she promises and you squeeze her waist, kissing behind her ear.

“Maybe I can persuade you with my very charming personality…” you place another kiss in her neck, sucking lightly on the skin. “Or with my very skilled fingers”

Wanda moans your name, melting in your arms and you are about to call victory when her mother opens up the door, shouting that it’s time to leave.

“I may have left out a very important piece of information” Wanda stops you before you go out to the foyer to meet her mother. “She gets very competitive…”

“So that’s where you got it from”

“Hey!”

But Wanda can’t continue the argument as Ekaterina walks in, handing you what looks like bowling uniforms. You’re surprised to see it has your name embroidered, and the Maximoff name on the back.

“How did you get this made so soon?”

“I know a guy” she replies cryptically, and you gulp.

Will she scream at you when she sees you know nothing about bowling?

“Come on, we’re going to be late, girls!”

“Oh, I’m staying. I have work to do” Wanda explains, lowering her voice when her mother gives her a stern look.

“Then the teams will be incomplete!”

“I don’t have to play” you jump, hoping that this can be your out.

“You have hands?”

“Y-yes”

“Then you play. Let’s go. Pietro’s meeting us there”

Billy and Tommy are excited as they follow their grandmother out, and you stall in the kitchen.

“You sure you don’t need someone to clean your brushes? Sharpen your pencils?”

“Detka, go” she says, laughing.

“I’m scared” you whine pathetically. She kisses you, her lips moving against yours. It’s so good it makes you forget the reason for your little meltdown.

“I’ll see you later”

—

Pietro is already waiting for you, knowing that his mother loves to jump right into the game. He’s set two bowling allies, and you split into teams.

You’re pleasantly surprised to see Bucky approaching you.

“Pietro promised me a beer if I joined so you could complete the teams”

Everyone takes a couple of shots to practice and you try to follow their movements. Bucky notices how lost you are, offering his guidance here and there. Your shots are not particularly powerful and the ball leans towards the gutter more often than not.

The point system is beyond your comprehension so you can only nod and cheer when Bucky completes a strike.

Beyond that, the doctor in you is looking at everything in the space (heavy objects, lots of movement, oily floors) and considering the possible injuries.

This is why, when Billy walks past the lane line, you go after him, afraid that he’ll fall. But you’re the only one on your ass as he lets go of the ball a second later, smiling.

“Y/N! That’s not how you play!” Ekaterina admonishes, and you sigh, crawling back to them.

“I’m going to get us more food”

Bucky is right behind you, chuckling as the woman keeps her winning streak.

“Is she a pro?”

“Seems to me” you say, ordering more fries and another soda for you. “Hey, can I ask you about Darcy? Do you have something against her or…”

“I like her”

“See, I told her she was just imagining things and… wait. Like her how?” you realise he’s looking away, a soft blush tinging his cheeks. Your hand flies to his arm and you jump around excited. “You have a crush on Darcy”

“I don’t”

“Nu-uh. You do. Why didn’t you tell me? Or better yet, her”

“I don’t know what to say when she’s around. I mean, I don’t know if you’ve noticed but I don’t speak a lot and she does”

“Right” you nod your head. Truthfully, Bucky is different than the guys Darcy dates (in the best possible way) and it’s been a while. “Well, do you want a wingwoman?”

“Not really” he says, almost looking mortified. “It’s better if she thinks we’re enemies, honestly”

“Sure” you nod, pretending you’ll let the subject go. Bucky’s too naive, though, if he believes you won’t do anything about it.

For a bit, you watch the kids play in silence, while Pietro chats with a woman, obviously flirting while he pretends to correct her posture. Ekaterina, unaware that he’s flirting, comes over and scolds him on his bad technique.

Bucky and you laugh as he comes back to her side, and she forces him to do a couple of exercises.

When you get your orders of fries, you walk back to the group, smirking at him.

“Mama’s boy got cockblocked” you whisper.

“Hey, сука!”

“Pietro!” Ekaterina turns to glare at him, and you poke your tongue out as he gets an earful for the second time in the night.

This is a lot more fun than bowling.

—

Best part of coming back is that the kids are pretty tired, so they head straight to their room. When you go check on them, they’re both fast asleep, and Sparky pushes the door open a bit wider so he can jump on Billy’s bed.

“Better that than you sleeping with my girl” you say, closing the door.

You think it’s strange that Wanda hasn’t shown up to greet you, so you walk up to her study, knocking once. After the second time, you worry and open the door just a tiny bit.

“Wands? You ok in there?”

“Oh, hey! You scared me!” you notice she’s wearing your headphones, and you smile, opening the door wider.

“We just got back, the kids are asleep already”

You try to step inside but Wanda’s quick on her feet, standing right in front of you.

“Good to hear that. Was Mom good? Didn’t yell at you too much?”

“Nah, she was fine. Pietro got the short end of the stick. What you working on?” you smile, trying to get a look at her sketches.

“Nothing. Are you tired?”

“Not really. I could sit around while you keep working if you haven’t finished yet…” you say, approaching the table. One more step, and the surprise will be ruined. So, Wanda does the only thing that comes to mind.

“Why don’t you fuck me, then?”

That makes you turn.

“Say that again”

“If you’re not too tired, why don’t you fuck me?” Wanda smiles, amused at how easy it was to get your attention.

“Well, I definitely can do that” you walk back to her, carrying her bridal style. “Since you asked so nicely”

—

The big day is finally here.

One of the brides is not.

Or so Darcy says when you walk into the venue, hours before the ceremony. You’re wearing jeans and a t-shirt, looking as people finish decorating and setting up everything.

Your friend shows up, wearing one of those radio earpieces.

“Nice one, Britney”

“Bitch” she snaps, but then closes her eyes, breathing in and out. “I need you to go get Carol”

“Sure, is she in the dressing room?”

“No. She is at the hospital. Working”

“What? The wedding’s in four hours, she should be getting her hair and makeup done” you look at your phone, thinkig maybe there was an emergency and you had to be at work too.

“Just bring her, please. Abduct her if necessary” Darcy changes into the earpiece, shouting. “No, I requested mauve. Mauve!”

You wished Darcy had told you to get Carol before you even got here. Now you’ll have to drive all the way back to the city, as the wedding is happening at a small inn close to the mountains.

Racing against time, you walk in to ask around for her.

“She’s in OR 3” one of the nurses tells you, with a loaded look. “Doing a carpal thunnel decompression”

“Thanks”

You scrub in as fast as you can, pushing the door to the OR. Everyone stares at you, clearly on edge over Carol’s presence. She’s acting like it’s just another day, and like she’s not two hours behind on Darcy’s very detailed, strict schedule.

“Hey, bride to be” you greet, hoping she stops what she’s doing. With a sigh, you stand up next to her, smiling. “Are you excited?”

“Nope, it’s just another day”

“Well, I call bullshit”

One of the nurses laughs and the rest of the surgical team visibly relaxes.

“You’re getting married today. We still need to do your hair and makeup and a shower wouldn’t hurt either”

“Hey!”

“As maid of honor it is my duty to tell it like it is. Now, let someone else close up, and let’s go”

“I was supposed to do an arthroscopy after this”

“Darcy’s waiting in the car” you lie, knowing fear will be the only driving force to make Carol change her mind.

Sure enough, her eyes widen and she gives instructions to the rest of the team. When she’s washing her hands and scrubbing out, you join her, smiling.

“You ok?”

“I… it’s all so real. For months, we were planning and picking cake and decorations but it’s happening today and it feels like… a part of me is excited, another part of me is scared. Like really, truly terrified. And I don’t know what to make of it”

“It means you have something to lose” you say softly. “But a lot more to gain. It’s gonna be fine. You’ll forget all about it when you see Maria, I promise”

Finally, you get her to leave the hospital. A couple of people wave as you walk back to the parking lot, some of them saying they’ll see you at the party. Carol rolls her eyes when she realises you lied about Darcy, but you just shrug your shoulders.

“I guess I deserve it for being difficult”

“Yeah, you do” you laugh, driving back.

Of course, Darcy ushers you to the room to get hair and makeup, glaring at Carol and asking you to not leave her alone.

“I feel guilty for making Darcy help with everything” Carol says, and you let out a laugh. “What?”

“Did you actually ask her to do anything? She loves bossing everyone around. Should be taking Fury’s job at this point”

“Why are you still here? Makeup, go, go!” Darcy appears behind you a second later, making you yelp.

“Tyrant”

“Lazy ass”

Of course you do as she says, mainly out of fear.

Wanda arrives a little early, checking in as you had decided to stay at the inn instead of driving back home when the party was over.

“Finally, someone who understands the importance of punctuality!” Darcy says as she runs into your girlfriend. “I barely finished and I have to get my makeup and hair done”

“Would you like some help?”

“It’s fine, I’m low maintenance” Darcy declines, but Wanda’s not having it.

“I actually have something I want to ask you… so we could talk while I help”

“Mmm, I do love an efficient approach. Come on then” Darcy says, ushering Wanda into her own room.

She’s wearing a low cut burgundy dress that displays her very generous assets.

“Eyes are up here, Maximoff” Darcy jokes when Wanda’s stare travels a bit lower.

“Right. Let’s begin”

Wanda tells Darcy everything. How she found the ring, but decided to keep it to herself instead of putting pressure on you.

Your casual mentions of a wedding, the trip to Sokovia.

“Finally, she told you. She was terrified you’d be mad” Darcy comments.

“Well, that’s when I realised. Maybe it’s my turn to take the lead. Ask her to marry me” Wanda says, and she can see Darcy’s a bit shocked.

“Interesting. So why do you want to talk to me?”

Wanda smiles, telling her the proposal idea she came up with it. It’s simple, it’s unique, but she has a feeling that it’s something you’ll love.

“Honestly, Wanda? You could get down on one knee while she’s in the toilet and she’d be giddy about it” Darcy says, making Wanda laugh. “But I do think it’s cute and she’ll never ever shut up about it. Was that all?” she says after Wanda stays silent.

The woman sits in front of your friend, checking her makeup one last time, and with a sigh, asks the final question.

“I need your blessing”

“What am I? The Pope?”

“Darcy!”

“The lesbian godmother. First Carol and Maria with their wedding planning and now you…” she rambles, clearly amused.

“Darcy!” Wanda interrupts her, trying to keep it serious. “We both know her mother is the worst person. She’s starting to connect with her siblings. You’re her real family. The one person who’s stood by her through everything. So, it would mean the world to me, to at least know you’ll think of me as worthy of Y/N”

Darcy leans back, eyeing Wanda up and down. It’s hard not to feel intimidated, but the woman holds her ground, staring back.

“Fine, the Lord be with you or whatever it is you want me to say”

“Thank you” Wanda hugs her, excited.

“If you hurt her…”

“I know” Wanda says.

“As long as we agree. Now, let’s get out and see who’s already here so they can get seated”

Wanda helps out as much as she can with incoming guests, showing them where they can grab some refreshments while the ceremony begins.

She’s so focused that she misses an arm around her waist, until she hears your voice, happy as always when you greet her.

“Hey, love”

“Detka, hi…” she turns, but whatever she was about to say next is forgotten when she takes in your beautiful appearance.

Unlike most of the time, your hair is flowing down your shoulders and back in waves, framing your face perfectly. You’re not wearing a lot of makeup, but it’s enough to make your beautiful eyes stand out in contrast to the pink dress you’re wearing.

Don’t even get Wanda started on the dress. There’s a slit on the side that shows your leg everytime you take a step.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you wear a dress”

“Not my style, but I’ll take one for the bride” you joke, adjusting the straps. “Heels too, I’m in agony”

“You look stunning” Wanda says, unable to look away.

The way you blush makes her bite her lip.

“Thank you, baby. Though I can’t wait to take it off”

You mean you’re eager to go back to wearing comfortable clothes, but Wanda’s eyes darken.

“Yeah, I can’t wait either” she says with a playful look, which makes you blush again.

“Hey, quit flirting and get on your spot. Music is about to start” Darcy says, nudging you at the begining of the aisle.

“Damn, Lewis, you’re taking the girls for a walk” you point at her rack, and she flips you off.

“Sorry, I'm late!” someone says behind you and you turn at the familiar voice.

“Belova!”

“Hey, you!” she pulls you for a hug that is much too strong for someone so little. “Missed ya”

“Missed you too. Go, find your seat before Darcy goes insane” you point at Kate, who’s looking around, impatient.

You’re supposed to walk down the aisle with Carol’s older brother, and he joins you a second later, bossed around by Darcy.

“She’s a firecracker” he comments. You nod, standing still and waiting for the music to begin. He leans forward, smiling. “I hear weddings are a great place to meet people”

“Really? I wouldn’t know. I met my girlfriend when I crossed the street to check on her son” you joke, sparing him from taking the flirting any further.

“Right”

“Maybe a lesbian wedding isn’t going to be for you, mate. Well, the firecracker over there is definitely straight, but I’m trying to set her up with someone else”

“Shall we?” we offers his arm, and you accept it with a nod.

Both brides look stunning, and though it’s a very short ceremony, everyone’s crying or at the very least, moved by their vows.

Wanda can’t keep her eyes from you, though. She can’t help but imagine you in a white dress, probably sneaking a very corny joke as you promise to love her for the rest of your lives.

It isn’t long before the drinks start to pour, the food served and the brides take their place at a special table, chatting and laughing.

By the time they have their first dance as a married couple, you’re at the edge of the dance floor, clapping when some fireworks and confetti are set off. The light glow reflects in your eyes and once again, Wanda is enthralled by the view.

Which is why, when more people begin to dance, she approaches you, offering her hand.

“A dance, m’lady?”

“Why, I couldn’t possibly say no” you smile, allowing her to lead.

“Have I mentioned you look beautiful, detka?”

“Yes, but I don’t mind hearing it again” you blush, your hands going around her waist. “Now, I don’t mean to ruin the moment, but have you given any thought to that trip to Sokovia?”

“Well, I… I’m not sure yet” Wanda lies, but almost gives in when she catches the disappointment in your face. But if she tells you the answer, it will ruin the surprise. Instead, she does something that will surely distract you.

Bumping her nose against yours, Wanda leans forward to kiss you. You smile against her lips, pulling her closer. The both of you are so caught up in your own little world that you don’t notice the bouquet that is flying in the air and crashes against your heads.

“Aww” Wanda laughs.

“What the fuck?” you turn around, noticing everyone’s clapping as Wanda takes it in her hands, admiring the flowers.

“Looks like we have two future brides” Carol says, smiling as she waves at you. “Now move so Maria can toss her flowers”

“Wait! I need to get Darcy! Be right back”

To your surprise, she’s still wearing her earpiece, arguing with catering about things no one really cares about.

“Hey. You’re not enjoying the party” you say, trying to take the earpiece away from her.

“I’m working”

“You’re a surgeon, not a party planner. And I don’t see anyone needing a limb removed, or anything of the sort. Come on” you take her hand, leading her to a table. You tap on Bucky’s shoulder, and he pales when he sees Darcy right behind you.

“Please tell me you didn’t”

“Darcy, why don’t you and Bucky dance?” you cut him off, smiling innocently.

“Pass” Darcy says, but you shove her right into his arms, stealing her earpiece. “Hey!”

But you walk away before she can chase you, going back to Wanda. She waves the bouquet and you accept it. Your girlfriend has taken it as a sign to set a date for her plan.

“Hey, there’s a private party for the book release next Friday. Are you free to go?”

“Absolutely, anything for you, my love” you pull her close, kissing the tip of her nose.

You keep talking and drinking, catching up with Yelena and you also notice that Darcy is still dancing with Bucky. They’re actually talking, and you hope that Darcy can at least let go of the idea that they are enemies.

Most people leave to drive back to the city, but you hang around until Carol and Maria are ready to leave for their very short honeymoon in Cabo.

“Wear lots of sunscreen and drink margaritas” you say goodbye to them. “And don’t think about work. We’ll be just fine”

“Oh, trust me, our phones will be off” Maria says, smiling as you hug her. “Thanks for everything. Have you seen Darcy? We want to say goodbye to her”

“She’s… huh” you turn around, looking as she’s chatting with Bucky in the bar. “Busy, I guess?”

“Someone just lost five dollars” Carol makes fun of Maria.

“I won’t pay until we settle that other one”

“What other one?” you ask, curious.

“If your wedding will be the next one we attend” Carol laughs.

“Well… yeah, no comment. Come on, leave before you miss your flight”

Luckily, you have a room at the inn because you absolutely don’t feel like driving back to the city.

“Did you hear from your mom? Are the kids doing ok?” you ask Wanda, sittig on the bed and removing your shoes with a sigh. “I am never wearing heels again”

“Yes, detka. Relax, everything’s fine” she says, coming back to the room wearing a bathroom robe that looks beyond comfy.

“Help me with the zipper, please?” you say, pushing your hair out of the way. She pulls the zipper down, releasing you from the fabric until the dress is pooling at your feet.

“Not so fast” she says, hands around your waist.

You laugh when she kisses the spot between your neck and shoulder, tickling the skin.

“Had fun?” you sigh, melting in her arms.

“Yes. I drew us a bath, come on”

When you’re finally in the bathtub, Wanda goes in, relaxing against your front.

“I like weddings” she says suddenly, and you chuckle.

“Yeah? Were you dreaming about your wedding when you were little?”

“Oh, I used to do this ceremony with my teddy bear. He was real handsome. We got married a couple of times” Wanda says, smiling at the memory.

“Guess I’ll have to fight Mr. Bear to set the record straight” you mumble, struggling to keep your eyes open. Between Wanda’s warmth, the water and the candles she lit, you could pass out any minute now.

“What about you?”

“What about me?”

“Did you ever think about your wedding? As a kid, I mean”

“Not really. My parents weren’t married, so I guess I only thought that people had kids. Learning what being married meant came later. But I like it. As a concept, I mean. Having someone to be your partner, through everything… it doesn’t sound bad”

“Right” Wanda agrees, smiling as she imagines what the future holds for you two.

“Surgeons are terrible spouses, though” you warn her, which makes her laugh.

“I don’t believe that. Not from you, at least”

“Mmm, time will tell” you yawn, making Wanda turn. “Sorry. Just tired”

“Come on. Let’s get to bed”

Just as Wanda thought, you’re asleep the minute you settle in bed. As she watches you dream peacefully, her heart beats faster at the prospect of the future.

She can’t wait to propose.

[nerdgirlbutinpink]

just putting it out there but what if joaquin torres and busy woman. not sure if its a perfect match but maybe an au?

wait i actually love this!!

i offer you this, please let me know if you want a part 2 and i’ll write it *insert mischievous fly rubbing hangs together*

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ 𝐁𝐔𝐒𝐘 𝐖𝐎𝐌𝐀𝐍 | 𝗷𝗼𝗮𝗾𝘂𝗶𝗻 𝘁𝗼𝗿𝗿𝗲𝘀 𝘅 𝗚𝗡!𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿

𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀: cursing, fighting, angst, and angry y/n! and joaquin! not a warning but the song is titled busy woman but i tried my best to make this a gn!reader

𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗻 𝘁𝗼 𝗯𝘂𝘀𝘆 𝘄𝗼𝗺𝗮𝗻 𝗯𝘆 𝘀𝗮𝗯𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗮 𝗰𝗮𝗿𝗽𝗲𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗿!

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

“you know, if you weren’t so busy, we’d probably be having a great time right now.”

you roll your eyes, shoving your feet into your shoes as you balance your phone between your shoulder and ear. another meeting, another last-minute change of plans. you barely have time to glance at him before you press a quick kiss to his cheek.

“i know, i know. rain check?”

he just hums, watching you rush out the door like you always do. and you know it’s not fair.

it’s not like you don’t want to see him. of course you do. but between work, the endless responsibilities, the constant feeling that if you stop moving everything will fall apart—you just keep pushing him to the side, promising yourself you’ll make it up to him later.

but later keeps getting further away.

missed calls stack up. texts go unanswered for hours. plans get made, then rescheduled, then canceled. and through it all, joaquin stays. he stays with that half-amused, half-exasperated expression, hands in his pockets, waiting.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

until one night, he calls instead of texting.

“do you even wanna see me, or am i just here when you have a free second?”

his voice isn’t sharp, isn’t angry. it’s worse than that—it’s tired. worn down. like he already knows the answer but is asking anyway, just to hear you say it.

you shut your laptop, pressing your fingers to your temple. exhaustion seeps into your bones, but it’s not just from work anymore. it’s from this. from knowing you’re hurting him, knowing you don’t mean to, and knowing that doesn’t make it any better.

“joaquin, you know i do. i just—there’s so much going on.”

a pause. silence stretches between you, thick and heavy, before he exhales a quiet, bitter chuckle. the kind that isn’t really a laugh at all.

“yeah, baby, i know. you’re a busy woman.”

you squeeze your eyes shut, hating the way his words sink into your chest like a weight you can’t shake. because he’s busy too. he’s not just joaquin, the guy who leans against your doorframe with that teasing smirk. he’s the falcon. a superhero. he’s out there saving people, putting his life on the line, yet somehow—somehow—he still makes time for you.

and what do you do? you cancel plans. you leave his texts on read. you tell him next time like that’s a promise instead of another excuse.

he should be the one too busy for you. but he isn’t. he never is.

“joaquin, i—” your voice cracks, and you hate that you don’t even know what you’re about to say.

but what excuse could possibly be enough? what words could make up for the nights he’s spent wondering if he’s just another thing on your to-do list, something to be checked off when it’s convenient?

so when he sighs, low and tired, and says, “get some sleep, alright?” you don’t try to stop him from hanging up.

and when you’re left alone in the quiet, the weight of it all finally sinks in.

maybe the problem isn’t that you’re busy. maybe the problem is that, eventually, he’s going to stop waiting. and if you don’t figure this out soon, you’re going to turn around and realize he’s already gone.

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

a/n: i tried to write this as the best i could, hope you like it >u<

[natsredbra]

Velvet & vice II

summary: Sometimes, the best moves happen offstage.

pairing: customer!Lottie x stripper!fem!reader

a/n: Yayyyy im so happy this is finally out (even tho i lowk hate it)! I hope you guys like it though because it seems a bit bloated and whatnot to me, im happy to get feedback as always. Also i had to proofread this on my phone to add emojis to the text parts. English isn’t my first language!

warnings: strip clubs, alcohol, suggestive themes, making out, angst if you squint

word count: 3.9k

part 1

taglist: @towabirdno1fan @minariiis @lesbabe6 @maksysti @radioactivesweet @ambessasevikasexslave @ashliami @johnnytoothpick @ikeepgettinglostwithchairs @jinxslapdog

You woke up in a cold bed, alone, your very first thought being that this wasn’t your bed at all. Hearing the faint commotion of the coffee maker, all memories from last night suddenly hit you.

Your hair stanched of smoke and bad decisions as you scanned the room for your clothes. Spotting them all, in the most quiet fashion you got up and started getting dressed, ready to sneak out. Was it the best thing to do? No. But you were way past good choices right now.

Silently, picking up all your stuff you tiptoed to the front door, getting the hell out of that house. Once the door clicked you could hear Lottie calling your name, which made you walk faster, barefoot. Not like you could run away in 7 inch heels - though at least they weren’t your platforms.

As soon as you got down to a more civilized street, you called over a cab once you spotted it.

As soon as it drove up to you, you got inside, telling the man your address.

You pulled a compact mirror out of your purse, internally groaning at the sight. Your entire base was gone - likely lingering on Lottie’s pillow, while your mascara was smudged all over. You weren’t sure if you thought you looked like a panda or a raccoon. And of course, your hair was no better either - messy and all over the place. Fortunately for you, you carried some wet wipes and removed what little was left of your makeup.

Finally, your hand landed on your cellphone. 8%, enough to make one call.

“Hey?” A voice belonging to your coworker and friend Jade called out.

“Hi. What’s up?” You growled out, hoarse.

“Not much, honestly. You don’t sound too good.” She said bluntly.

“I’m having a bad morning. Anyway, I was calling to see if you could cover for me tonight.” You said hopefully. Fingers crossed, I guess.

“Seriously? I don’t-“

“I’ll do your Friday!” You cut her off. Sure, Fridays make bank but they’re also a pain in the ass.

“…Deal.” She relented, after which you blew her a few kisses over the phone.

“Ugh, I love you!” You exclaimed dramatically.

“Yeah, yeah. Better be there on Friday.” Jade said in a flat tone before hanging up.

Now you could finally breathe out. There was no doubt that Lottie would be back tonight, even though it was a Wednesday. She simply struck you as that kind of person, one that wouldn’t wanna leave anything unfinished, even if it ended badly.

As if on cue, the car pulled up in front of your apartment building, and you hastily paid up and made your way upstairs.

Plopping down on your couch, you prayed that a gallon of coffee would magically appear in your hand, along with a painkiller. You were a little hungover even, likely since you took shots between rounds. Don Julio 1942. You’d even think she was trying to impress you, but she wasn’t falshy like that. And as much as you wanted to, you couldn’t bring yourself to regret anything that happened. It was hard with the ache between your legs being such a bittersweet reminder of the events that took place.

Without even realizing it, minutes after plugging your cell to charge you dozed off in the living room. It was that same phone that woke you up approximately four hours later - once you did awake you felt even worse somehow. Still, you lit up the screen and checked your messages.

“AHHH! Saw you leave with that hot girl last night, I need the teaaa!” - Jackie💕

Should’ve expected it.

“We hooked up, not much more to it tbh.” You replied.

“Suuure, but we’re still going for drinks tomorrow, I’m off too.”

“And wear that new black top you told me about, you’re gonna look sooooo super hot :))” - Jackie💕

Of course, she left no room for argument.

“Fine, but it’s your treat.” You texted back before putting the device away.

——————————————

Tomorrow night came sooner then you thought, and there you were in your cramped bathroom, drinking diet coke while doing your makeup.

Trying to get a perfect wing for your eyeliner, you pondered on the text lingering in your phone.

“Everything okay? Missed you yesterday.” -Lottie club

Yeah. You didn’t respond. What the hell were you even supposed to say? “I had three cosmos before my dance and I shouldn’t have come with you” ? (You were going to but realized how bad of an explenation that was).

Most likely because booze wasn’t the reason. You wanted to go. You wanted her. But you’d need to admit that to yourself before Lottie. It was a dumb mistake, a slip up. A one night stand, and it couldn’t happen again.

Finally getting dressed, you put on the shirt that Jackie suggested as well as some flared jeans in the back of your closet. Anyway, you looked amazing.

“Y/N!” Jackie called out, sitting by the bar as you entered it. You sat on the high chair, greeting the girl.

“Hey. Sorry I’m late, traffic was horrible.” You huffed, setting your bag down.

"That's alright, I haven't been here too long." Jackie replied, waving her hand in dismissal as you put in your order hastly.

"Okay, well how have you been?" You asked, turning on the barstool to face her.

She herself looked gorgeous too. There were her signature glittery eyes and glossed lips that made her features stand out, as well as a black based floral sundress that hugged her curves perfectly.

"Yeah, yeah I'm fine." She brushed the question off, "Tell me about the other night." Jackie exclaimed with a grin, sipping her diabolically pink, sugary cocktail.

"Not much to tell. I mean the sex was great but then I snuck out in the morning.” You said in a flat tone, making Jackie’s eyes pop out of her sockets.

“What do you mean you snuck out?!” She exclaimed.

“I mean I just slipped out when I woke up. I wasn’t gonna deal with all that!” You fought back.

You dreaded coming here too. Knowing Jackie, she’d always be this pushy, and knowing you, you’d bottle everything up until it was dangerously close to spilling over.

“Are you serious? Why?” She inquired.

“Because I made a huge mistake. Who sleeps with a client? It’s like the first thing you’re told not to do!” You tried to reason with her, though she didn’t seem to bite.

“A very hot and rich client?”

Well when you put it that way…

No. No way, you may be a stripper but you won’t let yourself be a sugar baby to a girl your same age.

“Jackie, those are not the only important things. Maybe, if you’re a one time thing kinda girl but you know I’m not.” You argued.

“Maybe she’d date you.” Jackie said, though you both knew it was utter bullshit.

You just gave her a small eye roll and and stayed quiet, not exactly wanting to voice why she would never actually go out with you. Slut, whore, hooker, stage stain and many more were names people you tried to be in a relationship in would call you. Safe to say, all ended badly, as if you weren’t simply trying to get by, just like them.

It always hurt you, no matter how many times it happened, because you still let yourself fucking hope. You still always hoped to find someone who would accept you, full package, and not just pinpoint what worked for them.

“Sure she would.” You retorted sarcastically.

—————————————

About a month had passed since your encounter with Lottie, and you weren’t quite over it yet. Still, you thanked every god you knew about that she didn’t show up at the club.

In this particular moment, you sat in the backstage, applying eyeshadow when someone tapped you on the shoulder.

“Hey. Need any help?” Jade said, leaning on the counter beside you. Her hair almost reached her elbows as it trailed down her back, her body barely covered in a black babydoll with rhinestones.

“Nah, I'm okay.” You said, gluing your lashes on.

“Okay. I'll leave you, I'm having a bit of fun tonight. anyway” She said in a singsongy voice before walking off. You chuckled a little, thinking her idea of fun was likely some stupid guy buying her a few extra drinks. Not like she was to blame, it was fun to milk those dickheads for everything they were worth. Unless they acted respectful - which was tough to find.

Finally you went out, greeting the crowd with a big smile and a killer dance. Playing in the back was an upbeat pop song to which you swayed your hips in a faster manner, eventually dropping the skimpy dress to your feet, staying in your lacy, overdesigned langerie, spinning around the pole with practiced movement.

You thought you would faint if you saw Lottie after all this time. Not seeing her was bittersweet and you found yourself thinking that if she did come, she'd want a simple show.

Much worse, you wanted to cry, since you did spot her, surprisingly, and it made you feel like you got stabbed in the chest. Because unlike last time, she wasn’t in the crowd, engrossed with heart eyes, looking at you like you hung the moon and the stars.

No, this time she wasn’t even watching from the sidelines. This time, her arm was entwined with Jade’s, who led her into the private space. Once the song ended you scrambled all your tips and rushed to the ready room, avoiding any conversation and catcalling.

It was such a gnawing feeling, her pretending to care, and then doing this. Her writing to you and showing up just for Jade to snatch your ride and take it for a spin.

“Y/N, I need you on the main floor.” A manager said, kocking on the door hastly.

You let out a frustrated groan, not exactly in the mood to deal with drunk men and get payed with crumpled five dollar bills.

Still, you went out and immediately were met with a swarm of guys calling you over. You recognized a regular, making your way over to him. He was mostly nice, save for some comments, and spent a few hundred at most - which was still more then usual when mingling with the average folk. And he was your age, at least.

“Hello there.” He said, a low smirk on his face as he spread his legs slightly.

“Hey Trav.” You greeted, putting your best seductive face on.

By now you already knew what works for him, as well as all the tips and tricks that’d make him drop a few extra bills. A couple of his friends cheered over to him, though he payed them no mind.

“Good day?” He asked to make the time flow nicely and as little awkward for him as possible.

“It was. And you?” You asked. And no, you did not have a good day. Not that he actually wanted to hear about it.

“Yeah, it was fine. Work’s been crazy though.”

“Don’t I know it.” You humored, hands tracing his shoulders as your waist met his on your way down. He slipped a 50 into your bra.

Finally, you felt like something was going your way, even if it meant subcontiously manipulating a dude.

“You look especially good tonight. New set?” The guy under you pondered, nodding to your clothes.

“Something like that.” You replied teasingly, finishing the dance off with a finall roll of your hips. From Travis, you gathered 150$. Not too shabby.

“See ya. You know, one day you gotta give me that number.” He said, making you internally roll your eyes. Externally you just scoffed, giving him a small wave before walking off.

“Y/N!” Misty, a server called out to you.

“Yeah?” You replied, the girl always annoyed you, though truth to be told you were already agitated.

“There’s a Charlotte Matthews asking for you.” She said once she set down a shaker of shots on someone’s table.

“Who’s that?” You asked, a puzzled expression on your face.

“I don’t know, some girl. Just go see her, she’s in the VIP.” Misty called out, disappearing before you could protest.

Not that you really wanted to, anyway. She’s a girl, and she’s in the premium space so she might be the easiest customer you’d have all night.

Unfortonately in your working haze you didn’t stop to think what specific nickname could be taken out of “Charlotte.” At least not until you saw her sitting at the bar with a bored expression.

“What is it?” You barked, walking over and standing next to her barstool.

“Excuse me? I should be asking you that.” Lottie said, turning to face you.

"How do you figure that?" You questioned, crossing your arms over your chest.

"Because you- look, I don't know why you ran away or why you ignored me but I'd like to." She said, sounding awfully sincere.

"I felt like it." You retorted childishly

"Right. Just how I felt like getting a dance from that tall girl." Lottie said

"Jade's beautiful." You replied right away. Your tone had a facetious bite to it.

"She is. But you're my favorite." She stated, eyes boring into yours. "Did I see you with Travis Martinez?"

"Yeah...why?"

"Well he's an asshole." She said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"They all are. He's still a customer." You replied, patience wearing thin.

"Seriously, he cheated on my friend." Lottie stated with a small grimace

“Lottie, what do you want? Another dance?" You asked in a flat tone, dismissing the former topic.

"An explanation." The girl shot back, though in the same moment you heard a man call your name.

"I have to go deal with actual customers." You called out before walking off.

"Wait!" She yelled, grabbing you by the arm. "He a regular?" Lottie asked, pointing to him. “What’s he usually pay you?” She asked once you nodded.

You were a little stunned by the question. "Like...a couple hundred?"

"I'll double it. Just let me have one conversation." Lot said in a pleading tone.

"Fine." You relented, mostly to get her off your back.

You led Lottie outside to your usual smoking spot, the infamous “Blacklight” sign casting a red glow over her gorgeous face. She put her jacket over your half naked form, stepping closer. 

“I can’t stop thinking about what happened. Especially not after the other day.” She spoke softly. 

Oh yeah- the other day. The other day, you agreed to meet the girl Jackie was dating, and she so happened to be Lottie’s best friend. Who had to bring her along. Her visit today wasn’t all that unexpected when you think about it. 

~

It was a beautiful day, sitting outside in a coffee shop next to a small park, waiting for your friends. You made it first since you had some errands to run close by. 

“Y/N!” Jackie shouted, clutching Shauna’s arm. Setting your drink down, you have her a small wave, the sweet smile on your face disappearing once you saw who was behind her. 

“Hey, I’m Lottie. Not sure if you remember, but you danced for me a couple weeks ago.” She said, visiably nervous while extending her hand for a handshake. In order to let things run smoothly you took it, squeezing it harder then need be. 

She sat right next to you, and you didn’t dare turn your head. It was bad enough that you didn’t expect her presence in the least, and now you were meant to entertain it? Yeah right.

Why would Jackie do this? Were all three of them playing dumb or did they really not tell Shauna about your little get together a while back? Was it all a fucking scheme? Sure enough, you iced Jackie out for days after. 

Well you did talk to the girl after a bit, and she went on a rant about how perfect you were for each other if you would give the poor girl a chance. It just made you angrier at them.

~

“Oh the other day? When the two of you fucking cornered me?” You spat, standing quite close too. How did she even have the guts to bring it up?

“I’m sorry we did that, look if it’s worth anything, Shauna was furious at the both of us.” Lottie said apologetically

“She didn’t know?” You asked, quite surprised. 

“No, she never would’ve went with it…look, I know it was shitty of me but I needed to see you. Even if I pissed you off like crazy.” She confessed, looking anywhere but your eyes. 

“Well you did piss me off. But it was kind of…romantic?” You said, unsure. 

Your mind was utterly at war. Here was this girl, standing before you, begging for your forgiveness and a chance. And the thing is, it wasn’t just any girl. It was the most perfect one you encountered yet.

God, how you wanted to wipe that cute grin off her face. And God, how you hated yourself for actually not wanting to do it at all. She looked illuminating, really. Both in the moonlight and sunlight, you learned as of late. 

“I don’t know why you just ditched. I wish you didn’t. I made you a really good latte.” She spoke up again, making your own lips travel upwards. 

“You’re dumb.” You said quietly, your chests brushing against one another. 

“Maybe I am. Fucking crazy too.” She whispered, practically against your lips. 

It was as if a switch flipped in you. In this moment, staring into her eyes, you couldn’t help but realize that all this time, you let your insecurities hold you back. An amazing oppertunity presented itself to you, and you best believe you weren’t gonna pass it up because of your addled brain.

It seemed as if neither of you could take it anymore. Your lips crashed into one another, bodies rocking together in a desperate, long awaited dance. Was it cliche to fall for a girl you met three times? Yes. But it was different with Lottie and you. You both had a fire, a passion inside you that sparked for one another. 

She really did spend a month thinking about a stunning girl that whispered sweet nothings to her when her orgasm crashed over her body. You were no better. 

Who even cares? You’re young, you should mess around with someone as risky as her. 

“Go out with me. Please? Give me a proper chance” Lottie panted, still holding onto one of your cheeks. 

“Okay…yeah, take me out.” You nodded, looking up at her. 

-----------------------------

Standing in front of your bathroom mirror, double checking your makeup in the reflection, you finished up getting ready for her to take you out for the third time.

The last flowers she got you barely plummeted, however you knew they'd get replaced by the ones she'd bring tonight. The shirt you wore hugged your body deliciously, making all your best features pop. It was fun, leaving a lot to the imagination even though she already kissed every inch of your bare skin.

A ring at your door made you jump slightly, tough you rushed over as soon as you heard it. You really were acting like a horny teenager.

"Hi. You look...wow." Lottie said chuckling, inevitably handing you a fresh bouquet of lilies.

"You're not too bad either. Come on, the reservation is soon." You said, exiting the place hurriedly.

The drive over was filled by a comfortable silence and your hand in hers, but once you wined and dined, there was no way for you to shut up.

It was like this every time. By date number three, you'd think all the secrets were spilled, still, with Lottie, there was always something interesting to talk about.

She wouldn't let you pay either, role playing as a true gentleman.

One of the most prominent things while you did this was a rule: no sex until you became official. Really, the both of you just wanted to ensure that this goes fucking right, it'd be silly to lose such a person over a misunderstanding like before, which is why you got dizzy as a few words escaped her mouth while she walked you to your door, hand on the small of your back.

"Will you be my girlfriend?" Lottie asked, admittedly after four glasses of wine.

Stopping in your tracks as you unlocked your apartment and turned to her.

"Are you serious?" You inquired softly, taking a step towards her.

"You don't want to? That's okay I just-" She started, a slightly hurt expression on her face.

"Lottie, yes, a million times, yes." You cut her off.

The charge between you changed drastically, and her face gave away a lot as she pushed you door open with a devilish grin.

You followed her inside, smiling to yourself as well. It was almost cute, how she was so giddy when you said yes. There was no doubt to what was about to happen, and you felt a wave of arousal and contentment hit you. That was it, you were locked in with her. You finally got the happy ending you always dreamed of, at least for a moment.

————————————

“Babe! I got chinese and that book you told me about yesterday!” Lottie called out, entering your shared penthouse.

Yes, it had been a year or so since you started dating, and you recently decided to move in together as well. You still worked, but only part time and focued on your studies while Lottie’s guilt ridden dad took care of the both of you. However when you did go in, your beautiful girlfriend was always there to support you.

You even got a kitten named Ziggy. She was only three months old but loved to play around, and was getting used to her surroundings since you picked her up from the street.

“Hey sweetheart!” She greeted her, scratching behind her ears as she sat the food down on the coffee table.

Lottie climbed atop of you while you were under a blanket, watching a show you didn’t pay much attention to.

“I missed you.” You said, kissing the top of her head.

“Missed you too. Jackie and Shauna will be here in a few by the way, they just went to get snacks.” She murmured into your chest.

“Oh good, I was wondering where they were.” You replied, knowing the plan was to have a movie night with the two.

“Think Jackie will make us see some romcom or cheesy flick again?” The girl joked (mostly), breathing you in.

“Probably.” You chimed, rubbing her back.

“We’re here!”

“And we’re watching The Notebook!”

A couple hours after, the four of you were splayed across the couch, laughing about unimportant topics while munching on takeout that got cold, passing the kitty around to cuddle.

At this moment, you realized just how truly happy you are. Here you were with your best friends and the love of your life, no real worries or burdens, simply existing after an interesting period of your life - a fun, lively one that provided you with everything you now knew. Still, it was an almost closed chapter, and you were okay with that.

That contentment? Definitely lasted more then a moment.

[vampirq]

Can you please write sub Abby but without teasing and edging and etc. Just a soft sex

oral (a) . fluff . softttt sex . kissing . sub!abby? idk she’s just whiny (as always). wc : 1.2k oops

you find yourself cuddled in abby’s arms, laying on top of her as if she was the bed. her arm over your back, her hand smoothing down the curve of your arch. the blanket covering the two of you was kicked towards the back of your knees, leaving the majority of your bottom half bare. 

your hand trails under her faded graphic tee and over her toned abs; causing a giggle to leave her lips. “you like ‘em?” her voice is soft and heavy with sleep, her eyes half lidded— a tint of red coating the sclera. 

“‘course i do, abigail.” you pause on the ‘ab’ part, winking when the pun lands. 

she drags her hand over her face, a dramatic groan ripping from her throat. “gosh, you’re so corny, babe. it’s killing me.” a giggle breaks through her words, causing her nonchalant act to falter. you laugh with her, and everything feels easier. 

it feels as if all the problems and stress in your life disappear, the only thing ever mattering is her and this moment. 

“please, you love it.”

“no, i love you.”

a warm smile spreads across your face at her words. your eyes flicker from her gaze to her lips, memorizing each mark on her skin. you watch as her face leans down closer to yours, the plush of her lips brushing against yours, and soon connecting. 

the kiss is sweet, delicate. all of your love and devotion going into the loving act. your hands wander up her sides and to her jaw, cupping the soft skin. she grabs your hips and brings you closer to her, but she didn’t realize your thigh would be aligned with her cunt. 

you didn’t use force, just kept it still between her legs, if abby wanted to use it, she would and she did. her hips subconsciously moved—as they do every time the two of you kiss—the pressure of your thigh against her core eliciting a whine from her, one that was quickly covered by a groan.

you break the kiss, a string of saliva connecting you two. “don’t get all shy on me, babe. i love hearing those pretty noises.” 

“s’ embarrassing.” she whines, giving you that pouty, pathetic expression you always fall for. 

“oh baby, it’s never that.” your lips trail down to her neck, kissing and biting at all the spots that make her writhe. her touch grows frantic as you do, not knowing where to place her hands. on your head? no that’d be too pushy.maybe your neck? but she doesn’t want to make you uncomfortable. 

finally, you come up to silence her thoughts, looking in her deep blue-brown eyes. “relax, okay? m’ gonna make you feel good.” you catch the flicker of hesitation in her eye, but you seal your promise with a deep kiss on her cheek, causing all of her doubts to fade away. 

she sinks deeper into the bed, her legs spreading slightly. your hand goes to her breast and you  massage the pliable skin with your fingers. her nipple catches in between your pointer and middle finger, so you pinch them together. she whines again, but now it’s more raw.

while keeping your other hand on her top half, your free one works at her pajama pants, playing with the string before pulling it loose. your hand dives under the cotton material and brushes the blonde hairs above her cunt. her hips buck up, the desperation in her body showing through. 

you bring your head back up to her face and pull her into another soft kiss, letting your hands graze the erotic parts of her body. she gasps into the smooch, and you break away from it. “you want me to take these off?” you question, ghosting your fingers over her clit, but not circling the muscle. 

“yes, yes please.” she nods faster than intended, the carnal need showing on her face. 

your lips connect with hers one more time, then you move down between her legs. your hands tuck under her waistband, and slowly pull down. it’s slow and deliberate, but you want to savor this moment. you watch her brows furrow in anticipation, and hear her breathing pick up pace.

when her pants and boxers are finally off, you take in the sight of her glistening pussy. admiring the blonde strands that adorn it, the slick coating her labias, and watching the way her hole clenches at nothing. 

your tongue sticks out and presses against her core, licking a fat stripe up to her clit. your lips form around it, slightly sucking while working your tongue in a side-to-side motion.

“ohh, fuck, right there.” her head falls back onto the pillow, a string of whines filling the room. you loved how responsive she was during sex. your touch could be light as a feather and she’d be pleading for you.

abby’s hips start jerking up, her whole body trembling. you let up and meet her disappointed expression, “calm down, baby. i got you, just let me take care of you.” 

she stutters out an ‘okay’ before relaxing her muscles, and your hand comes up to intertwine with hers. you lower back down to her cunt, but you focus on a different part of her. this time, you swirl around her hole, and lap up her juices. the sweet tang of abby in your mouth drives you crazy, causing your motions to intensify.

your tongue dives into her pussy and you try to reach as far as you could. your nose bumps on her clit; making her ride your face. she covers her face in embarrassment, a plethora of apologies spewing out. “m’ sorry, so sorry, baby. i-i can’t control it, you feel too good.” 

you just hum, and let her use you in any way she wants. your tongue swirls inside of her, licking her walls and feeling her clench around you. her thighs begin to shake and close in on you, but you force them back open. 

“keep your legs open for me. need to taste all of you.” you groan, shifting your tongue back to her swollen clit. she’s so sensitive, the slightest to touch causes it to twitch in your mouth. the suction from your lips increases, and your muscle continues to lick in a upwards motion. 

“fuck, nnnhh— close, so close.” the pure submission in her voice is apparent. her voice coming out pathetic and whiny. she paws at your head, but she doesn’t know whether to push you away or pull you in. 

so you decide for her, and keep your face connected to her pussy. her moans increase in pitch as her release gushes onto your chin. her thighs shaking rapidly and closing in on your head. your pace starts to slow, loosening up the suction and slowing your tongue, licking a final stripe up her cunt. 

you come up and immediately capture her lips in a messy kiss. she whimpers at the taste of her on your tongue. it goes on for a few seconds before you pull away from her, admiring her with loving eyes. “i’m so in love with you, abby.” 

“then you have no idea how much i love you.”

[writingwithgeoffrey]

This storm is the worst you’ve seen in quite a while. The rain is hammering against windows and shingles alike, pelting an uncertain rhythm out. Thunder crashes every few moments, echoing across the land like the bestial roars of some distant animal. Wind howls, rattling your doors but and causing your house to tremble somewhat.

You don’t mind it much, though. It gives you the perfect opportunity to cuddle up beneath the blankets and catch up on your favorite TV show.

When you hear the first knock, you assume it’s part of your show and brush if off without thought. When it happens again, louder and carrying a bit more desperation than the last, you pause your show and wait. A third knock at your door reaches you, weaker and almost pitiful.

Curious—but also cautious—you grab an old, dented baseball bat from behind the door and prepare to open it.

It’s a woman. She stands there, golden-brown hair whipping about in the wind. Rain washes down fair skin, drenching through the dress she wears. A dress made of leaves, you note. In one hand, she has a glass bottle, while her other hand tries its best to tame her hair.

She looks at you sheepishly, granting you sight of the most amazing eyes you’ve ever seen. Despite the darkness around you, her eyes shine a vibrant hazel. And not any of those muddy hazels you see so often, but a true hazel. The only way you can describe them is by comparing them to a canopy of leaves, when you look up from beneath and you see the interconnected branches interspersed with the verdant hues of its foliage, or perhaps to a field as it regrows after a drought, the patches of grass signaling a return to life as they sprout from a soft earthy loam.

“Hello …” Her voice is weak, but comes to you like birdsong on the breeze. “This may be a tad strange. I’m the tree in your front yard, and this storm looks to be getting worse. Can I come inside?”

You glance past her. Sure enough, the patch of land where your tree stood is now a gaping crater. Well, it’s a crater for now, but you reckon after the storm you’ll have a neat pond.

You look at the woman again and notice more. Her necklace is simple, a wooden brace that reminds you of the treehouse the neighborhood kids had built in your tree. One of her arms has a rope bracelet, as well, from which dangles a tiny, circular rubber charm.

“You’re … my tree?”

The woman nods and looks over her shoulder at where she came from. “I normally wouldn’t do this, but …” Her gaze meets yours again. “I don’t want to fall over.”

You still find it hard to wrap your head around it, but your mother and father had raised you never to turn away a soul in need. So, you step aside. “Yeah, of course. Come on in.”

The woman seems beyond grateful as she enters your home. Right away, you fetch her a towel so she can dry off.

“So, do you have a name?” you ask.

She thinks for a while, then says, “Yggy.”

It’s a nice name, and now that you know your tree has one, you plan to start using it more. “Where did you come from? Or were you always there?”

Yggy sits down on your couch. “Not even the nymphs know where we come from. We do not produce children like you humans. We simply … are.”

“‘Are’ what?”

She giggles, a noise as soothing as honey, and smiles at you. “We are the trees. We are forests, and glades, and palms. We are the ones that bring you shade on a sunny day, and we’re the ones that shelter you from rainstorms.”

“Not today,” you joke as you sit beside her.

Your gazes meet again, though not for long before she looks at the floor. “Y-yes, I suppose so.”

“Hey, don’t worry, though. You’re welcome in here anytime you need to come in, okay?”

The woman nods once. “Thank you.”

Then, she picks her head up and looks over at the window. The storm continues to rage beyond your house, showing no signs of relenting. At first, you think that’s where she’s looking. However, when she stands, she makes it pretty clear that’s not what she’s concerned about.

“This little guy …” She picks up the potted plant you’ve had sitting on your windowsill for a few months now.

“Sorry, I’m trying my best.”

Yggy cradles it like a newborn as she glances back over her shoulder. “I can tell. She says you love her very much, that you talk to her and bring her water and nutrients. And she says it’s okay if you don’t succeed, you’re trying your best.”

Tears spring to your eyes as you pull your gaze away. “I-I’m sorry, it’s just … I’ve been working so hard to keep it alive. It was my mom’s before she …” The word catches in your throat. You can’t bring yourself to finish the sentence. You squeeze your eyes shut to keep your tears from coming, but it doesn’t work.

Yggy is beside you before you know it, the gentle skin of her palm caressing your cheek. “It’s all right. I’ll help you. Ayana will be all right.”

You gasp as she says your mother’s name, and your gaze snaps toward her. “Wh— How did you—”

Yggy looks down at the plant in her embrace. “She told me her name, and she told me she will always love you.”

You are watching TV during a storm when you hear a knock. At your door is a woman wearing a dress made of leaves and carrying a bottle. She looks at you sheepishly: "Hello, this may be a tad strange. I am the tree in your front yard and this storm looks to be getting worse. Can I come inside?"

[urcoolgf]

can’t fight this no more

pairing. bf¡drew && singer¡reader

content. fluff

summary. almost a year later, you and drew are stronger than ever. a newly releasing single, and another album on the way has drew thinking about the future

more bf¡drew && singer¡reader

meet singer¡reader

ever since you let drew listen to your songs from your last album, he’s been all but begging you to let him in– even just a little more– on this album. you, of course, obliged. it’s been amazing having him be a bigger part of your next studio album titled ‘positions’– the name just as suggestive as the rest of the album. although, this wasn’t just a lustful album, it was about the most pure form of love you had ever experienced– drew.

but, before ‘positions’ dropped, you collabed with justin beiber on a single you were planning to release before positions. the song wasn’t on the album, but it felt essential to the lead up of ‘positions’.

‘stuck with u’ not only featured justin beiber, but you even added a little snippet of drew’s voice in the beginning. he didn’t know that yet– while he had been a consistent figure in the making of ‘positions’ he had no clue about this single.

you were torn with how you wanted him to hear it for the first time. waiting until it released felt fun, but kind of shady–like you had hid it from him, which you technically had. playing it from the studio was normal at this point, and you didn’t want normal. you wanted this one to be different. the song was set to release in two days so you needed to think of something, and fast.

almost as if someone was listening to your thoughts, your phone rang. it was your manager.

“hey! what’s up?,” you picked up the phone, a certain cheeriness in your tone.

your manager began speaking as if he was frazzled– which he probably was, “hey y/n. i know it’s last minute, but they’re having an event at the coffee shop around the corner– the one you love–”

which also happened to be the one you met drew at.

“and they had a band, but their flight canceled– blah, blah, excuses, excuses… point is– would you be free to do a little live singing there… like tonight? you can perform whatever songs you’d like. maybe even some snippets from the new album?,” his tone was hopeful, which surprised you because you were never the type to pass these little gigs down– especially in your city.

“of course! i’d love to,” you replied, a smile spreading across your face that your manager couldn’t see, but he could hear it. this was literally the perfect opportunity to expose drew to ‘stuck with u’.

“awesome! alright, i’ll call them back, let them know. it starts at 7pm. talk later y/n,” and before you could say goodbye, he had hung up.

you couldn’t help the almost giddy feeling in your stomach. you were so excited, but you were nervous, too. performing the song as drew’s first listen was risky, but it would be memorable.

drew was currently visiting his sister in the next city over, so you just shot him a quick text.

y/n: meet me @ our coffee shop 7pm i love u

he replied almost instantly– as he always does.

drew<3: I’ll be there. I love you baby🩷 PS Liliana says hi!

drew <3: sent 1 attachment

a soft smile spread across your face unknowingly. you clicked on the image of his baby niece in his arms– the picture clearly taken by his sister– and just like that all your anxiety had washed away. drew was the most caring, amazing person you knew. he was going to love whatever you performed.

tonight was going to be perfect.

—

you got to the coffee shop about an hour early to set up, and meet your manager. you told him you wanted to perform ‘stuck with u’, and he luckily had found another male singer who was willing to sing justin’s part in that short time.

“hey y/n! this is jackson! he’ll be singing with you tonight,” your manager walked up, hand behind jackson’s back, guiding him to you.

“hey jackson! nice to meet you,” you beamed at him. you were excited for tonight, and super grateful your manager found someone on such short notice.

“you too. i’m a huge fan,” he smiled brightly, hand extending towards you. you took it, and shook his hand gently.

the two of you bounced vocals off each other a bit before the host was telling you it was 3 minutes ‘til show time. you peaked your head out into the small crowd– news didn’t spread that fast that you were headlining, but you didn’t mind. you liked the smaller crowds, more intimate. you saw drew sat at a table by himself, looking around for you and checking his watch.

“1 minute,” the hostess whispered to you, drawing your attention from the crowd. your phone pinged, so you quickly checked it.

drew<3: Hey baby I’m here. Where are you?

a sweet message, one that would have to go unanswered as the host began to announce you and jackson. the two of you walked onto the small stage they had set up in the corner of the shop.

as soon as you stepped out, your eyes went to drew– the shocked look on his face, followed by a soft smile. the host let you take over the mic so you could announce the song you were going to sing.

“hi everyone! thanks so much for coming out tonight. i’m so excited to be here, and i know jackson is, too. this first song we’re gonna sing is a new single of mine, releasing soon. so get excited because you’re getting a sneak peak! i wanna dedicate this song to someone special in the crowd tonight… drew, this is for you baby. i love you,” he couldn’t contain the huge smile taking over his face, mouthing the words ‘i love you, too’ back at you.

the slow beat began to play through the sound system they had set up, you requested the original track (with drew’s voice) be played just without the vocals so he could hear that he was part of it.

mmm

hey, yeah

(that’s just for fun)

(what?)

(i’m stuck with you)

drew’s face was nothing short of rewarding. the surprised look was something you would probably remember forever. you just shot him a small, mischievous smile, which he returned with a soft laugh that you obviously couldn’t hear, but you knew what it sounded like.

ah

i’m not one to stick around

one strike and you’re out, baby

don’t care if i sound crazy

but, you never let me down, no, no

that’s why when the sun’s up, i’m stayin’

still layin’ in your bed, singin’

the low octave of your voice, accompanied with the almost sultry look you were giving drew right now was driving him crazy. the truth is– he had gone to his sister’s, but he had left early to make a stop at the jewelry store. you didn’t know it, but a ring was hidden in his jacket pocket right now.

when you had asked him to meet you at the coffee shop where you had first met him, he didn’t see a more perfect opportunity to make you his forever.

i could stay here for a lifetime

so, lock the door and throw out the key

can’t fight this no more, it’s just you and me

and there’s nothin’ i, nothin’ i, i can do

i’m stuck with you, stuck with you, stuck with you

drew’s mind was blown– not only at your amazing vocals which would never fail to amaze him, but at the lyrics. ‘stay here for a lifetime’, ‘stuck with you’. it was like you knew what he was planning.

a few verses later, jackson took over. you only sang some harmonies and backup vocals for him, prancing around the stage, moving to the beat.

drew just watched you in awe. yeah, the other guy was good, too, but you were mesmerizing. you weren’t even singing and he was absolutely hypnotized just by your stage presence alone.

woah

baby, come take all my time

go on, make me lose my mind

we got all that we need here tonight

your two tones worked together beautifully as the bridge took over, and the song hit its climax– the jazzy tune taking over the café. everyone in the place was bopping their heads to the tune, some even throwing some impressed whistles at your vocals.

baby, run your mouth, i still wouldn’t change

all this lovin’ you, hatin’ you, wantin’ you

i’m stuck with you, stuck with you, stuck with you

stuck with you, stuck with you, stuck with you

it was the end of the song, but you extended your vocals, hitting high notes that drew didn’t even know was possible (he did. he had listened to you for the past few months, and had seen you do inhuman things with your voice, but still)

as the song faded out, you simply walked off the stage for an intermission, ‘stuck with u’ playing softly in the background as people moved about. applause and cheers were still booming through the small shop as people ordered snacks and drinks.

you walked over to drew, sitting in the seat across from him. despite you both being famous, no one was really bothering you– which you were kind of grateful for.

“hey baby,” you said softly, warm smile on your face as you awaited his response to the song.

“hey love,” he replied with equal softness. he reached his hands out to take yours which were resting on the table– or at least, you thought that’s what he was doing.

something cold hit your hand instead. you looked down to find a beautiful diamond ring with a small pearl attached to the gem. your breath caught in your chest, looking back up at drew in equal parts confusion and shock.

“drew… wha–,” you began before he cut you off.

“y/n… will you marry me?”

© 𝐔𝐑𝐂𝐎𝐎𝐋𝐆𝐅. est. 2025

TAGS .ᐟ @yktayy9669 @drewsswifeyy @drewrry @frankoceanluvr11 @dearestmillls @icaqttt @lynoriax @hpboysslut2707 @stoned-writer @angvl3tears

[emmiesoverthemoon]

a helping hand (and maybe three more): one

Pairing: t.o.p + g-dragon x reader

Word Count: 3,888

Summary: As Taeyang's sister, you asked for your brother's help moving and he brought a few extra sets of hands to help you out. After meeting you, these two in particular have a keen eye for you.

Tags: not famous au, fluff, pining, flirting, competitive seunghyun and jiyong, reverse harem type beat

cross posted on ao3 here

The call had been simple enough—just a quick request to your older brother, Youngbae, to see if he could spare some time to help you in your move to your new place. The pieces of furniture were heavy, the boxes unwieldy, and although you held pride in yourself for your independence, there were limits to what you could handle alone.

“Of course, I want to help,” he had sighed, voice warm with sibling affection, but tinged with hesitation. “I’m just with the guys right now. Would it be okay if I came after?”

You had smiled, even though he couldn’t see it. “Of course! I totally understand, you have a busy schedule. Come whenever you can.”

What you didn’t expect was that Youngbae wasn’t the only one listening.

From the other end of the line, muffled voices burst into the background, too distant to make out individual words but unmistakably curious. Then, clearer and more insistent, a different voice—loud, incredulous—piped up.

“A girl that isn’t Hyo-rin?! Youngbae, who is that?!”

There was a brief silence before Youngbae responded, slower this time, like he already knew what was coming next. “…My sister.”

Another wave of noise, overlapping questions tumbling over each other in a mix of disbelief and excitement.

“You have a sister?!”

“How long have we known you? And this is the first time we’re hearing about this?!”

The commotion escalated before Youngbae could properly diffuse it, and by the time he managed to get a word in, the decision had already been made for him.

“Let’s help her move!” someone declared, enthusiasm uncontainable, then, unintelligible agreements followed from various other voices.

Youngbae sighed once more, barely concealing the reluctant fondness in his voice. “Okay, okay. Fine. Let’s go now,” Then, after a pause, he sighed into the phone, now addressing you, “I’ll see you soon.”

You were unsure what you were expecting when you heard the knock on your door—just Youngbae, maybe looking a little tired from the drive, dressed casually, and ready to lift and move things without much fuss. Instead, when you opened the door, your breath hitched in surprise.

There he was, yes—your brother, standing at the forefront with that familiar, easygoing smile, but flanking him were several unfamiliar faces, an entourage of three other—admittedly rather attractive—men you had never seen before. They stood in various states of curiosity and amusement, all eyes fixed on you like they were seeing some rare, undiscovered species.

Your lips parted, words caught somewhere between confusion and apprehension. “You brought your whole friend group?”

Youngbae exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “Yeah… Turns out I’ve accidentally been keeping you a secret from them. They kind of forced their way here.”

A chorus of protests erupted behind him. “Forced? We volunteered!”

One of them beamed at you, unbothered by the tension in your shoulders. “We couldn’t let Youngbae be the only one helping! Strength in numbers, right?”

You hesitated, momentarily overwhelmed. It wasn’t that you weren’t grateful—extra hands meant things would get done much faster—but this was your brother’s world colliding with yours in a way you had not anticipated. You had never met his friends before; he was always a little protective of you in terms of your interactions with guys. But here they were now, standing in your doorway, waiting for you to let them in.

You swallowed down your awkwardness and took a small step back, opening the door wider. “Well… I guess I won’t say no to free labor.”

It took a short time for you to notice two particular members of Youngbae’s group acting… different.

Seunghyun and Jiyong, as you would later learn their names, seemed especially taken aback by your presence. You caught the barely restrained awe flickering in their eyes, the way their gazes lingered a beat too long, their stunned silence stretching just enough for the others to notice.

Jiyong, never one to be subtle, was the first to react, exhaling dramatically as if he had just witnessed a celestial event. “God damn,” he muttered under his breath, shaking his head in exaggerated disbelief. “Youngbae, you have been hiding a literal goddess from us.”

Seunghyun, though initially quieter, was no less enchanted. His lips parted slightly, as though he wanted to say something but wasn’t sure how. His eyes roamed over you, admiration evident, though he tried—unsuccessfully—to be discreet about it.

Their newfound mission was immediately clear: impress you at all costs.

Jiyong, exuding nothing but pure, natural charisma, took the lead. He was at your side in an instant, plucking boxes out of your hands before you could so much as protest. “No way are you lifting anything heavy,” he declared, winking as he made a show of flexing his arms. “That’s what we’re here for.”

Seunghyun, still finding his rhythm, followed suit—perhaps a little more hesitant at first, but gaining confidence as the moments came and went. He tugged off his jumper, rolling up his sleeves just enough to emphasize the definition of his arms—“just because it was hot in the room”—sending the occasional sidelong glance your way to gauge your reaction. When Jiyong leaned in with a playful smirk, murmuring some flirtatious remark while Youngbae was distracted, Seunghyun wasn’t far behind, his deep voice adding a quieter, but equally compelling layer to the teasing.

Youngbae, for his part, pretended not to notice. He busied himself with moving furniture, he and Daesung working cooperatively with moving the large pieces, acting oblivious even as two of his friends tripped over themselves in an attempt to gain your attention.

 But you knew better—knew him better. He was aware. He was absolutely watching them.

And though he knew you were a grown woman whom he trusted could handle herself, you also knew that if things ever went too far, his protective instincts would kick in. 

For now, though, he let it slide. For now, he was simply observing, waiting to see how this would unfold.

Not even 20 minutes after Youngbae and his friends had left your home, you noticed two new notifications on your phone which caused you to let out a laugh. Jiyong and Seunghyun had somehow found your Instagram and followed you, those stalkers.

In Youngbae’s car, he and Daesung were talking each other’s heads off, filling the front portion of the car with random conversation. In the backseat, Seunghyun and Jiyong were sat together, scrolling through and admiring your posts, already competing with one another.

“I want her.” Jiyong whispered, praying Youngbae would remain oblivious.

Seunghyun’s head snapped up from his phone to raise his eyebrow at Jiyong, “No, I do. Probably more so than you, too.”

A smirk curled on Jiyong’s lips as he raised his brow in return, feeling his ego inflate with each passing second, “Well, may the best man win.”

From that moment, your new apartment became their battleground.

Both men found even the smallest of reasons to visit you, to linger at your door with excuses that grew flimsier by the day—offering to fix things that were or were not broken, carrying in groceries you had never asked for, just happening to be in the area. Every visit was a new attempt to outdo the other, their teasing turning sharper, their charm growing more deliberate. They were not just helping you move anymore—they were moving into your life, staking their claims, and neither was backing down. The whole ordeal was ridiculous to you, but you would be lying to yourself if you said you hated all the attention you were receiving from these two inexplicably gorgeous men.

What started as lighthearted competition soon escalated. The playful banter between them became increasingly pointed and bold, each interaction between you three layered with tension that neither Jiyong nor Seunghyun wanted to acknowledge—at least, not in front of you. Each of them pushed the limits, their rivalry turning into a quiet war of persistence. It was in the lingering stares, the slight brushes of their hands against yours, the subtle one-upping in conversation, each trying to establish himself as the one who deserved your attention the most.

By the time the moving-in period had passed and your housewarming party arrived, the tension had built into something unbearable.

They sat either side of you on the couch, Seunghyun to your right, Jiyong to your left. Every word was heavy, every touch—no matter how innocent—felt risky, it sent a hot shiver down your spine. Seunghyun leaned in close to your ear, voice low. “You’ve been driving us crazy, you know.”

Jiyong’s fingers brushed against your thigh, featherlight but deliberate. “Absolutely insane.”

Your heartbeat drummed in your chest, it was all too much, too close, too intense. You let out a breath in an attempt to alleviate the overwhelming weight on your shoulders. You needed to get off of this couch before the weight grew heavier and crushed you.

 “I need some air,” you quickly rose to your escape, not leaving a single glance back at the now confused men on your sofa.

Slipping away onto your balcony, you exhaled shakily, but solitude was short-lived. Footsteps followed, and soon, they were there, side by side, watching you with an intensity that made your stomach twist into knots.

“You okay?” Seunghyun’s voice was softer now, concerned.

You turned, heart pounding. “I... I don’t know what’s going on between you two and I, but it’s been overwhelming. I feel like I’m caught in something I don’t understand.”

A pause. Then, Jiyong smirked. “Oh, you’ll understand.”

Seunghyun exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. “We both like you. And we’re both not exactly the type to back down.”

Your heart stuttered. “So this has been a competition?”

Jiyong’s gaze darkened, amused. “Call it a battle of devotion.”

“And I’m your prize?” Slow nods followed your statement, as if they were embarrassed to have their intentions aired out in such a way. Your head spun, realization settling in. This was dangerous. This was exhilarating. This was something you never saw coming, and you had no idea what to do next. You tore your eyes away, looking down to the street below your balcony, eye contact was too much for you to bare right now.

Sensing your anxiety, Seunghyun was the first to speak up, gently rubbing his hand on your shoulder to comfort you. “If you’re not comfortable with us acting this way, tell us and we will forget this ever happened.”

Unsure of what else he could do to help you, Jiyong leant forward—not enough to invade your personal space, but enough to ground you to them both. “We can just be friends! If that’s what you want.”

Your jaw twitched at their proposition, you did not want whatever this was to stop. Although it was new and a little scary, you were drunk from these two doting on you all the time, their very obvious yearning excited you more than anything.

“I just didn’t understand your reasons for coming over all the time, why it was me… now I get the idea,” you took a deep breath, slowly regaining your confidence again, you raised your head to look at them, “I think it’s fun. I want this to… keep going.”

After hearing your response, both of the men visibly brightened, their eyes which were filled with compassion not a moment ago now filled with competitiveness and want. 

“Well, who are we to deny a lady what she wants,” Seunghyun chuckled, looking at Jiyong who shrugged mischievously in reply. “Should we head back in?”

After the housewarming party, the flirtation between you, Jiyong, and Seunghyun settled into something both comfortable and intense. It was as if the chemistry had become a game, a playful dynamic you had no chance of escaping. A dynamic that after both of them were selfless and comforting in your moment of worry, you were more than happy to indulge in.

It started innocently enough. Jiyong would continue to drop by, just to “check in” and “make sure everything was alright.” His visits were spontaneous, always bringing a gift or a bottle of a drink you liked, though you soon realized the gifts were not the point. He lingered. A little too long. The way he looked at you, his easy smile, the way his fingers would brush against yours when handing you something—it was deliberate. Teasing. He had picked up the habit of calling you a plethora of pet names just loud enough for Seunghyun to overhear, but not loud enough for you to call him out on it.

Seunghyun was no better. His approach was quieter, more subtle, but just as effective. He would pop in unexpectedly, casually bringing something you had no need for, just an excuse to hang around. Sometimes it was a warm beverage when he had bought one of his own, sometimes it was a movie suggestion, but his real gift was his presence. He had a way of standing too close, leaning in just a bit too much when handing you something or helping you with something small. And there were those moments when his eyes would lock with yours, and for a second, time would slow, and your breath would catch—an unspoken promise passing between you.

The feeling was thrilling, the attention they poured into you. You felt wanted, admired, and yet, no one made a move—at least, not in the traditional sense. The lines between friendship and something more blurred, it was as if the three of you were content to exist in this liminal space, where the flirtation was enough, and the tension was delicious.

It was supposed to be a simple get-together—just you, Jiyong, and Seunghyun, an impromptu night in, drinking the wine that the both of them had gifted you over the time they have known you. You all had been laughing, talking about everything and nothing at all, but as the evening wore on, the conversation took on a more intimate tone. The teasing became a little more personal, the jokes a little more daring. No expectations, no obligations. 

But the way Jiyong draped over your couch, stretching out lazily, his shirt riding up just enough to reveal a sliver of his toned stomach? The way Seunghyun watched you from his spot near the window, sipping his drink slowly, his lips curling into a knowing smirk whenever your eyes met?

There was nothing casual about any of this.

Jiyong, always the instigator, leaned his head back against the couch, watching you with that half-lidded gaze of his. “You look tense,” he mused, voice smooth as silk. “Maybe you need a massage.”

Seunghyun exhaled sharply, shaking his head with a chuckle. “Smooth.”

Jiyong ignored him, patting the space beside him. “C’mon, I’m serious. I have great hands.”

You raised an eyebrow, lips twitching. “Oh, I’m sure you do.”

Jiyong grinned, shifting so his arm rested against the back of the couch, inches from your shoulder. He was close, his scent—something warm, spiced, intoxicating—wrapping around you like a snare. “You don’t believe me?” he asked, his voice dipping low, playful.

Seunghyun let out a soft scoff from the other side of the room. “If she wanted a massage, I think she’d ask someone who actually knows what they’re doing.”

Your head snapped toward him, and there it was again—that heat in his gaze, steady and unreadable, as if he was measuring your reaction.

You tilted your head, playing along. “And you do?”

Seunghyun took another slow sip of his drink, eyes never leaving yours. “I could prove it.”

Jiyong made a noise of protest, turning toward him with an exaggerated frown. “What, you think you can do better than me?”

Seunghyun now moved from the window to sit on your other side on the sofa, “I know I can.”

The tension in the room thickened, solidifying into something weighty, undeniable. Your pulse hammered as their attention honed in on you, a silent challenge crackling between them.

“You know, Seunghyun,” Jiyong drawled, looking over at him with a sly grin, “You’re awfully good at making her laugh. I’m beginning to think you’ve got a thing for her.” His voice had that playfulness that always made your stomach flutter, but there was an edge to it, a challenge.

Seunghyun remained composed, his smile just as cool, though his eyes darkened ever so slightly. “I’d say the same about you, Jiyong. You always seem to find an excuse to be here.” He shifted to be closer to you, his leg now flush against yours. “Maybe we both like her, and neither of us are willing to admit it.”

The room seemed to shrink. Your breath hitched at the way Seunghyun’s voice dropped, a little hushed, a little too intimate. Jiyong shot him a look but said nothing, instead running his fingers through his hair and throwing you a devil-may-care smile. “So, which one of us do you think is more charming, huh?” he teased, his voice lowering as well, eyes full of mischief.

You laughed, but it was breathless. “This feels like a competition,” you said, the heat between the three of you rising far too high. It was not the first time that they had joked about who had the upper hand, but tonight, it felt different. There was more to it, more desire hiding in the cracks of their smiles.

“Well, you can’t blame us for trying to impress you, gorgeous,” Jiyong said, his tone now entirely different. It was no longer a joke. “But if you ask me, I think Seunghyun’s the one who’s been holding back the most.” He looked at him, as if daring him to say something.

Seunghyun’s lips quirked upward. “I prefer to let actions speak louder than words. Isn’t that right, baby.” He had never called you baby before now. The way the name had slipped from his lips so easily sent a shiver down your spine, you had no words. Jiyong had called you things before and you enjoyed it, but the way Seunghyun’s husky voice sounded did things to you. He was not just talking about the move, about helping you settle into your new apartment, about just being a new friend. No, it was something else entirely. Something far more personal.

You could feel your face burn, you were unsure whether or not it was from the wine running its course through you, or two men beside you.

“What actions have you done? Little touches? Eye contact?” Jiyong laughed, now moving to lean in just as close. He moved his arm down onto your shoulders and softly grasped your jaw, forcing you to look over at Seunghyun. His face was real close to yours now, faces side by side as he spoke once more, “I bet there are a million and one actions that that man wants to do to you to… show you how he feels.”

Nevermind, the redness was absolutely from them.

“Now, now Jiyong, no need to rile her up so much,” Seunghyun raised his hand to release the hold still on your jaw. “Cat got your tongue, hm?”

You inhaled slowly, gathering yourself despite the way your pulse pounded in your ears. You were not about to let them win this round. So, with a slow blink and not letting your eyes leave Seunghyun’s, you tilted your head just slightly, letting a knowing smile play at your lips.

“Oh? And what exactly do you think I’m expecting you to do, Seunghyun?” Your voice was light, laced with teasing, but the glint in your eye was sharper, deliberate. A challenge, subtle but unmistakable.

Jiyong let out a low laugh, leaning back against the couch like he was watching the most entertaining show of his life. His gaze flicked between you and Seunghyun, amusement dancing in the depths of his eyes. “Careful, Seunghyun,” he mused, lips curling at the corners. “She’s got a sharp tongue.”

Seunghyun didn’t flinch. If anything, his smirk only deepened, slow and knowing, his fingers tracing the rim of his glass in lazy circles. His eyes never left yours, watching, waiting. “I think,” he murmured, the weight of his voice dropping just slightly, “you like watching us squirm.”

A thrill ran through you, though you kept your expression perfectly composed. Instead, you gave a slow shrug, feigning nonchalance as you reached for your own drink. The cool rim of the glass pressed against your lips, and you let the silence stretch just long enough to make them wonder. Then, setting it down with careful precision, you leaned back against the cushions.

“Maybe I do,” you mused, tapping a finger against your lips in thought. Then, tilting your head ever so slightly, you added, “Is that all? Because, honestly… I expected more from you both.”

Seunghyun’s brow lifted slightly. It was barely a flicker, but you saw it—the fraction of a second where his carefully laid-back composure wavered.

Jiyong, however, let out an incredulous scoff, shaking his head as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Oh, you want more?” he echoed, but there was something different in his tone now—something intrigued, something interested, something hungry.

The way his gaze dragged over you then, slow and searching, made your stomach tighten. He was taking your words and turning them over, trying to decide what to make of them.

You simply shrugged again, letting the moment stretch, drawing out the tension like a bowstring pulled taut. Then, with practiced ease, you stood, stretching your arms above your head, the soft fabric of your shirt shifting slightly as you moved.

“I mean, if all you two have to offer is a little teasing,” you sighed, voice deliberately light, “I might as well just finish this wine and go to bed.”

Jiyong inhaled sharply through his nose, shaking his head with a laugh as if trying to suppress whatever thoughts had just run through his mind. Seunghyun, on the other hand, stayed perfectly still, his eyes trained on you like he was finally seeing you for what you were—someone who was just as much of a player in this game as they were.

Then, he chuckled. Low. Dark.

“You think we’re just teasing?”

His voice was softer now, almost dangerous in the way it curled around the words.

You paused, turning just enough to glance over your shoulder at him, one brow raised. “Aren’t you?”

A beat of silence passes. A shift in the air.

You could feel their gazes on you, pressing, measuring. But you refused to break first.

With a slow, knowing smile, you picked up your glass again and made your way toward the kitchen. You didn’t rush, didn’t let them see anything but absolute confidence in every step.

“I’ll let you two figure out what to do with that information,” you tossed over your shoulder.

Jiyong let out a breath of a laugh, shaking his head as he ran a hand through his hair. “She’s dangerous,” he muttered, sounding half in awe, half exasperated.

Seunghyun let out a quiet hum, swirling the liquid in his glass as his gaze followed you out of the room.

“Tell me about it.”

keep an eye out for part two ;)

taglist (ask to be added): @petersasteria @floofeh-purpi @breakmeoff @sherrayyyyy

[halfway-happyyy]

Achilles' Heel - part I {Frank Castle}

"you are my achilles' heel, the weakness only i can feel" - leith ross

summary: in which of all the lost souls in new york city, an enterprising young woman has the misfortune of patching up The Punisher.

warnings include: mentions of violence, blood, etc. two people who could fill a cargo container five times over with their emotional baggage.

pairing: Frank Castle x female reader (she/her pronouns)

AN: i’m not entirely sure how this idea came to me, but here we are. i don’t claim to know much about sex workers (except that they deserve as much respect and love as anyone else), and like our main girl here, i certainly don’t claim to know much about medical intricacies, so go easy on me. happy reading friends 💖

As the opening notes to Billie Holliday’s P.S. I Love You rose above the muted static of her record player, her eyes fell shut in unconcealed ecstasy. A flash of lightning lit the otherwise caliginous night sky outside her living room window, and it occurred to her then, in the comfort of her own presence, that this was the first Saturday night she’d had off in months. There was a 2009 vintage red on the rack next to her player that she knew would pair excellently with her record, and just as she’d been about to reach for it, her phone rang, shattering her shallow illusion of peace. It briefly crossed her mind to let it ring, but when she saw that it was her friend, she quickly changed her mind. 

“Elena, this had better be good.” 

White noise reverberated on the other end before her friend elicited a hacking, wet cough. “Callie, I need a favour.” 

On account of her friend’s rare use of her real name, she knew immediately that whatever she was about to be asked, was serious. 

“I’m listening.” 

“I was supposed to do a job tonight- some boutique hotel up in hell’s kitchen, and I can barely get out of bed, let alone anything else.” A clap of thunder sounded closely outside, startling her, and the thought of going back out into the torrential downpour of the evening made her stomach churn with dread, but she let Elena continue. “It would mean the world to me if you took the call, Cal. The money’s good- 5 k upfront and he only needs about an hour of your time.” Elena sniffled and added, “It goes without saying but I will happily take the next call you don’t want to do.” 

It was apparent that whatever bug had brought her friend down had to have been a nasty one in order for her to turn down five thousand dollars for an evening.

“You sound like shit, E. Of course I’ll do it.”

She could still hear her friend chanting thankyouthankyouthankyou into the phone when she hung up. She cast a last, longing glance at the bottle in her rack and then begrudgingly went to her bedroom to change. 

Standing poised and slightly drenched in front of the hotel room door an hour later, she reluctantly knocked the way Elena’s text message had instructed and waited. Though the feeling was a rare one - she’d been playing the long game for a while now - apprehension swelled in the pit of her belly, and out of habit, she bent slightly to run a hand over the jagged outline of the knife in her boot; just feeling it was enough to put her nerves at ease for the time being. When her client still hadn’t answered the door, she became concerned that she’d had the wrong room, and just as she was about to double-check her messages, the door swung open. She hesitated a moment before entering, and when her eyes eventually adjusted to the dimly lit room, she noticed a man perched on the edge of the neatly made bed, staring off into the distance as if in a daze, and holding a hand to his side. An undetectable bite of something hung so heavily in the air that she could almost taste the slightly salty brine of it on her tongue. 

The man cleared his throat and rasped, “You Elena?” 

She took a tense breath and shook her head. “Elena was indisposed this evening. I’m Jane.”

She watched the man hang his head and elicit a string of rough curse words.

As the rain dried on her skin, annoyance swirled in her belly. “Excuse me, is there a problem?” 

A bark of laughter erupted from him, humorless and cold. “Yeah, there’s a fuckin’ problem. There was a reason I asked for her specifically.” 

Elena had briefly mentioned something about her client requesting a girl with a medical background, but they had both chalked that up to a kink he probably had. They decided that this was just going to be one of those times where she would have to fake it to make it. 

“Listen, pal, if it’s a nurse thing you’re after, I’m your gal. I’ve got a little paper hat and a stethoscope-

He cleared his throat and glanced up at her, and it was then that she noticed the complete state of disrepair the man was in, and the rest of the words fizzled in her throat. Her stomach plummeted when she realized the source of the metallic tang in the room was blood. His face seemed to have taken the worst of the damage; multiple shallow cuts oozed crimson, and a violet bruise bloomed under an umber eye that would surely take the form of a full-blown shiner in the morning. Her gaze traveled lower, to where his hand held his side, and bile rose in her throat as she noticed blood seeping out from between his fingers.

His voice was hoarse when he murmured, “Yeah kid. It’s a nurse thing I’m after alright.” 

Kid? Who on earth did this man think he was?

Her mouth had become void of moisture at some point, so when she tried to say that perhaps they had better call an ambulance, his face turned up in a scowl. “Beg your pardon?” 

She gestured toward the phone on the desk beside the television. “I don’t see why we can’t call for help…” 

He shook his head adamantly. “Nah. No hospitals, no cops, none'a that shit. You’re here now, and if you’re able, I could really use the help.” 

She could feel the ice-cold blooms of panic taking root in her, and as she glanced back towards the door, the urge to cut and run became all-encompassing. She wrung her hands together, at a complete loss for what to do.

“Look man, if you die on me- if you die here tonight, I’m screwed. Beyond screwed. And this may come as a shock to you, but I’m not exactly qualified to assist you with whatever this,” she gestured vaguely towards him. “Is.” 

His laughter was genuine this time, but it vanished quickly and was replaced with a grimace of sheer pain. “I ain’t dying, kid. Not tonight anyway. And even if I did, I know a couple of okay lawyers that could get you out of a bind no problem,” His gaze found hers again, and the unexpected earnestness in it nearly floored her. “Please.” 

She found herself nodding before she could fully talk herself out of it. “Oh christ, okay. What do you need?” 

He inhaled deeply and gestured with the jut of his chin to a medical kit that lay open on the desk beside the phone. “There’s a needle and some thread in there-

“No,” She shook her head. “No no no. I can’t.” 

He screwed his eyes shut and hissed out another expletive. “No pressure here, but there’s a high chance I’ll bleed out if you don’t and I’d do it myself, but I can’t quite reach it.” 

Despite the chaotic haze of the moment, it all began to make sense. Three years ago, and after a particularly bad year, Elena had quit her job as a charge nurse at Mount Sinai. His earlier statement about asking for her friend specifically chimed like a bell through her muddled mind.

“Would it make you feel better if I told you it was as easy as sewing drapes?” 

Disbelief clouded her features as she shook her head. “No, it would not.” 

She wandered over to the kit and peered in, noticing two spools of black and navy thread. She pulled them both out and asked if he’d had a preference over one, which made him snicker. 

“Black suits me just fine, kid.” 

She got to work threading the needle, and when that was finished, she approached him reluctantly.

“You always carry a medical kit with you?” 

The man tried to manage a shrug. “I’ve found it comes in handy from time to time.” 

She took a steadying breath. “Alright, I’m ready if you are.” 

He reached down to retrieve a half-empty bottle of whiskey, pulled the cork out with his teeth and took a hearty swig. When he set the bottle back down, he dropped his hand with a wince and proceeded to gingerly pull the t-shirt from his battered body. If she’d thought his face was bad, it was nothing compared to the carnage that littered his chest and abdomen. “Jesus,” She gasped. 

“Yeah well, you should see the other guy.” He managed between gritted teeth. 

He bore the faintly heady scent of gunsmoke and blood, and as she leaned closer to inspect the wound she murmured, “Judging by how this looks, I think the other guy may be dead.” 

He made a noncommittal noise in his throat. “I think you may be right.”

She quickly passed a square of gauze over the wound, ignoring the pained grunt that fell from the man’s mouth and sighed. “Do I get to know your name for this?” 

“You wanna know my real name? Or should I take a page outta your book and give you a fake one?” 

It was her turn to choke out a breathless laugh. “You sure talk a lot of shit for someone at the mercy of a complete stranger.” 

He hissed as the needle pierced his skin and managed a grunted, “Yeah well, this ain’t my first rodeo.” 

She was entirely unsurprised.

“It’s uh… It’s Frank.” he eventually croaked.

She was quiet as she tried her best to focus on the gruesome task at hand, but the insufficient lighting combined with the calamitous thunder outside made it all a bit harder than it needed to be. “Yeah well Frank, first aid 101 says that you don’t pull the protrusion from the wound until you seek proper medical help.” 

“Fuck,” He seethed when she pricked a particularly sensitive spot. “We got a smartass on our hands, I see. You gonna tell me your real name now?” 

She ignored that completely. “Hey, answer me this: there was no one else in your life that you could have called besides an escort agency to come fix you up?” She found the mere notion of it all inexplicably sad. 

Despite the pain he was in, a smirk ghosted his features. “I only got two people that I would trust my life with, and both of ‘em are uh… what’s the word you used earlier? Indisposed?”

He flinched and swore again.

“They’re indisposed at the moment. Plus, you offer much more of a view to look at than they do.” 

Jesus, the nerve on this guy. 

She gave her head a shake and huffed out an exasperated breath. “Well, I’m sure you’ll regret getting a hold of Elena when this thing heals. I’ve likely maimed you for the rest of your days.” 

“Pfft, have you seen the rest of me, kid? Add it to the pile.”

While she took stock of the rest of him, her gaze drifted to the gold wedding band on a chain around his neck. “Your wife know where you are?” 

Frank stiffened against her, eyes drifting to the ceiling above her head. “Nope.” 

“Lucky lady,” She murmured, as she finished the last stitch and tied off the end of the thread.

She watched Frank’s Adam’s apple bob in his throat before he uttered, “My wife’s dead.” 

Her eyes fell shut. “I’m so sorry.” 

He offered her a shrug, his face a blank page. “You didn’t know.” 

The room became quiet while she busied herself packing gauze over the wound and placing tape over it to keep it there. She hastily surveyed the rest of the damage that she could see and asked if there were any other problem areas she should know about.

Frank shook his head. “None that require any more of your fancy suture work.” He pulled the blood-stained t-shirt back over his head, shielding the carnage of his toned chest from her, and she ignored the surprising prick of disappointment as a result.

“Can’t imagine you get too many calls like this.” 

She let out a low whistle. “This one was definitely a first.” 

Frank tilted his head to the side, studying her. “I bet you see a lot of shit though, doing what you do.” 

Doing what you do. 

Selling your company, your time, your body for money. 

She stood from the bed then, and turned towards the direction of the washroom, desperately wanting to rid her hands of the sickeningly sticky feeling of his blood on them.

“Not as much shit as you see, doing what you do.” 

She took her time at the sink, methodically scrubbing away the gore under scalding water until it ran clear, and when she entered the room again, Frank had propped himself up against the headboard of the bed and was watching her.

“I meant no disrespect, kid. You gotta do what you gotta do.” 

She rolled her eyes and murmured an acerbic, “How progressive of you.” 

It was hard to miss the mischievous glitter in his eyes when he cocked his head to the side and asked, “Tell me something. You ever have to use that knife in your boot?” 

She couldn’t imagine how he’d known, and she tried in vain to keep her voice neutral when she shrugged and said, “Not yet, but you never know.” 

A smirk lifted his lips skyward as he echoed her words. “You never know.” 

She cleared her throat, suddenly desperate to change the subject. “The guy who did this to you… Is he really dead?” 

A shadow passed over Frank’s face; if she hadn’t been watching him already, she would have missed it entirely.

“Would you believe me if I told you he was better off that way?” 

For some inexplicable reason, she could believe it, but she didn’t need to confirm it because the knowing look on his face told her as much. 

She clocked the watch on the underside of her wrist. Twenty past midnight. Shit.

“Is there anything else I can do for you before I leave, Frank?”

He winced, shifting into a more comfortable position. “Yeah kid, you can tell me your name. And none of that Jane Doe horseshit.” 

She scoffed. “Why? What’s the point?” 

Frank’s gravelly just humor me, was so quiet she almost missed it.

She kicked at a stray pebble on the carpet and sighed in defeat. “It’s Calliope. But I go by Callie.” 

A smile grew on his face that caused a wave of butterflies to take flight in her belly, despite everything.

“Your folks Greek mythology buffs or Springsteen fans?” 

Her eyes widened in genuine shock. “Both, actually.” 

He nodded in satisfaction. “I got one more question for ya.” 

She fought the urge to roll her eyes. “Seems you’re full of those tonight.”

“Why didn’t you just pass yourself off as Elena from the get-go?” 

She cast around for a suitable answer and eventually landed on, “You seem like the kind of guy who values honesty above most things.” 

The tension in the room seemed to reach a fever pitch as Frank’s gaze bore into hers, his expression unreadable. When the silence became too heavy, she broke it by inquiring about her payout.

Frank gestured to the desk beside the television. “It’s in the first drawer there.” 

She followed his instructions and pulled the sizable bundle of cash from it, turning back to him with her head cocked. “Well, I’d say it’s been a pleasure Frank, but I’d be lying.” 

He smiled wryly at her. “Stay safe out there, kid.” 

She hesitated a moment before turning towards the door. Her hand was on the handle when he called her name, and she slowly turned back to him. 

“What happens if I need your help again?” 

She let her mind wander a moment before shrugging. “Just shine your bat signal toward the sky, and I’ll get the hint. See ya around, Frank.”

Once outside in the hallway, she stumbled back against the wall and allowed herself a couple of heaving lungfuls of fresh air. She was moments away from stepping into the elevator when Frank’s wrecked voice caught her attention, and she turned to see him limping toward her, a small piece of paper in his grasp. 

“There’s just no keeping you down, is there?” she couldn’t keep the incredulity from her voice.

He shoved the paper toward her, his face serious. “This is my number. You ever get into trouble, you ever find yourself in a situation, you give me a call.” 

Her eyes widened in mild amusement. “Right, I’ll call you so that you can get yourself into the same situation as tonight. Seems smart.” 

He shook his head. “Look kid, I don’t care if you slam dunk it into the nearest trash can on your way out, just take it.” 

The elevator dinged, and the doors opened. She grabbed the piece of paper and backed into it, giving him a small wave. “Bye, Frank.” 

He mirrored her wave. “Take care of yourself, Callie.” 

~

did i originally post this earlier and then come up with a title i liked more? we'll never know. stay tuned for part 2💙

[sinofwriting]

Married in Vegas - Charles Leclerc

Words: 592 Summary: She’s looking longingly at the chapel and his confidence can’t be rocked. Note(s): Maybe a part two for this will get written? But at this moment I got no clue, lol. Also slight song fic because 'Married in Vegas' by The Vamps is a bop

Masterlist | Support Me! 

Charles had told himself that after the debrief, he would go straight to his hotel room, escape the anger stirring in his gut by forcing himself to sleep. But then he had passed by Y/N and heard her talking about exploring the strip by herself and he had easily offered his company, the anger that he had felt vanishing instantly at the sight of her smiling at him and her quiet words of thanks.

They had been walking the strip for over an hour now and he couldn't help but notice the way her eyes were lingering on the chapel on the other side.

His elbow lightly nudges her. “What’s wrong?”

She shakes her head, eyes leaving the building to look at him before looking back at it and he can see the longing in her eyes. “I’ve always wanted to be married, to get married. But this job,” she stops herself.

He smiles, hand reaching out and gently squeezing her arm. “I know what you mean. It’s not just over twenty weekends away from home, it’s more than that.”

“Yeah.” She sighs.

“But you are not seeing anyone?” He can’t help but ask.

She laughs. “No.” And then she’s looking back at him. “You?”

“No.” He says. His bed and side had been empty for longer than he liked but after the last girl he couldn’t try and distract himself with them, so he wasn’t thinking of Y/N, like he had been since they both joined Ferrari in 2019.

“Sometimes I think my mom is right.”

He makes a noise of confusion.

“I’m gonna end up never getting married.”

Charles frowns at her words, at her mother's words. It wasn’t the first time he had heard something about her mom that he didn’t like, but this sat wrong in his stomach. Like her mom was implying that no one wanted to marry her. When he would have instantly after his first Monza win.

And he’s taking her hand in his and starts to walk, tugging her along with him.

“Charles, where are we going?” She laughs, moving her feet quickly to follow him.

“To get married.” He says, looking behind his shoulder just to see a split second of delight cross her face before she’s frowning.

“We can’t just get married.”

“Of course we can.” His confidence is suddenly through the roof, that small glimpse of delight all he needs to know this is the right choice.

“We aren’t even together.” She protests, but her feet have seemed to pick up the pace, their arms brushing as she walks beside him and he can’t help but use his grip on her hand to tug her closer.

He agrees with her. “We aren’t. But we could be.” He stops, moving to stand in front of her. “I want to be.”

The confession is quiet, just barely loud enough for her to hear, but she does, and the softness that seems to flood her makes him step even closer.

“I want to as well.” Her own confession is just as quiet and he has to resist the urge to kiss her.

Instead, he gives her his most charming smile. “So, will you marry me, Y/N? Make an already unforgettable year even more unforgettable.”

She stares at him for a few seconds before nodding. “Yeah, I’ve always wanted to get married in Vegas.” The words are slightly teasing, but the joy in her eyes, the wide smile stretched across her lips has his stomach swooping.

“Then let’s get married in Vegas.”

[melanchoire]

stepsister yuna who likes to touch you under the table when you both are eating with your parents, who also loves to masturbate outside your room when you are doing it (she is so pervert) and also sneak into your room to wake you up with oral sex in the middle of the night and then have the most insane and hot lesbian sex you both ever had

cw: dubcon, stepcest.

older step sister yuna who is a complete pervert when it comes to you 😵‍💫 always playing the card of the older sister who is super affectionate and cuddly with her little sister… when in reality, she is just looking for an excuse to have her hands on your body at all times; things like hugging you from behind when she feels like giving you affection, ending with her arms wrapping in a tight grip around your waist, pressing her chest against your back and discreetly grinding against your ass while her hands grope you 🥰 and like anon said, she would touch you under the table during dinner with your parents. of course they wouldn’t notice anything at all because she knows how to do it without being noticed, in addition to her talking about her studies at the college and some funny anecdotes that happened with her friends during the last weekend when she went out partying, your parents are so focused on listening to her talk that they didn’t even notice that she was sliding her hand under your pajama shorts, tracing your folds through your soaked panties and making a small puddle on the leather of the chair seat…

ohhh the part about her masturbating outside your room while you’re doing it… obviously you would look for a moment of total privacy to be able to touch yourself and calm your needs like anyone else, so you would wait for everyone in your house to fall asleep and have a deep sleep so you could finally put your hands inside your shorts and touch yourself until you fell asleep, but trying to be quiet because it would be a complete shame to be somewhat noisy and your family hears you or accidentally one of your parents thinks something happened to you when they hear some whining and when they enter your room you see yourself touching yourself 😭 so yeah, you would wait until late at night when everyone in your house is having sweet dreams so you can have fun in the meantime… or so you think! because yuna would also wait for your parents to be asleep to have fun too 🥰 she would be super stealthy and careful to leave her room and walk down the hall, stopping right next to your door and biting your lip in anticipation when you hear the faint sound of sheets shifting and your soft breathing fills the quiet room

of course yuna can’t see anything because you're inside your room and she is outside, but just hearing your breathing and the slight splashing is more than enough for her to imagine the speed at which you are fingering yourself and rubbing your clit, enough for her to put her hand inside her own pajama pants and match your movements, closing her eyes and imagining that she is in bed with you and mutual masturbation 🫠

and imagine when she finally dares to sneak into your room at night... you’re so fast asleep that you don’t even seem to notice when she climbs onto the foot of the bed, pulling the blankets off your body, drooling at the fact that this time you opted to wear a nightgown as pajamas, a garment much easier to remove 😋 yuna wastes no time and almost immediately crawls until she is in front of you, slowly opening your thighs, lifting your nightgown over your stomach, smiling at how you had even picked out cute panties, too bad they would soon be ruined

yuna eating you while you sleep 😵‍💫 she would love to go wild but she doesn’t want to wake you up, or at least not for now! so she chooses to take her time, tasting your sweet taste on his tongue every time his tongue slides through your folds in a way that makes more of your wetness drip from your hole and start making a mess on the sheets… she loves it when you whimper or breathe heavily sleepily, moving in bed and unconsciously moving your hips against her face

until a moment where you wake up because your bed feels wet, thinking that you had a moment where you accidentally wet the bed while you were sleeping, opening your eyes and being able to distinguish yuna’s figure in the darkness of your room, straddling your lap and grinding her naked pussy against yours, making you realize that it was actually your wetness and juices mixed with yours, completely soaking the sheets beneath you…

but yuna doesn’t even let you assimilate the situation because she is quick to act, covering your mouth with one of her hands and murmuring “just be quiet and everything will be fine.” and it definitely was 😋😋

[stagefoureddiediaz]

So I am feeling insane about all the yellow and blue around Eddie in El Paso and so I am making it everyone else’s problem by writing a meta on the stills - it will be a bit of speculation based on my colour theory knowledge and the previous costuming of the show, but I always enjoy writing these and then seeing how close I was when we have full context - so I hope you all enjoy! Also - I got carried away and went on a deep dive so this is ridiculously long!! 😬

Firstly though we need to talk about his hair and the return to the helmet hair of yesteryear Eddie - the loss of the floppy floopy bit that broke free as Eddie danced around his living room and was front and centre as Eddie turned to look back at buck - gone - swept up into place with gel - this is El Paso Eddie - the army Eddie - the Eddie at war - protecting his head with a helmet in the form of his hair. It’s all about reverting Eddie and about protection and conformity and trying to fit his parents expectations. This is Eddie under siege and preparing to be under the same attack as before. Its not quite as rigid as we saw it in the begins scenes, there is still some softness to it - giving us a hint that Eddie is not that same person he was back then, and that he’s not got things quite as fixed down as he had before, but we likely won’t see a hair fall over his forehead unless he’s in a less fraught scene (video call with Buck maybe) or until he has dealt with Shannon’s ghost, Chris’s trauma, his own trauma and his parents (mom) fully. Only then can he be his true self and let his hair be free!

I obviously am screaming about the fact we have Eddie in a yellow toned shirt - it’s yellow ochre, brown and cream check and it’s being very loud! The check pattern is very clearly telling us that things are not going to to go well for Eddie in this scene - and in El Paso more widely based on the fact we see him in check pattern more than once in the stills - the blue check shirt also playing into the theme of change and that change not being easy. Check on out mains is usually ultimately a good thing - it’s about getting them off the path they are on and onto a new one - correcting a wrong course etc. So here to have Eddie in check and yellow (or blue) check at that is pretty much telling me that this is the show getting Eddie on the right path - that he’s been on the wrong one but now he is on the right one for him.

I’ve written extensively about how yellow and blue coding has been used by film and television since colour film and tv has been a thing - and how it became a thing due to the wizard of Oz - I’ve also written extensively about that film and 911 and about Eddie and the significance of yellow and him and also about the importance of Buck and blue - all these metas can be found linked on my pinned post if you want to give them a read!

But what is the colour meaning of yellow I hear you cry - well it has many meanings and it all depends on the shade of yellow we’re talking about - the shade and tone of any colour determines some of its meaning. Every colour can be warm or cool toned and can be bright or dull, rich or pale and all of those factors have connotations attached to them. The warmer brighter and or richer the colour the more positive meaning it tends to have (there are some exceptions such as a very bright green which is generally viewed as toxic or poisonous and has negative connotations attached to it despite sitting in the bright rich and warm toned spectrum!)

Yellow is a colour of communication, cheerfulness, it is connected to the logical part of the brain and is therefore a symbol of intellect, clarity, and perception. However it can also mean anxiety, sickness, fear and cowardice as well as impulsiveness and caution.

The scene in the Diaz kitchen is full of yellow - its everywhere and the lighting is yellow toned (at the cooler end of the yellow lighting spectrum) but the biggest thing is the walls being this pale yellow. Paler more pastel yellows are associated with the negative traits of yellow more than the positive ones - so malaise and sickness, anxiety, and cowardice. The fact the room is yellow and blue is one of the most interesting things to me as someone who was going on about the fact the kitchen was yellow and red back in season 5 when Eddie had that conversation with his dad.

As you can see in the two pictures below, the walls were a darker more ochre toned yellow with both a darker brown toned red (the cabinets) and a brighter red (the curtains). This is a real contrast to the paler yellow and the blue we now have in the Diaz kitchen and it all goes to prove that Both Ramon and Helena are meant to represent aspects of Eddie - Ramon Eddies heart and Helena Eddies head or mind.

Because Ramon is a physical representation of Eddie heart - so the red accents make complete sense for that scene. It’s a play on the heart - and the use of two different shades of red - one concentrated around Ramon and one around Eddie is all about playing on the concept of health v not healthy (we actually see the same thing in the previous scene in this kitchen - when Eddie arrives - Ramon is in front of the darker rend and the lighting is darker while Eddie is more brightly lit and the brighter red is around him) The darker more brownish toned red is around Ramon - a symbol of poor health - of deoxygenated blood - which has a browner colouring and its also the colour of drying blood. This is a play on time - missing out on things and on Ramon representing the old way of thinking for Eddie - basically a symbol that his upbringing was not a healthy one.

Whilst all the red around Eddie is much brighter and vibrant - blood full of oxygen is brighter red and where the brown toned red is symbolically closer to death the brighter red is more energetic and suggestive of life. The set design is literally playing on the theming around hearts and heart health that we saw connected to Eddie all season. It is helping to tell us that Eddies way is the right way for the future, especially as it is combined with the green foliage print on that red background - green being a symbol of growth, while the yellow walls are more positive toned because it is a richer brighter colour - indeed it actually is pretty much the same shade of yellow as Eddies yellow shirt - the one from the lasagne scene and the confessional scene (both of which come later - but that makes them all the more interesting!) that is Eddies shade of yellow and it is the first time we really see Eddie surrounded in some way by that particular shade of yellow. Along with the yellow cup sitting between Ramon and Eddie, it is just further proof for the yellow and Eddie theory and that it is not only a symbol of his underlying queerness, but of his truest self - at its healthiest.

He is able to forgive Ramon and move forward - vowing to be a better person - not for Chris, but for himself - that is huge growth for Eddie at that point in his arc so that yellow being there is key - the fact it follows through and transfers onto him at the stat of season 6 is indicative of that growth and embracing of self having stuck. The fact we then see it go backwards as s6 progresses (especially after Bucks death and resurrection but that is a meta for another day!) leading us into season 7’s insane events before we get the reappearance of the yellow (the same shirt) as Eddie tries to recapture that self growth - so that he can reach a point of being able to work through things with Chris - which is where we have reached now - Eddies still wearing the darker yellow - suggesting that growth is still there and part of who he is, but the paler yellow he is surrounded by now is indicative of the work he needs to do outside of himself

It is also worth noting the blue table runner that sits between Eddie and Ramon in this scene as well - because Ramon never touches the blue - but Eddie does

So to have the kitchen go from this darker, stronger more positive yellow to now become this pale and sickly yellow when we’re about to have Eddie dealing with Helena - who is a representation of Eddies mind - is very telling. We are playing on the idea that Eddies mental health is not great right now and that is what he needs to fix. The other thing to note about this yellow is that it is the same colour as the exterior of the Diaz house - as we saw in the begins episode mostly but also briefly in the background of the retirement party in 517 - its all playing into a permeating malaise engulfing Eddie - its always in his background - its always been lurking and hasn’t been confronted. So yes it’s yellow and that’s a good thing. But it’s a bit like the darker - navy- blues we kept seeing on Buck (and still do to a certain extent) when he’s following his colour but in the wrong direction compared with the lighter brighter blue when he’s on the right path.

The fact it is the kitchen - the heart of the home - is what makes the use of yellow and blue in combination espeically key here, because for me the yellow is likely going to be playing into the idea of cowardice on multiple fronts - that Eddie is not yet able to confront what he needs to, that Chris is not in a place where he is prepared to have the actual conversation he needs to have with his dad, that Helena and probably Ramon will be too cowardly to Suport Eddie and his needs - to recognise their own failings and mistreatment of Eddie in this situation. Whilst also calling back to the overall family trait of running away when faced with a situation you don’t like or know how to handle maturely (Chris gets some grace here as he is still a child and has learned a behaviour from his family!).

But we also have the blue is framing the windows (and being present in a lot of other places but its the curtains that are the most obvious blue in the scene) - windows are symbolic in and of themselves - they are connected with transition and perspective or obstruction and also as a source of illumination and we’ve seen the show using glass and windows (or even peep holes) to great effect - using glass as a barrier but also something that can be crossed and as a way of gaining perspective. The windows here are shrouded, but they let in a lot of light - they are illuminating - and therefore this scene is likely to be an illuminating one - most likely into the struggles that lie ahead for Eddie. But all the windows also suggest that he is entering a period of transition. The fact those things are surrounded by blue - a calming colour associated with honesty and commitment, security and protection, trust loyalty and support. It is also a conservative colour and can tend towards passiveness and avoiding confrontation.

In combination with the check that Eddie is wearing, I’m expecting this scene to end on a tense note and with Eddie not actively doing anything to resolve his issues - it feels very much like its the set up for Eddies arc and nothing close to a resolution in any form - its going to be about showing the audience all the things Eddie has to resolve before LA is a possibility again.

As for his shirt - its yellow ochre - along with the brighter toned shades of yellow it trends much more towards the positive end of the yellow spectrum - so the communication and logic, clarity and intellect and cheerfulness. In combination with the brown - which is one of the colours the show is using as an overarching theme this season - its telling us that Eddie is attempting to create stability and an new foundation from which to build his future. Brown is a colour of stability, foundations, enrichment, reliability, wisdom, support and honesty. It can also be seen a dull or boring as well as conservative, loneliness and isolation.

All things that apply to Eddie right now - the stability and foundation meaning comes from the earth being brown and it being where seeds are planted - bringing about new growth (but not actually being growth) - which is exactly what Eddie is trying to do in El Paso - he also thinks Chris has stability in El Paso and that has left him feeling isolated and alone. The other thing with this shirt (and the later blue one) is that this is very much the Eddie of old - this shirt and style - just go look at any of the Eddie flashback scenes - especially in Eddie begins and you will see a series of shirts just like it. Eddie does not wear check patterning all that often - we see it popping up from time to time in season 2, but then not again until we hit Eddie begins when we see lots of it - and then it disappears again until we get the blue and black check patterned shirt when he calls Marisol at the end of season 6. So basically its symbolic of his El Paso existence - its decreasing appearances throughout season 2 as Eddie adjusts and settles into LA shows that change and growth in him from the Eddie of El Paso we get to meet in Eddie begins who is wearing so much check and has his hair in this same style. The check is all but gone from his life - until he calls Marisol - when it reappears and proves that that is Eddie acting on old expectations - connected to El Paso - and therefore his parents expectations for him. So this yellow and brown shirt is all about signalling that Eddie is reverting back to who he was - whilst being on a new path and that he will be somewhat isolated in this scene, that his return to El Paso is about starting again - building from the foundation up, but that he is doing so by forcing himself back into the skin he wore before he moved to LA.

Ok on to the other things I have spotted in this scene firstly lets go back to the blue because it extends far beyond the curtains! Blue is Bucks colour and it’s always around Eddie - far more than any other character in the scene. There is the blue curtains I’ve already talked about, but there is also blue placemats and the dish towel Eddie is holding is blue striped. A lot of the little touches are blue - like the tiles above the sink or the background of the heart art above the door and the various blue jars we can see.

Amazon box still

Even the tape on the amazon box is blue coloured - and it’s teal/aqua when we see the other amazon product placement boxes (see the car sales still!) which suggests they deliberately chose the blue in this scene to help with the blue theming. Eddie is not the only one constantly surrounded by blue, but he is more than any other character in that scene from what we can tell from these stills, but he is the only one constantly in contact with something blue (that isn’t their clothing - not counting jeans or dresses etc here) - the amazon box, the dish towel, and the fact that the napkins are blue and Eddie is the only one with one on his lap (it swaps legs but this show doesn’t know continuity!!) the fun thing about that napkin is that with the yellow shirt it gives us a fun parallel to Buck (yes I am probably clowning a bit here, but go with me!)

Because my guess is this is the first scene we’re going to see Eddie with Chris, Helena and Ramon in together since Chris left at the end of 710 - when Buck was wearing yellow ochre trousers and a navy blue top. Who is now wearing a yellow ochre top and has something navy in his lap?? Yes - we have a reverse colouring going on here. This is Eddie having Buck close even in his absence - all the blue is a list Buck to a certain extent, but this napkin especially - its hidden - not that visible to the others, but Eddie has a touchstone with Buck through that napkin - it is the Eddie equivalent of Buck saying Eddies name 500 times in the last episode - and Buck is probably not going to get much of a mention here if at all in this scene - but we still have him present in some way through colour coding. The fact that its hidden under the table - its all about the suggestion that Eddie may end up feeling alone at that table, but he isn’t - Buck is there for him - not physically present, but always having his back even from 800 miles away - its also a play on the yellow/blue queer coding and the fact that Eddies feelings for Buck are currently hidden - but that fact we the audience can see that blue napkin is a low key nod to that fact that those feelings are there - along with the Buck watch being very visible and a connection to LA and the life he has given up.

Ok last thing from this scene is Helena being in fuchsia - have to admit when I saw her in that colour in these stills I laughed out loud becasue the colour fuchsia has some very specific colour meanings attached to is and they perfectly sum up Helena Diaz! It’s a colour of certainty, confidence, and strong beliefs, self willed and arrogant, controlling, manipulative, and opinionated. It does also have connections to nurture and maternal instincts.

So it is a colour that really helps to tell us who Helena Diaz is and what her motives are - especially in this scene, where we are likely to see much of that come into play - we see her seated on both sides of the table, and even though we have zero context right now, in the image below it is clear that her focus is on Chris and the hand on his shoulder feels more controlling - the fact that in these stills she is either always looking at Chris (even when Eddie is looking at her) or in contact with him physically and the only time we see her looking at Eddie is when he is on the other side of the room and his back is to he - making it clear where her maternal instincts lie.

Onto Chris and his very interesting colour coding in these stills. Chris does wear a fair amount of grey across the seasons of 911, but there are usually in t-shirt form and bearing a brightly coloured logo - which is always connected into Eddie or Chris’s arc in some way for the season and the bright colours of those means the grey is really there as a neutral background. But now we have him in that neutral grey - but with a black logo - its all much more washed out and muted than we’ve seen Chris in before now - and it carries on the theme we’ve seen in the video chats where his colours have been muted and washed out (and lots of that El Paso check!!)

The black logo, which is on his back rather than the front is the face of a big cat - a panther/puma most likely. Now there are several potential meanings to the use of this black cat/panther. There is a very famous tale by Edgar Allen Poe called ‘The black cat’ which is an allegory for self justification and the black cat is the prism through which the narrator explores the twisting of reality to fit the narrative one wants it to be. Its an exploration of Jungian psychology - which interestingly was heavily focused on the concept of repression - of ones self, personality and instincts - which when this repression of self builds up it is likely to explode in a destructive way (tell me this doesn’t;t sound like Eddies s7 arc I dare you!!) more generally black cats or panthers symbolise power, darkness, death and rebirth and resilience in many cultures. This suggests those are elements we will be seeing in Eddie and Chris’s arc. The concept of the death of their previous relationship with the rebirth of a new one, the play on Shannon’s death creating darkness in their family unit - which still persists - and the ultimate rebirth as a new family unit (also including Buck down the line!) and it also suggests the death and rebirth of the Diaz family more widely - so including Helena and Ramon. The resilience is also a key thing here - both for Chris and Eddie - they are both displaying that trait and it feels likely that it will continue to be one we see as a key part of their arc.

The neutrality of the grey is unemotional and detached and this plays into the idea of being closed off - of Chris being unavailable to Eddie at this point in time - emotionally and communicatively . It is also a pessimistic and indecisive colour which is also in keeping with the likely story arc we’re going to get and are two meanings that do speak to teenage behaviours and feelings. I think it’s a fascinating colour choice to grey Chris out and potentially make the scene more about Eddie, Helena and Ramon - with Chris present but not the thing we should be focused on in the scene.

This muting of Chris’s clothing is also on display in the stills on the veranda - and this costume is such a mini Eddie costume that it speaks volumes. The colour way is all Eddie - we have the brown trousers - which are check patterned, we have a cream tee (which has a logo of some sort on but I can’t see what it is from these stills!) and a hoodie jacket that is stitched in a denim jacket style but is a heavy weight jersey knit fabric and in a khaki green which is very much in Eddies colour wheel! The fact he is in muted colours that are straight out of the Eddie Diaz colour book and the fact he is also playing chess - its all about paralleling Eddie himself. Eddie has worn this type of green both as a piece of colour coding denoting his military past, but also as a sign that he’s at war with himself in some way - its most obvious display of this was his breakdown scene and his subsequent battle with his depression. Therefore this costume is reflective of him being like Eddie - it’s speaking of underlying unhappiness (and trauma), but it is also a play on running away - as his parents both did. Eddie is the stronger parallel for the obvious reason that he is the main character here not Shannon - plus the fact that Eddie went to war - making the addition of the game of chess a key part of the narrative and connection to Eddie. Chess is a game of war and strategy is suggestive of Chris being at war (the battle is internal) - which is caused by his trauma - but its also indicative that he has only been getting support on that front from Ramon - the act of him teaching Chris chess is a play on the idea of him teaching him coping strategies. It is placing Ramon in a much better position than Helena - at least Ramon is trying to help Chris - something established back in 8a and the only one we’ve been shown/ told is doing something with Chris that is an attempt to help him. Helena has just been shown posturing and talking a big talk (putting in a swimming pool) but none of that has been about Chris in reality.

The entire scene is intriguingly set up - in part because it appears to be at Eddies new house - his fixer upper - with its peeling green trim and doors and general run down appearance. We also see Eddie in a dark maroon/brown shirt - with no watch in sight - which is very telling to me at least - I’m undecided as to if its mean to indicate the lack of time, or if its absent because this scene will really start to dig into past Eddie and the relationship he has with his mom especially and therefore there is no need to play on time - we’ll find out when we see the episode. The maroon/ brown is yet more brown to add to the season colour theme, but its maroon undertones really fits it into the parental maroon colour theme the show uses with most characters, but especially with Eddie - the fact it is so brown toned is playing along similar lines to the reds in the kitchen from 517 - and that’s pushing me towards thinking that this scene will be doing something of the exploring Eddie being parentified by Helena (and Ramon) when he was a child himself that this is about fixing or starting to fix that part of things rather than it being centred on Chris. That it is about Eddie going back to the beginning to be able to correct and repair his present and future.

Helena is in a floral shirt and white and this pale blue that does have a slightly lavender undertone to it. Shes very much in contrast to Eddie here - her colours are cold and closed off and she sits in start contrast to all the colours around her - Eddies brownish maroon is in the same total pallette as the background - the house, the furniture and the wall hanging, even Chris and Ramon sit withing that colour pallette as well. But Helena - like her fuchsia cardigan from the previous stills, stands out from her surroundings. The blue being a cold tone makes it conservative and impersonal and also predictable, but the fact that it makes her stand out is the key here - its sets things up as her being the focus of the scene - both visually and most likely narratively. What these stills from both this scene and the kitchen one are doing is showing us that they are scenes focused on the Helena of it all - the major thing Eddie truly needs to deal with early on and that’s what is making me excited for this episode and these scenes. The visual framing is all set up ready to go - now we await the other aspects of a scene to reveal more!

Blue check Eddie with is yellow ochre toned binder and the yellow and blue colouring we can see - the cabinet, the flag in the background and the blue chair. It’s giving me calling Marisol shirt vibes from 618 and that’s intriguing to me considering that she turned out to be a former nun - the entire still is giving me either church or church school vibes, but it could also be a fire station and there is a character called assistant chief Jamie De La Cruz - so its entirely possible that it is some form of fire department building - it feels like its going to end up being a not great outcome for Eddie - along with the check pattern helping out on that front - if that’s not being offered a job or being offered one that is going to diminish him in some way who knows, but its not a positive looking set up on the visuals front!

Car lot still my beloved! There is literally soooo much in this one still for me to talk about - all the yellow and blue around Eddie is incredibly loud - literally everywhere - from the stickers on the the car windscreen behind him being predominately yellow and blue, to the light blue wall behind the chainlink fence and rthe blue cladding trim on the building to the left, you can include the yellow and blue bunting if you want to, but there is also pink red and green there so I’m not discounting it, but putting it much lower down in its relevance. And there is the fact that in the refelections in the Denali we can see lots of yellow and blue which I’m sure we’ll see more of in the actual scene. We seem to get a huge amount of yellow and blue colour coding around Eddie at locations connected to cars - especially this season with ‘No place like home’ giving us Eddie at Weston’s Dad’s motor shop with all its very very loud yellow and blue theming in an episode heavily colour themed with yellow and blue.

The fact that link to yellow and blue and cars exists in connection with Eddie and that it is also tied into parents and their children (because 504 also played on that same theme) is interesting to me (and not just because it is also tied into Hen’s arc - the main queer character on the show - and her parenting journey) because the fact this scene seems to be Eddie selling the Denali - a car heavily connected to Shannon and Eddies struggles with his grief ( as well as to Buck - in his bright blue fraying shirt jacket - and his own struggles with the grief of Eddie leaving) - i want to wait until I’ve seen the scene in full, but right now this scene is a really important one in terms of queer Eddie - not necessarily explicitly so, but very definitely in the subtext because this is Eddie letting go of his grief and therefore letting go of Shannon. But it also does one other thing - the play on the car name - Denali - with denial - its also a symbol of denial no longer being an option going forwards - for Eddie, or for Buck (the only other person we have seen in this truck).

And then we get to Eddies outfit in this still. Have I ever mentioned how much I love the wardrobe team - especially when they a repeat an outfit? And have I ever told you how much I love it when that outfit is repeated for a third or even 4th time? Because yes this is in fact the the 4th time we are seeing Eddie in this costume of a western style pearl popper button up denim shirt with dark olive khaki trousers and brown shoes!! Yes that’s s right - the 4th time!

Time no.1 - Abuela’s hospital room at the end of 204 we see Eddie by her bed as Carla brings Chris in to see Abuela - having started working for Eddie - after Buck introduces them. We don;t get to see much of the trousers in the scene, but you can see from this screenshot that the dark olive khaki trousers are there.

Time no. 2 - in Eddie begins we see Eddie fight with his parents and talk on the porch with Chris when they decide to move to LA - It’s also worth pointing out here that the yellow is the same as the yellow in the Diaz kitchen in the new stills. Same pants, trousers, white undershirt, slightly different but still brown boots and the same hand in the pocket vibe!

Time no. 3 - really hard to get a screen shot of this one because we don’t really see the pants and shirt together much, but you can see the pants in the below screen grab and take my word for it that its the same shirt - or rewatch the scene if you’re so inclind. This scene is the ‘welcome back to the land of the living Buck’ scene from 701

There are a few significant things at play here. Most of the scenes when we see Eddie wearing denim are connected to family in some way - Abuela, Shannon, and Buck, and the Diaz parents. Eddie doesn’t wear denim shirts all that much in the grand scheme of the show and that makes their use and particularly the use of a repeat outfit in this way particularlyy important. This outfit is essentially a symbol of being o the right track - on the right path, its s heavily connected to the idea of breaking free or moving forwards in some way. Carla is now there to help Eddie (thanks to Buck) so Eddie is able to fully settle into his LA life and is no longer at risk of proving his parents right - it’s freedom from El Paso and shows that LA is the right path for him - that accepting Bucks help and support is the right path as well.

The fight with Helena and Ramon and the subsequent conversation with Chris is about moving and escaping a situation that is holding you back, Eddie making that choice to move to LA and to not listen to his parents - again it is him on the right path.

The same can be said of the locker room scene with Buck. Buck was being held back by his death, but so too was Eddie. Death had changed their relationship (graveyard scene) and Buck dumping Natalia because all she talked about was death ultimately sets not only Buck free from his death, but Eddie free as well - they can both start living again - and ultimately what this scene is doing is resetting the Buck and Eddie of it all and putting them both on the right path - its about setting buddie in motion which is the longer term right path rather than a more immediate pay off right path (its also a symbolic nod to buddie being free of network restrictions and being allowed to happen with the move to abc).

So having Eddie wearing an outfit that is a symbol of breaking free and setting himself on the right path as he sells the car is likely about him finally breaking free of his grief and anger around Shannon and her death. Its about him finally being able to let her go so both he and she can move on (and Chris as well because Eddie clinging to her ghost has stopped him from grieving properly and has caused him trauma). I’m not saying this scene magically does all of that - just that it is the marker point for Eddie and sets him on his path to healing and moving on and in a more low key way is setting Eddie fully on his path to his feelings realisation that will be the culmination of his letting go of Shannon arc. It is a key indicator of Eddie’s story arc over this episode of the next couple of episodes.

Just to further add credence to this costuming choice. We do see this shirt pop up in season 4 - when Eddie introduces Ana to Chris as his girlfriend - the difference here is that the trousers are light tan rather than the dark olive green - it is an indicator that this path is not the right one - its not the entirely wrong path - as it is technically him trying to move on from Shannon, but its not the right path because he is doing it for Chris and not for himself - trying to provide that mother figure he thinks Chris needs.

And just to get even more unhinged about it we have the boating lake scene with Kim - which is a reverse of the repeat costume - the colours are right - we have the olive green and the dark denim, but its the western style popper button up shirt that is green with the dark denim jeans - its not the right way around and Eddie has got turned about and has taken the wrong path. That his pursuit of a woman who looks like his dead wife is not the way to go about dealing with your grief that you have failed to deal with up to this point. The colours are correct - suggesting that in the same way the wrong colours meant the wrong path for Ana - a minor setback in that instance, that this too is the wrong path - but that its one that will set him back much further!

I”m going to stop writing now - I have gone on far far longer than was my intent and I ended up on several side quests I did not expect to end up on - worthwhile ones as I got to deep dive into Eddies repeat outfit a bit more as well as explore the muting of Christopher and that he’s becoming a mini Eddie visually and really get into the colours of the Diaz kitchen - so all worth it im my book - hopefully you enjoyed it and found it interesting and worthwhile as well - let me know your thoughts in the tags and comments and as always thanks for taking the time to read my very long rambles. I can’t wait to see how it all ends up playing out in the episode!

Tagged people below!

@lover-of-mine @spotsandsocks @fruityfirehose @wanderingwomanwondering @livingwherethesidewalkends @buddiediaz118 @bewitchedbewilderedbisexual @satvojihusana @elvensorceress @icebergeddie @buckleyanddiaz @eddiedisasterdiaz @kejfeblintz @cookie-kat777 @leothil @bucksbelly @kyoteugly @bi-moonlight @somebodycall911onabc @trudayss @chaosandwolves @lemotmo @buckleyanddiaz