#this made me laugh so much i have to have it on here

[madamechrissy]

Pour it Up

Pairings: Stripclub Owner Sukuna x Stripper F!reader

Summary:- You are a single mother, your baby daddy is not just worthless, he also is actively trying to sabotage you, so you go out on your own and raise your kid by yourself. Struggling your ass off, a friend of a friend named Toji decides to offer you a hell of a deal, a few hours a night at a strip club to make BANK. While there, you meet the other owner, Sukuna, and the moment he sees you? You annoy him how beautiful you are, how much he wants you, pushing him to insanity. He knows he must have you- no matter whose ass he needs to beat.

Warnings:- reader is a mom, lowkey Yandere Sukuna behavior (He's obsessed- down bad) rec drug use, drug dealing Sukuna (the club a front lol) Mafia ties, EXPLICIT sexual content, fluff/smut AND light angst- violence, some former trauma of reader. This part- BROMANCE hehe, spanking, emotional, a LOT of violence and blood, teasing, shower sex, size kink like a MF- a little bit of everything <3 WC- 7.2k

Will be eight parts- ties into my Mob Gojo story- you'll see him and the reader from there - but you can read it alone. Art in the banner is by Sketch B on X divider by @cafekitsune

Reblogs/comments so appreciated if you enjoyy!

<<<Part Six - Playlist - Masterlist - Part eight (final)>>>

Part Seven

There is blood everywhere, everywhere Sukuna can see, as his friends, shit some of them are truly damn near his family, fight right alongside the Zenin, but the only one Sukuna is focused on is the blond man with the brown, cold eyes, the one that hurt you. The one who didn’t see what he was lucky enough to have, and never fucking deserved, you.

Naoya licks blood off his lip and ducks and dodges, slamming Sukuna against a wall, he laughs at the attempt. “You’re trying, aren’t ya? Why don’t you give the fuck up before I end your life.” Sukuna pins him now instead, Toji is sending someone flying and crashing into a crate, as you all fight in the warehouse, each hit and throw scattering goods around.

There are pounds and pounds of counterfeit jewelry being crushed under dress shoes, crunching and glinting in the dark of the room, the sound of breaking bones and grunts of pain fill the air, each hit from Sukuna is fueled by pure rage and hate. The kind that only comes from someone who’s faced with the man who’s hurt the girl he loves so much.

The one that not just had you so down on yourself, abandoned you financially, talked down to you and blew off your kid, no that’s all shit he’d certainly beat the fuck out of him for. But wanting to murder him, slit his fucking throat, comes from even more than that, the threats to you.

He’d even been running it when they met just a few minutes before this.

‘Hah, how’s my little whore doing? Ya wanna know how many times I had her, in every way? Think it won’t be long till she’s back under me-’

That was when Sukuna decided negotiations certainly wouldn’t fucking be happening, when this little prick of a man wanted to run it, there was no more hiding behind the Zenin name for him. Choso, Suguru, Satoru and Toji were all there along with many other of the families, and not only were the Zenin outnumbered, they were completely unmatched.

Certainly they had some skill and they knew how to brawl, but overwhelmingly the five men here were much better at fighting, bigger, stronger… but also, more clinically insane, and coked out. Sukuna made sure everyone was well prepared with lines and lines before they decided to do this, bloodshot eyes and batshit crazy grins adorning everyone's faces.

Not Choso on the partaking of cocaine, of course, but Sukuna quickly realizes he and his family can hold their own and then some. But no one matched Sukuna on skill or size, though Satoru and Toji came close, no, he was simply made to fight, he thrilled in it, the adrenaline coursing through his fucking veins, his ruby eyes glinting, all while  thinking of one singular thing.

You.

You’re his.

You’re his and will always be his.

Sukuna can’t have this looming over you, even if it starts a fucking war, his girl should be able to live her life without constant fear of the threat that Naoya constantly brings. As soon as Sukuna had thrown that first punch, chaos had ensued across every inch of this old, dark warehouse.

 Naoya tries to fight back, but he’s no match for the beast that’s been unleashed in Ryomen Sukuna. The fear in his eyes is clear as he sees the unbridled fury in Sukuna’s gaze, perhaps he really thought he had a chance in hell, but with every hit and kick, Naoya slowly comes to the realization, that he’s fucked.

Sukuna’s knuckles are raw, but he feels nothing but satisfaction as he lands blow after blow on Naoya’s face, the crunch of his nose - breaking again, at least he has a good surgeon- is just music to his ears. He can almost hear her voice in his head, whispering that you’re okay now, that you’re safe, that this is probably enough, but there is a louder voice.

Kill him.

He can’t because of Touma, he knows, but that doesn’t stop him from wanting to, hitting him and not relenting until the blond man is on his knees, begging for mercy. Sukuna’s chest heaves with  b every breath, his heart racing with the adrenaline of the fight, his muscles screaming for a pause, but he shoves it all back, kicking Naoya to the floor and straddling him then, yanking him by his collar.

“Any last words, mother fucker?” He says with a grin, teeth just coated in blood, knife glinting when he pulls out the butterfly, silvery blade, holding the cold metal to his throat.

“Fuck, stop, stop, shit.” He grabs Sukuna’s wrist, sputtering, Satoru’s insane peal of laughter echoes, as he kicks away a mafia member, brushing off his suit. “You all are fucking insane, fuck.”

“Ya think so?” Toji asks, flipping a man right on his head, as they all look at Naoya, helpless.

“Fuck, we’ll stay out of your territory, okay?” Naoya’s desperate words just amuse Sukuna more, as he eases back the knife, holding up a hand.

“Stop.” He orders, and everyone does, much to the relief of every single Zenin member sighing, but Satoru may or may not have fake punched one to watch them jerk in fear, for the men to snicker at. Sukuna smirks at them, shaking his head, taking a breath and feeling just how sore he is, turning back to Naoya now, who exhales in relief, then Sukuna stands.

“I think we can come to an understanding, we-” Sukuna yanks him up by his collar, he’s literally dangling in the air when Sukuna plops him right on one of the crates. “Shit!”

With a smirk, he pulls out a phone from his pocket and turns his phone on, setting the screen on record. “You’re going to apologize to her.”

“The fuck I am, I already said I’d leave your territory and her the fuck alone.” Sukuna punches him once more, the sickening crack of his fist connecting echoing through the now quiet room. “Shit…”

“Say it loud, say it clear, or I’ll rip your tongue out and shove it down your throat so you can never speak your bullshit again.” Naoya’s eyes widen in horror, but he knows better than to argue at this point, it seems, the fear of dying a painful death is stronger than his pride. 

“Fine, okay, shit…” He spits out blood, a tooth along with it, making joy fill Sukuna’s heart.

It’s the simple things, you know.

Through bruised and bloodied lips, he stammers out an apology, his voice shaking, so pathetic as Sukuna videos it, just for you, his girl. The warehouse goes quiet, the other fights ceased, as the Zenin mob watches their leader fall. The Gojo and Kamo mob members, battered and bruised, look at each other with big grins, still in high spirits in comparison.

Naoya finally slumps forward, while Sukuna pockets his phone, and the Zenin mob looks to their leader, the one who’s been beaten worse than any of them, bested by a man he thought he could fuck with. It’s not just about Naoya versus Sukuna, it’s more than that, Naoya has helped lead to the Zenin weakening, and proving the Kamo and Gojo are not to be trifled with.

Sukuna leans forward, as Naoya flinches, making Sukuna even more fucking excited, grin plastering his face. “You won’t come on our territory again.”

“I won’t.”

“You won’t come near them, Touma or her, again.” Naoya laughs then, through his blood he’s damn near coughing up, so weak he looks like he’s about to collapse to the floor.

“Fuck it I don’t even want them.”

“Never fucking deserved her.” Sukuna whispers, still one fucking step away from ripping this mother fucker’s throat out, but he stops himself, standing up in a blood soaked dress shirt and slacks, sleeves rolled up to reveal much of his tattooed, bloody forearms and knuckles. “I think we’re done here.”

The warehouse door swings open as the five men and the rest of the members of the Kamo and Gojo mob walk out, letting in a rush of cool night air, Sukuna takes a breath of it, looking up at an oddly clear night for this city. He hears the distant sound of sirens, surely all the noise had made someone call.

“Time to get out before the feds come knocking.” He murmurs, as the Zenin mob retreats as well, helping their leader, who can’t even walk, but truly he’s lucky to be fucking alive.

“Coke?” Satoru offers, shaking a baggie, and Toji pulls out a bottle of liquor from the center of the limo, where the cooler sits.

“Drinks?” He suggests, but Suguru is already lighting up a blunt, smoke filling the limo of the five bruised and grinning men.

“Smoke?” He suggests, Sukuna grins then.

“All of ‘em, fuck it.”

*****

“You’re pacing baby.” Your friend murmurs, as she’s mixing up a drink in the eerily quiet club, the men have been gone for hours, and you can’t stand the sickness and anticipation in your tummy. “Sit down hunny, have a drink.”

“I can’t, I feel sick! Ugh. This is because of me.” You say in a panic, pacing back and forth more and more, she shakes her head, touching your shoulder gently. “It is all my fault, I made Sukuna have to do all this!”

“He loves you.” Her quiet words make your heart race, you hug her then, crying against her neck as she shushes you gently. “He adores you, you can just see it, I swear he does.”

“But… it’s like, what have I done to deserve him?”

“You’re pretty amazing too, you know.” You pull back with a tremulous smile, when suddenly the doors open, drawing your attention, and you exhale in relief before more panic sets in.

Sukuna is covered in blood when he walks back in the club, all of them are, your mind frantically tries to take it all in, the five bloodied men walking in, Satoru slides up to the bar, as his girl panics, cupping his face gently. Toji’s downing a shot and grimacing, Choso politely asks if there’s somewhere he can clean up, the girls start doting on him and Suguru.

But all you can see is him.

Sukuna.

The man you love, covered in more blood than all of them, his crimson eyes boring through you across the club, as you step forward, trembling as you get closer, terrified when you see his face is swelling and bruising under one of his eye, cuts all over his handsome face, you swear you can see shards of fucking glass glinting under the strobing lights.

“Sukuna…” He exhales, pulling you in close, as you look on with horror. “I need to get you cleaned up.”

“Yeah, yeah… worrying so much for me huh?” You glare, and he has the audacity to smirk. “I’m fine, brat.”

“You’re not fine. Now.” You drag him into the changing room by one of his crimson stained hands, sitting him right down in a seat, he sighs as he overtakes the tiny little thing with his huge body. “Sit there, let me clean you up.”

“Tch. It’s a scratch or two.”

“Yeah, okay monty python.”

He chuckles then, throwing his head back. “You watched that?”

“Sure I did. Sit still.” You’re dabbing at him now, with a cold wet washcloth, he sucks in a breath when you see it again, a little piece of glass. “How did you get glass in your skin, hmm?”

“Your ex may or may not have hit me with a bottle. Oooh, you look angry. So sexy, fuck.” You smack at his big tattooed hands as he tries to grip your ass.

“He what now!?” You turn and grab the first aid kit, finding antiseptic and tweezers, ready to kill Naoya if he even made it.

“He tried to fight but was failing like a little bitch. Ow!” He whines as you tweeze  out the glass, quickly cleaning the wound that’s bleeding just a bit.

“Don’t be a baby.”

“Cruel, evil woman- ow!”

“Who knew big, bad Sukuna was a baby.”

“I swear to- ah!” You’re cleaning the last of the abrasions on his face up, dabbing at it with a little cotton ball. “You’re enjoying this.”

“I am not. You’re just cute.”

“Psh, I’ll beat your backside. You done?”

“Tell me how much of this is your blood.” He chuckles now, when you lead him over to the sink, rinsing his hands off, scrubbing up the antiseptic to show his knuckles were already scabbing over.

“Most of it is their blood, don’t worry so much.” You sigh, tummy feeling sick, when you’re running a towel along his hands, taking in the damage, only to be spun now, facing the mirror, when his strong, huge body takes you over. Your eyes meet his, seeing the hunger in them, as his still wet hands slip up your skirt, and he leans over you, pressing you into the counter.

“Kuna, you’re hurt. I have to keep checking you- ngh!” Sukuna’s slipped his hand between your thighs now, while his other slides up your breasts, earning your nipples pressing out, until he holds you under your chin.

“Playing nurse is hot and all, brat, but I need more than that.” His husky tone fucks with you, as his adrenaline races through his veins.

“Is he…” You gulp a bit, and Sukuna smirks now.

“Is he dead? Go on, ask it.” You take a shaky breath, whining out when he’s slipping his fingers over your cunt, which is soaking his fingers quickly, your head falling back against his hard chest. “Me killing him get you wet?”

“N-no, you get me wet, psycho man. Answer me.” You grip his wrist, trying to halt his movements so you can focus. “Did you kill him?”

Sukuna sighs, burying his face against your neck. “Wanna see him?”

“What?” Sukuna’s chuckling now, hot against the gentle curve of your neck, pulling you even closer against him.

“He’s not dead, only because… your kid. But he’s not doing so hot.” He leans back now, pulling out his phone, showing you Naoya right there on the screen, so bloody he’s damn near unrecognizable, pressing play on the video.

“Oh my god…” You feel sick as you watch it, Toji holding his head up, as Sukuna videos it.

Go on, say sorry, say you’re so sorry, and how you’re not even good enough to breathe her air.

Sukuna’s chuckle is dark and frightening, even after he watches the video back, Naoya angrily spits, you fear you see a tooth there.

‘I’m sorry, fuck, okay?’

‘Finish the sentence.’

‘Not good enough to breathe your air… shit, I’m sorry, fuck…’

“Holy… you think…” You’re trembling in his hold, as the tears start pouring from your eyes. Sukuna pauses the video before all the carnage of just what happened to the Zenin during that fight shows. “You think it’s over?”

“Yes, baby.” Baby, he calls you baby and it ruins you. He’s cupping your face, turning you to him now, lifting you with ease and sitting you on the counter, your arms wrapping around his neck, breaths coming quicker and quicker. “He won’t touch you again.”

“Kuna…” You slam your lips on his, tears falling mixing with the coppery taste of the blood on his split lip, he pulls you against him, thighs wrapped around his hips, as you endlessly kiss, deeper and deeper. You pull back with a shaky breath, foreheads resting against each other. “But will it be a war?”

“No, they’re not coming for the Kamo and the Gojo family, we negotiated quite a deal with them all. It’s easy to negotiate when you’re losing teeth.” His devilish grin truly scares you.

“You’re psychotic you know.”

“You really haven’t seen shit yet baby.” Soon everyone is pouring in, cleaning up, Satoru is pouting like a baby, Toji is tense, the mood is overall good, but when you’re all drinking in the bar later, you and your friend helping pour them, it seems like they’re all just exhausted too.

“I lied about it being boring.” Satoru murmurs then, holding his girl’s hand carefully across the bar, she frowns in concern, leaning forward.

“It’s not boring?” She asks, and he shakes his head.

“It’s boring and pointless, and fucking stupid. But, for once, I think we did something.” She’s on his side soon, as they kiss, and the hunger they have makes the room heat up, as your eyes meet Sukuna’s knowingly.

“Satoru, why don’t you take her home.” Sukuna suggests. “Before you all just fuck right here.”

“Says you two. I don’t wanna know how many surfaces you’ve hit.” He says with a smirk, earning your gasp and Sukuna’s chuckle.

“We have not hit… many surfaces!?”

“Yet.” The room laughs quietly, and soon you’re all dispersing, you’re resting your head on Sukuna’s shoulder as he drives, it’s not too often that he’s not just taking his limo, but tonight he’s got a big hand on your thigh, pressing against you so warm, while you hug his arm to you. “You okay brat?”

“I can’t believe he was in so deep and… I didn’t know. That he was doing… fuck, trading human beings, and I was oblivious. I left because he kept cheating and was so mean to me, but… it’s hard to swallow.” Sukuna’s quiet as the two of you drive through the night in the dark, lights slowly flashing by and casting shadows across your face as he looks down for a moment.

“He probably just hit it well, it’s not like it’s your fault you didn’t know.”

“But Touma was in danger!”

“And he’s not, now he’s safe.” At the red light, glowing across his tanned skin, still covered in marks, he cups your face, tilting your chin up. “It’s not your fault.”

“How could I have been so stupid? How could I have ever seen anything but…” He cuts you off with a kiss, gentle and sweet, not like the fervent, passionate, or even brutal ones you’re used to. You exhale, leaning into the kiss.

“He had you hating yourself, I saw the end of that.” His heart breaks as he sees your lower lip tremble, his thumb brushing across it as the light turns green, he shifts his gears, driving once more, towards his penthouse - well, yours now too.

“You make me feel so loved now.” Your quiet voice makes him tense, clearing his throat just a bit.

“Ya trying to make me all sappy again, brat?” Normally you’d giggle, but you’re leaning closer, pressing a kiss on his neck.

“I love you.”

“Tch.” You just smile as you cling to him, dozing slightly, so happy he’s finally with you, so thrilled you may never have to worry about Naoya in your life again, all because of him, truly. “Gonna drool on me? If so, better be around my cock, or while I’m fucking you.”

“Kuna!” He’s smirking as you sleepily smack at his shoulder, pulling in to park now, brushing back your messy hair.

“Gonna help me clean up?” He asks softly, soon you all are sending Miwa home for the night, Touma is already fast asleep, and you’re in the shower with Sukun as he sits on the black granite bench, hands washing his smokey pink locks, while he rests his forehead on your chest, thighs spread.

“You have more bruises and cuts than you led me to believe.” You reprimand, he just looks up at you, tired eyes, his sooty lashes dripping with droplets of water, while his huge hands take over your body.

“I’ll always do anything for you.” You expected a joke or a cocky statement, not that, not the pure love and adoration in his voice, making you swallow while you rinse his hair off gently, placing the showerhead back up, entire body aching for him.

“I’ll always do anything for you.” Your murmur in return, straddling him now, knees on slippery marble, he clutches you by your ass as you do, eyes brilliant ruby as the hot spray pounds against both of your skin all over.

“The date. I still want the date.” He says softly, you giggle at it, tilting your head back when his hand drags ever so slowly across one of your breasts, squishing it in his hand as he sighs.

“I want a date too. But maybe you should heal up?”

“I feel great. Good enough for…” He’s dragging your cunt against his cock now, you cry out at the sensation, soaking wet and throbbing always for him, his piercing hits your clit as you grind, making you jerk, sensitive when he’s biting at your lips, his hands sinking into your waist. “Good enough to fuck you so good you drool, baby.”

“Fuck… please, Kuna…” He’s groaning now, reaching around and slipping two fingers deep in your soppy little hole, back arching for more as he does, scissoring them in and out so fast, you’re clinging to him tightly, tongues messy and dripping saliva as they collide.

“Want it?” He taunts, his thick, huge cock throbbing in need for you, but he loves when you’re so needy, desperate, he feels your gummy walls gripping his fingers, watches your eyes roll back, while the water falls in pretty rivulets on your pretty body, and he can’t wait to cum inside you, but not just yet. “You know what to do, brat.”

“Meanie.” You huff so cutely, making him smile, your nails are slick and pressing into his back, when he slips his fingers out now, cock teasing your entrance as he holds you up like it’s nothing.

“Gonna be bratty and not get it then.”

Your thighs shake as his tip enters, pressing inside past that tight ring of muscles, feeling your walls spasm, making him suck back a whine. “Please, Kuna, please let me feel you.”

“Fuck…” Your soft pleading ends him, how can he tease you when he’s dying to thrust inside of you, and that he does, dragging your cunt half way down his veiny length, you’re struggling to take him. “Loosen up, shit baby.”

“C-can’t, you’re t-too - ah!” You’re gasping when he stands, laying you right down on that bench, slipping out of you and shoving two fingers back in, curling them, while he kisses you again.

“Pathetic little pussy, how can she not take me by now?” He whispers, you want to scowl but fail, instead you’re drooling again while he’s curling those fingers inside.

“Too big.” He smirks at that, your eyes narrow for a moment before you’re cumming all down his thick digits, muscles loosening just enough, orgasm washing through your entire body in waves. “Kuna!”

“There she goes, she’s so needy, tsk.” Sukuna picks you up, throwing you like some little doll with his huge arms, until he’s got you against the wall, shoving his cock to the fucking hilt. Your cunt tries to accommodate, gushing down his length, as he moans, feeling his tip against your cervix. “Fuck, feel her. Milking me already?”

“Want all your cum in me, Kuna.” Your whine is shut off with a scream as he slams his curved cock right up inside you again, you’re trying to hold back the noise, but steadily failing.

“Shh, brat.” He’s smirking now, and covering your mouth with two fingers. “I’m so not getting cockblocked. Hush.”

“S-sorry, fuck- ah!” You’re burying your face against his neck, biting his slick hot skin, as his tattooed abdomen flexes, fucking you more firmly against the wall, and the two of you lose yourselves, more and more.

The water pounding, the steam floating, the fragrant smells of the body wash all mixing with the taste of each other, your eyes shut you can just feel him, all his power his strong, huge body holds, as he uses you. And you’re just clinging to him, whimpering, while his tip drags on your spot, while his piercing hits your cervix now, and you can barely hold back.

“Gonna fill you up s’good, brat, gonna fuckin pour me out, huh?” You’re nodding, struggling to focus, head falling back to look into those dilated eyes. “All mine, never going anywhere, are you?” You hear the desperation as he clings, as he fucks into your slick little cunt, and you’re nodding weakly, feeling him take you over.

“Never, going anywhere. Yours.” Sukuna slams into you once more, rolling his hips just so, you’re cumming right with him, his hot gooey load pouring inside your slick, fluttering walls, when he drinks up your kisses, holding you so tight you can scarcely breathe.

“Mine, all mine, aren’t you brat?” You’re nodding weakly, so full of him, his cock just spurting even more deep against you, as he rests his head on yours, struggling to catch his own breath.

“Yours, only yours.” Your desperate kisses slowly ease, as the two of you wash each other, and soon you’re drying up, checking on Touma, who’s still fast asleep in his bed, Sukuna watches as you give him a kiss good night, crossing his arms at the doorway while you tuck him in.

It makes the entire thing worth it all, when you shut the door quietly and he picks you up, you giggle as you cling to him. “Gotta carry you everywhere.”

“You want to! Big strong Kuna.”

“Psh.” He pulls you against him, exhaustion hitting alone with your fingers gently stroking his hair, as he clings to your warm body, so small compared to him yet here he is, holding on to you, to make him feel like only you can.

“Where is this date?” You ask softly, listening to his breathing slow, feeling his tense muscles relax just a bit in your hold, with your soothing touch.

“Fiji.” Your lips part in shock.

“We can’t just go to Fiji!?”

“Why not?” He scowls up at you now, your lips twitch in amusement, earning his deeper glare. “I can take you wherever the fuck I want, you’re mine.”

“I can’t just leave Touma for Fiji!”

“Miwa-”

“No, Kuna, I so am not.”

“You’re bratty.” He’s smacking your ass so hard you yelp, stinging and radiating with his big ass hand rocking through you.

“Shit, ow!” You bite him now, but you just get his cock twitching again, as your teeth sink deep, and he yanks your hair.

“Brat, swear to god you’re asking for it. Where do you want to go then!?”

“Like, dinner?”

“The fuck - all that I did and I get a dinner date? No.”

“Kuna…”

“Don’t you Kuna me, I demand  better date. Gonna have me acting like I’m fucking broke.” You roll your eyes at him, sighing, now rubbing your stinging ass cheek and wincing.

“Dinner somewhere fancy.”

“Satoru bought his date a fucking boat, I need at least a helicopter, or a private plane-”

“So it’s a competition?” You ask, amused while Sukuna leans up on an elbow now, as you burst into a fit of giggles, now on your back, hand stroking his stubbled cheek.

“Of course it’s a fucking competition.” You can’t stop your laughter now, to his anger, just growing at you.

“But they don’t… um…” You take a breath then, getting a little more serious. “I have Touma, he’s part of my life. We can’t be quite so carefree, like Satoru and his girl,  I’m afraid.” Sukuna exhales now, realizing your words.

You love your son so much, and he’s so happy that you do, but sometimes it drives him crazy, he has to always share his favorite person. “I guess we will bring him and Miwa to Fiji then.”

“Shit, you’re serious?” He huffs, pulling your body impossibly close, leaning down over you, lips ghosting over your collarbone.

“That way we still get time alone, but also with him.” You feel your heart fill with so much love it makes you want to burst, he sighs when he sees your eyes, glassy even in the dark of the night, the moonlight filtering in and casting shadows on your pretty face, illuminating those tears. “You cry too much.”

“That’s so sweet, oh my god.” He doesn’t answer, he just keeps pecking kisses, along your neck, and your collarbone, huge hands taking your waist, kissing even lower, to your rising breasts.

“I love you.”

“I know. Shush.” You’re whining out when he kisses down a path to your nipple, already perked up and ready, pulling down the top when the door knocks and he groans, scowling at it.

“Mama! Papa!”

“Come in!” You’re adjusting your shirt, ignoring your boyfriend’s honestly adorable pout as Touma bursts in, running over to the edge of the bed.

“What, kid? Shouldn’t you be sleeping?” He demands, crossing his strong arms over his chest now.

“Sorry, Papa Kuna!” Sukuna grimaces once more at the name, as Touma reaches up his little hands, opening and closing them, he turns over and rests his chin on his hand, raising a brow.

“Is that the name we’re really going with?” Touma is bouncing up and down, you giggle as you watch, rolling over on your side now, a hand on Sukuna’s bare shoulder.

“Can I sleep in your bed Papa Kuna!?”

“God no.”

“But, PapaKuna…” You earn his glare as you rest your chin on his shoulder now, pecking a kiss on his cheek. “He’s so cute though.”

“No sleeping in my bed, kid.” Touma pouts now, lip trembling, making Sukuna falter, he looks just like you, dammit. “Don’t you give me those puppy dog eyes, you learned that from your mom, huh?”

“But your bed, it looks so cool! Please!”

“Go to your bed!”

“I’ll go to sleep with him then.” You go to sit up, and Sukuna rolls his ruby eyes, pressing you back down, his glare even deeper.

“You’re going nowhere.” He sits up now, the sheet falling, revealing his bare, tattooed body, Sukuna looks even more of a huge, huge man when he picks up itty bitty Touma from the floor, unceremoniously plopping him down between you two. “There, just one night, though, got me kid?”

“Yay! Big bed, big bed!” Touma’s smacking a kiss on his cheek, Sukuna’s wiping it off with a disgusted look, then softens as Touma kisses your cheek now. “Mama, I get to sleep in the big bed!”

“You do, it’s super comfy too.” You’re tucking him under the covers now, as he snuggles up, and Sukuna crosses his arms, earning your smile.

“Papa Kuna, lay down.” Your words have Touma laughing, as he reaches his little hand out and tugs Sukuna down towards him, until he reluctantly lays his head on one of the black satin pillows, and Touma hugs him around the neck.

“Who’s clingier, you or the kid?” He looks over Touma’s head at you, you lay down now as well, an arm around Touma, resting on Sukuna’s waist over the soft, weighted blanket.

“It’s a toss up.” You press a kiss on Touma’s head, brushing his hair back to see his adorable face, already content with a smile. “Do you like Papa Kuna better than Mama!?”

“No, but he’s so comfy!”

“Tch. Comfy.”

“He is comfy, huh?” You wink at Sukuna, whose hands are just awkwardly up as the kid snuggles against his chest.

“Your hands are cold, shit!”

“Sorry Papa.” He just hums and snuggles closer, the moment making you fall ever deeper in love, Sukuna’s got his arm around you both then, with an annoyed sigh, the three of you snuggled in the enormous bed. It feels…

Perfect.

“Kid, ya wanna go on a plane ride?” He asks, and Touma yawns, nodding.

“A plane!? Planes are cool!”

“There you go, we’re going to Fiji.” Sukuna smirks, clearly happy he has won, as Touma now turns and cuddles over to you, looking up at you and smiling happily.

“A plane!” He’s so excited, but so tired, precious as you stroke his cheek. “Mama, we'll have fun on a plane.”

“Then I guess we will have to all go, hmm? And bring Miwa?” Your words just excite Touma more, you watch Sukuna’s full lips twitch in amusement.

“Miwa too, it’s going to be so fun. When will we go?” He turns his head to Sukuna, as he snuggles closer, and Sukuna’s hand is gently brushing your hair back off your face.

“What about this weekend?”

“That soon?” You ask softly, as Touma is dozing off, little fingers gripping your pajama top, you rest your chin on his head, eyeing Sukuna now. “We don’t have to go right now, we have all the time in the world.”

“I need… a break.” You see then, how exhausted he really is, and shit, so are you after all of this. “And I want to take my girl out.”

“Your girl.” Your whisper is met with his kiss, he is dying to hold you in his arms, but the little kid in the middle doesn’t bother him honestly, in fact he enjoys watching his face smile in his sleep more than he’d admit, affection flowing for the extension of you. His gaze goes back to you, your lashes lowering, casting shadows against your cheeks. “I like that.”

“Being my girl? Of course you do.” He kisses you once more, relaxing more and eyeing Touma now. “Does he… ever bring him up?”

You tense a bit, shaking your head. “He did a little before, but not since we’ve been with you. He doesn’t really know him. But now he has you, we both do. Papa Kuna.”

“Ugh.” You’re laughing softly as he kisses you again, sweeter. “Only once is he sleeping in my bed.”

“Only once, sure.” Sukuna’s half assed glare just makes you smile, as you stroke his soft pink locks back. “I’m excited for Fiji.”

“You better be. Now, get to sleep.”

“Work tomorrow?”

“Change of position for you.”

*****

One Week Later

“Look at Pookie, she’s a baddie.” Satoru’s husky voice hits you as you’re counting money in Sukuna’s office later that day, legs crossed in a little black business outfit that Sukuna must have custom made, because it’s just too slutty honestly, and fits you far too well. When he’d seen you in it, he’d about lost his mind, the memory makes your cheeks heat up.

“Hey, Satoru.” You smile now, standing up and hugging him, you touch his cheek with a frown, seeing the blooming purple bruise along his cheek. “You okay?”

“I’m good, promise. My girl said I’m hot with this apparently.” You giggle then, shaking your head as he presses a kiss on the backs of your fingers.

“Of course you are, I heard you bought her a boat for a date huh?” He grins, wiggling his brows now, as the two of you walk over to Sukuna’s desk, and you divvy out a huge stack, handing it over.

“Of course I bought a boat, I needed to one up your date, no offense. Ah, thank you for the money, mommy.”

“You’re ridiculous.” You snort in laughter at him, sitting back down, taking out your pen and scribbling information down. “That’s your cut for the most recent run, not that your little rich ass needs any.”

“Hey now, you’re getting mean, don’t let Kuna make you too bratty.”

“What now?” You glare at him as he leans back, lowering his shades, crossing his leg at the ankle. “You’re the only brat here.”

“Meanie!”

“Arguing, huh?” Toji walks in now, winking a dark green eye at you, taking the huge stack from your hands. “Thanks doll.”

“Of course.” You’re scribbling more down now, as Suguru walks in, yawning, and you study the men’s faces, still bruised and cut, making you sigh.

“Hello, love.” Suguru takes the stack as you hand it out, frowning at you. “What’s wrong?”

“I feel you’re all hurt because of me.” You bury your face in your hands now, taking a shaky breath as the men frown, looking at you.

“No, it’s not you, it’s the shit Zenin, okay?” Toji’s hand comes to your shoulder, warm and comforting.

“Still, you’re all beat up.” You lift your head, tears falling when Choso walks in, you’re sniffling as you go to hand him his cut.

“Are you okay?” He asks softly, violet eyes glimmering, as if he feels your emotions. You nod with a tremulous smile.

“We get beat up all the time, part of the job description, sweets.” Satoru tries to ease your worries, but it just doesn’t sink in.

“You’re promoted, look at you.” Choso’s words make you smile a little more firmly, dabbing at your eyes now.

“I am, from now on I’ll be handling all of the money, I actually took accounting believe it or not.”

“A stripper accountant? Hot.” Suguru makes you giggle, when Sukuna walks in, you realize then you’re in a room full of mobsters over six feet tall, all with bruised knuckles and abrasions, and you’re the one holding all their money. There’s some power to it, what Sukuna’s given you, as he eyes all of the men, too close for his comfort.

“She’s not stripping anymore, she can manage the girls and the money.” He strides forward, walking around the desk now, lifting you from the seat to sit in the chair instead, yanking you down on his lap.

“Then why am I wearing office strip clothes?” You tease, he grins, eyeing the amount of cleavage hungrily.

“It’s the uniform, brat.”

“Uh huh! Anyway, they were just trying to make me feel better.” Sukuna’s hand comes to grip your waist, as he eyes the ledger you’ve been filling.

“She thinks it’s her fault, you should make her feel better, Kuna.”

“I swear to god, Satoru.” Satoru’s laughing as he wiggles his fingers in a farewell, and Sukuna’s alone with you now, in the big office he’s basically now set up for you as well, the door clicking quietly, when his thumb swipes a tear on your cheek. “You know how to make me jealous.”

“Oh stop, they were just being sweet.”

“Psh, sweet mobsters, what’s next?”

“You’re the sweetest.”

“That’s it.” You gasp when he’s got you bent over, yanking up the mini skirt that is barely covering your ass, watching it bounce and caressing your ass over the dark fishnets you wear, before smacking the fuck out of it.

“Ah!”

“Calling me sweet, brat? How sweet am I?” He’s smacking your other cheek, stinging so bad, but you feel the wetness drooling against your panties, biting your lower lip to hold back a cry.

“I’m an account manager now, Mr. Sukuna. I’m complaining to HR.” You tease, grinning over your shoulder, he raises one of those brows, leaning over you now, one hand gripping yours over the cool wood of the desk.

“Toji is HR. What’s he gonna say?” You giggle, but it’s cut off when he’s smacking you right between your thighs, exhaling against your neck, and the sweet ache dulls to a throbbing need.

“Toji cannot be HR, maybe Choso. He’s so cute you know- ow!”

“That’s it. I’m breaking out the whip.”

“Kuna!”

“You’re a brat - f-fuck…” He’s trailing off when you’re arching your ass up, pressing against his growing length, eyeing him.

“No one’s as sexy as my Kuna. Papa Kuna.”

“I’m done.” Sukuna pulls open a drawer, you flush when you see it, a little black leather flogger, then you glare.

“Who’d you use that on, Candy?” He grins now, standing tall and pressing you down by the back of your neck.

“Arch your ass up, brat.” His murmur is met with your immediate response, arching for him, despite you running your mouth, you want it. “Jealous of Candy, how can you be? Have you seen yourself?”

“If the whip touched her I swear- mnh!” He taps you with it gently, a low throaty laugh, wrapping his hand around your neck as he gently smacks the other side of your ass cheek, making your tummy clench.

“I like you jealous, it’s sexy… just like this outfit is ending me, look too fucking good in it, brat.”

“You want me all slutty, hmm?”

“Just for me.” His possessive tone sends shivers through you, he’s smacking your cunt lightly, stinging and making you wetter, before he presses the leather against your clit over dripping wet panties, just when the door knocks and he groans out his frustration, your little giggle earns you a sharp bite on your neck. “I’ll finish this later, just wait.”

“I’m terrified, Papa Kuna.” He puts the whip up, adjusting your skirt before he sits back down, pulling you right on his thigh, exhaling at the heat he feels, his arm wrapping around your waist, hand right on your tummy.

“Gonna have you so full of me.” His whisper in your ear has you shivering, biting your lip, he watches with a cocky grin as the knock starts again. “Come on in, then, shit.”

“You’re so friendly, you know.” Toji walks in then, frowning over at Sukuna, and you feel the energy shift.

“What’s wrong?” You ask softly, Toji sighs then.

“I may need some help with something.” You look at Sukuna, nodding and walking away, touching Toji’s shoulder gently, earning his little smile.

“It better be good, just had my girl bent over my desk.” Sukuna leans back, crossing his arms, legs spread, as Toji shuts the door behind him, staring at it for a moment.

“That shot girl…”

“You think she’s hot?”

“She’s… I need to know… about her.” Sukuna snorts a bit then, leaning forward on his hand. “Yeah she’s hot, okay?”

“I didn’t realize I’m running a matchmaking service. I should charge you.” Toji snorts, sitting down across from him now. “Shit you’re serious?”

“Just want info. I helped you  plenty, ya owe me something.”

“Shit, alright, but I swear if you interrupt me fucking again, I’m gonna take you the fuck out.” Toji chuckles, and Sukuna starts wrapping up the rest of the money. “What did you wanna know?”

Later on, as you both are overseeing the club, Sukuna finds you again, with the strobing lights going, the music reverberating through your bodies. There are dancers everywhere, in various stages of undress, cocaine being sold with every fucking shot, this is not ordinary life, but it is your ordinary life now, the hustle of it all, the thrill when his hands are on your waist.

“Toji’s down bad.” He says, and your brows raise in surprise.

“Toji Fushiguro!?”

“Mmhmm. He’s gonna be the next lovesick fool. God, look at Gojo.” You giggle as you see him, cupping his girl’s face, looks so intense they could fill an entire fucking room.

“Let them be happy, you crab.”

“Crab!?”

“Mmhmm. We’re happy. Yeah?” Your pretty smile ends him, as he pictures just everything he wants from you.

A whole fucking life with you.

“Ready for that trip tomorrow?” He asks, hand entwining with yours, turning your chin up as he hugs you from behind.

“I can’t wait, Kuna.”

A/N- Toji's story is up nextttt - preview here. And ofc we will get mob Gojo chap 4 Next (Losing Control Now) Next chap is the last of their storyyy, I've really had fun, ty for those who have loved on this story with me! <3

Taglist #1- @naina326 @1worm1 @yenayaps @shokosbunny @sukubusss @msniks @kittyyyyykats @nyxly1412 @trashsuarecan @dumbbunny98 @monster-effer @tojis-ball-sack @tangsakura @friesnkwtchup @lhhlver @attackonnat @moonchhu @mat-mat-mat @cherryjain17 @havkjhdecs @stargirl-mayaa @the-dark-creature @lulunx @saitamaswifey @spacefae-x @deitysdream @sorahatake @gojoscumslut @stainednailpolishremover @kidd3ath @clp-84 @rinkomei @catastayy @oneirataxiaa @inthedarkshadows000 @travistheaussie @cold-blooded-girls @emi311 @blublublubby @fluttershyfangs @actuallynarii @7thsthings @ilovemeni @erluu @for-hearthand-home @angellliqua @mai-505 @suguru-nugget

[cinnamongrl2006]

˚⊹౨ৎ ₊˚⊹Cowboy!Jason Todd 18+ mdni (because I have @ditzydoe444 brainrot)˚⊹౨ৎ ₊˚⊹

summary: Your brother's best friend Jason Todd takes you out to a bar and you unknowingly hint at the cowboy rule.

a/n: Jason is in his early thirties and reader in her early twenties! Also this is the first time I write smut on here lolz

Cowboy!Jason Todd Who takes you out to the local dive bar, he convinced you it was a much needed outing after a stressful week of final exams. You'd been studying so much, and he'd missed you. He'd missed your hangouts, missed partying with you, missed those jean shorts you wore that made him have to remind himself he was your brother's best friend.

Cowboy!Jason Todd Who spends the entire night by your side, like a guard dog. He tells himself it's only right, your brother would like him to watch over you, protect you. He tells himself that warm feeling in the pit of his stomach is because of the tequila the both of you are currently downing.

Cowboy!Jason Todd Who is a little startled when you stand on your tiptoes to snatch his hat and place it on your head, donning a tipsy smile. Your eyes shine with myrth as you look up at him.

"Do you know what you're doin'?" He leaned down to speak to you, his breath warm against your cheek.

You shrug, laughing lightheartedly.

When Cowboy!Jason Todd informs you of a so called cowboy rule— wear the hat, ride the cowboy— you are quick to comply, partly because you're tipsy, partly because you'd had a crush on Jason since you first saw him at a county fair a couple years back.

❀✿＊❀✿＊❀✿＊❀✿

Cowboy!Jason Todd who has you sat on his lap in the backseat of his car— a beat down ford mustang— legs sprawled over his thick thighs, hands clawing at the hem of his shirt as he grips your ass over your shorts and wants nothing more than to pull them down and get his way.

Cowboy!Jason Todd who is pleasantly surprised when you lean down and kiss him. It starts out soft and slow, but as the both of you build your confidence your kiss grows messy and passionate; hands roam up and down each others' bodies, teeth clash, pull and bite; tongues begin exploring as you lose yourselves in the moment.

Jason lifts you up effortlessly and helps you tug your shorts down your legs. His hands find your ass again and he tugs you closer, pressing your clothed cunt to the zipper of his jeans. You gasp at the friction and he pushes his hips out slightly in response, groaning.

"Fuck," he breathed out "you're killing me darlin'"

"You have no idea how long I've wanted to do this, Jay,"

His hand moves in between your bodies and under your panties, two fingers stop teasingly at your entrance before they push in slowly, curling, fingertips pushing at your gummy walls.

"Thought about this before, sugar?"

You unbuckle his belt and pull at the waistband of his jeans, he pulls them down his thighs. You eye the bulge in his boxers expectantly.

"Maybe." You shrug as you dip your hand under the waistband.

Cowboy!Jason Todd who knows what he's doing is wrong, that he shouldn't be fucking his best friend's little sister, but he can't bring himself to care, not when she's wrapped around him so tightly, being so good for him.

Cowboy!Jason Todd who knows he will do it again.

[jxwl4k]

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ Holding hands .𖥔 ݁ ˖

☘︎ . . . genre. fluff

☘︎ . . . pairings. bakugou x fem!reader

⤿ yn has a habit of holding her friends hands except for bakugou.

⋆˚✿˖° j speaking . . .

- this has been in my drafts since November and I’m only posting it now🥲

-this is inspired by a wonwoo oneshot it’s from tiktok and the author’s name is serenedust_ you can check it out in tiktok, happy reading, my loves! <3

YN had this little habit—one her friends were well aware of. Crowds made her uneasy, and whenever she found herself surrounded by too many people, she’d instinctively reach out, intertwining her fingers with whoever was closest. It was a small, grounding gesture that helped her keep calm.

Her friends had grown used to it over time.

“Ah, the famous YN hand-holding ritual,” Mina teased one day, giving YN’s hand a squeeze. “It’s cute, you know. Like you’re our little comfort buddy.”

YN laughed, a little embarrassed. “I just… feel calmer when I’m holding someone’s hand. I’m weird, huh?”

“Nah, we love it,” Kirishima reassured her with his usual bright grin. “In fact, you’re welcome to cling to me any time, YN. A pro hero should be able to help out with stuff like that, right?”

Mina nodded enthusiastically. “Totally! Besides, it’s not weird if it’s helping you feel better.”

YN was grateful for their support. She knew they didn’t mind her habit, and that only made her more comfortable reaching for their hands whenever she needed it. But there was one person she’d never tried holding hands with—Bakugou.

It wasn’t that she didn’t want to. If she was honest with herself, she sometimes thought about it, imagining how it might feel to intertwine her fingers with his. But Bakugou was… well, Bakugou. He wasn’t exactly the “gentle touch” type, and she figured he’d probably find it annoying or weird if she reached for him in that way. So she always avoided touching him, keeping her hands to herself when he was around.

One day, as they sat together for lunch, Mina brought it up, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Hey, YN, have you noticed that you never reach for Bakugou’s hand?”

YN nearly choked on her drink. “W-What? I—uh…”

Kirishima chuckled, leaning in. “She’s got a point, you know. You hold our hands all the time, but not Bakugou’s. Are you scared of him?”

“Scared?!” YN stammered, her cheeks heating up. “I’m not scared of him! I just… I don’t think he’d like it, that’s all.”

Mina gave her a knowing look. “Oh, really? Because Bakugou here doesn’t seem like the type to get flustered over something as small as holding hands.”

“Shut up, Pinky,” Bakugou growled, though he didn’t deny it. His gaze shifted, and he avoided looking directly at YN.

YN could feel her face burning, but she quickly changed the subject, laughing it off. “Anyway! It’s not a big deal. I’m fine with holding your hands. It’s just… different.”

But her friends’ teasing lingered in her mind, making her hyper-aware of Bakugou’s presence. She had no idea that Bakugou, on the other hand, had been noticing her habit all along. He’d seen her reach for Mina’s hand, loop her arm with Kirishima’s, and each time, he felt an uncomfortable pang of jealousy. Why wouldn’t she reach out to him? Did she think he wasn’t as dependable as the others?

As much as he tried to brush it off, it bothered him more than he’d admit.

During UA’s annual festival, the crowded grounds buzzed with excitement. Class 1-A had been helping with setting up booths, and the noise and energy around them were overwhelming. YN could feel her nerves kicking in as they made their way through the busy festival.

“Whoa, it’s packed,” Kirishima said, glancing around.

“Tell me about it,” YN mumbled, trying to keep her breathing steady.

Sensing her discomfort, Mina grabbed YN’s hand, giving it a comforting squeeze. “Hey, remember we’re all here if you need us.”

YN nodded, grateful. They continued walking, and as the crowd around them grew denser, she instinctively reached out to grab another hand. Her fingers slipped through someone else’s, feeling warm and steady—until she looked up and realized whose hand she was holding.

Bakugou.

Her heart jumped, and she immediately tried to pull her hand back, stammering, “I-I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to—”

But Bakugou’s grip tightened, refusing to let go. His expression was calm, almost unreadable, but his gaze was intense as he looked down at her.

“Quit squirming,” he muttered. “If it helps you feel safe, just… keep holding it.”

YN stared up at him, her cheeks turning a deep shade of red. “B-But I didn’t think you’d want to…”

“What, you think I didn’t notice?” he interrupted, voice a little rougher, though he wouldn’t meet her eyes. “You’re always holding their hands, but never mine. You think I’d mind?”

Behind them, Mina and Kirishima exchanged wide-eyed glances, grinning like they’d just witnessed the world’s biggest revelation. Mina’s voice echoed in a teasing whisper, “Ohhh, looks like someone’s finally holding Bakugou’s hand…”

YN was mortified, but Bakugou simply glared at their friends. “Mind your own business.”

They continued through the festival, YN’s hand still tightly wrapped in Bakugou’s. The warmth of his grip was both unfamiliar and comforting, and she could feel her anxiety melting away. For once, the noise of the crowd didn’t seem so overwhelming.

She glanced up at him, offering a small, grateful smile. “Thank you, Bakugou.”

“Whatever,” he mumbled, though his cheeks had the faintest hint of a blush. “Just don’t let go all of a sudden.”

Mina nudged Kirishima and whispered, “Think they’ll let go after this?”

Kirishima laughed quietly, giving her a playful nudge back. “Not a chance. I think we’ll be seeing a lot more of this.”

As YN walked with Bakugou, hand in hand, she realized she didn’t mind the teasing. In fact, she didn’t want to let go at all. And judging by the way Bakugou’s grip stayed firm and steady, he felt the same way.

Years into their careers as pro heroes, YN and Bakugou had seen more than their fair share of action and chaos. Tonight, however, was one of those rare, peaceful evenings, where the two of them could finally unwind together. They’d just finished a mission, and now they sat sprawled on Bakugou’s couch, swapping war stories over takeout.

As they relaxed, a comfortable silence settled between them until YN, lost in thought, let out a small laugh.

“What’s so funny?” Bakugou grumbled, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh, nothing,” YN said, shaking her head with a smirk. “Just… I was thinking about that festival back at UA.”

Bakugou squinted suspiciously. “Which one?”

“The one where I, uh… accidentally grabbed your hand.”

Bakugou’s face turned pink, but he quickly masked it with an annoyed scowl. “Accidentally, huh? Keep tellin’ yourself that.”

“Oh, come on, it was!” YN protested, laughing as she nudged his shoulder. “I thought you were Kirishima! But then I looked up and realized it was you, and I was mortified. I was ready to disappear right there.”

Bakugou snorted. “Yeah, I noticed. Thought you’d drop dead from embarrassment.”

“Hey! You didn’t help by tightening your grip, you know!” YN shot back, giving him a playful glare. “You practically crushed my hand! What was that about?”

Bakugou shrugged, feigning indifference. “Thought you needed the support, or whatever. You looked like you were about to pass out.”

YN giggled, shaking her head. “Sure, sure, big tough hero just wanted to help.”

Bakugou cleared his throat, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, well… I was waitin’ for you to do it all damn year, you know. You’d grab everyone else’s hand like it was nothing, and when it was me, suddenly you couldn’t even look at me.”

YN blinked, surprised. “Wait, you… actually wanted me to hold your hand?”

“Tch,” he muttered, crossing his arms. “Why do you think I always stood next to you in crowded places? Wasn’t a coincidence, idiot.”

Her laughter softened into a warm smile. “So all this time… you were jealous?”

Bakugou shot her a glare, cheeks bright red. “I wouldn’t call it jealousy.”

“What would you call it, then?” YN asked, smirking mischievously.

“A strategic maneuver,” he said, nose in the air. “If you got anxious, it was only logical that I’d be the one to handle it.”

YN snickered. “Right, because nothing says ‘tough guy’ like hoping someone will hold your hand.”

“Oi!” Bakugou growled, though his expression softened into an uncharacteristic smile. “You’re lucky I let you grab it at all.”

“Lucky, huh?” YN teased, leaning into his shoulder. “Well, in that case, I guess I’m lucky you’re still holding it.”

Bakugou’s fingers intertwined with hers, his grip firm but gentle. “Yeah, yeah. Don’t go getting sappy on me now.”

YN rolled her eyes but didn’t let go, letting the warmth of his hand remind her of that day at the festival���the beginning of something she hadn’t realized they both wanted.

And for the rest of the evening, every time she tried to pull her hand away, Bakugou would grumble, tightening his grip and muttering, “Strategic maneuver, remember?”

YN only laughed, realizing that some things really never change.

[brawberryz]

⎯⎯ Blind Love

⎯⎯ Jason Todd × Blind! Reader

Note: English is not my first language/ inspired by the manga Veil

TW / None,i just a little drabble

Snow fell in torrents through the city streets.

The snow painted the streets a white color, giving life to this dead city.

Your footsteps echoed through the cold city streets like a small tinkling sound.

You stood out among all the citizens, having such a charming yet simple style.

Your cane tapped the ground as you walked slowly down the street.

You were supposed to get to your new apartment, but you were lost, and being blind wasn't much help either.

Maybe you should have asked for a guide, but you wanted to be independent.

You grew up your whole life in a very overprotective family because of your disability, which bothered you.

They treated you like you were made of glass, as if you were going to break at some point.

You were tired of so much overprotection, so you decided to move to a new place.

But apparently you overreacted and ended up moving not only to another city but also to another country.

You were so confident in yourself. You didn't even notice you were lost, and someone like you on the streets of Gotham wasn't the best idea.

You were so distracted by your thoughts that your cane collided with someone's foot, causing you to stop dead in your tracks when you heard a small sound of pain as your cane hit the stranger.

"Ah! Excuse me..."

You said embarrassedly, apparently you ended up colliding with a stranger who was sitting on a bench.

It was only your first day here and you'd already messed up. You apologized several times without letting the stranger speak.

"I'm really sorry, I didn't hurt you, right?"

A small, awkward silence formed between the two of you until the stranger deigned to speak first.

"Don't worry, I've taken worse hits."

He said ironically. You just nodded, still embarrassed, but you could feel the man getting up and you could feel his imposing figure in front of you.

It's not that he's shorter, it's just that he was too tall.

"Wow, you're really tall!" You said without thinking about your words. You were someone who tended to say things without thinking, and that sometimes got you into trouble. "Sorry, I didn't mean it like that."

"No, calm down, it's okay."

Jason noticed from your nod. You weren't from this place. It was easy to spot someone new when they'd spent their entire life in this city.

"Hey, do you know this place?"

You asked suddenly, handing her a small piece of paper with all the information she needed written down, but they seemed to have forgotten that you were blind.

"Oh yeah, sure."

Jason took the paper as he read it, but all he could think about was how a person could stay with their eyes closed for so long.

Those doubts, though, were answered after seeing the cane and how you couldn't read something as simple as this paper.

Noticing that so late made him feel like an idiot.

"You should go straight and then turn left. On your right, you'll find your destination."

He said, trying to be as clear as possible. You just nodded happily and then took out your cane again.

"Thank you so much for the help!"

You said before returning with your slow steps. Something in him told him he should follow you and keep you safe.

You were new to Gotham, and your blindness made you easy prey for criminals.

Besides, he was a hero, or a good antihero, but he still had a desire for justice and to protect others, and he couldn't let someone like you walk the streets of Gotham.

"Careful, there's a staircase there!"

He yelled at you from afar when he saw you about to step on a step wrong. You just turned your head and nodded with a small laugh.

"I know, you shouldn't worry."

Your steps were slow but refined as you climbed the stairs. Something in Jason's chest burned every time he sensed something dangerous for you.

He had only met you a few minutes, but he already felt strange.

What the hell was happening to him?

"Are you sure? Is there no one to accompany you, or are you alone?"

He asked curiously, and you just nodded, not paying much attention.

You didn't need anyone's protection. You'd spent your whole life being overprotected, and you didn't need anyone else to worry about you.

"You shouldn't worry. Besides, let me warn you, following me won't get you to Wonderland."

Jason just arched at your sudden comment.

"Do I look like Alice to you?"

You could only let out a small laugh at the man's question.

"Well, maybe a little, but don't be offended, it's my favorite story!"

'She laughed...' That was the only thing Jason could think when he heard your laugh.

"Well, maybe you're right," he said as he approached you. "I almost fell into a hole today. It was an open sewer, and I almost fell in because I was too distracted."

"Ah..." You nodded, surprised but a little curious about the man's story. "Oh! Right, I haven't introduced myself. I'm (Name)!"

You felt like an idiot now. You'd spent a few minutes talking to the man, but you weren't even able to ask his name or introduce yourself properly, where were your manners!

"(Name)..." He said, repeating your name as if he were tasting it in his mouth. "You can call me Jason, Jason Todd."

"Nice name," you said, about to say something, but you were hesitant. You didn't know if you should ask him for help or not. But this was your only chance. "Sorry for asking, but do you know any places where we could get tea?"

After walking all over the city, your thirst and appetite had grown, and you thought a good cup of tea would solve everything.

"Uh, well, I know a place. But it's a bit far from here-"

"Really!"

You interrupted him before he could finish his sentence. He just nodded.

"I don't want to sound annoying, but..." You swallowed before continuing. "Could you take me to that place? I'm new around here, and you know...um."

Jason quickly understood the point. He knew you didn't want to seem useless, but he knew you needed help now.

"Yeah, sure. I hope you don't get bored with my company, though. I'm not one for words."

You shook your head in amusement.

"I don't think so. Your company can't be worse than walking down the street alone."

An inaudible laugh escaped Jason's lips. You were a very direct person.

But now that he had you closer, he noticed something. He felt like he'd seen your face somewhere.

And apparently he was right. You looked like one of those models. He saw your face for the first time when he was patrolling as usual.

Your presence was plastered all over that huge billboard that could easily light up an entire street.

Apparently, you were famous, since he'd seen your face on many posters and magazines, but he decided not to ask and kept his curiosity to himself.

"Could you give me your arm?"

"Uh-"

Before he could say anything, you answered.

"I wouldn't want to hit someone with my cane again, so you could be my guide and my eyes?"

"Oh, of course,"

He said, embarrassed, finally understanding what you meant.

You wrapped your hand around his arm and pressed against him. A small blush appeared on Jason's cheeks.

It was just the cold, right?

The blush didn't mean anything. He was just cold, or was that what he wanted to think?

Anyone who saw the two of you would think you were some kind of married couple.

"Now you'll check for any holes, right?"

You said with a small chuckle, reminding him of that incident he'd told you about.

"Of course, I'll try not to be so distracted this time."

You nodded at his comment.

Jason guided you through the snowy streets, slow steps following you as you could feel the cold breeze hitting your face.

You felt happy because after a long time, you had met someone; besides, he seemed like a nice person.

Maybe leaving home and being independent wasn't so bad.

Because if you hadn't, you would never have met him.

And he would never have met someone like you.

Maybe the two of you meeting was a coincidence or a piece of fate.

Or maybe the two of you were meant to be.

I think you should stop overthinking things. If you keep doing this, you'll most likely get some kind of headache.

The important thing is to live in the future.

And stop looking at the past

Jason is so Aleksander Code

Maybe I'll do a part 2 if I'm not too lazy

[pandapetals]

sunlight & sawdust

chapter seven: hyacinths & hacksaws

previous chapter | next chapter

summary: For two years, Joel Miller has done nothing but scowl at you from across the room, barely tolerating your warmth, your kindness, and your ever-present sunshine. And for two years, you’ve told yourself his gruffness doesn’t bother you—that his clipped words and cold stares don’t matter.But then, out of nowhere, he offers to fix the damaged floor in your flower shop.For free.Suddenly, the man who could barely stand to look at you is showing up every day, fixing things that don’t need fixing, sharing quiet lunches, and—most shocking of all—getting along with Ellie, your daughter, who has never warmed up to anyone as quickly as she has to him.

pairing: joel miller x fem!single mom reader - no outbreak/au

content warnings: slight reader description, no y/n used, grumpy joel, grumpy x sunshine trope, ellie is reader's daughter, reader is a single mom, tommy being a meddler, reader is friends with tommy, au setting in Austin, joel is a carpenter, reader owns a flower shop, fluff, angst and eventual smut, joel is bad at feelings, sarah mentioned

a/n: divider by @saradika-graphics. There is some angst in this chapter. Also, thank you all for the support and love. It means so much.

Update: There were only going to be 11 chapters, but now there will be 12. I like even numbers and decided to add a chapter while also rewriting the next one, so the update may take longer. Trust me, the angst won't last long, and smut will be happening.

Monday. Joel hadn’t been looking forward to the day since he’d left the flower shop on Saturday evening.

Or at least—that’s what he’d been telling himself.

Now, nearing lunchtime, he was almost done with the floor. The final boards were in place, everything sanded smooth, looking damn good if he said so himself.

Which meant today was probably his last day here.

The thought should’ve brought him relief.

He wouldn’t have to keep showing up. Wouldn’t have to keep feeling that ridiculous pull toward you. He wouldn’t have to keep catching himself watching—the way you laughed with customers, the way your fingers skimmed delicately over petals, the way you always ensured Ellie had everything she needed before thinking of yourself.

Wouldn’t have to keep feeling like some part of him wanted to be here.

And yet.

His mind spiraled, reaching for any excuse to keep showing up.

So, as usual, when you insisted he take a break for lunch, Joel sat on the stool by the counter, eating the sandwich you’d made him, and quietly started scoping out the shop.

There had to be something else that needed fixing.

He was a handyman. He could fix anything, and then—there. His gaze landed on the back door, the way it didn’t quite sit right in its frame, slightly uneven.

Bingo.

"Y’know, this door’s got a bit of a lean to it," Joel mused, chewing thoughtfully before nodding toward it. "Probably swells in the summer, right? Sticks a little when you try to open it?"

You paused from where you were cleaning up, glancing over your shoulder at the door before narrowing your eyes at him.

"Maybe a little," you admitted hesitantly.

Joel nodded like he had already made up his mind. "I’ll fix it for you. Ain’t a big deal."

You sighed, shaking your head as you leaned against the counter, crossing your arms. "Joel, you’ve already done enough. I can’t let you keep fixing everything for free."

"Ain’t about money."

"Then what’s it about?" you challenged, tilting your head.

Joel didn’t have an answer for that. At least, not one he was willing to say out loud.

Instead, he just shrugged, taking another bite of his sandwich. "I like keepin’ busy."

You let out a soft laugh, shaking your head. "Yeah, I bet you do." Then, after a beat, your smile faltered slightly, curiosity flickering in your eyes."Don’t you have, like, a real job? Pretty sure Tommy’s tired of covering for you."

Joel paused mid-bite, chewing a little slower before swallowing. He wiped his hands on a napkin, taking his time as if thinking about how to answer. Then, he stood, stretching his arms above his head, muscles flexing slightly beneath his flannel.

"I do." His voice was casual, gruff. "But Tommy won’t mind. He owes me, anyway."

You raised a brow. "For what?"

Joel smirked, shaking his head. "Long list, sweetheart."

Your lips parted slightly, the nickname catching you off guard, but you pushed it away, rolling your eyes. "You just won’t take no for an answer, will you?"

Joel smirked. "Nope."

You exhaled through your nose, muttering something under your breath before finally throwing your hands up in surrender.

"Fine. Do whatever you want, Miller."

Joel bit back a victorious grin. That should buy him at least another day.

But you weren’t stupid. Joel could see how you watched him like you were trying to figure him out. 

After Joel finished up the last of the flooring, he should’ve been done. Should’ve packed up his tools, dusted off his hands, and left.

Instead, he found himself noticing other things.

The back door didn’t sit right in its frame, the cabinet hinge behind the counter was loose, and the flickering light in the storage room needed replacing.

He made a mental list, adding more and more to it—grasping at any excuse to keep coming back.

So, when he finally stood, wiping his hands on his jeans, he told you about them.

"That back door swells in the summer—oughta get it shaved down. The cabinet hinge in the back is about to come loose. And that light in storage? It could be a wiring issue."

You just stared at him, expression unreadable, before exhaling through your nose. "Joel," you said softly. There was something in your tone—something careful that made his stomach tighten. "It’s really sweet of you to list off all sorts of things wrong with my shop—"

"No, I ain’t mean it like that, honey."

Your lips parted slightly, and Joel could see it—when your breath hitched, and the endearment made your heart stutter, even if you didn’t want it to.

Instead of softening, you tilted your head, eyes searching his face.

"I meant I could fix it for you," Joel clarified, shifting his weight, suddenly feeling too exposed. And that’s when you really stared at him like you were trying to solve a puzzle.

"Why?"

Joel frowned. "What?"

"Why are you suddenly being nice to me?" Your voice was even, but there was something beneath it. Something close to hurt. "For two years, all you did was glare at me and grunt whenever I spoke. Now you’re fixing my shop for free? Eating lunch with me and Ellie? Acting like—" 

You hesitated. "Like you actually care."

Joel stiffened. He should’ve had an answer. Should’ve been able to shrug it off, crack a joke, something. Instead, his mouth opened—and the wrong damn thing came out.

"I didn’t like how you were always so goddamn kind."

The second the words left his lips, he regretted them.

You blinked. Once. Twice. 

"You didn’t like that I was kind?" You said the words slowly like they didn’t make sense—like you were trying to process and fit them into some reality where they could make sense.

But they didn’t. They never would.

"I—" Joel started, voice rough, but you were already shaking your head, arms crossing tightly over your chest like you were holding yourself together.

"You didn’t like that I was kind?" you repeated, quieter this time, but there was nothing soft about it. "That’s what bothered you?"

Joel’s jaw tensed. "That ain’t—"

"No, I get it now."

The way you said it—it wasn’t some quiet revelation, it wasn’t soft understanding. It was sharp, edged with something that dug under his skin.

Your voice wavered slightly, but you masked it with another shake of your head. "You couldn’t stand me because I was kind? Because I was trying to be good to you?"

Joel flinched.

"Because it made you feel something, didn’t it?"

He didn’t answer. He couldn’t because you were right.

Maybe that was what made something in you snap.

"You—" You let out a short, breathless laugh with no humor. "Do you even remember the shit you’ve said to me, Joel?"

His stomach twisted. Because yes, he remembered.

Every glare. Every cold shoulder. Every muttered, irritated, "You never quit, do you?" when you tried to be nice to him. Every time, he made you feel like you were too much for existing the way you did.

"Do you remember telling Tommy I was ‘too damn cheerful’ and you didn’t know how he put up with me?"

Joel swallowed hard, his throat tight.

"Or how about the time I offered you coffee, and you looked me dead in the eyes and said, ‘I don’t want anything from you’?"

Fuck.

"You spent years making it clear you didn’t want me around. You hated how nice I was, right? But now—" You gestured wildly between the two of you. "Now, all of a sudden, you care?"

Your voice cracked on the last word, and Joel felt it.

Because you weren’t just confused; you weren’t just angry. You were hurt.

And that did something to him—something worse than guilt or regret.

"I ain’t—" His voice was hoarse, useless. He scrubbed a hand over his face, trying to find the words and fix them.

But there was no fixing this.

"You should go, Joel."

It wasn’t a request.

It was final.

You turned away from him, shoulders stiff, refusing to look at him, refusing to let him see the way your hands trembled slightly at your sides.

Joel stood there for a long moment, his body locked in place, his heart pounding with something too big, too loud, too late.

Then, finally, with a heavy exhale, he walked out.

taglist: @hermionelove, @niceforcum, @ashhlsstuff, @doeeyestoji, @12thatsanumber, @cherrygirl19, @thottiewinemom, @ladynightingale, @doodlebob-mp3, @alitaar, @starwarskawaii, hduuc56, @naniiiii12, @possiblyafangirl, @alienjoel, @leesromanova, @kungfucapslock

[norrisainz33]

baby blue || cs55

☆ summary: carlos sainz is married to famous pop star y/n who has been connected to the f1 world for years having been a mercedes ambassador and good friends with lewis hamilton. after a video of y/n and lewis surfaces, y/n shares some big news with the spanish driver.

☆ pairing: carlos sainz x famous!wife!reader x lewis hamilton

☆ fc & warnings: rihanna! a little angsty, mentions of pregnancy, translated spanish

☆ requested: yes! thanks for this idea and for your patience. had to add in some written parts to this to tell the story! hope you enjoy xxoo

masterlist

ﾟ. ✿ ୨❤︎୧⠀✿ . ﾟ

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ynuser: 📍 bahrain

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user1: pink is your color

dualipa: real! miss u my sweet gorgeous girl

user33: you just gonna post like we didnt see the video from the paddock

user18: no for realllll like girl be soooo for real

user1: nah nah nah you guys need to but out you know nothing!! they're just friends. we dont need to scrutinize everything they do

tatemcrae: my icon fr

user2: ynlewis supremacy

user8: seems like shes a ynlewis truther herself bsed on that video

user3: lewishamilton come get your girl

user4: more like carlossainz55 come get your girl yikes

[comments on this post have been limited]

✿

staring down at your phone you watched as the video played over and over each replay making your stomach twist a little more. you cursed yourself for not remembering where you were before having your very public breakdown in front of lewis at ferrari hospitality. what was supposed to be a quick visit to tell lewis (one of your closest friends) that red suited him and say a quick hello to alexandra had spiraled into something entirely different. one moment you were complimenting him and the next you were sobbing in his arms. of course, the media caught every second of it and in true fashion they plastered the video everywhere. the rumors started flying almost immediately with the world convinced you and lewis were more than just friends as they have been for years.

but here's how the conversation really went:

"hi lewis!! god that red is doing wonders for you right now," you smiled as you took in the sight of your best friend decked out in ferrari gear.

"thanks, y/n/n. i think so too," he grinned - his confidence and happiness clear.

"you ready to hop in that car and show everyone you’ve still got it grandpa?"

"absolutely. you know better than anyone how much i want to make this work." his voice was full of sincerity and something about the way he said it made your chest tighten and tears started welling up in your eyes.

"oh no, don't cry on me now…" he said his hand gently brushing at your cheek.

you laughed but it was shaky as the tears fully spilled down your face. "sorry, sorry… i just - i'm so excited for you, and i miss danny and checo," you rambled suddenly feeling overwhelmed. he gave you a confused look not exactly sure where all of this was coming form.

"something tells me there's more to this, y/n/n," he said his tone shifting as he took a step closer.

without thinking, you blurted it out. "i’m pregnant."

lewis froze for a split second before pulling you into a tight hug, letting you cry into his shoulder. the kind of cry that left you feeling both raw and relieved at the same time.

"hey, hey— the cameras are loving this," alexandra’s voice suddenly broke through and she frantically pushed both of you toward the ferrari hospitality area her tone full of urgency.

as she led the way you couldn’t help but feel the weight of everything.... the unexpected turn your life had taken and the way the world was watching every moment unfold and it was too late to take it all back now.

✿

ynuser has posted a story

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user1: wow a rare carlos sighting on a story.. awk timing after that vid....

carlossainz55: wow posting me? surprised its not lewis.

ynuser: carlos don't start please. you know its not like that

carlossainz55: then why was it lewis holding you while you were crying and not me? and why won’t you even tell me what happened?

ynuser: i did tell you. it’s just been so overwhelming lately especially with the pressure from my label to release new music. on top of that i haven’t been feeling great which makes everything harder. you literally held my hair while i threw up all night. come on carlos please.

carlossainz55: mi amor you know I’ve had a hard time with your relationship with lewis. and now that he’s taken my seat… it just gets harder to see him in ferrari red while comforting my wife. it’s hard not to feel jealous!

ynuser: i’m really sorry carlos. i can’t even imagine how that feels. focus on your last practice session and get the data you need. we can talk properly when you’re back at the hotel ok?

carlossainz55: fine but you’ll explain everything word for word right?

ynuser: of course. now go -- i see on tv that the power’s back on

carlossainz55: yeah yeah ill go. i love you -- even when im upset

ynuser: i love you too. always

user33: damage control?

alexandrasaintmleux: love you pretty girl. please let me know if you need anything both charlie and i are here for you too

ynuser: i love you more alex 🤍 thank you for always supporting me. oh and for noticing the cameras before they got too much

alexandrasaintmleux: thats what friends are for. please please please keep me updated

user10: i just know everyone's tearing u up in these replies so im here to say i love and support you bb

lewishamilton: did you tell him yet?

ynuser: considering you’re both at the same testing... no I haven’t

lewishamilton: oh don't give me that. you could have told him last night!!

ynuser: yeah well i was scared!!

lewishamilton: sweetheart, the faster you rip off the bandaid the faster he (and everyone else) stops getting the complete wrong idea

ynuser: i know i know i know!!!!!! easier said than done here lewis.

lewishamilton: he tried to approach me this morning and i was able to avoid it but if he comes to me and starts asking what is up... i'm not going to lie

ynuser: alright message received. him and i agreed to talk everything out tonight.

lewishamilton: good.

user11: idc abt this man release new music pls im begging its been ages

schecoperez: mi amiga what in the world is going on?

ynuser: too much honestly... i'll call you bc BOY do i have a lot to share and ALSO i miss you SO MUCH

schecoperez: will be impatiently waiting :)

user44: tbh idc abt f1.. id rather see pics of u. free my queen from this nonsense sport!!!!

✿

you flopped back onto the giant hotel bed letting out a big sigh. alex and lily had just left after giving you the pep talk of a lifetime and dropping off the cake. if it wasn't for them and all the effort they’d put into running around bahrain to find someone who could make you this cake, you probably would’ve chickened out of telling carlos altogether. it wasn’t something either of you had planned for yet. you’d only gotten married a few months ago and between carlos switching to a new team and the insane pressure your label had been piling on you, it felt like the wrong time to be having a baby. hence, your breakdown in the paddock with lewis. but like alex and lily said everything happens for a reason and maybe this was just the moment it was meant to happen, no matter how daunting it all felt.

you quickly sat up when you heard carlos fumbling with the door to the hotel room and immediately, tears started to well up. you tried to hold them back but they came rushing down as soon as carlos stepped through the door. his brow furrowed when he saw you crying on the bed.

"mi amor..." he sighed setting his things down on the couch and shrugging off his williams jacket. "what’s going on with you?" he asked gently kneeling in front of you and placing his hands on your bare knees.

you were fully sobbing now desperately wiping away the tears as he watched you in silence. "i just... i..." you tried to speak but the words got tangled up in your sobs making it harder to get them out.

"cariño take a deep breath," he said softly taking your hand in his and giving it a firm squeeze. you obeyed and took slow, deep breaths, trying to calm yourself down. which wasn’t easy these days with all the changes your body was going through. eventually you shook your head not being able to calm yourself enough and pointed toward the box on the table hoping he would understand. carlos’ eyes followed your finger and he stood up walking over to the table. "y/n, what is...?" he stopped mid-sentence struck silent as he stared down at the contents of the box—a small cake with 'we’re having a baby' written on it and a pregnancy test sitting next to it.

you kept focusing on your breathing summoning the courage to look at your husband who stood completely still. in the endless seconds it took for him to react - guilt, panic, and despair began to settle in. "i’m sorry, carlos, i know this is a horrible time. i should’ve told you earlier, we should’ve talked about this first, and i just—i’m sorry this—"

"stop, y/n," he interrupted, his voice thick with emotion. you couldn’t tell if the tears in his eyes were good or bad. but then in the blink of an eye, his face softened and his expression lightened up. "don’t apologize for this, my love." he picked up the test and glanced back at you. "this is real?"

"yes," you whispered.

he dropped the test moving swiftly toward you and pulling you into a tight embrace. "we’re going to have a baby chili," he mumbled into your neck holding you like he never wanted to let go. and with that all of your worries melted away.

✿

ynuser has posted to their private story

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lando: what u posting close ups of food for

ynuser: you’ll find out when you’re older

lando: tf that supposed to mean

ynuser: means you can’t keep a secret to save your life

lando: a man accidentally includes a photo from a wedding in 1!!!! photo dump and he can’t ever come back from it

ynuser: exactly

lando: 🤨

lilymhe: THE CAKE HAS BEEN EATEN???

ynuser: it has!!!!!! and everything is ok

lilymhe: i’m so relieved

carlossainz55: the best cake i’ve ever had 🤍

ynuser: i'm really quite glad you think so

carlossainz55: of course gorgeous. i am so excited that we get to be parents

ynuser: i'm so happy that you're happy

carlossainz55: over the moon actually. i already called the florist and local bakery near casa de mi familia to get everything sorted for when we tell them in a couple weeks. i also sent you room service and some special deliveries so if you hear a loud knock on the door this morning, just know its from me

ynuser: carlos 😭😭😭😭

carlossainz55: i also may or may not have already slipped and told teto..........

ynuser: I THOUGHT WE WERE TELLING HIM AND GIGI AT DINNER ONCE YOU OFFICIALLY FINISHED TESTNG

carlosainz55: ....... i mean that was the plan originally but we were cycling this morning and he could tell something was up and well i couldnt lie!! i swore him to secrecy it is ok

ynuser: i'm making my lawyers send him an nda

carlossainz55: LOL

ynuser: i'm serious

carlossainz55: oh... well in that case… whatever makes you feel best my love!!!

alexandrasaintmleux: details mon ange

ynuser: he finally got back after testing and i completely broke down into tears bc of course i did—im a mess with these hormones. he immediately was worried ofc and was like “mi amor, what’s wrong?” but I couldn’t even stop crying long enough to explain. so i just pointed at the cake box instead and then be opened it, stared at it for what felt like an eternity… honestly, it was probably 8 million years and then HE started crying. which just made me cry even more. but honestly after we got everything out it felt like really good. he was beyond excited like already talking about the little one and brainstorming names and looking up where to buy baby clothes in spain and already planning how to tell his family and mine

alexandrasaintmleux: 🥹😭 see!! it was all ok!!! i’m so so so glad he was excited. i knew he would be!! he wanted so badly to be dad

lewishamilton: so?

ynuser: i told him

lewishamilton: thank god!! now i can assume uncle duties without getting my face bashed in

ynuser: you’re so dramatic

yourbff: i’m so happy for you guys 😭

ynuser: thank you sweetheart 😘

dualipa: assuming i’m missing context here

ynuser: i’ll face time you baby girl

carlossainz55 has posted to his story

[sharing the joy with our family ☀️💙]

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anasainzvdec: mi hermano i am so excited for you. i can't wait to be an auntie 🤍

carlossainz55: i love you ana! you will be the world's best aunt

user2: PINON!!!!!!

carlossainzoficial: ¡tal vez la mayor alegría que hayas podido compartir con nosotros! [perhaps the greatest joy you could have shared with us!]

carlossainz55: me alegro. no puedo esperar a que seas abuelo, papá. [i am glad. i can't wait for you to be a grandfather, dad]

carlossainzoficial: estoy muy orgulloso del hombre en el que te has convertido y de la vida que has construido con y/n. [i'm so proud of the man you have become and the life you have built with y/n]

carlossainz55: ¡no me hagas llorar papá! [don't make me cry dad]

user4: sharing joy??? with your family..... what does this mean?

lando: google translating this as we speak

lando: and what joy are you sharing and why are you not also sharing it with me?

carlossainz55: i will be on sunday muppet. you are coming to dinner at my house no?

lando: oh heck yeah ill be there

user18: what an interesting wording you have here mr.sainz - what are you talking about?

ynuser: petition to bring pinon with us everywhere

carlossainz55: jajaaj i don't know that she would like that

ynuser: 😭😭😭😭😭 fair ig. tho i think a baby and a puppy would be a perfect pair......

user55: the world is healing youre back with pinon

alexandrasaintmleux: EEEEEEK!!!!!! y/n filled me in on how it went. truly so excited for you. i can't wait for the big dinner party where you're telling all of us 🤍

carlossainz55: i am very much looking forward to this weekend. we'll see you soon mi amiga

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carlossainz55: spent the weekend celebrating the news with some of my favorite people. you are so loved already baby chili. you're mommy, daddy and loads of aunties and uncles can't wait to meet you so very soon 💙🌶️

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user55: crying my eyes out rn you have no idea

ynuser: thankful for you, our baby boy, and the amazing people we have supporting us 🤍

carlossainz55: even more thankful for you for giving me the greatest gift i could have ever asked for my beautiful wife

user85: may a love like this find me expeditiously

user1: well…. a baby wasn’t on my bingo card

lando: dibs on teaching baby chili how to drive

charlesleclerc: i already called dibs

georgerussell63: no i believe i did

carlossainz55: frankly, i dont trust any of you to teach him

charlesleclerc: WOW

user4: congratulations 😭 i'm seething with jealousy 😭

alex_albon: can't wait to be the favorite uncle

lilymhe: with me as the favorite aunt

alexandrasaintmleux: um hello? i'm going to be the favorite aunt

lando: FALSE I AM THE FAVORITE AUNT

ynuser: guys please lets not fight

user23: carlando having their own pic at the end is sending me. classic carlando behavior

user13: man this vroom vroom got my girl and now they’re having a baby? smh

lewishamilton: congratulations you two! overjoyed to see two of my favorite people becoming parents ❤️

carlossainz55: thank you 💙

user88: tea

user56: so many of the drivers being at their baby shower has me in genuine shambles im not ok this grid baby is going to be so loved

ﾟ. ✿ ୨❤︎୧⠀✿ . ﾟ

a/n: phew this took me forever... hope you enjoy!! likes and reblogs appreciated as always ❤️‍🔥

ﾟ. ✿ ୨❤︎୧⠀✿ . ﾟ

disclaimer: pictures are not mine and everything i write is fiction

© norrisainz33 || please do not rewrite, translate, or copy any of my works posted here on to any other platform

[dior-luxury]

A Love Worth Fighting For

Background Information: You have been the boys' crush ever since middle school. So, when they suddenly hear about you being in a relationship, they feel an urgent need to win you back and save you from your toxic boyfriend.

( ✧ ) ────── boyfriend stories . fluff/drama - she/her .

- [𝐜𝐡.] ace . deuce . jack . epel . sebek

- [𝐩:𝐬] jealousy . some talk of physical fighting

Note: This piece has no joke, been sitting in my drafts since 2022 😭. So I thought I would re-vamp it, so it can see the light of day

Ace Trappola

Ace had always been a tease, a troublemaker, the kind of guy who’d steal the last piece of your lunch just to get a reaction out of you. But underneath the jokes and smug grins, there was something real—something unspoken between you two.

Which was why when you introduced your new boyfriend, Ace felt his stomach drop like a rock sinking into an abyss.

This guy? Some pompous, possessive jerk who acted like he owned you? Ace saw it immediately—the way he stood too close, the way his arm never left your waist like a leash, the way his eyes flashed with irritation every time you so much as laughed with another guy. It made Ace’s blood boil.

At first, he tried to play it cool. “Oh, so this is the lucky dude, huh?” he said, smirking, but his voice lacked its usual playfulness. “You sure you’re not just keeping him around ‘cause you lost a bet?”

You rolled your eyes, laughing him off, but Ace knew. He saw the hesitation in your smile.

And then the incidents started piling up.

He caught your boyfriend tightening his grip on your wrist when you tried to pull away. Ace had been ready to deck him right then and there if you hadn’t given him a pleading look. Then there was the time he overheard your boyfriend snapping at you for talking to him—Ace, of all people, who had been your friend since forever.

That was when the urgency hit him like a train. He had to get you out.

The next time he found you alone, he cornered you, grabbing your hand with more gentleness than he knew he was capable of. “Oi,” he murmured, his voice unusually serious. “Tell me the truth. You happy with that guy?”

You hesitated. It was all the answer he needed.

His grip tightened. “I swear, if he’s messing with you—hurting you—I don’t care what it takes, I’ll get you out. Even if I have to be the bad guy in your eyes.”

His heart pounded. He was ready to throw away everything—his pride, his dignity—just to make sure you never had to look that hesitant ever again.

Because Ace Trappola didn’t just lose. And he sure as hell wasn’t going to lose you.

Deuce Spade

Deuce had always been the kind of guy who charged in headfirst, fists clenched, heart blazing with conviction. But when he saw you with him, for the first time, he froze.

He wanted to be happy for you. He really did. But something in his gut twisted when he saw the way your boyfriend spoke to you, belittled you in front of others, grabbed your arm a little too hard.

Deuce wasn’t the sharpest when it came to emotions, but he knew what this was. It was wrong.

He tried to brush it off at first, thinking maybe he was overreacting. Maybe he was just jealous. He had always cared about you—more than he ever admitted out loud. But then he saw the way you flinched at your boyfriend’s harsh words. The way you forced a smile when you said everything was fine.

And Deuce saw red.

The next time he found you alone, his hands clenched at his sides. “Listen,” he said, voice trembling with restrained anger, “I don’t know what’s going on, but… you don’t have to stay with him. You know that, right?”

You looked away, swallowing hard. “Deuce, it’s not that simple—”

“Yes, it is!” His voice came out louder than he meant, but he couldn’t help it. He had been a delinquent once, but he swore to turn over a new leaf—to be someone worthy of standing by your side. And yet, here he was, watching you suffer because he hadn’t stepped up sooner.

He took a deep breath, then softer, more desperate: “I promised myself I’d protect you. Even if you think I’m being stupid, even if you hate me for interfering, I—” His throat tightened. “I can’t just watch this happen.”

He met your gaze, willing you to understand. “If you ever need a way out, I’ll be there. Just say the word, and I’ll take you away from him. I don’t care what it takes.”

Because he wasn’t going to let you disappear into someone else’s shadow. Not when he had finally realized—too late—how much he wanted to be the one standing by your side.

Jack Howl

Jack had always respected your choices. He wasn’t one to interfere in your life, and he certainly wasn’t the type to get jealous.

But something about your new boyfriend didn’t sit right with him.

He didn’t like how the guy talked over you. He didn’t like how he always pulled you away from your friends. And he especially didn’t like the way your scent was constantly laced with stress and fear whenever he was around.

Jack tried to ignore it at first, but when he saw your boyfriend grab you roughly by the arm in the hall one day, a low growl rumbled in his chest before he even realized it.

Before he knew it, he had yanked the guy off you, slamming him against the wall with a snarl.

"You don’t touch her like that." Jack’s voice was cold, deadly serious.

Your boyfriend scoffed, rubbing his shoulder. "The hell’s your problem, mutt?"

Jack didn’t care what he called him. His only concern was you.

He turned to you, his ears twitching as he noted the slight tremble in your stance. His golden eyes softened. "Come on. You’re leaving. With me."

You hesitated, your eyes darting between the two of them. "Jack, I…"

"Don’t." His tail flicked sharply. "Don’t defend him. Don’t make excuses for him." His voice lowered, almost pleading. "I know you. And I know this isn’t what you want."

Your lips parted, but no words came out. Jack took that as confirmation.

Without another glance at your boyfriend, Jack stepped beside you, lowering his head. "Let’s go."

You wavered for only a moment before finally nodding. And that was all Jack needed.

As you walked away with him, Jack made a silent promise to himself.

He should’ve told you how he felt sooner. But it wasn’t too late.

Not yet.

He wouldn’t let you go again. Not now, not ever.

Epel Felmier

Epel never really thought about romance much. He figured if he ever got a girlfriend, it’d be simple—he’d just find someone who liked him for who he was, not some delicate image others forced on him. But you… you were different. You saw him for him, not as some pretty boy, not as someone who needed fixing. You laughed at his stubbornness but never made fun of him for it. You supported him.

And somehow, without him realizing it, you had become important to him.

That’s why it felt like a slap to the face when he found out you were dating someone else.

His first reaction? "Tch. Whatever." He played it cool, pretending it didn’t bother him, even laughing it off when his dormmates teased him about it. "She can date whoever she wants, ain't my business."

But then… he started noticing things.

The way you pulled away from your friends more. The way you barely smiled anymore. The way you flinched at sudden noises.

And the final straw? When he caught a glimpse of your boyfriend grabbing your arm too tightly near the Hall of Mirrors, his voice low and filled with venom as he said something Epel couldn’t hear. But he did see the way your expression went blank, like you were forcing yourself to stay still.

Something in him snapped.

The next time he saw you alone, he stormed up to you, grabbing your hand without thinking. "We need to talk."

"Epel, I—"

"Don’t even try lyin’ to me. I know somethin’ ain't right." His voice was sharp, but there was an undeniable softness underneath. "That guy—he ain’t treatin’ you right, is he?"

You hesitated.

That was all the confirmation he needed.

Epel let out a frustrated huff, running a hand through his hair before stepping closer, his grip tightening slightly. "Listen. I ain’t some prince, and I ain’t got fancy words, but I know one thing—I’d never let you look as miserable as he does."

He exhaled, lowering his voice. "You deserve better. And… I want to be that for you."

His ears burned red, but he didn’t let go of your hand. "So, what do ya say? Wanna ditch that loser and come with me instead?"

Sebek Zigvolt

Sebek prided himself on discipline. He was not one to let trivial things distract him, especially emotions. But you? You were one of the rare exceptions.

He respected you. Looked up to you, even. You had earned his admiration, something few humans ever did.

That’s why, when he found out you were in a relationship, it was… frustrating. He couldn’t understand why it bothered him so much, but he convinced himself it was fine. If this was your choice, then he would respect it.

But then… he started seeing him.

Your boyfriend.

Sebek didn’t like him from the start. There was something about him that rubbed him the wrong way—the way he carried himself, the way he talked down to you as if he owned you.

At first, Sebek told himself it wasn’t his business. He had no right to interfere in your personal affairs.

Then, he saw your boyfriend yelling at you one day, gripping your wrist too tightly. And that was it.

He marched over without hesitation, standing tall, his voice booming. "UNHAND HER AT ONCE, YOU INSOLENT WORM!"

The force of his voice startled your boyfriend enough that he let go of your wrist, stumbling back. Sebek placed himself in front of you like a shield, green eyes burning with fury.

"You—who do you think you are—"

"WHO DO I THINK I AM?" Sebek scoffed, stepping forward, towering over the man. "I AM SEBEK ZIGVOLT, LOYAL SERVANT OF MALLEUS DRACONIA, AND I WILL NOT STAND IDLY BY WHILE A COWARD LAYS HIS HANDS ON SOMEONE AS PRECIOUS AS HER!"

Your boyfriend paled. Sebek took another step, his voice low and dangerous. "You are not worthy of even speaking her name, let alone holding any claim over her."

Your boyfriend stuttered, clearly realizing he had no chance of winning this. With one final glare, Sebek turned his back to him, grabbing your hand.

"Come. You are leaving with me."

"Sebek, I—"

He turned to you, his voice softening ever so slightly. "You do not need to endure this any longer. I swore to protect you, and I will keep that promise—whether you ask for it or not."

His grip on your hand tightened just a little. "And if you allow it… I would like to stand by your side, not just as your protector… but as the one who cherishes you as you deserve."

His face was red, his jaw tight, but he didn’t waver. He wouldn’t let you go back to that man.

Not when he was right here, willing to give you the world.

[siri-ike]

He's gone! And his mouth is full of glass! This must be how B and Alfred felt every time Dick pulled this shit.

Dick ran through the hallways, but there wasn't so much as a hint. This must be how he broke in to begin with. Some kind of disappearing act. Swiftly through the corridors, he lept until suddenly he was pulled into a room.

"Tim, what's-"

Tim simply pointed at his desk computer where the security feed from the nursery was playing. The baby lay in its crib, wiggling a little but not upset. In the room was a chair. In the chair was a teen sized figure. Based on the height, it could be either Damian or Danny, and there is no way Damian would be in there.

Danny sat with his elbows on his knees, back slouched and hands fidgeting. His head moved somewhat. Like he was talking.

"Do you have sound?" Tim wasn't supposed to have access at all in his bedroom. He's not even supposed to have a computer in here. Not since the incident.

Tim looked behind them to make sure the door was closed before unplugging the earbuds.

"- better off without me. I'm sure they'll take good care of you. You'll be fed, and warm... and you'll always have someone."

The baby kicked in the air and mumbled despite having its own fist in its mouth.

"I can't, please just trust me. I know what I'm doing."

Nightwing leaned in closer. "Somethings not right."

"I do care. That's why I'm doing this. You'll never be safe if I stay."

"Mmmbrrrprprp"

"I'm sure Mr Wayne will do that if you ask. Or Nightwing, he seemed pretty eager."

"Prfrrfp"

"Respite? First off, where did you even learn that word? And second, I did. I ate, I bathed, I read an astronomy book. Can you believe in that whole library there was only one old space book?"

"There aren't any old space books in the library." Tim recounted.

"It was really high up and dusty." Dick explained.

"Have you ever known Alfred to let an inch of this place get dusty?"

On the screen, Danny stood up and got closer to the crib. And Nightwing realized what was wrong.

"It's not your fault. None of this is your fault. It's Vlads." Danny picked up the baby. It was about the size of his torso.

"Tim, do you see anything off?" Maybe he was just misremembering things. "We estimated she was around 3 months old before, based on size. But look."

The baby mumbled at Danny.

"One, that's it. After that, I expect you to cooperate with your new family."

"Blrrrrlt"

Danny grimaced. He doesn't need to take that from a baby.

He drew a deep breath. "Crack," his voice was soft and sweet. "Oh, the pressure- rusting chains on a perfect tower." He sang in a gentle lullaby like tone. "Crash -" He stepped away from the crib and lay his head on the babys. "Oh, another - fix the fallen 'fore it gets you." He held his hand out and made little balls of ectoblasm that floated in the air. "Spinning orbs with a perfect beat, precious little memories. But if one shatters, a catastrophe. The child of the clocks hears it instantly." He let the balls dimm and rise with his voice. "The timekeepers work will never, ever stop. Repairing the fractures of the past." She reached out to one of the balls. She touched it, and it floated slowly away. "Tormented by the pressure to mend it back together, but the pieces all break in their grasp."

"Tim, find an image of that baby from earlier today."

"So their heart keeps on bleeding for the eeeendless dream, restore the little laughs. But the work never ends, no its never meant to mend. This broke heartbeat forever lasts."

Tim pulled up a recording from the dining room. In the image of Danny feeding the baby, it was clear. She was a lot bigger now.

Danny walked the baby over to the balcony.

"Strike. From the hand on the one. As time goes on, we go back and forth. Why? Keep exhausting myself. Just to alter a past that's unchangeable. Spinning orbs with a perfect beat, precious little memories." He opened the glass doors. "And they've all shattered its a tragedy. Child of the clocks fix it instantly." He stepped outside.

"Keep watching." Nightwing rushed out.

"So lock yourself in your grand masterpiece with the winding, twirling memories. Blow out the candles, choke out the lights." The ectoplasm in the room disappeared in an instant. "Let the smoke consume your teary eyes. Lose yourself to the busy monster. He eats your intuition. Forget the stolen smiles. Go chain yourself to your own ambition." He held the child with one hand and placed the other on the banister, looking out into the yard. Still, his voice was soft and lull. "You've tried, and you've tried, but oh, we both know." He looked straight down to the ground. "You've lost your own self, and you have no control." His face was unseen by the camera. But Tim could hear he was stifling back tears. "Grass couldn't grow out from under your feet, little rabbit in a hurry, too helpless, too weak. But you're desperate to escape. You're scared of the ghost."

Danny looked back for a moment. It was enough for Tim to catch the puffiness in his eyes.

"But you'll sacrifice yourself to keep one thing whole. But you'll heal, and you'll heal what doesn't exist. Now it's all dead and gone. We're not heeeeroes." He held her head to his chest in a protective form. "We're kids."

Tim checked the hallway cameras. Nightwing was almost there.

"The timekeepers work will never, ever stop. Repairing the fractures of the past. Tormented by the pressure to mend it back together, but the pieces all break in their grasp." He took the baby back to the crib. "So their heart keeps on bleeding for the eeeendless dream, restore the little laughs." He placed her down, and she slept soundly. "But the work never ends, no its never meant to mend. This broke heartbeat forever lasts."

Nightwing opened the door and ran in. The noise woke the baby who started crying. But no one else was there. Nightwing picked her up and bounced her gently. "I'm sorry. Were you sleeping?" Despite the cool breeze wafting in through the wide open balcony door, she was warm to the touch. He checked behind the door and in the closet. Nightwing steeled his nerves and held her head close to his chest so she wouldn't have to see. He inched closer until he was right at the banister. They're on the third floor, 44 feet to the ground. Survival from this height is unlikely. He looked over the edge and-

Nothing.

He's not there. Nightwing finally let himself breathe again. He was so relieved that even the crying couldn't keep his heart rate up. He closed the door and sat down with her. She tore at his suit, and in her furious mouth, Nightwing could spot little glimpses if white on her upper gum. He reached over to a drawer full of cloth diapers and handed her one. Chewing on it quieted her down a bit. He put his hand to his ear. "Did you see where he went?" He was quiet for a moment. "Must be how he got in to begin with." He stood up. "She's definitely bigger, I can see a few teeth."

She.

It's a girl.

His clone is a girl. His baby is a girl.

Nightwing looked over his shoulder at the sound of a sniffle. He placed her back into the crib and walked away from where she sat and gnawed on her rag. He stepped out and listened close to the door.

On the camera, Danny finally reappeared, sitting with his legs folded beneath him in front of the crib. He reached through the bars and placed a hand on the side of her face. She followed it until she was lying down again. Danny stood up and looked at the ceiling above the chair. It was subtle, but that was definitely a camera. Before he left, he only had one thing to say.

"Diya, it's a star in the Fornax system."

After the Nasty Burger incident, Danny went to live with Vlad under the promise that he would change. And he did, for all of two months before Danny discovered a secret basement full of clones. All except one of them were unstable.

Thoroughly betrayed, Danny takes the one stable clone and puts the rest of them out of their misery. Then he heads to Gotham where the local billionaire has a habit of taking in black hair blued eyed orphans. Fight fire with fire right? Or in this case money with money.

[loafysainz]

STOP STEALING | LN 4

lando norris!dad x fem!reader!mom

no warn

happy reading!!!

Lando Norris was a lot of things—an F1 driver, a McLaren superstar, a grown man who played way too much golf—but above all else, he was the clingiest husband on the planet.

Unfortunately for him, ever since they had two adorable little monsters named Noah and Leo, Lando had dropped from First Priority to Third Place in Y/N’s heart. And he was absolutely not okay with that.

So, as usual, the war between Father and Sons continued.

It started at breakfast.

Y/N was sitting at the dining table, feeding Leo tiny bites of his pancake while Noah sat beside them, swinging his little legs and rambling about the dinosaur book he was reading. Lando was right across from them, sulking dramatically, watching his wife and kids like a sad puppy.

Y/N, of course, didn’t even notice her husband’s suffering.

“Mamaaa, more pancakeee,” Leo mumbled, blinking up at her with big, sleepy eyes.

“Awww, my baby is still sleepy, huh?” Y/N cooed, ruffling his soft curls before bringing another bite to his mouth. “Here you go, bub.”

Lando gasped. Out loud.

“Oh? So he gets fed, but I don’t?”

Y/N finally looked up, raising an amused brow. “You have hands, babe.”

Lando placed a hand over his heart, looking absolutely wounded. “I can’t believe this. Betrayed by my own wife.”

Noah giggled, chewing on his pancake. “Daddy, you’re not a baby. You can eat by yourself.”

“But I wanna be a baby,” Lando shot back, pouting.

Noah made a face. “But you’re old.”

Lando dramatically clutched the air. “I’m Y/N’s baby, actually. Right, babe?”

Y/N snorted. “You were my baby. Then we had actual babies.”

Lando gasped again. “So that’s it, huh? Used and discarded. Thrown away like an old toy.” He wiped an imaginary tear.

Noah laughed, and Leo, still chewing, tilted his head. “Mamaaa, Daddy cryin’?”

Y/N leaned over and kissed Leo’s forehead. “No, bubba, he’s just being dramatic.”

Lando narrowed his eyes. “You love them more than me.”

Y/N smirked. “Obviously.”

“WHAT—”

“Daddy, share Mama,” Noah said, giggling.

Lando scowled playfully. “You share Mama.”

“Nooo, she’s my mama!” Noah argued, wrapping his little arms around Y/N’s waist protectively.

Leo, not understanding but wanting to be included, immediately clung to Y/N’s other side, glaring at his dad. “Mineee!”

Lando gaped at them. “EXCUSE ME. That’s MY wife.”

“OUR Mama,” Noah corrected.

“MY wife,” Lando argued.

“Mamaaa, tell Daddy stop,” Leo whined.

“Tell them to stop taking my wife!” Lando shot back, crossing his arms. “She was mine first!”

Y/N, now laughing, leaned into her giggling sons. “Sorry, babe. Looks like I’ve been stolen.”

Lando huffed, narrowing his eyes at his children. “You two little thieves.”

Noah stuck his tongue out. “Hmph! We win.”

Lando grumbled under his breath, stabbing his pancake with unnecessary aggression. “I’m calling the police.”

Y/N rolled her eyes. “For what?”

“To report two tiny criminals who stole my wife.”

Noah and Leo giggled uncontrollably.

But Lando wasn’t done.

If they were going to steal Y/N, then he was going to steal her back.

***

Later that afternoon, Y/N was sitting on the couch with both Noah and Leo snuggled up beside her. Leo was sleepily sucking his thumb, curled up on her lap like a little kitten, while Noah rested his head against her shoulder, humming quietly as she ran her fingers through his hair.

Lando stood by the doorway, watching with pure, unfiltered jealousy.

No room for him. Again.

Enough was enough.

With a determined look, he marched over, squeezed himself onto the couch, and shoved Noah aside—gently, of course, but enough to make space.

“Daddy!” Noah whined.

“Shhh. I’m taking my wife back.”

Lando wrapped his arms around Y/N and dramatically buried his face in her shoulder. “I miss you.”

Y/N, amused, simply ran her fingers through his curls. “I was literally with you all morning.”

“Not enough.” Lando lifted his head, glaring at the two small humans beside her. “They hogged you.”

Noah pouted. “Mama is ours.”

“No, she’s MINE,” Lando corrected, tightening his grip around Y/N like an overgrown koala.

Leo, still sleepy, mumbled, “Daddy…no fight Mama…”

“I’m not fighting Mama, I’m fighting you two,” Lando muttered.

Y/N laughed, wrapping an arm around her overly clingy husband. “Aww, my poor baby.”

Lando peeked up. “Am I your baby again?”

“Always,” she assured, placing a kiss on his forehead.

Lando smirked victoriously at Noah. “Ha. Told you.”

Noah huffed. “Hmph. Mamaaa, don’t kiss him.”

“I’ll kiss Daddy if I want to,” Y/N teased, pressing another kiss to Lando’s cheek.

Lando grinned like a little kid. “Heard that, Noah? Mama wants to kiss me.”

Noah made a face. “EW.”

Leo, still sleepy but watching everything, suddenly declared, “Mama kiss Leo too.”

Y/N cooed, immediately showering kisses on Leo’s chubby cheeks. “Of course, my love.”

Leo giggled, satisfied.

Noah gasped. “ME TOO, MAMA.”

Y/N laughed and kissed Noah too, making him giggle and hide his face in her shirt.

Lando watched in horror. “Wait, what about me?!”

Y/N smirked. “You already got yours.”

Lando gasped dramatically. “But I need MORE.”

Noah smirked. “Daddy, you said we were stealing Mama, but you are the clingiest.”

Lando blinked.

Noah grinned.

Y/N burst into laughter.

Leo, still sleepy but wanting to participate, softly mumbled, “Daddy lose.”

Lando groaned, slumping against Y/N. “I hate it here.”

Y/N kissed his cheek again, making him perk up instantly. “Better?”

“Hmm. Maybe one more.”

Y/N laughed but obliged, pressing another soft kiss to his lips.

Noah and Leo groaned in unison. “EWWWW.”

Lando smirked at his sons. “Heh. MY wife.”

And with that, the war for Y/N’s attention continued.

Lando may have lost some battles, but he would never surrender.

END

[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

[mechncheese]

You have draw Bluestreak a total of two (2) times which for me is enough to ask: Do you have any hcs for him? Is he going to be in your au?

Funnily enough, Bluestreak is one of my more niche favs but mostly because of the HCs I've made up for him in my head BAHAHA What can I say? I love background characters and expanding upon them !

He's around in my AU as well ! This ask has been sitting in my inbox for a while and I wanted to get out my list of Autobots sorted before I answered it, so sorray !

As for what he's like in the AU I kept his Yapper Personality, him being a talker to cope with the pain of it all </3 He's a little tragic to me

I won't get too into it but here are some other HCs from my AU

Ik this is a common one and one that might be mildly annoying but he gets mistaken for Prowl sometimes and he has debated on changing some of his frame to differentiate himself more but ultimately decided against it.

He's so homesick, he misses everything all of the time and the only thing he can do is talk to distract himself from the fact that if he lets his mind wander too much he will get sad </3 he has a fear of being left alone.

Bluestreak does this thing where he smiles or laughs out of a nervous habit during inappropriate times and sometimes it unnerves others because how could you be laughing during a time like this but he can't help it.

Bluestreak doesn't take himself seriously and often brushes off his problems with humor. First Aid tells him that maybe he should consider coming to him for therapy.

This has nothing to do with my HCs but anon I hope you know I am in the top 0.1% of Bluestreak fans and my goal is to spread my love for niche characters

[jungwnies]

f1 grid (1/2) | pranking the parents

୨ৎ : featuring : max verstappen, lewis hamilton, george russell, carlos sainz, charles leclerc (click here for part two) ୨ৎ : synopsis (requested by 🫐) : when you prank your boyfriend’s mom or sister, he plays along a little too well...will they take your side?

୨ৎ : genre : comedy ୨ৎ : word count : 1208

୨ৎ masterlist ୨ৎ

ᡣ𐭩 a/n : im running out of pics to use for the banner omfg

ʚ・max verstappen

spending time with max and his sister, victoria, was always entertaining.

the three of you were lounging in the verstappen living room, a race playing faintly in the background while max scrolled through his phone, feet kicked up on the coffee table.

you stretched dramatically, looking over at him. “babe, can you grab me some water from the kitchen?”

max didn’t even glance up, completely deadpan as he muttered—

“do i look like your assistant?”

silence.

you barely had time to process what happened next.

victoria’s head snapped toward max so fast, you swore she almost gave herself whiplash.

her eyebrows shot up, pure disbelief etched across her face.

“max, what the hell? be nice.”

max, still committed to the bit, shrugged. “what? she can walk.”

victoria’s expression darkened.

and before max could react, a pillow came flying across the room, smacking him directly in the face.

you gasped, quickly covering your mouth to hold back laughter.

max blinked, stunned, the pillow still resting in his lap. “did you just—”

victoria crossed her arms, unimpressed. “go help her before i make you regret it.”

max groaned, dragging himself off the couch like it was the biggest inconvenience of his life. “fine. but i want it on record that i was forced.”

you smirked as he trudged toward the kitchen, victoria shaking her head in pure disappointment.

“you put up with that?” she asked, exasperated.

you grinned. “eh, he’s useful sometimes.”

from the kitchen, max’s voice rang out. “i heard that.”

ʚ・lewis hamilton

family dinners with the hamiltons were always a warm affair, good food, laughter, and anthony hamilton’s unmatched ability to tell stories that had everyone hooked.

you nudged lewis gently. “babe, can you grab me a drink from the fridge?”

without missing a beat, he shrugged lazily, not even looking up from his plate.

“you have legs, don't you?”

the table fell silent.

lewis barely registered the shift in energy before his dad, anthony hamilton himself, slowly turned to him.

“lewis carl davidson hamilton.”

lewis froze mid-bite. oh, no.

anthony placed his fork down with a deliberate slowness that made the whole moment so much worse.

“what did you just say to y/n? ‘she has legs?’ well, so do you, be a gentleman!”

your hand was clamped over your mouth, trying so hard not to laugh.

lewis, already feeling the heat, looked around for an escape route. “dad, it’s a joke—”

anthony didn’t let him finish.

“no, what’s a joke is me raising a son who forgets his manners.”

at that moment, lewis knew he had lost.

sighing dramatically, he pushed back his chair, already getting up. “alright, alright, i’m going!”

anthony nodded approvingly, taking a sip of his drink. “that’s more like it.”

as lewis disappeared into the kitchen, you exchanged a knowing glance with his dad, who simply smirked.

“give him a hard time, yeah?” anthony murmured, and you grinned.

“oh, always.”

ʚ・george russell

you reached for the sugar but stopped just short, looking at george. “babe, can you pass me the sugar?”

george barely glanced up from his tea, a smirk creeping onto his lips.

“what, are your hands broken?”

silence.

dramatic, suffocating, judgmental silence.

then—a sharp gasp.

“george william russell!”

george physically flinched.

his mother had set her teacup down with force, staring at him like he had just committed high treason against the british monarchy.

he looked between you and his mum, instantly regretting everything.

“mum, it’s not that serious,” he tried, hands slightly raised in defense.

alison placed a hand over her chest, shaking her head in pure disappointment.

“it is very serious. where did i go wrong with you?”

you were seconds away from losing it, biting the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing.

finally, you cracked, giggling as you waved your hands in surrender.

“it’s a prank!” you admitted, barely able to get the words out.

george sighed in relief, running a hand through his hair. “bloody hell, you nearly got me disowned.”

alison, however, was unfazed, lifting her tea to her lips as she shook her head.

“y/n, you could do so much better.”

george nearly spilled his tea.

“mu—are you serious?!”

you grinned, winking at alison.

“maybe.”

ʚ・carlos sainz

reyes sainz effortlessly kept everyone in check without even raising her voice.

which is exactly why you knew this prank would be perfect.

the family was gathered around the table, laughter and conversation flowing easily as you reached for your glass.

you turned to carlos, your voice sweet. “cariño, can you grab me a napkin?”

carlos, not even looking up from his plate, shrugged.

���get it yourself.”

silence.

instant. deafening. silence.

you felt the temperature drop by ten degrees as carlos’ mother, reyes, slowly set down her fork.

then, in the calmest, most dangerous voice, she said—

“perdón?” (excuse me?)

carlos finally looked up, suddenly very aware that the entire table was staring at him.

you could feel the panic radiating off him as he quickly backtracked, already regretting every life choice that led him to this moment.

reyes’ gaze remained sharp, assessing.

then, with the slightest tilt of her head, she said—

“carlos, go get it before i do something you’ll regret.”

carlos shot up so fast, his chair nearly tipped over as he rushed to the napkin holder.

you lost it, laughter spilling out as the entire table erupted in amusement.

reyes simply shook her head, taking a sip of her wine. “you two are ridiculous, but, y/n, if he ever speaks to you like that again, you tell me.”

carlos, returning defeated, dropped the napkin in front of you with a glare.

you grinned, leaning in. “what's it like getting scolded by your mother, amor?”

ʚ・charles leclerc

spending time with charles and his brothers, arthur and lorenzo, was always entertaining.

three leclerc men in one room meant a mix of teasing, bickering, and an unspoken rule that charles could never win an argument.

which is why you knew this prank would be gold.

“oh, charles, can you grab my sunglasses from the car?”

charles, casually sipping his espresso, waved a hand dismissively.

“that's far, get it yourself”

silence.

dead. serious. silence.

arthur whipped his head around so fast, you thought he might get whiplash.

“charles. that’s not how you talk to your girlfriend.”

lorenzo, who had been calmly eating his meal, set his fork down with purpose.

“apologize. immediately.”

charles’ expression shifted from smug to terrified in under two seconds.

his green eyes darted between his brothers, realization dawning that he was outnumbered, outgunned, and completely screwed.

“guys, relax, it’s not that—”

arthur leaned forward, voice dead serious. “no. apologize.”

you pressed your lips together, trying not to laugh, but the way charles was visibly sweating was making it so much harder.

finally, you cracked, bursting into laughter.

arthur and lorenzo turned to you, confused, as you giggled uncontrollably.

“it’s a prank,” you admitted, wiping away a tear.

arthur sat back, sighing dramatically. “i was about to throw my fork at you, charles.”

lorenzo took another sip of his drink, completely unfazed. “the threat still stands.”

charles muttered something under his breath as he begrudgingly got up to fetch your sunglasses.

you smirked, watching him walk away. “i love this family.”

2021-2025 © jungwnies | All rights reserved. Do not repost, plagiarize, or translate

[jazzy11scorpio]

Adult Content

Summary: Pedro Pascal. Backstage. Some hot stuff happened. That's pretty much it. You get the idea.

Pairing: Reader / Pedro Pascal

Tags ⚠️: Adult Content, MDNI, backstage hookup, quickie, dirty talk, oral sex ( m/f rec), unprotected sex, rough sex, riding, PinV, cream pie, fluff, SMUT.

Word count: 1k

The backstage of Jimmy Kimmel Live! buzzed with a nervous energy, a stark contrast to Pedro's usually relaxed behavior. Tonight, though, was different. He paced his dressing room, running a hand through his already tousled hair, a slight frown creasing his brow.

"I don't know," he muttered, adjusting the collar of his shirt for what seemed like the tenth time. "I feel…off. Like I'm going to say something stupid."

You smiled, moving to stand in front of him, your hands resting gently on his arms. "Hey," you said, your voice soft and reassuring. "You're going to be great. You always are."

He looked at you, his eyes searching yours, a flicker of doubt still lingering. "You really think so?"

"I know so," you said, giving his arms a gentle squeeze. "You're charming, you're funny, and you have this… this magic about you. It's impossible not to love you."

He leaned in, his forehead resting against yours, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. "You always know what to say," he murmured, his voice a low rumble. "Thank you. Just having you here makes it easier."

You watched the show from the crowd, your heart swelling with pride as he commanded the stage. He was effortlessly charming, his wit sharp, his smile infectious. He had the audience in the palm of his hand, laughing and applauding at his every word.

After the show, as the credits rolled, you made your way backstage, your footsteps echoing in the quiet hallway. You found him in his dressing room, the door slightly ajar. He was leaning against the vanity, a relieved sigh escaping his lips.

"You were amazing," you said, stepping into the room.

He turned, his face lighting up as he saw you. "You were right," he said, grinning. "They loved it. I owe you one. Thank you for your support my love."

He crossed the room, pulling you into a warm, lingering hug. "Thank you for being here," he murmured, his voice soft against your ear. "It made all the difference. You're like my personal good luck charm, only way hotter."

You gripped his arm, your fingers digging slightly into the soft fabric of his shirt. "You know," you said, your voice a low murmur, "you're making me crazy. Looking this hot, this strong… I can't get enough of you. I swear, you could read the phone book and I'd still be drooling."

He turned to you, his eyes darkening with a familiar intensity. He kissed you gently, "And you," he whispered against your lips, his voice husky, "are making me incredibly impatient. I'm pretty sure my heart is trying to escape my chest to get to you faster."

He pulled back slightly, his eyes tracing the curve of your lips. "I can't wait to get home," he murmured, his voice laced with a playful growl, "to show you exactly how badly I want you. I've been thinking about it all night. And let's just say, those thoughts are very dirty."

"We don't have to wait," you purred, a mischievous glint in your eyes. You stood up quickly locking on the door. With deliberate slowness, you began to peel off your dress, revealing the lacy bra and panties beneath.

"You're naughty," he breathed, his voice a low growl, his eyes following every move. "And crazy. Just how I like it." A slow, predatory smile spread across his face as he watched you.

He remained seated on the sofa, his gaze fixed on you as you knelt before him.  You reached out, your fingers tracing the outline of his bulge, teasing him through the fabric of his pants. "You're so hard," you whispered, your voice husky. "And you're all mine." You unzipped his pants, slowly, deliberately, revealing his already throbbing cock.

"Come on, show me how much you want it, mi amor," he said, his voice thick with desire.

You leaned in, your tongue darting out to lick the tip of his cock, your eyes never leaving his.  You swirled your tongue around the sensitive head, teasing him mercilessly.  He groaned, his hand finding your hair, holding your head as you took him deeper into your mouth.

You sucked him slowly, then faster, milking him with long, deep strokes, the sound of your wet mouth filling the room. He cursed under his breath, clearly enjoying every second.  "Stop," he finally groaned, his voice ragged. "I'm going to come. I want to be inside you."

You stood up, your eyes locking with his.  He reached out, his hands sliding down your hips, pulling your panties down your legs.  He tugged you closer, his hands gripping your thighs, his face burying between your legs.  He licked your pussy, his tongue swirling and teasing, his fingers dipping into your wetness, exploring your swollen clit. "You're so wet," he groaned, his voice thick with lust. "So fucking ready."

You tangled your fingers in his hair, your hips bucking against his face as he sucked you harder, his tongue driving you wild. "Fuck, Papi," you moaned, your voice thick with desire. "I want to fuck you. Please."

He pulled back, his eyes burning with a primal intensity.  He leaned back against the sofa, his legs spread wide, inviting you.  You straddled him, your eyes locking with his as you slowly lowered yourself onto his waiting cock.

As his hard cock slid slowly inside you, stretching you, filling you completely, your pussy clenched around him, milking him with each inch. "God," you groaned, your voice thick with desire. "You feel so fucking good. Your cock is made for me."

He gripped your waist, pulling you down harder, his eyes burning with lust. He traced his hand up your back, unhooking your bra, his hot breath ghosting over your skin, sending shivers down your spine. He began to suck on your nipples, his tongue swirling and teasing, nipping and pulling, making you whimper.

You started to move faster, bouncing harder on his cock, your hips grinding against his, your wetness slicking against him. You teased him with slow, deliberate swirls, driving him wild, making him groan. He buried his head in your neck, kissing you deeply, his huge hands gripping your ass cheeks, pulling you closer, wanting you deeper.

You held onto his shoulders, your moans growing louder, your pussy squeezing him with each thrust, your juices dripping down his shaft. "Fuck," you gasped, your voice ragged. "You're so hard. So deep. I want you to fill me up."

The pleasure was almost unbearable, a raw, primal feeling that made you want to scream his name. You kissed him hard and passionately, your lips bruising against his, your teeth nipping at his bottom lip.

"You're fucking amazing," he groaned, his voice hoarse, his cock throbbing inside you. "Like you were made to hold me, only me." He put his hand around your neck, his thumb stroking your skin, his fingers digging into your flesh. "Be quiet, baby," he whispered, his voice a low, possessive growl. "Come on my cock. Ride me, baby, ride me...Ohh Fuck..you feel like heaven."

"Fuck," you screamed, your body tensing, your orgasm building. You bounced harder, faster, your pussy milking him with each thrust. You were so close, teetering on the edge "Pedro," you gasped, his name a raw plea on your lips. "I'm gonna come."

"Yes, baby," he growled, his hand tightening around your neck, his fingers digging into your skin. "Come for me. Let it for me. Let it all go."

You gripped his biceps, your nails digging into his flesh. He was so strong, so powerful, and the raw, animalistic energy between you was intoxicating. "You're fucking destroying me," you moaned, your voice thick with lust. "And I fucking love it."

Your orgasm ripped through you, a wave of pure, white-hot pleasure. Your pussy clenched around his cock, squeezing him with each pulse, your juices flooding him. You cried out, your body shuddering, your head thrown back.

He groaned, his own orgasm building, his thrusts becoming frantic. "Fuck, yes," he roared, his cock pulsing deep inside you. "You're so fucking good. So wet for me babe."

He came then, a deep, guttural sound ripping from his throat, his cum flooding your pussy, hot and thick. "Goddamn," he whispered against your ear, his voice thick with lust. "You're mine. All mine. You're fucking mine."

He held you tight, his body still shuddering, his cock still buried deep inside you. "Fuck," he groaned again, his voice hoarse. "You feel so good. So fucking amazing. I want to feel you like this forever." He kissed you then, hard and deep.

"I'm gonna fuck you again," he whispered, his breath hot against your ear. "Until we get home. You are gonna get more. I'm gonna fill you up until you can't take anymore."

"I want that," you breathed, your voice ragged. "I want you to fuck me all night Papi."

You kissed him, your lips bruising against his, your tongue tangling with his. "I love you," you whispered, your voice filled with raw, unfiltered desire.

"I love you too, babe," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "More than anything. And trust me, once we get home, I'm going to prove just how much." He gave you a wicked grin. "Prepare to be thoroughly… loved."

His arms wrapped around your body, pulling you closer to his chest. His heart beat against your ribs, a rapid, insistent rhythm that mirrored your own.

You ran your hands over his chest, your fingers tracing the bold white lettering on his black t-shirt:

"Adult Content." "Fitting," you purred, your voice husky. "Especially for what just happened in here. Makes me wonder what kind of content we'll be creating later."

He chuckled, a low, rumbling sound in his chest. "Oh, baby," he said, his eyes darkening with a playful glint. "We're going to be creating some very explicit content. And maybe a safe word." He nipped at your earlobe. "Think you can handle it?"

"Yes," you breathed, your voice thick with desire. "I can. With you, there's never enough. I want to feel every inch of you, every touch, every thrust. I want you to brand me with your cock."

He smiled softly, his eyes filled with a tenderness that made your heart melt. "You know," he murmured, his voice gentle as he tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear, "you're beautiful when you talk like that. So fierce, so passionate. Makes me want to worship you."

He kissed your forehead, a soft, lingering press of his lips. "But more than anything, I just want to hold you. Close. And love you. Forever."

"I love you too," you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. "Now and forever."

Just then, a sharp knock echoed through the room. "Shit," he muttered, a reluctant sigh escaping his lips. "That's probably Jimmy."

You laughed, a nervous giggle escaping your lips, and kissed him quickly, a playful peck on his lips. "We almost got caught," you whispered, your eyes sparkling with mischief.

"Yeah," he chuckled, a low rumble in his chest, "talk about a close call. I can just picture his face. 'Pedro, what exactly were you doing in here?'" He mimicked a Jimmy making you laugh even harder.

"Though, to be fair, the sounds coming from in here were probably a dead giveaway."

He couldn't stop laughing either.

So, yeah, the whole sexy vibe kinda evaporated as you scrambled to get dressed. But, like, the afterglow was still there. Definitely picking up where you left off later.

Thank you for the reading 💜

Disclaimer: English is not my first language so if you come across mistakes it might be due to that.

[estrellami-1]

March Mating Madness

Day 24: Arranged Marriage/Mating of Convenience & Day 25: Scentmates/Soulmates

North Dakota

Ao3 Link

“Munson,” Steve Harrington says, standing on his doorstep, because apparently this is the bullshit the universe is throwing at him today.

He sighs, steps outside. Leans against the doorframe with crossed arms and feigned nonchalance. “I don’t sell from home,” he tells Harrington. “You wanna buy, you can do it at the table behind the school.”

“No, I- I’m not here to buy,” he says. Eddie looks closer, realizes the confidence is feigned bravado. He’s scared.

Eddie narrows his eyes. “Then what are you here for?”

“A mating, hopefully.” He sighs, runs a hand through his perfect hair. “Listen, can I come in? Can we not discuss this outside? ‘Cause I know El’s here with Max and if I know them as well as I think I do, they’re spying on us.”

Eddie blinks, flicks his eyes over to the Mayfields’ trailer. Sure enough, a curtain slots back into place.

Eddie narrows his eyes again, but steps inside, holding the door open for Harrington. “Shoes off. How do you know Mayfield?”

“She’s pack,” he says simply, toeing his shoes off just inside the door. “They both are. There’s some boys too, you might’ve seen Lucas before? Sinclair? He and Max are dating. We’re all pack.”

Eddie motions to the couch, sits down. “You said you’re here for a mating.”

Harrington looks down at his hands, clasped in his lap. “Yeah.”

“I think I’m gonna need a little more than yeah, Harrington.”

He winces. “Um. My parents? They’re trying to marry me off to the highest bidder.”

Eddie’s brow hits the ceiling. “You? King Steve? No way.”

He winces again. “Could you please not call me that? I get that you hate me, and you have every right to, but I’m trying not to be that guy anymore.”

Eddie tilts his head in thought, then nods. “Alright. Still doesn’t mean I believe you.”

Irritation flickers over Harrington’s features. “Why the fuck else would I ask you to mate me, dude?”

Eddie shrugs. “A dare? Laugh at the Freak when he says yes? Any number of reasons, really.”

He scrubs his hands over his face. “I was really shitty to a lot of people,” he starts quietly. “And I get that this might be, like… cosmic judgement, or something. But I refuse to mate the person my parents want me to.”

“Why?”

He sighs. “Take your pick, man. It’s a business deal. He made a joke with my dad about, like, smacking me around, and… compliance, or some shit. He doesn’t see me as a person, he sees me as an object. Some… thing to have sex with whenever he wants it. To hell with whether or not I want it. He’s controlling, manipulative, and I know he won’t be faithful. It’ll be a miracle if I don’t get rejection sickness within the first year.”

Eddie blinks, sits back. “Shit, man.” He thinks for a moment. “And you’re asking for a bite because?”

“If I’m mated, my parents have no recourse, legal or otherwise. A bite should be enough to get them off my back.”

“And if it’s not?”

Harrington shrugs. “I run, I guess. I’ve got- y’know Robin? Buckley? From band?”

“I know of her, sure.”

“She’s… she’s my best friend. Like, in the entire world. She knows what my parents are planning. And if it comes down to it, we’ll run. We’ve got some savings tucked away, but it’s not much. But my whole life is here, my pack is here, and my parents aren’t. Much, at least. I don’t want to leave, at least not without my pack.”

“So why not ask her for her bite? She’s an Alpha too, right?”

“She is, but…” he shakes his head. “I can’t. Mostly because she’d do it.”

“And that’s a bad thing because?”

“Because it would fade. Or we’d separate, because as much as we’re gonna be in each other’s lives for the rest of our lives, we’re not… like that. We’re not meant to be together like that. And I can’t put her through that pain and heartbreak, if I have to bite her too.” He quirks a corner of his lips up. “Plus she’s a terrible liar. My parents would see straight through her.”

“And how do you know I’m a good liar?”

Hazel eyes flick over to him. “You were in theater. I took an educated guess.”

Eddie snorts despite himself. “That’s fair, I guess.” He tilts his head, sighs. “I’m still not sure you’re telling the truth, but say I believe you. What would I have to do?”

He works his lip. “It should just be a bite. That should be enough for them.”

“And if it’s not?”

He shrugs miserably. “I run, I guess. I go to Robin and we run.”

“And you think you won’t get isolation sickness from leaving your pack so quickly?”

“What other choice do I have?” He bursts out, an angry whine tearing its way out of his throat. “I can’t do what my parents want and if I stay in this town there’s no way for me to get away from them! I probably will end up sick but it’s better than fucking killing myself!”

“Shit,” Eddie whispers.

Steve puts his head in his hands. “I can’t,” he whispers. “I would. I’d find a way to kill myself because I know my parents and I know my dad’s friends. There’s no way I’d make it one step out of the door before they find me again. It’s running or suicide but I don’t actually want to die.” He sighs, long and drawn-out. “Yet.”

“Okay,” Eddie decides.

Steve peeks up at him. “Okay?”

“I’ll bite you. If your parents want to meet me, you’ll bite me. We’ll find a way to dissolve it after that won’t end up in sickness.”

Steve studies him. “You mean it.”

Eddie spreads his hands. “What gave it away?”

He cracks a smile. “Mostly the lack of any jokes.”

Eddie snickers, stands. “C’mon. I was about to make lunch when you showed up. Hungry?”

“Oh,” he says. “Yeah, actually. Thank you.”

Eddie makes mac and cheese, silently daring Steve to say something about the box, but he just meekly thanks Eddie when he’s handed a bowl.

“Y’know,” Eddie starts, mouth full, “you’re not who I thought you were.”

Steve blinks down at his bowl. “Um. Thank you?”

Eddie grins. “Yeah, it’s a compliment.” He swallows, looks down at his bowl to scrape together another bite. “Thought you were perfect, in the worst sense of the word. You’ve got the hair, the looks, the car… people of every secondary gender lusting after you. What could you possibly not have? Especially that I do?” He shrugs. “Choice, apparently.”

Steve huffs a breath out. Eddie thinks it might be a laugh, or something trying to be one, in any case. “Yeah. Most castles are also dungeons.”

“Shit,” Eddie murmurs, leaning back in his seat and regarding Steve with wide eyes. “You’re kinda metal, Harrington, you know that?”

He looks up at Eddie uncertainly. “Is that a good thing?”

“Hell yeah that’s a good thing,” Eddie agrees, stuffing another bite into his mouth. “You want the bite today? Or was today to just pitch the idea to me?”

“No, I- if I can, if you don’t mind- today, please.”

Eddie leans back, looks at the clock. “You got anywhere to be in… six-ish hours?”

“Um,” Steve says. “No?”

“Cool. I live here with my uncle, and he’s chill, he won’t mind, but he’ll definitely mind not knowing about it.”

“Oh,” Steve says. “Okay, yeah. Makes sense, I guess. So… you want to wait until after you tell him?”

“After we tell him. If you don’t mind telling him.”

“No, I don’t mind.”

“Okay. Until then,” Eddie grins, “I’m pretty sure you should know your Alpha more than just surface-level. Your parents are gonna have questions, right?”

“Probably,” Steve agrees, looking vaguely nauseous.

Eddie tilts his head. “Can I ask a question?”

“You just did,” Steve retorts, then colors. “Sorry. Yeah.”

Eddie snickers. “You’re kinda bitchy. I like it. Do you wear blockers because you want to or because you’re forced to?”

Steve’s breath catches in his throat. He glances at Eddie’s neck, his uncovered gland. “It’s- it’s not proper,” he starts, then bites his lip.

“That what your parents tell you?”

Steve nods.

Eddie hums. “I don’t mind. Wayne won’t, either. If you want to take the patches off.” He frowns. “Do you- wear them at home, too?”

Steve sighs, won’t meet his eyes. “I think, maybe, me being an omega is the improper thing.”

“Well fuck that,” Eddie says, grinning and winking at Steve. “C’mon. I’ll show you mine?”

Steve giggles, glancing at Eddie before looking away and peeling the patch off.

In just a minute, a new scent starts to filter through the trailer. Peaches and raspberries, and something a little sour from the anxiety starting to show on his face.

Eddie sends out reassurance, calm-happy Alpha scent. He knows from Wayne that it smells like pine and petrichor, and as soon as Steve gets a sniff he begins to calm down. “Oh,” he murmurs, glancing at Eddie’s neck, then back away. “You, um.” His cheeks flush. “You smell good.”

Eddie chuckles. “Thanks. You too. I like fruit.”

“Um,” Steve says, confused, “I like fruit, too?”

“No, ‘cause- ‘cause of your scent? Peaches and raspberries.”

Steve shakes his head, brows furrowed. “Robin says I scent like marshmallows,” he says. “What, um- what do people say you scent like?”

Eddie’s heart slams double-time in his chest. Says quietly, “I’m guessing to you I don’t smell like pine and petrichor?”

Steve’s eyes widen as he shakes his head again. “You scent like the beach, to me,” he whispers. “And, like- sunset? I know that doesn’t make sense, but-”

“No, I- I get it. The moment when the sun goes down and it gets cooler?”

“Yeah,” Steve murmurs, eyes still saucer-wide. “Are we-”

“Looks like it,” Eddie agrees, glancing at Steve’s neck and leaning over, extending a hand, stopping just before he touches. “Can I?”

Steve nods, eyes wide, so Eddie does, rubs their glands together. His eyes widen at the feeling that zings through him. He keeps a tight leash on his scent until he smells the peaches and raspberries bloom, sweet and floral and fruity. His eyes widen even more. “You’re… happy?”

The fruit suddenly turns, goes bad. “Um.”

“No, shit, I-” he scrambles over on the couch, grabs Steve’s hands, lets his own scent bloom and fill out, tangible happiness. “Steve.”

Fruit turns ripe again as Steve’s eyes meet Eddie’s. “You are too?”

“I’m a fuckin’ idiot,” Eddie tells him, “but yeah.”

“You are not.”

“Mhm. So is now a good or a bad time to tell you about the embarrassing crush I had on you starting your junior year?”

“No,” Steve gasps. “Really?”

“Yup. ‘Course, I a little bit hated you too, but that’s a separate issue.”

Steve snickers. “Of course.” He softens as he watches Eddie. “I am glad it’s you,” he says softly. “Out of everyone.”

“Why?”

Steve looks down at their hands, still intertwined. “The Alpha my parents chose for me wouldn’t let me make my own decisions. Would decide everything for me. Probably enforce a strict regimen for me. I’d be… nothing to him. He wouldn’t see me as a person. But you will.”

“Of course I would,” Eddie bites out, scent going tar-sharp. “Because you’re a fucking human being.”

Steve shrugs, squeezes his fingers a little. “He wouldn’t see it that way. A lot of people—Alphas, really, especially in the business world—still see omegas, especially male omegas, as… secondary. Sub-human.”

“Which is fucking stupid.” Eddie sighs. “Wayne’s a beta, so he… kinda gets it, y’know? So I kinda get it, like, by proxy.”

Steve hums, shifts. “Yeah. Okay, this is a complete one-eighty, but… I mentioned Robin, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay. She’s my absolute best friend in the entire world, we’re closer than anyone. She’s an Alpha but we’re not, like, together. Is that… going to be a problem?”

Eddie makes a face. “What the fuck? No! Be friends with who you want to be friends with!”

“Oh, thank god,” Steve whispers, sagging against the couch. “We’re basically siblings, except we tell each other everything, and I do mean everything, and-”

Eddie snickers. “You wanna call her and tell her we’re scentmates.”

“Yes!” Steve exclaims, then pulls back. “Unless- is that-”

“It’s fine, is what it is. She’s probably gonna threaten me, isn’t she?”

“Yeah. Uh. She might threaten you. Sorry in advance if she does.”

“Steve,” Eddie says quietly, “you don’t ever have to apologize for someone loving you so completely.”

“Oh,” Steve whispers, staring at Eddie.

He inclines his head with a small smile. “Phone’s right there. Want me to talk to her after?”

“I- yeah, she- like we said, she’s gonna want to talk to you.” He frowns at Eddie. “You really don’t care?”

“That you’re friends? No.”

“We’re, like- it’s not just friends, though. She’s my soulmate.”

Eddie snickers. “As long as she’s not your scentmate. That would merit a talk.”

Steve smiles. “No, we’re not scentmates. Just… closer than any non-bonded people have any right being.”

“Steve,” Eddie reminds him, “my nickname is the freak. I’m pretty sure you can’t out-freak me.”

“You’d be surprised,” Steve murmurs, walking over to the phone and dialing Robin’s number.

They speak for a few minutes before he calls Eddie over. “Please be nice,” he begs her, then hands the phone over.

“-talking about, I’m always nice,” Robin retorts.

Eddie blinks. “Hello?”

“Eddie.”

“That’s me.”

“You’re Steve’s scentmate.”

“I mean. Yeah?”

Robin hums. “How do you feel about it?”

“Honestly?” He smiles at Steve. “Really good. I’m really happy.”

“And he explained how close we are?”

“He did.”

“What did you say?”

“He apologized for you threatening me, and I told him he never needs to apologize for someone loving him so completely.”

“Oh, shit,” Robin says knowingly. “Did he cry?”

“Almost,” Eddie chuckles. “Listen, Robin, you can properly threaten me later, but he wanted to call you as soon as we found out, so we haven’t really gotten a chance to talk yet. Maybe the three of us could do lunch later this week? My treat?”

“If you’re trying to bribe me out of threatening you, it’s only a little bit working. Lunch sounds good. Tuesday?”

“Tuesday?” Eddie asks Steve, who thinks, then nods. “Tuesday works,” he confirms.

“Tell Robin I’ll pick her up,” Steve whispers.

“Tell Steve he’s picking me up,” Robin says.

Eddie blinks, then bursts out laughing. “You two just said the exact same thing at the exact same time.”

“Yeah,” Steve nods.

“We do that,” Robin finishes.

Eddie shakes his head. “Damn that’s freaky. Okay, see you Tuesday, Robin.”

“Yup.” She hangs up, so he does the same, then pulls Steve back over to the couch.

“So.”

“So,” Steve parrots.

“We should probably talk more about your parents.”

Steve groans. “Probably.”

“If- if you don’t want to-”

“No, it’s- I can, just-” he bites his lip, looks at Eddie, looks away.

“What?” Eddie asks softly.

“Can, uh. Like, the hands is nice, but can we-”

“Oh,” Eddie says, catching on, “yeah, sweetheart, come here.”

Steve trills softly as he settles by Eddie’s side, leaning on him, resting his head on Eddie’s shoulder. “So. What do you want to know?”

“I think it’s more a question of what they’re going to want to know about me. I know the type of person you’re talking about. I know I do my best to not associate with them.”

Steve scoffs. “Sounds like a dream.”

“It takes some work, but it’s worth it. You hopin’ to distance yourself from them?”

“I think so. Especially now- I never thought…”

“Yeah,” Eddie murmurs, pulling him in closer, as if he could protect Steve from the thoughts in his own head. “You never think it could be you until it is.”

“Exactly,” Steve murmurs back, then sighs. “They’re going to want to know that you can provide for me. Not because they care about me, because they care about their image.”

Eddie snorts. “They’re going to love the fact that I’m a drug dealer, then.”

Steve giggles. “Probably not. Anything they’re going to want to know about you… they’re not interested in getting to know you. They’re interested only in their status, in how other people see them. In the stories they can bring back to their friends to prove that they’re better.”

“Well ain’t we just a slap in the face,” Eddie mutters, lip quirking up.

“We really are,” Steve agrees. “I don’t care, though. Once we’re bonded… you’re my Alpha. They have no legal recourse.”

“Would they try something illegal?”

Steve sighs. “Maybe. Probably. Depends on how much this Alpha was gonna pay them.”

Eddie’s silent for a minute. “I’ll have to talk to Wayne, but it shouldn’t be an issue. Space’ll be a little tight but I’ll find a job, I know the mechanic’s hiring and Bill’s a friend of Wayne’s, owes him a favor I think.”

Steve shifts back to look up at Eddie, brow furrowed. “What are you talking about?”

Eddie blinks at him. “You moving in.” He waves a hand around. “If they’re gonna try something illegal, it’s gonna be a hell of a lot harder to do if you no longer live in their house.” He pauses suddenly. “I mean, of course, if you’d rather not move in, I get it-”

“You were right,” Steve says, snuggling back in to Eddie’s side, happy omega scent blooming. “You are an idiot. Of course I want to move in with you.” A pause, then, “you’d get a job?”

“Course I would. I need to take care of you, don’t I? Buy you sweet things to make you smile? Your favorite candy just because? A flower because I like the way you blush?” A blush crawls up Steve’s cheeks, and Eddie leans in to nuzzle it. “All those things cost money, darlin’, and dealing is a nice hobby, but it ain’t gonna cut it as my only source of income.” He shifts, shrugs. “‘Sides, uh. I dunno if you want pups? But I know what growing up as the son of a dealer was like, and I wouldn’t wish that on anyone.”

Steve looks up at him, wide-eyed. “But not- you said-”

“Not Wayne,” Eddie soothes. “He’s my dad’s brother in name only. Dear ol’ Pa, may the devil be tap-dancing on his soul, was the drug addict of the family. Taught me some things, though. Like how to hotwire a car.”

Steve snickers. “Please don’t.”

“What if it’s your car? And you’re right there watching me?”

Steve wiggles around, turning where he sits to face Eddie and cup his face in his palms. “Eddie,” he begins, eyes wide and serious. “My car is my baby. You are not touching her.”

“Noted,” Eddie agrees. “Idea forgotten.” A pause, “your parents’ car?”

Steve collapses in laughter, leaning forward so his forehead rests on Eddie’s shoulder as he shakes with the force of his giggles.

He calms down a few minutes later, relaxing into the feeling of Eddie running a hand up and down in his back. “In all seriousness,” he tells Eddie, “they’ll definitely have you arrested for that. And it’ll be a hell of a lot easier to do what they want with me if my Alpha’s locked up.”

Eddie’s scent sours. “I was due for a pickup in about a week or so,” Eddie says thoughtfully. “I’ll tell Rick I can’t make it, won’t be his gofer any more. We can smoke the rest of my stash, it’s just weed. I’ll talk to Wayne tonight about talking with Bill sometime soon.”

“Eddie-”

“Steve,” Eddie interrupts softly, shaking his head with a small smile. “I was pretty done anyways. It’s no secret I had to retake senior year twice, and it’s a badly-kept secret that I’m a dealer. It doesn’t take much to put two and two together, even if it’s not right. People weren’t really buying anymore anyways.”

Steve looks up at Eddie. “Why did you have to repeat twice?”

Eddie hums. “Honestly? I kept forgetting to turn in my homework first go ‘round, and the second I decided I just… didn’t really care. This year I stepped it up, turned in my work, actually came to class… hell, I even participated in gym. I want to be the first in my family to graduate.”

“You will be,” Steve whispers. “I believe in you.”

Eddie hides his smile in Steve’s hair. “I’m glad.”

They spend the next hour or so talking on the couch until Wayne gets back, blinking at the boys cuddling on the couch, then moving on to the kitchen. “I’m makin’ grilled cheese, speak now or forever hold your peace.”

“Sit down,” Eddie calls back, laughing. “That’s your tired meal, old man, you can’t hide from me. And we wanna talk to you anyways.”

Wayne sighs and sits in his chair, nodding at Steve. “Hello.”

“Hello, sir.”

“Wayne,” he corrects kindly. “I recognize you.”

“You, uh. You probably know my father.”

Wayne smiles. “Probably. ‘Ve been here long enough, I recognize just ‘bout everybody.” His eyes turn kinder, somehow. “Who’s your father, boy?”

Steve looks down. Eddie tightens his hold on Steve’s shoulders. “Richard Harrington.”

Wayne hums. “Yeah, I know ‘im. Knew ‘im, more like, left soon as he was able. Came back with a pretty little wife from the big city.” He leans slightly, catches Steve’s eye. “In this house, we don’t judge based on who your daddy is.”

“Thank you,” Steve whispers.

Wayne leans back, nods. “Now. Eddie?”

Eddie shakes his head. “It’s his story, Wayne. What I can tell you…” he looks down at Steve, smiles. “We’re scentmates.”

Wayne inhales sharply. “Well then,” he says, smiling at Steve again, “welcome home.”

Steve immediately tears up. “Shit,” he mutters, pawing at his face. “Sorry, I’m- thank you, I’m sorry, I don’t-”

Eddie shushes him, pushes his hands down, gently wipes his face. “Hey, sweetness, it’s okay. A little water never hurt anybody.”

Steve sniffles. “Hurt the wicked witch of the west.”

Eddie giggles. “Then it’s a good thing no one here’s a witch, huh?” He pushes out comfort, and Steve relaxes into him, letting his eyes flutter shut as Eddie wipes underneath them with his thumbs. “You’re home,” he whispers. “Wanna tell Wayne why?”

Steve looks up at him with hopeful eyes. “Can you?”

Eddie holds his gaze for a minute, then pulls Steve back in. “Sure I can.”

He tells Wayne what led Steve to the trailer earlier that afternoon. Wayne stays silent, then when Eddie’s finished, he nods. “Alright. So what’s for dinner?”

Eddie immediately looks to Steve, who shakes his head. “No, it��s okay. I’m not picky.”

“Steve,” Eddie tells him, “you’re both a guest and my mate. You get to decide.”

Steve’s eyes sparkle. “Then I decide that I don’t want to decide.”

Eddie narrows his eyes at Steve just as Wayne bursts out laughing. “You’re gonna be good for him, kid,” Wayne tells Steve, who grins back. “Grilled cheese sound okay to you?”

“Sure,” Steve agrees. “I can help?”

Wayne shrugs an unaffected shoulder. “You could,” he says. “Or you two could go into his room an’ make it official. And do whatever comes after that.”

Steve blushes at the implication, but can’t argue that he’s practically itching for Eddie’s bite. He turns to ask Eddie and is arrested by the look in his eyes.

“Up to you,” Eddie murmurs, hungry eyes tracking Steve’s every move.

Steve nods, stands, and approaches Wayne. He pitches his voice low as he asks where Eddie’s room is, and after Wayne tells him—also quietly—he glances back at Eddie, just once, before taking off.

He hears Eddie laugh behind him as he scrambles off the couch. “Oh, you fucker!” Eddie yells gleefully, chasing him into his room and tackling him onto the bed, laughing along with Steve up until he pushes his nose into Steve’s scent gland and inhales.

Steve whimpers loudly and pushes at Eddie’s chest. “The- get the door, please, Eddie-”

Eddie rolls off the bed with a half-hearted grumble and shuts the door before jumping back onto the bed, bracketing Steve with a grin. “Hi.”

“Hi,” Steve giggles.

“Are you ready?”

Steve settles his hands on Eddie’s waist. “Are you?”

“Almost,” he admits. “It feels a little weird, biting you before kissing you.”

A slight tug on his hips. “We can change that.” Steve leans up a little, nudges their noses together. Eddie pushes in until Steve’s laying down again. Eddie slides his nose off to the side, landing on Steve’s cheek as his lips barely brush Steve’s.

The grip on his hips tighten. “Don’t tease,” Steve begs, and Eddie acquiesces.

He pushes in harder, locking their lips together in a kiss that goes from zero to one hundred in less than a second as Steve parts his lips on a moan.

Eddie licks in between them with no hesitation. His aim is sucking Steve’s soul out from between his teeth, and based on the whimper that escapes, he’s successful.

He pulls back to pant out, “fuck, where’ve you been all my life, sweetheart?”

Steve gives a breathless laugh. “Right here, apparently, if it weren’t for my parents.”

“Fuck ‘em,” Eddie agrees. “Wanna bite you, baby, wanna show ‘em, give you my mark. Can I?”

“Fuck,” Steve breathes out, writhing. “Please, want it, Eddie, want you-”

“Yeah, I gotcha, baby, I gotcha, gonna mate you, omega-”

He latches his teeth into Steve’s skin and he goes boneless. “Alpha,” he whispers, horny and reverent, fingers pressing flower petal bruises into his hips.

“C’mon, ‘mega,” Eddie whispers back, blood in his teeth and sliding down his throat like honey. “Want your bite too, wanna complete it. Want you to feel me like I feel you.”

“Yeah,” Steve whispers, leaning up. “Yeah, please, wan’it-”

“Take it,” Eddie whispers, and slots his mark into Steve’s mouth.

Steve bites down and moans, and then Eddie moans, and he nudges his hips into Steve’s one last time—when had he even started?—and comes as Steve stiffens up, also coming.

Eddie collapses onto Steve, nudging his nose into Steve’s gland, as they both get their breath back.

“Fuck,” Steve breathes. “Shit. I didn’t know it could be that good.”

Eddie snickers. “And we haven’t even done anything yet.”

Steve looks at him mock-seriously. “I might actually die.”

Eddie laughs and starts sucking a bruise into Steve’s jaw. “Nah,” he pulls back to say. “I’ll be careful with you.”

“Fuck,” Steve mutters. “Eddie, can’t go again this soon.” He pushes ineffectually at Eddie’s shoulder, and Eddie moves away from his jaw, kissing up his cheek and over to his mouth instead.

“I wanna say something crazy right now,” he tells Steve.

Steve’s eyebrows raise. “I doubt anything could be crazier than asking an Alpha you barely know to mate them.”

Eddie crawls up Steve’s body and rolls them over on the their sides. Says into Steve’s hair, “I love you.”

Steve pulls back to see his face. “You do?”

Eddie nods. “I know it’s insane, and way too soon-”

Steve bursts into tears.

Eddie’s heart drops somewhere into his left thigh. “Baby?”

Steve cries harder, but he’s still scenting sweet as pie, and Eddie is thoroughly confused.

He decides to give Steve a few minutes, and eventually he calms down, wiping at his face and sniffling. “Sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologize,” Eddie tells him softly. “I’m just confused.”

“I just…” Steve waves a hand around, laughs at himself a little. “I fall fast, and I fall hard, and I’ve never… I’ve never met anyone who falls like I do. And it’s always me getting left with the broken heart. So for you to say it first, and after, like, three hours… I mean, yeah, it’s insane, but holy shit, Eddie, I love you too.”

“Oh,” Eddie says. “Good.”

Steve giggles, pressing back into Eddie’s chest. “Yeah. Good.”

Eddie sighs, wraps Steve up in a hug. “Now there’s just one thing to figure out.”

“What’s that?”

Eddie hums. “It’s not really an if Wayne heard us. These walls are ‘bout as thick as paper. So the question is, do you think we can sneak out the window, escape to North Dakota, and change our names?”

Steve giggles again. “Change our names? Who’d you be?”

“Hm,” Eddie thinks. “I always liked the name Joseph.”

Steve pulls back. “No!”

Eddie blinks. “No?”

“That’s my middle name!”

“Oh, shit!” Eddie laughs. “No wonder I like it!” He nudges Steve’s cheek with his nose. “What name would you choose?”

Steve sighs, settles back into Eddie’s chest. “I like the name Elias,” he admits softly.

Eddie’s quiet for a few moments. “Can I say something else crazy?”

“Hm?”

“I like Joseph Elias. As a baby name.”

Steve’s arms tighten around Eddie’s waist. “Yeah,” he breathes out. “Me too.”

A little over a year later, Steve holds Joseph in his arms as Eddie watches. “Our North Dakota boy,” Eddie murmurs, petting over Steve’s hair.

“Ours,” Steve agrees quietly, smiling up at Eddie.

[issues4him]

★ — cop!rafe making his dumb girl feel smart after his buddies made fun of her !!

cw: : smut, eighteen plus content, unprotected sex, semi-public, heavy heavy praise, cussing, aftercare

cop!rafe x dumb!reader

you were so excited for this. you’d been talking about it for weeks—“omg, rafey, a fancy dinner? with cops? like, real ones?”—while spinning around your bedroom in three different mini dresses that were all technically inappropriate for a formal event, but rafe didn’t have the heart to stop you. he just sat on your bed, arms crossed over his chest, watching you twirl like a proud, tired boyfriend, biting the inside of his cheek when you landed on the satin pink one that barely reached mid-thigh.

now here you were. strutting into a fully catered police banquet with your hand wrapped tightly around rafe’s arm, hair curled to perfection, sparkly heels clicking with every step. you looked like a barbie doll in a room full of navy blue uniforms and neutral-colored cocktail dresses—and you loved it. you beamed up at your man the whole time, practically bouncing as he led you to the table reserved for officers being honored. the room was full of polished silverware, white tablecloths, and tight smiles. everyone looked… serious. clean. reserved. but you were a little slice of chaos wrapped in pink satin and lip gloss.

“babe,” you whispered excitedly, leaning into his arm as you sat beside him, “i think this bread is, like, free.” you tore a piece off and popped it in your mouth. “that’s, like, so nice of them.” rafe didn’t say anything. just reached under the table to rest a hand on your thigh, giving it a slow squeeze. you smiled at him like he hung the moon, completely oblivious to the looks you were getting from the other end of the table.

one of the wives leaned toward another, whispering something behind her glass of red wine. the two of them giggled, then not-so-subtly looked at your bow-covered purse and bedazzled nails. you didn’t notice. you were too busy trying to figure out if the guy across from you was a sheriff or “like, just a mall cop.”

“wait,” you leaned into rafe again, lowering your voice but still loud enough for the table to hear, “are firefighters invited to this too? or is it, like, just real cops?”

the table went awkwardly quiet. a few people chuckled—but not in a nice way. rafe didn’t laugh. he just reached for his water, jaw tightening, eyes narrowing as they passed over the people across from him. you blinked, confused, and reached for another piece of bread. “this is like, super fancy applebee’s. i love it.”

one of the men scoffed, “don’t,” rafe muttered under his breath, squeezing your thigh harder.

you looked up at him, pouting slightly. “did i say something bad?”

he turned to you, expression unreadable, “no, baby. you’re perfect.” and then he stood, “come with me.”

you blinked. “where’re we—?”

“now.”

you took his hand, confused but obedient, heels clicking against the marble floor as he pulled you away from the table. you kept glancing over your shoulder, giving the others a cute little wave, still not understanding why they weren’t smiling back. he led you down a quiet hallway, past the catering staff, past the restrooms—until he found a private door with no name on it.

the second the lock clicked behind him, rafe had you pinned to the wall. your gasp barely had time to echo before his mouth was on yours—hot, demanding, needy. his hands were everywhere at once, one gripping your thigh and hauling your leg up around his waist, the other wrapped around the back of your neck like he couldn’t stand being even an inch away from you. you whimpered into the kiss, breath already shaky from the sudden shift, your gloss smearing between you.

“rafe?” you giggled, a little breathless. “what’re you doing? we’re gonna get caught…”

“good,” he growled, hand already sliding under your dress, fingers curling around your ass. “let those assholes hear how much you fucking belong to me.”

your heart fluttered at the possessiveness in his voice, your core already aching from the way his hips ground into yours, slow and deliberate. you could feel his erection through his uniform pants, pressing right between your legs. you blinked up at him, eyes wide and dazed. “wait… are you mad?” he didn’t answer with words—just grabbed your waist and spun you toward the desk behind you, bending you over the edge with one firm shove. the satin of your dress rode up instantly, bunching around your hips as you gasped, palms flat on the cool surface. “rafe—!”

“be quiet,” he snapped, already unbuckling his belt, the sound sharp and fast and filthy. “you don’t even know, do you?”

you peeked over your shoulder, lashes fluttering. “know what?”

“why they were laughing at you.”

you blinked, confused. “who was?”

he stepped up behind you, dragging your baby blue thong down with one hard tug and letting it fall around your ankles. his voice dropped, dangerously low, “they were making fun of you.”

you froze for half a second—then softened again, relaxing back into the desk with a pout, “ohhh. why?! what’d i do?!”

rafe clenched his jaw, running his hand up your spine until it wrapped around the back of your neck, pushing you gently back down against the wood, “you didn’t even notice,” he muttered, pulling himself free and lining up behind you. “too busy bein’ such a sweetheart. all you wanna do is be good for me, yeah?”

you nodded, face flushed against the desk. “uh-huh…”

out of your line of sight, rafe nodded in agreement before slipping his red tip into your soaked pussy. he bottomed out, pulling you flush against him before gripping your ass cheeks and snapping his hips back and forth. you moaned—loud, needy, your hips instantly rocking back into him like your body had been waiting for this.

“oh my gosh,” you gasped. “you feel so good… rafe, i—fuckk, i think i saw stars for a second—”

“you don’t have to think, baby,” he growled, thrusting hard enough to make the desk creak under you. “i’ll do it for you.” you whimpered, back arching. his grip on your waist was bruising now, pulling you back into each thrust like he wanted to bury himself inside you forever. “they don’t get to talk about you,” he muttered, bending over you, hips slamming into yours with every word. “they don’t get to laugh. don’t even get to fuckin’ look.” your lip gloss was smearing against the desk, your moans turning to helpless little whines. “only i do,” he whispered, kissing behind your ear. “only i get to see you like this. bent over, fuckin’ soakin’ wet—taking me so damn good.”

you nodded, gasping, legs shaking. “y-yeah—only you, only you—”

“that’s right.” his voice dropped to a low murmur, suddenly softer, breath hot against your neck. “you’re so good for me, baby. so sweet. so fucking smart.” you choked on a breath, crying into the desk, “my perfect girl,” he whispered, pressing a slow kiss to your shoulder as he rutted into you. “i love you so much.”

your whole body jolted from how deep he was, how slow he moved now—not rough anymore, not punishing—just claiming. deep, grinding thrusts that made your legs shake and your breath hitch with every roll of his hips. his mouth stayed on your skin, trailing slow, open kisses along your shoulder and neck like he couldn’t stop worshipping you even if he tried. “you feel so good, baby,” he breathed, voice shaking with it. “taking me so perfect. you’re always so perfect.” you whimpered, barely able to form words, your head spinning. your lip was caught between your teeth, eyes glossy, mouth parted as you gasped softly every time he pushed back inside.

“i’m not even mad anymore,” he murmured, one hand sliding down the curve of your stomach as his chest pressed flush to your back. “they’re just fuckin’ jealous. so jealous i get to come home to the sweetest, prettiest, smartest little thing they’ve ever seen.”

you let out a broken little moan, blinking back tears as your hips twitched against his, “i’m not smart, rafey,” you mumbled, dazed.

he grabbed your face gently from behind, fingers curled along your jaw as he turned your head to kiss your cheek. “don’t say that.” his voice was soft—but serious. serious in that way that made your chest flutter, “you’re smart where it counts. you know how to love me. how to make me feel like a man. that’s more than any of them could ever do.” you gasped at another slow thrust, your fingers tightening on the edge of the desk. he followed your reaction with another kiss to your temple, his hand still gently cupping your jaw, “you know how to make me proud.”

you let out a little hiccup, overwhelmed—eyes fluttering shut as your body clenched down around him. he groaned at the feeling. “that’s it, sweetheart. you feel that?” another thrust—deep. “that’s how good you are for me. you’re my perfect girl.” you were unraveling under him, his uniform brushing against your skin, his hand still holding your face as he slowed even more—grinding into you like he was trying to melt into your body, “say it,” he whispered against your ear. “say you’re my perfect girl.”

you sobbed out a soft, whiny, “i’m your perfect girl…” and he melted.

“yeah, you are.” another kiss. a soft groan. his hand slid down to your stomach again, holding you tight while his hips moved with a lazy, desperate rhythm. “my good girl. my smart girl. my fuckin’ baby.” you were trembling now—every part of you raw and worshipped and full. and when you came for him, gasping his name like it was the only thing you remembered, rafe followed right after, pressing his chest to your back and whispering “i’ve got you, baby. i’ve always got you.”

you were still shaking, forehead resting against the desk, soft little whimpers leaving your lips every time your body twitched from aftershocks. your skin was flushed, your legs barely holding you up, and your lip gloss was completely gone. rafe stayed close. one hand still wrapped loosely around your waist, the other trailing down your back—soft, soothing. like he was petting you. like he couldn’t stop touching you even now. “you okay, baby?” he murmured, lips brushing the back of your neck.

you nodded weakly, blinking back the dizzy tears in your lashes. “mhm…”

rafe smiled—soft and real. he leaned down and pressed a kiss to the spot between your shoulder blades, then carefully reached for your hips and helped ease you upright. you stumbled a little and caught yourself on his chest. “whoa—hey, i got you.” his arms wrapped around you instantly, holding you close as he helped you sit on the edge of the desk. “just breathe, pretty girl. we’re good. you’re okay.”

you blinked up at him, mascara smudged, eyes glossy, lips kiss-bitten and pouty. you looked wrecked—and he’d never seen anything so beautiful. “my legs feel like jell-o…” you mumbled, voice all soft and floaty.

he huffed a little laugh and kissed your forehead. “yeah? that’s ‘cause you took me like a damn champ, baby.”

his hand slid between your thighs, gentle this time, and he cleaned you up with one of the tissues he always kept in his pocket for exactly this kind of chaos. you whined at the sensitivity, and he shushed you sweetly, brushing his nose against your cheek, “you did so good, baby. so, so good for me. i’m so proud of you.”

you smiled dreamily, playing with the collar of his uniform while he adjusted your panties back into place and smoothed your dress down over your thighs. he straightened your straps, fixed your necklace, and wiped the corners of your mouth with the gentlest touch. “do i look pretty still?” you whispered, eyes wide and hopeful.

he tilted your chin up and gave you the softest kiss—slow and loving, the kind that made your heart feel full. “you look beautiful.” he kissed your cheek. “like an angel.” another kiss. “like the smartest, prettiest little thing in this whole damn building.”

you giggled. “even with mascara under my eyes?”

“especially with mascara under your eyes.”

you giggled again, wrapping your arms around his waist like he hadn’t just destroyed your body over a desk. he held you there, big hands sliding down to your hips—then squeezing your ass without warning.

“rafe!” you squealed, although showing to attempt at stopping him.

he smirked, kissing your pout away. “sorry, couldn’t help it. still mine.”

“always yours,” you whispered, hiding your smile in his chest.

he hugged you tighter. “damn right.”

pink bow divider : @bernardsbendystraws  <3

a/n: thank you anon for telling me your dream about cop!rafe hehe

[surveillancy]

Good day/night! If the request are still open, may I request something about your last fic of Shadow milk "Sweet words" ?

Basically Y/n with the same accent but this time they're singing like a whisper so not him or nobody could hear them

But Shadow milk was listening without Y/n noticing

Thank you so much! ★

"sweet melodies" - shadow milk cookie x reader

✧︎‬‪‪ ‪‪✧︎‬ ‪‪✧︎

shadow milk cookie wasn’t looking for you. not this time.

for once, he had no grand scheme, no elaborate trick to set into motion. he had simply been drifting through the spire of deceit, trailing his hands along the twisting walls, letting the shadows shift and coil in his wake. it was boredom, he told himself, just boredom that led him to your door.

and then he heard it.

soft. fragile. a breath of melody so delicate into the air that it almost slipped past him.

he stilled.

you were singing.

oh. ohhh.

his grip on his staff tightened, his fingers curling against its surface. a slow, wicked grin stretched across his lips as he pressed himself against the cold frame of the door, tilting his head just enough to drink in every note.

it was mesmerizing. you were mesmerizing.

that accent of yours, already so intoxicating, became something otherworldly in song. every syllable was dipped in honey, laced with a weight that sent shivers crawling down his spine. it was a sound that shouldn’t exist, something too lovely, too pure, too-

he swallowed hard, ignoring the way his heart clenched. no, no, he was the trickster here. the one who watched and laughed and spread chaos across the world. and yet…

here he was. entranced.

you had no idea he was listening. you must have thought yourself alone, unaware that every whispered note sank into his very soul, branding itself into him like an unforgiving flame.

he was utterly, hopelessly enthralled.

and then... your voice cut off. a moment of silence. then...

"…shadow milk cookie?"

ah. you had noticed.

for once in his long, long life, he was at a loss for words.

your eyes met his, wide with dawning horror, while his lips quirked into something smug, but... oh, his face were burning, wasn't it? his pupils had dilated, and he felt warm, too warm...

but he refused to let you see how much he had unraveled. so he did what he did best.

laughter spilled from his lips, his usual mockery, as he pushed off the wall with a slow clap. "well, well! what do we have here?" his grin was sharp, but his voice was breathless, still clinging to the remnants of your song.

"a performance so divine, and i wasn't even invited? truly, i am wounded!"

your face burned. you sputtered something that only made his grin stretch wider because, oh, there it was again, that accent. he leaned in, impossibly close, eyes glinting with something far too indulgent.

"you really should sing louder, my dear. why keep such a delightful little secret all to yourself?"

his voice dipped, teasing, knowing. "unless, of course… you were hoping i’d hear?~"

you shoved him away, flustered beyond reason, and fled before he could say another word.

but oh, it was too late. the melody was seared into his mind, looping, echoing, haunting him in the most delicious way.

and he would never let you live it down.

‪‪✧︎‬‪‪ ‪‪✧︎‬ ‪‪✧

r︎equests: open!

sorry for not posting for so long, life's been super chaotic so bare with me while i try to get back in the groove of things again (:‬