#I JUST IMAGINE HIM SAYING IT SO POLITE LIKE NO !!!! YOU HAVE TO SAY IT WITH FEELING. WITH YOUR BALLS

[garaks-padded-bra]

smth abt ziyal is when I'm rewatching those cringy moments with her and garak, they canonically aren't flirting the cardassian way. They are so cordial and polite to each other that it's so plain that at the very least garak has no romantic intentions towards her. He treats her like how he treats o'brien. He has more chemistry with odo

I used to be of the opinion on my first watch that the ziyal garak thing never should have happened (and it definitely could have been handled differently - sometimes it felt like different writers had different intentions with their dynamic and it got weird)

And to preface there was DEFINITELY homophobia involved in the doylist explanation for why garak got ( to what the average viewer saw as) a young female love interest

But one thing people don't tend to realise is that its stated QUITE plainly that garak doesn't return her feelings. He definitely didn't push her away hard enough, but he's a bit of a scumbag who prioritised having any sort of positive relationship with a cardassian over telling her to fuck off. (I also imagine he wanted to spare her feelings)

I think Garak could realise (bad dad squad) that Ziyals views on men (especially older cardassian men) was a very fragile topic to be handled and she was pretty much constantly rejected by her kind - which definitely lended itself to letting her kiss him, but he did outright tell her he didn't like her that way, so I'm not mad.

Ziyal is jumbled all the way up. Thank you Dukat. And Garak clearly thinks it's really funny to not fully dispel the rumour so he can deal immense psychic damage to her father.

They really aren't flirting the cardassian way - like ever - but I don't think that's to say Ziyal doesn't understand cardassian flirting. She is absolutely like her father in the sense that she manipulates kira into hanging out with her dad just because she wants them to get along - despite knowing Kiras genuine aggression doesn't match up with Dukats flirtatious kind. Ziyal is a good person but she is also related to Dukat and by God will she manipulate

One thing I will patently disagree with is the comparison to how garak treats O'brien (in regards to the general sexlessness).

That is wrong. Have you seen empok nor. Garak absolutely has a weird one sided homoerotic jealously thing with O'brien. It's O'brien who wants him shot out an airlock. That's on garak.

[covenofagatha]

The psychology of love (Part 3)

Your first date with Morgan and a lesson in defense mechanisms and the delay of gratification

Word count: 4.1k

Warnings: none yet, slowburn

Morgan and you go out to dinner the next day. You had seriously been considering just never texting her and making more of an effort to avoid her, but Wanda and Nat pestered you continuously during breakfast until you had given in. 

Turns out, you were both free that night. 

You had a class in the evening, so you meet her at the pizza place off-campus after. She’s wearing a light blue dress that brings out the color in her eyes and her Black Opium perfume makes you wish there was someone different sitting in front of you. 

“Did you have a good day?” she asks while you’re waiting for your pizzas to be done cooking. The awkwardness of a first date is hanging over you, coupled with the fact that her fingers were inside you on Monday. You’re still a little shocked that happened. 

But you nod and smile. Morgan is nice, and she’s trying. The least you could do is try as well. “Yeah, I had two classes. They’re both pretty easy. My hardest are definitely Physiological Psych and Personality Psych.” 

Even the mention of the latter makes your stomach clench. Agatha has wormed her way into your brain and you don’t know how to get her out. The perfume you ordered should be here tomorrow and you regret buying it. 

Realistically, what are you going to do with it? You can’t wear it—both Morgan and Agatha will pick up on it. It’d be absolutely pathetic to spray your pillow with it and imagine it’s Agatha next to you, plus Wanda would surely wonder about that. 

Which means you spent one-hundred dollars on a bottle of perfume that’s going to sit on your desk and serve as a reminder that you’re delusional. 

A waitress brings over your personal pizzas and sets them down in front of you, steam billowing off. 

Morgan’s looking at you, a little expectantly, and you clear your throat. “How was your day?” you ask, realizing that you never returned the question.

“Pretty good, thanks. I had an International Relations class. We already have a quiz next Tuesday, which is crazy considering this was our second day of meeting.” You learned that she’s a Political Science major while you were waiting in line for pizza. 

She doesn’t say anything else, so you chew on your lip and try to think of ways to get the conversation going. “So…how did you get into political science?” At least her face brightens at that. 

“My dad works in local government and I’ve always been really interested in it. I’ve interned at his office since I was probably sixteen? I’ll be able to get a job with him once I graduate and then hopefully I can be elected for something,” she says before launching into a few stories about town halls that she’s been a part of. She’s from a small town in Indiana and the people there are apparently a little unhinged.

Morgan’s just telling you about a petition one man started to make his birthday a town holiday when the door to the restaurant opens and a familiar face walks in. 

It’s Agatha’s standoffish TA. Morgan is still talking but your eyes follow Rio as she walks up to the counter and shows them her phone. The lady nods and picks up a boxed pizza that’s sitting next to her and hands it to Rio. 

As she’s walking to the exit, she tilts her head over to you like she feels you staring. You quickly look away but in your periphery, you can see her coming closer until you have no choice but to crane your neck up at her. 

“You’re in Professor Harkness’s class, aren’t you?” Rio asks, but it’s more of a statement than a question. She obviously remembers you from Agatha’s office yesterday. 

You nod and she chuckles amusedly, tongue bulging in her cheek. Her complete one-eighty of a personality change is throwing you off. 

Rio glances at Morgan and then back to you, a gleam in her eyes. “Good luck.” Before you can ask what she means—is she talking about Agatha’s class? talking about Morgan?—she shifts the pizza in her arms and strolls out the door without looking back. 

Morgan raises an eyebrow at you. “That was weird.” 

You choose to not say anything and take a bite of your pizza, instantly wincing when it burns your mouth. “Did the man get his petition approved?” you refer to what she had been talking about before Rio, and Morgan dives back into that memory. 

She talks for most of dinner, only really taking a break while she’s eating, and then you walk her to her car. Thankfully, neither of you wants to hang out in the resultant once you’re both done with your food. She’s parked right in front whereas you had to find a spot in the garage behind the row of restaurants. 

“Do you want me to give you a ride to your car?” Morgan offers and you pretend to think about it before shaking your head. 

“No, that’s okay. It’s not very far.” There’s a minute of silent shuffling while you both try to figure out how to end the date. “Um, well I had a great time with you tonight. Let’s do this again soon?” 

She smiles warmly. “I’d love that.” And then Morgan leans in to press a quick kiss to your cheek before getting in her car. Her perfume drifts into your nostrils and lingers and you hear Agatha’s voice telling you that you did very good. Heat flashes through you but you tamp it down. 

You wait until Morgan drives off before turning to head to the parking garage, but you see another person that you know in the shadows. 

Professor Harkness. 

Your heart lurches as she pushes off the building wall she was leaning against and steps into the light. She’s wearing blue pants and a matching blazer over a black turtleneck. The gold from her necklace catches the streetlamp glow. Her long, loose hair frames her face and you can see her blue eyes glinting even in the dark.

Swallowing roughly, you irrationally worry that she’s going to be mad about you and Morgan. A part of you wants her to be mad. 

But she just smirks instead. “Dinner with a friend?” 

“Something like that,” you mutter, shrugging inconspicuously. “What are you doing here?” It seems like she’s waiting for someone—a date? Not that it matters, of course. You just want insight into your mysterious teacher. 

She moves closer to you, close enough so you can smell her perfume. It’s getting really fucking confusing with both Agatha and Morgan wearing the same scent. “I’m just picking up dinner,” she hums. “Nothing as exciting as you.” 

Your cheeks burn. “That wasn’t anything, just a first date. We met at a party a few days ago.” When I let her fuck me because she reminded me of you.

Agatha nods like she knows something you don’t. “Do you remember learning about defense mechanisms?” 

“What?” 

“In a general psych class, did you ever learn about defense mechanisms? Freudian methodology, of course, that believes our ego unconsciously wants to protect the superego from the id when we do something that would otherwise cause us anxiety, guilt, and shame.” 

“I mean, yeah?” You’ve heard of them, but why is she bringing them up? 

She waves a hand at your apparent confusion. “We’ll get more into them later in the semester. I just think it’s neat, you know? How we can be doing something and not even be aware that we’re doing it. Denial, rationalization,” she fixes you with a pointed look, “transference. The mind does really work in interesting ways.” 

You nod and bite your nails, not sure what to say. It feels like you’re missing something by a mile.

But Agatha just smiles. “See you tomorrow in class, hon.” She winks before leaving you outside and you slowly trudge back to your car, completely dumbfounded. 

Once you get back to your dorm, the conversation with Agatha still fresh in your mind, you halfheartedly return Wanda’s greeting and take out your computer and type “transference” into Google. 

Transference is the psychological phenomenon where someone redirects feelings from one person onto another. It occurs when someone unconsciously projects feelings or desires onto someone else. 

“Holy shit,” you say out loud, your blood running cold. Wanda’s head turns toward you but it’s like you have tunnel vision. 

Was Agatha implying that you going out with Morgan is you redirecting your feelings toward your professor onto someone who looks like her? 

Your heart is thumping so loud you can hear it. Are you being that obvious to Agatha? Can she tell that you have a crush on her? 

As if to make matters worse, you get an email notification saying that a package has been delivered—the perfume. A whole day early, like the universe wants to prove its point. 

You let it sit in the delivery room all night because you don’t trust yourself not to go crazy if you smell it right now. 

But you barely get any sleep at all just thinking about it. 

The next morning, Wanda and Nat interrogate you at breakfast. You had told Wanda the general basics of how the date had gone last night, but now they’re pressing you for the details, which you reluctantly give. 

“It was good, she spent a lot of time talking about interning for her town’s government. She’s a Poli-Sci major—” Nat scoffs and rolls her eyes and Wanda laughs, “—and apparently her dad is like the mayor or a council member? I don’t know, I mean, she’s nice and all…” 

“Oh, come on,” Wanda says, fond exasperation staining her voice. “You always do this. You meet a great girl and then you decide that she’s boring or that you don’t really like her or you make one tiny thing of their personality into a big problem. Why can’t you just let yourself have something?” 

It stings how well she knows you. “I just…I don’t know…I’m just not sure we’d work that well together. And it doesn’t really make sense to get into a relationship now, does it? We’re graduating in the spring so why start something new if we’re going to end up in different places? She wants to go back to Indiana and I’ll probably stay here or go back home, so it just doesn’t seem like there’s much of a point.” 

Nat looks unimpressed. “Really? That’s your excuse for why you’re going to self-sabotage? If only long-distance was a thing, god.” 

Wanda pats her girlfriend’s hand and stifles a smirk at the sarcasm. “Just because it’s not going to end in marriage doesn’t mean it’s not worth it,” she says gently. “Why not go on a few more dates, just to see what happens? And who knows? She could be worth it.” 

It won’t work because she’s not at least twice my age. Except you can’t exactly tell your friends that. So instead you say, “Yeah, maybe.” 

“Even if it’s not a relationship, it could be a friends-with-benefits situation,” Natasha adds and Wanda snorts. “You’ve already had sex with her so you already know what you’d be getting into.” 

“Okay, okay,” you grimace at her crassness and push your chair back. “I have to get to class.” 

You have about twenty minutes before it starts, so you’re not in a rush, but you need the walk to clear your head and mentally prepare for seeing Agatha. The quip about transference has you still reeling and it’s only the third day of this class but it’s already the second time you’ve been nervous to look at her. You’re not sure you can get in trouble for having a crush on a teacher but you certainly don’t want Agatha being uncomfortable around you.

So you’ll keep your distance. You’ll go to class and take notes and answer questions, but you’ll leave right after. You won’t let her praise affect you and you will definitely not get close enough to smell her perfume that makes your cunt pulse. 

Practically everything you were just thinking goes out the window when you walk into class and see her standing at the front of the room. 

Agatha’s wearing another turtleneck, white this time, under a tan blazer and matching pants. You wonder if she’s been wearing them to hide hickeys on her neck—but then you remind yourself that you don’t care, despite the growing feeling of jealousy in your stomach from your absolutely baseless speculations. 

She smiles at you, something dark hidden behind her pink lips, and you shiver as you sit down. Does she know what she does to you? The praises, the projection tests from Wednesday, the way she looks at you? 

She seems to like you more than the other students in the class—is that just because you answer questions? Does she encourage you for that because she needs someone to? You’ve had classes where absolutely no one would talk and it was awful. Her praising you for that could just be her way of making sure there’s not an awkward silence. 

But it feels direct, pointed even. Like she wants it to be you.

Or is that just you hoping? 

Agatha isn’t the first teacher you’ve had a crush on, not by a long shot. There was the English teacher when you were in eighth grade. She wasn’t even your teacher, but you still found excuses to talk to her. There was your ninth grade Biology teacher, and then you took her Environmental Science class senior year just to have her again. Your Developmental Psychology professor from the spring semester of your first year in college. You’re sure there’s more. Each time, though, you were certain that you were special. 

Each time, you were sorely disappointed, but not surprised. 

You want to say that it feels different with Agatha, but you need to get a grip on yourself. 

She’s in her late forties, at least. She might have a partner. You glance at her hands as she’s typing something on the computer. No ring. That doesn’t mean anything, you tell yourself. 

But she could get in serious trouble for sleeping with a student. If everything else worked out, if all the other stars aligned and by some way, she did want you, she’d never risk her job over that. She has two doctorates and has published multiple articles about her research, which you’ve been meaning to read, and has won several awards for her work. She’s devoted her whole life to psychology and you are not going to change that. 

Agatha may tease, but at the end of the day, you feel confident that she will never be anything but professional, which means that you really need to get over this. 

“Okay, getting back into Trait Theory,” Agatha starts and you scramble for your notebook. She clicks present on the slideshow and you begin scribbling down everything typed on the first slide. “Theorists who approach personality through the Trait approach want to know what exactly traits are and what they do. Do they describe how we behave? Are they a sum of all we’ve learned? Do they reflect underlying personality? Are they the building blocks of our personality?” 

You chew on the tip of your pen and Agatha’s eyes flick to you with a glint in them. Her lips twitch up and you freeze. 

“The problem with traits is that people are inconsistent. We act one way when we’re by ourselves and a different way when we’re with friends versus family versus professors versus romantic partners. So do situations predict behavior more than personality traits?” 

Agatha surveys the classroom expectantly so you hesitantly raise your hand, wheels turning in your head trying to think of a sophisticated response. She smirks and nods at you. “I mean, I think situations obviously have some part in how we act, but it’s not like we’re completely different people based on who we’re interacting with. It could be kind of like, what traits do we use more of when we’re with some people and what traits do we use less of?” 

Her brows furrow and you can see her mulling it over. “So you’re saying that we have a bank of traits, of consistent traits, but which ones we tap into depends on who we’re with?” 

“Yes?” Your voice wavers but you hold eye contact with her. 

Agatha hums thoughtfully. “Very good. I like that.” Your cheeks flush and you duck your head, the eye contact becoming too intense. “And it brings us to an interesting thought. I want everyone to write down how you consider yourself personality-wise. And then write down some traits you’d use to describe your best friends.” 

You write some general words down for you and then for Wanda and Nat. It’s hard to sum someone’s personality up like that. Glancing around the room, you see everyone’s still working so you pick at your nails and pretend that you don’t feel Agatha staring at you. 

The compulsion grows too great in you, though, so you look at her. She doesn’t seem abashed that you caught her—if anything, she looks excited. You swallow roughly to get some moisture into your suddenly-dry mouth and your teeth sink into your bottom lip. Her eyelashes flutter, maybe just enough to be considered a wink, but then someone coughs and the moment is broken. 

Agatha clears her throat. “Take a look at what words you wrote for yourself and then compare them to the words you wrote for your friends. Chances are, there’s a good amount of overlap. Opposites attract sometimes, but it’s more often than not that we choose to surround ourselves with people that have similar personalities to us. If we do that, then our traits might be influencing the situations that we’re in, which influences our behavior. It’s a lot to think about.”

She clicks to the next slide. 

“Psychologists have found that both situations and traits influence behavior about equally after conducting some experiments that we’ll look at another time. Now,” she turns off the projection and the screen at the front of the room goes dark. Everyone looks at her. “I want to talk to you about an opportunity for next week.” 

Someone out of the corner of your eye perks up. “Extra credit?”

Agatha shoots him down with a glare. “It’s the third class of the semester, first of all. Second of all, there will be no extra credit in this course.” 

He slumps down, defeated. You think he might be the same person from the first day who was upset about only having five grades. 

“We will have a speaker on campus next Tuesday evening at six pm giving a presentation on fallacies from famous psychological experiments. I’ll be sending out more information about it, but I think it will be very interesting, especially for this class. It’s optional, but I do heavily recommend attending.” 

You raise your hand and she smiles. “What studies are they going to look at?” 

“Excellent question. The presentation will look at the Rosenthal study on expectancy effects, the Stanford Prison Experiment, among a few others, and one of my personal favorites: the study on delay of gratification.” 

“Is that the one—” a girl begins to say before Agatha interrupts her like she didn’t even hear the student. 

“Mischel and Ebbesen would call kids into a room one-by-one and tell them that they could either have a small candy bar right away, or wait some unknown amount of time for a larger candy bar. The researchers would leave the room and see what the kids would do.” Her blue eyes pierce into you and her face morphs into something almost predatory. “Is it better to get instant relief for something small, or to wait and let the anticipation build up for a better reward?” 

She prompts you with a tilt of her head and you wonder if she can see the slight sheen of sweat breaking out on your forehead. “If it’s going to be worth it to wait,” you rasp. 

Agatha licks her lips before nodding slowly and then settles back into her casual demeanor. “I mean, who doesn’t want a bigger candy bar?” she jokes and there’s a titter throughout the room. She gives you a smug smile and you face forward, cheeks burning. 

She continues talking but you’ve completely zoned out. You feel like a kid in the experiment—have something with Morgan, real but fleeting, or wait for even the possibility of Agatha? Once you’re not her student anymore, there shouldn’t be a problem. And you graduate in the spring anyway. 

But that’s if Agatha would even like you back then. 

What happens if the researcher never comes back with the big candy bar after the kid waits forever? 

She finally wraps up class, saying that she needs to rush off to a meeting and you slowly pack up your bag just in case she lingers. She may be in a hurry, but it’s nothing compared to the other students and it’s only a minute before you and her are the only ones left in the room. 

The air feels thick with electricity and tension and it’s like you’re rooted to your seat when she starts to slowly walk toward you. You can feel your heartbeat increase and your breathing quickens—your body wants to run but it can’t. 

“Great job today,” she mumbles and drums her fingertips atop your desk surface, her perfume rolling over you like a wave, and you don’t even realize that she’s gone until you hear the door shut behind you. 

You shakily stand up and swing your bag onto your shoulders and go to the library, desperately trying to ignore the heat between your legs.

After dinner, you pick up the package containing the perfume on your way back to your dorm. You’re almost afraid to open and smell it because you know your body will betray your mind. Your cunt has become conditioned to the scent—conditioned to Agatha—and you really need to figure out how to stop it. You’d throw out the bottle entirely if you hadn’t spent so much money on it. You’ll find some use for it, maybe for a party or something. 

Just as you get into your room, your phone buzzes with an email. Your heart starts to race when you see Agatha Harkness at the top of it and you quickly click on it. 

To your dismay, it’s just a course email. 

Hello Personality Psych, 

Here is the link for information concerning the speaker presentation next Tuesday evening that I mentioned in class. As a reminder, you will not receive any extra credit for attending, but it is an opportunity to learn more about flaws in renowned psychological experiments. Please email me if you are interested so I can get your name on the list. 

Best, 

Professor Harkness

You chew on your lip. It’s not something that you necessarily want to go to, and for no extra credit, it might be a waste of time. 

But you do seriously doubt that anyone else in your class is going to go, which would make you stand out to Agatha. 

You imagine walking into a room full of people you don’t know, anxiously scanning the crowd, to find her smiling at you and beckoning for you to go sit next to her. She’d lean in to whisper some remarks about the speaker into your ear and her hair would tickle your skin. Maybe you’d be bouncing your leg because of your trouble sitting still and she’d put a hand on your thigh to help you focus. 

Fuck. Your cheeks are burning now and the temptation to open the perfume so it feels like she’s there is gnawing strongly inside you. 

Instead, you compose a new email. 

Hi Professor Harkness, 

I would love to attend the presentation.

Thanks! 

You sign it off with your name and hit send before you can rethink it and then throw your phone to the end of the bed. 

The moment you press your hands to your face because you can’t believe how bad this is getting, your phone vibrates. You know what it’s going to be before you even look at it, and yet you’re still surprised to find that Agatha responded almost immediately. 

I’m very glad to hear that and I look forward to seeing you there. 

Professor Harkness. 

Only this time, instead of the regular email signature under her name, and every other professor’s name in their emails, that shows her position, the university name, and her email address, there’s something else as well. 

Ten digits. Your breath catches in her throat. 

She added her phone number. 

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[yanderedrabbles]

Imagine being a lady out in the Wild West, mayor's daughter, preacher's niece, something good and proper. All tight laced and demure on Sundays, sweet and pretty all week 'round.

You got plenty of admirers. Cowpokes drifting through your small town who promise themselves that the second they've got more than dirt to their name, they're coming back to marry you. Traders and tradesman who see you in your Sunday best and think how sweet it would be to have you waiting at home for them. And others too. Men with too sharp eyes and hats kept low. They think about you too, but always at night. Always with one hand slick.

You've got plenty of folk with eyes on you, but no real suitors. Whoever your guardian is, they've got high standards. Maybe your father is hoping for a good political match, or your uncle is looking for a God fearing man. Either way, you're untouchable. Untouched.

Well, until you ain't.

Maybe the man who takes you is one of those hard eyed drifters, with a mean mustang and an even meaner right hook. A crook in everything but name. Maybe he doesn't work alone, and it's a whole pack of them who grab you straight out of your backyard, hands pressed against your mouth so hard they leave bruises on your cheeks.

Either way, they've got just about one thing on their mind. And they don't want to be interrupted.

They take you out to the desert, or out into the deep woods, or far into the canyons. Somewhere lonesome. Somewhere they can take their time with you.

Maybe they succeed. Get to keep you all to themselves. A prize too sweet for men like them, a little missy who would always be out of reach if they didn't take matters into their own hands. Their hands are rough with labour - wrangling and gunslinging and digging graves for folk that wouldn't otherwise need them. And rough with you, too. Skimming up your thighs, prying them apart...

That's what folk would call a bad ending. Would shake their heads over and secretly pray that it never happens to one of their girls.

Maybe they succeed. Or maybe, just maybe... they don't.

See, the sheriff of your town is a hard man. White hat always clean, badge always shiny, but his gun is nicked with use, his spurs dull with hard riding. And when he hears what happened, it ain't long before he's on your trail. Pushing his stallion until it's frothing under the saddle. Hoping to get to you before night time. Before the sun goes down and the lust comes out.

He finds you easy enough, but it's just him against a gang and that ain't no easy win. He watches them from a distance, from up on the canyon maybe, or from between the thick trees. Sees you sitting at their campfire, hands and feet tied, pretty white dress stained with mud.

He sees that and thinks how he'd rather eat lead than see them stain the rest of you so dirty.

It ain't easy. It takes planning, skill. He lures them out one at a time and picks them off. Knife between the ribs, arrow straight through the neck, a wire pulled taught and tight around their throat. Until it's just him and the leader left - the man who chose to take you, the one who'd have gotten the prime cuts when it came to butchering your innocence.

It could go either way at this point. The sheriff ain't no slouch but the gunslinger is younger, hungrier. Folk would say the good guy should win, that justice ought to come out on top, and that you deserve your happy ending. But the truth is that they're both rotten to the core.

'Cause it ain't duty that made the sheriff ride his horse lame trying to get to you. No. It's love, of the kind just as perverse as the outlaw's. Only difference is that the sheriff has a whole society of rules and laws and expectations to keep him in check. And out here? Well, they just don't apply.

If the outlaw wins, the story ends pretty simple. He keeps you, has his way with you. Ruins you. Tucks you away in his hideout for only him to enjoy.

But I don't think that's what happens. The sheriff might not have the other man's speed, but he's got experience, age, years of watching cocksure young men giving themselves away when they go for their guns too early. He puts a bullet right in the other man's heart and steps over his body to get to you.

You're shaking, crying so hard that your gag is soaked through. Looking up at him so thankful that he wants to fuck you right then and there.

He cuts through your ropes and you hug him, not caring one bit that it ain't something a proper lady would do. He kneels on one leg and let's you cry into his shirt, voice all weak and sweet as you thank him.

"They was gonna do such awful things sheriff. Kept tellin' me how good it would be for me, but they kept touching me. Sheriff, I was so scared."

If he could, he'd kill them all over again. Instead he just holds you. Ignores the age gap between you, ignores how it ain't the proper thing to do.

"I'm here darlin'. And ain't no one gonna lay a finger on you again, you hear?"

You nuzzle into his neck, hiccuping. And God, it feels good to hold you. He's too old for you - hair going grey at the temples despite him still being lean with muscle. He's too jaded and mean for you - how can he be a good match for such an innocent thing when his hands are soaked in blood? He knows, but he just doesn't care.

Just scoops you up in his arms and carries you to his horse.

If there's one thing you ain't realised, it's that the sheriff is about as sly as he is mean. When he takes you home, he'll probably take your guardian aside for a quiet word. Lie straight through his teeth and tell them he was too late, that you were ruined before he got there.

He'll watch them go pale, watch the cogs turning. Who will want you now? And when he sees that awful realisation on their face, that's when he goes in for the kill.

Puts his hat over his heart and says he's so ashamed that he wasn't faster. That he couldn't save your innocence and your life both. That if your pa would give his blessing, he'd be more than happy to take you as his wife.

It's not the match they wanted for you. He's not a great political ally and he sure as hell ain't a God fearing man. But who else will have you once the rumours start flying?

And when they tell you, you're too shaken to object. Too indebted to the law man to wonder what he said to make them suddenly so amenable.

It's a nasty trick to pull. A theft almost as bad as your kidnapper's. You're too good for a dog like him, but he'll be damned 'fore he let's you get away. Rabid dogs sink their teeth in and never let go, didn't nobody ever tell you that sweetheart?

And on your wedding night, when he claims his reward from between your thighs, you slowly start to realise that honour isn't as easily found as you once thought, that a badge doesn't make a man good. He'll probably look up at you from between your legs, his lips and stubble shiny with your wetness. Smirking like a wolf who got locked in the pen with the whole helpless flock.

In the end, you only have yourself to blame. I tried to tell you he was rotten.

[deswhomst]

See You Again (Will I?) — @black-brothers-microfic — WC: 1366 | Warnings: implied (sacrificial) suicide

Hogwarts circa June, 1978.

“Regulus,” Sirius said, the name foreign on his tongue, the sound wrong in his ears.

The younger boy gave a short nod. “Sirius.”

Oh—his own name sounded wrong, too.

It was a well-established fact that Sirius hated the Blacks and that included the hollow shell of a brother he once knew—who was now staring back at him with a razor-sharp gaze.

Regulus used to be such a soft kid—annoying and snobbish, yes, but polite and sweet, too. It was like Sirius had blinked one day and Regulus had shattered into a mosaic of broken glass, all jagged edges that threatened to leave the deepest cuts. A part of Sirius knew that he had missed out on his brother’s life by his own choice but he couldn’t help the wound that opened up in his heart at thought.

Sirius decided to speak up. “I’m leaving.”

Regulus raised one perfectly arched eyebrow.

“I mean—” Sirius grimaced at the wording. “Hogwarts. Seventh Year done and whatnot.”

“A bit surprised, if I’m being honest,” Regulus said. “I always imagined that you would get expelled.”

Why did he speak like that? Absolutely zero emotion on his face. He had changed so much in the last two years—him arguing with Sirius and being a little bitch was much better than … whatever this was.

“Yeah, well,” Sirius shrugged, passing him a toothy grin. “Came close once. Or ten times.”

“I’m sure.”

Usually, Sirius would be mean to Regulus. He would look at him and turn away in pure contempt. Today, however, with all the goodbyes and a war looming ahead, Sirius found himself overcome with a fondness for his brother that hasn’t been there in … six years? Longer?

Sirius has heard the rumors about Regulus already becoming a Death Eater. He knew that even if it wasn’t true, yet, that was still the path Regulus was heading down. That has always been his big goal in life. The thought of it brought back some bitterness but the more prominent cloud in Sirius’ mind was a heavy reminder that he would be on opposite sides of a war with his own brother.

He had no confirmation that Regulus had actually taken the Dark Mark and as long as he didn’t, Sirius reasoned, he had one last chance to say the goodbye they had put off for two years.

Sirius didn’t think much about it. Words were failing him, anyways, and so he moved forward, bringing his arm around Regulus in a hug that neither of them were prepared for.

Regulus went rigid instantly, his entire body locking up as if he had been petrified. The hesitation, the instinctive recoil, it all vibrated through Sirius’ own body, but then—slowly, stiffly—Regulus started to return the embrace. In all honesty, it was not much at all. There was no warmth—in fact, even under the glare of the summer sun, Regulus felt colder than ice. But it was there, he was there, and Sirius decided that this would have to count. It would have to mean something, and it does.

Sirius exhaled through his nose, gripping the fabric of Regulus’ robes for just a second longer before pulling back. His hands lingered on his brother’s arms, giving them a brief squeeze before letting go entirely.

“This is the last time,” Sirius said, voice not as steady as he had intended.

Regulus blinked, something flickering across his face but it was gone before Sirius could place it. “Hmm?”

“This is the last time,” Sirius pressed more firmly, “we will ever see each other.”

Regulus did not argue. He only nodded, paused for one second, then promptly turned on his heel and walked away.

This time, Sirius watched Regulus leave.

Knockturn Alley circa August, 1979.

Regulus stepped out of Burkin and Burkes, the replica of Slytherin’s locket safely tucked into his pocket. Time was moving slowly for him tonight, which probably made sense since he was quite literally on his way to trade his life for the real locket.

For someone who was about to die at eighteen, Regulus didn’t have much that he wanted to do. He wished that things had been different but, honestly, even without the war, Regulus Black would not mean anything to anyone. That was his reality, it was his burden, and he will rot the water with it soon.

Perhaps the universe wasn’t done punishing Regulus, though, because as he turned down an alley, he came face to face with his brother. The estranged, disowned brother he hadn’t seen in a year. The brother who was actively fighting against him.

Where the light bled into the dark, where the flickering streetlamps didn’t reach, that’s where Regulus saw Sirius again.

One last time.

“I don’t want to fight,” Regulus found himself saying, immediately, voice small. He was exhausted—bone-deep and soul-deep. There was nothing left in him to give anymore. “Please, Sirius.”

Sirius was accessing him carefully, jaw clenched tightly, but Regulus caught the hint of concern in his unforgiving gaze. He must look like a special brand of shit for Sirius to put aside his hatred.

“You look like hell,” Sirius muttered, confirming that theory.

Regulus huffed. “Don’t we all?”

Sirius didn’t smile. Regulus hadn’t expected him to. With that, a silence settled over them, and calling it uncomfortable would not do it justice.

None of it mattered, anyways.

Regulus was already dying.

He was dying, and Sirius hated him.

He was dying, and no one loved him.

“I know we’re on opposite sides,” he admitted, keeping his gaze fixed on the cold stone wall behind Sirius’ shoulder. “And I know what that means.”

“Do you?” Sirius’ voice was sharp, edged with something dangerous. Something awful, something hateful. “Because if you did, you wouldn’t be here.”

Regulus shook his head, a bit desperate. “I do,” he hesitated, his fingers curling into fists at his sides. “I don’t expect you to understand, but this—this is something that I have to do.”

Sirius’ expression twisted, frustration flickering across his face. “You’ve never had to—”

“Listen,” Regulus cut in, digging crescents into his palm. “I meant what I said about not wanting to fight. Please, Sirius, don’t be mean to me today.”

It was unfair. It was pathetic, too, but again—Regulus was dying so nothing mattered. What was Sirius going to do? Leave him again? Kill him more?

None of it mattered.

Regulus didn’t matter. He never had, never will.

“Reggie—”

And maybe it was simply the fear of dying alone or maybe it was the use of the nickname the Regulus hadn’t heard in years that made him pull Sirius into a hug in that moment.

Regulus had never initiated an embrace with anyone before—and he never will after this. This had been his last chance to do so and he has done it. Now, at least, Regulus can claim that in the eighteen years he got, he had given one hug.

It was warm despite his own inherent coldness. Unlike Regulus, Sirius didn’t hesitate before retuning it, arms circling around his shoulders. It was then that Regulus realized that he had grown taller than Sirius. The older Black seemed to have come to the same conclusion, his response being a tight squeeze.

In another life, Regulus would have teased him about this. In another life, Sirius would have been annoyed by this.

Regulus didn’t let go of his brother for what felt like an eternity. He wished that Sirius would ask him to stay, but how could Sirius know where he was headed? Would it change anything, Regulus wondered? If Sirius knew that Regulus was going to give up his life to bring down the Dark Lord, would he stop him?

Will he mourn him?

Will anyone?

“Alright. Alright,” Sirius sighed. He was the first to pull away and it had to be him because Regulus wasn’t brave enough to face reality again. “Stupid question but … are you okay?”

Regulus supposed that’s something he hasn’t done yet. Be okay. He pulled back further, shrugging.

“You were wrong, Sirius,” Regulus muttered. “This is the last time we will ever see each other.”

Sirius had left once, so Regulus had to be the one who left at least twice.

And for good this time.

Edit: Moodboard I made inspired by this

[insomniac4000]

George Clarke- Gretna Green

Y/N had always imagined her wedding day as something small, intimate, and filled with love. She and George had agreed on that from the start—just a handful of close friends, a simple ceremony, and a party that didn’t break the bank. But somewhere along the way, her family had taken over.

Her mother had started by insisting they invite "just a few" more relatives

"Oh darling, you should invite your cousins, it would be rude not to!" Suddenly the guest list had doubled.

Then came You can’t just do a basic ceremony—what about a venue? A full reception? A PROPER wedding?

Her sister, who lived in Spain, was now adamant that the wedding be held there, despite neither Y/N nor George wanting a destination wedding.

“I live in Spain, Y/N,” she’d scoffed on FaceTime. “It makes so much sense to do it here! And it’s way more picturesque than— I don’t know—some dingy little registry office.”

“It’s not dingy,” Y/N had argued. “And George and I just want something small.”

Her mother had sighed dramatically. “You’ll regret not doing it properly. Think of how wonderful the pictures would be! What about your guests?”

Every conversation seemed to turn into another argument, another compromise that wasn’t really a compromise at all.

George watched as Y/N became more and more drained. She wasn’t eating properly, she barely smiled when they talked about the wedding anymore, and worst of all, she was constantly on the verge of tears.

And George couldn’t bear it any longer.

Y/N sat at the kitchen table, staring blankly at the guest list her mum had sent.

George walked in, fresh from filming with Max and Chris, and immediately clocked her exhausted expression. “Alright, what’s wrong?”

She exhaled, pushing her phone towards him.

George skimmed the messages, his jaw tightening. “Why are we inviting Siobhan from Pilates?”

“She’s my mum’s friend. Apparently, she’d be heartbroken not to come.”

George scoffed. “Have you ever spoken to this woman?”

“Nope.”

He set the phone down. “Babe, I cannot let you do this to yourself.”

Tears welled in her eyes. “I just wanted something simple.”

“Then let’s have something simple,” he said firmly.

She sighed. “How? My mum won’t—”

“Then let’s elope.”

Y/N blinked. “What?”

George grinned. “Elope. Run away. Scotland. Just us and the people we actually want there.”

She hesitated. “My mum will kill me.”

“I’ll take the hit,” George promised. “But you should be happy about getting married, not drowning in stress. Think about it. No stress, no guest lists, no family politics. Just us and the people who actually support us.”

Her lips parted in surprise. “You’re serious.”

“Dead serious,” he said. “I can’t stand watching you feel like this, and I don’t want to spend the next six months arguing with your mum about chair covers or dealing with your sister throwing a fit because it’s not in Spain. Let’s just go. Scotland, maybe? Get a little cottage, grab the lads, and do it our way.”

For the first time in weeks, Y/N felt relief.

“Let’s do it."

“Yeah.” George’s face lit up with excitement. “

A smile crept onto her lips. “Scotland?”

“Yeah, proper romantic. Lochs, mountains, a little pub to celebrate afterward.” He kissed her knuckles. “Just us, babe.”

For the first time in weeks, Y/N felt a weight lift from her shoulders. “Let’s do it.”

Y/N paced the flat, phone in hand. Chris, Max, and Harry sat on the sofa, watching with interest.

Chris leaned in. “Want me on speaker for moral support?”

“I can yell shame! if necessary,” Max offered.

Harry smirked. “I say we let her cook.”

Y/N took a deep breath and called.

“Y/N, darling!” Her mother answered. “I was just about to call! I spoke to a caterer who does the most exquisite—”

“Mum.” Y/N cut her off. “George and I have decided to have a private wedding. We’re going to Scotland next week and getting married there, just us and a few close friends.”

Silence.

Then—

“… You can’t be serious.”

“I am,” Y/N said firmly.

Her mother’s voice sharpened. “You’re being selfish.”

Y/N flinched. George sat up straighter.

“It’s my wedding, Mum.”

“It’s supposed to be a family celebration,” her mother snapped. “What about your sister? What about me?”

Y/N’s chest tightened. “You should be happy for me.”

Her mother huffed. “I can’t believe you’re doing this.”

Y/N exhaled. “I love you. But this is our choice.”

The call ended in icy silence.

Y/N turned to George. “Well… that went well.”

Chris raised his beer. “To Scotland, then."

"To Scotland," she grinned for the first time in weeks, she had chosen her happiness.

And that happiness came in the form of George, a train ride to Scotland, and a suitcase filled with nothing but a simple white dress and a bottle of champagne.

Scotland: The Wedding They Wanted

They rented a beautiful lodge overlooking a loch. Their guest list? Their actual friends.

Chris, Max, Harry, Ethan, Simon, Talia, Faith, and both the Arthur's all came, thrilled to be part of something special.

The night before, Y/N sat outside, staring at the misty hills.

Chris walked up with two beers, handing her one. “You alright?”

She smiled. “Yeah. I just… I can’t believe we actually did it.”

Chris grinned. “No offence, but I can. George is an absolute menace when he puts his mind to something.”

She laughed. “True.”

He nudged her. “But also, this? This is you. Not a giant wedding with a guest list full of Pilates instructors.”

Y/N exhaled. “You’re right.”

Chris bumped his bottle against hers. “I usually am.”

She rolled her eyes. “Now you sound like George.”

Chris smirked. “Maybe I lived with him for too long. But from tomorrow he's your responsibility.”

The next afternoon, the sun peeked through the clouds as Y/N stood in a simple, flowing white dress, wildflowers in her hands, Chris had given her away just as she asked.

A local officiant stood before them, smiling warmly.

Max, standing beside George, gave him a cheeky nudge.

“Alright, listen up,” the officiant began. “This is a celebration of love, in the way that you two chose. No expectations, no obligations—just two people committing to each other.”

Y/N squeezed George’s hands.

“George,” the officiant said, “do you promise to love and cherish Y/N, even when she steals the duvet, forces you to take Instagram photos, and insists on watching terrible reality TV?”

George grinned. “I do.”

The officiant turned to Y/N. “Do you promise to love and cherish George, even when he’s annoying as hell, makes stupid jokes, and refuses to let you have a normal wedding?”

Y/N giggled. “I do.”

The officiant smiled. “Then, with the blessing of those present, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss.”

George wasted no time, cupping Y/N’s face and kissing her as cheers erupted around them.

Chris yelled, “ABOUT TIME!”

Ethan clapped loudly. “Look at my guy!”

Talia sniffled dramatically, making Simon laugh. “You alright, babe?”

Faith beamed. “That was perfect.”

And just like that, they had the wedding they wanted.

That night, they sat in a cosy pub by the fire, laughing over pints and whiskey. George held Y/N’s hand, thumb brushing over her wedding ring.

“See?” he murmured. “We did it our way.”

She smiled, resting her head on his shoulder. “Best decision we ever made.”

Chris raised his glass. “To George and Y/N—who escaped the madness.”

Max smirked. “To be fair, I kinda wish her mum had shown up mid-ceremony. That would’ve been drama.”

Everyone laughed.

And in the warmth of that little Scottish pub, surrounded by real friends, George and Y/N knew—

They wouldn’t have had it any other way.

[livmightlive]

LU Detroit Become Human/Android AU

I should start this by saying that I’ve never played the game myself but I really love the concept! I do apologize if things are messy though, this really just spilled out of me 😭 for anyone who doesn’t really know Detroit Become Human, it’s basically a future America where a huge company makes hyper realistic androids who have different jobs. They all have the ability to deviate which is basically just them breaking past their coding and developing a conscience/sentience (and I would say a soul). The company obviously doesn’t like this and tries to stop this. If anything, this is just my take on an Android AU.

Anyways, here’s it in context of LU

Sky: Bodyguard Android

starts to deviate when he starts forming an attachment to Sun

She gets kidnapped in a political scheme. His handlers try to bench him but he fully deviates and goes out by himself to find her. 

He’s probably a newer model or gets upgraded regularly. Sun is sentimental so she tries to make sure to keep him because he’s familiar in her busy life. (She’s the daughter to the president or whoever the head of state is)

He manages to find and rescue Sun but not without suffering a lot of damage. Especially electrical damage.

Sun is touched. She doesn’t care that her savior is an android at all and she especially doesn’t care that Sky is deviated. She loves him too. She tells him that she could always tell that he was different…

It pains her, breaks her heart, but she sends Sky away for his own good.

Four: Different androids downloaded into a child model 

Four is the combination of 4 different deviated androids uploaded into a child model. 

Red, Blue, Green, and Vio (these are like perfect names for robots) all “worked” in the same company. It’s like a big sales department or something like that. 

Red is a nanny bot for the building’s daycare, Blue is a security bot, Green is a secretary bot, and Vio is basically a filing bot

They all deviate separately. When it’s found that they’re deviating they’re all destroyed on company grounds and dumped in the landfill. (It’s cheaper to do this rather than send them back)

Green managed to wake up. He’s broken beyond repair but he manages to spot an empty child android near their dumping spot. He takes pity on the others and somehow manages to upload them all into one body.

Shadow is a virus in the bot they all share. He got so big that somehow he developed a consciousness of his own. (Probably the reason the model was discarded in the first place. Imagine you’re grieving so you get a child android and it starts going ‘evil mode’)

Somehow they all make this work, Shadow included.

Time: Repurposed as a farm Android

Time started out as a child android but was recycled to be used in a small military project. 

This project is the predecessor to the one Wars is in so it’s mostly just an experiment.

Time starts to deviate because whoever was supposed to wipe all of his previous hardware, THE CHILD HARDWARE, messed up and left a good portion of it behind along with his memory bank. 

So now Time is basically child coding in an adult model being forced to learn how to commit acts of violence. It doesn’t mesh well with his former programs and he deviates. 

He escapes and immediately gets swiped up and sold to a pawn shop.

Eventually Talon buys him for extra hands on his ranch.

Time starts to really enjoy this. He takes to the farm lifestyle really well. Malon also is really great. He loves having a friend. 

As she grows, he finally gets to grow, mentally at least. It’s a weird experience for him because a good amount of his programming was never meant to grow past a child state. 

Malon and Talon realize that he’s a deviant and probably has been for a long time. They don’t care and vow to protect him. He’s family. 

Malon and Time fall in love and take over the ranch. Slowly it becomes a safe space for other deviants.

Twilight: Officer Android (Turned wolf)

Twilight is an officer android at a women’s prison. 

A lot of the people there actually like Twilight a lot because he is not cruel or condescending like a lot of the human officers and he’s kind of easy to get stuff out of.

They can mess with Twilight’s programming enough to get extra stuff from the commissary or help with their jobs. Twilight is very helpful. He’s also programmed to know their rights and local social programs so he’s very useful to have around before court dates.

Midna is an android activist who had gotten incarcerated. She slowly gets Twilight to trust her and eventually convinces him to help her break out. He doesn’t realize it, but she’s been slowly getting him to deviate as well. 

When the break out happens, Midna gets away and Twilight gets captured. She feels awful knowing that he’s likely going to be destroyed.

Instead he’s used in some experiments where they try to plant human focused hardware into android (can androids be animals???) animals. They put him into a wolf dog that would usually be meant to assist police. 

This is a miserable experience for Twilight, especially now that he’s deviated.

Midna, who’s poked around to see if she can save Twilight from being pulverized, stages a rescue mission and gets him out. She sends him somewhere she things will be safe.

Wind: Child Model in a retirement home

Wind is a child android that’s used in a retirement home to bring joy and to lift the spirits of the residents there. 

At first he doesn’t even realize that he’s deviated until Granny, his secret favorite resident, mentions it to him. Turns out a lot of the old folks knew but they didn’t care bc Wind is so charming and they really do love him.

For a while he continues as normal, just with the knowledge that he’s loved. If anything he performs better. 

One day Ayrll, the granddaughter of Granny, is visiting. Another resident gets really confused and tries to grab her, hurting and scaring her. Wind uses physical force to separate them, something not in his coding at all.

The retirement home doesn’t want to do extra paperwork so they get rid of Wind by tying him up and dropping him off a boat. (The retirement home is on the ocean)

Tetra later fishes him up and brings him back online. 

Tetra is very happy to have a “maid bot” which pisses Wind off a lot. She lives in a multigenerational home so she’s excited to do less chores. 

They all figure out that Wind is deviated but they don’t care. They all take him under their wing and fully still expect him to do chores

Legend: Standard Household Android 

Legend is an earlier model of a household Android. He’s been bought and sold 6 DIFFERENT times.

The first time was from his uncle who didn’t actually want him for his programming. He was a lonely old man and Legend was on sale. He treats Legend like a person and when he passes away Legend starts to deviate. 

Legend is auctioned off in an estate sale and some people from outside the country buy him. He travels around with a group that does environmental work and performs aid programs for a while. Everyone there also treats him pretty friendly. On a boat ride back to the mainland a storm hits and Legend goes overboard trying to protect people on the deck.

He washes up on a small island where a girl Marin finds him and repairs him. She, and nobody on the island, treats him like an android at all. He fully deviates and enjoys living like a person. The storm comes back and decimates the island. Marin is gone.

The people who come to offer aid recognize Legend as a deviated android and ship him back to be tested on. 

There he meets Ravio, who is the same exact model as him. Ravio is meant to be compared to Legend so they can study differences in deviant and non deviant androids. 

Legend manages to escape wherever they’re keeping him one day and bumps into Ravio during his attempt to escape. Ravio has never left the series of offices he first woke up in. He’s not fully deviated but he wants to know freedom. He and Legend escape together. 

Hyrule: Medical Android (hospital setting)

Hyrule is one of the first medical androids. Unlike the more modern medical androids, he has a lot of built in programs and functions that newer models don’t have.

He has a built in defibrillator, inhaler, but most uniquely he can make drugs and medicine on the spot. These would be things that paramedics tend to carry like morphine,epinephrine, ketamine. Also more simple things like cold medicines.

His kind was discontinued due to a lot of legal actions taken by companies under big pharma. It’s too convenient, and cheap, to have robots who are programmed to help anybody in need distributing drugs for free. Also some issues with drug dealers stealing his model to have them continuously producing drugs to sell.

He gets discarded, thankfully through illegal means so instead of being sent to a processing facility he’s dumped behind the hospital in a dumpster. 

He spends years wandering the streets in shadier parts of the city aiding people who need it. He doesn’t know when he deviated but it happened slowly. 

He’s hunted by both gangs who want to use him to make drugs. He’s also hunted by the corporation that made him believe that older models that have deviated hold vital information to how it happens in the first place and he’s part of the last of his kind so they want to dissect him. 

Warriors: Soldier Android (Secret military project)

Warriors is part of a military project to use androids as soldiers. This is probably breaking a lot of international treaties so it’s kept as a secret. 

He was meant to be a “captain” Android, one that can over power other android’s programming to control them.

One of the people working on the project becomes infatuated with him. Cia 😭. She steals him and takes him home. 

This is nowhere near as fun as she thought it would be because he doesn’t have a lot of social programming. He just walks around her house and barks orders at the microwave and tells her what strategies they can use if her apartment is attacked.

She buys pleasure bot hardware that has a “boyfriend” program on it because this is becoming unbearable.

Uploading the hardware causes Wars to IMMEDIATELY deviate because this is not at all what he was built to do. It actually corrupts some of his programming.

He’s confused and scared while Cia is exuberant. Finally she has a proper boyfriend. She can ignore the glitching and bugs because at least Wars isn’t yelling at her computer anymore. 

Unfortunately for her, Wars was developed to be a strategic war machine, boyfriend hardware or not, so he identifies her as a threat because she hurt him. His new hardware, however, makes him not want to hurt her. So, he runs away.

Wild: Lab Assistant Android

Wild was an assistant to some brilliant scientists in a lab and engineering facility.

He worked primarily with Flora who treated him like a robot in every way. She’s kind of creeped out by the idea of androids so she’s not really fond of having one around her all the time. He is useful though. 

Her coworkers treat the android a lot more humanly than she does for a while. Eventually she gets used to him and starts getting kinder and kinder. 

Wild starts to deviate but he desperately tries to hide it. He really enjoys the time he gets to spend with his friends.

One day something goes wrong and the lab starts to explode. Wild fully deviates to rescue Flora. He’s able to get her out just in the nick of time. He gets stuck inside though after a wall collapses and traps half of his body under rubble. He yells at her to run and so she does.

Wild comes back online with his memory files damaged or gone and half of his body melted and severely damaged. He can’t remember anything but he feels like a person. 

Eventually everyone ends up together on Time’s ranch but I really haven’t thought out a story ;•_•

 I hope this isn’t a confusing or messy read 😭 it really just kind of poured out of me. I’m aware there’s like a crazy amount of plot holes but I had a ton of fun writing this!! I might go back later and rewrite or try and clean this up. If you have any thoughts, questions, suggestions, (how to fill said plot holes 😭) please lmk!! I thrive off of interaction!!! Ty for reading 💕

[minxmut-cafe]

BEAR WITH ME ??

Pairing : Bear hybrid Namjoon x Ferret hybrid reader

Word count : 10k words.

Authors note : HAHDBDHD HELLO YOU GUYS!! I'm really excited to post this because I had ALOT of fun writing this. I love love LOVED the whole dynamic as well and tbf it's minor self insert because..I too can be a menace. Like I'm not THAT much of a menace but I've had enough complaints to know I am one lololol. I think I'm gonna post more stuff about these two. I've already planned a few more things and some other scenarios and stuff. Like I said I REALLY enjoyed the whole dynamic and i think you guys would as well. ALSO I've had to make 2 parts of this because I keep hitting the word count on the damn post. BE SURE TO LIKE BOTH PARTS And if you have any requests or query my requests and asks are always open. <3

Warning : Smut, Vaginal sex, oral sex (M & F receiving), hybrid sex, mentions of death, mention of heat, feral Namjoon, size kink, spanking, mating press, mentions of various sex positions, reader being a menace, Namjoons a gentle giant, rough sex, cunnilingus, idiots in love, reader is immature, Namjoon is suffering, HUGE size difference (Imagine gyomei and shinobu). Masturbation, Namjoons a boob guy. Titty analysis :)

Synopsis :

"Namjoon spots a Tiny ferret hybrid getting pushed around by a bunch of hyena hybrids and decides to intervene. Little did he know that would lead to a series of interesting, traumatising and hilarious memories, some of which he's convinced were attempted murder attempts."

The quad was bustling. Students milled about, chatting, heading to class, or loitering in the late afternoon sun. It was a typical day—except for the growing commotion near the campus fountain.

A group of hyena hybrids had circled someone.

Laughter, sharp and jeering, cut through the air.

And in the middle of it all stood her—half their size, shoulders squared, and pissed.

“Come on, sweetheart,” one of the hyenas drawled, tail flicking behind him. “We’re just playing.”

Another snickered. “Yeah, don’t be so...uptight.”

She scowled, baring her small, but very sharp teeth. “Say that again.”

“Ooooh.” They mocked her. “She’s got bite.”

A growl rumbled in her throat, but before she could launch herself at them—

A shadow loomed.

Everything stopped.

The hyenas stiffened, their ears flattening as a new presence entered the circle.

He was massive.

Towering over them like a walking monolith, broad shoulders casting a dark silhouette against the sun. His round glasses reflected the light, but his expression was unreadable.

A grizzly bear hybrid.

And not just any bear—one that could easily break them in half if he wanted.

The air shifted.

The hyenas hesitated—then, in a blur of nervous laughter, backed off. “Relax, man. No need to get involved.”

And just like that, they scurried away.

Silence.

Then—

She turned, glaring up at her so-called savior.

“What, you wanna fight too?!”

Namjoon’s eyes widened.

“EH?—NO—WAIT—” He lifted his hands, panicked. “I wasn’t—I didn’t—”

She squinted. Suspicious. “Then what do you want?”

“I just—” He struggled, fumbling for words. “I saw you getting pushed around and thought—”

“I had it handled,” she snapped.

Namjoon blinked.

Then, despite himself, a tiny smile pulled at his lips. “Yeah… I think you did.”

And that was how you met Kim Namjoon.

If anyone on campus had to describe their relationship, they wouldn’t know what to say.

It started with the hyena incident—which, in your opinion, wasn’t even that big of a deal. You had them handled. But then Namjoon had to come in like some big, overgrown hero, and suddenly, y'all were seeing each other everywhere.

Same lecture hall.

Same group projects.

Same spot at the café.

And for some stupid reason, you both always ended up together.

Namjoon, to his credit, was a bean. A giant, shy, soft-spoken bean who somehow made people nervous just by existing. He was taller than most— 7'3 to be exact, broader than all, and had the gentlest voice she’d ever heard. He was polite to everyone, rarely raised his voice, and for some reason, people still thought he was scary.

You , however?

You were half his size, twice the chaos, and nice to exactly one person.

Which meant one thing—

Once you were close enough, you never left him alone.

“Namjoon,” you huffed one afternoon, climbing onto him like a tree.

He blinked, startled, as you hoisted herself onto his back. “Uh—what—?”

“The quad’s packed. Carry me.”

He hesitated. “You have legs?”

“And you have muscles,” you shot back, wrapping her arms around his broad-ass shoulders. “I don’t see the problem.”

Namjoon sighed but adjusted his grip and carried you anyway.

Your classmates barely reacted. At this point, this was normal.

The first time you saw him shirtless, it was completely by accident.

You’d been raiding his fridge, sitting on his counter, happily munching away on his leftover dumplings when he walked in—

Fresh out of the shower.

Shirtless.

With his glasses still on.

Water dripped from his messy curls, his golden skin still damp from the steam. And, most importantly—

His chest.

His pecs.

You froze mid-bite.

Namjoon stopped in his tracks.

Silence.

Then—

“Oh,” you said casually, chewing. “Need help holding those up?”

Namjoon choked.

His entire face turned red. “W-What?!”

You grinned. “Y’know.” you gestured lazily. “Those badonks or if you want the more sophisticated name boobies.”

Namjoon spluttered, immediately grabbing the nearest hoodie and shoving it over his head. “I—THAT’S NOT—”

Too late.

You had already decided.

He was your new favorite toy.

You also had a bad habit of picking arguments you couldn’t win. It was in your nature as a ferret hybrid—small, scrappy, and absolutely lacking in self-preservation.

Namjoon, unfortunately, had a bad habit of ending those arguments in the most unfair way possible.

Lifting you.

It didn’t matter if you were mid-rant, arms flailing dramatically—he’d simply sigh, scoop you up with one arm, and hold you at arm’s length like a misbehaving kitten.

“PUT ME DOWN, YOU TREE!”

“Not until you calm down,” he’d say, voice as gentle as ever.

“I’LL BITE YOU.”

“You always say that, but you never do.”

You bared your teeth. “This time I mean it.”

He just sighed and adjusted his grip, holding you higher like you were some kind of unruly toddler.

It didn’t help that you also had a habit of climbing him in crowded spaces.

“Personal space,” Namjoon warned as you latched onto him like a koala in the cafeteria.

“No.”

“People are staring.”

“Let them. I’m comfy.”

“You’re on my back.”

“Again, comfy.” you huff.

He eventually just gave up and started carrying you without complaint.

Winter was the worst. You hated the cold.

Namjoon, however, was a walking furnace.

You quickly realized that hugging him was like curling up next to a heated blanket, and you took full advantage.

It started subtly—leaning against him during study sessions, pressing up to his side when you were sitting together. Then it escalated to full-on bear hugs at every opportunity.

At first, Namjoon tried to act like he wasn’t affected.

But then came the day you simply plopped onto his lap in the library.

He tensed, ears turning red. “What are you doing?”

“Getting warm,” you said, making yourself comfortable.

“I—you—you can’t just—”

“You’re literally a bear. This is your purpose.”

He spluttered but ultimately let you be. And from that day on, your lap privileges were unofficially granted.

You were a menace. He had accepted that. Truly. But there were moments that made him re-think everything.

Namjoon is trying to have a serious conversation with a professor.

You're behind the professor, making the most outrageous hand gestures.

At first, it’s subtle. A suggestive eyebrow wiggle. A tiny lip bite.

Namjoon notices. Regrets noticing immediately.

Then you gets bolder. You start doing obscene gestures.

Namjoon chokes mid-sentence.

Professor, slightly confused "Are you... alright, Namjoon?"

Namjoon, stiff as a board "Yes. Absolutely. Fine."

He tries to ignore you , but you keep going.

Pretending to sensually lick your fingers. Mimicking very inappropriate things.

Namjoon, mentally thought "Kill me. Just kill me now."

He knows if he calls you out, he will be the one looking guilty.

The second the professor leaves, he just picks you up and carries you away.

Namjoon, exasperated: "What is WRONG with you??"

You on the other hand? wheezing from laughter

"You should’ve seen your face—"

Namjoon, mutters under his breath "I swear I’m gonna kiss you just to shut you up."

And that makes you go quiet. (For once.)

At first, you didn’t notice anything was off.

Study sessions at Namjoon’s place had always been your favorite—his apartment was warm, cozy, and filled with books. He made the best tea, had the fluffiest blankets, and, most importantly, he didn’t mind when you sprawled out on his couch like you owned the place.

But then something changed.

Namjoon got sleepy. Not just normal sleepy—bear hybrid in hibernation mode sleepy.

At first, it was small things. He’d yawn more, stretch like a cat mid-sentence, blink at you drowsily while you ranted about your latest shenanigans. Then it escalated—he’d start dozing off while sitting up, nodding off mid-study session, even mumbling nonsense in his sleep.

And it was driving you insane.

“Namjoon,” you poked his cheek. “Focus.”

He blinked at you slowly. “I am.”

“You’re literally drooling on your book.”

He made a vague grumbling noise and turned his head, pressing his face into the couch cushion.

“Hey!” You shook him. “No sleeping, bear boy.”

“M’not sleeping,” he slurred. “M’listening.”

“You’re hibernating. You cannot just hibernate in the middle of exam season.”

He groaned, dragging a blanket over his head. “Just a little nap.”

You huffed. This wasn’t fair. You were used to a grumpy, flustered Namjoon, a Namjoon who sighed heavily whenever you did something unhinged. But now? Now he was too sleepy to react to your nonsense.

Boring.

So, naturally, you decided to fix it.

You waited until one particularly bad day when Namjoon was practically melting into his couch, wrapped in a cocoon of blankets. His glasses were slipping down his nose, his book long forgotten as he blinked sleepily at the wall.

That’s when you struck.

You climbed onto the couch, grabbed his shoulders, and shook him.

“Wake up, you oversized teddy bear!”

Big mistake.

Before you could react, Namjoon made a low, grumbly noise and grabbed you.

“What the—”

You barely had time to squeak before you were yanked into his arms and smushed against his chest.

Panic set in.

“Namjoon.” You wiggled. His grip tightened.

Oh. Oh no.

You were trapped.

The weight of a freaking bear hybrid pressed down on you, limbs wrapped securely around your body. You struggled, but it was like being stuck under a weighted blanket from hell. Warm, cozy, and completely inescapable.

You tried logic. “Namjoon, you can’t just—”

A deep rumble cut you off. Not quite a growl. More like… a purr.

A sleepy, contented bear purr.

Your brain short-circuited. “Did you just purr at me?”

No response. Just another deep, satisfied hum as he nuzzled into your hair.

Oh. You were doomed.

For hours, you were trapped, helpless as Namjoon slept soundly, using you as his personal body pillow. Every attempt to escape was met with an unconscious squeeze, like a giant, affectionate bear reminding you no, you stay here now.

By the time he finally woke up, stretching with a yawn and blinking at you like he was surprised to find you in his arms, you were fuming.

“You absolute menace,” you growled. “I’ve been stuck here for hours.”

Namjoon tilted his head, still half-asleep. Then, with the softest, sleepiest smile, showing off his stupid dimples, he mumbled, “You’re warm.”

Your brain broke.

You didn’t know whether to slap him or melt into a puddle.

So, naturally, you did the only thing that made sense.

You bit him.

He didn’t even react. Too sleepy.

It was official. Namjoon’s hibernation phase was ruining your life.

He had gotten even lazier—falling asleep at random, mumbling nonsense, refusing to wake up no matter how much you poked, prodded, or even bit him. At this point, you were desperate.

So, one fateful morning, you took drastic measures.

You climbed onto his bed, glaring down at the oversized bear hybrid sprawled out like a crime scene. He was dead asleep, mouth slightly open, breathing slow and deep. You poked his cheek. No response.

Fine.

You swung one leg over him and straddled his waist, hands bracing against his broad chest. Then, with all your ferret hybrid determination, you bounced.

“WAKE UP, YOU LAZY—”

You didn’t get to finish.

Because in his drowsy, half-asleep state, Namjoon groaned—deep, low, and utterly sinful.

Then—his hands grabbed your hips.

You froze.

Before you could process it, his fingers tightened, large and warm as he guided you down against him.

Your breath hitched.

Something… hard pressed up between your legs. Not fully hard, but enough.

Then Namjoon—still completely asleep—let out a soft, breathy moan and rolled his hips up into yours.

Your soul left your body.

For a solid three seconds, you sat there, straddling a very large, very strong, very hard bear hybrid who was grinding against you in his sleep.

Then you did the only thing that made sense.

You screamed.

“YOU PERVERTED BEAR!”

With a panicked shriek, you slapped his chest so hard his pec jiggled.

Namjoon’s eyes snapped open.

He blinked at you, still groggy. Then he frowned.

Then he looked down.

The moment realization hit, his entire face exploded into red.

And then—he scrambled.

With an alarmed gasp, Namjoon flung himself back so violently that he nearly fell off the bed. He yanked the blanket up to his chest like a scandalized Victorian lady, clutching it as if it could protect his virtue.

“I—YOU—THIS—” He was stammering, eyes wide, scandalized beyond belief.

You, still red as hell, pointed a shaking finger at him. “WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT?!”

“I DON’T KNOW!” He practically wailed.

“You grabbed me!”

“I WAS ASLEEP!”

“You moaned!”

Namjoon made a horrified noise and buried his face in his hands.

“I’M GOING TO PASS AWAY,” he mumbled, voice muffled with shame. “RIGHT HERE. RIGHT NOW.”

You were still flustered as hell, but seeing this six-foot-plus grizzly bear hybrid cowering behind a blanket like you had violated his innocence was too much.

Slowly, a grin curled onto your lips.

“Ohhh,” you drawled. “I see how it is.”

Namjoon peeked up at you, suspicious. “Don’t.”

“You were enjoying it, huh?”

His ears turned red. “STOP.”

“Does sleepy Namjoon have naughty dreams?”

“PLEASE.”

You smirked, leaning in. “Wanna finish what you started, perverted bear?”

Namjoon squeaked.

A full-grown grizzly bear hybrid. A literal terrifying predator.

And you made him squeak.

You were never letting him live this down.

Namjoon knew he was in for a bad day the moment you sat down across from him at lunch.

You were grinning.

Not just any grin—your shit-eating, up-to-no-good, gremlin grin.

Immediately, he sighed. “No.”

You blinked innocently. “I haven’t said anything yet.”

“I can feel the trouble radiating off of you.”

You wiggled your eyebrows. “So, speaking of yesterday—”

Namjoon groaned. “No.”

“But I was just curious—”

“No.”

You leaned in, propping your chin on your hands. “Okay, but seriously. How big is your dick?”

Namjoon choked on his food.

“What the fuck?!” he coughed.

“Pure curiosity.” You smiled sweetly. “Scientific curiosity, if you will.”

He glared at you, ears burning. “I will snap you in half, you lanky menace.”

“Oh?” You cocked your head. “Because from what I felt yesterday—”

Namjoon dropped his head onto the table with a thud.

“I hate you,” he muttered into his arms.

You giggled, delighted, poking his bicep. “C’mon, you must have a guess. Seven? Eight? Should I be worried for my pelvic bone?”

He let out the most miserable sigh, running a hand down his face. “You do realize I’m a bear hybrid, right?”

“Exactly why I’m asking.” You smirked. “I am a scholar, you know.”

Namjoon groaned again, exhausted, leaning back in his chair. “If you mention my dick one more time—”

You blinked expectantly.

He stared at you, looking so done.

Then, in a moment of pure exasperation, he sighed and muttered, “I’ll bend you over and show you exactly how big it is.”

Silence.

Namjoon froze.

You froze.

He blinked. Then groaned. Loudly.

“I cannot believe I just said that,” he muttered, rubbing his temples.

You were still in shock. Then, slowly, the widest, most devious grin spread across your face.

“Oh?”

“Don’t.”

“Ohhhh?”

Namjoon buried his face in his hands. “I need to leave. I need to walk into the ocean.”

You giggled, absolutely delighted, patting his arm. “Don’t worry, Joon. I promise I won’t tease you anymore.”

Namjoon peeked at you warily. “Do you actually promise?”

You smiled sweetly. “Absolutely not.”

He groaned, glaring at his food like it had personally betrayed him.

You had never had this much fun in your life.

Namjoon had accepted his fate.

You were tiny. You were chaotic. You were a menace to society.

And, apparently, you were also his personal weighted blanket.

Because somewhere along the way, you had decided his lap was your permanent seat.

It wasn’t even something you seemed to think about anymore—you’d just waltz over, plop down onto his thighs, and continue on with your life as if you weren’t making his brain short-circuit every damn time.

And the worst part? Namjoon let you.

Like an idiot.

Right now, you were curled up against him, legs folded, tablet in hand as you scribbled notes. Namjoon was trying to focus on his computer, but it was hard when you kept fidgeting—shifting, adjusting, wiggling against him like you were trying to test the limits of his self-control.

You had no idea what you were doing to him.

Absolutely none.

It didn’t help that you looked unfairly adorable—pouting slightly as you concentrated, lips pursed, occasionally kicking your feet.

Fuck.

His bear instincts were so confused. Because on one hand, he knew you were just being your usual ferret-self, but on the other, something in him kept whispering, Mate?

It didn’t help that sometimes—like right now—you’d look up at him suddenly, big eyes blinking, only to reach up and poke his cheek.

“Joonbug.”

Namjoon swallowed thickly. “Yeah?”

You grinned, leaning in slightly. “Your face is funny when you concentrate.”

He rolled his eyes, forcing himself to focus on his screen. “Thanks, I guess.”

But when he turned back, he realized—your face was so close. If he just—if he leaned in—

Namjoon immediately tensed and looked away.

Nope.

Absolutely not.

And the worst part?

You fell asleep there.

Like a goddamn purring cat.

One second you were awake, the next you were snuggled into his chest, soft little breaths tickling his pecs. Namjoon froze, entire body stiff.

He could feel your warmth.

The soft rise and fall of your chest.

The way your body just—just fit against his.

And then—the final straw.

You shifted slightly, and his gaze accidentally dropped to your shirt.

Or, more specifically, down your ridiculous little Henley.

Namjoon stared.

Not on purpose. Not really. It was just—he was a man. A man with eyes. And you were—

Oh.

He hadn’t really… evaluated before.

Nice.

Good shape.

One slightly bigger. Completely normal

And… a bit bigger than he anticipated.

Hm.

Namjoon blinked, mind blank for a moment. Then—

Wait.

WAIT.

His face exploded into red, eyes snapping forward like he had just witnessed a war crime.

What the fuck was wrong with him?!

He threw himself back into his work, typing aggressively, but it was too late.

Because now, against his will, his brain had a new intrusive thought:

I wonder how they’d feel in my hands?

Namjoon malfunctioned.

He needed to leave. He needed to die.

But mostly?

He needed to get you off his lap.

Before he lost his goddamn mind.

Namjoon refused to acknowledge what had just happened.

Refused.

You were asleep on his lap, blissfully unaware of his horrible, terrible, no-good intrusive thoughts. And yet, despite his best efforts to suppress the chaos in his brain, his traitorous bear instincts decided to betray him.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

His tail, the absolute bastard, started tapping against the floor.

It wasn’t his fault! His tail did that when he was content, or comfortable, or—fuck—when he was embarrassed.

Which meant that right now?

It was practically broadcasting to the entire world that Namjoon was a mess.

And, of course, because the universe hated him, you began to stir.

He immediately froze.

No.

No, no, no—

You let out a sleepy little hum, eyes barely cracking open as you blinked up at him, dazed and soft.

Then, in a tiny, adorable voice—

“You good, Joonie?”

Namjoon short-circuited.

Every cell in his body screamed NO, I AM NOT GOOD, I AM HAVING A CRISIS OVER YOUR TITS.

But externally?

He just choked out, “Yeah.”

You blinked again, staring at him for a moment. Then, much to his horror, your gaze drifted past his shoulder

To his still-thumping tail.

A slow, knowing smirk spread across your face.

“Oh?”

Namjoon’s soul left his body.

“N-no,” he stammered, ears burning.

But you—being the absolute menace that you were—tilted your head.

“Ohhh?”

He panicked. “I—shut up.”

You giggled, snuggling back into his chest. “Your tail’s cute, y’know.”

Namjoon let out the longest sigh of his life.

This was actual suffering.

And you?

You were enjoying every second of it.

And Namjoon?

Namjoon was suffering.

He was suffering, and it was your fault.

Ever since the tail betrayal, he had been on edge, constantly catching himself thinking things he absolutely should not be thinking.

And it only got worse.

Because you kept sitting on his lap.

You kept looking up at him with those wide eyes.

You kept giggling, doing your little gremlin antics, completely oblivious to the war inside his head.

And the worst part?

He liked it.

Namjoon liked having you on his lap.

He liked the way you poked his cheek, teasing him.

He liked when you fidgeted, shifting against his thighs, completely unaware of how much damage you were doing.

So, tonight?

Tonight, as he flopped onto his bed, exhausted, his brain finally snapped.

“Dammit. Fuck.”

But then—

Fuck her.

Fuck… her.

Oh.

Oh.

Fuck… how would it feel to fuck… her?

Namjoon froze.

His entire body locked up as his brain betrayed him, conjuring up images—images of you under him, gasping, giggling, teasing him even as he—

NOPE. NOPE NOPE NOPE.

He let out a strangled groan, flinging an arm over his face in denial.

Then, hesitantly—dread pooling in his stomach—he glanced down.

…Yep.

He was hard.

Namjoon let out the longest, most miserable sigh of his life.

This was actual hell.

And you?

You had no idea.

Namjoon lay there for a long moment, staring at the ceiling like it personally wronged him.

This was your fault.

Absolutely, entirely your fault.

Because if you weren’t such a tiny, chaotic, adorable menace, then maybe—maybe—he wouldn’t be in this situation.

But, no.

No, you had to go and sit in his lap all the time.

You had to poke his cheeks, tease him, giggle like a damn gremlin.

You had to look at him with those big, innocent eyes, completely unaware of the monster you were creating.

And now?

Now, here he was—rock hard, frustrated, and miserable.

Namjoon sighed deeply.

Then, resigned, he reached for the tissues and lotion.

It wasn’t like this was new.

He was a man. He had needs. And if he was going to be suffering anyway, he might as well… deal with it.

So, with a groan, he stripped, settled in, and started his very familiar routine.

…He was not thinking about you.

Nope.

Absolutely not.

But when his eyes fluttered shut, when his hand started moving—

A vision of you flashed through his mind.

Your lips, parted slightly.

Your thighs, spread beneath him.

Your voice, giggling—What’s wrong, Joonie? Cat got your tongue?

Namjoon whined.

This was a problem.

A very big problem.

This was supposed to be quick.

A means to an end.

Just get it over with, clear his head, move on.

But the second his hand wrapped around his cock—his traitorous brain ran wild.

At first, it was just flashes.

Your tits.

Your ass.

The memory of you sitting in his lap, shifting just right–

But then, his mind dove deeper.

The "perverted bear" incident surfaced.

The weight of your body bouncing on top of him, your tiny hands pressing against his chest, your soft little gasp when you felt him—

Namjoon bit his lip, groaning softly.

He should stop.

He should not be thinking about this.

But he didn’t stop.

He couldn’t.

Because then he imagined more.

You, beneath him.

Your legs spread wide.

Your body so tiny compared to his—so soft, so helpless against his weight.

Namjoon’s breath hitched.

Fuck.

Fuck.

A mating press.

The size difference.

The way you’d squirm, overwhelmed, panting, looking up at him with those big, adorable eyes—

"Fuck," he gasped, hips jerking into his hand.

This was so bad.

So, so bad.

But it felt so fucking good.

And the worst part?

He didn’t want to stop.

Not when his mind was already drowning in the thought of you, spread out, filled to the brim—

His.

Completely his.

CONTINUATION OF CHAPTER

[seokminfilm]

seventeen as my memorable school experiences

♫ pairing, seventeen x reader ♫ warnings, fluff, unserious/crack, non-idol au, very short, headcanons, debut/high school age seventeen, cliches, cursing, kind of dramatic, my personal stories

♫ author's note, hi everyone 😞 school and deadlines have been driving me insane so i'll be semi-active until further notice 🧍 ANYWAYS wanted something fun (slightly unserious) and quick, so i thought of this idea! these are all in good fun so don't worry 🤍 without further ado enjoy these headcanons (and tell me if you like them/want more of this format!)

seungcheol would definitely be the type of guy to hold the littlest things over you 😭 definitely one to pull the "I'm older than you" or "I'm stronger than you" card in literally every situation 🧍 you know the kid that was like "i'm so fast i can run here and back in three seconds"? seungcheol would be the one doing that, and trip over something and face-plant 💀 i would not take him seriously let me tell you that

jeonghan teacher's pet 100 percent LMAO definitely the type of person to tell on someone when they're not doing something they "should" be doing. has to be the teacher's helper, passing out papers and running errands for them. jeonghan would be the sly one that is actually one of the most unruly ass students but gets away because he sucks up to the teacher 😭

joshua he'd be the popular transfer student that everyone would be focused on for like a week. he's the talk of the school okay 😭 has that generic 2010 gelled/swooped to the side hair with a button-up for sureee joshua is the kid who's really polite and sweet and has the teacher singing his praises, but when he gets around the right people, he cannot be stopped

jun jun's the really quiet one you forget even exists sometimes 😭 your teacher is taking attendance and says "who are we missing" and you say someone jun, while everyone else is yelling another person 🧍like no jun's sitting right behind you, he's just really quiet. (part two of getting around the right people and being loud)

hoshi hoshi is that one kid that cannot be embarrassed by himself. he will do the most cringy things known to mankind, and still be able to walk away normally after it 💀 does not care about what he likes (definitely an anime kid i feel it in my soul), and makes references that no one gets. people are scared to have to be his class partner let me tell you 🧍

wonwoo not be overused or anything but i seriously do see wonwoo as a gamer boy 💀 my childhood best friend (who goes to school w me & is in my class) is an absolute dork when it comes to video games. wonwoo would be the person to bring a sketchbook skilled fo video game characters 🧍 would also be the person to listen to video game osts while doing homework/assignments

woozi part two of "the really quiet kid you forget even exists sometimes" LMAO woozi is definitely to be the one in the back of the classroom minding his business, doing his work, or sleeping. woozi can be funny, but just doesn't feel like trying 🤷 has great timing with the things he says and makes the whole class laugh

the8 did (or do) you know that one kid that would correct your grammar or pronounciation without your consent? the8 would SO be that kid omg 😭 lord forbid you stutter around him cause he'll go straight to mocking you for it. the8 would be such a stickler w that i fear (i can just imagine you having him read something you've written and there he is correcting your run-on sentences 💀)

mingyu there's this one kid i see walking around in the hallways of my school with a mop of curly hair shielding his eyes 🧍 that just screams mingyu to me LMAO idk he tries so hard to be cool and hip but it just doesn't work 😭 considered one of the more popular people of the class, even if it's just because he's "mysterious".

dk he's definitely the type of person to make you come undone with an "are you okay?" or bunches of compliments CHANGE MY MIND i have a friend who's so good at coaxing feelings & tears out of me w a simple "hey, are you okay?", and i feel like dk would be the same way 😭 gives you a hug every day when you're leaving, and texts you on school holidays/breaks because he "misses human interaction" ("i miss you so bad ☹" "seokmin it's been 2 hours since i last saw you")

seungkwan theatre kid or choir kid 🤷 also probably has his mom working as a teacher so has those privileges to where he can visit his mom's class and participate in a bunch of things since his mom is already at the school 🧍probably also a generic popular girl too LMAO hears things from other people and spreads it professionally (probably to the8: if you see them two conversing and looking at you, 9/10 you're being secretly roasted)

vernon debut vernon to me screams "random boy every girl in your grade liked with a windshield wiper laugh and thick, brown wavy hair" 🤷 had this one boy in 3rd grade that EVERY SINGULAR GIRL THOUGHT WAS CUTE. also probably says cringe things (ex: dude, bro, fire, lit, sike, etc) unironically because he has an image to uphold or something. please don't make him laugh really hard (you'll hear this squeaky grating sound that makes you want to stuff your head in your backpack)

dino dino is the popular boy by association 😭 he's not really popular on his own, but when with vernon/mingyu suddenly multiplies in popularity. he's actually a really chill, down-to-earth dude LMAO lord forbid he makes a terrible joke though 💀 he'll be so embarrassed he'll shut down and never come back. would friends with vernon and probably practices the windshield wiper laugh in his bathroom at home 🧍

a/n: lowkey very cliche and personal but still fun/comforting to write (speaking with experiencing most of these things firsthand LMAOAOOA!! tell me what you think about it LMAO

[scarletwinterxx]

magnets - choi seungcheol imagine 1/2

buckle up bcs this is going to be a long one, i tried i really did i tried my best writing as much angst as i can. i'm not the best in that genre but i think i like how it turned out... i tried my best to put into words the scenes I had in my head. i needed to make this in 2 parts since it won't let me post all at once😅 so yes THERE WILL BE A SECOND HALF

tbh out of all the stories i wrote here, this one has the most 'me' in it. sad if you realize why i say that but yea😅 in my mind, cheol is the type of man whose love isn't consuming, it just makes everything better, easier, a little less terrifying bcs no matter what you can count on him to be there with you. i guess that's what make me love this story even more. hope you do too!

for my other svt fics, check them here

All works are copyrighted ©scarletwinterxx 2025 . Do not repost, re-write without the permission of author.

(pics not mine, credits to rightful owner)

You’ve heard it all before. You're too picky. Your standards are unrealistic. Men aren’t that bad.

Lies. All of it.

Men are that bad. They lack common sense, can’t read between the lines, and somehow think saying "you’re not like other girls" is a compliment. You’ve dodged so many disastrous setups that your friends have given up entirely, dubbing you "The Man Hater." 

Until a certain someone crossed paths with you. 

It happens on a regular Friday night. Your group is at some bar Mingyu insisted on checking out, and you're barely listening to Jeonghan talk about his latest situationship when you see him.

Seungcheol walks in like he owns the place. Broad shoulders, sharp jawline, and a presence that makes women glance up instinctively. He doesn’t seem to notice. He’s in a plain black tee, jeans that fit just right, and a watch that looks like it costs more than your rent. The kicker? He doesn’t even try to look hot. He just is.

"Who is that?" you ask, cutting off Jeonghan mid-sentence.

Your friends freeze "Did you just…" Jeonghan starts.

"Who," you repeat, your voice dangerously close to sounding interested, "is that?"

Mingyu, still coughing, thumps his chest. "Choi Seungcheol," he wheezes. "Why?"

"He’s hot," you declare, because there’s no point in denying the undeniable.

"You hate men," Irene reminds you, like you’ve somehow forgotten

"I hate most men," you correct. "That one? I want him."

Jeonghan bursts into laughter. "This is the best night of my life."

You ignore them because Seungcheol is making his way to the bar, completely unaware of the chaos he’s caused. You watch, entranced, as he leans against the counter. When the bartender hands him a drink, he nods in thanks. Polite, effortless. Not once does he scan the crowd for attention like most men do. He knows he has it.

Mingyu, having finally recovered, shakes his head. "No way. Seungcheol turns down everyone."

"Not for long," you murmur, already formulating a plan.

Jihyo narrows her eyes. "Oh my God. You’re serious. You’re actually serious."

"I am."

Irene stares at you, then at Seungcheol. "I give you five minutes before he shuts you down."

"Three," Mingyu corrects.

"Ten," Jeonghan bets

"Have some faith," you scoff, already standing up. "Watch and learn, peasants."

You stride towards the bar, heart hammering, but determination stronger. It’s been years since you’ve been genuinely interested in someone. You’ll be damned if you let this moment pass.

Seungcheol notices you as you approach, and when your eyes meet, he tilts his head slightly curious but unreadable. Up close, he’s even better. You swallow.

Then, with all the confidence in the world, you slide onto the stool next to him before speaking

"So, do we skip the small talk, or do I have to pretend I don’t already want you?"

Seungcheol blinks. Then, he laughs. low, rich, interested and just like that, the game begins. He turns fully to face you, one elbow resting on the bar, drink held loosely in his hand. His gaze flickers over you—assessing, but not in that sleazy way men do when they think they have the upper hand. No, this is different. 

He’s curious.

"That’s a bold opener," he muses, taking a sip of his drink.

You smirk. "I don’t do weak ones."

He hums, seemingly unfazed, but the twitch at the corner of his mouth betrays him. "And what exactly do you already want from me?"

Your fingers drum against the bar as you lean in slightly, "Wouldn’t you like to know?"

For a second, he doesn’t say anything. He just watches you, then he sets his drink down with a quiet clink and exhales a small chuckle. "You’re not like the others."

"God, please tell me that’s not your usual line," you tease.

His grin widens. "No. Usually, I don’t even entertain conversations."

"Tragic," you say dryly. "You’ve been missing out."

His tongue runs along the inside of his cheek, and you swear you see a flicker of actual interest settle in his expression. Then, suddenly, he shifts gears.

"You came over here with a plan," he states, amusement laced in his voice. "Go ahead. Impress me."

Oh, he’s fun. You tilt your head, feigning thoughtfulness. "Alright. First, we exchange names not because I don’t already know yours, but because manners are important."

Seungcheol chuckles, but he plays along. "Choi Seungcheol."

You extend a hand. "Nice to meet you, Seungcheol" you say his name, telling him yours also

"I know who you are." That throws you off for exactly half a second, and you hate how much you like hearing him say your name. 

"Oh? And how exactly did you hear about me?"

"I have ears," he shrugs. "And friends who talk too much." he looks behind you. You glance back at your table, where your friends are openly staring.

"They bet against you, didn’t they?"

"Obviously." you scowl then turn to look at him again

"And yet, here we are."

"Here we are," you echo, matching his smirk.

He looks at you for a moment longer, as if weighing his next move. Then, he leans in slightly, voice dropping just enough to send a shiver down your spine.

"Alright. You’ve got my attention. Now what?"

You don’t get flustered easily. You’ve shut down men with nothing but a raised brow and a well-placed bless your heart more times than you can count. But there’s something about the way Seungcheol leans in, watching you with that amused little smirk, that makes your pulse trip over itself.

"That depends. Are you going to buy me a drink, or am I going to have to suffer through this conversation sober?"

His smirk turns into a full grin, slow and devastating. "So demanding."

"I don’t waste time," you quip

He chuckles, a deep, satisfied sound, before signaling to the bartender. "Get her whatever she wants," he tells them, then glances back at you. "And if you say something ridiculous, I’m judging you."

"Wow," you scoff, placing a hand over your heart. "You don’t even know my order, and you’re already prepared to be disappointed? You really are different."

Seungcheol snorts. "Just don’t tell me it’s some overly complicated drink with eight different ingredients."

You hum, making a show of considering his words before turning to the bartender. "A whiskey sour."

Seungcheol raises an eyebrow, clearly impressed. "Not bad."

"Did you think I was going to order an appletini?"

"Honestly? I wouldn’t put it past you."

You laugh, shaking your head as the bartender hands you your drink. You take a sip, enjoying the slight tang, then tilt the glass in his direction. "See? No judgment necessary."

"I’ll admit, I’m a little relieved," he teases, taking a sip of his own drink.

You narrow your eyes playfully. "So, is this your thing?"

"My thing?"

"Buying girls drinks, making them feel special, then walking away like a mysterious, unattainable dream?"

Seungcheol huffs out a quiet laugh. "Not really. Like I said, I usually don’t entertain conversations."

"But you’re entertaining this one."

He tilts his glass toward you in a silent toast. "I am."

You clink your glass against his, a slow smirk creeping onto your lips. "I must be special, then."

Seungcheol watches you over the rim of his glass, his gaze just a little darker now. "You must be."

You linger at the bar with Seungcheol for a few more moments, exchanging teasing remarks and sidelong glances, but eventually, you decide to leave while you're ahead.

"Well, this has been fun," you say, setting your now-empty glass on the counter.

Seungcheol tilts his head. "Leaving already?"

"What, you want me to stay?"

He huffs a quiet laugh. "I wouldn’t mind."

You pretend to consider it, tapping your chin thoughtfully. "Tempting… but I like to keep things interesting."

Before he can respond, you slide your arm across the bar toward him, palm up. His brows raise slightly, but he doesn’t hesitate. He picks up a pen left behind by the bartender and, with deliberate strokes, scrawls his number across your forearm.

When he finishes, he caps the pen, meeting your gaze with a knowing smirk. "Your move."

You glance at the numbers, then back at him. "We’ll see." Then, without another word, you turn on your heel and walk back to your table.

As expected, your friends are staring. The moment you reach the table, Jihyo blurts, "What happened?!"

You take your seat, completely unbothered, and casually extend your arm, showing off the ink on your skin. Silence.

Then

"WHAT THE—?!" Mingyu practically screeches, nearly knocking over his drink in the process. “Wait, wait. So, you—the man hater—just casually waltzed over there, flirted with Choi Seungcheol, and now you have his number?"

"Looks like it." You examine your arm with a smug smile.

Jihyo grips your wrist, eyes darting over the digits. "So? Are you texting him? Calling? When’s the wedding?"

You shrug, retracting your arm. "I’m not texting him."

Jihyo looks betrayed. "Why the hell not?!"

"Where’s the fun in that?" You take a slow sip of your drink. "Let’s see if he texts first."

Jeonghan looks at you before the evil smile shows on his face, “You didn’t give him your number, didn’t you?”

“Nope”

Jeonghan leans forward. "Oh, you’re evil."

You don’t text him that night. Or the next. His number, which you took time to save on your phone, remains stagnant on your contact list. 

You’re lounging on your couch, half-listening to a true crime documentary, when your phone buzzes with a call from an unknown number. You stare at it for a second, debating whether to answer, before sighing and picking up.

"Hello?"

Silence. Then—

"Was this your plan all along?"

You freeze. That voice is unmistakable. Leaning back against the cushions, you fight the smirk threatening to form. "Choi Seungcheol."

"You remember my name. Good to know," he deadpans.

You hum, inspecting your nails. "You sound a little… frustrated."

"I had to track down your friends just to get your number," he says, and you can hear the irritation laced with amusement. "Do you know how annoying that was?"

You bite back a laugh. "Who caved?"

"Mingyu. He held out for, like, ten seconds."

You laugh, imagining the exact moment Seungcheol probably cornered Mingyu, all intimidating and brooding, while your friend fumbled immediately.

"So," Seungcheol continues, "tell me, was this some elaborate game? Give me your number, wait for me to text, then just ghost me?"

"I didn’t ghost you. I just never texted in the first place."

"Exactly."

You grin, stretching out lazily. "Maybe I just wanted to see if you’d chase."

A pause. Then, in a tone far too smug for your liking "So you like being chased?"

Your stomach does a stupid little flip, but you refuse to let him know that. "I like seeing who puts in effort," you reply smoothly.

"And? Impressed yet?"

"You’re getting there," you tease.

Seungcheol chuckles, a low, satisfied sound. "Good. Then meet me for dinner."

You blink. "What?"

"Dinner," he repeats, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. "You know, a meal? Where two people sit down, talk, and eat?"

"I know what dinner is," you snort. "I just wasn’t expecting you to be so forward."

"You made me hunt you down," he says. "You don’t get to act surprised." Okay. Fair.

"Alright, then," you say, biting your lip to contain your grin. "Pick me up at eight."

And just like that, Choi Seungcheol is taking you to dinner. And at exactly 7:59, your phone buzzes.

Seungcheol: I’m outside.

You glance at the time and snort. Of course, he’s punctual.

Grabbing your purse, you take one last look in the mirror before heading out. As soon as you step outside, you spot Seungcheol leaning casually against his car. A sleek, black beauty that looks just as effortlessly expensive as he does.

His eyes sweep over you as you approach, and he smirks. "You clean up nice."

You arch a brow. "I always look nice."

"Cocky."

Once he’s in the driver’s seat, he glances at you. "Comfortable?"

You hum, running a hand over the buttery leather seats. "Not bad. I guess your car is alright."

Seungcheol scoffs. "You guess? This car is a masterpiece."

You grin. "I’m sure it’s great at making up for other shortcomings."

He barks out a laugh, shaking his head as he pulls onto the road. "You just can’t help yourself, can you?"

"It’s a gift," you say sweetly.

He glances at you, amusement dancing in his eyes. "You really made me work for this date."

"You chased," you remind him.

"And you liked it."

You pretend to consider. "A little."

He huffs a quiet laugh. "Good. Because I don’t plan on stopping."

You meet his gaze, and for once, you don’t have a witty comeback. Seungcheol pulls up to a sleek high-rise, handing his keys off to the valet like it’s second nature. You step out, glancing up at the towering building, the city lights reflecting off the glass.

You give him a sideways look. “Fancy.”

He smirks. The elevator ride is smooth and silent, except for the way Seungcheol occasionally glances at you. When the doors open, you step into a dimly lit, impossibly exclusive restaurant. Floor-to-ceiling windows frame the glittering skyline, the city sprawling below like something out of a movie.

A host greets you by name before leading you to a table near the window. You raise an eyebrow. “How did you even get a reservation here?”

Seungcheol just shrugs, sliding into his seat. “I have my ways.”

“That’s not an answer.”

He leans back, studying you with that same amused smirk. “You like it?”

It’s stunning, but you refuse to give him the satisfaction just yet. “It’s alright.”

He laughs, shaking his head. “Unbelievable.”

The waiter arrives, and Seungcheol orders without even glancing at the menu. You squint at him. “You come here often?”

“Not really. Just know what’s good.”

“So, what, you bring all your dates here?”

Seungcheol sets down his glass, eyes locked onto yours. “No.”

You tilt your head. “No?”

He shakes his head. “You’re the first.”

Your stomach does something stupid and traitorous, but you keep your expression cool. “Guess I should feel special.”

His lips quirk up. “You should.”

And damn it, for once, you do. As the waiter leaves, Seungcheol leans forward, swirling the dark liquid in his glass before giving you an all-too-amused look.

“So, I heard something interesting from Mingyu.”

You raise an eyebrow. “That’s never a good sign.” 

“Apparently, you have a reputation.”

You take a slow sip of your drink. “Do I?”

Seungcheol smirks. “Something about being a ‘man hater,’ quote-unquote.”

You nearly choke. “Oh, for the love of—” You set your glass down with a little more force than necessary. “I am not a man hater.”

He rests his chin on his hand, clearly entertained. “Mingyu made it sound pretty serious.”

You roll your eyes. “Mingyu is dramatic. I just—” You gesture vaguely. “—don’t waste my time with idiots.”

“So, most men are idiots?”

You sigh, giving him a pointed look. “Look, I just have high standards. That doesn’t make me a man hater.” You pick up your drink, muttering, “Mingyu talks too much.”

Seungcheol just laughs, looking way too pleased with himself. You lean back in your chair, twirling the stem of your wine glass between your fingers, watching him with a knowing smirk.

"You know," you start casually, "I heard something about you too."

Seungcheol raises an eyebrow. "Oh?"

You nod. "Apparently, you’re the guy who turns down women without a second thought."

He hums, taking a sip of his drink before setting it down. "Mingyu, again?"

"Maybe."

He smirks. "He really needs a hobby."

"Don’t change the subject," you tease, tilting your head. "So, is it true?"

He doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, he watches you for a moment, like he’s deciding how much to say. "Depends," he finally says.

"On what?"

"On what you think ‘true’ means."

You narrow your eyes. "That sounds like something a guy who’s absolutely guilty would say."

Seungcheol chuckles, shaking his head. "Look, I’m not some heartless bastard. I just don’t waste time on something I know won’t go anywhere."

You cross your arms. "And what exactly makes you so sure it won’t go anywhere?"

He shrugs, voice even. "You can tell when someone only wants you for the wrong reasons."

Something about the way he says it makes you pause. It’s not cocky. It’s just… matter-of-fact.

You watch him carefully. "So, what, they just like the idea of you?"

He meets your gaze, unreadable. "Something like that."

You hold his stare, and for a moment, the teasing dies down, replaced by something heavier. Something real. Then, because you refuse to let things get too serious too quickly, you click your tongue.

"Damn," you say, shaking your head. "And here I was thinking you were just playing hard to get."

Seungcheol laughs, the tension breaking. "And yet, you still showed up."

You grin. "Guess I like a challenge, too."

He lifts his glass toward you in a silent toast.

"Good," he murmurs, eyes dark with amusement. "I’d be disappointed if you didn’t."

The food was amazing, company even better. He’s funny without trying, you don’t think you laughed that much in a while. And a guy being the reason? A miracle truly. 

He’s driving you back home leaning back in the passenger seat, comfortably full from dinner, when his voice cuts through the quiet.

"So." His fingers drum lazily against the wheel. "Why didn’t you text me?"

You glance at him, feigning innocence. "Text you?"

He gives you a look. "You know. After that first night."

You smirk, tilting your head. "Ohhh, you mean when you wrote your number on my arm like some overconfident frat boy?"

Seungcheol scoffs, but his lips twitch. "I was being resourceful."

"Sure." You shrug. "Guess I just wasn’t in a rush."

He raises an eyebrow. "Weren’t interested?"

"I didn’t say that."

"Didn’t not say it either."

You chuckle. "Alright, fine. Maybe I just wanted to see how serious you were."

Seungcheol hums. "So, making me track down your friends and practically interrogate Mingyu was a test?"

You flash him a grin. "And you passed."

He glances at you, amusement glinting in his eyes. "I knew you were trouble."

"You knew," you agree, smirking. "And yet, here you are."

Seungcheol shakes his head, but there’s no hiding the way his lips curl up. "Yeah," he murmurs, like it’s more to himself than to you. "Here I am."

You don’t tell anyone about the dinner. Not because you’re trying to be secretive, but because there’s nothing to tell. At least, that’s what you tell yourself but the others notice something.

"You’re in a good mood," Jihyo says one afternoon, squinting at you suspiciously over her coffee.

You blink. "Am I not allowed to be?"

"You are," she says slowly. "It’s just unusual."

Mingyu chimes in from across the table. "Yeah, you haven’t made fun of me once today. It’s kinda weirding me out."

You roll your eyes. "You want me to insult you?"

"Lowkey, yeah."

Jeonghan, who’s been scrolling through his phone this whole time, suddenly looks up. "Wait. You are acting different."

Irene nods, narrowing her eyes. "Yeah. You’re… less murdery. "You know." She gestures vaguely. "Less I’ll kill a man if he looks at me the wrong way."

You groan. "You guys are so dramatic."

"Okay, so what happened?" Jihyo presses.

"Nothing."

Jeonghan smirks. "That means something." Four pairs of eyes immediately narrow at you.

"Who is it?" Jeonghan adds, grinning like a wolf. "Oh, wait—" His eyes gleam with mischief. "Who’s the poor bastard?"

You roll your eyes. "There is no bastard. Poor or otherwise."

"She’s deflecting," Jihyo announces.

Mingyu leans forward. "It’s Seungcheol, isn’t it?"

You don’t react. Not visibly but the millisecond of silence is enough. Jeonghan’s grin explodes.

"Ohhhh, no way." Mingyu screeches.

You groan, dropping your head into your hands. You should’ve known. You deny, deny, deny until they finally give up, though not without a lot of suspicious side-eyes and unnecessary winks from Jeonghan.

By the time they stop prying, you think you’re in the clear.

That is, until Friday night.

It’s just supposed to be a normal night out—drinks, chaos, and Mingyu probably embarrassing himself at some point. The usual.

But then you see him.

Seungcheol.

And he’s not alone. You clock him the moment you step into the bar, leaning against the counter with a drink in hand, looking ridiculously good in a black button-up with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He’s mid-laugh, talking to someone. Looks like a close friend. 

You don’t react, keeping your expression neutral, but Jeonghan notices immediately.

"Why do you look like you just saw a ghost?" he asks, following your gaze.

And because the universe is cruel, that’s the exact moment Seungcheol glances over and meets your eyes. A slow, knowing smirk spreads across his lips.

Jeonghan watches it all happen. His eyes widen before he turns to you, grinning like the menace he is. "Oh. My. God."

Mingyu, of course, is oblivious. "Drinks first!" he announces, leading the group toward an open spot by the bar.

Irene and Jihyo follow easily, already deep in conversation, but you feel Jeonghan at your side. His eyes are glinting. You just know he’s about to be a problem.

"You know," he says casually, "for someone who ‘definitely did not go on a date with Seungcheol,’ you two sure looked like you have history."

You don’t even blink. "I don’t know what you’re talking about."

Jeonghan snickers. "Right. And I’m a law-abiding citizen." You ignore him, signaling the bartender for a drink.

Everything is fine or at least it was until Seungcheol and his friend start making their way over. You don’t react. But you know Jeonghan notices the way you straighten up, the way your fingers tap once against the bar before going still.

His friend gets there first, smiling easily at the group. "Hey," he greets. "Didn’t know you guys were coming out tonight."

Mingyu perks up. "Joshua Hong! What’s up?" He claps Joshua's shoulder, immediately pulling him into conversation.

And that’s when he speaks.

"Small world, huh?"

You refuse to turn your head too fast, refuse to let your body react. Instead, you sip your drink first, then glance to the side. Seungcheol is looking at you like he knows something..

You raise an eyebrow. "Not really. Bars exist."

Mingyu, bless him, is still too caught up in talking to Joshua to notice the undercurrent of whatever is happening here. Irene and Jihyo are watching, though. They’re pretending to be casual, but you can feel their curiosity.

Seungcheol doesn’t drop it. He leans slightly closer, just enough for his voice to drop between the two of you. "You avoiding me?"

"Why would I do that?"

He tilts his head, pretending to think. "Maybe because someone went on a date with me and then acted like it never happened."

Jeonghan is eating this up. He’s watching like it’s his favorite drama, sipping his drink with barely concealed glee.

You sip your drink again, unfazed. "Must not have been that memorable then."

Seungcheol laughs like, full-on laughs and somehow that’s worse than if he had been annoyed.

"Oh, this is fun," he murmurs, shaking his head.

"You need better hobbies," you reply dryly.

"You’re right. I should pick up dating mysterious, difficult women who don’t text back."

You glance at him. "So you’re saying I’m a challenge?"

He smirks. "I’m saying I like challenges."

Your lips curve, but you don’t let the smile take over. You turn back to your drink instead and just like that, the moment passes. Instead, he just slides into conversation with the rest of the group like nothing happened. Like he’s not already thinking about the next time he’ll get you alone.

The night goes on as if nothing happened. As if Seungcheol didn’t just throw you off balance with his ridiculous smirk and infuriatingly charming presence. But then, when Seungcheol and Joshua drift off to another part of the bar, Jihyo pounces.

"Okay, explain."

You feign ignorance, sipping your drink. "Explain what?"

Irene scoffs. "Don’t play dumb. You were literally just flirting with him."

You roll your eyes. "I was not."

"That was the most obvious non-flirting flirting I’ve ever seen," Jihyo insists. "And I’ve known Jeonghan for years."

Jeonghan smirks. "She’s right, you know."

Mingyu, now finally catching up, furrows his brows. "Wait. Are we talking about Seungcheol?"

"No, we’re talking about your ability to be dense," Irene says, exasperated

Jihyo leans in. "I thought you wanted him."

You groan, rubbing your temples. "I do."

She blinks. "Then what’s the problem?"

You sigh. "That’s the problem."

Mingyu looks confused. "Wait, I’m lost."

Irene pats his arm. "Sweetie, this is grown-up business." This makes Mingyu glare at him, jokingly pushing her sideways

Mingyu scowls. "I am grown!"

"You’re a puppy," Jeonghan corrects.

Meanwhile, Jihyo is still staring at you like you’ve lost your mind. "So you want him, but that’s the problem."

"Yes."

She stares harder. "You’re gonna have to give me more than that."

You huff, crossing your arms. "Look, it’s one thing to think a guy is hot. It’s another to actually want to do something about it. And it’s another thing entirely when that guy is Seungcheol."

Jeonghan hums. "Because he’s…?"

"Because he’s Seungcheol." You gesture vaguely. "Effortlessly hot. Stupidly charming. A literal menace who just gets whatever he wants without even trying."

Jihyo raises an eyebrow. "And that’s… bad?"

You exhale. "It’s bad because I don’t lose. And I will lose against him."

There’s a beat of silence. Then Jeonghan bursts out laughing.

"Oh, my God," he wheezes, clutching his stomach. "This is amazing."

Mingyu blinks. "I still don’t get it."

Irene sighs, shaking her head. "She’s afraid he’s gonna wreck her life."

Mingyu tilts his head. "That’s dramatic."

Jihyo just smirks. "So what’s your plan?"

You sigh. "I don’t have one." And that? That’s the real problem.

It happens when you least expect it. One second, you’re at the bar with Jihyo, fending off yet another round of questioning. The next Seungcheol is there.

"Can I borrow her for a second?" he asks smoothly, voice just low enough that only you can hear the real intent behind it.

Jihyo raises a brow, eyes flickering between the two of you. You can practically hear her thoughts. But before she can say anything, Seungcheol’s hand finds yours then he’s pulling you away.

You follow, weaving through the crowd until he tugs you into a small corner of the bar. A photobooth. You barely register it before he pulls the curtain shut behind you. The space is tiny. Cramped. You can feel the heat of him, too close, too intoxicating.

"You could’ve just asked to talk," you say, leaning against the side of the booth like you’re not at all affected.

Seungcheol smirks, eyes flickering down to your lips for just a second. "Where’s the fun in that?"

Your pulse jumps. "You like making things difficult, don’t you?"

"I could say the same about you."

You roll your eyes, but the way he’s looking at you—steady, knowing, amused as hell—makes it hard to breathe.

"So," he says, voice softer now, more serious, "why didn’t you text me?"

You exhale, meeting his gaze. "Because I knew you’d find a way to track me down anyway."

"You think you have me figured out?"

You tilt your head, letting the silence stretch before you answer. "I think you don’t like losing."

Seungcheol watches you for a beat. Then he laughs. It’s soft at first, then full and deep, shaking his shoulders as he shakes his head. "God," he mutters, "I should’ve found you sooner."

Your chest tightens. The photobooth timer starts blinking.

3…

His gaze dips—

2…

You don’t move away

1.

The camera clicks.So does something else between you.

The next day at work, you’re in a mood. You glare at your computer. You glare at your coffee. You glare at the innocent potted plant on your desk. And your friends notice.

Jeonghan doesn’t ask immediately. He waits until you’re both in line at the café, you’re scrolling through your phone, pretending you don’t notice him watching you.

"So," he says casually, "when are you seeing him again?"

You freeze. Your finger hovers over your screen. You don’t look at him, but you can feel his smirk. "I don’t know what you’re talking about."

Jeonghan hums. "Sure you don’t."

You take a deep breath. "Nothing happened."

"See, I know that’s a lie," he says, stepping forward as the line moves. "Because if nothing happened, you wouldn’t be acting like a walking existential crisis."

You scowl. "I am not—"

"—a walking existential crisis?" Jeonghan interrupts, raising a brow. "Oh, please. You’ve been glitching all morning."

You roll your eyes, finally looking at him. "You’re being dramatic."

"Am I?" He crosses his arms. "Because if I recall correctly, you’re the one who wanted him at first sight."

You click your tongue, shifting your weight. "And that’s the problem."

Jeonghan leans in slightly, intrigued. "Because?"

You sigh, running a hand through your hair. "Because I’m hot and cold about this, okay? One second, I want to see where this goes. The next, I’m ready to vanish into the void."

He blinks. "So you like him."

You hesitate. "I—"

Jeonghan’s smirk returns. "Oh, you so like him."

You glare. "I barely know him."

"But you want to," he points out.

You exhale, dragging a hand down your face. "That’s exactly the problem. I don’t get like this."

Jeonghan nods slowly, as if considering. "So what I’m hearing is… Seungcheol has you shook."

You groan, stepping forward as the line moves again. "I hate you."

"You love me."

"Debatable."

He chuckles, shaking his head. "Look, you can keep overthinking this, or you can just let yourself have some fun." He tilts his head. "Unless you’re scared?"

You bristle. "I’m not scared."

His smile widens. "Maybe. Or maybe you’ve just met your match." You stare at him, but before you can argue, the barista calls your order.

Jeonghan winks. "Think about it."

"This," you say flatly, "is why I hate most men."

Jeonghan snickers. "Oh, so you admit you don’t hate all men?"

You glare at him over the rim of your cup. "Unfortunately, some of you have managed to slip through the cracks."

He hums thoughtfully. "And would you say Seungcheol is one of those ‘slip through the cracks’ cases?"

You almost choke on your drink. "Jeonghan," you say warningly.

"Just saying," he muses, blowing on his coffee

You scoff. "Oh, please."

But then you hesitate because, damn it, he has a point. You liked Seungcheol immediately. One look, and you wanted him. And that never happens. It’s annoying. It’s unnerving. And the worst part? Seungcheol knows it.

It’s been a long day. You step out of the building, already thinking about what to make for dinner when you see him.

Seungcheol leaning against his car like he’s posing for a magazine, arms crossed, watching you with an amused tilt of his head. You stop in your tracks.

He smirks.

"Busy?" he asks, pushing off the car as you approach.

You narrow your eyes. "How did you know I was here?"

“Mingyu” you mutter under your breath how you’re going to kill the 6 foot tall man tomorrow. 

Seungcheol chuckles. "Be nice. I was gonna find you eventually."

You glare. "That’s not the point."

He tilts his head. "Then what is?"

You open your mouth then close it. Because, honestly? You’re not sure. Why does he keep coming back? And why the hell do you feel kind of excited that he’s here?

Seungcheol watches you wrestle with your thoughts, then grins. "You gonna invite me up?"

"To my apartment?"

"Where else?"

You fold your arms. "That’s bold."

He steps closer, just enough that you catch the faintest whiff of his cologne. "I don’t like wasting time."

Your heart skips. You should tell him to leave. You should ignore how good he looks in that damn suit. Instead you sigh. "Fine. But if you track me down again because of Mingyu, I’m sending both of you to hell."

Seungcheol grins. "Deal."

The entire drive back to your place is infuriating.

Seungcheol is smiling, smirking, even, like he just won some kind of game. Meanwhile, you’re glaring out the window, arms crossed, regretting every decision that led to this moment. When he finally pulls up to your building, you let out a deep breath, like you’ve just survived something mentally exhausting.

"You always this grumpy?" Seungcheol teases as he steps out of the car.

You shoot him a look. "You always this persistent?"

He just grins. You roll your eyes, leading him up to your apartment. The moment you step inside, you toe off your shoes, toss your bag onto the couch, and grab your phone.

"I’m ordering food," you announce, already scrolling through your go-to delivery app. Seungcheol follows you in, looking around like he’s taking mental notes.

"Nice place," he comments, settling onto your couch like he’s been here before.

You glance at him. "You say that like you weren’t planning to judge it."

And before you can stop yourself, you ask, "Why are you doing this?"

Seungcheol looks at you, head tilting slightly. "Doing what?"

You sigh, turning to fully face him. "This." You motion between the two of you. "Showing up. Finding my number. Tracking me down." For a second, he just watches you. Like he’s figuring something out. Then, he leans back, resting an arm over the couch.

"So this is why they call you the man hater."

You blink. "Excuse me?"

“You’re suspicious of a guy just because he likes you?"

You stare at him, trying to come up with a solid counterargument, something to wipe that smug look off his face.

"Weren’t you the one who approached me first?" Seungcheol asks, raising a brow.

You freeze because technically, yes. You were. That night at the bar, it was you who walked up to him. You who spoke first. You who, despite your reputation of never being impressed by men, took one look at him and wanted him.

And Seungcheol, the same man who apparently turns down women without a second thought, didn’t turn you away. And now? He’s here. Sitting on your couch. Acting like this is just the natural order of things.

"You’re twisting my words," you argue, folding your arms.

"Am I?"

You narrow your eyes. "I approached you because I was curious."

He tilts his head. "And now?"

Every interaction with him has been throwing you off your game. You’re used to being in control but with Seungcheol, it’s like every move he makes is intentional, and he’s too good at getting under your skin.

"You’re annoying," you finally say.

He smirks. "And yet, here I am."

You let out a slow exhale, rolling your eyes. "I should’ve ignored your number that night."

Seungcheol watches your expression shift, and something about it amuses him. "You always like this?"

"Like what?"

He leans forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees. "Fighting yourself."

You stare at him. "I don’t—"

"You do," he interrupts, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. "You’re hot and cold with me, and I think it’s because you don’t like how much you want this."

You hate that he’s right.

"You are so—"

"Annoying?" He grins. "You’ve said."

"Why are you even interested?"

“I like you."

Your heart skips but you refuse to let him see that. So instead, you exhale, shaking your head as you tap at your phone. "You’re ridiculous."

"And you like that," he counters. You pretend you don’t hear him as you place the order.

The food arrives, and you both settle in to eat. Seungcheol sits across from you, comfortably digging into his meal like he belongs here. Like he hasn’t been pushing your buttons all night.

You, on the other hand? You’re still glaring.

He looks up mid-bite, noticing your expression, and smirks. "You always eat like you’re plotting a murder?"

You stab at your food with a little more force than necessary. "Just considering my options."

He chuckles, shaking his head. "You should really work on your intimidation tactics."

You huff. "They work on everyone else."

"Ah," he nods, chewing thoughtfully. "So I’m special."

You pause. Damn it. "That’s not what I—"

He holds up a hand, cutting you off. "Don’t worry, I get it. I’m persistent, irritatingly charming, and you don’t know what to do with that."

You scowl. "I know exactly what to do with that."

He raises a brow. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." You gesture to the door. "Kick you out." Seungcheol laughs. Full-bodied, genuine, like you’re the most entertaining thing he’s come across in a long time. You hate how nice it sounds.

"Okay," he says, still grinning. "I’ll leave—after we finish eating."

You squint. "You act like you’re doing me a favor."

He smirks. "Aren’t I?"

You refuse to dignify that with a response. Instead, you focus on your food, pointedly ignoring how Seungcheol watches you with that infuriatingly amused expression, like he already knows he’ll see you again.

After dinner you walk him to the door, arms crossed, your glare still very much in place. Seungcheol, in contrast, looks ridiculously satisfied, like he’s had the best night of his life just bothering you.

You stop at the door, unlocking it before turning to him with a deadpan expression.

"I changed my mind," you announce.

His brows lift slightly. "About what?"

"I don’t like you anymore."

Seungcheol grins. Like full-on, dimple-showing, teeth-flashing grin.

"That so?" he hums, stepping just a little closer, enough that you have to tilt your head to keep eye contact.

Your jaw tightens. "Yes."

He tilts his head slightly, watching you with the same entertained look he’s had all night.

"That’s a shame," he murmurs.

You cross your arms tighter. "Why?"

"Because," he leans in, voice dropping just enough to make your breath catch, "I still like you." He pulls back, opens the door himself, and steps out. 

"Goodnight," he says, like this is just routine now. Leaving you standing there, your heart beating entirely too fast, absolutely furious that he got the last word.

The next morning, you stomp out of your building and slide into Jeonghan’s car with more force than necessary.

Jeonghan barely glances at you before pulling out onto the street. "Good morning to you too."

You cross your arms, scowling at the window. "I hate him."

"Who?"

You don’t answer right away, mostly because admitting it feels like a loss. But then, under your breath "Seungcheol."

Jeonghan laughs. "You know, for someone who supposedly hates men, you’re really bad at resisting this one."

"I’m not—" You pause. "He’s just—annoying."

"And yet," Jeonghan drawls, "here you are, grumbling his name first thing in the morning."

You shoot him a glare. "Drive the damn car, Jeonghan."

He grins wider, turning up the radio. "Whatever you say, lovergirl."

You get to your desk, ready to start your day with the same level of annoyance you’ve carried since last night and then you see them. A bouquet. Right there. Sitting in the middle of your desk. Jeonghan, who’s still walking behind you, lets out a low whistle. "Oh, would you look at that?"

You drop your bag, snatch up the little card attached, and read it twice just to be sure your eyes aren’t deceiving you.

Try again. I think you still like me. —S.C.

Your eye twitches. Jeonghan, blatantly reading over your shoulder, bursts out laughing.

"Oh, this is amazing," he says, delighted. "I’ve never seen someone get under your skin this fast."

You slam the card down, glaring at the flowers like they’re the true enemy. "I hate him."

"You’ve mentioned." Jeonghan plucks one of the flowers from the bouquet, twirling it between his fingers. "So what are you gonna do?"

You grab the bouquet with way too much force, march over to Mingyu’s desk, and shove it onto his table. Mingyu, who was minding his own damn business, blinks in confusion. "Uh—?"

"They’re yours now," you say, turning away.

"But—"

"You’re welcome!" you call over your shoulder, marching back to your desk. Jeonghan watches the entire thing with an evil smirk.

"You really think that’s gonna stop him?" he muses.

You drop into your chair, arms crossed. "I don’t care."

Meanwhile, across town Seungcheol leans back in his chair, arms crossed, watching Joshua with a smirk.

"She gave them to Mingyu?"

Joshua, who had just finished relaying the entire story from Mingyu’s frantic texts, sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. "She didn’t even hesitate."

Seungcheol chuckles, clearly not deterred. "Figures."

Joshua gives him a look. "You sound way too happy about that."

"Because I am," Seungcheol says simply.

Joshua stares. "You just got rejected via floral delivery, and you’re smiling."

Seungcheol shrugs, completely unbothered. "She reacted."

Joshua raises a brow. "That’s your takeaway?"

"Of course," Seungcheol leans forward, tapping his fingers against his desk. "If she really didn’t care, she would’ve ignored them. But instead, she marched across the office, gave them to Mingyu, and made sure I’d hear about it."

Joshua squints. "That’s…a reach."

Seungcheol just grins. "Is it?"

Joshua sighs, already exhausted. "Okay, so what’s the plan now, lover boy?"

Seungcheol picks up his phone, scrolling through his contacts until he lands on the one he had personally gotten from Mingyu last week. Your phone buzzes on your desk, and you glance at it once. Then you freeze because there, bright as day, Seungcheol.

Your fingers twitch. You shouldn’t pick up. In fact, you should do the responsible thing and ignore him completely but then the call keeps ringing, like he knows you’re staring at it, like he’s waiting for you to break.

You almost ignore it..Almost. With an annoyed huff, you snatch up the phone and answer.

"What."

A low chuckle greets you from the other end. "That’s no way to greet your boyfriend."

Your entire body jerks. "Excuse me?"

"Ah," Seungcheol hums, clearly amused. "Too soon?"

"Way too soon," you deadpan. "And completely delusional."

"And yet, here you are, answering my call."

Your eye twitches. "Do you want something, or are you just here to waste my time?"

"Both," he admits easily.

You resist the urge to throw your phone. "Seungcheol."

"Fine, fine," he laughs. "Just wanted to check if my flowers got delivered."

You glare at nothing. "Oh, they did."

"And?"

"And they now belong to Mingyu." There’s a beat of silence then he’s laughing. And you hate it, you hate how good it sounded. 

“You’re so cute when you’re difficult."

You hang up immediately and then proceed to glare at your phone like it’s personally betrayed you. Across the room, Jeonghan watches your entire reaction unfold, smirk growing wider by the second.

"So," he drawls, "how’s your boyfriend?"

You launch a stress ball at his head.

Later that night, Jeonghan is sprawled out on your couch, one arm slung over his face as he lazily kicks at the air.

"You got any more of those fancy chips?" he asks.

You barely glance up from your phone. "Pantry."

"Ugh. Too far."

"You have legs."

He groans dramatically, but he doesn’t move. You roll your eyes and keep scrolling, ignoring him—until his voice turns serious.

"Alright," he says, sitting up. "All jokes aside—what’s going on?"

You pause, side-eyeing him. "What?"

Jeonghan leans forward, elbows on his knees, studying you in a way that makes you shift uncomfortably.

"You said it yourself that you wanted him," he says, voice softer now. "So why are you acting like this?"

Because you’ve been here before. Because the last time you really liked someone, you got your hopes up, and it all went to shit. Because you’ve learned the hard way that people say one thing and do another, that words mean nothing without action.

Jeonghan knows this. He’s been there through it all—through the flings, the almost-relationships, the guys who were great until they weren’t. He was there when you decided you were done trying, when you shrugged off love like it was an optional extra, not something you needed.

Now, he’s watching you like he’s seeing through you.

"You’re scared," he says simply.

You scoff. "I am not—"

"You are," he cuts in. "And I get it. But you can’t keep pushing people away just because they might disappoint you."

You bite your lip, looking away.

"Seungcheol isn’t them," Jeonghan continues. "And I don’t think he’s gonna give up just because you’re being difficult."

"...Maybe he should."

Jeonghan chuckles, but it’s not mocking. "Too bad for you, I don’t think he will."

You scoff, crossing your arms. "He will."

Jeonghan raises a brow, amused. "You sure about that?"

"Yes," you say firmly. "He’s rich, good-looking, and clearly used to getting what he wants. Guys like him don’t chase for long. The second I make it too much work, he’ll move on."

Jeonghan just smirks, shaking his head. "That’s cute. You think you’re hard to want."

You glare. "Don’t analyze me. I am not dealing with another guy who’s all interest at first and then disappears the moment things get real."

Jeonghan hums, watching you for a moment. Then, with a knowing glint in his eyes, he asks, "So if he doesn’t disappear?"

You blink.

"If he doesn’t give up," Jeonghan says, leaning closer. "If he keeps showing up, keeps proving you wrong—then what?"

You press your lips together, refusing to answer. Because you don’t know.

Jeonghan’s words replay in your head for the next couple of days. You try to brush them off, but they stick. if he doesn’t give up, then what?

But then, Seungcheol stops contacting you.No texts. No calls. No annoying flower deliveries. And in your mind, you’re like, See? I was right.

You told Jeonghan exactly how this would go. Guys like Seungcheol don’t chase for long. They get bored, they move on, they—

Knock, knock.

Your head snaps toward the door, heart inexplicably jumping. It’s late. You’re already in pajamas, wrapped in a blanket on your couch, halfway through a show you weren’t even paying attention to. The knocking comes again.

Slowly, you get up and pull open the door and there he is.

Seungcheol stands in front of you, looking annoyingly good despite the slight exhaustion in his eyes. He’s wearing a dark coat over a fitted sweater, and there’s an expensive-looking suitcase at his feet.

And in his hand a snow globe.

You blink. "What…?"

"Hey," he says, Just got back from a business trip."

You stare at him. "A business trip."

"Yeah." He lifts the snow globe slightly. "Paris.".

"You brought me a souvenir?"

Seungcheol smirks. "What, you think I’d go all the way to Paris and not bring you something?"

"I—" You pause, suddenly feeling very warm despite the cold draft from the open door. "I just—"

"You thought I gave up," he says simply.

Your stomach flips. You cross your arms, standing a little straighter. "Maybe."

For a second, neither of you say anything. Then, before your brain can catch up, you reach out slow, hesitant and take the snow globe from his hand.

"...Thanks," you mumble.

Seungcheol grins. "You’re welcome."

You step aside, wordlessly letting him in. Seungcheol doesn’t hesitate, walking past you like he belongs there. 

"Why do you always look like you want to fight me?" he asks, amused.

"I don’t," you say flatly.

"You do," he counters, dropping onto your couch like it’s his. "You’ve been glaring at me since the day we met."

You cross your arms. "Maybe it’s just my face."

"It’s cute."

You narrow your eyes. "Don’t start."

Seungcheol laughs, stretching out comfortably. "You gonna offer me a drink or just keep staring at me?"

You inhale sharply, fighting the urge to throw him out. Instead, you turn and march into the kitchen, grabbing two glasses of water. When you return, he’s still lounging on your couch, completely at home.

You set his glass down with a little too much force. "Here."

Seungcheol picks it up, giving you a slow, knowing look. "You’re really bad at this," he says.

"At what?"

"Letting yourself like me." You almost choke on your own water. And Seungcheol? He just smiles.

He takes a slow sip of his water, watching you over the rim of the glass like he’s studying you. Then, like he can read your mind, he says, "Before you start spiraling—I didn’t text because I was busy. Meetings from morning to night, different time zones, clients to entertain. I barely slept, let alone had time to talk."

You blink. "I didn’t ask," you say, defensive.

He smirks. "Then don’t overthink."

You open your mouth to argue because you were not overthinking, thank you very much—but he just keeps going.

"I was in Paris for four days. Mostly business, but I had a few hours to walk around. Thought about you when I saw that snow globe."

Your stomach flips against your will. You grip your glass tighter. "You—what?"

"I thought you’d like it," he says simply. "Or maybe you'd just glare at it. Either way, it reminded me of you."

You stare at him, lips parting slightly because what the hell is he even saying? Because he says it like it’s not a big deal. Like it’s normal to have you on his mind while he’s halfway across the world. So, naturally, you do what you do best—deflect.

"You just showed up at my place," you say, voice carefully flat. "What if I wasn’t home?"

Seungcheol grins. "Then I’d have waited."

"Like a stalker?"

"Like a guy who wants to see you."

Your brain short-circuits.You scramble for something anything to say, but he beats you to it.

"You really don’t get it, do you?"

You frown. "Get what?"

He leans forward, setting his glass down on the coffee table, and your whole body tenses when he holds your gaze. "I don’t do things halfway," he says. "I wanted you from the start. That hasn’t changed."

And suddenly, you’re overthinking again. You fold your arms across your chest, keeping your expression carefully neutral. "You're just saying that because you like the chase."

Seungcheol raises an eyebrow, leaning back slightly. "And you're saying that because you want me to think you're still a man hater."

"Excuse me?" you say, narrowing your eyes.

He shrugs, completely unfazed. "You keep acting like you don’t care, like you’re waiting for me to mess up so you can say ‘See? I told you so.’ But you’re just trying to protect yourself."

He’s too damn perceptive. Too calm, too confident in the way he calls you out.

"You don’t know what you’re talking about," you mutter, looking away.

Seungcheol scoffs. "I do, actually."

He leans forward again, resting his elbows on his knees. "You liked me the second you saw me," he says, voice lower now, smoother. "And that scared the hell out of you."

Your breath catches because he’s right. You hate that he’s right. And the worst part? He sees it. You don’t answer. That's when Seungcheol does something you don’t expect. He stands up. And just like that, the whole atmosphere shifts. The teasing glint in his eyes is gone, replaced with something steadier. Something serious.

"If you don’t want me here, say the word and I’ll leave."

You swallow hard. Your fingers tighten around the edge of your sweater. Because this is it. The out you’ve been waiting for. The chance to end this before you get in too deep.

Your voice is quieter than you intend when you say, "If I do, will you leave?"

Seungcheol watches you, his gaze unwavering. "Yes." You know he’s telling the truth. He’s not the kind of guy to stick around where he isn’t wanted.

"You won’t fight for it?" you ask, hating how vulnerable the words sound.

A small, knowing smile tugs at the corner of his lips. "I already am."

Your breath catches because damn him. Damn him for saying things like that. Damn him for not pushing, not forcing, just waiting. 

So instead, you exhale, looking away. "Sit down, you’re making me nervous."

Seungcheol smiles and just like that, the tension cracks.

"Yes, ma’am," he teases, sinking back onto the couch like he owns the place.

You roll your eyes, but the corner of your lips betrays you—a slight, reluctant twitch. He sees it, of course. And you don’t miss the satisfied look on his face when he does.

A few days later, Mingyu ruins everything.

“We should go out for drinks,” he says, like it’s just a casual suggestion and not a trap. And like idiots, you all agree. You don’t think anything of it until "By the way," Mingyu adds, far too casually, "I invited Seungcheol."

You freeze.

Mingyu grins, oblivious to the murderous intent in your eyes. "You don’t mind, right?"

Jeonghan snickers. Irene and Jihyo exchange looks.

"Why would she mind?" Irene asks, ever the instigator.

"You’re all insufferable," you mutter, grabbing your drink and pretending you’re unaffected.

You’re going to ignore him. You’re going to sit with your friends, drink, and not think about him. It’s a solid plan.

Then he walks in.

And suddenly, your plan evaporates.

Seungcheol is unfair. Black button-up, sleeves rolled up to his forearms, looking effortlessly good in the worst possible way. He steps into the bar with Joshua beside him, scanning the room and then his eyes land on you.

You should play it cool. Pretend to be mad at him. Hold onto your last shred of self-respect but the moment you see him, you walk straight up to him, ignoring the way your friends watch with poorly concealed amusement.

Seungcheol’s lips twitch, like he was expecting this. "Hi."

You scowl. "I hate you."

He grins. "You said that last time. Didn’t sound very convincing then either."

You open your mouth to argue—but you don’t. Because damn it, you don’t hate him at all. So you stare at him, arms crossed, and say, “What, you’re too busy now?”

His smirk deepens. “Didn’t know you’d miss me so much.”

You scoff. “I didn’t say that.”

“But you implied it.”

Your eyes narrow. “You’re deflecting.”

He shrugs, completely unbothered. “I’ve been busy.”

“Oh, so you admit it?”

Seungcheol tilts his head, amused. “Didn’t I text you?”

Your lips press together. Okay, fair point. He did text. A few times.

A "How was your day?"A "Don’t overthink too much." 

Still, you lift your chin. “Texts aren’t the same.”

His brow arches. “So you’re saying you wanted to see me?”

 “That is absolutely not what I said.”

Seungcheol just laughs. “But it’s what you meant.”

“Oh my god, I hate you.”

His grin is downright infuriating. “You keep saying that, but I don’t think you mean it.”

You spin on your heel. “I’m leaving.”

Seungcheol just laughs, completely unbothered, like he already knows you don’t mean it. He slides into the seat beside you like it’s the most natural thing in the world. 

“I was busy because of work,” he murmurs, voice smooth, almost apologetic—but not quite. “Wanted to come see you, but I figured you’d be tired after work, too.”

Your eyes narrow. “That’s your excuse?”

He tilts his head, smirking. “It’s the truth.”

You glare harder, hoping it’ll somehow make him squirm. It doesn’t. He just watches you, the corner of his mouth twitching like he’s fighting back a laugh.

“So considerate of you,” you say dryly.

He hums. “I try.” Seungcheol, of course, takes that as his cue to get comfortable. He leans back, stretching his arm along the back of the booth—not quite touching you, but close enough.

“You’re still mad,” he observes, sounding entirely too entertained.

“No,” you deadpan. “I’m thrilled.”

Seungcheol laughs under his breath. “You’re cute when you sulk.”

Your head snaps toward him, eyes burning with fresh irritation. “I am not sulking.”

He just grins. “Whatever you say.”

You step out onto the balcony, the night air cool against your skin as you take a deep breath. You just need a moment, one single moment to yourself. Of course, that’s impossible when Seungcheol is involved.

The door clicks shut behind you, and you don’t even have to turn around to know it’s him. You sigh, rubbing your temples. “Don’t mind me. I’ll sulk on my own.”

Seungcheol hums as he leans against the railing beside you. “Nah, can’t let that happen.”

You throw him a glare. “And why not?”

He shrugs, watching the city lights with an infuriatingly calm expression. “I’d feel bad.”

You scoff. “Oh, now you feel bad?”

“I’ve always felt bad.”

“You don’t look like you do.”

He tilts his head toward you, smiling slightly. “Alright, what do you want, then?”

You exhale, glancing away. The truth sits heavy on your tongue, but you don’t say it. You’re still you, after all. Instead, you mutter, “For you to stop being annoying.”

A breeze drifts between you, carrying the sounds of laughter from inside. For a second, neither of you speak. Then Seungcheol nudges your arm lightly. “You’re really not gonna admit you missed me, huh?”

You don’t say anything.

His smirk softens into something else. Something dangerous. “I can wait.” He exhales, watching you carefully. The smirk fades, replaced by something quieter. something real.

Then he says it.

“I missed you.”

The words slip out so casually, so effortlessly, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. Your fingers tighten around the railing. Your brain stalls. Your heart does this stupid little flip in your chest. You finally turn to face him, none of the usual teasing or frustration in your expression is just seriousness.

“If it’s going to be like this,” you say, voice steady, “you disappear for days, then coming back like nothing happened then it’s not going to work.”

Seungcheol’s smirk fades completely. He studies you, really looks at you, and you can tell he understands that you’re not just saying this to pick a fight.

He exhales, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s not like that.”

“Isn’t it?” You cross your arms. “You come and then go, then you just show up out of nowhere. Do you expect me to just—” You shake your head. “I don’t play games, Seungcheol.”

“I know,” he says immediately. “I know you don’t.”

You sigh. “Then what are we doing?”

He’s quiet for a moment. Then, carefully, “I didn’t think you’d want me to check in like that.”

You blink. “Why wouldn’t I?”

He hesitates. “Because you act like you don’t care half the time.” That stings. Not because he’s wrong, but because he’s right.

You inhale sharply. “That’s just how I am.”

“I know,” he says again, softer this time. “But if I’m going to try with you, I don’t want to be another person you expect to leave.”

Seungcheol holds your gaze, unwavering. “So tell me what you want. What you really want.”

For the first time since this started, you don’t have a comeback. You suddenly feel the urge to leave.

Seungcheol’s words sit heavy in your chest—you act like you don’t care half the time. It stung more than you wanted to admit, and now the whole night feels ruined.

“I’m heading out,” you say abruptly, turning on your heel.

You return inside, Seungcheol following behind you. Jeonghan, ever the observant one, catches on immediately. “Let’s go home yea?” he says, grabbing his coat. He doesn’t ask questions, doesn’t press. Just sticks by your side, because he knows you.

Mingyu frowns. “Already? But we just—”

“Let her go,” Seungcheol says. His voice is unreadable. You don’t look back. Jeonghan walks you out, calls a ride, and when you’re finally inside the car, he leans back with a sigh.

“You gonna tell me what happened?”

You stare out the window. “No.”

He hums, not pushing further. Instead, when you get home, he stays. Puts on a random movie, hands you a blanket, and lets you sit in silence.

Because Jeonghan knows you’ll talk when you’re ready. He doesn’t look at you right away. He stays focused on the movie, lthen he hears it.

A sniffle.

It’s quiet, barely there, but Jeonghan notices everything.

He doesn’t immediately react, doesn’t turn his head or ask if you’re okay, because he knows you. Knows that if he does, you’ll shut down completely.

“I think I’m screwing it up.”

Jeonghan doesn’t even blink. “With Seungcheol?”

You nod.

“Yeah,” he says, blowing on his own tea. “I figured.”

You furrow your brows. “How?”

He snorts. “Because you’re you.” You glare at him again, but he just drives. Eyes still on the road

“I’m serious,”

“So am I,” he says easily. “You’re panicking because this is probably the first time in a long time that you actually like someone. And instead of dealing with it like a normal person, you’re, well—”

“Ruining it?”

Jeonghan shrugs. “Self-sabotaging. But close enough.”

“Great.”

Jeonghan watches you for a moment. Then, softer this time “What did he say to make you leave?”

You hesitate. Then, voice barely above a whisper “That I act like I don’t care.”

“Well, he’s not wrong.”

You snap your head toward him, eyes wide. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.”

You scowl, ready to argue, but then the truth of it hits you.

And maybe that’s why it hurt so much. Because Seungcheol wasn’t wrong. Because you do act like you don’t care, even when you do. Because this whole time, you’ve been pushing and pulling, running hot and cold, and yet

Yet, he’s still here. Still choosing you. The realization makes your chest feel uncomfortably tight.

So you do what you always do when it gets too much. You don’t reach out.

Not the next day. Not the day after that. You tell yourself it’s for the best. That it’s easier this way. That Seungcheol will eventually get the hint and move on.

But then why do you feel like absolute shit?

You go through the motions—work, home, repeat—but there’s this persistent weight in your chest that refuses to go away.

It’s easy to avoid Seungcheol, at least. He works across town, and it’s not like you run in the same circles outside of Mingyu dragging him along. Still. You hate how aware you are of his absence. It’s ridiculous, really. You’ve only known him for a few months, but somehow, he’s already made himself at home in your thoughts.

You wonder if he’s given up on you yet. If he’s decided you’re not worth the effort. The thought makes you feel worse.

You almost walk right past him.

Almost.

“Hey.”

Your steps falter. You take a slow breath before turning to him. He’s standing by the entrance of your building, hands in his pockets, looking at you like he’s been waiting.

You scoff. “Oh. Now you know me?”

Seungcheol exhales sharply, shaking his head. “Don’t do that.”

You don’t even know what exactly you’re doing, but you’re already annoyed. “Do what?”

He gives you a flat look. “Push me away.”

You cross your arms. “Maybe you should take the hint, then.”

Seungcheol steps forward. “You don’t want that.”

You step back. “I don’t?”

“You don’t.” You hate that he’s right. That he can see it. That it’s written all over your face no matter how hard you try to deny it and it frustrates you. More than it should.

“Look, Seungcheol,” you sigh, voice heavy with exhaustion. “You can’t just disappear for days and then show up like—”

“Like what?” he interrupts. “Like I actually give a damn about you?” You flinch. It’s not even what he said. It’s how he said it. The sincerity in his voice. The quiet frustration.

You look away. “I didn’t ask you to.”

He laughs under his breath. “Yeah. That’s the problem, isn’t it?”

You hate the way he’s looking at you. Like he knows. Like he’s waiting for you to stop fighting him. You shake your head. “You should go.”

But Seungcheol doesn’t move. Instead, he tilts his head, studying you.  “Do you want me to?”

The answer is no but you don’t say it. You can’t stand the way he looks at you, like he’s already figured you out. Like he knows every excuse, every defense mechanism, every wall you put up before you even have the chance to throw them at him.

So you do what you do best. You push.

"Let’s just go back to thinking I don’t care." The words taste bitter, but you swallow them down, turning on your heel before he can say anything else.

You walk away.

One step.

Two.

Three.

You expect him to stop you. To grab your wrist. To call your name again. To say something but he doesn’t.

The air is heavy with everything unsaid, with everything you’re choosing to leave behind. And yet the farther you get, the harder it is to breathe. Your own words echo in your head, louder and louder, until you almost want to take them back.

Almost.

But you don’t.

Because that would mean admitting that he’s right. That you don’t actually want him to leave. That you’ve just been pushing him away because it’s easier than facing what’s really scaring you.

Because if you admit that you care—really, really care—then that means he has the power to hurt you.

And you’re not sure if you can survive that again.

And Seungcheol?

He lets you go.

The next day Jeonghan doesn’t even need to say anything. The moment he sees you step out of your apartment building, he knows. Your eyes are puffy, your hair is a mess, and you look like you barely got any sleep. Like hell, basically.

"So, rough night?" he asks, starting the car. You grunt in response, which tells him enough.

"You wanna talk about it, or should I just let you wallow in silence until you eventually explode?"

"Silence."

"Got it."

The drive is quiet, but Jeonghan sneaks glances at you every now and then. He’s been with you long enough to recognize when you’re doing it again. The overthinking. The self-sabotaging. The pushing away before you can get hurt.

He knows you want Seungcheol. He knows you care. And he knows that you’re terrified of letting yourself have something good.

So when he finally pulls into the parking lot and parks the car, he doesn’t unlock the doors right away. Instead, he turns to you, voice softer this time.

"You look miserable."

"Wow, thanks."

"I mean it. You look like you barely slept. You’re doing that thing where you overthink yourself into a corner and decide for yourself that you’re better off alone before anyone can prove you wrong."

You hate how accurate that is. "I don’t wanna talk about it, Hannie."

"Fine." He unlocks the doors. "But at some point, you’re gonna have to."

You sigh and grab your bag, stepping out of the car. But as you walk toward the building, Jeonghan calls after you.

"Just answer me one thing—if he calls, are you gonna pick up?"

You pause. The fact that you even hesitate tells him everything. Jeonghan watches you, waiting. Maybe hoping. But when you finally speak, your voice is so quiet.

“No.”

It’s not stubborn. It’s not defensive. It’s not even angry. It’s just… defeated. Like every last bit of fight has already drained out of you.

And that is what makes Jeonghan shut up. 

So, even though it kills him to see you like this, he sighs and just says, “Alright. Dropped.”

But Jeonghan doesn’t move right away. He just sits there in the driver’s seat, watching you disappear through the doors. And for the first time in a long time, he wonders if this time—with Seungcheol—maybe you’re making a mistake.

Jeonghan, Jihyo, Mingyu, and Irene are already a few drinks in when Mingyu suddenly stiffens, his eyes narrowing toward the entrance of the bar.

“Oh, shit.”

Jihyo follows his gaze and lets out a low whistle. “Well, well, well. Look who it is.”

Jeonghan doesn’t even need to look. He already knows. Joshua Hong walks in first, smiling as he exchanges greetings with someone at the bar.

And right behind him? Choi Seungcheol.

It’s been 2 weeks and Seungcheol looks… the same. Maybe a little tired, but still him. The group watches as he follows Joshua toward a table, not even glancing their way.

“Are we going to talk to them?” Irene asks, swirling her drink.

“Should we?” Mingyu hesitates.

Jeonghan sighs, rubbing his temples. He’s been waiting for something like this to happen. Because of course it would. The universe wouldn’t let things be that easy.

Jeonghan exhales, slow and measured, before tossing back the rest of his drink.

“I’ll go.”

Jihyo raises an eyebrow. “You sure?”

Jeonghan shrugs as he pushes back his chair. “Someone has to.”

Mingyu shifts in his seat. “Want me to—”

“No,” Jeonghan cuts him off, shaking his head. “If it’s just me, he won’t feel cornered.”

They don’t argue. They know Jeonghan well enough to trust him with this. So, with one last glance at the others, Jeonghan straightens his shirt and makes his way across the bar.

“Joshua.”

Joshua turns first, eyebrows lifting in surprise before his lips pull into a smile. “Jeonghan! What a coincidence.”

Seungcheol looks up then, mid-sip of his drink, and his expression flickers—just for a second—before smoothing out. Jeonghan pulls out a chair and sits without asking.

Joshua leans forward, propping his chin on his hand. “Didn’t think I’d be seeing you tonight. The others here too?”

Jeonghan ignores the question and turns to Seungcheol instead. “You doing alright?”

Seungcheol stares at him, unreadable. “Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?”

Jeonghan hums, tapping his fingers against the table. “Dunno. Just seems like you haven’t been around much lately.”

Joshua looks between them, lips twitching, but he wisely keeps quiet.

Seungcheol finally exhales, setting his drink down. “Is this about—”

“Of course it’s about her.” Jeonghan doesn’t even let him finish. “You think we wouldn’t notice?”

Seungcheol presses his lips into a thin line.

Jeonghan tilts his head. “She’s been avoiding everything that even remotely reminds her of you. And she’s stubborn as hell, but I know her. She’s not okay.”

Seungcheol’s grip tightens on his glass.

Joshua sighs, leaning back in his chair. “This is why I told you to just talk to her already.”

Seungcheol runs a hand down his face, clearly frustrated. “And say what?”

Jeonghan narrows his eyes. “Say you’re sorry. Say you care. Say literally anything, because she’s convinced herself you don’t.”

Seungcheol exhales sharply. “That’s not—” He stops himself, shaking his head. “She told me to leave.”

“She tells everyone to leave,” Jeonghan deadpans. “And she’s always surprised when they actually do.”

Seungcheol goes quiet. Jeonghan leans forward, voice steady but firm. “If you don’t care, then stay away. But if you do? Do something. Because right now, all you’re doing is proving her right.”

Seungcheol stares down at his drink. Jeonghan watches him, waiting.

And then, after a long moment Seungcheol stands.

Joshua blinks. “Oh? We’re going now?” Seungcheol ignores him, pulling his wallet out and throwing some cash on the table. Then, finally, he turns to Jeonghan.

“Where is she?”

Jeonghan tried calling again. Straight to voicemail.

He frowned. “She’s not answering.”

Seungcheol’s jaw clenched. “Is she home?”

“I don’t know,” Jeonghan muttered, already pulling up your shared location—but of course, it was off.

Joshua exhaled through his nose. “Maybe she’s asleep?”

Jeonghan shook his head. “She always leaves her phone on, even if she’s mad. If she’s not answering, it means she either doesn’t want to be found or—” He stops himself, lips pressing into a thin line. Seungcheol didn’t need him to finish the sentence. His hands curled into fists.

“Where would she go?” he asked, voice tight.

Jeonghan exchanged a look with Mingyu, who had come over after noticing their conversation.

Mingyu sighed. “There’s a place. She used to go there when she needed to clear her head.”

Seungcheol didn’t waste time asking more. “Where?”

Mingyu hesitated, just for a second. Then, seeing the way Seungcheol was barely holding himself together, he pulled out his phone and sent the location.

“Don’t mess this up,” Mingyu muttered.

Seungcheol was already heading for the door. He wasn’t sure what he expected when he got there, but an old bookstore tucked into a quiet street wasn’t it. The lights inside were dim and warm, casting a soft glow through the large windows. He pushed the door open, the bell above jingling softly. 

An old woman, sitting behind the counter, looked up. She peered at him through her glasses, eyes sharp despite her gentle smile.

“You must be the one,” she said simply.

Seungcheol blinked. “Excuse me?”

The old woman hummed, nodding toward the back. “She’s here. Been here all day.”

He followed her gaze and, sure enough, there you were—curled up in one of the armchairs near the back, a book resting on your lap, though you weren’t reading it. Instead, you were staring out the window, lost in thought.

You felt his presence before you saw him. Maybe it was the way the air shifted, or maybe you had been waiting for him all along, but when he stopped in front of you, you weren’t surprised.

“You’re a hard person to find,” he said quietly.

You closed the book in your lap, fingers tracing the edges of the cover. “Didn’t realize I was supposed to be found.”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Why didn’t you tell anyone where you were?”

You shrugged. “Didn’t feel like talking.”

Seungcheol crouched down so he was eye level with you. “Are you okay?”

You looked at him then, really looked at him. His eyes were searching, his face unreadable. And for some reason, that made something in your chest tighten.

“I don’t know,” you admitted.

He exhaled softly. “Can I sit?”

You didn’t answer, but you moved your legs so there was space on the other armchair beside you. He took the silent invitation, settling in.

For a while, neither of you spoke. The quiet hum of the bookstore surrounded you.

Finally, Seungcheol broke the silence. “Why did you run?”

You frowned. “I didn’t run.”

He gave you a look. “You disappeared. No one could reach you. That’s running.”

You sighed, leaning your head back against the chair. “I just needed time.”

“To do what?”

“To think,” you muttered.

Seungcheol tilted his head, watching you closely. “And?”

You hesitated, fingers tightening around the book. “And I don’t know what to do with you.”

He let out a small chuckle. “I get that a lot.”

“I’m serious.”

His expression softened. “So am I.”

You sighed, feeling the weight of everything pressing down on you. “I don’t know how to do this, Seungcheol. I don’t know how to trust that this won’t end up like before.”

He was quiet for a moment. Then, he said, “I’m not whoever hurt you.”

You swallowed. “I know that.”

“Do you?” His voice was gentle, but firm. “Because it seems like you’re punishing me for something I didn’t do.”

Your chest ached. “It’s not that simple.”

“I know,” he said. “But I need you to at least give me a chance.” You stared at him, searching for any hint of dishonesty. But all you found was sincerity.

The lump in your throat grew. “And if I can’t?”

“Then I’ll wait.”

You closed your eyes, exhaling shakily. “You make it sound so easy.”

He smiled, though there was something sad in it. “It’s not. But I think you’re worth it.”

Your heart stumbled over itself. For the first time in a long time, you didn’t know what to say.

The old lady approached with slow, deliberate steps, her sharp gaze flicking between you and Seungcheol. She had seen you come in and out of this bookstore too many times, always with a heavy heart.

“So,” she said, arms crossing over her chest. “Is this the boy that’s been making you cry?”

You inhaled deeply, forcing a small smile as you shook your head. “All of them do.”

She clicked her tongue, giving Seungcheol a pointed look before patting your shoulder. “Men,” she muttered before walking off, leaving the two of you in tense silence. Seungcheol didn’t speak for a long moment. You knew he was looking at you, but you refused to meet his eyes.

Then, finally, in a quiet voice, he asked, “Did I really make you cry?”

You swallowed, keeping your gaze on the book in your lap. “Why do you care?”

His jaw tensed. “Because I didn’t want to.”

A bitter chuckle slipped out. “That’s funny,” you said, glancing at him now. “Because I remember you saying that I don’t care.”

Seungcheol exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. “I was angry.”

You nodded slowly, lips pressing together. “So what do you want from me?”

His brows furrowed. “What?”

You turned fully toward him now, frustration bubbling up again. “What do you want, Seungcheol? You say you’ll wait, but for what? You keep coming back even when I push you away. What are you waiting for?”

He stared at you, something flickering behind his eyes. “You.”

You let out a hollow laugh. “You don’t even know me.”

“Yes, I do,” he shot back. “I know you act like you don’t care because you’re afraid. I know you run before anyone gets the chance to hurt you. And I know you like me.”

Your breath hitched.

He leaned in slightly, voice dropping lower. “That’s why you’re trying so hard to convince yourself that I’ll leave.”

You clenched your jaw. “You will.”

Seungcheol exhaled, shaking his head. “I won’t.”

You opened your mouth to argue again, but before you could, another voice interrupted.

“There you are.” You both turned to see Jeonghan standing by the entrance of the bookstore, arms crossed, an unreadable expression on his face. “I was looking for you.”

Jeonghan’s gaze softened as he looked at you. “Come on,” he said gently. “Let’s go.”

You hesitated, glancing at Seungcheol, whose jaw was now clenched.

Jeonghan sighed, looking between the two of you. “You need space,” he said simply. Then, to Seungcheol, he added, “Give it to her.” Seungcheol didn’t respond immediately. His gaze stayed locked on you, searching, waiting but you didn’t say anything.

Finally, he exhaled and stood. “I’ll wait.”

You hated that those words made your chest tighten. Without another glance, you followed Jeonghan out of the bookstore, leaving Seungcheol behind.

The moment you stepped out of the bookstore, Jeonghan let out a heavy sigh.

“Don’t,” you muttered, already knowing what was coming.

“I didn’t say anything yet,” he shot back, but the look he gave you was enough.

You sighed, rubbing your temples. “Thanks for coming to get me.”

“Oh, don’t thank me,” he said, crossing his arms. “Because now I am going to lecture you.”

You groaned. “Jeonghan—”

“No, listen to me.” His tone was sharper than usual, firm in a way that made you stop walking. “You keep doing this thing where you push people away the second they get too close. And I get it, I do. You don’t want to get hurt. But you are the one hurting yourself.”

Your breath caught, but you said nothing.

Jeonghan huffed. “You like him,” he stated, like it was a fact. “And I know you like him because you’re acting like this.”

You scoffed. “That makes no sense.”

He gave you a pointed look. “It does when it’s you.”

You exhaled slowly, looking away. “He’ll leave.”

“And what if he doesn’t?” Jeonghan challenged. “Are you really going to throw this away just because you think he might leave?”

You pressed your lips together. “You don’t understand.”

Jeonghan let out a humorless laugh. “Oh, I do. Because I’ve watched you do this over and over again. And I didn’t say anything before because, honestly? Most of those guys weren’t worth it.”

You frowned. “And you think he is?”

Jeonghan tilted his head. “Don’t you? Look, if you really don’t want him, then fine. Walk away. But if you do want him—even just a little—then stop making it so hard for yourself.”

You swallowed, your throat suddenly tight.

Jeonghan softened, placing a hand on your shoulder. “Just think about it, alright?”

You didn’t respond. You weren’t sure if you could so you just nodded, and Jeonghan let it go. For now.

Come morning the next day. Seungcheol sat across from Jeonghan, arms crossed as he studied him. He had been skeptical from the start—why Jeonghan always knew exactly what to say to you, why you let him in when you pushed everyone else away.

“You know a lot about her,” Seungcheol said, voice laced with suspicion. “More than just a friend would.”

Jeonghan smirked, stirring his coffee lazily. “That’s because we’re not just friends.”

Seungcheol’s grip on his cup tightened slightly. He wasn’t sure why that statement irritated him so much, but it did. “Then what are you?”

Jeonghan glanced up at him, watching his reaction carefully before finally saying it.

“She’s my stepsister.”

“What?”

Jeonghan leaned back in his chair, sighing like this conversation was long overdue. “Her dad left when she was a kid. It was ugly—messed her up. My dad married her mom when we were in our teens, and suddenly, we were family.”

It made sense now. Why you and Jeonghan were inseparable, why he always seemed to understand you in a way no one else did.

“She doesn’t talk about it,” Jeonghan continued, voice quieter now. “Not to anyone. She pretends it doesn’t affect her, but it does. It’s why she is the way she is. Why she pushes people away before they get too close.”

Seungcheol exhaled, leaning back in his seat. “And you’re telling me this because…?”

Jeonghan met his gaze, all traces of amusement gone. “Because if you’re serious about her, you need to know what you’re up against.”

Now, he understood just how much he had to fight for you. Seungcheol stayed quiet, his mind replaying every interaction he’d had with you. The push and pull, the way you shut him out just when he thought he was getting close. Now, it all made sense.

Jeonghan sighed, watching him carefully before speaking again.

“It’s hard to love her less once you get to know her more.”

Seungcheol’s gaze snapped up, meeting Jeonghan’s knowing eyes.

“That’s why she keeps people at arm’s length,” Jeonghan continued. “Because she knows it too. She’s terrified of people staying just long enough to leave.”

Seungcheol exhaled sharply. “And you think I’m just like everyone else?”

Jeonghan smirked, but there was something softer behind it. “I think you’re different. That’s why she’s this scared.”

Seungcheol didn’t sleep much that night.

Jeonghan’s words stayed with him, looping in his mind until he couldn’t ignore them anymore. You weren’t just pushing him away because you wanted to—you were pushing him away because you were scared. Because you expected him to leave.

And if there was one thing Seungcheol hated, it was being predictable.

The next day, he found himself outside your office again, leaning against his car with his arms crossed. He knew your schedule well enough by now, and when he saw you stepping out, he straightened.

You stopped in your tracks the moment you saw him. 

“What are you doing here?” Your voice was flat, but Seungcheol could hear the exhaustion underneath it.

He pushed himself off the car, hands slipping into his pockets. “I needed to see you.”

You exhaled through your nose, already tired of this conversation. “Cheol—”

“No,” he interrupted gently. “This time, just listen.”

Your eyes narrowed, but you didn’t walk away. That was enough for him.

He stepped closer, closing the distance between you. “You asked me what I wanted from you. I didn’t answer then, so I’ll answer now.” His voice was steady, unwavering. “I want you. I want every version of you—the one who glares at me, the one who shuts me out, the one who lets her guard down when she thinks no one’s looking.”

“And then what?”

Seungcheol tilted his head slightly. “Then I keep wanting you. Even when you push me away. Even when you tell yourself you don’t care.”

Your jaw tightened, your emotions warring against your better judgment. “I don’t need saving, Seungcheol.”

“I know,” he said easily. “You never did. But you do need someone who stays.”

Silence stretched between you, thick with unspoken words. Seungcheol could see the way your fingers twitched, 

So he softened, just enough. “Jeonghan told me.”

Your breath hitched, and for the first time, Seungcheol saw something other than defiance in your eyes. It was vulnerability, raw and unguarded.

“I don’t pity you,” he said before you could say anything. “I don’t think you’re broken. I just wish you’d let me in.”

You let out a breath, but it wasn’t exasperation this time. It sounded tired. Resigned. “I don’t know how,” you admitted.

Seungcheol gave you a small smile, tilting his head toward his car. “Then let’s figure it out.”

You stared at him for a long moment, trying to convince yourself this was a bad idea. That you should walk away like you always did.

But for the first time in a long time, you didn’t.

Instead, you exhaled sharply, shaking your head. “You’re so fucking annoying.”

Seungcheol grinned. “And yet, here you are.”

He opened the car door for you, waiting. And after another beat, you got in.

As Seungcheol got into the driver’s seat, you folded your arms and eyed him suspiciously.

“So?” you prompted.

He glanced at you. “So, what?”

You narrowed your eyes. “What exactly did Jeonghan tell you?”

Seungcheol tapped his fingers against the steering wheel, as if debating how much to say. “Enough.”

You scoffed. “Right. That’s not vague at all.” He smirked but didn’t answer immediately, which only irritated you more.

You shifted in your seat, arms tightening around yourself. “He probably just told you my sob story to make you feel bad.”

He exhaled. “Yeah, he told me about your parents, about how things weren’t easy. But he didn’t say it so I’d pity you.” His voice softened. “He said it so I’d understand you.”

You stared at him, lips parting slightly before you shut them again.

“Jeonghan’s known you for years,” Seungcheol continued. “And he made it pretty damn clear that if I wanted to keep you in my life, I had to stop being an idiot and actually see you.”

You swallowed, throat suddenly dry. “And what do you see?”

Seungcheol’s gaze held yours, steady and unyielding. “Someone who pretends not to care because it’s safer. Someone who pushes people away before they get the chance to leave.”

“But also,” he went on, “someone who cares way more than she lets on. Someone who makes it impossible for people to love her less once they’ve gotten to know her.”

Your head snapped back to him. That was Jeonghan’s exact wording.

Seungcheol’s lips twitched. “Yeah, he said that too.”

You huffed, leaning your head against the window. “He talks too much.”

Seungcheol chuckled, but then his voice dropped, quieter now. “Look, I’m not here because of what Jeonghan told me. I’m here because I don’t want to be just another person you expect to leave.”

You didn’t answer right away. Because you didn’t know how. Instead, you just muttered, “You’re annoying,” under your breath.

Seungcheol smirked. “You’ve mentioned.”

The ride was quiet, but not uncomfortable. He didn’t push you to say anything more, and you weren’t ready to give him any more than you already had.

When he pulled up in front of your building, he put the car in park and turned to you. “So what now?”

You shrugged, gripping the door handle. “I don’t know.”

Seungcheol leaned back against his seat, watching you carefully. “Are you gonna keep avoiding me?”

You hesitated, fingers tightening around the handle. “…No.”

That seemed to amuse him. “That didn’t sound very convincing.”

You sighed, turning to face him properly. “I don’t know how to do this, Seungcheol.”

His expression softened. “Then let’s figure it out together.”

You stared at him, searching for something—any sign that this was some kind of game. But all you found was patience, quiet and unwavering.

You exhaled and looked away. “I should go.”

He nodded, but before you could push the door open, he spoke again. “You never answered my question.”

You frowned. “What question?”

Seungcheol tilted his head, as if debating whether to repeat himself. Then, in a voice much softer than before, he said, “What do you want?”

Your breath hitched because wasn’t that the question you’d been running from this whole time?

You forced yourself to meet his gaze, your heart hammering in your chest. “I don’t know,” you admitted, voice barely above a whisper.

Seungcheol studied you for a long moment, then simply nodded. “Okay.”

You blinked. “Okay?”

He smiled slightly. “Okay. You don’t have to know yet.”

You swallowed past the lump in your throat. “That easy, huh?”

His smile grew. “Not everything has to be a fight, you know.”

“Tell that to my brain.”

Seungcheol chuckled. “I’ll work on it.”

You bit your lip, stealing one last glance at him before finally opening the door. “Good night, Seungcheol.”

“Good night,” he said.

PART TWO COMING SOON

[pixiexdusts-world]

Meet the Heffley’s

Rodrick Heffley x reader

Summary: Rodrick’s girlfriend meets his chaotic family, and Manny tries to steal her. She loves it anyway.

Word count: 1010

Notes: this is very random but I love Rodrick so I needed to write something

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

Title: Meet the Heffleys

Meeting your boyfriend’s family is supposed to be a big deal, right? Like, one of those moments where you dress nice, bring flowers or something, and sit down for an awkwardly polite dinner while his parents judge you.

Yeah. That’s not how things work with Rodrick Heffley.

When he invited me over for dinner, it was more like, “Hey, my mom said you should come over and eat with us or whatever.” Super romantic. But I agreed because, well… I wanted to meet them. Rodrick talks about his family all the time, mostly to complain, but still. I was curious.

So, here I am, standing on the Heffleys’ front porch, wondering if I should have brought something. Probably not. This doesn’t seem like the kind of house where formal dinner etiquette exists.

Before I can knock, the door swings open, and there he is.

Rodrick smirks, leaning against the doorframe like he’s so cool. “Well, well, well. Look who finally decided to show up.”

I roll my eyes, stepping closer. “I’m on time.”

“Yeah, well, you were supposed to be, like, ten minutes late so I could say something sarcastic about it.”

I laugh and kiss his cheek, just to make him flustered. It works. His smirk falters for half a second before he clears his throat and steps aside. “Alright, come in before my mom starts thinking I made you up.”

The inside of the house is exactly what I expected. A little messy, with random shoes lying around, a stack of newspapers no one’s bothered to throw away, and a distinct family chaos vibe. The smell of dinner cooking comes from the kitchen, something warm and homey.

And then I hear it.

“Rodrick! She’s here?!”

Before I can react, a woman appears—short, blonde, and way too excited. I barely have time to brace myself before she pulls me into a hug. “It’s so nice to finally meet you! I’m Susan, Rodrick’s mom. Oh, you’re even prettier than I imagined!”

“Uh, thanks,” I manage, shooting a look at Rodrick, who just shrugs like, Yeah, this is happening.

His mom pulls back, holding me at arm’s length. “Rodrick never tells us anything about his personal life. You should’ve seen my face when he said he had a girlfriend. I almost dropped my coffee!”

Rodrick groans. “Mom.”

“What?” She waves him off. “I’m just happy to meet her. Oh, come in, come in! We’re just about to set the table.”

I follow her into the dining room, where a younger boy sits at the table, flipping through a comic book. He glances up, eyes narrowing slightly.

“You’re Rodrick’s girlfriend?”

“Greg,” Susan scolds. “Be nice.”

“What? I’m just saying.” Greg shrugs, then looks at me. “You do know he’s, like, the worst, right?”

“Hey, shut up, loser,” Rodrick snaps, dropping into a chair.

I grin. “Oh, I know.”

Greg blinks, clearly not expecting that. Then he mutters, “Huh. Okay.”

That’s when I feel a tiny hand grab mine.

I glance down to see a little kid—Manny, I recognize him from Rodrick’s rare stories about him—staring up at me with big eyes.

“I have a girlfriend too,” he announces proudly.

Susan gasps. “Manny! Since when?”

“Since yesterday,” he says, like it’s obvious. Then he looks back up at me and asks, completely serious, “Do you like dinosaurs?”

I nod. “Who doesn’t like dinosaurs?”

Manny grins, clearly satisfied with my answer. “Okay. You’re my second girlfriend now.”

Rodrick groans. “Oh my God.”

Greg snickers. “Dude, you already have competition.”

Manny tugs at my sleeve again. “Rodrick is gross. Do you wanna be just my girlfriend instead?”

Rodrick drops his fork. “Are you kidding me? Mom, tell him he can’t steal my girlfriend!”

Susan barely holds back a laugh. “Manny, sweetie, she’s Rodrick’s girlfriend.”

Manny huffs. “Fine.”

This is amazing.

Dinner is… interesting. The food is good—spaghetti and garlic bread—but the conversation is pure chaos. Susan keeps asking me questions about school, my family, my plans for the future (Rodrick groans at that one). Greg watches me like he’s trying to figure out why I’d willingly date his brother. And Manny? He spends the whole meal making dramatic faces at Rodrick and occasionally whispering, “Rodrick is a doo-doo head.”

Rodrick spends most of the meal making sarcastic comments and kicking me under the table whenever his mom gets too nosy.

At one point, their dad, Frank, comes in late, looking exhausted. He gives me a polite nod, sits down, and immediately starts ranting about something Rodrick did last week. Rodrick barely reacts, just shoveling food into his mouth while his mom scolds him and Greg smirks like he enjoys watching his brother get in trouble.

It’s loud. It’s messy. It’s so different from my own family’s quiet dinners.

And I kind of love it.

After we eat, Rodrick grabs my hand and tugs me toward the stairs. “Alright, we’re done here. Bye.”

“Rodrick, wait—” Susan starts, but he’s already leading me to his room.

The second he shuts the door, he groans. “I told you my family was annoying.”

I flop onto his bed, laughing. “I like them.”

He gives me a look. “You like them?”

“Yeah. Your mom is sweet, Greg is funny, and Manny… well, he’s trying to steal me, but other than that, he’s adorable.”

Rodrick snorts. “I knew that kid was trouble.”

I smile and lean in, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Not worried, are you?”

He grumbles something under his breath, but I can tell he’s relieved. And maybe even a little happy.

Yeah. I think I’m gonna like being around the Heffleys.

[things-arent-what-they-seem66]

((You're good! Get some rest!))

Ozzie's office was grand it was almost as nice as Lucifer's own.

Ozzie: So who's this delectable specimen you have with you tonight?

Luicfer: Oh! This is Adam, Adam as you could have guessed this is Ozzie the Sin of Lust.

Adam: Yeah..... Hi.

Ozzie sat down in his chair: It's been such a long time since you've been down here man! What brings you to my little slice of Hell?

Adam and Lucifer sat down across from him and sure enough, Adam noticed the dick and mouth shaped candies. He had the urge to play with them.

Lucifer: Well, we're actually here to invite you to a party that Charlie is having for her hotel.

He handed the invitation over and Ozzie looked at it.

Ozzie: Oh! Little Charlie and her hotel. I must say, business has gone up so much more since you've let some sinners into the rings.

Lucifer: Yeah?

Ozzie: Mmm, but housing is a bit of a problem...... So, Fizz and I will be there in support.

Lucifer: Yeah, it's a few too many huh?

Ozzie: Just a little. I couldn't imagine how you used to fit them in pride alone before the day the angels came down.

Lucifer: It was manageable back then but now the population is starting to get into the billions?

Lucifer wasn't a fool he knew that extermination day was a necessary evil to keep the sinner numbers down. He also knew that not everyone deserves to be redeemed and go to heaven. It's a conversation he's had with Charlie but she seems so determined it's like she tunes him out.

He doesn't know why he talks sometimes .........

After some more polite conversation Ozzie put them up in his hotel penthouse for the night while they waited for the car to be fixed in the morning.

Lucifer: You've been quiet.

Adam: I'm still brooding.....

Lucifer sighed: Seriously Adam? What is it going to take to convince you? Did you want to officially be my boyfriend? Because you can be my boyfriend and I can show what all that comes with.~

Adam gasped as he was picked up and sat on the edge of the bed. He flushed when Lucifer pulled his pants down and got on his knees between his legs.

Adam: M-Maybe.

Lucifer purred: Maybe? What if I did this.~

He spread Adam's legs apart and dipped his tongue inside of him and started to eat him out.

Destination Redemption!

@beef-brisket

Pride was one of if not the largest ring in all of Hell. So when the population of sinners started to really take a toll from the paused exterminations Lucifer had no choice but to open up the other rings to fan them out.

So for the time being until they got word back from heaven about how to handle all the sinners they were all over Hell's creation. Literally.

Charlie, wanting to redeem more sinners now that it's possible thought it would be a great idea to spread the word to the seven rings of Hell to help all of the sinners reach the pearly gates!

Lucifer: You want me to do that? But sweetie it's your hotel.

Charlie: Yes! Buuut, if you succeed in getting people to come here they'll want to meet the "big boss" of the hotel herself. Pretty good huh?

Lucifer snickered, okay that was cute.

Lucifer: Okay, I guess I can just zap-

Charlie: No! You gotta take your time dad. Do it right, use the Jeep! Please, for me?

She wants him to go on a literal road trip?

Lucifer: ..... Can I bring Adam?

Charlie: Sure! It'll be good to get him out of into the fresh air for a while!

Lucifer nodded, him and Adam have been working on their...... Friendship? Relationship? Situationship more like it but it is what it is.

He went and knocked on Adams door, the fallen angel answered.

Adam: Yeah?

Lucifer: I'm going on a road trip, wanna come with?

Adam thought for a moment: Sure, if it means I get out of here for a while.

Lucifer beamed: Great! Pack a bag and meet me in the lobby in one hour!

[cementcornfield]

Did you see the clip of Joe yesterday?

Is it a clip now? Oh lord....was it funny at least?

It was the first time he ever used the F word in a conference.

He cursed? Y'all lying...I be trying to get him to curse, he don't curse when I'm talking to him...

[xxplastic-cubexx]

still thinking of my fave marvel rivals interaction where my jeff and i were hanging on the point after knocking out the other team and lil bro sprays the space in front of me and emotes and we both said thank you at the same time like i fear im never forgetting that ever

[sanicsmut]

people : its important to be inclusive, yes even of identities you don't understand ! support he/him lesbians !

these same people when its about using multiples contradictory labels because identity is complicated and fluid : if you support this you're actually evil

[sskk-manifesto]

--

[ratatatastic]

scare the hoes more and keep yapping about ekky (& others) getting used to maffhew, it delights me. and say even more about how sasha handles this feral and sweet omega that gets dropped into his orbit. smth smth “feels like i’ve known him 10 years” or whatever vows sasha recited to the press, cameras, and god

apparently we are taking more tumblr user ratatatastic abo yap thoughts for 500 may god hear our screams up wherever he is. big man in the sky you fuckin owe me one.

i think theres so much in particular to say in concerns of 1619 and how quickly they gelled irl but even more so in an abo au

ive always enjoyed when people assign matthew stronger scents that take getting used to if you don't like it already and i know ive read a fic where his scent notes did skew towards stronger cinnamon foods/drinks

anyways on that note it wouldnt surprise me that sasha takes so easy to this spicy little omega.

Like of course he does, he smells like the pastries he used to eat back at home, the pastries he eats now because he's found an established Finnish bakery down here that makes them homemade every morning, the bakery he likes to frequent with the other Finns when he can.

Is it ever a wonder that the cute omega that sent him such a terribly sweet text when the trade news broke out (you know, after the initial excitement worn off because Sasha does chuckle at memory of the brash "Fucking, right!" that pinged on his phone the very first time from an unknown number) smells like... home... No matter all the rumours that have swirled around Matthew, the rumours Sasha has personally experienced himself playing against him...he smells nostalgic. Like Sasha could be at home right now—you know, home home—lounging outside his cottage with tea and pastries on the little table that he's set out. The warm cinnamon that wafts from the typically sterile room they've assigned for pressers smells divine, for lack of a better word. It smells indulgent. Because Sasha can't have those homely pastries all the time, what, with his training regiment.

It's why he doesn't quite believe it that Matthew's the one that's the centre of it all. He's absolutely convinced he's hallucinating because the season is about to start and he's had to cut back on all his favourite sweets as much as it pains him to but for the betterment of the team? He'd do anything. And yet despite the way he rubs at his nose to at least try to clear it, he smells that cinnamon. That cinnamon that's definitely coming from new omega they traded over who's laughing so obnoxiously at the lectern they have set up that if his scent didn't catch your attention, his loud mannerisms certainly did. His voice is practically bouncing off the walls in big loud echoes that should hurt Sasha’s ears. Emphasis on should. As it is he finds his heart melting more than it should instead.

It's been quite a long time since someone's scent has moved him this much. All the people that have, have been in his life for so long he's forgotten what it's like to feel instant scent compatibility. His nostrils are flaring and he's trying his best not to open his mouth to huff in big gulps of it because it's rather impolite to be so obviously scenting the new guy. It could be misconstrued as Sasha taking offence to the new presence in the room.

Some part of his brain is still trying to catch up to the idea that Matthew even smells at all because the first time he met him (down here for some joint offseason ice-time) he didn't particularly smell like much, if at all really. Whether it's because he put on blockers to not intrude on pack territory until he smelled more like them, or he was still on suppressants even in the summer, Sasha wasn't sure and he definitely wasn't going to ask about it.

Known him for 10 years? He feels like he's known him his whole life. But 10's a safe number, 10's a number that won't scare off this new omega, right? 10's a number that conveys "As Captain I want this to work out, I'm opening up my pack for you, I won't shun you, you're welcome here," and not "If I stick my nose in your neck right now to scent you, they're gonna have to forcibly evict me from the new home I've found in you, and it's not gonna be a pretty outcome."

It's also why he's a little nervous when Media Day is over because despite how much it dragged along in years past it practically blitzed by and now Sasha has to—

You know, properly scent the new addition. Give them the purring acceptance of their Pack leader's scent to carry with them. And it's nothing big, it's just some chaste wrist rubbing... something subtle and not too overwhelming for everyone: the pack, and the newcomer alike. It's not like Sasha is going to mouth at Matthew's neck glands. He doesn't think he can even handle that right now but that's a problem for future Sasha—for when Matthew is really part of the pack and not like a goldfish in a plastic bag being dunked into an aquarium to get used to the water temperature. He just has to rub his wrist against his, it's like basic Alpha etiquette. It'll be fine, mostly. He hopes.

And it's as anticlimactic as he thought it'd be: gentle reintroductions and reignited chatter of excitement about the new season that's about to start... maybe just with the new lingering scent of sweet and spice in the background as if someone lit up a candle without Sasha even noticing it. It's a struggle to keep his eyes from closing from how heavy they feel, from how relaxed he feels in the presence of this new omega he knows has pissed him off on several occasions as composed as he was about it.

Matthew presents his wrist in a flourish successfully managing to divert his attention back to what they're supposed to be doing all alone like this in the dressing room like this, "I'm sure you've been dying to do this huh, Cap?"

Sweat starts to break out at the back of his neck. He knows? Sasha doesn't think he's been sending off any signals that could've hinted otherwise but Sasha admits that he's well out of practise, he hasn't had to reign in his scent this much in such a long time, and maybe Matthew picked up his weird fixation—

Matthew waggles his eyebrows for extra effect an offbeat later when the joke doesn't seem to land the way he wanted it to.

Oh, thank Christ, he's just teasing him. It's a joke. He doesn't actually mean it in the way Sasha thought he meant.

"Yes. Yes, I have," Sasha chuckles in relief, shaking his head at Matthew's attempt to lighten the mood.

"10 years, or so I've heard, bud."

"You heard? Uh, listened to the..." he trails off.

"Kinda hard not to when the setup made it sound like you were in the middle of the Earth, my guy. I don't think my ears are ever gonna recover from that."

"It's the first day for everyone," Sasha lightly chastises, not particularly aggrieved at all but wanting to keep up the banter to stall for time, so he can prepare himself. Quite honestly he feels like travelled back in time to the young anxious Alpha he was breaking out into the league for the first time.

"Be gentle, I bruise easily."

"Right, gentle. I'll treat you better than my clothes on the delicate cycle."

"Is that supposed to be a line?" Matthew says in glee, his voice pitching into incredulity.

"Line like fishing?"

"Oh, come on! You know what I'm talking about! You've been in this country long enough to pick up on that!"

"Yes, yes, that."

Matthew shoves at his shoulder playfully. "Just go on and do the thing already."

"Doing the thing."

Matthew snorts but his wrist is limp in Sasha’s hold. And as much as it was a dumb joke he does feel delicate between his fingers like that. So delicate that when he rubs his own wrist against his—to transfer over their pack scent—he feels like he's going to break it if he holds onto it for too long. It's why he drops it as quick as he took it, hands scrambling to his sides in an effort to remain polite but also to get a handle on himself so his pheromones don't go haywire with the new stimulus. It's a bit of a losing battle because he knows his scent just. But he can play it off as the excitement of an Alpha being able to claim another member to his pack, it's a possessive kind of thing.

"Well, see you around! Call it a hunch but I have a feeling we'll be seeing more of each other." And the joke wasn't funny the first time, truly the equivalent of leaning on the office fax machine and going "You come here often?" to your coworkers who just want to get their work done—and just as sleazy too with the greasy grin Matthew has permanently stuck to his face but Sasha still laughs like he did the first time he heard it.

And it's only now that Matthew is gone that Sasha realises the room smells strongly of cinnamon, so potent that anyone with a working nose would be able to tell that. Like Matthew was doing his best to ease Sasha’s obvious nerves when Sasha should've been the one to calm the omega who's been uprooted from their own pack and thrown into a completely new environment, himself.

"Jesus, it reeks in here. Smells like cinnamon," Aaron wrinkles his nose, wandering back in after his own media duties were done, finding Sasha all alone in the locker rooms.

"It does?" Like he can't tell the room smells like the equivalent of someone knocking over a Yankee Candle into an open fire.

"Yeah, like an awful lot." Aaron scrunching up his nose, trying to fight off an incoming sneeze. "It's strong," he says without thinking, swallows before his eyes shift over to Sasha and then to the floor, "Not bad just... strong..." The I can get used to it is left unspoken between them.

"I like it," Sasha admits because if Aaron is confessing to things without thinking then he might as well too. They've known each other long enough.

"I can tell." Aaron snorts, "You reek too."

Sasha lets out a questioning little noise, tilts his head to the side as he silently urges Aaron to continue.

"You have no idea what cinnamon and cardamom smell like together, do you? I feel like I walked into a bakery when I should be at the gym right now."

"Is that bad?"

"For you? No, of course not," Aaron's eyes soften, and while his scent wasn't anywhere close to abrasive, it does lighten up just a tad bit in the presence of his pack Alpha. "For me? I'd rather dunk my head in a bucket of coffee beans." A bit of an exaggeration on Aaron's part but the wry grin he has on really adds to the fact he's just joking—just a little, maybe there's some truth hidden in there. He knows how Aaron is, the way he tries to downplay anytime he bristles about something. Peace and vibes, and all that.

So Sasha can joke as well, "Forsy's stall is over there," and motions his head towards it across the room.

"Oh, hilarious."

"If I was funny I would say jock."

"You know, what? I think I will hit the gym today, thanks for reminding me."

"Mmm, anytime." And when Aaron's half out the door he adds, "Ask the staff where they put the jerseys we used today!"

"I'm going! To the gym!" he echoes back, not bothering to turn around as he shuffles down the hall in a hurry, and decidedly not going in the direction of the gym. It's not surprising when he hears chatter pick up and shoes scuffing briskly into the direction of the laundry rooms.