#LOOK AT HIS LITTLE HANDS🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺

[formulaonecrumbs]

https://www.tumblr.com/formulaonecrumbs/781599864954978304/httpswwwtumblrcomformulaonecrumbs78157657111

The siblings watching this when they’re all grown up 🥺

how not to tie a shoe 👟

Lando Norris x older sister!reader x norris!siblings

summary: the norris siblings, now grown up, gather to watch an old home video of reader trying to teach a very grumpy lando how to tie his shoes.

warnings: none. it’s all cutesy.

A/N: i’m aware u said u wanted it for the other home film BUT i thought it might be a bit boring and repetitive if i did that so i took some liberty and centred it around another home film that i haven’t written about yet. it was like killing two birds with one stone cuz i wanted to write the shoelace one anyways. ENJOY MY LOVES!! ❤️

༻ ❤︎︎ ༺

home film #9 and #10 (out of a gazillion)- found in a cardboard box labelled ‘memories’ & a collaborated folder called ‘norris tradition’

(recorded: iphone video – norris family living room)

(original home film being watched: norris family home, living room, bristol) timestamp: 12:26 pm 05-24-2004

🔴 LIVE: 5:34 pm 04-24-2025

the video opens on a couch packed with siblings. ollie’s in the middle like he always ends up, flo half on top of him, cisca sprawled out at the other end, and you and lando sharing the big blanket, legs tangled, a bowl of popcorn resting dangerously on lando’s knees.

the tv glows in the background, playing one of adam’s old camcorder recordings.

on screen, seven(eight in 7 days)-year-old you is crouched on the floor with a four-year-old lando in a dinosaur t-shirt and socks that do not match. he’s sitting cross-legged, absolutely furious at the two untied sneakers in front of him.

“okay bean,” kid-you says in a very bossy seven-year-old voice. “watch again. bunny ear, bunny ear, loop under—”

“that’s not a bunny,” little lando interrupts, scowling. “that’s a snake.”

present-day lando groans from the couch. “why was i so annoying?”

“was?” flo says instantly.

“you called a shoelace a snake,” cisca snorts.

“you were four!” you defend him through your laugh.

“yeah, and you were acting like a full-on teacher,” ollie chuckles, pointing at the screen. “look at your face. pure disappointment.”

on the tv, little lando starts aggressively poking one of the laces with his finger.

“stop stabbing it,” kid-you says. “just do the loop like i showed you.”

“i am!”

“lando!”

present-day lando hides his face in the popcorn bowl. “i hate this.”

“no you don’t,” you say, poking his side. “you love being the star.”

he peeks out. “only when i don’t sound like a chipmunk.”

on screen, lando makes a random knot, holds it up proudly, and declares, “i fixed it!”

you stare at it for a second. “bean, that’s not even a loop. that’s just a mess.”

“it’s FINE,” baby lando insists. then he tries to walk, trips over the tangled laces, and lands directly on his bum.

every sibling on the couch erupts.

“there it is!” flo cackles. “down he goes!”

“iconic,” cisca declares.

“classic lando,” ollie says. “refuses help, wipes out anyway.”

“you tripped over your own feet,” you say, practically crying with laughter.

“shut up,” lando mutters, grinning through his hands.

on the screen, the camera wobbles wildly as cisca senior laughs in the background. kid-you sighs dramatically, kneels down, and starts undoing the knot.

“bean, i’ll do it for you again.”

“i wanna do it myself!” lando shouts.

cut to: kid-you finishing the double knot and patting his shoe. “you can untie it yourself if you want to do something.”

pause.

lando—tiny and frustrated—leans down, yanks at the laces, and somehow pulls the whole thing tighter.

you, on screen: “that’s what you get.”

the siblings on the couch lose it again.

“you’ve always had that tone,” ollie points out. “the mum voice.”

“because i had to raise you all,” you say with fake exhaustion.

lando leans his head dramatically on your shoulder. “and you did so well.”

“sure,” flo smirks. “he still can’t tie a bow tie without her.”

“of course i can! besides, neither can you!”

“yeah, but i admit it.”

the video ends with a fade to black, the room falling into a comfortable silence for a moment.

lando sighs. “i really was a little menace.”

you shrug. “you were trying your best.”

“and you were bossy as hell,” he adds, smirking.

you bump his knee. “still am.”

ollie stretches, reaching for the remote. “alright. what’s next? the one where you all tried to give cisca a makeover with permanent marker?”

“NO,” cisca and flo say in unison.

fade to black.

THE END :>

[revelboo]

Great, exalted Revel may we get a crumb of what happens next to the unclaimed humans 🥺🥺

I offer Tarn chilling in a napkin holder

How can I say no that? 🤣

What If Scenario Just Gone- Reunion Pt 2

• Staring at the group of extra displaced humans, Megatron swallows a growl. Fort Max had been contacted and is enroute. Delphi isn’t too far off from their current route to swing by and drop off First Aid and Pharma’s humans. Kup and the Wreckers are proving difficult to pin down. Leaving the Decepticon’s humans. Swindle he’s not worried about. The Scanvenger’s he’d been unfamiliar with, meaning they’re no threat. But Tarn? He’d been horrified when that human had actually started crying demanding the leader of the DJD. Saying they wanted to go home. To that psychopath.

• “So we find a world with breathable atmosphere. Or suit them up,” Rodimus says, hands gesturing as he talks. “And we drop them off and once we’re safely away, we message that maniac the coordinates.” Because just handing the human over? Letting him know their coordinates? Not happening.

• “And if something eats the human in the interim?” Ratchet growls, servos pressing against his helm. “They’re tiny and pretty much helpless,” he growls earning an indignant ‘hey’ from the human lounging in Drift’s hands and he frowns at them. “I can’t imagine Tarn would take it well.”

• “Stop sulking and go kill something. This is painful to watch,” Nickel groans and he glares. Because he’s not sulking. He’s furious. Someone, who he is going to execute slowly, painfully, stole from him. Somehow snatched you out of thin air. And for that? They’re going to bleed and suffer before he offlines them. Wet work not normally his style, but he’s willing to make an exception. And his console dings with an incoming message.

• Sliding down against the side of the big, clear box they’d stuck you in after poking air holes in the top and sealing shut the bottom, you’re not amused. At all. Acting like Tarn is the biggest, baddest monster around. At least they’d left you with water and snacks, though. You’d paced for hours before exhausting yourself. Head lifting to stare at the blinking transponder on top of your prison, you sigh. Sure, he’s scared you before, but this seems excessive. He’s not that bad.

• Landing the Peaceful Tyranny, he strides across the ground. Unable to look away from the little box as his temper flares out of control. Whoever had stolen you had abandoned you on this world? In a box? And your head lifts spotting him, standing to press tiny palms to the sides. He’s going to hunt them down for this, but right now he’s dropping to his knees and prying the lid off, reaching to lift you out and press you against the mesh of his neck. “Are you hurt?” Hears your shaky, little ‘no’ and vents. Can feel the others staring at his back. “Find out who sent that encoded message. I want to talk to them,” he growls as he stands, cupping you close.

Previous

[scarletwinterxx]

how long before we fall in love - choi seungcheol imagine

the way i was smiling, throwing air punches when i wrote this. pure 100% fluff coming your way!!!🥺😭🤭 (my head screaming SANA GETS NYO KO as i write this)

you can follow me on x, my un there niniramyeonie 😊🌻

for my other svt fics, check them here

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

(photos not mine, credits to rightful owner)

You’re nursing the last of your drink, ice clinking against the glass as you swirl it with deliberate disinterest, hoping the guy beside you gets the hint. He doesn't. His hand lingers too close to your elbow, and every laugh he exhales smells like beer and desperation.

You've already tried subtle. You even lied about having a boyfriend — twice. Still, he leans in with that rehearsed smirk like he's the one doing you a favor.

You scan the room, fast. Desperation breeds boldness, and tonight, you’re emboldened.

Then you see him.

He’s impossible to miss. Seated at the far end of the bar, broad shoulders framed in black, head dipped low as he nurses something amber in a short glass. He looks like he belongs somewhere darker, quieter. Maybe someplace where men don’t smile, only nod. 

You’re not even sure how your legs carry you there, but in three long strides, you’re beside him, heart skittering in your chest like it knows you’ve made a gamble. He glances up, and for a second, you're sure this was a mistake but there's no time for second-guessing.

“Hey, babe,” you say, and your voice barely wavers. “Sorry I took so long.”

His eyes narrow a fraction, and for one charged second, silence stretches between you like a fuse waiting to be lit.

Then his expression shifts. It's subtle, the faintest curl of his mouth, a spark of recognition in his eyes that wasn’t there before.

“There you are,” he says, low and even, like the words were always meant for you. He slips an arm around your waist with a kind of confidence that feels too natural, too smooth.

You think you’ve pulled it off — until a voice slices through the act.

“Seungcheol,” she purrs. She’s suddenly there, close enough that you feel the static of her presence before you even see her. “You weren’t gonna introduce me to your little friend?”

You tense, barely hiding the wince. The stranger, Seungcheol,  doesn’t move his arm.

His voice is calm, even, as if this happens all the time. “Not now, Jiwon”

“But babe—”

He doesn’t even look at her. “And how many times do I have to tell you to not call me that”

Something in his tone makes her falter. She huffs, audibly, but walks away with a forced flick of her hair.

You glance up at him, parting your lips to apologize, but he cuts you off before you can speak.

“You okay?” he murmurs, just for you and you don’t know why but you believe him. You nod.

He leans in just a little, just enough that the warmth of him slips past your skin. “You want me to make sure he stays away?”

And god help you, you say yes.

Seungcheol shifts in his seat, gaze sharp now, trained somewhere over your shoulder. You don’t even have to turn to know the persistent guy’s still hovering. You can feel the weight of him, orbiting.

“Stay close,” Seungcheol says, barely more than a breath against your ear. It shouldn’t send a chill down your spine, but it does.

He stands in one smooth motion, hand still warm against your lower back as he guides you forwar. You catch the guy’s expression the moment he sees who you’re with now. The faux confidence drains from his face in real-time, replaced by something caught between confusion and an almost primal, involuntary instinct to back off.

“Problem?” Seungcheol asks him. He’s not loud. Doesn’t need to be. There’s something in the way he holds himself, loose and deadly, like a predator who doesn’t have to growl to be heard.

The guy lifts his hands in weak surrender. “Nah, man. Just talking.”

“You were done talking when she walked away.”

It’s not a threat. It’s a statement. Inevitable. Irrefutable.

The guy backs off, muttering something that doesn’t sound like an apology, but it doesn’t matter. He’s gone. You exhale for the first time in what feels like minutes.

Seungcheol turns to you again, and just like that, the sharpness in him softens—no less intense, but different now. He looks at you like he’s cataloging something he doesn’t quite understand yet.

“You okay?” he asks again, but this time the question feels more layered. Not just are you safe, but what made you need someone like me?

You nod, slower this time. “Yeah. Thanks. That was… I didn’t expect you to actually go along with it.”

He shrugs. “You looked like you needed out.”

There’s a beat of silence, then—

“You wanna sit?” he asks, gesturing to his now-vacant seat. “I won’t bite. Unless that’s what you’re into.”

It’s deadpan. Almost. You glance at him and find the smallest glint of mischief tucked in the dark of his eyes.

You sit. Maybe it’s the adrenaline, or maybe it’s something else entirely but you get the distinct feeling your night just shifted on an axis you didn’t see coming.

You’ve barely settled into the seat beside him when you feel the disturbance before you see it. She’s back. Jiwon. Her heels click soft and calculated across the floor, posture loose but eyes laser-focused on Seungcheol. She doesn't bother with you, not really. 

She stops at his other side, voice syrupy. “Thought I’d grab you that drink you like,” she says, holding it out like a peace offering. Like she’s done this before and won.

But Seungcheol doesn’t even glance at the glass. He doesn’t blink.

“I’m good here,” he says, calm as still water. “With my girl.”

It hits with the kind of weight that lands sharp but quiet. No performance, no dramatic pause. Just absolute certainty, smooth as silk and impossible to argue with.

You blink. My girl?

Then, as if on cue, he leans in—closer than he’s been all night. His hand brushes against your thigh under the bar, casual but unmistakable. The space between you disappears, and suddenly, all you can see is him.

The edge of his mouth tilts just slightly, a private smirk made only for you.

“I help you,” he murmurs, voice pitched low, just for your ears. “You help me.”

Like a switch, you slip into the role. No hesitation. No breath to second-guess.

You lean in until you’re practically folded into his side, your shoulder brushing his chest, the scent of him filling your senses like a hit of something you’re not supposed to want.

Your fingers find his thigh beneath the bar, light but deliberate, and when you turn your head to face her, your expression is sugar-laced steel.

“Thanks for keeping my boyfriend company,” you say, voice sweet enough to rot, “but we’re good now.”

Jiwon stiffens. You see it in the tight pull of her jaw, the way her hand curls around the untouched glass like she might throw it but she doesn’t say anything. Not really. Just a scoff, quiet and bitter, before she turns on her heel and disappears into the crowd again.

The moment she’s gone, Seungcheol exhales a laugh. Low. Quiet. Almost impressed.

“Well damn,” he says, tilting his head to look at you properly. “Didn’t think you had that in you.”

You arch a brow. “What, the spine or the spite?”

His grin widens, lazy and wolfish. “Both.”

You should pull away. You should return to your drink, your solitude, the night you had before this turned into something else entirely.

But you don’t.

Because now, you’re curious—and curiosity is a dangerous thing when someone like Seungcheol is involved. He smirks again, but there’s something different behind it then he leans down, slow enough to feel deliberate, and you feel it:

The brush of his lips against your bare shoulder.

Barely there. Barely anything. But it sets off a fire low in your belly, a spark you weren’t expecting and definitely weren’t prepared for. Your breath catches, and you turn your head to say something but you’re interrupted.

“Yo, Choi!” a voice calls out, casual and easy, and you look up just as two guys approach the table.

They’re both tall, well-dressed, and annoyingly attractive in that infuriating way that only works because they know it. The one with the long and cat-like grin lifts his brows as he takes in the scene. Your hand still on Seungcheol’s thigh, your body tucked into his side, his lips a breath away from your skin.

“Are we interrupting?” the long haired one asks

Seungcheol doesn’t move away. If anything, his arm tightens slightly around you. “If I say yes, will you go away”

The other one—gentler-looking, nudges his friend. “Jeonghan, stop being an ass. Hi,” he says, this time to you. “I’m Joshua. You?”

You give your name, and Jeonghan grins like you just told him a secret. “Cute. She’s cute.”

Seungcheol doesn’t say anything. He just takes a sip from his drink but there’s something in the way his thumb traces idle circles against your hip that says plenty.

“You’re not usually the type to play house, Seungcheol,” Jeonghan adds, sliding into the seat across from you both. “What’s this, new leaf?”

“Maybe I like what I’m playing with,” Seungcheol says, and his voice is so calm, so unapologetic, that for a second, even you forget this started as pretend.

Joshua raises a brow but doesn’t push it. He just smiles a little, as if he already sees where this is going before either of you do. And when you feel Seungcheol’s hand settle more firmly against your thigh, like he’s staking a claim in front of his friends.

A few drinks later, your head’s pleasantly light, the warmth of alcohol and laughter still lingering in your chest.  Jeonghan and Joshua had finally wandered off to harass someone else, leaving you and Seungcheol alone again, though somehow the silence between you isn’t awkward—it’s alive.

You glance at your phone, blinking at the time. Late.

You push your glass away and sigh, “Alright, I should probably call it. Before I start thinking karaoke’s a good idea.”

Seungcheol chuckles, low and easy. “You’d make a great bad decision at karaoke.”

You shoot him a look, but you’re smiling. “I’m not drunk enough to embarrass myself like that.”

“Pity. I’d pay good money to hear you scream-sing something tragic.”

You snort. “You’re not even pretending to be nice.”

He tilts his head, mock thoughtful. “Did I ever pretend?”

You open your mouth to fire back something snarky, but the moment shifts. Just slightly. Just enough.

You glance toward the exit, suddenly uneasy. The weight of earlier brushes the edge of your thoughts, and now that the buzz is wearing down, the memory of that guy—the lingering stare, the way he didn’t get the hint—sticks.

Seungcheol notices. Of course he does. His eyes sharpen, but his voice stays light.

“Want me to walk you out?”

You hesitate then nod. “Actually… would it be weird if I asked you to drive me home?”

His brows rise just a touch but he doesn’t hesitate. “Not weird,” he says. “I was hoping you'd ask.”

You raise a brow, teasing. “You were hoping?”

“I mean, you’re kind of glued to me tonight,” he says, smirking as he stands, grabbing his jacket. “Thought I’d return the favor.”

You follow him out, the air outside cooler than expected. He opens the passenger door like it’s instinct—like he’s done this for you a hundred times already—and when you slide in, he leans down just enough that your eyes meet.

“You trust me to drive you home?” he asks, voice lower now, a touch more serious, but still laced with that lazy confidence.

You look up at him through your lashes, lips quirking. “I don’t know. Should I?”

And just like that, the door shuts with a soft click and your pulse doesn’t quite settle the whole ride home. When he slides into the driver’s seat, the engine purring to life beneath his hands, you glance sideways at him, half-joking, half-not, voice just a little too casual.

“I’m not gonna end up in a true crime documentary, right?”

He smirks without looking at you, eyes on the road as he pulls out of the lot. “Nah. Too much paperwork.”

You laugh, but he doesn’t stop there.

“If I was gonna murder you, I wouldn’t have bought you drinks first. That’s just inefficient.”

You raise a brow. “Wow. Comforting.”

He glances over at you, one hand loose on the wheel, the other resting near the gearshift, his voice a bit softer now

“I mean, you approached me. Technically, this is your villain origin story.”

You feign scandal. “So I lured you in.”

“Exactly. Innocent-looking girl at a bar, bold enough to lie her way into my lap? Yeah, you’re the dangerous one here.”

You roll your eyes, but there’s a grin tugging at your lips. “You think I’m innocent-looking?”

He cuts his eyes toward you, a slow once-over that makes the air between you crackle.

“I think you’re a lot of things,” he says. “But innocent? Not buying it.”

And just like that, the car gets a little quieter. Not uncomfortable. Just… charged.

And you wonder, as the streetlights blur past the windows, what you’ve really gotten yourself into tonight.

“Oh,” you say, feigning surprise, a slow smirk curling at your lips. “So you’ve got me all figured out already?”

He glances over, and this time he doesn’t hide the smile.

“Didn’t say that,” he replies smoothly. “I said I’m not buying the innocent act. Big difference.”

You hum, dragging your gaze out the window like you're not grinning.

“Maybe I’m just mysterious,” you tease. “Hard to read. Dangerous, even.”

He snorts. “You’re definitely dangerous.”

“Yeah?” you ask, turning back to him, playful but edged with something more. “Afraid I’ll break your heart?”

He laughs once but then his eyes flick over to you, and it’s different now. He’s not smiling anymore, not quite. His voice drops, soft but steady.

“Nah,” he murmurs, “I’m enjoying this too much.”

You don’t answer right away, and neither does he. The quiet stretches, dense with something neither of you name. But when his hand brushes yours over the center console—barely there, just a question—you don’t pull away.

“And you?” he says, voice quiet, like he’s easing into something he actually wants the answer to. “How come, out of everyone there… you suddenly let yourself strut my way?”

“I don’t know,” you say at first, then pause. “You just looked like the kind of guy who wouldn’t ask questions.”

He huffs a laugh, amused. “You were banking on me being cooperative?”

“I was banking on you being scary enough to make the other guy piss himself.”

“And I was.”

You grin despite yourself. “So humble.”

He finally turns to look at you fully, eyes dark but curious, a faint crease in his brow like he’s studying you a little deeper now.

“But that’s not it,” he says. “Not really.”

You tilt your head. “No?”

“No. You could’ve gone to the bartender. The bouncer. Your friends, if you had any there. But you came to me.”

You’re quiet for a beat too long, because—yeah. He’s right.

So you shrug, pretending it’s simple when it’s not. “Guess I like walking toward the fire sometimes.”

He laughs again, deeper this time, but there’s something thoughtful behind it.

“Then lucky for you,” he murmurs, eyes still on you, “I don’t burn easy.”

And your heart? Yeah. It skips. Hard.

=

The next morning, Seungcheol walks into the office ten minutes late with zero regrets and exactly one iced Americano in hand, looking irritatingly composed for someone who got maybe four hours of sleep.

He’s barely set his cup down when Jeonghan’s voice sings from across the room.

“Well, well, well—if it isn’t Mr. I-Don’t-Do-Relationships strolling in like a man who definitely didn’t go straight home last night.”

Joshua looks up from his laptop, raising a brow with a barely contained smirk. “So… who was she?”

Seungcheol doesn’t answer. Just pulls off his jacket and hangs it up with surgical precision, like he’s trying not to indulge them.

Which, of course, only makes them hungrier.

“C’mon, Cheol,” Jeonghan pushes, trailing him to his desk like a cat stalking something shiny. “You had her in your lap half the night. You don’t cuddle in public. I didn’t even know you could cuddle.”

“Technically,” Joshua adds, “I think she was in the driver’s seat.”

“Literally and figuratively,” Jeonghan nods. “She had you wrapped. It was… inspiring.”

Seungcheol exhales through his nose and finally turns around, arms folded, leaning against the edge of his desk like he’s humoring children.

“She was someone who needed help,” he says evenly. “That’s it.”

Jeonghan’s eyes glint. “So you just happened to keep your hand on her thigh all night out of… community service?”

Joshua’s tone is gentler, but no less pointed. “You looked comfortable. Not pretending-comfortable. Just… real.”

Seungcheol hesitates. He hates that they’re good at this. That they know how to read the cracks in his tone.

“She was easy to talk to,” he admits. “Didn’t play games. No agenda.”

Jeonghan fake gasps. “Wait. You liked her.”

He rolls his eyes. “I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t not say it,” Joshua counters.

Jeonghan grins like he just won something. “What’s her name?”

Seungcheol smirks now, because this is the part he won’t give them. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

And when he turns back to his desk, his phone buzzes once.

A message from you.

You:  So… if I walk into your office right now, am I gonna ruin your mysterious, emotionally unavailable persona?

He stares at it for a second, then smiles—small and private. Maybe he is in trouble. He stares at your text for a beat longer, thumb hovering over the keyboard like he’s weighing something heavier than the words.

Seungcheol: Only if you walk in looking like last night. My reputation wouldn’t survive it.

Seungcheol: Free for lunch? I’ll come to you.

He hits send before he can think better of it.

Across the room, Jeonghan is still dramatically theorizing about your identity, now halfway into a ridiculous monologue about you being an international art thief who seduced Seungcheol for corporate secrets.

He ignores it because right now, he’s more interested in seeing you again and if that means sneaking in an hour between meetings and pretending he’s not the kind of guy who clears his calendar for a woman he just met, then so be it.

A little past noon, your phone buzzes again. You’re mid-email, squinting at your screen, when the notification pops up.

Seungcheol: Outside. Come down. I brought bribes.

You blink. Bribes? What does that even mean? Curiosity wins out fast. You grab your phone, smooth your outfit and head down.

The moment you step out, you see him leaning against a sleek black car that absolutely screams expensive and unnecessary, sunglasses pushed up in his hair, holding a paper bag and two drinks.

Your brows lift. “So this is you not trying?”

He grins, looking annoyingly perfect for someone who probably woke up late and still somehow managed to make the pavement feel like a runway. ���Told you. Bribes.”

You walk up slowly, eyeing the bag. “What is it?”

“Sandwiches. From that overpriced place near here. Hope you’re not one of those 'just salad' people.”

You narrow your eyes. “I contain multitudes.”

He chuckles, hands you your drink. “Good. You’ll need them to keep up.”

You gesture toward the car. “So, this your day job? Picking up women and showing off your mysterious wealth?”

He laughs genuinely, this time. “Would you believe me if I said I’m just a humble middle manager?”

You give him a long, skeptical once-over. “Not a chance.”

He opens the passenger door for you again like it's a habit. Like he already knows you’ll get in and you do. Because lunch with Choi Seungcheol? Yeah. That sounds like danger worth walking toward twice.

You slide into the passenger seat, you glance at him as he rounds the front of the car and settles into the driver’s seat again, placing the food carefully between you.

“Okay, so what is it that you actually do?” you ask, peeling open the sandwich wrapper, the scent already unfairly good.

He shrugs, like it’s no big deal. “Management. Mostly.”

“That’s vague as hell.”

“Intentionally,” he says, shooting you a sideways glance. “You’ll find I’m very good at withholding.”

You snort. “Is that your way of saying you’re emotionally constipated?”

“No, that’s me saying I like keeping some cards close.” He takes a bite of his sandwich, chews, swallows. “Makes things interesting.”

You hum, eyes narrowing just a touch. “So you’re not gonna tell me what your job actually is?”

He shakes his head slowly. “Not yet. I kind of like that you don’t know.”

You blink. “Why?”

He turns toward you fully now, one arm draped over the back of your seat, eyes lazy and unreadable but focused—very focused—on you.

“Because if you knew,” he says slowly, “you might treat me differently.”

Something flickers behind his tone. Not arrogance. Something quieter. Something worn and for a second, you forget you're supposed to be teasing him.

You hold his gaze. “Then maybe I’d rather not know.”

He searches your face for a beat, like he’s waiting for you to flinch, waiting for that inevitable shift he’s used to seeing in people when they do find out. But you don’t.

You just take another bite of your sandwich and speak through your smirk.

“So, Mr. Vague Middle Manager, are all your dates catered and chauffeured?”

That draws a full laugh out of him—deep and unguarded.

“This a date now?” he throws back.

You shrug with exaggerated innocence. “You did bring food. And bribes. And you’re staring at me like you wanna ruin my whole week.”

He hums, low and amused, eyes dropping to your lips and staying there just a little too long.

“Trust me,” he murmurs, “if I wanted to ruin your week… you’d know.”

And just like that, your heart forgets how to beat steady.

Again.

The place he takes you to is tucked away on a quiet side street. nothing flashy, no fancy valet, no five-star pretensions. Just the warm, familiar smell of grilled meat and the faint sizzle of something delicious already hitting a hot pan.

You recognize it immediately. The kind of Korean spot that’s half comfort, half chaos. Worn wooden tables, metal chopsticks in tin cups, steam clouding the windows from hot broth and soju-fueled laughter. A place where people don’t come to impress, they come because it feels like home.

He pulls the door open for you, and the ahjumma behind the counter beams when she sees him.

“Seungcheol-ah!” she calls, already bustling toward the kitchen. “Same table?”

He nods, bowing slightly in greeting. 

You look at him sideways. “Regular, huh?”

He shrugs, the edge of his mouth twitching. “Told you. I like places where people don’t ask too many questions.”

She’s already setting the table as you both slide into the booth. The tabletop grill is already heating, meat—samgyeopsal, thick-cut and glistening—lands in the center with a satisfying thud.

He picks up the tongs like he’s done this a hundred times, which he probably has, and starts placing the pork belly on the grill, the sizzle instant and loud.

“Wow,” you say, smirking. “So this is how you impress women.”

“I’m feeding you, aren’t I?” he says, eyes focused on flipping the meat with practiced ease. “It’s a love language.”

“You do seem suspiciously fluent in this.”

“You gonna psychoanalyze me now?”

You lean your chin into your hand, watching him with lazy interest. “Maybe. Or maybe I just like watching you cook.”

He glances up, brow raised, but there’s a flicker of something else in his gaze now. That slow burn again.

“Careful,” he murmurs. “Flirting with me at a restaurant I come to every week? You’re treading into girlfriend territory.”

You pop a piece of kimchi into your mouth and smile like it’s nothing. “Wouldn’t want to ruin your reputation.”

“Too late.”

There’s something light about this but underneath, there's a current neither of you are pretending to ignore anymore.

He wraps a piece of grilled meat in lettuce, adds a bit of ssamjang and garlic, then holds it out across the table.

“For you,” he says, voice soft, hand steady.

You pause. Then lean forward, take it straight from his fingers, lips brushing his skin on the way.

And the look in his eyes?

Yeah, lunch just got a lot more complicated.

You're mid-chew when the ahjumma comes back over, wiping her hands on her apron, eyes sharp and curious as she sets another bowl of pickled radish down on the table.

She turns to Seungcheol with a knowing grin. “You’re not with the usual troublemakers today. Who’s this lovely girl? You got married and didn’t tell us?”

You almost choke. Seungcheol freezes for a secondbut then, smooth as ever, he swallows, glances at you, and smiles like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“Not married yet,” he says casually, sliding his chopsticks into the rice like punctuation. “But I’m working on it.”

Your eyes snap to him. Excuse me?

The ahjumma gasps, clearly delighted. “Aigoo! She’s pretty and patient—finally, a girl who can handle you! Yah, I prayed for this!”

You blink at her. Then at Seungcheol. He’s not even flinching. The man has the audacity to look pleased.

“Ah, he’s exaggerating,” you say quickly, giving the auntie a smile and trying not to combust. “We just—”

“—Make a good team,” Seungcheol finishes for you, eyes flicking to yours with a glint of mischief. “She keeps me in line.”

The ahjumma sighs dreamily, clearly buying the whole act. “Don’t let him go, sweet girl. He might act cool, but he needs someone who’ll yell at him when he forgets to eat. This one’s stubborn.”

You nod solemnly. “He does give off that energy.”

“Exactly!” she points at you like you’re a genius. “You understand already! Just marry him.”

Seungcheol coughs into his drink, but he’s grinning now, and you can’t help it—you’re laughing, eyes narrowed at him across the table.

The auntie bustles off, muttering about bringing more side dishes for the happy couple.

You lean in, tone low and pointed. “Married? Really?”

He shrugs, unabashed. “What? You handled it like a pro. I’m impressed.”

“You’re impossible.”

“And yet,” he says, sliding another wrap your way, “you’re still here.”

You hate how easy it is to smile at him. Hate it even more that he’s smiling too—like he likes whatever this is just as much as you do.

The ride back to your office is quieter, he pulls up in front of your building, shifts the car into park, and glances over at you.

You unbuckle your seatbelt slowly. “Thanks for lunch.”

“You make it sound like I’m not planning on doing it again.”

You grin, leaning just a little closer. “Oh? Planning on making a habit out of me?”

His smirk is there, but softer now. “Thinking about it.”

You hop out before you say something stupid. Before he says something worse. But before you can shut the door, he leans across the console and says, quieter:

“Text me when you get up there. Just so I know you made it.”

You roll your eyes, but your smile betrays you. “Yes, Dad.”

He raises a brow. “You really want to test that boundary this early?”

You shut the door before your brain melts and give him a mock salute through the window.

By the time Seungcheol pulls into the garage under his own office building, he’s five minutes behind schedule and vaguely irritated at how fast traffic moved now that he was in a rush.

He checks his phone in the elevator: one message from you.

You: Alive. Fed. Still thinking about that ssam you made. 8/10.

He grins to himself just as the elevator dings open on his floor. Unfortunately, his mood immediately sours when he sees who’s already in the conference room, arms folded, feet on the table like he owns the place.

Jeonghan.

The second Seungcheol steps through the door, Jeonghan looks at his watch dramatically.

“Five minutes late. How domestic of you.”

“Save it,” Seungcheol mutters, dropping into the seat across from him.

Jeonghan smirks like he’s been waiting for this moment. “So? Was it worth it?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Uh-huh. You’re flushed, your hair’s a little messy, and for once, you didn’t glare at anyone” Jeonghan taps his fingers against the table. “You’re basically glowing.”

Seungcheol sighs, runs a hand through his hair. “Can we just get through this meeting?”

“Oh, we will,” Jeonghan says brightly. “But not before you tell me if she’s single, if she has friends, and if your sudden boyfriend energy is gonna affect this quarter’s performance.”

Seungcheol narrows his eyes. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”

“Absolutely.”

The days blur together. You two still talk, in between meetings and his hectic schedule he would always find some time for you. When he’s free he’ll go drive to you and grab lunch, wherever you want or sometimes a surprise.

It’s just past six when Seungcheol finally leans back in his chair, eyes dragging away from the spreadsheet he’s barely processed for the last fifteen minutes.

His fingers hover over his phone for a second before he gives in to the impulse—simple and direct.

Seungcheol: You free for dinner?

You:Yes. Come rescue me.

He smirks, already pushing back from his desk. Jacket on. Sleeves rolled. A very quiet kind of urgency in his steps.

On your end, the timing couldn’t be more perfect. Your coworkers have been hovering at your desk all afternoon, buzzing about Friday drinks like it’s the social event of the year. They’re already lining up shots in their heads, plotting karaoke and potential chaos.

“You coming, right?” one of them asks, nudging your elbow. “C’mon, you always dip. Just one night.”

You smile politely, already trying to edge away. “I actually have plans—”

“With who?” another cuts in, eyebrows raised. “You’ve been glowing all week.”

You blink. “What is it with people and this glowing thing?”

They groan. “So you do have a date. Who is he?”

Before you can lie—or dodge, or disappear into thin air—your phone buzzes again.

Seungcheol: Be there in twenty. What kind of rescue we talking? Fire escape or just dramatic entrance?

You bite your lip to suppress the grin that tries to surface.

“Just someone picking me up,” you say vaguely, grabbing your bag and ignoring the chorus of curious oohs that follow.

“You’re no fun,” one of them whines as you make your escape. “At least send us a picture! We won’t believe he exists!”

You wave behind you. “Exactly why I’m not sending one.”

They groan louder, but you’re already walking toward the elevator, pulse picking up just a little. You don’t know what this is with him yet—not really. But it’s enough to have you hoping the next twenty minutes pass just fast enough.

You make it out of the building just as the sun is dipping behind the city skyline, casting everything in that dusky golden glow that feels almost too cinematic for real life. As if on cue, his car pulls up. 

The passenger window rolls down, and there he is, arm resting on the wheel, watching you with that lazy, low-key amused smile that somehow makes your heart skip like it’s late for something.

“You always look like you just walked out of a movie,” you say as you slide in, tossing your bag at your feet.

He glances over, that grin growing as he shifts the car into drive. “Funny. I was just thinking the same about you.”

You shake your head, suppressing a smile. “Flattery before food? Risky move.”

“Not flattery,” he says, glancing at you as he pulls into traffic. “Observation. You look like you needed a getaway.”

You sigh dramatically, letting your head thud against the seat. “You have no idea. They were trying to hold me hostage for soju and noraebang.”

He chuckles, tapping the wheel. “I’d pay to see that.”

“You would,” you mutter. “Anyway, thanks for the timely rescue.”

“Anytime,” he says, tone quiet but sincere.

For a moment, you both fall into comfortable silence, the hum of the road filling the space. It’s not awkward. If anything, it’s the kind of quiet that only settles when someone’s presence feels... easy.

“Where are we going?” you ask after a while, glancing at him.

He tilts his head, lips tugging upward. “Somewhere that serves food hot, drinks cold, and lets me look at you across the table without interruption.”

You arch a brow. “Is that your version of romantic?”

“No,” he says. “That’s my version of honest.”

Your stomach does that annoying little flutter again. He doesn’t look at you when he says it, but his hand briefly brushes your knee in a turn—accidental, maybe—but he doesn’t pull away too quickly.

The drive takes longer this time, farther out from the noise of downtown, the streets growing quieter, narrower.

You glance over at him. “You’ve got a thing for hidden spots, huh?”

“I don’t like crowds,” he says simply. “And I like places that let me hear you when you talk.”

You pause, caught off guard by the casual weight of it. “You’re smooth.”

“I’m observant,” he corrects, pulling into a tiny gravel lot tucked away

You step out and take in the place. No line. No obvious branding. Just the kind of restaurant people guard like a secret.

“This place looks like it has stories,” you murmur, tucking your hands into your coat.

“It does,” he says, rounding the car to walk beside you. “Mostly about good food. And about the owner being mildly terrifying if you show up drunk and disrespectful.”

You laugh, and he pulls the door open for you, holding it until you step inside.

It’s warm. Cozy. The scent of doenjang jjigae and grilled mackerel hangs in the air. The lights are soft, yellow, casting everything in that old-kitchen comfort glow. You’re seated in the farthest corner, a little nook with floor cushions and a small table already set with water, chopsticks, and folded linen napkins. The privacy of it feels intentional.

The owner, a silver-haired woman in a worn apron, comes over with barely a word, just a sharp eye and a small smile when she sees Seungcheol.

“You brought someone,” she says, voice raspy but kind. “She’s pretty. And awake, unlike the last idiot your friend brought.”

Seungcheol winces. “That was Mingyu.”

She waves him off, already handing you both menus like she’s decided you’re staying regardless.

You stifle a laugh. “Do all your regular spots come with built-in character witnesses?”

“Only the good ones,” he replies, flipping open the menu. “What’re you in the mood for?”

You pretend to study the list, but really, you’re watching the way he sits here—comfortable, known, but still somehow wrapped in mystery. Like there’s more under the surface that he only lets people see in pieces.

“You choose,” you say, passing your menu across the table. “You haven’t steered me wrong yet.”

He takes it with a slow smile. “Dangerous trust.”

“You like that about me,” you say without missing a beat.

His eyes meet yours, steady and sure.

“I do.”

And the way he says it?

It isn’t playful. Isn’t light. It lands somewhere between a promise and a warning.

And suddenly, the quiet between you feels like something else entirely.

He closes the menu without looking at it for too long, then says something casual to the owner, his tone respectful but familiar. She gives you one last look (a little assessing, a little approving) before disappearing toward the kitchen with a short nod.

You raise an eyebrow. “You didn’t even ask what I wanted.”

He leans back, completely unbothered. “I did.”

“Oh really?”

“Yeah. You said, ‘you choose.’ That’s verbal consent. Witnessed and documented.”

You snort. “Okay, lawyer.”

He grins. “You’ll thank me in a few minutes.”

And you do. Because when the food comes, it’s thin wheat noodles in a light broth, topped with julienned vegetables, sliced egg, seaweed, and just a hint of sesame oil. The aroma alone makes your eyes widen.

Your inner monologue might as well be standing on a table, screaming. He ordered noodles. My weakness. My love language. My eternal home.

“Are you a mind reader?” you ask, unable to hide your excitement as you pick up your chopsticks.

“I had a hunch,” he says, watching you with mild amusement as you practically dive in. “You look like someone who’d fight for the last noodle in a pot.”

You pause with your chopsticks halfway to your mouth. “Is that a compliment or a psychological profile?”

“Depends.” He’s smiling, elbow propped lazily on the table, eyes fixed on you. “Are you the type to share your noodles, or hoard them?”

You pretend to consider it, chewing thoughtfully. “Depends on who’s asking.”

He laughs, low and full. The kind that catches in your chest.

The food is simple, warm, deeply comforting. Not because of the food, exactly. But because of who’s sitting across from you. And how easy he makes all of this feel.

And when he steals one of your noodles just to prove a point? You let him.

As you both finish the last of the broth, the warm glow of the restaurant wrapping around you like a lazy blanket, you lean back on your cushion and stretch your legs under the table, nudging his knee with your foot.

You glance at the time on your phone and raise a brow. “It’s not even eight,” you say, mock-disbelief in your voice. “Don’t tell me you’re the type to go to bed right after dinner. Old-man hours already?”

“What, you think I’m boring?”

You shrug. “I mean… I don’t know. The cozy dinner. The secret spot. The soft lighting. This has bedtime-by-nine written all over it.”

“You’re lucky I like you,” he mutters, grabbing the check before you can even reach for your wallet.

You blink. “Wait. What was that?”

“I said,” he repeats, standing smoothly and ignoring your faux-innocent stare, “you’re lucky I like you.”

“Bold assumption,” you say, following him toward the door. “You don’t know me like that.”

He holds the door open, leaning into the frame as you step past him. “You say that, but you’re not running away.”

You pause outside, cold air kissing your skin as you glance up at him.

“I’d say that depends,” you murmur, lifting your chin slightly. “Are you planning to make the night more interesting or tuck me in with warm milk and a bedtime story?”

“I was thinking…” he steps a little closer, voice dipping, “maybe something in between.”

Your pulse flickers fast. Intrigued.

“So,” you say, eyes narrowing. “What now?”

He glances toward the car, then back at you. “Let’s drive.”

“That’s it? Just a drive?”

He shrugs. “You scared I’m secretly boring?”

You smile, teeth catching your bottom lip as you shake your head. “No. I’m scared you’re not.”

The city peels away behind you, all neon and noise in the rearview, replaced by wider roads and quieter corners. You glance over at him as he drives, one hand on the wheel, the other resting lazily on the gearshift. 

"You always drive like this?" you ask, the wind catching in your voice just slightly.

He glances over, curious. “Like what?”

“Like you're in a movie. Slow, steady. No destination, just vibes.”

His mouth tugs into that crooked half-smile. “Wouldn’t be the worst scene to be in.”

You roll your eyes, but your grin gives you away. “You're really running with this leading-man energy, huh?”

“You’re the one who asked me to rescue you. I’m just sticking to the role.”

"Right. So where's the dramatic monologue about how you're secretly emotionally unavailable but somehow willing to change only for me?"

“That’s coming in act three,” he says smoothly. “Right after the almost-kiss and right before I mess it all up.”

You’re laughing now, really laughing, and when you glance at him again, he’s not even pretending not to stare.

He clears his throat. “There’s a lookout just up ahead. View’s nice this time of night.”

“Another hidden spot?”

“You doubting my taste now?”

“Never. Just making sure you’re not lulling me into a false sense of security before you reveal you are, in fact, a very charming serial killer.”

He chuckles under his breath. “If I was, you wouldn’t’ve made it past the noodles.”

You hum. “Fair point. Still. You are dangerously smooth.”

“I could say the same about you.”

That brings a new kind of quiet. One with heat underneath it.

By the time he pulls up to the lookout you’re not sure whether you’re more captivated by the view outside, or the one inside the car.

He kills the engine but makes no move to get out. Neither do you.

“So,” he says after a beat, voice a little lower. “Still think I’m putting you to bed before nine?”

You smirk, turning just slightly toward him. “We’re well past bedtime, Cheol.”

And somehow, that feels like the most dangerous thing you’ve said all night. He huffs a short laugh through his nose, eyes narrowing slightly with amusement as he shifts to face you more fully in the dim glow of the dashboard lights.

You tilt your head, feigning casual. “Just doing my due diligence,” you say, poking at the corner of the console with your nail. “Before this gets… you know. Interesting. You don’t have kids right? Or a wife waiting at home something like that”

He raises a brow, resting his arm against the back of your seat. “Interesting, huh?”

He doesn’t deny it. Just lets that lazy grin spread as he lets his gaze settle on you—like he’s trying to read between your words and the space between your knees brushing his.

“No wife,” he says finally. “No kids. No secrets.”

You blink. “Wow. A full set.”

He leans in just a little, voice lower now. “Disappointed?”

You laugh, the sound soft, breathless. “Relieved, actually. I’d hate to be a plot twist in someone else’s drama.”

“No,” he murmurs. “If anything, you feel like the beginning of something.”

You freeze just for a second.

“Are you always like this? Charming, smooth-talking, devastatingly good at timing?”

His fingers brush a strand of hair behind your ear, slow and deliberate. “I don’t know. You tell me.”

“Guess I’ll need more data.”

He laughs again—quiet, warm—and lets the moment linger in that hazy space between restraint and intent. Outside, the city glows. But in here, it’s just the two of you, suspended in that delicious kind of silence where everything feels possible.

You swallow lightly. “So… how much data are we talking? One night? Two? A whole series?”

His smile curves, lazy and full of mischief. “Are you asking how many dates it takes before I kiss you?”

“Maybe,” you say, voice just above a whisper. 

“Depends how good the data is.” He leans in a little, not touching you yet but close enough. His voice dips, rough around the edges in that way that sends a shiver up your spine.

Your breath catches, pulse ticking a little faster, but you don’t lean away. If anything, you meet him halfway.

You exhale slowly, watching his eyes flick down to your mouth.

“You’re really not going to kiss me, are you?” you ask, a little breathless now.

He smirks, gaze lifting back to yours.

“I will,” he says. “But not because it’s expected.”

You blink, pulse stuttering.

“Then why?”

He tilts his head, thumb brushing the curve of your cheekbone.

“Because the second I do… it stops being light and easy. And I think we both know it.”

You sit there for a second, stunned into silence—because he’s not wrong. There’s a weight to this that neither of you are quite ready to name, but it’s there. Unspoken, humming like the low thrum of electricity before a storm.

So instead, you nod—slow, almost amused.

“You’re dangerous, Choi Seungcheol.”

He leans back just slightly, watching you with that infuriatingly unreadable expression.

“And you’re trouble.”

You smile.

“So what now?”

He reaches for the gear shift, gaze still lingering on you.

“Now,” he says, “I drive you home before we both make very bad, very good decisions.”

And you don’t argue.

But as he pulls away from the lookout, your fingers resting dangerously close to his on the center console, you get the feeling this isn’t the end of the night.

It’s just the prelude.

=

The sky is painfully clear, bright blue with not a cloud in sight and the sun has no business being this aggressive before noon.

Jeonghan’s halfway through lining up his swing when he notices it. The stillness. The quiet hum of something off.

He looks over and nearly misses his shot entirely.

“Okay,” he mutters, club dangling from one hand as he turns toward Joshua. “Am I hallucinating or is Seungcheol smiling at his phone?”

Joshua, already sipping on an iced americano and way too comfortable in his obnoxiously pastel golf attire, raises an eyebrow and glances over at their friend, who’s sitting on the edge of the golf cart with his phone in hand, thumb tapping out something quick.

And yeah. He's definitely smiling. Not smirking. Not plotting someone’s downfall.

Actually, smiling.

Joshua leans closer, squinting dramatically. “Are we about to die? Should I call my mom?”

“Maybe he’s reading memes,” Jeonghan says, though his voice lacks conviction.

“Right,” Joshua snorts. “Because Seungcheol totally wakes up and chooses cat videos.”

They both watch him a beat longer.

Seungcheol finally glances up, catching their stares. “What?”

Joshua holds his drink up like it’s a toast. “Just wondering if we need to evacuate Seoul. You good, buddy?”

Jeonghan crosses his arms. “You’re smiling, Cheol. Like… full teeth. Sunshine smile. Are you in pain? Blink twice if it’s a hostage situation.”

Seungcheol rolls his eyes, but the corners of his mouth don’t drop. If anything, they twitch higher when his phone buzzes again and he types out a quick reply before tucking it away in his pocket.

“Y’all are dramatic.”

“Oh no no,” Jeonghan says, hopping into the cart. “You don’t get to be mysterious. Who is she?”

“There’s no she.”

“Liar. You haven’t looked this happy since Mingyu fell into that koi pond.”

Joshua hums, thoughtful. “It’s the girl from the bar, isn’t it?”

Seungcheol doesn't answer which is an answer in itself.

Jeonghan squints. “Wait, you’re still talking to her? Damn. I thought that was just a one-night distraction.”

Seungcheol shrugs, grabbing his club and walking toward the next hole. “Maybe I like being distracted.”

Joshua raises his brows. “He’s whipped.”

“Absolutely whipped,” Jeonghan echoes, grinning like he’s already plotting how to make this his new favorite topic of conversation.

The reason for that rare, suspiciously soft smile on Seungcheol’s face? Easy.

It’s sitting in his phone, timestamped at 8:02 a.m. 

A photo of your desk, where a bouquet of creamy white ranunculus and pale blush roses now sits in the center, like it owns the place. A handwritten note tucked between the blooms simply reads:

Thanks for keeping me up past my bedtime. - CSC

Your caption underneath the photo had been equally unfair.

You: You smooth bastard. You knew I liked flowers, didn’t you?

He hadn’t, actually but he guessed. Just like the noodles. And the way your voice lit up over the phone when he mentioned he had a surprise coming. 

It was a hunch, like everything else about you so far, a series of guesses that kept turning out more right than he probably deserved.

You: Do I have to say thank you over lunch or dinner? Because I can clear my schedule.

Hence: the smile.

The same one he’s fighting right now, out on the golf course, while Jeonghan interrogates him like a nosy mother with a magnifying glass.

“She thanked me,” Seungcheol says finally, smirking to himself as he adjusts his grip on the club.

Joshua frowns. “For what?”

He doesn’t even look up as he swings. “For the flowers I sent this morning.”

There’s a pause.

“Flowers?” Jeonghan yells from the cart. “Oh, we’re officially in rom-com territory now.”

Joshua leans on his driver. “You used to make fun of me for that. Remember back then when I got my girlfriend flowers after two weeks and you called me a simp with no spine?”

“I was right. You were insufferable,” Seungcheol replies easily. “I, on the other hand, am charming.”

Jeonghan snorts. “You sent ranunculus, didn’t you?”

That actually gets Seungcheol to glance over, brow raised. “How the hell do you know that?”

“Because you’re dramatic,” Jeonghan deadpans. “And because you’re literally the only person I know who flirts with florals like it’s a love letter.”

He shrugs, but the smug look doesn’t leave his face.

“She liked them.”

And really, that’s all he needs today. Not the perfect swing, not a quiet weekend, not even an answer to whatever it is that's slowly, surely happening between you and him.

You’re barefoot, hair up in a loose bun, sleeves shoved past your elbows, and a cleaning rag hanging off your shoulder like a badge of honor. There's a half-folded pile of laundry on the couch, your favorite playlist echoing from the kitchen speaker, and the scent of lemon cleaner still lingers in the air.

You weren’t thinking about him. Not exactly. Okay, maybe a little.

But still, when the doorbell rings, you freeze mid-wipe, glancing toward the door like it might be another delivery.

Flowers again?

You make your way over, still patting your hands dry on your pajama shorts, and swing the door open without much thought.

And your heart absolutely stutters.

Because standing there isn’t a courier. Or a stranger.

It’s him.

Choi Seungcheol, dressed down in jeans, a dark tee, and that unfairly calm expression that somehow looks even better in daylight. One hand casually stuffed in his pocket, the other holding up a familiar-looking takeout bag.

“You said lunch or dinner,” he says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Thought I’d split the difference.”

You blink, stunned and slightly underdressed for this plot twist. “You—wait, you’re here?”

He lifts the bag slightly. “Samgyeopsal dosirak. And something sweet because I thought you might need dessert after all that dusting.”

You let out a soft, surprised laugh, stepping back instinctively to let him in. “You could’ve texted.”

“I could’ve,” he agrees, stepping past the threshold, eyes flicking to the mess of throw pillows and laundry and general weekend chaos. “But I figured showing up gets me bonus points.”

“Bold move,” you say, shutting the door behind him.

He shrugs, setting the bag down on your kitchen counter. “You already called me smooth this morning. Might as well live up to it.”

You watch him for a moment, slightly in awe—and slightly mortified you’re wearing an old t-shirt and fuzzy socks while he looks like that.

“Sorry for the mess,” you mutter, grabbing a few stray pieces of laundry and shoving them toward a basket.

Seungcheol just leans against your counter, watching you with that amused, unreadable expression.

“Relax,” he says. “I kind of like seeing you like this.”

You pause mid-fold. “Like what? Disheveled and unprepared?”

“Comfortable,” he corrects. “Like yourself.”

You clear your throat and gesture to the bag. “Well… you coming all this way with food means you’re definitely staying to eat, right?”

He grins. “Only if you sit next to me this time.”

“Scandalous,” you murmur, already pulling out plates. “We’ll have to keep the blinds shut. Can’t let the neighbors catch me fraternizing with the flower guy.”

He lets out a low laugh as he moves to help, and just like that, the space between you feels smaller again.

You slide the plates across the counter toward him, eyes flicking up briefly to meet his as you settle into the rhythm of unpacking the food. The scent of grilled meat, garlic, and rice fills the space, and for a moment, you let yourself enjoy the easy comfort of it.

“How was your morning?”

He leans back a little against your counter, breaking apart his chopsticks slowly, like he has time—like he’s in no rush at all.

“Golf,” he says. “Jeonghan roped me into it. He and Joshua have this bet going about who’ll finally beat me. Spoiler: they didn’t.”

You snort softly. “Let me guess. You smiled once and they thought something was wrong?”

He looks up at you, surprised, then chuckles. “Actually, yeah. Jeonghan thought the world was ending.”

“Because you were texting me?”

His gaze lingers on you for just a beat too long.

“Maybe.”

You look away then, biting back the way your heart trips at the casual weight of his honesty.

You try to keep your voice light. “You like golf?”

“I like the quiet,” he says. “And the way it slows everything down. Plus, it's one of the few times the guys don't expect me to be in CEO mode.”

You blink. “Wait—CEO mode?”

His smile turns crooked, caught between smug and sheepish. “You didn’t know?”

Your mouth opens, then closes. “You told me you work in management!”

“I do,” he says innocently. “Technically.”

You gape at him. “You're ridiculous.”

“And you're adorable when you're annoyed,” he replies, grinning as he sets the table with casual precision.

You shake your head, still reeling, still smiling despite yourself.

“Fine,” you say, settling down beside him. “You can be mysterious and charming and maddening later. Right now, just tell me more about your morning. What else happened?”

And he does. He tells you about the way Joshua nearly ran over Jeonghan’s foot with the golf cart. How the coffee at the clubhouse was abysmal. How the sun was too bright but the breeze made up for it. And you listen like it’s the most interesting story you’ve ever heard.

You finish the last few bites of your meal, chopsticks tapping against the empty container as you sit back with a satisfied sigh.

“So,” you say, stretching slightly, “since you’re already here, Mr. CEO—”

His brow arches, amused. “Oh, we’re using titles now?”

You ignore that smug little curve of his mouth. “Since you're already so generously spending time with a commoner like me, mind helping with a few things?”

He eyes you, mock suspicion in his gaze. “Define few.”

You push off the counter and gesture for him to follow you down the short hallway.

“It’s really just one thing. I’ve been putting it off because I like having a functional spine.”

You stop in front of your bedroom door, already bracing yourself for the impending chaos he’s about to witness. With a deep breath, you push it open and point to the far corner of the room.

“That,” you say flatly, “has not moved since I moved in. It’s heavier than it looks and it hates me.”

Seungcheol steps in behind you, eyes landing on the wide, solid wood dresser wedged awkwardly against the wall. He whistles low.

“Yeah, okay. That thing looks like it weighs more than I do.”

You cross your arms, already grinning. “Don’t be dramatic. I just need it shifted a little to the left so I can finally plug in the lamp I’ve had sitting on the floor”

“And you were just gonna… try to do this alone?”

“I tried. Got maybe an inch before I considered calling emergency services.”

He laughs, shaking his head, already flexing his fingers like he’s warming up. “Alright, move aside. Let me show you what those gym memberships are actually good for.”

You step back, arms folded, watching as he tests the weight, then—with alarming ease—shifts the dresser a few inches left, then a bit more, until it’s perfectly centered beneath the window.

“That’s it? That was like, two seconds.”

He turns, feigning a wipe of imaginary sweat from his brow. “You’re welcome, peasant.”

You scoff. “Okay, that’s the last time I compliment your arms.”

The sunlight hits him just right, painting golden streaks across his face and forearms, and for a second, the whole room feels brighter. Lighter.

“You’re trouble,” you murmur, half to yourself.

He catches it anyway, walking back over until he’s standing in front of you again, too close in that now-familiar, deliberate way.

“And you keep inviting me over,” he says, voice low and warm. “What does that make you?”

“Worse than I thought, apparently.”

He grins. “Good.”

And just like that—helping you move a dresser somehow becomes its own kind of intimacy. Domestic. Quiet. Dangerous in all the best, slow-burning ways.

Then something catches his eyes on something behind your desk. He drifts toward it, more curious than anything, his gaze pulled by the small burst of color on the wall.

It’s a collage of sorts, not perfectly arranged, but it has that personal, lived-in charm. Polaroids with slightly smudged ink dates along the bottom, movie tickets curled at the corners, scribbled notes, travel stubs, even a pressed flower or two. 

A few things are clearly sentimental, a few probably meaningless to anyone but you.

But it’s the tiny folded receipt pinned neatly in the corner that catches his eye. Barely noticeable, until he sees the logo.

The bar.

He steps closer, mouth quirking slightly. “You kept this?”

You glance over from where you're fluffing the pillow he nearly flattened earlier. “Hm?”

He taps the pinned slip, and your eyes flick toward it.

“Oh.” You laugh softly, walking over to stand beside him. “Yeah. It felt... significant, I guess. A good story.”

“You keep a lot of stories, huh?” he asks, gesturing to the wall.

You shrug, suddenly shy. “I like remembering things. Even the dumb ones. Even the weird little in-between moments. They make everything feel more real.”

“Where’s the part where you almost got kissed by a stranger pretending to be your boyfriend?”

You narrow your eyes at him playfully. “You’re lucky I didn’t choose someone taller.”

“I’m lucky you chose me at all,” he says, quiet but clear, not teasing.

The silence that follows isn’t awkward. It’s full—warm. Like the pause after a really good line in a movie, one that doesn’t need music or movement to make it matter.

You glance back at the wall, at the receipt, the night that started all of this.

“Guess that night’s part of the wall now,” you murmur. “Part of the story.”

His eyes flick back to you, amused. “So you’re the sentimental type.”

You raise a brow, lips twitching. “Why? That not fit into your little criteria?”

Seungcheol tilts his head slightly, eyes scanning you in that quietly intense way that always makes you feel like you’re being read instead of looked at. His voice drops, warm and smooth.

“I don’t think I ever had a real list.”

You scoff lightly. “Please. Everyone has a list.”

He grins. “Fine. Maybe I thought I’d go for someone less likely to keep bar receipts and concert stubs like museum exhibits.”

You feign offense. “Wow. So judgmental for someone who literally sent me florals with emotional implications.”

“That was strategic,” he deadpans.

“Mm-hmm. And I’m sure flirting with me in front of your friends was all part of some master CEO plan too.”

He doesn’t answer right away. Just studies you for a long moment, something unreadable behind that steady gaze.

From then on, the flowers keep coming. Not every day but often enough that it’s clear there’s a pattern. An intention.

Sometimes it’s a soft arrangement of lilies and baby’s breath that arrives late in the morning with a note scrawled in that clean, all-too-neat handwriting: Don’t skip lunch today.

Other days it’s bold peonies or deep red ranunculus, tucked into a glass vase that seems to match your desk without trying. 

One morning it’s a single sunflower with a post-it: Because you were complaining about deadlines. Sun’s out now.

And in between the deliveries, there are lunches—casual, spontaneous. A text at 11:32 a.m.: You free? I’m craving something spicy.

Or dinner on the way home from work, when you say you’re too tired to cook and he offers takeout. He picks you up like it’s routine, like the two of you have been doing this for years.

He holds doors open, lets you steal bites off his plate, keeps track of which side of the booth you like to sit on. He remembers you hate soggy fries and that you get cranky when you skip breakfast.  And when your wrist started aching from too much typing, a small ergonomic mouse showed up at your office two days later. No note. No message. Just Seungcheol, a few hours later at dinner, asking casually, You get that thing I sent? Like he hadn’t just studied your habits like they were blueprints.

One night, you tease him. “You always feed people this well when you’re trying to win them over?”

He glances at you across the table, eyes warm, steady.

“No,” he says. “Just you.”

And it’s not a confession. Not really but your heart answers like it is. He grins at that—slow and lazy, like he’s been waiting for you to say it.

“Careful now,” you say, voice light, but your eyes don’t leave his, “I might get used to being spoiled.”

He leans back in his seat, one arm draped over the back of the booth, and he gives you that look

“And what exactly would be the downside of that?”

You hum, pretending to consider it, swirling the last of your drink with your straw. “Mm, I don’t know. Expectations. Disappointment. Sudden withdrawal of dumpling privileges.”

He chuckles, low and smooth. “I don’t take things back once I give them.”

You glance at him sideways, the corner of your mouth lifting. “Sounds like a threat.”

He tilts his head, his smile softening. “Sounds like a promise.”

For a second, the noise of the restaurant fades behind the weight of those words—like the hum of conversation, the clink of plates, even the music playing overhead all quiet just enough to make space for the way he’s looking at you.

You feel it, the shift. Again.

And you could say something sarcastic, you could push it away with another joke—but you don’t. Instead, you let the moment hang there, rich and charged.

“You keep this up,” you murmur, “and I might start thinking you actually like me.”

He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t blink.

“Good,” he says. “That’s the idea.”

You swirl your drink once more, watching the ice clink softly against the glass before glancing up at him with a sly tilt to your head.

“So…” you start, casual—too casual. “How many more dinners like this before the kiss?”

Seungcheol’s fingers pause mid-reach for his glass, his eyes lifting to yours, slow and deliberate. There’s that smirk again—just a shade more dangerous now, edged with the kind of tension you’ve both been dancing around for days.

He leans in a little, arms resting on the table, and his voice drops low. “You keeping count?”

You shrug, the corner of your mouth twitching. “I’m just saying… that first night? You played the part really well. Had me thinking you were the type to go in for the dramatic, sweep-her-off-her-feet, movie-scene kiss.”

“I remember,” he says. “You were looking at me like you were waiting for it.”

Your laugh is soft, quiet. “Maybe I was.”

“So what number is this then? Dinner four? Five? Let’s call it four and a half. One of those was technically just noodles and complaining about work.”

“So what you’re saying is… I’m close.” You lift your glass to your lips, hiding your grin behind the rim. 

“Closer than you think. Don’t worry, I’ll make it worth the wait.”

And you believe him. God help you, you really do.

“You’re really making me wait for this kiss, huh?”

Seungcheol’s lips part, not in surprise exactly, but like he wasn’t expecting you to say it so directly. His gaze drops to your mouth for the briefest second, and it’s subtlebut enough that your heart skips once, hard.

He exhales, and the corner of his mouth lifts like he’s trying not to let it turn into a full smile. “I told you,” he murmurs, “I make things worth it.”

“Yeah, but now I’m starting to think you like the anticipation too much.”

“I do,” he says without missing a beat. “But I like your reaction more.”

Your brows lift. “My reaction?”

“The way you look at me,” he says, quietly now, eyes not wavering. “The way you lean in just a little closer when you think I might—” He doesn’t finish the sentence. Just lets it hang there between you, heavy and electric.

“You’re dangerous,” you whisper. Your heart’s hammering now, a rhythm too loud to ignore, and still he doesn’t close the distance. 

“You’re really not going to kiss me,” you say, half a laugh, half a dare.

He tilts his head slightly, like he’s deciding something. Then—

“I will,” he says, voice barely above a whisper. “But not here.”

Your breath catches. “Why not?”

His eyes flick to the restaurant around you. “Because when I finally do, I’m not sharing it with a room full of strangers.”

And just like that, your skin is flushed, your chest tight, and you’re no longer thinking about how long it’s been—but how close you are now. How much more you want.

The moment you step out into the night, the cool air brushing against your skin like a sigh, his hand finds yours. No hesitation. No theatrics. Just warm fingers threading through yours like they’ve done it a thousand times.

You glance at him, heart kicking once against your ribs.

He doesn’t look over. Doesn’t need to. His grip is steady, his stride unhurried, and there’s something about the way he holds you—like it’s not even a decision anymore. Just instinct.

When you reach the car, he lets go only to open the door for you. Still without a word. Still with that same quiet, unrushed certainty. He waits until you’re seated, until the seatbelt clicks, before he rounds the front and slides into the driver’s seat beside you.

No questions.

No where to?

He starts the engine and pulls out into the street like he already knows. Because he does. He’s memorized your route home—left turns, shortcut alleys, that one spot where traffic always sucks near the crosswalk.

And for a moment, you sit in the silence of the ride, his hand resting on the gearshift, the lights of the city playing soft across his profile.

You lean your head against the seat, watching him through the slow hum of passing streetlights. “You’re a little scary when you’re this confident.”

“I’m always this confident,” he murmurs, eyes forward, that same grin pulling at the corner of his mouth.

You laugh under your breath. “Cocky.”

He doesn’t deny it. But when he reaches over at the next red light, brushing his thumb across the back of your hand, there’s a softness in it—something that betrays the calm exterior. Something that says: I’m not rushing. But I’m sure.

And it steals your breath more than any kiss might’ve.

=

Seungcheol’s already at his desk when Jeonghan strolls into his office unannounced, like he owns the place. He’s got that look on his face too. mischief bubbling just beneath the surface, like he’s been waiting for this all morning.

Seungcheol doesn’t look up from his laptop. “No.”

“I didn’t even say anything yet,” Jeonghan counters, already dropping into one of the chairs across from the desk, far too comfortable for someone who doesn’t technically work in this building.

“You’re thinking very loudly.”

Jeonghan grins. “Fine. If you insist, I’ll start. One: she completely held her own last night. Didn’t flinch once when Mingyu started rapid-ordering food like he was feeding an army.”

Recalling last night when Seungcheol took you with him for drinks out with the guys. Surprising everyone.

“She’s impressive,” Seungcheol says simply, and this time he does glance up, barely trying to hide the small, proud smile tugging at his mouth.

Jeonghan points. “That. That smile. That’s what I came here for. I knew you were gone the moment she toasted Soonyoung under the table.”

Seungcheol just leans back in his chair, lacing his fingers together. “He challenged her. It’s on him.”

“And she won. You know what that means? She’s one of us now. And more importantly…” Jeonghan leans in dramatically. “You’re so in it, man.”

“I drove her home,” Seungcheol says casually, but the softness in his voice betrays him.

Jeonghan narrows his eyes. “And?”

“And nothing.”

Jeonghan groans. “You’re seriously dragging this out? You're the most controlled man I know, and even I was rooting for a kiss.”

Seungcheol just smirks. “Told her I’d kiss her when she’s sober.”

Jeonghan stares. Then throws his head back with a groan. “You’re hopeless. Ridiculously swoony and hopeless.”

“I like her,” Seungcheol says, tone low and honest.

And that—that—makes Jeonghan pause. His teasing drops, just for a second. Because when Seungcheol says it like that, not as a joke or a half-guarded confession, but as a fact... it’s real.

He leans back, quieter now. “Yeah. I know you do.”

There’s a beat of silence between them before Jeonghan can’t help himself. “Still. If this ends in wedding bells, I’m officiating. Or, at the very least, giving the toast.”

Seungcheol sighs, already regretting letting him in.

Jeonghan grins again. “Don’t worry. I’ll start writing my speech.”

=

The city blurs past the windows in a soft hum of motion, headlights washing warm streaks of gold across your skin as you talk—casually, openly, like you always do now.

You’re curled in the passenger seat with your legs tucked under you, your shoes kicked off and your fingers fidgeting absently with the soft edge of the blanket draped over your lap. His blanket. The one he insisted on leaving in the car after you shivered just once during a late drive home.

Seungcheol doesn’t say much as you talk, but he glances over often—tiny flickers of attention between the road and you, like he’s memorizing pieces of the moment to revisit later. His left hand rests on the steering wheel, right one easy on the gear shift, the movement of his thumb mirroring the rhythm of your voice. Calm. Comforting.

You’re halfway through rambling about a disaster of a meeting you had that morning when your train of thought stutters.

“Oh,” you say, almost too quickly. “I—actually. Meant to ask you something.”

He hums, a lazy sound that rumbles in his chest. “Yeah?”

You hesitate. Just a second too long. He picks up on it immediately, his gaze flickering your way. 

You’re looking down now, fiddling with the corner of the blanket, suddenly hyperaware of the lip gloss you left in his cup holder and the extra hair tie wrapped around his rearview mirror. There are little bits of you all over his car now. Just like there are little bits of him scattered across your days. 

“So…” you start, trying for casual, but it comes out a little breathy. “There’s this wedding. In a couple weeks. One of my friends from college.”

You chance a glance at him. He’s still driving, still calm, but his head tilts slightly. Listening.

“I kind of... need a plus one,” you go on. “Well, I don’t need one, technically, but everyone’s bringing someone, and—” You bite your lip, nerves buzzing. “I just thought maybe… if you’re free, you could come? With me.”

“You want me to go with you?” he asks, voice low, like he’s checking—really checking—that he heard right.

You nod, trying to keep your voice light, even as your heart feels like it’s doing cartwheels. “Yeah. I mean, you’d probably hate it. Lots of mingling. Dancing. Champagne. Small talk with strangers.”

He smiles a little. “And you want me to be your date.”

You blink at him. “Well… yeah.”

The light turns green. He doesn’t move. Not yet. His eyes are on you, steady and searching, and the longer he looks, the more you feel exposed—in a good way. In a real way.

“I’ll go,” he says finally, with that soft certainty that always makes your chest ache. “Of course I’ll go.”

Your breath whooshes out of you. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he repeats, eyes on the road now as the car starts moving again. “But only if I get to keep pretending I’m your boyfriend.”

You laugh, startled by how easy he makes it feel, how warm your chest goes at his words. “Is that what you’ve been doing all this time? Pretending?”

His grip on the steering wheel shifts. “You tell me.”

And you don’t answer right away, not because you don’t know but because the answer sits somewhere in the middle of your ribs, nestled against every glance, every ride home, every shoulder kiss and every moment he’s chosen to stay.

When you reach your building, he parks without asking for directions. Of course he does. He knows the way by heart now.

As you’re getting out, he catches your wrist gently. “Text me the details,” he says, voice lower now, more serious. “What time. What to wear.”

You nod, and your throat’s a little tight. “Okay.”

It’s one of those perfect afternoons. the kind that hangs suspended between spring and summer, warm without being too hot, a breeze just light enough to make your dress flutter as you wait outside your building.

You’re not waiting long.

His car pulls up exactly on time, and you catch sight of him behind the wheel through the windshield—dark suit, crisp white shirt, and a tie that looks suspiciously like it was chosen to match the color of your dress. 

Your heart kicks up, stupid and traitorous in your chest, because he looks good. Too good. Like the kind of man who belongs on magazine covers, not in your driveway.

And then he steps out.

He smooths a hand down the front of his suit jacket, one brow lifting the moment he sees you. “Wow,” he says, low and honest, eyes sweeping over you with a slow, appreciative gaze that makes heat crawl up your neck. “I knew you’d look beautiful, but... I wasn’t ready.”

You try for casual, but your grin gives you away. “You clean up alright yourself, Mr. CEO.”

He holds the car door open for you without a word, and when you slide in, you spot the little extra things right away. Your favorite mints in the cup holder. A spare hair tie looped on the gearshift. He doesn’t say anything about them, but the details are there—always there.

“You nervous?” he asks at one point, tone light.

You shake your head. “About the wedding? No. They’re the ones getting married. I’m just there to eat cake.”

He smiles. “About me being your date, then?”

You pause, then look over at him with a soft grin. “Not even a little.”

When you get to the venue, it’s like the entire world slows for a second. The moment you both step out of the car and walk in together—side by side, his hand hovering at the small of your back, your arms brushing as you walk—you feel it. The glances. The looks.

You were right. Everyone did bring someone. And yet somehow, you’re the one that people can’t stop staring at.

Because of him.

Because of the way Seungcheol exists in a room like he’s always been meant to be there—quietly powerful, quietly yours.

Introductions start slow. your friends immediately curious, trying to figure him out. But Seungcheol handles them all with the kind of smooth charm that makes you want to simultaneously laugh and melt. 

He’s polite. Warm. Slightly reserved. But he doesn’t leave your side once, and when your hand accidentally brushes his under the table during dinner, he doesn’t pull away.

It’s only when you're both standing off to the side during a slow song, sipping champagne and laughing at the clumsy first-dance attempts on the floor, that he leans down, voice brushing your ear.

“You know,” he says, “I don’t think I’ve seen you stop smiling since we got here.”

You glance up at him, heart thudding. “Yeah? Is that a bad thing?”

He meets your eyes. “No. I think I’d like to be the reason behind it more often.”

He holds out his hand. “Come dance with me?”

And with your fingers in his, his suit pressed lightly to your side, his palm warm at your back, you finally stop waiting. Because this, him, was worth every slow, drawn-out second.

You don’t realize how naturally it happens. How easily you lean into him, how right it feels to have your hand resting lightly on his shoulder while his other hand holds your waist, not too tight, but firm.

“You’re not a bad dancer,” you murmur, the tease threading through your voice.

Seungcheol lets out a low laugh, eyes twinkling as he looks down at you. “I had to learn. It was either that or embarrass myself at corporate galas.”

You tilt your head, smirking. “So I’m your rehearsal?”

He leans in, just enough that you feel his breath along your cheek. “No,” he says softly. “You’re the reason I’m glad I learned.”

That shuts you up for a second—not because you don’t have a comeback, but because the way he says it—earnest, grounded—makes your heart stumble in your chest.

“I still haven’t kissed you,” he says quietly, almost like he’s reminding himself. “And you’ve been very patient.”

“Painfully patient,” you whisper back. He smiles, but it’s different this time. Not teasing. Just full of something so genuine it makes your stomach twist.

“But this moment,” he says, pulling you in just a little closer, “this right here… I didn’t want to rush it. You deserve the good kind of build-up.”

You swallow. “So… this is a build-up?”

“Isn’t it?” he murmurs. “Every time I pick you up. Every dinner. Every time you leave your things in my car on purpose.”

“I don’t—” You try to defend yourself, but he grins, cutting you off.

“I like it,” he admits. “I like all of it. Even the fact that your lip gloss has now permanently scented my dashboard.”

You laugh, cheeks warm. “You’re very sentimental for someone who pretends not to be.”

“And you’re very brave for someone who said they weren’t looking for anything serious,” he counters.

That gives you pause. Because he’s not wrong.

You didn’t plan for any of this. But then again, you didn’t plan on walking up to a stranger at a bar just to escape a persistent creep either. And now… now you’re dancing with that stranger at your friend’s wedding while the night curls around the two of you like it knew.

“I still don’t know what we are,” you say finally, your voice lower, honest.

Seungcheol’s thumb brushes your waist gently, like he feels the shift.

“You don’t have to name it,” he says. “Not yet.”

“But you already have,” you murmur, meeting his gaze.

He looks at you for a long second. “Only in my head.”

You smile. “What is it, then?”

His grip on you tightens ever so slightly.

“Mine.” he says.

Just like that the music slows to an end, but he doesn't let go. And when the moment feels just too full, too warm, too close. His hand lifts gently to your jaw. His thumb grazes your cheek. And this time, finally, he doesn’t kiss your shoulder.

He kisses you.

It’s soft at first. A gentle brush of lips that speaks less of fireworks and more of certainty like he’s been waiting for just the right moment.

You don’t even realize your hands have slipped up to his chest, anchoring yourself as his other arm wraps around your waist to keep you close. There’s no rush, no urgency. Just the quiet, unspoken truth of it sinking into your bones—that this kiss was a long time coming. T

When you part, barely an inch between you, your forehead lingers against his. Your heart beats like it’s trying to memorize the rhythm of his.

“Finally,” you whisper.

Seungcheol chuckles, low and husky, still close enough that his breath grazes your lips. “Was it worth the wait?”

You tilt your head just enough to press another soft kiss to the corner of his mouth. “I’ll let you know after the second one.”

He smiles like he can’t help it, like something warm is cracking open in his chest. “Greedy.”

“Very,” you reply without missing a beat.

You don’t even care that you’re standing in the middle of a wedding reception, that people are milling around behind you with cake and champagne and whispered guesses about who you are. None of that matters.

Because he’s still looking at you like you’re the only thing that does.

When you got to your building he offered to walk you up. Standing outside your door, your fingers are curled into the lapel of Seungcheol’s suit jacket, your mouth barely a breath away from his when the sound of someone clearing their throat slices right through the moment.

You both flinch, pulling apart like guilty teenagers caught sneaking out after curfew.

Your eyes widen. “Oh my god.”

Your mom stands there in front of your apartment door, arms crossed and one brow raised with terrifying precision, the classic mom look of I have questions and you better answer them properly.

She blinks slowly, then turns to Seungcheol with the kind of pointed interest that has your soul trying to escape your body.

“And who,” she says, sweetly, “might this be?”

You swallow. “Uh. Hi, Mom. What are you doing here?”

“I texted. You didn’t answer. So I thought I’d drop off some side dishes I made.” She holds up the container bag like evidence. “Good thing I came, it seems.”

You’re nearly sweating. Seungcheol, on the other hand, somehow still looks calm. Like he didn’t just almost get caught mid-doorstep make-out by your mother.

He straightens, then offers your mom a polite bow. “Good evening, ma’am. I’m Choi Seungcheol. I was just dropping her off after a wedding.”

Your mom gives him a long once-over, then side-eyes you. “A wedding? Interesting. And how long has this Choi Seungcheol been around?”

“Mom,” you groan, but Seungcheol beats you to it.

“Not very long,” he replies easily. “But I’m hoping to stick around a while.”

You gape at him.

Your mom narrows her eyes. “Is that right?”

“If she’ll let me.”

Your mom stares at him another beat. Then to your utter disbelief, she… smiles. “Hmm. Well. At least you’re polite.”

You’re still recovering when she presses the container into your hands. “These are for you. You too, I suppose, since you’re clearly being fed well.”

Seungcheol accepts them with a small bow and a quiet “thank you.”

Your mom gives him one last look, then leans in to whisper (not quietly at all), “She likes flowers. And she talks in her sleep.”

“Mom!”

She pats your cheek and strolls away like she didn’t just commit emotional homicide.

You turn to Seungcheol, mortified. “I’m so sorry. I can’t believe—”

But he’s already smiling. Like really smiling. “That was the best first ‘meet the parent’ ambush I’ve ever had.”

Seungcheol’s in his office early the next morning, already settled in behind his desk. His sleeves are rolled up, fingers tapping out a light rhythm on the edge of his desk as he hums a low, tuneless melody to himself.

He’s got that look on his face, the rare kind his staff sees maybe three times a year, a glint in his eyes like he just won the lottery and the stock market. Every so often, he pauses to check his phone, then smiles like someone just whispered a joke in his ear. 

That’s exactly the energy Joshua and Jeonghan walk in on.

“Okay,” Jeonghan says slowly, not even trying to hide the suspicion in his voice. “Who are you and what have you done with our very serious, emotionally constipated CEO?”

Seungcheol doesn’t look up. “Good morning to you too.”

Joshua squints. “Is that... whistling? Are you—tapping your foot?”

Jeonghan drops into the seat across from him and kicks his legs up on the coffee table like he owns the place. “You’re smiling. Like smiling smiling. The last time you were this chipper was when we landed the Tokyo account and you got to yell at someone in perfect Japanese.”

Joshua leans against the wall. “No offense, man, but it’s kind of weirding me out. Is this like… a blood sugar thing? Are you okay?”

Seungcheol leans back in his chair, stretching with a soft groan and a big, satisfied sigh. “I’m great.”

“Yeah. We can tell.” Jeonghan raises a brow. “So go on. Tell the class. What happened”

Seungcheol doesn’t answer right away, just glances at his phone again with that same soft smile playing at his lips.

Jeonghan and Joshua exchange looks.

“Oh my god,” Jeonghan breathes, sitting up straighter. “It’s her, isn’t it? The bar girl. Your girl.”

Joshua’s eyes widen. “The one who literally drank Soonyoung under the table?”

“She’s not my girl, yet” Seungcheol says quickly—but his voice betrays him with the slightest upward lilt at the end, like even he doesn’t believe himself.

Jeonghan leans forward, both elbows on his knees. “So what happened last night? Because whatever it was, you’re acting like a man in love.”

“I am not in—” Seungcheol stops himself, mutters something under his breath, then groans as he runs a hand over his face. “You two are insufferable.”

“Did she finally kiss you?”

“Technically,” Seungcheol replies slowly, “I kissed her. But only after she asked for the third time.”

Jeonghan lets out a bark of laughter. “Took you long enough, Romeo.”

“It wasn’t about taking my time,” Seungcheol mumbles, and then lowers his voice, more to himself than to them. “I just… didn’t want to screw it up.”

There’s a beat of quiet.

Joshua softens. “You like her.”

Seungcheol doesn’t look up. “Yeah.”

Jeonghan’s watching him, a little differently now. Less teasing, more thoughtful. “It’s serious, isn’t it?”

“She asked me to be her plus-one to a wedding,” Seungcheol replies, then glances at them, almost shy. “And I met her mom.”

Joshua and Jeonghan practically explode.

“You what?”

Seungcheol winces. “It wasn’t planned—her mom showed up at her apartment with side dishes and caught us on the doorstep. Thought I was her boyfriend or something.”

Jeonghan is beside himself. “And you survived? No wounds? No emotional damage?”

“She liked me.”

“Okay, that’s it,” Joshua says. “We’re done for. He’s in too deep.”

“Send help,” Jeonghan deadpans, placing a hand over his heart. “Our friend is gone. Replaced by this domestic, well-fed, love-struck clone.”

“I’m not love-struck.”

“You’re literally glowing.”

Seungcheol shakes his head with a small chuckle. “Shut up.”

But he’s still smiling.

Seungcheol’s phone buzzes once, then again—your contact lighting up on the screen. His hand darts for the phone almost too eagerly, thumb swiping before the second ring finishes.

“Hey,” he answers, voice dropping into something soft and familiar, like the two of you are already alone in a room and not with Jeonghan and Joshua both watching like hawks from a few feet away.

You laugh softly on the other end. “Hi. Sorry, are you busy?”

“No,” he says without hesitation. “I’ve got time.”

Jeonghan mouths liar and Joshua smirks.

“So, I was gonna text, but my mom insisted I call. She’s making dinner tonight and… well, she asked if you’d like to come?”

His heart skips in a way he’s not used to—it’s not nerves exactly, more like… something warm curling in his chest. He stands slowly, pacing to the side of the office, back turned as if it’ll make the conversation any more private.

“You sure?” he asks, lowering his voice. “I don’t want to intrude.”

“You’re not,” you assure him. “She literally made enough for an army and said, and I quote, ‘tell that polite boy to come hungry.’”

He chuckles, unable to help himself. “Guess I can’t say no to that.”

“Seven okay?”

“Perfect.” He smiles again, stupid and wide and absolutely forgetting that he is not alone.

“I’ll see you tonight then.”

“Yeah,” he says, still in that soft tone only reserved for you. “Looking forward to it.”

The call ends. He stares at the screen for a second longer before pocketing his phone, already mentally rearranging the rest of his day.

Then he turns around.

Joshua is grinning like a fox. Jeonghan has both hands folded like he’s praying. “Okay. Let’s try that again. You’re not love-struck?”

Seungcheol sighs, running a hand through his hair, the soft grin on his lips refusing to fade. “She invited me to dinner. Her mom’s cooking.”

“Oh my god,” Jeonghan groans dramatically. “That’s domesticity. That’s serious.”

“You’re doomed,” Joshua chimes in cheerfully. “Next thing we know, you’ll be asking us to be groomsmen.”

“Shut up,” 

You’re halfway through setting the table when the doorbell rings, and your mom, already at the stove with her sleeves rolled up, waves you off with a knowing smile. “He’s early. That one’s got good manners. Go let him in.”

You smooth down your shirt, trying not to look too eager, but your feet are already hurrying toward the door.

When you open it, Seungcheol is there dressed in that casually polished way that makes it look like he stepped off the cover of a weekend magazine. Button-up sleeves rolled just once, watch peeking out, hair slightly tousled like he ran his fingers through it before he knocked.

And in his hands?

Two bouquets.

You blink. “Are you trying to start a flower shop?”

He grins, lifting both arrangements slightly. “One’s for you.” He holds out the first—soft colors, delicate petals, your favorites, of course. “And the other’s for your mom.”

You take the bouquet, inhaling the sweet scent with a tiny smile before stepping aside. “She’s going to love that. You just earned, like, ten extra points.”

“I’m trying to rack them up,” he says lightly, stepping in and revealing the dessert box in his other hand. “Also, I may or may not have picked up your favorite. You know… just in case.”

You glance down and immediately light up. “You remembered?”

“Please,” he scoffs playfully. “You’ve only ranted about it, what, three times? Of course I remembered.”

You laugh as you lead him inside, his shoulder brushing yours in that easy, now-familiar way. Your mom peeks out from the kitchen, and her smile grows when she sees the extra bouquet.

“Oh, you charmer,” she says warmly, walking over to greet him. “Flowers again? You’re going to make all the other boys look bad.”

Seungcheol offers her the bouquet with both hands and a small bow. “I figured last time I came empty-handed, so I had to make up for it.”

Dinner’s warm and loud, your mom doing most of the talking while Seungcheol listens, chimes in with small jokes, and praises her cooking so sincerely she beams every time he opens his mouth. He’s relaxed here, blending in like he’s done it a hundred times, and somehow that’s the part that gets you.

Later, after helping clean up and exchanging stories with your mom, the two of you step out into the cool night air.

He walks beside you in silence for a moment, then glances over. “So... still thinking about replacing me with someone from a crime documentary?”

You laugh. “I don’t know. That guy probably wouldn’t have brought dessert and flowers.”

He nudges you gently. “Damn right.”

You turn to him, slowing a little on the steps outside your building. “Thanks for coming tonight.”

“I wouldn’t have missed it.”

And there’s that pause again—that loaded, quiet moment. You can feel it, humming between you. All the things unsaid but understood. No labels, no big declarations. Just gestures and quiet moments and the space he fills beside you like he’s always belonged there.

You lean in and kiss his cheek. He’s already smiling before your lips brush his skin.

“Don’t make me wait forever, Mr. CEO.”

He grins, eyes flicking to yours. “Patience, pretty girl. I’ve got a plan.”

And somehow, you believe him.

The moment you step back inside, your mom's perched on the couch like she never moved. She's got a cup of tea in hand and a look on her face that immediately makes you nervous—too calm, too unreadable, which only ever means she’s up to something.

Seungcheol follows behind you, quietly helping carry the dessert box into the kitchen, but before either of you can pretend the evening is winding down smoothly, your mom speaks up—tone light, but very deliberate.

“So…” she starts, gaze sliding over to Seungcheol like she’s just making small talk, “are you gonna marry my girl, or what?”

You nearly choke on air. “Mom!”

“What?” she shrugs, totally unbothered. “You’re both at the right age. You like each other. He’s handsome, polite, he brings flowers and dessert. I don’t want to wait another five years for grandchildren.”

“Oh my god—” you groan, half-burying your face in your hands.

But Seungcheol? Not flustered. Not even close. In fact, the traitorous man has the audacity to smile. A slow, confident one that only makes your embarrassment worse.

“Well,” he says, glancing at you before looking back at your mom, “if she keeps letting me stick around, who knows?”

Your mom raises a brow, then nods approvingly. “Good answer. You’re growing on me more and more, you know that?”

Seungcheol laughs, and you’re halfway to combusting. “Okay! Time to say goodnight, this interrogation is over,” you declare, grabbing his wrist and tugging him toward the door.

“Bye, Mom,” you grumble over your shoulder.

Your mom just waves, clearly pleased with herself. “Bye, future son-in-law!”

Seungcheol chuckles under his breath all the way down the hall. When the elevator doors close, he glances at you, amused. “So… how long do I have before she starts dress shopping?”

You glare up at him, still pink in the face. “Don’t you dare encourage her.”

“Too late.” He leans a little closer. “But if it helps…” His voice dips, teasing. “I am starting to like the sound of it.”

The elevator hums quietly as it takes you both downstairs, your hand tucked into Seungcheol’s without thinking. You walk him out to his car, the evening air crisp and still, soft with city quiet. He unlocks the door, but neither of you moves just yet.

“I’m just warning you,” you say, voice teasing, glancing up at him through your lashes. “Next time you come over, she’s not going to be asking if you’re marrying me.”

“No?”

You shake your head, grinning. “Nope. She’s skipping right ahead to asking when you’re giving her a grandchild.”

He chuckles low in his throat, eyes twinkling. “That so?”

“I can see it already,” you continue dramatically, “She’ll be standing in the kitchen, apron on, casually stirring soup while dropping 'So when’s the baby due?' like it’s small talk.”

Seungcheol leans against the car, folding his arms, that amused smile never leaving his face. “Well… we have kissed now,” he says, playful but soft. “I guess that means I should be prepared for her to start knitting booties.”

You swat his arm, trying not to laugh. “You’re too comfortable with this.”

“I’m comfortable with you,” he replies easily, gaze settling on you in that way that makes your heart skip and stumble all at once.

Seungcheol shifts closer, one hand brushing your hip before resting there, gentle but sure. “And hey,” he says, voice low, “about that kiss…”

Your breath hitches, and before you can even answer, he dips his head and brushes his lips against yours—slow and deliberate, nothing rushed, like he’s memorizing the shape of your mouth all over again.

He pulls back only slightly, close enough that his nose still brushes yours. “Still got more where that came from.”

You manage a breathless laugh, fingers curling in the front of his shirt. “Dangerous man.”

He grins. “Only for you.”

When he finally slides into the driver’s seat, you linger by the open door. “Text me when you get home.”

He reaches out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “Of course I will.”

You step back, watching as he pulls out of the lot, his hand lifting briefly in a lazy wave. And as you head back to your apartment, you already know: your mom’s going to be impossible next time.

You barely make it three steps into your apartment before your mom, still lounging in the living room like she owns the place (she kind of does, considering she brought over food and stayed uninvited), looks up from her tea and levels you with that look.

Not smug. Not surprised. Just deeply, motherly knowing.

“Oh,” she says, setting her cup down with an audible clink. “I see what this is.”

“What’s what?” you ask, walking past her, pretending to be busy as you head toward the kitchen.

But she doesn’t let you off that easy. She turns in her seat and calls out—voice just a touch singsongy.

“You love the guy.”

“What?” You laugh, unconvincing. “I don’t—what? That’s a lot, don’t you think?”

She stands, follows you to the kitchen like a shark who smells blood—or in this case, feelings.

“I’ve been watching you all day. You were smiling at your phone like a teenager,” she says, opening the fridge like she owns that too. “And when he came over? You lit up like someone plugged you in.”

You open a cabinet just to have something to do with your hands. “He’s just… nice.”

“Oh, no. Not just nice. He’s thoughtful. Respectful. Tall. Brings flowers. Carries dessert. Helped you move furniture. That man looked at you like you’re the only person on the planet.” She shuts the fridge. 

“And you my sweet girl, you looked right back like he hung the moon.”

You groan, leaning against the counter. “You really don’t pull punches, huh?”

She smiles, proud. “I’m your mother. It’s my job to see through the nonsense.”

The smile that crept onto your face when Seungcheol kissed you tonight is still there. You feel it even now, this warmth that’s settled behind your ribs. It’s soft and terrifying and real.

And when you look back up, your mom’s just watching you with that soft expression, the one that says she’s been waiting for this kind of happiness to find you.

You sigh, eyes rolling, voice barely above a murmur. “Fine. I like him.”

She raises a brow.

“Okay,” you grumble. “I really like him.”

Her smile widens as she turns back toward the living room. “Took you long enough.”

=

The phone barely rings once before he picks up, voice warm and low like honey over gravel.

“Hey, baby.”

You swear your brain short-circuits for a second. The word hits you with a quiet thud right in the chest, catching you off guard even though you should be used to it by now. 

“Hi,” you say, a beat late, already smiling into the receiver. “Okay, I forgot what I was gonna say for a second.”

There’s a soft laugh on his end, the kind that rumbles just under his breath. “That’s a good sign.”

You roll your eyes, cheeks warm. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

“Too late.”

You lean against the kitchen counter, heart still doing that embarrassing little flutter. “I was just calling to see if you were gonna be busy later… I was planning to cook dinner.”

He goes quiet for half a second. Not because he’s hesitating—just because you know he’s already rearranging his whole evening in his head.

“Do I get to watch you cook?” he asks, voice lighter now, teasing.

You smirk. “That depends. Are you just gonna stand there looking pretty and touching nothing?”

“Depends. Can I taste-test?”

You scoff. “You’re just in it for the food.”

“Not true,” he says, soft again now, “but it is a very nice bonus.”

You pretend to sigh. “So… does that mean you’re coming?”

“I’ll be there,” he says without skipping a beat. “Tell me what time and I’ll bring wine.”

The ease of it makes your chest feel full, like the kind of full that wraps around your ribs and stays there.

The knock on your door is right on time—because of course it is. You’re still smoothing down your shirt when you open it, and there he is.

Wine in one hand. Flowers in the other. And that stupid smile on his face that already has you forgetting whatever it was you were about to say.

“Hi,” you breathe, just a little breathless at the sight of him. He’s in a casual button-down, sleeves rolled, hair a little messy like he ran his hands through it on the drive over. He looks good. Too good.

“For you,” he says, lifting the bouquet

“You really don’t have to keep bringing these every time, you know.”

“I know,” he says easily, already slipping out of his shoes and placing the wine on your counter. “But I like watching you smile when I do.”

You open your mouth to come up with a witty response, but it never makes it out. Because he’s suddenly in your space arms curling around your waist as he presses a kiss to the side of your head.

Clingy. He’s so clingy tonight. And you love it.

“You okay?” you murmur, hugging him back.

“Just missed you,” he replies against your hair, like it’s that simple.

“You’re really not gonna let me cook, are you?” you ask, laughing as you try to wiggle out of his grasp.

“Nope.” He grins, chin resting on your shoulder. “This is a hostage situation now.”

“You’re clingy.”

“You love it.”

You glance at him over your shoulder. “I do.”

That earns you a kiss to the cheek. Then the temple. Then your neck. He’s shameless tonight. Unapologetically soft. 

You try to cut up onions, but his arms stay wrapped around you the entire time, body warm at your back, like he can’t stand to be even an inch away. By the time dinner’s ready, he’s seated too close at the table, knees brushing yours under it, foot tapping against your ankle.

And when you pass him a bowl, he doesn’t let go of your hand right away. Just holds it for a second longer, thumb brushing your wrist.

“I could get used to this,” he says softly.

You smile, eyes locked with his.

He’s standing at your sink, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, strong hands buried in soapy water. Your purple apron is tied securely around his waist. your apron, the one with little hearts embroidered along the hem and a faint stain from that time you spilled sauce and never quite got it out.

You’re halfway through wiping down the counter when you glance up and pause, arms frozen mid-motion. Because this scene in front of you is almost too much.

Choi Seungcheol, your moody, broody, suit-wearing, don’t-mess-with-me CEO, is currently humming under his breath while washing your dinner plates in a heart-covered apron like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

You wrap your arms around his middle from behind, chin pressed against the back of his shoulder. He pauses.

Then smiles, water still running as he leans back just slightly into your hold. “You done cleaning?”

“Mostly,” you hum. “I just needed a break to admire this sight.”

He chuckles, voice low, the sound vibrating through his back and into your chest. “What sight?”

“You. Domestic. In my kitchen. In my apron.”

“You mean your very fashionable, extremely purple apron?” he says, glancing down at it with mock seriousness.

“Mhm. It suits you.”

“Does it?”

“Yeah,” you say, drawing out the tease. “You look like the type of man who says things like ‘dinner’s ready, honey’ and then washes the dishes without being asked.”

“If you wanted to brag to someone, you could’ve just taken a picture.”

=

It’s a little surreal, stepping into the bar again after all these months.

The lighting’s still dim, the music low and pulsing in the background, familiar laughter echoing from the same corner booth the guys always seem to claim. Only this time, there’s no desperate escape from a stranger’s attention, no half-baked plan to use the intimidating guy in the corner to save yourself.

This time, you’re walking in hand-in-hand with him.

Seungcheol is dressed down, a fitted black tee and jeans that still somehow manage to make him look unfairly good. His hand is warm in yours, thumb drawing absent little circles on the back of your palm as he greets the guys already mid-round of drinks.

Jeonghan spots you first, grinning like he’s been waiting. “There they are! The king and queen have arrived.”

You roll your eyes. Seungcheol just chuckles, guiding you into the booth beside him. His arm slides across the back of your seat, casual and easy, but his fingers find your shoulder and rest there, grounding you like always.

It’s comfortable—normal, now.

You catch Joshua glancing between you two, a little smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Kind of wild to think it all started here, huh?”

You raise a brow. “What, the bar?”

“The act,” he teases, nodding toward Seungcheol. “Captain Broody pretending to be your boyfriend.”

“Oh,” you laugh, nudging Seungcheol playfully. “Right. That little performance.”

“Wasn’t much of an act,” he mutters, just quiet enough for only you to hear.

You turn your head, surprised—and he’s already looking at you, eyes dark and soft under the warm glow of the bar lights. You swear you feel it in your stomach, that little flutter you still haven’t quite gotten used to.

He leans in closer, voice a little rougher. “What? Don’t tell me you forgot.”

You arch a brow, teasing. “Forgot what?”

“That you strut your way right up to me. All wide-eyed and bold like I wasn’t five seconds from leaving.”

“Oh please,” you grin. “You loved it.”

His smile widens. “Still do.”

The music dips into something slower, something smoother. Around you, the bar hums with noise, glasses clinking, someone laughing too loudly near the bar. But in this moment it’s just you and him.

He tugs you gently, pulling you into his side until you’re almost in his lap. You go easily, leaning into him, resting a hand on his chest.

“So,” you say with a smile, tilting your head up, “is this the part where you tell me you’re no longer my pretend boyfriend?”

He pauses like he’s considering it, then leans in until his lips are barely a breath away from yours. “Mm... maybe.”

You lift a brow. “Maybe?”

He kisses you then, slow and sure, like there’s nothing pretend about it. 

Like there never was. 

His hand comes up to cradle your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek as he pulls away just slightly, lips still grazing yours.

“I’m not your pretend anything,” he whispers. “Haven’t been for a long time.”

You smile, cheeks warm, fingers curling into the front of his shirt.

“Well good,” you say, heart fluttering, “because I’m pretty sure my mom already considers you family.”

He laughs, the sound low and unguarded, and kisses you again—just because he can. And you kiss him back—because it’s him.

And because this time, there’s no act, no games.

Just the two of you—right where it all began.

[spicycinnabun]

hi! can i ask for 🐺..... and 🎀..... and 🤖?

i love the different vibes and bucktommy dynamics of them all and am greedy for more 🥺

you sure can! here's 🐺 - a snip of a happier future. i'm going to make separate posts for the other two, so look out for those next. c:

Buck was shirtless, sunning himself on the roof. He couldn’t tan without it healing almost instantly, forever as pale as the lilies, but the warmth felt good.

Tommy was weeding and occasionally glancing up at him. That felt really good. Buck preened under his gaze, not so subtly posing in ways that showcased his muscles. 

Buck had offered to lend Tommy a paw in the garden—more than once—but the Alpha had assured him that he would join him soon. He was almost done. 

It was nice. Peaceful. Birds were chirping. Insects were buzzing. A rabbit was hopping around by the stone footpath that his wolf had half a mind to hunt. 

But Buck had a better idea. He sat up, crouched, and eyed his prey’s broad form with a smirk. His quads tensed. He wiggled a little to prepare for the strike, and then went for it.

Safe to say, the novelty of pouncing on Tommy had not worn off. Buck didn’t think it ever would. At work, they had equipment that saved him when he fell, but it wasn’t the same. Didn’t feel the same. And when he fell on the job, it was usually because he had messed up. 

He was maybe pushing his luck, but like most things, once he got a little? He craved a lot. It sort of reminded him of being a kid, except he wasn’t hurting himself for attention; he was just… hurling himself for attention. At a big Alpha werewolf.

It didn’t matter which direction he came from or how high. He could plummet. He could throw himself at Tommy and, thanks to those super Alpha reflexes, Tommy would catch him every time. 

Today was no different. 

Tommy dropped the weeds, turned whip quick, and Buck landed right in his arms. Buck couldn’t contain an exhilarated huff, his heart pounding.

“I said I’d be five minutes,” Tommy said, squeezing him. He didn’t even seem annoyed. It was kind of amazing. “You couldn’t wait?” 

“I thought about it,” Buck said. “Seriously considered it. Turns out I didn’t want to.”

“Mm, I see.”

Tommy looked at his lips—Buck licked them, parted them in anticipation—and then tossed him unceremoniously in the freshly mown grass. Buck whined, “No, Tommy!” 

Pick me back up! I wanted kisses!

Tommy followed him down, laughing. They play wrestled, neither of them holding back. It was nice not to have to worry about hurting someone. Buck grunted in between unhinged giggles. He went dirty, freeing his fangs and nipping at different areas of tempting exposed skin. It made Tommy curse, made him growl, “Evan!”

Much to Buck’s delight. He loved making Alpha call out his name.

Tommy eventually overpowered him, though Buck had low-key (okay, high-key) hoped he would. He bared himself in submission to Tommy’s beast, flushed and panting happily. 

They had accidentally rolled into one of Tommy’s flowerbeds during their spar. Buck would feel bad for crushing them, but at that moment, it felt like resting on a really fragrant cloud. Maybe he could use the petals of the damaged ones to make syrup later. Feed it to Tommy on pancakes.

Tommy loomed over him with his hands planted on either side of Buck’s head, his eyes red like two glittering rubies in the sun. Buck’s tongue lolled out as he grinned up at the Alpha. 

“What am I gonna do with you, pup?” Tommy murmured, leaning down to nuzzle along his jugular, mouthing right over his maker’s mark, eliciting a shiver despite the heat.

Bite me, bite me, bite me.

“W-whatever you want,” Buck breathed. He spread his legs, claws pricking Tommy’s back. “Anything you want, Alpha.”

☀︎

tag list: @justahumblecabbagemerchant @loulou-land @harmonic-intervention @sweaters-and-silly @theallyandhisbeast @brassm-tagged @scuderiadebauchery @chococara25 @darkqueen458 @cinderellarhea @setmeatopthepyre @buffaluff @eliotwaughdeservesbetter @figuringitoutaloud @cannibalhellhound @i-dont-even-know-anymore976 @ambernotember @the-omniscient-narrator @zeraparker @cometconnector @fenrirscarsback @moonydanny @espressopatronum454 @lemonzestywrites @hmg621

[writingpandagoth]

Oh my...I don't know who was the anonymous that requested the diary story but it brought happy tears to my eyes 🥺 It's such a beautiful story, favourite already.

If it's possible I want to request too a fluffy and romantic story please?

Reader and Severus, both professors. At the start of their dating, Severus doesn't show much affection to not draw attention but sometimes not even when they are alone. Reader just wants simple pure things like holding hands, kiss his forehead, etcétera. at least when they are alone. The idea came to me because I was listening to a song called 'Simplemente Tú' by Cristian Castro that my mother was listening :3

Of course! This actually came quite easily almost like a deep breath.

I hope you like it.

Something Small

It started with a shared library table.

Not in some grand, candlelit way. Just two professors passing each other in the Restricted Section enough times to eventually stop pretending it was coincidence.

You taught Defense. He taught Potions. Your hours were opposite, your syllabi unrelated—but the subjects you read overlapped in all the right places: obscure counter-hexes, lost potion formulations, wartime field research.

The first few weeks, it was only glances. Then nods.

Then one evening—late, long after dinner, when the library was quiet enough to hear parchment shift—he spoke.

“You’ve been working through the Jessen archives backwards.”

You looked up from your notes. “So?”

“They make more sense chronologically.”

You tilted your head. “Not if you’re trying to trace which principles were disproven. Reading the failures first is more efficient.”

He stared at you. Then blinked.

“Hm.”

And that was the first time Severus Snape sat down beside you willingly.

From there, it became a rhythm.

He’d grumble when you took his usual quill from the supply tray. You’d roll your eyes when he restructured your marginalia. He never corrected your logic, though—just challenged it. And he always returned your books in perfect condition.

He was sharp, of course. Brilliant, difficult, constantly skimming five steps ahead. But he listened when you spoke. Reallylistened.

It became easier. Comfortable, in the way that only happens when someone matches your mind instead of your voice.

It wasn’t until the first frost of the year that it changed.

You’d just returned a stack of shared research to the library when he appeared beside you in the corridor—silent as always.

He looked... uncomfortable. Not angry. Just like he was preparing to walk into a fire of his own making.

You waited.

“I—” he started, then stopped. Glanced away. Back again.

“I was wondering if—” He cleared his throat. “If you’d like to... have dinner with me.”

The pause was brutal. His expression didn’t change, but you could feel how tightly he was holding himself still. Like he’d already decided this was going to end in humiliation.

You smiled. Just a little.

“I’d like that.”

He didn’t breathe for two full seconds. Then a tiny nod. Almost imperceptible.

“Good,” he said, like it was a spell he’d just successfully cast for the first time. “Good.”

The first dinner was strange, in a lovely way. He was stiff, awkward, clearly more comfortable with cauldrons than candlelight—but he tried. He brought a book he thought you’d like. He sat close, but didn’t touch you. His hands stayed in his lap the whole time.

You thought it was endearing.

You thought: this could become something.

And it did.

Weeks passed. Meals shared. Late-night conversations that began with theory and ended with silence that wasn’t uncomfortable. The kind of silence that settles.

Eventually, he kissed you.

It was late. You’d walked back from dinner. Neither of you had said much. But at your door, he hesitated—and for once, didn’t retreat.

He kissed you like it was something he’d never done before. Or maybe like he had, but never when it mattered.

You kissed him back. Softly. Slowly.

And when he stepped back, his voice was almost a whisper.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.”

You nodded. Smiling. Heart full of quiet hope.

But in the days that followed, that hope started to strain.

—

Dating Severus Snape wasn’t a whirlwind. It was measured. Cautious. Quiet.

He always knocked before entering your quarters, never assumed physical closeness, and never touched you unless you initiated it first.

Not that he was cold—he wasn’t. Not really. He listened when you spoke. Remembered things you said, even in passing. When you joked about craving blackberry jam, there was a jar of it on your desk the next morning. No note. Just there.

But touch? Affection?

It stayed locked behind the same walls he always kept around himself.

And at first, you didn’t push.

You told yourself he needed time. That he wasn’t used to this—being wanted for more than his mind or his title. Maybe he didn’t know how to be vulnerable. Maybe you just had to wait.

But waiting started to hurt.

Like the night he walked you back from a faculty dinner. The moon was high, the castle quiet. You were tipsy on wine and warmth, and when you reached the door to your quarters, you turned to him with a hopeful look.

You reached for his hand and he stepped back.

Not in fear. Not even discomfort. Just... distance.

“There’s a journal I meant to finish,” he said, already retreating. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

And then he was gone.

You stood in the doorway with your hand still half-raised and something inside you wilted.

It wasn’t about sex. It wasn’t about passion. It was the little things.

You wanted to hold his hand while reading. Kiss his forehead after a long day. Tuck your fingers into his hair while you talked about students and syllabi and the thousand little things that made up your days.

You didn’t want grand gestures. Just... presence.

And he didn’t give it.

Even when you were alone, he seemed to resist being touched. You brushed his fingers once while reaching for a book and he jerked away—muttering something about ink smudges.

You laughed it off but that night, lying alone in bed, your throat felt tight.

You didn’t cry.

But you stared at the ceiling and thought, Is this enough?

--

It happened late one night in his quarters.

You’d been grading beside him, your legs tucked beneath you on the old sofa he never quite made comfortable. The fire had burned low, and your eyes were starting to blur from too many red quill marks.

He hadn’t spoken in a while—just scratched notes onto a parchment in that sharp, efficient script of his.

You yawned. He glanced up.

“You’re tired.”

You shrugged. “So are you.”

He didn’t argue. Just set his quill down with a soft click, leaned back into the cushions with a long, quiet sigh. His eyes closed, head tipping slightly toward the armrest.

And then—then—he reached out.

His hand brushed over your knee. Hesitant. Light. Like he didn’t quite trust himself to complete the gesture.

But he left it there. For maybe ten seconds.

You didn’t move. Didn’t speak. You just breathed, afraid that even shifting would scare it away.

You turned toward him slightly, ready to thread your fingers through his—

But his hand slipped away.

He stood abruptly. “I need to check the cauldron,” he muttered. “I left it steeping too long.”

He was gone before you could say a word.

You sat there alone, blinking, your skin still tingling where he’d touched you.

It was something. A crack in the armor.

But it had closed again before you could see what was behind it.

—

The silence between you had grown too loud to ignore.

Not angry silence. Not tense. Just... hollow.

Like a room where something used to live.

You hadn’t touched him in three days.

Not for lack of wanting. You still looked at him the same way—still met him for tea in his quarters, still spoke about staff meetings and students and potion mishaps. But every time your hand drifted near his, every time you leaned in just slightly—he pulled away.

Not with malice. Just reflex. And each time, it scraped something raw.

Tonight, the scrape bled.

You were sitting across from him in his quarters, a mostly untouched cup of tea growing cold between your hands.

He was writing something—of course he was. Always writing, always focused, always just slightly beyond reach. You watched the way his brow creased. The way his hand moved with intent. How he didn’t even notice your silence.

You set your cup down. Softly. He didn’t look up.

“Severus.”

Still writing. “Yes?”

You swallowed.

Then, quietly—too quietly: “Do you actually want this?”

His quill stopped. The scratch of ink against parchment went still.

He looked up at you. Not confused. Not surprised.

Just... still.

You continued before your courage ran dry.

“Because sometimes I wonder if I’m just convenient. If this—us—is something you agreed to but didn’t really want.”

His lips parted slightly, but no words came.

You let the silence settle.

“I’m not asking for much,” you said, voice soft but firm.

“I don’t need flowers or sonnets or some grand romantic gesture. I just want your hand in mine. I want to touch your face without you flinching. I want to kiss your forehead at the end of a long day. That’s it.”

His eyes were locked on yours now. Intense. Unreadable.

“And it doesn’t have to be in public. I know what people are like. But when we’re alone... I want to feel like I’m allowed to love you.”

That last word nearly broke you and it did something to him.

He looked like he’d stopped breathing. Like the truth had finally hit somewhere deep.

“I’m not angry,” you added, almost whispering. “I’m just tired. Of wondering if I’m asking for something you don’t want to give.”

You stood then. Not in a storm. Just... done.

“I’m going to bed.”

You paused at the door.

“I’ll see you tomorrow. If you want to.”

And then you left. Again you didn’t cry. Not at first.

You made it back to your quarters, changed into something soft and worn, and curled up on the corner of the bed with a cup of tea you didn’t drink.

You sat there. For hours.

Waiting.

Not that you expected him to come storming after you. That wasn’t his style. He wasn’t one for dramatic reconciliations or impassioned pleas in candlelit hallways. You knew that.

But part of you still hoped.

That he’d knock, just once. That you’d open the door and he’d be standing there—awkward and stiff, maybe, but there.

That he’d reach for you.

Just once.

But the door never opened. The corridor stayed silent.

And as the hours passed, something inside you started to break—not with rage or bitterness, but a slow, heavy ache. The kind that comes from realizing you might love someone who doesn’t know how to love you back.

Not the way you need.

You curled into yourself tighter, a blanket wrapped around your shoulders, the fire flickering low. Every creak in the floor made you lift your head. Every shadow outside your window made your breath catch.

But he didn’t come.

And eventually, your heart whispered something you didn’t want to hear.

Maybe he doesn’t feel it the same.

Maybe this was a mistake.

You laid down, face pressed into the pillow, eyes wide open in the dark.

And for the first time since it began, you truly considered the possibility that Severus Snape didn’t want to be loved.

At least, not by you.

—

It wasn’t the next morning.

It wasn’t even the one after that.

You’d nearly convinced yourself it was over—quietly, without drama, like so many things Severus left behind. Not with cruelty. Just... absence.

You still saw him at meetings. Still nodded across the staff table. He gave you nothing to read. No coldness. No warmth. Just the same unreadable stillness you’d once found fascinating—and now couldn’t bear.

By the third night, you stopped hoping for a knock.

And then on the fourth, it came.

Soft. Two raps.

You froze, mug half-raised, blanket pulled around your shoulders.

It came again.

When you opened the door, he was standing there. Drenched from the rain—hood down, hair clinging to his cheekbones, robes dark and soaked through.

He didn’t say anything. Just... looked at you.

You opened the door wider.

He stepped in, dripping and tense, eyes never quite leaving yours. He stood in the center of your quarters like he didn’t know what to do with his hands, his coat, his feelings.

You closed the door behind him.

“Severus—”

“I don’t know how to do this,” he said.

Your breath caught.

He was still soaked. Still stiff. But there was something in his voice—raw, like he’d cracked himself open just enough to let you see inside.

“I didn’t come because I didn’t know what to say,” he continued, voice low and tight. “And the more time passed, the more I thought maybe... it was too late.”

You stepped toward him, slow.

“I told myself you didn’t mean it,” he said. “That you were tired. Or angry. Or exaggerating.”

He looked down at his hands.

“And then I thought... what if you weren’t?”

You watched his throat work through the swallow.

“I’ve never been good at being wanted,” he said. “And I’ve never let anyone love me without a price. I don’t know how to be soft without feeling like I’m going to break.”

You took another step.

“Then let me be soft,” you whispered. “You don’t have to know how. Just let me.”

His breath shuddered.

And for the first time, he reached for you.

Slowly, trembling slightly, he lifted your hand in his—and pressed it to his chest.

Not possessive. Not desperate.

Just real.

His heart beat hard beneath your palm.

You moved closer, your other hand rising to brush the wet strands of hair from his forehead.

He didn’t pull away.

You leaned up and pressed a soft kiss to his temple. Then to the center of his brow.

His eyes closed.

And you felt him—truly felt him—breathe into it.

When you pulled back, he didn’t let go of your hand.

“May I stay?” he asked.

You nodded, tears prickling your eyes.

He didn’t say more. He didn’t have to.

You didn’t ask him why he was trembling.

You just pulled him gently toward the bed, guiding him by the hand he still hadn’t let go of. Your fingers stayed laced, even as you moved—like the physical connection was the only thing keeping him tethered.

And maybe it was.

He sat on the edge of the mattress first, eyes scanning the room like he was still half-convinced he didn’t belong in it.

You knelt before him.

Unbuttoned his wet coat. Slid it off his shoulders and let it fall to the floor. You unfastened his cuffs, rolled them carefully, your fingertips brushing his wrists.

He watched you the whole time, silent, not tense—but not relaxed either. Not yet.

When you were done, you reached for his hand again.

He let you take it.

You crawled into bed first, tugging him with you, and he followed without resistance. When you lay back and opened your arms, he hesitated just a second—then came down slowly, one arm sliding under your neck, the other draping across your waist.

You pulled him closer.

He buried his face against your shoulder.

And finally—finally—you both breathed.

No words. No apologies. No questions.

Just warmth.

His legs tangled with yours, socked feet brushing against your calves. One of your hands threaded into his hair—carefully, gently, like something sacred. He didn’t flinch.

He sighed.

It was so quiet. But you felt it like a release against your skin.

Your fingers stroked through the dark strands again, over and over, and you felt his body begin to soften. His grip on you loosened—not in fear, but in trust.

You tilted your head and pressed a kiss to his forehead.

He didn’t move. Didn’t speak.

But his hand, resting on your ribs, gave the lightest squeeze.

“I don’t need much,” you whispered. “Just this. Just you.”

His voice was muffled when it came.

“You have me.”

You closed your eyes.

And for the first time since this began, you believed it.

—

Severus didn’t become soft overnight.

He didn’t wake up wrapped around you like he belonged there. He didn’t suddenly start reaching for your hand in public or kiss you without thought. That wasn’t how he was built.

But the trying was unmistakable.

The next morning, he woke before you—quietly untangling himself from your limbs and moving through your quarters like he wasn’t sure what he was allowed to touch.

When you opened your eyes, he was in the kitchen, clumsily trying to figure out your kettle.

He’d made tea. The way you liked it. No sugar, just a bit of cinnamon.

He didn’t say anything when he handed it to you—just watched the way your fingers curled around the mug. And when you reached up, brushed his hand with yours in thanks—he didn’t pull away.

His jaw tensed, slightly. But he let it happen.

That week, he still didn’t hold your hand in the hallways. Still kept a respectful distance when students passed.

But behind closed doors?

You noticed the pauses.

The way he’d hover just a second longer before pulling away from a hug. How his hand would twitch slightly when yours brushed his, like he was on the edge of reaching back—but hadn’t yet convinced himself it was safe.

Once, he brushed your cheek with the back of his fingers while you were reading beside him.

It was so gentle you nearly missed it.

When you looked up, surprised, he blinked like he hadn’t realized he’d done it.

“Was that... alright?” he asked.

You smiled.

“Yes.”

A few days later, you came back to your quarters after class and found something sitting on your desk.

Not a letter. Not a gift.

Just a small bundle of dried flowers—simple, earthy. Not vibrant. Not extravagant.

But intentional.

You picked them up gently, turning them in your fingers. They were carefully tied with twine. Pressed between them, a small folded slip of parchment.

His handwriting was sharp as always. Barely more than a breath.

I saw these and thought of you. I know I don’t always reach first. I’m trying. I want to try.

Your heart clenched.

He didn’t need to say more.

Later that night, he knocked on your door like always. And when you opened it—he reached for you first.

Awkward. Hesitant. But real.

His hand in yours. Just holding.

Not for show. Not for proof.

Just to feel.

And you knew then: this was love.

Not loud. Not easy.

But becoming.

[bettelaboure]

I was watching a series last night and I had a thought for a request: Seung-hyun draws/paints his lady friend… naked. Could you please make it fluffy and spicy? 😁🫶 I let you work out the details, as I trust and love your writing process 🥺❤️

⊹ Under his gaze⊹ | Choi Seung-Hyun

⊹ Pairing: Choi Seung-Hyun x Reader

⊹ Warnings: mature content, emotional intensity, explicit themes

⊹ Summary: In a cozy, dimly lit studio in Seoul, Seung-hyun, invites you, his roommate, into a moment of deep intimacy. After a long, exhausting day, you arrive home to find him waiting with dinner and wine. Over dinner, he asks if he can sketch you in the nude.

⊹ Authors note: i hope you like it, love <3

⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹ ⊹

You barely push open the door before the soft flicker of candlelight catches your eye, the comforting scent of dinner wafting through the air. It’s been a long, grueling day — meetings, deadlines, the endless hum of your busy life. You expected silence when you walked in, but instead, you find him waiting for you, just like always.

Seung-hyun stands by the kitchen counter with a glass of wine in his hand, a gentle smile on his lips. His hair is a little tousled, as if he’s been running his hands through it while he waits, and his eyes are that familiar shade of deep warmth, like he’s been thinking of nothing but you since you left this morning.

“Long day?” he asks, his voice smooth like silk, the hint of a tease underlining it. You can hear the little smile in his words as he watches you shed your coat, the weight of the day settling into your shoulders.

You nod, pulling off your shoes with a tired sigh. “You could say that. Didn’t think I’d be walking into a romantic dinner tonight.”

He chuckles, setting his wine glass down and stepping closer to you, his hand reaching to gently touch your shoulder. “I figured you could use a little comfort. You know I’m always here, ready to take care of you.”

You don’t even need to think about it before you lean in, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek, the exhaustion of the day melting away just from his presence. His scent — a mix of his cologne and that warm, calming air of the apartment — wraps around you like a blanket. The kind of comfort you crave after a long day.

“Dinner’s on the table,” he says, voice low and inviting. “But… I had another idea.”

You raise an eyebrow, finally turning to face him completely, your curiosity piqued. “What kind of idea?”

Seung-hyun’s smile widens as he gestures toward the table, where a set of dishes is arranged just so, the steam still rising off the food. But it’s not the meal that catches your attention right now. It’s the way his gaze moves from your face to your body, as if he’s memorizing every inch of you, like he can’t help but watch you.

As you sit down, he joins you, the playful banter between the two of you filling the air. You dig into the meal, savoring the flavors, and for a while, the conversation flows easily. It’s familiar. Comfortable. Like it always is when it’s just the two of you.

But tonight, there’s something different. Something electric humming beneath your usual back-and-forth.

“Seung-hyun,” you tease, leaning back in your chair, looking at him through half-lidded eyes, “you really went all out for dinner tonight. What’s the catch?”

He sets down his fork and leans forward slightly, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “Catch? What, you think I have some hidden agenda?”

You cross your arms playfully. “Well, you did make dinner. The wine. The candles. A little too romantic, don’t you think?”

His lips curl into that familiar crooked smile — the one that tells you he’s thinking about something far more delicious than dinner. “I’m just trying to be a good boyfriend,” he says innocently, before raising an eyebrow. “But I do have an idea. Something else, maybe.”

You narrow your eyes suspiciously. “What’s that?”

There’s a moment of silence as he looks at you intently, the playful edge of his smile softening into something more sincere. He sets his wine glass down and leans in a little, almost as if he’s testing the waters. “I want to draw you.”

Your fork freezes midway to your mouth, and you blink at him, unsure if you heard him right. “What?”

“I want to draw you,” he repeats, his voice quiet but firm, like it’s a request he’s been building up to. “Naked. I’ve been sketching a lot lately, and… I can’t think of a better subject than you.”

The words hang in the air between you. The shock of the request isn’t lost on you, but you can’t deny the way your heart races, the way a little shiver runs down your spine. He’s always been bold, always daring you to step out of your comfort zone. But this feels different. It’s not about the art, or the request — it’s about the way he’s looking at you. There’s a hunger there, not just for your body, but for all of you.

You swallow hard, trying to steady your nerves. “I don’t know, Seung-hyun…” you say, your voice a little hesitant. “It’s not exactly something I’d… agree to right away.”

He nods slowly, understanding in his eyes. “I get it. It’s not an easy thing to ask. But you’re so damn beautiful, so unique. I just want to capture you, the way I see you. Not how the world sees you.”

His words sink into your chest like a weight, but it’s not uncomfortable. It’s warm, almost like the closeness between you two is suddenly amplified. You feel like he’s peeling back the layers of you, making you vulnerable in ways that you didn’t know you were ready for.

“I know it’s a lot to ask,” he continues, his voice soft now, as though he’s trying to reassure you. “But you’re more than just… you know, your clothes, your body. You’re more than just what you see in the mirror. I want to see you — in your rawest form.”

His words strike a chord in you, and you can’t help but meet his gaze fully. There’s something in the way he’s looking at you, something more than desire. There’s reverence, even adoration, in his eyes.

You pause for a long moment, your mind still racing. His earnestness lingers, and you find yourself giving in. Maybe you’re tired, maybe you’re intrigued, but something about the way he’s asking feels so genuine that you find yourself nodding.

“Okay,” you murmur, your voice quieter now. “Okay. I’ll do it.”

Seung-hyun’s eyes light up, and before you can react, he’s standing, reaching for your hand with a tenderness that makes your heart flutter. “You’re incredible,” he says, his voice thick with admiration. “I promise, I won’t make it awkward. Just trust me, alright?”

You nod again, your stomach fluttering as he gently leads you away from the table and toward the hallway. The studio is at the end of the apartment, tucked away in the corner where Seung-hyun spends most of his time with his sketches and canvases.

The moment you step into the studio, the atmosphere shifts. The dim lighting, the rich tones of the red couch Seung-hyun picked up from the museum — everything about this space feels like it was made for moments like these. You’ve seen him sketch in here before, his hands moving effortlessly over the page, lost in his own world. But tonight? Tonight, it’s different.

Seung-hyun turns to face you, his eyes lingering on you as you slowly undress. The clothes you’ve been wearing all day — the business suit, the heels — are shedding away, one piece at a time, until you’re standing before him in nothing but the soft vulnerability of your skin. Every movement you make is slow, deliberate, and you can feel his gaze following every inch of you as if you’re a masterpiece he can’t stop admiring.

“God, you’re perfect,” he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper, but the weight of it presses against your chest, making your heart race. His words send a tremor through you, igniting a fire that has been simmering under the surface.

He steps closer to you, his hands reaching for your shoulders, and for a moment, you freeze, waiting for the next move. His touch is warm, tender, and it sends a shiver down your spine. He doesn’t say anything else at first; instead, he lets his fingers gently trace the curve of your collarbone, the soft dips and rises of your body, like he’s committing every inch of you to memory.

“You’re even more beautiful in this light,” he murmurs, his voice thick with admiration.

A soft laugh escapes your lips, a little shaky but filled with affection. “Is that so?”

He smirks, eyes flicking to yours with a playful glint. “You doubt me?”

“No,” you reply with a smile, your voice low, the words almost a challenge. “I’m just not used to hearing it.”

His smile fades slightly, his expression turning serious, as if the weight of the moment has settled on him. He places a soft kiss to the top of your head, his lips lingering there for a second longer than usual. “I mean it,” he says, his tone full of sincerity. “You’re incredible. Every part of you.”

You swallow hard, feeling the depth of his words. It’s not just about the way he sees your body; it’s about the way he sees you, the whole of you. And somehow, that makes this all the more intimate. Vulnerability has never felt so... alluring.

He pulls back, his hands leaving your shoulders, and gestures toward the red couch. “Sit here. Just like this.”

You nod, taking a deep breath as you move toward the couch. It’s a work of art in itself, a stunning piece that stands out in the otherwise simple room. The soft fabric of the couch feels warm against your bare skin as you settle into the plush cushions. The way Seung-hyun’s eyes lock onto you as you do is almost too much, a silent promise hanging in the air between you.

“Are you comfortable?” he asks, his voice gentle, but there’s an edge to it now — the unmistakable tension of desire lurking beneath the surface.

You nod again, your body beginning to relax under the weight of his gaze. “Yeah. I’m fine.”

He steps back, taking a moment to set up his sketchpad, the sound of the pencil scratching against the paper filling the room. But his gaze is still on you, and you can feel the heat of it even as he looks down at his work. He’s focused, but the way his eyes dart back to you — hungry, eager, as if he’s seeing something in you that you’re just now discovering about yourself — sends a rush of heat to your cheeks.

The silence stretches between you, but it’s not awkward. It’s charged. Every breath you take feels amplified, every movement you make a deliberate act of seduction. You want to shift, to move in a way that’ll make his pencil falter, make him lose focus — but instead, you stay still, letting him sketch.

You know he’s trying to capture your essence, and somehow, that thought makes you feel even more exposed. But it’s not in a bad way. It’s exhilarating, like you’re laying yourself bare in front of him in ways that go beyond the physical.

His pencil stops moving for a moment, and you glance up at him, finding his eyes fixed on you once again. He looks almost lost in the moment, his jaw slightly clenched, his breath coming a little more quickly than usual.

“You’re so goddamn beautiful,” he whispers, the words almost more of a confession than a compliment.

A shiver runs through you at the raw intensity in his voice. You open your mouth to reply, but before you can get the words out, he throws the sketchpad to the side with a sharp movement. The sound of it hitting the floor echoes in the quiet room. You blink, surprised by the sudden change.

Without a word, he steps forward, his hands finding your waist and pulling you closer. His lips crash onto yours in an urgent kiss, all pent-up desire spilling out in the space between you. It’s not slow, not measured, but a wild, urgent need that you can feel in every touch. His hands roam over your body, caressing the curves of your back, your sides, pulling you closer to him until you’re pressed against his chest.

His kiss deepens, more insistent now, and you can’t help but respond. You feel the tension from earlier explode between you, the spark that’s been building ever since he made that innocent request to draw you. It’s not about art anymore. It’s not about being seen or exposed. It’s about the hunger between you two — the unspoken desire that’s always simmered just under the surface.

You let yourself melt into him, your hands sliding up to tangle in his hair, tugging him closer as he pulls you down onto the red couch. His body moves over yours, urgent and desperate, as if he’s been holding back for far too long.

“Seung-hyun…” you murmur against his lips, breathless. “I want you.”

He groans at the sound of your voice, his hands already working to pull you even closer, the heat of his body searing through you.

And just like that, the lines between love, desire, and passion blur. The world outside the studio fades away, leaving just the two of you. And in this moment, nothing matters but him, you, and the connection that burns brighter than any sketch could ever capture.

The moment Seung-hyun’s lips return to yours, everything else in the room fades away. It’s as though the two of you are suspended in time, existing only in the space between your bodies, your hearts, your shared breath. The tension that’s built up all evening surges between you both, palpable and electric.

You can feel his warmth seeping into you, the weight of his body pressing down in the most comforting, overwhelming way. His hands, now more confident, roam slowly over your skin, exploring every curve and every inch like he’s uncovering a secret. His touch is gentle, at first, as though he’s savoring the feeling of being close to you, of having you entirely in his space. And you, you let him have this moment, let him take you in completely.

His fingertips graze the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, the sensation so light it’s almost maddening. Your breath catches in your throat, and you instinctively shift closer, wanting more of his touch, the heat of his skin against yours. You feel him smile against your lips as if he’s memorizing the way you respond to him. The moment is intimate, almost sacred, and yet there’s a simmering hunger there, an unspoken need that’s impossible to ignore.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers between soft, searching kisses. His voice is rough, thick with the weight of his desire. “I want to remember every inch of you.”

You shiver at the sound of his voice, the rawness of his words, the heat of his breath mingling with yours. There’s something about the way he speaks, the reverence in his tone, that makes you feel both vulnerable and empowered. It’s not just the physical attraction — it’s the way he sees you, all of you. Not just your body, but your soul, the way he’s always known exactly how to touch you, to make you feel wanted, cherished.

You’re lost in the moment, caught in the rhythm of his movements, when you feel his lips trail down your neck, his hands following their own path. You can feel every movement of his fingertips on your skin, the heat building in the space between you both.

He kisses your collarbone, each soft press of his lips sending ripples through your chest. His breath quickens as his hands slide down your body, following the line of your waist, your hips, lingering there for a heartbeat longer than necessary. It makes you ache for him, the slow, deliberate way he touches you, as if he’s in no rush to get to the end. He’s savoring this — savoring you.

You can feel your heart pounding in your chest, the rhythm of it echoing in your ears. Your body instinctively arches into his touch, desperate for more, needing him to keep going, to fill the space between you completely. The longing is undeniable.

“Seung-hyun…” you breathe, your voice barely more than a whisper, but the weight of it hangs in the air. He pauses, pulling back just enough to look at you, his eyes darkened with desire, his lips swollen from your kisses.

“You’re not backing out now, are you?” he teases gently, his lips curling into that playful smile you love so much. But even in his teasing, there’s something so intense in his gaze that it leaves you breathless. His eyes flicker to your lips, then lower to the curve of your body.

You shake your head, your heart racing. “No. I’m not.”

He doesn’t waste a moment. His hands move with purpose, slipping down your body, a delicate touch that ignites every nerve. His fingertips graze the soft skin of your inner thighs, and you can’t help the small gasp that escapes you, the shudder that runs through you.

“Good,” he murmurs, his voice rougher now, more urgent. “I need to feel you.”

You’re trembling with anticipation, your skin burning where he touches you. Every inch of his body feels like it’s magnetized to yours, drawing you closer, filling you with warmth and desire. His hand moves with deliberate slowness, and it takes everything in you not to beg him for more. Every touch is like a spark, lighting up your skin, sending shocks of pleasure straight to your core.

You reach for him, your hands tracing the hard lines of his chest, his shoulders, as if reminding yourself that he’s real, that this moment is real. The more you touch him, the more you feel like you’re sinking into him, becoming a part of him. The air between you is thick with need, but there’s a tenderness in his touch, a softness in the way he looks at you, as if he’s not just consumed with desire — he’s consumed with you.

He lowers his head to kiss you again, the kiss slow and deep, tasting you like he’s trying to memorize the feeling of your lips on his. It’s a kiss that speaks of something far deeper than just passion. It’s a kiss that holds everything: longing, love, connection.

Your hands slide lower, tugging at the waistband of his pants, your fingers brushing against the heated skin underneath. He inhales sharply at the touch, his body jerking slightly as you slip them down, revealing more of him. It’s the first time you’ve really been this close, and the intimacy of it hits you like a wave. It’s not just about sex; it’s about the way you feel connected, in every sense.

The sound of your breaths mingles in the air, harsh and quick, like your bodies can’t keep up with the intensity of the emotions flooding through you both. The taste of his lips, the feel of his hands on your skin, the way your body reacts to his touch — it’s all consuming, overwhelming in the best possible way.

Seung-hyun pauses for a moment, his eyes meeting yours, and you can see the raw emotion in them. This isn’t just a physical connection anymore. This is everything. “Are you sure?” he asks, his voice thick with desire, but the concern is still there. He’s waiting for the nod, the confirmation, before he moves any further.

And you give it to him — you give him your trust, your vulnerability, all of yourself.

“Yes, Seung-hyun,” you whisper, your voice a little shaky, but steady enough to let him know you’re here. “I’m sure.”

His eyes soften as he leans in to kiss you again, more deeply this time, and you feel it in every inch of your body. He moves over you with a gentleness that contrasts with the intensity of the moment, his body pressing against yours with a need that matches yours.

Taglist: @redhoodedtoad @mirahyun @sherrayyyyy @sherxoo @dilfismz @breakmeoff @janie-osuih @forevervibezzzz1 @kuinnoa @juliskopf @maskedcrawford @szonyix6277@ldydeath

[woozinhos]

can i request inexperienced reader with really experienced scoups🥺?

Relax for me baby|| Choi Seungcheol

Notes: damn even I wrote this and I thought it was hot

You lie on the bed, your heart racing as Seungcheol hovers over you. He can sense your nervousness and smiles reassuringly. "Relax," he says softly, running his hands up and down your arms. "I'll take care of you, baby." He starts with gentle kisses, exploring your body with his lips and hands. He takes his time, mapping out every curve and dip, finding out what makes you gasp and moan.

"You're so beautiful," he murmurs against your skin, his fingers trailing down to your thighs. "And so responsive." He notices how you tense up when he gets closer to your pussy, and he stops to look at you. "Are you okay?" he asks, his voice full of concern. "We can stop if you're not comfortable." You shake your head, taking a deep breath. "I want this," you say, your voice trembling slightly. "I just... I've never done this before."

Seungcheol's eyes soften, and he kisses you deeply. "That's okay," he says, his hands stroking your hair. "I'll show you how it feels." He gently spreads your legs apart, his fingers finding your clit. He rubs slow circles around it, watching your face for any signs of discomfort.

"Does that feel good?" he asks, his touch light and teasing. You nod, feeling a heat building in your core.

"Good girl," he praises, moving his fingers lower to your entrance. "I'm going to make you feel so good." You tentatively reach up to thread your fingers through Seungcheol's hair, feeling the soft strands between your fingers. He smiles at your touch, leaning into your hand.

"That's it," he says, his eyes never leaving yours. "Just relax and follow my lead." He slides a finger inside you, watching your reaction carefully. "You're so tight," he groans, his cock twitching at the feeling of your walls around his finger. "And so wet for me." He adds a second finger, stretching you out slowly. You gasp at the slight burn, but he kisses you to distract you from the discomfort.

"Just breathe," he murmurs against your lips, his thumb rubbing your clit again. "I promise it'll feel amazing soon." You bite your lip, your breathing ragged as Seungcheol continues to work his fingers inside you. "It feels... weird," you say, your voice shaky. He chuckles softly, curling his fingers to hit a sensitive spot. "Good weird or bad weird?" he asks, his thumb pressing harder on your clit.

You let out a moan as pleasure starts to replace the discomfort. "Good," you gasp, arching your back. "So good." Seungcheol smirks, clearly pleased with your reaction. "That's my girl," he says, adding a third finger and stretching you even further. "You're taking me so well, baby."

Seungcheol notices you trying to hold back your moans and shakes his head. "Don't do that," he says, his fingers moving faster inside you. "I want to hear every sound you make." He leans down to whisper in your ear, his hot breath sending shivers down your spine. "I want to hear how good I make you feel."

As if on cue, he hits a particularly sensitive spot, and you can't help but let out a loud moan. "Seungcheol!" you cry out, your hands gripping the sheets. He grins at your reaction, his fingers thrusting in and out of you faster now. "That's it," he encourages, his thumb rubbing your clit in quick circles. "Let go for me."

You look up at Seungcheol, your eyes wide and a little scared. "I don't know if I can," you say, your voice trembling. "What if I... what if I make a mess?" Seungcheol's expression softens as he continues to work his fingers inside you. "Baby, that's the point," he says gently. "I want you to feel good enough to lose control."

He leans down to kiss your forehead. "Trust me," he murmurs. "I'll take care of you, no matter what happens." He redoubles his efforts, his fingers curling and thrusting with more intensity. "Let go," he repeats, his voice firm but gentle. "I want to see you fall apart for me."

You close your eyes, surrendering to the sensations coursing through your body. Seungcheol's fingers are relentless, driving you closer and closer to the edge. Your moans grow louder and more desperate, your hips moving in time with his thrusts. "Seungcheol, I'm... I'm gonna..." you gasp, feeling a tightening in your core.

He knows you're close, and he pushes you over the edge with a few more expert strokes. "Cum for me," he commands, his voice husky with desire. "Cum on my fingers, baby." Your body convulses as you finally let go, waves of pleasure washing over you as you reach your peak. You cry out his name, your nails digging into his shoulders as you ride out your orgasm.

Seungcheol works you through it, slowing his movements as you come down from your high. "That's my good girl," he praises, kissing your neck softly. "You did so well." Seungcheol looks down at the wetness between your legs, his eyes dark with desire. "Look at you," he says, his fingers tracing the mess he's made. "You're so beautiful when you're like this."

He wipes his fingers on the sheets and leans down to kiss you deeply, his tongue exploring your mouth hungrily. "I can't wait to be inside you one day," he murmurs against your lips.

[rafesbabygirlx]

OMG, flustered JJ just gets me goinggggggggg!!! Second part, nsfw, where they finally kiss and are maybe movinv forward to do more and JJ's all confident like he's finally in his element, until she takes her shirt off and it happens again, so JJ just lets reader take control while his face is basically cmbusting at this point and he's swearing up and down "it doesn't usually go like this, you just make me dumb and gooey" but she thinks it's so hot and is praising him saying all he has to do to be a good boy is get all red for her and moan her name. Then smut with JJ losing his mind and reader looking all proud and shit of bringing OBX's most famous womanizer to his knees. I just love imagining JJ being teased so much, he actually gets shyyy

Sorry I’m just getting to these! Been having a hard time with school. Thank you for your patience babies 🥺

Part 2 to this request

𝚓𝚓 𝚖𝚊𝚢𝚋𝚊𝚗𝚔 𝚡 𝚔𝚘𝚘𝚔!𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚙2

𝚜𝚖𝚞𝚝 𝚋𝚎𝚕𝚘𝚠

𝚖𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝

After messing with JJ all night. You found him out by the docks outside the restaurant sitting there alone. You snuck up on him, grabbing his shoulders, frightening him.

“You sulking in the corner Maybank?” You sit next to him laughing at the situation that has played out tonight.

“No I’m not sulking. A man can’t have a second to himself without an annoying kook up his ass all night?” He forced out quickly thinking he had the upper hand.

“Please, you wish a Pogue like you was worth chasing.”

He didn’t have a comeback, you sat in silence for a brief moment. At the same time, you both looked at each other. Without a second thought, you moved in to kiss him. Your own action taking you by surprise. You snap back almost falling into the water. He smirks at your reaction.

“Well, well, well. Does the kook princess have a crush on little old me?”

“You wish,” but instead of removing yourself from the situation, like you should, you lean in again to kiss him. This time with more ferocity.

JJ breaks the kiss standing up from the bench. “Which ones yours?”

You point to the boat at the end of the dock and he drags you towards it. You step onto it heading straight down the stairs. You shove JJ onto the bed, wasting no time pulling off your shirt. It’s almost like JJs face melt off.

“What happened playboy, never seen a girl like this before?”You ask as you unbutton your jeans shorts.

“I swear I’m never like this. It’s just something about you. I go like all dumb or whatever.”

You walk over to him in just your panties, pinching his chin and making his lips pout. “You’re so cute when you’re stupid. Now take your clothes off.”

JJ does as he says. Pulling off his shirt and pants. Leaving him bare as he lays down on the boats bed. you strip completely before straddling his waste. Your core is soaked, unbelievably by the sight of JJ and how good he looks right now.

You lean down and kiss the corner of his mouth and you start to grind onto his cock. His cheeks go red and his mouth drops open. You swore his eyes went a little crooked too.

"You gonna be my good little boy?"

JJ can't do anything but nod frantically. You giggle at him and lift up lining him up with your entrance. You sink down slow, brutally slow, and when JJ shows any little sign of urgency you lift back up. He winced, you pulled back up, he gripped your hips and tugged, you pulled back up.

"This is my rodeo, I thought you said you'd be a good boy?"

JJs eyes twisted shut and his cheeks flush red with embarrassment. He's never been one for submission. He's always taken control. "Yes, you're in control. Fuck"

You sink down again until he's fully settled, deep, deep, inside you. You rock your hips slowly back and forth. You grab JJ's hands and pin them over his head while your face hovers over his. You stare into each others eyes and you pick up the pace. His pupils are blown and full of lust.

You grind on him roughly. “You like being underneath me, huh?” you tease, your voice low, brushing against his lips. “You like when I take control?”

His voice gets stuck in his throat for a split second, like he’s trying to answer, but all that comes out is a curse and a needy, “Yeah, God, yes.”

“You look so pretty like this,” you whisper, grinding down harder and deeper, watching his whole body tense beneath you.

"Lemme touch, please."

You smirk as his sweet request. Loving the way you have the most womanizing Pogue unraveling beneath you. It makes you feel powerful.

You let go of his hands and they go straight to your hips as you sit up and begin to bounce on him. He thrusts up into you, meeting your rhythm and you let him. One of his hands slide in front of you , his thumb meeting your clit and rubbing it.

JJ is the first to cum, mission accomplished, you milk him, as your orgasm builds up. Once you cum, you collapse onto the bed next to him.

"Oh how the cocky mighty have fallen." You laugh and JJ throws a smirk way.

tags <3

@rafestoothbrush @weluvwbb @itsforeverandalwayz @butterfly-ibuki @megiiite @siredbtches @bigenergy777 @aupernatural-teenwolflover @rafegf-real @skywalker0809 @snowtargaryen @kieeslove @leather-n-velvet @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @rafesgreasycurtainbangs @diasnohibng @slurpdew @alphabetically-deranged @whydoesthemirrorhateme @currentresidentinhell @laniirackssss @jjmaybankmylovee @slut4you @ijustwantttoread

[girliemattitude]

https://www.tumblr.com/girliemattitude/780995571129384960/what-is-dad-matt-doing-right-now

Can you do a night routine too please 🥺

Wednesday, April 23 (21:19pm)

Matt pads quietly down the hallway, pausing at Emerie’s door. You can hear her even breaths beneath the lavender glow of her night‑light. He smiles, tiptoes next to Cody’s room, brushes a stray curl from his little boy’s forehead, and presses a gentle kiss there before easing both doors closed.

Following the soft hiss of steam, he finds you in the bathroom—bathtub brimming with bubbles, rose‑scented candles flickering on the edge. Your hair fans across the rim, one arm draped over the side as you cradle a glass of wine.

He lingers in the doorway, silhouetted by the warm light. You lift your chin with a playful smirk and draw out the words: “Join me”

His lips curve into a slow grin. “Don’t tell me twice,” he says, shrugging off his shirt and socks. He steps into the tub, the water rippling around him as he settles behind you, arms wrapping gently around your waist.

You lean back against his chest, the heat from his skin melding with the warm water. His hands move up to cradle your shoulders, thumbs tracing lazy circles. “I love that this is ours,” he murmurs in your ear.

You tilt your head, pressing a soft kiss behind his earlobe. “The kids are tucked in—Emerie with her lavender stars, of course”

He smiles against your skin, dipping his head to capture your lips in a deep, lingering kiss. The bubbles shift and dance around you both, the scent of roses and the quiet hush of the house wrapping you in intimacy.

Pulling back just enough to look into your eyes, he brushes wet strands of hair from your face. “I love this,” he whispers, voice thick with longing.

You rest your hands over his on your belly and close your eyes. “Right here, with you,” you agree, tipping your head back so he can kiss the line of your neck.

He presses a soft kiss there, then another, each one a promise. Outside, the hallway is silent; inside, the tub is a world all your own. And as the candles flicker, you and Matt melt into each other, content in the warmth you share.

[keelt9]

CHERRY I

Masterlist

A/N:  Nervous about this one, please be gentle with me. 🥺

“It’s a mess.” Harriet said, sucking her lollipop. “Come one Y/N you must be joking.”

The old church of the town suffered a tragic accident. 6 years ago the intense rains of the season caused a landslide in the mountain range at the back of it, producing severe damage all over it and in the gardens that border it.

It's a small town surrounded by big mountains and a river at the limits; the life there is based on one thing: community support, everyone knows everyone and everything, with small houses and a lot of nature; the big fancy buildings and expensive houses are the most unnecessary things.

Y/N scoffs taking out her sunglasses. “That's why we're here.”

With years and a few government support all the mud and rocks were clean, but the damage was done. The church that dates to the XIX century is now a dark shadow of the brightest days.

“Jesus! Well, where is it?” Ron asks, looking around the sad view that Harriet points at. “Please, you're joking.”

Y/N shakes her head waiting for Mila to reach them. “No, it's not, let's go.”

With bags over the backs and lanterns they walk inside where full darkness and a strong smell make them cover their nose.

“Listen, Y/N, I got it, the thing about a new project of searching calmly, but here?” Harriet asks, pointing the broken glass around.

After years of working in the city making art restoration or traveling around for long seasons for the same reason; Y/N needs a urgency to breathe, she is getting tired of the rush and the noise, plus the third wedding of her mother two weeks ago made her feel she was suffocating every second.

“It's an adorable place.” Y/N sees what years ago was the entrance to the back gardens. “I was born and raised here.”

She hasn't to turn around knowing all the eyes are on her, big open as their mouths.

When she told her team about taking a break from the city and working in a calm place, they instantly offered to wherever she needed it. 

Like Mila said, “We're a team, you're dreaming if you believe you're going to do this alone.”

“You said a small village.” Ron grabs her hand as she climbs a rock. “This is a tiny little one.” 

“I know.” Y/N smiles. “Add one to the list of the wonderful things around here.”

Among what it supposed to be the benches Harriet said. “It's hard to imagine Lennox around here.”

Y/N giggles because she couldn't be more wrong, in fact Lennox as her other two older brothers; Holt the oldest, Lennox the second, Kilen the third and the little one, Y/N; loves that place. If they could come every weekend, they would definitely be more than enchanted.

“Yeah, Lennox seems the picky one.” Mila said somewhere in the altar.

The girls are wrong Lennox isn’t the picky one.

“Speak now or never.” Y/N said observing the big black wall where an impressive mural must be. “You can leave any time.”

Ron sighs. “Leaving you here swimming in mud.” Y/N rolls her eyes. “I won't miss that for anything.”

Mila sees among the altar what it looks like a holy chalice. “It's going to be an interesting months, I'm in.”

Harriet lift and old book cover by mud. “You mentioned free coffee, right?” Y/N laughs. 

The owner of the coffee shop is a good friend of her father. “Yes I did.”

“I am where the free coffee is.” 

It was the third or the fourth time Max and Cameron crossed the same street with the same red rose bush “You idiot!” Max said, sitting on the ground.

Walk? No problem. Long distance? Sure. Walk in the sun long distances searching for a place he heard? Yes, he's mad and tired.

“Dude…” Cameron was about to complain but Max interrupted him.

“It's for me.” Max drinks what it remains from his water. “It's me to follow you and you didn't even know where the hell we were supposed to go.”

After a rollercoaster season, plus the last medical check ups, Max doctors were clear, or he took a few months away or his issue of eyesight would get worse.

Resulting in his friend's recommendations about a lovely town in the mountains far away from the city and all the noise, sounds perfect besides he or his friends doesn’t know where that place is.

Cameron laughs sitting next to him. “My girl's best friend has been there, I just follow the directions.”

“Terribly wrong.” Max jokes, seeing the blue clear sky, at least he has such a beautiful view.

After announcing to the team he will miss half of a season, probably a little by more plus an energetic discussion about being reckless and weak, he confirmed he just needs to get out.

The skid of bicycle wheels calls for their attention. A kid with a cap and bag at his back with different colours of flowers, stops next to them.

“Need some help” The kid asks to see two grown up men defeated next to the rose bush.

“We're looking for Che Creek town or something like that.” Cameron said, seeing the kid smirk.

“Lucky day, that's where I live.” The kid went down to his bicycle. “Let's go, the walk is 10, maybe 15 minutes from here.”

Untrust Max and his friend observe the kid who is waiting, such a small kid could know where to go?

“Or you can stay here and I will send someone to pick you up.” 

Max shakes his head, he is reluctant to spend another hour waiting, he stands up following the kid.

They remain silent most of the path until Cameron questions him about the flowers in his backpack.

“Oh, I'm trying to approach a beautiful girl.” He smiles, carefully looking at his back. 

“How old are you?” Max is genuinely intrigued by this kid.

“10, next month 11.”

The conversation was interrupted by a bigger roses bush next to the road and an old structure that rises above the ground. The banner is damaged because trying to see the name is impossible.

The kid waves his hand to an old man who's driving along the path. “We're here.”

A few metres ahead, Max and Cameron understand the reason for the fuss about this place. 

In the distance, mountains surround the small village that makes it almost invisible, still among them you can see a clear sky as the wind brings the sound of waves.

“Waves?” Cameron asks as they start to see multiple houses and small businesses.

“Yeah, 1 hour from here is the ocean.” He keeps walking ahead of them, grabbing his bicycle. “You can hear it like it's at the other side of the mountain because it is, but the path is long.” 

“David!” A woman rushed, blonde as him. “It's getting late, let's go.”

The woman narrowed her eyes seeing the two men standing behind him. 

“Who are you?” The woman ask pulling David to his side.

“Mom, he's Max Verstappen!” The kid, now known as David, said, rolling his eyes. “A champion! And his friend.”

Max laughs hearing the switch of excitement in David's voice mentioning Cameron.

“They were lost searching the town. I'll give him a hand.” David proudly looks at his mother.

“We're sorry, he would be here earlier but.. well we didn't bring our bicycle.” Cameron said, extending his hand to introduce.

David mom nods, shaking both hands. “I guess you'll be looking for a place to stay right?”

Both men nodded exhausted but relieved of being able to witness such a beautiful view.

A couple of blocks after they arrived at a small guesthouse where a nice man offered two rooms and a hot dinner, before leaving; apparently the village had a reunion where all were invited.

For the rush of the things they didn't have a chance to thank David and his mother, they’ll make sure to do it tomorrow when they walk around the village.

The morning is simply enchanting, the soft ocean breeze cools the weather but the sun comfortably warms you; the bird song as soft mumbles of people is almost like a lo-fi song.

The owner of the guesthouse, Rupert, said David's family is the owner of the small store 5 blocks away from there, so that's the first thing they did after having breakfast.

Max was expecting eyes and cameras around him but for the town his presence is imperceptible just for the fact they're new there.

5 blocks away they found David feeding a cat white outside of the store.

“David!” Max said, waving his hand as the kid raised his eyes, smiling.

“Max, morning.” David stands not before serving more milk on the cat's plate, giving him a soft pat on his head.

“We forgot to thank you for what you did for us yesterday.” Cameron said, raising his hand for a high five with David. “Thanks.”

“Oh no problem, I'm sorry for leaving but a lot of things are happening here lately.” David smiles. “Amazing things.”

“Hey, is there any chance I could find a red bull in your store?” Max asks to see the bottles of soda inside.

David laughs, the city people and they're strange requests start to become normal.

“Probably, let me see.” 

Inside of the store another man is laughing with a man as he picks all the things over the shelf.

“Thank you Mr. Becket, I'd better go or my boss will rip my head.” The man said, closing the bag. 

Mr. Beckt laughs at the words of the young one.“Tell her I'm sorry but her chocolates are hard to find.” 

“I'll do, but I better go, she's literally hanging off the wall.” The man said running out of the store. “Bye David!”

He said running as he said goodbye to David.

“Dad, he's the guy I talked to you.” David exclaimed, walking to the other side of the shelf. “Guys, this is my dad David Senior.”

David Senior smiles and greets the outsiders, wondering who’s the man that made David feel so happy to meet and make it impossible he stop talking all the dinner. 

“They wonder if we had…” He saw Max and his shirt. “red bulls.”

“Yeah, in the fridge, they arrived yesterday.” 

Max sighs in relief walking to the fridge, finding a line of red bulls, at ease for having his vital liquid.

“Can I ask why you are here?” David's father asks. “Don't get me wrong this place is incredible but there is nothing tourist around here.”

Cameron giggles seeing Max adopt his usual posture, in one hand a RB, the other hand over his waist. 

“We heard this place is kind of healing.” Cameron answered, curious about the products at the store. From power chilli to a German beer, so varied for being a small village.

“I don't say healing just, pure, keep it basic.” David senior answered seeing his kid walking back from the room of the store, bag in hand taking a bottle of water and a bag of chips.

“I'm leaving dad.” He said to make sure the lantern, boots and tools are in his bag.

Max moved his head wondering in which moment David disappeared and came back with a lot of things on his hands.

“Careful David, remember to listen to the guys.” His father warned his son with a smile.

David bumps his fist with the outsiders man. “See you later.”

With the sun and wind moving the branches of the trees, David goes riding his bicycle disappearing in the distance.

“Anxious?” Max asked with a smile on his face.

David Sr. smirks, scanning all the things they take with them, as the two young men finally lose David when he turns in the next street.

“Excited, the old church is under restoration. The first days, just the expert people were there, and a few people who could help them, with the days volunteers started to go; they reached the point where they had to divide people in groups, and in a few days install small tents.”  

Witnessing was impressive, beginning with a group of 5, now are 6 groups with 10 people going one day at the time helping with all they could. 

The rumour about the old church being restored starts as a dream with time and the arrival of the expert as the end of the first month ends, people turn enthusiastic and offer hands to help them. Maybe just give them food or water, bring supplies, offer cars, trucks, etc, for carrying things or simply a comfortable talk after a long day.

“Church?” Cameron asked, as he paid for the things.

A long talk and some snacks later, the boys knew about the story of the church, sowing a palpable curiosity on Max.

He questions if he plans to spend some time here, maybe he could do something for help.

She almost forgot how wonderful this could be.

Her family wasn't so religious besides her mother, yes, they used to go to church every Sunday but more for pleasing her mother than for a actually strong conviction.

After the mass, she and her brothers lay in the grass, seeing the clouds as they bet a faded away race, pick a cloud and the one who fades away wins. Holt has a talent for that.

Then, at home a lovely lunch took place in the backyard followed by endless hours of playing and of course a couple of hours of homework.

Until their parents decide things need to change…

“Every single time, every single time.” Harriet said, sitting next to her cover in dust. “I thought I reached the floor or the wall but hey! It's more dry mud.”

Y/N chuckles crossing her legs. “I told you, that landslide was terrible.”

“This place have something special for you?” Harriet asks to see her friend with a strange enthusiasm. 

“No, it's just…” Y/N turns around seeing how Mila is talking vividly with David about some insect in his hands.

David is a red-haired boy who is strangely cheered up by the restoration of an old church that probably he doesn't remember but he came every weekend to help, well, talk with them or light some things in the ground, with more questions every day.

“Complicated?” Harriet asks, seeing her conflict to be open about something private.

Y/N giggles. “A little bit.”

“Well, we’re working hard and even from time to time this only makes us look like we're doing nothing.” Harriet said, extending her one of her lollipops. “We’re bringing this to life.”

Y/N shakes her head, she’s not that into candies, chocolates that’s her weakness. 

“Any trace of considerable damage?” She asks her, everytime Harriet is so optimistic about work. 

“Just need one to remember all can be healed.” Harriet said walking back where Ron joins Mila and David laughing and screaming by a lizard that just ran away from their hands. 

“It’s the right choice.” Y/N whispered to herself seeing the sky. “Slow down a little bit.”

Mornings are always such funny moments, between making breakfast as preparing the things they could need and receiving the last result of whatever they sent the previous days the team and her barely are able to finish their breakfast in one place; they could begin having breakfast in the kitchen and finish one in the studio. another in the dining room and probably the other in one bedroom.

“RON! Where is the bread?” Y/N screams from the kitchen, searching for the sandwiches of the day

Ron closed his eyes, he forgot to mention they ran off yesterday. “Hm, in the store?”

“In the store?” She closes her eyes, knowing the one who goes to the store must do the daily grocery store; arriving with a flat bag for leaving with a rock.

Mila was crossing in the moment with a toast in her mouth and a computer in her hand shaking her head. Harriet who is hearing all front the studio scream. 

“YESTERDAY WAS MY TURN!” Y/N takes a deep breath, that means she must go.

“I’ll see you in the church!” She screams taking the keys of the jeep, yes, she will go but that means, they will have to go on foot to the church, uphill. 

“Genius Ron, genius.” Mila said, searching for her bag to shove all her stuff.

It’s not that she dislikes going to the village, it's just she feels so overwhelmed by all the attention around her; without her brothers being the little girl, she could just go for a couple of things and go back with four bags with different items and a lot of praising and love words. 

“Mrs. Becket” She said entering the store, it’s the middle of the week, so David must be already in the school. 

“Y/N we start to miss you.” Mrs. Becket said with a smile, opening the door. “Your chocolates are here.”

“Really?” Her excitement is visible but she’s craving for one of those since the moment she runs off. 

“My husband will give it to you.” She said giggling while still watering the plant outside of the store.

Inside Mr. Becket is talking vividly with the guys who apparently are preparing from a little excursion besides the big bags over their backs, the supplies on the shelf looks for an army.

Waiting for her turn she goes and picks up all they need; bread, sodas, lollipops, milk and well, a bottle of whiskey.

Standing behind them, one of the guys hasn’t noticed her because he takes a step back.

“Ouch, that’s my feet.” Panic, the man turns around, and feeling she goes backwards as wanting to avoid a fall, he tries to grab her hand carefully, but to the opposite a touch of their hands feels like thunder goes through them.

“That’s my hand.” When she saw an open can she only thought of the worst scenario. “Please don’t let that fall on my face.”

Lucky it wasn’t in her face…is in her shirt.

[ballroomeddie]

ok, so i was talking to some lovely mutuals @atlasblue85 @livesbetweenpages about these two scenes and it got me thinking about something that i’ve been mulling over for a while; what eddie means when talks about buck making everything about buck.

turns out i'm not one for brevity (oops) sooo tldr at the end.

imo the most pivotal buck lines from the wanna go for the title scene (apart from the aforementioned) are: a) Look, I’m sorry that I wasn’t there, Eddie… I should have been there. b) If you’re not gonna be honest with Frank, at least be honest with me. c) …you prefer to work it out in the ring. d) You don’t think while you were going through your phase, just maybe, you were throwing your punches at the wrong guy? 

the way i see it buck is saying (in order) a) i consider it my responsibility to be there for you and to take care of you (and chris). i’m sorry i failed. b) please, let me be there for you c) i see you. i understand that fighting is/was therapeutic for you. i’m not judging you for it d) if fighting is how you work out your issues, then i think you should fight me. i’m the one you have a problem with. i’m the one who failed you.

pivotal eddie lines--apart from Not that you didn’t deserve it, but I wouldn’t do that. You’re on blood thinners😏 (my cunty king. i luv him sm)--: a) We’re way past that, Buck. b) Look, things got a little out of hand for both of us. Don’t beat yourself up about it. c) Who said I wasn’t being honest with Frank… Maybe I’m just not a therapy kind of guy. d) Seriously? You’re gonna make it about you, again?

imo the underlying meaning here is: a) there’s nothing to apologize for b) please, stop apologizing. i don’t need saving, you didn’t fail me, you didn’t do anything wrong. i know it looked like i needed you from your vantage point, but i'm fine. promise. pretend you didn’t see that. there’s nothing to see here. i’m self sufficient. c) look, buck, i don’t need therapy, i don’t need anything, you have no idea what you’re talking about. i’m S E L F SUFFICIENT. d) my guy, you’re starting to piss me off. i understand that you have this incessant need to fix everything for everyone, but i’m not the one. you have this need to be a good boy but you don’t have to bring me, and the issues that i definitely don’t have, into it. because i’m fuckin SELF SUF.FI.CIENT!

interesting interesting interesting. thoughts thoughts thoughts.

but what about 8x09, sob stories?

pivotal eddie lines--apart from his beautiful brown bambi eyes 🥺 that say sosososo much--: a) It really is always about you isn’t it? b) [I was trying to be supportive, okay?] And you succeeded up to a point c) If you need to be pissed off at me to make it easier for you, then be pissed off. d) I don’t like it any more than you do. e) …if you're gonna make this about me having to choose between you or my son, you’re gonna lose every time. f) What about your loft…. You really did that for me?

my interpretation. a) here you go again, trying to fix shit. please stop. there’s nothing to fix. and tbh, lately you’ve only made things worse. b) i’m so sorry 🥺 i didn’t mean that. things are always better when you’re around. it’s just… things are complicated rn. we’re in an unprecedented situation and idk how to handle it. c) look, i’m sorry for putting you in this awful situation. you’re allowed to be mad at me. you should be mad at me. d) this is not easy for me. it’s not nothing. i’m mad at me too. e) i’m honestly hurt and disappointed that you would try to exploit my feelings for the fact that i’m gonna miss you. if i have to choose between missing you and hurting my son, i’ll choose the former. everytime. f) you can’t do this. you don’t have to do this. i can’t ask you to do this. you’re a renter… how did you know? why would...? thank you. i don’t deserve you it. thank you.

i’m not even gonna break down the pivotal buck likes (other than to remind anyone who’s still reading about I didn’t mean to out you. <- bdjdnd 💀). everything he says boils down to, i couldn’t stop myself from taking care of you if i tried. 

y’all remember buck introducing eddie to carla? remember that? that’s how it started and this ⬆️ is how it’s going. actually the facetime calls is how that’s going but i won’t get into that. 

conclusion/tldr: buck promised himself, before/around the time that he introduced eddie and carla to each other, that he’d always take care of eddie. because he can. because he wants to. and because it’s the natural, easy, obvious, damn near biologically imperative thing to do. the problem is that eddie doesn’t want to be taken care of. he’s convinced himself that he doesn’t need it or deserve it. so when buck waltzes in and says, lol lmfao rofl even. you’re lying to yourself. you do need someone to take care of you. you do deserve it. and i’m gonna do it whether you ask me to or not… well, that sets eddie on edge. buck is challenging a long held belief of his, a belief that he’s not ready to interrogate. so he finds a way to push back everytime buck brings attention to the self-effacing, self-sacrificing, self-critical, self-punishing elephant in his subconscious. and one of eddie’s go-tos when he’s pushing back is, this is about you, this is about your need to fix things but i don’t need fixing. and the way i see it, when eddie says, stop making this about you, he means, stop bringing attention to the fact that i might not be as self-sufficient as i believe myself to be.

also @atlasblue85 said something so bang on that i had to include it.

"it makes so much sense that Eddie says [that buck is making things about himself] as a self defense thing because he knows it's a way to get Buck to back off when he's feeling vulnerable and doesn't want to fully confront what he's actually dealing with"

👆⬆️ EXAACTTLY ‼️‼️‼️

[dinoandguitar]

I'm lovinggg the holding their newborns for the first time series, it's just sooo sweet <33

Do you think you could do one for Woozi maybe? 🥺 It's fine if you don't, thnks and have a nice day!

"Something I never want to forget"

Husband!LeeJihoon (WOOZI) x Afab!Reader

Genre: Pure Fluff!

Warnings: Mentions of pregnancy, childbirth (Reader has just given birth). The setting is at a hospital.

A/N : Hi! I'm so glad you liked the series! 🫶🏾 Thank you so much for the request. Hope you like this one as well :) Please feel free to send in more requests ✨️

Masterlist

The room was quiet. Not in an uncomfortable way, but in the kind of stillness that follows something life-changing. The kind that makes everything else fade into the background. The machines, the hallway noise, the soft murmur of nurses walking past the door. All of it faded when they placed her in his arms.

Your daughter. His daughter.

Jihoon stared down at her like she was something he’d dreamed about once and never thought he’d actually get to touch.

He didn’t speak at first. Just looked. Her tiny fingers twitched against the fabric of the blanket, and he looked like he’d stopped breathing for a second.

“Is she okay?” he asked, so softly you barely heard him. “Is she comfortable?”

“She’s perfect,” you whispered with a tired smile, still tucked into the hospital bed, weak but glowing. “She’s with you.”

Jihoon’s arms tightened just a little, like the thought alone gave him strength. His lips parted like he wanted to say something, but it took him a moment. He blinked quickly and glanced at you for just a second…then back at her.

“I didn’t think I’d be this scared,” he said finally. “But I am. I’m so scared.”

“Why?” you asked gently.

“Because I’ve never loved anything this much.” His voice cracked, barely audible.

You didn’t expect that-not from him. Jihoon wasn’t cold, but he was quiet. Reserved. He held his love in actions and music and the quiet weight of his presence. But now, as he stared down at your daughter like she hung the stars, all of it was spilling out.

“She’s so small,” he whispered. “I didn’t think she’d be this small.”

“She’s new,” you chuckled, tired. “She’ll grow.”

He nodded slowly, still unable to take his eyes off her. Then, as if realizing it all at once, he shifted and sat on the edge of your bed so you could see her better. He angled her carefully, his movements full of reverence and awe, like he was holding something sacred.

“This is your Eomma,” he whispered to the baby. “She’s amazing. She’s everything. She did all the hard stuff while I just stood around like an idiot.”

You laughed again, tears burning your eyes. He looked loving at you. “You brought her into the world.” His eyes flicked to yours, more serious now. “I watched you do the impossible. I’ve never-” he paused, his jaw clenched slightly like he was trying not to cry again. “I’ve never been more proud of anyone in my life.”

You reached over and touched his knee, your fingers brushing against his hand where it cradled your daughter’s head. Jihoon smiled, then glanced back at the tiny girl resting against his chest.

“She’s warm,” he said, smiling now, voice soft and shaky. “And squishy. And she smells like something I never want to forget.”

He looked down at her for a long time, eyes glassy but full of light. Then, with a little breath of wonder, he said, “Hi, baby girl. I’m your Appa.” His thumb gently stroked her forehead. “That… still feels weird to say. But I’m gonna keep saying it.”

The baby stirred, her nose scrunching, mouth puckering slightly. Jihoon froze.

“Wait…did she just make a face?” he asked quickly. “Was that a face?”

“She’s a baby, Ji,” you giggled. “She makes faces.”

“But that was a real one! Like… she was thinking something. What if she didn’t like my voice? Is my voice too deep? Do you think I sound scary?”

“She’s not judging you, love.”

He let out a tiny breath of relief, still looking down at her in total disbelief. “I just want to get everything right,” he mumbled. “I want her to love me. I want her to feel safe. I want her to know I’d give her anything-everything. I want to be someone she’s proud of.”

“You already are.”

He looked at you, and his whole face softened.

“Thank you,” he said suddenly, his voice trembling with emotion. “For her. For doing all of this. For letting me have this moment. For choosing to do this with me.”

You reached up, touching his cheek, feeling the warmth and the dampness of tears he didn’t bother to hide. “I’d do it all over again, just as long as it's with you.”

Jihoon laughed through his tears, wiping at them half-heartedly with his shoulder so he wouldn’t shift her too much. “You’re too good to me.”

He leaned forward and gently rested his head against yours, the baby still between you, safe and warm.

“I’m gonna love her so much,” he whispered. “And you. Always.”

The three of you stayed like that for a while-tangled together in silence, in warmth, in everything that mattered.

And when the nurse returned quietly to check on you all, she paused in the doorway, smiling to herself before backing out again. Some moments, she knew, were too perfect to interrupt.

♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡

A/N : Hope you liked it! Appreciate all your support 🫶🏾

[darlingdesire]

hiya love! i have a bobby request for you, if you don't mind

reader is inhaler's photographer and it's super obvious she has a massive crush on bobby. the entire crew (including him lmao dickhead) tease her for it.

one night at a bar this really hot cool rockstar girlfriend kinda girl hits on bobby and reader sees it and gets jealous. bobby makes a joke and reader gets upset thinking he's making fun of her because the other girl was obvi way cooler than her.

cue a soft little moment where he comforts her, maybe a kiss? 🥺💗

When It Breaks

(Bobby Skeetz x female!reader)

Warnings: none!!

Genre: fluff, angst (omggggg)

Word count: 6.9k wtf

Des Talks!!: okay woah. My first ever Bobby fic and I think I have outdone myself. This is one of my favourites so far and i’ve kind of ended it in a way where there could be a part 2 to this. Thank you so much for requesting this as well anon!! It was such an amazing idea and I’m so glad I get to bring it to life WOOOOOOO!!!!! I really hope this is kind of what you were hoping for 💝 (I may have gotten a little carried away oops ) also get your requests and ideas in whilst its hot 🫶

"You comin' out tonight, right?"

She turned her head at the sound of his voice, her gaze moving from the camera which she was packing away; the camera which had loads of photos of him and the band—85% of which were professional which she would have to edit later and post, and the 15% were random moments taken of him. She saw him in a different kind of light when she had the camera up to her face; she could capture him in a frozen photo and store it forever. Not the man who played bass on stage for hundreds of people, but the boy who who had managed to steal her heart and lock away. Much like a photo, captured forever.

Bobby Skeetz had no idea—well, he did... her liking to him was painfully obvious to everyone, one slip-up a few months ago for a lifetime of teasing.

"You guys going out then?" She inquired, a sweet smile appearing on her face; the once concentrated look she had as she packed her cameras away in silence was no longer there.

Inhaler had just finished playing a show. It was grand; the crowd was one of the best they have had so far, and she could tell that the guys were still at the peak of their high; adrenaline and excitement all around. She was there to see it all, she saw the intimate crowds, the boring crowds, the loud crowds; she was there to see the crowds grow bigger and bigger, her joy only expanding each time she saw the size of the venues. She had been the band's photographer for a few years now, she could pretty much say these years have been the best of her life—she could only imagine how Bobby was feeling.

He leaned against the edge of the table as she started to pack her camera away into her bag, looking down at the camera in her hand, then back up at her, her soft features bringing another sweet, boyish smile onto his face. In all honesty, he wasn't sure if he was smiling because he was so amused by her or what. Probably both.

"Yeah," he answered, his Irish accent thick in his words. "I don't know about you, but I think we deserve a few drinks after that."

She looked back down at what she doing, feeling a fluttering of nerves rush up her body at the attention—she couldn't help it, she felt nervous everytime he would look at her, she wanted so desperately to know what he was thinking when he looked at her. She zipped the protective case up, sealing the camera and all the memories away for later; "It was a killer crowd, wasn't it," She muttered out, her words soft but laced with such pride, "I dunno, Bobby—I went out last night."

She couldn't help but feel satisfaction knowing he had asked her himself to join them at the pub tonight—okay, it wasn't abnormal for him to seek her out after a show and ask, most of the time it was brought up when they were in the group and she would be bugged and pestered by the guys until she had to say yes. But she enjoyed when he asked her; she wouldn't tell anyone, but she would pretend to seem tired or decline just so he could keep asking her with a pleading look on his face.

"And you don't want to go out again?" His tone was playful, trying his best to tempt her to go. He didn't know why, but it was the best part about going out after a show - he knew she always came. He could ask, and she would say yes, but it was so much sweeter to tempt her into going. "I'll buy you a drink—one of those gross fruity spritz you like or whatever that shit is."

She gave him a sarcastic pointed look at his dig on her choice of alcohol, earning a smirky grin from him. She watched the way the smile lit up his face, how it reached his eyes and caused them to close a little. Oh, how she wished she didn't pack her camera away so she could take a photo of it. She wouldn't share it with the world, no, she would keep it hidden away in her digital memory bank. Instead, she took a mental image of the sight of him leaned against the doorframe with his arms crossed over his chest, with his hair messy and falling over his face.

Ok, stop looking at him like a creep.

She stood up straighter, turning her body towards him now with her bag of equipment in her hand; he waited for an answer, his brows raised slightly in open hope that her answer would be yes.

"One drink," She finally complied, raising her hand with a pointed finger to set her words in stone, "and it's a pornstar martini I've been liking at the moment, thank you very much."

That boyish smirk turned into a full blown grin at her compliance, giving a soft, pleased 'tsk' noise as he stood up a little straighter, pushing himself off of the doorframe and crossing his arms over his chest. He could have just let her come like she always did, but it was so much better to push her into wanting to go. Plus, it was just another excuse to talk to her, be closer.

"A pornstar martini? Really? Didn't know you liked pornstars," He said with a small chuckle, his tone clearly teasing.

She rolled her eyes at him, walking towards the open door where he stood, "Yeah—love when I have a good pornstar," she played along with it, deadpanning him as she passed by him and stepped out into the hallway; her cheeks flushing red at the conversation, and she willed herself to calm down.

He watched her walk past him, his eyes following only after, a humorous and amused smile on his face at her comeback. "Thought it was only bass-players you loved," He followed, a few steps behind, his gaze falling onto the top of her head now, watching her from behind. He was taller, and the fact he was tall was quite obvious, his long legs easily catching up to her short ones.

He was glad her back was facing him now because he couldn't stop the small, amused chuckle from falling out of his mouth at her now-red cheeks.

She felt dread fill her body when she heard his comeback, her mouth went try and it felt like she had cotton in it. She swallowed nervously. He sometimes teased her about the crush she had on him; she didn't know if she preferred it if he was silent about it and never regarding her feelings for him, or if she preferred it if he was openly able to tease her about it. Either way, it felt as though he was tossing her feelings aside.

She decided to stay quiet.

She knew he was following behind her, and she couldn't help but feel as though she had a hit on her. God, please don't trip, don't you dare trip… She repeated in her mind as she walked, she hated and loved the pressure of his attention being on her; analysing her and perceiving her.

He knew she was nervous, and he could almost hear her thoughts spinning around in her head now, trying to process the situation. He felt a tad amused by the whole thing—how after a few years, she still got all awkward around him. Cute.

His gaze drifted to the way she was walking in front of him, clearly trying her hardest to walk confidently and he knew, one wrong step and she was going to trip. The thought brought a small smirk onto his face as he watched her every step, and then, that said wrong step happened.

"Oh—Fuck," She blurted out when the ugly-looking carpet stopped her shoe from letting her walk properly; the stupid kind of carpet that caused you to trip up because of the rough material. Luckily she had caught herself, and scowled down at the floor; wanting to do nothing more than stomp her foot down onto it a few times for tripping her up in front of Bobby.

She had a knack for tripping and bumping into things. It wasn't new, wasn't something Bobby had never seen before; it was another thing he teased her about. She knew it was light-hearted and that he would never shame her for being so clumsy sometimes, but she just wished she didn't look so silly sometimes.

"You're so graceful," He teased, still stood a few steps behind. There was a playful tone to the remark, along with a light chuckle at the failed attempt to stay dignified. It was clear that this was a regular occurrence as she had tripped numerous times before his eyes.

His gaze was fixated on her, watching her as she scolded the carpet, like it was the carpet's fault that she tripped when it was actually hers.

"Shut up. It was the carpets fault," She turned her head to look at him, an uncontrollable smile lifted her lips up at the humour of it. He sent her a cheeky look and finally caught up with her, using the opportunity of her stopping to finally walk beside her. They continued to walk down the hall together, and she kept on shrugging the bag strap up onto her shoulder every time it started slipping down. After the 3rd time, she felt a gentle tug on the strap and she turned her head to see that Bobby was lifting the bag off her to take.

"Here," he spoke, taking the strap from her as they walked. "I'll take it," he added as the strap was now in his hand, a warm smile taking over his face. He knew she struggled with the strap slipping off her shoulders, but he knew she would have kept on adjusting the strap until it was perfect, and even then, it would probably slip again.

He was being chivalrous—more than normal--and it was more for the fact that he wanted to be closer to her.

She pursed her lips together in a way to force the bashful grin away at his helpfulness, "Thanks."

They left the venue through the back and made their way to her tour bus; the one she had made her home for the past two years. He was in a separate one with all the other boys. Their door was always open for her, and she found herself in their bus more than she was in hers. Their dynamics were perfect; she considered Inhaler her close friends more than she was their photographer. After all, they were all eachother had out on the road.

Bobby set her equipment down on her bunk, not missing the chance to send her a look at the way she left her bed messy. She had rolled her eyes at him, saying; "I'd like to see your bed then, Skeetz," her words seeming more innocent in her head than how they sounded when she said them out loud.

"Yeah, you'd like to see that, wouldn't ya'," He muttered with a smirk; not missing a chance to tease her again.

Her innocent words weren't innocent at all. His mind —and he is almost certain hers (but she would never admit it)—immediately went to somewhere else at the words, the thought of his own messy, unmade bed crossing his mind for a spilt second. "and, by the way, my bed is actually made," he responded quickly with a raise of his brows, his gaze flickering to her unmade bed for a moment before turning back to her; he was telling the truth, his bed was made. Neatly. He was waking up in a good mood these past few months—some could say he was waking up on the right side of the bed.

A newfound optimistic feeling had found him, and he loved it; he was excited when he got up in the mornings (ever since he found out his little photographer fancied him, but he wasn't going to admit that)

She gave him a look as she closed the curtain, separating the two of them from the sight of her messy bed, "yeah, yeah," she muttered and turned on her heel away from him, leading them out of the bunk area and back into the main area toward the open door.

Jack, the social media guy who had joined the tour a while ago stepped into the bus; his eyes lighting up at the sight of her. He said a quick hello, his smile sweet as he placed a warm hand on her shoulder as he walked by the two of them. She had become friends with Jack, he was a good guy and the band liked him. (but she never caught on to the looks Bobby gave Jack everytime he would see her with him.)

His gaze immediately narrowed as he watched Jack place a hand on her shoulder; the sight didn't leave him with a good feeling. He could've sworn his eyes burned into the back of Jack's head as he walked right by them and out of the bus.

A strange, bitter feeling swirled around inside his chest and then his mind immediately went to an unreasonable place—he wasn't exactly sure why he was always so territorial, especially now.

He followed her out of the bus, not paying any mind to extend the invitation out to Jack. He secretly wanted her to himself tonight, as friends, of course....

They clambered into the car with the rest of the waiting guys—who had just finished meeting fans out back and taking pictures with them—they were still in the clothes they were wearing on stage, too eager and excited to get to the pub with everyone for a round of drinks.

Bobby sat next to her, of course. The two of them were in the very back of the 7-seater car as the rest of the guys were in the middle with the 3 seats.

The car was immediately filled with conversation, and they started heading toward the pub that was suggested by a local fan.

She had no trouble involving herself into their conversation, it was rather easy actually since she felt more than comfortable around them.

Bobby sat in silence for most of the ride to the pub, only joining in on the conversation now and then. His mind was somewhere else, mostly, and a couple times, his gaze was on her, just watching her. Watching the way she interacted with the others, listening to every single word that came out of her mouth.

He drew on the foggy window, looking over at her once he had finished the little drawing. A smirk stretched out on his face as he pointed it out to her, "It's you," he said with a nod, proud of his little drawing.

She looked at his drawings in the window, her heart almost exploding out of her chest at the fact he made a little stick figure of her in the window.

"Oh wow," She grinned uncontrollably, a little act seemed so big in her mind and she kept repeating how it was probably nothing and that she was just thinking too much into it, "You captured me perfectly."

His smirk grew into a full blown, amused smile as she gawked over his little drawing in the window. She was so easy to read.

He looked back at the window, his attention now diverted on creating another stick figure next to the one of her, "I know I did, I'm good like that," he responded jokingly, a small chuckle leaving his mouth.

They finally reached the pub and they all started clambering out of the big car; she found it amusing watching four grown men try and climb out the car whilst trying to be graceful and not bang their heads against the roof. She made sure to get a photo of Bobby with his window drawings; he had posed for it with a his thumb up and big goofy smile as he carefully leaned his head next to the window, not wanting to rub his hair against the condensation and ruin his drawings.

They made their way into the dimly-lit pub and found an available curved booth to sit at with their drinks. Josh was sat next to her, and they browsed the drinks menu together. It was more like a bar they were at, but whatever it was it was nice and underground; relatively busy too.

Elijah was on her other side, and Bobby was sitting next to him. Ryan had gone straight to use the bathroom, as he had been complaining most of the drive about it.

The pub was lively, filled to the brim with people, but the music was at the right decibel to allow a normal conversation, and that's exactly what the group was doing.

Bobby leaned back against the booth, arms draped along the back of it, listening to the conversations going on around him. His gaze eventually flickered over to her. He could hear her laughing with Josh as the two of them picked out drinks. He felt a small tug pull at his chest, but he ignored it.

Just then, Ryan arrived back at the table, taking his seat, "I took longer in the bathroom so I wouldn't have to wait for drinks to get here," He joked, rolling his eyes as he sat down next to Josh.

"You sure that was the reason?" Bobby teased, smirking at his words and earning a mock laugh from Josh who then reached over the table at him and whilst pretending to claim he didn't wash his hands; causing Bobby to lean back and let out a groan in disgust.

"Ya' filthy, Ryan," He told him and got up out of the booth, looking over at everyone; his eyes landing right on hers, "you're coming with me. Promised I'd get you a drink, didn't I."

She was in a conversation with Elijah—a conversation about who knows what—she had completely lost her train of thought as soon as she noticed him getting up. She looked over at him, locking gazes as he gestured over to her.

A small feeling of nervousness filled her chest as she knew what was coming, and she tried her best to push it away. It was just a drink.

"Oh, yeah," She spoke, smiling at Bobby before turning to Elijah, "back in a sec."

She had to go past Elijah to get out, lucky that there was a decent gap between the table and the booth seats as she carefully stepped out of it.

"You all want a Guinness, yes?" She turned her head to look at the guys, earning some yes' and grateful nods in response.

Bobby waited for her to make the move to the bar, and the two of them went over together; waiting patiently to be served. She took the time to scan the pub/bar/whatever it was, taking in the comfortable scenery. It was very cool. The place had exposed brick walls and had old antiques littered around on display—a nice mix of old and new.

A bartender came up to the two of them not long after and Bobby took the lead in ordering drinks for everyone. Her eyes landed on a small group of women by a table, they were dressed beautifully—one girl in particular caught her eye though, and it seemed as though hers had caught Bobby. She was looking over at him with an interested gaze—a curious one, one that had y/n turning around toward the bar where their drinks were being made. Her back now toward the group so she wouldn't have to see the look that one girl was giving him.

She turned her head to look up at Bobby, seeing how he didn't even pay any mind to the girls who were ogling him. He was simply watching the bartender, tapping his fingers against the wooden bar mindlessly. He looked down at her when he felt her gaze in him, and he sent her a small, instinctive smile before looking back at the bartender.

She suddenly felt like a deflated balloon; insecurity washing over her and diminishing her high.

She was used to girls checking Bobby out, and she had no right to feel insecure or jealous. She was just like all the other girls who had a silly little crush on him. It wouldn't lead anywhere. 

He would notice her looking at him and not pay any mind to it; maybe he was only teasing her about it in order to push it away, because he had to so it wouldn't be weird between them.

"You good?" She heard him ask, she had been staring down at the wooden bar for a few seconds with a distant look; and he had noticed.

She put on a smile and lifted her head to reach his eyes, "Yeah, m' grand," she told him cheerily; though the feeling in her mind said otherwise, hopefully he wouldn't notice that and see through her lies.

"You should try a different drink one day; a Guiness must get boring after a while," She said, trying to alter the conversation.

He chuckled in response at her comment, a small smirk forming on his face now, "Guiness never gets boring, love," he replied, his gaze flickering over down to her.

He could sense a change in her mood, noticing how lost in thought she had been.

The drinks were finally made and they made their way to take them back to the booth where the guys were waiting. She couldn't help but take a quick peek at the group of girls to see that that one girl was still watching Bobby.

She swallowed hard, trying to push down the feelings as she and Bobby got to the booth. A few more people from the crew had joined the booth and were chatting away with everyone. Jack was there. He had patted the open space next to him and budged over a little bit, there was only space left for and she put the drinks down on the table before sittinf down next to him. Bobby watched as he found himself next to Ryan, his eyes lingering on Jack and y/n in front of him.

A bitter feeling settled in his chest he watched her sit next to Jack. He didn't know why, but it always bothered him when she talked to him, or sat next to him, or just spent time with him.

He took the last empty seat next to Ryan, trying to distract himself from his thoughts. The group went on with their conversations, but he found himself tuning out. His eyes always found their way back to her. His gaze lingered on her for a while before she looked up, meeting it. He quickly averted his eyes, focusing on the glass in his hand instead.

They kept sharing looks, their eyes catching one another every now and then as they listened to people talk, or when one of them was talking and looked at the other—as if they were speaking to just eachother. After the drinks were all finished, Ryan went to go get another round for everyone and forced Bobby to go with him for an extra pair of hands.

Y/n was content in her conversation with Josh and Elijah, talking about stuff they're going to do with their day off tomorrow. They were going to explore the city they were in, and she was going to join them and take photos. She was always welcome to join the band on their little outings, they used the fact that she needed to get content as an excuse to get her to spend time with them. It was cute.

After a while of feeling Bobby's absence, she turned her head to the bar where him and Ryan were still by. Except, Ryan was on his way back with a handful of drinks without Bobby. She glanced over Ryan's shoulder to see where Bobby was; he was still there, but he was with somebody else. The girl from the group.

She had managed to get her way over to Bobby and actually strike conversation with him. They seemed to be hitting it off well too, the girl was stood close to him with a flirty smile. Bobby was more than happy to talk to her.

Y/n couldn't help but trace her eyes over the girl; taking in the way she held herself, so confident and alluring. The girl was dressed in red and black and had a charm about her.

She sunk in her seat and looked away from them; feeling all sorts of ways. Insecure, jealous. All these feelings that she—again—had no right to feel. She was silly to compare herself to the girl, but she still couldn't stop it from happening.

She raised her glass to her lips, taking a sip of her pornstar martini—suddenly wishing she had something stronger.

"You're not very subtle with your staring," Ryan told her in a quieter voice than normal, he was relaxed back into his seat with his arms crossed lazily over his chest and a knowing look on his face.

She looked at him with wide eyes at his straight-forwardness, and glanced around at the other people in the seats to make sure they didn't hear Ryan.

"I was looking at the bottles. God, forbid a girl wants to look at the products," She told him, motioning her head to the bottles of alcohol on display behind the bar, clearly lying—which he could see through.

She was so obvious with her staring, her jealousy, her pining. It was written all over her face, and Ryan could see it from a mile away.

He rolled his eyes at her failed attempt at an excuse, sighing as he leaned closer to her, "No, you were staring at Bobby."

She gave him a blank look, rolling up one of the napkins into a tiny ball and threw it at him as a lame attempt to get him to shut up. She knew her cheeks were flushing red, she could feel the heat and the shy-ness flooding through her.

"I hope you choke on your chips," She said to him, glancing down at his bowl of hot chips.

He chuckled in response, swatting the napkin out of the way, "yeah, yeah, yeah."

He knew he had gotten to her now, and there was no turning back for him. It was too entertaining to tease her, and knowing how she felt about Bobby made it even more amusing to poke at her.

He raised an eyebrow at her, a sly smirk on his face, "Why don't you go over there and tell that girl to back off?"

Y/n's face fell, deadpanning him again with a blank expression, "Oh, yeah," She nodded slowly, musing his stupid suggestion, "No."

He grinned, clearly enjoying himself,  "Why not? You'd rather sit here and mope in jealousy?"

She scowled at him and leaned forward in her seat, finally reacting quick to shut his false (clearly right) assumptions down, "I'm not jealous—" she began to fire out.

"What is she jealous of?" Bobby's voice suddenly cut her off, he had somehow weaselled his way over without her noticing and set the rest of the drinks down on the table; glancing between Ryan and Y/n for an answer.

"Nothing," She quickly said, sinking back into her seat and giving Ryan a warning look as Bobby sat down next to him.

Ryan smirked, he could see it right through her, and he knew that he couldn't keep his mouth shut in this situation; he had the right reasons, (he was sick and tired of watching y/n pine over Bobby without doing anything about it—right reasons, wrong method of execution)

"She's jealous of the girl you were talking to at the bar," he bluntly informed Bobby, his gaze drifting to Y/n to find her shooting daggers at him. Her cheeks were even more red now.

Bobby's brows raised at the information, and he looked at her reddening face with a growing smirk; and she prepared herself for his response. She wanted to smack Ryan across the head—she was completely over the teasing. It was fun and fine at first, but after a while it just started hurting. Her feelings were being laughed at and mocked, and if he didn't like the fact that she fancied him then he could just tell her instead of teasing her about it.

"You know you're the only girl for me, love. No need for jealousy," He said to y/n with a smirk—teasing her, yet again...

Ryan rolled his eyes at the interaction, feeling amused by the whole thing. He was tempted to smack him and her upside the head for being so unbelievably stupid for not noticing the obvious fact that Bobby just couldn't get the hint—the hint to do something about it. Ryan wasn't dumb, he could sense the feelings Bobby had for y/n. He had just hoped that by now, the blonde-headed idiot would swallow his fears down and ask the damn girl out.

Y/n huffed, feeling flustered at the words and his teasing, "Don't call me love," She spoke to him, her tone annoyed yet light in mockery as she rose from her seat.

The two guys watched as she snatched her small bag off the table in haste and started walking away from everyone, toward the exit.

"Nice going, idiot," Ryan was the first to say something, looking at his friend with a roll of his eyes.

"What?! You're the idiot, idiot," Bobby exclaimed, completely baffled at the response. Ryan was the one who initiated the entire thing.

"No—You're the idiot," Ryan scoffed, shaking his head. "She's a complete goner for you, and you're too much of a pussy to do anything about it," He angled his body toward his friend, speaking lowly so that the other guys at the table wouldn't hear, "You either tell her you're not interested—which you are, I can tell—and drop the whole thing, or you tell her you want her as much as she wants you," Ryan explained, holding his finger up and pointing it at him to assert his point.

He saw the moment Bobby's face changed from confusion to a more softer one. His eyes were casted down onto the table, clearly thinking about the whole situation in his head. He felt awful.

He was stunned into silence for a few moments as he thought on Ryan's words.

He stared at the table, his mind deep in thought, almost to the point where he forgot that people were still around them. He didn't want to face any facts. He knew he had feelings for her, he knew that—but why was Ryan making it sound easier than it really was.

Bobby shook his head slowly, lifting his gaze back up to Ryan; words tumbling out of him, "It's not that simple, mate," he protested, "Have you thought about what would happen if things ended badly? Don't forget she's our photographer."

Ryan scoffed, his disbelief at the statement growing. "Mate, she's also the one person that can put up with your stupid arse," he reminded him, his tone now firm and annoyed, as he leaned forward in his seat, "You're telling me that you'd rather keep all the stupid feelings bottled away in that thick skull of yours, not make a move, and then miss the opportunity to have her?"

Bobby side-eyed Ryan for the insult, and then let out a deep sigh; saying nothing as he straightened up in his seat and looked toward the exit. Maybe he should man up and go out there—but he felt like such a fool. What would she even say? He used humour to help in situations, and so of course he did the same for this one. Maybe he dug himself too deep. All the months worth of making fun of her for her crush on him were coming back to bite him in the arse.

"Okay," He muttered quietly to himself more than to Ryan, shifting a little as he climbed out of the booth and began to head toward to exit.

He paid no attention to the girl from the bar as he walked by her table—even so, she didn't even make a move on him whilst they were talking. It was friendly chatting, and so when he came back to the table to find out y/n was jealous—you could say he was over the moon and handled it in a shitty way.

Meanwhile, y/n had found herself stood on the sidewalk outside of the bar. Not too far away, but just enough distance to be able to clear her head and think things through. She was overthinking what just happened, she went over it so many times in her head and deemed her actions dramatic and childish. Maybe she should have been the one to tell him and everyone she didn't like it when they teased her about her crush; but a slither of her enjoyed it because it was some sort of acknowledgment of it on Bobby's side.

She was in her own little world, mindlessly looking at the array of random posters on the wall when in the corner of her eye; Bobby showed up next to her.

She must have been deep in thought as she failed to notice his presence right away, so he stood next to her in silence as he watched her and studied her every move. He saw her looking at the walls, admiring the art that covered them, before his gaze fell to the ground, and his thoughts started to swirl around in his head.

He took a deep breath to calm himself down. He wasn't supposed to feel like this, he was supposed to be just like any other boy that got the girl, and yet here he was—acting like a love-struck teen and struggling to get the right words out.

"I'm sorry," He finally spoke up, not knowing what to say. He had gone over it in his head during his quick walk to find her, he had made a defend script in his head but it all suddenly went out the window when he was finally next to her.

His voice startled her at first, causing her to flinch for a split second, before she turned her head to look at him. He looked nervous. She could see it in his eyes and the way he looked away from her.

She didn't know how to respond straight away; she felt her words stuck in her throat as she stared at him for a long moment before opening her mouth, "What are you apologising for..?"

"For being stupid," He said, his eyes flickered back and forth between the two of hers. He pushed his hands into the pockets of his jackets, feeling his mouth dry as a bundle of nerves ran through him. He took a step closer, and she angled her body towards his at the closer proximity; no longer looking at the art work on the wall.

"I just... I really really like you, y/n," He continued, emphasising the 'really' with a furrow of his brows; but his words must have reached her ears differently and her concept of them sounded like he was about to friend zone her.

She nodded, turning her head to look away from him and back toward the wall, "...As a friend," she finished the rest of his sentence, feeling the knot of sadness form in her throat. Don't cry, don't cry, stupid don't cry you're not 14.

"No, no," Bobby quickly exclaimed as she had misheard him. He reached out with one of his hands, gently taking hold of her chin to guide it back to look at him, "No, not as a friend—as more than that."

He saw her face soften at his clarification, and he allowed a small smile to form on his face as she took in his words, her eyes fixed on him. She looked so pretty.

"What?" She asked in utter confusion, his words were a mind bog—after months of him making fun of her and teasing her for her crush on him, he goes and tells her he feels the same way. Doubt crosses her mind, even though he is smiling so sweetly at her, "Look, I don't know if this is just another joke to make fun of me or if you're saying that because you feel bad. You're confusing me, Bobby."

Bobby shook his head, his heart clenching in his chest as he saw doubt and skepticism in her eyes. She didn't believe him. "No, no, no," he muttered, cupping her face in both his hands, keeping her gaze on him.

"I promise I'm not playing with you, I'm not messing with you. I'm telling you the truth," He looked into her eyes, not looking away for even one second as his thumbs slowly started to trace her features; his touch feather-like.

She almost melted at his touch, but she still couldn't wrap her head around the whole ordeal. They say women were confusing, but maybe it was actually men who were more confusing.

"Then they would you tease me about it for months. I don't understand why. Why did it take you this long to tell me," She asked him, frowning even more as she searched his eyes for the truth.

He sighed, letting go of her face with both hands as he ran one through his hair, "I don't know, I guess I was too scared. Because this is a big deal," he explained, a hint of a nervous laugh escaping his mouth as he pushed his hands back into his pocket.

"You're our photographer. I didn't want to face it and have things be awkward if it never worked out between us and you had to end up quitting because of it," he explained, his gaze shifting all over the place as he tried to keep calm, "I like you too much—I like having you around with the guys, I like having you with me."

"I wouldn't quit because of that," she responded to his words with a scoff and a roll of her eyes, acting as if it was a ridiculous idea.

"So... what are we gonna do?" her voice was softer now, her shoulders slumping slightly as her eyes lifted to find his again.

"I guess that depends on what you want us to be," He responded with a shrug, and he leaned in closer toward her, his voice grew quieter; "Because I know exactly what I want to be."

Her breath stopped in her throat when she noticed he was leaning in closer, and suddenly; everything in the world stilled as she gazed into his eyes. "Bobby..." She breathed out quietly, she didn't know if it was a question, a statement, or whatever... its all she managed to mutter out.

She looked so beautiful in this second. His mind went blank as he got lost in her eyes, the way her lips moved when she said his name was addicting.

He lifted his hand up from his pocket again, gently brushing a lose strand of her hair, "Can I kiss you?" He whispered ever so sweetly.

Shock waves flooded her entire system at his words, not knowing if she imagined that he said that or if she misheard him. She didn't know what would happen between them after this, she didn't know if it would develop into a relationship, but all she knew was that something would completely change between them if their lips connected.

But right now she didn't care if tomorrow they didn't speak to eachother at all, she didn't care if it was awkward between them when the euphoria of the moment died down and was replaced by something more serious.

After a beat, she nodded her head ever so softly and muttered out a simple; "Kiss me."

Bobby didn't hesitate. He closed the distance between them and softly connected their lips together. He cupped her cheeks in both his hands, holding her in place as he kissed her with a gentleness that made her heart beat a little faster. His lips were perfectly fitting over her bottom lip, and he almost smiled against the kiss from how utterly perfect it felt to kiss her.

It was so soft, so gentle. He held her delicately, and treated the kiss like it was such a fragile thing as if it would break if he handled it wrong.

Maybe it was the alcohol flooding through their systems that made them kiss without thinking it through. They would have to talk about it tomorrow at some point when the alcoholic haze wore of and reality settled in. And what scared them the most was not knowing if this kiss would make or break them.

[nipuni]

This week's photos 😊📸

[sunlight-shunlight]

pondering that falon'din is associated with an owl, and those are also messengers of andruil. and he's referred to as "winged death" which is also mentioned to be something that elgar'nan deploys against enemies. and both falon'din and andruil are referred to as venturing into dark places, where no one else can survive/wanted to go.

and ghilan'nain was not initially an evanuris, but was antagonistic towards them and making a bunch of weird creatures. she was given the offer to join them in return for getting rid of the creatures, and accepted. but with "pride stopping her hand" from destroying a few. and when asked about trusting people to share power, solas says "I know that mistake well enough to carve the angles of her face from memory."

solas also has nothing good at all to say about falon'din, mostly calling him a bloodthirsty tyrant who went so far in encroaching onto other evanuris territory that mythal had to besiege his temple and beat him up to stop him.

but he says nothing about dirthamen at all.

dirthamen is described as having gone missing unexpectedly, scaring all his followers, because they were now unprotected. and caught between their own high priest wanting to lock them into the temple forever like a cask of amontillado, and other forces outside that wanted to take their secrets by force. there is one note that a dirthamen follower defied the evanuris and took on a forbidden (probably a dragon) type of form, and was judged by elgar'nan harshly. he apparently also invented the varterral to protect his town from a high dragon? wack, but also could indicate that he had worked with ghilan'nain on making it, since she's the only one who's otherwise mentioned to be bioengineering stuff.

dirthamen has very very few surviving statues or depictions, and is more associated with falon'din than as his own independent figure in the dalish myths. even his own temple includes mosaics of falon'din. there's a few statues that are probably dirthamen, but the most striking is in mythal's section of the fade behind the eluvian, which is a statue of a hooded figure, doubled over with a giant sword sticking out of his back.

[tohruies]

hi hi mrs yao !!!! christmas is coming up, are you going to celebrate anythinf with xiangli ? :33 btw, since miss coco doesnt have a tree, here's a little something to say thank you for being one of my lovely moots 🥺

oh! 😁 hi hello mr puppetgear! 😁 christmas celebrations with xiangli you ask! 😁 well actually! 😁 you see, i was th— *dies upon seeing the image you’ve attached to this ask* 😳😲🤯😱😱😱😵💀🪦