#like . . . i do think he genuinely has it in him to be a better man and i want him to see his son and wife again | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

harmless-variety-of-garden-snake · 19 hours ago

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It's the last day of Fluffebruary. My heart. Today's fill is: Marriage Proposals. I do reference the fills for days one, thirteen, nineteen (sort of), twenty-three, and twenty-six in this one. MCU has nothing on me. There's also switching POV, which I note by doing two lines of dashes. Time jumps within the POV are marked by one line of dashes. You can also read this on AO3 here. Tagging @bucktommyfluffebruary

Buck ambushes Bobby when he gets out of the bathroom, because he’s been trying to get Bobby alone all day.

“I need your advice,” he begs, and Bobby turns toward him with an expectant look on his face. “Is it ethical for me to get my boyfriend really drunk so he doesn’t wake up when I try to measure his ring size?”

Bobby blinks at him and shifts his weight to put his hands on his hips, his body language radiating exasperation and paternal disappointment. “Kid, what the hell do you think my answer’s going to be?”

He winces. “That I should’ve asked Chimney if I wanted a ‘yes’?”

“Probably.” He smiles and reaches out to squeeze Buck’s shoulder, jostling him a bit. “I’m happy for you two.”

“Thanks,” Buck says, smiling and finally not feeling like he’s going to shake out of his skin for the first time since he woke up that morning. “Any ideas?”

“You guys don’t have the same size hands?”

Buck flushes. “No, ah—his are a little bigger. Broader. His fingers are—I don’t know if you’ve ever noticed how big they are.”

Bobby raises an eyebrow, his hand retreating from Buck’s shoulder. “Can’t say I have.”

“Really? It’s, like, the second thing I noticed about him,” Buck says incredulously, and Bobby’s other eyebrow goes up. “Right. Okay, yeah. Straight guys don’t usually notice other guys’ hands.”

“Not unless I need to,” Bobby confirms. “Notice anyone else’s hands that might be the same size?”

Buck thinks about it for a moment and then it hits him. “Actually, yeah. I think I have. Thanks, Bobby.”

“Anytime, kid. Good luck. Let me know if you need anything,” he says, turning and wisely exiting the situation. Buck probably shouldn’t have gotten all gooey about how big Tommy’s hands are. To be fair, they're big and his fingers are thick.

“Fuck,” he breathes, pulling out his phone.

Well, he might as well get a reference photo while he’s at it.

–

Sal slides into the booth across from him. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Buck drops the beer mat he’s been playing with and looks around to make sure no one’s listening before leaning in. “What’s your ring size?”

He smirks and lifts his beer to his lips. “Why, Buckley, you know I’m a married man. You willing to fight it out with Gina or is this a side-piece situation?”

“Shut up,” Buck groans, sitting back as Sal cackles. “Also, Gina would gut me.”

“And dump you in a river,” Sal confirms. “You trying to make an honest man of our Tommy?”

Buck flushes and shrugs, picking up the beer mat again and running his finger along the edge. “Hoping to.”

“Good for you, kid. Thirteen and a half.” Buck’s head snaps up, and Sal’s got a real, genuine smile on his face. “But you can get ‘em resized pretty easy. What's yours?”

“E-eleven, I think?” he guesses, trying to remember the last time he'd looked. “Maybe a ten and a half. I don't really wear rings.”

Sal grins and holds out his beer. “Better get used to it.”

Buck feels a smile creep across his face and sighs, lifting his own beer to tap against Sal’s. “Hopefully.”

“I think you'll be okay.”

–

“Ten and a half,” Sal says, dropping onto Tommy's couch.

“What?” Tommy asks from where he's trying to get a pebble out of the tread of his boots.

“His ring size. Ten and a half, maybe eleven.” He puts his socked feet up on the coffee table and shrugs. “I'd go with eleven, it's easier to size down.”

The knife he's using slips and almost slices across Tommy's hand. “What? How—how?”

Sal smirks. “I have my ways.”

Tommy drops the boot and sits back on his heels with a heavy sigh. “Okay. So—I’m doing this. Am I really doing this? It feels soon, right?”

“Couldn't tell you. But from where I'm sitting,” he says, sweeping his hand across to gesture at the living room or maybe the house or just Tommy's entire life, “you two built something together. Just keep building. We don't usually get to live too long—if it's not a fire, it's a building falling on you or a bolt of lightning or cancer. And you're already middle-aged, Maso. You got your boy, he's not going anywhere. Just put it on paper.”

“You're right.” Tommy stands and shakes out the tingling that’s settling into his hands. “Thanks.”

“‘S why I’m here,” Sal says, crossing his arms over his chest. “And the free booze.”

Tommy snorts. “You thought it was free? Buddy, your tab’s been running for years. I’ll finally be able to pay off the mortgage when you settle up.”

Sal looks offended at that. “Hey, just for that, find a new best man.”

“I didn’t ask,” Tommy points out.

“Who the hell else you gonna ask?” Sal shoots back, getting to his feet. “Your other best friend?”

Sal comes around the table and engulfs him in a tight, back-slapping hug, which just turns into a hug.

“Thanks again,” Tommy says as they pull apart.

“Love you, brother,” he says, holding his face and pressing a smacking kiss to his cheek. He reminds Tommy of his Prozio Aldo so much sometimes, especially when he does shit like that. “Let’s go cut down a tree.”

“We’re just trimming it,” Tommy reminds him.

“Uh-huh.” Sal steps around him to grab his boots and starts walking toward the back of the house. “You say that now, but wait ‘til I get a few more in me. You’ll be lucky to have a yard by the time I’m done.”

–

He’s pacing outside the station until he hears Maddie call his name, and he whirls around to see her approaching with a tray of something. They’re doing a late holiday potluck, having passed Christmas and New Year’s, and Tommy had made sure she would be coming.

“Hey!” he says, folding her into a side-hug before taking the tray from her. “Can we, uh, hang out here for a second? Just waiting for Bobby and Athena.”

Maddie’s brows pinch together for a moment. “Sure. Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” he says, realizing he probably looks like he’s going to pass out. “Yeah, I promise.”

Bobby steps around the corner, glancing over his shoulder, Athena close behind. “Hey. Sorry, kid’s trying to get my damn dry rub recipe again and keeps cornering me. What’s going on?”

Tommy looks between their expectant faces and wants to dive head-first into whatever Maddie’s brought, which smells like it could be something with apples and brown sugar. “I wanted to ask you guys something. I kind of thought maybe Howie should be here, but he can’t keep a secret at all.”

“He can’t,” the three agree in unison.

He exhales slowly, realizing he’s been barely breathing for the last few minutes. “I wanted to ask you guys something—”

“You already said that,” Bobby points out, and Athena elbows him.

“I know it’s old-fashioned,” he admits. “And kind of backwards, because it’s really his decision, not yours, but you guys are his family. But I am kind of old-fashioned, I guess.”

“Tommy,” Athena says firmly, catching his eye. “Ask us.”

He swallows and looks at the tray and then back at them. “Can I maybe have your blessing to—to ask Evan to marry me?”

Maddie’s hands go to her mouth as she lets out a gasp, and Bobby’s looking at him with a wide, knowing smile. Athena looks proud, probably having sussed him out the second he walked into the station earlier.

“Yes!” Maddie squeals, hugging him around his middle and almost upending the tray. “Yes, absolutely a yes.”

“Yeah,” Bobby agrees, and Athena nods.

“What’d you think we were gonna say?” she asks, and Tommy shrugs helplessly. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

“Do you think he’ll say yes?” he asks, letting Maddie take the tray back from him.

“Oh, absolutely,” Bobby says, pulling him into a hug. “I think you’ll be fine.”

–

It’s been almost a year since they got back together. Buck doesn’t want to do anything too big, because then too many things can go wrong and there’s all the added pressure. He’s heard horror stories from people who got proposed to in big, public settings who felt obligated to say yes. He won’t do that to Tommy. Tommy melts under romantic gestures, but actually important moments tend to be smaller and quieter. They’d gotten back together in the privacy of a cockpit, they’d agreed to move in together while they were wrapped up in each other on a picnic blanket, they’d talked about marriage and kids in the privacy of their own house and cars and in corners at parties. He’s got no problem screaming how much he loves Tommy from the rooftops, but some stuff is theirs.

He asks Tommy if he wants anything particular for dinner, and Tommy surprises him by saying Miceli’s.

“You really want to risk it?” Buck teases.

“Hey, I like their food,” Tommy protests.

Buck nods. “It’s good. Good enough to risk us breaking up a third time, though?”

Tommy crowds him up against the bathroom counter and wraps an arm around his waist. “You really think I’d let you go again?”

The casual possessiveness does things to Buck, and he shakes his head, swallowing hard as his eyes flick down to Tommy’s lips. “Seven?”

“Six,” Tommy says, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to his throat. “I want to get home early.”

Buck shivers, and then he’s leaning against the bathroom counter alone.

“See you tonight, sweetheart.”

He licks his lips and nods. “See you. Love you.”

“Love you, too,” Tommy replies, swooping back in for a quick kiss that turns into a long kiss until Tommy pulls his head back with a gasp. “Eddie’s gonna kill me if I flake on him.”

Buck finally releases his boyfriend and waits for him to leave their room and then listens for the sound of the garage door opening. When he’s sure he’s alone in the house, he goes to his duffel bag and digs down until he comes up with a drawstring bag containing a ring box.

“Alright, don’t Buck this up,” he mutters, kissing the box and shoving it in his pocket.

–

Tommy is going to have a fucking heart attack. He feels like he needs Valium on an IV drip. He and Eddie are skipping basketball so he can pick up the ring, because Tommy had been too nervous to keep it anywhere Evan could find it.

When he finally has the small bag in his hands, he climbs into Eddie’s truck and has to do box breathing so he won’t pass out.

“Dude, you flew into a hurricane,” Eddie reminds him.

“Uh-huh.”

“People used to shoot at you.”

“Yep.”

Eddie looks at the bag and then at Tommy’s face. “I mean, I get it, but maybe you should chill for a bit before we go to the next stop.”

They’re getting Tommy a new suit, because he has two, and one of them was worn to a cowboy’s funeral and the other one was worn to Maddie and Howie’s reception/anniversary party. Evan’s seen him in both of them, he needs a new one. He’s picked that out also and had to get it altered, because he always has to get suits altered or they hang on him weird.

“No, we gotta go,” Tommy says, trying to relax. “Let’s go.”

–

Tommy looks good. Tommy always looks good, but Buck loves seeing him in a suit. He’d loved getting him out of the last one he saw him in, he’s definitely going to love getting him out of this one. It’s simple—black jacket, trousers, and tie with a white shirt—but it’s form-fitting and makes him look like James Bond. He’s glad they’d joked about dressing like they were going to a Michelin-star restaurant, because this is a good look for Tommy.

Buck’s skipped the tie, going for a burgundy suit with a white shirt that Hen had helped him pick out. The shirt has a high collar with no lapels that he’s never worn before and doesn’t use a tie, but it’s also a little tight. Buck hopes he doesn’t somehow stop breathing. Wouldn’t be the first time on a date, and it would suck if it happened on this particular one.

“Look at you,” Tommy murmurs, slipping his arm around Buck’s waist under his suit jacket. “Wanna stay in and fool around instead?”

“Not a chance,” Buck teases, drawing Tommy into a toe-curling kiss. “I wanna show you off.”

–

They Uber to the restaurant, since Buck is too nervous to drive and Tommy says he didn’t get enough sleep. They also want to drink a bit, though Buck’s going to take it slow until he has something to celebrate or needs to soften a rejection.

Their table is a little toward the back, and it’s quiet near them with no one immediately nearby. It’s perfect.

They make it through most of a pitcher of beer and their entrees, and Buck starts to feel like it all might come back up. He taps rhythmically against his knee to ground himself and keep himself from just bursting out everything he’s thinking.

“Hey,” he says, and Tommy looks up from the dessert menu, as though he doesn’t already have it memorized, “so I’ve been thinking about some stuff. Nothing bad, I promise. It’s, uh, good, actually? I think. I hope.”

Tommy sets the menu down and looks pleasantly confused. “Everything okay?”

“Everything’s great,” he says, grinning and leaning in a bit, drawn to Tommy always. “I’ve just—there’s so much stuff in our lives that’s unpredictable, you know? Especially with what we do. We talked about this a while ago, I don’t know if you remember? The whole ‘safe haven’ thing.”

“Of course I remember,” Tommy says, smiling and reaching across to take Buck’s hand.

“Good,” Buck says, turning his hand over and wrapping his fingers around Tommy’s. “I’ve thought about it a lot. You’re this steadying force in my life, this thing I’ve been looking for since I can remember. Most of my days are unpredictable, some of them are terrible, and I have an eye in that storm and it’s you. You give me peace and love and comfort. You’re the calm and the safety that I’ve been looking for every single day of my life.”

Tommy’s face softens. “Evan, you’re that for me, too. You’re more than I ever knew to look for. God, I couldn’t have dreamed I’d ever meet someone like you, let alone be lucky enough to love you and be loved by you.”

Buck’s heart starts racing in his chest, because it’s time, and he pushes his chair back so he can get up and come around to Tommy, who looks thrown.

–

Evan is standing next to him and Tommy wants to grab him and put him back on his chair, but when he starts to rise, Evan’s hand presses on his shoulder.

“Just—I don’t know what else to say here,” Evan says, reaching into his pocket and lowering himself onto one knee. “I just want to know if you’ll marry me, Tommy.”

That—that’s his line.

Tommy feels like the air’s been vacuumed out of his lungs, and he doesn’t think he has hands anymore. Or feet. The top half of his head might be gone, too.

“Oh–I—oh,” he gasps when Evan opens the ring box he’s holding. His hands are shaking when he does it. “I—Evan.”

He pushes his chair back and reaches into the pocket of his own trousers before kneeling in the cramped space between this side of the table and the wall. Evan’s eyes are teary and a little confused, and then Tommy holds up his own box, opening it to reveal the ring.

“Will you marry me?” he asks, and Evan’s face crumples before he claps his free hand over his mouth to hold back a noise Tommy’s never heard him make. It’s like a laugh, a cry, and a sob all at once. Tommy's own eyes start to flood with tears even though he's also laughing, because this is ridiculous.

They grasp each other’s faces and laugh and kiss, and then they’re hugging. There’s noise near them—clapping?—and Tommy presses his nose to Evan’s jaw.

“That was a ‘yes,’ by the way,” he whispers, and Evan laughs against his shoulder.

–

He didn’t know. He’d been so focused on his own anxiety that he hadn’t noticed Tommy’s. But there’s a ring on Buck’s finger, and he can’t stop staring at it or the one on Tommy’s.

“How’d you get my ring size?” Tommy asks.

“Sal,” Buck replies, and Tommy laughs. “What?”

“That’s how I got yours.”

Buck remembers Sal asking him, hadn’t thought much of it because it was relevant to the conversation, and laughs. “God, he’s going to be—”

“Insufferable.”

“—the worst,” Buck agrees.

Tommy brushes his thumb over Buck’s ring and smiles. “I hope you don’t mind, but I asked your sister, Bobby, and Athena for their blessing. I asked Howie earlier this week.”

Buck bites his lip and leans in to prop his chin on his free hand. “I asked Bobby if it was unethical to get you drunk so I could measure your finger.”

“It is,” Tommy says, rolling his eyes when Buck shrugs. “But—so everyone knew?”

“Yep.”

“And they still let us—”

“Yep.”

Tommy huffs out a laugh. “Bastards.”

Buck tugs his hand close so he can kiss his knuckles. “Let’s go home.”

Their server appears a few moments later when Tommy flags her down, and she places a bag on the table with a smile.

“Your desserts—packaged to go and on the house. There’s some extras in there, too,” she says, stepping back. “And your dinner was paid for by another patron. Have a great night, guys, and congratulations.”

Someone had already sent them a video and someone else sent photos via AirDrop, and Buck twists around to see if he can figure out who paid. The people who had sent the pictures and video were gone. No one else is paying them any particular attention.

It’s outside, they’re standing in the same spots they had almost two years before, but Buck has his arms around Tommy’s waist this time. This time, they have rings on their fingers, and they’re getting into the same car and going to their home. Where he imagines they’ll have intense celebratory sex followed by celebratory desserts eaten out of take-out containers while they drape themselves over their couch in their underwear.

“C’mere,” Tommy says, holding up his phone.

Buck smiles for the photo, holding up his left hand alongside Tommy’s.

–

In the Uber, Tommy sends the photo to the ‘Fire Family’ group chat with the message: We said yes!

There’s a flurry of emojis and congratulatory messages and questions about when the wedding is. He turns the screen off on his phone and links his hand with his fiancé’s on the middle seat.

“Think we can plan a wedding in under a year?” he asks.

Evan scoffs. “Give me a clipboard and a budget, we’ll be married in six months.”

Tommy smiles and leans over to kiss his cheek. “The sooner the better.”

“In a rush?” Evan teases, smiling at him in the dim light.

“To spend the rest of my life as your husband? A little. Kind of wish I could’ve done it a long time ago. Like, years ago, even though I didn’t know you then,” he admits, and Evan smiles, making a soft noise. “Hm?”

“Something Hen said,” Evan says, shaking his head. “‘You’ll go to bed and wake up every day wishing you’d found each other sooner. ‘Cause life is so damn good that everything before him felt like wasted time.’”

Tommy’s heart slams against his sternum. “Yeah.”

Evan lifts their hands to kiss the back of Tommy’s, tucking it against his cheek. “She said that, and I knew I was going to marry you. I didn’t hope I’d do it or think I’d do it. I knew.”

“I was sitting in a park and had just asked you to move in with me, and I knew I’d have eloped with you that day if you asked.”

“So about three weeks after I talked to Hen.” Evan chuckles and turns his head to kiss his hand again before lowering their hands back onto the seat. “You ever think we’re meant to be sometimes?”

“Sometimes,” Tommy agrees lightly, and it’s his turn to kiss Evan’s hand, his lips landing right next to his ring.

#bucktommy #bucktommy fluffebruary #my fic

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munsonsmixtapes · 10 hours ago

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That's My Man

rockstar!eddie x popstar!reader

Eddie defends you in an interview and you repay him in the most generous way

cw: MDNI (18+) oral (m receiving) handjob, the interviewer makes some inappropriate comments about reader

This is a request made my the always lovely @the-witty-pen-name who also came up with the title!

Eddie puts on the pair of headphones that were pervaded for him as the “on air” sign glows the bright red, signaling that the show has started. He doesn’t even know why he even agreed to this interview. The guy’s an ass and Eddie just knows that he’s inevitably going to say something inappropriate.

He’s really only doing this because his team begged him to. Why, he doesn’t know since the majority of the band’s fanbase hates the kind of guy that Rick is. He’s everything in the book that Eddie can’t stand and now he’s gotta sit here for an hour for his segment. It can’t be too bad, can it?

“Eddie, welcome,” Rick greets and Eddie puts on a smile even though all he really wants is to kick Rick’s ass. He’s unfortunately caught clips of the show here and there and all he does is sexualize women and talk badly about people of color and members of the LGBTQ+ community.

“Hey, thanks,” Eddie replies, trying his best to not say something he really shouldn’t. He just sits there and waits for Rick to start the conversation.

“So you’ve got a new album out which is “From the Upside Down.” What was the process like for creating the record?” Eddie’s genuinely caught off guard by the question considering that Rick never seems to care about that kind of thing. Maybe this won’t be as bad as he initially thought.

“It was actually so different from what we’ve done for past albums. We actually did everything ourselves this time and that was really fun. We took some time off and wrote a bunch of songs and Gareth actually produced them so that was a really cool process to see.”

Eddie loves talking about his music. It’s like a parent talking about their child. He’s always so proud of himself and his bandmates for what they do and he doesn’t think that’s ever going to change. They worked so hard to get where they are now and he’s nothing but grateful that this is his job.

“That’s very interesting,” Rick nods and there’s just something about the look on his face that makes it obvious that he’s about to say some dumb shit. “So I know you’re seeing y/n l/n and can I just say, well done, man.” Yep, definitely some dumb shit.

Eddie can’t help but roll his eyes. Normally, Eddie would love to talk about you. It’s actually his favorite thing to do. But not like this, not in the way that Rick and a lot of other men like to. Where they just sexualize you and reduce you to an object. Eddie won’t stand for that for anyone, but especially not you.

“Well, I wouldn’t say that I’m “seeing” her,” Eddie laughs nervously. You’ve been trying to keep your relationship under wraps for the past six months but it’s so hard to do when the two of you are under a microscope.

“Oh, so you wouldn’t categorize this as seeing her?” Rick asks as he pulls up a photo of you and Eddie kissing outside a bar. He didn’t even know that anyone had taken photos of that and now he feels gross.

“Well-” he tries to explain himself but Rick quickly cuts him off.

“Is she a good kisser? Better yet, is she good in bed?” All of this makes Eddie want to throw up and he can’t believe that men like Rick actually have the audacity to ask questions like that.

“I don’t feel comfortable answering that,” he answers politely even though he’s seconds away from a crash out.

“C’mon, you can tell me. It’s just us.” It’s actually not considering it’s a live radio show and even if it wasn’t, that’s something just between you and Eddie and no one else. Especially not pigs like Rick.

“No, I’m not sharing anything about our relationship. That’s the only thing we have that’s ours.”

“Is she flexible? I bet she’s flexible.” He shows Eddie a photo of you doing a split on stage and his lunch is about to come up. “Oh yeah, definitely-”

Rick doesn’t even have time to finish his sentence before Eddie snatches the tablet and slams it down on the table. He would never let any woman be talked about this way. Especially not his girlfriend.

The anger is festering and he’s having a real hard time trying to keep his cool. Fuck that. He’s not going to be so nice anymore, not wanting anymore disgusting things to be said about you. He can’t let anything else be said about you or he’s going to do something he regrets.

“Don’t talk about her like that,” he points at Rick, glaring at the man and the man actually looks afraid of him. Good. “I know you tend to objectify women and that shit stood today. If I ever hear you talk about anyone else this way or in a derogatory manner, you’ll have me to answer to. Now keep my wife’s name out of your mouth or we’re going to have a problem.”

With that, out of the room. Nothing is worth sitting there and letting that man sexualize you. It makes him feel disgusting and now he feels like he needs a long shower. He’s wiping his jacket with his hands to try to literally get rid of that feeling, but he knows the only thing that will help is seeing you. He just needs someone to talk to about the whole thing.

He’s driving to the venue where you’re performing tonight before he can stop himself. He just wants to hold you in his arms and tell you how much he loves you, hoping that you haven’t been listening to the radio even though he’s sure that you are because you always listen to his interviews.

Eddie’s so angry about the whole thing, still letting it eat at him even though he already took care of it. He just needs to calm down and he will as soon as he sees you. That always makes him feel better. Just thinking about you is doing the trick and when he pulls up to the venue, the weight on his shoulders is lifting.

You’re sitting in your dressing room, doing your makeup when he walks in, your face lighting up when you see him in the mirror. The anger on his face seems to melt away when he sees you, his smile matching yours as he makes a beeline for you. He saw you just this morning but the time you’ve spent away was far too long.

You get up from your chair and he’s quick to pull you into a hug, a tight one as he buries his face into your neck. This is all he’s wanted all day, especially since he stormed out of the interview. You always seem to calm the screaming that’s constantly going on in his head. Your hand moves up into his hair, scratching at his scalp as he kisses your neck, moving your hair away from it as he does so.

You pull away far too soon for his liking before pulling him in for a kiss. He’s needy and desperate and he just wants to show you how much he loves you. Your hands are in his hair as you lick into his mouth, moaning loudly which is only making him harder. He needs your cunt so bad and is so close to taking you right there until you begin to grind against him.

“I heard what you said on the radio,” you tell him as you kiss down his neck, unbuttoning his jeans. “Defending me like that, it was so…hot,” you whisper the last part into his ear before biting down on the lobe before kissing his neck again, giving it a rough suck, making him squirm.

You’re backing him up against the vanity, pinning him there as you continue to suck, his hands falling from you to grip the table behind him, white knuckling it as he lets out a whine, his cock hardening even more to the point where you can now fully feel him against you.

“Now I feel like I owe you.” He defended you and you know it’s because you’re his wife, but you know that he would do that for anyone and that’s how you know you got one of the good ones.

“You-you don’t owe me anything, sweetheart,” he breathes. He really wants whatever you’re willing to give but only if you really want to not because you think he deserves in return for defending you.

“How about I suck you off, is that payment enough?” His eyes widen at both your question and the way you’re biting down on him.

“Please,” he whines, needing to get some sort of relief. You give his neck one more kiss before pulling down his jeans, his underwear following as you get down onto your knees. You’re looking up at him with lustful eyes and he watches you, wondering what you’re going to do next.

You start by spitting into your hand then grab hold of the base, slow strokes to warm him up but they progressively get more intense. He’s already leaking with precum, letting out stuttered breaths as he watches, white knuckling as a moan escapes his lips.

You keep up the pace, moving as fast as you can as Eddie lets out moan after moan. He’s coming undone already so you know he won’t last long. And you only have a few more minutes before you have to be on stage, so you’ve gotta make it worthwhile. You’ve really gotta make this count.

You bring your tongue to the slit, licking up the cum that’s already come out, not wanting to waste a drop then bring your lips to the base, kissing it which catches Eddie off guard. You’re now peppering it with kisses and he somehow gets even more hard as he watches you leave lipstick prints behind. It’s hot. You’re hot and he thinks this is where he likes you most, on your knees.

You then bring your mouth back to the slit, licking it again before bringing it into your mouth, sucking lightly as Eddie’s hands wind into your hair, letting out yet another whine as you bring him in deeper, sucking harder as your tongue swirls around the head. You’re taking him inch by inch and he’s so close, on the edge of an orgasm as you finally get the last bit of him inside.

Cum leaks into your mouth as he screams your name, your eyes watering as the head hits the back of your throat, gagging as you suck him off for just a bit longer. Tears are streaming down your cheeks as you pull him out of your mouth with a loud pop, making sure to swallow as he helps you to your feet.

Eddie pats your tears dry with a tissue so as to not smudge your makeup before you press a lingering kiss to his lips. You clean him up before pulling up his pants and touching up your lipstick.

“How’s that for repaying you?” You ask and he smiles, still dizzy from receiving the best head of his life as he follows you to the side of the stage, wondering how he can get you to do that again once your show is over. He’s sure that you won’t need much convincing.

#stranger things #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie x y/n #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson smut #rockstar!eddie x popstar!reader #rockstar!eddie #rockstar!eddie x fem!reader #rockstar!eddie x reader #rockstar!eddie smut

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gffa · 1 day ago

Note

I love your blog but I can't remember whether or not you're an author BUT I do remember that you know how characters are Supposed To Be.

So-

Do you have any tips on how to write Mace Windu?

Hi! I've written a few Star Wars fics, but probably not ones you've read. 😂 But here is what I would say about writing Mace Windu (or even just if you want to have fun discussing him, I'd love to know what others would say are the best ways to write him!): Mace is someone who is severe with an undercurrent of deep care, this is someone who is serious but whole-heartedly believes in helping others and doing the right thing as best he can. He is a Jedi to his core, which means he holds compassion as the highest value and there's a subtle warmth to him if you care to look. He will place his life on the line to help people, if others have done their best, he will acknowledge it, if they have something of value to add, he will turn to them and ask them to say what they have to say, he will make sure his clones get through a battle if there's any way he can help them, he will gently touch the Zillo beast's face to comfort it, he will jump down into a ravine and smile at a child who needs help, he will stop to ask baby Anakin if his chip removal scar is healing, he will patiently explain Jedi beliefs to him if he's not quite getting it, he will grump at Yoda that their campaign isn't going the way he'd like, but will still easily sit down and meditate with him and find comfort in that. He's not someone who is a big ray of sunshine, he's too serious for that, he has far too much responsibility on his shoulders and holds them with gravitas, he'll tell someone to take a seat if they're getting out of line (he has more patience with children, but adults he'll treat as adults), he's not going to coddle someone who isn't trying their best, but at the heart of him, he is someone who genuinely wants the best for people, who will wrestle with his anger over injustice and win over it because he has spent a lifetime wrangling his anger into compassion, because he truly believes in the Jedi path, and always do what he believes is right. He takes administrative politics seriously, because he knows that he can't just defy them without consequences that would hurt people in the long run, which may appear cold to others who don't really know him but fundamentally, Mace Windu is a deeply caring man who is trying to help as many people as he can, he has dedicated his life to helping all people, even those who would spit on him, he still does his best to understand their circumstances and find sympathy for them. (Like when Prosset Dibs fell to the dark side, tried to kill Mace and said that he would dance on the Jedi's graves, Mace's response was to say that it was their duty to help him back to the light and put him on archive duty, rather than any serious punishment.) Mace can occasionally crack a very dry joke, he does have a sense of humor, but it's fairly rare. He'll be curt if he's having a bad day, especially if someone is getting out of their lane at him, but not unfairly and never with cruelty. He's a phenomenal athlete even among the Jedi, he's brilliant at what he does, there's a reason he helps lead the Jedi, this is someone who embodies the very best of them. Admittedly, I'm biased because Mace is one of my favorite characters, so I'm less aware of his flaws (even if I'll defend why he's sometimes short with people, it's true that he can sometimes come off as abrasive and not as patient as he might in better times, but I think Mace should be allowed to have frayed nerves sometimes, too), but I do genuinely believe that Mace should be written as someone who is a very serious faced person but loves the galaxy so deeply that it's woven into his bones, who loves his culture and his people, who loves the people of the galaxy, who would give all of himself to help them.

#lumi.txt #star wars #mace windu #meta

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yeyinde · 18 hours ago

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i love the way you write simon because it’s so realistic and dark. Like yes actually on the inside he’s still a starving scared boy terrified of snakes. Yes he doesn’t know who he is when he looks in the mirror. Yes he’s a machine but he’s also a dog who’s been taught to bite and a long time ago he wished he could stop but now the rabies and the sharpness are integral to him and losing those would mean losing himself 🔥🙏🏻

godddd, you nailed it perfectly. i think he spent so much time wandering around as a hollow, empty shell—filling himself with violence and brutality—that he's not really sure what to do when you pop into his life. all his grief is probs now just stone cold fury. has very little pity to spare.

i really like when big, strong characters secretly hate the "weaker" people they are forced to protect, and that's def Ghost to me. which is why i write the dynamic between him and reader as if he kindaaaa hates you. despises your existence. what you make him feel. what you could do to him. and not in the angsty enemies to lovers thing, but as a "this man still sometimes looms over you and genuinely contemplates what he'll tell Price when he's finished with you" kinda way. but he's not gonna do anything about it because he's selfish and hungry and you feed that emptiness inside of him better than anything else he's ever tried. so. you're stuck with him.

#jury is out on whether or not he really thinks you're a person and not just something that fell out of his pocket #will casually dehumanise you and you're not even sure it's intentional #very obsessive possessive but where most will protect the ones they want #he's getting some sick amusement watching you flee from danger all on your own #(because the more desperate you are for his help the easier he can manipulate you)

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serpentface · 3 days ago

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What do Brakul and Janeys see in each other?

(I wrote some of this in quasi-character voice/pov on impulse (in brackets), though don't take it as actual dialogue. They wouldn't outright say most of this.)

WHAT JANEYS SEES IN BRAKUL:

-[He is just objectively beautiful. There's no way around it, this is just a material fact. He has the prettiest brown eyes and a cute gap in his teeth and he's 6'2'' and he's big and strong and hairy and well endowed (balls) and sooo virile and 6'2''. This is the ideal male body at peak performance so it's just inevitable to be wildly, painfully attracted to it. There's probably tons of other people who want to shove their face into his armpits.]

[But they don't get to.]

-Janeys is significantly more at ease with him than almost anyone else. He doesn't feel such an acute need to posture and put on performances, or as devastating shame when the performance 'fails'. The psychological factors that motivate this to begin with don't just like, magically go away, but they're much less acute. He feels like he can just Exist around him. It's nice.

-Thinks he's a really funny, smart and interesting person general. Very pleasant to talk and amicably argue with. Janeys finds a lot of things he never would have given a shit about suddenly very interesting because it's coming from him. Like 'yeah he's not EDUCATED per se but he has a fascinating repository of knowledge about like, cheesemaking and birds and freakish snow vampires and the many nuances of highland seasonal transhumance.'

-Janeys sees a lot of things in Brakul that he finds lacking in himself, and experiences a sense of being more complete, better, stronger, via this partnership (somewhat literally, sharing blood Is sharing spirit). He feels genuinely more confident around him, not just in his typical "I'm Confident that my family name and Odonii bloodkin status can force some deference out of you" way but like legit confidence. Not the healthiest way to develop self esteem and not put to the best uses but it is what it is.

-Matches his freak and exceeds it in strange and compelling ways

-Meshes Fairly well with his clingy attachment style (it causes friction sometimes though) and meets his substantial needs for physical affection and casual intimacy (at least in private).

-[He's a really, really, really good kisser]

-[He is my closest and most trusted friend, my brother. He's like how the most florid love poets describe their wives, except if a wife was a man and wasn't someone you had to marry. No one has ever loved a man like I have. No one has shared a spirit like I have. The concept of life without him is no longer imaginable, he is carved into my very skin, he's in my veins, mouth, hands. He is my natural compliment and easiest companion. My beloved, my heart, my blood, my other face.]

-[He's 6'2'']

---

WHAT BRAKUL SEES IN JANEYS:

-[He's very good looking, in kind of a subtle way. Like you don't necessarily notice at first, but he's got this sort of... sturdy yet gracile handsomeness to him? Like a deer, or a small to mid-sized bird of prey. Except attractive and a man. Very attractive. He has such a nice smile and the most gorgeous legs, and a cute little trail of hair up his stomach. Nice hands. And feet. Sturdy. Lovely hair. His eyes are just kind of scary but, otherwise.]

-[He's actually soooo nice when you get to know him. He is one of the sweetest and most caring people I've ever met, actually.]

[Sure he's kind of an asshole. To most people. On most occasions. But have you considered that THEIR vibes are, very often, simply bad and offputting, and maybe it's sometimes their faults for being irritating? Yeah. Think a little.]

-Brakul distinctly likes being one of few people Janeys likes and one of much fewer that he actually chills out around. He likes that he gets to see sides of him that are almost completely reserved for himself. He feels special.

-Overall sees him as someone who is often difficult and frustrating but ultimately deeply lovable. He finds him to be very caring, admirably loyal, genuine, and funny. Good to talk to, and good to sit in comfortable silence with. He sees him as a very different person but someone who compliments him well. Natural choice of companion.

-Has a generally realistic outlook on Janeys' abilities but considers him to be more capable than most people think and fairly talented in some respects. He would note him as skilled with the spear, pretty decent with the lyre, a good dancer and very beautiful singer.

-He absolutely likes that one of Janeys' 'love languages' is giving him gifts. He loves being the spoiled male wife of a nobleman. He was made for this shit. The gift-giving on Janeys' part initially made him nervous (on the presumption that it was indebting or otherwise transactional) but he is LONG since over it.

[Everyone was always saying, "Brakul you're kinda lazy and annoying, you lost all your mother's cattle in a really pathetic way, you strained the alliances between multiple clans to a breaking point by being a fuckup, you abandoned your firstborn," etc etc but look at me now. I'm so loved and I have 200 cattle and 12 khait and eat meat every day of my life.]

-Doesn't Fully match his freak, but does where it matters most. Sub/switch masochist for a dom/switch sadomasochist. Peace and love.

-Easily flustered in a way he finds cute/hot.

-Really likes his intense and earnest enthusiasm for physical affection/intimacy. The other people Brakul has had romantic/sexual experiences with in the past have been substantially less touchy-feely, and he prefers being able to show affection this way. Expressing this shit verbally can be difficult (with or without having to translate), it always feels a little insufficient. Lengthy and complicated sessions of making out/cutting each other/blood consumption/frotting/doing weird shit with cum/still vaguely sexual wound cleaning with vinegar/cuddling/etc have turned out to feel like a more comprehensive form of romantic expression. And not a lot of people are into that kinda thing, so this is pretty special.

-[He makes me happy. Sometimes I'll look at him while he's asleep or just sitting next to me or whatever, and still get hit with that new love, 'I'm going to throw up but in a good way' feeling, even after all this time. I'm glad to have found him. I'm glad to share my life with him. I'm glad we belong to each other. I've never found an adequate describe it, 'brother' is easy but completely wrong. It just is what it is. I love him.]

-[He does some crazy shit with his mouth]

#6'2'' is not a canon measurement (most people use 'hands' for the heights of humans/animals) but it's significantly funnier if I say 6'2''#Also think I answered something similar a while ago but that was more focused on how they conceptualize each other in general #this is more about things they just really like

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burningcheese-merchant · 2 days ago

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No, Merchant, feel free to complain to your hearts content. I'm certainly much meaner to ugly blue alastoroncelerbillcipherspamton from temu and every last inch of his undeserved popularity. I seethe because as an Ovenbreak player of SEVEN YEARS, none of my faves get remembered in a tweet, let alone merchandise. The dragons, who all took over five years to collectively come out, got a pin set and devsis wiped their asses with them then moved on. I waited over a YEAR for another sugar nova odyssey update to come out because xylitol nova and astronaut are my favorite cookies ever and I'm still fucking waiting 🫠 meanwhile the beasts are getting shat out every 3 months with the most rushed nonsensical recycled plotlines held together with scotch tape because making profit is what really matters here, not competent storytelling. I wouldn't even be this furious if the beasts got equal attention and spotlight but we both know that's not true hahaha 😬 they love to shove their (really badly designed) golden cow in our faces because Smilk was lab engineered to get sexyman tumblr girlies screaming their heads off while not even being 1/4th the interesting character they want you desperately think he is. JUSTICE for burning spice, mystic flour, and everyone else who will get done dirty for this boring walmart Jevil 😒

Oh my gosh 🤣🤣🤣 tell us how you REALLY feel, Anon, let it all out. It's not healthy to bottle up your emotions like that (you might want to stay anonymous though, I don't think either of us want an angry mob at your doorstep lol)

I'm anticipating a ramble (as I am wont to do) so under the cut it goes

Gonna start by saying I DO like Shadow Milk. I really do. It took me a little while for him to grow on me when he first appeared, admittedly (ESPECIALLY his voice...), but I am genuinely fond of the little blue jester man. But he's certainly not my favorite, far from it. That title belongs to Burning Spice and Burning Spice alone lol. The only reason I ever turned the English audio back on (I usually play the game in Japanese, I love hearing my fave anime characters speak lol) was so I could hear that gorgeous baritone of his... Burning Spice is everything to me. I love his design, I love his voice, I love his dialogue, I love his personality, I love him soooooo much. He's my babygirl. If Silent Salt turns out anything like the character I've constructed inside of my head, then he will share the #1 spot with Spice. I'll go ahead and say that right away

I'm upset because, like you said, it feels like he got majorly shafted while Shadow Milk gets all the praise and attention. Mystic Flour as well, poor girl, but I'm focusing on Spice just to drive the point home a bit better. He didn't even get a fucking countdown. What was his little merch thing? That weird ass candle (I thought it was a vase at first lol) and that's it. Furthermore, his story feels the least developed. There was and is SO MUCH that could have been said about him as a person as well as his dynamic/connection with Golden Cheese, that wasn't for whatever reason. Episodes 5 and 6 feel like they're missing something (and you feel what the "something" is in that brief flashback to Spice's past. There's more to what became of him than "I was bored", there HAS to be. Boredom is a symptom, not the cause. I maintain that this theory of mine has merit, and it would've been nice if they dove deeper into it than they did), you know? And I hate it. I hate that Spice is basically the forgotten middle child of the Beasts while Shadow Milk gets all the glory. Seriously, for Shadow Milk:

They changed their YT avatar to him for a while (it has ALWAYS been Gingerbrave, they never changed it once to anyone else all these years). iirc they did this on Twitter too

They dedicate an HOUR LONG commentary video to episode 7 and Shadow Milk (arguably fair, because it WAS the 4th anniversary. But even so. Did they do this for any other Beast? Any other episode? Any other anniversary?)

They give him a costume (a legendary one, at that) plus a set with his Ancient. NO OTHER Beast/Ancient pair has that, and I struggle to imagine they ever will. Do you understand what I would do to have a BS/GC costume set? DO YOU???

They make an exclusive, limited edition plushie (that caused a massive shitstorm iirc, justice for everyone that got fucked over during that and fuck scalpers)

They make a whole ass pop-up store event themed entirely around Shadow Milk and episodes 7 and 8

Why? Because he's the fan favorite lol. He's long since been the golden child of this community, and now we know he's Devsisters' golden child, too. (And they're desperate for money because they're drowning in debt. That's also probably why they released Shadow Milk on the 3rd anniversary: to drum up interest on a milestone anniversary by bringing in a beloved character. Thematically/narratively, Shadow Milk should've been released last. But that's just my opinion.)

Again, I really do like Shadow Milk. I call him "Walmart Bill Cipher" affectionately (and because he genuinely does remind me of Bill. In fact, I think Bill might've inspired SM to some degree). But it's unfortunate that other characters, the other Beasts especially, are pushed aside and ignored just so Shadow Milk can hog all the spotlight. It is with a very intense grimace that I agree that Shadow Milk is a Tumble sexyman. He fits the stereotype to a T. It would serve us all well to accept that truth. He even got added to the Tumblr sexyman wiki before it turned to flour lol. Burning Spice is... NOT a Tumblr sexyman. He is a regular old hunk. Tumblr was never in the business of liking big, beefy hunks, at least not the Tumblr I knew 10 years ago lol.

I'm also, to reference it again, just really disappointed that so little was and is done to explore the other Beast/Ancient pairs - and the fandom is guilty of this, too (not to knock the PV/SM anaylses at all! They're all fantastic and I genuinely do understand and love the deep, complex connection between them!). To go back to BS and GC, because they're my lifeblood (not just for shipping reasons I swear)... it's particularly egregious to me that THEIR dynamic wasn't given the attention and detail it deserves. They are LIFE AND DEATH, the very foundation of the world itself, things I (personally) consider significantly more important than truth and deceit because it is from life and death that all else springs forth. Truth and deceit are things you actively look for; life (abundance) and death (destruction) are just there, everywhere you look, even within yourself. You can close your eyes, ears, heart to the truth and you can learn to shun, decipher, defend against deceit; there is no escape from life nor death. None whatsoever. And so much can be done with that. So much can be done with them. Burning Spice and Golden Cheese need each other in the exact same way that Shadow Milk and Pure Vanilla need each other. They parallel each other quite a bit, too. They're so similar and so different. They could have and SHOULD HAVE had so much to say to and about each other, like what Shadow Milk and Pure Vanilla have. But that didn't happen. Didn't happen with Dark Cacao and Mystic Flour, either. All of that love and care and philosophical exploration goes to the clown and the Jesus Christ allegory. Which is FINE, I'm not saying to leave those two hanging, just... show some of that love to the beefcake and the bird, too. And Korean Batman (Cacao reminds me of Batman, I'm sorry 🤣) and Ms. Angel of Death, too. Please, man. Truth and Deceit aren't the only dichotomy that matters and is worthy of thought and discussion

(and oh my God, dude. The Ovenbreak shit. I've been playing for as long as you, and that shit is diabolical at this point. We get ONE dragon update a year, and they always leave us on the most painful cliffhanger of all time each time. (And this last one... I have many issues, but the most glaring one of all: WHERE THE FUCK IS FIRE SPIRIT??? WHY ISN'T HE IN THE STORY??? HE IS INTRINSICALLY LINKED TO PITAYA DRAGON! THEY HAVE AN UNBREAKABLE BOND BECAUSE OF THEIR DEAL THAT GRANTED HIM SOME OF PITAYA'S POWER AND SAVED HIS LIFE! HE SHOULD BE AN INTEGRAL PART OF THIS ARC! HE SHOULD BE AT THE FOREFRONT! IF PITAYA GETS HURT, HE GETS HURT! FIRE SPIRIT'S WELL-BEING IS DIRECTLY TIED TO PITAYA'S AND THE DRAGON'S VALLEY AND BOTH ARE IN SERIOUS JEOPARDY!!! Oh God I can scream about this for so long. I have a similar issue with the Red Dragon arc in CRK, WHY WASN'T FIRE SPIRIT THERE?) I LOVE the dragons, I love their relationship with each other, I love the conflict between them, even the unique bonds/quarrels between specific ones! And their storyline is picked up and dropped over and over again, left to collect dust until they feel like continuing the story. Hell, remember Gingerbrave and co.'s quest to find where that wizard compass is pointing, and to find a place for them to build a peaceful life away from the Witches? Me neither lol. Sea Fairy's great sacrifice with Sugarteara and the cursed pearl? (SF was done SO dirty in Kingdom, she's an actual character in OB and in CRK all she cares about is Moonlight, to the point that she lets an entire civilization fall to ruin because she refuses to do her fucking job) The Xylitol gang... Well, as of writing this, that's the next update... Which will give us another legendary cookie, hardly 3 months after Dreamweaver lol. Fuck Stevia Nova, I already don't give a damn. Give me more Xylitol Nova and Astronaut and that's it

I have a lot more to say (especially about BS and GC, God I could talk about them FOREVER, they're so interesting to me), but I think I've rambled enough lol. All the love for Shadow Milk, truly, but all the love and justice for Burning Spice and the other Beasts and every other character that gets ignored, too

#seriously I could talk abt BS and GC for 5000 years. My analysis of them goes hard and deep #also. even if I couldn't have gone. you know how nice it would've been if there was a Land of Fire and Ruin pop-up?#or a Realm of Apathy/Ivory Pagoda one?#separate point. I just really adored the Indian and Chinese aesthetic and inspirations for BS and MF. I want more like that #India and China are such rich and diverse nations/cultures. The Europe and Alice and Wonderland vibe w SM is lovely too but...#... it isn't really anything we haven't seen before. you know?#if the leaked background for ES is real then she's supposed to be Greek. Hope they don't squander that. Greece is cool #also I have... an additional theory for why ep 7+8 and the PV/SM dynamic get all the attention...#...and also why BS is the least developed Beast. but I hesitate to even look in the direction of those hornet's nests lmao #anyway thank you for sharing your thoughts anon ✌️ solidarity #cookie run kingdom #shadow milk cookie #burning spice cookie #mystic flour cookie #cookie run ovenbreak

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nthewriter · 1 day ago

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(Sorry I had writer block ;-; please be advised this chapter can be uncomfortable to read, it's angsty)

Being Simon's long lost biological child

part 1 / part 2 / part 3 / part 4 / part 5 (you are here!)

"Did you seriously search "how to be a good dad"?" Johnny asked with an arched eyebrow, looking at the computer.

"Better late than nothing."

"Si, honey, I think that's more of an instinct thingy."

"My only instincts are to kill and to protect." Simon groaned, head back in annoyance. "I am really trying, Johnny."

"I know." He felt the other man's hands on his shoulders massaging him. "It's been a few weeks now. We could... have a family lunch? Could cook something, and they often eat alone in their room."

"You're an angel. You know that?"

Simon genuinely tried to be a good father. It was just... hard. Too hard sometimes. He drove (Y/N) to their therapy sessions twice a week, waited for them, tried to remember things they liked to which they would reply "I am not five anymore dad!". Well, at least they recognised him as their father. Which was good, he guessed.

Johnny had always been a good cook, that’s what he had found out after starting to live with the Scottish man. He always had cookbooks everywhere, freshly and neatly aligned by categories. Ever since he had been lightly discharged from the army, Johnny has been trying out all kinds of cooking, even once cooking something with dry insects. Simon still remembered trying to smile and to tell his beloved he was liking it.

Simon dressed up the table nicely. He wanted to make sure that (Y/N) felt included, welcomed… loved. He did feel like an asshole for not trying to step up earlier. It would have avoided all this mess. It would have surely prevented Elsie's death. It would have prevented his child from being turned into a mindless killer who worshiped Vladimir Makarov like a saint.

They came out the bedroom, footsteps light but Simon could hear them coming down the stairs. When he looked up, he found his child staring back at him with a frown.

“What's the occasion?”

“We thought we could have a family dinner tonight. You, me, Soap.” He jerked with his head toward the kitchen. Simon usually used his partner's callsign as a pet name.

“I'm not hungry.”

“You better be. He spent the whole afternoon in the kitchen trying to find something that will please you.” There he went with his aggressive and harsh tone. He tried to calm and ground himself. “Listen- I just- Johnny just wanted to spend some time with you.”

“So we can pretend everything is okay? That we are a perfect little family?” (Y/N) replied, mimicking his aggressive tone.

“Yes. Just for once. Please.” Simon begged as he moved and awkwardly clasped their shoulder. He squeezed it lightly.

“Fine.”

The evening went on quietly. Simon put on some light music, trying to make the atmosphere less tense. He had cleaned up a little, trying to look good. His eyes wandered to his child who took a few bites off the food Johnny had prepared.

“It's good?” Johnny asked the kid.

“Yeah.”

They often spoke few words when they were around the couple. Simon felt bad, he wanted to include them into the family. So he tried to make conversation.

“Doctor Fonda said you were making a lot of efforts. That's nice. I am proud of you.”

“Proud of what? Of me “seeing things your way”?” They spoke aggressively.

“No- I meant-”

“Meant what?” They glared at him across the table. And the man felt a white hot rage rising in his body. Couldn’t they see he was trying?! Trying to be a better father?!

“Simon, calm down.” Johnny put his hand on his partner's under the table.

“I'm calm.”

“Speak to yourself, old man. Sounds like you have seen a ghost or something.” They grinned, continuing to fuel his rage. “What? Do I look like mom? How did you feel when she died after you left her to rot all alone?”

“I didn't leave her! You're making me sound bad.” Simon growled, slowly standing up. And his kid stood too.

“Because you're trying to play the hero, again, when in reality you're just a freaking loser! She died because of you!”

“And you should have died with her! That will save me a bunch of problems!” Simon roared back. “I didn't want you in the first fucking place! I wish she had aborted you like I begged her in the first place.”

Then, silence. Complete silence. (Y/N) stomped back to their room, slamming the door. The dinner was cold. Simon sighed and put a hand through his hair. He had fucked up. Again. He had said things he didn't mean to say. Or perhaps… and it was the worst, he meant them.

Turning to Johnny, he tried to apologise. But the other man just groaned something under his breath, clearly annoyed at him.

“The dishes need to be done.” Johnny spoke with an emotionless voice as he grabbed the half empty plate.

Simon sat back into his chair. He wasn't a good father. But he was a good destroyer.

#simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #cod #johnny soap mactavish #cod x reader #ghoap #platonic #x gender neutral reader #cod platonic

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multiheadcanons · 2 days ago

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THE MERCS WATCHING ME DO MY JOB BECAUSE IM SICK OF WATCHING THEM DO THEIRS

scout: what if i throat chopped him instead. he will want to talk and i can’t work and talk at the same time… at all. he’d be asking veterinary questions and i’d have to be like bro… i’m not that guy. you may think i’m that guy but i’m not that guy. i’m not that guy at all bro. his puny brain cannot comprehend how i take a dirty nasty dog and turn it into a beautiful, clean, fresh smelling dog. like the process baffles him after the scrubbing part of the bath. but he enjoys watching it.

soldier: he will try to help and i will have to politely tell him to sit his ass down and watch. might have him lift the big dogs on my table. also marginally baffled at how i manage to do my job. finds it funny when i have to climb into the tub. he asks questions i should feasibly know, but i just can’t talk and work at the same time. if he has questions he should wait until after i’m off. he’d be fun to bitch to off the clock.

pyro: they will watch politely, and occasionally ask to pet a dog, and then i’d have to tell them i’m not insured for anyone else except me touching the dog. i might let them pet the ones i know are very nice and friendly. but not for long, since i do still have to do my job. but they’d be a very nice spectator, and i’d let them pick bandanas and bows if they so wished to. every animal that steps off my table looks nice to them, and sometimes i will have to cringe and accept the uneducated compliment.

demo: asleep in the kennel. joking! kinda. but in all seriousness he’s genuinely interested in my work! he recognizes the necessity of it, and applauds my efforts to do my best. finds it somewhat humorous this is my occupation; though the more he thinks about it, he finds that he couldn’t imagine me doing anything else, really. happy i made something of myself.

heavy: a quiet watcher. will not give an opinion unless i ask for it, which is incredibly welcomed. very much a rubber duck type. he won’t talk while i’m working, and if anything will tell me to quit talking and work, that i do better work when i’m quiet, and he is very right about that, so i will oblige. but as we both look at the dog, he might point out something i don’t see, especially if it’s a larger dog and he knows i’m losing steam from staring at the dog for so long. best for last minute catches and fixes.

engineer: appalled and frightened by the state of my clippers. work will stop so he can fix them. and the entire time i am getting an earful about the importance of maintaining my tools. while i get it, if the guy only comes on fridays, and i gotta call… i just ain’t got the brain for it sometimes engie, im sorry. he does still realize the quality of my work, he just knows it’ll be easier with a new blade drive. and he’s certainly not wrong.

medic: the doc doesn’t want to see me do a good job on a nice dog where it’s sunshine and rainbows and happiness and love and joy and i can make the dog look great. call him when i’m suffering. he’ll be there when i’m sitting with the dog on my table and my head in my hands. he wants to see the work come to a complete stop. he wants to see the ones that wreck my time management for the day. he wants to see the crisis cases. he wants watch me cry so he can laugh about it. tell me this is the job. shape up and finish it.

sniper: every dog looks great. once i pull out the thinners he’s impressed. but it is only occasionally when he is interested in details. will normally watch in silence. polite enough to wait for me to be off work to ask his questions. and if i can answer them, i will! he finds it to be an odd, niche job. but he doesn’t think it in a negative way, he himself has an odd, niche job. just interesting to see how odd and niche it can get on both ends.

spy: finally, a man with some strong opinions. spy will be critical and i will welcome it, no question. he’s so picky that when i parse through his comments on my technique i find that he’s actually saying things i can use. or at least things i should consider. he’s a good stand in for a client, staring over my shoulder, parsing through my notes, especially if i got to interact with the client beforehand. i get good results with him.

#team fortress 2 #team fortress two #tf2 medic #tf2 sniper #tf2 heavy #tf2 scout #tf2 soldier #tf2 engineer #tf2 pyro #tf2 spy #tf2 demoman #tf2 demo #why would i ever let my favorite character comfort me in times of stress #i am a slave to the canon #and that’s okay i wouldn’t have him any other way #thanks for appreciating my hcs if you got this far!#oh! by the way!#two. more. posts.

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buckleyflower · 3 days ago

Note

so, gonna send this in from the prompts list as a combo because I think its absolutely devastatingly perfect. Can't wait to see what you write from it! <3

1.) "I Thought I Was Getting Better"

9.) "Make It Stop"

It happens to Eddie for the first time when he is in Afghanistan. He can’t breathe. Time moves too quickly and too slowly at the same time. His heart is about to leap out of his chest and his hands are shaking so much that he can’t unbutton his uniform to take a breath, even if he couldn’t, anyway.

He chalks it up to the stress that comes with… living in a war zone, probably.

He doesn’t panic. A panic attack makes no sense, does it? He is a soldier, for God’s sake. He doesn’t panic.

And maybe it happens again and again but the intensity is all too different to keep track of it every single time. And there’s always someone shooting at him or about to blow him (and all of his fellow soldiers) up, so it becomes just… his normal. Until he comes back home and has to face a whole new hell, and he is so consumed by grief and pain and anger that it all fades, until he forgets that sometimes his lungs don’t seem to cooperate.

Then Ana Flores comes along and wants to be perfect for him. Hell, she probably is. But not for him. She would be the perfect wife, the perfect partner, but not for Eddie, not for someone who already has everything he’s looking for in a partner in his best friend.

So it happens again. And he is sure he’s gonna die this time, in Los Angeles, while no one is shooting at him and no one is shouting at him. Everything is supposed to be soothing, and yet he hears the screams nonetheless.

He is so sick and tired when a doctor tells him that he is not dying and his heart is working perfectly. He is so sick and tired all the time, honestly, but then there’s Buck who keeps looking at him like he wants to pick all his pieces and put them back together, and maybe, in a way he does, because he breaks up with Ana and his heart slows down again and his lungs expand to a discrete level every single time.

Then, Christopher goes away. Christopher leaves him. He puts 800 miles between him and his father and Eddie can’t help but see all the time he has lost flashing before his eyes. All the little milestones of his son, all the things he will never get back, and all the things he will miss, again, because he is a fucking failure. As a man, as a husband, as a father.

He is not at all surprised when his heart rate spikes in the middle of the night, when his chest constricts and he gasps, desperately trying to get a full breath in, shooting up from the bed with cold sweat coating his forehead, hands shaking and mouth twitching with the need to cry.

His phone on the nightstand begs him to be picked up.

Buck would answer. Buck would make it all better.

But Eddie doesn’t take his phone and Buck never finds out about his panic attacks and nightmares.

It takes two months, of Eddie not sleeping, of Christopher barely speaking to him, of Eddie trying and failing to put up a happy facade, for Buck to notice.

Buck genuinely hates himself because even after his breakup with Tommy, he has missed all the signs. That’s why he doesn’t know what to do the first time that Eddie claims he is not breathing while they are just watching a movie on Buck’s couch, on one of their nights off. Then he tries. He tries to get Eddie to calm down by talking to him, every time, but when it doesn’t seem to work anymore, he starts to take Eddie’s hands into his, and then— then it just isn’t enough anymore and one day Eddie is fine and next thing he knows he’s sitting in his therapist’s office.

So Eddie is sure he is getting better. Weeks pass by and he hasn’t had a panic attack in almost… twenty-one days— yeah, he’s counting. But then— then it happens at the worst of times.

They are on a call when Eddie starts panicking again and suddenly he is engulfed by untamable flames that lick at his lungs both physically and metaphorically, and he can barely see by the time they get out of the building on fire, because he is most certainly hyperventilating. And that’s dangerous, he could have put himself and his teammates in danger. He could have put Buck in—

“Eddie!”

It’s Buck who tries to get his attention, tugging his protective gear off of him in the process.

“Eddie, hey, hey.” He frantically gets Eddie’s mask off his face and then starts unbuttoning his turnout coat, while Eddie is stock still, completely frozen. His chest heaving is the only indication that he is alive, until he stutters something that Buck almost doesn’t catch.

“Sorry, I didn’t hear that, Eds.”

Eddie squeezes his eyes shut, once, twice. “I— Buck I— I promise—” he sobs, uncoordinatedly clawing at Buck’s biceps.

“Hey, it’s okay, Eds— it’s okay.” Buck’s chest constricts uglily.

This is the man he loves, the man who makes it all better for him, and he… what can Buck do? He is shattering. But— first things first. He has to keep his cool.

“I thought I was getting better,” Eddie splutters, eyes wild while his grip on Buck’s falters. “Buck, I— why is— Frank said that—”

Buck is vaguely aware that Bobby, Hen, and Chimney are watching the scene like hawks, but they are nice enough to not interfere.

He cups Eddie’s cheeks. Maybe the touch can ground Eddie. “Breathe with me, talk later, hm?” He gently offers to Eddie. “Eddie.” He gets closer, in Eddie’s space, so much that he fears that Eddie’s condition is going to worsen, but Eddie ends up closing even more space. “I— I’m sorry, Buck.”

“What?” Buck moves his hands, puts them on Eddie’s hips, and then moves them up and down around Eddie’s chest.

He doesn’t understand, but then Eddie starts crying and he decides to pull him into a tight hug. “Shh, shh— I got you, just breathe,” he gently mumbles in Eddie’s hair, and he thinks they’re about to come out of this, that Eddie is calming down, but then— then his heart breaks in twenty different ways.

Because Eddie whispers “Make it stop,” eyes closed against his neck. “Please make it stop,” he sobs.

“You’re okay, baby, you’re okay, I got you,” is all Buck tells him in response. “We’re gonna figure it out, I promise.”

What else could he do, after all, if not whispering sweet nothings and gentle reassurance in Eddie’s ears? He can just love him. Yeah. That’s exactly what he’ll do, what he’s doing. And eventually, that will help Eddie to believe that he is enough.

—

I’m sorry if this is a bit too long and angsty :( but I hope you like it. Thank you for asking💓

#911 abc #911 on abc #eddie diaz #evan buckley #buddie #911 fanfic #buddie fanfic #buddie fic #buddie ficlet #lucy lad writes

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scarletwinterxx · 4 hours ago

Text

magnets - choi seungcheol imagine 1/2

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

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

for my other svt fics, check them here

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

(pics not mine, credits to rightful owner)

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

Lies. All of it.

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

Until a certain someone crossed paths with you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I am."

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

"Three," Mingyu corrects.

"Ten," Jeonghan bets

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

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

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

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

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

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

He’s curious.

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

You smirk. "I don’t do weak ones."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"They bet against you, didn’t they?"

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

"And yet, here we are."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I don’t waste time," you quip

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"My thing?"

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

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

"But you’re entertaining this one."

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

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

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

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

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

Seungcheol tilts his head. "Leaving already?"

"What, you want me to stay?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Nope”

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

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

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

"Hello?"

Silence. Then—

"Was this your plan all along?"

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

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

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

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

You bite back a laugh. "Who caved?"

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

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

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

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

"Exactly."

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

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

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

"And? Impressed yet?"

"You’re getting there," you tease.

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

You blink. "What?"

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

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

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

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

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

Seungcheol: I’m outside.

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

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

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

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

"Cocky."

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

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

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

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

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

"It’s a gift," you say sweetly.

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

"You chased," you remind him.

"And you liked it."

You pretend to consider. "A little."

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

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

You give him a sideways look. “Fancy.”

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

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

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

“That’s not an answer.”

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

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

He laughs, shaking his head. “Unbelievable.”

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

“Not really. Just know what’s good.”

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

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

You tilt your head. “No?”

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

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

His lips quirk up. “You should.”

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

“So, I heard something interesting from Mingyu.”

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

“Apparently, you have a reputation.”

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

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

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

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

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

“So, most men are idiots?”

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

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

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

Seungcheol raises an eyebrow. "Oh?"

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

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

"Maybe."

He smirks. "He really needs a hobby."

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

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

"On what?"

"On what you think ‘true’ means."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He lifts his glass toward you in a silent toast.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I didn’t say that."

"Didn’t not say it either."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Lowkey, yeah."

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

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

You groan. "You guys are so dramatic."

"Okay, so what happened?" Jihyo presses.

"Nothing."

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

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

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

"She’s deflecting," Jihyo announces.

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

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

"Ohhhh, no way." Mingyu screeches.

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

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

That is, until Friday night.

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

But then you see him.

Seungcheol.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And that’s when he speaks.

"Small world, huh?"

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

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

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

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

"Why would I do that?"

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

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

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

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

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

"You need better hobbies," you reply dryly.

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

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

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

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

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

"Okay, explain."

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

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

You roll your eyes. "I was not."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You sigh. "That’s the problem."

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

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

Mingyu scowls. "I am grown!"

"You’re a puppy," Jeonghan corrects.

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

"Yes."

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

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

Jeonghan hums. "Because he’s…?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I could say the same about you."

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

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

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

"You think you have me figured out?"

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

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

Your chest tightens. The photobooth timer starts blinking.

3…

His gaze dips—

2…

You don’t move away

The camera clicks.So does something else between you.

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

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

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

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

Jeonghan hums. "Sure you don’t."

You take a deep breath. "Nothing happened."

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

You scowl. "I am not—"

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

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

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

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

Jeonghan leans in slightly, intrigued. "Because?"

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

He blinks. "So you like him."

You hesitate. "I—"

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

You glare. "I barely know him."

"But you want to," he points out.

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

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

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

"You love me."

"Debatable."

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

You bristle. "I’m not scared."

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

Jeonghan winks. "Think about it."

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

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

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

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

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

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

You scoff. "Oh, please."

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

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

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

He smirks.

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

You narrow your eyes. "How did you know I was here?"

“Mingyu” you mutter under your breath how you’re going to kill the 6 foot tall man tomorrow.

Seungcheol chuckles. "Be nice. I was gonna find you eventually."

You glare. "That’s not the point."

He tilts his head. "Then what is?"

You open your mouth then close it. Because, honestly? You’re not sure. Why does he keep coming back? And why the hell do you feel kind of excited that he’s here?

Seungcheol watches you wrestle with your thoughts, then grins. "You gonna invite me up?"

"To my apartment?"

"Where else?"

You fold your arms. "That’s bold."

He steps closer, just enough that you catch the faintest whiff of his cologne. "I don’t like wasting time."

Your heart skips. You should tell him to leave. You should ignore how good he looks in that damn suit. Instead you sigh. "Fine. But if you track me down again because of Mingyu, I’m sending both of you to hell."

Seungcheol grins. "Deal."

The entire drive back to your place is infuriating.

Seungcheol is smiling, smirking, even, like he just won some kind of game. Meanwhile, you’re glaring out the window, arms crossed, regretting every decision that led to this moment. When he finally pulls up to your building, you let out a deep breath, like you’ve just survived something mentally exhausting.

"You always this grumpy?" Seungcheol teases as he steps out of the car.

You shoot him a look. "You always this persistent?"

He just grins. You roll your eyes, leading him up to your apartment. The moment you step inside, you toe off your shoes, toss your bag onto the couch, and grab your phone.

"I’m ordering food," you announce, already scrolling through your go-to delivery app. Seungcheol follows you in, looking around like he’s taking mental notes.

"Nice place," he comments, settling onto your couch like he’s been here before.

You glance at him. "You say that like you weren’t planning to judge it."

And before you can stop yourself, you ask, "Why are you doing this?"

Seungcheol looks at you, head tilting slightly. "Doing what?"

You sigh, turning to fully face him. "This." You motion between the two of you. "Showing up. Finding my number. Tracking me down." For a second, he just watches you. Like he’s figuring something out. Then, he leans back, resting an arm over the couch.

"So this is why they call you the man hater."

You blink. "Excuse me?"

“You’re suspicious of a guy just because he likes you?"

You stare at him, trying to come up with a solid counterargument, something to wipe that smug look off his face.

"Weren’t you the one who approached me first?" Seungcheol asks, raising a brow.

You freeze because technically, yes. You were. That night at the bar, it was you who walked up to him. You who spoke first. You who, despite your reputation of never being impressed by men, took one look at him and wanted him.

And Seungcheol, the same man who apparently turns down women without a second thought, didn’t turn you away. And now? He’s here. Sitting on your couch. Acting like this is just the natural order of things.

"You’re twisting my words," you argue, folding your arms.

"Am I?"

You narrow your eyes. "I approached you because I was curious."

He tilts his head. "And now?"

Every interaction with him has been throwing you off your game. You’re used to being in control but with Seungcheol, it’s like every move he makes is intentional, and he’s too good at getting under your skin.

"You’re annoying," you finally say.

He smirks. "And yet, here I am."

You let out a slow exhale, rolling your eyes. "I should’ve ignored your number that night."

Seungcheol watches your expression shift, and something about it amuses him. "You always like this?"

"Like what?"

He leans forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees. "Fighting yourself."

You stare at him. "I don’t—"

"You do," he interrupts, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. "You’re hot and cold with me, and I think it’s because you don’t like how much you want this."

You hate that he’s right.

"You are so—"

"Annoying?" He grins. "You’ve said."

"Why are you even interested?"

“I like you."

Your heart skips but you refuse to let him see that. So instead, you exhale, shaking your head as you tap at your phone. "You’re ridiculous."

"And you like that," he counters. You pretend you don’t hear him as you place the order.

The food arrives, and you both settle in to eat. Seungcheol sits across from you, comfortably digging into his meal like he belongs here. Like he hasn’t been pushing your buttons all night.

You, on the other hand? You’re still glaring.

He looks up mid-bite, noticing your expression, and smirks. "You always eat like you’re plotting a murder?"

You stab at your food with a little more force than necessary. "Just considering my options."

He chuckles, shaking his head. "You should really work on your intimidation tactics."

You huff. "They work on everyone else."

"Ah," he nods, chewing thoughtfully. "So I’m special."

You pause. Damn it. "That’s not what I—"

He holds up a hand, cutting you off. "Don’t worry, I get it. I’m persistent, irritatingly charming, and you don’t know what to do with that."

You scowl. "I know exactly what to do with that."

He raises a brow. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." You gesture to the door. "Kick you out." Seungcheol laughs. Full-bodied, genuine, like you’re the most entertaining thing he’s come across in a long time. You hate how nice it sounds.

"Okay," he says, still grinning. "I’ll leave—after we finish eating."

You squint. "You act like you’re doing me a favor."

He smirks. "Aren’t I?"

You refuse to dignify that with a response. Instead, you focus on your food, pointedly ignoring how Seungcheol watches you with that infuriatingly amused expression, like he already knows he’ll see you again.

After dinner you walk him to the door, arms crossed, your glare still very much in place. Seungcheol, in contrast, looks ridiculously satisfied, like he’s had the best night of his life just bothering you.

You stop at the door, unlocking it before turning to him with a deadpan expression.

"I changed my mind," you announce.

His brows lift slightly. "About what?"

"I don’t like you anymore."

Seungcheol grins. Like full-on, dimple-showing, teeth-flashing grin.

"That so?" he hums, stepping just a little closer, enough that you have to tilt your head to keep eye contact.

Your jaw tightens. "Yes."

He tilts his head slightly, watching you with the same entertained look he’s had all night.

"That’s a shame," he murmurs.

You cross your arms tighter. "Why?"

"Because," he leans in, voice dropping just enough to make your breath catch, "I still like you." He pulls back, opens the door himself, and steps out.

"Goodnight," he says, like this is just routine now. Leaving you standing there, your heart beating entirely too fast, absolutely furious that he got the last word.

The next morning, you stomp out of your building and slide into Jeonghan’s car with more force than necessary.

Jeonghan barely glances at you before pulling out onto the street. "Good morning to you too."

You cross your arms, scowling at the window. "I hate him."

"Who?"

You don’t answer right away, mostly because admitting it feels like a loss. But then, under your breath "Seungcheol."

Jeonghan laughs. "You know, for someone who supposedly hates men, you’re really bad at resisting this one."

"I’m not—" You pause. "He’s just—annoying."

"And yet," Jeonghan drawls, "here you are, grumbling his name first thing in the morning."

You shoot him a glare. "Drive the damn car, Jeonghan."

He grins wider, turning up the radio. "Whatever you say, lovergirl."

You get to your desk, ready to start your day with the same level of annoyance you’ve carried since last night and then you see them. A bouquet. Right there. Sitting in the middle of your desk. Jeonghan, who’s still walking behind you, lets out a low whistle. "Oh, would you look at that?"

You drop your bag, snatch up the little card attached, and read it twice just to be sure your eyes aren’t deceiving you.

Try again. I think you still like me. —S.C.

Your eye twitches. Jeonghan, blatantly reading over your shoulder, bursts out laughing.

"Oh, this is amazing," he says, delighted. "I’ve never seen someone get under your skin this fast."

You slam the card down, glaring at the flowers like they’re the true enemy. "I hate him."

"You’ve mentioned." Jeonghan plucks one of the flowers from the bouquet, twirling it between his fingers. "So what are you gonna do?"

You grab the bouquet with way too much force, march over to Mingyu’s desk, and shove it onto his table. Mingyu, who was minding his own damn business, blinks in confusion. "Uh—?"

"They’re yours now," you say, turning away.

"But—"

"You’re welcome!" you call over your shoulder, marching back to your desk. Jeonghan watches the entire thing with an evil smirk.

"You really think that’s gonna stop him?" he muses.

You drop into your chair, arms crossed. "I don’t care."

Meanwhile, across town Seungcheol leans back in his chair, arms crossed, watching Joshua with a smirk.

"She gave them to Mingyu?"

Joshua, who had just finished relaying the entire story from Mingyu’s frantic texts, sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. "She didn’t even hesitate."

Seungcheol chuckles, clearly not deterred. "Figures."

Joshua gives him a look. "You sound way too happy about that."

"Because I am," Seungcheol says simply.

Joshua stares. "You just got rejected via floral delivery, and you’re smiling."

Seungcheol shrugs, completely unbothered. "She reacted."

Joshua raises a brow. "That’s your takeaway?"

"Of course," Seungcheol leans forward, tapping his fingers against his desk. "If she really didn’t care, she would’ve ignored them. But instead, she marched across the office, gave them to Mingyu, and made sure I’d hear about it."

Joshua squints. "That’s…a reach."

Seungcheol just grins. "Is it?"

Joshua sighs, already exhausted. "Okay, so what’s the plan now, lover boy?"

Seungcheol picks up his phone, scrolling through his contacts until he lands on the one he had personally gotten from Mingyu last week. Your phone buzzes on your desk, and you glance at it once. Then you freeze because there, bright as day, Seungcheol.

Your fingers twitch. You shouldn’t pick up. In fact, you should do the responsible thing and ignore him completely but then the call keeps ringing, like he knows you’re staring at it, like he’s waiting for you to break.

You almost ignore it..Almost. With an annoyed huff, you snatch up the phone and answer.

"What."

A low chuckle greets you from the other end. "That’s no way to greet your boyfriend."

Your entire body jerks. "Excuse me?"

"Ah," Seungcheol hums, clearly amused. "Too soon?"

"Way too soon," you deadpan. "And completely delusional."

"And yet, here you are, answering my call."

Your eye twitches. "Do you want something, or are you just here to waste my time?"

"Both," he admits easily.

You resist the urge to throw your phone. "Seungcheol."

"Fine, fine," he laughs. "Just wanted to check if my flowers got delivered."

You glare at nothing. "Oh, they did."

"And?"

"And they now belong to Mingyu." There’s a beat of silence then he’s laughing. And you hate it, you hate how good it sounded.

“You’re so cute when you’re difficult."

You hang up immediately and then proceed to glare at your phone like it’s personally betrayed you. Across the room, Jeonghan watches your entire reaction unfold, smirk growing wider by the second.

"So," he drawls, "how’s your boyfriend?"

You launch a stress ball at his head.

Later that night, Jeonghan is sprawled out on your couch, one arm slung over his face as he lazily kicks at the air.

"You got any more of those fancy chips?" he asks.

You barely glance up from your phone. "Pantry."

"Ugh. Too far."

"You have legs."

He groans dramatically, but he doesn’t move. You roll your eyes and keep scrolling, ignoring him—until his voice turns serious.

"Alright," he says, sitting up. "All jokes aside—what’s going on?"

You pause, side-eyeing him. "What?"

Jeonghan leans forward, elbows on his knees, studying you in a way that makes you shift uncomfortably.

"You said it yourself that you wanted him," he says, voice softer now. "So why are you acting like this?"

Because you’ve been here before. Because the last time you really liked someone, you got your hopes up, and it all went to shit. Because you’ve learned the hard way that people say one thing and do another, that words mean nothing without action.

Jeonghan knows this. He’s been there through it all—through the flings, the almost-relationships, the guys who were great until they weren’t. He was there when you decided you were done trying, when you shrugged off love like it was an optional extra, not something you needed.

Now, he’s watching you like he’s seeing through you.

"You’re scared," he says simply.

You scoff. "I am not—"

"You are," he cuts in. "And I get it. But you can’t keep pushing people away just because they might disappoint you."

You bite your lip, looking away.

"Seungcheol isn’t them," Jeonghan continues. "And I don’t think he’s gonna give up just because you’re being difficult."

"...Maybe he should."

Jeonghan chuckles, but it’s not mocking. "Too bad for you, I don’t think he will."

You scoff, crossing your arms. "He will."

Jeonghan raises a brow, amused. "You sure about that?"

"Yes," you say firmly. "He’s rich, good-looking, and clearly used to getting what he wants. Guys like him don’t chase for long. The second I make it too much work, he’ll move on."

Jeonghan just smirks, shaking his head. "That’s cute. You think you’re hard to want."

You glare. "Don’t analyze me. I am not dealing with another guy who’s all interest at first and then disappears the moment things get real."

Jeonghan hums, watching you for a moment. Then, with a knowing glint in his eyes, he asks, "So if he doesn’t disappear?"

You blink.

"If he doesn’t give up," Jeonghan says, leaning closer. "If he keeps showing up, keeps proving you wrong—then what?"

You press your lips together, refusing to answer. Because you don’t know.

Jeonghan’s words replay in your head for the next couple of days. You try to brush them off, but they stick. if he doesn’t give up, then what?

But then, Seungcheol stops contacting you.No texts. No calls. No annoying flower deliveries. And in your mind, you’re like, See? I was right.

You told Jeonghan exactly how this would go. Guys like Seungcheol don’t chase for long. They get bored, they move on, they—

Knock, knock.

Your head snaps toward the door, heart inexplicably jumping. It’s late. You’re already in pajamas, wrapped in a blanket on your couch, halfway through a show you weren’t even paying attention to. The knocking comes again.

Slowly, you get up and pull open the door and there he is.

Seungcheol stands in front of you, looking annoyingly good despite the slight exhaustion in his eyes. He’s wearing a dark coat over a fitted sweater, and there’s an expensive-looking suitcase at his feet.

And in his hand a snow globe.

You blink. "What…?"

"Hey," he says, Just got back from a business trip."

You stare at him. "A business trip."

"Yeah." He lifts the snow globe slightly. "Paris.".

"You brought me a souvenir?"

Seungcheol smirks. "What, you think I’d go all the way to Paris and not bring you something?"

"I—" You pause, suddenly feeling very warm despite the cold draft from the open door. "I just—"

"You thought I gave up," he says simply.

Your stomach flips. You cross your arms, standing a little straighter. "Maybe."

For a second, neither of you say anything. Then, before your brain can catch up, you reach out slow, hesitant and take the snow globe from his hand.

"...Thanks," you mumble.

Seungcheol grins. "You’re welcome."

You step aside, wordlessly letting him in. Seungcheol doesn’t hesitate, walking past you like he belongs there.

"Why do you always look like you want to fight me?" he asks, amused.

"I don’t," you say flatly.

"You do," he counters, dropping onto your couch like it’s his. "You’ve been glaring at me since the day we met."

You cross your arms. "Maybe it’s just my face."

"It’s cute."

You narrow your eyes. "Don’t start."

Seungcheol laughs, stretching out comfortably. "You gonna offer me a drink or just keep staring at me?"

You inhale sharply, fighting the urge to throw him out. Instead, you turn and march into the kitchen, grabbing two glasses of water. When you return, he’s still lounging on your couch, completely at home.

You set his glass down with a little too much force. "Here."

Seungcheol picks it up, giving you a slow, knowing look. "You’re really bad at this," he says.

"At what?"

"Letting yourself like me." You almost choke on your own water. And Seungcheol? He just smiles.

He takes a slow sip of his water, watching you over the rim of the glass like he’s studying you. Then, like he can read your mind, he says, "Before you start spiraling—I didn’t text because I was busy. Meetings from morning to night, different time zones, clients to entertain. I barely slept, let alone had time to talk."

You blink. "I didn’t ask," you say, defensive.

He smirks. "Then don’t overthink."

You open your mouth to argue because you were not overthinking, thank you very much—but he just keeps going.

"I was in Paris for four days. Mostly business, but I had a few hours to walk around. Thought about you when I saw that snow globe."

Your stomach flips against your will. You grip your glass tighter. "You—what?"

"I thought you’d like it," he says simply. "Or maybe you'd just glare at it. Either way, it reminded me of you."

You stare at him, lips parting slightly because what the hell is he even saying? Because he says it like it’s not a big deal. Like it’s normal to have you on his mind while he’s halfway across the world. So, naturally, you do what you do best—deflect.

"You just showed up at my place," you say, voice carefully flat. "What if I wasn’t home?"

Seungcheol grins. "Then I’d have waited."

"Like a stalker?"

"Like a guy who wants to see you."

Your brain short-circuits.You scramble for something anything to say, but he beats you to it.

"You really don’t get it, do you?"

You frown. "Get what?"

He leans forward, setting his glass down on the coffee table, and your whole body tenses when he holds your gaze. "I don’t do things halfway," he says. "I wanted you from the start. That hasn’t changed."

And suddenly, you’re overthinking again. You fold your arms across your chest, keeping your expression carefully neutral. "You're just saying that because you like the chase."

Seungcheol raises an eyebrow, leaning back slightly. "And you're saying that because you want me to think you're still a man hater."

"Excuse me?" you say, narrowing your eyes.

He shrugs, completely unfazed. "You keep acting like you don’t care, like you’re waiting for me to mess up so you can say ‘See? I told you so.’ But you’re just trying to protect yourself."

He’s too damn perceptive. Too calm, too confident in the way he calls you out.

"You don’t know what you’re talking about," you mutter, looking away.

Seungcheol scoffs. "I do, actually."

He leans forward again, resting his elbows on his knees. "You liked me the second you saw me," he says, voice lower now, smoother. "And that scared the hell out of you."

Your breath catches because he’s right. You hate that he’s right. And the worst part? He sees it. You don’t answer. That's when Seungcheol does something you don’t expect. He stands up. And just like that, the whole atmosphere shifts. The teasing glint in his eyes is gone, replaced with something steadier. Something serious.

"If you don’t want me here, say the word and I’ll leave."

You swallow hard. Your fingers tighten around the edge of your sweater. Because this is it. The out you’ve been waiting for. The chance to end this before you get in too deep.

Your voice is quieter than you intend when you say, "If I do, will you leave?"

Seungcheol watches you, his gaze unwavering. "Yes." You know he’s telling the truth. He’s not the kind of guy to stick around where he isn’t wanted.

"You won’t fight for it?" you ask, hating how vulnerable the words sound.

A small, knowing smile tugs at the corner of his lips. "I already am."

Your breath catches because damn him. Damn him for saying things like that. Damn him for not pushing, not forcing, just waiting.

So instead, you exhale, looking away. "Sit down, you’re making me nervous."

Seungcheol smiles and just like that, the tension cracks.

"Yes, ma’am," he teases, sinking back onto the couch like he owns the place.

You roll your eyes, but the corner of your lips betrays you—a slight, reluctant twitch. He sees it, of course. And you don’t miss the satisfied look on his face when he does.

A few days later, Mingyu ruins everything.

“We should go out for drinks,” he says, like it’s just a casual suggestion and not a trap. And like idiots, you all agree. You don’t think anything of it until "By the way," Mingyu adds, far too casually, "I invited Seungcheol."

You freeze.

Mingyu grins, oblivious to the murderous intent in your eyes. "You don’t mind, right?"

Jeonghan snickers. Irene and Jihyo exchange looks.

"Why would she mind?" Irene asks, ever the instigator.

"You’re all insufferable," you mutter, grabbing your drink and pretending you’re unaffected.

You’re going to ignore him. You’re going to sit with your friends, drink, and not think about him. It’s a solid plan.

Then he walks in.

And suddenly, your plan evaporates.

Seungcheol is unfair. Black button-up, sleeves rolled up to his forearms, looking effortlessly good in the worst possible way. He steps into the bar with Joshua beside him, scanning the room and then his eyes land on you.

You should play it cool. Pretend to be mad at him. Hold onto your last shred of self-respect but the moment you see him, you walk straight up to him, ignoring the way your friends watch with poorly concealed amusement.

Seungcheol’s lips twitch, like he was expecting this. "Hi."

You scowl. "I hate you."

He grins. "You said that last time. Didn’t sound very convincing then either."

You open your mouth to argue—but you don’t. Because damn it, you don’t hate him at all. So you stare at him, arms crossed, and say, “What, you’re too busy now?”

His smirk deepens. “Didn’t know you’d miss me so much.”

You scoff. “I didn’t say that.”

“But you implied it.”

Your eyes narrow. “You’re deflecting.”

He shrugs, completely unbothered. “I’ve been busy.”

“Oh, so you admit it?”

Seungcheol tilts his head, amused. “Didn’t I text you?”

Your lips press together. Okay, fair point. He did text. A few times.

A "How was your day?"A "Don’t overthink too much."

Still, you lift your chin. “Texts aren’t the same.”

His brow arches. “So you’re saying you wanted to see me?”

“That is absolutely not what I said.”

Seungcheol just laughs. “But it’s what you meant.”

“Oh my god, I hate you.”

His grin is downright infuriating. “You keep saying that, but I don’t think you mean it.”

You spin on your heel. “I’m leaving.”

Seungcheol just laughs, completely unbothered, like he already knows you don’t mean it. He slides into the seat beside you like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“I was busy because of work,” he murmurs, voice smooth, almost apologetic—but not quite. “Wanted to come see you, but I figured you’d be tired after work, too.”

Your eyes narrow. “That’s your excuse?”

He tilts his head, smirking. “It’s the truth.”

You glare harder, hoping it’ll somehow make him squirm. It doesn’t. He just watches you, the corner of his mouth twitching like he’s fighting back a laugh.

“So considerate of you,” you say dryly.

He hums. “I try.” Seungcheol, of course, takes that as his cue to get comfortable. He leans back, stretching his arm along the back of the booth—not quite touching you, but close enough.

“You’re still mad,” he observes, sounding entirely too entertained.

“No,” you deadpan. “I’m thrilled.”

Seungcheol laughs under his breath. “You’re cute when you sulk.”

Your head snaps toward him, eyes burning with fresh irritation. “I am not sulking.”

He just grins. “Whatever you say.”

You step out onto the balcony, the night air cool against your skin as you take a deep breath. You just need a moment, one single moment to yourself. Of course, that’s impossible when Seungcheol is involved.

The door clicks shut behind you, and you don’t even have to turn around to know it’s him. You sigh, rubbing your temples. “Don’t mind me. I’ll sulk on my own.”

Seungcheol hums as he leans against the railing beside you. “Nah, can’t let that happen.”

You throw him a glare. “And why not?”

He shrugs, watching the city lights with an infuriatingly calm expression. “I’d feel bad.”

You scoff. “Oh, now you feel bad?”

“I’ve always felt bad.”

“You don’t look like you do.”

He tilts his head toward you, smiling slightly. “Alright, what do you want, then?”

You exhale, glancing away. The truth sits heavy on your tongue, but you don’t say it. You’re still you, after all. Instead, you mutter, “For you to stop being annoying.”

A breeze drifts between you, carrying the sounds of laughter from inside. For a second, neither of you speak. Then Seungcheol nudges your arm lightly. “You’re really not gonna admit you missed me, huh?”

You don’t say anything.

His smirk softens into something else. Something dangerous. “I can wait.” He exhales, watching you carefully. The smirk fades, replaced by something quieter. something real.

Then he says it.

“I missed you.”

The words slip out so casually, so effortlessly, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. Your fingers tighten around the railing. Your brain stalls. Your heart does this stupid little flip in your chest. You finally turn to face him, none of the usual teasing or frustration in your expression is just seriousness.

“If it’s going to be like this,” you say, voice steady, “you disappear for days, then coming back like nothing happened then it’s not going to work.”

Seungcheol’s smirk fades completely. He studies you, really looks at you, and you can tell he understands that you’re not just saying this to pick a fight.

He exhales, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s not like that.”

“Isn’t it?” You cross your arms. “You come and then go, then you just show up out of nowhere. Do you expect me to just—” You shake your head. “I don’t play games, Seungcheol.”

“I know,” he says immediately. “I know you don’t.”

You sigh. “Then what are we doing?”

He’s quiet for a moment. Then, carefully, “I didn’t think you’d want me to check in like that.”

You blink. “Why wouldn’t I?”

He hesitates. “Because you act like you don’t care half the time.” That stings. Not because he’s wrong, but because he’s right.

You inhale sharply. “That’s just how I am.”

“I know,” he says again, softer this time. “But if I’m going to try with you, I don’t want to be another person you expect to leave.”

Seungcheol holds your gaze, unwavering. “So tell me what you want. What you really want.”

For the first time since this started, you don’t have a comeback. You suddenly feel the urge to leave.

Seungcheol’s words sit heavy in your chest—you act like you don’t care half the time. It stung more than you wanted to admit, and now the whole night feels ruined.

“I’m heading out,” you say abruptly, turning on your heel.

You return inside, Seungcheol following behind you. Jeonghan, ever the observant one, catches on immediately. “Let’s go home yea?” he says, grabbing his coat. He doesn’t ask questions, doesn’t press. Just sticks by your side, because he knows you.

Mingyu frowns. “Already? But we just—”

“Let her go,” Seungcheol says. His voice is unreadable. You don’t look back. Jeonghan walks you out, calls a ride, and when you’re finally inside the car, he leans back with a sigh.

“You gonna tell me what happened?”

You stare out the window. “No.”

He hums, not pushing further. Instead, when you get home, he stays. Puts on a random movie, hands you a blanket, and lets you sit in silence.

Because Jeonghan knows you’ll talk when you’re ready. He doesn’t look at you right away. He stays focused on the movie, lthen he hears it.

A sniffle.

It’s quiet, barely there, but Jeonghan notices everything.

He doesn’t immediately react, doesn’t turn his head or ask if you’re okay, because he knows you. Knows that if he does, you’ll shut down completely.

“I think I’m screwing it up.”

Jeonghan doesn’t even blink. “With Seungcheol?”

You nod.

“Yeah,” he says, blowing on his own tea. “I figured.”

You furrow your brows. “How?”

He snorts. “Because you’re you.” You glare at him again, but he just drives. Eyes still on the road

“I’m serious,”

“So am I,” he says easily. “You’re panicking because this is probably the first time in a long time that you actually like someone. And instead of dealing with it like a normal person, you’re, well—”

“Ruining it?”

Jeonghan shrugs. “Self-sabotaging. But close enough.”

“Great.”

Jeonghan watches you for a moment. Then, softer this time “What did he say to make you leave?”

You hesitate. Then, voice barely above a whisper “That I act like I don’t care.”

“Well, he’s not wrong.”

You snap your head toward him, eyes wide. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.”

You scowl, ready to argue, but then the truth of it hits you.

And maybe that’s why it hurt so much. Because Seungcheol wasn’t wrong. Because you do act like you don’t care, even when you do. Because this whole time, you’ve been pushing and pulling, running hot and cold, and yet

Yet, he’s still here. Still choosing you. The realization makes your chest feel uncomfortably tight.

So you do what you always do when it gets too much. You don’t reach out.

Not the next day. Not the day after that. You tell yourself it’s for the best. That it’s easier this way. That Seungcheol will eventually get the hint and move on.

But then why do you feel like absolute shit?

You go through the motions—work, home, repeat—but there’s this persistent weight in your chest that refuses to go away.

It’s easy to avoid Seungcheol, at least. He works across town, and it’s not like you run in the same circles outside of Mingyu dragging him along. Still. You hate how aware you are of his absence. It’s ridiculous, really. You’ve only known him for a few months, but somehow, he’s already made himself at home in your thoughts.

You wonder if he’s given up on you yet. If he’s decided you’re not worth the effort. The thought makes you feel worse.

You almost walk right past him.

Almost.

“Hey.”

Your steps falter. You take a slow breath before turning to him. He’s standing by the entrance of your building, hands in his pockets, looking at you like he’s been waiting.

You scoff. “Oh. Now you know me?”

Seungcheol exhales sharply, shaking his head. “Don’t do that.”

You don’t even know what exactly you’re doing, but you’re already annoyed. “Do what?”

He gives you a flat look. “Push me away.”

You cross your arms. “Maybe you should take the hint, then.”

Seungcheol steps forward. “You don’t want that.”

You step back. “I don’t?”

“You don’t.” You hate that he’s right. That he can see it. That it’s written all over your face no matter how hard you try to deny it and it frustrates you. More than it should.

“Look, Seungcheol,” you sigh, voice heavy with exhaustion. “You can’t just disappear for days and then show up like—”

“Like what?” he interrupts. “Like I actually give a damn about you?” You flinch. It’s not even what he said. It’s how he said it. The sincerity in his voice. The quiet frustration.

You look away. “I didn’t ask you to.”

He laughs under his breath. “Yeah. That’s the problem, isn’t it?”

You hate the way he’s looking at you. Like he knows. Like he’s waiting for you to stop fighting him. You shake your head. “You should go.”

But Seungcheol doesn’t move. Instead, he tilts his head, studying you. “Do you want me to?”

The answer is no but you don’t say it. You can’t stand the way he looks at you, like he’s already figured you out. Like he knows every excuse, every defense mechanism, every wall you put up before you even have the chance to throw them at him.

So you do what you do best. You push.

"Let’s just go back to thinking I don’t care." The words taste bitter, but you swallow them down, turning on your heel before he can say anything else.

You walk away.

One step.

Two.

Three.

You expect him to stop you. To grab your wrist. To call your name again. To say something but he doesn’t.

The air is heavy with everything unsaid, with everything you’re choosing to leave behind. And yet the farther you get, the harder it is to breathe. Your own words echo in your head, louder and louder, until you almost want to take them back.

Almost.

But you don’t.

Because that would mean admitting that he’s right. That you don’t actually want him to leave. That you’ve just been pushing him away because it’s easier than facing what’s really scaring you.

Because if you admit that you care—really, really care—then that means he has the power to hurt you.

And you’re not sure if you can survive that again.

And Seungcheol?

He lets you go.

The next day Jeonghan doesn’t even need to say anything. The moment he sees you step out of your apartment building, he knows. Your eyes are puffy, your hair is a mess, and you look like you barely got any sleep. Like hell, basically.

"So, rough night?" he asks, starting the car. You grunt in response, which tells him enough.

"You wanna talk about it, or should I just let you wallow in silence until you eventually explode?"

"Silence."

"Got it."

The drive is quiet, but Jeonghan sneaks glances at you every now and then. He’s been with you long enough to recognize when you’re doing it again. The overthinking. The self-sabotaging. The pushing away before you can get hurt.

He knows you want Seungcheol. He knows you care. And he knows that you’re terrified of letting yourself have something good.

So when he finally pulls into the parking lot and parks the car, he doesn’t unlock the doors right away. Instead, he turns to you, voice softer this time.

"You look miserable."

"Wow, thanks."

"I mean it. You look like you barely slept. You’re doing that thing where you overthink yourself into a corner and decide for yourself that you’re better off alone before anyone can prove you wrong."

You hate how accurate that is. "I don’t wanna talk about it, Hannie."

"Fine." He unlocks the doors. "But at some point, you’re gonna have to."

You sigh and grab your bag, stepping out of the car. But as you walk toward the building, Jeonghan calls after you.

"Just answer me one thing—if he calls, are you gonna pick up?"

You pause. The fact that you even hesitate tells him everything. Jeonghan watches you, waiting. Maybe hoping. But when you finally speak, your voice is so quiet.

“No.”

It’s not stubborn. It’s not defensive. It’s not even angry. It’s just… defeated. Like every last bit of fight has already drained out of you.

And that is what makes Jeonghan shut up.

So, even though it kills him to see you like this, he sighs and just says, “Alright. Dropped.”

But Jeonghan doesn’t move right away. He just sits there in the driver’s seat, watching you disappear through the doors. And for the first time in a long time, he wonders if this time—with Seungcheol—maybe you’re making a mistake.

Jeonghan, Jihyo, Mingyu, and Irene are already a few drinks in when Mingyu suddenly stiffens, his eyes narrowing toward the entrance of the bar.

“Oh, shit.”

Jihyo follows his gaze and lets out a low whistle. “Well, well, well. Look who it is.”

Jeonghan doesn’t even need to look. He already knows. Joshua Hong walks in first, smiling as he exchanges greetings with someone at the bar.

And right behind him? Choi Seungcheol.

It’s been 2 weeks and Seungcheol looks… the same. Maybe a little tired, but still him. The group watches as he follows Joshua toward a table, not even glancing their way.

“Are we going to talk to them?” Irene asks, swirling her drink.

“Should we?” Mingyu hesitates.

Jeonghan sighs, rubbing his temples. He’s been waiting for something like this to happen. Because of course it would. The universe wouldn’t let things be that easy.

Jeonghan exhales, slow and measured, before tossing back the rest of his drink.

“I’ll go.”

Jihyo raises an eyebrow. “You sure?”

Jeonghan shrugs as he pushes back his chair. “Someone has to.”

Mingyu shifts in his seat. “Want me to—”

“No,” Jeonghan cuts him off, shaking his head. “If it’s just me, he won’t feel cornered.”

They don’t argue. They know Jeonghan well enough to trust him with this. So, with one last glance at the others, Jeonghan straightens his shirt and makes his way across the bar.

“Joshua.”

Joshua turns first, eyebrows lifting in surprise before his lips pull into a smile. “Jeonghan! What a coincidence.”

Seungcheol looks up then, mid-sip of his drink, and his expression flickers—just for a second—before smoothing out. Jeonghan pulls out a chair and sits without asking.

Joshua leans forward, propping his chin on his hand. “Didn’t think I’d be seeing you tonight. The others here too?”

Jeonghan ignores the question and turns to Seungcheol instead. “You doing alright?”

Seungcheol stares at him, unreadable. “Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?”

Jeonghan hums, tapping his fingers against the table. “Dunno. Just seems like you haven’t been around much lately.”

Joshua looks between them, lips twitching, but he wisely keeps quiet.

Seungcheol finally exhales, setting his drink down. “Is this about—”

“Of course it’s about her.” Jeonghan doesn’t even let him finish. “You think we wouldn’t notice?”

Seungcheol presses his lips into a thin line.

Jeonghan tilts his head. “She’s been avoiding everything that even remotely reminds her of you. And she’s stubborn as hell, but I know her. She’s not okay.”

Seungcheol’s grip tightens on his glass.

Joshua sighs, leaning back in his chair. “This is why I told you to just talk to her already.”

Seungcheol runs a hand down his face, clearly frustrated. “And say what?”

Jeonghan narrows his eyes. “Say you’re sorry. Say you care. Say literally anything, because she’s convinced herself you don’t.”

Seungcheol exhales sharply. “That’s not—” He stops himself, shaking his head. “She told me to leave.”

“She tells everyone to leave,” Jeonghan deadpans. “And she’s always surprised when they actually do.”

Seungcheol goes quiet. Jeonghan leans forward, voice steady but firm. “If you don’t care, then stay away. But if you do? Do something. Because right now, all you’re doing is proving her right.”

Seungcheol stares down at his drink. Jeonghan watches him, waiting.

And then, after a long moment Seungcheol stands.

Joshua blinks. “Oh? We’re going now?” Seungcheol ignores him, pulling his wallet out and throwing some cash on the table. Then, finally, he turns to Jeonghan.

“Where is she?”

Jeonghan tried calling again. Straight to voicemail.

He frowned. “She’s not answering.”

Seungcheol’s jaw clenched. “Is she home?”

“I don’t know,” Jeonghan muttered, already pulling up your shared location—but of course, it was off.

Joshua exhaled through his nose. “Maybe she’s asleep?”

Jeonghan shook his head. “She always leaves her phone on, even if she’s mad. If she’s not answering, it means she either doesn’t want to be found or—” He stops himself, lips pressing into a thin line. Seungcheol didn’t need him to finish the sentence. His hands curled into fists.

“Where would she go?” he asked, voice tight.

Jeonghan exchanged a look with Mingyu, who had come over after noticing their conversation.

Mingyu sighed. “There’s a place. She used to go there when she needed to clear her head.”

Seungcheol didn’t waste time asking more. “Where?”

Mingyu hesitated, just for a second. Then, seeing the way Seungcheol was barely holding himself together, he pulled out his phone and sent the location.

“Don’t mess this up,” Mingyu muttered.

Seungcheol was already heading for the door. He wasn’t sure what he expected when he got there, but an old bookstore tucked into a quiet street wasn’t it. The lights inside were dim and warm, casting a soft glow through the large windows. He pushed the door open, the bell above jingling softly.

An old woman, sitting behind the counter, looked up. She peered at him through her glasses, eyes sharp despite her gentle smile.

“You must be the one,” she said simply.

Seungcheol blinked. “Excuse me?”

The old woman hummed, nodding toward the back. “She’s here. Been here all day.”

He followed her gaze and, sure enough, there you were—curled up in one of the armchairs near the back, a book resting on your lap, though you weren’t reading it. Instead, you were staring out the window, lost in thought.

You felt his presence before you saw him. Maybe it was the way the air shifted, or maybe you had been waiting for him all along, but when he stopped in front of you, you weren’t surprised.

“You’re a hard person to find,” he said quietly.

You closed the book in your lap, fingers tracing the edges of the cover. “Didn’t realize I was supposed to be found.”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Why didn’t you tell anyone where you were?”

You shrugged. “Didn’t feel like talking.”

Seungcheol crouched down so he was eye level with you. “Are you okay?”

You looked at him then, really looked at him. His eyes were searching, his face unreadable. And for some reason, that made something in your chest tighten.

“I don’t know,” you admitted.

He exhaled softly. “Can I sit?”

You didn’t answer, but you moved your legs so there was space on the other armchair beside you. He took the silent invitation, settling in.

For a while, neither of you spoke. The quiet hum of the bookstore surrounded you.

Finally, Seungcheol broke the silence. “Why did you run?”

You frowned. “I didn’t run.”

He gave you a look. “You disappeared. No one could reach you. That’s running.”

You sighed, leaning your head back against the chair. “I just needed time.”

“To do what?”

“To think,” you muttered.

Seungcheol tilted his head, watching you closely. “And?”

You hesitated, fingers tightening around the book. “And I don’t know what to do with you.”

He let out a small chuckle. “I get that a lot.”

“I’m serious.”

His expression softened. “So am I.”

You sighed, feeling the weight of everything pressing down on you. “I don’t know how to do this, Seungcheol. I don’t know how to trust that this won’t end up like before.”

He was quiet for a moment. Then, he said, “I’m not whoever hurt you.”

You swallowed. “I know that.”

“Do you?” His voice was gentle, but firm. “Because it seems like you’re punishing me for something I didn’t do.”

Your chest ached. “It’s not that simple.”

“I know,” he said. “But I need you to at least give me a chance.” You stared at him, searching for any hint of dishonesty. But all you found was sincerity.

The lump in your throat grew. “And if I can’t?”

“Then I’ll wait.”

You closed your eyes, exhaling shakily. “You make it sound so easy.”

He smiled, though there was something sad in it. “It’s not. But I think you’re worth it.”

Your heart stumbled over itself. For the first time in a long time, you didn’t know what to say.

The old lady approached with slow, deliberate steps, her sharp gaze flicking between you and Seungcheol. She had seen you come in and out of this bookstore too many times, always with a heavy heart.

“So,” she said, arms crossing over her chest. “Is this the boy that’s been making you cry?”

You inhaled deeply, forcing a small smile as you shook your head. “All of them do.”

She clicked her tongue, giving Seungcheol a pointed look before patting your shoulder. “Men,” she muttered before walking off, leaving the two of you in tense silence. Seungcheol didn’t speak for a long moment. You knew he was looking at you, but you refused to meet his eyes.

Then, finally, in a quiet voice, he asked, “Did I really make you cry?”

You swallowed, keeping your gaze on the book in your lap. “Why do you care?”

His jaw tensed. “Because I didn’t want to.”

A bitter chuckle slipped out. “That’s funny,” you said, glancing at him now. “Because I remember you saying that I don’t care.”

Seungcheol exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. “I was angry.”

You nodded slowly, lips pressing together. “So what do you want from me?”

His brows furrowed. “What?”

You turned fully toward him now, frustration bubbling up again. “What do you want, Seungcheol? You say you’ll wait, but for what? You keep coming back even when I push you away. What are you waiting for?”

He stared at you, something flickering behind his eyes. “You.”

You let out a hollow laugh. “You don’t even know me.”

“Yes, I do,” he shot back. “I know you act like you don’t care because you’re afraid. I know you run before anyone gets the chance to hurt you. And I know you like me.”

Your breath hitched.

He leaned in slightly, voice dropping lower. “That’s why you’re trying so hard to convince yourself that I’ll leave.”

You clenched your jaw. “You will.”

Seungcheol exhaled, shaking his head. “I won’t.”

You opened your mouth to argue again, but before you could, another voice interrupted.

“There you are.” You both turned to see Jeonghan standing by the entrance of the bookstore, arms crossed, an unreadable expression on his face. “I was looking for you.”

Jeonghan’s gaze softened as he looked at you. “Come on,” he said gently. “Let’s go.”

You hesitated, glancing at Seungcheol, whose jaw was now clenched.

Jeonghan sighed, looking between the two of you. “You need space,” he said simply. Then, to Seungcheol, he added, “Give it to her.” Seungcheol didn’t respond immediately. His gaze stayed locked on you, searching, waiting but you didn’t say anything.

Finally, he exhaled and stood. “I’ll wait.”

You hated that those words made your chest tighten. Without another glance, you followed Jeonghan out of the bookstore, leaving Seungcheol behind.

The moment you stepped out of the bookstore, Jeonghan let out a heavy sigh.

“Don’t,” you muttered, already knowing what was coming.

“I didn’t say anything yet,” he shot back, but the look he gave you was enough.

You sighed, rubbing your temples. “Thanks for coming to get me.”

“Oh, don’t thank me,” he said, crossing his arms. “Because now I am going to lecture you.”

You groaned. “Jeonghan—”

“No, listen to me.” His tone was sharper than usual, firm in a way that made you stop walking. “You keep doing this thing where you push people away the second they get too close. And I get it, I do. You don’t want to get hurt. But you are the one hurting yourself.”

Your breath caught, but you said nothing.

Jeonghan huffed. “You like him,” he stated, like it was a fact. “And I know you like him because you’re acting like this.”

You scoffed. “That makes no sense.”

He gave you a pointed look. “It does when it’s you.”

You exhaled slowly, looking away. “He’ll leave.”

“And what if he doesn’t?” Jeonghan challenged. “Are you really going to throw this away just because you think he might leave?”

You pressed your lips together. “You don’t understand.”

Jeonghan let out a humorless laugh. “Oh, I do. Because I’ve watched you do this over and over again. And I didn’t say anything before because, honestly? Most of those guys weren’t worth it.”

You frowned. “And you think he is?”

Jeonghan tilted his head. “Don’t you? Look, if you really don’t want him, then fine. Walk away. But if you do want him—even just a little—then stop making it so hard for yourself.”

You swallowed, your throat suddenly tight.

Jeonghan softened, placing a hand on your shoulder. “Just think about it, alright?”

You didn’t respond. You weren’t sure if you could so you just nodded, and Jeonghan let it go. For now.

Come morning the next day. Seungcheol sat across from Jeonghan, arms crossed as he studied him. He had been skeptical from the start—why Jeonghan always knew exactly what to say to you, why you let him in when you pushed everyone else away.

“You know a lot about her,” Seungcheol said, voice laced with suspicion. “More than just a friend would.”

Jeonghan smirked, stirring his coffee lazily. “That’s because we’re not just friends.”

Seungcheol’s grip on his cup tightened slightly. He wasn’t sure why that statement irritated him so much, but it did. “Then what are you?”

Jeonghan glanced up at him, watching his reaction carefully before finally saying it.

“She’s my stepsister.”

“What?”

Jeonghan leaned back in his chair, sighing like this conversation was long overdue. “Her dad left when she was a kid. It was ugly—messed her up. My dad married her mom when we were in our teens, and suddenly, we were family.”

It made sense now. Why you and Jeonghan were inseparable, why he always seemed to understand you in a way no one else did.

“She doesn’t talk about it,” Jeonghan continued, voice quieter now. “Not to anyone. She pretends it doesn’t affect her, but it does. It’s why she is the way she is. Why she pushes people away before they get too close.”

Seungcheol exhaled, leaning back in his seat. “And you’re telling me this because…?”

Jeonghan met his gaze, all traces of amusement gone. “Because if you’re serious about her, you need to know what you’re up against.”

Now, he understood just how much he had to fight for you. Seungcheol stayed quiet, his mind replaying every interaction he’d had with you. The push and pull, the way you shut him out just when he thought he was getting close. Now, it all made sense.

Jeonghan sighed, watching him carefully before speaking again.

“It’s hard to love her less once you get to know her more.”

Seungcheol’s gaze snapped up, meeting Jeonghan’s knowing eyes.

“That’s why she keeps people at arm’s length,” Jeonghan continued. “Because she knows it too. She’s terrified of people staying just long enough to leave.”

Seungcheol exhaled sharply. “And you think I’m just like everyone else?”

Jeonghan smirked, but there was something softer behind it. “I think you’re different. That’s why she’s this scared.”

Seungcheol didn’t sleep much that night.

Jeonghan’s words stayed with him, looping in his mind until he couldn’t ignore them anymore. You weren’t just pushing him away because you wanted to—you were pushing him away because you were scared. Because you expected him to leave.

And if there was one thing Seungcheol hated, it was being predictable.

The next day, he found himself outside your office again, leaning against his car with his arms crossed. He knew your schedule well enough by now, and when he saw you stepping out, he straightened.

You stopped in your tracks the moment you saw him.

“What are you doing here?” Your voice was flat, but Seungcheol could hear the exhaustion underneath it.

He pushed himself off the car, hands slipping into his pockets. “I needed to see you.”

You exhaled through your nose, already tired of this conversation. “Cheol—”

“No,” he interrupted gently. “This time, just listen.”

Your eyes narrowed, but you didn’t walk away. That was enough for him.

He stepped closer, closing the distance between you. “You asked me what I wanted from you. I didn’t answer then, so I’ll answer now.” His voice was steady, unwavering. “I want you. I want every version of you—the one who glares at me, the one who shuts me out, the one who lets her guard down when she thinks no one’s looking.”

“And then what?”

Seungcheol tilted his head slightly. “Then I keep wanting you. Even when you push me away. Even when you tell yourself you don’t care.”

Your jaw tightened, your emotions warring against your better judgment. “I don’t need saving, Seungcheol.”

“I know,” he said easily. “You never did. But you do need someone who stays.”

Silence stretched between you, thick with unspoken words. Seungcheol could see the way your fingers twitched,

So he softened, just enough. “Jeonghan told me.”

Your breath hitched, and for the first time, Seungcheol saw something other than defiance in your eyes. It was vulnerability, raw and unguarded.

“I don’t pity you,” he said before you could say anything. “I don’t think you’re broken. I just wish you’d let me in.”

You let out a breath, but it wasn’t exasperation this time. It sounded tired. Resigned. “I don’t know how,” you admitted.

Seungcheol gave you a small smile, tilting his head toward his car. “Then let’s figure it out.”

You stared at him for a long moment, trying to convince yourself this was a bad idea. That you should walk away like you always did.

But for the first time in a long time, you didn’t.

Instead, you exhaled sharply, shaking your head. “You’re so fucking annoying.”

Seungcheol grinned. “And yet, here you are.”

He opened the car door for you, waiting. And after another beat, you got in.

As Seungcheol got into the driver’s seat, you folded your arms and eyed him suspiciously.

“So?” you prompted.

He glanced at you. “So, what?”

You narrowed your eyes. “What exactly did Jeonghan tell you?”

Seungcheol tapped his fingers against the steering wheel, as if debating how much to say. “Enough.”

You scoffed. “Right. That’s not vague at all.” He smirked but didn’t answer immediately, which only irritated you more.

You shifted in your seat, arms tightening around yourself. “He probably just told you my sob story to make you feel bad.”

He exhaled. “Yeah, he told me about your parents, about how things weren’t easy. But he didn’t say it so I’d pity you.” His voice softened. “He said it so I’d understand you.”

You stared at him, lips parting slightly before you shut them again.

“Jeonghan’s known you for years,” Seungcheol continued. “And he made it pretty damn clear that if I wanted to keep you in my life, I had to stop being an idiot and actually see you.”

You swallowed, throat suddenly dry. “And what do you see?”

Seungcheol’s gaze held yours, steady and unyielding. “Someone who pretends not to care because it’s safer. Someone who pushes people away before they get the chance to leave.”

“But also,” he went on, “someone who cares way more than she lets on. Someone who makes it impossible for people to love her less once they’ve gotten to know her.”

Your head snapped back to him. That was Jeonghan’s exact wording.

Seungcheol’s lips twitched. “Yeah, he said that too.”

You huffed, leaning your head against the window. “He talks too much.”

Seungcheol chuckled, but then his voice dropped, quieter now. “Look, I’m not here because of what Jeonghan told me. I’m here because I don’t want to be just another person you expect to leave.”

You didn’t answer right away. Because you didn’t know how. Instead, you just muttered, “You’re annoying,” under your breath.

Seungcheol smirked. “You’ve mentioned.”

The ride was quiet, but not uncomfortable. He didn’t push you to say anything more, and you weren’t ready to give him any more than you already had.

When he pulled up in front of your building, he put the car in park and turned to you. “So what now?”

You shrugged, gripping the door handle. “I don’t know.”

Seungcheol leaned back against his seat, watching you carefully. “Are you gonna keep avoiding me?”

You hesitated, fingers tightening around the handle. “…No.”

That seemed to amuse him. “That didn’t sound very convincing.”

You sighed, turning to face him properly. “I don’t know how to do this, Seungcheol.”

His expression softened. “Then let’s figure it out together.”

You stared at him, searching for something—any sign that this was some kind of game. But all you found was patience, quiet and unwavering.

You exhaled and looked away. “I should go.”

He nodded, but before you could push the door open, he spoke again. “You never answered my question.”

You frowned. “What question?”

Seungcheol tilted his head, as if debating whether to repeat himself. Then, in a voice much softer than before, he said, “What do you want?”

Your breath hitched because wasn’t that the question you’d been running from this whole time?

You forced yourself to meet his gaze, your heart hammering in your chest. “I don’t know,” you admitted, voice barely above a whisper.

Seungcheol studied you for a long moment, then simply nodded. “Okay.”

You blinked. “Okay?”

He smiled slightly. “Okay. You don’t have to know yet.”

You swallowed past the lump in your throat. “That easy, huh?”

His smile grew. “Not everything has to be a fight, you know.”

“Tell that to my brain.”

Seungcheol chuckled. “I’ll work on it.”

You bit your lip, stealing one last glance at him before finally opening the door. “Good night, Seungcheol.”

“Good night,” he said.

PART TWO COMING SOON

#fic #au #fanfic #svt #seventeen #svt scoups #svt seunghceol #seventeen imagine #seventeen scenario #seventeen angst #seventeen x y/n #svt imagine #svt scenario #svt au #seungcheol imagine #seungcheol scenario #seungcheol x y/n #scoup imagine #scoups

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cometst4r · 13 hours ago

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Safe to say, Simon Riley has a sweet tooth. And you so happen to be the sweetest thing his eyes land upon.

tags/cw: simon is grumpy, awkward and lowkey highkey a pervert, also a little touch-starved and probably also deranged but its mild. a small explicit scene at the end. idk what else to say here. reader has no personality bc i wrote this in like half an hour sorry

One of the many things Simon Riley hates is the paperwork that needs to be done whenever he goes on leave. He'd much rather be deployed all year-round just so he wouldn't have to deal with the frustrating task.

=============================

And after waiting around at the admin office for some excruciating hours, he was on the brink of mental breakdown. He already felt the beginning of a migraine throbbing behind his eyes.

He was in desperate needs of a smoke. And since he's in town, he might as well get some nice rich coffee, not the cheap and burnt instant one he has home, to go along with his cigarette or plural, because he definitely needs more than one.

Tense and with his ever permanent scowl, he went to the first café he finds. The door bell chimes aggressively as he steps inside, the smell of coffee beans and too sweet pastries hitting him straight in the face. Grab an espresso and get out, smoke on the way home. Easy.

Except everything is forgotten, both cig and headache and all the moment he sees the pretty thing behind the counter. Maybe he's craving something sweet instead of the bitter coffee.

And the way you greet him—polite and alluring like the voice of a siren—he might just melt on the spot.

"Good afternoon, what can i get for you today?" you chime in your customer service voice. Usually he hates the fake tone people put on, but oh you sound so genuine and sweet, all for him.

"Espresso," he grunts the singular word, dark eyes boring into you so intense it's like he's taken a hold of your soul.

You gulp and smile kindly at the behemoth of a man in front of you. Did the sky get cloudy all of a sudden or is it him that's covering the sun from coming in through the windows? "Is that all?"

He just stares blankly at you. You wonder if he even heard you. No answer comes, his penetrating gaze doesn't move an inch. He just lifts his hand and points at the glass display, his finger pointed at the first thing there is—some plain croissant.

So awkward, you think to yourself as you bag the pastry.

You try not to mind the burning of his bullet like gaze as you turn to make his coffee.

All the while, Simon is already envisioning all the things he wants to do to you. In his more than just touch-starved mind, you're an angel sent from heaven. So sweet and innocent and kind. The way you smiled at him, or the flutter of your eyelashes as you spoke and looked at him. He just found a new hobby for while he's on leave.

You really hate the new policy of having to write on every single cup you serve. You never expected to find the task to be so thought provoking. Maybe he's just introverted, or is having a difficult day, don't be a prude. So you just settle for a simple 'Have a great day :)'.

Placing the cup next to the croissant, you ask how he'd like to pay. Again, no answer. He just slides a 100 pound bill across the counter.

You hold out the coffee and pastry for him to grab and for the first time since coming into the shop his eyes flick from your face down to your hands. He takes his order and you were about to hand him the change when he finally says something again. "Keep it."

You look at him in bewilderment. That's a lot of money to tip.

He's out the door before you can even verbalize a 'Thank you".

Well, your day just got ten times better. As odd as the interaction was, you pray he'll come again. Little do you know, you'll see him again, way too often acrually.

The carton cup, now empty, was settled on the coffee table of his living room. The small and neat handwriting stood facing towards the couch where he was sat. He stared ahead at the tiny words, imagining the pretty face that wrote them.

You smiled all cutesy and even drew a sweet smiley face for him. It's obviously your way of flirting, has to be. But don't you worry, he gets the message.

Taking the tiny cup in his hand, he thinks of your own hands, soft-looking and dainty, so different and small compared to his.

Unashamedly, he undoes the front of his pants. He remembers how your hand looked holding the coffee cup, fingers barely touching. He can't help but wonder how it would look to have your hand wrapped around his cock, your soft palm stroking him instead of his rough, calloused one.

He almost feels bad thinking it. Almost.

===========================

so idk wtf i just wrote, is a first for me. after lurking around for roughly two years i decided to maybe write some fics too. this is not original, recycled idea obviously.

also english is not my first language so i apologize if some sentences dont make sense. if you're actually reading this, thank you for taking your time and reading my silly fic xoxo love u

#my first published fic #call of duty #simon ghost riley #simon riley x you #fanfic

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unintentionaloracle · 1 day ago

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Ulterior Motives [Fic]

And now for something a little different! I got hit with a steel chair of inspiration while working on something else and now here we are.

Summary: A heated exchange about The Rock's proposition leads to Drew making Cody his own... spicier proposition. But it's just for mutual gain...right?

(Note: There's also mentions of past Candy (and suggested one-sided/unrequited current Candy))

Drew stormed after Cody as the latter went to his tour bus. He stopped him before he could enter, trapping him against its garishly ad-laden body with one arm. Looking at it almost answered Drew's question for him as he glared down at Cody:

“Are you seriously considering selling your damn soul to The Rock?”

Cody's blue eyes met Drew's own with defiance. “Like I said, it's not off the table, yet. I still need to think about it.”

“Still need to think about it!?” Drew parroted. “The Golden Boy’s really considering taking the easy way with his championship reign?” Drew poked Cody's title belt. “Whenever I wear the championship, I fight tooth and nail to defend it. You have to damn near kill me, play dirty, or both to pry it off me.”

“Really? Are you pissed about me potentially insulting the honor of the championship? Or are you pissed at the idea that if you win the Elimination Chamber, you'll have to deal with whatever being “The Rock's Champion” entails?”

Drew clenched his fists. The thought of being screwed over by Roman's extended family yet again, let alone when he got to the main event of WrestleMania, had crossed his mind. And yet, it wasn't the main thing bothering him.

“That isn't you, Cody. At least, not anymore. You're the man who fought hard to get to where you are. Now you want to do things the easy way!?”

“I AM TIRED, DREW!” Cody shouted. It made Drew almost shrink to Cody's height.

“I’ve had to deal with The Bloodline at every corner. Been tricked. Dealt with spoiled brats. Watched as people–my friends–suffered on my behalf to get and keep me where I am. Had a once dear friend betray and nearly kill me. And now? For the first time in a long time, I’m alone! Jey's got his own story to finish. Sami...hurts to think about. Seth is...well, he's Seth. And Randy...I don't know when he’ll be back. So forgive me if buckling to a higher power sounds tempting, Chosen One.”

Drew twitched at both his former moniker and the mention of Randy. Cody looked genuinely distressed after listing his woes. Something inside the Scotsman, something he long thought dormant, bubbled for the first time. Cody turned to try and leave, only for Drew to fully pin him to the wall. “Having The Rock's hand up your ass like his puppet sure as hell won't fix that. Things are hard? Then why not just quit again like last time?”

Drew could tell he pushed another button, and got his mind off his troubles. Cody, however, seemed ungrateful for the tough “love”. “Forgive me if I'm not eager to take career advice from the man well on his way to getting fired twice.” He sniped back.

Normally, a comment like that would get someone a one way ticket to Claymore Country. But when Cody did it here, away from prying eyes, it was almost fun. Being alone was also nostalgic, whether he wanted to admit it or not. It even gave him...ideas...

“Ya know, if you're so stressed and lonely, I have a better solution. Not that you'll ever let me...”

“Try me,” Cody bit back.

Drew smirked. Now it was fun. “Alright, but remember: you asked for this,” he said, chuckling in a low rumble. He cupped Cody's face, his palms fitting his cheekbones nicely, and gave him a kiss for the first time in a decade and a half. It was meant to be quick...

...were it not for Cody grabbing him as soon as he pulled away and sending his lips crashing back into his, trying to press himself to Drew as close as he could.

Damn, you really are wound up tight if just a kiss has you like this... Drew thought, a little amused and pleased with himself. Still, who was he to deny the poor man? He pressed Cody against the bus, reasserting control as his hands drifted to the back of Cody's neck and his hip. Drew escalated the kiss to a make out, enjoying a soft sigh from Cody before shutting up that oh-so-noble mouth of his.

It was a far cry from years ago, their short fling where they (mostly he) fumbled around like awkward teenagers when they held the tag titles. They were practically boys back then, compared to now. Drew pulled Cody's leg up to his hip, hand drifting down his thigh as he tried to send a message: Drew McIntyre was more than a man now, and one hell of a lover. Especially compared to the ex he'd been in the shadow of back then.

A thought crossed Drew's mind. He broke the kiss briefly, letting his hand drift back up Cody's thigh. “Is your pet Viper gonna throw a hissy fit when he finds out about me kissing his precious little Nightmare?” he purred.

Cody panted. “He shouldn't. Me and Randy are just friends now. It's not his concern.”

Could've fooled me, Drew thought, the way he looks at you.

“Good. I don't like sharing,” he said, about to dive back in. Cody stopped him with a hand to his face, lowering his leg.

“What's your game here, McIntyre? What's in it for you?” Cody said, raising an eyebrow.

Drew removed Cody's hand from his face and placed it on his chest, making Cody blush (despite Cody moving it from Drew's leather jacket to his bare chest on his own accord). His free hand rested against the side of the bus above Cody's head as the other went to Cody's waist.

“If you don't take Rock's deal, I'll be your stress toy. I'll screw all the tension right out of you on the regular,” he moved the hand above Cody and opted to hold Cody's chin, causing him to get that cute confused look on his face whenever anyone touched him affectionately. “I’ll take care of you. No soul required, and the people keep their champion. I might even get to prevent another Seth or Roman from happening, so it's better for everyone, really,”

He then leaned into Cody's ear. “Just give me one night to show you what you'd be getting, so you can “think about it”. What do you say, Champ?” He whispered, making Cody visibly shiver.

Cody said nothing at first, then pushed Drew away gently. He started to go for the bus door again, not looking at him. When he hit the steps, he spoke up. “Well?”

“Well what?” Drew asked.

Cody turned around, loosening his tie before unbuttoning his vest and shirt. “Are we doing this or what?” Cody said before pulling Drew towards him by his belt buckle.

Drew grinned wolfishly. He scooped up Cody and threw him over his shoulder, giving him a quick swat to the rear before entering the bus and closing the door behind them. He found Cody's bed and threw Cody down on it. The American Nightmare looked up at The Scottish Warrior with a mixture of annoyance and arousal.

Drew licked his lips at the gorgeous sight before climbing on top of him, eager to claim his prize and get to work.

---

When they finished, Cody was trembling, lying limp on his belly as he caught his breath. Drew smiled, leaning into his ear as he rubbed Cody's back. “Ah, poor Cody. So neglected. Going so long without a good railing. And with an ass like that, too...”

Cody just continued to pant.

“You know, if you became Rock’s or corporate’s or The Bloodline’s or whoever's little sugar baby, I doubt they'd let you have any release. Let alone twice. They'd just take what they want and leave you to take care of yourself...” He surveyed Cody's prone, naked frame. “A damn tragedy, because they'll be missing out on this beautiful sight.” He said, kissing Cody's neck tattoo on its lips. (He still thought it was stupid, but he was high on afterglow and enjoying his “victory lap”. Besides, a little extra seduction couldn't hurt.)

Cody still didn't respond. Drew might've broken his brain with his dick. One more thing for him to smug about.

“And don't get me started on aftercare. I said I'd take care of you and I meant it. Hell, I'll even stay the night and cuddle you if you want it. Do you want that, Cody?” He asked, running his fingers through his short, bottle blond hair.

Cody nodded.

“Alright, want to get started?”

Cody shook his head. “Not yet.” He finally managed to rasp.

Drew chuckled. “Alright. I'll let you enjoy the afterglow a little longer. I'm gonna go use your shower because, honestly? I think I've earned it.”

Cody nodded. Drew smirked, then leaned over and kissed Cody on the cheek before excusing himself to the shower.

He didn't take long. Apparently, despite having a shower on his bus apparently being a luxury, Cody's sponsorship did not include a decent shower in his bus. The height was manageable enough, despite the cramped space, but the water pressure and temperature were abysmal! How did Cody live like this on the road?

If this goes on, that'll be something I want to talk about... He thought with a chuckle as he exited the shower, toweling off and wrapping one around his hips as he took another to his hair. Of course it was going to go on. He was Drew bloody McIntyre! He just satisfied the hell out of Cody!

He glanced at the mirror, leaning against the sink the best he could in the small space. (Note to self: maybe also insist on doing it at a hotel instead of the tour bus.) Drew smirked and winked at himself as he removed the towel from his head, some of his dark locks falling in his face. Yeah, the locker room had better thank Big D for his—

His thought was cut off by another, intrusive one. Cody's question from earlier: “What's in it for you?”

Drew brushed his hair back with his hand. It was such a dumb question! Lots of things! Keeping the playing field level come WrestleMania! Taking something from the damn Bloodline for once! The satisfaction that, whether he won or not (somehow), he’d been hitting that and probably would after! If word got out, it was something to hold over the locker room's head! To once again prove he was better than Randy! The sex in general!

Seeing Cody in the state he was in now, knowing it was all his. Hearing him desperately moan his na–

He gripped the sink. Where'd that come from?

This thing with Cody was transactional, nothing more. A mutual means to an end. Why pretend it wouldn't be? He shook it off and made his way back to Cody. “Alright, let's take care of–”

Cody had apparently dozed off, clinging to his pillow. It was almost cute, really. Drew smiled and climbed into Cody's bed (he'd given him permission, after all). “Alright, you're the boss, Cody...”

Cody rolled over to Drew, placing his hand on Drew’s chest. Drew adjusted himself and Cody accordingly to get comfortable. Somehow, they ended up with Cody's head on his chest, as well. Drew held him in his arms. Cody ran his fingers through Drew's chest hair a little, briefly surfacing from the throes of his exhaustion.

“Thank you, Drew...” He said sleepily, before succumbing to sleep again.

Something warm sparked in Drew. He rubbed his back gently and kissed the top of his head. “You're welcome, Cody...” He said, softly.

Sleep wasn't going to come as easily to Drew that night, however.

There was a nagging thought in the back of his head.

The feeling that somehow, some way, there might be more in this for McIntyre than a means to an end and ego.

And he dreaded that thought.

#wwe #drew mcintyre #cody rhodes #codytyre #the oracle writes

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acescorazon · 2 days ago

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Changes

Chapter: 22

Title: Maybe

Rating: M

Warnings: Language, Crocodile. Dialogue Heavy because Mihawk and Crocodile want to bicker.

Word Count: 3532

Chapter excerpt:

Oh, this shouldn’t feel good.

Mihawk’s still a little cold, and he smells faintly like the ocean, but his body is firm and his embrace soothes some of Buggy's anxieties, as well as his heart and his spirit. God, it’s been too long since he was last held by a man, hasn’t it? Or at least that’s what he tells himself.

Mihawk leans down slightly and rests his cheek against the top of Buggy’s head, “You didn't have to thank me, though. I'm just glad you're alive and well.” The comment is almost surreal to Buggy. Months ago, Mihawk probably wouldn't have cared if Buggy lived or died, but right now he's telling him how happy he is that he's alive. It’s weird.

“Don't try and butter me up.” Buggy murmurs in response.

“I'm not. I was afraid I wouldn't make it to you in time.”

“Oh, quit lying… You're not afraid of anything.”

“That's just not true. I was genuinely afraid I wouldn’t be able to save you.”

Buggy groans softly. He knows he shouldn't believe a word Mihawk's saying, but his feelings are all screwed up right now. Mihawk gives good hugs and is surprisingly good at sweet talking, and Buggy’s trying his hardest not to believe him and just melt into his arms, but Mihawk isn’t making it easy for him.

||Ch1||Ch2||Ch3|Ch4|Ch5|Ch6|Ch7|Ch8|Ch9|Ch10|Ch11|Ch12||Ch13||Ch14||Ch15||Ch16||Ch17||Ch18||Ch19||Ch 20||Ch21||

As Buggy trails behind his two fellow members of Cross Guild, he keeps his eyes glued to the ground and remains quiet. So much has already happened on their first trip out to sea together, and Buggy is still processing everything from the events that just transpired to his own thoughts and emotions. He wants to say something to Mihawk and Crocodile, but he doesn’t know where to start. Is now even the right time to say anything? After all, their horrifying encounter with the sea king barely came to an end less than twenty minutes ago.

In the end, Buggy decides not to potentially annoy Mihawk and Crocodile by speaking to them right now. He listens to them bicker instead, and It’s both a relief and (oddly) endearing to see them acting so lively, especially after such a scary situation.

“Will you stop coddling me already?” Crocodile grumbles in a gruff voice as he leans onto Mihawk for support. “I already told you I can walk on my own. Told you I didn’t need to see no doctor neither.”

Mihawk sighs as he ignores Crocodile’s protests and helps him to the infirmary anyways, “I have a headache. Will you shut up for two seconds?” he asks, and Buggy just knows that the world’s strongest swordsman is rolling his eyes right now, even though he can’t see him do it.

“You think you’re the only one with a damn headache? Do you know how long I was underwater? I almost passed out because you took forever to come get me.”

“I couldn’t save you both at once. Buggy was the first one I saw, so naturally I saved him first.”

“You couldn’t have saved him any faster? I know you’re not as young as you used to be, but for fuck’s sake. Another few seconds and I would have fuckin’ croaked.”

“I swam as fast as I could,” Mihawk replies after clicking his tongue, “You’re such an ungrateful man. I should have left you at the bottom of the ocean.”

God, they’re annoying, Buggy thinks as he tries to hold back a smile. Shouldn’t they just be happy that everyone’s safe and sound, and that their crew didn’t have to abandon ship? Any normal person would be celebrating that they're alive right now and not arguing, but then again, Mihawk and Crocodile are anything but normal.

“You should’ve.” Crocodile agrees, “Drowning would have been way better than dealing with your constant babying. You worry too much, y’know? I don’t like it.”

“Someone has to worry about you. You’re going to get yourself killed one of these days.” Mihawk mutters under his breath.

“Aw, you have a heart after all.”

“I have a heart, but very little patience for obnoxious fools like you. If you keep irritating me, I’ll slice you in half.”

“HA! I would love to see you try.”

The altercation doesn’t become physical even though heated words were exchanged and a threat was made. Instead, Mihawk continues to drag Crocodile to the infirmary and Crocodile lets it happen despite all his complaining. Buggy wishes he were surprised, but he's not. There were days when he wished that Mihawk and Crocodile would finally clash and kill one another so that he wouldn’t have to live with both of them, but things almost never got physical between the two. In fact, they seem like they're two peas in a pod and like they secretly enjoy arguing with each other. Maybe bickering is some weird form of entertainment for the two, who knows?

Once in the infirmary, Mihawk and Crocodile continue their fight (if you can even call it that) as the rest of the crew run around, warming up blankets and towels, and looking for spare clothes for the three wet men. Buggy can’t help but roll his eyes as he begins to get undressed. Jeez, do they ever stop? He wonders, once his feelings of endearment turn to annoyance.

“You’re so irritating. Just let the doctor check you out.” Mihawk tells Crocodile.

Of course, Crocodile continues to refuse to get checked out by the ship’s doctor, though. “I don’t need a doctor to tell me something I already know. I’m fine. What I really want to do is go to sleep so I can wake up early and get us back on track.”

“Will you forget about your plans for two seconds? We just ran into a sea king. We need to make sure everything is alright before we head to Prickly Pear. We should stop by the nearest island a–”

Crocodile raises his hand up and cuts Mihawk off quickly once he mentions changing their plans, “Are you kidding me? Everything is fine. There’s no reason to stop now.” Ah, now that sounds like the Crocodile Buggy knows. He really does have a one track mind, doesn’t he?

“Everything might appear to be in good condition right now, but it’s late and assessing any damages the ship might have taken from the attack will be difficult. Plus, I’m sure the men need a break after tonight.”

“Bullshit. We just started sailing, there’s no reason to stop now. We ain’t even halfway to the island yet.”

“It’s not bullshit, it’s the truth. You seemed like you were thinking so reasonably before. What happened? Did you lose what little sense you had left while you were underwater?”

“Oh, fuck off. Even if we abandoned the ship, I wasn’t going to abandon my plans. We would just have to get to Prickly Pear in the lifeboats instead.”

Mihawk’s eyes go wide and he scoffs. For once the world's strongest swordsman seems caught off guard by something. “What an idiotic idea. You do realize we wouldn’t have made it all the way to Prickly Pear in just a lifeboat, right? If the ship had sunk, we most likely wouldn’t have had food or water, or emergency supplies. Not to mention navigating the sea would be damn near impossible in a lifeboat. We’d all die before we made it there.”

Crocodile scoffs right back at Mihawk, “Oh, please. Don’t be dramatic.” he replies, sounding rather dismissive.

Buggy’s on Mihawk’s side this time, but he doesn’t let the other two know that. He remains quiet and pulls his wet shirt over his head instead, shivering slightly when he feels cool air make contact with his wet skin. Maybe I should have packed a few more pairs of clothes for this trip after all, he thinks. There were so many things Buggy didn’t account for like accidents, or tears, or giant sea squid attacks, and maybe he should have. A captain should be prepared for anything, after all.

Buggy’s about to pull off his boxers next, when he notices the room has gone rather quiet. He looks up and quickly realizes that Crocodile and Mihawk are staring at him intently. What'd I do now? He thinks as he suppresses a sigh. “What's wrong?” He asks. He expects some sort of answer, but Crocodile and Mihawk simply exchange looks before going back to their previous conversation. It's weird, but Buggy doesn't question it because Crocodile and Mihawk are just weird in general, man.

***

Buggy spends the next few hours being monitored by the ship’s doctor alongside Mihawk and Crocodile. During this time, Mihawk somehow convinces Crocodile to make a pit stop at a nearby island as soon as possible. It’s incredible how Mihawk always manages to get Crocodile to change his mind, even if it takes some time. Buggy would have never managed to do something like that. Arguing with Crocodile is always such a headache and he tries (but often fails) to avoid doing it at all costs.

The infirmary eventually clears out and quiets down with only the sounds of various machines operating filling the room. Once the rest of the crew is gone and all that remains is the three founding members of Cross Guild, things become strangely peaceful between the three of them as they sit around, waiting to get the okay to leave. Buggy didn’t think he’d ever live to see the day where he could be at peace with Crocodile and Mihawk around. But, truth be told, he doesn’t mind their presence in the infirmary with him, at least not right now.

He lies in a hospital bed, wrapped in a giant, warm blanket, and stares at the ceiling as time slowly passes by. It's boring, but it's nice. Having nothing to do is a lot better than having Crocodile and Mihawk yell at him, or order him around, or try to beat him up, that's for sure.

Crocodile clears his throat all of a sudden, though, and disrupts the peaceful silence in the room. “Look, Hawkeye. You better not let this go to your damn head…” he mutters, “But you really saved my ass back there, and I appreciate it.” he pauses after Mihawk grunts in response and then glances over at Buggy, “You too. You might not have saved me, but you tried, and I’m grateful for that.”

Aw, so he really can be nice after all, Buggy thinks sarcastically - He can't help it, the thought appears in his head before he can stop it.

Buggy remains silent for a moment before he causally replies: “Meh. There's no need to thank me. I couldn't have stood around and done nothing while you went overboard, could I?” He asks, waving his hand. He swallows before quietly adding, “You scared the shit out of me when you went overboard all of a sudden, you know that right? I'm glad you're okay.” The words sound so strange coming out of his mouth given the fact that he’s saying them to Crocodile, but he means them. “I… I’m glad you’re both okay. I was worried you guys wouldn’t make it back to the ship alive, actually.”

Mihawk chuckles quietly, “You were worried about us? How cute.” he replies, “And here I thought you still hated our guts. Are we finally starting to get on your good side, Buggy?” That comment alone makes Buggy’s face burn with embarrassment. Ew, no! He takes it all back! He wasn’t worried about Mihawk or Crocodile at all. In fact, he was actively praying for their end.

(That's not true at all, and Buggy knows it.)

“Huh…” Crocodile stares at Buggy for a moment, sizing him up, or something, “You are kind of cute, aren’t you?” He asks all of a sudden. Excuse me? Buggy finds himself thinking, obviously taken back by Crocodile’s sudden compliment. Did he just call me cute? No, I must be hearing shit again. The worst part about this all is how nonchalant Crocodile is about the whole thing. It's like he didn't just call the man he hates with all his guts ‘cute.’

Crocodile turns and looks over at Mihawk, who’s lounging lazily in his own bed, “He’s a pretty boy, ain’t he? He’s all soft, and he’s got a real pretty face.”

“He is.” Mihawk simply agrees, which shouldn’t be surprising, but his answer only adds to Buggy’s confusion and makes him feel more flustered. Is this a joke? This feels like a joke, if you ask Buggy.

“Quit messing with me…” Buggy mutters under his breath as he feels a wave of agitation and frustration mix with his confusion and embarrassment. They shouldn’t just say things like that so casually… Buggy’s a gutless coward, not a pretty boy -- Those were their words, not his, by the way…

“Who’s messing with you?” Mihawk replies with a scoff, “You’re pretty, and anyone with eyes can see it.” It’s not that Buggy can’t appreciate a compliment, it’s just that this moment feels so surreal to him that it almost feels like it's staged or even just a cruel joke.

“I’ve never really looked at you before,” Crocodile admits, “But, Hawkeye’s right. You’re a real pretty thing.” How is Buggy even supposed to reply to something like that? He has no idea, so he waves his hand dismissively and mutters a quick response, “Yeah, thanks.” After that, he tries his best to finally get some rest, but it’s hard with all the thoughts buzzing around in his head.

Buggy never does fall asleep, though, and It sucks. He’s exhausted by the time the doctor finally sends them on their way. Granted, he can probably sleep all day and leave Mihawk or Crocodile to tend to the ship and crew if they aren’t too tired themselves, but still.

The sun is just beginning to rise and illuminate the infirmary in a soft, warm glow as Buggy shuffles out of the room behind Crocodile and Mihawk. He’s about to head back to his room when he suddenly remembers something. “Hey, Uh, Hawkeye, can I speak with you for a minute?"

Mihawk hums in response, “Of course,” he replies before allowing Buggy to pull him to the side. Buggy hesitates for a moment, waiting for Crocodile to disappear from his line of sight before he finally speaks up, “I probably should have said this earlier… But, uh, I just wanted to thank you for saving me.” Buggy tells Mihawk. “I, uh… This might sound a little silly, but I'm just now realizing how much you do for me and Cross Guild in general, and I really appreciate you for always saving the day. And, yeah… Thank you.”

Mihawk stares at Buggy for a moment, looking pleasantly surprised by Buggy's words. “I didn't think the day would come where I'd receive your praise, Captain Buggy.” He jokes as he reaches out and slowly grabs Buggy’s hand before giving it a squeeze.

Damn it, don’t do this to me… Buggy thinks as he looks around the empty hallway and double checks to make sure no one is around. His heart is fluttering from Mihawk’s touch, but he tries his best to ignore it and remain calm. “Don't get used to it.” He mutters, “I'm not going to shower you in praises every time you do something.”

Mihawk chuckles softly, “I didn't expect you to.” He replies, then he pauses for a moment before speaking again, “I'm probably asking for too much, but can I hug you? Just for a minute, i promise.”

The question almost makes Buggy choke on his own spit. Huh? He wants a hug? It’s a simple request, but it feels like a huge one to Buggy at that moment. He shouldn’t be allowing Mihawk in his personal space so easily, should he? This should definitely be where he draws the line. Right, but…

Mihawk has been so good to him lately…

Despite his own hesitancy, Buggy’s eyes soften slightly when he sees Mihawk open his arms. Just once… he thinks. Just this once because Mihawk has been so sweet and because he saved Buggy’s life. But that doesn’t change the fact that he’s been horrible to Buggy in the past and that Buggy still hates him. He's just going to give him a hug because he's thankful, that's all. Buggy steps forward and as soon as he’s close enough, Mihawk grabs him by his waist and pulls him into a tight embrace.

Oh, this shouldn’t feel good.

“Don't try and butter me up.” Buggy murmurs in response.

“I'm not. I was afraid I wouldn't make it to you in time.”

“Oh, quit lying… You're not afraid of anything.”

“That's just not true. I was genuinely afraid I wouldn’t be able to save you.”

The lack of awkwardness scares Buggy, and so does the amount of time he spends in Mihawk’s embrace. This should have been a quick, awkward, encounter, but they hold each other longer than they should. When Buggy realizes this, he immediately tries to pull away, but Mihawk grabs him and pulls him back towards his chest. “Wait.” he murmurs, "Can I just hold you for a little while longer?”

“Huh?” Buggy asks, and he despises how soft his voice comes out sounding.

"I've never held someone like this before. I think I like it.” Mihawk casually confesses. He says it like it’s a completely normal thing to say to Buggy, but it isn’t. This is weird. They shouldn’t be doing this. Buggy shouldn't be doing this for fuck's sake. He hates him. He hates him with all his guts. This shouldn't feel so natural. This is grossly crossing the line. They need to STOP.

(Why does Mihawk’s body feel so good pressed against his?)

Buggy is utterly speechless for a moment, but against his better judgment, he slowly begins to hug Mihawk back again, “Ugh. Don't get used to this kind of stuff. I'm only letting this happen because you saved my life.”

(Is that really the truth, though?)

“I know.” Mihawk replies, chuckling. His laugh sounds so pleasant to the ears at that very moment, and Buggy wonders why. Why does Mihawk’s touch feel so good? Why does his laugh sound like music too his ears? Why does Buggy feel so...off right now because of horrible ol' Mihawk?

“This doesn't change anything, either. “ Buggy adds as he clings onto the back of Mihawk’s dress shirt tightly.

“I know, but I hope things will change between us soon. I hope you’ll be able to truly forgive me and — “

“I forgive you, okay? Just shut up.”

Mihawk goes oddly quiet, and his silence confuses Buggy. Isn’t this what he wanted? Hasn’t he been seeking Buggy’s forgiveness endlessly and trying to prove to him that he’s changed? What’s wrong now? “Do you really mean it?” He finally asks.

Maybe. Probably. Buggy still has so many emotions he needs to sort out, but he thinks he forgives Mihawk for the most part even though their messy past always lingers somewhere at the back of his mind, "Yeah… You’re forgiven or whatever, but don’t go thinking we’re best friends now. I still kind of hate you, but I’ll tolerate you for the sake of Cross Guild.”

“How do I get you to start liking me back?”

“You won’t. Now, let me go, you're cold.”

“Stay and warm me up then.”

Okay, that’s enough. Buggy breaks away from his and Mihawk’s hug (finally) “Listen, Romeo…” He says, and as the words leave his mouth, his voice cracks slightly. God, he doesn’t know what’s more embarrassing, Mihawk’s flirting or that stupid voice crack he just experienced. Either way, now he’s annoyed and even more flustered than before. “I said nothing’s changed. I still don’t like you like that.”

Mihawk hums, “I know.” he says before he grabs Buggy’s hand one last time, “But…” He pauses, clearly choosing his words carefully before he speaks again, “Maybe we can talk some more later…”

Turn him down.

Don’t give him hope.

You hate him. Don’t let this get out of hand, you’ll regret it. It’s dangerous. He has feelings for you and he’ll start thinking you like him if you keep playing these stupid games.

...But what if...?

Buggy bites the inside of his cheek, “Maybe. I’m not making any promises, though.” he replies.

You dumbass. There's a voice at the back of Buggy's head that's yelling at him and telling him: Why do you do this to yourself? You hate him. Do you not remember all that he’s done to you? He’s hurt you, idiot. Don’t you remember that? Why are you acting differently now that he’s saved you and has been nice to you a few times? You shouldn’t let him keep doing this. You should turn him down. What if he goes back to his old ways and hurts you again? It’ll crush you, you know it will.

Buggy ignores that voice, though, the moment Mihawk starts talking to him again, “Perhaps we can start off as friends and build some form of trust between us and, then…”

“...Maybe." Buggy reluctantly agrees, "I should go, though, I’m tired.”

"Okay, sleep well, but I hope we can talk more when you wake up, Buggy."

Good god, even his goodbyes are sweet now. Buggy can't handle this right now. He needs to get far away from this man and as quickly as possible before he does something dumb.

#cross guild #changes #my writing #Me 60k+ words into this fic: Is it too soon for them to hug though???#also posting this on ao3 IMMEDIATELY only bc i havent posted all month lol #that wont be a regular occurrence tho TRUST

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