#because the options are 1: stuff he’s barely in | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

hhaechansmoless · 2 months ago

Text

OFF THE GRID PT.3

pairing: f1driver!scoups x ex!femreader

genre: angst, romance, exes to lovers au, childhood bestfriends / neighbours au

description: Part of the Beyond The Grid series: Four-time world champion Choi Seungcheol has spent years at the top with Ferrari, but as the 2025 season drags on, he can’t shake the feeling that he’s not quite where he used to be. The competition is catching up, his team isn't what it used to be, and for the first time, he’s starting to wonder if he’s past his prime. By the time the season winds down, he finds himself back in his hometown, which isn't quite the same either. But the hardest race was never on track, and sooner or later, he’ll have to figure out what comes next.

warnings: strong language, stressful situations, descriptions of car crashes and physical exhaustion, f1 heavy

w/c: Part 1 - 14k Part 2 - 13k Part 3 - 19.5k

glossary taglist

a/n: the final installment!!! writing this fic out of all the ones I have in my series was probably the easiest and at the same time the trickiest to deal with. not just because it's an e2l but just also because of the f1 bits of it. while it's always challenging to write the race scenes, purely because most of the time i'm just spewing words and hoping they make sense while also trying to make sure that the stuff happening is stuff that actually happens, the most fun part was to put forth how one may feel shunted in their own team and what that does to a person. it’s lonely and quiet in the worst ways and sometimes you start to believe it’s your fault. that maybe you were always meant to be on the outside. writing that part felt very real and if you’ve ever felt like that, i hope this story sits with you a little. i love this one a lot and i hope you do too! please don't hesitate to reblog/comment/send an ask with your thoughts!

HOME

The cold air bites at your skin, but you barely feel it.

You sit on the porch steps, phone pressed tightly to your ear, listening to the monotonous ring of a call that you already know isn’t going to go through. It’s the fourth time you’ve tried the number your dad gave you. The fourth time it’s gone straight to voicemail.

You press the heel of your free palm to your eyes, rubbing at them. Great. Just great.

A pipe leak. In the middle of winter. Water pooling under the sink, seeping through the cabinets, creeping toward the floor faster than you know how to handle. And now, the only plumber you know isn’t even picking up.

Really, your luck must be fucking terrible. How could this happen exactly when your parents weren’t at home?

Your head pulses with another wave of pain as you weigh your options. Do you try fixing it yourself? Do you just shut off the main water supply and deal with it later? Do you-

No.

You’re not calling Seungcheol.

You refuse. You won’t.

You grip your phone tighter, swallowing hard, trying to think. You can figure this out. You have to.

But then to your luck, or rather, the lack of it you hear the sound of tires rolling over, a door opening and slamming shut, paper bags rustling.

And before you even have to look up, you know.

Seungcheol.

You curse internally, willing him to keep walking, to go inside, to not notice the way you’re sitting here, hunched over, stress radiating from every inch of your body.

But of course, he does.

“Hey,” he calls out casually at first.

You don’t answer right away. You keep your gaze on the phone screen, like if you just focus hard enough, the plumber will just magically call you back.

But Seungcheol isn’t an idiot. And he knows you well enough to tell when something’s wrong.

The porch creaks under his weight as he steps closer. “What’s going on?”

You sigh, finally glancing up. He’s standing at the foot of the steps, a grocery bag in one hand, the other stuffed in his jacket pocket. His hair is still slightly damp from the snow, and the cold has left a faint pink tint across his skin.

You look away quickly. Not the time.

“Nothing,” you mutter, voice tight.

Seungcheol doesn’t buy it. He tilts his head slightly, glancing at the phone in your hands, to the way your grip is a little too tense.

You see the exact moment he puts the pieces together.

“…Something’s broken.”

It’s not a question.

You let out a sharp breath, rubbing your temple. “It’s fine. I’ll figure it out.”

Seungcheol exhales, setting the grocery bag down on the step. “What is it?”

You hesitate. If you tell him, he’s going to fix it.

But the alternative is letting the house flood while you sit outside, pretending you don’t need help.

You purse your lips, debating. Then, finally you answer. "Pipe’s leaking under the sink."

Seungcheol’s brows lift slightly. “Bad?”

“Water’s spreading. That bad enough?”

He glances toward the house. “Did you shut off the valve?”

Your throat dries up. You should have. You know that. You know enough to do that. But you were so fucking stressed, so caught up in trying to call the plumber, that you didn’t even think about it.

Seungcheol immediately clocks your hesitation.

His expression almost morphs into amusement. “Come on.”

You shake your head immediately. "No."

Seungcheol gives you a flat look. “You want to let it keep leaking?”

“I’ll figure it out.”

“Really?” He crosses his arms, raising an eyebrow. "With what tools?"

Your mouth opens. Then closes. Okay. Fine. Maybe you don’t have a plan.

But that doesn’t mean you need him.

Seungcheol exhales sharply, hand reaching down to loop through yours and pull you up. "Just let me do it, alright? It’ll take ten minutes."

You hesitate for a second too long, brain switching off at the way he effortlessly manages to lift you up. No, you willingly stood up. You shake your head

A moment of hesitation is all that he needs.

With a small shake of his head, Seungcheol picks up his grocery bag and walks past you, shoulder just barely grazing yours as he makes his way inside.

You hover near the kitchen island, arms crossed, watching as Seungcheol shrugs off his jacket and tosses it over a chair before crouching down in front of the sink.

The water hasn’t fully spread to the floor yet, but it’s bad enough, a slow but steady trickle pooling at the base of the cabinet, seeping into the wood.

Seungcheol clicks his tongue. "You should've shut the valve off earlier."

You bristle. "I was trying to call someone."

He doesn’t argue, just sighs loudly before rolling his sleeves up to his elbows, forearms flexing slightly as he moves.

“Where’s your wrench?” he asks, already reaching under the sink.

You blink. Right. Tools.

Your mind scrambles for an answer, but it comes up empty. You have no idea. Your dad always handled these things before.

“I-” You hesitate, shifting on your feet.

Before you can figure out what to say, Seungcheol just sighs. Then, without looking up, he mutters

“Still in the laundry room?”

You freeze.

He doesn’t even wait for your answer. He just pushes himself up and walks off, heading straight down the hall, like he already knows exactly where to go.

And the worst part is that he’s right.

You swallow, fingers tightening around your arms as you listen to the sound of him opening the cabinet, rummaging through old tool boxes like he’s done it a hundred times before.

Like he still remembers where everything is.

When he comes back, wrench in hand, you don’t say anything.

And neither does he.

He just crouches back down, one arm reaching under the sink, the other bracing himself against the cabinet. His shirt rides up slightly at the hem as he shifts into position, and you immediately snap your gaze to the ceiling.

A few minutes later, when he's almost done, Seungcheol's phone rings from where he threw it onto the kitchen island. Your eyes flicker to the screen before you look away just as quickly, not catching the name.

“Who is it?” Seungcheol's voice comes out muffled from below.

“Uh, wait,” You mumble before shifting over to see the caller's name. It makes you stop, hand frozen in air for a few seconds before you shake yourself out of it. “It's someone from Aston Martin. Do you want me to bring it over to you?” You observe him as you reply, eyes sharp.

You can see Seungcheol stop for a moment too, like a kid caught stealing candy before he resumes, shaking his head slightly. “Nah, just leave it.”

No.

No, it's been way too long to let this slide again.

You fold your arms tightly over your chest, jaw tight. “Seungcheol.”

His name comes out sounding sharp from your mouth, maybe a little more than you intended, but still, stern.

Slowly, he exhales. Then, bracing a hand against the cabinet, he pushes himself up. Straightens. Stretches his shoulders. But he doesn’t look at you.

Your fingers curl against your sleeves. “What is going on with you?”

He sighs before running a hand through his hair, still refusing to meet your gaze. “It’s nothing. I don't know why they're calling either.”

“Are you done with the leak?” You point at it, already moving past him to the cabinet above the stove where you keep your kettle.

He nods, albeit a little confused before he checks, washing his hands after the water doesn't leak again.

“Okay, good.” You mutter as you start it up, preparing to make tea. This conversation is something that's been avoided for way too long. “Because you're going to sit down, drink this tea and fucking explain what you've been doing in this past one year.”

He opens his mouth to argue, but you interject before he can, “Don’t you think we deserve to know what’s going on?”

Seungcheol exhales, shoulders rising before he lets them fall. He looks like he wants to argue. Like he wants to say no, like he wants to leave, like he doesn’t owe you this conversation.

But you’re not letting him.

Not this time.

So you turn toward him, crossing your arms, eyebrows raised in challenge. "Well?"

Seungcheol sighs, rubbing his temple. But after a moment, he drags a chair back and sits.

He leans back against it, arms crossed, gaze dropping to the counter. "What do you want me to say?"

You huff, setting the cups down harder than necessary. "How about the truth?"

Seungcheol scoffs under his breath, shaking his head. "It's not that simple."

"It never is," you agree.

The silence that follows is thick, heavy, frustrating. The only sound is the quiet hum of the kettle as steam starts to rise.

You glance at him, but he’s still looking at the counter, fingers tapping lightly against his arm. Like he’s debating. Like he’s deciding how much to say.

When Seungcheol finally begins to talk, his voice is the quietest you’ve heard it in a while.

“Where do I even start? I guess it began last season itself, after I won the world championship. After COTA, I didn’t have much to fight for, other than the constructors. The team started the orders in Mexico and back then it didn’t feel like I was losing out on anything. I’d already made enough points and they wanted to make sure Jaehyun ended up P2 in the driver’s standings to help with the constructors. So I agreed.”

You nod. You remember the second half of the season in 2024. It wasn’t unlike Seungcheol to go a little easier on his teammate once he’d won, so you hadn’t thought anything was off either.

“And then into winter break,” Seungcheol continues, “One of the reasons I didn’t come back home was, yes, because it would be really awkward with us, but the team had kept me really busy too. I’d done so many tests and runs for them that you’d expect the car to come out in a way that suited my driving style a little more.”

“It wasn’t entirely off,” Seungcheol shrugs as you pour a little honey into his cup, “Just, it was quite obvious that Jaehyun was more comfortable in there than I was. Felt like the work I’d done was useless, almost. Pre-season testing too. They were a lot more proactive when it came to Jaehyun’s feedback, but I just assumed it was because he was relatively newer to the team and that they’d have to learn his preferences a little more because they already knew most of mine.”

You settle down into the chair beside him, a soft hum leaving your lips as you listen.

“And you know, for the first few races it felt like things were back to normal in the team itself. I was still qualifying better, still the first one to bring the fight. Yeah, Red Bull were insanely quick and we were—from the start—second to them, but it felt alright inside. So I let it go, thinking I was just being paranoid.”

"And then?" you prompt gently.

Seungcheol exhales, the sound barely audible over the quiet clink of your teaspoon against the ceramic rim of your cup. His fingers drum the outside of the mug.

“And then the calls started,” he says, shaking his head. “Nothing major at first. Just small things. Strategy tweaks that didn’t make sense but weren’t outright sabotage. Early pit stops that put me in traffic. Tire compounds I hadn’t preferred. I wasn’t the only one noticing it either—my race engineer, the mechanics, even some of the guys in the factory. But no one wanted to say it outright.”

Your brows furrow. “But you knew.”

Seungcheol’s lips twitch, not in amusement, but in resignation. “I had a feeling. But when you’re fighting at the front, you can’t afford to doubt. You just drive.”

You nod, thinking back to those early races. From the outside, nothing had seemed blatantly wrong. Ferrari was still Ferrari with their fast cars, quick pit stops, a strong driver lineup. And Seungcheol was still the one leading the charge. If anything, it had looked like he was comfortably holding onto his position as the team’s priority.

But now that he says it, you remember. The radio messages that had sounded just a little too forced. The hesitation before the pit wall gave him the go ahead on certain strategies. And then later, when Jaehyun’s results started coming together, how the dynamic had shifted ever so slightly.

“Monaco,” you murmur, realization settling in.

Seungcheol shakes his head. “No. Miami. By Monaco, I already knew. But it was Miami where the doubts started.”

You know what he means. That race had been his to win. Fastest all weekend, pole secured by two tenths, an aggressive but clean first stint. And yet, somehow, Jaehyun had come out ahead after the pit cycle. The team had called it an unfortunate timing issue, but Seungcheol had looked more confused than upset in the post-race interviews. Like he wasn’t sure how it had slipped through his fingers.

He rubs a hand over his face, leaning back into the chair. “That’s when I started realizing it wasn’t just paranoia.”

Your fingers tighten around your mug. “But you still let it go.”

Seungcheol lets out a short, humorless laugh. “What else could I do?” His eyes meet yours, dark and unreadable. “I drove for them, remember? They made the calls.”

“I wasn’t okay. After Monza, when you called,” He tries to sound slightly nonchalant. But you know.

“That’s why I called,” You sigh, “Were there more problems because of that crash? Between you two?”

Seungcheol almost laughs, “You know, throughout this entire season, I don’t think we’ve actually ever argued about all this stuff. The next race weekend was shit. Both of us were absolutely blasted by the team. But most of this isn't his fault. I mean, the crash probably was, but it happens. It's not like I’ve never crashed into a teammate before. ” He admits. You can see that it takes a lot out of him to say that.

You understand. It would be so much easier to blame someone else, someone newer instead of the people who’ve been around you for so long.

“He’d be fucking stupid if he kicked and yelled and made everyone stop to treat us both the same.”

Sighing, you contemplate reaching a hand out to comfort him. Seungcheol sits with his shoulders slumped and head down, fingers fiddling with the cup in a restless way. But you stop yourself. You're listening to him to understand and to clear up things, that's it.

“So you made the decision to leave Ferrari,” You say, humming for him to continue.

“After Monza, I kind of knew, but it was Singapore where I made my decision.”

You remember that race. The tension, the buildup. The entire grid waiting to see if Haechan would clinch the title.

“It wasn’t like some big revelation,” he continues. “I think I’d already been telling myself for weeks that it was over. But that night, it just… solidified.”

His fingers tap lightly against his arm, like he’s still turning the memory over in his head. “They pitted me early. Said it was to put pressure on Red Bull, to force Haechan into an earlier stop. But I knew what it was. It was about Jaehyun. Making sure he didn’t lose time, making sure he had the advantage when it counted. That was my job now.”

Your fingers tighten around your mug.

He exhales sharply, shaking his head. “And then Haechan crossed the line, took his title, and I was standing in that media pen, listening to everyone talk about the championship fight and the future, and I realized I wasn’t part of that anymore. Not with Ferrari.”

“So I told my manager that night. Told him I wasn’t going to re-sign.”

It’s said so simply, so quietly, but you remember twenty two year old Seungcheol when he got his first Formula 1 seat. You remember twenty three year old Seungcheol when he got the Ferrari offer, his biggest dream coming true. You remember seventeen year old Seungcheol, arguing with his school teachers that, yes, racing is what he wants to do. Not school. “I’m serious about this. You can just watch, I’ll get there.”

It must have been one of the hardest decisions he’s ever made.

But there’s just one more thing you don’t understand.

“But if not with Ferrari,” You begin cautiously, softly, “You could’ve done it with any other team. They’d be scrambling to sign you. Why’d you leave the entire thing, Cheol?”

Seungcheol slowly shake his head. “It wasn’t just about Ferrari.”

His fingers begin to drum lightly on the counter again. “I thought about signing somewhere else. It would’ve been easy—hell, my manager already had teams lined up before I even told him I wasn’t re-signing. But after Singapore… I just didn’t know if I wanted to anymore.”

Your brows furrow slightly. “Why?”

For a second, you think he won’t answer. His fingers tighten around his mug, his shoulders tensing slightly. But then he sighs, the weight of it heavy.

“Because for the first time in my life, I wasn’t sure if I still had it in me.”

His voice is quieter now, but there’s no hesitation. No bitterness. Just quiet exhaustion.

“I always knew what I was fighting for. Even in my worst seasons, even when everything felt like shit, I still wanted to be in the car. I still wanted to be in the fight. But after Singapore, I wasn’t sure if I did.” He pauses, shaking his head slightly. “Not because I don’t love it. Not because I don’t think I can still win. But because I didn’t know if I could give myself to it the way I always have.”

“You know, for years, I thought that as long as I kept pushing, as long as I proved myself over and over again, everything else would fall into place. That it would always be enough. But somewhere along the way, it stopped feeling like it was.”

You don’t say anything.

Because what do you even say to someone who’s spent their entire life chasing something only to realize they don’t know if they still want to chase it anymore?

Seungcheol leans back slightly, glancing down at his mug. “I needed time,” he says simply. “To figure it out.”

You hesitate for a moment, watching him. He’s not looking at you, eyes still on the mug in his hands, fingers tracing the rim like he’s still lost somewhere in his own thoughts.

Then, quietly, you say, “That makes sense.”

Seungcheol glances up, like he wasn’t expecting you to say that.

You exhale, shifting slightly in your seat. “I mean… you’ve never really stopped, have you?” You tilt your head. “Since we were kids, it’s always been about the next thing. The next race, the next win, the next goal. You never let yourself slow down. Maybe—” you pause, choosing your words carefully. “Maybe it’s okay that you needed to.”

His fingers still against the mug. He doesn’t say anything, but something in his expression softens, just slightly.

“You’re allowed to figure it out, Cheol,” you say, quieter now. “Even if it takes time.”

For the first time since he started talking, he really looks at you. Like he’s trying to figure out if you actually mean it.

And when he doesn’t find doubt in your face, when all he sees is quiet understanding, something inside him loosens.

He hadn’t realized how much he needed to hear that.

It’s stupid, maybe. He’s had months to sit with this, to justify his decision to himself, to convince himself that taking a step back wasn’t weakness. That it didn’t make him any less of a driver. Any less of himself.

But it’s different, hearing it from you.

Hearing someone else say it—you say it—makes it feel real.

He exhales again, deeper this time, like something heavy has finally slipped off his shoulders. The tension in his posture eases just a little.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, voice lighter than before. “Maybe it is.”

And for the first time in a while, he almost feels like he can breathe.

You shut your laptop with a quiet sigh, leaning back into your chair to give yourself a moment before you start packing up to go home. You stretch your fingers out, rolling your wrist absentmindedly, the stiffness a reminder of how long you’ve been working.

At least you’re leaving earlier than usual today. It’s rare, but you’d wrapped up the project that had been eating up most of your time this past month—sent the final files off, double-checked every detail, and even managed to get your inbox down to something manageable. It’s a relief, a quiet kind that sits at the back of your mind, knowing that for once, you won’t have to think about work the second you step out of the office.

You take your time packing up, sliding your laptop into your bag a little more carefully than usual, making sure everything’s in place before zipping it up. The usual rush to leave isn’t there tonight; instead, you pull on your coat at a slower pace, looping your scarf around your neck as your phone vibrates on your desk.

A quick glance at the screen shows a text from Seungkwan in the group chat.

Seungkwan: jihoon and cheol are you guys free my manager just asked to sit through another client call and it’s going to take at least 45 more mins can ya’ll go pick her up i promised to but i can’t rn [16:48]

Jihoon: yeah sure [16:50]

Seungcheol: i can [16:50]

Seungcheol: oh nvm u can go then [16:51]

Jihoon: no actually i can’t my meeting got extended too Seungcheol? [16:58]

Seungcheol: omw [17:00]

You shake your head slightly as you scroll through the chat. You could’ve taken the bus ride home, but Seungkwan had sent his car for servicing and had driven the two of you to work in your car today. He’d have fussed about it if you took the bus and, honestly, you didn’t mind the ride back. At least it’d be warmer.

You sling your bag over your shoulder and make your way out of the office. Most of people in your team are still at their desks, wrapped up in whatever they need to finish before they can call it a night, but you get a few nods and murmured goodbyes as you pass. The elevator ride down is uneventful, and by the time you step outside, the sky is a dark shade of blue with streaks of fading orange and pink clinging onto the horizon.

You don’t have to wait long before a sleek black car rolls up to the curb, headlights cutting through the dimming evening. You spot Seunghceol through the windshield before he even pulls to a full stop, one hand on the wheel, the other resting against the gear shift, fingers drumming idly. His hair falls slightly over his forehead, and he’s got that same relaxed-but-not-really posture you know so well.

The door unlocks with a quiet click, and you pull it open, slipping inside.

"Hey," you greet, settling into the passenger seat.

Seungcheol glances at you briefly before looking back at the road. "Hey. Seatbelt."

You roll your eyes but comply, the buckle clicking into place as he merges back into traffic. It’s only when you hit a red light that Seungcheol speaks again, eyes flitting over to you.

"You finished your project, right?"

You blink, turning to look at him. "How’d you know?"

He shrugs, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel. "You only leave early when you finish something big."

You press your lips together, caught off guard. He’s not wrong.

"Yeah," you say after a moment. "Finally. Feels kind of weird not having it hanging over my head anymore."

Seungcheol hums, driving forward as the light turns green. "Bet that’s nice."

"It is," you admit, nodding as you slump back into your seat. "Kind of don’t know what to do with myself now, though."

He glances at you, the corner of his mouth twitching like he’s fighting a smile. "Is that why you let me pick you up instead of just taking the bus? Needed something to fill the time?"

You scoff, nudging his arm lightly. "Shut up."

His chuckle is soft, barely audible over the low hum of the car, but you hear it anyway.

“Can we stop at a convenience store, by the way?” Seungcheol clears his throat after a few minutes of silence.

You hum in response. “Sure, you’re driving anyways.”

He nods, taking the next right turn without another word. The neon glow of the store comes into view a few minutes later, its sign flickering slightly against the darkening sky. He pulls into an empty parking spot, shifting the car into park before turning to you.

“You want anything?”

You shake your head, already reaching for your phone. “I’m good.”

Seungcheol doesn’t press, just unbuckles his seatbelt and steps out. You watch as he stretches—arms over his head, a quick shake of his shoulders—before heading inside.

A few minutes later, Seungcheol returns, a plastic bag in hand. He slides into the driver’s seat, the faint rustling of wrappers filling the car as he rummages through it. Without a word, he pulls out a bag of chips and hands it over, like it’s second nature.

You blink, looking down at the bag in your lap, then back at him.

You narrow your eyes at him as you open the bag, pulling out a chip and popping it into your mouth. “What if I didn’t want this today?”

Seungcheol hums, setting his drink down before shifting the car into reverse. “Then you’d tell me to go back inside.”

You make a face, annoyed that he knows you too well, but let it slide. Instead, as he pulls out of the parking lot, you reach into the bag again—this time, holding a chip out toward him.

Seungcheol glances at it briefly before flicking his eyes back to the road. “What?”

“You want one?”

He hesitates—just for a second. And that’s when it hits you.

Your hand hovers in the air, and for a moment, you almost pull back. But then, Seungcheol leans in just slightly, just enough.

And without a word, he takes the chip from your hand.

Neither of you say anything after that.

—

The evening is loud, the kind of easy chaos that comes with Jihoon, Seungkwan, and Seungcheol crammed into your living room, half-watching something on TV while bickering over absolutely nothing.

Seungkwan had claimed his usual spot on the couch, legs kicked up onto the coffee table despite your protests. Jihoon sat on the floor, leaning against the armrest, scrolling through his phone but still chiming in whenever Seungkwan said something particularly stupid.

It’s normal. Stupid jokes, Seungkwan laughing too loud, Jihoon threatening to leave but never actually moving. And for a while, you let yourself fall into it, let the noise drown out the things you don’t want to think about.

But then, Jihoon stands, stretching his arms overhead. “I should go,” he says, stuffing his phone into his pocket. “Early morning tomorrow.”

Seungkwan groans dramatically but stands up too, stretching in sync with him. “Yeah, yeah. I should head out too.”

After Jihoon and Seungkwan leave, you linger by the door for a moment, listening to their voices fade as they walk down the street. When you turn back, Seungcheol is still there, getting off the couch to walk into your kitchen.

You hesitate, then exhale, shaking your head as you make your way back to the couch. The house feels different now—quieter, heavier.

You sink into your usual spot, pulling your legs up beneath you, reaching absently for the TV remote even though you’re not really paying attention. But after a few moments of silence, you can’t hold it in anymore.

“Is it just me, or do I keep running into you everywhere?” You scoff, finally turning to face him.

Seungcheol stands behind your kitchen counter, filling a glass of water before he stops at your words. He searches your face for any signs of playfulness, but finds none. Your eyebrows are knitted, a slight scowl on your lips and your words come out sharp and almost irritated.

“What?” He asks, a little confused, “I mean, I am living next to your house. Would be weird if you didn’t see me around.”

"You know that's not what I mean." You cross your arms, getting off the sofa.

“Well, for starters. Everyone was here today, so you kind of invited me over.” Seungcheol shrugs. “I was going to leave anyway, sheesh.”

"Yeah, this time," you say. "But what about the rest? It’s like things are just happening again, like nothing’s changed. You keep showing up, and it’s not just at work or around the neighborhood, it’s—" You pause, shaking your head before scoffing. "God, I don’t know. It’s confusing."

Seungcheol only watches you, setting his cup down with an unreadable expression.

So you continue.

“It’s been over a year, Seungcheol. And then you come back and suddenly we’re going back to whatever this was. As if that entire period of our lives didn’t even exist. We didn’t talk to each other, Cheol. Didn’t talk, didn’t check in, didn’t even pretend that we existed and now—” You huff out, shoulders dropping, “Don’t you think this is strange? That we can just pretend like nothing happened and fall back into line like this?”

Seungcheol doesn’t answer right away. He looks at you, fingers tapping idly against the counter. Then, finally, he says, "Maybe it’s not that strange."

You groan, running a hand through your hair. It seems to tick him off a little because he speaks up again.

“You were the one that said that we were best friends, and that you wouldn’t stop treating me like that because we broke up,” Seungcheol says, voice firm. “You told me that none of it would change, that we’d figure it out. And now you’re acting like it’s weird that I’m here, like I’m some stranger you keep running into instead of the person who—” He stops himself, shaking his head before he can say too much. His fingers tighten against the counter. “I’m not pretending nothing happened. But I’m not the one who changed their mind.”

“Fuck, I know!” You exclaim, a little louder than before, “God, I know and I’m sorry, okay? I thought it would be fine. I thought I could handle it but it’s not, Cheol. It’s not.” Swallowing, you hesitate. “It’s just hard, okay? Seeing you, talking to you and being around you like this just reminds me of everything and I don’t know how to act like it doesn’t hurt.”

You look up at him to gauge his reaction, but the way his jaw tightens just makes you feel worse.

“You think it wasn’t hard for me? That it still isn’t?” His voice is low, but his eyes are bright, anger slipping into them. “The difference is, I didn’t choose this. I didn’t wake up one day and decide we shouldn’t be together anymore.” He exhales, rubbing a hand over his face. “That was you.”

You throw your head back, eyes scrunching in frustration before you snap back, “Do you really think I didn’t think it over? That I didn’t even try or want this to work? I wanted it to. But it always felt like I was waiting for you, Seungcheol. Waiting for the next race to end, waiting for your next flight home, waiting for a moment that never lasted long enough before you had to leave again." You let out a sharp, humorless laugh. "And I know it wasn’t your fault—I never blamed you for any of it. But you have to see how unfair it was, too. I was the one adjusting, always making room in my life whenever you had the chance to come back, and when you left again, I was the one picking up the pieces."

Seungcheol’s jaw tightens. "You think I didn’t try? That I didn’t want more time with you?" His voice rises slightly, rough around the edges. "I missed things too, you know. I missed birthdays, I missed stupid little inside jokes, I missed you. But I tried. I called every chance I got, I stayed up even when I was dead tired just to hear your voice, I—" He cuts himself off, running a frustrated hand through his hair. "I know it wasn’t enough. But it wasn’t like I didn’t care."

"I know you cared, Seungcheol," you say, voice quieter now but strained nonetheless. "But caring wasn’t the problem. It was never just about missing each other—it was about how impossible it felt to keep up. You were gone all the time. I couldn’t call you whenever I needed to, I couldn’t just show up when things got hard. And you—you were so busy, and I didn’t want to be just another thing on your list to worry about."

Seungcheol exhales sharply, shaking his head. "That’s not fair," he mutters. "You were never just some obligation to me."

"But that’s what it felt like!" The words leave you before you can stop them, your voice cracking and your chest heaving. "Not because of you, not because of anything you did, but because of the way things were. I felt like I was trying to hold on to something that was slipping away no matter how much we wanted it to stay."

Seungcheol’s eyes darken, frustration clear in the way his fingers ball into fists at his sides. “So what, then? We just give up because it was hard?” His voice is louder now, the calm he’s tried to hold onto starting to slip away. “You think I didn’t feel like I was losing you too? You think I didn’t sit there in hotel rooms on the other side of the world, wishing I could be home with you instead?”

“Well, you weren’t home, Seungcheol!” you shoot back, eyes stinging. “And I couldn’t keep waiting for something that wasn’t going to change! I had to live my life too, I had to stop putting everything on hold for a relationship that—” You stop yourself, swallowing hard, willing your voice not to break. “That wasn’t going to work no matter how much we wanted it to.”

Seungcheol shakes his head, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. “That’s bullshit,” he mutters. “You didn’t even let me try. You made the choice for both of us.”

“Are you serious right now? You did try, Seungcheol. We both did! But you were never going to have a life where you could just stay, and I never wanted you to give that up for me. I just—I wanted to feel like I wasn’t the only one adjusting, like I wasn’t always the one left waiting.”

His whole body goes rigid, and when he speaks next, Seungcheol’s voice is clear but scalding.

“Well, I quit,” he says, the words sharp and deliberate. His eyes bore into yours, daring you to look away. “So are you happy now?”

It hits you like a slap to the face—sharp, stinging, and almost disorienting. You blink at him, air knocked out of your lungs, stunned, mouth opening slightly but finding nothing to say.

Because this isn’t what you wanted. Not like this. Not for you. Not because of you.

But Seungcheol is still looking at you, chest rising and falling, waiting for you to say… say what? What do you even say to that?

“That is not what I said, and you know it.” Your voice is quiet but fierce when you finally reply, unyielding.

Seungcheol scoffs, running a hand over his face, but he doesn’t respond.

You shake your head, throat tightening. “I don’t want to talk to you like this.”

He laughs dryly, shaking his head as he looks away. "Right. Of course, you don’t."

You clench your jaw. "Don’t do that."

"Do what?" His gaze snaps back to yours, frustration smeared across his features. "You get to throw all of this at me, tell me how impossible it was, how you couldn’t keep up. And then the second I react, you decide you don’t want to talk anymore?"

Your hands curl into fists at your sides. "Because you’re twisting my words, Seungcheol! I never wanted you to quit. I never wanted you to throw everything away for me.” You breathe in, feeling the tears fill your eyes as Seungcheol’s figure starts swimming in your vision. You look away, quickly wiping them and willing your voice to come out calm before you continue.

“I only ever wanted to be equal, Cheol. Just equal.”

His brows furrow, the sharp edges of his anger dulling into something heavier and blunt. His lips part like he wants to argue, to fight back, but nothing comes out. Instead, his shoulders drop just slightly, like the weight of everything between you is finally settling in.

"I would’ve done more," he says finally, so quietly that you almost don’t hear it. "If you had told me, I would’ve done more."

You sigh, feeling all the fight and adrenaline draining out of you, leaving only exhaustion and regret. “I know. But I didn’t want to have to ask.”

“I’m sorry,” you say, “For not talking to you about it properly before. For not giving us a real chance to figure it out together.”

Seungcheol stands still for a few beats, looking unsure. Then, he grabs the glass he’d left full on the counter before turning around to dump it in the sink. The sound of water slinking down the drain fills the heavy atmosphere between you, and for a moment, it feels like neither of you knows what to say next.

His back is to you, shoulders rising and falling with a slow breath, and when he finally speaks, his voice is dull and subdued.

“I should go,” he murmurs, like he’s saying it more to himself than to you. Seungcheol sighs, rubbing a hand over his face before shaking his head, almost like he’s trying to shake off everything this conversation has brought up.

You don’t know what else to say, so you swallow hard and nod, even though he can’t see you. When he pushes himself out of the kitchen, you step aside. He walks slowly, almost like he doesn’t know how to act around you anymore. It’s not surprising. You’ve never felt this exhausted and on-edge around him either.

A muted, confused voice in your head, tells you to stop him before he goes. This isn’t done. Even if it is, you don’t feel like it is anyway. With the way Seungcheol hesitates, you can tell he doesn’t either.

But you ignore it, for now.

Seungcheol walks out of your door, closing it softly behind him. You think it’d be a little easier if he’d slammed it instead.

—

Seungcheol remembers being sixteen, sprawled next to Jihoon on the floor of your room. He can hear your dad watching the news on the TV, the loud and clear voice of the anchor cutting through the house.

“Seven-time Formula 1 world champion Lewis Hamilton has announced his retirement from the sport, shocking fans and experts alike. The Mercedes driver, widely regarded as one of the greatest of all time, confirmed in a press conference earlier today that this season would be his last."

Seungcheol barely pays attention. He’s freaked out over it already and so he idly flips through one of your textbooks, while Jihoon hums to himself, distracted with his guitar. Meanwhile, you sit straight next to him on the floor, biting on your lower lip in concentration as you try to tackle the integration worksheet your class was handed today. You twirl a yellow mechanical pencil between your fingers as you scan the page in front of you, brows furrowed. The dim yellow glow of your lamp casts soft shadows on your face, and Seungcheol finds himself staring without meaning to.

It’s nothing new—you studying, the three of you lazing around in your room, wasting away a slow evening together. But something about this moment feels different.

Your hair slips over your shoulder as you reach for another page, and for some reason, he can’t stop staring.

It’s not like he hasn’t looked at you before. You’ve been best friends since you were kids, growing up side by side, running through the same streets, bickering over stupid things only to make up a few hours later. You’ve always been there, always been you.

But right now, in this quiet moment, you look—

Pretty.

The thought creeps in so naturally that it startles him. His grip tightens on the textbook.

It’s not like he’s never thought about it before. He’s not blind. But this is different. Because it’s not just pretty, it’s you. And it feels important. Like something’s cracked open, like something’s about to change.

He quickly tears his gaze away, back to the textbook in his lap, but he doesn’t see a single word. His heartbeat is suddenly too loud in his ears, his skin warm under the collar of his hoodie.

Jihoon groans again, shoving his guitar aside. “I give up. This song is cursed.”

Seungcheol almost laughs, almost lets himself be pulled back into the moment. But then he glances at you one more time, catching the way you tuck your knee to your chest, biting your lip as you concentrate.

And just like that, he knows.

Knows that something is different now. Knows that, no matter how hard he tries, he won’t be able to unknow it.

Seungcheol remembers finally, finally telling you that he likes you. He does it on a call, early morning on a Friday in Australia. Not ideal, not how he pictured it, but the words are there, pressing against his throat, demanding to be let out.

You look so soft on the screen, eyes half-lidded from sleep, cheek pressed into your pillow. It’s late where you are, but you still picked up when he called, even though you had work in the morning. The thought makes something warm settle in his chest, until he realizes he’s been staring at you too long, silent for too long, and you’re blinking at him now, confused.

"Cheol?" your voice comes through the speaker, quiet and a little groggy.

He sighs, shaking his head softly. He should wait. He should do this in person. But waiting has never been his strong suit, and the thought of another day, another week, another month of keeping this to himself—

"I like you."

The words fall out before he can stop them, before he can overthink them.

You blink slowly, drowsiness slipping away. “You what?”

He huffs out a little nervously.

"Say it again." You stare back at him with wide eyes, your head raised to get a better view.

He doesn’t hesitate. “I like you.”

Your breath catches. He sees it, sees the way you bite your lip like you’re trying not to smile, like you knew but needed to hear it anyway.

“You’re insane,” you say, but your voice is barely above a whisper, “Come back home, Cheol.”

Seungcheol grins, relief rushing through him. He laughs, a little breathless. “I will.”

“No,” you shake your head, firmer this time. “Come home soon.”

When Seungcheol comes back to you on Monday, you’re already waiting.

You stand near the arrivals exit, arms crossed, watching the steady stream of passengers trickle out. You spot him before he sees you—hood up, suitcase rolling behind him, duffel slung over one shoulder.

And then his gaze lifts, finds yours, and stops.

Surprise flickers across his face followed by something softer, closer to relief. He lets out a quiet laugh as he stops in front of you.

“You look exhausted,” you say, voice calm, but your fingers twitch where they rest against your arm.

His lips tilt, but you can see it now—the bags under his eyes, the exhaustion clinging to his shoulders. Still, his eyes don’t leave yours, like you’re the only thing keeping him upright.

“Didn’t think you’d be here,” he murmurs.

You shrug, glancing away for a second. “Didn’t think you’d tell me you like me over the phone.”

He laughs, softer this time. The duffel slips from his shoulder, forgotten, as he takes half a step closer. Close enough that the warmth of him seeps into the space between you, close enough that you feel the weight of his gaze settle over you.

“Missed me that much?” he teases, the corner of his mouth tugging up.

You scoff. “You wish.” But your voice lacks bite, and he sees the way you shift from one foot to the other, like you’re holding yourself back.

So he doesn’t.

Seungcheol reaches for you, one hand cupping the side of your face, the other sliding around your waist, pulling you into him. And before you can react, before you can even breathe, he kisses you.

It’s not cautious. Not nervous. Not testing the waters. It’s sure, like he’s known this is where he’s meant to be all along.

Your fingers tighten against the fabric of his hoodie, exhaling against his lips like you’ve been waiting for this too. Like all the late-night calls, the moments of hesitation, the unspoken truths were leading to this.

When he pulls back, just slightly, his forehead rests against yours, his breath warm against your lips.

Your heart stumbles, and for once, you don’t pretend to fight the smile that tugs at your lips. “Took you long enough,” you whisper.

He laughs, soft and warm, before kissing you again.

Seungcheol remembers the countless races that you’ve flown in for, without him even asking. The paddock is still buzzing when he finally steps into his motorhome, his race suit unzipped to his waist, the fireproofs underneath clinging to his skin. The adrenaline from qualifying still lingers in his veins, a familiar and electrifying hum of energy that usually takes hours to fade.

He breathes in deeply, reaching up to brush his hair out of his eyes. P3. Not bad. Not what he wanted, but not bad. Tomorrow would be the real fight.

But when he finally looks around, Seungcheol’s eyes land on you before anything else.

You’re sat on the small couch in the corner of his motorhome, one leg tucked under the other, scrolling through something on your phone. His jacket is draped over your shoulders, the red standing out starkly against your skin. Your hair is tied up loosely, like you’d done it without much thought, and there’s a half-empty water bottle on the table in front of you.

Seungcheol stops in his tracks, momentarily stunned. He calls out your name, making you perk up as you notice him.

“You flew in?” he asks, still slightly breathless.

Your lips curl up, “Yes, as you can see.”

He takes a step closer, then another, until he’s right in front of you. “You didn’t tell me.”

“It’s called a surprise, Cheol.” You raise an eyebrow, tilting your head playfully. “You’re supposed to like it.”

He lets out a scoff, shaking his head in disbelief. “Of course I do.”

You grin, setting your phone down. “P3’s not bad.”

Seungcheol hums, rubbing a hand over his nape as he exhales. “Not bad. Could’ve been better.”

“It’s always ‘could’ve been better’ with you,” you tease, nudging his knee lightly with your foot. “You’re still starting from the second row. That’s a win in my books.”

He glances at you again, still not entirely believing that you’re actually here.

“How long have you been here?”

“Landed this afternoon and came straight to the track.”

Seungcheol’s brows furrow slightly. “And you’ve just been… waiting here?”

You shrug. “I wanted to see you.”

Something about the way you say it, so simple and matter-of-fact, makes his throat dry up.

He doesn’t say anything. Just steps forward, reaching for your wrist, fingers wrapping around it gently before tugging you up onto your feet. You let him pull you in without resistance, your hands naturally finding their place against his sides.

And then he hugs you.

It’s steady and comforting—the kind of embrace that feels less like holding on and more like coming home. His arms wrap around you with quiet certainty, like this is where you’ve always belonged. He feels the way your body relaxes against his, the tension melting away, and it makes him hug you a little tighter. You breathe out softly, the sound barely audible.

“I missed you,” he murmurs.

Your arms tighten around him. “I know. Me too.”

Seungcheol thinks he remembers when it all started to go wrong too.

He remembers staring at the screen, waiting.

The call rings once, twice, three times before it cuts to voicemail. Again.

He sighs before locking his phone. It’s past 2 AM where you are, but he’d hoped—just maybe—you’d still be awake. It’s been getting really hard to deal with the timezones, especially with all the new tracks on the calendar and more added races. He hasn’t been home in over two months.

His eyes droop with exhaustion as he types out a quick message. Call me when you wake up. Miss you.

You don’t get to reply until the next day.

By then, he’s already on track, already somewhere else.

Seungcheol remembers that the first thing he does after winning is look for you.

His team is cheering, his engineers clapping him on the back, cameras flashing in his face. But none of it matters until he sees you.

But he doesn’t.

His phone buzzes in his race suit pocket. He pulls it out, fingers clumsy from the adrenaline. A message from you.

I don’t know when you’ll see this but can’t make it today Cheol. I’m so sorry. I love you.Congrats on the win!!!

He exhales slowly, staring at the words.

You’d told him just last week that things were piling up at work. That you were barely getting enough sleep, that you’d skipped lunch twice because there was too much to do.

He’d told you to take care of yourself, his voice soft but firm. And you had laughed it off. But now, reading your message, the unease settles back in.

He wants to call. Wants to hear your voice, wants to check if you’ve eaten, if you’re resting like you should be. But there are cameras on him and a team waiting to celebrate.

So instead, he just types out a reply.

Love you too. Get some rest, yeah?

Then, he puts his phone away, and forces himself to smile.

Seungcheol remembers the last time he came back home before it all ended. March of 2024. You’re in his arms, holding on tighter than usual, your fingers digging into the fabric of his hoodie.

“You’ll be back soon, right?” Your voice is quiet against his chest.

“Of course,” he says, pressing his lips to your hair. “Two weeks.”

You nod, sighing against his shoulder. “Okay.”

He should’ve kissed you longer. Should’ve told you he’d make it work, somehow. Should’ve said ‘I love you’ one more time.

Because two weeks turns into a month. A month turns into two and in the way that things go—

Seungcheol remembers the day you broke up with him too. He doubts he’ll ever forget it.

He sits on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, hands clasped together. His race suit is gone, replaced by a plain t-shirt and joggers, but he still looks tired. Not from the race but from everything else.

You stand near the window, arms crossed, staring at the city lights outside. You don’t know how long the two of you have been sitting in silence, but it feels like forever. Like neither of you wants to be the first to say it.

But eventually, you do.

“Cheol, I don’t think this is working.”

Seungcheol inhales sharply, looking down at his hands. He nods once, slow, like he’s known this was coming but still hoped it wouldn’t. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “I know.”

That should make it easier, but it doesn’t. It only makes your chest feel heavier.

“I love you,” he says, voice quiet but certain. “I love you so much.”

Your throat tightens. “I love you too.”

But the lack of love had never been the problem. Maybe the distance would’ve been easier if it were.

Seungcheol exhales, rubbing a hand over his face. “Is there…” He swallows, voice hoarse. “Is there anything I can do?”

You should say no. Should shake your head and leave before you change your mind. But your breath hitches, your body betraying you before your mind can catch up.

Because even now, even after everything you don’t want to leave. Maybe you never have.

And maybe Seungcheol sees it, or maybe he’s just desperate, but then he says, so quietly, his voice cracking.

“Stay.”

It’s one word. Small. Fragile. But it’s a plea that sends your heart leaping for one last time before it falls flat again.

You should walk away. You know that. But your feet won’t move. And when Seungcheol shifts slightly, when he finally reaches for you, his fingers wrapping around your wrist, you don’t pull away.

“Just tonight,” you whisper, almost like you’re convincing yourself.

Seungcheol nods slowly. “Just tonight.”

So you stay.

You let him pull you toward the bed, let him press his forehead against yours, let yourself sink into the warmth of his arms, into the quiet safety of him.

Seungcheol tries to memorise you in the last few hours that he gets. He doesn’t know if you’re pretending to be asleep or if you actually are, but he needs to remember the way you feel in his arms, the way your body curls against his like it’s instinct, like it’s habit. He presses his palm against the small of your back, feeling the steady rise and fall of your breathing, trying to sync his with yours. His fingers brush lightly over your shoulder, tracing absent patterns into your skin, committing the warmth of you to memory.

Your hair spills across the pillow, a few strands tickling his chin, and he doesn’t dare to move them away. He doesn’t want to disturb anything, doesn’t want to break the illusion that this is just another night. That when morning comes, you’ll still be here.

Seungcheol knows that in a few hours, he’ll wake up, and you won’t be here. That he’ll turn over in bed, reach for you out of habit, and find nothing but empty space.

Now, Seungcheol sits at the desk in his room. The house is quiet—too quiet. The kind that settles over you like a weighted blanket that you don’t want on you. He thinks about knocking on your door. Thinks about standing outside your house like an idiot, waiting for you to let him in. Thinks about calling you, but what would he even say?

I love you. I never stopped. I don’t know how to fix this, but I want to.

Instead, he breathes in, slow and deep, massaging his temple like he can will away the headache that is forming. He knows sleep won’t come easy tonight.

The next day, when Jihoon calls you, asking if you’ll come with him to your old school, you have half the mind to refuse. You’re still exhausted, maybe not ready to face people yet. But Jihoon doesn’t usually ask for favours and maybe a little contradictingly, you don’t want to be alone with your thoughts right now.

So you say yes.

The sun’s begun to shine a little brighter these days, so when you walk out, locking your door behind you, the cold doesn’t bite too hard.

Jihoon’s car is already parked by the curb, Seungkwan in the passenger seat, scrolling through his phone. He looks up when you approach, breaking into a grin.

“Well, look who decided to be social.”

You roll your eyes, pulling open the door and slipping into the back seat. “Jihoon made it sound urgent.”

Jihoon, hands on the wheel, scoffs. “You make it sound like I’m forcing you to come. You could’ve said no.”

You hum, settling into your seat. “Could’ve.”

But Jihoon doesn’t start the car. Instead, he just drums his fingers against the wheel, glancing at Seungkwan, who is still scrolling through his phone like they’re waiting for something. Or someone.

You frown. “Hello? Can we go?”

Seungkwan barely looks up. “Do you want to leave Cheol here then?”

Your stomach dips before you can stop it. “What?” You shift forwards in your seat, grabbing onto Jihoon’s headrest. “You didn’t say he was coming.”

“Why wouldn’t he?” Jihoon asks, a little perplexed.

“Did he not say anything to you?”

The boys go quiet for a good three seconds before Seungkwan turns in his seat to face you.

“Don’t lie. Did you two fight? Come on, you’re not kids anymore!” He nags, an exasperated look on his face, “What did you fight over, hmm? Him rattling around all the washed utensils? Did he spoil that stupid book you’ve been reading? Or was it—” Before Seungkwan can continue, the door on your left opens, making all three of you look that way.

Seungcheol slides into the seat next to you, pulling the door shut behind him with a quiet click. He huffs, brushing his hair back before glancing around—first at Jihoon, then at Seungkwan, and finally at you.

And then he pauses.

Just for a second, his eyes widen slightly, like he wasn’t expecting to see you here. Like it hadn’t occurred to him that, of course, you would be here. His lips part as if to say something, but then he presses them together, looking away slowly.

“Morning,” he says, voice a little careful.

“Morning,” Seungkwan and Jihoon reply in unison.

You hesitate for a split second, but you don’t want Seungkwan and Jihoon to start poking their noses in right now, so you mumble out a small greeting too.

Jihoon exhales, twisting the key in the ignition. “Alright. Now we can go.”

The drive isn’t long, but the silence stretching between you and Seungcheol affects the two sitting up front and you know it too. Seungkwan—usually never quiet during car rides—sits a little slumped, eyes trained on the scenery outside the window. Jihoon doesn’t talk much anyways, but this early in the morning, he usually has a complaint about not picking up coffee that doesn’t come out either.

You don’t know if Seungcheol looks at you through the ten minute drive. You’re too on-edge, too awkward to even turn in his way.

When Jihoon finally pulls up to the school, parking in the visitor’s lot, Seungkwan stretches his arms over his head. “Alright, children. Let’s go relive our glory days.”

“Glory days?” Jihoon snorts, unbuckling his seatbelt. “You mean the years you spent crying over exams and losing bets?”

Seungkwan whines in response as he gets out of the car. Jihoon sighs, shaking his head before continuing.

“I’m going to be in 11C. Think it’ll take maybe an hour? Ya’ll go do whatever, I guess.”

Jihoon leaves without much more to say, disappearing down the hall with a lazy wave of his hand. You watch him go, resisting the urge to call him back when you realize that leaves only three of you.

You turn to Seungkwan with a silent plea, hoping he’d pick up on it. He does. But he just doesn’t care.

“I think I’ll go look for Ms. Kang,” he announces, stretching his arms out. “Haven’t seen her in ages. She always liked me the best.”

“She liked you because you were a teacher’s pet,” you point out.

Seungkwan gasps, pressing a hand to his chest. “I was charming.”

You shoot him a look, unimpressed, but he only grins before waving over his shoulder. You don’t have time to reply before he’s gone, leaving you standing in the middle of the hall, painfully aware of the fact that there’s only one person left beside you.

For a moment, neither of you speak.

The school is quieter than you remember, the halls emptier now that classes are in session. Sunlight filters in through the old glass windows, casting a warm glow on the polished floors, on the familiar blue doors, on Seungcheol as he sighs softly beside you.

You steal a glance at him. He looks at home here, in a way that makes your heart ache a little.

“I didn’t think I’d ever come back here,” he murmurs, almost like he’s speaking to himself.

You nod, fingers unconsciously picking at your nails. “Me neither.”

He hums, before taking a slow step forward. “Guess we might as well look around.”

And then he’s walking ahead, and you find yourself following without a word.

The school’s gym is exactly how you remember it—high ceilings with fluorescent lights that cast a slightly harsh glow, the faint scent of sweat and polished wood lingering in the air. The basketball court is lined with scuff marks from years of games, sneakers squeaking against the surface. The walls are still adorned with the same faded banners, boasting school mottos in bold, challenging letters. The chatter and yells of students already in there make you feel sixteen again.

You watch as Seungcheol quietly makes his way to the top of the bleachers, away from all the noise. For a moment, you stand still. You don’t know what this means. But you can’t just stand here near the entrance like some weirdo, so you walk up the stairs too, before sitting down at a respectable distance from him. When you do, Seungcheol glances over at you.

Your breath catches at the way you can still see the seventeen-year-old Seungcheol in him. The way he leans back slightly, palms on his knees, eyes trained on the court in thoughtfulness. You remember when Seungcheol told you he’d found a seat in Formula 2.

Tearing your gaze away from him, you look around. The two of you were probably sitting only a few seats to the left when he broke the news. The memory comes back to you so clearly, like it’s been waiting for the right moment to resurface. You can almost hear the way his voice had wavered just slightly when he said it out loud for the first time, the way your heart had lurched in your chest.

You remember the way his hands fidgeted with the hem of his sports uniform. It had been the last step before the dream he’d spent his entire life chasing. And when the realization had fully settled in, you had grinned, throwing yourself at him in excitement.

Now, thirteen years later, you turn back to the Seungcheol in front of you. All the mistakes, all the dreams, all the unfinished businesses lay in the space between you two.

You shift behind, your fingers pressing against the cool concrete of the bleachers.

Seungcheol had always wanted this. This life, this dream, the career he chased relentlessly since you were kids. He was the boy who never stopped moving forward, never once looked back—not because he didn’t care, but because the only way to reach the top was to keep climbing.

And yet, here he is, sitting beside you in a school gym, watching a bunch of kids play basketball like he has nowhere else to be.

The thought unsettles you.

You want to ask. Want to say, And what now, Seungcheol? Where do you go from here?

But you don’t.

Instead, you clear your throat, leaning back into the seat like it’ll smooth over the tension from last night’s argument.

Seungcheol drums his fingers against his knee, his gaze steady on the court below. “Feels smaller now,” he murmurs, almost absentmindedly.

You hum, glancing around the gym. “Well, you were always made for bigger things.”

You don’t mean for it to sound like a reminder of everything that’s already happened, but maybe it is. Maybe it always will be. Seungcheol doesn’t respond right away, just breathes out slowly, his fingers curling into his palm.

When he speaks again, his voice is quiet. “I got an offer from Aston Martin,” He says, finally looking up at you. “For 2027. I don’t think I’ll take it.”

You can’t do anything but nod, slowly. It’s not relief, not exactly. Because you know him. You know how much he loves this, how racing is such a big part of him. And if there’s one thing about Seungcheol, it’s that he doesn’t just walk away from the things he loves that easily.

When you don’t say anything, he turns away before muttering, “Do you ever think about how it would’ve been if I never left? If I never started racing in the first place?”

You pause, taken aback. “No.”

Seungcheol shakes his head, a small, bitter smile on his lips when he glances at you, “No? Really?”

“No,” You assert again, “Because you were always going to leave. You were made for something bigger than all this—this mediocrity and this small-town life. This was never going to be enough for you and I’ve always known that, Cheol. Everyone does.”

Seungcheol looks like he wants to retort, but you continue speaking.

“And I never wanted it to be enough for you. Racing, that adrenaline, that feeling of winning—that is your sun, Seungcheol. You will forever revolve around it. I can’t take that away from you and I have never wanted to.” You emphasize, looking into his eyes and hoping, pleading that he understands what you mean, “But I can’t leave with you either. I can’t live my life on flights and airports just to be with you, Seungcheol. My work, my life is equally as important to me. I have always, always loved you, but I can’t live like that.”

Seungcheol shakes his head, his voice coming out with an edge of desperation when he speaks. “I never wanted you to do any of that. I never wanted you to give up anything for me.”

“How else was it supposed to work, Cheol?” You let out softly, “It wasn’t like you were in a position where you could just get up and come on a whim either.”

He doesn’t reply, but you see the way his figure slumps slightly. You hate all the exhaustion that you’ve been feeling around each other lately. What are you even doing this for? You force yourself to think about what you want from this, from him.

Even though you don’t dare to admit it, you know. It’s always been the same answer. You want him. And it’s stupid. It’s so, so stupid. You’re the one who decided that it wasn’t going to work.

But what if it had?

The thought lingers in your head. But there’s no point in thinking about that now. Even if Seungcheol still loves you, even if you decide to try again, what reassurance do the two of you have that it won’t end in the same way?

You don’t even think about Seungcheol rejecting Aston’s offer. You know that it’s only him trying to convince himself. He will agree to it and you want him to. But what will it mean for the two of you?

—

Seungcheol doesn’t realize how much time has passed until he unlocks his phone to listen to a different playlist. His sleeves are rolled up, hands slightly dusty, and the room smells like old cardboard boxes.

He’d only planned to put away the clothes piled up on the chair in the corner of his room, but one thing leads to another and now he sits cross-legged on the floor of his room, with his closet half-emptied out. The floor is littered with old clothes, forgotten magazines and other things that he once thought he might need again.

Seungcheol grunts as he gets up, his numb legs making him stumble a little as he walks over to the last drawer in his closet. Just clean out this one and we’ll be done, he thinks, sliding it open and reaching in.

There’s a bunch of ticket stubs from concerts, two used passports, filled to the brim with stamps, worn because of years of constant travelling, and a bunch of receipts and paper clippings that Seungcheol should probably throw away. There’s one of his first career wins, some from his championships and some from his debut. He smiles with slight fondness before letting them drop onto the trash pile on the floor. Noticing one more, he tries to pull it out from the depths of the drawer only to realize that there’s something on top of it.

Seungcheol shoves his hand in further, but when his fingers touch the box, he freezes.

He knows what it is before he even pulls it out. He knows because he never threw it away. Never even considered it. Just stuffed it into the back of the drawer and left it there, like hiding it could make it mean any less.

His hand tightens around the edges of the box as he slowly walks back to the edge of his bed. The velvet is slightly worn now, its shine being dimmed by time and neglect, but it still feels just as heavy as it did the first time he held it. He knows he probably shouldn’t, but Seungcheol flips it open anyways.

The ring is exactly how he left it. Silver, simple, but deliberate. Something he picked out after months of indecision, after staring at a dozen options and thinking, No, not that one. Not yet. Until he found this—the one he could picture on your hand, the one that felt right.

Seungcheol runs his thumb over the navy blue, velvet lining.

It’s been over a year since he’d meant to give it to you. He had meant to ask. He’d meant for so many things to happen that never did.

Seungcheol had a plan. A future. A moment he thought would belong to you two for the rest of your lives. Now, he just sits, staring at something that never got the chance to be what it was supposed to be.

He closes the box shut quickly, setting it onto his bed and shaking his head like it’ll push away the image of your hand with the ring on.

Seungcheol swallows hard. He doesn’t know how long he sits there, staring at it, caught between regret and mourning before his gaze finally shifts to the notebook on his desk.

For the first time in a long time, there’s no hesitation in his movements as he gets up from his bed with the box in hand and walks over to the desk. He keeps it, right next to his laptop, before grabbing the first pen he sees.

Hey. So.

I should’ve said this a long time ago. But I didn’t, and I’m sorry for that.

And I don’t know if it makes any difference now, if any of this still matters and if you’ll even finish reading this letter. Maybe you’ll see my handwriting on this, sigh and put it away. Wouldn’t be surprised if you threw it away, either.But if you’re still here and reading this, then I need you to know something.

I found the ring today. While cleaning my closet, I found it buried under old ticket stubs and some rubbish paper, stuffed into the back of my closet, untouched for over a year. I don’t know why I kept it. I don’t know why I never got rid of it.

I had this entire plan to ask you once the season was over, during the winter break in 2024. I thought about it for months. Where I’d do it, what I’d say, whether you’d laugh at me for being so nervous. I had imagined a hundred different versions of it in my head—sometimes in a place that meant something to us, sometimes when you least expected it, sometimes in the middle of some ordinary moment, because you always made the ordinary feel like more. But well, by the time we reached December, we weren’t the same anymore.

I’m sorry if hearing this makes you uncomfortable, but when I found it today, it still felt like it belonged to you.

It’s strange, the things you think you’ve moved past, the things you tell yourself you’ve let go of. You move forward, you keep busy, you fill your days with schedules and noise and people who don’t look at you the way you used to. You convince yourself that you’re okay. That it’s just life. That this is how things were meant to be.

And then you find something like this—something small, something tangible, something that holds the weight of everything you never said—and it knocks the air out of you.

I used to think that no matter how many flights I had to take, no matter how many nights we spent apart, no matter how much we had to bend to fit into each other’s lives, we would make it. That as long as we loved each other, we could find a way.

But you knew better, didn’t you?

You always saw things more clearly than I did. You knew that love alone wasn’t going to be enough to hold us together, not when I kept asking you to meet me in the middle without realizing my middle was always shifting. Not when I couldn’t give you the things you needed and I swear—it was not because I didn’t want to, but because I didn’t know how to.

I should have told you that I never let you go without a fight because I wanted to. I walked away because I thought it was the only way we’d both get what we deserved. You always told me I never knew how to slow down. I used to laugh it off, but maybe you were right. Maybe I only realized it too late.

You deserved someone who could put you first. Someone who wouldn’t spend half the year in different countries, someone who didn’t come home exhausted and drained, someone who wasn’t constantly pushing you to adjust to his life without knowing how to meet you halfway.

And I don’t even know what I deserved. But I know what I wanted. I know what I still want.

You.

It’s always been you.

And I know that isn’t fair. It isn’t fair for me to say this now, after all this time, after we tried and tried and still fell apart anyway. But the truth is, I never stopped trying. Even when I convinced myself I had. Even when I told myself I was doing the right thing by staying away. So forgive me for being selfish.

I think about you more than I should. I think about you when I land in a city I know you’d love, when I hear a song that reminds me of you, when I open my phone and my first instinct is still to tell you something before I remember I can’t.

So here’s what I need you to know—what I should have told you then, what I should have promised you when I still had the chance.I won’t ask you to adjust to me anymore. I won’t ask you to bend, to compromise, to give up parts of your life just to fit into mine. I won’t expect you to be the one making all the sacrifices, the one who has to keep up with the way my life moves. If we try again—if you let me have this chance—I promise I will learn how to meet you where you are.

And if you’ve reached here, but still don’t think this is worth it, I won’t try to change your mind. I won’t ask you for something you don’t want to give. But if there’s still a part of you that trusts me, that thinks this could work, then tell me. I won’t ask for anything more than that. Because I don’t want to let this slip away without knowing if there’s still something left to hold on to.

I can’t promise that things will be perfect, that we won’t have to figure things out as we go. But I can promise that I’ll try. That I won’t let the things that pulled us apart be the same things that keep us from trying again. I don’t know where this leaves us. But if there’s something still left here, I want to figure it out with you.

Lastly, I did not write this letter because I was too scared or not sincere enough to say this to your face. I wrote it because I needed to get it right, because if I tried to say all of this out loud, I don’t know if it would come out the way I wanted it to. Maybe I’d fumble my words, maybe I’d get caught up in everything I’m feeling and forget half of what I need to say. But this is everything, exactly as I mean it.

I’m sorry, I love you.

Seungcheol.

You read the letter once, twice, thrice, sitting down on the floor of your room.

The first time, it doesn’t fully sink in. The second time, your eyes catch on certain words—the ring, I never stopped trying, I love you. By the third, you realize your fingers are gripping the pages too tightly, creasing the paper in places you shouldn’t.

You inhale, slow and shaky.

You should have expected this—you don’t know why, but you should have. Seungcheol was never the kind of person to leave things half-finished. He always had something to say, always had one more thing left in him, and now, even after everything, even after all this time, he’s still here. Still reaching for you in the only way he knows how.

The truth is—you believe him.

You believe that every word on this page is real, that he isn’t saying this just to pull you back into something fleeting. You believe that when he says he’ll meet you where you are, he means it. That when he asks if there’s still something left to hold on to, he’s not asking out of desperation—he’s asking because he’s ready to try.

And you trust him.

The thought doesn’t surprise you much. You always have. Even when things fell apart, even when you told yourself it was better this way, even when you tried to move forward without looking back.

But now?

Now, he’s standing at the other end of the bridge, waiting. And for the first time in a long time, you don’t feel like you’re the only one crossing it.

Your hands tremble slightly as you fold the letter along its creases. You stare at it for a little longer as if the words might change. As if you haven’t already memorized them.

But nothing changes. And deep down, you know—you don’t need to read it again. You already have your answer.

You inhale sharply, then push yourself up from the floor, legs stiff from sitting too long. Your head feels heavy, maybe from the lack of sleep, or from the toll this has been taking on you. But as you grab your keys from the kitchen counter downstairs, you realize you feel lighter than you have in a very, very long time. You’re sick of being uncertain, of hesitating.

So you open the door, step outside, and let yourself believe.

—

Seungcheol hears the knock, quiet but firm.

It’s late—too late for visitors. Still, he moves.

When he opens the door, he doesn’t know what he was expecting, but it’s you and for a moment, he’s surprised that you’re already here.

You stand there, breathing a little hard, arms wrapped around yourself like you only just realized how cold it is. No jacket, no hoodie, nothing but the clothes you must’ve been wearing at home. Like you didn’t even think before coming here.

And in your hand, his letter.

Neither of you speak.

Your fingers press into the paper, grip just tight enough to crumple it. The porch light flickers slightly, your eyes flitting to it quickly, before they settle back on him.

Seungcheol holds his breath and steps aside wordlessy to let you in.

You step inside without a word, the warmth of his house settling over you the moment the door clicks shut behind you. It should be a relief after the bite of the cold, but it isn’t—it barely registers.

Because Seungcheol is right there.

Close enough that you can hear his breathing, see the way his fingers flex slightly at his sides like he doesn’t know what to do with them. He doesn’t say anything—not yet. He just watches you, gaze flickering from your face to the letter still clutched in your hand.

For a moment, neither of you move.

The silence isn’t unfamiliar. You’ve had silences like this before, the kind that stretched between phone calls, between airports, between too many things left unsaid. But this one is different. This one is hopeful—you can sense it.

Your fingers tighten slightly around the letter before you finally hold it out to him.

“I read it,” you say, your voice quieter than you expected.

Seungcheol swallows, his throat bobbing as he glances at the paper, then back at you.

He doesn’t ask what you think or demand an answer. He just waits. It’s something new, this patience of his, and it makes your heart twist in your chest. Your fingers finally let the letter slip from your grasp, setting it down beside you without looking away from him.

"You meant all of it?" Your voice is quieter than you expect, calmer than you feel.

Seungcheol swallows, his throat bobbing slightly. “Yeah,” he says, “I meant all of it.”

You nod, shifting slightly on your feet. The warmth of his house is pressing into your skin now, but it’s not the heat from the room that’s making your heart spike—it’s him. It always has been. It’s the way he’s looking at you, careful but so open, like he’s letting you see everything without saying a single word.

And the truth is, you already know.

You’ve always known.

The realization settles over you, sinks its teeth into your skin, and for once, you let it.

You step forward, closing the space between the two of you, hesitating only for a split second before reaching for him, locking your hands behind his back. It’s instinct more than anything else, something your body remembers even if your heart has spent so long pretending to forget.

Seungcheol stiffens—you can feel it. But before you can pull away, his arms come up to encircle your waist, warm and familiar.

You don’t know how long you stay like that, but it’s long enough for the tension to slip from your body, for his hand to smooth over the curve of your back, for the ache in your chest to settle into something more subdued. His heartbeat is steady beneath your ear, his breath fanning against the side of your face as he holds you like he’s afraid to let go.

And then, slowly, carefully, you pull back just enough to look at him.

His arms stay where they are, his hands settling lightly at your waist like he’s afraid to let go.

His gaze flickers down, just briefly, before finding yours again.

You lean in first, but Seungcheol’s quick to meet you down, half-way.

He reacts immediately, like he’d been waiting for this—for you. His hands tighten on your waist, his breath stuttering for just a moment before he kisses you back, like he’s trying to make up for every second he lost.

His fingers slide up to cup your face, tilting your head just right, pulling you closer. You let him, let yourself get lost in it, in him, in the way he still kisses you like he knows you, like he’s never forgotten what you like, what makes you sigh against his lips, what makes you grip onto him just a little tighter.

And then, slowly, the urgency fades.

His thumb brushes against your cheek, your fingers relax where they’ve been fisted in his shirt, and for a moment, all you can hear is the quiet sound of your breathing mixing in the space between you.

When you finally pull back, it isn’t all at once. Your lips part, but your foreheads stay pressed together, noses barely grazing. Seungcheol exhales slowly, like he’s grounding himself.

Your fingers loosen where they’d been clutching his shirt, but instead of pulling away completely, his hand finds yours. You let his fingers slip and tighten between yours, a small, relieved sigh leaving your lips.

Eventually, Seungcheol leans back slightly, but he doesn’t let go.

He exhales, then nods toward the couch. “C’mere.”

You glance at it before looking at him again. He probably sees a sliver of hesitation, but it’s not because you don’t want to. Rather because it feels surreal, too easy after everything. But then his fingers squeeze yours, just barely, and it’s enough.

So you go.

You settle beside him, not pressed together, not too far apart—just close enough. His thumb brushes over your knuckles, slow and absentminded, like it’s second nature. It is, you suppose. It’s surprisingly easy to slip back into old habits after trying so long to ignore and forget them.

“You’re freezing,” Seungcheol murmurs after a beat, squeezing your hand lightly.

You hum, shifting a little to get comfortable. “I kind of didn’t think too much after I read the letter and just, well, came.”

Your gaze flickers to the coffee table, where a motorsport magazine sits at the top of a messy stack. The cover is creased, the pages slightly bent from being flipped through too often.

“You’ve been keeping up?” you ask.

Seungcheol follows your gaze before sighing, almost guiltily. “I tried not to.” He pauses before slowly wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “Didn’t really work.”

You know how it feels. You never stopped watching his races either, even when you tried so hard to convince yourself that it was possible.

“Have you decided yet?”

He doesn’t pretend not to know what you mean. He breathes in deeply, tilting his head back against the couch.

“I told myself I wouldn’t take it.” Seungcheol says it with a sense of fake surety. He may believe it now.

But sometimes you know him better than he knows himself. You know that Seungcheol has always had that fire in him. The burn to win, to be bigger, better. That ambition that you once respected, still do, but the same one that’s torn the two of you apart. The worst thing is that it is not something that can be dampened out. You can see it in his eyes, even now. His body is on a break, but you know that Aston offer has been running in his mind. Once you get addicted to that adrenaline, to that feeling of being the fastest person in the world, you can’t ever let it go. And Seungcheol isn’t anywhere close to being done. You know it.

And it hurts. Just a little, because you know he is about to leave again. Even before he’s made his decision, you know. But you have always loved Seungcheol and racing has been a part of his life almost as long as you have. You cannot take that away from him. You won’t. He belongs there, on track, in a car, fighting for his dreams and proving his worth.

You can only hope that he belongs here too, beside you on his couch, fingers running through your hair as he hums an old song under his breath.

But it’s about time you take that leap of faith again, and something tells you that you won’t fall down and scrape your knees this time.

The first time Seungkwan notices that something’s off, it’s on the late night coffee run that he drags the two of you to.

Initially, he’d only meant to call you since you’re the only one who’d even come. So it surprises him to see Seungcheol behind you when you open your front door. Seungkwan doesn’t think much of it. Maybe he’s just here to give you something, or help you with something. Maybe there was a bug in your room and you yelled for him to come over and kill it. You do that sometimes.

What other logical explanation would you have for him to be in your house past 10?

So thus, Mister Muscle ends up coming with you two, too.

In the convenience store, the cashier barely raises his head to look up at you guys, the glass door swinging shut behind you. Seungkwan heads straight for the coffee dispenser, mind running through all the tasks that he needs to complete before this week ends. File that report, write an email regarding missing documents from the 5th floor. Ask for an increase in vacation days. He needs to fix that printer tomorrow morning.

He notices you and Seungcheol move in sync without a word, making your way to the refrigerated drinks. He doesn’t follow immediately, and only watches for a few seconds as you pick out different drinks.

The store’s window seats are empty, so you slide into one, Seungkwan and Seungcheol taking the spots beside you. The glass reflects the neon signs outside, a soft glow spilling onto the counter in front of you.

Seungkwan tears open a protein bar, already mid-rant about something, while you set your drink down with a quiet thud, a mildly disgusted expression on your face.

Without a word, you reach for Seungcheol’s bottle instead.

You take it from his hand, twist the cap, and drink.

Seungcheol doesn’t react. Like it’s nothing, he just picks up your iced tea and takes a sip, barely glancing your way.

Seungkwan stops mid-chew.

Since when did you two start getting along so well?

As the two of you look at him, expecting him to continue his rant, he convinces himself that it’s for the better anyway. At least some things are coming back to normal.

The second time, Seungkwan’s too sleepy to care at first.

He breathes out as he steps outside, barely awake, iced coffee in his hands but not doing much yet. His morning routine is automatic—walk out, wave to you, go to work. No thinking required.

But today, when he looks up toward your driveway, Seungcheol is there.

Seungkwan blinks, rubbing his eyes like maybe he’s still dreaming. But no, you’re definitely there, your metal water bottle in hand, listening to Seungcheol say something with that too-casual, too-familiar ease.

Seungkwan slows his steps.

You shift your bag higher up your shoulder. Seungcheol tilts his head slightly.

Maybe Seungkwan’s still sleepy and bleary eyed, because for a second he swears he sees Seungcheol lean down to you. He also thinks you don’t move away either.

What was that?

And then it’s gone.

By the time Seungkwan gets close enough, you’re stepping back, tucking your keys into your pocket, like nothing just happened.

Seungcheol shakes his head, stretches his arms overhead like he’s just waking up, and steps away from the car when you finally notice him.

Seungkwan thinks you wave a little over-enthusiastically at 8 in the morning. Maybe you just slept well.

The third time, it’s at Jihoon’s house, just a casual hangout. The man had been isolating himself in his studio all week, and Seungkwan had thought that it was about time he came out of his hibernation.

Seungkwan sits cross-legged on the floor, next to the coffee table, searching for movies to play tonight. But when he looks up at you, his eyes narrow in on the way you and Seungcheol sit, way too close to each other when there’s so much space around you two.

It’s not even the way your legs bump every few minutes, or the quiet conversations you have that seem just a little too easy for two people who supposedly haven’t been together in a year.

Seungkwan finally begins to understand when he catches Seungcheol reaching for your hand. It’s so casual and normal that he doesn’t even think anything of it at first. It’s only when you glance up at him, after he fixes the bracelet on your hand that’s about to fall off, that he realizes.

It’s not a surprised glance, not a startled reaction, just a look that lingers. Like this isn’t the first time, like it won’t be the last.

And then, you smile.

It’s small, just barely there, but undeniably fond. Soft around the edges in a way that doesn’t belong to people still figuring things out.

And Seungcheol smiles back.

Seungkwan’s jaw drops slightly before he forces himself to tear his gaze away, feeling like he’s intruded on something very personal to them. He turns to look at Jihoon beside him, who only shakes his head, a small grin on his face.

“You knew?” Seungkwan asks, incredulously.

Jihoon doesn’t even look at him. “It really wasn’t that hard to figure out. Maybe you’re just a little dense.”

Seungkwan glares at him before turning his attention to you.

“Are you two back together again?”

“Yeah.” The answer comes out instantly, almost nonchalantly too. No hesitation, no second-guessing, just the simple truth, spoken like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

Seungkwan blinks.

Jihoon huffs out a quiet laugh beside him, shaking his head like he saw this coming from a mile away.

He’s spent weeks piecing things together—watching, observing, feeling like he’s uncovering the fact that you two are starting to act lovey-dovey again—only to find out that you two have actually been back together this whole damn time?

He sighs sharply, rolling his eyes at the couple before turning to Jihoon again.

“So this is why you didn’t tell me.” Seungkwan swats his shoulder, “Pay up.”

Jihoon only sighs loudly, reaching into his pocket to pull out a neatly folded bill before wordlessly handing it over.

Seungkwan snatches it and shoves it into his own pocket.

“Thank you,” he says, voice smug.

You blink. “Wait—what?”

Seungkwan hums, crossing his arms pettily before leaning back into the sofa. “We bet on how long it would take you two to get back together.”

Your mouth falls open. “You bet on us?”

“Of course we did,” Jihoon mutters.

Seungcheol tilts his head, amused. “How long did you say?”

“Three months,” Jihoon answers.

Seungkwan scoffs, smug. “I said two.”

You fold your arms. “Wow. Love the faith you guys had in us.”

Jihoon shrugs. “You’re both kind of predictable.”

—

The house is quiet, the kitchen warm with the scent of food as you move around it together. It’s late, but neither of you are in a hurry.

Seungcheol stands behind you, arms locked at your waist. His breath on your neck makes you squirm a little, a small laugh leaving your lips. You twist in his grip, just enough to face him, and suddenly, you’re close.

Too close—the kind where your noses brush, soft and fleeting, as he tilts his head slightly.

Your breath catches for half a second, but Seungcheol just smiles, his arms pulling you in a little more. “What?” he murmurs, voice low, teasing.

“You’re so annoying,” you mutter, nudging your nose against his in retaliation. “Can you just let me grab the plates in peace?”

He laughs—a warm, hearty sound—his forehead pressing lightly against yours. “I don’t really think you mind.”

Your fingers find their way around his neck before you even think about it, elbows resting lightly against his shoulders. Seungcheol hums and for a second, you think he’s about to kiss you when—

The front door unlocks.

Your stomach drops. Seungcheol’s arms fall away instantly, the warmth of his touch lingering even as you take a hurried step back.

“Oh.”

Your mom stands in the doorway, suitcase in hand, her brows lifting slightly as she takes in the sight of you both.

“Oh,” you echo, your voice a little too high, a little too fast.

Your dad steps in behind her, glancing up just in time to see the two of you standing too close, looking entirely too guilty. He blinks, his gaze shifting between you and Seungcheol, expression unreadable.

Then, slowly, he nods. “Huh.”

Seungcheol clears his throat, visibly struggling for words, one hand awkwardly scratching the back of his neck while the other hangs uselessly at his side.

You, on the other hand, want the earth to swallow you whole.

“Welcome back!” you blurt out, voice strained. “You’re early!”

Your mom eyes you suspiciously before turning to Seungcheol. “Yes, well, we caught an early flight. Didn’t realize you’d be here too, sweetheart.”

Seungcheol, to his credit, doesn’t completely crumble under pressure. He musters up a sheepish smile. “Just—uh—helping out.”

Your mom’s expression softens almost immediately, her eyes flickering between the two of you before she exhales, a small, knowing smile forming on her lips.

“Oh, sweetheart,” she murmurs, setting her suitcase down. “It’s good to see you both like this again.”

Your breath catches slightly, throat tightening at the gentle relief in her voice. Beside you, Seungcheol shifts, his shoulders relaxing,

Your father doesn’t say much. He only claps Seungcheol on the shoulder as he moves past you two with the suitcases. But as he walks ahead, his voice drifts back to you, muttering under his breath.

“Who was it that said two months? Was it Jihoon or Seungkwan? Gotta pay them now, damn it…”

Seungcheol freezes. You blink.

What?

Your mom sighs, following after him like this is a normal conversation. “You can just be happy for them, you know.”

“I am happy,” your dad grumbles. “I just thought I had more time before I had to hand over the money. Those silly boys roped me into their bet.”

Seungcheol presses his lips together, struggling to hold back a laugh.

“Why has everyone been betting on us?” You exclaim, throwing your hands up as you turn to your father.

“Because it’s only ever been a matter of time when it comes to you two,” He sighs, shaking his head at the two of you as he disappears into his room.

You gape at his exiting figure, before dragging a palm over your face. “This is fucking insane.”

Seungcheol almost snorts, stepping away when you try to swat him.

Seungcheol is stretched out on the couch, one arm tucked behind his head, the other holding his phone at an angle. You’re sitting on the floor in front of the coffee table, skimming through something on your laptop, barely paying attention to anything beyond the soft hum of the heater and the occasional click of your keyboard.

It isn’t until the familiar sound of engines fills the quiet that you glance up.

His phone screen reflects off his face, but from this angle, you can’t see what he’s watching.

“Has testing begun?” You question, standing up to walk over to him.

Seungcheol grunts a little as he pushes himself up to make space for you, holding his phone out so that you can see too. He nods as you sit beside him, leaning into you as his eyes stay fixed on the screen.

You watch him, a little carefully. Seungcheol’s brows are furrowed in concentration and his eyes flick across, analyzing, checking. His fingers tighten around his phone slightly, his jaw set in focus. Every so often, his thumb taps idly against the side of the device, a habit he’s never really shaken. His eyes flicker across the screen, sharp and intent, following the cars as if he’s trying to place himself back in the cockpit.

You hum softly, resting your chin against your knee. “You’re still keeping up with everything?”

Seungcheol exhales through his nose, finally leaning back against the couch. “Not really,” he says, but the way he doesn’t look at you makes it feel like a lie.

You don’t push, just let the moment pass as another driver’s onboard appears on screen.

“That car looks good,” he mutters, nodding toward one of them on screen. “Stable through the high-speed corners, barely any correction on exit.”

You blink, glancing at the timing bar. “Williams?”

He scoffs. “Yeah. But you can’t trust anything yet.”

“Sandbagging?” you guess.

“Mhm.” Seungcheol nods. “The bigger teams always run heavy in testing, low power mode. You won’t know their real pace until the first race.”

You glance back at the screen, watching as another car rolls into frame—this time, a deep green, with a small rake of aero sensors still attached to the side.

You hesitate for only a second before saying, “What do you think about them?”

Seungcheol doesn’t react immediately. He watches for a few more seconds, his expression unreadable, before he breathes in deeply.

“You never know,” he murmurs. “It’s just testing.”

He doesn’t say anything else.

Neither do you.

Instead, you think of the meeting you had yesterday, the offer sitting in your inbox—marked as important.

—

You don’t expect to see Seungcheol outside at 8 A.M. when you close your front door behind you and make your way to the driveway to go to work.

But there he is—standing by his driveway, shaking out his damp hair, dressed in a hoodie unzipped over a sweat-soaked shirt. There’s a duffel bag slung over his shoulder, his gym shoes still on, like he just got back.

Your fingers pause over your keys. It’s early. Not too early for you, but early enough that he shouldn’t be up unless he had somewhere to be.

Seungcheol spots you almost immediately. His face shifts into something easy, something warm, as he steps closer.

“Morning,” he says, his voice still a little rough from the cold air.

You glance at him. “You’ve been out?”

He hums, nodding as he adjusts the strap of his bag. “Yeah. Gym.”

Your brows furrow slightly. “At this hour?”

Seungcheol grins, leaning in to press a quick, fleeting kiss to your lips before you can say anything else. But when he pulls back, you’re still looking at him, eyes narrowed.

“How long have you been up?”

He sighs like he already knows what’s coming, before tilting his head slightly. “Four?”

Your stare sharpens. “Seungcheol.”

He laughs, stepping back slightly, like he knows he’s caught. “What? I couldn’t sleep.”

You cross your arms, watching as he shifts his weight from one foot to another, fingers tapping absently against his duffel bag. He doesn’t look tired, but he doesn’t look at ease either. His body is still holding onto that restlessness that he hasn’t figured out how to shake.

“You’re working out a lot,” you say finally, voice careful.

Seungcheol shrugs. “It’s just habit.”

You watch the way his gaze shifts slightly, the way his shoulders tense.

And maybe you shouldn’t say it—at least, not yet. But the words slip out anyway.

“You aren’t used to not prepping hard around this time, are you?”

For the first time, his expression falters just slightly.

It’s quick—so quick that if you weren’t watching him this closely, you might have missed it. But it’s there. That brief flicker of something in his eyes, something unsure, something lost.

He exhales, looking away for half a second. “Yeah.”

You nod, watching him straighten up.

“But not this year,” you murmur.

Seungcheol tries brushing it off like it’s nothing. “Nope.”

There’s a beat of silence.

Then, carefully, you tilt your head. “And you’re okay with that?”

He doesn’t reply right away. It gives you the answer you needed.

Deciding to put him out of his misery, you pipe up again, “Do you have any plans today?”

He laughs a little at that, “Yep. Busy schedule. I need to rot in bed, get out of my room, roam around the kitchen and go back in again until my girlfriend decides to come back home.”

You smile softly, before stepping closer, reaching up to fix a stray strand of hair sticking to his forehead. He stills for half a second before leaning into the touch, eyes flickering down to yours.

“I’ll see you when I get back, Cheol. I have something to talk to you about.” You admit as you step back.

He nods slowly, before motioning for you to get into your car. “Sure, I’ll see you then. Have fun at work!”

You shake your head as you shut the car door, putting on a sour expression. It makes him laugh, so you guess that’s half the mission accomplished for today.

—

You’re sitting cross-legged on your bed when Seungcheol walks in, hair still damp from a shower, hoodie sleeves pushed up to his elbows. He doesn’t say anything at first, just leans against the doorframe, watching you with a smile.

“You never knock,” you mutter without looking up.

“You never lock your door,” he counters, stepping inside like he belongs there.

You huff out a small breath, shaking your head as he settles onto the bed beside you. He stretches his legs out, arms propped behind him, fingers tapping lightly against your blankets. He’s comfortable, always is when he’s here, but there’s something knowing in his gaze, like he’s been waiting for you to speak first.

Seungcheol tilts his head. “You look like you’re overthinking.”

You press your lips together before sighing. “Maybe.”

He hums. “Want to tell me what’s up, or should I start guessing?”

You hesitate, picking absently at a loose thread on your sleeve. No point in dragging it out.

“I got a job offer,” you say.

His brows lift slightly. “Yeah?”

You nod. “It’s in the UK.”

Seungcheol doesn’t react right away. His fingers still against the bed, but there’s no visible surprise—just a slow, careful inhale as he absorbs it.

“That’s big,” he says after a moment. His voice is steady, even. “A good one?”

You nod again. “Better position, bigger projects.”

He watches you for a second longer. “And?”

You sigh, leaning back against the headboard. “And… I don’t know.”

Seungcheol adjusts his position so he’s facing you fully now. “You don’t know what?”

“If I should take it,” you admit.

He tilts his head. “Do you want to?”

You hesitate, the words catching somewhere in your throat. Because it’s not that simple, is it?

Seungcheol must notice because he doesn’t say anything right away—just waits, gaze unwavering.

“It’s not just moving—it’s starting over. A new city, a new routine. Everything changes.” You pause. “Including us.”

Something flickers in his expression, but it’s gone too fast for you to catch.

Instead, he exhales, nodding. “Yeah, that makes sense.”

You blink at him. “You’re not going to tell me I’m overthinking?”

He huffs a quiet laugh. “No. I mean, you are overthinking, but it’s a big decision. You should take your time.”

You purse your lips. “And what if I don’t know what the right choice is?”

Seungcheol tilts his head, considering. “Then you think about what scares you more—taking it, or not taking it.”

His words sink in slowly.

You chew on your lip. “What if both scare me?”

He smiles, just slightly. “Then you take the one that moves you forward.”

For a moment, you just look at him.

“You always make things sound so easy.”

Seungcheol sighs, lips quirking. “That’s because it is.”

You shake your head, but there’s a warmth in your chest, the feeling of being sure and unsure at the same time.

After a few moments of silence, carefully, you say, “It’s funny, though.”

He raises an eyebrow. “What is?”

“How things happen at the right time,” you murmur, eyes flickering to his. “Me getting this now. And you with the—” You cut yourself off, shrugging slightly.

“The what?” Seungcheol asks, casually. Too casually.

You sigh, slumping down onto the bed, beside him. “Come on, Cheol. Aston Martin. They're based there too. How long are you going to make them wait?”

He runs a hand through his hair, “This isn’t the same thing.”

“Is it not?” You hum, waiting, still patient.

“No. This is different. You got an actual offer.”

You raise an eyebrow. “And what did Aston give you? A suggestion?”

Seungcheol huffs, shaking his head. “It’s not that simple.”

“Why not?”

Seungcheol shuts his eyes close, breathing in deep. You know he doesn’t want to have this conversation now, but it hurts you to see him like this.

So you mutter, a little softer now, “How long are you going to pretend like you aren’t thinking about it?”

His gaze flicks to you at that, caught.

Seungcheol looks away. “It’s not about thinking about it. It’s about—” He stops, running a hand over his face. “It’s about if I even should.”

You’re not too surprised, but hearing it from him takes you aback for a second. Still, you don’t waver. “And what’s stopping you?”

“I don’t know,” He mumbles, quietly.

“Then try and figure it out, Cheol.” You say, still looking at him.

Seungcheol keeps quiet for a long minute before he sighs, a little reluctant. “What if I come back and I’m not good enough anymore?”

You shift closer, reaching out ,your hand settling over his. “Seungcheol.”

He doesn’t look up immediately, but he doesn’t pull away either.

“You know what I think?” you murmur.

His thumb brushes over your knuckles absentmindedly. “What?”

You squeeze his hand. “I think if you didn’t believe you could still do it, you wouldn’t be struggling with this so much.”

Seungcheol’s breathing comes out slower this time.

“You’ve been restless, working out like you’re still in pre-season,” you continue. “You follow testing, you analyze race strategy even when you pretend you’re just watching for fun.” You pause. “You’ve been waiting for someone to tell you to go back. But the only person who can make that choice is you.”

His jaw tightens slightly, like he knows you’re right but doesn’t want to admit it.

“I’m not saying it’ll be easy,” you add. “But I know you, Seungcheol. And you don’t walk away from things unless you know you’re done. And you know that you aren’t done with this. Are you?”

Finally, he looks at you.

Seungcheol’s throat bobs as he swallows. His fingers curl into the blankets, and when he finally exhales, it’s slow. Careful.

“No,” he says quietly.

You nod, like you knew this answer was coming. Because you did.

His fingers tighten around yours.

“I know,” he murmurs, voice quieter now. “I think I’ve always known.”

You smile, just slightly. “So what’s stopping you?”

Seungcheol exhales, but this time, he doesn’t answer right away.

Instead, his thumb brushes over your knuckles, slow, thoughtful. His gaze flickers downward. And when he finally speaks, his voice is quieter—more hesitant than before.

“…What about us?”

Your breath catches slightly, because you hadn’t expected him to ask that first.

He lifts his gaze back to yours, eyes searching. “If I do this,” he murmurs, “I’m going to be gone all the time again. I’ll be at the factory, traveling for races, testing. If I go back… I don’t want things to fall apart again.”

The words settle heavily between you.

Because he’s right.

If he does this, it’ll be different from before—but in some ways, it’ll be the same. He’ll be just as busy, maybe even more. And after everything you’ve been through, he’s scared that history will repeat itself.

You inhale slowly, squeezing his hand. “You’re thinking too far ahead,”

Seungcheol huffs out a quiet laugh. “Someone has to.”

You tilt your head. “Why do you always assume the worst?”

“I’m trying to be realistic.”

You pause, then gently, “Then be realistic about this, too. I don’t think we’re the same people we were back then, Cheol.”

His expression softens, but he doesn’t interrupt.

“We already lost each other once,” you continue. “We know what it feels like. And I don’t think either of us wants to go through that again.”

Seungcheol swallows. “No,” he says quietly. “We don’t.”

You nod, voice softer now. “Then we won’t.”

Seungcheol exhales slowly, then sits up straighter, rubbing the back of his neck. For a moment, he just presses his palms against his knees, staring at the floor like he’s letting it all settle in. Then, with a slow breath, he nods.

You watch as he reaches for his phone, turning it over in his hands. His fingers hover over the screen for a second before he glances at you, something steadier in his gaze now.

“I should probably stop putting this off.”

You nod, lips curling slightly. “Yeah.”

He exhales, tapping at the screen, and just before he brings the phone to his ear, he glances at you one last time.

And this time, there’s no hesitation.

BAHRAIN, PRE-SEASON TESTING, DAY-1

February 25th, 2027

“CHOI SEUNGCHEOL RETURNS TO FORMULA 1 WITH ASTON MARTIN—SET TO WORK WITH ADRIAN NEWEY.”

After months of speculation, four-time world champion Seungcheol Choi is officially returning to Formula 1 with Aston Martin, marking one of the most highly anticipated comebacks in the sport’s recent history.

The Korean driver, who departed with Ferrari and stepped away from F1 following the 2025 season, will be rejoining the grid just as Aston Martin embarks on a new era of technical leadership under Adrian Newey. With Newey’s expertise in car development and Choi’s proven track record, expectations are already high for the team’s future.

“I’m excited for this next chapter,” Choi said in a statement. “Aston Martin has shown incredible ambition, and with Adrian on board, I have no doubt that we can build something special.”

His return raises questions about the competitive landscape of F1 moving forward, with Aston Martin aiming to challenge the front-runners in 2027. With pre-season testing in Bahrain starting today, all eyes will be on Choi as he steps back into the cockpit for the first time in over a year.

The Bahraini air is dry as usual, the morning sun bright across the paddock as the first day of testing begins. The garages are alive with movement—engineers making final checks, mechanics making last minute changes, cameras capturing every detail.

And at the center of it all, Seungcheol stands in Aston Martin’s green.

The suit fits like it always has. The gloves slide on without hesitation. When he pulls the balaclava over his head, it feels like no time has passed at all.

But it has.

He knows it. Everyone here knows it.

He breathes slowly as he steps toward the AMR27, sleek under the artificial lights of the garage.

Seokmin crouches beside him, grinning like he’s been waiting for this day just as much as Seungcheol has.

“Well,” Seokmin says, knocking on his helmet lightly. “You look good in green.”

Seungcheol snorts, shaking his head. “Better than red?”

Seokmin hums, pretending to think about it. “The red was iconic. Give it some time.”

Seungcheol laughs, the sound being muffled by his helmet.

A familiar voice crackles through his earpiece.

“Alright, Cheol, let’s get you out there.”

Seungcheol glances at his steering wheel, a small smile pulling at his lips. He knew this was happening, but still—it feels surreal to hear his old Ferrari race engineer, still here, still speaking to him over the radio. Adjusting to a new team has been challenging, but this makes it a little bit easier.

And then, his gaze shifts past the mechanics, past the flashing screens, toward the edge of the garage to where you’re standing—arms crossed, standing just outside the blur of engineers, watching him like you always have.

This is right.

This is where he’s supposed to be.

You tilt your head slightly, smiling just enough for him to catch it. It’s small, barely there, but he knows what it means.

Seungcheol lifts a gloved hand, throwing you a thumbs up. It makes you smile a little wider.

Seungcheol rolls the car out of the garage and into the end of the pit lane, engine idling as he waits for the session to go green.

To his left, the Red Bull pulls up.

Seungcheol glances over just as Haechan does the same. Two time world champion now. Let’s see if we can keep up.

Without hesitation, Haechan lifts a hand and gives him a small wave.

Simple and casual. A ‘Welcome back.’

The light flicks green.

Seungcheol exhales, nods once and pulls out onto the track.

tagging: @sojuxxi @the-vena-cava @cl41rsblog @coupsma @stupendouschildnerd @selenethings @yawnozone @syluslittlecrows @angelarin @ceruissleeping @smiileflower @minjiech @stwrlightt @archivistworld @livelaughloveseventeen @exomew @starshuas @fancypeacepersona @znzlii @gyuguys @luxmoonlight @reiofsuns2001 @blckorchidd @teddybeartaetae @ddeulgiabs-blog @kookiedesi

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thesharktanksdriver · 2 months ago

Text

Devils may love?: leaving home, loving life and loosing you

This is part 1 going over dmc3, I’m gonna maybe write parts for the other games if people are interested. Also maybe will eventually write some stuff for the pov of other characters in love with the blind dumbass that is reader.

Links: masterlist, part 2, part 3, part 4

You never thought that in your life you’d end up working at a place called “devil may cry”

When you initially found a job listing for the job it wasn’t even named that yet, and you never knew how much it would end up affecting your life

You used to fear not being able to pay rent on a daily basis

Feared getting mugged on your way home from a late shift or if your coupons expired before you bought groceries

But now you feared having demons knocking down your door and breathing down your neck on a daily basis

Let alone the fact that you had to deal with that alongside whatever other world ending event you somehow got caught up in

And dealing with taxes

And ensuring that Dante payed for the power and hydro in time

And….

Well there were a lot of and’s with the job that would go on to change your life

Whether that change was fully good or fully bad was up to debate

God knows how long you’ve weighed both sides in your mind

But it for sure made your life a hell of a lot more lively

Quite literally in the hell metaphor

And it all started when you found an add in the paper right after leaving a previous job and needing cash quick

You had a shitty apartment but rent was due in a short amount of time

Couldn’t rely on your parents either, not when they put you in this situation in the first place and you’d took the opportunity to get as far away from their shit as possible

Which meant you had fairly limited options

Especially with the fact you’d also had to drop out at the finish line of high school to make ends meet

That had ended up biting you in the ass more than anything

But the paper in your hands said little qualifications were needed

So it was your last chance

You never knew what it entail when you entered through the double doors of the newly bought building

The street lights above you illuminating your hope filled face holding your short resume

Admittedly sitting down for the job interview with Dante was a rather…daunting task

Less because he was intimidating

And moreso for the fact that the man (you say that hesitantly because he was literally the same age as you) who introduced himself as Dante sat with his feet kicked up on his desk and barely even glanced at your resume

The paper simply ended up in his hands for his eyes to skim before letting it be placed atop a stack of papers that looked like overdue bills nearby

Nor had he asked any work related question like “how do you work well in a team environment” or “do you have any prior experience to jobs like this”

Instead your potential future employer snacked on a slice of pizza and asked you questions like “know any places that deliver mid-apocalypse?” And “want a slice? Can’t guarantee you’ll get more than a piece or two with how fast I eat”

You can’t say you’d had any job interviews end up like this

They mostly ended up with fake smiles and promises to contact you if you got the position and never hearing a peep from them again

But Dante seems all too lax to be considered serious at all

Well besides his serious addiction to take out evident by the few leftover stacked pizza boxes and cartons of Chinese swept off to the side

Whenever you bring up your resume he waves it off or switches topics

He definitely didn’t even read through your previous job experiences

He just read your name and your phone number

What’s worse is that this wouldn’t even be the worst boss you’d had

Just potentially the weirdest

And that’s saying something

But At least he’s not some old creep the age of your dad leering at you

He’s just a horned up teen boy

He’s 18, just like you and just as in need of needing to get by on his own as you are

Though you think for different circumstances

By how he keeps a small photo of a blond woman on his desk, the only thing comparably well kept on the scratched up mahogany slab implies something

Something your not privy to (yet) but something none the less

A thing that leaves him both careless and untethered all the same

Perhaps for both good and bad

Whilst your seemingly the opposite, you can’t help but think of your parents with a bitterness that crawls up and wraps round every memory good (not many I the first place) or bad

Along with the fact that you can’t and don’t want to go back to them and would rather try to scrape by on your own

Even if it meant dropping out before graduation to do so

Just so you could get a job to afford rent since minimum wage wouldn’t get you by

Well…it certainly has a lot of weight to it both

Maybe something he recognizes when despite your made up professional appearance there are some cracks in it

How you nervously play with your hands

The fact that your his age and asking for a job that’d be enough to afford groceries and a roof over your head

No matter how leaky or loud the neighbours were

So when the interview is over you begin to count your losses

Grabbing your bag and trying not to hang your head on the way out

He must’ve just been messing with you

Or at least that’s what you think until he stops you asking where you going

And you can only tilt your head in confusion saying that you were heading back to your apartment

“But your already on the job”

“Huh? But I thought you were pulling my leg”

“What do you mean? I hired you already”

“What?! When???”

“When I opened the door and found an absolute babe in front of me asking for a job”

You think your already starting to regret this choice

But cash is king and you need some of that dollar to get by this month

You’ll just resign when you get on your feet and find something better

(News flash that doesn’t happen. Oh poor young naive past you)

Working at this still yet to be named paranormal/mercenary agency is a relatively easy task

Answer the phone, organize Dante’s increasingly messy desk, file some paperwork and make sure the bills are payed on time

Maybe throw out some old takeout and fight off the colony of raccoons in the back who started making a palace from pizza boxes

Somehow that ends up being the most odd but simultaneously normal thing you’d experienced yet

The place itself is actually quite cosy when you get used to it

Warm lighting accented by a the soft hum of the jukebox playing some 80’s power ballad

It makes for a nice mood when your sweeping up or filling things out

A comfy leather chair and a simple but effective desk for you to work at if it wasn’t already occupied

The smell of gunsmoke and cologne wafting in the air…alongside leftover pizza remains that you try to mask with fabreeze

On that half the job is simple

Effective as you mainly just ensured the place didn’t burn down

Or have the power taken again

Something you’d expect from being a secretary and or cleaner

(You will not say your a maid, Dante kept insisting that maybe he’d get you a proper costume to go with it that you quickly shut down)

And mainly answer the phone when Dante wasn’t there to butt in and take the receiver from you

But on the other hand working at this still unnamed place also means you were working with Dante

And that was a mixed bag in of itself

For as much as he initially intimated you with his display of guns right behind his desk or the sword casually strapped to his back

Or the ungodly amount of times you dealt with him covered head to toe covered in gore and blood

Or the fact he was your boss and could fire you at any moment

Dante’s intimidation factor quickly faded away into mild annoyance from his Dante..ness

Look you aren’t paid enough to deal with this crap-

To others Dante was the demon hunter

A mercenary of well known regard

A hero who saved the day and stopped the forces of hell

A badass with a penchant for overly complicated and dramatic theatrics

And dear god was he known for how he did this all effortlessly while seemingly being the coolest man ever known

But to you he was your annoying boss

This was both affectionately and as an insult due to the amount of times he’d gone out of his way to dump the bills on your desk and high tailed it out of the store using a mission as an eccuse

Dante as your employer is weird plain and simple

He has moments where he toys with you slightly

Pushing your buttons but never pushing too far

Small jokes sent your way but nothing extreme

Knowing when you began to look genuinely upset and stopping before he accidentally crossed the line in the sand

He drapes himself over your shoulders while your trying to fill out his papers

Keyword his

Or he calls you by those god awful nicknames

He calls you a plethora of stuff: babe, baby, hot stuff, sugar

But most embarrassingly and most frequently

“honeypie~”

You’d swear with the amount of times he called you that you could permanently pay for the electricity bill and maybe even the water

A shit eating grin on his face as he drags out the pet name whenever he could in a sing-song manner

(Including in front of clientele and eventually the other members of dmc when they join…and it unfortunately sticks since everyone but Nero partakes in torturing you this way-)

You’ve chased him with his plethora of weapons many times trying to wipe that grin off his face

Yelling his name at the top of your lungs as he hopped over his desk and toppled the stack of still unsigned paperwork

The phone ringing conveniently has saved him too many times when you were just about to get revenge

The most effective threatening tool of them all was the well loved broom you’d swear you’d mastered at this point

But on the other hand Dante is equally kind as he is annoying

When not playfully teasing and joking Dante just talks to you

Sometimes it’s mundane things like asking for recommendations for new schlocky horror flicks to watch

Other times it’s complaining whatever demonic creature he was sent to exterminate

Something he had initially tried to hide from you before you very easily pointed out the literal demon heads he’d impaled on the walls weeks earlier

For all his bravado and being a bit of an ass he’s caring at his core

You see that through his actions that are both loud and clear and quiet and invisible

There are times he makes his care obvious

He watches intently and knows when your tired and pushing yourself to get things done even if your trying to hide it

The subtle lull of your head as exhaustion seeps into your bones

He gets up from whatever he was distracting himself with (typically a magazine of some sort)

Telling you to “take a break there babe. Don’t want you to keel over too soon” though the slight edge to it indicates his worry as he takes the paperwork off your desk and stashes it some place absurdly high

His go too method to get you to stop overworking

other times when you fall asleep at the front desk you wake up to find his coat draped over your shoulders and yourself relocated on a nearby couch

A small sticky note clinging to your face saying “don’t overwork yourself honepie, who else is gonna keep me in check. By the way there’s some leftover pizza for you in the fridge if I’m not back by when you wake up - your favorite devil hunter Dante :)”

How he offers to walk you home or let you stay the night if it was getting particularly late

Though whenever he makes that offer he ruins it with the wiggling of his eyebrows immediately after

And the cheeky grin that by that point your too tired to try and erase off his face

But even then, when he makes that offer you see in crystalline blue eyes the sincerity in them

A smidge of worry and maybe even a crumb of fear

His more subtle care comes in the form of how you find your area more safer than usual

Less muggings let alone demons slinking through the night

Apparently he made it known that these were his stomping grounds and with his reputation most demons knew to stay clear

Same for muggers as well with his name in the underworld

His other silent care comes in the form of finding your favourite snacks eventually stocked at in the small kitchen

It comes from a few stray questions here and there

Or noticing what you packed yourself for lunch/snacks

He never acknowledges it

But you do find he has a small smile when seeing you enjoy what he bought

Content without a thank you because seeing your smile was enough

how the jukebox now seems to contain songs you’d mentioned enjoying out of nowhere

Or songs you’d already liked in the machine playing more often

Because that’s the sort of person Dante was

The man who when you call in sick ends up at your place with wanton soup and medicine

Never asking for anything In return except for you to recover properly

Or The fact he always he always buys you a strawberry sundae alongside his own or makes sure to buy a split pizza incase you didn’t like his toppings

It’s perhaps because of this you keep telling yourself you’ll put off finding another job

That the job market was bad right now even if you’d seen another promising job

Just because seeing his stupid grin when he sees you enter was payment enough even without the cash

“Dante I swear to god! Get back here!”

“Sorry honepie! Got a job to do!!”

“You’re not leaving until you pay the god damn bills you asshole!!! If you can deal with demons then you can deal with me you bastard!!!” Raising the broom you whack his head, making the devil hunter groan and he returns to running for his life out the double doors “also pick a god damn name for this place already! A business needs a name!”

You end up seeing Dante in various particular intimate moments in his life (Even before all the craziness that would come later on down the line)

It first begins when you see the days he’s drained from wear and tear

From the jobs that went bad even if he made it back alive

his shoulders sag even when he tries to act like his cocky self

His grin more strained as blue eyes hold back tears from failure to save someone

You don’t ask

Never have the heart to

But you do find yourself pulling him close even with the height difference

The first time it happens he goes stiff

Still as a statue in such an uncharacteristic manner

Thinking he’s uncomfortable you tried to pull away, an apology at the tip of your tongue when shaky arms pulled you back

Clinging to you as knees buckle and he ends up in the crook of your neck

You don’t mention how his sobs are heartwrenching

Nor that they haunt you with how vulnerable it sounds

Instead you thread fingers through his snowy hair, weaving through the soft locks

You never ask what happened

Instead you say that you’d order pizza tonight, on the house

With a few sobs he tries to argue but you don’t relent

And somehow the stubborn man you called your boss relents

Perhaps for the first time you’d ever seen

It’s later on when these moments happen though few and far between that he opens up bit by bit

It takes about a year but Like small fractures in a dam it eventually breaks and lets out the waterworks

He tells you he had a dad, a stern but caring man who disappeared one day and probably died

He tells you that he had a brother, his twin who was his opposite in almost every way possible down to contrasting favourite colours

The most caring mom in the world who died as flames consumed their home

He could only stay hidden in the closet

Scared and alone

Powerless to it all

How for years he was alone with only a trail of regrets and people he cared for ending up in the crossfire

How he’s only part human (though to be honest you already kinda put that together after he walked off being impaled one day)

All because of him

That despite it all he only ended up failing time and time again

And most surprisingly that he was scared

Scared for you

Because everyone he cared for ended up dead

And that he’s sorry for being selfish and keeping you around despite the risk

That you have to hate him for how annoying he was

For the danger he brought even being in the same room as you

It’s admittedly a lot

But you hold him, letting him get it all out

Hands that had seen so much loss and blood clutching you like you were the last valuable thing in the world and simultaneously made of glass

It just solidifies your words when you tell him that honestly he was a giant pain in the ass

A admittedly terrible boss

A smartass and flirty bastard

But he was a good person

Someone who did his best despite the circumstances

Because no matter how much he was kicked down and spat on he took it with a cocky smile

Never letting the salt in the wound sting in front of others

And that most importantly you can’t guarantee that you won’t get hurt

But you’d stick with him

For some reason despite all the risks he lists off you wanna stay

Your not really sure as to why

But you stay and that’s what matters

The risk he practically begs you to consider

Yet you stay

So in the vulnerable moments you wait for him by the doors

Waiting and ready for him to collapse into your arms

Ignoring the blood and gore that you’d inevitably have to wash out your clothes yet again

But it’s a price to pay when the man you call your friend

Your technical boss who was more like your own employee than anything with how you heckled him to get work done

Your best friend and worst migraine holds you with such fragility

You never confirm with him but you think the last time someone hugged him like this was his mom

All those years ago as the blazing flames surrounded them

It’s perhaps why he clutches you so close

Hoping to not let go and have the past repeat itself

But unlike back then you remind Dante that he’s not powerless anymore

He’s not the scared boy locked in a closet surrounded by the flames

He’s a man with the power to protect those weaker than him

Because he knows what it’s like to be powerless

To pray for a hand to reach out and to now be that hand for others

Despite what he thought you remind him that the truly powerful protect what they love

(Unbeknownst to you, you are that love)

(The beating heart that makes his humanity all the more apparent and his demonic side all the more powerful with something to protect)

All the while you morn the fact that Dante and you are the same age

Both kids with no one seemingly but each other in this world and left to navigate with one another

Your both just kids

You’d heard too many of Dante’s stories about his childhood not to recognize the sight of his brother inside your apartment

White hair slicked back instead of messy locks framing his face

Their near identical features if not for the ominous threatening look in blue eyes that you knew Dante would never direct towards you even if you took the last slice or banned him from strawberry sundaes yet again

You’d think after all the stuff you’d been through due to Dante like the incident with the raccoons out back becoming infused with demon power

Or the amount of times you’d saved his sorry ass from going fully broke

That this would be the worst thing that could happen

An Incorrect assumption

Looking at his definitely evil twin brother you can’t help but sigh and put your hands up in defeat

He told you awhile back about his run In with his twin

Said twin trying to steal his half of the amulet that the half-demon always wore

Well “always wore” besides the times he’d go to take a shower and ask you to hold onto it for him for a bit

Then returning it once he was done, a certain shine of gratitude in his eyes when he sees you polished it for him

Anyways back to the evil twin thing, apparently Vergil gave back said amulet because “he said he could take it back anytime he wanted”

The death glare and that quote alone alerted you to what type of person you had in your apartment

And that’s not even accounting the fact that he’s also part demon and has a real ass katana with him

“So do you want me to write a note for him before you kidnap me? Or do you want me to call him instead?”

To be completely honest after the raccoon incident you can’t even be remotely surprised anymore

But this does either earn you amusement from said definitely evil brother or at least some brownie points for being compliant

“Your cooperating?”

“Listen sir…uh Vergil? I’m assuming your Vergil? Anyways Vergil I’m not paid enough to deal with this….and your brother said I’d be paid overtime if something like this happened. So if anything this a forced paid vacation”

To be honest that last part was mostly you trying to find some good in this admittedly shitty situation

You always had great copping skills or at least that’s what you told yourself

At least you’d hopefully get something out of this besides trauma

And potential scars physical and psychological

Or Maybe even death if your super unlucky and piss off the blue half demon

But that was an if

A big if due to the fact he hasn’t already cut you down implying he needed you for something

And hopefully that something would give Dante enough time to save you

God forbid he doesn’t or else you’d become a demon and claw your way out of hell to torture him with undone paperwork

And with that you end up as hostage/bait in a literal hell tower that spouted up from the ground

Vergil and some weird guy called Arkham holding you at the top of the tower like some princess

Guess in this case Dante would be your proverbial knight in shinning armour while Vergil was the dragon or something

The analogy wasn’t too far off with that weird ass jester occasionally popping up to piss you off when Vergil left the room

You couldn’t wait for the long nosed bastard to have some lead shoved inbetween his eyes for the fact he kept joking about your dead expression whilst being kidnapped

Unlike him you had some scraps of dignity you wanted to save

Plus what was even the point of kicking and screaming when you were up against a half demon and whatever else they had up their sleeves

Speaking of said other half demon though

Surprisingly you didn’t entirely mind Vergil

Was he an ass? Definitely

But at least you could have a conversation with him

Something that surprises even him when you spotted him pulling out a book of poetry

Specifically William Blake

Yeah, surprise surprise somehow that “useless” class in high school your parents hounded you about wasting your time on actually became relevant

You’d say you’d told them if it weren’t for the fact you never wanted to see either of them again

He reads quietly aloud not expecting you to finish the last part for him

“The sun descending in the west, the evening star does shine; The birds are silent in their nest, and I must seek for mine-”

“The moon, like a flower, in heavens high bower, with silent delight, sits and smiles on, the night”

For the first time you see something crack in his stoic demeanour

a spark of something when he then turns to you

Surprise? Maybe even a hint of some sort of longing

You don’t know what he went through after he was separated from Dante, but you can only guess it was just as hard as his twin up to this point

So maybe finding someone with the same love for flowery words of a dead guy was comforting in some weird way

At least as comforting it could get for someone who hated humanity

He walks over to where you sat on the cold ground with your wrists and ankles bound, asking if you knew more of Blake’s work and when you nod

At that there’s a moment of silence and then he asks for your interpretation of old words on faded yellow pages

This leads you to discuss with Dante’s brother without being called a “useless human” 5 seconds in

Honestly sitting atop the weird demon tower debating with him wasn’t what you pictured

But it is a sure if a lot better than what you originally imagined

Mostly because it’s actually pretty fun

Vergil unlike Dante seems to like debating and discussing

Something that was hard to do with Dante because he either brushed it off or was more prone to changing the subject

You don’t blame him for it, stuff like this wasn’t his forte

But it was nice having someone to talk to about it

The two of you start off at first with Blake

Interpretations of his poems meanings

Particular passages either of you enjoyed

That evolves into discussion of other poets

Poe, Dickinson, Shakespeare, Wilde, frost and Shelley

But it later devolves into world views

Specifically his opinion on humanity

Because despite the fact that Vergil is part human and his fully demon father married a mortal woman and seemingly abandoned that part of himself

Vergil ended up despising his humanity

Thinking of it as inferior to his demonic half

Well, maybe hate was a strong word but he definitely looked down on humans

Yourself included but maybe a bit less considering he was talking with you instead of scowling silently as he did before

He was the opposite of Dante in every way

While Dante embraced his humanity Vergil shunned his own

But Vergil accepted his demonic half whilst Dante still remained hesitant of it

One brother was loud, the other silent

One Red and one blue

One Warm and one cold

Complete and total opposites in every manner of the word

While you don’t agree with Vergils views you do try to understand them

You make the effort of understanding him because you think he deserves as much

Not only because he was important to Dante but because like Dante he also was your age

He was a kid like you are even if he tried to act mature

He thinks his mom abandoned him that day in favour of Dante

Telling him she didn’t wouldn’t change his mind especially from you of all people

A human who’d never met her or was there for that event

Especially if Dante had tried and still couldn’t get through to him

So instead you reason with him in other such ways

Sparda had sealed off the demon from the human world for a reason

Didn’t that indicate something to him?

Plus he was already powerful enough by every other standard possible

He could outmatch any human that came his way

He raised a god damn hell tower to prove it

He was already top of the proverbial food chain with enough power

Dipping his toes into this though could shift those tides

Admittedly you knew jack shit about hell and it’s hierarchy besides the small tidbits Dante explained

And even then those snippets of information were from the small stories his dad told when he was younger so it was dubious at best

You’re not sure if Mr. Sparda had sanitized stories for his sons or if he told them the truth and didn’t cushion the blow

But it safe to say even the most powerful of humans couldn’t compare to the upper crust of hell

Plus the added bonus of It being closed off for who knows how long giving an even bigger question mark as to what’s down there

Because if hell is anything like humanity things change and demons get stronger

For all he knows he could be inviting that Mundus guy his father went against to his doorstep

And seeing how Sparda apparently had a difficult time defeating him at full power the odds weren’t in anyone’s favour

That last part seems to shake him a bit more than you’d initially thought

You see the stone cold demeanour crack slightly

“Are you calling me weak?”

“I’m not, Far from it. But all I’m saying is that opening that portal is opening pandora’s box.” For a moment you pause watching his stewing expression “there’s no undoing it if you do and no telling what your unleashing on not only everyone else but yourself. Your not guaranteed anything from this, let alone the power you seek ”

Distantly if you listen hard enough you swear you hear gunshots ring out on the lower floors of the tower

The familiar rhythm and melody of ebony and ivory’s gunshots

You’d heard them too many times to be able to memorize the sound

But along with that your alerted to the fact that someone else besides Dante is in the tower

Something Vergil seems less than amused with

Not to mention the fact he looks like he’s perpetually 5 seconds away from stabbing that Arkham guy nearly any time the man opens his mouth

Something you can’t exactly complain about since you’d also found him plain weird

And that’s saying something

The only thing out that bald freak’s mouth that you agreed with was that a storm was approaching

Both physical and metaphorical as you sit when the rain begins to fall

Sitting atop this ancient tower of stone you can’t help but find some irony in it all

Sparda had sealed away this unholy tower to stop the passage from one world to the next

But ultimately it’s one of Sparda’s sons who tries to resurrect it and undo his fathers work while the other wants to topple it for humanity’s sake as his father did

It was like a twisted form of jenga with this Tower of Babel

With you unfortunately at the top of the tower waiting for it to topple

The moon hangs high in the sky, Illuminating the droplets that shine

The pale silver light reminding you of both of the twins hair

Dante’s is left down to frame his face, free and messy just like he is

Whilst Vergils is pushed back and sleek, professionalism and an air of confidence in it

Never had you been as relived in your life until that point when you see Dante’s knotted messy mop of hair

Slightly stained with blood and viscera that soon began to wash away under the rain

You can’t help but yell his name in sheer excitement, his eyes light up

Lurching forwards your stopped not only by the fact that your currently tied up with uncomfortable ass rope but also the fact that Vergil unsheathe his sword in front of you

A indignant huff escaping him

(From your yell or his brother your not sure…probably both considering him)

You see your reflection in the blade alongside the hollow presence of the moon

Her silent presence a small comfort in this entire situation despite her impartialness in helping

(You do not see the blue wearing brother glance down at you for the briefest of moments)

You can’t do anything but watch as the two fight

Blow after blow

Slash after slash

Round after round fired from ebony and ivory

All the while you stay huddled to the ground trying to desperately stay out the way

Your works cut out for you though on account the two seem to pivot away if they get too close

No matter if either was about to win Dante would pull back if either him or Vergil got too close to you for comfort

And you think even Vergil seemed to do the same for some reason

Maybe he wanted to kill you later or something

But the turning point comes and red stains the cold ground

Yamato impaling itself through Dante’s chest while you can only watch

You can’t help but scream his name again as he falls and the necklace is torn from his neck

The heirloom he seemed to only trust you with being stolen

Vergil smoothed his hair back under the rain in a comedically villain manner that takes you out of it for a moment

This is your life now

Captive atop a tower while two half demon brothers duked it out

Dante twitches, ready to get up but Vergil takes Dante’s own sword and stabs him with it

Vergil and Arkham talk for a moment but your too distracted to pay their words any attention

Not when your focused on Dante

and then a beam of light shoots out Dante’s sword and the sword changes?

And then Dante’s back up again

This all happens in the span of a couple minutes the while your gaping at the scene

Because a) you knew Dante had some type of magic deus ex machina bullshit but you didn’t know he could get stabbed multiple times and survive. Mind you, you’d seen him stabbed once or twice before and walk it off but several times in a row was something you didn’t expect him t just walk off either

plus b) all this time he could get impaled several times over and yet his ass would run like you were coming at him with a chainsaw when you were trying to whack him on the head with a broom a few days back

You don’t get much time to focus on that anymore

Not when Vergil picks you up and walks to the edge of the tower

All the while Dante stumbles to his feet

A bloodied cough erupting from his chest as he tried to stumble forwards with his arm outstretched to you

“Oh please god no, can’t you just take the stairs-“ before you get to finish your plea Vergil takes a leap off the tower with you firmly on his shoulder grasping him for dear life “DANTE!!”

Never had you thought that your life would end up like this

And it all came from a singular job ad

#devil may cry #dmc #dmc3 #dmc virgil #dmc dante #dante sparda #vergil sparda #Dante #Vergil #dmc x reader #dmc x you #devil may cry x reader #dante x reader #vergil x reader #devil may cry x you #this took way to long #devils may love?

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dahliakbs · 1 year ago

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Damian Wayne x Child! Reader (Part 1) - This won't do —⁠☆

Synopsis: after seeing the state of your apartment Damian pulls some strings and changes your life on step at a time.

Masterlist , Pillager Of Art

"Are your parents attending the pta meeting?" Damian asks.

After seeing the wretched state your house was in Damian chose to stand at the door.

The moldy yellow floor of your apart was covered in dirt and whatever substances you managed track back into the house. The walls in the same sorry state with a moldy yellow wallpaper that was covered in nasty cracks and stains that could never be removed.

The tiles of your flooring were covered in a bottomless pit of clothes and whatever else was in that pile. Your window didn't show some immaculate view of Gotham City instead it was closed off with would. Glass shards left on the floor in front of the window after a stray bullet was shot through your window.

"Oh my Dad, he's not coming" you say as you make your way towards your kitchen.

Damian couldn't bare looking into the kitchen to see what mess was made in their so he chose to stair the ceiling instead.

"Why not?" He tilts his head to the side, he was told by Alfred that events like these were the only way to see how your child was progressing and apparently it was mandatory for parents to attend so why weren't your coming?

"Oh, my parents are dead" you said as if It didn't bother you and it didn't.

Your mother had sadly passed away during child birth.

Your dad tho...

He was a piece of work, never cared for your well-being AT ALL. You basically raised yourself in this house. The only reason you hadn't starved yet was because your father left food in the cupboard for you to use (mostly unhealthy cheap food).

You barely ever saw your dad and when he died you hadn't even noticed, not like he ever came home anyway. The only way you knew was when the news broadcast came on and you saw a blurred out image of a man that vaguely resembled your father.

There were several gunshot holes scattered around the figures body and by the looks of it he was probably just getting off of work before the death occurred.

The situation never bothered you, having no adults around was a blessing if anything.

"My parents can't come but I'll wait with you until your dad does" you replied and gasped when you found what you were looking for.

"Dami you have to try one" you turned to him with a cup of ramen noodles in hand.

"No thank you, aren't there other options?" he asked as he began to list off foods he'd already eaten before.

Safe to say, you hadn't even know those foods existed or eaten anything that wasn't microwavable.

This wouldn't do.

When he left your house that evening he made it his mission to find a way to get you out of that situation.

And that he did, when the day of the PTA meeting arrives Damian is oddly quiet. Not as if he talked much anyway.

While you both waited for his dad to finish speaking with the teachers he'd a held a tight grip on your hand as if to silently tell you not to run off anywhere.

"Dami I still don't know why you told me to bring all my stuff with me, are we having a sleepover?" You asked, you were told to bring all necessities which means that you needed your tooth brush and whatever you could salvage from that mess of a house.

"You'll know when we get there" he said calmly which only made your excitement grown even more. He was already pretty used to your energetic behavior so this was nothing.

At last the meeting had finished and you were all exiting he building.

"Is this the friend you told me about Damian" his father spoke up only to receive a nod in return.

You had never noticed how eerily similar they look but now that you were stood right before him you realized noticed the shared features.

"(Reader) right" Bruce got down in one knee so he could speak to you at eye level. Now, extending invitations to join the family weren't an everyday occurrence but if his son was so hard pressed on your living conditions and even brought up good points as to why you can't live there.

Plus he knew you were a good kid.

"A little Birdy informed me of your living conditions and they wanted me to extend an exciting offer to you" he spoke to you in a way that made your excitement peak.

You were so excited that you hadn't even noticed when you got in the car or when you arrived at the manor or when you arrived at Damian's bedroom door.

For you everything went by quickly, so quickly that when you woke up the next morning you couldn't even remember why you were in Damian's house or why you were currently bundled up across from his sleeping face.

He must've bundled you up while you were asleep. He was always considerate but rarely ever showed you that side of him.

"Dami, I need to go home" you said groggily.

"Your not going anywhere" he instantly replied.

"But I can't stay here forever, I need to go home" you said in a worried tone but he only raised a brow.

"I knew you weren't listening" he sighed.

"Just go back to sleep" he waved his hand in front if your face which seemed to do the trick because you were knocked out within seconds.

And just like that you were silently adopted into the family.

#batfam #batfam x reader #batfam x you #batfamily #damian wayne #damian al ghul #damian al ghul x reader #damian wayne x reader #bruce wayne #batman #batman x child! reader #batman x child reader #damian wayne x you #damian wayne x y/n #dc x you #dc #dc x reader

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random-cockroach · 2 months ago

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F*** my writing shyness, it will be bad and utter stupid mushy dumbness and I don't mind, because I need MUSHY AND TOO SWEET AND STUPID KISSES THROUGH THE SCREEN WITH CONFUSION

Swerve x Blurr silly short oneshot Reverse mecha au by Kerefon

Silly kisses inside the games is the normal thing for humans, Cybertronians don't quite have such interactive games, at least he never was interested in Cybertronian ones, Blurr doesn't know why he feels so shy over this friendly joke that he was perfectly pulling off in the real life by himself.

Blurr has been watching streams of Serving_Metal_Nerdulgist for over 1 year now. He still has no idea how he found this line since it didn't have registered ID in the interplanetary lists, but the streams on it turned out to catch all of his attention. Interplanetary streams weren't something new or interesting (most of them were boring stuff with their strange ugly food that they were munching with even more ugly sounds, some strange sports, absolutely wasteful dramas and other things), but this one he never saw before. It was a game, cubic game, vibrant, green, full of details, explorations, it was fascinating to watch someone explore a newly created endless world, go on adventures, kill interesting monsters and make creations out of blocks that looked strange as a separate but gorgeous as a one. He was making it look gorgeous.

He supposed it wouldn't have been so interesting if not the voice behind it, who always was sharing his thoughts and ideas. Blurr was listening to them and wondering how one comes up with such ideas while himself getting inspired thanks to it (he tried to make a little blocky house with melting metal, but ended up burning surface of his digits and "house" looked like nest of these Gazin ants with three mouths).

It became the part of his free evenings, the chat became his dream chat group come true with never ending different interesting topics about anything and everything. Not like he could properly write on "human" so most of the parts he was using translator. Translator kind of sucked because it had barely any idea what the "human" is as much as Blurr did (he supposed the cubic human inside the game was based on real humans) and AI was learning words and their adaptations pretty slowly.

Unlike the person behind the stream.

He learned fast and over the year almost became fluent in Cybertron. He said it was the power of nerds.

Blurr felt himself pretty happy (immensely gleeful) about the fact that Nerdulgist did so to talk with him, to be able to play and talk without the need to switch to chat typing (not like he could type with Cybertronian syllables anyway).

He was watching him when there were only a few people. To be more precise, first time he found him he also joined his game, since ID applied to the game too and Blurr thought it was open to join for everyone. Reaction of pure horror and sudden boost of comments applied it was not. But Blurr was spamming shift after smashing all the keys to find some way to show that he is… friendly? He perfectly knows about ban option in public places and he didn't want to be banned even if it wasn't a thing here (he found out later it was a thing indeed). Maybe Nerdulgist thought that being friends with someone who could join your game without host's permission is safer so he rolled with it. He still didn't get what the herobrine is though, some kind of hacking program? He isn't to be blamed for ID leaking.

They became game friends. It became Blurr's second favorite thing after winning races and outside races he was finding excuses to abandon wreckers to play Minecraft.

He was sure Nerdulgist also found his company pleasing. He was especially affectionate during the game today, it was a "chill stream day" (he was changing all the above blocks in the area on different colored ones to make something like clay forest). Over the year his followers count grew noticeably so now instead of non-stop chattery he could do non-stop question answering.

"Do I like Blurr? What a sil– no, stupid and offending question-"

Blurr's screen suddenly was filled with detailed cubic face skin of some, as he was told but didn't find the source, anime character, but with red hair, and then he heard a very characteristic and loud soft kiss in his audials.

"I love him, he is the man of my dreams, I would have built a home with him in real life and placed our beds next to each other."

Blurr saw that there was a sudden flood of comments but he urgently rolled out of the table with his digits to the face and he couldn't understand what Nerdulgist was saying. He felt his cheek plates warming up under digits. He did not expect it.

They were joking like this before, but before was much faster, more joking-like and Blurr was prepared, he could read mood good even inside the game. Here he was just caught off guard. And that wasn't because he found Nerdulgists' voice attractive lately due to hoarseness from his past sickness, no. And didn't notice after that that his voice actually always was quite attractive to him, no.

He was very good with physical contact and attention! He was the man of physical attention! He was expressing like this to the ones he considered enough to be pals.

He considered Nerdulgist his friend and he. Could. Do. Nothing. To show it! He reacts like this definitely because he can't find no "friendly hugging" functions and so he wasn't prepared for audial way of such acts. Acts of kisses? Not cheek kisses. When did they skip one part of the progress chain? Yes he wasn't prepared for it to be outside chat. If only he could somehow spend more time nuzzling with him so he could be prepared to steadfastly stand this affectionate attack! Sleeping on the beds next to each other didn't count.

"Blurr? Are you good?"

[Great_Cucumber: he probably passed out, you just kissed him, let him cool down]

[SweatNana243: Blurr ~ Come back, your man misses you~]

"Chat, shhh."

Blurr snapped out of his thoughts only when Swerve (Swerve said his name only to him and asked not to call him by his real name, so they were having fun by coming up with new strange names to "accidentally" say on streams) asked him on cybertronian if he is okay. Hearing it on cybertronian both deepened his warmness and got him back to his field of confidence. What is wrong with him? Two can play this game and he doesn't plan on losing!

Blurr: Yes, I am good, you have to kiss me longer to get rid of me

(The statement was absolutely true, he perfectly remembered his only few kisses he ever had in this life, he was drunk and it took noticeably more time for him to pass out. Of course he remembered real facts to apply to a silly game kissing, who doesn't?)

[Great_Cucumber: OOOOOOOOOOOO]

[Funtime90008: OOOOOOOOOOO]

[WBlurrNerdNation: OHOHOHOHOHOHOH GUYS]

There was a rich chuckle and chair creaking. "I'm going after my kissy plushie toy and I am about to measure your limits of hit kisses!"

[SweatNana243: your WHAT]

[Great_Cucumber: virgin spotted pointy finger]

[WBlurrNerdNation: I'm calling my friends, they can't miss it]

Okay, maybe Blurr wasn't as prepared to this. He rotated around in the search of something. Whatever. Something that also fits for a kissing practice, for no other reason but to not feel "attacked" if he also will do this dumb thing.

Blurr heard almost every possible transformer. Their voices became so common to him that when he first time opened interplanet stream with some ugly three mouths thing talking, the voice of that thing was disgusting, unusual, but mostly disgusting. Blurr was paying closer attention to people's voices, you could find so much information in them; and cybertronians' voices were consistent of precisely built in individual characteristics of waves. You could hear a silent static and a muffled echo inside throat. You could hear and sense the mood of the person if you knew how to do it. Organics? Their "static" voice cracks were grotty, they couldn't regulate their voices when they were loud, the sound was coming out of wet sources as if they were drowning. It was unpleasant. He didn't like noisy sticky figures.

Swerve's voice was… very pleasant. He guessed it had wet source just as organics, but it sounded dry, rich, vibrant, and when his voice was cracking up in excitement, it was contagious. When he was yelping and screaming on higher waves it sounded cute after his deep, slightly nervous bass. Funny even. He wasn't gulping after hours of talking like others did, he clearly needed water but he was too deep into explaining his new idea for the swamp area until his voice was becoming desiccated and he had to whispers while his chat was spamming "serve aqua".

Swerve indicated his return with two exaggerated smacking sounds of lips. Blurr laughed, nervously and generously. Swerve was a total maniac once he became comfortable. "Are you ready my handsome alien?"

Blurr managed to write "Wait a min dying laughin" before he clung to his knees with static laugh and burning cheeks. A cube person with strange skin was about to kiss him!

"I don't have the whole day, dear gringo, 1 minute and you will have to face me"

He clearly was in a very playful mood today as he said it in cybertronian to mock his viewers. It didn't help Blurr. Swerve's voice compensated all his hilarious looks. Where was his coolant?

Blurr looked around to check that the door was closed, he didn't want to die out of embarrassment. After making sure that there is no one sneaking on him (though the existence of guilty ghosts was especially believable right now) he braced himself and was looking at the screen.

Blurr: Deliver it (He meant "Bring it on" but translator didn't reach such levels of smugness yet)

Swerve seemed to lean closer to the microphone since the sound of skin pressed against the soft plushy was very clearly heard.

[Matador: SEND CREEPERS ON THEM WHILE THEY ARE BUSY]

[WBlurrNerdNation: SHUT UP, THERE IS RELATIONSHIP DEVELOPS]

[DBlurrNerdNation: WTF]

[JBlurrNerdNation: I will fight with mobs for the pride of their first proper kiss]

Okay. It sounded… soft. Blurr unconsciously touched his lips, he guessed his lips weren't as delicate as organics'… he had nothing to compare it with. Maybe jellied energon? He remembered his drunk kisses. They were soft for him but we talk about tender kind of leathers here. He felt frustrated but didn't stop listening and watching. That was an unusual sudden attention directed to him but he didn't dislike it.

Primus stop thinking about it with such seriousness it's a silly joke. From someone he found very nice to talk to. And listen to. Swerve is a great, very funny, smart dude. Silly a little bit, isn't it perfect? Oh, he heard a… breathing? Some fleshings had nostrils, looks like humans have them too and they are located above the mouth. And their breathing isn't as stable but very soft sounding. His vents suddenly clicked on to mimic the breathing rate, he gave up fighting with his processor. Sadly right now his attention was perfectly locked on one thing and was rotating only around arising from this event imaginations.

His imagination was too bright as he was imagining a presence on his lips. He closed his eyes and leaned in toward the sound. Then he opened them again and looked behind his back. No one was there. Thank Primus.

There were only a few bots who's voices he liked. Like, liked liked. But they were only transformers, never flesh organics. He might have liked liked liked this human's voice and vent (newly discovered breathing) more than all others that he liked liked.

Swerve budged from the microphone and made teasing chuckling sounds while still keeping hold of the plush. He was a streamer who felt like a scrapper in the metal pools after being sure that such jokes are good with Blurr.

"Still didn't fall under my obviously great and very expert kissing skills?"

[Great_Cucumber: you suck, I feel bad for Blurr]

"Hey what? That clearly was perfect! Not too long, not too short, with pauses, a little bit of teasing for the mood…" The microphone transmitted the sounds of his exaggerated hand gestures. Good microphone. "So what if it was only with plush? Do you not kiss your pets?"

[Great_Cucumber: I should be worried about your pets. But for your knowledge, my pomeranian kisses better.]

[WBlurrNerdNation: you are such a mood breaker, use your damn imagination, he wasn't kissing you!.. But yeah ah it sounded kinda gross actually]

"Chat. Chat, I hate you all and just for your knowledge, komondors are better than pomeranians."

[SweatNana243: look, he started mumbling under his nose, you all are so mean]

Nerdulgist turned away and got back to changing blocks while explaining all pros and cons of the bigger dogs compared to little ones. Blurr finally got back to his keyboard and mouse after his vents calmed down.

It definitely shouldn't have felt like whatever he felt but he couldn't help himself.

So instead he decided to not pretend to be dense and cool and started running laps around Swerve, shifting and jumping to lift their moods up. Worked perfectly, attention immediately switched and Blurr confused everyone with how getting pets where he is was kind of an illegal or kinky thing. They didn't finish what they planned because they saw turtles ashore and ended up breeding them while Swerve was talking about some cool mutated turtles, then just as usual they went back in their too gorgeous for Blurr's comprehension house with red and blue beds and orange and white carpets beneath them in the further room.

For some months now Nerdulgist was ending his stream first and then was spending some more quality time with Blurr until their attention was switching to opposite directions and they were chatting on absolutely different topics while still listening to each other.

Wreckers still didn't come back. Blurr was lying on the berth and rotating some favorite events from today in his head. Usually it was the whole stream and everything they talked about but this time he mostly was remembering the breathing and soft touching of skin that he heard, it was something new for him and he couldn't calm down and especially couldn't understand why he couldn't calm down. He wouldn't mind sharing a room with such cool person. He decided to run around the ship outside until his processor got overheated. ___________________________________

Swerve on the other side of the screen flying in heaven because he finally found someone who passed his vibe check, on who he could pull off all of his affectionate impulses and flirty jokes. ___________________________________ IN MY DEFENCE! Swerve here is the human from the beginning in this reverse version and he technically in the surrounding where he can feel less alone, nerds are all over the world on Earth so I believe this version of him is so much more confident in himself. He is the man of a good talents and great social education and awareness. He has a job that he even if don't love but clearly enjoys and it serves a good and visible purpose, he gets home and releases all the stress in other activities he likes. And it is known that confident people (not in an arrogant manner) are more attractive so his jokes get like, [10 buff due to him feeling sure not even if about them but about himself saying them. And yes aghsfa I think he would have a deep voice with a bit of a high cracking during laugh and nervousness. And he screams like a girl when startled, then coughs and screams again but now like a real man.

Blurr for me is only the friendly flirting kind of guy who does so to make people comfortable. And he will understand his interest in romance way with someone only when other close friend of his starts friendly flirting with him and Blurr will have to reconsider some of his life choises. And I just wanted Blurr to have a panic first. And find more attractive different qualities in Swerve. Please don't look at me I didn't even write it enough fluff for my liking I am holding well.

[Also Swerve added "Serving" in his name after he has read too many isekai mangas with 127 words long titles]

#reverse mecha au #why weren't I writing fluff before I want more now what the hell #blurr #swerve #fullmetal bartenders #ah...?#writing #?#please #please no one look at me #Please I am already lying on the floor I am disappearing into the void #transformers #maccadam

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inzuinzudesu · 8 months ago

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Please zoom in to see small Kakashi! 😭 He kinda disappeared 😭😭😭

Text translation: "Infinite Tsukuyomi" (無限月読)

Drew these in mid-July - when I started doing digital again actually 🤔

Took inspo from the Balut - a street food in my country; I hear a lot of people are grossed out by it?? Don't know if this is controversial, but I personally love the dish. Essentially grew up with it after all!

Wanted to draw something that feels a bit creepy but still has a sense of mysticality to it???

Meh, don't know if the feeling got across or not

I thought since Halloween is coming up, might as well post this haha

About the process of drawing these!

These were very fun to draw! I messed around a lot with photoshop to achieve this glowy dusty effect?? From the brushes to the blending options, and maaan the filter gallery 😭😭 Such fun tools to play with.

The main brush I used to achieve the dusty effect is called "KYLE Bonus Chunky Charcoal", in the Kyle Dry Media brush set. If you can, I recommend checking it out! There are definitely other ways to achieve this sort of effect, though. You can probably just use some sort of scatter texture brush and it'd work just fine. Studying is all about trying things out, right? This is like my first experiment with this type of effect, and I was happy at the time. Now looking back, these could most definitely turn out better, no? I really went overboard with just the effect and forgot everything else. The blood and the plate looks horrible man. If you look closely, you can see the sketch lines haha! I got lazy!

Also, for Obito's pose, I relied heavily on a reference I found on pinterest 😭 I wish I'd changed the pose more tbh, it looks really boring.

And I gotta say, these just look underwhelming in this smaller size. Like reaaaaaally underwhelming. Would love to show you the big version, but oh well! 😭😭😭

Brain vomit time!

I love the prospect (??? is that the right word) of Obito being all god-like and powerful after Tsukuyomi, having control over everybody's dream worlds?? And like he jumps from dream to dream, but stops at Kakashi's and picks it apart???? Observing and tormenting Kakashi with his childhood form that has both sharingan???????

Kakashi would probably be confused with Obito's appearance at first, asking questions like "What are you up to this time, Obito?", but then wouldn't receive any answers??? Like little man would just stare at him creepily, and Kakashi would push this to the back of his mind for a while???

Umm below is the technical stuff, I guess??

My headcanon is that the time span in the dream world is the same as the real world. Meaning, 30 years in the dream world feel incredibly real, with no gap of memories. It's essentially a different timeline. Whether this makes sense or not, who knows haha!

Let's talk about the dream events and how they affect Kakashi! Due to Sakumo and team Minato still living, this Kakashi probably wouldn't be as lax nor sad as in canon?? The relationships and personalities would be different huh???? I'm having a headache thinking about this, so let's just say that: 1. Sakumo lived because the villagers weren't as harsh, but the animosity still remained. Kakashi still developed this obsession with rules, but he doesn't blame his dad as much. 2. Kannabi happened, Kakashi was given the sharingan, along with Obito's ninja way. Team Minato thought that Obito died for a while, but Obito is 'rescued' by Madara, same as canon. 3. Rin would still be targeted by Madara, but Obito came in time to help with the situation, blocking Kakashi's chidori from connecting with Rin's chest, but also knocking Kakashi away. Then, a Mist enemy took advantage of the situation to attack Kakashi, injuring him gravely, to the point where everybody thought he died. With this, Obito activated his Mangekyou and exploded on the Mist enemies, killing them all. Meanwhile, Rin tried to heal Kakashi, just barely saving him. As Obito had dealt with the enemies, there was no need to rush back to the village, and the Sanbi wouldn't be released till then. And so, they waited for Minato to come and help with Rin's seal. (About Obito's Mangekyou activating with Kakashi's death - would that be too far-fetched? My reasoning is that Obito would think that it was his fault Kakashi died, because it was Obito who knocked Kakashi away into the enemy, no?) 4. Because there's no one to become 'Madara' now that Obito came back to the village, Naruto is born, Minato and Kushina live.

5. The Uchiha massacre doesn't happen.

(Everything is incredibly convenient, because I don't have the brain power to make it otherwise, please help 😭😭) -> In conclusion, this Kakashi resembles the Kakashi of the real world, but less depressed and self-destructive??? He loves his living comrades. My man still has a massive obsession (more like crush lol) with Obito by the way, just like in canon. He just doesn't show it.

-> About Obito of the dream world (I'mma call him Dreambito), he is all sunshine and brightness, but he exhibits some dark thoughts and deep rage from time to time due to the residual effects of Madara's seal on his heart. The seal has been removed though. And he has this obsession with Kakashi's safety, as he almost pushed him to his death once, albeit accidentally.

-> I was debating whether to just start this dream world at the point where Obito got crushed, or to start it at the beginning of Kakashi's life. In the end, I went with the latter, cuz ya know, I like the idea of Kakashi living through a whole life all over again, just to finally come to the realization that it's all a dream. Does that make any sense at all??

Obito (child form - 13) first appears in front of Kakashi at the start of the Naruto series, when Kakashi has officially become the teacher of team 7. (Let's not change this okay, my brain would fry haha I'm not gonna deny that the idea of Obito and Kakashi becoming co-teachers of team 7 isn't incredibly fun though)

After the first encounter with this child Obito, Kakashi begins to have flashes of memories from the real world, and he hallucinates about people's deaths - mostly about the members of team Minato. This young Obito is always in the corner of his vision, most of the time silent, sometimes saying things like "You trash" to Kakashi whenever he encounters Rin, who is whole and grown up in this world.

Kakashi exhibits more destructive behaviors as this goes on, the line between the dream events and the real events slowly blurring. He takes more dangerous solo missions out of the village, and shows strong signs of PTSD, just like in canon.

The two Obitos would contrast each other?? Like Dreambito would be all concerned with Kakashi's decline in health (both mental and physical) and goes to confront and comfort him, many times over because that's how it is with them??? Dreambito might even move in with Kakashi, being the obsessive and protective Uchiha that he is. Meanwhile young Obito would be an absolute asshole, saying all these horrible things to poison Kakashi's mind haha

At this point, Dreambito'd be in the last stage on the journey of becoming Hokage, gaining the all the trust from the Uchiha clan, the village elders and the villagers as a whole. I don't know about Rin, though? Should she be romantically involved with Dreambito or no? Would Kakashi dream that??

I think Kakashi's dream would somewhat focus more on Dreambito being happy and satisfied, to be honest. I know there's Sakumo and team Minato as a whole, but as a degenerate shipper, I love the obsession between them🥺

I don't think Obito would directly interfere with what Kakashi is dreaming about, i.e. changing Dreambito's behavior, or like the political situation of the villages (?). But he would most definitely insert himself in Kakashi's psyche, no? Mess it up real good.

Kakashi would slowly realize that he is living a dream world, after all the flashes of memories that Obito generates in his mind. He would most definitely deny it at first though, I think? And then it would reach a point where Kakashi remembers everything from the real world, but he has also lived through 30 something years of the dream world, meaning he'd be in his 60s?? Does that make sense or no?

And so, while Kakashi now knows that everything is a dream, his feelings for everybody in the dream are real. If that's the case, is it really that important anymore that he escapes the Tsukuyomi? Can this dream world really be called fake at this point? Is there even anything in the real world for him to return to?

What's to say 'the real world' isn't a dream at this point?

-> Kakashi would completely close in on himself after this. He still does things that he would normally do, but it'd be all an act. He would feel completely isolated.

-> Dreambito would notice and confront him again, now that they live in the same house??? Kakashi would like say everything is fine and try to act more convincingly, but Dreambito would still know something's wrong????

-> Obito is observing from afar, who knows what his motivation is at this point.

Because this is Kakashi's dream world, I suppose he would have the power to change this world to his will, now that he's aware? This is like a lucid dream situation???

The people in the dream have their own will up until this point, but Kakashi can somewhat change their behavior if he really wants to, whether it's subconsciously or not??? Example: He can probably will Dreambito to kiss him or something lol

So on and so forth!

Man, I'm having waaay too much fun imagining the pain. There are probably like a thousand things that doesn't make sense haha! I do wonder how this sort of storyline should end though, does anybody have any ideas? Personally, I prefer slow burn with a (sort of) happy ending, but ya know, angst all the way is good too! I can't write, but I love thinking about all the things that could happen 😭😭 English isn't my first language, so this might have felt weird to read at some point haha

If anybody wants to develop this, please feel free to do so! And if you've read this far, thank you for reading this absolute brain vomit of mine! I love to yap, as you can tell haha Have a good day!

#naruto #naruto fanart #obito uchiha #kakashi hatake #オビト #カカシ #obito x kakashi #obkk #obikaka #man i am gonna cringe so hard reading this back #but hey i had lots of fun getting all of this out #so it's all good!#don't have a proper halloween here but #meh whatever #happy halloween!#even though it's like way too soon!

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bring-forth-his-sac · 2 months ago

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THE MAN FOR THE JOB - PART 2

Link to Part 1! (part 1 is all step up, this is the smutty part lmao)

Summary: Negan continues his mind games as he reminds you who’s in control. But when Negan actually starts to see you, you open up in ways you never anticipated (aka this is smut lmao)

Tags: daddy kink, coercion/manipulation, alcohol consumption, p in v penetration, vaginal fingering, loss of virginity, bare minimum aftercare, Negan’s an asshole who only wants one thing

Word Count: 8k

He watches you clutch the drink. Negan made sure not to fill it up too high, mainly because he doesn’t want to be wasting liquor on a gal who hasn’t let him pet her pussy yet. But also because he wants to gauge your sober reaction first.

Then later on, if you start playing by the rules, you can have a proper drink.

But for now Negan needs to focus on figuring out how to go about this. He’s had enough wives to know most fall into two categories. Either they want to give into hedonism, only needing a push to revel in living it large as a wife. Or, if they remain stubborn, Negan has to up the guilts to remind them of the severity of not just their situation, but of their loved ones too.

Watching you sit on the sleek couch across from him, Negan scoots forward. This is his opportunity to figure out which category you fit into and he’s not going to waste it.

“Y’know, this can be mutually beneficial,” Negan pitches “I mean, most gals your age got libidos ragin' like forest fires! Might do you some good to get out those pent up feelings”.

You stay quiet, trying not to nibble on your lip. The last thing you want is for Negan to know you’re nervous. You shake your head “No”.

“No, you don’t get a raging lady boner on the daily or no, you don’t want to fuck?”.

You hate how he talks. So casual and aloof despite everything. “I don’t want to do any of that stuff,” you clarify a little too quickly.

Negan raises an eyebrow, taking in your choice of words. “None of that stuff, huh?” He repeats thoughtfully. With a long sigh, he leans back and takes a gulp of his drink. “Just thought I’d give you the option… must’ve been hard to get some dick action when you were travelling with your dad”.

You don’t reply.

It’s not that you don’t mind talking about sex. You’ve never skydived either but you can hold a conversation about it. The problem is talking about it with him. If he gets any suspicions that you’re a virgin, Negan will have a field day.

“I mean, it must’ve been hard. You got all these hormones and shit just buildin' up inside ya, some willing guys no doubt but ya also got Daddy watching over you and probably making sure nobody touches his little princess” he continues, talking without a care in the world.

You hold back a scoff. As if your father, who so easily gave you to the Saviors, would care if you had sex. Things could have been much worse for you. Your father didn’t know what kind of men Negan and his Saviors were. The only reason things have worked out so well for you is… well, is thanks to Negan.

Negan keeps digging, trying to find something that’ll give him some sort of a reaction. “So, did you have boy problems or just never find the right dick?” He prods.

You don’t know what annoys you more. The constant questions or the slow realization that Negan has done more to keep you safe than your own father.

“That’s none of your business” you retort, wanting this conversation over.

Negan is quick to snap back, his tone fringing on being sharp “Everything is my business”.

You huff, not bothering to hide your frustration. That only makes Negan grin. “Oh yeah, this is what I like to see” he nods his head approvingly, much to your confusion.

Negan revels in your baffled expression before clarifying “I’m starting to see little glimmers of that potty mouth gal who read her father to shit in front of everybody”.

Your father has always said you have a way with words. Always have been able to put your foot in your mouth and talk when it’s best to keep silent. Maybe that’s why you’re finally heeding his various warnings now and trying to stay quiet.

You shrug.

“When I saw her, that lady that was cursing out her father and trying to kick and slap my men silly,” he shifts in his couch, manspreading like there’s no tomorrow “Woo! Now that lady made my balls throb! I don’t think my pants tightened that much in years— and that’s saying something when I got a handful of wives!”.

Negan stands, downing the rest of his drink in one. You tense as he sets his glass on the table and moves around to sit beside you.

One of Negan’s arms rest along the back of the couch. You ignore it and sip your drink. Negan watches with a chuckle, his tongue wetting his bottom lip. You’re a tough one, that’s for sure. But that just makes the chase even better.

When he realizes you won’t speak again. Negan tries a new approach. “So, if you don’t want to do any stuff with me, how’s about you tell me about the stuff you’ve done with other people” he smiles, as if requesting his favorite bedtime story.

“No”.

He laughs almost goofily, not taking your answer seriously “Oh c’mon, you into anal? Like being the one in control? Into feet or whatever weird shit people were into before the world got fucked?”. Negan throws as much as he can at you, already knowing he’s successfully flustered you after mentioning anal.

“Jesus! I don’t want to talk about those things, alright?” you get defensive, making no subtle movements as you scooch away from Negan on the couch “Just because you’re a fucking jackass doesn’t mean you have to be a huge pervert too”.

You can see the change in his face this time, predicting the mood swing and the loss of the fun persona. “Stuff? Things? You sound like a fourteen year old that’s too embarrassed to say ‘dick’ in front of her parents” he butts in, criticizing you.

“Is anything ever good enough for you?” You bite back “Is this why you have six wives but still prefer a bat?”.

Bringing Lucille up between you both, he grips her tightly. She wavers in front of your face for a moment but you make sure not to flinch. “I said I liked that you didn’t take shit, that doesn’t mean you get to talk like that to me” he warns.

You want to slap Lucille away from you. You want to pour the rest of the whiskey over his head and throw the empty glass at him afterwards.

But you don’t. You can’t. Instead, all you do is settle back and shut your mouth.

“Darlin’ I’m trying to be civil here and give you the opportunity to confide in me,” he lets out a snicker as he looks around and drops Lucille back down by his legs “I mean, ain’t this a safe space?”.

You don’t entertain his question by looking around and inadvertently giving yourself the reminder that you’re trapped in here with him, unable to leave until he allows you to. Negan leans back, lazy and disinterested, like a petulant child bored with a toy.

His voice drops, casual, like he’s just making small talk "So how about it, huh? Why not open up that cold little heart of yours and tell me... you a virgin or what?"

The words land heavy, landing with a bite that makes your stomach churn. He says it like it’s nothing, but to you, it feels like a punch to the gut. "Not really something I care to share," you reply, eyes narrowing just enough to show you're not afraid.

Negan's laughter slices through the tension, loud and unapologetic. “Really?" he grins, leaning in just a little too close. "I mean, It's obvious, sweetheart. I could tell the second I laid eyes on you”.

He gives you a once-over, as though he's stripping you bare. "The way you hold yourself, all stiff and closed off… yeah, you don't need to say a word. It’s written all over you”.

Your face flushes, a hot rush of embarrassment crawling up your neck. You try to centre yourself, but his words linger in the air, cutting deeper than they should. You hoped you could keep that part of you hidden but now it feels like he's pulled it into the light for everyone to see, and suddenly, it’s all you can think about.

You swallow hard “You don’t know anything about me”.

But even as you say it, doubt creeps in. Maybe he does.

Letting Lucille slip out of his grasp, she rests on the floor, her handle leaning against the couch. Negan spreads his thighs, manspreading once again. “C’mere,” he orders.

Despite every cell in your body protesting, you scoot closer.

Negan scoffs, rolling his eyes as he pats his thigh “No, come here”. He can see your body instantly react. You go back into yourself, your body stiffening.

There’s a few beats of silence and he knows you're internally debating it but it’s taking longer than he wants. With a sigh, Negan adds “Or I can come to you… not sure if that’d be better though; with me on you”.

That’s enough to convince you to comply. Standing, you put your glass on the small table before flattening out your dress. You don’t want to flash him or have your dress ride up, accidentally offering up more skin for him to ogle at.

With a gulp, you slowly lower yourself down on to him. Thankfully, you don’t feel anything. No boner or gun in the waistband of his jeans. You hold on to the end of your dress as you sink down, awkwardly straddling him.

Negan’s fingers lightly skim your hips, waiting to see if you’ll flinch before finally settling his hands on either side of you. He smiles up at you, flashing you an almost boyish grin. It’s weird being this close to him, looking down at him and seeing every gray facial hair, every line on his face and faded scar. You try not to let your gaze linger but where else are you supposed to look?

“See, this ain’t so bad, is it?” he asks, giving your hips a testing squeeze.

“Can I get off now?” you don’t get the full question out before he gives you a disapproving grunt. Negan doesn’t hold on to you tighter, forcing you to stay where you are. He simply gives you a look and as it would have it, that seems to be enough for you to stay.

Negan lets the look fade before changing conversation, happy for now with simply having you on his lap. “Has your dad always been a dick to you?” he changes topics, making your stomach sink. You preferred his flirting to discussing your father, and more specifically, to confirm that yes, he’s always been an asshole.

“I guess,” you reply vaguely.

He hums, taking in your answer. “I’m sorry about that,” his words take a few seconds to sink in “you don’t deserve shit like that… even if you run your mouth every now and again”.

You try not to show a reaction.

There’s a tension in your chest that you ache to ignore. You don’t deserve it. A simple statement, really. One you know yourself, deep deep down. It hits more than you expected, even as you try to hold everything back. You shouldn’t feel comforted by that. You shouldn’t let his words even touch the raw edges of your heart.

You’ve spent so long distancing yourself from the idea of ever needing validation from anyone, least of all someone like him. But God, the fact that someone finally sees it? It's a blow to the walls you’ve built, and you’re not sure if that’s a relief or a pain you never asked for.

You try to keep your face neutral. It’s instinct to swallow down the sudden rush of emotion, to remind yourself how much you don’t want to lean into Negan’s words. You look away quickly, hoping he can’t read what you’re trying to bury.

Negan watches you closely, as if he can see that small crack in your armor. You’re good at hiding it, sure, but Negan has a knack for seeing what others miss.

He leans back against the couch, deciding to take on this new approach. Maybe he had it wrong before. You don’t fit into the same old categories of wanting to embrace hedonism or need some guilty encouragement like the wives before you. No, instead Negan thinks you just need to be seen.

“I know you’ve just been surviving for a long ass time now, darlin’ and hell, if you want to keep doing that, then that’s fine with me,” just when Negan is starting to draw you out, he backs off.

You feel his grip on your hips go slack, his hands falling to the couch cushions. You would never admit it out loud but you miss the warmth almost instantly. Just when you think he’s seen a flicker of who you are, he loses interest.

Negan's sudden withdrawal leaves a palpable void between you, the space where his warmth and attention once resided now chilling in his absence. His casual dismissal, as if your presence is inconsequential, strikes a blow to your self-worth. You stay on his lap for a moment, grappling with the sting of his indifference. Is it bad that it hurts this much?

Rationally, you should feel liberated by his dismissal, perhaps even eager to leave. Yet a part of you remains tethered, unwilling to let go. Moving slowly, you don’t pull away. You don’t know what it is that makes you do it, but you go forward, resting your forehead against his shoulder.

Negan doesn't move. He doesn’t tense nor does he soften against you. He doesn’t even speak (a rare occurrence, truly) and lets the silence stretch, thick and suffocating, while your forehead rests against his shoulder like some pathetic white flag.

Just when you think you’ll have to admit defeat and awkwardly clamber off of him, a low and smug voice reaches your ear.

“You learnin’ how to be sweet, baby?”.

You can’t tell whether he’s being mocking or not. You should move but your limbs won’t listen. Negan’s hand moves slowly to your back, not to comfort but to remind you that he’s still the one holding the reins. Fingers drag deliberately, almost thoughtfully, up your spine.

“You behaving now cause you don’t want me to get bored of ya?” he guesses “Or do you just want a strong voice tellin’ ya you’re worth a damn? Daddy not do that enough, sweetheart?”.

Your breath catches. He chuckles, pleased with himself.

“That’s what I thought,” Negan drawls. Slowly, you pull back to see his face again. He’s got you roped in and there’s nothing you can do.

Every word that leaves his mouth drips with arrogance, laced with that mocking affection he wields like a blade and still, you hang on them. You convince yourself that there’s a warmth in his gaze, a weight that's surprisingly not as uncomfortable as when he used to watch you in the wives parlour.

"Don't get me wrong," Negan continues, his voice dropping low, like he’s telling you a secret, "I could go on about how much of a piece of work your old man is, and shit, that’s only after seeing the grimy fuck for a little while… but I think we both know that's not what you need right now, huh?".

Negan’s got you pegged. It’s as if you’re already laid bare for him to see. It’s like he crawled into your psyche and made himself comfortable, propped his boots up on the furniture and lit a damn cigarette. No one's ever looked at you like that, past the fire and the walls and the venom to see the soft, shivering thing you swore to hide.

But he has. He sees it and he’s circling it like a vulture. And no matter how much you tell yourself you hate him or that you’d kill him the first chance you get, you’re letting him do this. No, not just letting. You're leaning into it. Folding into his touch like it's inevitable. Like it's easier to give in than pretend he hasn’t already sunk his claws in.

“And hey, I know I don’t exactly have the cleanest record when it comes to making people feel all warm and fuzzy inside,” he says, flashing you a grin that’s got all the cockiness you expect “But I’m good at one thing. I’m good at knowing when someone’s got potential. And damn, I just think you and me got the potential to make this shitshow a little more fun”

Your pride is screaming. Your sense of self-preservation is banging on the walls, demanding you to snap out of it—but it’s like background noise now. Distant. Dull. Because here and now, with that smug glint in his eyes, you feel something you’ve never had long enough to trust.

“Look,” Negan continues his pitch “I get it. You don’t trust me. I wouldn’t trust me either, not after everything”. His eyes watch you closely, as if he’s waiting for some micro expression to give away your feelings “But trust me on this. Sometimes, the world’s a lot more bearable when you’ve got someone there to screw your brains out and I think– no, I know that I’m the man for the job”.

Flicking your attention down to his jacket, you carefully trace a finger along it. Negan lets you, feeling how close you are to cracking.

“That’s a stupid reason for thinking I’m a virgin” you go back to his previous comments, ignoring his monologue.

Negan doesn’t deny it. “Stupid but true”.

You don’t know how to do this. And to do this in front of Negan feels like you’re trying to make a creme brulee in front of a chef. This isn’t your forte. You don’t take the lead. Not in your old group. Not when dealing with your father or even with Negan… up until now, that is.

In a way, you don’t see this as Negan getting what he wants. This is getting the upper hand and finally making him be the one on the back foot.

Bringing your head down, you shut your eyes and blindly shove your lips onto his. You don’t do it to be sweet or romantic or enact your alleged wifely duties. You do it to prove and point. And Negan can feel it.

He almost sputters out a laugh and it would’ve come out if your lips were swallowing up every attempted noise his mouth makes. You feel his hands grip your hips again, sliding up to your waist but this is different than before. He gives you a small tug, not to pull you flush against him like you expected, but away.

“Easy tiger,” Negan says once he can catch a breath, letting his head fall back on the couch to assure there’s space between your faces.

Your heart sinks momentarily, a rush of panic and rejection flooding your senses. You try to conceal the disappointment that threatens to show but you can't help the quick jerk of your head towards the floor, avoiding his gaze.

A part of you feels stupid, while another part of you is silently relieved. Negan is who you assumed him to be. An asshole! Who you can’t win with whether you do as he wants or the exact opposite.

As you begin to shift awkwardly on his lap, attempting to create some distance between you, his grip tightens, holding you in place. Negan notices the hurt in your eyes, the subtle withdrawal that follows his previous words. "Hey," he murmurs, his voice soft and reassuring as his hand runs up your back in a gentle caress "I didn't mean it like that."

Fuck.

Despite yourself, you listen. “I think maybe I should take the lead on this one, hm?” he talks so softly, you almost forget about his cruelty “I mean, maybe if we were practising the silent treatment then you could lead, seeing you’re a professional in that”.

Negan tries to get you to crack a smile. You don’t. But you don’t get off his lap either and so he sees it as a win nonetheless.

“So how’s about you let me take care of you instead of you doing… whatever it is you call that” You don’t miss the diss at your own kissing style. Yet before you can argue back or rebuff him, Negan leans in and closes the gap between you both.

His lips meet yours with a fierce hunger, one less sloppy than yours. Negan’s hands urge you closer again as his tongue forces your lips apart, delving in to claim your mouth entirely.

You wonder if this is how he kisses all of his wives. If he can turn on this passion like a light switch and make each one of them feel like they’re the special one. Your thoughts evaporate when you feel his finger. How it got there so quickly without you noticing is beyond you— surely all this kissing isn’t distracting you, is it?

It’s just a slight nudge, maybe done with his knuckle. You’re unsure considering you can’t exactly see, your short dress obstructing your view. All you can see is Negan’s arm, running alongside your thigh until it disappears under your dress.

When he nudges again, as if to feel you through your panties, you jerk your head back. Negan is quick to reassure you, moving his hand to your thigh and gripping it firmly. “It’s alright, it’s alright,” he tells you “I said I’d take care of you, didn’t I?”.

He waits for you to answer. You nod but Negan lets out a heavy exhale. “I want words,” he clarifies “I think we’re over the silent shit now, sweetheart”.

Automatically, your head nods again but you stutter out “Y-yeah, I know you said that but—“.

“So let me take care of you,” Negan cuts you off, giving your thigh a squeeze “this is all part of it, honey and if you want to just do this today then hell, that’s fine with me. We can just focus on you”.

You don’t believe him. You don’t want to believe him and let down your guard even more than you already have. “I don’t know…” you reply hesitantly.

Negan lets out a small laugh, trying to ease you as his calloused fingers inch closer to your panty line. “Well you don’t have to look so scared, I’m not gonna stick my whole fuckin’ fist up there” he jokes, planting a small kiss by your jaw.

It feels like your mind is tearing into two. You hate it but it feels nice. His hands, his lips, the warmth in his voice. But dammit, is this what the other wives thought? Did they give in this quickly too?

As if hearing your internal monologue, Negan says “I won’t do anything you don’t want, baby, I just wanna show you a good time”.

You believe him. You believe the man that took you from your only living relative and has kept you like a pampered prisoner. It doesn’t make sense in your head and yet the words slip out. “Ok… yeah” you agree reluctantly.

The boyish smile you get in return feels like a reward.

“Just a peek” he promises, tentatively pulling the fabric aside and sliding his middle finger between your lower lips. You had thought he would have given you more of a warning before sliding a finger between your folds and yet this is exactly the sort of thing you assumed Negan would do.

Your body tenses immediately, your nose taking in a sharp suck of air. Negan can feel your thighs go rigid but he doesn’t comment on it. How can he when he’s distracted by how goddamn wet you are? His finger glides with ease, testing the very wet waters.

You try to maintain your composure, steeling yourself against the overwhelming sensation. You don't want to give him the satisfaction of seeing you squirm before he's even got a finger in you. Negan watches your determined expression, a smirk tugging at his lips as he slowly moves his finger around, gathering your wetness.

"Such a pretty little pussy..." He compliments and with no warning, begins to circle your clit. You jump from the sudden contact, leaving out a gasp as you grip his shoulder. “Shit, Negan,” you hiss with gritted teeth “You couldn’t give me a heads up?”.

He scoffs as his finger runs back through your folds. “Fine then,” he mockingly entertains your request “incoming!”.

“Wha—“ your mouth snaps shut as Negan plunges not just one, but two fingers inside of you. Your eyes snap shut for a moment, wanting no more than to focus on the digits working their way into you.

“Goddamn it’s a tight fit for my fuckin’ fingers!” He says it like he’s amused. He slowly pushes his fingers deeper into your tight hole, moving them in and out at a slow pace.

"Poor baby, had to wait for the world to end to get laid," he teases softly, his fingers spreading you wider, preparing you for something much thicker than his digits.

You blink your heavy eyelids open to find Negan's gaze locked onto yours, his expression unreadable. There’s no smug smirk or no mocking glint in his eye. He looks... focused, almost genuine. His fingers continue to stretch you open, preparing you with single-minded determination.

It makes you realize how much you like his eyes. Your hips shift forward on their own accord, seeking more contact. The last barrier of doubt melts away as you give in to the pleasure he's building.

"Let's see if we can make this tight pussy come," he whispers, the heel of his hand rubbing against your swollen bundle of nerves. His fingers hook upwards, hitting that spot inside you that makes you see stars. The pleasure builds rapidly, overwhelming your senses.

You whimper his name uncontrollably as your pussy coats his fingers with your juices, the sensation unlike anything you've ever experienced. "You're starting to feel it, ain't ya?" he says gruffly, his fingers curl and press against your g-spot, making your legs tremble.

Your inner muscles clamp down tightly around his fingers as a sudden, intense wave hits you. You cry out, your body stiffening and convulsing. You grab onto him for dear life, your nails digging into his skin as your orgasm tears through you.

As the final tremors of your orgasm ebb away, Negan slows his fingers to a stop and removes them. Not that you mind as you collapse against him, still trembling as your pussy flutters weakly. He wraps a strong arm around your waist, holding you close. “There we go, baby” he coos.

You want to stay like this forever. The warmth of your orgasm wrapping around your brain like a warm blanket and subduing you. As you instinctively shift to make yourself more comfortable, your thigh accidentally grazes against the prominent bulge tenting Negan's pants.

You freeze momentarily, realizing with sudden clarity what your climax has done to him. He inhales sharply at the contact, his grip tightening reflexively around your waist.

“Oh, I didn’t mean…” you trail off, unsure whether you should apologize for causing such a reaction. Negan shifts slightly, his voice low and strained as he adjusts himself.

"Fuck, it’s ok, baby" he mutters under his breath. He nudges you off of his lap, depositing you down onto the rest of the couch. You flop down with no protest. After an orgasm like that, you feel too dazed to be moving around much.

Negan stays seated. Not crawling all over you but not standing up and walking away either. He looks over at you with a sigh. “I said I’d keep my dick in my pants, didn’t I?” His tone is rough, almost pained.

Is it weird to feel bad? He’s given you so much and yet he’s already blocked himself off from getting anything in return. “Yeah… you kinda did…” you trail off, feeling oddly awkward about confirming that.

“And I guess you don’t want to lose it all in one day, huh?” Negan continues, knowing he has to be strategic about this “I get it, losing the V card can be a big fuck ass deal… well, it’s a fuck-pussy deal actually but y’get me”.

He earns a small laugh from you in response and Negan knows he’s on to a winning formula.

"I-I don't know," you say hesitantly, looking up at the ceiling. "Dicks are big and I know it’ll hurt no matter what… I don’t know, it’s just a lot”. He can tell you're conflicted, torn between the fear of the unknown and the primal desire to be filled.

You bite your lip, bringing your gaze back to him. Unfortunately he looks good. "I've read about it… before. But I don't know what it would feel like. Does it really hurt?" you ask blatantly.

Negan tilts his head as he thinks. Despite what people may think, he is an honest man. To a fault most of the time. But he’d hate to scare you off now, especially when you’re so close to saying yes.

He shrugs "Ain't like I'll be pounding into you. I can be gentle when I want to be. I mean, shit, shouldn’t I get a little something too?”.

You stew on his words. As the afterglow of your orgasm slowly fades, you can still feel the wetness clinging to your panties. It's a reminder of how desperately your body craves more, urging that rationale side of your brain to say “fuck it!” and just go for it.

"I guess... we could try," you murmur softly, your voice barely audible as you gather your courage. You peek up at Negan through your lashes, trusting his word despite your shyness. "But you have to be gentle, and you have to stop if I tell you to, okay?".

"Baby, you know I'm not gonna lie to you," he says, his voice low and persuasive "It might hurt a bit at first, when I first push in... but after that? Fuck, you'll see stars. You trust me?”.

“No” you reply honestly, the admission escaping your lips amidst a flurry of giggles that betray the nervous flutter in your stomach.

Negan doesn’t frown at the admission. Instead he grins “Guess I’ll have to give ya a reason to trust me, huh?”. You don’t answer, unable to when he moves down to you and captures your mouth in a kiss.

Without wasting a second, Negan is already yanking his jeans down, freeing his rock-hard erection. Before you can even blink, he's pressing his body against yours, letting you feel every inch of him.

You give him a bewildered look as he kisses along your jawline, his sudden movement stealing your breath away. You mentally scold yourself for already knowing this aspect of Negan-- warnings aren't in his vocabulary, especially when he wants something.

Trying to process what’s happening, you hear him muttering some praise as he goes for your panties again. You lift your hips naturally as he tugs them off of you. You can't help but wonder if this is right, but your body seems to have its own agenda. It knows exactly what it wants, even if your mind is still playing catch-up.

Before you know it, Negan looks down at your pussy and you realize he’s already lining himself up. “Wait!” You exclaim. You try to sit up but can’t with Negan’s frame above you.

“Can’t I see it first?” You ask, knowing he'll understand your vague question.

He lets out a low, breathy chuckle, his eyes never leaving yours. "Darlin'," he drawls, "all you need to worry about is feeling it, not seeing it”.

“But is there anything I need to do? Will I take off my dress?” You question hurriedly.

Negan runs his tongue over his teeth as he listens, narrowing his eyes slightly at your incessant questions. “Christ, woman,” he tries to stay patient “You just gotta lay there and take it, hun”.

As if to make sure you don’t start blabbering again, Negan leans down and takes your lips in a demanding kiss. His tongue pushes its way into your mouth, silencing your remaining questions. As he kisses you, you feel something large and warm pressing against your sensitive pussy lips. You gasp into his mouth, realizing it's his tip.

Your hands find their home on his face, cupping his stubbled cheeks as you kiss him back frantically. Negan begins moving his hips slowly, spreading your wetness along his length. The smooth head of his cock slides between your lips, making you shiver against him.

"Fuck, you're so goddamn wet," he groans against your mouth, his praise making you blush. He begins to push inside, his thickness stretching you open. "That's it, sweetheart. Take my dick like a good girl."

All you can feel is the ache as his tip stretches you. You’ve heard it all before; how it hurts before the pleasure kicks in. With a slight grunt, you try to relax but you don’t exactly know how you’re supposed to do that. How do you relax your pussy when all it feels is pain?

Negan slowly moves his hips forward, trying to push himself further into you and yet… nothing. His dick opts to pop back out than go any further in. “Huh… you’re a tight one,” he compliments but all you feel is embarrassment.

You can feel your eyes start to water, although you’re unsure if that’s thanks to Negan’s relentless efforts to fit or the fact that you’d rather him be balls deep inside you already. Subtly nudging your legs out wider, Negan lines himself up and tries again. He knows he made you cum earlier so he assumed this next part would be easier. Yet here you are, tight as a virgin… heh, literally.

Negan watches your face, trying to gauge your reaction as he presses into you. “You alright?” He grunts, trying to slowly ween his way in. When you don’t respond after a few moments, Negan lets out a strained huff “This ain’t the time for you to go quiet again”.

“It just hurts!” You snap more than you anticipated. A part of you was scared Negan would take it personally and reprimand you for your tone but thankfully he doesn’t.

With a big sigh, Negan pulls out completely. You let out a grunt at the feeling and his tip pops back out, leaving your pussy sore. He stands, cock glistening and determined despite a frustrated Negan running a hand through his hair.

“What kinda cruel fuckin’ game is this,” he blabs “I get to pop a fuckin’ cherry but it just happens to be the tightest goddamn cherry ever? Talk about a blessing and a curse!”.

You sit up, tugging your dress down to cover you. “Sorry,” you mutter, looking anywhere but Negan and his… ahem, package.

He shakes his head, hand dropping back down to his side. “No, don’t apologize,” he replies, watching how you hold yourself, slowly retreating back into your shell.

“We can leave it at that, if you want,” Negan tries to hide the defeat in his voice. Here you are, the best damn gift in the world and he can’t unwrap it! “Maybe if the boys find some lube on a run we could try again,” he tugs up his pants, haphazardly shoving his dick away just for it to tent in his pants.

You watch him carefully as he slumps down beside you. Maybe this is a sign from some greater power that you shouldn’t be doing this. Not with him, anyways. Not after all he’s done. And yet, every time you look at him, that line between right and wrong starts to blur.

There’s a voice in your head, the sensible one, telling you this isn’t a good idea. You’re supposed to be smarter than this. You’re supposed to know better. That’s what kept you alive for so long and yet you open your mouth and say “Would it help if we tried a different position?”.

Negan’s eyes immediately lock onto you. There’s a flicker in his gaze, a mix of surprise and admiration. A chuckle escapes him, but it’s different this time. It’s not the playful, sardonic laugh he’s known for, but something more appreciative, like he’s impressed. "Well, shit," he mutters, his voice deep and almost reverent "Didn’t expect that".

He stands again, wasting no time in getting his member out again. “I was about to ask if you’ve ever tried doggy,” he scoffs out a laugh as he rubs himself “but we both know the answer to that”.

A spark of excitement runs through you and before the rational side of your brain can stop you, you get into position. Sitting up on the couch, you turn your back to Negan, perching yourself over the back of the couch with your knees on the couch cushions. Arching your back, you glance behind your shoulder and ask “Like this?”.

“Ain’t you a sight for sore eyes,” you hear his voice behind you, trying not to shiver as he lifts your dress up over your ass. The couch cushions dip as Negan rests a knee besides yours, lining himself back up.

You wait with a still breath, anticipating the stretch again. But it doesn’t come. You can feel him behind you, his body close enough to touch and yet all you feel is the heat radiating off of him.

Your body sways back, trying to feel anything. That’s when his voice meets you, low and smooth, right behind your ear. “Eager?” Negan asks.

“I just wanna see if it’ll fit” you downplay your feelings, ignoring the fluttering in your stomach. To help sooth you, Negan places gentle kisses down the side of your neck as he presses his cock into your hole.

With a deep breath, Negan pushes forward slowly, feeling your tightness resist him. “Fuck, you're tight” he grunts as he starts to push in deeper, getting the tip fully in. You try to embrace the pain, to let him go deeper but as he slowly plunges deeper into you, you swat your arm back.

“No, wait, just wait a second,” you close your eyes, trying to stay composed.

Negan stops immediately, his thick cock halfway inside you. “Easy there, sweetheart,” He coos , rubbing your back gently “I know it hurts. Just breathe through it and relax your muscles for me”.

That’s easier said than done. “I don’t know how,” you say loudly, hoping that’ll mask your groans of pain “I don’t know how to relax”.

Negan keeps his voice calm and steady, trying to help you through the discomfort. “Shh, it's okay. First time's always rough” he leans down, using a hand to turn your head sideways so he can capture your lips in a kiss.

You kiss him back to distract yourself, hungrily pressing your lips against his. Negan moves his hips slowly as you kiss him, slipping his tongue into your mouth.

Your pussy stretches, heat flooding your system until you feel something coarse. Pubic Hair. Reluctantly, you pull your mouth away from Negan and you try to look back at what’s happening.

“There you go, baby, that’s it,” Negan encourages you, slowly becoming breathless as he restrains himself. “Goddamn! All the way in, didn’t think I’d fuckin fit” he pants, giving you side a small approving rub.

You physically relax at that, knowing that this is as far as he could go. Talking you through it, Negan starts with shallow thrusts. He only moves a mere inch or two, just enough to get a feel for you without causing you too much pain.

His deep voice rumble near your ear “You're doin' great, baby”. He reaches around to circle your clit with his thumb. Your body jerks, a small whimper escaping your lips as unexpected pleasure shoots through you.

You moan again as he hits a sweet spot inside of you. Without thinking, you arch your back and push your hips back slightly to meet his shallow thrusts. Negan watches the movement, his eyes darkening.

Holding your hips firmly, he begins to move faster, his shallow thrusts turning into deep, powerful strokes. He pulls back and slams into you, his cock filling you completely. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the air as he starts to properly fuck you.

A loud moan escapes your lips, your body jolting with the intensity of his movements. “N-Negan!” You gasp, your body jolting with the intensity of his movements.

"Fuck yeah," he pants behind you, one hand gripping your hip while the other tangles in your hair. Each thrust causes the couch to creak. "Jesus, your pussy's squeezin' me so good..." His voice becomes ragged as your inner walls clamp down around him.

You whimper and moan as Negan pounds into you, his earlier promises to be gentle long forgotten. The initial soreness has given way to a surprising pleasure as his thick length stretches you with each deep thrust. You understand now why people find this so good, why people can be so hedonistic when it comes to sex.

His hand in your hair gives a sharp tug, forcing your head up. "Ah—fuck," you gasp, words tumbling out in broken syllables. "That's it... fuck, if only Daddy could see you now..." Negan grunts.

You whimper, shutting your eyes. Everything feels as though it’s happening at once. It’s all too much yet not enough. "Who's your Daddy, baby?" Negan urges as he tugs on your hair, refusing to let up.

“You! Negan, Negan, Negan!” You spew out the words, your whole body feeling the force of his dick. You feel like you’d say anything, admit to anything if it meant he’d stay inside of you longer.

Negan can feel it, that he truly owns you now as you repeat his name over and over again. You hold on to the couch as your body crashes again, another orgasm wrecking havoc over you. Somewhere along the line, you replace his name with one you’ve now awarded him. “Daddy!” You cry out again, your body still spasming.

Negan can feel his own body tense at your words, his grip tightening on your hips. "Shit," he hisses, trying to pull back. He manages to withdraw just in time, hot, sticky fluid shooting out and coating the back of your thigh.

You stay where you are, your full weight on the back of the couch. Breathing heavily, Negan puts his hand on your back to steady himself. After a few seconds, he straightens up and steps back, admiring the mess he's made on your thighs. "Well, fuck me," he mutters, shaking his head slightly.

He pulled out so fast that you barely registered the loss of his length inside you, too busy dealing with your own high. Negan watches his cum slowly start to drip down your thigh. With a low hum of approval, he leans over and plants a kiss on your shoulder. “I’ll get a towel, don’t you move” he says, his voice drifting as he walks further away.

And so, like the obedient wife you are, you wait. You blink slowly, your mind foggy from the post-sex haze, already imagining curling up in his strong arms. It’s an oddly comforting thought and something you wouldn’t mind coming into fruition.

Kneeling behind you, Negan gently wipes your thighs clean, occasionally pressing soft kisses to your skin while doing so. The contrast between his tender touch now and the ruthless dominant way he just fucked you has your heart fluttering. "Such a good girl," he mutters against your shoulder blades, placing a small kiss there.

You wait for more. Maybe he’ll scoop you up and bring you to his bed, or settle you on his lap again. Instead, you hear his footsteps walking away. You turn your head to watch him grab his empty whiskey glass from the table and head to his array of liquor. Negan pours himself another glass, not even looking back at you.

You pivot your body, settling back onto the couch cushions. Ignoring the dull ache in your stomach, you let your gaze wander around the room. Your eyebrows knit together when the realization kicks in.

“...Where did my underwear go?”.

Negan takes a quick sip of his drink, eyebrows raising as he scans the room. “Probably under the couch if they’re not on the couch” he offers up, not bothering to check himself.

With a slight huff, you slide off the couch and on to your hands and knees, looking underneath. Because this is a dignifying thing to do right after losing your virginity. Especially when you don’t even find it down there.

You hum as you get back up and look around. “Fuck” you huff, making a mental note of Negan’s lack of help.

“Got plenty of shit like that back in the wives rooms,” Negan waves off your concern “y’can have your pick of panties”. Making his way back to the couch he just fucked you on, he sits nonchalantly.

It feels silly. You hate to admit something like this but considering he’s already been inside of you, the words come out. “I know but… they were mine. I mean, mine mine, the ones I was wearing when I got here first”.

His face practically lights up with amusement. “Oh, so the panties are a memento?” Negan chuckles “Guess there’s a first time for everything”.

You give him a deadpan expression and his face turns pitiful “If I find ‘em later, I’ll send them your way, alright?”. You’re reluctant to agree but there’s not much else you can do now.

“Yeah, sure” you agree, knowing there’s not much else you can do.

He stands, kissing your head. It’s not the cuddling you expected after your first time but it seems to be all you’re going to get. “Why don’t you go get cleaned up? Have a shower back at the parlour” he feigns the suggestion. You know all too well that it’s an order.

“Right… yeah, I guess” you nod, knowing there’s nothing else to say. It stings to be cast to the side. Well, what hurts more is that you knew this would be the outcome yet you went with it anyways.You knew what Negan was like entering this room. You knew how this would end and yet you savour the kiss he gives you, wishing that maybe next time, you’ll get a bit more.

It’s the scam all of the wives must fall for.

You wander closer to the door, almost waiting for Negan to call out to you, to tell you to wait and come back to him. He doesn’t. With a small, almost silent sigh, you turn the door handle when you hear.

“Hey, sweet thing?”

“Yeah?” you sound so hopeful, you’d cringe if Negan wasn’t looking.

He vaguely points at you, that boyish grin that made you pussy wet coming back with vengeance as he gives you a wink. “You’ll be my Tuesday fuck from here on out, alright?”.

Your hope dwindles at his words, snuffing out any lingering warmth for the man. Oh. Just another fuck. His Tuesday release, to be more exact. You nod silently, retreating back into your shell as you quietly exit the room, leaving him to his whiskey and smug grin.

Negan waits a beat, ensuring the soft pad of your footsteps have faded. Only then does he lean over the couch, groping between the cushions until he finds your discarded panties. Right where he left them.

It may be your memento but it’s his trophy. Besides, needs something to show daddy… heh, your other daddy, that you’re fully cooperating with him. He needs to know his daughter is Negan’s now. Through and through. And this is the proof of that. Giving the panties a slight sniff, Negan grins.

Goddamn. He can't wait for Tuesday.

#negan fanfiction #twd negan #negan smith fanfiction #negan x you #negan x reader #negan #negan smith #negan twd #jeffrey dean morgan x reader #jdm x reader #negan smith smut #negan smut #the walking dead x reader #negan the walking dead #the walking dead negan #negan smith x you #twd smut #the walking dead fanfiction

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bad268 · 4 months ago

Note

could u do just a kimi antonelli x reader one where ollie’s is the brother pls!! i’m pretty sure u have already done one but could u just do another bc i think it would be hilarious with just ollie being grossed out by them all the time

Impromptu Meetings Pt. 2 (Andrea Kimi Antonelli X Bearman! Reader)

Fandom: RPF/Formula 1

Requested: Clearly (Took me a sec to get my barrings, but I got it)

Warnings: None

POV: Second Person (You/your/They/them)

W.C. 2440

Summary: The five times Ollie had impeccable timing.

As always, my requests are OPEN

MASTERLIST // HITLIST

<-Part 1

~~(^Pinterest)

It was sort of funny how wrong Ollie’s timing was. He just always seemed to find you and Kimi at the most inconvenient times.

The first time it happened was the week after he found out. Ollie and Kimi still had to share a hotel room for a bit because the rooms were pre-booked, and there was no space to reserve two separate rooms. Plus, it wasn’t the most cost-effective option.

Usually, they had rooms with two beds, but it wasn’t until the three of you walked into the hotel room for the week that Ollie realized one very important thing.

“Wait, where are you gonna sleep?” Ollie asked as he set his stuff on the bed closest to the window. It was an unspoken rule between the two drivers. When you didn’t answer right away, Ollie looked over his shoulder to see you setting your bag next to Kimi’s bed and laying face-first on the comforter. “No, no, no, absolutely not!”

“Where do you expect me to sleep? The bathtub?” You replied sarcastically, barely lifting your head to glare at him.

“That’s a great idea!” Ollie cheered, immediately moving to throw your stuff into the washroom. “Get off.”

“Kimi, back me up here, please,” You pleaded as you glanced at Kimi, begging him to talk some reason into Ollie.

“The bed’s big enough,” Kimi commented while shrugging his shoulders.

“Big enough?! Big enough for what!?” Ollie screeched and sent you and Kimi into fits of giggles. “No, stop it! The bed is not big enough for anything!”

“It’s big enough for Kimi and I to sleep,” You clarified after you caught your breath, “and if it makes you feel better, we could have a pillow wall between us.”

“No, you’re my cuddle buddy!” Kimi protested immediately, lying down on the bed next to you and pulling you into his arms. “I can’t sleep without you.”

“You’re not helping,” you glared at Kimi with no real heat as you tried to pry your arms free of Kimi’s hold.

“Absolutely not!” Ollie cried, moving to shove the two of you apart and stand between you with an arm pointed at each of you. “We need some rules around here. No hugging, no kissing, no cuddling, no touching around me! Got it?”

“That’s like asking you to not be British around me,” Kimi pouted in response. “We can compromise here. No excessive kissing, but I’m not giving up any hugs, cuddles, or touching. I can’t do it.”

“I will say this once: if I see it, I’ll scream.”

The second time it happened was after the sprint race at Silverstone.

Ollie should have known you would find your way to Kimi despite Ollie’s DNF at his home race. At least, that’s what you told yourself. It was Kimi’s first win, and if it had been an accident that took Ollie out, you would have reacted differently. However, it was a car problem, so you fully intended to celebrate with Kimi.

You stood in parc ferme against the barrier as rain fell lightly, nothing like it was earlier, while waiting for Kimi to pull in. You were surrounded by the Prema family and even some Mercedes people. You could’ve sworn that Toto was somewhere in the crowd behind you, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care as you watched Kimi’s number 4 Prema pull into the pitlane.

You cheered with the crowd as Kimi climbed out of his car and went to get weighed first. Once he did that, he was ready to celebrate. He ran and jumped into the arms of the team as they all shouted and slapped him on the back. Then, he took his helmet off and handed it to you, trading it for a water bottle.

After he took a drink, he put the cap back on and wrapped an arm around your shoulder, resting his head on your shoulder as he let out a breath. You wrapped your arm around him tightly, pressing a kiss to the side of his head.

“You did so good! I’m so proud of you!” You praised as he turned his head to look at you, blushing.

“Grazie,” He muttered, quickly moving up to kiss your cheek before dropping back to hide his face in your neck. He sighed as almost all of the tension of the race left his body. That is, until someone screamed right beside you.

You jumped away from Kimi, letting out a quick yelp in response, too, as you spun around to see who was screaming bloody murder beside you.

“Ollie! What the fuck?!”

“I told you if I saw it, I would scream,” He replied simply, glaring at Kimi.

“Oh, grow up, Oliver,” You groaned, rolling your eyes as you went back to Kimi. You moved a hand up to cup his cheek before whispering, “He’s just jealous and lonely.”

Then, you planted one more kiss to his lips before Ollie’s screaming resumed, but you couldn’t care less.

The third time Ollie’s timing served him well (or bad if you ask him) was after Kimi’s first feature race win in Budapest.

Ollie said he was going out with some friends after the race, so you knew this was the perfect opportunity to get Kimi alone in the hotel room to do your favorite thing. Movie night.

It was the only way to celebrate a feature race win, in your opinion, since you and Kimi were both introverts. Ordering room service, binging whatever movies caught your attention, and cuddling on the small pullout couch the hotel had was your guys’ idea of a perfect date night.

You were rolling through the credits of the second movie of the night, and you were positive that you would not make it through another movie.

“Why are you so tired?” Kimi joked as he pulled you closer to him, “It’s not like you raced today.”

“I had to put up with you and Ollie today,” You teased back as you lifted your head off his chest to meet his eyes. “Neither of you can sit still for a minute! I’m sorry, but you two are exhausting, just saying.”

“All in a day’s work,” Kimi laughed, moving his hand to bring yours up to his lips to kiss the back of your hand.

“No, not in a day’s work,” You pulled your hand from his and gently slapped it against the side of his face. “You shouldn’t try to make me tired. I barely get to spend time with you as it is. I don’t wanna be tired. I just wanna be with you.”

“You’re always with me,” Kimi replied as he pulled you back down to his chest, dropping kisses on the top of your head. “Well, maybe not, but Ollie’s not here for once, so we can do whatever we want.”

“I just wanna stay here in your arms,” You sighed, already closing your eyes, “I could stay here forever.”

“You two are disgusting.”

“Ollie, kindly learn to shut up.”

The fourth time it happened, Ollie started seeing that MAYBE you and Kimi were cute. It was right after Kimi’s free practice crash.

Ollie wasn’t racing in the session, but he was watching from the Ferrari garage when he heard the screeching of tyres. His first instinct was to look at the screens, and his jaw dropped when he saw a Mercedes fly into the gravel. His first thought went to Kimi’s well-being, and then it jumped to you, who stood in the Mercedes garage for the first time. At that moment, he wanted to reassure you, but he wasn’t allowed to leave the Ferrari garage until after the session.

You had met Kimi in the medical centre as soon as you heard he was going to get checked for a concussion. You knew he still had qualifying later, and this was going to be a massive hit to his confidence. You leaned against the doorway, out of the way of the medical personnel, as he got checked over. When he got all clear, you walked in and swapped places with the nurse. You immediately grabbed his hand and brushed some of his curls out of his face.

“I knew it. I’m not ready for this,” Ollie heard as he rounded the corner in the medical centre. Immediately, he knew you were already there with Kimi. Ollie had heard a few similar conversations between the two of you up to this point. “I’m just not cut out for Formula 1 yet.”

“Oh, a single crash is determining your fate now?” Ollie heard you say sarcastically. He moved so he could peek through the doorway to see the two of you. You were holding his face in your hands as you tilted his head around, scanning for any injuries. “I thought the nurse said no brain damage? Why are you spouting nonsense? Do we need to reevaluate you before qualifying?”

“No, I’m fine,” Kimi groaned, but there was a prominent smile on his face as he looked at you with heart eyes. Truly, it made Ollie want to vomit, but he was not going to ruin this moment. “It just sucks. This was my first time in a Formula 1 car-”

“Exactly,” You cut him off, squishing his face as you leaned your forehead against his. “This was your first time. I don’t think anyone’s first time has ever been sunshine and rainbows.”

“I’d argue-”

“I’m not talking about that, dumbass,” You snapped, shaking his head to stop him from talking. “First time in a Formula 1 car, no one had a perfect performance. Trust me.”

That’s when Ollie decided to turn now before he heard anything else he didn't want to know about his sibling and teammate.

The fifth time was the nail in the coffin: Qatar.

After the previous year’s race and multiple drivers needing to go to medical, whose bright idea was it to send junior drivers around? You couldn’t fathom that choice. Sure, the race was interesting and fun to watch. However, nothing would outweigh the driver’s safety, and as you stood in the back of the Prema truck with two fans and icepacks, you really wished you could have a word with the person who made that choice.

Ollie was looking for you. He just won the sprint race, and you had always been his party buddy when he won. It was standard procedure. He couldn’t find you at the barrier or during the podium celebration. However, he knew Kimi was struggling during the race, and at one point, Kimi didn’t finish the race. Ollie thought he knew exactly where you were.

Ollie walked through the trailer with his champagne and trophy straight to the room he had shared with Kimi for their breaks, and sure enough, there you were. However, so was Kimi, and did he look worse than Ollie thought. Ollie thought he was struggling during the race as he nearly dropped the trophy and champagne on the floor, but Kimi didn’t even look like he could stand.

Kimi was sitting in the corner on one of the chairs with his head in his hands with his elbows resting on his knees. You were kneeling right next to him, rubbing up and down his back and making sure the wet rag on the back of his neck didn’t fall. You had set up a side table with two fans in front of Kimi, and they were running full blast.

Ollie noted that the entire room felt significantly cooler than the rest of the trailer. He quietly walked into the room and carefully set his stuff down before going to the washroom to peel off his race suit. When he swapped into his Ferrari kit and was about to leave the washroom, he stopped short as he heard you and Kimi whispering between yourselves.

“You’re not feeling so warm anymore,” You muttered as you put the back of your hand to his forehead. The entire time you were kneeling beside him, neither of you said a thing, and neither of you moved a muscle. When Kimi began shifting slightly and rolling his shoulders, you decided to check in on him. “You feeling any better?”

“A little,” He sighed, leaning back in the chair to look over at you, the rag falling to to the ground. “Probably wasn’t the best idea to not eat anything before this track.”

“You said you ate breakfast!” You gasped, shooting up to stand in front of Kimi and leaning your weight on the armrests of his chair. “I made you promise one thing, and it was that you would eat so this exact situation would never happen.”

“I’m sorry,” He replied sheepishly, glancing up at you with a small smile. “You slept in, so I didn’t have my breakfast buddy.”

“Take Ollie with you!” You complained as you leaned back against the side table that fans were on. “I based my personality on him anyway. We’re practically the same person.”

“Don’t say the person I’m dating is the same person as my teammate,” Kimi groaned as he stood up to loom over you and wrap his arms around your waist while yours went to his shoulders. “I just like your company more.”

“Ouch,” Ollie accidentally said out loud, and since the washroom was right next to where you and Kimi were, of cours,e you heard it.

“Ollie, the eavesdropper,” You chuckled, looking expectedly at the door. Slowly, the door opened, and there was Ollie’s guilty face, knowing he had been caught. “Anything to say for yourself.”

“Uh, find your own personality?” Ollie joked as he looked between you two. A beat passed before all three of you burst into laughter. It took a few minutes for all of you to calm down, but when you did, Ollie broke the silence, “Okay, for real though, you’re feeling better, right? We still have a win to celebrate, and it’s not much of a celebration without my best friend and number 1 cheerleader.”

“Did you just call me your best friend?” Kimi gasped in a teasing tone, leaving you to face Ollie. “And to think you were so against me being with your sibling in the first place, but now you’re calling me your best friend.”

“Don’t make me regret it,” Ollie joked back, but you and Kimi knew there was still some truth behind his words. “I can still push you off track if you two go south. We’re both in F1 next year, so you’re not getting rid of me.”

“Ollie Bearman, the official third wheeler.”

“Oh, shut up.”

~~~~~

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mersei47 · 6 months ago

Text

finally a proper oc art of mine. Here's "Baron", the first gen grunt that audi happened to pick up from the Nowhere. After that audi decided to adopt hire them under AAHW

more story of them below if yall wanna read

- the perk of being gen 1 is that he able to learn anything quickly so audi just task him to do other works to thats not just AAHW's general stuff, including keeping an eye on Phobos back when the nexus project was still developing as initially planned (but discharged after phobos "died" because audi think it was a waste of time for Baron to continue working there)

- between these time baron got to encounter N51 too, since Im still not sure what is N51's purpose (from arena mode) so Im gonna make shit up, N51 leader is the first gen grunt and they wants to gain control of the machine. they also against auditor too because they dont like the idea of higher power messing with mortals. (N51 whole character boiled down too "I hate gods") one of their many tasks is to find other first gen grunts and there are 2 options, its either recruiting that grunt to their faction to help achieve the purpose (first gens are powerful afterall) or kill them if they defy. Baron barely able to get away from N51 in one piece but he got a scar from a fight too (audi is maaddddd)

- THIS BULLET POINT IS VEEEERY SELF-INDULGENT but I imagine the time when baron was still at nexus core he got to meet deimos (yeah the moon brothers headcanon is in too) and he is one of a few people that phobos ask to help teach dei the fighting stuff (I imagine phobos trust baron to do it because they are both first gens)

#madness combat #madness combat oc #myart #my oc #I decide to combine my other oc merle and baron together because they have so many overlap lore together #I think of them so often these days so I draw them

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lancermylove · 1 year ago

Text

Dark Side of Dating Him 2 (Scenarios)

Fandom: Obey Me

Pairing: Demons x gn!Reader

Warning: Detailed warnings before each scenario, but the scenarios are dark.

Requested by: Anon

Prompt: I would love to see the even darker / more situational stuff for the demons 😳 or at least some of the bros

A/N: If you get sad easily, proceed with caution. If you like to feel the burn, enjoy. 😂

Series: [1]

———————————————

Warning: Angst, spoiler from OG.

You sat on the edge of the bed, pouring your heart out to Belphie. Your voice cracked with each word as you recounted the emotional turmoil you had recently in the past. It was something deeply personal that you had never shared with anyone else. When you finally turned your head to look at him with tear-filled eyes, hoping he would understand, you saw him fast asleep. Frustration boiled inside you. How could he fall asleep when you were sharing something so important? Tears rolled down your cheeks as you shook his shoulder, but he remained oblivious, lost in his dreams.

The following week was supposed to be special—a date you had planned with Belphie for your first anniversary. You had looked forward to it all week, imagining how wonderful it would be to spend time with him. But the hours passed, and the meeting time came and went. Belphie didn't answer your message or pick up your calls.

Somewhere in your heart, you worried something had happened to him, but your mind already knew why. A quick check of his room confirmed your worst fears: he was still asleep. The carefully planned date ended in disappointment, leaving you feeling neglected and unimportant. Later, when he finally woke up, he muttered a half-hearted apology for missing the date. His words lacked sincerity, and he clearly didn’t understand how much it meant to you.

A few weeks later, you found yourself in front of an enraged demon who hated that a human was in Devildom - a hater of Diavolo. Panic surged through your veins as you fled and desperately dialed your boyfriend's number. The phone rang endlessly, but he never picked up. Your heart pounded in your chest, fear gripping you tighter with each passing second. With no other options, you called the older brothers.

They arrived in time to help you before the demon could hurt you more or kill you. Exhausted and shaken, you returned to the House of Lamentation, your body aching from the ordeal. You headed straight to Belphie's room, your emotions a tumultuous mix of fear, anger, and betrayal. As expected, he lay in bed, barely awake. Even after he noticed your tear-streaked face, disheveled hair, and minor cuts on your skin, he remained lying down.

"What's wrong?" he asked calmly, his voice lacking genuine concern.

That was the final note. Your emotions broke, and you yelled at him in a cracking voice. "I almost died today because you wouldn't answer your phone! I was in danger, and you were just sleeping!"

"Sorry."

A weak apology was all he could offer, and the next instant, his eyes shut again. He was asleep once more. You stood there, stunned and heartbroken, staring at his sleeping form. Did he not care that you had nearly died? The memory of your past death at his hands flashed before your eyes, reminding you of the cruel reality. What else were you expecting from someone who had once killed you? The weight of your disillusionment settled heavily in your heart as you turned away, feeling more alone than ever before.

For the rest, visit my website: Dark Side of Dating Him 2

———————————————

➣ Please visit my website for the full masterlist!

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nosyp · 2 months ago

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Parents With a Twist

Photocreds = @/charluiu

Warnings = friends w benefits, no smut srry, sex before marriage, girl & boy bestfriends, fem! reader, pregnant reader, angsty stuff, jealous friend

Pairing = Michael Afton x fem! reader

Summary = The aftermath of the fight lead to the both of you distancing yourselves from each other. Will you eventually figure it out in the end?

Word count = 4.2k words

Part 1

Nothing was said for a while. None of you bothered to even say anything. Michael and you just stood there, wide-eyed and shocked.

“H-holy shit… this is… this is… fine!” he says. You can tell by his expression that it wasn’t fine though. It was so very clear that he was not fine with it. He was angry. But he was trying to cover it up, you could tell since he wasn’t doing too well of a job in hiding it.

“W-what…? Is that a joke?” you open your mouth to ask, looking at him in concern.

He grasps the pregnancy test hard in his hand, his nails starting to dig into his palms. “No! No! B-but we haven’t even got married though…”

The words register in your head. Wait. Marriage?

“What? Since when did you care about that stuff?” you ask.

“Since… uhm… right. I don’t care. My bad…” he replies, following a huge pause. “W-we haven’t even told our parents about each other, and we haven’t prepared anything for the baby, and we haven’t even-”

“Michael, stop. You're just making it worse.” you interrupt him. “And it’s not like we’re underage or something, we’re college students.”

“College students who are SUPPOSED busy studying by the way,” he adds with emphasis.

“Shut up. I’ve never seen you study even a minute,” you mention.

Michael lets out a shaky laugh, running a hand through his hair. Your words clearly flew over his head. "College students who are busy not having kids," he corrects, his voice tight.

Your stomach twists. "And whose fault is that, Michael?"

His head snaps up. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

You crossed your arms and glared at him. "You’re acting like this just happened out of nowhere. Like we weren’t both involved."

"I'm not saying that!" He throws his hands up. "I'm just saying— fuck, this is insane! We can’t handle this! We’re not ready!"

"And you think I am?" Your voice rises, shaking with frustration. "You think I wanted to find out like this? That I planned this?!"

Michael exhales loudly while pacing back and forth, seemingly looking for a solution. "We— we have options."

Silence. Your chest tightens.

"Oh," you say coldly. "So that’s where you’re going with this."

His jaw visibly clenches and he opens his mouth. "I don’t know what I’m saying, okay? I just— fuck. We don’t even know if we should— if we can—"

"Finish that sentence, Michael." you demand him. "Go on."

He doesn’t dare to. All he can do is stare, faint flashes of guilt in his eyes, and it makes your blood boil.

"Actually, y’know what?" You scoff, turning away. "Forget it. I should've known you’d react like this."

Michael takes a step forward, he’s desperate. "I’m not— just listen—"

"No, you listen!" You whirl around. "You don’t get to crash out like you’re the only victim here. And you definitely don’t get to talk about options like this isn’t real! Like I’m not standing here, actually trying to hold it together!"

His breathing is heavy, erratic. "I’m scared too." The words come out strangled, like he barely forces them out.

And that— that— is what makes you pause.

Because behind all his frustration, under the panic, there’s something else. Something… that shows he looks lost.

And for the first time since this started, you realize that maybe you’re not the only one who feels like their world just shattered.

But right now? Right now, you’re too angry to care.

"Yeah," you say bitterly. "Join the fucking club."

And then you leave him standing there, test still clenched in his fist, door slamming shut behind you.

—

This thing is weird. This whole thing is weird.

It had been a few days since the fight, if you could even call it that. During those days, he spent them at his friend’s dorm rather than your shared one so you’ve never had the opportunity to talk to him again.

So far, the only updates you’ve been getting about him was from your friends. Right now, the friend group was practically torn into two after you two decided to distance yourselves from each other.

And now?

Now Michael is gone. Not physically because he’s still on campus, still breathing the same air, but he may as well have disappeared off the face of the earth.

And you’re not sure if you want to see him anyway.

Because the last time you spoke, it ended with you storming out and him looking at you as if you were a stranger he just met.

“Have you talked to him?”

Emma’s voice pulls you out of your thoughts. She’s watching you carefully, her fingers wrapping around her coffee cup as she brings it towards her face to take a sip.

You scoff. “What do you think?”

She sighs, expecting that answer. “He’s… not handling this well.”

Oh?

You almost laugh. He’s not handling this well? He’s the one who brought up the idea of getting rid of it. The one who distanced himself from you like you were something ruined. The one who—

You exhale slowly, letting yourself calm down. Your hands gripped the edge of the table tightly, nails starting to leave marks on the wood. “Neither am I.”

Emma looks away. “Yeah.”

Silence stretches between you two. It’s heavy and suffocating. You were expecting your friends to be a getaway from the feeling but it’s the same feeling anyway— you can’t escape it.

Because that’s the truth, isn’t it?

Neither of you are handling this well. Both of you are running in opposite directions, pretending you don’t hear the sound of something shattering between you. You two were like perpendicular lines, meeting once at a point and getting distant after it.

But sooner or later, one of you is going to have to pick up the pieces.

And you don’t know if you’re going to have to be the one to do it.

“So… what are you planning to do about uhm… this?” your lovely friend asks. You aren’t mad at her but you are kinda mad at everyone right now.

You stare down at your hands, fiddling with them as if that would help the situation.

What are you planning to do?

It’s the question that’s been looming in your head since that night. Since you stormed out. Since you realized Michael wasn’t ready for this and/or maybe he never would be.

But neither were you so not now.

Your throat tightens. But it’s not suffocating, only a bit maybe. “I don’t know,” you admit.

Emma stares at you for a while before nodding lightly. It’s almost like she understands, but there’s a flicker of something in her eyes. You don’t know if it was hesitation, or maybe pity. But it makes you feel small.

You exhale the breath you didn’t know you were holding and leaned back on your chair. “Are you gonna tell me I should talk to him?”

She frowns. “Shouldn’t you?”

You scoff. “What’s the point? He made himself very clear.”

“That he’s scared?”

The words hit like a slap. Like a hard punch.

You clench your jaw this time. “That he doesn’t want this,” you correct, a lump starting to form in your throat.

Emma doesn’t say anything right away. Instead, she stirs her coffee by shaking the mug ever so softly, letting the liquid swirl. Then, quietly, she says, “I think he’s just scared of losing you.”

Your breath catches.

And for a moment, something inside you falters.

Losing you?

That night, all you saw was his frustration— his anger, his panic. But maybe, underneath all of that, was fear.

Fear of what this meant for both of you.

Fear of what it meant for him.

And maybe… fear of what it meant for you together.

You shake your head, trying to push away the annoying thoughts.

“Well, he has a very funny way of showing it,” you mutter, shoving your hands into your jacket pockets in an attempt to find warmth.

Emma only sighs, knowing that arguing with you is only going to make it worser than it already is.

The two of you sit in silence for a while, the cafe’s soft hum filling the gaps of silence between you two.

In your mind, you think you should probably head back to the dorm soon… back to your mess, your thoughts, your unanswered questions.

But as you glance out the window, you freeze.

Michael is there.

Standing across the street, hands shoved into his hoodie pockets, there is Michael. He looks like he's been standing there for a while.

Watching you.

Your stomach twists.

Emma follows your gaze and exhales. “Hmm, I guess it’s not just you who doesn’t know what to do.”

You swallow hard. Because suddenly, for the first time since this all started, you’re not sure if you want to run away.

Or if you’re finally ready to face him.

—

Michael’s POV

It’s been a few days and I’ve just been hiding away rather than owning up to our mistake. I don’t blame Y/N for being mad at all, bringing up the idea of abortion probably wasn’t the best idea.

I just needed some time away from everything, I’m sure she’d understand right?

She will. She will.

I try to convince myself.

I’m standing across the street from the cafe she’s in. It’s quiet, pretty much no one there besides her and Emma. It’s probably a good spot to talk.

Swallowing the lump of guilt in my throat, I took a step forward. And another. And another.

Now I’m here in front of her table.

—

Back to your POV

“Mind if I sit here?” Michael asks, hand already seated on the top of the chair back.

“Yes, of course.” Emma is quick to reply. “Anyways! I’ve got to get going now, my uhhh other friends are calling. See ya! Bye!”

You expected her to dip as soon as she found an opportunity to let you two talk and she not-so-gracefully did so.

She abruptly gets up from her chair and picks up her purse to dash out the front door of the cafe, leaving Michael and her bill with you. She sends you a quick wink on her way out, that you wished you missed.

Moving on, you finally get the courage to look at Michael.

“So… how are you?” you ask awkwardly, following it with a small laugh.

He shifts in his seat uncomfortably, eyes avoiding yours. “It’s… okay… I guess” he replies with his hand rubbing the back of his head as he tries to put on a smile.

It doesn’t mean anything. You felt as if you were back to the day you two first met. The day you two first met was in high school when he had just entered. You were assigned with the task of touring him around school, and you did so gladly. He was polite— as he usually was with new people.

From the first meeting, you knew you were meant to be. Even though it sounds cheesy, it was sweet.

But you digress.

The air was thick and unpleasant. Both of you sat there exchanging glances, waiting for the other to start talking.

…

“It’s uhmm… a nice day today,” Michael says all of a sudden. A little small talk wouldn’t hurt you figured, could be a way to warm the atmosphere.

Your head perks up at him and you respond, “Yep, quite nice today. Even though it’s been…”. You stop talking, letting him fill in the gaps in your speech.

“Raining? The rain just does that to people sometimes.” He continues. It wasn’t what you wanted to say at all.

“I— uhm… yeah,” you say, ultimately letting the conversation die again. You debate with yourself whether you should discuss the elephant in the room or let you two simmer in the awkwardness. Nevertheless, you wait for a few moments before opening your mouth. “So—”

“We have to—” he coincidentally says at the same time you started. “Y-you can go first.”

You let out an exhausted sigh (whether it was of relief or fear, you don’t know). “I-I-I… I aborted the baby…”

…

“What?” is the only thing he says in concern before he starts. “W-why would you do that?!?! I thought we were going to talk before doing anything!”

“W-what? You literally suggested it first!” You exclaim

“That doesn’t mean I wanted you to do it!” He answers angrily.

—

“Y/N!!!!” A voice starts to fade in. “Come out!! It’s been a long time since you came out of that little cave of yours!”

“Hmm?” You sit up on your bed, still groggy. “What the hell?” You murmur to yourself as you start to get out of bed.

It was just a dream. That was one hell of a realistic dream—- hit a bit too close to home. Because you would’ve never done something like that without thinking. That was just a dream right?

Everything felt so real. From the way he talked to the way the surroundings moved. But that’s the thing about dreams, you really never know if it’s one.

You peeped through the peephole in your door to see who was outside; it was Nicole. She was another good friend of yours aside from Emma.

The soft click of the door was followed with an unexpected but kind of expected hug from her. She embraced you just like a good friend would, sending courses of warmth into your bloodstreams.

“It’s been a while. W-what brings you here?” You mutter sleepily.

She lets go of the hug and wraps her hand around your arms. “I’m here to talk to you.”

You ushered her into the living room to let her sit down while you prepared a drink for her. “Hey, what would you like to drink? Coffee… tea? Anything?”

“Hmmm,” she hums as she taps her finger on her chin. “I’d like some coffee actually. Pure black, no milk or sugar.”

She was never one to drink black coffee, especially without any milk or sugar, so why so sudden? Has it been that long since you two last met?

Nonetheless, you still replied with your usual, “Alright,” before starting on her drink.

Once you finished, the coffee was placed on her side of the table and you sat down beside her on the couch.

“So… what did you come here for? To talk about what exactly?” You finally ask her, sparing no time to mess around.

“Hmm, it has come to my attention that you are… pregnant.” She starts.

Your body perks up once you hear the word “pregnant”.

How does she know? She lives in a completely different area, with a different time zone, with different norms, with different cultures… So how the hell does she know?

“H-how do you know…?” you ask.

“Heard it from someone. Anyways, is Michael here?” she asks, eyes scanning the room for any sign of him.

“No, we’re currently arguing about the… y’know…” your words drift. “He’s not here.”

“Mmm, whatever, I just wanted to tell you that I really really think you should abor- I mean shouldn’t go through with the baby. I wouldn’t want you experiencing teenage pregnancy.” she continues.

“I-I- Wait- First of all, who told you? Secondly, why? And last, I’m not a teenager.” you stutter a bit in your answer.

“Yes I know, but I do feel like you are way too young to be tying the knot and having a baby y’know?” She replies, voice laced with a sweet venom.

Her words hit you like a backhanded compliment. Like advice with an underlying meaning.

“I-I can take care of myse—” you try to say before she hovers her finger on your lips to signal for you to stop.

“Nonono, if you really do end up bounding yourself to Michael forever, just think about what might happen. You’re both young, you have so so so much time left in your life. You can’t spend it on a baby,” she interrupts you.

“Listen, I really do love Michael and you. A-and I appreciate you coming here b-but this might also be my chance to open a new chapter. Plus, I think this should be a Michael and me thing. This is not your problem Nicky,” you argue back.

Her facial expressions start to twist as she listens to you, then she opens her mouth to speak: “I understand that you two know each other for a while already but this feels way too much for something so feeble like this. Please listen to me too.”

“W-what are you saying?” you ask for reassurance.

“I’m saying… you shouldn’t do this. Especially not with Michael. How are you so sure he’s the right guy for you? And your baby?” she adds.

She seems way too adamant about her place on this. She’s pretty much convinced that getting rid of your baby and Michael is the best choice.

“You’ve already met Michael, it’s not like he’s a bad person or anything either.” you try to convince her otherwise.

“I’m suggesting what’s best for you Y/N. I’m your friend of how many years? To my knowledge, it’s way more than you’ve known Michael.” she returns, her hands placed atop yours… her finger slowly stroking yours in false comfort.

“I get what you’re trying to say but please let us figure it out. This Michael and I’s baby, not yours. This isn’t your responsibility as much as it is mine.” you say.

“Gosh darn it. You’ve always been stubborn like this. I’m TRYING to help you but it seems you still think I can’t give good advice.” she spits.

“Stubborn? Excuse me?” you scoff. “I’m not stubborn; you’ve just never given good advice. Everytime I do listen to you, everything bad that can happen happens.”

“That was because you did it wrong!” her voice starts to get louder.

“Wrong? I listened to your advice and followed it. Even if it wasn’t perfect, it shouldn’t have affected me as harshly as it did.” you say, almost on the verge of losing your mind.

It always felt like she had something against you, as if she was always trying to ruin your life in every way possible.

She sighs loudly and harshly before facing you again. “I just want to help you!”

“N-no no no! This is MY problem, please let me figure this out for myself. I don’t need another person barging in to dictate everything and make this way harder than it should be. Please just get out and leave me be.” You start to get tired of her bullshit. Sure she was your friend of a long time but you couldn’t deal with it.

She looks at you in a fake shock. “Woah calm down, do you have some kind of animosity towards me?”

“No no! Just leave. I’m not in the best state of mind right now.” You start to usher her into the front door of your apartment.

“We’ve been friends for years, you can’t do this Y/N.” she states.

Is she messing with you? Was she genuinely worried for you or does she want something else from you?

“My goodness, just go away!” you whisper-shouted following by slamming the door right in front of her.

She hits the door violently with the palm of her hand. “HEY! You can’t do this! C’mon, let’s just talk like how we used to!” she yells from the other side of the door.

You put your hands over your ears to subdue her voice, and it does help, temporarily.

—

You were walking down the roads on your way back to your place. Then, you spotted your group of friends from the distance. They were at the local cafe that you always used to go with them to.

They fortunately spotted you too and gestured for you to come to them.

Ring!

The bell rang when you entered past the threshold.

“Hey guys!” you greeted them cheerfully. That was before you spotted her. “And hey… Nicole.”

“Hey Y/N, Nicole’s here. She said she wanted to surprise us, and here she is.” Emma says.

“Come sit,” Cody, another friend of yours, invites. He taps the seat next to him.

Sighing, you take the seat. Then silence. None of you had anything to say, so none of you did.

Then, Nicole speaks up. “Soo… what are your guys' opinions on being parents?”

All of their heads turned to look at Nicole. Some in curiosity. Some in concern.

“What brought up that question?” Cody asks, raising up one eyebrow in suspicion.

Emma looked as if she’d seen a ghost. To your knowledge, only Emma, Nicole, Michael and some other friends knew about it. They, the whole friend group, knew something was up but you’ve only bothered to tell the three people.

“Are you pregnant, Nicole?” asked Emma. Nicole and Emma were close but not as close as you were with Emma.

Nicole’s back stiffened and she scoffed loudly, visibly taken aback by the question. “Excuse me? Not me but someone here.”

“Ohh sure.” Emma hums, disappointment present in her voice.

You half expected Nicole to straight up announce it to everyone, but fortunately for you though, she didn’t. Despite wanting to keep it private, you’d much prefer for someone else to break the news honestly.

They stared each other down, none of them breaking eye contact. The air started to get tense, thick with an intense feeling. It started to feel suffocating, choking.

Nicole forces a small smile. “I was just curious, y’know? I mean… we’re not getting any younger. Right?” she says, her tone is soft, but the way her eyes move to you is anything but.

Emma tilts her head slightly upon hearing her words. “Right but the thing is… you never cared about any of this stuff before.”

Nicole shrugs and responds with, “People change.”

You feel your stomach turn. Her words are too aggressive. She wants someone to say it for her, but no one does. Not yet.

“I honestly think being a parent sounds hard, especially for people who just reached adulthood like us.” Cody finally says, breaking the silence with a nervous laugh. “Like… why would we trap ourselves with children when we’ve just earned the freedom to live alone…”

“Or,” Emma cuts in, “it could be an accident which I’m sure you guys would understand right?”

Nicole snorts. “Right. But this is probably not a mistake. Kids aren’t mistakes.”

Your fists clench beneath the table. You don’t even notice the marks your nails put on your palms until Emma gently places her hand over yours.

“She’s not gonna say it,” Emma whispers close to your ear.

You whisper back, “Good. I don’t need her to.”

Nicole sits back, arms crossed, and eyes you with a smirk. “Anyway, just something to think about is the responsibility and commitment. Who’s really ready for that, right?”

You look up. This time, you meet her gaze firmly.

“Mistakes happen,” you say firmly. “Some of us just can’t run from it because it’s hard.”

Everyone goes quiet again. Cody awkwardly sips his coffee.

Emma nudges you. “You wanna get out of here?”

You nod. “Yeah. Let’s go.”

You stand up, and Emma’s already gathering her things. Nicole’s eyes follow you, her expression unreadable.

“Wait— Y/N,” Nicole says, hand reaching out for you.

“You okay?” Emma asks softly.

You exhale. “I will be.”

And just as you’re about to cross the street—

There’s a soft buzz from your phone in your pocket.

Michael [6:00 PM]: can we talk?

You stare at the screen.

Then look up at the sky. You can’t run away from it now.

—

You’re sitting down in the apartment now; Yes, the same apartment you share with him. This time, you guarantee you’re getting some sort of results.

Click.

The door is open.

“Michael…” you breathe. “Let’s talk.”

He finally turns around to look at you, finally not facing the door. “Right.”

You gesture at him to take a seat across from you at the dinner table and he does so. The atmosphere was very tense, very thick.

“I— I think we should keep it…” you start the conversation off, sparing no time messing around.

His eyes widen slightly and his jaw clenches. “I- uh- why exactly…?”

“It’s a sin according to religion if we get rid of it, plus, maybe this will actually… be good for us. Y’know… like learning responsibility and we’ve only got a few years left of college anyway.” you explain.

He lets out a sigh that you can tell he’s been holding in. “I-I’ll do anything you want. You’re the one holding it, I’ll support anything. If you want to keep it, let’s do it.”

And just like that, it was finished. Or was it?

Nicole [8:34 PM]: what the fuck is wrong with you?

#michael afton #fnaf #five nights at freddy's #michael afton x reader #michael afton fnaf #fivenightsatfreddys #fnaf x reader #afton x reader #michael x reader #no more after ts sorry

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