#it... probably also has something to do with the number of scenes in it... this requires further analysis.

[allhailbuckybarnes]

the love confession

summary: bob can’t stand it. you’re just too fucking pretty. you distract him, you make every horrible, ugly thought dissipate. he craves it. he knows you, and you know him. it feels right, and his feelings are so strong he doesn’t know what to do anymore. he has no idea that you feel the same. that you ache for his comfort, for his feelings to reflect your own.

but a week of strained normalcy, a build up of emotional tension, and a failed mission lead to more than innocent, friendly thoughts. bob’s limits are reached on waiting for the right damn moment.

he has to tell you. you want to tell him. let’s watch each of you try ;)

warnings: fluff/smut, longing, pining, some use of y/n, dirty talk, unprotected p in v sex, dirty thoughts, tension, body worship, bob is down bad, bob is a MAN, you are just as down bad, yelena is number one supporter, idiots in love, confusion, jealousy, a pinch of angst, just playing: so so much angst, possessive bob, oral sex (m&f receiving), canon-typical violence, nightmares, anger, hurt/comfort, reader gets hurt badly (more on that later), bob is not okay, fear, love, please just kiss alr you two

authors note: this chapter is literally gonna kill me… i’m screaming and kicking my feet. it's giving just kiss alr.

also, bob is a man, okay guys? i'm not sure if y'all love me making him a little more confident and manly, but he is definitely not a child. just the fact that he has been through all the shit he has, and is still a gentleman is enough to make him a man in my eyes. but yeah, anyways, i hope you like soft dom bob... he's still desperate for you i promise.

wednesday and the almost kiss (chapter three)

“Aww, this is so cute guys.” A distant voice chimed. Your head felt the lightest it had in a while.

Your body was curled into something warm. You nuzzled further towards the warmth, and two other voices exclaimed, “Aww!!!”

Wait—last night.

Where’d you end up?

You and Bob, reading, talking, did you fall asleep?

You shoot up—face-to-face with the whole team. Your eyes are unbelievably wide.

John and Bucky stand with their arms crossed, taking in the scene.

Ava and Yelena have a goddamn Polaroid camera out and are snapping disposables left and right. They giggle at your reaction.

And Alexei, well, he’s eating popcorn.

What is it, 7:00?

Bobby is blissfully unaware, snoring softly below you. His floppy brown hair is sprawled across your pillows. You look at his legs, still slightly entangled in yours. He looks so cute.

“So… book club huh?” Walker asks pointedly.

You turn red, “shut up John.” You toss a pillow in his general direction, and he catches it. Of course.

Ava comes to your rescue, “Well, as cute and blackmailish as this has been, we should probably leave them be before Bobby wakes up and freaks out.”

Yelena murmurs in agreement, making sure to snap a couple of last photos. You stick your tongue out at her and then return your gaze to Bob’s sleeping figure.

They file out, Alexei whisper-shouting “You go, girl!” As the door closes. You sigh. What a morning.

Deciding not to cuddle back up to Bobby, you slip the rest of the way out of bed. Your mind is racing at how you’d slept the whole night with no nightmares. How you’d slept the night with Bobby.

Robert Reynolds slept in the same bed as you.

You could cry.

You quickly get in the shower. Jazzed about what had just taken place. They could blackmail you all they wanted. Your crush had stayed the night. “Hell yes, Y/n!!” You cheer to yourself.

He was so hot in his sleep. His arms all wrapped around your middle, holding you to his chest.

You sighed in contentment. Why can’t it always be like this?

After your shower, you wrap yourself up in a towel and walk back into your room.

Bob’s back is to you, and he’s stretching, shirt abandoned to the floor.

You gasp out of instinct, holy lord those back muscles.

He turns at the sound, and is met with your barely covered figure, “Oh my god! I’m sorry!” He exclaims and slaps a hand to his eyes.

You instantly burst into laughter. His brows furrow, “what?”

“You’re cute, you know that, Bobby?” You giggle as you walk straight past him and into your closet. He turns his body, following the sound of your voice. Now you could see his front. Goodness gracious.

Okay so now you were admitting that you thought he was cute. Man, you were on a roll.

He smiles lopsidedly and stammers, “Thank you…”

You throw on some quick workout clothes, silently cursing yourself for not bringing them into the bathroom. You’d probably scared the life out of Bob.

Worth it to see that v-line.

You wonder back out to your room, Bob has put his shirt on again, damn it, and his cheeks are a dusty pink. You smile at him, “How’d you sleep?”

He rubs at his neck, “The best I’ve slept in years. You must be my lucky charm.”

You laugh and hug him. His arms wrap right back around you. It felt so natural, so right. He smiles into your hair, and without a second thought, he kisses the top of your head.

You both freeze. That was not a friendly kiss.

You slowly let go of him, and when you're face to face again, his cheeks have regained the pink pigment. He smiles awkwardly, but his eyes flicker from your nose to each of your eyes. He finally glances at your lips, but you pull away.

God, I'm a pussy.

"Wanna come to the gym with me?" You stutter, breathless.

He nods, his eyes are wide, and he looks like he's debating between running out your door or smashing his mouth against yours.

"Let's spar," he croaks. He would feel your body against his, one way or another.

~~

Bob finally stopped staring at your lips and went to change into some workout clothes. He thought about kissing you. He wished he had. Your lips looked so damn soft, warm, inviting.

He was gonna die if he held in his feelings any longer.

The truth is, he felt you fall asleep on his chest, and he didn't want to leave.

Your soft hums and sweet little twitches made him want to steal you away from the rest of the world. He watched your nostrils flare, and your fingers grip his shirt. He felt like a man. Your man.

A man with his beautiful girl to take care of.

You were everything he could ever want.

So when he felt himself drifting, Bob chose to stay; he chose to kiss your temple and fall asleep right there in your bed.

Now, he was going to spar with you. He sighed, I need to not be a freak. The last thing Bob needed was to get a hard-on while sparring.

Talk about a turn-off.

He headed down to the gym. But when he arrived, it seemed that Walker had gotten to you first.

He was dodging a punch you threw, and you were cussing in mock frustration. John mocked you right back, punching you square in the jaw.

"C'mon sparks, gimme some of that fire you've got, sweetheart!" John laughed as he sparred with you.

"Watch it Walker, I'm taking it easy on you, spare me the same treatment." You yell back as you sweep his leg. Your jaw was swelling.

Bob's hands are clenched into small fists before he can even breathe. Why the fuck was John calling you 'sweetheart.' And why did he have to hit you so hard?

He swelled with anger internally as he watched the two of you spar from this corner of the gym.

That's my girl, Walker, he thought. Don't make me beat your ass like I have so many times before.

John often liked to challenge Bob to a sparring match in front of the team. Yes, the man was strong, but he was no match for Bob, even on his best day.

The serums they had been given were very different. Bob could easily knock John out of the ring with one hand. It made for a pretty fun watch, though.

Bob saw you finally beat John, knocking him down and holding a solid headlock. He smirked at how uninterested you were in keeping your hands on Walker as he tapped out, immediately pulling away, as John lingered.

Good girl. He smiled.

You noticed him, "Bobby! Did you see that? I just crushed Walker. A little pre-workout if you will." You giggle as you take a drink from your water bottle. The sweat on your neck drips into the crack of your bra.

Fuck Bob, snap out of it.

John grumbles about his defeat and walks over to the elevator, seemingly done with his workout. It was just you and Bobby now. Alone.

"Alright Bobby, I expect you to go hard on me," You snicker, as you get back into the ring.

Baby, you have no idea how hard I am on you, he thinks, joining you in the ring.

You launch at him, taking him by surprise, but Bob quickly recovers, punching you in the side, but holding back slightly, he would never truly hurt you.

You, on the other hand, never took it easy; you landed a strong kick to his stomach, sending him rolling. He gets up just in time to catch your fist and push you away, sending you to the mat as well.

"You're pulling punches, Robert. I can handle it," you growl, and pounce on him again, straddling his hips as you try to get a grip around his neck.

Fuck, he's strong, you think as you feel his muscles ripple around your body.

He flips you over, slamming you back down to the mat, your faces upside down from each other, "Oh yeah, sweetheart?" He smirks, breathless. His sweat drips onto your face from his forehead.

God, I want to kiss that smirk off his mouth. You stare into his eyes. The waves crash against your heart, and somehow it beats even faster; you are so smitten. His smirk slowly falls as he stares right back, putting a hand on either side of your head, "You okay, Y/n?" He asks, but a grin slowly creeps onto his face.

Smug bastard.

"Water break?" You croak, sheepishly. He laughs and nods.

Bob helps you up with one hand, pulling you to your feet. You quickly stride towards your water. "Good punch form, L/n," he smiles.

That praise, it's always just enough to get your head spinning. You laugh, "I couldn't barely get any in, Reynolds. Not with you throwing me around like that."

Both of your minds immediately pictured him throwing you around in another context. But you each shook the thought off and got back to sparring.

~~

By the time you were finished, you were both desperately horny for the other. Bob had willed himself not to get hard, but the sweatier, messier, and louder you got, the harder it was to stop himself.

You were soaked. Just plain ruined. Luckily for you, it was easy to pass off as just more glute sweat, but you were straight up Niagara Falls down there.

How could anyone blame you? Bob was sweaty, his hair clung to his forehead, his muscles were strained, and multiple veins jutted out in his arms, neck, and hands.

His voice had turned more gravelly and low as you continued sparring, and he was manhandling you.

A girl's wet dream was currently pinning you down to the sparring mat, and grunting as you struggled against his hold.

Fuck me.

"Quit shifting around, Y/n, just tap out, admit defeat already," He growled into your ear, struggling to not take you right there. You had been sitting like this for at least five minutes, but you had refused to tap out to him.

He finally just sighed and used his hips to pin you down even further, pressing his groin against your mound. You gasped and immediately tapped out. Bob groaned at the loss of contact. Fuck that was hot.

You were up in a flash, grabbing your bottle and heading for the elevator, flustered, "You win, Bobby." You squeaked quickly and ran for the exit. He followed, abandoning his things on the mat, "Hey! Hey, what's wrong?" Bob caught up and grabbed your arm, pulling you back to meet his face.

"Did I make you uncomfortable?" He panicked; maybe the hips were too much. Oh damn it, they were way too much.

You shook your head and tried to turn away again, but his hand caught your chin, keeping your eyes right on his.

"Why're you hiding from me, huh?" He asks, breath still hot and quick from sparring. You swallow nervously and stare into his eyes, helpless.

God, I could just do anything to her right now. As long as she looks at me like that.

"I, I just got... too hot. I felt dizzy." You stammer as you pull his hand from your jaw, holding it by the wrist. The elevator doors open, and he backs you into the wall, putting his wrist on the wall beside your face.

"Cmon, tell me Y/n... I need you to be good, and tell me what that pretty little head is thinking." He teases, his confidence level spiking, as he lets just the slightest bit of Sentry take control. Your eyes wildly search his, as your lips part, and you try to find the words.

He leans in, and his lips just barely brush yours, when a loud chime comes from behind you both. The elevator doors open into the common area. You part from each other. Feeling the tingle from his lips on yours, you quickly exit your room.

Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god.

Bob stands, breathless on the elevator, his lips burning from just one graze of yours. He needed to kiss you right, and it needed to be soon.

I'm going to make that girl mine. He groans, rubbing a sweaty palm down his face.

~~

That night, after a long afternoon of avoiding Robert Reynold's at all costs, Yelena crashes into your room. You were reading the same book that Bob had gifted you months ago; this had to have been your fifth time through it.

"C'mon, get dressed. We are going out to the bar." She announces, ripping your book from your hand and tossing it down. You gasped, making sure your book was okay.

You sigh back at her, "Yelena, why are we going to a bar? We have plenty of booze here!" The last thing you needed was to see Bob pressed up against some bimbo at a bar.

She laughs, "You are funny, you know why. I need to get you and Bob drunk enough to finally fuck, it is suffocating to watch you pine over each other." You shush her quickly, "LENA! He's literally right through the wall, and umm, super hearing?!"

She giggles uncontrollably, "Oh, don't worry your little head, кролик, he is already on the way with John."

Well, now you had to go, because Bobby and John didn't get along great, and there was time for said bimbo to latch onto your man. You were so not ready for whatever was going to happen tonight.

FML.

You put on a small black dress and fix your hair. Yelena helped you put on some quick makeup, and you grabbed a pair of short, chunky heels on the way out.

You and Yelena met Ava downstairs, taking the signature Ferrari. The girls talk most of the drive, but you just listen. Your mind is more occupied, thinking about Bob.

I hope he's waiting for me to get there.

The city was so pretty at night, all the lights of NYC gleamed against the sky.

When you get to the bar, you follow Yelena in, the low lighting and loud music taking you in instantly. You see John making out with a girl in the corner, who is surprised? Nobody.

It looks like Bucky and Alexei decided not to come tonight because Bob was leaning against a pole by the bar, a Scotch in his hand, alone. He takes your breath away as he stares at you, slowly drinking in your figure.

You cross to him and sit at the bar, asking for a couple of vodka shots. When they come, you signal for him to take one with you. He obliges, and you both tilt your heads back, feeling the burn coat your throats. He stares at you, and you don't speak.

A man taps your shoulder, and you turn. Bob's eyes turn the slightest bit darker as he holds his Scotch glass tighter. The man uses some pickup line he couldn't have found anywhere but the internet, and his eyes rake over your neck and cleavage. You decline his offer to dance. Bob could kiss you.

The man takes a look at Bob, and then you, and assures you he 'meant no offense,' as he finally leaves. You turn back towards Bobby, only to be met with his eyes. He looked pissed.

"Something wrong, Robert?" You ask innocently, the slightest hint of seduction in your tone. God, alcohol made you a cocky bitch.

He sets his glass down and grabs your wrist, wordless. Pulling you to the dance floor, Bob grips your hip tightly, possessively, and sways you both to the music. He doesn't speak, but his eyes tell you everything you need to know.

There wouldn't be any more men coming up to you tonight, and if you were going home with one, it would be him.

He scans your face, noticing the blush on your cheeks, and looks at your neck. Your collarbone peeks out enough for him to want to take a bite. He seriously considers it. But you pull him close, foreheads touching, and his eyes return to yours.

They speak one word, sin.

Robert can practically hear your thoughts as you stare. You wanted him to take you into the alley and fuck you hard, he could tell. He watched as you stared at his neck veins, you wanted him to choke you, didn't you, dirty girl? Your hands were tightly gripping the shirt he wore, nails just barely scraping him. Your mouth was slightly open, and your lips were wet.

You were panting, wanting, and needy. He could read it off your sheer positioning.

Who was he to deny you?

He pulls you off the floor, leading you to the back entrance, "C'mon, I need to properly finish what I started." He growls, nipping at your ear. You groan quietly and follow without another question.

Once you find the door, you crash into the alley, and Bob spins you, pinning you up against the brick of the building.

"Did you think I could go another day, only almost kissing you? Barely getting to feel those lips? Not getting to make them mine?" He groans, wrecked. His hands feel at your waist as he whispers the dirty words into your temple.

You moan, and push a hand into his hair, pulling his mouth towards yours. He stops you, gripping your neck at the base.

"Hold on, baby," he strains. God, just kiss me already, Bobby.

"I need you to know that this isn't me just wanting to get into your pants, Y/n." He grunts, barely able to hold himself back. He watches your eyes as you take in his words. "I want you to be mine, in every meaning of the word. I want to fall asleep in your bed every night, on purpose. I want to make you coffee in the morning, I want to read our books and go to the store, go on dates. But most of all, I want to call you mine, make you mine." He admits, his eyes shifting to each of yours. His chest rises and falls, "I can't spend one more goddamn day pretending like you are only a friend to me."

Your heart bursts, and you tackle him, pressing your lips together.

Finally.

He meets you in the middle, kissing you back with the same amount of passion and want. Your teeth clash as your tongues collide. You taste him, and he tastes like heaven. You stand in the alleyway, making out, and you both feel a deep, new feeling in your chests.

He laughs when your lips part, and he crushes you to his chest, kissing your hair. You could cry. You feel nothing but love for him. For Bobby, your Bobby.

We'll get to love later, you think as you grip him tightly.

There would be plenty of time for you to feel this new relationship out. You were just happy that he had chosen to tell you, that he had kissed you, and that he wanted you.

Bob pulled away, and pressed another searing kiss onto your lips, "Let me take you home, baby." He purred.

Oh fuck yes.

~~

CLIFFHANGER!!!! SORRY!!!! smut in the next chapter, I promise...

taglist: @sneak-fic @aureliacalista @zombi3-girlz @furiousprincesskingdom @crystalline-owls @lewispullsman @doprincess @rein4star

dm or comment if you want to be added to the taglist!

[joelmillerpascal]

Pedro Pascal Lookalike Contest

Pedro Pascal

Joel Miller

Summary: Joel is in New York with Sarah for work. He takes the day off, but the unexpected happens. He is not sure if he could get used to the attention but Sarah's loving it. / p.s. I'm not really good at summaries but I'll surprise you with the rest as this goes along.

( Just a little fun, Joel is 36, Sarah is 14. / Pedro is 50 ) ( Sarah is secretly a Pedro fan but finds it awkward because her dad looks exactly like Pedro )

WC: 2623

( Joel is literally Pedro except they have different life's and Jobs. Pedro's our big Hollywood, TV scene actor. And Joel is our contractor for his own business )

Joel and Sarah are in New York for a job that is probably the highest paid job he has ever taken. He had an email just weeks before about renovating a building that belongs to some rich new yorker. They had probably reviewed his previous jobs and decided to give him the job.

As Joel and Sarah are walking to the job he is assigned to renovate, Sarah kept him distracted with her talks about her last soccer practice. As they pass a few stores for snack, Joel went into the store while Sarah waits outside scrolling through her phone, talking to her friends, they kept asking how it was going in New York. She sent when a picture of her sightings. Her friends kept on saying how jealous they were, wishing they could be in the most beautiful state of New York. As she was typing about something drifted across her shoe, she picked it up and read it

A Pedro Pascal Lookalike Contest. Winner gets 1 year of free burritos *redeemable 1 per week, and also $50 cash prize. 'This looks like a lot of fun. She could get her dad to do this' she thinks to herself

She looks at the date realising it was today, she looks at the location from where she stands 'only a block away'. She tries to think of a way she could get her dad to accept the contest and then a hunch comes along 'She wants a burrito. Yes that's how she's going to do it'

She hides the contest leaflet in her pocket when she hear the store door opening, noticing Joel is coming out 'burrito, burrito, burrito' she keeps saying to herself when they start walking again. They were getting close to where the contest is held, nows her chance

"Dad can we stop to get some burritos too, I really want one" she says looking up at him

"Babygirl I just got us some snacks from the store. We can get some burritos later" Joel says as he shows her the snacks he's just bought

"But we can save those for later. I really want a burrito now" she said with those eyes that always make Joel change his mind no matter what.

He nods saying okay as they continue down the street. Sarah has a suspicious smile on her face but Joel doesn’t take notice of it. As they are close Joel and Sarah see lots of people scattered around the street. He wondering what's going on there. Joel is about to step in to the burrito shop when he see Sarah has not followed him, he steps back out the door to tell her to follow him in as there are lots of people scattered around

"It's okay dad I will wait here. Get a usual burrito we have back home" she says trying to not act suspicious

As he steps back into the burrito shop, Sarah takes her chance to get her dad into this contest without him knowing

"Excuse me lady, is this the Pedro Pascal look-alike contest?" Sarah asks as she hands the leaflets to the woman

"It is little lady. Do you know anyone who would like to participate?" The woman asks

"Yes um' my dad. But is there a way you can enter him without him knowing what the real contest is for?" Sarah says with some shyness

"Of course sweetheart" she says handing Sarah a sticker with a number on it *No.2* "just give him that tell him it's a contest. Tell him the winner gets the following on the leaflets and it could change his life in the mean time"

Sarah takes the sticker and makes her way inside the burrito shop as Joel is still waiting for the burritos to be done.

As they step out of the burrito shop, Sarah takes Joel hand a wanders him through the crowd to the front so the lady she spoke to can see them

"Sarah what is this" Joel asks as he looks around in disbelief

"It's a contest dad, the winner gets 1 year of free burritos, redeemable per week and the winner also gets $50 cash prize" it sounded interesting so I signed you up" she says giving him the sticker with No.2 on it

"I could do with an extra $50" he says with a small smile "so how does this work?" He asks

"Just go to that lady in front of us and say 'my daughter signed me up' she will tell you what to do next" Sarah says. He nods and walks towards the woman

As he stood in front of her she looked at him weird, but didn't says anything, he rubs the back of his next as he says the woman that his daughter signed him up. As he was about to hand her his No.2 sticker, the woman told him to keep it on him, and to stick it on his shirt and wait in line.

As he waited in line of a few people, and more piled behind him, more people were starting to stare at, he could feel himself getting anxious about all of this.

As it was his turn to do his contest, the woman told him to stand on the small stage part, as Joel stood and looked around every was almost yelling, also whisper-yelling about how much he looks like Pedro Pascal. Joel had no idea who Pedro Pascal was, he does keep track of celebrities, he doesn't what TV, movies or anything on TV for the record.

Once it was time for him to stand off the small stage, the woman tell her she will grant the prize winner soon.

After waiting about 15 to 20 minutes, the woman looks around at the crowd as she raised her microphone

"Okay everyone this contest has had some funny close calls but only one person can be the ultimate winner. Can the 3 top contestants step onto the stage No.5, No.18 and No.2" The woman says as two other people and Joel step onto the stage "Drum roll please!... And the winner goes to contestant No.2 for being the ultimate Pedro Pascal look-alike!"

Joel looks at Sarah as he couldn't wrap his head around it. Not knowing what this was all about and then just winning on the spot. The woman hands him a large check of his winning prizes.

Everyone started taking pictures and videos yelling PEDRO! PEDRO! PEDRO!, Joel still didn’t understand. Sarah jumps on stage hugging her him yelling loud 'You did it dad'. As Joel looked out to the crowd again, he see people holding huge pictures of the man he can come to figure out as Pedro Pascal. The woman beside him place her hand on his shoulder about to ask him a question

"What's your name sir and How does it feel to be today's ultimate Pedro Pascal look-alike contest winner?" She says as she holds the microphone to him

"Um' hi everyone my name is Joel Miller and I honestly don't know how I feel right now, I didn't know anything about this contest and who it was actually for. I have to be honest here, I have no idea who Pedro Pascal is, I'm not one for keeping track of celebrity, I don't watch TV as I am constantly busy with my job. My daughter here entered me into this contest, she didn't tell me what it was for either" he says as he looks at his daughter "she only told me burritos and the $50 cash prize so I figured that I'd go along with it for her because I know how much my little loves them and I figured I could use the extra $50 while I am here" he says looking at everyone. They all had a amused face expressions on them

"Where are you from and what do you do for a living Joel?" She asks

"I'm from Texas and I have my own business in contracting. That's why I am in New York, am here for my job but I wasn't expecting this to happen. I don't expect attention when I am walking around for look like Pedro Pascal which in my opinion I don't think I do look like him but I'll leave that to you guys" he says in the most polite way.

Joel also adds "I also would like to give my free burritos to the two other contestant because once I am done with my job I won't be here in New York again until another job comes along and I feel they should win something too" he says looking at the two other men

"Well there you have it everyone our No.2 Pedro Pascal look-alike all the way from Texas is, Joel Miller!"

As he steps down from the stage Sarah following, she hugs him again for what felt like hours, he always loves her hugs. People starts to come up to him asking him for a photo, he tries to say no but with each person Sarah takes their phones to do a selfie with her, Joel and the other person that wanted the picture taken.

Once everyone was done and left him alone, Joe and Sarah continue their way to the building that he is renovating.

Later that day once Joel is done with the renovating, he and Sarah both get into their rental car and drove back to the hotel. They're not going back to Texas straight away. It's Sarah first time here in New York, so she wants to see more before going back home.

Once they got to the hotel, Joel could feel eyes on him as he walked himself and Sarah into their hotel. It was all confusing to him. He still doesn't know who Pedro is, but Sarah told him in the car that she will fully introduce him to Pedro and his famous life.

Inside their hotel room, Sarah is settled on her single bed next to Joel's bed. She was too tired from all the walking around earlier that day, Joel could tell she wasn't used to it, especially somewhere that wasn't home.

"Are you okay, baby girl? I know today was a lot, even though you dragged to that event. It was fun, but I don't think I can deal with all the attention" he say as she looks over at him

"It was actually the best thing you win something for looking like an actor. And you know what the best part about it was?. It was the fact that you only took $50 and let the two other guys have the free burritos"

"Hmm so that guy I won the contest on is a actor. How famous is he anyway?" He asks her

"Well he only has instagram account and his followers is 11.1 million" she say as she pulls up pedro's account to show Joel

"Wow, that's a lot, but again, he looks nothing like me, Sarah," he says

"Dad, you should totally get an instagram again. I can share your account on my story, and everyone can follow you," Sarah says in excitement. She's enjoying this a little too much

"I said I didn't want the atten-" he about to say but Sarah cuts him off

"I know you don't want the attention, but think about it. Imagine what it could do for your contracting business. It will blow up, and more money comes your way" she says like she has his future life planned out

Joel sighs and rolls onto his back, looking at the ceiling thinking about what she just said.

"I'll think about it and get back to you on that in the mornin'. Okay"

She didn't say anything. She rolled onto her side, closing her eyes, thinking she's just given her dad the best future possible.

The next morning, Joel woke up just after Sunrise, showered, and then ordered room service for himself and Sarah. As he waited, he thought about all what Sarah said, more for the business, the attention could help build that up too. But he was sure about the fact that he wasn't looking for the attention or anything that made him feel like a celebrity, for as Sarah said, looking like an actor, which he still doesn't believe.

As he waited for room service, he took out his phone, not really using it, just looking at it, continuing to think about Sarah suggestion of all of this. After 10 minutes, he unlocked his phone he went to the app store and typed in instagram. When it showed up, he looked at it for a moment before pressing install. "It's now or never," he mumbled to himself. About minutes, he heard a knock on the door. He placed his phone on the small circle table as he went to answer it.

Coming back inside the room, he saw Sarah has woken up, seeing her at the table looking at his phone with a smile on her face

"You thought about my suggestion?" She asks as he places the tray on the table

"I thought about it all morning since waking up. Now I will make the account, but I'm not doing for attention, okay. Just like what you said, it could bring more to my business, " he says, looking at her morning sleepy eyes,"but I don't want everyone treating me like I'm some celebrity. Okay?" He says, placing a kiss on top of her head

"Okay," she says as she slightly l punches his arm, giggling

After 20 minutes, they slowly work through setting up his Instagram account. Once it's all done, she showed him his first Instagram account. She followed herself on his account and then got her phone to follow him back. When she did that, she continued scrolling through her instagram and saw something unexpected

"Oh my god, dad, look at this," she says showing him her phone

"What the hell. Thought I said no attention, " he says as he looks at an called Entertainment Tonight posted a video of him from the day before, it had 41.9 thousand like over 267 comments 4.9 thousand shares. He couldn't believe it, and yet again, he didn't want the attention, but he kept thinking the positive said that it's probably good for his business.

Hours later, that said account posted another post, but it was himself and Pedro Pascal either side on separate posts.

Liked by pascalispunk and others

entertainmenttonight 30 contestants showed up to the streets of New York crowning for the ultimate Pedro Pascal Lookalike win... From 30 to the top 3, a Texan man named Joel Miller showed up unplanned and became the winner most of being Pascal Lookalike

pascalispunk 👨🏻🧔🏻‍♂️👀🥹❤️ 10647 ❤️

Sarah couldn't believe it, her dad what now practically famous, the one thing he didn't want to achieve but he can't change that now, what's done is done. But what he didn't see was that it was liked and commented by Pedro Pascal himself. Joel was still practically learning about the man everyone claimed as Pedro Pascal

"Sorry, dad, it looks like you are blowing up now. Pedro himself has noticed you," she said, hugging him. His face was still frozen from thought of going everywhere and just being recognised.

"It's okay, babygirl. I can't say that I was and wasn't expecting this, but it is the attention that I'm worried about now"

For the rest of the day they stayed in the hotel eating snack and watching movies until they both fell asleep

I hope you guys enjoy this Pedro Pascal Lookalike fic, I'm more of a reader than a writer so I'm sorry if it's bad. I might add 2 chapters more, this week or next week.

If you want to be added to the taglist. Let me know.

Taglist: @dilf-docs @senoratess

[projectaffectivity]

Turtle Con 2025 Information from Ciro! There's some TMNT stuff in here too.

Disclaimer: Ciro was on 3 hours of sleep and said that he has not watched the show in a long time and does not remember things. He joked that when he rewatches the episodes then he can answer questions. I asked if he was gonna do an AMA and he didn't answer.

Character Heights, he gave some numbers but it was more spit balling than serious

Chiro: 4'10"

Regular Jinmay: "a little bit shorter than that"

Giant Jinmay: 120 ft

Monkeys: 1'6" is still reasonable

Skeleton King: 7 ft

Alchemist: 6 ft

Super Robot: 125 ft

Is Krinkle alive?

"I like to think so".

Does he know of any figures from the Hasbro toyline that where scrapped/unreleased? or just unreleased merchandise overall.

He mentioned the Fist Rockets, maybe saw a prototype for the Brain Scrambler, and the Super Robot. I think he was aware of Slingshot and Skeletal Droid.

He owns some of the prototypes of the figures, but not all.

Were there any other voice actors he considered to voice the monkeys before he settled on the finalized voice cast?

Joey Adams was who voiced Nova in the pilot and he liked her, but doesn't exactly remember the reason why she didn't end up Nova. He thinks it's because she became unavailable due to her being in a movie.

He actually asked me if I saw the pilot first, so I think he is aware the pilot is up or just didn't think it mattered if it was.

Was Lords of Soturix 7 originally supposed to be a season 1 episode?

His initial answer was no, but when I asked about the contradiction of him learning to use the Inner Primate after Hidden Fortress/Skeleton King, he said he does not remember and would need to fact check.

Were any episodes that changed order like they were originally supposed to be in a certain spot but ended up moved?

He doesn’t know or remember, but he mentioned that some episodes didn’t really matter if they changed the order of.

"It's been years".

What does Ciro remember the most about working on SRMTHFG? What was the most memorable/fun/enjoyable part of working on it for him?

He said he remembered it being really hard 😅 He also mentioned how he worked to get the budget up to 262k per episode and how he had to work double time to make things work.

The most memorable/fun/enjoyable part was living in Japan for the first season of the show.

Art book/Behinds the scene information?

An artbook would probably be impossible because of Disney

He has a lot of art and stuff he could potentially put up, but he doesn't have a lot of time.

Was Jinmay one of the robots that The Alchemist managed to build with his workmates or is there another mastermind with the same purposes?

No, another mastermind was behind Jinmay. He seemed pretty definite that Jinmay wasn’t built by the Alchemist.

Was Chiro's early days with the monkeys ever a planned storyline that never padded out?

He just responded that it sounds interesting, so it sounded like it wasn’t particularly planned

Does Mandarin or Antauri have an inner primate form like Chiro does? Since we never see them use it in the show.

He actually said that we sort of saw it for Antauri when he sacrificed himself in I, Chiro.

He mentioned it would be interesting to see for Mandarin and also the rest of the monkeys.

How much time did you have to revamp the show from the pilot to the completed version?

He said they rolled right in.

Did he have any influence on the season 1 finale of Earthspark and if SRMTHFG would have followed something similarly?

No, he was mostly brought in as management and was already gone when they got that far. He didn't have much to do with it.

How did the show switch from flash animation to traditional animation?

He didn't want it to be flash and switched it and he got in trouble for it.

Is there an IP you would like to work on?

Evil Dead.

Was Valeena always planned to be such a prominent villain in season 4?

No, I don't know, it's nice to have someone to talk to.

Clarification on Antauri's transcendance on touch, taste, breath, temperature.

"He's not a full robot". He's elevated to a different state.

"Maybe, guess not, not in a normal sense".

Does Antauri miss those sensations?

Ciro looked like he was thinking very hard over it.

"He's beyond all that. He doesn't need a physical body to feel".

Were there any ideas for Mandarin that wasn't used?

No, he has a "complete arc". You would have to see more through flashbacks.

Does he know about the sacrifice theory?

No.

After I explained it to him, he said it sounded interesting and cool, but not real.

He's not familiar with other fan theories.

Was there any more lore on the Beings that chose Chiro and Skeleton King/created the Dark Ones engaged in cosmic good vs evil war or was that going to remain a mystery?

No, they didn't get to it.

Are Chiro's parents currently in Shuggazoom City?

No, they're not in the city.

It's hard to say if they're on the planet.

Did the Verons and Ah-fei understand the monkeys pre-translator?

No, they didn't need to speak.

Are there regular populated cities on Shuggazoom other than Shuggazoom City?

Yes.

Don't need to explore all the cities; Shuggazoom City represents it.

What are the monkeys' thoughts towards the Alchemist before memory erasure?

They liked him and thought of him like a father.

Did the monkeys know the Alchemist was turning into Skeleton King and that they would have to fight him?

No, they did not know they were going to fight him.

What was up with Weird World of Wyrm? (2k12 TMNT episode that was basically Meet the Wigglenog)

Brandon did it. They were super busy and they both loved Meet the Wigglenog and wanted to do it better and so did it again.

What is his favorite character to draw?

For TMNT: He said the turtles are fun, but he's drawn them so much. Splinter is nice.

For SRMT: Otto and the Super Robot.:

Why didn't they make a musical episode?

He said that sounds like a season 5 episode, but it sounded like a joke haha.

Why were numbers added to celestial bodies? Does Shuggazoom have its own system for naming them or was it developed elsewhere?

I don't know. It's to sound cool.

Why do the monkeys have breathing gear underwater but nothing in space?

Well, they can't have water in their lungs...

But they can have nothing in space?

He was exasperated and said he was in his 20s when he made the show and that these were riddles, not questions.

So they can breathe in space but not underwater???

He joked that was correct.

Which was your favorite episode to direct and write?

I, Chiro maybe.

Other:

The two Mandarins in The Grip of Evil was a mistake.

Chiro wears a mask.

Nothing was cut out of the show during production due to Disney.

Nova's name was inspired by the star, but not specifically. Don't know if "Nova star" is in that universe.

Otto's name just suits Otto. He said it was a sound thing.

The monkeys are able to use each others' weapons.

2k12 TMNT was supposed to be 2D, but Nickelodeon made it CG and CG wasn't at the level Ciro wanted yet.

He's hoping he can do a backdoor thing for a monkey team sequel.

He views all the companies he worked for as the same.

Antauri is drinking sprite from his soda hat and it's a gag to not be taken seriously.

[desceros]

Just curious since you write alot of very long one shots. What do you consider a long fic because I remember reading Euclidean line for the first time without checking how long it was because I was looking for a bed time story and wanted to read a oneshot so I could get to sleep quickly. And I end up finishing the fic 2 hours later because I couldn't stop reading it. And I remember thinking, "THAT WAS A ONESHOT???" By the end because I'm used to oneshots being like 1k-10k words.

first of all, oh my god, i'm so sorry scream. this keeps happening to people

soooo. for me i have a couple of different categories of fics that i keep in mind when i go to work on something, and i have a different answer for each of them.

very short one shots - one scene i want to get out of my head. think this mikey fic or this idw donnie fic. these are usually between 1-5k, which for me feels very very short. i don't write a lot of them, because part of what i enjoy writing the most is the progression that happens over time and that's not really... possible at this length. properly, to me. these feel long to me when they start bleeding into... ->

short one shots - think the donnie sex pollen fic, the donnie camping fic, or the blurple villain au fic here. these are 5-20k, which still feels pretty short to me. it's enough for one "proper" scene, or a few short scenes. and these start feeling long when they bleed into... ->

proper one-shots - a la leo wants a baby and of course the aforementioned euclidean line. these are anything 20k+ that are contained in one single chapter. the sweet spot for me is around 30k; that's when things start feeling like i can put enough flavor without dragging an idea out beyond its utility, though sometimes, that idea does carry it further than that. a one-shot starts feeling "long" probably when i hit the 40k mark. that's when i reassess if it should actually be a proper chapter fic, or if it functions better as a one-shot. for euclidean line, because the theme of that fic was the contiguous floaty feeling you get when you're lost in something you love, it felt inappropriate to me to break that into chapters, which are very disruptive to the flow of reading. as you've noted, these are my favorite things to write!

chaptered fics - just symphony........ for now. these vary widely to me. (well. i guess technically we do it together is a chaptered fic... but really it was originally conceptualized as a one-shot; i wrote it as such, and split it up later. i was experimenting with breaking my one-shots into shorter chapters, and i really don't like it. so. yeah. desceros lore for you.) as for these... i think they feel "long" to me when i get about to the 130-150k mark. that's when i see how long it takes me to scroll through the document to find little details and i'm like jesus christ this is absurd. most of my chaptered fics finish out i think somewhere around the 150-200k mark, and the longest thing i've ever finished was right at 300k. just to put it into context i suppose!

[novelconcepts]

i don't make resolutions, but if i did

it would be to finish this fic

(and to be kind to myself for however long it takes to actually do so)

[weirdsociology]

hey writers we have to talk.

if you've read any romance or fanfic in the past twenty years (i know you have), you know that there are a certain number of scents associated with hot dudes. you can probably recite the list of Things Men in Fic smell like in your sleep: leather, black pepper, pine, sandalwood, "something uniquely him", clean sweat, and if the character has ever fucking been within 50 yards of a firearm, something called "cordite".

here's the thing.

NO ONE SMELLS LIKE CORDITE.

cordite was a highly specific type of smokeless gunpowder developed in the 1890s by england specifically and used mostly in wwi.

if your good-smelling guy is not (a) english (b) using a very specific type of british rifle (c) dying in a trench in flanders, he does not smell like cordite. technically even if he does meet all those conditions he still doesn't smell like cordite because he smells like trenchfoot.

the point is, cordite is so far from universal that no one but the most hardcore gun nerds give a single shit about it. making your Sexy Hero smell like cordite is like naming a cassette-only bootleg live recording from the 1970s as your favorite grateful dead album. everyone at the party hates you immediately and knows you're doing it for clout. also, it's just factually... wrong. please stop. i know everyone else is doing it, but you can do the right thing here, i believe in you.

so what do people who are using guns smell like?

well if your story is set before the late 1880s, the smell of a fired gun is black powder, which, unfortunately, smells like seventeen flatulent cows have been shoved in a tire factory. trust me, you do not want your Hot Dude to smell like black powder. it's b a d.

if your story is set after the late 1880s, guns are using some variety of modern 'smokeless' powder - which speaking broadly doesn't really have a ton of scent when used. it does have some, but it's sort of non-descript: the best way i can describe it is the sweet, ozone, hot-plate smell of popping your car hood with a warm engine.

people who use guns a lot don't smell like fired guns all the time anyway, so while those scents might work in a fight scene, they're not realistic all the time. but there are some things that your Sexy Shootist will smell like basically 24/7 and that's metal and gun oil. metal you can go and sniff (i recommend non-stainless steel), but if you want a reference, most gun oils have a sharp, organic smell that's not dissimilar to canola oil but muskier and with a tang overtop. it's not unlikely leather is in the mix as well due to routine handling of leather equipment and gear. modern gear also tends to have a certain smell although it varies by production country and storage conditions - lots of opportunities there.

in conclusion: gunslingers and hired killers and military folks can be sexy and smell great on page, but i am begging you not to say "cordite" when you mean "gunpowder" ever again. we can do this. we are writers and therefore pedants. i believe in us!

[narcjsistx]

— 𝐀𝐅𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐈 𝐂𝐀𝐍 𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐘 𝐘𝐎𝐔! | bllk boys

✶ plot: the character gives your sibling the chance to go down on the field with him before the game, and this leads you to think that maybe he really is someone you could marry since he shows so much care. idk if you know when before the matches the players of the teams go out on the field during the anthem, often with the players there are kids! it's such a cuteee thinggg (╥﹏╥)

✶ characters: sae itoshi, rin itoshi, micheal kaiser

✶ 𝐌𝐘 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ; take a look, trust me!

✶ ITOSHI SAE ᡣ𐭩 𓂃

In the noise of the arena, the Japanese anthem seems to almost fade into the background. The participants are much more focused on shouting, in announcing that the players are finally taking to the field after almost half an hour of delay due to an alleged accident of the German team bus, which had a flat tire. While you were waiting you often imagined the annoyed faces of your boyfriend, who surely threatened his manager to leave if the game didn't start at the scheduled time. Maybe he did, maybe he didn't, you don't know. He's definitely annoyed, but he didn't make it obvious probably because today your younger brother is with him. You still can't believe how your brother finally convinced Sae, after years of begging him. When you finally see both of them, you understand that it is not a dream and that your brother is actually in the most famous field in Spain

When you told your family that in Spain, during your Erasmus, you had met the man who was now your boyfriend, they hadn't worried. You hadn't specified that Sae, your boyfriend, your brother's favorite player, from the team that your family had supported for years even before you were born, was that man. When Sae and your family were introduced, your brother categorically decided that now you would no longer have another man in your life other than the ReAl midfielder. Not that you minded this obligation. But you were happy to see your brother so close to him and Sae who, strangely, treated him with kindness. It was probably because he also had a younger brother, he knew what it meant to be the eldest son

You had been with him for two years now, yet your brother had to beg him for a long time before he achieved his goal. Sae had not given in until then because he thought it was a way to invade his privacy and that of your family, but after seeing a photo of Rin and your brother he had agreed. You didn't even know why you wanted to compare a photo of your little brother and Rin as a newborn, but something had moved in Sae's heart, and now he and your brother were walking onto the field with an entire stadium chanting the name of the best midfielder of recent years, your amazing boyfriend

With your phone you film the scene, while your mother next to you starts to shed a few tears "Don't you think you're exaggerating?" you say, teasing her. The Spanish anthem starts, and the players line up in front of the crowd, the children in front of them and wearing smaller uniforms than the team. Your mother smiles "I'm so happy for Kuroi. He wanted it so much, and I understand why Sae didn't want to do it, and yet they're both there!" she says wiping away a tear

Sitting in the stands, you have the chance to be quite close to the players. Your brother notices you, and smilingly starts waving in your direction, proudly showing the jersey he is wearing: like the ReAl uniform, on the back he has "Sae" written and his number, 10. You record the scene and you notice how, in the video, you can see your boyfriend behind Kuroi looking at him curiously, maybe even a little proudly. While both sing the anthem, the children remain in front of the players even when the camera reflects the scene on the big screen of the stadium, also showing Kuroi with his excited eyes. Sae gives you an interested look when he notices your proud look, and you return it by blowing him a quick kiss. You see him roll his eyes, but you know he's calm, it's just the usual

"You know..." your mother says, and you turn around curiously "I think after this, you have no choice but to marry Sae. I don't think Kuroi would recover if you ever broke up, not after this" she says, and even though you know she's joking, her words hit you a little harder than usual. You and the ReAl player have been together for a while now, you never talked about marriage but it happened that you both admitted that you would like to spend the rest of your lives with each other. This relationship, Sae himself, has given you so much love that you know perfectly well that you could never have such a connection with anyone other than him. It's in the way that, even without words, his gestures speak: it's clear that he loves you, and you love him in a way that you can't even quantify

"That might be an option. I'm waiting for him to have the courage to get down on one knee" you joke, and your mother chuckles with you, patting you on the shoulder "If he had the courage to love you until today, I think marrying you is quite easy" she says, and you roll your eyes amusedly "Really funny"

Her words are not casual, not when Sae asked her for her blessing on your union a few weeks ago. He told her that it is not casual to have Kuroi with him on the field, and that after the end and victory of the match he intends to ask you to marry him in front of the entire stadium, but especially in front of your family. But you don't know this yet

✶ ITOSHI RIN ᡣ𐭩 𓂃

"Remember, you have to always stay close to Rin, if I see you running somewhere I swear to go down on the field and chase you in front of everyone in the stadium!" you say to your sister, but she giggles, hugging your boyfriend's leg. Rin ruffles her hair, letting out a sigh "She'll be good. She promised me, right Kae?" asks the youngest Itoshi, and your sister immediately nods "Of course big brother!" the little girl says, smiling happily, and you sigh, mentally telling yourself that everything will be fine "Okay... but I swear, if you act bad, it's the last time I'll make you do something like that. Mom didn't even fully agree..." you say exasperated, but you feel Rin's hand lightly squeeze your wrist "Don't worry so much. I'll take care of her"

Ever since Rin came into your life, your younger sister Kae has started to see him as the brother she never had. You have always been two daughters in the family, and even though both you and she wanted a brother, unfortunately you never had the chance to have one. When Rin made the transition from classmate to boyfriend five years ago, Kae was thrilled to welcome him into the family. He and she actually spend a lot of time together, and while Rin's character is extremely reserved and cold, you've never seen him act distant with your sister: it's wrong to say that they just love each other, they literally have a brotherly relationship. It warms your heart, especially when you plan on spending the rest of your life with this guy, since you've been a couple for a while now

Having Kae join Rin on the field was actually quite an unexpected idea. You and your boyfriend had spent the last few months in France for his special training, and only returned to Japan for your sister's tenth birthday. The problem arose when, on the plane, you both realized that you hadn't bought the birthday girl any presents: busy with the various preparations for the return trip, you hadn't bought anything in France. You realized it when you saw a little girl opening a present on the plane, and unexpectedly Rin saw the same scene at the same time and thought the same thing

On the evening of her birthday, after many hours of flying, Rin said that your gift for Kae would be to have her join him on the field in the next match, which would take place the following week against Italy. Kae had literally jumped out of her chair to hug both, even though your mother wasn't completely convinced, unlike your father who asked to be able to go on the field too. So now, as you go up to the stands to watch the game and the anthem, you think about how all this is so extraordinary and at the same time strange

When you sit down, the Japanese anthem begins to fill the stadium. You see Rin with his usual serious face and Kae, in front of him and wearing a Japan jersey, singing excitedly. You see in your sister's eyes an emotion that you have seen in her a few times, and thinking that all this is thanks to Rin makes you think a little more than usual: your relationship is not perfect, you argue like all normal couples, but you would never replace your beloved boyfriend with another person. You've loved each other since you were both fourteen, and now that he's on the Japanese national team and you've started college, your love has only grown. You're 19, but you both think you could go on forever like this, and that's exactly what makes you realize how much you really care about this relationship

Rin loves you, your family, your life and your soul. If that's not perfection, you don't know what is. You know that you both are still young and have goals, but if he asked you to marry him literally now, you would accept without regrets

The game begins, the kids going back to the locker room where you know your dad is waiting for Kae. You watch the rest of the game with them, while Kae tells everything Rin told her before she left, how good she was and how she wants to do it again. The match ends with Japan winning, with a goal scored by Rin himself: the whole stadium starts to shout, while you applaud happily. The journalists immediately take possession of the field and the players, and the same happens to Rin, who is captured by the cameras of the Japanese national TV. A reporter points the microphone at him, while your boyfriend lowers his water bottle

"Great match today, Itoshi Rin! No one expected less from the former Blue Lock number one. Do you miss the structure?" says the man, and Rin takes a few steps forward "It was a fundamental stage in my career, but half of the idiots who were with me are now in the national team, it hasn't changed that much" he says, and the man laughs "You're right, just today you scored with an assist from Isagi Yoichi, also a former number one. Speaking of other things, today a little girl came out on the field with you during the anthem..." he says, and Rin clears his throat "It was my girlfriend's younger sister. She's here too" he says, and the man smiles "I know! You both recently returned from France, didn't the city of love give you the chance to face an important stage in your relationship? After all, you've been together for a while" he says, and Rin raises an eyebrow "You mean Paris?" he asks, and the man nods "I'm talking about a possible marriage proposal in Paris" he says, and Rin's eyes widen a bit. He's silent for a few seconds, and then speaks slowly "I haven't had the chance... although we're both still very young. I might try next time"

Your father and Kae notice how you are almost paralyzed, a fierce blush that burns your face. Tonight you leave for Paris

✶ MICHEAL KAISER ᡣ𐭩 𓂃

"I wonder how he'll sing the German national anthem if he can barely speak" Kaiser says, and you think about it for a while. It's not a stupid question, but at the same time you don't want to think of an answer "I have no idea. You didn't know that until a few years ago, anyway" you say resting your head against his chest, and he tightens his grip on your waist "Remember to wait for him here. As soon as he's finished he'll come back to you" he says, and you nod "I know. I'll wait here"

Both you and Kaiser watch your brother being around the other kids who will be taking the field. Leon doesn't talk much, he's quite shy, but at the same time he always wants to be around other people. Both you and Kaiser think it's a bit of a weird behavior, but you don't worry too much, you think it's just something that will change as he grows up. Micheal, on the other hand, is the one who is a little more worried, but you can understand his behavior: as a child he never had the chance to be supervised by someone older, so he always had to correct his wrong or right behaviors himself. Leon has nothing, he is simply a child who is growing up, but Kaiser has always shown to be particularly fond of him. From the first moment they met, one winter evening three years ago, Leon became your boyfriend's favorite kid. Kaiser taught your brother to play soccer, and since he's gotten much better lately, Michael gave him the chance to stay with him before the match against Spain, during the German anthem

The team begins to line up, players calling out the kids they’ve been matched with. Kaiser leaves a kiss on your forehead, walking over to Leon "We gotta go. Are you ready?" he asks your brother, patting him on the back. He nods, taking his hand. You know how difficult physical contact is for Kaiser, but he has never refused to shake Leon's hand "Perfect. You have to promise me to shout the anthem, though. I want the whole stadium to hear your voice" he says, and you raise an eyebrow, while Leon also shakes his head, unsure "You have to, I want the whole stadium to know about you, the next striker of Bastard Munchen. Then you're with me, you don't have to be afraid, right?" says Kaiser teasing him, and Leon finally speaks "Okay Micheal..." he says, hiding his happy emotion

Kaiser nods in satisfaction, turning to you only briefly "Wait here, remember" he says, and you nod once more "I told you I’m not moving. Why are you so worried?" you ask, chuckling, but he sighs in amusement "You’ll see later" he says, and before you can ask him any questions he and your brother start walking down the stadium. The anthem starts in the stadium and all the players greet the crowd, while the children shout and laugh. You see Leon a little nervous, but a few words from Kaiser seem to calm him down

In your family, only you are capable of calming your brother's little moments of anxiety. You have always been the one to be his mother, and since Kaiser came into your life, he too has felt almost the duty to be there for your brother. Since he has been there too, only you and Micheal calm him. Leon could almost be your son, if he wasn't your little brother; it's something that both you and Michael think about, especially considering how important you both are to him. When you started being the girlfriend of the German prodigy, you never expected to see him so attached to your family, and honestly, you wouldn't have blamed him: Kaiser never had someone to call family, a group of people who taught him what love meant. You knew that bonding with your family wouldn't be easy for him, and yet it had happened so easily that for a second you thought you had misunderstood everything

What was yours had become his too. What you loved, your family, had become his family almost naturally, as if it was destined for your love and that of your relatives. You knew how much he cared, and it only made you even more proud to love him, of loving everything of Kaiser Micheal. You knew perfectly well his opinion on marriage, you knew how he was afraid of getting married because his parents had never given him an example of a healthy and loving marriage. You knew how much the idea of making a mistake, of becoming his father and locking you in a toxic marriage scared him, even if he had never pulled a hair on your head. You understood his motives and respected them, but if he ever asked you to be his wife, you knew full well that you would accept

You look over at your two treasures, and Leon seems to be having a blast as he shouts out the German national anthem, which is slowly coming to an end. Once again, Kaiser has managed to bring out the best in your brother, making the most enjoyable moment possible. As the music ends you approach the agreed upon spot, but you notice how the players are not starting to take their positions on the field. You raise an eyebrow, as the German team and the children slowly disappear from the pitch, while Leon runs towards you

"Come with me" your brother says, taking your hand and leading you down to the field "What do you want to do...?" you ask perplexed, shy in front of all the people's eyes. The soccer field empties completely, with only Kaiser left in the center. You watch him doubtfully as Leon takes you near him, leaving you once they reach the center of the field "Do you know anything?" you ask your brother, but he shakes his head "Just a little. Michael knows the rest" he says, chuckling, the laugh of someone who definitely knows everything. You remain in front of Kaiser, who however does not seem to give any answers to your doubtful look "What are you doing?" you ask for the umpteenth time, while you feel Leon's hand detach "Thank you. I owe you something" the German says to the boy, but he shakes his head "Nothing. Just make her happy" he says as he walks away, heading towards the edge of the field

In front of the eyes of the entire stadium, you and Kaiser remain. You begin to get nervous, while his calm gaze gives you absolutely no answer "Don't get nervous. Trust me" he says taking your hands, and you sigh resignedly "I don't want to die of anxiety" you say smiling nervously, and he nods "You won't die of anxiety. At least wait until you see the rest"

Kaiser clears his throat, taking a long breath. "Hello. No introduction needed, you already know perfectly well who I am. Maybe you know me for being your boyfriend, maybe for being the prodigy of an entire nation, but you are surely the only one who knows me as Michael, the same one who cried in your arms several times already. You know how my courage and narcissism are my signature, how my charisma is known by entire nations, or at least by their soccer teams. I always use my courage for myself, but never for others... and I thought I can do it once, just once for another person. One decisive time, that terrifies me but that you deserve. I thought about it for a long time, telling myself that we were fine the way we were, that we didn't need such a big gesture to confirm that I love you. But you are you, you have always gone beyond your limits to love me, to give me a sense of family and home that I never had. I want to use this courage for you, to ask you for something that I know scares me but that I want to do..." says the man. You see him kneel on one knee, opening a velvet box that reveals a ring with a blue sapphire

"... do you want to marry me, say yes to me in front of free Germany but above all in front of Leon?" says the man, showing you for the first time a completely new version of himself: that's not Kaiser Michael in front of you, that's not Kaiser, that's not even Michael. That's your Kaiser Michael, someone the whole world doesn't know but you know like yourself. Your hands are shaking as you try to cover your mouth and eyes that are slowly watering, but you can't ignore the emotion that's slowly eating you alive

"Of course I do" you say with a shaky voice, and the stadium erupts in a ferocious roar. Kaiser stands up, placing the ring on your finger before pulling you into a tight hug, burying his face in your shoulder "Thank you. Thank you for everything"

[goldsainz]

# DREW STARKEY — ACTORS ON ACTORS !

MASTERLIST !

001. SUMMARY !

✯ drew and you participate in variety’s “actors on actors” series.

002. WARNINGS !

✯ cursing, talking about nude scenes, probably inaccurate acting experiences.

003. NOTE !

✯ sorry to all the actors i stole roles from😭 also zendaya is used as a face claim for the social media but the writing is inclusive and has no descriptors of physical appearance… or at least i hope so.

word count : 5,4k (chat i got carried away)

The cozy studio was bathed in warm light, designed almost as if to feel like a welcoming living room. Two plush chairs faced each other, separated by a low coffee table adorned with a few carefully placed books and a small vase of fresh flowers. Everything about the space was crafted to exude intimacy and warmth, inviting open conversation.

Drew Starkey entered the room first, his usual calm confidence mingled with a tinge of nervous energy. He smoothed his shirt absentmindedly and scanned the setup, trying to ground himself in the moment. He was used to being in front of cameras, but this felt different. This wasn’t just about promoting a project or answering rapid-fire questions on a press junket. This was you.

“Hello,” Drew started, a smile gracing his features as he took in the fact that he was sitting right in front of his number one celebrity crush. His hand hovered awkwardly in a small wave, as if he couldn’t believe this was real.

“Hi,” you said back, a giggle falling past your lips when you noticed his sheepish look. “Nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you too,” he said, his voice just a little higher than usual. Drew cleared his throat, laughing at himself, which made you laugh too. “Sorry, I’m… a little nervous.”

“Oh, don’t be,” you reassured him with a warm smile. “I promise, I don’t bite.”

“Good to know.” He chuckled, his shoulders relaxing slightly. “How are you doing?”

“I’m great, thank you. What about you?”

“Pretty good, can’t complain.” A laugh bubbled out of him, and subsequently, you. The way he rubbed the back of his neck made you think he was still pinching himself that this was happening.

The cameras rolled, capturing the easy charm and immediate chemistry between the two of you. 

Drew’s grin widened as he began. “First of all, let me just say—I’m completely starstruck right now. I mean, the way you completely own every role you take on... it’s incredible.”

Your eyes widened in surprise, a bashful laugh escaping as you waved off the compliment. “Oh, stop it. You’re making me blush!”

“I’m serious,” he pressed, leaning forward slightly. “You’re like… the blueprint. If I ever get even halfway to where you are, I’ll consider myself lucky.”

“Well, now you’re just flattering me,” you said, your voice teasing but your cheeks undeniably warm. “But thank you, that’s so sweet. And honestly, you’re being way too hard on yourself. You’re incredible in Queer. You’ve got this natural charm that just lights up the screen.”

“Natural charm, huh?” He smirked, pretending to preen, which made you laugh again. “I’ll take that.”

“Good,” you replied, smiling. “You should, because it’s true.”

Drew’s gaze softened, the teasing giving way to something more earnest. “That means a lot, really. Especially coming from you. You’re like… Hollywood royalty to many.”

You tilted your head, a playful smirk tugging at your lips. “To many, huh? And are you part of this many?”

Drew’s eyes widened, and he laughed, a little caught off guard. “Oh, absolutely. I’ve got a lifetime membership to the fan club.”

“Good to know,” you teased, crossing your legs and leaning back in your chair with an air of mock superiority. “I’ll have to start charging you membership fees.”

“Totally worth it,” he shot back, his grin widening.

“Well, thank you,” you said with a soft laugh, “So, we’ve both got some things in common, which I think is pretty cool.”

“Like working with Daniel Craig?” he asked.

“Yes! Honestly, I still reminisce about our time on set… he’s genuinely incredible, isn’t he?”

“He is, yeah. I found myself just admiring him and sort of forgetting I had to act too. He’s just… he’s on another level, for sure.”

“Daniel’s a master of his craft… Most of my scenes as Paloma in No Time To Die were with him, and at first I was so nervous because, like, what if I messed up in front of the Daniel Craig?” Drew let out a laugh at your words, and you couldn’t help but laugh too. “But when he noticed I was nervous he reassured me that it was all good. He’s just the best.”

“You’ve worked with so many high-profile actors.” You nod slightly at his words, as if it were the most common thing in the world. “Are you always nervous when meeting them, or was it just a Daniel thing?”

“It wasn’t just Daniel, no, but I think it depends. For example, when I did Oppenheimer with Cillian Murphy, for some reason I felt more relaxed… even though I had some nude scenes with him.”

“Nude scenes just make you connect, don’t they?” he joked, leaning back with a sly grin.

“They do, actually,” you replied, leaning into the banter. “You’d think they’d be worse, but honestly, with the amount of seriousness and concentration they take, it’s like you don’t have time to be nervous.”

“You clearly pulled it off flawlessly,” Drew said with mock solemnity. 

“You did too in Queer.” You compliment him, “I watched it a few days ago, and the chemistry you had with Daniel was just off the charts.”

Drew’s face lit up, a mix of pride and bashfulness crossing his features. “Daniel’s an amazing scene partner. He really made it easy for me to tap into everything.”

“Well, it shows,” you said. “It was such a raw and beautiful performance. I might’ve shed a tear or two.”

“Okay, now you’re just trying to make me blush,” Drew teased, pointing at you with a playful squint. “But seriously, that means a lot coming from you.”

“Hey, give credit where it’s due,” you shot back with a grin. “You’ve got this way of making everything feel so real. Like when you’re in pain, we’re in pain. When you’re in love, we’re falling right alongside you.”

“Wow,” he said, shaking his head as if to clear it. “I don’t know what to do with all these compliments. This is the best therapy session I’ve ever had.”

You laughed, crossing your legs and leaning forward slightly. “Well, I’m glad I could help. But now I’m curious—how did you prepare for a role like that? I mean, it’s so emotionally intense, no?.”

“It was a lot of journaling, a lot of talking with Luca about backstory and motivations,” Drew explained, his tone more thoughtful. “And honestly, I kind of drew from real-life experiences. Not the exact ones, obviously, but just feelings of vulnerability and… wanting to be understood.”

“That’s beautiful,” you said softly, your smile turning tender. “It’s amazing how much of ourselves we pour into these characters.”

“Exactly,” Drew agreed. “And sometimes it’s terrifying, but when it resonates with people, it feels worth it.”

“It definitely resonated with me,” you assured him. “And I’m sure with countless others too.”

“That’s really nice to hear,” he said with a soft smile.

“How was it for you to work with Luca? Because I remember it being one of the highlights of my career.”

Drew’s eyes lit up at the mention of Luca Guadagnino, and he leaned forward slightly, as if the memory itself was a magnet pulling him closer. “Oh, working with Luca was… incredible,” he said, his voice laced with awe. “He’s got this way of creating such a safe, open space on set. It’s almost like he’s not just directing—he’s inviting you into this world he’s building in his head.”

You nodded eagerly, your own memories of working with Luca bringing a nostalgic smile to your face. “I know exactly what you mean. He makes it feel like you’re collaborating on this deeply personal piece of art, rather than just executing someone else’s vision.”

“Exactly!” Drew said, gesturing animatedly. “And he has this way of pulling things out of you that you didn’t even know you had. Like, he’ll ask you one simple question, and suddenly you’re diving into this emotional rabbit hole.”

You laughed, tilting your head in agreement. “He asked me once, ‘What would this character, Maren in my case, dream about?’ and it completely changed how I approached the next scene.”

Drew’s mouth dropped open in mock surprise. “He asked me the exact same question!”

“No way!” you exclaimed, your laughter spilling out in disbelief. “I love that! It’s honestly such a deceptively simple question, but it opens up so many layers.”

“It really does,” Drew said, chuckling. “And then you’re sitting there like, ‘Okay, now I have to rethink everything I thought I knew about this character.’”

“It’s kind of genius, though,” you added. “He makes you work harder, but not in a way that feels forced. It’s like… he trusts you to figure it out, but he gives you these breadcrumbs to follow.”

“Exactly,” Drew said again, his tone growing softer. “I think that’s why his films feel so intimate, he gets the human part so right.”

You smiled, letting his words settle in the air for a moment. “I think that’s what makes working with him feel like such a privilege. It’s not just about telling a story—it’s about feeling it.”

Drew nodded, his gaze thoughtful. “And those are the moments that stick with you, you know? The ones where you felt something real, even if it was just for a moment.”

“Completely,” you agreed, your voice soft with sincerity. “Those moments are why we do this.”

For a moment, the two of you sat in companionable silence, the weight of the conversation settling in the cozy studio. Then, Drew broke the quiet with a grin. “Okay, but did Luca make you do those impromptu rehearsals at, like, the crack of dawn?”

“Oh my God, yes!” you burst out, your eyes widening. “I’d just roll out of bed with zero coffee and somehow be expected to pour my soul into a scene.”

Drew laughed, his face lighting up. “Right? It’s like, ‘Good morning, here’s your emotional breakdown for the day.’”

You laughed along with him, the shared experience adding another thread to the easy camaraderie forming between you. “But honestly, I’d do it all over again in a heartbeat.”

“Same,” Drew said, his expression softening again. “For Luca? Anytime.”

“Absolutely,” you agreed, your eyes locking with his for a moment before the warmth of the studio light reminded you both that the cameras were still rolling.

Drew shifted in his seat slightly, his expression thoughtful. “You know, it’s kind of wild—hearing you talk about all these incredible experiences. You’ve been doing this for so long, and yet it’s like you’re just getting started.”

You tilted your head with a small smile. “That’s sweet of you to say. But yeah, I guess I have been in this industry for most of my life. It’s all I’ve ever really known.”

Drew’s eyebrows lifted. “That’s crazy to think about. I didn’t even consider acting until after college. You must’ve been, what, ten? Eleven?”

“Eight, actually,” you corrected with a chuckle. “My first role was in this little indie film. I was basically just the kid who ran around in the background eating ice cream, but I thought it was the coolest thing ever.”

He laughed, clearly amused. “That’s adorable. And now you’re the Hollywood It Girl. No big deal.”

You rolled your eyes playfully, your laughter light. “Oh, stop it. But yeah, it’s been a journey. Growing up on sets definitely shaped me, for better or worse. Sometimes I wonder what it would’ve been like to have a more ‘normal’ childhood.”

Drew’s smile softened. “That must’ve been such a whirlwind. I can’t even imagine starting that young. I didn’t even think about acting seriously until high school.”

“Oh, I’ve read about that!” You said, your voice lighting up. “You were all about sports growing up, right?”

“Yeah,” Drew admitted with a chuckle. “I was your typical small-town kid—baseball, basketball, you name it. I was convinced I was going to go pro in something, but clearly, that didn’t pan out.”

“Well, I think acting suits you pretty well.” 

“Thank you,” he says with a soft laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “But yeah, the real shift happened in high school when I joined a drama class. It was all Samuel Beckett and absurdist plays, which at the time I thought was the coolest thing ever.”

You leaned forward, intrigued. “So that’s what pulled you in? Drama class?”

“Pretty much,” he said with a nod. “And then I went to Western Carolina for college. I double-majored in English and theater, thinking, ‘If this acting thing doesn’t work out, I’ll at least have a backup plan.’”

“That’s so realistic of you,” you said with a laugh. “Meanwhile, I was ten, telling anyone who’d listen that I was going to win an Oscar one day.”

“And look at you now,” Drew said, gesturing to you with an almost reverent smile. “You made it happen.”

You chuckled, a bit flustered by his admiration. “Well, not quite, just an Oscar nominee for now. But thank you. You know, I think your journey’s pretty incredible too. A double major? That’s no joke. And starting later in the game like you did… it must have felt like a slow burn, but it’s clearly paid off.”

“Yeah, I guess,” Drew said thoughtfully. “It was definitely a slower burn for me. I didn’t land my first real gig until I’d been auditioning for what felt like forever.”

“I think that makes your journey even more special,” you said, your tone sincere. “You came into it with all this life experience and maturity. It shows in your work, you know? There’s this depth to your performances that’s just… rare.”

Drew’s ears turned a little pink, and he laughed softly, glancing down at his hands. “Wow, you’re gonna make me blush over here.”

“Good,” you said with a teasing smile. “It’s only fair after all the compliments you’ve been throwing my way.”

He looked up, his grin sheepish but warm. “Touché. But seriously, hearing that from someone like you—someone who’s been at this for so long and is so insanely talented—it means a lot.”

“Well,” you replied with a playful tilt of your head, “I think it’s safe to say we’re officially mutual fans.”

Drew laughed at that, the sound easy and genuine. “I can live with that.”

The conversation shifted into more comfortable territory as the two of you shared experiences, trading stories about acting and the film industry. Drew, now feeling at ease, leaned forward with renewed interest.

“You know,” he began, a thoughtful expression crossing his face, “I've been thinking about how different TV shows and movies are, especially when it comes to the pacing and character development. Like, in a show, we have to maintain this ongoing energy for the characters over multiple seasons. But with movies, it’s a totally different vibe, right?”

You nodded, understanding immediately where he was going. “It’s definitely a huge shift. With TV, you’re given time to build on a character slowly. Every episode is another chapter, so you can explore new facets of them and keep the audience hooked for longer periods of time. But movies, they’re this intense sprint. You have to get everything across in just two hours or so, but in a way that feels just as layered and satisfying.”

Drew's eyes lit up with excitement, clearly passionate about the topic. "Exactly! You have to balance the action and suspense while still giving the characters these moments of vulnerability. Over multiple seasons, you can really let them grow and change. It's like a slow burn. But when you're doing a movie, you don’t have the luxury of that buildup. It has to be this concentrated emotional punch right from the start.”

“That’s one of the biggest challenges of film, for sure," you agreed. "In a film, every second counts. You can’t afford to waste a moment. But I think what’s also interesting is how both mediums can explore a character’s journey from different angles. TV shows can dive into their backstory in more detail, but movies... they really need to hit those emotional beats and leave an impact without dragging it out."

Drew smiled, clearly engaged in the discussion. “In TV shows you need that perfect balance of suspense, character development, and personal growth. And then, at the end of the season, you drop a huge bombshell that leaves people wanting more.”

You laughed, raising an eyebrow playfully. “Sounds like you’ve been doing some serious thinking about it. What’s the secret to keeping the audience hooked without losing the depth of your character?”

He leaned back, his expression thoughtful. “Well, I think it’s about letting the characters evolve with the story. You need to make sure the audience sees the human side of your character, even when they're in these crazy situations. It’s what keeps people invested in the long run.”

“You’ve really got the process figured out,” you said with a smile. “But you’re right—it’s a different rhythm for TV. With a movie, you get to go deep quickly, but with a show, you have to keep it dynamic and varied. And let’s not forget, you need that cliffhanger at the end to make people binge-watch the next season.”

Drew’s eyes twinkled with mischief. “You’re giving away all the secrets! Next thing you know, people will be expecting a cliffhanger every time they watch a movie."

“Well, movies and TV are both art, but they demand different approaches,” you said, “and you’re doing an amazing job balancing both. I’m honestly so excited to see where your career goes next. Both worlds are lucky to have you.”

He chuckled softly, clearly humbled. “Thanks. I think I’m just lucky to be a part of both. I mean, who wouldn’t want to be in a show that gets people talking for days?”

“Right? You’ve got Outer Banks, which has such a dedicated fanbase, and then movies like Queer that touch people in such a different way. It’s amazing to watch your versatility.”

He leaned in slightly, a playful glint in his eyes. “I’m just trying to keep up with you. Honestly, your transition from action to more emotional roles is inspiring. I hope I can pull off something even close to what you’ve done with your career.”

Your smile softened, your voice sincere. “Well, you’re already doing it, Drew. You’re already there. It’s not just about the roles—it’s about the heart you put into them. And you’ve definitely got that.”

Drew’s smile faltered for a moment, the weight of your words sinking in. His gaze softened, as if he were truly reflecting on what you’d said. He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms but keeping his eyes on you, his expression thoughtful.

“It's crazy, isn't it?” He began, his voice a little quieter now, “The idea of giving so much of yourself to something that feels so... intimate. But when it works, when the audience feels it too, there's nothing like it.”

“Exactly,” you agreed, your voice a little quieter now. “That's the real magic, when the audience feels like they know the characters, like they're right there with them. It’s not about the plot twists or the fancy sets—it’s about the emotions that we build and share with them.”

Drew nodded thoughtfully, his gaze drifting away for a moment before returning to you. “Speaking of emotions, I just saw your new movie, We Live In Time,” he said, his voice taking on a softer tone. “It’s one of those films that stays with you, you know? It’s raw in a way that makes you uncomfortable, but it’s also beautiful. How did you tap into that for Almut?”

Your expression softened as you thought back on the experience. We Live In Time had been a journey—a raw, almost therapeutic one. “It was an emotional rollercoaster, honestly,” you said, leaning back slightly, letting the memory settle in. “I think the hardest part was showing that moment where her whole world shifts. It was such a raw, profound type of emotion I had to channel in order to do justice to the character and her experiences.”

Drew sat back, letting the weight of the conversation settle. “I think that's what makes your career so incredible. You never just play a character. You become them. And you take us with you. Every heartbreak, every triumph, every moment of doubt... we feel it all with you. That's what makes your work so powerful.”

You met his gaze, feeling the depth of the conversation linger between you both. “It’s all about connection, right? Connecting with the character, with the audience, and with the emotions that we all share as humans. Because at the end of the day, we’re all just trying to make sense of time, love, and the moments we get.”

Drew smiled, his expression genuine and soft. “Well, you’ve definitely made sense of it for me. We Live In Time—it’s not just a movie. It’s a reminder to cherish what we have. And that, in itself, is something special.”

You smiled back, your heart full as you let the words sink in. “Thank you, Drew. That’s really sweet of you.”

You both shared a comfortable silence for a moment, before Drew broke it with a playful grin. “You know, it’s clear you’ve mastered the art of vulnerability on screen, but I can’t help but wonder—did you ever have moments on set where it was just... impossible to take things seriously?”

You laughed, the sound light and genuine. “Oh, absolutely. In fact, as a kid, it was all impossible to be serious,” you admitted, shaking your head at the memory. “I remember this one time during a scene on set when I was probably around 9 or 10. We were supposed to be doing this emotional scene, and I had to cry on cue. But instead of crying, I couldn’t stop giggling. It was a dramatic moment, and my co-star was all serious and trying to get through the scene, but I just... lost it.”

Drew raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “Giggling during a dramatic scene? What happened?”

“Well, my director, bless her heart, kept trying to give me these 'serious actor' looks. She was this no-nonsense kind of woman, and she had this way of narrowing her eyes when things weren’t going well. I tried my best to hold it together, but then my co-star—who was way too good at being serious—looked at me and just gave this super intense stare, and that was it. I burst out laughing right in the middle of the take.”

Drew chuckled, shaking his head. “I can just picture that. You were probably trying to hold it together, but it must have been so hard with all that tension in the air.”

“I swear, the more I tried not to laugh, the harder it became,” you continued, grinning at the memory. “It was one of those moments where you’re like, 'Why am I even here? I can’t do this.' But somehow, I got through it. The director had to take a deep breath, and we did a few more takes. Eventually, we got it done, but I think we all were on the verge of cracking up the whole time.”

Drew let out a laugh, clearly imagining the scene. “I can’t blame you. I feel like as a kid, you have no filter. Everything feels like a joke, and it’s so hard to be serious when everyone else is trying so hard.”

“You have no idea,” you said, your voice still light. “There were so many times I’d be doing a serious scene, and I’d start thinking about something random, like a certain meme or a funny sound someone made on set—and then, bam, it was game over. I’d be holding in a laugh like my life depended on it.”

Drew smirked, leaning in a little. “I totally feel that. I mean, as an adult, I still have moments where I struggle to keep a straight face. I once had a scene where I was supposed to be super intense, but the prop guy was standing just out of frame, and he made this ridiculous face at me—completely threw me off. I couldn’t stop laughing, and it ended up taking hours to finish the scene because we kept cracking up. Honestly, I think the crew started to get annoyed with us after a while.”

“See?” you said with a grin. “It never really changes. Truthfully, the older you get, the harder it becomes to hold it in. But then you look at the footage and realize how much fun you actually had, and that makes it all worth it.”

Drew nodded thoughtfully, a playful twinkle in his eyes. “Yeah, that’s the thing. Sometimes it’s the moments you didn’t plan for that end up being the most memorable. Like when you have a laugh on set, and suddenly you feel closer to everyone, even though you’re supposed to be in character.”

“Exactly,” you said, your smile widening. “There’s something so beautiful about those unscripted moments. It reminds you that acting is, at its core, about connecting—whether that’s through laughter or the heavy stuff. And even though I had my fair share of giggling fits as a kid, I think those moments taught me just as much as the serious ones. Maybe more.”

Drew leaned back in his chair, a thoughtful look crossing his face. “It's funny how those little moments—like a laugh in the middle of a serious scene—can end up being the ones you remember the most. I think those are the ones that make the work feel real, you know?”

You smiled, your gaze distant as you reflected on the years of working on sets. “I know exactly what you mean.”

“Yeah, like those unscripted moments,” Drew added, his voice quieter now, as if the weight of the sentiment lingered in the air. “They give the performance an authenticity that you can’t get from just following the script to a tee.”

You nodded, the words hanging between you like a shared understanding. “Exactly. And as a kid, I was so focused on getting it ‘right’—on being perfect—that I missed the beauty of just being in the moment. But as I’ve gotten older, I’ve realized how important it is to let go of the idea of perfection. It's in those mistakes, the wrong takes, the bloopers—that's where you find the truth.”

Drew's expression softened, his eyes meeting yours with a sincerity that made your chest tighten. “I think it’s key not to be afraid to show the mess, the imperfect parts of a character, because that’s what makes them human.”

A small chuckle escaped you, the warmth of the moment filling the studio. “Right? We’re all just a little bit of a mess, trying to figure it out, but that’s what makes the journey worth it. We’re constantly learning, constantly evolving, and we bring that to our work. The growth, the mistakes—it all shapes us.”

Drew nodded, his gaze shifting as if reflecting on those same ideas. “Yeah, and the growth never stops, does it? Just when you think you’ve figured it out, something new happens, and it challenges you again.”

“That's the beauty of it,” you said, your voice quieter now, the bond between you both deepening. “The challenge is what keeps it exciting, keeps you moving forward.”

Drew grinned, a playful spark lighting his eyes once more. “Well, I guess we’re both lifelong students of this thing called acting, huh?”

“Absolutely,” you said with a laugh, the lightness returning. “And just like any good student, we’ll always be learning. Who knows, maybe we'll even get better at not laughing in the middle of dramatic scenes.”

Drew let out a hearty laugh, nodding enthusiastically. “I think that’s going to take years of practice, honestly.”

You both shared a moment of genuine laughter, the warmth of your conversation filling the space around you. You leaned back into the chairs, the laughter still lingering in the air, a sense of camaraderie that made the space between you feel comfortable and open. You continued sharing stories, moving seamlessly from one experience to the next.

The conversation began to slow, the easy flow of stories fading into a comfortable silence, as you both shared an unspoken understanding. The light laughter that had filled the room now felt like a warm, lingering hum between you.

Drew shifted slightly in his chair, his gaze turning toward you with a subtle, thoughtful expression. “You know,” he began, his voice softer now, “I really hope we get to work together sometime. I think it’d be incredible. It’s the kind of thing where I can already imagine what it’d be like. Just... easy, real. Like this.”

Your heart skipped a beat at his words, but you kept your composure, offering a smile that spoke volumes. “I’d love that. If you receive a call from your manager these days… maybe I had something to do with it, so be prepared.”

The air between you both was charged, the quiet intensity of the moment not lost on either of you. There was something unspoken, something deeper that neither of you addressed outright but that seemed to hang there all the same. The connection was undeniable, yet it lingered in the silence, unspoken, but clear.

Drew finally broke the spell with a playful grin, his eyes flicking back to yours. “Oh, I’ll be ready. Can’t wait to see what magic we create together.”

You returned his smile, your heart racing ever so slightly, though you kept it hidden behind the ease of your words. “I’m sure it’ll be something incredible.”

As the interview wrapped up, there was a lingering sense of something unspoken between you both, an attraction that neither of you had to mention but was so clearly felt. The kind of connection that could only be hinted at, but would never truly fade. It was the kind of moment that would stay with both of you long after the cameras stopped rolling.

“Thank you,” you said softly as the final moments of the interview started to loom, your voice carrying a depth that reflected everything unsaid between you. “This has been amazing. Honestly, it feels like we’ve been talking for hours, and yet it still doesn’t feel like enough.”

He nodded, his expression soft but genuine. “I feel the same way. This has been one of the most honest and open conversations I’ve had in a long time.”

The crew began to pack up, signaling that the interview was at its end, but neither of you seemed in any hurry to break the moment. The usual chatter and movement around you felt distant, as if the two of you were in your own world for just a little longer.

“You know,” Drew said, his voice quieter now, a hint of sincerity threading through, “I think we make a pretty good team even just sitting here talking. Imagine what we could do with a whole script.”

Your smile softened, and you nodded, the words feeling right, but the undertone of something more—something unsaid—hung in the air. “Yeah, I think we’d be unstoppable.”

The moment stretched between you both, filled with the kind of comfortable tension that comes when you realize you’ve shared something real. Something that felt like it could turn into something more.

You both stood up, a final, lingering moment before the usual goodbye. Drew extended a hand, his gaze holding yours a beat longer than necessary.

“Take care, okay?” he said, his voice warm, like the words carried more than just a polite farewell.

You shook his hand, the warmth of his touch lingering just a moment longer than expected. “You too, Drew,” you replied, your voice soft yet carrying an undercurrent of meaning that mirrored his own.

As you turned to gather your things, you couldn’t help but glance back over your shoulder. He was still standing there, watching you with that same thoughtful expression, his hands casually tucked into his pockets. The faintest smile curved his lips, as if he were replaying the conversation in his mind.

“See you around,” he called out, the words simple but loaded with promise.

“Yeah,” you said, meeting his gaze one last time. “See you around.”

Walking away, you felt a peculiar lightness, as though something intangible had shifted, leaving you both exhilarated and curious. It wasn’t every day you met someone who made you feel seen in such a profound way, and as you left the studio, you found yourself smiling, a quiet hope blooming in your chest.

And for a fleeting second, you allowed yourself to wonder what could come next.

[hhaechansmoless]

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

[5ummit]

AO3 Ship Stats: Year In Bad Data

You may have seen this AO3 Year In Review.

It hasn’t crossed my tumblr dash but it sure is circulating on twitter with 3.5M views, 10K likes, 17K retweets and counting. Normally this would be great! I love data and charts and comparisons!

Except this data is GARBAGE and belongs in the TRASH.

I first noticed something fishy when I realized that Steve/Bucky – the 5th largest ship on AO3 by total fic count – wasn’t on this Top 100 list anywhere. I know Marvel’s popularity has fallen in recent years, but not that much. Especially considering some of the other ships that made it on the list. You mean to tell me a femslash HP ship (Mary MacDonald/Lily Potter) in which one half of the pairing was so minor I had to look up her name because she was only mentioned once in a single flashback scene beat fandom juggernaut Stucky? I call bullshit.

Now obviously jumping to conclusions based on gut instinct alone is horrible practice... but it is a good place to start. So let’s look at the actual numbers and discover why this entire dataset sits on a throne of lies.

Here are the results of filtering the Steve/Bucky tag for all works created between Jan 1, 2023 and Dec 31, 2023:

Not only would that place Steve/Bucky at #23 on this list, if the other counts are correct (hint: they're not), it’s also well above the 1520-new-work cutoff of the #100 spot. So how the fuck is it not on the list? Let’s check out the author’s FAQ to see if there’s some important factor we’re missing.

The first thing you’ll probably notice in the FAQ is that the data is being scraped from publicly available works. That means anything privated and only accessible to logged-in users isn’t counted. This is Sin #1. Already the data is inaccurate because we’re not actually counting all of the published fics, but the bots needed to do data collection on this scale can't easily scrape privated fics so I kinda get it. We’ll roll with this for now and see if it at least makes the numbers make more sense:

Nope. Logging out only reduced the total by a couple hundred. Even if one were to choose the most restrictive possible definition of "new works" and filter out all crossovers and incomplete fics, Steve/Bucky would still have a yearly total of 2,305. Yet the list claims their total is somewhere below 1,500? What the fuck is going on here?

Let’s look at another ship for comparison. This time one that’s very recent and popular enough to make it on the list so we have an actual reference value for comparison: Nick/Charlie (Heartstopper). According to the list, this ship sits at #34 this year with a total of 2630 new works. But what’s AO3 say?

Off by a hundred or so but the values are much closer at least!

If we dig further into the FAQ though we discover Sin #2 (and the most egregious): the counting method. The yearly fic counts are NOT determined by filtering for a certain time period, they’re determined by simply taking a snapshot of the total number of fics in a ship tag at the end of the year and subtracting the previous end-of-year total. For example, if you check a ship tag on Jan 1, 2023 and it has 10,000 fics and check it again on Jan 1, 2024 and it now has 12,000 fics, the difference (2,000) would be the number of "new works" on this chart.

At first glance this subtraction method might seem like a perfectly valid way to count fics, and it’s certainly the easiest way, but it can and did have major consequences to the point of making the entire dataset functionally meaningless. Why? If any older works are deleted or privated, every single one of those will be subtracted from the current year fic count. And to make the problem even worse, beginning at the end of last year there was a big scare about AI scraping fics from AO3, which caused hundreds, if not thousands, of users to lock down their fics or delete them.

The magnitude of this fuck up may not be immediately obvious so let’s look at an example to see how this works in practice.

Say we have two ships. Ship A is more than a decade old with a large fanbase. Ship B is only a couple years old but gaining traction. On Jan 1, 2023, Ship A had a catalog of 50,000 fics and ship B had 5,000. Both ships have 3,000 new works published in 2023. However, 4% of the older works in each fandom were either privated or deleted during that same time (this percentage is was just chosen to make the math easy but it’s close to reality).

Ship A: 50,000 x 4% = 2,000 removed works Ship B: 5,000 x 4% = 200 removed works

Ship A: 3,000 - 2,000 = 1,000 "new" works Ship B: 3,000 - 200 = 2,800 "new" works

This gives Ship A a net gain of 1,000 and Ship B a net gain of 2,800 despite both fandoms producing the exact same number of new works that year. And neither one of these reported counts are the actual new works count (3,000). THIS explains the drastic difference in ranking between a ship like Steve/Bucky and Nick/Charlie.

How is this a useful measure of anything? You can't draw any conclusions about the current size and popularity of a fandom based on this data.

With this system, not only is the reported "new works" count incorrect, the older, larger fandom will always be punished and it’s count disproportionately reduced simply for the sin of being an older, larger fandom. This example doesn’t even take into account that people are going to be way more likely to delete an old fic they're no longer proud of in a fandom they no longer care about than a fic that was just written, so the deletion percentage for the older fandom should theoretically be even larger in comparison.

And if that wasn't bad enough, the author of this "study" KNEW the data was tainted and chose to present it as meaningful anyway. You will only find this if you click through to the FAQ and read about the author’s methodology, something 99.99% of people will NOT do (and even those who do may not understand the true significance of this problem):

The author may try to argue their post states that the tags "which had the greatest gain in total public fanworks” are shown on the chart, which makes it not a lie, but a error on the viewer’s part in not interpreting their data correctly. This is bullshit. Their chart CLEARLY titles the fic count column “New Works” which it explicitly is NOT, by their own admission! It should be titled “Net Gain in Works” or something similar.

Even if it were correctly titled though, the general public would not understand the difference, would interpret the numbers as new works anyway (because net gain is functionally meaningless as we've just discovered), and would base conclusions on their incorrect assumptions. There’s no getting around that… other than doing the counts correctly in the first place. This would be a much larger task but I strongly believe you shouldn’t take on a project like this if you can’t do it right.

To sum up, just because someone put a lot of work into gathering data and making a nice color-coded chart, doesn’t mean the data is GOOD or VALUABLE.

[kxsagi]

hihii can i req reader that is like academically smart but is also very naive at the same time?? reader would probably fall for the most obvious clickbait or something feel free to do with any bllk characters (especially sae 💋💋) thank youu but also feel free to ignore this if you don't want it

“𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐞 𝐛𝐚𝐢𝐭 𝐯𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐦”

a/n: i read rage bait instead of click bait after writing everything, but decided to keep it since it’s still fitting 😭

ft. isagi yoichi, itoshi rin, kaiser michael, itoshi sae, shidou ryusei, nagi seishiro, mikage reo, karasu tabito

isagi yoichi

“you’re literally smarter than me, so why are you fighting with an anime profile picture?” 

you’re writing a full essay in the comments under a rage bait post that says “math is fake and only lazy people like numbers.” 

“love. they want you to argue. that’s the whole point. it’s bait.” 

you, while typing aggressively: “it’s the principle.” 

isagi literally has to pry the phone out of your hands. 

“they’re trolling. why are you citing academic sources in a thread about flat earth?” 

alternates between being impressed and deeply concerned. 

“you’re so smart it’s scary. and yet, you just fell for a post that said ‘gravity is a scam made by the big ladder.’” 

will still throw slurs under his fake account at anyone that tries to come after you. 

itoshi rin

“get off the internet. log off. i’m blocking you from twitter.” 

you: reading a post that says “the mitochondria isn’t real.” 

also you: seeing red. 

he watches you scroll past rage bait like, “no... don't take the bait... dammit.” 

“you know better. you literally know better.” 

gets mad with you but refuses to engage. 

he’s just staring at you spiraling over a troll who said “logic is fake” and muttering, “wtf is wrong with this generation.” 

turns off your wifi like a concerned parent. 

“you’re not arguing with someone named @cattboysupreme69. go read a book.” 

kaiser michael

“you’re falling for rage bait again, huh? i love this dumb little hobby of yours.” 

finds it hilarious that you get so fired up over random garbage takes. 

literally records you pacing and ranting about how “emotions are valid sources of decision making, actually.” 

“schatz, you’re a valedictorian. why are you beefing with someone who said ‘plants don’t have feelings so vegans are evil’?” 

fully encourages it for fun. 

“no, no, quote them. let’s go viral.” 

brags to his teammates like, “my girl’s a genius and also beefing with half of conspiracy tik tok. goals.” 

secretly reports every troll you argue with behind the scenes. he’s protective in a petty, passive-aggressive way. 

itoshi sae

“this is why i hate people. and also why you shouldn’t be online unsupervised.” 

you fell into a rage trap that said “women don’t belong in STEM.” 

sae, watching you rage-type a dissertation just said, “block them and move on.” 

you: “no. they need to be educated.” 

he takes your phone. 

“they don’t. they have 12 followers and use comic sans unironically.” 

quietly annoyed but impressed that you always come with facts. 

lowkey reads your arguments later and thinks, “damn. my girl snapped.” 

would absolutely start threatening people if they get too bold with you. 

“she might be arguing like it’s a thesis defense, but if any of you make her cry, i’m breaking your nose.” 

shidou ryusei

“babe, you’re smart as hell, but you’re also fighting with rage bait like it personally insulted your dog.” 

thinks it’s hilarious. 

“they said books are just dead trees. you really gonna let that slide?” 

you: frothing with rage “i will not let that slide.” 

shidou: eating popcorn and hyping you up “go off, professor! educate their ass!” 

he will 100% jump in and start trolling with you. 

“yo, babe, say something about their spelling. that always pisses ‘em off.” 

gives you an award when you get someone to delete their comment. 

“queen behavior. love that for you.” 

nagi seishiro

“can we not. like ever. please.” 

the most done every time you scream: “WHAT DO YOU MEAN THE SUN ISN’T A STAR AND IT’S A PLANET?!” 

he just wants to play games, not watch you get into a 14-comment back-and-forth with a dude named @trumpfan420. 

“you’re literally a genius. why are you arguing with people who think australia doesn’t exist?” 

lies on your lap and sighs dramatically. 

“you’re lucky you’re cute when you’re mad.” 

secretly proud of how well you school people, though. 

once tried to help you argue but got bored after one sentence. 

“i told them ‘L’ and left.” 

mikage reo

“you’re academically brilliant. and also very online. it’s like watching an intellectual gladiator fight trolls.” 

every time he hears “REO. THEY SAID SHAKESPEARE WAS MID.” he already knows what’s happening. 

you’re pacing around the house, typing furiously, quoting sonnets and throwing in stats. 

“you’re smarter than the entire room but still letting a 14-year-old with a controversial hot take ruin your night.” 

he makes tea and sits beside you while you rage. 

“need a bibliography link, baby?” 

lowkey brags to others: “yeah my girl just flamed a whole subreddit with APA formatting.” 

you’re his little chaos genius and he loves it. 

“you’re going to be a nobel prize winner and twitter’s most feared debater at the same time.” 

karasu tabito

“you’re out here fighting for your life against rage bait and i’m living for it.” 

watches you with popcorn like it’s live TV. 

“ohhh here they go. someone said philosophy is just overpriced poetry. let’s gooo.” 

he fully instigates sometimes. 

“babe, someone said gravity isn’t real. thoughts?” 

you start ranting, and he just grins like an agent of chaos. 

“why are you like this?” 

“why are you like this?” 

says he’ll block the trolls for you. ends up ratioing them with memes instead. 

y’all are the duo that trolls the trolls and then drops a full essay for fun. 

if anyone dares say “women can’t argue,” karasu just goes, “you sure about that?” and lets you annihilate them in 5k characters. 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[goomyloid]

ty for also being so based about kriselle. just got into deltarune with the new chapters and jesus fucking christ these estranged childhood friends turned into… traumatized murder accomplices has me in a chokehold. everything about the weird route makes me utterly insane. other than the ferris wheel, what other messed up scenes do you want between these two? i’m personally rooting for a recreation between whatever went down with Dess (and possibly Kris?) in the bunker.

thankyou... this is exactly what i hoped would happen with the new chapters welcome to the team man. heres a wip i probably wont finish

want to immediately get closer to your estranged childhood friend overnight? just become secret murder accomplices in such a way where there are strange romantic undertones to the whole ordeal what the hell sure

uhh scenes i want to see... hmmm... aside from the ferris wheel, i think i just hope like, they spend a lot of time together at the festival... i want it to be deeply uncomfortable and eerie especially because noelle might be in a strangely good mood? Looking forward to it? While kris is just miserable. peak dynamic

i dont necessarily know how much i want to see this happen but i think it would be an extremely interesting turn of events if noelle, with her newfound power and confidence, starts to really pursue What She Wants (which may include any number of friends or family members' safety and health) (my personal hunch) (or something crazy like literally becoming an angel) (wait actually thats kinda fire i hope that happens now) and kris gets pushed aside from the story as collateral almost. like i simultaneously do and dont want it to happen. i want their fates to be so irreversibly deeply intertwined but i also want things to be utterly heartbreaking at every turn i want them to get WORSE. do NOT heal each other. Stew in your misery and die together. (said lovingly)

[buckymorelikefuckme]

fri(end)s

bucky barnes x fem reader

words: 3.8k

warnings & tags: **18+ ONLY** friends/roommates to lovers oh my god they were roommates, smoking weed, brief mutual masturbation, frottage (i think that's the right word idfk i'm all out of practice), p in v sex, unprotected sex (don’t do that), reader has nipple piercings bc i said so, slight pain kink? mayhaps? ok pls let me know if i’ve missed anything!

a/n: i made this fic my bitch tonight. this is absolutely not proofread or beta'd, you're just gonna have to take it for what it is, sorry not sorry. anyway, it’s been too long since i wrote for this beefy man :’) i really hope you like it. this was originally very loosely inspired by a scene in what’s your number? but it quickly gained a mind of its own to become what it is now, so. there ya go. title is from the song of the same name by V of bts thank you very much. any and all mistakes are my own. feedback is greatly appreciated and heavily encouraged!!! xoxo

bucky barnes masterlist || main masterlist

Bucky’s introduction to weed was something you’d been supremely proud of.

When the two of you became roommates, you both had been kind of quiet and kept to yourselves at first, which isn’t too unusual, but you noticed that Bucky almost always had a frown etched into his handsome face. A frown that only ever softened after a night out with his friends and, you assumed, a decent hook-up. It never took long for that frown to reappear, though.

You didn’t know what could have been so stressful for him, but you knew he needed a way to relax, and not just for himself, either. The sight of him glumly moving around the apartment—honestly, you’ve never seen someone make fixing a bowl of cereal look so fucking sad—was beginning to weigh on your own nerves.

So, naturally, you thought of asking him if he’s ever tried weed. Somehow, his frown had deepened at that question. He said no, shocking absolutely no one, and then you asked if he wanted to try it. Admittedly, he was a little hesitant at first, but he eventually agreed.

The way his body, all two hundred and whatever pounds of muscle and angst, sank into the recliner like a ragdoll when the high really hit him made you grin. Though, to be fair, you were already smiling, what with you also being high. It was the first time you saw a real, genuine smile from Bucky, and you were immensely pleased to have given him a way to decompress from whatever kept him so tense all the time.

It became a sort of thing for you two. Saturday nights were for getting high, binge-watching Love Island (UK, because you both have class, thank you very much) and raiding the pantry for all the good snacks when the munchies hit. You’d never tell anyone, but those nights quickly became something you looked forward to every week, something you could cling to when your own life got a little difficult. Who knew smoking weed—and on a few special occasions, doing edibles—with your roommate would make a friendship blossom so prettily?

***

After how late Bucky got in last night, you knew he’d be sleeping in and would more than likely have a hangover. So, for this particular Saturday morning, you get up and quietly start gathering your laundry while Bucky snores loudly into his pillow from his bedroom. You were getting behind on it anyway, down to your last pair of clean shorts.

Before you put them on, though, you purse your lips in thought, staring at your pile of dirty clothes. You didn’t want to put on clean shorts with the panties and shirt you slept in last night. It would be smarter to wash them with the rest of your clothes, right? But that would leave you topless, which, you wouldn’t exactly be opposed to it, but you’re not sure Bucky would appreciate waking up to you walking around with your tits out. Or maybe he would? Whatever, it doesn’t matter.

You shake your head to clear your thoughts and then remember that Bucky did his laundry yesterday, and knowing him, he probably left at least some of his clean clothes in the dryer. Surely he wouldn’t mind you borrowing a shirt.

With that plan in mind, you dump your clothes into your laundry basket and make your way down the hall to the doors where your washing and drying units are (a major selling point of the apartment, if you’re honest). Just like you thought, Bucky’s left a load in the dryer, and even some of his button-downs are hung up on the drying rack. You quickly pull your t-shirt off, shivering against the cool air, and reach for one of the hangers, slipping his shirt off of it and onto yourself. For a dress shirt, it’s actually quite comfortable, obviously one of the shirts he wears more often with how soft and a little worn the fabric is. You shimmy your panties down your legs and add them to your pile, grabbing your clean shorts and tugging them on, too.

You make quick work of starting your first load of clothes, closing the doors to muffle the sound of the washer, and head back to your room to do your morning routine. By the time you’re done and have also cooked yourself breakfast, Bucky is staggering down the hall and into the kitchen, hair a tangled nest atop his head and eyes bleary.

“Good morning, sunshine,” you greet with a teasing smile.

He flips you off and beelines for the coffee machine, pouring himself a cup and not speaking a word until he’s downed at least half of it. Part of you is concerned for his esophagus, but you’ve long since come to the conclusion that Bucky’s probably got a thing for pain—both physically and emotionally.

“Remind me to tell Sam he isn’t allowed to bring Natasha on our nights out anymore,” he grumbles, voice rough from both sleep and a long night of drinking. “I’ve never taken so many shots of vodka in my life.”

You hum. “Sounds like my kind of woman, actually.” He cuts his eyes at you, silently judging while taking another sip of his coffee. “Want me to fry up some bacon and eggs for you?” You almost laugh at the way his expression immediately switches to pleading.

The rest of the morning is spent finishing your laundry and putting it all away, even gathering up Bucky’s clothes that he’d left and dumping them on his bed. You’ll leave the folding to him, though; your generosity only extends so far, after all.

Lunch rolls around and you both decide to order takeout from the burger place down the street, Bucky shushing you when you keep insistently whispering for him to order extra truffle fries (which he does order, after you’ve sworn pain of death if he doesn’t) and once it arrives, the two of you settle around the coffee table in the living room, putting on a random movie to watch while you eat.

And of course, when the sun begins to lower on the horizon, you start pulling out your stash and getting everything ready. Bucky’s already got the windows open in the living room to let the smell air out as you smoke, and he also has Love Island queued up and ready to go.

While you smoke the first joint, you make the conscious decision to bake a small batch of brownies for later. Bucky sits on the counter beside you, passing the joint back and forth as he quietly watches you work. Wordlessly, you hand over the bowl and spoon to him after you’ve poured the batter into the awaiting pan. No matter how many times you’ve tried to warn him about salmonella he always insists on licking them clean.

Sometimes, in these moments, you forget how surly he used to be with you. Not that he was ever rude or anything, but he never would have pouted about not being able to eat raw brownie batter before you helped him break down some of those walls of his.

***

“He’s such a dick,” Bucky mumbles a while later, face impassive and tone bland as he refers to one of the islanders of the show, slouching so deeply into the couch he’s practically become one with it.

The high from the first joint is finally kicking in fully, doing its job of releasing every ounce of tension from your bodies. It’s also making your mouth dry and tummy rumble for snacks. Thank god you made those brownies and Bucky unearthed some candy from past movie nights and lots of chips out of the pantry cabinets.

You hum at his comment. “Most men are.”

Bucky turns his head in your direction with an affronted expression that has you snickering. He goes to reply, giving you the sassiest once-over you’ve ever seen, but his eyes doubletake on your torso and he pauses. He stares for a moment.

“That’s my shirt,” he states.

You look down at the shirt in question, of which you’ve worn all day long and somehow he’s only just now noticing.

“Wow, you’re like Sherlock Holmes or something,” you drawl.

Bucky stares some more, and then, “Why are you wearing my shirt?”

“Because I had laundry to do and I needed something to wear while all my stuff was washing,” you say in a “duh” tone.

“But…” He frowns. “It’s my favorite.”

You snort inelegantly. “Bucky, you literally have, like, at least four other white dress shirts.”

“So? What, I can’t have a favorite one just because I have more of the same color?”

“Christ,” you say on an exasperated exhale. “I’ll give it back before bed, okay? I don’t wanna move right now. I’m scared I’ll bump into stuff again.”

Bucky huffs a laugh at that, which turns into a full-blown giggle fit that is contagious. Soon after your shared laughter dies down, the conversation moves back to the illicit love triangles among the islanders. You trash talk the couple that Bucky likes, just to see him get riled up and rant about how they’re the most real couple of the season and everyone else is just jealous. He gets red in the face and pouty when you remind him that this is a heavily produced show about pretty people getting a chance to get famous for being pretty people by hooking up with each other and playing stupid games that mean nothing in the grand scheme of it all. Really, it’s quite cute.

To placate him, though, you get a second joint rolled and let him take the first hit.

***

Turns out this second one hits you rather harder than normal. It feels like your head is a balloon and your neck is the string tethering it to the rest of your body. Everything feels much more sluggish compared to all the other times you’ve gotten high with Bucky. Somewhere in the depths of your hazy brain you remember that you’d gotten a different brand this time around; perhaps that’s why.

On the tv, the islanders are getting ready for bed, and once the lights go out in their room, some of the couples engage in some serious heavy petting, lifting their comforters for a semblance of privacy. The sounds start next, sighs and low moans, and it all begins to settle into your subconscious. Between one lazy blink and the next, you realize you’re… actually kind of horny. It’s not enough for you to really pay attention to it, not at first, just a little sprinkle of it, a tiny twist in your core that briefly has you pressing your thighs together then relaxing again.

But then the arousal builds up inside you so slowly and easily that you don’t even realize your hand has apparently grown a mind of its own and found its way down your shorts. You inhale sharply at the touch of your fingers against your clit, lashes fluttering as the sensation registers. The sound gains Bucky’s attention from where he's been lounging on the opposite end of the couch with his head tipped back and eyes closed.

They’re not closed anymore. Out of your peripheral, you see his head shift in your direction, feeling the weight of his stare like a physical thing. Your mind is both connected and disconnected from your actions, half-aware that this is probably not the smartest thing to be doing, that you’re absolutely crossing a major boundary. Touching yourself in this way in front of your roommate, your friend, is so not normal.

Yet, for some idiotic reason, you leave your hand down your shorts, continuing to lightly pet at your clit, neediness rising steadily. Even though you know he’s watching—and suspiciously quiet—you can’t help but let your fingers slither down to where you’re beginning to drip to gather some of your slick and bring it back to your clit and swirling your fingers at a sedate pace, sighing as your nipples tighten underneath your shirt.

Bucky is as still as a statue, gaze honed in on the movement of your hand, on how your thighs ease open more and more the longer you play with your pussy.

It takes very little time for your eyes to wander over to the man just a couple feet away, and to then notice and fixate on the growing bulge in Bucky’s sweatpants. The weight of his stare is almost a physical thing and you swallow roughly as you think about what he might look like, if he’s at all how you’ve secretly imagined when you’re alone in your bedroom, in much the same position as you are in now.

His hands creep towards his thighs and smooth down the expanse of them and back up, slowly, over and over, like he’s teasing himself. Like he’s teasing you. Your fingers don’t stop as you lift your other hand to tweak and pinch at your nipples through well-worn cotton, a tiny noise slipping past your dry lips.

Bucky pulls the hem of his shirt up, exposing part of his toned stomach and only hesitates for a split second before he lowers the waistband of his pants, pulling his cock out and matching the pace of his strokes with the pace of your fingers. The head of his cock is pink and precum makes it shine under the low light of the lamps in the living room.

You bite your lip as your arousal increases from the sight alone, and you decide to follow his lead, just a bit. You whine from the loss of stimulation when you remove your hand to shimmy your shorts down and off your legs, letting them fall to the floor carelessly. And now, Bucky has an unrestrained view of your glistening cunt as you sink two of your fingers inside yourself and use your other fingers to rub all around your clit. It has you gasping, eyelids threatening to close through the pleasure that sparkles throughout every vein in your body.

It’s good. Amazing, even. And it’s only making you want more. Bucky, it seems, feels much the same.

“C’mere,” he rasps, tone leaving no room for arguing, never mind that you wouldn’t have argued anyway.

You sit up on the couch, knee-walking over to where he’s still in his slumped position, never pulling your hand away from your clit because it feels like you’d cry if you did. Bucky curses under his breath and lets go of his cock to firmly grab you by the hips and tug you onto his lap. Your pussy ends up aligned perfectly with his cock, and you both shudder as you begin gliding back and forth across it, small movements that only increase the suspense of what likely comes next. He meets your eyes, red and glazed over from both the high and the toe-curling feeling of his cock along your wet center.

The kiss, when it happens, tastes like weed and the peanut M&M’s you both were snacking on just a little while ago. Bucky's tongue licks into your mouth like he can’t get enough, nips at your bottom lip to hear you whimper, gets a fistful of your hair and pulls and guides you until you’re pliant for him.

He knocks your hand away from your clit, but before you can complain about it he’s nudging the head of his cock against your entrance and you’re gasping all over again, grinding sloppily as you try to get him inside you. He finally sinks the head in and you allow gravity to aid you in taking the rest of him, moaning brokenly and high pitched at the stretch of him inside you. Bucky groans deep in his chest, hands clutching your waist like a lifeline as you slowly circle your hips, getting used to the feeling.

You stay like that for a few minutes, your breath and Bucky’s mixing hotly between you, and then you finally start fucking yourself on his cock. He grunts when you clench around him on the downstroke. You decide you like the sound, and you really wanna hear it again, so you repeat the action, moaning when the grunt is accompanied by a curse and his fingernails biting into your skin.

It takes what feels like ages for you to realize your thighs and knees ache from riding him, the weed making everything feel like it’s floating, including yourself, but Bucky sees the furrow in your brows and the shaking strain of your legs, and in the next second, he’s got you both moved from the couch to the floor. Time ticks on glacially slow like molasses as you stare up at him whipping his shirt off from where you’re sprawled on the carpet, your limbs shifting lethargically when he spreads your legs to better fit himself between them.

He fucks you hard, but not fast. you’re both much too high for anything fast, yet it still feels like your heart is going to pulse out of your chest, rabbiting away like you’ve run a marathon. Bucky buries his face in your neck, mouthing at your skin while he thrusts almost lazily.

Suddenly, his large hands encapsulate your hips, fingers pressing into the fleshiest parts of them as he sits up, getting his knees under him so he can rest on his haunches. He keeps your ass in his lap and your legs spread on either side of his waist. It makes your back arch and hips tilt up into a position that has you shuddering and sobbing when he begins to grind his thick cock deeper into you.

“I could stay buried in you for hours,” he mutters.

He reaches for the throw pillows on the couch and puts them under your hips, and then he fucks into you so hard it steals the breath right from your lungs, your mouth hanging open on a silent cry. His thrusts are sharper now, angled to perfection and making your toes curl so hard you fear them cramping and body jolt when he glides all the way back in. You gasp when Bucky rips open your shirt (his shirt, your mind helpfully supplies) and sends the buttons scattering across the floor. Those will be a bitch to find and clean up, but that’s a problem for much later.

“Fuck,” he grunts when he sees the piercings glinting in your nipples. “I fucking knew it,” he continues, squeezing each of your breasts in his hands and pinching your nipples between his thumbs and forefingers, making you gasp again, pushing up into the sensation.

“Knew—“ You cut off with a whine when he pinches harder. “Knew what?”

“You walk around here wearing those goddamn cropped tank tops as tight as possible with no bra. Thought I was going crazy when I saw what looked like piercings underneath them,” he confesses as his hands travel back down to grip your waist, never losing his rhythm while he pulls you down to meet his thrusts.

At the sight of your tits bouncing with the movement of his hips, he groans, gravelly, his top lip curling as he grits his teeth and squeezes your hips so hard it hurts, and it only adds to your pleasure. With the way your skin is tingling, your pussy fluttering around him nonstop, you’re not sure if it’s because Bucky is fucking you that well or if it’s the weed. It’s probably both, and you have a split second thought that you’ll just have to test that theory once the high wears off.

It’s almost ironic, you think, how wet and messy your cunt is compared to how dry your mouth feels. It probably doesn’t help that your jaw seems to be permanently slack as you’re unable to stop your gasping inhales, only to exhale sounds you might be embarrassed about if you were clear-headed. Alas, your mind is a lot more focused on the way Bucky is splitting you open and carving a space inside you all for himself.

“So much better,” you whisper absently, fingers clawing at the carpet beneath you.

“Better than what?” he wonders, shifting to grip under your knees and push them up, changing the angle.

You cry out sharply, writhing uselessly in his hold. “My imagination,” you whimper.

Through bleary, tear filled eyes, you glance up at him just in time to see his lips pull into a boyish smirk.

“Mine too,” he confesses and sends you reeling.

You whine and reach down quickly to rub your throbbing clit, your whole body jerking as your pleasure mounts higher and higher. Bucky moans as he watches, stare trained on where you’re joined. His speed does pick up then, the slightest bit, a shudder wracking his frame as you clench down on him, head tipping back and exposing the long expanse of his throat for a brief moment before he suddenly leans over you, letting your legs fall into the cradle of his elbows.

“Won’t you be good for me and cum?” he asks, breathless, hips never letting up.

You open your mouth to reply but all that comes out is a strangled cry of his name, your fingers keeping their pace as your climax swells until it overflows, bursting like a firework and pleasure like you’ve never felt before sparks through every vein, muscle, and bone within you. Bucky curses in such a way it would make a sailor blush as you pulse around him. The sounds of your orgasm and his thrusts meeting your hips are the filthiest things you’ve ever heard, and it doesn’t stop for several moments, dragging on and on. It leaves you trembling and shaking and trying futilely to gather air in your lungs as he refuses to let up.

With great resolve, you bring your wet fingers away from your sensitive clit and up to his panting mouth. He groans at your taste, licking and sucking on your fingers as he chases his own release.

“Please,” you whisper, tears finally escaping your lashes and trailing down the sides of your face, and that seems to be his undoing.

Bucky moans, something high and broken, fucking into you rough enough that you’re worried about carpet burn. But then he pauses, gasping as he finally lets go and rides out his high.

Your hand slips from his mouth and falls to the floor like a deadweight. The only noise in the room now is the both your and Bucky’s harsh breathing and the television still playing that stupid fucking show. Bucky doesn’t move right away, of which you’re very thankful, because you’re not ready to feel the emptiness you know is coming, and it feels nice in a weird way to have him buried in you.

“Fuck,” he exhales, breaking the relative silence.

It makes you giggle, a small thing that turns into something uncontrollable, and when you manage to look at Bucky, he’s grinning in a dopey way that sets you off even more.

This is definitely something the two of you will have to talk about when you’re both sober, but like the buttons, that can be handled later. Although, something tells you it’ll all turn out just fine.

[deconstructthesoup]

Have I already posted something like this? Yes. Am I gonna do this anyway? Also yes.

*clears throat*

Reasons why you should read the How To Train Your Dragon books if you haven't already (regardless of whether or not you're a fan of the movies)

The drawings throughout the books can range from being silly little doodles one moment to unforgettable portrayals of some of the most intense scenes in fiction you'll ever read.

Toothless is A Baby (and a bit of an asshole, but in the same way that a cat is an asshole).

Hiccup can verbally communicate with dragons, and the dragon language is canonically composed out of absolute nonsense

Fishlegs is ten times more important to the story due to being Hiccup's best friend, and he also has an incredibly lovely arc of his own.

Speaking of arcs, Hiccup's arc throughout the series is a beautiful portrayal of a misfit becoming a hero in his own way and advocating for the rejection of all of the flawed ideals that his ancestors put into place.

Seriously, this is a book series about choosing to be intelligent, imaginative, and empathetic in a society that wants you to be the opposite of all of that.

While Astrid is great, Camicazi---the character who was probably her jumping-off point, since they both have a dragon named Stormfly---is a feral gremlin of a girl who we should all aspire to be (also, as far as I can recall, there's never any hints of there being something romantic between her and Hiccup, or her and Fishlegs---it's just a great platonic friendship between the three of them, which is a win for me personally).

Alvin the fucking Treacherous. This, to me, is something that the movies absolutely should've added, because he is one of the best goddamn villains... ever. I genuinely cannot think of any other piece of media that shows the main antagonist developing side-by-side alongside the hero, becoming a worse and worse threat as the story gets darker and the stakes get higher, but my god did it rewire my mind as a kid... and for spoilers, that's all I'll say about it!

The dragon designs are the. Most. Fun. Every single kind of dragon in this series is unique, memorable, and more often than not, really hammers in the fact that "dragon" is a word that encompasses a vast number of traits---really, it just means a creature that's weird and somewhat reptillian, and these books take that concept and run. With. It.

THE LORE AND FORESHADOWING IS FUCKING LEGENDARY. If I go into any detail, I will spoil so much, but let it be known that if you're writing a story, and you want to work in foreshadowing and big reveals in both a mystery and a blink-and-you'll-miss-it fashion, these books are a masterclass in how to do it. Loose threads that you don't even know existed will be woven in right when you least expect it.

Honestly... I don't think it's too much of a stretch to compare How To Train Your Dragon to Adventure Time, because their way of storytelling is similar in all the best ways. Yes, at first, it leans more on the comedic side of things, but as you delve further into the story, it unfolds into a truly fascinating epic about growing up and what it means to be a hero... and it also gets very, very dark. I'm not exaggerating when I say that some parts of the later books gave me nightmares, and I loved every second of it.

Big fucking kaiju sea dragons with eyes that shoot lightning what more could you WANT

[pagesfromthevoid]

can we get bob's internal thoughts the first time he sees the teacher?

Oh HELL YES you can! I’m just —I’ll rewrite that scene from Bob’s POV. Idk how else to do it lol

He’s vaguely aware of Hangman and Phoenix talking to someone —he just assumes it’s a student. The kid in front of him is asking genuine questions about the systems of the plane, and Bob loves explaining this kind of stuff to anyone that’ll listen.

When Phoenix suddenly elbows him, he stands up straight and immediately turns his attention to the three people staring at him. His breath catches, and he feels his cheeks heating up as he sets the tablet down. He’d assumed it was a student talking to his colleagues; but the pretty smile that greets him makes his heart skip a beat.

He immediately extends his hand to her. “I’m sorry about that, ma’am,” he offers, though he’s trying to catch a glimpse of her badge. “Lieutenant Robert Floyd —though most people just call me Bob.”

The smile she gives him is…brilliant. Beautiful. And Bob has to take a moment to remember the words he’s going to say next when she takes his hand. And when she says her name, Bob wants to burn it into his memory.

“It’s a pleasure –like I was saying, I just wanted to thank you guys for coming out and doing this. Future Fest is our big thing and the kids really love it. Having you guys join us is a big deal.”

“Oh, I love doing stuff like this,” he reassures, and there’s a moment where he almost doesn’t let go of her hand. But he does, because that’s…probably weird. Is it weird to flirt with someone at a school event? She’s a teacher, and he doesn’t see a wedding ring.

He could remedy that.

Then he feels himself blushing at that thought, but she doesn’t seem to notice.

“So…what does a weapons system officer do, Lieutenant Floyd?”

Hangman complains in the background but Bob doesn’t care one bit, taking up his tablet again. He loves explaining his work, and she’s staring up at him like she genuinely wants to know. She even gets a bit closer to him, zooming in on his screen, as he points out various items and explains his role on missions. Maybe he’s too caught up, because she seems to just be staring at him now. But Bob doesn’t mind one bit, honestly.

“So you’re in charge then?”

He chuckles a bit, imagining being in charge of any of it. “Like I said, it depends on the mission.”

She’s about to say something else, and he’s about to definitely interrupt her and ask for her number, when there’s giggling and shouting from a few feet away.

“Ooh, Miss! Get it!”

Bob immediately flushes, looking away. She’s turning to the students like she’s going to tear them a new one. Calling one of the girls a menace, she turns back to him with a sheepish smile.

“I’m sorry about that, Lieutenant Floyd. You’ll have to excuse me —I need to go remind the kids that they can’t be unhinged in mixes company.”

Bob can’t help but laugh at this, looking down at her in curiosity. She’s got a grin on her face too. “Only in mixed company?”

“I keep a running list of all the things they say in class all year,” she offers with a soft laugh. And Bob wants to hear that laugh again. Over and over. But he’s also acutely aware that Hangman and Phoenix are watching —same with high schoolers.

“I’d love to see it,” he admits, though he realizes it comes off more flirty than serious.

But she picks up a business card from the table, looking it over for a moment before holding it up. “This your cell phone or your work phone?”

He stammers, and words suddenly do not want to come out of his mouth. So he just takes out a pen and scribbles his number on the back of the card. Bob swallows hard and hands it back, a timid smile playing at his lips.

“I’ll send you a few when I go to lunch, then you can decide if you want the whole list.”

“Sounds great, Miss.”

She walks away, hands behind her back, and Bob is watching as her kids surround her, giggling. Hangman grabs his shoulder and shakes him some, but Bob is too distracted by what just happened.

Then he decides he’s gotta ask her out.

[mephistostwin]

Away from Him

SYLUS X NON-MC! READER PT. 2

Part 1 Part 3

REMINDERS:

I do not own the characters, this is simply a story that I made up inside my head.

Sylus is a very green forest guy, his attitude here is very different to his real personality.

I'm not a professional in medical topics and the medical terms that I used are just based on my research.

The plot and story line does not follow the events in the game.

MC, Sylus, and other characters' personality and behavior here are not the same as what's in the game.

I'm a first-time writer so please be understanding with the wrong grammars and misspelled words.

Expect that I probably did not use tumblr correctly because this is the first time that I will post an au here.

If this is not your type of story, please scroll up and ignore this post.

Some scenes that are like the scenes from other works are pure coincidence. I never intended to copy anyone's hard work and this is based on my imaginations alone.

Please differentiate real life and the real lore of the game from this fanfic.

Open for constructive criticism but be mindful of your words.

Rafayel woke up. He had the feeling that he should visit you and invite you for breakfast in the café. He got ready and got outside his apartment to knock on yours. After what feels like forever, you still haven't open the door. He's starting to get anxious so he decided to call your number. To his disappointment, you are also not answering your phone.

He is an over-thinker and it doesn't help with the situation so he decided to go at the front desk and ask if you went outside. “Hello, good morning. Have you seen a girl go out earlier? the one that lives in 502”. The receptionist shaked her head, “So far, no one has come out yet. People usually go at 8 am and it's only 6:39 am”.

The answer does not satisfy Rafayel’s overthinking— He some what hoped that you just went somewhere to buy something or do anything. “Can I view the CCTV footage— if you don't mind?” The receptionist hesitated at first but as she look on Rafayel’s face, she knows that he's eager to find that girl— to find you.

“Are you a stalker or what? Stalking women can be punishable by law, you know?...” The woman looks at him, wanting answers before letting him see the CCTV footage.

“No! I'm her friend, here's the proof,” Rafayel showed his phone to her. There's a video that he took last night— he films the surrounding buildings as you both walk to the building of the apartment. The camera happened to capture your smiling face as you look back to Rafayel.

“Look at the date, I captured this last night.” Rafayel pleaded. The woman looks at him in a suspicious way.

“Ok... Because you live here and you showed me that video, I'll let you view the footage from earlier. But once something happened to her and there's a police officer looking for you, I won't hesitate to give your information to them... Got it?” The woman crossed her arms.

“I promise that I'm not a stalker! She just won't open the door after all the knocks I did... She's not even answering her phone either.” Rafayel tugged his shirt as panic rush to his chest.

The woman sighed in defeat and turned the rotating monitor to him. “Here’s the footage... I already replayed back to 4 am. Just click the fast forward or replay button and check it for yourself.”

Rafayel said thanks to the receptionist and he did exactly what she told him to do. After minutes of checking, he never saw you on the footage. “Something’s wrong...”.

He said goodbye to the receptionist and run to the elevator. He clicked the button of the fifth floor in a hurry. When the door opened, he did not waste time and sprinted towards the door of your apartment.

He knocked again as loud as he could but you are still not opening the door. He called for your name but he did not get a reply from you.

“This will be so embarrassing if you were just in a deep sleep but it's better for the situation to be like that than anything else bad happening.” He murmured to himself as he continue to knock.

He gave up on knocking on your door and grips his hair out of frustration. He wants to believe that you're fine and you're just a heavy sleeper but something— that he does not know— is telling him that something is not right. “I’m a very caring person but I don't act like this before... fuck.”

“I feel like I'm trespassing and invading your privacy— argh! I don't care, I'm worried!” He sighed in frustration. He did a lot of loud knocks and calls— it would be impossible for you to not wake up because of that if everything's alright.

He broke the handle of the door and barged in, eager to find you. “Y/N? where are you?” He called your name multiple times and the silence that welcomes him adds to the panic that he's receiving in his chest.

He went to the kitchen and the living room but you were not there. He continued searching for you in every room that your apartment has. One room in the end of the hallway is the last one that he has not went to yet— your bedroom.

He quickly opened the door to your bedroom— and there he saw you curled up into a ball. Your hands gripping the shirt that covers your chest that looks like you want to remove your heart. Your eyes and face are both red and puffy, you look like you cried for months.

His breath hitched as he run towards your weak body. He tried to stay calm to properly assess you but tears rushed down his cheeks.

He's a caring friend but he does not know why he's reacting like he's the other half of your feelings and situation. It's like he can feel your pain and he does not know why.

He teared up as soon as he saw your current state.

“Hey... I'm calling for you earlier... what happened?” He said as he sobs. He’s now caressing your forehead and neck, checking for any sign of fever. You are not replying— you're like dead but you still have a pulse.

He picked you up bridal style and rushed down to the parking lot to get you in his car. The receptionist saw both of you and she felt guilty for thinking that Rafayel is just a creep that was stalking you.

He went to the driver's seat after putting you in the back, making sure that you're comfortable and safe during the drive because he can't promise that he will not sprint to the hospital. He picked up his phone and dialed a number before starting to drive.

“Hey, Zayne! I'm on my way to the hospital right now, I'm bringing a friend of mine. I don't know what happened to her but I know that she's not in a great condition. Please ready a bed for her if you can— I'm panicking and I can't understand why...” Rafayel was still sobbing on the phone and he can't put his mind in ease.

“Don’t panic, it will only worsen the situation... and you're also driving. Focus on the road and drive safely. I already told the interns to prepare a bed for your friend.” Zayne encouraged Rafayel to stay calm. Rafayel— after the call— did his best to focus on the road to drive safely even when his heart feels like it's gripping itself because of intense nervousness and panicking.

You're at the backseat, still hardly breathing but only slightly conscious. Your body feels numb but your chest feels like it's being stabbed from front to the back and vice versa. Your eyes still want to cry but you already emptied out your tears.

“Raf... it hurts...” You mumbled and Rafayel heard it. It was making him hard to breathe. He does not know what hurts you but he wants to take the pain away.

“We’re near to the hospital... you'll be ok... hmm..” He tried to reassure you with a smile that you will be fine but even himself— he can barely stay calm.

Your heart hurts so bad that it pulls you into a deep sleep again.

Finally, both of you arrived to the hospital and Rafayel parked his car. He picked you up in a bridal style again and rushed towards the entrance. Three interns were already waiting for the both of you with a gurney. They quickly put you in the gurney and went to one of the hospital rooms.

Zayne was already at the room, he just finished taking care of one of the patients that he have. He immediately checked your condition while Rafayel just sits at a chair in the corner of the room. Zayne puts an oxygen mask to your nose and mouth area before turning back towards Rafayel.

“It looks like she heavily cried... Due to her heavy breakdown session, there was a lack of supply of oxygen in her body. The amount of oxygen that is in her bloodstream also reduced. This is not yet life-threatening but the emotional stress that she currently experience can trigger other conditions like broken heart syndrome.” Zayne spoke as Rafayel’s mind went blank. He's still processing everything that Zayne said. He don't know what to reply to Zayne.

“It’s better if you will bring her to a psychologist or a psychiatrist after her body and breathing goes back to normal.” Zayne said. Rafayel nodded as a response because his mouth do not know what to say.

“I’ll go to my next patient now. Just call me if you need help. I'll check up on her later.” Zayne said goodbye as he exited the room, leaving Rafayel and your unconscious body.

“What happened to you? you were just smiling last night...” He murmured as he approached a chair besides your hospital bed.

Rafayel spent hours in the hospital, waiting for you to wake up and tell him what happened to you. He did not eat for hours since morning, he lost his appetite when he saw you in that painful state. But his stomach is begging him to eat, it's making him weak.

He decided to go a nearby restaurant to take out some food for him— and also for you when you finally wake up.

He ordered his favorite dish but he does not know your favorite food so he just ordered a healthy meal that he thinks will help you to recover.

He went back to the hospital, his body can barely handle the heavy steps that he takes. He did not eat in the restaurant, he wants to eat with you— just like what you guys did last night.

“Why do I feel miserable already? I just met her last night...” Confusion is messing with his mind.

He reached your hospital room. His eyes slowly lighten up when he saw you in the bed— barely moving but clearly awake. He quickly went to the drawer at the side of your bed and placed the food that he bought.

“Hey, how do you feel? Are you alright? Wait, let me call Zayne...” He flooded you with questions before he dialed Zayne’s number on his phone.

- Meanwhile, on Onychinus base -

Sylus spent his yesterday with MC, clearly not aware that you also left N109 zone yesterday. He went to your desk to hand over the paper works— of course, he wants you to be tired.

To his surprise, you're not on your desk. Your working area is completely clear of signs of work and papers. He felt irritation build up inside his chest. He immediately called for the twins for your whereabouts because they are the ones that you are close with. Maybe you told them where you will go.

The twins barged inside Sylus' office after he called for them. Sylus is on his desk, looking furiously at his laptop. For their relief, MC is not around. They stood in front of Sylus’ desk, waiting for an order.

“Do you both know where she is?” Sylus looked at them with a hint of frustration in his eyes. The twin gulped from anxiousness. How are they now supposed to tell him about your resignation when he's clearly mad? they also thought that he is aware about this— just like when you said that it was his request.

“Boss we don't know what you're talking about...” Kieran lied. Of course they are aware that Sylus is talking about you. But the problem is, how will they tell him without facing Sylus’ anger?

“Answer me with the truth, don't lie... Where did she go?” The twin gulped again. Luke cannot hold back anymore, he told Sylus about your last encounter with them.

“We saw her the day before yesterday... She brought all her things with her and said that she'll resign because of your.... request.” It felt like a dagger is dragged in Luke’s throat as he spoke.

“That explains the resignation letter that she sent in my email.” He said while caressing his temple.

“Go and find her, she still have a lot of work to do”.

- Back to the hospital -

Zayne already checked up on you earlier. As of now, your condition is improving but you are still not fully recovered— especially, your heart.

You are now eating with Rafayel. His eyes looks a little puffy. He told you everything that happened and it touches your heart that he did all of that for you even when you guys just met last night.

“Do you mind telling me what happened? I know that something's wrong... it's not normal for someone to have a breakdown that affects their health like that...” He spoke as you guys both finished your meal. He stood to take the empty container of your meal and throw it away in the trash bin before walking to you again.

“I want to... but I don't know if I can tell you everything, it still hurts.” You hugged yourself.

“I know that it's hard and I'm not forcing you to tell everything right now because of your situation... Just tell me when you need help or you need someone to talk to, ok? You're also my friend now, and I care about my friends.” He pats your head with a warm smile on his lips.

You sighed. “I guess I'll just rant to you right now... I want to let out everything to lessen the burden that I feel.”

Rafayel did not speak, he only listen and that's what you need right now.

“I have this friend for 10 years... I worked as his secretary but I resigned just a night before I went to Linkon City. I slowly loved him because he's the only one that defends me from people that hurts me. I thought we will be more than friends because he gave me signals that he also feels the same— I guess that was a mixed signal.” You painfully chuckled. You continue to speak as Rafayel sat beside you, carefully listening.

“And just months before, he met a girl. Actually, he already met her before me... They're tied by fate in every lifetime... Five months ago, they became official. I tried to make my feelings go away because they were really nice. But that girl was two-faced, even...” You hesitated to say the name of the man that caused you this pain— but you still did.

“Even Sylus’ two assistants don't want to be near her. I really want to tell him that... MC was evil. She changed her behavior once they went official.” You don't want to remember everything that happened but you want to let out the pain.

“Sylus also changed... He promised to never hurt me— but he did. Just for MC, he threw our 10 years friendship. I actually wouldn't mind it that much if he meant it to respect MC, but he also made me suffer. He made me work late to finish the papers that was never meant for my job...”

You know to yourself that you are now hating him— you are slowly hating Sylus.

“Long-story-short, I left the company, I resigned, and flew here. It was also his wish...” You added while a potential sob is building in your throat.

Rafayel’s eyes showed a hint of empathy and anger. He should not be feelings this way but he actually cares for you...

He will do his best to never let you be near that Sylus guy again.

-Timeskip, 7:38 pm-

- Back to Onychinus base -

The twins went back to Sylus' office. MC is still not around. Sylus never left his desk, finishing the works that you are supposed to do— and it frustrates him... but it also make him feel unease.

“Boss...” Kieran softly called, careful to not trigger the irritation that is hidden in Sylus’ mind.

Sylus was always calm, his actions and words are always calculated. He is a very disciplined man— but today is different.

“She’s not in her house... We also searched the whole N109 zone but we can't find a trace of her...” Kieran hesitated to continue as Sylus slowly looked up to them with furious eyes.

Luke and Kieran gulped. They want to sprint outside Sylus’ office. Sylus’ presence and aura never felt scary and suffocating before— even when he is furious. He is very different right now.

Sylus stayed silent, he knows that there is still something that the twins want to tell him. Luke started to speak.

“However, there's a record in the airport... She flew to Linkon city. But we haven't found where she stays for now because we just got the information this evening...” Luke spoke very fast, it's like he is rapping.

Sylus wiped his face with his palm out of frustration. He fucked up but he does not realize it yet...

“Find her and bring her back here... She can't leave this place just like that. She belongs here.”

(Note: I suddenly got a flu and migraine huhu I'll make the part 3 longer, promiseee)