#I made myself laugh so I hope you will too

[svt-luna]

𝜗℘ CAN I BE HIM?

❛ 𝘪 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘪 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘷𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶. 𝘪𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘦 𝘪’𝘥 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘭𝘦𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘺𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘩𝘶𝘳𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶, 𝘯𝘰. 𝘪 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘢 𝘥𝘳𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘦 𝘵𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴, 𝘬𝘪𝘴𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘦 𝘭𝘪𝘱𝘴— 𝘪𝘵'𝘴 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘪'𝘷𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 '𝘤𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘢 𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘤𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘰𝘯 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘪 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘴𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘪 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘵 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯. 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘣𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘵 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯? 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘪 𝘣𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘬 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘪𝘯 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴, 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘪 𝘣𝘦 𝘩𝘪𝘮? ❜

timeline: 2017 & 2018

synopsis: Amid the tangled emotions between Luna, Jeonghan, and Mingyu, unspoken confessions and lingering hopes weave a bittersweet narrative of love, regret, and the desperate longing to be chosen.

warnings: angst, multiple povs, narrative description heavy, cursing, crying, mentions of rejection, heartbreak, jealousy, regrets, unrequited love (?), sad!Luna, jealous!Jeonghan, jealous!Mingyu, lowkey possessive Jeonghan, secret feelings, confusions and realizations, acceptance, unrequited love, everyone is lowkey sad

read If Only first before this if you haven’t already! this one-shot is the aftermath of that story. this is also inspired by these request by you lovely humans: (request 1), (request 2), (request 3) & (request 4) happy reading, my loves 🤍🤎

sidenote… my heart aches for the three of them cause i have been on their shoes before… all three of them (also, i made myself cry again)… i promise, they’ll be fine 🥹🤍

“and when i felt like i was an old cardigan under someone’s bed, you put me on and said i was your favorite.” listening to Cardigan while writing this is not for the faint hearted…

╰ ౨ৎ LUNA-VERSE MASTERLIST ╰ ౨ৎ writings masterlist

Can I be him?

The thought crossed Mingyu’s mind as he sat on the cold floor of the practice room, his back propped against the wall. His dark eyes were fixed on Luna, who was across the room, quietly stretching. Her movements were methodical, almost robotic, as if her body was going through the motions her heart wasn’t in. She tilted her head to one side, letting out a soft laugh at something Dokyeom had said, but Mingyu wasn’t fooled.

That smile didn’t reach her eyes.

Her eyes told a different story.

Slightly swollen, rimmed with a faint red that hadn’t been there the day before, they seemed heavier today, carrying the kind of weight that only came with a sleepless night and a broken heart.

Luna’s smile faltered just slightly as she stretched her arms over her head, her gaze dropping momentarily to the floor. But she recovered quickly, plastering on the same bright expression that fooled most of the room.

Most of the room— but not the members, not him, and definitely not Jeonghan.

Mingyu’s gaze drifted from Luna to her shadow.

Jeonghan sat across the room, leaning against the mirrored wall, legs sprawled in front of him. His usual air of calm amusement was absent. Instead, he looked subdued, almost tired. His sharp eyes followed Luna’s every movement, his expression unreadable except to those who knew him best.

Mingyu could see the sadness there, the guilt. Jeonghan wasn’t the type to wear his emotions plainly, but Mingyu knew him too well to miss the subtle signs.

Mingyu let out a quiet sigh, his chest tightening as he turned his attention back to Luna.

She was so good at pretending.

Too good.

But not good enough to fool him.

Despite his reputation for being loud and playful, Mingyu was surprisingly perceptive, especially when it came to his members. He had a knack for reading the room, for picking up on the things people didn’t say.

And Luna, with her slightly too-wide smile and tired eyes, was screaming in silence.

His mind wandered back to the night before, right after they had wrapped up a grueling day of comeback promotions. They’d all piled into the van, worn out but satisfied with their progress. But something had been different. The usual chatter and teasing had been dampened by a palpable tension that no one could quite name.

He remembered how Jeonghan had broken the silence as they pulled up to the dorms.

“Can you guys give me a moment with Jiyeon?” Jeonghan had asked, his voice calm but carrying an edge of urgency that couldn’t be ignored.

The members had exchanged glances but ultimately agreed, leaving Jeonghan to chase after Luna to the elevators.

Mingyu had lingered just a moment longer, glancing back to see Jeonghan jogging after Luna, his expression uncharacteristically serious.

Desperate, almost.

The elevator doors had closed, muffling whatever conversation took place between the two.

By the time they arrived at the practice room today, they had both looked… normal. Talking, laughing, pretending nothing was wrong. But it was clear as day that something had changed. Luna moved with less energy, her usual spark dulled. And Jeonghan— he looked like a man carrying a secret too heavy to bear.

Then there was the matter of Luna’s swollen eyes. She’d walked in and mumbled something about it being allergy season.

Allergy season.

The excuse might have flown with someone else, but Mingyu wasn’t buying it. He knew better.

Luna wasn’t allergic to pollen— or anything but mushrooms, for that matter. And while the other members had let it slide, choosing not to push her, Mingyu had spent the entire morning unable to shake the image of her red-rimmed eyes.

It wasn’t allergies. It was something else.

Mingyu’s chest tightened again as he watched Luna push her hair behind her ear, her focus entirely on her stretches.

Luna wasn’t looking at Jeonghan. She hadn’t looked at him directly all morning. And yet, her entire body seemed to lean in his direction, like she couldn’t help but orbit him.

Her heart was crying for Jeonghan, Mingyu realized.

Whatever had happened between them last night, it had left her raw. She was trying so hard to act normal, to be okay, but it was written all over her face.

And Jeonghan— Jeonghan’s face held an ache that mirrored hers.

Mingyu had always known Luna to be someone who wore her strength like armor. She was tough, fiercely independent, and had an almost stubborn determination to handle her own struggles.

Over the years, he’d watched her laugh off bad days, push through injuries, and hide her tears behind radiant smiles.

He knew why she did it— she hated the idea of being a burden to anyone.

Even now, when her swollen eyes and tired demeanor betrayed the storm inside her, she continued to act as though everything was fine.

But Mingyu also knew her tells.

He knew the little cracks in her facade that most people missed. The way her laughter came a beat too quickly, or how she busied herself with menial tasks when her thoughts became too loud. And he especially knew how she would retreat into herself, bottling everything up until she couldn’t anymore.

In those moments, there was always one person who could reach her— Jeonghan.

Jeonghan had a way of being exactly what Luna needed.

He was always the first to notice when something was wrong and the first to drop whatever he was doing to listen to her. No matter how busy or chaotic things got, Jeonghan would sit with her, offering his undivided attention and quiet reassurances until she felt safe enough to open up.

But not today.

Today, Jeonghan was the reason for the sadness she was hiding, and Mingyu knew she wouldn’t be going to him. Not with the way she avoided looking in his direction or the way she flinched just slightly when his name was mentioned.

Mingyu had decided then and there that if Jeonghan couldn’t be the one to catch her this time, he would.

Even if it wasn’t his place.

Even if it hurt.

He’d made it his mission to be the shoulder she could lean on, at least until she and Jeonghan could figure things out.

Mingyu didn’t need to replace Jeonghan in her life— though the selfish part of him ached to hold even a fraction of the space Jeonghan held in her heart.

No, Mingyu would happily be whatever Luna needed him to be. Because she deserved to have someone in her corner.

The practice session dragged on, but Mingyu barely registered it. His attention kept flickering to Luna, who worked quietly in the corner, tying her hair up into a ponytail as the rest of the members milled about the room. She was doing her best to blend into the background, her movements measured and unhurried. But Mingyu could see the way her hands trembled slightly as she twisted the hair tie around her fingers.

He didn’t hesitate.

Before she could finish, Mingyu crossed the room in a few long strides, his heart thudding in his chest as he approached her. Without a word, he gently turned her around to face him and wrapped her in the biggest, warmest hug he could manage.

Luna froze in his arms, caught off guard by the sudden embrace. For a split second, she didn’t know who it was, but the familiar weight of Mingyu’s biceps around her shoulders was a dead giveaway.

Her body tensed at first, stiff and uncertain, but then it melted against him. Her arms came up to wrap loosely around his torso, and Mingyu felt the tension in her shoulders ease. She sank into the hug as though it was exactly what she needed but didn’t know how to ask for.

Neither of them spoke. The world around them seemed to fade away, the noise of the practice room becoming distant and inconsequential.

Mingyu rested his chin on the top of her head, his large hands moving gently to the loose tie of her hair. He pulled it free, his fingers working carefully to gather her strands and tie them properly. Luna stayed in place, her arms still around his waist, her face pressed lightly against his chest.

When he finished, Mingyu pulled back just slightly, cupping her neck with both hands as he tilted her head up to look at him. His thumbs brushed softly against her skin, and he offered her the gentlest smile he could muster.

“You did good today,” he said, his voice low and steady. “I’m proud of you, Lulu-ya.”

Luna’s eyes went misty at his words, her lips curving into a sad, soft smile. “Thank you, Gyu-Gyu,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Mingyu’s chest ached at the sight of her.

That smile— bittersweet and fragile— made him feel both helpless and fiercely protective all at once. He knew his words weren’t much, but she deserved to hear them.

Luna’s heart ached, too.

Jeonghan was always the one to tell her these things. After every practice, every performance, every small accomplishment, he would praise her for things she didn’t even realize mattered. “You did so well,” he’d say, whether it was after a grueling practice session or after a performance or something as simple as finishing her meal.

Mingyu wasn’t trying to replace Jeonghan, and deep down, she knew that. But it hurt all the same because his words reminded her of what she had with Jeonghan. And yet, it also made her heart swell with gratitude for Mingyu.

Mingyu felt the weight of her emotions, even if she didn’t voice them. He didn’t say anything, letting the moment hang between them before speaking softly again.

“Let’s eat together later,” he offered, his voice calm and reassuring. “I’ll come to your place, and we can hang out. Just you and me.”

Luna hesitated, her brows furrowing slightly as she considered his words. “You don’t have to, Gyu…”

“I want to,” he interrupted gently, his tone leaving no room for doubt. “You can tell me everything if you want or we can just watch something, okay?”

Her lips parted as if she wanted to argue, but she stopped herself. Instead, she nodded slowly. “Okay,” she said softly.

Mingyu smiled again, his hands still cupping her neck as he gave her a small nod. “Good. I’ll bring something over later. We’ll make a night of it.”

“Okay,” she repeated, her voice a little steadier this time.

It wasn’t much, but it was a start. And for now, that was enough.

Across the practice room, Jeonghan now stood, his against the mirrored wall, his arms crossed against his chest. Dino and Dokyeom were animatedly chattering beside him, their voices rising and falling with excitement as they recounted some trivial story from their schedule earlier that week. Jeonghan nodded absentmindedly, his lips curling into an occasional smile to show he was listening.

But he wasn’t.

His eyes were elsewhere, fixed on Luna and Mingyu, who were still locked in that quiet, private moment.

Jeonghan’s gaze lingered on the way Mingyu’s large hands cradled Luna’s neck with such gentleness, the way he tilted her head up to meet his gaze as if she were something precious. The way Luna’s tired face softened in response to Mingyu’s words, her lips curving into a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

Jeonghan didn’t even realize he had stopped nodding along to Dokyeom and Dino’s conversation until Dokyeom nudged his shoulder, snapping him out of his trance. “Hyung, are you even listening?”

Jeonghan blinked, his head turning slightly toward them. “Hmm?” he murmured, feigning nonchalance as he offered them a distracted smile. “Yeah, I heard you.”

Satisfied, Dokyeom launched back into his story, and Jeonghan gave another vague nod. But his attention drifted back almost immediately, his gaze locking onto Luna once again.

Jeonghan wasn’t sure what he was feeling.

There was a tightness in his chest, a gnawing sensation that twisted uncomfortably in his gut. It wasn’t something he was particularly familiar with, and yet, it felt impossibly loud in his head.

He watched as Mingyu’s hands lingered at Luna’s nape, his fingers brushing lightly against her skin before he stepped back, giving her a reassuring smile. He watched the way Luna’s shoulders seemed to relax under Mingyu’s touch, how she nodded at whatever Mingyu said with an almost imperceptible hesitation, as if she was letting down a guard she didn’t even know she had raised.

And then, like a whisper in his mind, the thought came unbidden— Can I be him?

Jeonghan’s chest constricted at the question, his heart skipping a beat as if the thought itself had startled him. The weight of those words settled heavily in his mind, lingering like a bitter taste he couldn’t shake.

But almost as quickly as it had come, the thought shifted, his mind backtracking with a sharp pang of realization.

I was him.

His fingers curled against his thighs as the words echoed in his head, quiet but insistent. He was the one Luna used to lean on, the one she sought out when the weight of the world became too much to bear. He was the one who used to coax those smiles out of her, who knew exactly what to say to make her laugh, to make her feel seen.

And now, someone else was standing in his place.

Jeonghan’s jaw tightened as he forced himself to look away, his eyes dropping to the floor. He hated how his thoughts were spiraling, how his emotions felt tangled and messy in a way he couldn’t quite unravel.

“Hyung?” Dino’s voice pulled him back to reality again, and Jeonghan glanced up, his expression carefully composed.

“Yeah?” he asked, his tone calm and even.

“Are you okay? You seem… distracted,” Dino said, his brow furrowing slightly.

Jeonghan gave a small laugh, shaking his head as if to brush off the concern. “I’m fine. Just tired, that’s all.”

But as he glanced back across the room, his eyes catching the tail end of Luna and Mingyu’s conversation, that gnawing feeling in his chest remained.

He told himself it was nothing. Just a passing moment of jealousy, perhaps. Nothing he couldn’t shake off.

But deep down, Jeonghan knew better.

Luna knew better as well.

She knew this quiet evening with Mingyu, as comforting as it was, would inevitably end with her peeling back the layers of her conflict with Jeonghan.

She knew Mingyu well enough to recognize that he wasn’t here just to keep her company or to feed her. He was here because he cared, because he had always been the kind of person who would wait patiently until she was ready to share the weight she carried.

Later that night, just as planned, Luna and Mingyu found themselves in her cozy apartment. The smell of her vanilla perfume lingered faintly in the air, mingling with the soft citrus scent of the candle she had lit on her kitchen counter. They were supposed to order takeout, but Mingyu, ever the culinary enthusiast, had other plans.

“You know, you could just sit there and be pretty while I do all the work,” Mingyu teased as he rummaged through her fridge, pulling out ingredients with practiced ease.

Luna, standing across the kitchen island with her arms crossed, raised an eyebrow at him. “And why would I do that when I can help? You do realize I’m capable of cooking, right?”

Mingyu paused, a dramatic look of skepticism plastered on his face. “Capable? Sure. But am I willing to risk my life testing that theory? Not really.”

She rolled her eyes, but the corners of her lips twitched upward despite herself. “Oh, please. I could outcook you any day.”

“Oh, really?” Mingyu leaned against the counter, smirking at her.

“Really. I’m an amazing cook, Gyu,” Luna huffed, grabbing a wooden spoon from the utensil drawer. “I’m helping, whether you like it or not.”

Mingyu grinned, knowing she wouldn’t back down. “Fine, fine. I’ll give you a task so you don’t feel useless.” He gestured toward the living room with his chin. “Go pick something for us to watch. Something good, okay? No pressure.”

Luna narrowed her eyes at him, but she set the spoon down and wandered into the living room, already knowing exactly what she’d choose.

When she returned a few minutes later, the television glinting as the screen flashed and showed what she chose. Mingyu burst into laughter. “‘Tangled’,” he said, shaking his head fondly. “Why am I not surprised?”

“What’s wrong with ‘Tangled’?” Luna asked, feigning offense as she arranged the table in front of her.

“Nothing,” Mingyu replied, turning back to the stove. “I just knew you’d pick it. You’re predictable, Lulu-ya.”

“Predictable? I’ll have you know that this is a classic,” she said, plopping down on the couch and throwing a cushion at him for good measure.

“I didn’t say it wasn’t,” Mingyu called back, dodging the cushion with a grin.

The sound of vegetables sizzling in the pan and the faint background score of the movie filled the apartment, creating a warmth that wrapped around them like a blanket.

When the food was finally ready, they settled on the couch with plates in hand, the coffee table serving as a makeshift dining area. The meal was simple— kimchi fried rice with chicken and some stir-fried vegetables— but it was perfect.

As the movie played, Luna found herself laughing more than she had in days. Mingyu kept up a steady stream of commentary, poking fun at Flynn Rider’s exaggerated smolder and mimicking Maximus the horse with over-the-top gestures.

It was silly and endearing, and it was exactly what she needed.

But Mingyu never pushed. He didn’t ask her how she was feeling, didn’t pry into the thoughts she was clearly holding back. He just let her exist, let her enjoy the moment, and it made all the difference.

For now, Luna didn’t have to think about the ache in her chest or the unspoken tension that lingered between her and Jeonghan.

For now, she could just be.

But deep down, she knew better. She knew that before the night was over, the words she had been swallowing all day would finally spill out. And somehow, she also knew that Mingyu would be ready to catch them when they did.

And then it did happen.

It happened in a flash, so subtle yet so significant, that Luna barely registered the words leaving her mouth until it was too late.

Mingyu stood from the couch, stretching his long limbs before heading toward her pantry. He ran a hand through his hair and casually asked, “You want a glass of wine? Thought it might as well be our dessert.”

She was mid-laugh, relaxed for the first time in what felt like ages, when the words slipped out, unbidden. “The last time I drank, I got fucking drunk and told Han I–”

The room fell into an unnatural stillness as her sentence cut short. Her breath hitched, and she froze, eyes dropping immediately to her hands. Her fingers instinctively twisted the gold rings she always wore, a habit Mingyu had seen countless times before. It was her tell, her silent admission of unease.

Mingyu turned slowly, his hand still hovering over the wine bottle. He studied her with the kind of calm that came only from years of reading people. He released the bottle without a sound and walked back toward her.

He didn’t speak, didn’t push, simply sat beside her, his broad frame a steady presence in the quiet room.

Luna felt the couch shift under his weight, but she couldn’t look at him. Her fingers kept twisting, the band of her rings cool against her warm skin. She felt a hand gently rest atop her head, and her tense shoulders eased just slightly at the comforting gesture.

The silence stretched between them, thick and heavy, until she finally closed her eyes and sighed, long and weary. She knew Mingyu wouldn’t force her to speak. But that was precisely why she wanted to.

He deserved to know.

After everything he had done for her tonight— his lighthearted banter, the warm meal, the quiet reassurance he provided without ever needing words— he deserved this piece of her, no matter how raw it felt to offer.

And maybe, just maybe, she needed this too.

“The last time I drank…” she started, her voice shaky, barely above a whisper. She forced herself to keep going, the words tumbling out like a confession she had been holding too tightly for too long. “I got drunk and told Han… told him that I liked him.”

Her voice cracked at the last word, and she bit her lip, still unable to meet Mingyu’s gaze.

Mingyu had known.

He had always known.

From the moment they had met as trainees, it was as clear as daylight. Luna’s feelings for Jeonghan were written in every lingering glance, in the subtle softening of her features whenever he walked into the room, in the way she instinctively gravitated toward him no matter the situation.

It was in the way her eyes sparkled like stars whenever Jeonghan praised her, the way she seemed to orbit around him without even realizing it.

Mingyu knew it because he felt the same way about her.

He knew how it felt to linger in the background, to notice every small detail about someone and hope they’d see you too. He knew how it felt to hide his feelings behind jokes and smiles, burying them so deeply that no one would ever guess.

The difference between them was that Luna’s feelings were as evident as the sun at noon, while his were a well-guarded secret. He had mastered the art of pretending, of hiding his heart in plain sight.

He watched her, his heart aching as she twisted her rings even harder. It was as if she were trying to ground herself, to stop herself from breaking apart completely.

“…And the next day, in the elevator, he told me we wouldn’t work.”

The quiet admission shattered Mingyu’s trance.

His eyes snapped down to her, and he saw her finally look up at him. Her dark eyes were rimmed with tears, glistening under the soft light of her apartment. She blinked rapidly, as if willing them not to fall, but her lips trembled despite her effort to keep her composure.

“Am I too hard to love, Gyu-Gyu?” she whispered, her voice so soft, so heartbreakingly vulnerable, that Mingyu’s chest tightened.

His breath caught, and for a moment, he couldn’t find the words. He could only see the pain in her eyes, the self-doubt she had no business carrying, and the weight of her question that hung in the air between them.

Mingyu swallowed hard, his fists clenching against his knees as a bitter thought crept into his mind.

Can I be him?

Could he be the one who made her laugh, made her cry, made her feel so deeply? Could he be the one her heart longed for so desperately?

Mingyu had tried to push those feelings down for so long, telling himself it was enough just to be her friend. But seeing her like this, so broken over someone else— it hurt. It hurt more than he could have imagined.

Why can’t I be him?

And yet, even as the thought consumed him, Mingyu couldn’t look away. All he wanted, more than anything, was for her to smile again. Even if it wasn’t because of him.

Because that was what love looked like.

And right now, love was a battlefield he was losing.

He wanted to tell her so much— that she wasn’t too hard to love, that she deserved more than she was giving herself credit for, that if only she would let him, he would love her in ways she couldn’t even begin to imagine.

But he also knew this wasn’t about him.

So, instead, he cupped her face in his large, warm hands, his thumbs gently brushing against her cheeks as he steadied her gaze.

“No,” he said, his voice firm yet impossibly soft. “You’re not hard to love, Jiyeonie. Not at all.”

Her tears spilled over then, and Mingyu felt his heart splinter in ways he didn’t think were possible. He pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly, as if he could shield her from every hurt she had ever felt.

And for tonight, he promised himself he would be that person for her— the one she could lean on, the one who wouldn’t let her fall apart.

Luna broke.

It was slow at first, a trembling exhale that Mingyu barely heard over the rush of his own thoughts. Her body stiffened against him, her small frame caught in the vice grip of emotions she could no longer hold back.

Then, with a sound that tore straight through his chest, she broke completely.

Mingyu felt the full weight of her grief as her fingers fisted tightly into his shirt, clutching him like he was the only thing tethering her to the earth. Her tears spilled freely now, soaking the fabric of his shirt as sobs wracked her body.

He didn’t speak, didn’t move beyond the slow, soothing circles his hand traced on her back. He held her tightly, anchoring her, silently telling her she wasn’t alone in this.

It was the first time she’d let herself cry again after last night’s explosive breakdown. Almost twenty-four hours had passed since she’d stepped out of that elevator, leaving Jeonghan behind with a reassuring smile she’d fought to muster. She’d told him it was fine, told him she understood, before the doors slid shut and she was finally, mercifully, alone.

The second she’d stepped into her apartment, the dam had burst. Every ounce of strength she’d held onto collapsed under the weight of his polite rejection. She had screamed into her pillow, sobbed until her chest physically hurt, and curled into herself as the words replayed in her head like a cruel melody:

“…we can’t do this.”

And now, here she was again, sobbing uncontrollably, except this time she wasn’t alone.

Mingyu said nothing as her cries poured out against him. He stayed rooted in place, steady and quiet, letting her grief unfold at its own pace. His hand never stopped its gentle motion against her back, his other arm a firm yet tender hold around her.

He didn’t mind that his shirt was drenched, didn’t care that her nails were digging into him.

All he cared about was her.

When her sobs finally began to soften into quiet sniffles, he shifted slightly, but only to press his lips to the crown of her head in a gesture so soft it was almost reverent.

“You are not hard to love, Jiyeonie,” he murmured, his voice low and steady. He pulled back just enough to tilt her tearstained face up to meet his gaze. His hands cupped her cheeks gently, his thumbs wiping away the streaks of tears on her flushed skin. “You are far from that. In fact, you’re so easy to love.”

Her swollen, teary eyes locked onto his, and he could see the raw emotion swimming in them. Confusion, sadness, disbelief— all of it was there, but she didn’t pull away.

Luna let him hold her, let him speak.

Mingyu exhaled softly, his thumbs brushing over her skin again as he continued. “You care so deeply about the people around you. You go out of your way to make everyone feel seen and heard, even when you’re struggling yourself. You light up every room you walk into, Lulu-ya. People gravitate toward you without even realizing it because you make everything feel lighter, better. You’re kind in ways that most people can’t even fathom. You make people laugh, you make them feel safe. You make me feel safe.”

His voice wavered slightly at the last admission, but he pressed on, unable to stop the words tumbling from his heart. “You’re the type of person who loves so selflessly, and I don’t think you even realize how rare that is. You’re easy to love, Bae Jiyeon. So easy. Anyone who tells you otherwise doesn’t deserve you.”

He let out a shaky breath, the weight of his unspoken feelings threatening to overwhelm him. This wasn’t just about reassuring her— it was a truth he’d been holding onto for years, a truth he’d never been able to say out loud until now.

Luna’s lips parted slightly as she stared up at him, her wide, tear-filled eyes searching his face for something she couldn’t name. She didn’t speak, but she didn’t need to. Her silence said more than words ever could.

Mingyu’s gaze dropped to her lips, lingering there for a moment too long before flickering back to her eyes. And then back again. His breath hitched, and he realized just how close they were, her face cradled in his hands, their breaths mingling in the quiet space between them.

Her eyes held sadness, yes, but there was also a flicker of confusion, a question she didn’t yet know how to ask.

His head dipped slowly, so slowly that time seemed to stretch around them. He could feel the pull, the magnetic force drawing him closer to her, but just as his lips were a whisper away from hers, he stopped.

Mingyu froze, his breath shaky as he closed his eyes and let his forehead rest gently against hers.

He sighed deeply, frustration and guilt clawing at him as he scolded himself silently.

What are you doing, Kim Mingyu?

Luna didn’t need this. She didn’t need more confusion, more complications. She didn’t need him taking advantage of her vulnerability.

Luna nudged her forehead against his, a small gesture of concern that only deepened his guilt. “Gyu-Gyu?” she whispered, her voice laced with confusion.

He opened his eyes slowly, finding her gaze still locked on him, her brows knit together as if trying to piece together what he was feeling.

Without a word, Mingyu pulled back just enough to place a soft, lingering kiss on her forehead. His lips pressed against her skin with a tenderness that conveyed everything he couldn’t say aloud.

When he finally pulled away, his eyes met hers again, and he offered her a small, reassuring smile. “You’re going to be okay, Jiyeonie,” he said quietly, his voice filled with a conviction he wasn’t entirely sure he believed. “You’re stronger than you think.”

Mingyu took a deep breath, steadying himself as he stared into Luna’s tear-streaked face. Her eyes, still wide and brimming with confusion, searched his for answers he didn’t yet have the strength to give. But there was one thing he knew with unwavering certainty, one thing he could promise her.

“I’ll make sure you’re okay,” he said, his voice soft yet filled with conviction. His hands, still cradling her face, fell to her shoulders, giving them a reassuring squeeze. “I don’t know how long it’ll take or how much it’ll hurt, but I promise you, Jiyeonie, I’ll be here. Whatever you need— whenever you need it— I’ll be here.”

The words hung in the air like a vow, unspoken yet understood. He didn’t need her to respond. Her silence, the way her fingers clung faintly to his wrist, was enough.

And with that, he stayed close, letting her process everything in her own time, his presence a silent promise that he wasn’t going anywhere.

And Mingyu kept that promise.

Through the days, the weeks, the months that followed, he was there. Quietly, steadfastly, he became the anchor Luna needed as she worked through the storm raging inside her.

He was the one who showed up unannounced at her apartment with her favorite takeout when he suspected she hadn’t eaten. The one who filled her living room with laughter when he pulled out his collection of terrible dad jokes. The one who dragged her out for morning walks when she felt too drained to even leave her bed, promising her that fresh air and sunshine could do wonders for her soul.

Whenever self-doubt crept into her voice, Mingyu countered it with an unwavering confidence in her. “You’re stronger than this,” he’d say, “and I’m not just saying that because I care about you. You’ve gotten through so much, Jiyeonie. You’re going to get through this, too.”

Whenever fatigue settled into her bones or fear whispered cruel lies into her ear, Mingyu was there. He’d sit with her in silence on her toughest days, a steady presence she could lean on without judgment. He gave her space when she needed it and filled it when she asked.

Mingyu knew when to push and when to wait.

There were days when she would cry, and he would simply hold her. Other days, she would rant about how lost she felt, how fragile she had become, and Mingyu would sit there, listening to every word without interrupting.

Mingyu didn’t try to fix her. He just let her feel what she needed to feel.

And slowly but surely, Luna began to heal.

Her laughter returned, soft at first but growing stronger with each passing day. Her confidence, once so shaken, began to rebuild itself. She started to hum absentmindedly again, a habit Mingyu had always found endearing.

Even her relationship with Jeonghan began to return to normal.

The awkward silences that had once stretched between them disappeared. The lingering tension in their stares faded, replaced by the easy camaraderie they had always shared. They laughed together again, talked as though nothing had happened, and spent time with the rest of the members without the weight of unspoken words hanging between them.

Jeonghan, true to form, never brought up what had transpired between them months prior. He respected her unspoken boundaries, never prying, never pushing. Luna, for her part, was grateful for that.

But no matter how much Mingyu helped her heal— no matter how many of her insecurities and doubts he managed to soothe— there was one thing he couldn’t replace.

Her feelings for Jeonghan.

Even after all this time, even after nearly a year of distance and rebuilding, her heart beat only for him.

It was Jeonghan she thought of in quiet moments, Jeonghan whose laughter still echoed in her mind, Jeonghan whose touch she longed for.

Her heart ached for him, yearned for him, and no amount of time seemed capable of changing that.

Her heart beats only for him; it longs only for him, an unyielding melody that no one else can rewrite.

And Mingyu… Mingyu was content with that.

Because if there was one thing he knew about love, it was that sometimes, love meant putting someone else’s happiness above your own. It meant helping the person you loved most find their happiness, even if that happiness didn’t include you.

After all, you would do anything for love— even if it meant helping your love with their love.

Mingyu marveled at his own heart sometimes, at its strength.

How was it possible to love someone so selflessly, to give so much of yourself knowing you might never get anything in return?

He didn’t know, but he also didn’t regret it.

Then again, Luna’s heart was just as strong, if not stronger.

She had endured the kind of heartbreak that could shatter a person, and yet she had chosen to keep loving. She had chosen to persevere, to hold onto that love even when it felt impossible.

Mingyu thought of her often, of the quiet resilience she carried, of the way she smiled even when her heart was heavy.

She amazed him, and in some ways, she inspired him.

If Luna could endure so much and still love so deeply, then who was he to do any less?

And so, Mingyu stayed by her side, his heart heavy yet full.

Because loving Bae Jiyeon— helping Bae Jiyeon—wasn’t a burden.

It was a privilege.

Jeonghan feels the same.

It was a privilege.

It was a privilege to know Luna, to stand beside her through the years as they navigated the treacherous waters of the idol world. A privilege to work with her, to watch her light up stages with an effortless grace that took his breath away every time. A privilege to call her his best friend, the one person who could read him like an open book even when he thought he was being clever.

And above all else, it was a privilege to be loved by her.

Jeonghan had known since the moment she confessed to him in her apartment, her words slurring slightly from the alcohol but her heart painfully clear.

Luna’s love for him wasn’t something fleeting or shallow. It was deep and real, a kind of love he’d never dared to believe someone like him could deserve.

But it terrified him.

The moment in the elevator the night after when he told her, “We can’t do this,” he knew he’d made a mistake.

The look in Luna’s eyes— the fleeting flash of pain she couldn’t quite mask before she quickly plastered on a smile— was something that haunted him.

He remembered the way she reassured him, her voice trembling slightly as she said, “It’s fine. I was drunk and being stupid.” And then she left the elevator, her head held high, as though the weight of his rejection wasn’t bearing down on her.

But Jeonghan knew her better than that.

He always had.

That night, he couldn’t sleep. His mind replayed every moment of their conversation, every little detail he wished he could take back. He pictured her walking into her apartment, finally letting her guard down, finally allowing herself to cry.

The thought of her alone, her shoulders shaking with sobs he knew she wouldn’t let anyone else see, made his chest ache.

The next day, he noticed the shift immediately.

Luna avoided his gaze in schedules, her usual bright smiles now tempered, softer, almost rehearsed. She threw herself into work with a single-minded focus that even the other members started to comment on. He could see it in the way she laughed at jokes— polite, short, never reaching her eyes. He could see it in the way she distanced herself, not just from him but from everyone, wrapping herself in a cocoon of work and solitude.

And then there was Mingyu.

Jeonghan noticed how Luna began to gravitate toward him.

It started small— a lingering conversation here, a shared laugh there. But it grew, and before long, Mingyu became her shadow, her support, her confidant.

Jeonghan should have felt envious, should have felt angry, but all he felt was gratitude.

Because if anyone could help Luna when she refused to help herself, it was Mingyu.

Jeonghan knew how Luna was.

She wasn’t the type to openly share her emotions, not unless she was pushed. She was the type to bury them, to lock them away until the weight of them became unbearable. And Mingyu… Mingyu had a way of drawing people out, of making them feel safe.

Jeonghan was thankful for him, even if it hurt to watch them together sometimes.

And so, Jeonghan watched.

Silently, slyly, like a fly on the wall, he kept an eye on her.

He noticed the little things— the way her smile faltered when she thought no one was looking, the way her hands fidgeted nervously during group meetings, the way her laugh sometimes felt just a little too forced.

Jeonghan noticed how she stopped seeking him out the way she used to, how her lingering stares disappeared, replaced by a pointed avoidance that cut deeper than he wanted to admit.

He noticed, too, the way Mingyu seemed to bring back pieces of the Luna he knew.

Little by little, she began to laugh more freely, her eyes regaining some of their sparkle. She started to hum to herself again, a quiet melody that Jeonghan hadn’t realized he missed until it returned.

But even as Luna began to heal, Jeonghan couldn’t shake his regret.

He regretted the fear that had gripped him in that elevator, the fear that had made him choose the safe path instead of the one he truly wanted.

Jeonghan regretted making her feel like her love wasn’t worth the risk, like she wasn’t worth the risk.

He regretted the way he had hurt her, the way he had driven her away, the way he had made her question herself. And he regretted most of all that he hadn’t been brave enough to tell her the truth.

Because the truth was, Jeonghan had loved Luna for as long as he could remember.

Jeonghan was in love with Luna.

Hopelessly, irrevocably in love with her in a way that defied logic or reason. It wasn’t something he could pinpoint to a single moment or a singular trait.

From the moment they met as trainees, there had been something about her that drew him in. Maybe it was despite her cold outward appearance, she smiled so beautifully, so bright and unguarded, or the way she laughed, unabashed and full of life. Maybe it was the way she looked at him, like she could see straight through the facade he so carefully crafted.

It was everything, all at once.

It was the way she scrunched her nose when she laughed too hard, her giggles filling the room like sunlight spilling into a dark corner. It was the way she remembered the little things— like how he liked his coffee or how he always needed a nap after a long schedule.

It was the way she seemed to know him better than he knew himself, calling him out on his tricks and teasing him just enough to make him feel seen but never exposed.

He loved the way she carried herself, too— quietly resilient, endlessly kind, and fiercely loyal.

Luna was the type of person who gave her all to the people she loved, and Jeonghan had been one of the lucky ones to be on the receiving end of that love.

Jeonghan loved her then, and he loved her now.

But he had convinced himself that love wasn’t worth the risk.

That the friendship they had built, the bond they shared as members of the same group, was too important to jeopardize. That their careers, their futures, couldn’t withstand the weight of a love like theirs.

And so, he had told her no.

Even now, after everything, after he had hurt her, rejected her, and created a chasm between them, she treated him with the same warmth she gave to everyone else. He could see it was different now, of course— more guarded, more deliberate— but it was still there.

And it made him ache.

Jeonghan had spent countless nights lying awake, staring at the ceiling, replaying the moment he told her no.

But now, as he watched her from afar, as he saw the way she smiled at Mingyu, as he noticed the way she seemed to come alive again under his care,

Regret was a constant companion, whispering in his ear, reminding him of what he had given up. It wasn’t just her love he had rejected— it was the possibility of something more, something deeper, something that terrified him because of how much he wanted it.

He wanted to make things right, to take back the pain he had caused her, to give her the love she deserved. But he didn’t know how.

But he was determined to make things right, no matter how long it took.

So, for now, he watched. And he waited.

Even if they could only ever be friends, Jeonghan was willing to accept that. He would rather have her in his life in any capacity than risk losing her completely. He was willing to put in the effort, to prove to her that she was safe with him again, that he could be someone she could trust. He was willing to push his own feelings aside if it meant seeing her happy.

And he hoped, with everything in him, that one day he would find the courage to tell her the truth.

But it wasn’t easy.

Even after months of careful rebuilding, after they had returned to a semblance of normalcy, Jeonghan could still see how Luna clung to Mingyu.

He didn’t blame her. Mingyu had been her rock during the time Jeonghan had faltered, the one who had stepped in when he had stepped away. And Mingyu, ever the gentle giant, had been exactly what Luna needed.

They were behind the scenes of a photoshoot when Jeonghan saw it again.

Luna’s laugh rang out, bright and unrestrained, as she squealed and called for Mingyu. “Gyu-Gyu, look at this!” she said, her voice laced with excitement. She held up her phone, waving it at him as he approached, his face lighting up in that easy, boyish grin Jeonghan had come to know so well.

Mingyu leaned down to look at her phone, his broad shoulders nearly swallowing her small frame as they shared a moment of quiet laughter.

Jeonghan watched from the corner of the room, his hands loosely clasped in front of him, his heart constricting painfully at the sight.

He was happy to see her smile like that, truly happy.

It was the kind of smile that reached her eyes, the kind of smile that had been absent for so long. And he was thankful for Mingyu— deeply, profoundly thankful— for being the one to bring that smile back.

But despite the gratitude that swelled in his chest, another thought crept into his mind, unbidden and unwelcome.

Can I be him?

The question lingered, heavy and bittersweet.

It mirrored the thought that had crossed Mingyu’s mind so many months ago, the same quiet longing, the same resignation.

But where Mingyu’s question had been born from the pain of unrequited love, Jeonghan’s was laced with guilt and regret. Because he could have been him. He could have been the one to make her laugh like that, to stand by her side, to be her rock.

But he wasn’t.

And now, as he watched her with Mingyu, he couldn’t help but wonder if he had forfeited his chance entirely.

Jeonghan’s gaze lingered on them, his heart twisting with an ache he couldn’t quite put into words. He saw the way Luna tilted her head up to meet Mingyu’s eyes, her expression soft and full of trust. He saw the way Mingyu looked at her in return, his own gaze steady and unguarded.

It was a silent conversation, a quiet understanding, and Jeonghan felt like an intruder simply for witnessing it.

It was ironic.

Both Jeonghan and Mingyu were caught in the same cycle, both willing to put their own feelings aside for Luna’s happiness. Both of them aching for something they could never truly have. And yet, where Mingyu’s strength lay in his ability to give selflessly, Jeonghan’s strength was still a work in progress.

He wanted to be better for her. He wanted to deserve her.

But as he stood there, watching her laugh with Mingyu, the question lingered in the back of his mind, haunting him.

Can I be him?

Jeonghan’s breath caught in his throat as he stood frozen, watching the scene unfold before him. Luna and Mingyu were standing just a few feet away, their heads bent together over her phone. She laughed again, her voice light and melodic, and something inside Jeonghan twisted painfully.

She looked so happy.

The kind of happiness that was effortless, unguarded, real.

And yet, all Jeonghan could think was, Am I still the one?

The question clawed at him, desperate and raw, filling him with a fear he couldn’t shake. It wasn’t just the sight of her smiling at Mingyu or the way she leaned into his presence like he was her safe harbor.

It was the possibility that somewhere along the way, Jeonghan had lost her— lost the part of her heart that once belonged to him.

Had she moved on? Had her feelings for him faded, dissolved into nothing but a distant memory of what could have been?

Jeonghan’s fingers tightened into fists at his sides, his chest heavy with the weight of uncertainty. He had no one to blame but himself. He had been the one to push her away, to draw that invisible line between them, to let fear and doubt dictate his choices.

But what if, in doing so, he had extinguished the flame that once burned for him in her heart?

Jeonghan’s mind raced, desperate for answers.

He thought back to every stolen glance, every lingering touch, every smile she had ever given him. He thought about the way she used to look at him, her eyes filled with a kind of quiet adoration that made him feel like he was the center of her universe. He thought about the way she used to laugh at his jokes, even when they weren’t funny, and how she always seemed to seek him out in a crowded room, as if drawn to him by some invisible thread.

Was any of that still there? Or had it all been erased, replaced by something else— someone else?

Jeonghan swallowed hard, his throat tight with emotion. Please, he thought, his heart aching with the weight of his unspoken plea. Please let me still be the one.

He wanted so badly to believe that he was.

That somewhere deep inside, Luna’s heart still called for him, still craved him, still loved him. That despite everything— despite the hurt, the distance, the months of uncertainty— he was still the one she wanted.

But the fear was relentless, gnawing at the edges of his hope.

What if he was wrong? What if she had already let go? What if Mingyu had become the person she turned to, the person she leaned on, the person she loved?

The thought was unbearable, and yet it lingered, taunting him with its cruel possibilities.

Jeonghan’s eyes flickered back to Luna, watching the way she lit up in Mingyu’s presence, her smile brighter than he had seen it in months. He felt a pang of gratitude for Mingyu, for being there for her in a way that Jeonghan hadn’t been able to. But that gratitude was overshadowed by a deep, aching longing— an unrelenting desire to be the one who made her feel that way.

I can be him, Jeonghan thought, his mind racing with determination. I can be whoever and whatever you want me to be. Just don’t let go of me. Please, Nana-ya. Don’t give up on me.

The words burned in his chest, desperate and silent. He didn’t know how much longer he could hold on to this hope, this fragile, flickering belief that he still had a chance.

Jeonghan just needed to know. Needed her to give him a sign, a hint, anything to tell him that he wasn’t too late.

Wait for me, he thought, his gaze softening as he looked at her. Just a little longer. Don’t let go. Don’t let me go, pretty angel.

Because if there was even the slightest chance that he was still the one, Jeonghan would fight for her. He would fight with everything he had, against every fear and every doubt, to be the person she needed.

To be the person she loved.

Jeonghan just needed her to wait. Just a little more.

He can be the one.

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[cherryxbooo]

I've got you ... always

Summary: Working as a Mercedes engineer has always been challenging, but with men constantly looking down on you, it becomes unbearable. Lewis is quick to put a stop to it, and fight for justice.

Note: First of all, I want to thank all of you for the love you've shown me so far. I really appreciate it! 🤍 The reason I chose this storyline is to address the issue of sexism and misogyny in workplaces. Unfortunately, this still happens far too often, and with this fic, I hope to bring much-needed attention to this subject. Just know you're not alone 🫶

Reader x Lewis Hamilton

Warning: misogyny and sexism

It had been nearly six years since I first joined Mercedes as an engineer.

Six years of intense work, late nights, early mornings, and a relentless pursuit of perfection in the world of Formula 1.

It was my dream job, one I had worked tirelessly to achieve.

But those six years also marked the time I’d spent with Lewis, six years of love, laughter, and challenges with the man who had become my everything.

I could still remember the day we met as if it were yesterday.

A bit of backstory:

I was the newest member of the Mercedes team, fresh out of a competitive hiring process, and I was determined to make an impression.

The first time I stepped into the paddock, I felt like an imposter among the sea of seasoned professionals.

My hands clutched my tablet like a lifeline as I walked into a strategy meeting, trying to suppress the nervous flutter in my chest.

Lewis was already there, sitting at the far end of the room. He looked relaxed, dressed casually in his signature streetwear style, yet exuding an unmistakable aura of confidence.

As I took a seat near the back, his eyes flicked toward me.

I was sure he wouldn’t even notice me, why would he?

I was just another new face among dozens of team members.

But then, he smiled.

It wasn’t one of those polite, obligatory smiles.

It was warm and genuine, as if he could sense my nerves and wanted to reassure me.

That smile was like a silent message:

You belong here.

Over the next few weeks, our paths crossed more frequently.

At first, it was just in passing, a quick hello in the garage, a casual “How’s it going?” during lunch breaks.

But it didn’t take long for us to start talking. Really talking.

It was during a particularly chaotic race weekend in Silverstone that our friendship began to solidify.

A last-minute weather change had thrown everyone into a frenzy, and I found myself staying late in the garage to run some last-minute simulations.

The paddock was nearly empty when Lewis walked in, still in his racing suit, and caught me muttering to myself as I tried to make sense of the data.

“Long night?” he asked, leaning against the workbench with a lopsided grin.

“You have no idea,” I replied with a tired laugh, glancing up from my screen.

He stayed and talked with me for over an hour, even offering a few insights that helped me crack the issue I was stuck on.

By the time he left, I realized that the nervousness I’d felt around him was gone.

He wasn’t just Lewis Hamilton, seven-time world champion.

He was kind, funny, and incredibly easy to talk to.

From that moment on, our friendship grew effortlessly.

Whether it was over post-race debriefs, team dinners, or stolen moments between the chaos of race weekends, we found ourselves drawn to each other.

We bonded over a shared love for what we did, but also over our differences, his world of high-speed fame and my quieter, behind-the-scenes role.

It wasn’t long before I realized my feelings for him had shifted.

I hadn’t planned on falling for him, but Lewis had a way of breaking down walls without even trying.

He made me laugh when I was stressed, listened intently when I rambled about work, and made me feel seen in a way I hadn’t experienced before.

One evening, after a long day at the factory, he invited me out for dinner.

It wasn’t anything fancy, just a cozy little restaurant tucked away.

Over plates of pasta and glasses of wine, we talked about everything from our childhoods to our dreams for the future.

By the end of the night, when he walked me to my car, he hesitated for just a moment before leaning in to kiss me.

That was the beginning of us.

For a long time, we kept our relationship private. We both wanted to protect what we had, to keep it ours without the scrutiny of the public eye.

But as the months turned into years, it became harder to hide.

Fans started noticing the subtle signs, the way Lewis would glance at me during interviews, or how I always seemed to be nearby during race weekends.

When we finally decided to go public, it wasn’t a grand announcement or a carefully curated statement.

It was a simple photo posted on Lewis’s Instagram.

We were in Monaco, sitting on a terrace overlooking the harbor, the golden light of sunset washing over us.

I didn’t even know he’d taken the picture until he showed it to me later that night.

“Should I post it?” he asked, his voice tentative.

I hesitated, thinking of the attention it would bring, but then I looked at him, at the way his eyes softened as he waited for my answer.

“Yeah,” I said with a smile. “Let’s do it.”

The response back then was overwhelming.

Fans flooded the comments with messages of support, and the media couldn’t stop speculating about us.

But through it all, Lewis and I stayed grounded, reminding each other that our relationship wasn’t for anyone else.

It was for us.

One of the things that made our relationship so strong was our ability to communicate.

From the very beginning, we had promised to tell each other everything, our fears, our frustrations, our dreams.

No topic was off-limits.

Whether it was a rough qualifying session for him or a challenging project for me, we leaned on each other without hesitation.

At least, that’s how it used to be.

Lately, I hadn’t been able to keep my promise to Lewis, to tell him everything, to lean on him like I always had.

The reason? Mark, Alan, and Greg.

They were three senior engineers on the team, men who had been with Mercedes long before I joined.

Older, more experienced, and as I had quickly discovered, painfully set in their ways.

From the very beginning, they had made it clear that they didn’t think I belonged.

I still remember the first time I overheard them.

It was during my second week on the job, and I was running a simulation late at night.

They didn’t realize I was in the corner of the garage, headphones off, sorting through notes.

“Hiring for diversity quotas,” Mark had muttered, his voice dripping with disdain.

“Yeah, they want to tick a box, so they bring in the fresh-faced rookie,” Alan had added with a chuckle.

Greg, ever the opportunist, chimed in,

“Let’s see how long she lasts when the pressure’s on.”

"She's better off making us a sandwich."

Their words had stung, sharp and bitter, but I had swallowed my pride.

I told myself that proving them wrong would be the best revenge.

I worked harder than I ever had in my life, triple-checking my calculations, volunteering for extra tasks, staying long hours to ensure that my work was flawless.

And for a while, I thought it had paid off.

At first, the snide remarks tapered off.

They didn’t engage with me much, but at least they stopped openly questioning my abilities.

I had even started to think that maybe, just maybe, I had earned their respect.

But lately, the comments had returned, and they were worse than ever.

It started subtly, dismissive sighs during meetings when I spoke, or whispered conversations that stopped the moment I entered the room.

Childish right?

Then the snark escalated, cutting through my carefully built confidence like a knife.

“Did you even double-check this?”

Alan had sneered last week after a team briefing, gesturing at the simulation results I’d spent days perfecting.

Greg, never one to miss a chance to pile on, smirked as he added,

“Leave the big decisions to people who actually know what they’re doing.”

Then Mark's voice was heard,

"Yeah, go do the laundry or something, whatever you women are good in."

It was always wrapped in the guise of banter, thinly veiled behind forced smiles and casual tones.

But I wasn’t naïve.

There was a sharpness to their words, a deliberate attempt to undermine me that cut deeper each time.

Even Mark, the one who usually played the “neutral” party, had started joining in.

During a debrief on a race strategy I’d helped design, he had scoffed and muttered,

“Well, I guess every team needs its token young genius.”

It was relentless.

Every day, there was something, a comment, a glance, a dismissive laugh that made my blood boil.

But I kept it all to myself.

I told myself that it wasn’t worth causing a scene, especially now.

Lewis had enough on his plate.

His move to Ferrari had been the talk of the motorsport world, and while he was excited for the new challenge, the transition was anything but easy.

here were endless negotiations, media commitments, and the emotional weight of leaving the team that had been his family for over a decade.

I couldn’t bring this to him, not now.

Not when he was already stretched thin.

So, I stayed quiet.

I bit my tongue when Alan questioned my calculations, ignored Greg’s condescending remarks, and pretended not to hear Mark’s muttered jokes.

Each time, I told myself it was just words, that I could handle it.

But deep down, I wasn’t sure how much longer I could.

Lewis was busy.

I kept telling myself that over and over, like a mantra.

Between announcing his move to Ferrari, dealing with the media frenzy, juggling sponsorship demands, and the seemingly endless meetings, he had so much on his plate.

The last thing he needed was me adding my problems to the mix.

But today was different.

The garage was buzzing with activity as we prepped for the upcoming race weekend.

The sound of drills, clinking tools, and the hum of engines filled the air, a symphony of chaos I had grown to love over the years.

I was stationed at my usual spot, hunched over a set of data sheets, meticulously double-checking the aerodynamics report for any inconsistencies.

I was deep in concentration, my pen scratching against the paper, when their voices drifted over.

Mark’s gruff tone was unmistakable.

“What’s the point of her even being here? Probably just a pretty face for the team photos.”

I froze, my hand pausing mid-note.

My heart sank, but I willed myself to stay calm, telling myself to ignore it like always.

Alan, never one to pass up an opportunity, snorted.

“Yeah, but even that’s debatable.”

Their laughter was casual, almost conversational, but the sting of their words hit me like a whip.

Then Greg joined in, his tone dripping with mockery.

“She’s only here because she’s shagging the driver or maybe even the boss. Imagine thinking she got this job on her own merit.”

Mark laughed before adding,

"Maybe we can all ask her for a turn as well, if it's that easy to shag the boss, we might have a chance too."

"At the end of the day, that's all they're good at. Women don't belong in the motorsport world."

The room was filled with their laughter.

That was it.

My pen slipped from my fingers, clattering onto the table as my hands began to shake.

I stared at the numbers on the page, but they were a blur, overshadowed by the burning heat of humiliation rising in my chest.

For years, I had endured their passive-aggressive comments, their dismissive attitudes, their constant undermining of my capabilities.

I had told myself it didn’t matter, that their opinions didn’t define me.

But hearing them reduce everything I had worked for, the late nights, the sweat, the tears, the sacrifices, to nothing more than being Lewis Hamilton’s girlfriend?

It was too much.

I clenched my fists under the table, my nails digging into my palms as I tried to hold it together.

But their laughter, light and cruel, echoed in my ears, shredding the last of my composure.

I pushed back my chair abruptly, the screech of metal against the concrete floor silencing the room for a brief moment.

My vision blurred with unshed tears as I grabbed my tablet and notes, clutching them to my chest like armor.

I didn’t dare look at them, I couldn’t.

My breath hitched, and my chest felt tight, like the walls were closing in.

I needed to get out. Now.

Without a word, I turned and stormed out of the garage, my footsteps heavy and uneven.

I didn’t care where I was going; I just needed space, air, something to stop the lump in my throat from turning into a sob.

As I walked away, their laughter faded into the background, but the words lingered, etched into my mind like a scar.

I didn’t know where I was going.

My feet carried me blindly, weaving through the maze of garages and team trailers until I found myself at the paddock’s edge.

It was quieter here, away from the relentless hum of activity, the chatter of crew members, and the ever-present cameras.

I sank onto a bench beneath the shade of a tree, my chest heaving as I tried to catch my breath.

Burying my face in my hands, I let out a shaky sigh.

My mind replayed their words like a broken record, each snide comment cutting deeper than the last.

"What’s the point of her being here?"

"Probably just a pretty face for the team photos."

"She’s only here because she’s shagging the driver."

The worst part was that they’d managed to plant a seed of doubt.

I had worked so hard to get here, put in countless hours, and sacrificed so much to prove myself in this male-dominated field.

And yet, in this moment, I felt like a fraud, like I didn’t belong.

“Y/n?”

The sound of Lewis’s voice cut through the fog in my mind.

I looked up sharply, my breath catching when I saw him standing a few feet away, his brow furrowed in concern.

He must have followed me.

My stomach twisted in a mix of guilt and relief.

The last thing I wanted was for him to see me like this, vulnerable, crumbling under the weight of my emotions.

“What’s wrong my love?” he asked, stepping closer and crouching down in front of me.

His warm, dark eyes searched mine, his hands gently resting on my knees.

The concern etched into his face made my heart ache.

“Nothing,” I lied, quickly wiping at my face.

Lewis raised an eyebrow, his expression soft but skeptical.

“Don’t do that. Don’t shut me out.”

I hesitated, my resolve cracking under his steady gaze.

His presence was grounding, but I didn’t want to pull him into my mess.

“It’s nothing, really,” I tried again, forcing a weak smile.

“I just… I’m tired.”

“Y/n.”

His voice was low and firm, but there was a tenderness to it that made my throat tighten.

“Please. Talk to me.”

That was all it took.

The dam broke, and the words spilled out in a rush.

I told him everything, the comments, the dismissive attitudes, the years of enduring their quiet but cutting condescension.

My voice wavered as I explained how it had worsened recently, how their snide remarks had crossed the line into outright insults.

“I didn’t want to tell you,” I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper.

“You’ve been under so much pressure with everything, Ferrari, the media, the season. I didn’t want to be another problem for you to deal with.”

Lewis listened intently, his face unreadable as I spoke.

But the slight tightening of his jaw and the way his hands gripped mine told me he was anything but indifferent.

When I finished, there was a long silence.

I stared down at my hands, afraid to meet his eyes.

“They’ve been doing this for years?”

he finally asked, his voice low and tightly controlled.

I nodded, biting my lip. “It wasn’t always this bad, but yeah.”

“And you didn’t tell me?”

“I didn’t want to add to your stress,” I said softly.

“You’ve been dealing with so much already.”

Lewis let out a slow, measured breath, his grip on my hands tightening.

“Y/n, nothing, and I mean nothing, is more important to me than you.”

His voice softened, but there was a fierce protectiveness beneath his words.

“You should’ve told me. They don’t get to treat you like this. Ever. No woman deserves this kind of treatment.”

I opened my mouth to respond, but Lewis was already standing.

He pulled his phone from his pocket, his expression dark with determination.

“Lewis, what are you doing?” I asked, standing as well.

He glanced at me, his jaw set.

“I’m making sure this doesn’t happen again.”

I reached out, touching his arm.

“Lewis, please—”

“Y/n.” He turned to face me fully, his eyes locking onto mine.

“You’ve put up with this for far too long. I’m not letting it slide, and neither should you. This is your workplace, your passion. You shouldn’t have to deal with people who try to tear you down.”

His words hit me hard, a mix of anger and love wrapped in every syllable.

I nodded slowly, my throat tight with emotion.

“Good,” he said, his voice softening as he pulled me into a hug.

His arms wrapped around me tightly, and for a moment, I let myself melt into his warmth.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured into my hair. “Always.”

By mid-afternoon, the entire paddock was filled with noice.

Meetings with Toto were rarely casual, and the tension in the air was palpable.

I stayed out of sight, nerves twisting in my stomach.

When Lewis had assured me earlier that he wouldn’t let this go, I’d believed him.

But seeing the immediate repercussions unfold was a different kind of catharsis.

The walk to Toto’s office felt longer than it should have, every step heavy with anticipation.

Lewis had his hand firmly on the small of my back, guiding me through the bustling paddock.

His touch was grounding, but my nerves still prickled under my skin.

“Relax,” he said softly, leaning closer.

“We’re handling this together.”

I nodded, though my stomach was a tangled mess of knots.

The last thing I wanted was to cause drama, but after years of enduring Mark, Alan, and Greg’s behavior, I couldn’t keep quiet any longer.

When we arrived at Toto’s office, Lewis didn’t bother knocking lightly.

He rapped his knuckles on the door with purpose.

“Come in,” came the familiar voice from inside.

Toto was seated behind his desk, a stack of papers neatly arranged to one side.

His brows lifted in mild surprise when he saw the two of us enter together, but he quickly gestured for us to take a seat.

“This seems serious,” Toto remarked, his sharp eyes flicking between us.

"What’s going on?”

Lewis glanced at me, silently asking if I wanted to start.

I hesitated, my fingers twisting in my lap.

Noticing my reluctance, Lewis leaned forward.

“It’s about some of the team dynamics,” he began, his voice calm but tinged with an unmistakable edge.

“Specifically, the way Mark, Alan, and Greg have been treating Y/n.”

Toto’s expression shifted, his posture straightening.

“Go on.”

I took a deep breath, summoning the courage to speak.

“For years now, they’ve made comments, snide remarks about my qualifications, my presence here. It started when I joined, but I brushed it off because I was new, and I thought I had to prove myself. But lately…”

My voice wavered, and I swallowed hard to steady it.

“Lately, it’s escalated. They’ve been openly dismissive of my work, undermining me during meetings, and even questioning my position on the team. Today, they went too far.”

Toto’s jaw tightened, and he leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk.

“What happened today?”

Lewis��s hand found mine, giving it a reassuring squeeze as I recounted the incident.

“They implied I’m only here because I’m dating Lewis and that I used my body to get my position,”

I said quietly, the words tasting bitter in my mouth.

“And that I didn’t earn my role.”

Toto exhaled sharply, his expression darkening.

“That’s not all,” Lewis added, his tone hardening.

“This has been going on for years, Toto. Years. Y/n didn’t tell me sooner because she didn’t want to cause problems, but that’s no excuse. Those three have created a toxic environment, and it stops now.”

Toto’s gaze shifted to me, his stern demeanor softening slightly.

“Why didn’t you come to me earlier, Y/L/N? This isn’t the kind of behavior we tolerate here.”

I shrugged, feeling small under his scrutiny.

“I didn’t want to be seen as a troublemaker. They’ve been here longer than I have, and I didn’t think anyone would take my word over theirs. Plus, I didn’t want to add more stress to an already intense environment.”

Toto shook his head, his voice firm but understanding.

“You should never have to tolerate that. Not here, not anywhere. The Mercedes team prides itself on being a family. What you’ve described is unacceptable, and I take full responsibility for not noticing it sooner.”

Lewis leaned back in his chair, his jaw still tight.

“What’s the plan, Toto? Because I’m not letting this slide.”

Toto nodded, already making notes on a pad in front of him.

“First, I’ll be speaking to Mark, Alan, and Greg individually. They’ll be given the chance to explain themselves, not that there’s much room for justification here. If their behavior aligns with what you’ve described, they won’t be part of this team by the end of the day.”

A weight lifted off my chest at his words, but the tension in the room remained palpable.

“I want to be there,” Lewis said firmly.

Toto raised an eyebrow.

“Lewis—”

“No,” Lewis interrupted.

“This is personal. They didn’t just disrespect Y/n, they disrespected the team, the values we stand for, and me by extension. I need to make it clear that this behavior won’t be tolerated. From anyone.”

Toto regarded him for a moment before nodding.

“Fine. But let me handle the disciplinary side. You can say your piece, but I’ll deliver the consequences.”

Lewis nodded, satisfied.

“That works for me.”

Toto turned back to me, his expression softening once more.

“Y/n, I’m sorry you’ve had to endure this. If there’s anything else you need, support, time off, anything, let me know. I’ll make sure you feel safe and valued here.”

“Thank you,” I murmured, my voice thick with emotion.

Lewis stood, pulling me up with him.

“We appreciate it, Toto. Let us know when the meeting is.”

“You’ll hear from me shortly,”

Toto promised, standing to shake Lewis’s hand before giving me a reassuring nod.

As we left the office, I felt a sense of relief wash over me.

For the first time in years, I didn’t feel alone in this fight.

Lewis wrapped an arm around my shoulders as we walked down the corridor.

“We’ve got this,” he said softly, his voice full of conviction.

I leaned into him, a small smile tugging at my lips.

“Yeah, we do.”

Toto wasn’t one to waste time.

Within the hour, Mark, Alan, and Greg were called into his office one by one.

The first to arrive was Mark.

When he stepped in, he wore his usual smug expression, likely thinking this was just another routine meeting.

But Toto’s steely gaze and the presence of Lewis, standing tall with his arms crossed by the window, quickly shattered that notion.

“Have a seat, Mark,”

Toto said curtly, gesturing to the chair across from his desk.

Mark sat, shifting uncomfortably as he glanced between Toto and Lewis.

“What’s this about?”

Toto wasted no time.

“It’s about your behavior toward Y/L/N,” he said, his voice sharp and unwavering.

“I’ve been informed of your repeated condescension, disrespect, and comments that have no place in this team, or any professional setting.”

Mark blinked, caught off guard.

“What? That’s not true. I—”

“Don’t bother lying,” Lewis cut in, his voice cold and firm.

He stepped closer, his dark eyes fixed on Mark.

“We’ve both heard enough from Y/n and other team members. You’ve been targeting her for years, haven’t you? Questioning her qualifications, making snide remarks about her role here, and today, outright implying she only got her position because of me.”

Mark’s mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water.

“I… Look, it was just banter. No harm meant.”

“Banter?” Toto echoed, his tone dripping with disbelief.

“You call undermining one of the most talented engineers on this team banter? You call questioning her abilities and belittling her contributions banter?”

Mark leaned forward, desperation creeping into his voice.

“Toto, I didn’t mean anything by it! I was just—”

“Enough,” Toto interrupted, his voice cutting through the room like a blade.

“I won’t tolerate excuses. You’ve created a hostile environment for one of your colleagues, and that is unacceptable. You’ve not only disrespected Y/L/N but also the principles this team stands for. I don’t care how long you’ve been here, Mark. Your behavior is grounds for immediate dismissal.”

Mark paled, his smugness vanishing entirely.

“Dismissal? Wait, Toto, please. I’ve been with this team for years. You can’t just—”

“I can, and I will,” Toto said, his voice resolute.

“Pack your things. Security will escort you out by the end of the day.”

Mark turned to Lewis, desperation in his eyes.

“Lewis, you can’t agree with this. We’re teammates, for God’s sake!”

Lewis’s expression didn’t waver.

“You stopped being my teammate the moment you disrespected Y/n. Pack your things, Mark.”

Mark’s shoulders slumped, and he left the office in silence.

Next was Alan.

He walked in with a similar air of confidence, though it quickly dissipated when he noticed the tense atmosphere.

“Toto,” Alan began, sitting down and glancing uneasily at Lewis.

“What’s going on?”

Toto leaned forward, his hands clasped on the desk.

“What’s going on, Alan, is that your behavior toward Y/L/N has come to light. Years of dismissive comments, snide remarks, and today, a blatant attack on her credibility. Care to explain yourself?”

Alan frowned, leaning back in his chair.

“Look, I might’ve been a little hard on her, but it’s nothing personal. She’s young and still learning. I thought she could use a bit of tough love.”

Lewis scoffed from his spot by the window.

“Tough love? Is that what you call undermining her at every turn and insulting her in front of the team?”

Alan shifted uncomfortably.

“She’s good at her job, I’ll give her that. But come on, Lewis, you can’t deny people have wondered if her connection to you played a part in her being hired. It’s not like I said anything everyone wasn’t already thinking.”

Lewis took a step forward, his fists clenching at his sides.

“The only reason anyone would think that is because people like you spread that garbage around."

"Y/n earned her place on this team through her hard work and talent, not because of me."

We didn't even know each other when she joined. And even if, she didn’t have to prove anything to anyone, the way you’ve treated her is disgusting.”

Toto’s expression darkened further.

“Alan, you’ve been with Mercedes long enough to know we value respect and inclusivity above all else. What you’ve done isn’t just a breach of trust, it’s a breach of the very foundation of this team. Your actions have consequences. You’re fired, effective immediately.”

Alan stood abruptly, his face red with anger.

“You’re seriously going to throw away years of experience over a few jokes?”

“Yes,” Toto said bluntly.

“And I suggest you leave now before you embarrass yourself further.”

Alan glared at both of them before storming out, muttering under his breath.

Finally, it was Greg’s turn.

Unlike the others, Greg walked in looking visibly nervous.

He barely met Toto’s eyes as he sat down, fidgeting with his hands.

“Greg,” Toto began, his voice steady but firm.

“You know why you’re here.”

Greg nodded, swallowing hard. “Yeah… yeah, I figured.”

“Then you know the kind of behavior we’re addressing,” Toto continued.

“You’ve contributed to a toxic work environment for Y/L/N and others. What do you have to say for yourself?”

Greg hesitated, glancing at Lewis, who was staring at him with barely concealed anger.

“I—I don’t have an excuse. I guess… I thought it was harmless, but it clearly wasn’t. I crossed a line, and I’m sorry.”

Toto’s brow furrowed.

“You thought it was harmless? You’ve made Y/n feel unwelcome and disrespected in her own workplace. That’s not harmless, it’s damaging. Apologizing now doesn’t erase what you’ve done.”

“I know,” Greg said quickly, his voice trembling.

“I know I messed up, and I’ll do whatever it takes to make it right.”

“It’s too late for that,” Lewis interjected, his voice low but full of authority.

“You had years to change your behavior, and you didn’t. You don’t get to stay on this team after what you’ve done.”

Toto nodded in agreement.

“Greg, I appreciate that you’re taking responsibility, but the damage has been done. You’re no longer part of this team. Security will escort you out shortly.”

Greg’s shoulders sagged, and he nodded, standing to leave.

“My deepest apologies,” he said quietly before walking out.

By the end of the day, the three men were gone, and the Mercedes team felt lighter.

Word of the firings spread quickly, and several team members quietly expressed their relief and support for you.

Back in the garage, Lewis pulled me into a quiet corner.

“It’s done,” he said softly, brushing a strand of hair from my face.

I nodded, a weight lifting off my chest.

“Thank you, Lew. For standing by me.”

“Always sweetheart,” he said, pressing a kiss to my forehead.

“No one messes with my girl.”

To all the women facing sexism at work, school, home or online: You are strong, capable, and deserving of respect. Don’t let anyone diminish your worth. Your voice matters, and you are making a difference just by being you. Keep pushing forward.

The end

[rose24207]

No, you’re not

Summary: You and Lando have been inseparable since childhood, both secretly in love with each other but too afraid to confess—he believes you deserve better than him, and you think his flings mean he could never see you that way, leaving your feelings tangled in unspoken fears of ruining your lifelong friendship.

Genre: angst, fluff

TW: None!

A/N: wow this is a long request! Thank you!! I really hope it’s like how you wanted it! English is not my first language. I hope you enjoy it though! Requests are open and welcome!

Based of this request

Masterlist

The Brazil Grand Prix had always been one of Lando’s toughest races. The circuit wasn’t just a test of his skill; it was a mental and physical marathon. This year was no different. After a grueling 71 laps that left him finishing far from where he wanted to be, he was wrung out, mentally frayed, and questioning every decision he’d made during the weekend. The lack of sleep afterward didn’t help, and by the time he boarded the flight back to Monaco, he was barely holding himself together.

All he wanted was to get home and shut the world out. No cameras, no engineers pointing out his mistakes, no fans bombarding him with well-meaning but exhausting messages. Just silence.

Except, as soon as he opened his front door, he realized he wasn’t going to be alone.

The lights in the living room were dim, but the faint glow of the TV illuminated the familiar figure curled up on his couch. You.

Lando’s heart squeezed at the sight of you, a feeling so achingly familiar it was almost painful. You were his best friend—the one constant in his life, the one person who saw him as just Lando, not a Formula 1 driver, not a public figure, just the boy you’d grown up with.

But that was the problem, wasn’t it? You were his best friend. The girl he’d been in love with since he was sixteen. The girl who deserved better than someone like him.

You looked up when the door clicked shut, your eyes immediately finding his in the dim light. “Finally,” you said, your voice soft but teasing. “I was starting to think you’d sleep at the airport.”

Lando let out a breathless laugh, dropping his bag by the door. “Not sure I’d get much sleep there either.” He leaned against the wall, exhaustion radiating off him in waves. “What are you doing here?”

“Waiting for you,” you said simply, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “I figured you’d be in a mood, so I let myself in.” You gestured to the half-empty bowl of soup on the coffee table. “I also raided your fridge. You really need to go grocery shopping.”

Lando shook his head, a ghost of a smile tugging at his lips. “How’d you even get here?”

“I have a key, remember?” you said with a smirk. “And I used that thing called a car. Revolutionary, really.”

He rolled his eyes, but the warmth in his chest spread. You were always like this—casual, unbothered, always knowing exactly what he needed before he even realized it himself.

You stood and crossed the room, your smile fading as you got a closer look at him. “You look terrible,” you said, your voice dropping into that soft, concerned tone that always made his chest tighten.

“Thanks,” he muttered.

“I mean it,” you said, tugging gently on the sleeve of his hoodie as if inspecting him. “You look like you haven’t slept in days.”

“That’s because I haven’t,” he admitted.

You frowned, your eyes narrowing. “Lando...”

“I’m fine,” he said quickly, though the hoarseness of his voice betrayed him.

“No, you’re not.” You grabbed his hand and pulled him toward the couch. He let you, too tired to argue. “Sit. You need to eat something, drink something, and then sleep for about a year.”

He dropped onto the couch with a groan, sinking into the cushions. You draped a blanket over him before disappearing into the kitchen. He could hear you rummaging around, the sound of a kettle boiling, the clink of a spoon against a mug.

When you returned, you handed him a steaming cup of tea. “Drink,” you ordered, sitting beside him.

He took the cup and cradled it in his hands, the warmth seeping into his skin. He stared at the liquid for a moment before taking a small sip. It burned his tongue, but he didn’t care.

“You don’t have to do this,” he said quietly, not meeting your eyes.

“Do what?”

“Take care of me.”

You snorted. “Someone has to. God knows you’re useless at it.”

He looked up at you then, and the small smile on your face made his chest ache. “I mean it,” he said, his voice low. “You don’t have to... be here. I’ll be fine.”

You frowned, your brow furrowing in that way it always did when you were worried about him. “Of course I do,” you said softly. “You’re my best friend, Lando. Where else would I be?”

That was the problem, wasn’t it? You were always there. Always caring, always looking out for him, always steady and dependable. And he was... what? A mess. A guy who jumped from fling to fling, trying—and failing—to get you out of his head.

He knew what you thought of him. You���d never said it outright, but he could see it in the way you’d roll your eyes whenever you saw another headline about him with some random girl. You thought he wasn’t serious. That he couldn’t be serious. And maybe you were right. Maybe he wasn’t capable of being the kind of man you deserved.

“How was the race?” you asked, breaking the silence.

“Bad,” he said simply.

“You want to talk about it?”

He shook his head, letting his head fall back against the couch. “Not really.”

You nodded, not pushing him. Instead, you shifted closer, your shoulder brushing against his. He felt your warmth seep into him, and for a moment, he let himself relax.

“Did you eat?” you asked after a while.

“Not really.”

You sighed and stood. “Stay here. I’ll heat up the rest of the soup.”

He watched as you disappeared into the kitchen, his chest tightening with every step you took. You were too good to him. Too good for him.

By the time you came back, holding a bowl of steaming soup, he’d convinced himself to push his feelings down again, to keep them buried where they couldn’t hurt you.

“Here,” you said, handing him the bowl. “Eat.”

He took the bowl and set it on his lap, picking up the spoon. “Thanks.”

You sat beside him again, watching as he ate in silence.

“You don’t have to babysit me, you know,” he said after a while, his voice quiet.

“I’m not babysitting you,” you said with a shrug. “I’m being a good friend.”

He huffed a laugh. “Yeah, well, you’re too good at it.”

You smiled, but there was a hint of sadness in your eyes that he couldn’t quite place.

For a moment, neither of you said anything. The only sounds were the clink of his spoon against the bowl and the faint hum of the TV.

“Lando,” you said softly, breaking the silence.

He looked up at you, his heart skipping a beat at the way you were looking at him—like you could see right through him.

“You don’t have to do this alone,” you said. “Whatever’s going on in your head... you don’t have to carry it by yourself.”

His throat tightened, and for a moment, he couldn’t speak. You always knew exactly what to say, exactly how to pull him back from the edge.

“I know,” he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper. “Thanks.”

You nodded, your eyes never leaving his.

And in that moment, he realized that no matter how much he tried to push you away, no matter how much he convinced himself that he didn’t deserve you, you would always be there.

And that terrified him more than anything.

Thank you for reading!

[gojozballs]

Gojo x Reader x Geto "Squid Game"

Warning: [This story contains Yandere themes, possessive and obsessive behavior, graphic violence, gunshots, and blood]

Materialist

Part 3

In a deadly game where survival is the only option, Y/N, with a painful injury, relies on her two protective boyfriends, Satoru and Suguru, to navigate the perilous chaos, unaware that the true threat lies right beside her

Y/n's POV

Once again, I find myself in the room, a place where survival doesn't mean fighting for our lives at least, not yet. The air around me feels sterile, yet suffocating. It's a toxic mix of dread and denial that clings to the walls and presses on my chest as we sit to eat the tiny portion of food. My head spins as I try to process everything: the deaths, the sacrifices, the mind-numbing futility of it all. Lives lost in an instant, snuffed out like they never mattered.

And yet, the worst part? The nagging fear that my boyfriends might be next. The thought twists my stomach into knots.

God, I feel so fucking stupid for even being here.

“Hey, baby. What’s got you so lost in thought?” Suguru’s voice cuts through the haze, his arm draping around my shoulders like it can shield me from the weight of reality.

Satoru glances back, his striking blue eyes gleaming with that familiar mischievous glint. “Just so we’re clear,” he announces, loud enough for the whole room to hear, “I’m not sharing my food.” His voice is so random, so absurd that I can’t help but chuckle despite everything.

Suguru snorts, clearly unamused. “You’re full of shit. Didn’t you just feed her your food last time?”

“I was only talking about you, babe,” Satoru grins, his eyes twinkling as he shoves a piece of bread into my mouth with far too much confidence.

They’re always like this joking, bickering, pushing each other's buttons. Even here, in the middle of a deadly game. It’s both a comfort and a curse. Because when they shift gears? When the game begins? They turn into something else entirely. Something terrifying.

“I hope we win this time,” I murmur, my voice barely above a whisper. “I just want to leave. I don’t want any more of this.”

Satoru hums, popping a bread into his mouth and eyeing me with that devil-may-care smile. "Well, let’s just pray the ones who begged to stay already met their unfortunate end..”

I frown, the bitter taste of unease crawling up my throat, but before I can say anything, Suguru adds, so casually, “We made sure at least one of them did.”

My heart drops, the food in my mouth suddenly sour. “What… what do you mean?”

Satoru smirks, leaning his chin on his hand like this is some inside joke I’m too slow to understand. “Don’t overthink it, sweetcheeks. Some people just aren’t cut out for survival.” His tone is smooth, but there’s a cold edge beneath it that sends a shiver down my spine.

Were they serious? Or were they messing with me? I can’t tell anymore, and that’s what scares me the most.

Dread

"The votings will now begin..." The announcement echoes through the room, a chill running down my spine. A heavy silence fills the air as everyone rises, some frantically whispering their last prayers, others nervously laughing, awaiting their fate. The tension is suffocating.

"How cruel," I mutter under my breath, my gaze flicking to the men beside me. I can feel the weight of their presence, their proximity pulling me in, both comforting and suffocating.

“Y/N, you’re standing too far away from us,” Suguru’s voice cuts through the murmur of voices, his hand suddenly on my arm, pulling me closer. I’m wedged between him and Satoru, the pressure of their bodies making my breath hitch. It’s protective, possessive like they’re making sure no one can get too close.

I should be grateful, right? But there's a strange gnawing unease in the pit of my stomach. What if something happens to them? What if I can’t keep them safe?

Before I can get lost in my own thoughts, it’s my turn to vote. I take a shaky breath as I step toward the platform, the chaos around me escalating people shouting, crying, pleading. The noise is overwhelming. But I don’t care. I press the red button with a trembling hand. I just want out of this place, away from the madness, the fear.

Then

A collective groan, followed by cheers and cries, fills the room as the decision is made. We’re staying. Another round. Tears sting my eyes, and before I can stop myself, they spill over. I hiccup, my sobs coming in uneven gasps, and I can't hide them anymore.

“Hey, hey, sweetie,” Suguru’s voice is soft, a contrast to the storm of emotions inside me. His hand tilts my chin up, his gaze intense as he meets my eyes. “It’s okay. It’s okay, shhh…” He pulls me into his arms, but no matter how tight he holds me, I can’t feel at ease. I want to scream. I want to make it stop.

“I got you both into this,” I whisper, my voice barely a breath. “You two always protect me, but… but I’m the one putting you at risk.”

Suguru and Satoru exchange a look, but their faces are unreadable, a shared understanding flickering between them. Suguru pulls back, his hands still cupping my face, his touch gentle but firm. He wipes away my tears, his gaze softening, but there's an underlying intensity I can't quite place.

“Y/N,” he says, his voice low, every word wrapped in something that feels almost… dangerous. “Look at us. We’re here because we want to be. We chose to be with you, and we’ll do whatever it takes to keep you safe. Even if that means playing these games again and again.”

His thumb brushes over my cheek, the softness of the gesture masking the unspoken promise in his words.

“Besides,” Satoru interjects with a smirk, his attempt at lightening the mood falling flat. There’s something darker in his eyes, something calculating. “have you seen me out there? I’m a pro at this. You’ve got the best of the best protecting you, baby.”

I try to smile, but it doesn’t reach my heart. How could I not love them? They’re the only thing keeping me anchored in this nightmare.

"Sweetcheeks” Satoru adds, his voice dropping, his tone laced with something darker. “This is our decision. To be with you. To protect you. Nothing else matters. Understand?”

Before I can ask how they even got here, how they managed to bypass the system, I’m struck by the nagging thought that keeps haunting me. They’re too loaded with money to have been invited into a game meant for people desperate for cash. I can’t fathom how they managed to slip past the system, how they of all people could end up in a place like this.

The thought lingers, a sickening twist in my stomach, but before I can voice my confusion, we’re interrupted by the announcement of the next game. My heart thunders in my chest. I want to stay lost in their presence, to bury the questions and unease that are gnawing at me, but I know I can’t let my guard down not in this place.

We’re ushered into a new room, and my eyes dart around. The doors are different colors reds, blues, blacks each one more unsettling than the last. It feels… off. I turn to Suguru and Satoru, hoping for some sign of reassurance, but their faces are unreadable, their eyes sharp and calculating.

“What game is this?” My voice trembles slightly, and I can’t hide the unease in my chest.

“This one’s easy,” Satoru says, his smirk returning, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. The cold calculation in his gaze gives me a chill. They're already thinking ahead, plotting moves, and I can’t help but feel a twinge of fear. I swallow hard, my stomach tightening.

Then I see them. Yuuji and Nobara. Their bright smiles stand out like beacons in the gloom, their youthful innocence a stark contrast to the twisted world we’re trapped in.

“Y/N-oneesan! Thank god you're doing okay!” Nobara calls, her voice bright and innocent, as though none of this is real.

“Yeah and we’ll get through this game, together again!” I say, trying to muster some semblance of courage. I don’t want them to see the fear that’s clawing at me from the inside.

But before I can say anything more, the voice of the game master booms, cutting through the silence like a knife.

“The next game will be ‘Mingle.’ A number will be announced, and you must quickly find your group and enter a room before the countdown ends. Failure to do so will result in elimination.”

The words echoed in my mind, and the first thought that came to me was that I had to prioritize them Suguru and Satoru. I groaned inwardly, the weight of the situation settling on me. This game… once again, I was going to be a burden because of my leg injury.

Let The Game Begin

The platform beneath us begins to shift, spinning slowly, and I’m pulled against Satoru’s side. His arm around my waist tightens, holding me steady as chaos erupts all around us.

“Four!” the announcer’s voice booms, and without hesitation, Suguru grabs my hand. Together, the three of us dash toward the nearest door, just making it through before another man squeezes in behind us.

Before I can catch my breath, Satoru pulls me into a dark corner, his body pressing close against mine. “Stay close, sweetcheeks,” he murmurs, his voice dripping with something dangerous and sweet, all at once.

The man inches forward, his eyes darting nervously between us. I glance at Suguru, who stands still, eyes locked onto the guy with an almost predatory focus.

"Two!"

The number echoes through the speakers, and my heart drops to my stomach. I gasp, spinning around to face them. “Y-you guys go with each other!” I shout, but my words feel useless. It’s like they’ve already planned it out in their heads, without even a glance at each other. Suguru doesn’t even hesitate he scoops me up into his arms, while Satoru bolts off in the opposite direction.

“NO! Please! Satoru! Suguru, just go with him!” I scream, my voice catching in panic. But they don’t listen. They’re already committed.

Suguru carries me into a nearby room, his grip firm yet oddly gentle, as if he’s trying to soothe me while everything around us falls apart. “Oh my god, Satoru…” I whisper, trembling uncontrollably, my mind racing.

“Shhh, baby, it’s Satoru. It’ll be okay,” Suguru’s voice is calm, but I can hear the edge in it he’s trying to reassure me, but even he knows there’s nothing really okay about this. I try to steady my breath, clinging to him for comfort.

“But what if—” I begin, only to be immediately cut off by Suguru’s voice, low but firm.

“You’ll hurt his ego if you think he’ll die over this. He’s not like them,” Suguru says, his words wrapping around me like a protective shield. But I can’t shake the feeling gnawing at me what if?

The sound of gunshots rings through the air, sharp and fast. My heart skips a beat, and I flinch, sinking into Suguru’s embrace as if it will somehow block out the noise. But it doesn’t. The gunfire continues, and my body trembles even harder.

Suguru holds me tighter, his arms tightening around me, though it doesn’t shield me from the fear. The only comfort is the steady beat of his heart and the knowledge that, for now, I’m alive. Safe.

Back in the platform a familiar voice cuts through the chaos, booming and undeniably confident. “I’m wounded, sweetcheeks. You think I’ll die over a game like this? Don’t lump me with them.” Satoru’s voice is loud, mocking the tension, even as the sounds of fighting continue around us.

Suguru growls in response, irritation flickering across his features. “Quiet it down, cocky bastard,” he mutters, his tone just as dangerous as Satoru’s bravado.

Despite the chaos unfolding around us, I can’t help but smile softly at Satoru’s voice, a sense of relief flooding through me. He’s alive. And that’s enough for now.

I don’t care about the judging stares or the whispers of the others. My hands find Satoru’s arms, gently caressing them, tracing the muscles I know so well. It’s my way of grounding myself in the moment. He’s here. He’s alive.

“Six!” The number rings out, but all I can hear are the panicked voices around me, the chaos intensifying. My heart races as I spot Yuuji and Nobara dashing toward us. “Yuuji! Nobara!” I shout, and they sprint over to us, barely slowing down before we all head toward the nearest door.

Suguru and Satoru are right behind us, each of them carrying an elderly woman between them. I breathe heavily in relief. Thank god they’re okay.

“Y/N oneesan, thank god you're safe!” Nobara's voice is full of worry as we hug, but my gaze drifts to the old lady in Suguru and Satoru’s arms, her frail body barely reacting to the chaos around her.

“Are you okay, ma’am?” I ask gently, but she doesn’t respond. Her face is pale, and I feel a pang of guilt. It’s like she’s completely checked out, her mind lost in some place far from this madness.

I can’t help but feel sorry for her, but then my thoughts shift back to the game. I just want my boyfriends to be safe, and honestly, that’s all that matters right now. I’m happy as long as they’re with me, but this game is getting worse with every passing minute.

When will this end? Are they planning to wipe us all out? The thought gnaws at the back of my mind, and I can’t help but feel the tension tightening around my chest.

The situation is spiraling out of control. People are fighting over doors now, desperate and vicious, as if they think that a door will be their ticket to survival. The fear is palpable, and it’s only growing.

"Three!" The number blares through the air, and before I can even react, Satoru grabs me, pulling me along with him as Suguru runs alongside us. Yuuji and Nobara split off, each taking their own path, but my mind is too clouded to follow them. All I can focus on is the one thing I can’t control.

“The doors!” I scream, panic flooding my chest as I watch them one by one slam shut.

“There!” Suguru yells, his voice sharp with frustration. His eyes dart to the door ahead of us, wide open, a moment of hope flashing across his face. We make a dash for it, only to come face-to-face with a man already inside.

“It’s taken!” I scream, my hands trembling as I turn, ready to find another exit.

But Satoru’s voice, cool and calm, interrupts me. “No, it’s not.”

I look up at him in confusion as he leads us inside. The countdown is nearing its end, and I can already hear the doors locking trapping us all inside with no way out.

“What do you mean? We’ll get killed if we’re more than three!” I say, my voice rising in panic.

Satoru chuckles, low and dangerously playful, his hands pulling me closer. “Baby, why don’t you just give me a hug?” His voice is teasing, but there’s an edge to it, a darkness hiding beneath the surface. I stare at him in confusion, but before I can respond, his arms wrap around me tightly, pulling my face into his chest. My heart pounds as his grip tightens, his presence overwhelming.

But then, it happens. I hear it the faint, desperate sounds of a man begging, pleading, “Pl-please, no!” My body goes numb, the blood draining from my face as I realize what’s happening. Suguru is going to kill him. I try to pull away, to stop it, but the door locks behind us. There’s nothing I can do.

The sounds of struggling of someone’s life slipping away—fill the room. I feel the urge to shout, to scream, to stop this madness, but it’s like I’m paralyzed. The door’s locked, my body frozen in place, but my mind races.

Why does this feel so... normal? Is it just survival instinct? Or is it something darker?

Satoru pulls away, his hands gently brushing through my hair, and I glance up, my heart sinking into my stomach. The man on the floor is lifeless, his eyes wide in death, a pool of blood spreading beneath him.

“Y/N,” Suguru says softly, his voice almost tender as he approaches me. “It’s bound to happen.” His words should comfort me, but all I can feel is the growing weight of dread. I step back instinctively, and I don’t even realize it until I see the way Suguru’s gaze darkens.

“Are you scared of me?” he asks, his voice barely a whisper, but there's an intensity in it that makes my chest tighten. I can’t speak. I can’t even look at him.

“I... I...” I stammer, my voice faltering as I try to process everything. My eyes flick to the blood on Suguru’s face, and my stomach turns.

Suguru's voice, smooth and dark, cuts through the silence. “Y/N, you know what I said earlier, right? We’ll protect you, even if it means I have to kill again and again,” he says, his words light, almost playful. But there's a twisted edge to them that makes my skin crawl. Satoru spoke up reaching for me “It’s inevitable, baby. He was alone. He was going to die.” He smirks, his eyes glinting with something darker. “No biggie, sweetcheeks.”

No biggie? I feel my blood run cold, and my mind goes numb. Am I hearing this right?

I finally look up at them—Suguru with blood on his face, his eyes dark and unreadable, and Satoru, his expression that sickeningly serene smile, as if this is all part of some twisted game.

I’m scared. I’m so scared. The terror claws at my chest, making my hands shake. But... they’re safe. Right? Aren’t they?

They’re mine. They’ll protect me. But at what cost? As I stare at their faces Suguru’s sharp, calculating eyes and Satoru’s playful yet chilling smile I realize something deeper is happening.

I’m caught. Trapped between fear and longing, between the twisted desire to feel safe in their arms and the horrifying truth that safety comes with a price.

But then, as my heart races and my breath catches in my throat, I realize something else:

Isn’t this what I wanted? For them to be alive, no matter the cost?

[writteninkat]

Adoration's Abyss | Bakugou , Stalker Reader

synopsis: He was the untouchable star, and I was just another face in the crowd—until I wasn’t. What starts as admiration spirals into something far darker when love turns to obsession, and boundaries blur between devotion and delusion. You really are different from other girls… but at what cost?

w/c: idk i was hoping for 5k, i hope it reached

warnings: stalking

a/n: hey i wrote this while i was at the beach for five days. update on my life: been getting into poetry and essay writing again. finally had the balls to share my work with my friends and family lol

navigation

The moment I saw him, the world folded itself into something smaller, something manageable, as if the chaos of existence could be trimmed to fit within the orbit of his gaze. Katsuki Bakugou: a name that rippled through crowds like a thunderclap, his presence igniting every room he entered with the ferocity of a supernova. He wasn’t just an idol; he was a phenomenon, a living pyre burning too bright for ordinary mortals.

And yet, there I was. Just another face in the sea of adoration, clutching my ticket to the meet-and-greet like it was a lifeline to salvation.

“Hi, Katsuki! I loved you in—”

He cut me off, sharp as a blade but not unkind. “In Beyond the Blast?” His voice was rough, gravelly—a symphony of jagged edges.

I faltered. Did I seem too predictable? Too common? A sheep in the flock of screaming fans? My heart plummeted.

“Pouts are overrated,” I said, forcing a small smile, my voice softening into something calculatedly vulnerable. “I want to be different. Not just like…other girls. I loved you in the Eclipsed show, but also in Burning Hearts, Live Loud, Infrno's Edge...” I trailed off, naming a more obscure project, the kind only the most dedicated fans would know. I even threw in a few lines about a candid interview he once did, where he spoke about how sunsets reminded him of fleeting time.

His expression shifted—slightly, almost imperceptibly. But it was enough. The ghost of amusement danced on his lips, and he said, “Maybe you really are different from other girls.”

Inside, I was roaring. Victorious. Outside, I laughed softly, demurely. “Maybe.”

I am so much worse.

When I left the meet-and-greet, I told myself it was enough. To stand in his presence, to hear his voice aimed in my direction—wasn’t that already more than most could hope for? But hope is a greedy thing. It feeds on itself, growing hungrier with every indulgence.

That night, I couldn’t sleep. His voice lingered in my ears like a song on repeat, the low rasp of it curling around my thoughts. I replayed our brief exchange in my head, editing and polishing it, imagining what I could’ve said to make him linger just a second longer.

And then, of course, I opened the scrapbook.

It started innocently, as these things always do. A collection of concert photos, magazine clippings, interviews. But now, as I flipped through the pages, it felt insufficient. Two-dimensional. Katsuki wasn’t just a face on a page. He was a force, raw and untamed, and these flattened images could never capture him.

I needed more.

When I heard about his upcoming promotional event, I didn’t hesitate. The tickets were sold out within seconds, but I had connections—or rather, I made them. A fan forum moderator owed me a favor, and I cashed it in without a second thought.

The event was in a sleek, glass-paneled venue that gleamed under the city lights. I arrived early, blending seamlessly into the crowd. I wore my best dress—not flashy, but memorable. Just enough to catch his eye again.

This time, I didn’t bother with the front row. No, I wanted to watch from a distance, to see the full scope of his energy. He moved onstage like a storm contained within the fragile frame of a man. His voice electrified the room, his words sparking laughter and applause.

But every now and then, his gaze flickered over the crowd, scanning faces. Did he remember me? Did his eyes pause, even for a fraction of a second, on mine?

I convinced myself they did.

It was after the event, during the afterparty, that things began to change. I wasn’t supposed to be there, of course, but slipping past security was easier than I thought. People underestimate how much you can achieve when you’re polite, invisible, and just persistent enough to not raise alarms.

He was there, naturally—leaning against the bar, his posture relaxed but his eyes sharp. A few people approached him, but he brushed them off with a curt nod or a smirk that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

And then, somehow, I was beside him.

“Hey,” I said softly, almost shyly. “I’m surprised you’re not the center of attention.”

He looked at me, and for a second, I thought he might not remember. But then his expression shifted—a flicker of recognition, like a match striking against stone.

“You again,” he said.

From that moment on, it was as though I had been given permission. Not by him, of course, but by the universe. Surely this was fate, wasn’t it? To have crossed paths with him twice, in places swarming with thousands of people?

I began to learn things. Little things, at first—his preferred coffee shop, the route he took to the gym, the kind of music he played in his car when he thought no one was listening. These were harmless details, gathered with the precision of a collector adding rare gems to their trove.

But soon, harmless wasn’t enough.

The first time I followed him home, I told myself it was a mistake. I had been walking in the same direction, and it was pure coincidence that his apartment building loomed ahead of me. But then I did it again. And again.

His building was tall, sleek, and anonymous, but I found ways to breach its defenses. A delivery uniform, a borrowed ID badge—small deceptions that felt exhilarating in their simplicity.

I never crossed the final line. I never entered his apartment, though I knew exactly which door was his. Instead, I lingered in the shadows, content to imagine the life that unfolded within.

But imagination, like hope, is a hungry thing.

It’s funny, the way routine can warp into ritual. What began as occasional glimpses became a nightly pilgrimage. I knew his schedule better than my own. His habits—oh, how they fascinated me. The way he left his balcony door slightly ajar, as if inviting the wind—or something else. The flicker of his apartment light in the early hours, suggesting sleepless nights.

Once, I saw him standing there, silhouetted against the glow of his television, shirtless and utterly at ease. It felt intimate, watching him like that. Almost sacred.

He would never understand how much I admired him.

I started leaving small things behind. Harmless tokens—an autograph request slipped under his door, a pressed flower on his windowsill. Gifts that could be explained away if he ever noticed. They were never acknowledged, but that was fine. It wasn’t for him to notice. It was for me.

One night, he deviated from his routine. The precision of his life had always been a comfort to me—a series of movements I could predict and follow like a choreographed dance. But that night, he didn’t go home after his gym session.

Instead, he stopped at a convenience store, and I, foolishly emboldened by months of watching, followed him inside.

He was standing by the drink cooler, scanning the rows of energy drinks with a scowl. His hair was damp, his hoodie slung low over his face, and yet he was unmistakable.

I wasn’t supposed to get this close. Not yet.

But he turned, and suddenly we were face to face.

“Oh,” I said, startled into breaking the sacred silence between us. “Hi. Fancy seeing you here.”

His eyes narrowed. “Do I know you?”

My heart thrummed like a caged bird. Did he recognize me from the meet-and-greet? From the afterparty? Did he know I’d been watching him all this time?

“I’m a fan,” I said quickly, keeping my voice light, casual. “We’ve met before, at your event. Twice, actually.”

His gaze lingered on me, sharp and assessing, and for a moment, I thought I saw suspicion flicker across his face.

“Right,” he said finally, brushing past me with the kind of indifference that only he could make seem regal.

But as he left the store, I caught a glimpse of something in his expression—something that wasn’t indifference at all.

After that encounter, I couldn’t stop imagining what he thought of me. Did I stand out to him? Did he wonder about me the way I wondered about him? The thought was intoxicating.

I found myself becoming bolder. My nightly visits turned into longer stays. I started leaving notes with no name, no context—just fragments of thoughts I thought he might find poetic.

“The stars envy your light.”

“Even storms pause to admire you.”

“You are the reason the sun rises.”

Each one felt like a confession. A prayer.

But then one night, the notes disappeared. When I crept back to his door the following evening, there was nothing waiting for me. No sign that he had read them, or even seen them.

Had he thrown them away? Or worse—had someone else taken them before he could?

The thought burned like acid.

The line between admiration and possession is thinner than most realize. I crossed it without even noticing.

I started taking photos—not of him directly, but of the spaces he occupied. His balcony, his car parked in the same spot every night, the shadow of his figure through the curtains. My phone became a shrine, each image a sacred offering.

But it wasn’t enough.

One night, when I was sure he wasn’t home, I found myself standing at his door. My hand trembled as I reached for the handle, testing it. Locked, of course. But locks are just puzzles waiting to be solved.

I didn’t go inside—not yet. But I stood there, breathing in the faint scent that lingered in the hallway. It felt like standing on the edge of a cliff, the abyss yawning beneath me, daring me to jump.

The day it all unraveled was unremarkable. A sunny afternoon, ordinary in every way—until I saw him again.

This time, he wasn’t alone.

She was tall, elegant, with a laugh that rang out like silver bells. She touched his arm as they walked, her presence so seamless beside him that it made my chest ache.

The world tilted, sharp and unforgiving.

How dare she? Didn’t she know? He wasn’t hers to touch, to smile at, to laugh with.

He was mine.

I followed them, of course. Through the crowded streets, past the bustling cafes and shops, until they arrived at a small restaurant. They sat by the window, their faces illuminated by the golden light of the setting sun.

I stood outside, watching, my reflection in the glass overlapping with theirs.

For the first time, I allowed myself to hate him. Not just her—him. For being so blind, so careless, so utterly indifferent to the devotion I had poured into him.

You’re supposed to be mine.

The thought felt foreign, even to me. But once it took root, it spread like wildfire.

That night, I found myself back at his apartment building. The familiar routine should have soothed me, but it didn’t. My heart was pounding, each beat a war drum, as I stared up at his window.

The light was on. He was home.

But I wasn’t standing there just to watch anymore. I wasn’t there to leave notes or flowers or to bask in the glow of his existence. No, this time, I had crossed the threshold.

I waited in the shadows until the lobby door opened. A tenant stepped out, their face buried in their phone, oblivious to my presence as I slipped inside. The elevator doors gleamed like a portal to another world.

His floor was silent. The kind of silence that feels alive, pulsing with expectation. My footsteps were soft, my breath shallow, as I approached his door.

The lockpick trembled in my hand, but I’d practiced this moment a hundred times in my mind. The faint click was both satisfying and terrifying.

And then I was inside.

It was everything I had imagined and nothing like it at all.

The apartment was minimalist, almost sterile, with only a few personal touches—a jacket draped over a chair, an empty mug on the counter. The air smelled faintly of him, a mix of cologne and something darker, more primal.

I moved slowly, reverently, like a pilgrim in a holy place. My fingers traced the edge of the kitchen counter, the back of the sofa, the spine of a book on the coffee table.

And then I saw it.

A framed photograph on the bookshelf. It was him, of course, but not alone. She was there, too—the woman from the restaurant, her head tilted against his shoulder, her smile soft and radiant.

Something inside me snapped.

The sound of the front door opening shattered the silence.

I froze, the photo still in my hand, as his voice echoed through the apartment.

“Yeah, I’m home,” he said, his tone clipped, probably on the phone. “I’ll call you back.”

The click of the call ending was deafening.

And then he saw me.

For a moment, neither of us moved. His expression was a kaleidoscope of emotions—shock, anger, disbelief.

“What the—?” he started, but the words died in his throat as his eyes dropped to the photo in my hand.

“I just wanted to understand,” I said softly, my voice trembling. “Why her? Why not me?”

His jaw tightened, his hands curling into fists at his sides. “Who the hell are you? How did you get in here?”

I stepped closer, the photo still clutched against my chest like a shield. “I’m the one who’s been there for you. Watching, supporting, loving you when no one else understood.”

His face darkened, the anger in his eyes hardening into something sharper, colder. “You need to leave. Now.”

But I didn’t move.

“You don’t see it, do you?” I whispered. “How perfect we could be. How much I’ve given up for you. She doesn’t know you like I do. She’ll never understand you the way I do.”

His voice dropped, low and dangerous. “Get. Out.”

But I wasn’t afraid—not of him, not of anything. Not anymore.

“I’m not leaving,” I said, my voice steady now. “Not until you see me.”

The argument escalated quickly. His anger clashed with my desperation, the two of us locked in a battle neither could win. He tried to push past me, to call for help, but I grabbed his arm.

“Don’t,” I said, my voice breaking. “Don’t do this to me.”

He wrenched free, his movements sharp and unforgiving. “You’re insane.”

The word hit me like a physical blow.

Insane.

After everything I’d done for him, everything I’d sacrificed, that was what he thought of me?

I don’t remember much after that. The emotions—rage, heartbreak, betrayal—all blurred together in a red haze. I remember the sound of something shattering, the photo frame hitting the floor. I remember his voice, shouting, but the words were lost in the chaos.

And then, silence.

When I came back to myself, I was standing in the middle of the room, my chest heaving, my hands trembling. He was gone—whether he had fled or whether I had…

I couldn’t let myself think about it.

The apartment felt different now. The air was heavier, the shadows deeper. I looked down at the shattered photo frame, the glass shards glinting like tiny stars.

I picked up the photo, carefully tucking it into my pocket.

It wasn’t over. Not yet.

Katsuki would understand eventually. He had to.

After all, no one loved him like I did.

The room is cold, sterile. The kind of cold that seeps into your bones, reminding you that you’re somewhere you don’t belong. A single light hangs overhead, casting harsh shadows on the walls, and the mirror on the far side reflects nothing but my own weary face.

Well, not just my face.

I know he’s there, standing on the other side. Watching me. Listening.

The officer across from me clears his throat, his expression caught somewhere between pity and disgust. “You’ve said enough. We’ve got everything we need.”

But I’m not finished. Not yet.

“You don’t understand,” I say, my voice soft but steady. “It’s not what you think.”

He sighs, flipping through the file in front of him. I catch glimpses of photos—my notes, my gifts, his shattered photo frame. Evidence, they’d called it. Proof of my “obsession.”

“Help me understand, then,” he says, leaning forward, his tone patronizing. “Because right now, it looks like you broke into Katsuki Bakugou’s apartment and—”

“I didn’t break in,” I interrupt, my voice rising just enough to startle him. “I let myself in. He left the door open for me. He knew I was coming.”

The officer’s brows knit together in disbelief. “And why would he do that?”

I smile, leaning back in my chair, feeling the faintest flicker of triumph. “Because he needed to see me. To finally realize who I am.”

The officer shakes his head, muttering something under his breath before standing. “You’re delusional.”

The voices outside the interrogation room are muffled, but I can still hear fragments of their conversation.

“She’s nuts. Every detail she remembers—it’s like she’s been living his life alongside him.”

“Obsessed, more like. Did you see the journal we confiscated? She knows what time he brushes his teeth, for crying out loud.”

Someone else laughs nervously. “Poor guy. No wonder he’s freaked out. She’s on a whole other level.”

But then I hear his voice—low, gravelly, and unmistakable.

“She’s different.”

The laughter stops.

“What do you mean?” another officer asks cautiously.

There’s a pause, and I imagine him standing there, arms crossed, that signature scowl on his face.

“I’ve had fans follow me before,” he says, his tone unreadable. “They scream, they cry, they cross boundaries. But this one… she’s worse.”

His voice drops lower, and I lean forward, straining to hear.

“She’s worse because she actually got under my skin.”

The officer returns to the room, his expression stony. “This is over. You’re being transferred soon.”

But I barely hear him. My eyes are on the mirror, on the faint outline of movement behind it. I know he’s still there. Watching. Listening.

“I’m not sorry,” I say, directing my words to him, not the officer. “I’d do it all again. For you.”

The officer exhales sharply, shaking his head as he gathers his papers. “You’re a real piece of work.”

He leaves, and for a moment, it’s just me and the silence.

And then the door opens again.

I feel him before I see him. The weight of his presence, the intensity of his gaze—it’s unmistakable. He doesn’t sit, doesn’t speak. He just stands there, arms crossed, his crimson eyes burning into me like fire.

“You really are different,” he says finally, his voice low and sharp.

I smile, the kind of smile that comes from knowing you’ve won something no one else ever could.

“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you,” I whisper.

He doesn’t reply. His jaw tightens, and for the first time, I see something in his eyes that wasn’t there before. Not anger. Not fear.

Something darker.

Something that looks an awful lot like acknowledgment.

End.

a/n: another reminder to never stalk people. i didn't write this to romanticize stalking, however, this idea's been weighing in my head and i knew i needed to write it down somewhere. here is somewhere. k bye.

[wonkizz]

to be or not to be: brat

jungwon x older!fmr genre: smut warnings: usage of noona, cunnilingus, fellatio, pretty vanilla smut (not great), begging, unprotected sex, cumming inside, fingering wc: 2.3k

Bratty pop stars weren't anything new to you. You’ve dealt with enough to know their type.

They party day and night to escape from the lives that they claim have plagued them.

You don’t fully understand because you’re not famous like them, but you understand the concept.

One minute you’re a regular person, the next you’re a star in the eyes of everyone.

You don’t blame them for acting out the way they do sometimes. You try to be understanding and listen to their frustrations, although you’re not a therapist and some of them definitely need that.

You’ve been assigned as a new manager for pop star Yang Jungwon.

He made his entrance to the entertainment industry 4 years ago and is just now having his “rebellious stage”.

Whatever, again, nothing new to you.

You’re meeting him for the first time today, anticipating the same as you always do.

Rude, closed off, not willing to talk.

So you can only be surprised as Yang Jungwon walks in, greeting you warmly.

“Hi, I’m Jungwon. It’s nice to meet you.”

You’re confused. Where’s the snide remarks? The cold exterior?

“It’s nice to meet you too, Jungwon.”

You both sit in the meeting about you being his new manager, but you’re barely paying attention.

You didn’t realize how attractive he is.

His features are strong but give off a unique softness.

His eyes are especially captivating.

They remind you of boba balls, funnily enough.

You’re soon tasked with driving Jungwon back to his apartment, as the meeting was his only schedule of the day.

The car ride is silent, until you break it with your curiosity.

“Not to be rude, but why aren’t you more…bratty?” You ask Jungwon who soon begins to giggle in his seat.

“The whole rebellious thing is just an act the company wanted to put me on to get attention.”

Oh, that would explain it.

“But you already have millions of fans, why the need for possible bad publicity?”

Jungwon shrugs, “I don’t know, to be honest. I just do what they tell me.”

“Well, you still probably struggle with this life sometimes, no?”

“I do! Like any other celebrity, I do. But I don’t see the point in acting out over it. It was my choice to become this and I have to own it.”

You smile, hoping he catches it, “That’s a very mature mindset to have, Jungwon.”

“Thank you, noona. Is it okay if I call you that?”

“Of course!” You nod, “I want you to be comfortable with me.”

“Can I be honest then?” Jungwon asks.

You nod, waiting.

“The reason you became my manager so suddenly is because.. I saw you at a party a few weeks ago and I thought you were pretty. I wanted to know who you were so I got my team involved.”

Your mind halts for a moment. He found you pretty?

Does he feel some type of way about you?

“I’m flattered, Jungwon. I haven’t heard that one before.”

“I’m sorry, you probably feel weirded out but I couldn’t help it.” Out of the corner of your eye, you swear he’s pouting, like he just got scolded.

“I’m not weirded out, Jungwon. Like I said, I’m flattered. I find you very handsome myself. When they said I’d be working with you, I got excited. Even though I thought you’d be a brat.”

That gets a chuckle out of him and you laugh along.

The conversation flows more easily after that.

When you reach the address that was put into your gps, you’re surprised to see your own complex come into view.

“You live here?” You ask incredulously, “There’s no way! I live here too.”

Jungwon looks just as amazed as you.

“That’s kinda convenient,” he says.

You park in the building's private garage before making your way to the elevator.

You’re both even more shocked when you reach for the same floor.

“Don’t tell me we’ve lived so close and never met?” Jungwon says.

“Maybe it’s fate,” you respond as he smiles at you.

When you reach Jungwon’s door, you point to your own door down the hall, “If you need me, you know where to find me.”

You wait until Jungwon is about to shut his door, when suddenly it opens again.

He looks almost shameful as he asks, “Do you wanna stay for dinner?”

You know you shouldn’t, he’s supposed to be your responsibility, but you can’t help yourself, “Sure.”

He lets you in, checking to make sure no one is present before closing the door.

His apartment is like the word cozy defined.

The furniture is minimal but not so little to feel empty.

It all matches with each other, quite fine taste if you say so yourself.

“I like it,” you praise, “it’s got a nice homey feel.”

You take your shoes off at the door as Jungwon offers you slippers.

“I actually don’t know what we’re having for dinner, I figured I would just take the chance and ask,” Jungwon says sheepishly, blushing.

You excuse him with a wave of your hand, “How about we just order out?”

“Sounds good,” he agrees.

You end up ordering Korean food, your favorites as well as Jungwon’s.

Once you’ve eaten and cleaned up, Jungwon suggests relaxing for a bit.

As you sit on his couch making quiet conversation, you think about the fact that you’ve never done this with other employers you’ve worked for.

Why is Jungwon the exception to that?

Is it because you’re attracted to him?

That’s so unprofessional, you know it is, but…is it that bad?

“What's going on in that pretty head of yours?”

Jungwon’s voice breaks your thoughts, snapping you out of your trance.

You don’t know what’s come over you, but you decide being bold is the way to go.

“I was thinking about you.”

He looks directly into your eyes, his own swarming with something you can’t pinpoint just yet.

“What about me?”

You laugh as you think about it, “I was expecting some angry, cold, closed off person. Yet I got warmth and kindness instead. It’s a nice change.”

“I was thinking about you too,” Jungwon says. “Thinking about how you’d sound, what you’d look like up close. How you’d greet me, what you’d think of me. Then I started thinking about other things once we met.”

“Like what?” You smile as you ask.

“Like what your voice would sound like when you’re moaning my name. Or what you’d feel like wrapped around me. I’m still thinking about it. I can’t stop and I know I shouldn’t but…”

As he trails off, the atmosphere instantly changes.

You would blush, if it weren’t for the fact that your mind was thinking the same things.

Slowly, you lift yourself onto your knees, making your way to where Jungwon sits.

His arms welcome you, wrapping around your waist as your lips slot against his.

Your hands make their way up, gripping the back of his neck as you sit right in his lap.

Lips moving ferociously, your tongues intersect.

You tug on the hair at the nape of his neck, making him groan.

His hands move down your waist, coming to grip your ass.

He kneads it, essentially grinding you back and forth over his lap.

You can feel his cock harden beneath his pants.

Pulling away, you stroke the sides of his face, smiling gently as he pants.

“You want me to make you feel good, Wonnie?”

“Please, noona. Need you so bad.”

You go down on your knees, rubbing Jungwon’s thighs as he waits in anticipation.

You unzip his jeans, pulling them down along with his underwear as he lifts his hips to help you.

His cock is too pretty for this world, at least in your eyes. The tip is shining with precum as you take the tip of your finger to rub it around, releasing even more.

Jungwon throws his head back, groaning pitifully.

You spit into your hand, lathering his cock with it, beginning to jerk him off.

“Please, noona, please.”

“What do you want?” You’re teasing him and he hates it, but he knows you won’t relent.

“Please suck my cock, noona. I’m begging.”

“Whatever my pretty boy wants.”

You take him in your mouth, slowly but surely.

Sucking the tip, you moan at the taste of his precum, becoming addicted to it almost immediately.

You begin to bob your head, taking him deeper until he hits the back of your throat.

He wants to grip your hair so badly, you can tell but he doesn’t want to hurt you. You take his hands, guiding them to your head as he gently grips your hair.

Jungwon uses his hands to gently guide you up and down on his cock.

“Fuck, noona. Feels so good.”

His moans and swears get louder as you continue. You swirl your tongue around his cock, focusing on the tip as his grip lightens, you use your hand to jerk what’s not in your mouth.

“I’m gonna cum, noona. Please let me cum,” Jungwon whines, bucking his hips, forcing you to take him deeper.

You slide him out of your mouth, continuing to jerk him off. “Cum in my mouth, Jungwon.”

Opening your mouth to present your tongue, Jungwon lets out a final huff, cumming in your mouth.

You swallow it eagerly and pump him through his orgasm.

His breathing is heavy as he calms down, but he’s not finished yet.

Jungwon pulls you up, pressing your lips together once more, tasting himself on your lips.

“Can we go to my room?” He asks.

You nod.

He takes your hand, leading you down the hall to his bedroom.

The door is open and unlike the living room, his bedroom is a bit more decorated. But not with furniture. He has figurines galore decorating his room.

You can’t help but find him even cuter than you did before.

Cute when he begs, and cute without even trying.

He lays you down on the bed gently, like you’re fragile and going to break.

“Can I please you, noona?”

“You can do whatever you want to me, Jungwon.”

He takes your words as a chance to discard your clothing as well as his own.

Your naked body is the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

He begins littering kisses across your neck and chest, taking a nipple into his mouth and sucking on it while playing with the other.

He swirled his tongue around it until it hardened, then nipped at it, making you moan in delight.

Your hands find his blonde hair, gripping it tightly between your fingers.

He gives attention to the other nipple, doing the same as before, then leading his kisses down your stomach to your cunt.

“You’re soaking wet, noona. All for me?”

It’s his turn to tease you, but you don’t give into it.

“All for you, Won. Are you gonna please me?”

“Yes, noona.”

With that, he dives into your cunt. He licks through your lips, collecting your arousal on his tongue before swallowing it enthusiastically.

He brings his attention to your clit, nipping and sucking at the bud, making you jerk and moan.

As he swirls his tongue around it, a finger makes its way to your hole, entering you hesitantly.

You sigh at the feeling. It’s been a while since you had time to please yourself.

But it feels so much better when it’s someone else.

As Jungwon fingers you and plays with your cunt, your own hands are busy playing with your breasts,

tweaking your nipples to gain even more pleasure.

He adds another finger to the first, fingering you at a moderate pace.

You can feel yourself about to cum, and you warn Jungwon with a tug on his hair.

He continues regardless, wanting nothing more than for you to come in his mouth like he did.

You whine as your body thrashes lightly, the pleasure almost becoming too much.

“I’m gonna cum, Jungwon, please!”

His fingers speed up as well as his tongue and you’re cumming before you can even say something.

Jungwon takes all your come with vigor, the slurping sounds making you blush.

As you come down from your high, Jungwon pulls away from your cunt.

“You ready?” He asks.

You nod, “Give it to me.”

He pumps his cock a few times before rubbing it against your cunt, collecting your arousal on it.

Just when you’re about to find yourself begging, he finally pushes inside you.

You both groan, you at the intrusion and him at the tightness.

“Fuck, you’re sucking me in, noona.”

He lets you adjust for a few moments, before slowly starting to thrust.

In and out, in and out. All you hear is the sound of skin slapping against skin as your sweaty body slides against his.

You pull him down by his hair, connecting your lips in a searing kiss.

“Faster, Wonnie,” you say against his lips.

Jungwon speeds up, fucking you vigorously.

Your moans are getting louder and higher by the second, filling the room along with his grunts.

“‘M gonna cum in this pussy, right noona?”

“Yes Jungwon, yes! Cum inside, I need it!”

His pace is almost animalistic at this point, fucking your so hard your cunt starts to ache.

You hold onto him tightly as both your orgasms wash over you.

Feeling his cum fill you up is exhilarating, and he feels the same as your own orgasm splashes against him.

As he rides you both through your highs, you begin to calm down. That was the best orgasm you’ve had in a long time.

Jungwon leans down to kiss you gently. “Was it okay?”

You hum, “More than okay. I needed that.”

Jungwon lays down beside you as you both breathe somewhat heavily.

“So… how are we gonna explain this to the team?”

wonkizz 2025

[ghost-bison]

a christopher eccleston appreciation post

i will never say this enough because i don't know enough words, nor do i think such words exist, that could even begin to summarize how much i love christopher eccleston, but... i love christopher eccleston. and, more importantly, i have a deep-rooted respect for that man.

i started doctor who as, let's be honest, a sci-fi hater, forcing myself because i was obsessed with david tennant, and i was kind of dreading the first series because of this. but i was dead wrong.

he broadened my mind, gave me so many laughs, and so many cries, and i'm not the first to say that whenever eccleston is on the screen you just can't take your eyes off him, even when he's not supposed to be the main focus of the scene.

the way he can switch from silly goose to traumatized soldier in a matter of seconds will never cease to amaze me. or how he can play with both like he's on a swing by balancing it out with sarcasm?

i think whoever doesn't give him the title role in their shows/films is either an idiot, or they know the main character just isn't always the best.

i think it's downright idiotic and shameful that he gets rejected from ever playing some shakespeare just because of his northern accent (they're just posh elitist pos). now that he's older, and that times are evolving (i mean, i hope the world of theater is vibing with this evolution, but i'm not delusional), i hope we get to see him portray a character like leontes in winter's tale cause i know he'd be absolutely perfect for the role, and who better than shakespeare (this character especially, with his nuances and highs and lows and breakdowns and breakthroughs) to match acting like his?

saw an article where eccleston talked about how the moment he really knew he wanted to be an actor was when he had to wear mascara for a play, and had enjoyed it. i think he talks about it in his autobiography too (you should read it, btw, it's frankly affordable, and he happens to be a marvelous writer as well).

eccleston knows he is mistakenly type-cast, because of his background, as macho men and tough blokes in general. he's aware that it's kind of a big part of his culture. again, he talks about it i think in the very first chapter, how for instance he used to dress up as james bond, the pinnacle of "masculinity", which i think was a disguise in the metaphorical sense of the term, to mask his delicacy and femininity (or at least, that's my interpretation of it).

in his biography, eccleston talks about the differences between him and his dad, ronnie: he was surprised, as a child, whenever his father's affection manifested as a kiss or a hug, cause that usually wasn't his father's way of doing things. he compares it to how he, in contrast, has the habit of kissing his own son, albert, and telling him he loves him.

you can find it as well in how he talks about his anorexia, his body dysmorphia and, i think we can call it that, gender dysphoria. he's from a time when those concepts didn't even exist, they weren't a thing to the public eye. my father and my step-father, both feminine men in their own way, and both around eccleston's age, both told me about the struggle that it represented, not being the stereotype of the macho tough guy, and being surrounded by boys who didn't struggle with that issue. it made my dad a junkie, my stepdad a depressive artist, and, apparently, it made eccleston an anorexic actor.

i think it takes a lot of courage for people that age (the boomer generation as we call them), especially men, from whom we expect toxic masculinity, masculinity pushed to an extreme, to be able to openly call it out and dissect it into what it is: a ridiculous standard. but to be a PUBLIC FIGURE, in his 60s, and still find the strength to express it? damn. takes guts, i think.

most of us on this website, we're babies. most of us are at most in their thirties. the millenials and the gen z, and now the gen alpha, we take that for granted. or get offended and scandalized that being able to express oneself isn't yet a basic standard.

but then, i talk to my mum, and i realize that she had to stray from her catholic, sexist education, she had to make up her own mind about things in order for me to be born a free spirit. and that's just considering my mum's a cishet.

christopher eccleston expressed in other words that he doesn't fully consider himself to be cisgendered. i have mad respect for the way he talks about it, and for even talking about it at all.

then, there's his honesty. the more interviews i watch, the more it impresses me. he knows honesty goes hand in hand with dignity. i'm sorry but i'm tired of people who are nice all the time. you never know when they're being honest, and maybe some of them are, who knows. but i'm not stupid enough to think that so many people are just pure sunshine all the time (respect for tennant for lashing out publically about transphobia, i think he passed the test).

eccleston? he knows how to be both brutally honest and yet respectful at the same time. no ukulele apology from this man and holy fuck, it feels good!

i've seen him call russel t davies out for his lack of professionalism on the set of doctor who, and then list him amongst the great writers he's worked with. which makes me want to believe eccleston's side, because, if you're always either too polite, or too full of spite about eveything, who's to say you're not the problem? i've got way less trouble believing you if you can stay unbiased about a person you're having beef with than if suddenly everything said person does turns into shit just cause you don't like them. that's just maturity and wisdom.

one last thing i love about eccleston is that he is interested in other people's lives. there's a critic by marcus berkmann in his book that perfectly expresses my point: "you know what to expect from the autobiographies of most actors, i think: anecdotes, charm, more than mild self-satisfaction and faux-modesty by the bucketload. but christopher eccleston is not most actors".

and that's it. watch him in interviews and at convention panels, where he lets his younger co-stars speak before himself, and seizes the occasion when journalists ask him questions that are meant to make him talk about himself to praise his writers and other actors instead.

read his autobiography, which is both a love letter to his dad and a big let's-be-honest about the struggles of growing up poor and his personal struggles, because he thinks raising awareness is just as important as protecting himself.

look at his instagram posts where he unabashedly disses the monarchy and stays true and loyal to his background even after getting a taste of money. and his other posts where he shares his love for acorns and spending time with his kids.

i've seen him nearly break down in shame and regret on television for having stolen a kid's crisps in primary school. and not trying to find lame excuses for his behaviour. no ukulele apology, just facts, just christopher eccleston showing us what masculinity in its purest, most beautiful form should be about

[heartbreakgrill]

Delicate: Vessel (Sleep Token); Part 9; "Never seen that color blue."

“No, yeah, of course! Noo…no! Thank you! I seriously appreciate all of your help and understanding during this! I hope you have a wonderful day! Yeah, aw, thanks! You, too! Yeah- okay- bye!”

My faux smile dropped as soon as my hand did, phone falling to a silenced settle on my left thigh. I breathed a shallow breath of somehow anxious relief, so ironic that it made me want to scream.

Max reached across the bed and rubbed my knee comfortingly, “You okay?”

I wanted to snort, yell, kick my feet, and laugh hysterically. Throw a temper tantrum, wish on a star, kiss a fucking frog. Fall on my knees, beg the skies. Change fate's cruel course of time.

But my expression was blank as I shrugged, “What can ya do?”

The corner of his lips lifted into the saddest smile. His thumb brushed my skin, “It’s gonna be alright. Once you settle back in, things will start to feel normal. You can start…moving on. And, hey, I’m visiting in just a month. You have that to look forward to. School starting, your new role at the clinic. So many good things, Daz.”

He was right- I had so much to be excited about. I really should’ve felt excited, grateful. A better woman would have. A better woman would have seen the blessings all around her and felt so full of life and love. God, she would’ve respected herself enough to not be in this situation in the first place.

Yet I couldn’t help but feel resentful, knowing that I would trade all of it for-

for him.

For Oliver.

I would give up everything for just another moment, hanging onto his lips like a vine. Just a second of growth, even if being ripped away meant digging up the roots and my leaves dying.

I just gave Max that fake smile, knowing full well he was aware that it meant nothing. “You’re right. It’ll be good for me to be home.”

He squeezed my knee before removing his hand. “You wanna finish packing? Or maybe take a break? Get some food?”

I glanced around at the mess of clothes across Sam and I’s hotel room. My bags lay open, a few piles of my stuff already stuffed inside. But there was more than half to be done. So much to be done before I went…before I went home tomorrow.

Tomorrow. Less than 12 hours from now. I’d be heading back to reality. Closing the doors on Europe, on everything and everybody I’d be leaving here.

There was just one week left on the European leg of the two. Tomorrow morning, everyone will be leaving for Germany. I’d go to the airport with them, like normal, but depart at a separate gate, at the same exact time. Those who needed to know, well, I was going to tell them. And those who needed to know the reason why would, too. Sam was going to think I was going home because of an offer for a higher position from the clinic I worked at. But this was only partially true. Training for that wouldn’t even start for another 3 weeks. School wasn’t for a month.

I was leaving for me- for clarity, fresh air. Oliver was right- London was foggy, full of pollution and shitty, selfish men.

I needed to get away, out. Back to routine and home. Back to what I knew- what wouldn’t hurt me.

I looked back to Max, “I'm gonna finish packing. Get it over with. Before Sam gets back. I think it might hurt his feelings to walk in and see this…mess.”

Mess might have held a double meaning. I had looked better, for sure. Max understood, I think, for he knocked his shoulder against mine, then stood from the bed. “We got it, Daz.”

I stood up quickly, knowing the only way to get started was to just start. Stand. Move. (I wanted to crawl into a hole and die.)

It took us another hour or so to finish stuffing my belongings into their bags. I had bought maybe one too many souvenirs, so we struggled to find a place for everything. When we were done, I slew myself across the end of the bed, breathing heavily, sweating a little bit.

Max groaned from the floor, “Why do you own so many things?!”

“Dude, I don’t even know. It’s gonna take me 12 years to unpack!”

He chortled, half-heartedly, patting his stomach as an afterthought. “I am soooo hungry. What do you wanna eat?”

I sat up as he did so, shrugging a bit, “You pick. I don’t have the energy for all that.”

“I’m good with the hotel restaurant if you are.”

“Fuck it.”

So, we sludged our way downstairs. I hadn’t been leaving my room much, worried you-know-who would cross my path and shake things up again. Though, I doubted he was looking for me. He hadn’t so much as texted me since last week. Oliver was probably sulking, convincing himself that he was the victim in this whole thing. The thought made my blood rush a little bit. I clenched my fist as the elevator doors closed, trying to focus on breathing and not screaming.

The past three had been probably one of the worst of my life. I was so…so sad. So angry. Confused. Nothing made sense, yet all of my fears had come true. It was like I knew all the answers, but my bones felt so put off by how they manifested themselves. Like, what do you mean the cold, dark, distant boy turned out to be a cheating, manipulative liar? Right on the money.

My rational mind couldn’t wrap around the fact that it still felt so…disappointing? Wrong? Fucked the fucking fuck up.

The doors slid open. I followed, quietly, behind Max as we headed for the inlet to the left of the front counter. This was a usual part of my new found routine, grabbing food with Max. Albeit, sneakily, with numerous texts between the two of us (me, badgering him) ensuring nobody else (Oliver) was down here. In avoiding him, I had been avoiding everybody else, too.

I could already see their knowing looks. Sam could read me like a book. Ronnie was way psychic and usually felt the vibe of a situation long before it occurred. Adam, obviously, already was aware. And I'm sure he would have relayed the information to Cyrus.

I was exuding this aura of heartbroken, school-girl-fantasy-crushed, sad-puppy shit. I felt tired, and I’m sure my eyes looked it, too. Any passerby probably could have read my emotions pretty well. No matter, I’d be out of here soon. Back home. I could heal, rest, relax, find somebody else to fuck and get the fuck over this dumb ass white boy.

My dumb ass white boy. I’d tried not to think about him, so deeply sunk into this angry feeling that I couldn’t even fathom the idea of missing what had hurt me. Alas, every once and a while (between every other curse I thought of) something would flash through my mind. A distant memory, an image of his deep-ocean blue eyes shining with flames from the rooftop firepit, triggered by a breath, a catch of the wind, a sink in my heart. I’d feel a little moth flicker in my chest. An air bubble, taut in my stomach, would have me hiccuping from gushing tears in an instant.

I think it was the deep blue suede of the hotel bar’s stools that did it this time. I brushed a hand, slowly, watching the color shift from the movement of the fabric. The lighter color reminded me of a time he felt the way I did right now. Sadness. Maybe it hadn’t meant as much to him, maybe his depravity was not comforted by me. But that moment, when I held him, when he nuzzled his head into my neck and began crying-

“Wanna drink?” Max rested a hand on my shoulder, drawing my attention back from where I was trudging through fleeting, erasing moments.

I ceased my body from flinching, willed away the wetness in my eyes, and nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, let’s get a drink.”

Which was a mistake.

One drink turned to appetizers turned to three drinks turned to main courses, 5 drinks, 2 shots, and dessert. Before I knew it, Max and I were cackling over some typo on some Twitter post. I gripped his shirt sleeve and hoped I wouldn’t slide off the bar stool. For the first time in a week, I wasn’t concerning myself with the logistics of sticking around in this public area as long as we had been. I wasn’t even thinking of Oliver. In fact, Max and I were discussing some of our favorite shitposts about American politics. My mind was far away from dumb Brits and idiotic Europeans.

Of course, the world had a very funny way of spitting in my face.

Adam, Cyrus, and- low and behold- Oliver came strolling into the bar right when Max and I finished ordering another drink. I felt a little sick, watching as they neared us. Oliver wasn’t paying attention. He never did. His head, sunken into his hoodie, hands shoved in his pockets. He moved like the Grim Reaper. I wondered if he had come to take my soul away.

Adam and Cyrus seemed…on edge. They noticed Max and I only after they’d made it halfway across the room. Adam hesitated on his next step, catching my eye, worriedly glancing between me and Oliver.

Max was aware, at this point. He cut himself off mid sentence, swiping a hand across his lips. “Shit,” he mumbled to himself. “Daisy…let’s go.”

His fingers brushed through mine in a desperate grasp to pull me along with him, towards the door. I was drunk. I was not thinking. I was hysterical, sad, heartbroken, angry. I tugged my hand away, instead flipping into the air to wave and cheerfully catch the group’s full attention.

“Cy! Adam!” I couldn’t quite catch his name on my tongue. I thought I might puke. “Hey, girl!”

Oliver looked up at the sound of voice. He stopped, but three feet from our little round table. The light, dim from the overhead lamps and LED strips behind the counter, caught the round pupils in his eyes. I watched as he blinked once, twice. Blue.

“Oliver!” There it was.

He met my eye. The corners of his lids wilted, like the petals of a flower, aged, saddened. Drops of rain dropping them in weight. Max looked between the two of us. Cyrus busied himself with buying a drink. Adam slouched in the awkward, pregnant air. Oliver ignored me, moved around our group to sit as far away as possible.

I clenched my jaw. Rage. Utter, pure anger. How dare he deny me even now? The fact that he had not come to my door in the past few days, on his knees, begging for my forgiveness- I was seething. And, now, he goes back to his old tricks. Pretending like I don’t exist.

I turned to Max, who was bracing for impact. His hands were wary, held up near me as if to catch my fall. I shrugged, smiled cheekily, wrinkled my nose. I bumped Adam’s shoulder with mine and declared, “Shots on me?”

He continued his smug slump in the bar stool for the next hour. Adam, Cyrus, Max, and I hung like the old pals we were, cracking jokes, swapping stories like we were surrounding a campfire. I glanced at Oliver every once in a while, hoping to accidentally make eye contact like we used to. He stared down at his phone or his glass. I was surprised the device worked considering he’d fucking forgotten my contact existed or something.

Ugh.

What a fucking ass hole.

Adam asked me a question, pulling my attention back in. “Are you excited for Germany?”

Oh. I’d almost forgotten all about this little plot. I knew that if I spoke loud enough, Oliver would hear. He’d react. I could almost hear it, the little hitch in his breath. The tickle in his throat. The flit of his tongue across his lips, the patter of his holey heart.

I felt my own chest jitter with the excitement, the want of a reaction I needed from him. The shock. The idea that I would be an ocean away from him. No longer at an arm’s length.

I turned towards Adam and rested my chin on my fist. I frowned, almost playfully, “Ugh, I hate having to tell you guys like this!”

Cyrus slowly lowered his glass from his lips, having been mid-drink, “What’s up?”

“I’m going home,” my brows furrowed in a naive look. Adam and Cyrus’ chins dropped a sliver. I pouted my lip, “Stop! I know! I’m so sad!”

I wanted to wait until the conversation was over to look down the bar, to see if even a fragment of what I was saying had affected him. But, I didn’t need to wait. Oliver had flinched. He literally flinched.

“Yeah, me, too,” Adam touched my hand. “Why so soon? I thought you were staying through August?”

“I was planning on it, but…they offered me a better position at the clinic I work at. I have to get home to start training,” I continued, a satisfied smirk teasing my mouth.

Cyrus lifted his glass, “Well, there’s nothing to be sad about, then! To your new job.”

“I’ll cheers to that,” the smirk slipped into a genuine smile. I really would miss these guys, but my drunken, stupid mind wasn’t thinking about that. I wanted more from Oliver. I wanted a white flag or a look or a…fuck, I wanted him.

I pushed, “I’ll really miss you guys. Max, with your corny-ass pick-up lines, Adam’s mom vibes, Cy’s ability to knock back more drinks than fucking- I don’t know, Spider-man, and not get drunk? Shit’s insane.”

I drank in the laughter for a moment, eyes lingering down the bar to Oliver. Then, I added a name to my list and narrowed my gaze, “Oliver,” he wouldn’t look. “With your need to ignore me in every room we’re in. I’ll really miss your cold fucking shoulder.”

Any laughter that may have hung onto our past moment faded. I heard Max take a sharp breath in through his teeth. Adam pressed his lips together. Cyrus looked over his shoulder at their friend. I didn’t know if he really knew, but he had to understand just a little bit. The vibes were always there. We thought we were sneaky, but we were so sickly up each other’s asses. We’d even run into Cyrus and Adam in the hallway that one time. I guess we were all really good at being hopefully fucking stupid and blind.

I leaned on my palm and stared that man down. I watched as he kept his chin, pointed ahead, like he was playing brave in the situation. His Adam's apple bobbed. Oliver clutched his glass, swung it back, slugged the liquid down. Slammed it back on the counter. Then, he stood up, pulled his wallet out of his back pocket and threw a wad of bills onto the bar. He adjusted his hoodie and left.

I was dizzy. I stuttered back a step. Max touched my wrist, murmuring something or the other about heading back upstairs. Telling me I was too drunk.

I felt slow, felt dizzy, felt scared, felt angry, felt sad. I felt so sad. I felt so angry and so sad and…

And, my eyebrows furrowed in anger, the shock erasing itself from my frame. I took a deep, drunken breath and followed his trail. Fast. Legs pumping, arms swinging at my sides.

He was at the elevator, looking down at his shoes. I couldn’t get his name out. I think if I did the tears were going to fall out, The sobs were going to ricochet through my whole body and knock me over and kill me and I’d die and I’d never get to see that dumb asses blue eyes any more. Ever again. I wanted to see his blue eyes again. I wanted him to look at me and see me for what he sees me as. I wanted him to touch my hip and wring my neck and tell me I was the only one he wanted. I’d take it. One more time, then he could go back to her. I just wanted a goodbye.

He was stepping into the elevator. The doors were closing. I jammed a hand between and he flinched, again.

I stepped in just as the doors began to shut again. His eyes were wider than I’d ever seen them. He was frozen. Frowning. He looked…sad.

I almost reached a hand out, almost caressed his cheek and pulled him into me. But, I didn’t. Instead, I said (yelled?), “What the fuck is your problem?”

He stammered, “Wha-what?”

I struggled to repeat myself. I needed to cry. It was going to open. But, for another moment, the anger took over, “You fucking heard me. What is your problem, Oliver? What the fuck did I do to deserve this kind of shit? I don’t wanna hear more sad excuses about your fucking mental health and your-your fucking anxiety. God, I- I fucking…I don’t even k- you fucking ignored me back there! I looked right at you and I said your name and I smiled at you and…I’ve been so nice to you. I’ve been nice to you all summer and you treat me like a piece of fucking shit. God, I’ve…I’ve told you so much. I told you about my mom and…and you laid there and you told me all this bullshit about how much you liked me! And then you…youre a fucking-”

I cut myself off, out of breath. I was sweating a little bit. I think I had spit a few times. And I paced the elevator so much that I was flush against the wall. I leaned my shoulders back against the cool metal, wringing my hands, tugging at my hair.

He didn’t say anything. I breathed, hard, I thought, long. I kept thinking, and I kept getting angrier. I turned back to him, rearing up again. I had more to say, I just, I just needed to get some more concise- more thoughtful thoughts, right, exactly. Yes. I can…

“And who the fuck is F-”

“Daisy.”

There it was, my name. It was my name, soft and angelic, and holy. And a moment on his lips that he carved out of time and held a space for, for me to hear.

I stopped. I felt nothing for a moment. I looked at him and he was already waiting to see my eyes. My bottom lip wobbled.

“You’re obviously upset. And, drunk. Why don’t we talk about this in the morning? We can both get some rest.” He was always so good at two very distinct things: pushing stuff (people) aside and speaking to me in a way that felt like a cloud was wrapping itself around me. Like the cloud wanted me to lay in its arm and would coo me to sleep. Like I was safe and loved and-

Loved.

He made me feel loved.

I straightened up a bit at the thought. I pointed an accusatory finger at him, “Who the fuck is Fiona? What the fuck was that all about? Oliver, I’m not going to stand here and beg for you to love me. Or beg for you to come back to me. I just want a goddamn apology. For wasting my time, for playing with my fucking heart. For stringing me along. You knew-”

The tears came. Perfect timing. “You fucking know that I love you. You have known for a very long time. And you are an idiotic fool if you still don’t believe it. But I am not going to play this game with you. I told you that already and now I seriously mean it. I broke my back this summer to make sure that I was who you wanted me to be. So I was cool and chill and could take as much space as you wanted me to. I went with everything you asked of me, I was there when you needed a warm body. I comforted you and…and tried to fucking fix you like I knew you wanted me to. But, I am done. I am done with this. I am done-”

My voice cracked. I swiped an angry, shaking hand across my face. Vision blurred. “I am done with you. This is ridiculous. I don’t know if you meant to, but you have manipulated this situation so that you have been the one benefiting. I’m tired of letting you think you’re some broken, sad puppy dog on the side of the road that needs to be taken care of. Grow the fuck up. And, now I find out that there’s some other woman? That I- I’m the other woman, maybe? That you’re cheating on her with me? That I’m your fucking slut? Side hoe?”

I had paced again, this time, towards him. He was taller than me, but my anger was making me taller. He was almost…cowering. I pointed my finger again, nearly chest to chest with him.

“Fuck you, Oliver. Fuck you and fuck London and fuck your stupid fucking music.”

The doors opened, on our floor. I walked out, but turned to face him before he was really gone from me. I wanted to see his eyes one last time.

He was crying. I popped an arm into the door again, buying myself more time to kick him while he was down. I thought this would bring me closure. I thought I’d feel better if he knew, truly knew, the entirety. Every thought. Every hurt I felt.

“You asked me at the beginning of the summer what I was searching for. I thought that it was you. And I thought that I had found you.”

I shook my head sadly. The doorbell on the elevator rang. I stepped back, “I was right. There is no deeper meaning. Goodbye, Oliver.”

I stood there for a second, as though I could still see his blue eyes, boring through the metal doors.

Then, I sludged my way to my hotel room. I opened the door, shoulders slumped, body aching. I knew my makeup was smeared all over my face. My hair was wrecked. I couldn’t stop sniffling or whimpering. I walked into the room.

Sam sat up in his bed. Ronnie was beside him. I barely made it two more steps before Sam caught me in his arms.

–

The sky was gray. The weather in Europe usually was, especially up here on this side of the continent. I wasn’t surprised when, on our drive to the airport, it started spitting rain. I shivered underneath the cover of my hoodie, yet walked slowly through the entrance.

I remember when I had first dropped down in London, wide-eyed, hopeful. I think it had been raining then, too. But, I hadn’t cared. Come to think of it, it was raining pretty much everyday we had been in London.

Oliver was right about a couple things.

Back then, just three months ago, I hadn’t cared about the sun’s shadow curving from behind the clouds, nor did I mind that it was usually quite chilly outside. Now, I felt anger, annoyance at the weather, at the people, at the world.

At him. The stupid weight of my suitcase. The drag in my step. The wetness of my clothes and the chill of the wind.

I felt older, in the worst way. I was a different age, considering my birthday had passed while I’d been here. But, I felt old in a way that was draining. I felt like I had wasted so much time, energy, and all I had left were weary bones and sadness. Just how much I had left, I didn’t know. But I did know that as soon as I got back home, I would be rotting in my bed for a day or two.

Sam, Max, and Ronnie came to the airport early with me. My flight time had been pulled forward by an hour, so I needed to get here sooner than I thought. I wasn’t complaining, though. I couldn’t wait to get the fuck out of the hotel. Out of here. Out of London.

I hurried the process of packing my last few things. Stuffed my breakfast down my throat. Impatiently waited in the taxi, knee bouncing, as Sam and Max loaded the trunk with all of our things. Ronnie slid in beside me and became the first reason that I cried that day.

She reared a look over her shoulder, out the back window, to check on Max and Sam. Then, with an awkward sigh, she turned her knees towards me, “Peaches?”

I glanced up from my lap and the bounce of my knee slowed, “Yeah?”

Upon noticing the somber gaze in her eyes, my brows furrowed. “What’s up?” I added, fully presenting her my full attention.

Ronnie rubbed her nose in a seemingly nervous manner, “I just wanted to say…um, ew. Sorry.”

I softly giggled at her disgust with whatever sentence she was trying to form. “What is it?”

She finally met my eye in a fervently forward manner, “I usually have fun on tour. But this summer was…it was extra special. Getting to know you has been…so cool. I don’t know. I just…I love you, Daisy. You’ve become like a sister to me.”

I couldn’t help but feel the tears well up in my eyes. “Oh, Ronnie,” I sniffled, hugging her around the shoulders.

She pulled me close to her and I swear I heard her sniffle a bit, too. “I’m sorry for not noticing what was happening. I should’ve been there for you more. I got caught up in my own-”

“Don’t even apologize,” I reared back with my reply, “No. It’s nobody’s fault. I’m not even blaming myself for what happened. It was a stupid, weird situation. It was my responsibility to come to you if I needed help. I just needed…I just need to go home now.”

Ronnie smiled a sad, peaceful smile. “I hope I get to see you again soon. I don’t know what I will do without your bright light.”

“Oh, you will. You guys will be in the US soon. Sam said he was gonna drop by. I am positive you’ll be there, too,” I dropped a sly wink.

Ronnie watched my face for a moment, “I mean, of course you know now. But…” she narrowed her eyes, grinning in shocked realisation, “Fucker. You knew the whole time?!”

“Of course I knew the whole time. Sam is-” I snorted, “Sam is not hiding his lovesick, puppy-dog eyes.”

Ronnie’s gaze widened slightly, “I-”

The doors of the taxi popped open as the boys joined us, Max in the back on my other side, Sam in the front. He saw our laughing, secretive expressions in the rearview mirror and turned back. “What are you two doing?”

I brushed my hands across my cheeks to clear whatever tears might’ve been rolling still, then shook my head. “Nothing, Sam-Ham.”

He turned his eyes to Ronnie and tilted his chin forward. She shrugged, a smug smile contorting her once saddened face. Ronnie dropped a wink, “Nothing at all.”

The second person to make me cry was Max. Out of everyone, he was probably my best friend at this point. We had spent so much time together, out drinking, dancing, holed up in my hotel room with trays of room service, movies on the tv. He had been there through one of the most terrifying, exhilarating, strange summers of my life. We were bonded forever, now. I could feel it.

He was helping me check in while Sam and Ronnie headed to drop off our baggage. They were all just planning on hanging for the extra hour until it was time to check in for their flight. I was grateful they all wanted to sacrifice the time for me. To them, though, I knew it was second nature.

Some people made it easy, loving me.

I shook away the thoughts because the attendant was handing me my ticket. She reiterated boarding time, twenty minutes from now, and wished me a safe flight. “Thank you,” I nodded before turning back to Max.

The tall blonde was watching me. I could tell he was on the verge of tears from just the way that his shoulders shrugged forward. It made my heart swell, knowing how much of an impact I had had on them.

He tried to straighten up as I looked him in the eye. Then, he opened his mouth to say something. I threw myself into his arms before he could. Hugging me tight, Max brushed a hand down the back of my head.

“Oh, sweet, lovely angel. I am going to miss you so.”

I didn’t need to hear anything else to start crying into his chest. Max felt the rock of my shoulders and sniffled into my hairline. “Don’t start, love. I won’t be able to stop, myself,” he chuckled shortly.

We stood like that for a few minutes, maybe more, before I stepped back. I rubbed my eyes on the inside of my sweatshirt, knowing my face was flushed and probably swelling. Max touched his fingers to my wrists and gently brushed aside my hands. He took in my visage, so delicately, and sighed. “Can I just say…”

“Oh, no!” I exclaimed through a sob. More tears fell.

Max rubbed my shoulders, “No, no, no, love. It’s okay. No more tears, okay? We’ll be okay. Just…I just want- I need to tell you how important you are. I know you’re going to go home and things are going to start to settle and you’re going to start to think so many things about yourself. You are so easy to love, Daisy. It is like breathing to me, to Ronnie, to Sam, Sasha. It is breathing. And you are worthy of it, too. That’s all. I just…I just needed to tell you, okay?”

I didn’t say anything else. I just whimpered and pulled him in closer to me.

Sam was the worst.

Since the evening before, when I had broken down in his arms and told him, through my blubbering, a short synopsis of what had happened, we hadn’t spoken much. I didn’t know if it was simply because we didn't have enough time. But, I was feeling worse because of it.

I needed my big brother more than anybody else. Sam knew me better than anybody else, even if we hadn’t been around each other as often as we used to. He still understood me. We shared the same blood, for God’s sake.

Yet, as we sat there, in the waiting area of my plane’s gate, he didn’t even look at me. He stared down at the floor, hands folded in his lap. He sat across from Ronnie, Max, and I, making it known that he wanted nothing to do with the conversation. When he first sat there, the aisle a wide gap between us, I furrowed my brows. But, then, Ronnie and Max striked up some topic that I invested myself and my attention into.

It didn’t seem like that big of a deal until they called for me. I stood up, faster than I should’ve, to be honest, and began to gather my things. Phone, bag, jacket, passport. I ran the list over in my head, three times over.

All the while, Sam slowly stood, stuffed his hands in his pockets, and watched his feet as he scuffed his sneakers across the carpeted floor.

I passed my eyes over him for a moment, holding my breath. Surely, my brother would have something to say to me.

He didn’t make a move.

I began walking the short distance to my gate. Before I moved to get in line, though, I turned back to my friends. Max jumped for a hug first, barely allowing me enough time to fully settle back on my heels. I dug my feet into the ground to gain traction as his ginormous body came toppling into my arms. Ronnie joined in the hug yet struggled to toss her arms over Max’s tall frame. He adjusted as we all shared a laugh and tucked her in beside me.

He called over his shoulder, voice muffled, “Get in here, Sam-Ham!”

I heard my brother elicit a laugh. It felt refreshing to hear. Then, I felt the hug grow tighter as he joined in on Max’s other side. We didn’t stay like that for long. It was stuffy and I wasn’t getting much air.

So, I tapped Max’s back and said, “Alright. Let me go.”

I gave individual hugs to everybody, voicing my own grateful, somewhat short, goodbyes.

Then, I turned to my brother. He evaded my eye contact for a moment or two. Then he pulled me in. Tight.

Out of nowhere, “I’m sorry if he ruined your summer.”

Tensing up from the words, the mention of him, I slowly pulled back from Sam’s embrace. He held onto my back, sort of cradling me. The guilt lying in his eyes was far worse than anything I’d ever seen flash across his face. My own gaze softened from the taut expression it had anxiously contorted to.

“What?” I breathily inquired, unsure if I had heard him correctly, saddened that he was obviously carrying so much hurt from my stupid mistakes. “Why? Sam, it wasn’t your fault.”

“I know, Daz, I just…” Sam’s arms fell from around me. I missed the warmth as soon as the chill of the vast room settled in around my sweatshirt. He ran a veiny hand across his forehead, “I'm supposed to be there for you. Protect you. And I already suck at the first part.”

“Sam,” I grasped his wrist, slipping his fingers between my hands. “It’s not your fault. It’s…honestly, if my summer was ruined, it was because of my own shitty decisions. Besides, you don’t suck at being there for me. I can’t believe you would even think that!”

I clasped his hand tight between mine, brows furrowed. To hear him blame himself, to hear him look this way…This whole summer, I had spent my time obsessing over somebody who didn’t even want me. I should have paid more attention to my brother, who was part of the reason I was here in the first place.

The farther I got from the start of this journey, literally and figuratively, the blurrier my original dreams became. There was no meaning to find here- only what was already there.

The thought made me lick my lips in nervous realisation.

Sam let out a frustrated, breathy chortle. “Don’t give me so much credit. I’ve been…gone. Running away from home. For so long. Worried about getting out of that apartment and town and away from…from anything that could remind me of her. Remind me of mom. I left you behind in the process.”

The wetness in my eyes began to pour over. “Oh, Sam,” my lips trembled out as I dove back into his arms. I dug my fingers into his shoulders, holding onto him as though an airplane would dive down and pull him away. I needed this. This kind of hug. This moment.

Clarity was nearer than ever before.

“Listen,” I pulled back, “I need you to understand, okay? My summer was not ruined. It wasn’t. This entire experience has been the most amazing, wonderful, awesome, cool time. I got to spend so much time getting to see you, getting to see your world. And, don’t ever blame yourself for getting away. You had to. I see it now- You had to come be a part of this wonderful band, go with them on all of their amazing tours. I see it on your face, Sam. This is what you’re supposed to do, okay? My mistakes are my own. Not yours.”

“I just…” Sam stared at the floor for a moment, tongue quick to go and defend his original claim But he paused and let the information process. “I…I just wish I could punch him in the face or something. What a douche. Dragging you into his mess. I should’ve known, too. The way he treated you- it was so obvious. For that, I am sorry, Daisy. I should’ve said something. Honestly,” he sighed, running a hand through his hair, “I should beat his ass.”

Max and Ronnie, who had been trying to make it appear as though they were not eavesdropping, laughed at the last line. I opened up Sam and I’s moment by taking a step back. I gave them space to join us here. Ronnie clasped Sam’s hand and rested her head on his shoulder, “As funny as that would be, he is still your boss. And your bandmate,” she nodded to Max.

The tall blond rolled his eyes with a scoff, “Don’t worry. I’ll try to keep it civil.”

It was my turn to scold. I punched Max in the shoulder to gain his eye contact, “Don’t try. Just do it. He’s not a bad person. He just…sucks. A little bit.”

Talking about him, living in the truth of the situation, confronting all the dark realizations- it was a heavy weight to bear. I felt my shoulder slinking forward, as though I were Atlas with the dark, cloudy sky above me. Though I didn’t want to be rid of these three, I needed to be gone already. I needed to go before it all came crashing down again. I didn’t want anybody else to see me cry again. It was…embarrassing, to say the least.

So, I allowed one last hug from each of them and then turned towards my gate. I boarded the plane, mindlessly, going through all of the motions. Like I was used to leaving, like I was good at it. Like I was strong. But, I felt weak. I felt heavy and sad and angry and…

The city was gray. I remember it being sunny, summer-weather, though there had been a chill in the air. He always said it was. Maybe it always had been and I was…crazy. Wide-eyed. Desperate or naive or whatever.

But it was clear as day now, how dreary it looked from this airplane window. The wind whipped at the airline workers, shuffling luggage to their places, green vests billowing up. My breath fogged at the window which narrowed my pointed gaze. It seemed the plane was being pumped full of heat. I hadn’t realized it was that cold outside.

I guess fall was coming.

“Ladies and gentleman, this is your reminder to place your devices on airplane mode. We are approaching take-off,” a thick, European accent declared over the PA system.

I wrestled to retrieve my phone from my bookbag, which was squished in between my feet. When I was able to lift it towards me, the screen lit up. There was a buzz from the device that vibrated my hand then the appearance of a text message.

Oliver: Daisy, I need to tell you…

The message cut itself off, only the sneakpeek visible due to the system settings I had on my device.

It was ominous, though, like it had chosen to cut itself off there.

The tail end of that message could be- anything.

Daisy, I need to tell you…you’re a dumb bitch?

…I fucking hate you.

I love you?

Please, stay?

I don’t think I wanted to know.

My thumb hesitated over the screen, barely gracing it’s smooth glass. If I tapped on the message, if I saw what he said…would it change things?

Would it make me hate him even more?

Would it make me want to stay?

I didn’t want anything else to make my decisions anymore. I wanted to make my own choices, based on my own actions, thoughts. I was tired of living up to everybody’s image of me. If that was all I learned this summer, to be true to what I wanted, to be true to myself…then maybe this summer wasn’t so bad after all.

Maybe there had been something to find- maybe that something was me.

The shaking in my hands must’ve made the screen react to a ghost of my fingerprint. The option to scan my face ID came as soon as a flight attendant passed by my section, a bright smile on their face.

“Hi, friend! Did you put your device on airplane mode?” They asked with a slight gesture towards my phone.

I glanced back at the screen as she pointed. The message was open. That’s where it had ended, what Oliver had sent to me. “I need to tell you something.” But, he was still typing, still coming up with words to say.

My hands moved quickly, sliding down the menu and thumbing the airplane option. If he were still typing, I couldn’t see it anymore.

And any messages he may try to send would go green, undelivered, lost.

Forgotten, in the skies, somewhere between London and Germany, during the beginning of a cold, cold autumn.

[sikyulioness]

Hi hi! If its cool, could you write something about Jinwoo with timid!reader. Like theyve known eachother for years and as Jinwoo gets stronger, reader lets themselves drift away since they didnt want to be a burden. As a farewell, readwr gives him a letter, a love confession, before running off emabressed?

Thabk you!

✨Hope you like it✨

________

"If Only You Knew"

The ink smudged slightly under your fingertips, your trembling hands making the already delicate handwriting uneven. You swallowed hard, staring at the words you had rewritten over and over again, trying to find the perfect way to say goodbye.

But there was no perfect way, was there?

You had known Sung Jinwoo for years—before dungeons, before Hunters, before the world decided that power was everything. Back when he was just Jinwoo, the boy who smiled at you through his exhaustion, the boy who always tried his hardest, even when the world was unfair to him.

But as he changed, you remained the same.

Jinwoo had grown into something more—stronger, faster, untouchable. The world looked at him in awe, in fear, in reverence. And you? You were still just you. No magic. No power. No place in his new life.

So you let yourself drift away.

Not because you wanted to. God, you wanted to stay by his side more than anything. But you didn’t want to be a burden, the weight that held him back. You convinced yourself that this was the right choice, even as loneliness hollowed out your chest.

But even if you left, you wanted him to know.

So you wrote this letter, pouring out everything you had kept locked inside. And now, standing outside his apartment door, your hands clenched around the folded paper, your heart pounded so hard you felt dizzy.

Would he even care? Would he read it? Would he laugh?

You shook your head. It didn’t matter.

With a deep breath, you raised your fist and knocked.

The seconds stretched unbearably long before the door finally creaked open.

Jinwoo stood there, fresh out of a shower, his damp black hair tousled, a plain black shirt clinging to his frame. His golden eyes widened slightly at the sight of you, surprise flickering across his usually unreadable expression.

“Y/N?” His voice was warm, familiar, and hearing it made something in your chest ache.

You panicked.

Your mind screamed at you to run, but your body refused to move. Instead, you thrust the letter into his hands, bowing deeply to hide your burning face.

“T-thank you for everything, Jinwoo. I—I hope you’ll be happy.”

And then you turned and ran.

“Wait—Y/N!” His voice carried after you, but you didn’t stop.

Not when tears were already slipping down your cheeks.

Not when your heart ached with the knowledge that this was goodbye.

Not when you were too afraid of what his answer might be.

---

Jinwoo’s Reaction

Jinwoo stared at the letter in his hands, his fingers tightening around the edges as the sound of your footsteps faded down the hallway.

His heart pounded for reasons he couldn’t explain.

You had been avoiding him. He noticed. How could he not? The missed calls, the unanswered messages, the way you started slipping away every time he reached out. At first, he thought you were just busy. Then, he convinced himself that maybe you just needed space.

But when you stopped showing up altogether, when he realized he hadn’t seen you in weeks—no, months—he knew something was wrong.

And now, out of nowhere, you were here. Giving him a letter. Looking like you were on the verge of crying. Saying goodbye.

A sinking feeling settled in his stomach.

Without thinking, he tore open the envelope and unfolded the paper, his eyes scanning your familiar handwriting.

Jinwoo,

By the time you read this, I’ll probably be gone. I’m sorry for leaving like this, but I don’t think I could say this to your face without completely embarrassing myself.

I’m so, so proud of you. You’ve grown into someone incredible, someone the whole world admires. You’re strong, fearless, untouchable. And I… I’m just me.

I don’t belong in your world anymore.

I kept telling myself that leaving was the right choice. That you didn’t need someone like me slowing you down. But the truth is… I don’t want to leave. I want to stay by your side. I want to see you smile, to hear your voice, to know that even as you stand at the top of the world, I can still be someone important to you.

But I’m scared.

Scared that you don’t need me anymore. Scared that if I stay, I’ll just be a burden. Scared that you’ll look at me one day and realize I’m nothing compared to the people who belong by your side.

So this is my goodbye.

But before I go, I need you to know one thing.

I love you, Jinwoo.

I always have.

I always will.

Even if you never feel the same, even if you forget me, even if I become just another face in your past—I will always love you.

Be happy, okay?

- Y/N

Jinwoo’s hands clenched around the paper, his vision blurring as something in his chest twisted painfully.

You idiot.

Did you really think he didn’t need you? That you weren’t important? That he could just forget you?

A sharp, desperate urgency surged through him. He didn’t care if it was late. He didn’t care if he had to search the entire city. He refused to let you disappear.

Crumpling the letter in his fist, Jinwoo grabbed his jacket and ran.

---

The End

[hissweetdarling]

Oh it depends! I love coffee but I'm trying to not drink it excessively, my main problem is that I usually afford only the cheap little packs of coffee which aren't as good or as healthy as the actual coffee (yes , coffee can bring some benefits to your life as my friend who's into medicine, lab says but she also says that can be an addiction)

So for example yeah a lot of people get the standard coffee which it's really bitter for me and btw unless it's from a coffee shop or whatever you don't drink the little grains of coffee down in your cup!! (Like if it's from a café they most likely won't give it to you with the grains down in the cup)

Most of the coffee gives you an energy boost or keeps you awake

Also the same/similar result you can get from certain type of tea like a blend of black tea and early gray (I love tea too hehehe)

Some physiologists on Instagram keep arguing over the effects of coffee on people with chronic anxiety so you should definitely check if you/your character have something like this or something similar that could give them different effects?

For me the "standard" coffee gives me an energy boost for like 2-4 hours but I can't stand it. I can't stand the taste , the sensation and how extremely tired I feel after these hours end. I usually drink it only if I couldn't sleep more than a few hours and I have lectures I need to attend.

I generally enjoy my coffee as sweet as possible and that doesn't mean only syrup , cream and sugar. The coffee beans need to be more flavoured or at least a better quality than the ones from a coffee machine in which you introduce a few money and drink it to keep you awake.

In my case the coffee calms my anxiety (especially if it's sweet) in other cases I guess the physiologist could be right and it could make anxious people more anxious I really don't know so it's up to you if you wanna research that, I just laugh / chuckle about them(not in a mocking way just "haha well not for everyone" ) and mind my business with my coffee because it's really comforting for me to take a break (when I can afford or give myself a treat) to go to a café, order a sweet coffee aka I literally tell the barista I know (and if I don't know the barista I just ask for their sweetest coffee and after the weird looks I tell them what else I want or just order what I think could be the sweetest from the exposed posters or whatever stuff) to give me something sweet she goes like "hot or cold?" And get my cup (for hot) or my glass(for cold) and enjoy my coffee while scrolling at stuff I enjoy or reading a few chapters of a book

That's usually one of the reasons I wouldn't do coffee dates and I really don't like hanging out at coffee with people I don't like they would ruin my calm moment lol so you can think if your character is more with "coffee on the go" or coffee made at home or enjoys coffee shops or café more and how they prefer to drink it too

It can be really fun to imagine all these details why I never thought about making a character like this too oh well it can be a start for everything hahaha

Hope it helps~ ☕💖💖💖

Writing a fic where in one part a character is drinking coffee and I'm allergic to coffee so I'm not sure if I'm doing this right at all.

I think writing someone drinking coffee is similar to the experience of drinking hot chocolate, but if you wanted information on fancy types of coffee, there are several baristas on you tube who talk about how to make different coffee drinks

[cherryxbooo]

PLSSSSS MAKE ANOTHER TIM BRADFORD X READER PLSSS. maybe pregnant reader????

You’re everything to me

Summary: A day in the life with baby Bradford on the way.

Note: First of all my apologies, this is a very short one, but I hope you guys enjoy it! 🤍

Reader x Tim Bradford

Genre: fluff

The morning sunlight peeked through the curtains as I lay in bed, one hand on my belly and the other scrolling lazily through my phone.

Tim had already been up for an hour, starting his usual workout routine.

I smiled as I heard faint grunts and the rhythmic clinking of weights coming from the garage.

It was comforting, knowing he’d never miss a beat, whether it was his job, his routine, or doting on me.

The flutter in my belly drew my attention back to the life growing inside me.

I couldn’t help but talk to the baby sometimes.

“Your daddy’s so tough, isn’t he? But don’t let him fool you, he’s a big softie for us.”

As if summoned by my words, Tim appeared in the doorway, towel slung over his shoulder, his face glistening with sweat.

“Morning beautiful,” he said, a grin spreading across his face as he noticed me still curled up in bed.

“Morning, hotshot,” I teased, propping myself up on an elbow.

“Did you win your battle with the weights today?”

“They never stood a chance,” he replied, walking over to kiss my forehead.

His hand instinctively found its way to my bump, resting there gently.

“How’s my team doing this morning?”

“We’re hungry,” I said with mock seriousness.

“Say less,” Tim said, smirking. “Pancakes again?”

“Pancakes are always the answer,” I replied, grinning.

After breakfast, Tim got ready for work.

As he buttoned up his uniform shirt, I couldn’t help but admire him.

Even after all these years, there was something undeniably comforting and attractive about the way he carried himself.

“Don’t work too hard today,” I said, wrapping my arms around him from behind as he stood by the mirror.

He turned, his eyes softening.

“I’ll try, but you know how it is.” He leaned down to kiss me, lingering for a moment.

“Promise me you’ll rest today?”

“I promise,” I said, though we both knew I had a hard time sitting still.

The precinct was bustling when Tim arrived.

Officers were briefing each other on cases, phones were ringing, and the coffee machine in the corner had a line of tired officers waiting.

As Tim made his way to his desk, Angela intercepted him with a knowing smirk.

“How’s Y/n?” she asked, leaning against his desk as he set down his gear.

“She’s good,” Tim replied, a small smile tugging at his lips.

“Still craving pancakes every morning, though.”

Angela laughed.

“That baby’s already got good taste. How’s she holding up with you being at work all day?”

Tim chuckled. “She says she’s fine, but I know she gets bored. She’s been texting me baby name ideas all week.”

Angela raised an eyebrow. “Oh? Any winners yet?”

He shrugged, but his grin gave him away.

“We’ll figure it out together. She’s got some good ones.”

Angela patted his arm.

“You’re going to be a great dad, Tim. Just don’t turn the kid into a mini drill sergeant, okay?”

He rolled his eyes but couldn’t hide his amusement. “No promises.”

By mid-afternoon, I found myself restless.

The baby’s kicks were getting more frequent, and while I loved our home, it felt too quiet without Tim.

On a whim, I decided to visit him at the station.

When I walked in, the familiar hum of activity greeted me.

Officers walking about, some deep in conversation, others typing furiously at their desks.

I spotted Lucy first. Her face lit up as she saw me.

“Y/n! What are you doing here?” she asked, hurrying over to hug me.

“I got bored,” I admitted, laughing.

“And I missed Tim.”

“Well, you’re in luck. He’s over there pretending to be grumpy about paperwork,” she said, pointing to his desk.

Tim looked up just as I approached, his expression softening immediately.

“Hey,” he said, standing up to greet me.

“What are you doing here? I thought you were resting.”

“I was,” I replied, smiling.

“But I needed a change of scenery. Plus, I figured you might need some moral support with all that paperwork.”

He smirked, pulling out his chair and motioning for me to sit.

“You’re the best distraction I could ask for.”

As we chatted, more of his colleagues came by to say hello.

Angela joked about how I was keeping Tim in line, and Lucy started quizzing me about baby names.

“You guys are going to have the cutest kid,” Lucy gushed, her excitement contagious.

Tim, who had been standing protectively close to me, placed a hand on my shoulder.

“As long as they don’t take after Lucy’s sense of humor, we’ll be fine.”

“Hey!” Lucy protested, laughing.

That evening, the soft glow of the living room lamp bathed the room in warmth as we settled on the couch together.

Tim had pulled me close, his arm draped protectively around my shoulders while his free hand rested on my growing belly.

The rhythmic motion of his fingers tracing gentle circles on my skin sent a wave of calm through me.

It was as if, without even trying, he could communicate love and reassurance in the simplest ways.

I tilted my head to rest against his shoulder, breathing in the familiar scent of his aftershave mixed with the faint hint of coffee from his shift.

“Today was nice,” I said softly, breaking the comfortable silence.

His hand stilled for a moment, and I felt his head turn slightly toward me.

“Yeah?” he asked, his voice warm with curiosity.

“Mmhmm,” I murmured.

“It felt good to see you in your element, and to remind your colleagues how lucky they are to work with you.”

Tim chuckled, a deep sound that reverberated through his chest.

“Lucky to work with me? You sure we were talking about the same group of people? Because they spend half their time teasing me about being a grump.”

I smirked, reaching up to run my fingers along his jawline.

“That’s just because they don’t know you the way I do.”

He turned his head fully to look at me now, his lips curving into that rare, unguarded smile that he reserved for moments like this.

“Oh yeah? And how do you know me, exactly?”

I raised an eyebrow, playing along.

“Well, for starters, I know the grumpy act is just that, an act. Underneath it all, you’re nothing but a big softie.”

Tim scoffed in mock offense, though the smile never left his face.

“Softie? You’re pushing it, sweetheart.”

“Oh, come on,” I teased, sitting up slightly so I could look him directly in the eye.

“Who was it that stayed up all night reading parenting books last week because he wanted to be prepared for every possible scenario?”

“That’s just called being responsible,” he argued, though his ears turned pink, betraying his embarrassment.

“And who bought three different brands of prenatal vitamins because he wasn’t sure which one was the best?”

I pressed, my grin widening.

“I was being thorough,” he muttered, trying to look annoyed but failing miserably.

“And who talks to the baby every morning before work?"

I added, my voice softening as I placed my hand over his where it rested on my belly.

Tim’s eyes flickered to mine, and his expression shifted into something tender.

“Okay, you’ve made your point,” he conceded, his thumb brushing over the back of my hand.

“But for the record, I’m not the only one completely wrapped around this kid’s finger already.”

I laughed, leaning into him again.

“Fair enough. We make a pretty good team, don’t we?”

“The best,”

he said, leaning down to press a kiss to the top of my head.

For a while, we sat in companionable silence, the only sounds the faint hum of the heater and the occasional creak of the couch as we adjusted.

Tim’s hand resumed its gentle circles on my belly, and I couldn’t resist placing my hand over his again, lacing our fingers together.

“I can’t wait for this little one to join us,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion.

I tilted my head up to look at him, my heart swelling at the way his blue eyes shone with a mixture of excitement and vulnerability.

“Me too,” I whispered, my own voice trembling slightly.

Tim leaned down to kiss me, his lips lingering on mine in a way that felt like a promise, a promise of love, of commitment, of a future we were building together.

When he pulled back, I saw the faintest hint of moisture in his eyes, though he quickly blinked it away.

“You’re everything to me, you know that?” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Tears prickled my own eyes as I smiled up at him, my hormones coming through.

“And you’re everything to me.”

In that moment, surrounded by the quiet comfort of our home and the palpable anticipation of the life we were about to bring into the world.

I knew this was what happiness felt like, simple, messy, and filled with more love than I ever thought possible.

The end

[faneliansficaloh]

A Lifetime of Happiness

(Chapter 1) (Chapter 2) (Chapter 3) (Chapter 4)

This is Chapter 5

----------

11 November, 1817

Dear Penelope,

It is so odd to have such warm rain in the middle of November, I find myself missing the cold, even though the warmth is much easier on my fingers as I write all day every day now, as I have for the last two years. The letter writing has increased for obvious reasons.

I know my first letters might just be arriving to their destinations about now, but I haven’t been able to wait for the responses to some of them. I am compelled to write as I think, I write letters or in my journal, when I am not working on documents and translations for work. I do not mind it, but I have developed a little dent on my index finger and what seems to be permanent stains on my finger tips. Mother would be appalled, for along with the way the sun has darkened my complexion, I must not convey a very aristocratic figure at all, if I ever did.

I swear even the sound of the rain is different here. Even when it’s pouring in full force, it still sounds softer than English rain. It is very peaceful. It makes me think I could fall asleep outside without minding it at all, as if the drops would fall gently like soft caresses, like the fingers of a beloved person running through the features of a darling face.

Has it started snowing yet? I do not believe it ever does here.

Yours, Colin.

1814 – New Acquaintances

The Featherington dinning room was perhaps the less affected by Lady Featherington’s tastes. It was a rather sober room in comparison to the rest of the house with its citrus coloured walls. It was almost tasteful, although a little on the lived-in side, which might betray that it had indeed not gone through a renovation at the hand of the current Lady of the house.

“Mrs. Bridgerton, will you and Mr. Bridgerton be travelling to Aubrey Hall earlier with the rest of the family or are you planning to arrive with the rest of the guests for the main event?”

“We will be travelling earlier, with the rest of the Bridgertons, Lord Featherington”

“Ah, what a wonderful opportunity to get better acquainted with your new family”, Lady Featherington interjected.

It was no secret that the new Mrs. Bridgerton did not spend much time at Bridgerton House, even though it had nearly been a year since the marriage took place. Marina had simply not shown much interest, she had become very reserved and kept mostly to her home and the occasional dinner at the Featherington house, making extremely short appearances at social events. Portia assumed at first that she was simply very dedicated to her babies, but there was something in her air that did not sit well with her. She did feel sympathy for her, of course, but there was nothing to be done if the marriage had not turned out a happy one. Besides, there was no use having such a connection if it was this feeble, Portia thought, so she was glad there was an opportunity to strengthen it and maybe even lift the girl’s spirits.

She did not think that their situations might be exactly the same, for Mr. Bridgerton did not seem to be a cruel man as her late husband had been, no. Mr. Bridgerton had indeed endured the situation with much more kindness than Portia had ever expected from a man, but in her own experience, when there was no love to be found in one’s marriage, one could always pour themselves into their children and find diversion in society. The one thing they could do was to secure the best opportunities for their children, make sure they had all the possible advantages, so that their futures would be brighter than their own and here Marina, unlike her, had the advantage of not having to actively work against her husband to achieve it.

“Indeed, it is a good opportunity. But I must confess I find it a bit daunting, and was actually intending to ask if you would do me the favour to allow Penelope to travel with us, if she’d agree, of course. It would mean a lot to me to have her support and I know how dear she is to Eloise and the rest of the family so her presence would be invaluable to me”

“I wouldn’t want to impose on the Viscount and Lady Bridgerton, have you talked to them about this?” Penelope couldn’t think of a single other reason why she wouldn’t accept without making it obvious she just didn’t cherish the prospect of enduring the trip in such close quarters with the couple. Besides she still felt guilty for not having told Lady Bridgerton about Marina much earlier. Maybe Anthony would oppose her coming, since Penelope knew the true purpose of the advance trip and she imagined he might not be pleased by the increase in attendance once the Sharmas’ party joined them.

“Colin will ask Violet, won’t you?” Marina turned to her husband, to ask.

“I will, but it almost seems unnecessary. My mother adores Penelope, she will be happy to have her, she is always welcome”

Marina might not have known the family as long or as well as Penelope had, but she had this one thing right. If Colin asked Anthony directly, there was a chance for denial, but if he went through his mother, it was as well as a done thing. Colin had a way of getting whatever he wanted from Violet and well, she had just been deluding herself earlier if she thought Anthony would deny his mother a fairly simple request like this.

“Seems I should start packing, then” She said with a tight smile.

“Wonderful!” Marina’s smile seemed genuine, so Penelope felt a little hopeful it would be a good thing after all. “I’m looking forward to it. I miss the country so much.”

“It is settled then” Lady Featherington said cheerfully.

“I look forward to joining you later and making your family’s acquaintance, Mr. Bridgerton” Lord Featherington raised his glass and Colin followed suit.

***

The advance party had barely set foot at Aubrey Hall when Benedict was notified that he had a visitor and so he went into the study without any idea why this man would be calling on him.

“Good afternoon” Benedict greeted the man that had come to Aubrey Hall asking to see him. He did not know this man “Sir Phillip Crane, is it? I do not believe we have met. Benedict Bridgerton”

“Oh” Sir Phillip then produced a wrinkled piece of paper, a letter, from the pocket on his waistcoat. He opened it and looked for a detail on it. “Forgive me, Mr. Bridgerton, I was hoping I could talk to Mr. ColinBridgerton. I’ve been corresponding with him on a rather important… business, so as I learned your family was coming to the country, I thought to seize the opportunity to have the conversation in person”

“Ah, I see. Please have a seat” He motioned to the footman who immediately went out to look for the aforementioned Mr. Colin Bridgerton “Is your home nearby?”

“Yes, Romney Hall. I much rather the country. I am seldom to be found in London, avoid going there as much as possible, so you see this was a perfect opportunity for me as it is but a short ride away” He was fidgeting with the letter in his hand, which he had promptly re-folded many times into a tiny square.

“You rode here?” Benedict looked at the window. It was a grey, cloudy afternoon with every indication that a storm might fall at any moment.

“I did” And as Sir Phillip followed Benedict’s line of sight he became embarrassed “I believe I might have overestimated the speed of my steed and underestimated that of the clouds”

Colin entered the study a moment after

“Good afternoon. Did you call for me?” Benedict nodded and indicated towards Phillip.

“You have a guest”

“Sir Phillip Crane, at your service”

“Well, I will leave you to discuss your business in private” Benedict left the room.

“Please” Colin motioned to the other man to get back to his seat and took one opposite him.

“I’ve come in the hopes I can persuade you to reconsider the matter we’ve been corresponding about. I do understand and appreciate you taking care of the children as if they were your own--” He paused as he saw Colin get affronted by his choice of words “All I mean is, they deserve – My brother wanted them to have the Crane inheritance that is rightfully theirs. I cannot in good conscience ignore this.”

“That is very honourable of you but --”

“Please. I must do this. You have many siblings, brothers and sisters? George was my only brother, and he always supported me when others wouldn’t. I couldn’t-- I won’t – I just rather their legal guardians are aware that arrangements have been made for their future. I unfortunately cannot pass on the title to the boy, as you understand.”

“Do you not intend to marry, have your own children?” Colin felt he needed to protest, as it seemed that once more decisions were being made on his behalf and he was just being informed. At what point in life had he lost agency over his destiny so completely?

“Adjustments will be made, proportionally as necessary, if such a thing were to happen, but it won’t be any time soon, I can assure you. There is just one thing. I just-- I would like to meet them” He didn’t know this man, but so far he had come through in his letters as a proud individual, so he was prepared to fight a refusal.

Colin could see the hope on this man’s eyes. And he thought how terrible it would be if they were to lose Daphne and then be denied to see Augie again and the thought made him shudder. It was also rare to have a gentleman so concerned with the well-being of children that were on all accounts, not his burden. He would have to deal with Marina later, as he was sure she would not be happy at this.

“Very well” he nodded and rang the bell, instructing the footman as he entered the room “Please ask miss Carrigan to bring the children to the drawing room, and have tea and some sandwiches sent there as well for Sir Phillip and myself.” He stood up and motioned for Phillip to follow him. “No time like the present”

The drawing room was full of people, as it turned out.

Hyacinth and Gregory were playing chess by the window and Eloise was reading a book in a sofa, next to Benedict, who was talking with Anthony. Lady Bridgerton and Francesca were working on some embroidery in the opposite sofa. Marina he knew was in their room with Penelope.

“I suddenly realize why it isn’t a good idea to show up unannounced” Phillip said a little embarrassed.

Lady Bridgerton stood up as she noticed they had an unexpected visitor.

“I take it business has gone well?” Benedict asked from his place standing near the chimney, with a smile as his eyes surveyed both men.

“It has. Mother, Anthony, allow me to introduce Sir Phillip Crane, our neighbour from Romney Hall”

“Pleased to make your acquaintance. Please take a seat, would you like some tea?” Violet gestured to the seat opposite Eloise, who made for a hasty retreat fearing one of her mother’s schemes and moved to inspect the game of chess closely, but her brother and sister had already stood up to acknowledge the unexpected guest.

A wave of curtsies and bows rose and fell through the room, as pleasantries were exchanged before he was finally seated, in the place where Eloise had been before fleeing. He shifted rather awkwardly, removing the book Eloise had left behind between the seat cushions. He seemed intrigued by the title and opened it, idly perusing the pages, waiting for the babies to be brought in, absent-mindedly ignoring the company. Eloise cringed at discovering her carelessness, but then she noticed he had apparently found something interesting as he had stopped turning pages and was actually reading. She found herself curious at what part could it have been.

“Sir Phillip, it seems you have arrived just in time to avoid the coming storm” Said Violet after too long a moment, to try and ease the awkward silence that had befallen the room. It had already started raining, but it was still a gentle rain. The more ominous clouds were still at a distance, but the wind had started picking up.

“It appears so” He said as he stopped his reading to look through the window behind him, while carefully marking his place with his index finger. “Hopefully it will pass soon before I am to make my way back home”

“I certainly hope so, too. If it doesn’t, We will gladly arrange for you to spend the night, we cannot have you on horseback in such weather.” Offered Anthony.

“Heavens! Not on horseback, no” Violet said with a gentle laugh.

“I don’t think the storm will pass soon” Eloise muttered.

The doors opened, Penelope was carrying Amanda while Miss Carrigan, the nurse, carried Oliver. Violet seemed to then fully understand what Sir Phillip was there for.

“If you’ll excuse me, I have so much work to do in preparation for our ball! Sir Phillip, I hope you will be able to join us this year, I believe you have gotten your invitation already?”

“Ah, yes, Th-- thank you” He said, rather surprised and evidently not knowing the appropriate way to respond. Violet had indeed made sure an invitation was sent to Sir Phillip, as even though the Cranes had rarely-if ever- attended any such events, it was the neighbourly thing to do, especially because he was now on all the lists of eligible bachelors in the county.

“If you’ll excuse me I have to… go” Benedict said, unable to come up with an acceptable excuse and completely giving up on pretending to have one.

“Wait for me” said Eloise who made a stop in front of Phillip “May I please have my book, sir”

“Oh, Of course!” He said with a little embarrassment, as evidently he had forgotten that the book was in his hand, with his finger still keeping his place.

“Thank you” She said, curtsied and quickly caught up with Benedict at the door, exchanging a puzzled glance with Penelope as she passed by her. “I’ll tell you later” Penelope muttered, as she shifted Amanda on her arms.

Benedict then summoned the youngest siblings “Gregory, Hyacinth, come with us, we’ll play cards in the game room” Both children exchanged glances and reluctantly followed their older brother and sister. “Anthony, you’re welcome to join us, if you are not too busy”

“As a matter of fact I have business to attend to, if you’ll excuse me, Sir Phillip.” Anthony left the room at a brisk pace.

Colin finally said, after patiently waiting for everyone to make their graceful exits “Alright. Miss Carrigan, could you please give us a moment”

The nurse exchanged a quick glance with Penelope as she knew it would now be up to her to handle both children.

“It’s alright” Penelope assured her and miss Carrigan was out the door after having set up a blanket and toys and gently placing Oliver on it.

“This little lady” Said Collin as he took the girl from Penelope’s arms “is Amanda”. His face was immediately softened, it made Phillip wonder if it truly was the same man he had been talking to earlier in that study downstairs.

“And the lady?” Judging by her dress and how she had not been dismissed with the other, the woman that had been holding the girl was clearly not a servant.

“Oh, Pen, I’m terribly sorry! Sir Phillip, this is Miss Penelope Featherington”

“Pleased to make your acquaintance” She said and upon seeing Sir Phillip sporting a mildly confused semblance she added “Mrs. Bridgerton sends her apologies, she won’t be able to join us”

“Miss Penelope is Marina’s cousin” Colin then went down on one knee to gently place Amanda down beside his brother “And this little fellow is Oliver”

“May I?” Phillip asked hesitantly.

“Of course” Colin said the words but he was rather unsure that this man would know how to properly handle a baby.

“Hi Oliver!” Phillip sat on the floor and greeted the child, who made babbling noises at the mention of his name “I’m your uncle Phillip!” His voice was very soft and there was some pain in it as his eyes filled with tears as he recognized his brother in his children’s faces. “Hi Amanda!” he seemed enthralled for a long moment, and then he looked up at Colin who was sitting on the chair opposite. “Thank you!”

Penelope smiled at Colin approvingly and it made him feel he had finally done the right thing. None of them had really noticed how dark the day had turned, until they were snapped to attention by rumbling thunder and the crack of a tree branch fighting the wind.

“You’ll have to join us for dinner” said Colin.

“If it is not too much of an imposition”

“Not at all. Pen, would you mind?”

“I will take care of it” Penelope then left the drawing room. She intercepted a maid that was walking down the corridor and asked her to let Lady Bridgerton know that Sir Phillip would be staying for dinner and then returned to Marina’s room.

“Marina?” She asked, before entering the room

“Has that man left yet?” was her answer.

“No. He will be staying for dinner, actually, because of the storm”

“I cannot believe this.” Marina was clearly exasperated.

“Marina, what is the matter? He seems perfectly agreeable and for all we know he just wants to know his brother’s children. Is that so terrible?”

“I do not trust him, Penelope. I never met him because he was always off somewhere while George had to take the blunt of his father’s temper. His father was an awful man, If Sir Phillip is anything at all like their father, I want him nothing to do with my children”

“But isn’t that more reason to try to asses him in person?”

“Absolutely not. I do not have any reason to bend to the will of that man at all. If it were for me he would have been sent away immediately, but Colin is just so easily persuaded” Penelope highly resented her tone.

“I do not think either of them is being unreasonable, Marina. Will you be joining us for dinner or not?”

“Will you stay here with me, please?” She pleaded.

“I’m sorry, but I will not. You may stay here if you wish, I will ask for a tray to be sent up, but I fully intend to join our hosts at the dinner table”

“I see” Marina was clearly displeased with her answer, but Penelope was not about to, as she had put it ‘bend’ to her will, as she thought she was being unreasonable. If she had an objection to Sir Phillip’s character, she would make sure to make the most of the time they had together to make an assessment.

“If you’ll excuse me” She responded curtly, and left Marina alone.

Colin approached her outside the room, after the children had been returned to the nursery and Sir Phillip escorted to the game room by a footman. “Did you tell Marina about dinner?”

“I did. She refuses to accompany us, I will ask for a tray to be brought up to her” She started walking and he followed her, going downstairs.

“Thank you, Pen. I really do not understand what her objection is.” He seemed to be worn off by the topic “I’ve given this a great deal of thought and I do not see an outcome that is not beneficial for the children, as much as it hurts my own pride.”

“I believe he has a right to know his brother’s children, it seems fair and not at all unreasonable. But Marina seems to have some concerns about his character, based on undesirable traits from his father. She admits to never have met Sir Phillip himself, though, so I do not see any reason why he shouldn’t be allowed to meet the children while supervised.”

“And I think the fact that he is setting aside some assurances for their future should be something to be grateful for, but I have not been able to convince her otherwise. They do have the full support of the Bridgerton name, of course, but I am merely a third son, after all.”

“Assurances? I thought he was here just to meet the children.” She seemed surprised and he reflected that he had not told her about the letter and the details of Sir Phillip’s request. They had in fact not talked in a while, but it had seemed natural to him to assume that she knew everything.

They stopped at the end of the stairs “No, he came here to inform us that he will be setting aside part of the Crane inheritance for them. He seems genuinely regretful that he cannot pass on the title to Oliver. Marina had tried to refuse this offer but he said he would do it, regardless of our opinions, out of respect for the memory of his brother and his last wishes”

It seemed like a very generous offer, to her. “Well, let us take the opportunity to make more of his character, then.”

They both nodded in agreement and went to join the visitor and his siblings.

***

“You must excuse me, Miss Featherington for any ill-manners that might come across, I am not accustomed to high society dinners and events” Sir Phillip privately warned Penelope as they were seated, which she found extremely unusual but his delivery made it endearing.

She responded in the same private manner “Do not worry, sir Phillip, the Bridgertons are not very concerned with etiquette on these small family gatherings. As you can see we are to be joined by the children, which is altogether unusual”

“I see you are very close with the Bridgertons, Miss Featherington” He said, more openly as to invite conversation.

She shyly responded “We are close neighbours in Mayfair, so our families have known each other for many years and I am very good friends with Miss Eloise.”

“We do consider you family, Penelope” Lady Bridgerton said with a warm smile, which Penelope returned with great relief. Violet had already talked to her about the discussion they had when she told them about the elopement. That night Violet had been understandably harsh with her but had later apologized. This was the first time, however, that Penelope felt she had been truly forgiven for her part of the mess.

“Indeed, but I think of you more like an annoying little sister” Eloise responded “But with the advantage of always having the best book recommendations for me, unlike some other siblings of mine.” She directed a mocking face towards Hyacinth and Francesca, both of whom made unladylike faces at her in response.

“I take that as a very high compliment, Eloise” Penelope smiled, appreciatively.

“It was your book, the Conversations d'Emilie.” Sir Phillip said looking at Eloise, but then quickly turned to Penelope “Was that your recommendation, Miss Featherington?” For some reason he seemed to feel more at ease talking to her.

“No, not at all. I’m afraid Eloise has more elevated intellectual pursuits than I do”

“Oh, well, it reminded me of something else I had read, but I am sure the author was English, not French”

“So, not Rousseau, then?” Said Eloise, with the air of one setting up a trap.

“Though I didn’t get to read much, your book seemed to be a sort of response to his Emile, but I might have formed an entirely wrong idea, forgive me.”

“Have you read Wollstonecraft?” She said with a suspecting glance.

“Oh, yes, I believe that is what I’m thinking of. Mrs. Gardiner gifted me that when I visited her school at Elsham Hall. They have a most extensive library, for the benefit of the young ladies attending. Miss Featherington, I could send you my copy if you’re interested in reading it”

“Would you give up such a gift?” Penelope said, surprised. She could not think of parting with a book if it was not for the benefit of a very good friend and she had known this man for no more than a couple of hours, at most.

Colin felt Penelope made a very good point. What was this man attempting, talking about giving a gift to a lady he had just met?

“I believe such works are not meant to be collected, but shared with as many people as would be interested in them. I would not part with my Flora Graeca, though.” Sir Phillip smiled, thinking of one of his most beloved volumes.

“Are you a naturalist?” Eloise said, assuming this was the case from his mention of flora greca.

“Indeed I am! Cambridge trained botanist. I carry my own experiments at Romney Hall” He seemed to be rather proud of both these facts and smiled as he looked around the table.

“How interesting! --” And before Penelope could form a question to continue the conversation in that vein, Colin interrupted with his own.

“Have you been to Greece then, Sir Phillip?” Colin had always wanted to visit and had read extensively about the Country, but had not had a chance to venture there yet.

“I have not, unfortunately. I’ve always wanted to visit the olive orchards in Lesvos, they must be a wonder to behold” His face was even more animated now.

“I believe they are very ancient, are they not?” Colin was excited to be able to share some of the facts he had learned in his self-conducted studies, as the opportunities seldom presented themselves within his family, who thought him a bore whenever he tried to share a new fact he had found interesting.

“They have been there since the third century B.C.” He said this as if he were proud of the trees for such an accomplishment.

“Can they really be that old?” Eloise asked, genuinely curious.

“Well, Olive trees have adapted to resist threats that would normally destroy them. For example, they are shorter, so they are less prone to being struck by lightning or unrooted by high winds, and then they develop saplings from the same root, so even if the larger part of the tree suffers from some issue, it can continue living from the offspring”

“I knew there had to be an advantage to being short!” Penelope directed the jest to Eloise, but everyone chuckled.

“There must surely be others?” Benedict asked, teasingly. Colin directed a frown at him and he simply dismissed it.

“I will let you know if any come up” she responded and he bowed with a grin.

“You are so down to earth, Pen!” said Eloise, making her laugh.

“And yet I look up to you, El” This opened up the floodgates and everyone started laughing.

“Well, you can’t look down on anyone, Pen” Colin noted.

“I’ve gotta hand it to you, Penelope, because you probably cannot reach it” said Benedict

“Family, please. You’re all above this!” Said Anthony, hiding his laughter behind a soft fist. But they were all laughing, including Sir Phillip who had at first been very confused by the exchanges at the expense of Miss Featherington, but she seemed to be enjoying the light hearted abuse.

Lady Bridgerton was slightly embarrassed by the display but really she was simply too delighted that Eloise had actually engaged in conversation with a --very eligible – man. Although he seemed to be more at ease talking to Penelope, which could also be a very good match. She had never been so grateful for a raging storm to occur so close to a ball. They would have to deal with the state of the roads and clean up the grounds, but that would be a matter for tomorrow. For now they could let themselves enjoy the evening.

The storm had decreased in intensity, the heavy wind had ceased but the rain was still pouring relentlessly.

After dinner the children were sent up to bed, the ladies retired to the drawing room and the gentlemen stayed behind to have a drink. Colin excused himself as he needed to check on his family upstairs.

When he got into their room, he found Marina packing.

“What is this?” He said, alarmed

“I’m leaving and I’m taking my children with me!”

“You will not do such a thing! First of all there is a damn storm outside, it would be incredibly dangerous! Second of all you are being completely irrational!”

“You do not own me, and you certainly cannot make decisions on my children for me!” She was furious and He could not believe what he was hearing.

“I would never do anything to harm them, Marina, I love them!”

“But you are not their --!” She stopped just short. She had never seen Colin so angry before, it was frightful. He came towards her, towering above her, and grabbed her arm, seething.

“They have my name, do they not? Was that the only thing you wanted from me? To just give you my name and let you live on your own without having a say?” He let go and turned away from her, but looked back to say “We are supposed to be a family!”

“I told you I didn’t want anything to do with that man, and you still went and took my babies to him, and here he is, having dinner with your family! Even Penelope has chosen him over me. I will not let anyone take my children from me”

“Nobody is taking them from you! Were is this coming from?” Her reasoning escaped his comprehension completely. She seemed to be making up scenarios out of thin air. How could he fight her imagination?

She suddenly looked more afraid than angry “How can I trust you will not one day change your mind, if you haven’t even respected my decision on this?”

“Change my mind?” He was confused for a second.

“About me. About staying together” It seemed like an accusation.

“And you thought taking the children in the middle of a stormy night and throwing it in my face that I am not their father would prevent that?” She had no response. He knew she would not concede, she never did, never apologized for she thought anything she did for her children was the right thing. But she had stopped packing and was now sitting still. “It pains me that you do not trust me, but I am a man of my word. For what is worth, Sir Phillip only came to communicate us his plans, not to ask for any kind of approval or permission. And there was absolutely no harm in letting him see the children of his deceased brother, the closest family he has left, while Pen and I were in the room watching over them. Maybe if you share with me the reason of your hatred towards the man I could understand”

“I do not need a reason!” she bellowed.

“Well, I do! He seems honourable and decent and he has made no unreasonable requests.” He waited for a response and got nothing back. He felt drained “You will not leave this house without me, is that understood?” Again a maddening silence “Is that understood!” He raised his voice and Marina nodded this time, a little frightened again. He hated that, but he felt it necessary, given the circumstances. “Good. I will be downstairs. You should go to sleep, do not wait for me.”

He raced downstairs, unsure of where to go, he was still filled with unvented rage. He decided to go outside, even if it was raining, he needed to keep moving, it felt as if the ground may give beneath him and swallow him if he stayed in a single spot. He only made it out onto the terrace, as he found Benedict was there, sitting in peaceful contemplation. He went to lean on the baluster, looking out into the darkness.

“Do you want me to ask, or --” Colin turned his head to face him.

“What are you doing here?”

“They’re playing charades now, it got way too competitive”

“I would think you would enjoy that”

“Too much noise, I am already too anxious about the Academy. I rather enjoy the rain, now that it’s quieted down” He searched his younger brother’s face with concern. “What is it now?”

“Is our visitor still here?”

“He is. Mother wouldn’t let him go since she is so very concerned by his safety” Colin rolled his eyes “Admittedly, we don’t know the state of the terrain and it would be dangerous in the dark, but you know our dear mama is all too pleased with the turn of events”

“If she knew the trouble it has caused me she would not be so happy about it” Colin sounded listless.

“Oh?”

“I will not go into details but Marina has it now in her head that I will leave her and take the children from her” He rolled his eyes.

“Because of Sir Phillip?” That seemed like a very strange leap.

“She does not like the man.”

“I’ll say!” Benedict scoffed “So, will you?”

“Leave her? Of course not!”

Benedict had stood up to stand beside him “I mean, you appear miserable together, Colin. I understand it would be a very scandalous thing, but wouldn’t that be preferable to living like this forever?”

“Benedict, even if Marina doesn’t think so, I became their father the moment I held them in my arms. I would never leave them, and I will certainly not take them from her, nor do I wish to publicly humiliate Marina and send her to live in ignominy. We’ll have to figure out something else.” Benedict gave him a half hug and a kiss on the head.

“I’m coming in now, are you coming along?”

He shook his head “I need another moment”

“Very well”

Colin was left alone to wonder why did he feel he needed to try so damn hard. The woman hadn’t even tried to apologize to him once. She did what she had to for her babies, she would say, as if what she had to do hadn’t been a cruel thing against him, regardless of how necessary she thought it. And he still kept trying every approach possible to make the best of a life together, instead of doing the usual manly thing and leave. Not even divorce, just live his own, separate life, alone – maybe take up a mistress, if he could really want a woman who would accept that sort of sordid arrangement. Were those really the only options? There surely had to be something else to life.

The rain kept falling and he let the sound take over his mind, washing away his thoughts.

When he finally decided to go back inside, he was lured by the sound of laughter coming from the game room. He stood in the doorway, profoundly appreciative of his family. This was all he had wanted.

Sir Phillip was standing next to the fireplace talking to Anthony and Benedict. Colin could not make out what they were discussing, but he caught him glancing at the ladies’ table and he could swear, the man had blushed.

“Eloise, you’re clearly cheating!” Accused Francesca

“I am certainly not! You are such a sore loser, just like Anthony and Gregory” she said that last part loudly for all the room to hear.

“I beg your pardon?” Anthony tried to defend himself.

“Everybody knows it, Anthony. You hate losing! You’re the sorest loser to ever grace this earth” He scoffed.

“Eloise! You will have to excuse my children, Sir Phillip, they seem to have forgotten their manners today”

“I do not mind at all, Lady Bridgerton. Only a loving family could be so bold, it is refreshing and an honour to witness” Violet returned his smile, pleased with his response.

“You cannot be this good at cards, Eloise, it’s preternatural” complained Penelope, with a laugh

“Now, girls, let’s be more observant this next round and we shall see” Violet started shuffling the cards.

“Ah, I think you two are in cahoots!” Francesca accused again.

“How dare you accuse your own mother of such a thing!” Violet asked in a fake offended tone.

“Well, you will have to get to the bottom of this mystery of Eloise’s prowess with cards for me, I must go to bed now.” Penelope got up against the ladies’ protests.

“But we need four to keep playing, you’re just ruining it for everybody, Pen”

“I am sorry to put a damper on your winning streak, El, but I am too tired to be any good at it” But then she noticed Colin standing at the doorway and said with a bright smile “Maybe Colin can join you instead?”

“I must disappoint you, I am in no state for cards at present”

Penelope made her way to the door, which he was still blocking.

“I too, shall retire for the evening, if you’ll excuse me. Good night. Sir Phillip” He said with a nod and moved so Penelope could go through the door, following her.

Once they were at a safe distance, Penelope said “I may not be the best judge of character, but I could not find anything wrong with him this evening” They continued talking as they made their way upstairs.”I think you did well, letting him meet his brother’s children.”

“Thank you. I trust your judgement very much, Pen” He did seem exhausted as he said this.

“I’m not sure you should. I’ve been known to make some mistakes in the past, you know?” She still did not fully believe that he held no resentment against her for her part on Marina’s deception.

“Oh, I’m fully aware that you decided to be friends with Eloise. But she grows on people, so I don’t hold it against you” She laughed.

“Oh, thank you! It’s so very gracious of you to let my one transgression slide!”

He smiled softly “Be careful, though, you only get two more and then you will fall to Benedict’s rung”

“I shall do my best, then” They were both smiling broadly now.

“Good night, Pen”

“Good night Colin”

She couldn’t help but notice that he walked past his family’s rooms, clearly he was not going in there with Marina.

Chapter 6

[misspoetree]

KinnPorsche + Text Posts: Breastie Edition

[Shoutout to @kinnbig because I totally stole the idea for the Ken one from a reblog tag 😂❤]

[Character Editions: Pete Part I & II | Vegas Part I & II & III | Tay | Tankhun - Part I | Big | Porsche Part I & II | Kim | Porchay | Chan | Kinn Part I & II | Macau | Pol]

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[Episode Editions]

[skeletalheartattack]

bozo dubbed over dubbed over

[dragons-and-yellow-roses]

Just had my first psychiatrist appointment in like two years! Not to brag, but I improved on mental illness so much that I was upgraded from Bipolar 2 to Bipolar 1! 😎

[aggressionbread]

I'm still thinking about this fucked up BBQ Chicken bacon pizza we got from Papa John's like two years ago. So egregious I've held a grudge against Papa John ever since.

So first, there's so much fucking barbecue sauce on the thing that in some places, its completely drowning out all the other flavors. You can see it pooling out from underneath the cheese in some areas. By the end i had resorted to lifting up the cheese layer and scraping off the excess sauce, but it was still too much.

Which brings us to the second point, the elephant on the pizza. I do not think this is standard for Papa John's. I have never seen them do this before, nor since (since i've never been back) but i would like to direct your attention to the big spiral of bbq sauce on top. Was there not enough sauce for you already??? Did you need to add more sauce?