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mixingandmelting · 7 days ago

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Give Life Another Chance

Summary: He had always had your back when he was Robin. He'll always have your back even as an Outlaw

Word: 3.9k

A/N: Finally did Jason's version of childhood friend to lover trope! *Also part of Winter Series: Day 5

Soft, black curls and a smile that could win the hearts of millions- there were so many good points you probably should’ve noticed first. But having been kicked out of the orphanage again and preoccupied to find a safe place to sleep on the streets for the night, your mind was slow to process that you were just saved from being jumped by Robin. So, your brain chose to point something else out as it registered. Like how haughty he was being with both hands on his hips and an eyebrow raised as he had asked why a kid like you was out in the street this late.

“You’re short.”

“…Seriously? Instead of a thanks you tell me I’m short?”

You were going to ask him if he had any plans on denying what you had just said when one of the thugs on the ground let out a groan.

“Let’s go!”

Quickly, boy wonder wrapped an arm around your waist before using the Batarang to pull the two of you up one of the near-by buildings. Surprisingly, you never once let go of him nor scream as he swung from one building to the next. Was it from trust? Survival instincts? You don’t know. The next few minutes blurred as two teens continued to swing from building to building until he finally landed in front of a 24/7 burger place.

“Wha-where-“

Where did he get the cap he plopped on your head from? When did he change into the hoodie and sweatpants? Your head was spinning from so many unanswered questions that he was practically dragging you into the restaurant with a firm yet gentle grip around your hand. Shuffling you into a booth, he sat across from you and ordered two sets of the same burger meal.

You both sat there quietly until the food came out.

“Aren’t you going to eat?” Robin asked, noticing you hadn’t touched your food yet.

You blankly blinked at him then at the food in front of you. Slowly, you reached for the burger and took a bite. Then another. You take the napkin he offered across the table to wipe your mouth and cheeks from both the food stains and tears while eating.

By the time you finished, you both were slurping on your soft drinks, stuffed and satisfied.

“Well?” He asked, his eyes behind the domino mask trained on you.

“… Why?” He must’ve expected you to ask him from the shrug he gave.

“You looked like you needed it.”

You looked like you needed it?

“You were planning to sleep out tonight weren’t you? How were you going to do that on an empty stomach?”

“I…” You paused for a moment, fiddling with your thumbs. “I’m used to it.”

He didn’t cue you or pressed for answers. It was all on you, spilling everything you’ve gone through from how your parents had abandoned you at age four from being chased by loan sharks to how you were continually being kicked out of each orphanage you enter for accidentally catching the employees embezzling funds meant to maintain the place.

The one question he did ask was about school. He didn’t pursue further when you told him everyone knew your clothes were from hand-me-downs and the Salvation Army.

You appreciated how he didn’t offer words of faux sympathy, simply muttering with an “I see”. You were curious what expression he was making though as he had his head turned toward the window and the hoodie pulled over his head blocked your view.

Once the glasses were emptied, you both headed out.

“Do you have any friends at your school?”

You weren’t taken off guard anymore, finding yourself adapted to your current situation.

“No.”

“Then head to this place. It’s nicer compared to all the others you were placed in.”

Unexpectedly, an address for somewhere in the nicer neighborhood of Gotham was neatly written on the napkin.

“Yeah, and how am I supposed to get there? Have them let me in? It’s not like I have a social worker or anyone who’ll fill the paperwork for me.”

“It’ll be fine. Just take the bus and walk there. Once you get there, just give them your name and then, they’ll let you in.”

It was suspicious to say the least. At the same time, you didn’t have anything to lose.

“Then you have to promise to come visit me tomorrow.” Childishly, you stuck your pinky out at him. “ ‘Cause if you don’t, it’ll be your fault I’m dead.”

“You aren’t going to die,” he snorted, yet wrapped his pinky around yours. “If anything, it’ll be a step forward to make life a bit better.”

He was right. Life did get better when you arrived at the written address. With no hesitation despite the time of your arrival being past 1:00 AM, a kind woman welcomed you in and helped get you situated. For a week, you were busy getting used to the new environment where everything and everyone was… well, normal. None of the other kids looked as if they were struggling or waging war for survival. The adults were attentive and fostered healthy maturity.

It helped that Robin had decided to visit you every night rather than just the next day. Along with checking in that you were okay, he listened to everything you had in your mind. The struggles, the challenges, the confusion from how none of your past experiences could’ve prepared for this big of a change. In a good way of course.

Too bad the visits became less frequent once you started going to your new school. He mentioned about getting in trouble for not focusing on his patrols the last time. Your disappointment must’ve been evident when he proposed to do the “pen-pal thing”. Using how you mentioned you’d do anything to thank him on the promised night as an excuse, he apparently had been wanting to do it but didn’t have anyone until you.

That’s how you ended up leaving your window open ajar every night, having slipped a letter between the slim gap between the sill and the window itself and getting one back the same way, same place.

School on the other hand was eventful. Your only friend was Jason Todd, who, you had to admit, put in a lot of work to get close to you. To be fair, you didn’t expect someone to approach you all friendly on your first day. There were some hiccups along the way, however you guys managed to get through them and became buddies.

There wasn’t a day you guys weren’t hanging together. Homework was being done at the library, talking about the books you both recently read during lunch. The time you both didn’t talk to each other was during class. Unlike you who sometimes found the drawl on Homo sapiens boring, Jason was soaking in all the knowledge with enthusiasm. You once called him school-freak from how much he loved to learn, being in school and exploring the topics the teachers were going over. He retorted that you were mad you couldn’t beat him in getting a higher grade during the last exam. You simply snatched his book and ran away with it, not appreciating how he was right.

With Robin during the night and Jason during the day, you were brighter and friendlier. Slowly, yet surely, you were found smiling more and approachable. Your schoolmates and teachers warmed up to you, treating you like one of them. You also had a place you could call home temporarily, where you could relax and enjoy the presence of having somewhat of a family.

The serenity and joy you had ended up lasting for two years. Jason suddenly stopped coming to school. Robin hadn’t visited you for a while nor sent you a letter. With Robin, you assumed it was because he was busy fighting criminals alongside Batman. Jason? You got worried about him. You tried to get in touch with him in every possible way you can. You asked the teachers, who were also worried as they didn’t know why he hadn’t been attending. You used the school’s directory book they hand out every year and sent letters to his residence.

It was when you got the courage and called his home phone you were given the news. It went from shock. Denial. And then devastation. You felt completely ruined. Your eyes were glass and devoid of emotions when you had gone to his grave, dressed in black, holding a bouquet of red roses (he once said in passing that they were his favorite).

Your one friend you made for the first time in life- you refused to believe he was dead. The news reported it was from an incident related to the Joker, making things much harder from the sheer weight of reality. Especially knowing the survival rate of the victims when the notorious villain was involved.

You managed to maintain sanity superficially, convincing everyone that you were over it. That you were fine. Never realizing the reason for you to hold on was from the belief that Robin would soon visit you again when he had time or at least take the letters that were growing longer where you switched size of the envelopes multiple times.

Things became complicated when Batman, who hadn’t been seen with Robin for so long, made an appearance with him again. Problem was, the Robin next to the older man wasn’t your Robin. Instead of soft curls, his hair was silky and straight. The costume was different. The way the new Robin smiled wasn’t the same as the other Robin. Your Robin.

During the time Robin wasn’t present, you had thought he was severely injured. Hence your expression of concern was always written in your letters, even in the midst of your grief. But what if. Just what if-

You wanted it to be not true so much as you matched dates to events. The day of Jason’s death to around when Robin stopped sending you letters. The day Jason was seen with a cast to the day Robin wasn’t present on a mission. It was a cruel, awful joke played by the fates. Your Robin was Jason Todd. And the people- no, person- you loved with every fiber in your heart was dead.

Jason, on the other hand, was never really into people back when he was a kid. Helping those in need and bringing justice so those suffering would finally have peace? Of course. He would always do it. Interest in a specific person though? He didn’t until he found you walking out and about in the middle of Park Row. Initially, out of empathy from knowing what it was like living in that awful area of Gotham, he was planning to follow you in the case you decided to get your hand dirty and mess with the wrong nest. He was proven wrong and soon changed his assessment of you to respect when he watched you give candy from your bag into the hands of the little kids hiding in the alley. You weren't being dumb about it either, posing it as if you were threatening contrary to what had actually happened. The longer he followed you, the more he saw how knowledgeable you were, knowing when to pick fights and when to keep your head low to stay out of trouble as you walked through the different alleys.

It made him more curious about you, from how you managed to save an adult man from a beating by tripping the assailant with the cover of his sidekick being the one to kick a nearby can. When he read the information he was able to find about you, he felt bitter. It was one thing to live with a dead-beat dad and a drugged out mom, but it was a whole different situation when having to live out in the street without a roof to cover your head most of the time, trying to get by on your own with no adults.

He tried to think of something, anything to help you that night, after closing out the files that had been on the monitor in the Batcave. He started out with following you around during patrols and beating up anyone who seemed suspicious or approaching you with ill-intent behind your back. In his spare time, he was figuring out ways to get in a better child-care system considering you were still a minor, just like him. After hearing about his old man sponsoring to open an orphanage in central Gotham, he mustered the courage to put in a favor.

His plan was all set and ready to go once Bruce got involved, all that was left was to get you on board. Lady Luck must’ve been smiling at him when the perfect opportunity arose when he caught sight of some thugs hiding in the alley you were about to pass. That definitely got your attention when the thug that was close to grabbing you by the scruff went down with a thud.

He never understood that awful and tragic feeling of seeing someone empty until he saw your eyes. Blank and filled with nothing, not even a spark of resentment or rage. He swallowed the lump in his throat, heart burning from the evidence of how the corruption of Gotham claimed another young victim.

“So, what’s a kid like you roaming the streets at this time?”

He didn’t mean to sound cocky. He was trying to sound normal, mustering the tiny drop of remaining strength in him to not waver when you looked so broken. Doesn’t mean he was impressed with your jab though. He had been told by Alfred that he was taller than Dick when he was the same age as him for your information.

As he proceeded to help you get another chance with life, it wasn't part of his plan to become besties, even more so develop feelings for you. Sure, when he approached you as Jason Todd, things didn’t go well at first considering he knew you but you didn’t know him. His civilian self, to be exact. But as he got to know you as both Jason and Robin, he came to know the other side of you. The one with a heart that could encompass the whole world, a mind that had the potential to excel in anything you put your mind into. He constantly worried over the chances of you getting hurt, despite the rough exterior, from being so fragile.

Your letters reflected this as there were times your vulnerability appeared in writing on your thoughts of others. Yes there was hatred and annoyance but always in the last paragraph, you express your desire to understand rather than to exact revenge. You wanted to give them a chance and connect, not resent.

The day he was captured was the day he wanted to confess to you. Reveal who he was and see if he could have a chance to be in your heart. So when he had come back to the living, he didn’t seek you out. He was scared to find out you had moved on without him. That he was simply left as a fragment of a memory like everyone else.

You would’ve laughed at the expression he made if you had seen him when he saw you at his grave. He was camping, hoping that Bruce would appear and prove him wrong. To show that he was still loved and in his heart as his son. All he could do was hide his presence behind the giant oak tree, slightly tilting his head out to watch what you were doing.

He watched your form from behind as you sat down in front of his grave before shuffling and pulling out folded pieces of paper. With his hiding spot not being that far off, he could hear you talking. And he wished he didn’t. A giant block of ice settled to the bottom of his stomach, listening to you read your letters you apparently continued to write to him. Your voice didn’t waver, casual and light as if you were truly talking to him like in the past.

When you got to what seemed like the end, your voice cracked. Then a sniffle. For a moment, he forgot the anger and hatred he harbored, his knuckles going white from suppressing himself to reaching out and comforting you. It ripped him into pieces from the sorrow and wretch you were emitting, sobbing and whimpering why he couldn’t have told you sooner. Why he left without letting you say your final farewells. How you wanted him back.

You get interrupted and quickly forced to wipe your tears when your phone rung.

“This is Officer-“

He stopped breathing. Out of all things, you became a police officer. The hope to meet and rekindle with you was completely crushed, his status not at all glamorous or society acceptable at the moment. When he heard ruffling, he came back to reality. He could feel his eyes well-up as he watched you place a familiar bouquet of flowers on his grave before getting up and leaving.

Once you were gone, he walked over and picked the bouquet up delicately. For the first time since his revival, he was grieving for someone other than him, someone he still loves. Ironically, he wished that you were the one to have forgotten about him. Not being haunted and distraught as if you were watching him die over and over.

Maybe it was then he developed the motivation to change, to leave and let go of emotions he had been holding up to then. Eventually, he had gone from working to dominate the underground businesses to getting rid of them. And whenever he had spare time, he’d have your back and make sure no one was going after you. It wasn’t just criminals he would take down who were planning to attack you and your group when on the field, he had also aimed at any corrupted officers that were going to use you as their scape-goat.

Sure he had gone on adventures as he progressively turned over a new leaf, yet you were and still always his priority. Back when he was Robin and now, as Red Hood the outlaw. As time passed, he could see you healing. Your smiles more genuine. A glow in your skin. Your visits to him every week being more peaceful.

He didn’t think nor entertain the idea of ever meeting you again. How could he when it’ll break you to find out he’s been alive, again, for so long?

So imagine his surprise when he arrives at the manor for the traditional Wayne Christmas party, finding you standing under the ridiculously large tree in the equally ridiculously large living room.

The disgruntled expression gets replaced with shock for Jason as yours morphs into disbelief.

“Ja..son…?”

Six feet, a body packed with muscles and scars, not to mention the infamous brown, leather jacket. Dick really wasn’t kidding during the time you helped hide him and the other vigilantes during the anti-hero hunt led by Amanda Waller when he had revealed that Jason Todd was actually alive after hearing from you how you knew the other, both as the former Robin and civilian. It makes you sick in the stomach of how much the person you loved once known as Mr. Sunshine went through for all the pure, unadulterated positivity and radiant optimism to be stripped away from him, leaving only hardship, fatigue, and harshness when hearing what he had gone through before and after his death. He didn’t deserve such cruelty, not when he was trying to pull the weight of the effort society refused to put in to make life better when he was a tiny teen.

What you do next is risky. It may cause you to lose everything the two of you once had even. But how could you have him stand in front of the double-oak doors alone with eyes exposing his vulnerable and fragile heart.

The questions he wants to ask, the actions he wants to take, they all are swallowed down when he’s pulled into a hug. It’s then he notices how much smaller you are compared to him. Your arms that once used to completely wrap around his shoulders can barely wrap around his torso. Your frame, frail as you tremble and leave tears on his thin, cotton shirt.

He doesn’t need Dick’s motions or Tim’s mouthing to know what to do. Careful to crush you, he leans into you.

“I’m sorry, I should’ve told you I was back.”

It’s the greatest Christmas gift life has ever given the two of you when you awkwardly nod in response to his words, no intentions of letting him go from fear he’d disappear on you again. And the sentiment is shared when he squeezes you closer to himself, a smile that was lost for a while reappearing and making those around feel the joy of the holiday miracle.

#jason todd #jason todd x reader #red hood #red hood x reader

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drchucktingle · 11 months ago

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Hey Dr. Tingle, I understand where you're coming from, it sucks that people are so irony-poisoned that they don't understand that your work comes from a place of true passion.

But I am wondering - are your book premises meant to be taken entirely seriously? Because I always thought that the titles and images, while not *bad*, where meant to be read with a sort of lighthearted comedy, like the titles you pick and the contrastive style of your art seems like intentionally sort of amusing in tone and rhythm? Is that correct, or completely off base? Because I do feel like that's where people get primed to read more of a joke into some of these things than maybe was intended, and I think that it's true for the people who do take the writing seriously that they find the context a little amusing, also, and I don't know if that's on or off the intended track from your perspective.

Hope that makes sense! I don't want to come across as rude or anything

yes my books premises are meant to be taken entirely seriously.

i would say tinglers fall into genre of magical realism and erotica. i do not think of them as comedy although i understand that many, if not THE VAST MAJORITY of buckaroos see them that way. that said i often lean into comedy or have funny moments throughout, but honestly that is the way of almost ALL stories. funny things happen in every genre, but that does not make all stories comedy.

to my trot, what defines something as COMEDY is intent. the goal of comedy is to make you laugh. my main goal with tinglers in NOT to make you laugh, so i do not consider them comedy.

HOWEVER it is important to keep in mind that i am not the expert on my art just because i made it. if a buckaroo laughs at tinglers they are not wrong. it is just as much their art as it is mine, and my interpretation is not the END ALL BE ALL. just because i made a piece of art does not mean i know it better than you do, or that my opinion on it is more valid.

tinglers can be whatever you want, and i am not hurt or offended if you laugh at them. that difference in perception is whats so beautiful and powerful about art.

i think a good way to look at what i do is this: i am an absurdist PHILOSOPHICALLY, but absurdism is so often associated with comedy that sometimes buckaroos who do not know about the philosophy can think they are the same thing. something being absurd does not automatically mean it is meant to be funny. my art is also joyful, and i think joy and humor can also be confused sometimes.

all that is to say, laugh all you want buckaroo. you prove love is real in your own unique way

#love is real #tingleverse #art #art theory #chuck tingle

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riza-hawks-eye · 3 months ago

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The Royai moments the anime adaptations left out bc they are COWARDS

(I believe in fma manga supremacy)

Riza's Grandpa asks Roy to marry her.

So this one needs outside material to explain, but Arakawa confirmed in the 2nd Guidebook (released only in Japanese and French) that Grumman is Riza's maternal grandfather. Not necessarily a big Royai moment but, still it's interesting how Riza's only known living family ships it, and that Roy doesn't exactly say "no" to his request.

I am forever fascinated as to why any of this exists in the first place, what did you mean by this Arakawa? why have Grumman make this suggestion in the first place? 👀👀👀👀👀👀 What were you suggesting? 👀👀👀👀👀👀👀

Anyway, I wish we had an in-text confirmation of Riza's relation to Grumman and I wish this moment had come back to the story at some point. Even if it was just Riza glaring at Grumman being like "Grandpa why are you trying to marry me off?????"

2. Roy's "Get your hands off my wife!" moment.

He really said, "is he bothering you queen?" I wish we had more protective Roy and frankly, I don't understand how this scene didn't make it to Brotherhood? Riza was getting manhandled by a tin can and clearly not into it. The fact that a tin can serial killer developed a crush on her is concerning to begin with. It just wouldn't be in character for Roy to be cool with this. Roy is also a jealous boyfriend, what can I say?

3. The "I'm glad you're alive" moment.

For some dumb reason, Brotherhood changed this so when Riza apologises for worrying him, he just snaps "save it for the end of the mission!" Like, why Brotherhood? why would Roy ever snap at Riza like that? especially when Riza is generally the one who is laser-focused on the mission. Roy has enough faith in her, he's not going to see this brief apology as her being distracted or less competent. The manga dialogue is also meant to show how Maes's death is still a fresh wound for Roy, so of course he's on edge at the prospect of losing Riza too.

4. He literally asks her out

I feel like both anime adaptations really wanted Roy to be more of a womaniser than he actually is. But this scene lowkey confirms Roy has limited game and he only really wants Riza. It feels like dude jumped at the opportunity to ask Riza out the moment she technically stopped being his subordinate.

5. Roy's codename for Riza actually coming back

Seriously, I love how Arakawa took the time to establish "Elizabeth" as Riza's codename only to use it later to have Madame Christmas suggest that Roy regularly spends time with "Elizabeth" to the point where it's weird that he isn't with her now. And then, when Roy bemoans how "another man took Elizabeth" (an obvious reference to Riza being taken hostage by Bradley) one of Christmas's girls gets excited at the idea she might have a chance with Roy. The suggestion is that Roy isn't normally available on account of his seeing Elizabeth.

It's a strong hint to the idea that Riza and Roy might have *something* going on and are bypassing the fraternization laws through codes. At the very least it suggests that Roy isn't interested in anyone but "Elizabeth". Also look how bummed out he is that his wife is gone. Why did the anime rob us of so much pathetic whipped Roy? WHY?

6. Just a lot more touching in general

There's actually a lot of touching between these two in the manga. It's mostly during the big fights like the Promised Day or the battle with Lust and it really cements them as a true battle couple.

In the case of the Promised day they are literally fighting in each other's arms. Riza is leaning on Roy as she's on the verge of passing out from her wounds, and Roy is clinging onto her now that she has become his eyes. The way they hold each other shows how they are each other's crutch and how one always empowers the other. It also symbolises how inseparable these two are as moments ago Roy was at the Gate and before that Riza was on the brink of death, they could have lost in each other for good but they're still standing strong together in spite of everything.

The post-Lust fight is just a nice moment were Roy clings onto Riza out of sheer relief that she's okay and he hasn't lost another loved one. Even though he's on the verge of passing out from pain and blood loss, he still finds the strength to reach out to her.

Then there's the scene in the tunnels where he lowers her gun for her. The noticeable difference in the manga is that he does this after he takes off his ignition gloves.

The anime forgets to do this. It seems like a minor difference but it's kind of a big point of characterisation. Because we know that Riza has been hurt by flame alchemy, from the process of having the tattoo done to her by a trusted parental figure at a young age, to the trauma of seeing how much damage it did at ishval, to her very literally being burned by the flames so that it won't do anymore damage. Roy is the one who burned her, he's the one who used her secret to do unspeakable damage and suffering, why would he hurt her again by letting her go anywhere near flame alchemy?

My final thoughts: Manga Roy is altogether more dorky and in love with Riza than his anime counterparts and I miss his adorkable self.

I also feel like Arakawa was so good at subtly hinting at how in love these two are and how they basically *do* function like a couple even if they might not be together in the conventional het married with babies way.

#fullmetal alchemist #royai #riza hawkeye #roy mustang #manga #hiromu arakawa #long post #and i mean #long ass post #gushing and ranting #ramblings

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writingwithciara · 2 months ago

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family game night -quinn hughes-

summary: game night at the lake house. what could go wrong?

word count: 2.6k

pairing: quinn hughes x reader

notes: idk

game nights at the hughes' lake house were mandatory for anyone staying there. they were also known for being the most fun anybody in the group ever had.

but with the good times, come the bad ones and the awkward ones. some friendships are seriously tested when game night begins and if one of the boys brings a girlfriend to a game night, the relationship usually doesn't last much longer than the summer.

and that is why a 'no significant others allowed' rule was implemented for the summers. everyone wanted to protect their respective relationship and refused to subject their significant other to the torture that ensued.

hanging in the family room was a scoreboard that kept track of who had won the most games since the family game night started years ago. and luke hughes was tied for first place with his jack's best friend, y/n.

the youngest hughes had dreamt of claiming the crown on his own but that became impossible when he and y/n got paired together the first night. they went on to win every game that night and decided they would always partner together.

jack used to argue with it, claiming that it was against the rules to be with the same partner year after year. but seeing y/n and luke jump for joy whenever they won, meant more to him than he expected so he dropped the argument after the second year.

so when luke was unavailable for the fourth year, y/n turned to her best friend.

"please jack? you're my best friend and i can't win without you."

"don't you mean you can't win without luke?" jack smiled, knowing it would get on her nerves. but that's what they did. they bickered like brother and sister.

"he's the dumbass who went and broke his arm earlier this week so if you won't be my partner, i'm gonna lose my crown."

"well, it's about time, ain't it princess?"

"jack, i'm serious. will you please be my partner?"

"no can do, sweetheart. already promised trevor i'd play with him this year."

"but i thought this year, you were gonna partner with quinn. and if he's not your partner, then that means-"

"that he's a free agent. why don't you ask him to be your partner?"

"we never talk. i highly doubt we'd be on the same wavelength long enough to retain my crown."

"wouldn't hurt to ask. you both need a partner and you're both good at games." jack shoved some chips in his mouth and snatched the remote back that y/n had taken from him when she entered the living room.

"you were no help, jackass." y/n rolled her eyes and went upstairs to find quinn.

that was the year she and quinn won every game, causing her to take the lead over luke in most wins. she was happy with the outcome and had decided to partner with quinn the following year.

but when she arrived at the lake house for the 5th year, she was shocked to find out that quinn had brought his new girlfriend for the few weeks they'd be on vacation. and that meant that she'd be back with luke for game night. but that didn't bother her. she loved playing games with luke but she was under the impression that she and quinn had a surprisingly good amount of chemistry when it came to game night.

when jack arrived at the house, he went to quinn and started restating the rules.

"i thought we had a rule, quinn. no significant others allowed. remember?"

"i remember. but i also made the rule and therefore, am the one who can lift it. plus, our relationship is strong enough to withstand the torture of game night."

"well then if you're allowed to have your girlfriend here, then i'm going to invite mine." jack pulled out his phone and dialed his girlfriends number.

"i am too." luke did the same, leaving y/n to wonder who her new partner would be.

after everyone arrived, it was officially time to start the game night. since all the boys ended up inviting their girlfriends, y/n was forced to partner with brock. she didn't know much about him and he was fairly new to the group so she was worried about losing. but he turned out to be amazing. they ended up winning 2 of the first 3 games, basically securing her spot at the top of the leaderboard. but when quinn and jack got in an argument about whose relationship was stronger, their version of the newlywed game was announced.

"we don't have to play this, right?" y/n asked while looking up at brock.

"we don't have to. but i'm sure there's a way we could kick their asses in this game." brock smiled.

quinn went to go find the game and each couple started their own conversations.

"if we want to win, i need to know everything about you."

y/n and brock began to share as much information with each other as they could before quinn came back with the board and question cards. he quickly explained the rules and the game began.

after 12 rounds, it was shocking how far ahead y/n and brock were. for not being a couple, they somehow knew more about each other than the real couples did.

when y/n answered another question about brock right, quinn threw the cards down.

"you guys are obviously cheating. there's no way that brock could've known that your favorite meal to eat when you're upset is meatballs covered in nacho cheese with a glass of orange juice. or that you had a crush on danny phantom until you were 14. or that when you're sick, you really enjoy cuddles on the couch while watching coraline on repeat." quinn looked from y/n to his girlfriend. both girls were giving him weird looks. "what?"

"you sound jealous, quinny." his girlfriend marissa narrowed her eyes at him.

"i'm not. i just don't like losing this game. our relationship is strong enough that i don't have to prove it with this stupid game." he grabbed his drink and stood up. "come one, babe. let's go."

he and marissa walked outside while the group dispersed into their own little worlds.

"guess that means we win, huh?" brock looked at y/n as he began cleaning up the game.

"yeah. guess so." she smiled and started helping him. "thanks for helping me retain my crown."

"it was a lot of fun. maybe next year, we can be partners again."

"okay. that sounds like a good idea." y/n looked at the back door and saw quinn and marissa arguing. "so, what do you think was going on with quinn earlier?"

"i'm not sure. he's usually competitive but seeing him blow up over a game as meaningless as that one was very odd. but also kind of interesting." brock followed her gaze and only saw quinn standing outside. "i think he has a thing for you."

"no he doesn't. why would you say that?"

"the way he was upset that we were getting so many questions right."

"he would've gotten mad at anyone who was beating him."

"but he and marissa were in 5th place. he could've gotten upset with trevor, luke or cole. he didn't have to be upset with us. but he chose to get mad at you instead. plus, he rattled off those facts about you like they were common knowledge. face it. he pays attention to you, y/n."

"maybe so. but that doesn't necessarily mean he's into me."

"believe what you want." brock chuckled. "but i can tell when he's into someone."

as brock headed up the stairs & to his room, y/n went out to the back porch to talk to quinn.

"hey. you alright?"

"why brock?"

"pardon me?"

"why did you partner up with brock?"

"because all you assholes broke the 'no significant others' rule and invited your girlfriends to our game night. brock and i are the only single people in the group & game night is mandatory. i was not allowed to sit out." y/n looked at him. "although, since one rule was broken tonight, i probably could've said 'fuck it' & went out for a ride on the lake with brock instead."

"okay. that's fair, i guess." quinn sighed. "but how did he know all that stuff about you? you guys have barely ever talked before."

"i don't know. maybe he just knows things about me."

"it sounds a little creepy to me. i'm thinking you should stay away from him."

"why? he's your friend."

"yeah. but still. better safe than sorry."

"okay, you know what? no. you do not get to break a rule & then try to take over my life like this. if i want to hang with brock, i will. because it's my decision. not yours." y/n sat down in her favorite chair. "ugh. why are you being such an asshole today?"

"i'm just looking out for a friend."

"great excuse." y/n shook her head. "stop trying to run my life, quinn. i don't want you in it."

"you don't want me in your life?" he sounded shocked.

"not if you're gonna run it." y/n looked out towards the boat. "you're not gonna stop, are you?"

"no." he sighed. "i'm sorry but i just can't. not when i'm only looking out for you."

"i appreciate it, quinn. but i'm a big girl who can take care of herself. i don't need you doing it for me."

"i'm sorry."

"if you're really sorry, you'll let me have fun the rest of the time i'm here."

"okay. if you want to have fun, whether it be with brock or by yourself, i will try to stay out of your way."

"thanks, quinn." y/n got up and headed back inside. she had one goal in mind and as she ascended the stairs, quinn's words echoed in her mind. she knew getting involved with a hockey player was risky, but she liked brock. he was a good guy.

she knocked on his door lightly and waited for him to open it.

"hey. how'd it go with quinn?" brock smiled when he opened the door.

"he tried to tell me i should stay away from you. we argued for a minute but he apologized and promised to let me have fun the rest of the time i'm here."

"did you guys talk about him having feelings for you?"

"didn't come up, actually. we talked about you and why he got so upset with the game earlier."

"and what did he say to that?"

"he said he was only trying to look out for me and kind of told me i should stay away from you."

"y/n, he's got a thing for you. why else would he be getting so protective and jealous?"

"brock, i really want that to be true. i like him. i really, really do." y/n stepped into his room. "but he's got a girlfriend. one who's actually in his league. marissa is so pretty & i don't know what to do."

"talk to him like he's your best friend. talk to him as if he were jack. be honest with him."

"it's so hard to be honest with quinn. and believe me, i want to tell him how i feel. i just don't think i can anytime soon."

"you're strong and brave. i'm sure you'll figure it out."

"maybe you're right." y/n sat on the edge of the bed. "i originally came up here to tell you how much fun i had playing games with you tonight." she lied.

"i had a lot of fun too." brock smiled. "for the record, it was cute when you got excited every time we'd win."

"oh." y/n blushed. "thanks. i try."

"you and quinn really need to talk."

"yeah yeah. i know." y/n walked over to the door. "see you in the morning." she walked out slowly and stopped in front of quinn's room. "i'm an idiot. he and marissa are probably in there doing god knows what. i can't talk to him now." she sighed and went to turn away. she was only 3 steps down the hall when she heard his door open.

"y/n? what are you doing out here? and who were you just talking to?" quinn asked.

y/n faced him and walked back to him. "we need to talk."

"what is it about now?"

"before i say anything, where's marissa?"

"probably almost home by now." quinn looked at y/n. "she dumped me just after we went outside and right before you came out to talk to me."

"oh. i'm really sorry, quinn. i know you liked her."

"yeah. i think that was the problem. i liked her, but i wasn't in love with her." he smiled slightly, his gaze never leaving the ground. "kind of hard to find someone else to love these days."

"have you been in love before?"

"um, once. when i was 17." he took the opportunity to look to at her. "i didn't know it at the time though. and just when i finally figured it out, she ended up in a serious relationship."

"oh. that sucks. sorry to hear that. what's she like?"

"she is the most kind and gentle person i have ever met. she puts up with someone as crazy as my brother and she seems to truly love him. don't know if it's platonically or otherwise, but there's definitely love there."

"have you ever told her how you felt?" y/n looked at him. "what if there was a chance she felt the same way?"

"i don't see how she would. i haven't been the nicest to her lately. yet, she's still sticking around."

"does this girl happen to be best friends with jack? and is she at the house right now?"

"yeah. she is." he looked at her. "i'm sorry, y/n. i know that you figured it out. and i really am sorry. perhaps i should've told you back when i was 17."

"so, brock was right? you do have feelings for me?"

"yes. but i'm an idiot and i already know you don't have feelings for me. so, as promise, i'm going to stay out of your way while you have fun this summer. i'm sure brock could help you with that."

"i don't want to have fun with brock. i want to have fun with you, quinn."

"with me? why?"

"because....i love you too, dumbass. how can you not understand that?"

"because, as you so affectionately put it, i'm a dumbass."

"clearly." y/n smiled widely when quinn grabbed her hand. "so, are you gonna kiss me or what?"

without another exchange, quinn pressed his lips to y/n's. no hesitation and all the passion one person could give in one simple kiss.

neither of them heard the door open down the hall. but when they heard brock chuckle, they knew they had to pullaway from each other.

"about time. seriosuly, dude. how could you not know y/n was in love with you too?"

"because he's a dumbass." y/n smiled.

"yeah. but i'm your dumbass now, right?"

"absolutely. and it's going to stay that way, right?"

"oh, you bet it will." he kissed her nose, making her giggle.

"you guys are so perfect for each other, i swear." brock shook his head with a chuckle before retreating back to his room.

"so, you and me, huh? i really like the sound of that." quinn smiled. and intertwined his hand with hers.

"yeah, me too." y/n stood in the hallway admiring quinn like he was going to disappear any second.

they were oblivious to the world going on around them. but they didn't care one bit. they were finally together and that's all that mattered to either of them.

#nhl #jack hughes #quinn hughes x reader #quinn hughes #quinn hughes imagine #qh43 #vancouver canucks #vancouver canucks imagines #hockey imagines

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pucksandpower · 11 months ago

Text

Burn for You

Max Verstappen x Perez!Reader

Summary: you promised your brother to save yourself for marriage, but Max shows you that some promises are meant to be broken (and some rings are meant to be taken off)

Warnings: 18+ content and purity culture

You’re lying in bed, propped up against the headboard, waiting for Max to join you. He comes into the bedroom fresh from his shower, hair still damp.

“Hey, liefje,” he says, leaning down to give you a quick kiss.

You smile up at him. “Hey, yourself.”

He settles onto the bed next to you, and you automatically shift closer, resting your head on his shoulder. His arm comes up around you. You let out a contented sigh, perfectly comfortable in his embrace.

You’ve been dating Max for over a year now, ever since you met when you decided to travel with your brother for a season. You clicked immediately and have been inseparable ever since.

Moving in together was the obvious next step in your relationship. Waking up next to Max every morning … falling asleep wrapped up in his arms each night — you couldn’t imagine anything better.

Your left hand rests on his chest, your purity ring glinting in the low light. You’ve worn that ring since your brother gave it to you when you turned sixteen, a symbol of your commitment to stay pure until marriage. Max knows how much it means to you.

His hand covers yours, thumb gently stroking over the ring. “Have I told you how beautiful you look today?”

You laugh softly. “Only about ten times.”

“Well, you do. As always.”

You lift your head to smile at him. “You charmer.”

He grins and leans in for a lingering kiss. When you pull back, breathless, his eyes are dark.

“I love you,” he says seriously. “So much.”

Your heart melts as it always does when he says those words. “I love you too.”

You share another long, slow kiss. His hand tightens on yours, the ring pressing into your skin.

When the kiss ends, he brings your hand to his mouth, pressing his lips to your fingers, right over the ring. Your breath hitches at the sensation.

“Someday I’m going to put a different ring here,” he murmurs.

You swallow hard, emotion welling up. “Yeah?”

He meets your eyes. “If you’ll have me.”

“Of course I will.” You surge forward to capture his mouth again, trying to pour all your love into the kiss.

After long, blissful moments, you reluctantly pull back, heart pounding. Max’s eyes are dark with desire, his breathing uneven like yours.

He strokes his thumb over your ring again. “This looks beautiful on you. But ...”

“But what?” You ask breathlessly.

“I can’t wait to take it off someday. To replace it with a ring that shows you’re mine.”

A shiver goes through you at his possessive words. You press closer against him. “I am yours, Max. No matter what ring I’m wearing.”

He smiles, pleased. “I know.”

You snuggle into him again, but this time his hands begin to wander — down your back, over your hips, teasing at the hem of your shirt.

You catch his wandering hands in yours, stilling them. “Max ...”

He kisses your forehead. “Shh, just trust me.”

You hesitate only a moment before nodding. You do trust him, with everything in you.

He begins again, hands roaming over you unhurriedly. You sigh into his touches, your eyes falling closed. His hands are warm and sure as they learn your body, tracing every curve through your clothes.

When his fingers slip just under the hem of your shirt to brush your bare skin, you gasp.

“Is this okay?” He asks softly.

“Yes,” you breathe. You’ve never let anyone touch you like this before, but you want Max to.

Only Max.

He kisses you languidly as his hands continue their exploration. You lose yourself in the feel of him surrounding you, his lips on yours, his hands branding your skin.

Slowly, teasingly, those hands make their way higher, thumbs just grazing the underside of your breasts. You shiver at the contact.

“Max,” you gasp against his mouth.

He pulls back to look at you, eyes questioning. “Too much?”

You shake your head, lacking words. You arch into him again, wanting more.

Needing no further encouragement, his hands close over your breasts, massaging gently through your shirt. You let out a low moan at the sensations rushing through you.

“You’re so beautiful,” Max murmurs. “I want to see all of you. Can I?”

Heart pounding, you nod. Together you remove your shirt, leaving you bare before him from the waist up.

His heated gaze travels over you. “Stunning,” he breathes.

Then his hands and mouth are on you again, worshipping every newly exposed inch of skin. You clutch at him desperately, gasping his name.

When his mouth closes over one taut nipple, you cry out, fingers fisting in his hair. He lavishes attention on your breasts until you are shaking with need.

“Max, please,” you beg urgently.

He lifts his head to see your pleading eyes, your kiss-swollen lips. Groaning, he captures your mouth again in a searing kiss.

As his tongue dances with yours, his fingers trail down your body to dip just below the waistband of your pajamas.

You still, breaking the kiss to meet his gaze. The unspoken question hangs in the air between you.

Slowly, you nod.

Reverently he peels your pajamas and underwear down your legs, his hungry eyes drinking you in.

“So perfect,” he tells you huskily.

He begins to touch you in your most intimate places, watching your reactions closely to learn what you like. Soon you are gasping and writhing beneath his attentions, shocked by the pleasure bursting through you.

“That’s it, schatje,” he encourages. “Let go for me.”

You climax with a sharp cry, your body shuddering through wave after wave of new sensations. Max holds you close, whispering words of praise and adoration until you come back down.

When you return to yourself, it is to the feeling of Max tenderly stroking your hair. You smile up at him languidly.

“Wow,” you breathe.

He grins and kisses you sweetly. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

You laugh softly. “It definitely was one.” Sobering, you trace his beloved face with wondering fingers. “I can’t believe we just did that. I never dreamed I would go that far before marriage.”

Max’s expression turns solemn. “I know how much your vow means to you. We don’t have to go any further tonight if you don’t want to.”

You consider his words. It’s true that you always intended to save the ultimate intimacy for your wedding night. But what you just shared with Max was incredible beyond your wildest imaginings. And you know without doubt that he is your future.

Meeting his gaze, you take his hand and guide it purposefully between your legs in answer.

Max’s eyes flare hotly. “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure,” you tell him. “I want you to be my first. My only.”

Needing no further convincing, Max sheds his remaining clothes and comes back to you. He enters you slowly, carefully, murmuring encouragement and praise until he fills you completely.

You cling to each other, overwhelmed by the intimacy of this moment. Then he begins to move. The feelings are even more intense this time, building higher and higher.

“Max!” You cry out as you shatter again, your inner muscles pulsing around him. He follows you over with a guttural groan, spilling himself deep inside you.

Afterward you lie tangled together, replete. Max presses tender kisses across your face. “I love you so much. Thank you for giving me such an incredible gift.”

You cup his cheek. “It was as special for me as it was for you. I love you, Max. I can’t wait to be your wife.”

He grasps your left hand, kissing your ringed finger. “Neither can I. But for now, this is enough. You are enough. I’m the luckiest man in the world.”

You curl up to Max, settling in against him as your breath evens out. Max smiles as he watches you fall asleep, waiting a bit longer until he’s sure you’ve fully arrived at dreamland.

Then he carefully slips the ring off your finger and struggles a bit at the awkward angle as he leans to open his nightstand drawer, fishing out a small jewelry box. He carefully opens it, his eyes on you as he hears the little click. You don’t stir, and Max breathes out.

He picks up a fine silver chain, slipping the ring onto the necklace. It’s his to wear now.

***

You take a deep breath as you walk into the paddock, Max’s hand clasped firmly in yours. This will be the first time facing your brother since Max claimed your purity for himself. The cool metal of the ring rests against Max’s chest now, physical proof of your commitment to him.

You know Checo will not take it well.

Max gives your hand a reassuring squeeze. “It’ll be okay, liefje. Your brother loves you. He’ll come around eventually.”

You nod, hoping he’s right. Ever since you left home to travel around the world with him, Checo has been ultra protective of you. The ring was meant to symbolize your promise to save yourself for marriage. Max delighted in taking it from you, marking you as his. Now Checo will see that claim publicly displayed for all to see.

Speak of the devil — Checo emerges from the Red Bull motorhome, his race engineer by his side. His eyes fall on your joined hands first, before traveling up to see Max’s face. Max meets his gaze steadily, chin lifted in challenge.

Sergio’s eyes narrow, darting down to glimpse the unmistakable silver band resting against Max’s team polo. “What the hell is that?” He snarls.

“I think you know exactly what this is,” Max replies calmly. He turns your clasped hands to prominently display your bare finger. “Your sister gave me a gift last night.”

Your cheeks flame but you remain silent, letting Max take the lead. Your brother’s face turns an alarming shade of red. “You bastard,” he spits at Max. “How dare you-”

Max cuts him off. “What I dare is between your sister and myself. But know this-” his voice drops dangerously low. “She is mine now.”

The paddock falls silent, all eyes turning towards the tense standoff. Checo trembles with rage, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. “I’ll kill you for this,” he hisses.

Max steps forward until they’re nearly nose to nose. “I’d like to see you try,” he sneers.

Your breath catches. You’ve never seen Max like this before, feral and dominant. He looks every inch the alpha male, poised to rip Sergio’s throat out.

Checo makes the mistake of shoving Max’s chest … hard. Before you can blink, Max has your brother against the wall, arm twisted brutally behind his back. Checo cries out in pain.

“Don’t test me again,” Max growls in his ear. “She is mine. It’s for the best that you learn to accept that.”

He releases Checo and steps back, the picture of unruffled calm once more. Checo staggers to his feet, cradling his arm. The paddock is so quiet you can hear a pin drop.

Checo’s humiliation wars with his anger. Finally he whirls on you. “How could you do this?” He demands. “After everything we’ve been through together? You gave yourself to this-” he breaks off, voice shaking with emotion.

Your own eyes fill with tears. “Checo, please try to understand,” you plead softly. “I love him. What we have is real.”

“But your promise-”

“I made a new promise last night,” you say. You look at Max, love shining from your eyes. His own gaze softens as it meets yours.

Checo makes a low, wounded sound. “You’re my hermanita. I’m supposed to protect you.”

You go to him then, taking his hands in yours. “You’ll always be my big brother. But it’s time for me to live my own life. Max is who I choose.” You squeeze his hands. “Can you try to accept that?”

Sergio searches your face for a long moment before pulling you into a tight embrace. “I just want you to be happy,” he whispers brokenly.

You cling to him, tears falling down your cheeks. “I am happy,” you assure him. “Happier than I’ve ever been.”

Sergio pulls back, wiping his own eyes. He turns to Max with a shaky sigh. “Take care of her,” he says gruffly. “Or I really will kill you.”

One corner of Max’s mouth quirks up. “Noted.”

Sergio nods once more at Max before turning away, shoulders slumped in defeat.

Max opens his arms and you fly into them, burying your face in his chest. His lips find the top of your hair in a tender kiss. “Let’s get out of here,” he murmurs. You go lax, melting against him, completely emotionally spent.

He keeps his arm locked around you as you make your way out of the paddock, the crowds parting silently before you as the ring gleams brightly against his chest.

It’s his now. You’re his now.

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threeacttragedy · 22 days ago

Text

Entry 13: The One Where the Ashes Blew Towards Us with the Salt Wind from the Sea

“Last night I dreamt I went to Manderley again.”

Ah, yes, that ominous opening line from Daphne du Maurier’s novel, “Rebecca.” Have you ever read it? It’s an old book – from 1938, in fact! – but it’s truly a remarkable story, especially for its time. It’s not often you find yourself rooting for the murderer.

Lately, I have found myself becoming more and more frustrated with the fandom. And, no, my annoyance is not from the Sincerely Ignorant teetering on and off the boat every time someone takes a dump on the deck of the USS Lukola – I’m pretty fucking used to that shit – and, honestly, many of our dear Sincerely Ignorant seem to be gaining their sea legs. It’s the Conscientiously Stupid that have struck a chord with me – a disturbing, dissonant chord that leaves me questioning the average level of human intelligence.

My issue with the Conscientiously Stupid is that they push narratives that, when taken collectively, make no goddamn sense. Thanks to The-One-That-Lurks-in-a-Play-Misty-For-Me-Heaping-Pile-of-Discordant-Garbage, I have had the [dis]pleasure of learning about Nicola- and Luke-Adjacent theories. Did you know that the small scrap of green blanket Nicola was sitting on in her August 11 “Drink Your Milk” picture proved that the picture was meant for Jake? You know the guy that, at that point in Fandom History, most people had no clue even existed? I mean, that makes a lot more sense than linking the “Drink Your Milk” shirt Nicola was showcasing to the one Luke was seen wearing on June 22. Now, I’m not saying the shirt belonged to Luke, but if we’re comparing apples to apples, which one of these theories seems more plausible to you?

At this point, you have probably started to realize I enjoy weaving in and out of storytelling mode, mixing fact with theory and speculation. Today, I decided to take a classic novel – surely you didn’t think I made that reference to “Rebecca” for nothing – and loosely intertwine it with some Conscientiously Stupid adjacent theories. This is all in good fun and, like usual, mostly for my own dark humor.

I should probably begin by introducing our book characters. Honestly, you can probably guess which of our shipmates I have assigned to each role fairly quickly.

First, we have our Unnamed Narrator. Seriously, her first name is never revealed.

Second, we have Mrs. Danvers, the obsessive, borderline psychotic housekeeper.

Third, we have Maxim de Winter, our Narrator’s husband.

Fourth, we have Jack Favell, the dodgy and unlikeable cousin.

Lastly, we have our titular character, that darling creature Rebecca.

Now, let’s see who is on the playbill.

ANTONIA AS MRS. DANVERS

It pained me just a little to give the role of Mrs. Danvers to Antonia, primarily because Mrs. Danvers is such a complex character and I’ve always found Antonia to be rather simple. And, no, I’m not insinuating Antonia is simple-minded; I am saying it was never difficult to see through her bullshit (i.e., the phrase, “patterns are patterning,” didn’t come out of thin air). It helped that Mrs. Danvers is one of the main antagonists in the book and almost certainly the GOAT at trolling the heroine of “Rebecca.” I mean, the second Mrs. de Winter didn’t stand a chance with Danny lurking in the background.

The general narrative in Lukola Lore is that Antonia is an online troll. I’ve never been sure as to who her primary target was – Nicola or the Lukola fandom. I tend to believe it originated as Nicola and the Lukola fandom was simply collateral damage. I also cannot say for fact that Antonia was trolling anyone, but I can confirm that the general belief within the fandom that Antonia was trolling is well-documented on social media. For today’s story, we are going to assume the narrative that Antonia was trolling both Nicola and the Lukola fandom. We are also going to assume the USS Lutonia (because I have no fucking clue what the Luke-Antonia ship is called!) was real. Don’t get your feathers fluffed over this. This belief does exist – and it’s why Antonia has been able to fuck with the Lukolas as long as she has – but I promise I have every intention of peppering the side of this ship with holes.

Okay, let’s tow the USS Lutonia out to sea. Don’t forget your Dramamine!

We are living under the umbrella that Luke and Antonia were dating during the World Tour. Poor Antonia was forced into hiding by – who the fuck knows but let’s keep rolling with this narrative – and she wasn’t allowed to be openly seen with Luke or post anything on her social media with Luke. And, Luke mirrored this behavior and made an effort to keep Antonia out of the spotlight (in fact, at the New York City premiere, the average viewer wouldn’t have known Antonia was anything more than Luke’s “friend of a friend”). Antonia, annoyed with this lack of engagement (and, almost certainly fed up with, at a minimum, fans shipping Luke with Nicola), started the pattern of posting pictures of herself and tagging her location as places the fandom knew Luke had recently been. Luke, for his part, made no effort to acknowledge his relationship with Antonia. Instead, he continued his flirtatious relationship with Nicola. After the London premiere, the Lukolas put a target smack dab in the middle of Antonia’s back and blamed her for setting up Papsmear for her own benefit. Luke still made no effort to acknowledge his relationship with Antonia or protect her from the abundance of online hate she received. In fact, he posted his “I will not let [Cressida] ruin our night” story to Instagram instead (see my “Entry 1 – The One About That Weird Ass Cressida Post” if you’re confused by this comment). During post-Papsmear events, Luke did not list her as a plus one and he didn’t like any pictures of Antonia that were not on her grid. In fact, the only evidence directly linking Luke to Antonia were leaked and/or since-deleted pictures and videos not released by Luke. Throughout the summer, Antonia continued her efforts to place herself in proximity to Luke via tagged or easily recognizable locations. Oddly, many of Antonia’s posts seemed to occur shortly after Nicola posted or before/after DeuxMoi posted pap pictures, which gave birth to the “Antonia is trolling” subplot. Still, Luke made no effort to acknowledge his relationship with Antonia. On July 30, Luke was papped with Antonia and his friend group in Sorrento (see my “Entry 11 – The One About the Heart of the Ocean” if you want my opinion about that excursion). This was the last time Luke and Antonia were publicly photographed together. Once Luke returned to London on August 2, Antonia continued her campaign of insinuating she was in the same location as Luke, with the most recent being the Italian restaurant in Rome (which the restauranteur debunked, in my opinion). Again, Luke and Antonia have not been photographed together since July 30. To date, Luke has made no effort to acknowledge his relationship with Antonia, and the only visible interaction by Luke are his likes on Antonia’s semi-monthly Instagram grid posts, which seem obligatory at this point. For the month of November, there was no interaction between Luke and Antonia because Antonia did not post to her grid (gasp!).

Now, for all the Lutonia’s out there, explain to me why this kind of relationship is acceptable to you. Seriously, explain it to me.

Convince me that Luke didn’t shutter Antonia from the moment the USS Lukola schematics were presented to the engineers.

Convince me that Antonia is the kind of woman who would happily accept Luke’s blatant dismissal of her existence while he globe-trotted around the world with a woman he was being openly shipped with by fans, the press, and Bridgerton mates.

Convince me that Luke’s behavior towards Antonia doesn’t make him the worst boyfriend on the planet.

Convince me that Antonia’s online behavior towards Nicola and the Lukola fandom during and after the World Tour doesn’t make her a troll.

Convince me that Luke and Antonia are the definition of “true love.” Actually, before you do that, convince me that Luke and Antonia are currently dating.

Or, maybe you’ve realized that any effort to try to convince me would be a waste of your time because you, too, are starting to find this entire narrative unacceptable. It equates Antonia to someone who doesn’t mind being boxed into a corner and forced to claw her way out, and it likens Luke to an overbearing womanizer who doesn’t give two flips about how online hate may be affecting his partner. I mean, we may as well dump these two into an entirely different book called “The Handmaid’s Tale.”

I didn’t assign the role of Mrs. Danvers to Antonia because I thought Antonia was a feeble coward without her own voice. And, no, I didn’t give her the role because Mrs. Danvers is an obsessive psychopath. I gave Antonia the role of Mrs. Danvers because the fandom handed her the power to influence this narrative on a silver platter, just like the Narrator in “Rebecca” allowed herself to be manipulated by Mrs. Danvers. Moving forward, when you see Antonia with a lit match, all you need to do is lean over and blow it out. Poof! And, she’s gone. Seriously, if you see our version of Mrs. Danvers with anything that might light a fire, take it away from her!

Surely someone out there gets my joke…

LUKE AS MAXIM DE WINTER

Of course, Luke is Maxim de Winter, the outwardly charismatic, but recently widowed anti-hero who caught the affection of our Unnamed Narrator. I mean, he’s a good guy, right? Uhh, yeah, sure… Who doesn’t want to be married to a brooding chauvinist who is outwardly obsessed with the titular character? Wait a minute, that doesn’t sound like Luke at all! Oh, no, actually it does – if you believe the USS Lutonia is real!

For Luke, we are going to assume the same narrative as above – that the USS Lutonia is real, that Antonia trolled Nicola and the Lukola fandom, and that Luke refused to acknowledge his relationship with Antonia. Besides the obvious “Luke is the shittiest fucking boyfriend in the universe,” I have a few other gripes with the USS Lutonia.

Initially, I understood the concept of “keeping Antonia in the dark,” after all I try to be logical when I process information. It was always possible Luke and Nicola were rocking some great PR in the beginning of the World Tour, and that was the only thing they were rocking. In fact, that’s what I initially believed Nicola was doing – being cute but also professional in her interactions with Luke during those early press junkets. Luke, on the other hand, always seemed to wear his heart on his sleeve. Once they hit Australia, it seemed obvious to me that something had changed (go back and read my “Entry 12 – The One Where We Start Laying the Yellow Brick Road to Italy” for a briefing on this). The more I watched Luke and Nicola interact on the World Tour, the more I became convinced Antonia must have been a thing of the past (or possibly nothing) for Luke – until Antonia showed up at Papsmear. At that point, I fully expected Luke to just own up to her. Like, give up on trying to hide Antonia from public view. But, then he pulled that goddamn “Cressida” post (seriously, if you have not read my first entry to this blog, go back and read it!). When you look at the World Tour and subsequent Hot Boy Summer, and the behaviors that were – and were not – on display during that timeframe, you start to develop a completely different view of the USS Lutonia. I mean, I’m not even sure that ship ever left the planning room!

One of the most glaring cosmetic flaws with the USS Lutonia is why “nice guy” Luke would treat Antonia with such indifference if he loved her. When asked who was most like their Bridgerton character, everyone always answered Luke. That he was the kindest, most genuine person. If that’s true, then why did Luke treat his “girlfriend,” Antonia, like she didn’t exist? Again, convince me that Luke’s Public Display of Apathy towards Antonia made him a great boyfriend. Even if Luke was a private person, one would think that after someone he cared about received as much hate as Antonia did after Papsmear, he would have stepped up and taken control of the narrative. He didn’t hesitate to clear up the “cake eating” picture from his September 7 Instagram post (about Nicola), and that “Cressida” post will live rent-free in my mind forever. The only “logical” explanation I can come up with for “nice guy” Luke to shutter Antonia right from the jump is that Antonia is not, and was not, a significant person in his life. That, or he really is a shithead, and he has a team of people lying about what a great guy he is.

We also need to consider Nicola’s interactions with Antonia. First, Nicola has never followed Antonia and Antonia has never followed Nicola, at least not on her public account. But, Nicola followed – and still follows – Luke’s ex, Jade. Now, typically, I’d just be like, “Meh,” on something like this. But, after Papsmear, Nicola could have very easily played the “Diplomat Barbie” and given Antonia a follow on Instagram. But, she didn’t, which signals to me that Nicola wasn’t touching Antonia with an invisible 10-foot pole. Second, if you watch the back-and-forth between Nicola and Antonia on social media – in black and white, pen on paper – you’ll see Nicola playing the cat-and-mouse game right along with Antonia (Nicola just played it a helluva lot better). It even appears Nicola sicced her – what my father calls JVN – “assassin” on Antonia starting around July 20 or, at the very least, she condoned JVN teasing Antonia. If everything was great between Luke and Antonia – and Luke was genuinely happy with Antonia – why would Luke put up with the back-and-forth on social media between Antonia, Nicola, and JVN? Oh, that’s right, because Luke is the corrupt captain of the USS Lutonia. Seriously, if all was well between Luke and Antonia at this point in the timeline, then you’d have to surmise that all was not well between Luke and Nicola. We will get to that in a moment. Right now, aboard the USS Lutonia, Luke is just a lousy boyfriend.

Lastly – and what has always left me scratching my head – why would Luke allow Antonia to troll his fandom? Why allow Antonia to make insinuations online that they’re together but never come to her rescue when the fandom starts flinging shit at her? In my opinion, the InStyle copycat pictures (go read my last blog entry…) were just Antonia getting her feet wet. Why continue to put up with Antonia after allegations began flying that she arranged Papsmear and the Italy pap pictures? I suppose the answer most Lutonias would give is, “Because they’re in love.” With everything I have outlined in this entry, do you honestly get the “in love” vibe from those two? Because I don’t.

Now, why did I draw parallels between Luke and the book character, Maxim? It’s not because I believe Luke to be a male chauvinist so wrapped up in his own drama that he ignores those around him. The USS Lutonia will definitely paint that impression, though! It’s because Maxim’s demeanor was superficial. What the Unnamed Narrator believed was true about her husband was not actually true. And, that’s how I view the USS Lutonia – Luke’s behavior and the narrative surrounding this ship does not match the logic.

JAKE AS JACK FAVELL

Sorry, Jake, you get to be the icky Jack Favell. Yeah, that manipulative, blackmailing creep sleeping with his own cousin! But, hey, that subplot isn’t any more disturbing than Jake being shipped with Nicola, is it?

Alright, let’s jump on board the USS Jakola but not before I preface this section with my father’s flabbergasted words: “This ship is on the bottom of the ocean. These people must have oxygen masks. They’re down there with Jules Verne. This just doesn’t make sense.” No, it really doesn’t make sense but, because I’m here to tell a story, I will begrudgingly dive into the USS Jakola narrative. And, by “dive,” I mean plunge to the bottom of the ocean because that’s where this ship rests.

Just like we did with the USS Lutonia, we are going to assume the USS Jakola is real. The Jakolas believe that Nicola has been seeing Jake since, I guess, the Renegade Nell premiere on or about March 26, 2024. Although, the last I checked Eamon Farren was also at that premiere holding an umbrella for Nicola. I am not confirming Nicola was ever dating Eamon; I am simply saying he was present at the event and holding a fucking umbrella for her. You can make up your own mind about Eamon’s role in Nicola’s life. Regardless, it must have been an instant connection between Nicola and Jake because, if the Jakola narrative is to be believed, they began secretly dating after that. The Jakolas will argue that all the songs Nicola posted to her Instagram stories were for Jake. The Claddagh ring has no traditional meaning when Nicola wears it, and Chaos Week was also for Jake (and a “fuck you” to Luke). The Lukola-coded fan fiction was a “fuck you” to the Lukola fandom (see my “Entry 10 – The One About the Audibly Loud Lukola FanFic”). And, Jake and Nicola are in love and have hard launched their relationship because (a) Jake has been seen wearing Nicola’s bucket hat, (b) they have been seen in public together, and (c) they occasionally hold hands.

I’m not going to lie – for the longest time I didn’t pay any attention to the USS Jakola because it was such an incredibly absurd concept to me. A few weeks back, I posted to my Tumblr account a music video that Jake had done in early 2023. The song is called “Mixed Emotions” by You Me at Six, and the article that came out with the video on February 7th, 2023 stated, “With Jake Dunn who played the protagonist in the video who is actually a friend of mine, we actually spoke a lot about toxic masculinity and his experiences within his sexuality and the impacts it has had on his relationship with his dad.” It honestly never occurred to me the USS Jakola actually had passengers on board until October when the Jakholes went bananas over Nicola holding Jake’s hand. In my opinion – and you do not have to agree with me – the music video speaks for itself as does Jake’s social media presence, whether it be on his own pages or on those of his friend group. I’m sure I’ll get some Jakholes in here crying that we shouldn’t speculate on Jake’s sexuality, but the reality is the only people speculating on Jake’s sexuality are the Jakolas trying to discern whether he’s heterosexual. But, why doesn’t he just come out and say it? I get this question all the time. The answer is quite simple – he doesn’t need to. Jake never buried this part of his life; it’s other people burying it for him. Do you need to blast your sexual preferences out into the universe? I didn’t think so.

For shits and giggles – because that’s what I’m here for – let’s keep going with the story that Nicola and Jake are hot and heavy with each other. I’ll play center field and say Jake is a switch hitter. Happy now? If Jakola is real, then why would Nicola lay all those Lukola-coded breadcrumbs? And, NO, I am not explaining every crumb she’s dumped online. This post is already too damn long. But, Dear Jakolas, don’t tell me those coordinated airplane pictures didn’t have you crying into your pillows. Seriously, though, why would Nicola fuck with the Lukola fandom? I’ve mentioned in previous posts that Polin and Lukola have even been blurred by Netflix & Co. at this point. What would be the point of dragging the Lukolas along only to find out it was Nicola just fucking around? That makes about as much sense as “nice guy” Luke being the shittiest boyfriend on the planet. Again, the narrative does not fit the logic – although you’re welcome to try to convince me that Jakola is real.

For starters, convince me as to why Nicola is Jake’s “type” and not Luke’s. I am not being factitious. I seriously want to know why she’s acceptable for Jake but not Luke. And, if you’re going to tell me it’s because Luke likes brunettes, you better bring me some evidence that Jake likes blonde women.

Convince me that the Claddagh ring has no traditional significance to Nicola and that Jake would be okay with Nicola wearing that Claddagh ring – the one she had made in honor of Bridgerton Season 3, the season she shared with the man that fills her Instagram grid and tags and is the other half of Lukola. If you’re stuck on the significance of this ring, go read “Entry 6 – The One Where I Explained the Claddagh Ring to My Dad.”

Convince me that Nicola and Jake are a couple. And, if you’re going to mention handholding, then convince me that Nicola is not in a relationship with Mark, JVN, Jack R., Golda, Hannah D., Dylan L., or Luke. Oh, and is it true Jake is now dating Ellie Bamber? Convince me he’s not…

Any ways, good luck, babe, trying to sway me into believing Jakola is the real deal because I have a feeling your efforts are going to make your face become as flushed as Jack Favell’s when he was caught with his hand in the till.

NICOLA AS REBECCA

Surely you didn’t think Nicola was going to be the heroine of this story! If you believe the USS Lutonia and USS Jakola are smoothly sailing across the ocean blue, then the only role Nicola could reasonably play is that of the story’s villain – Rebecca. Yes, Rebecca was a bad, bad girl. She was manipulative and intentionally cruel; a Bitch with a capital “B.” She haunted poor Maxim and controlled Mrs. Danvers and Jack like a master puppeteer. She also tortured the Unnamed Narrator from her watery grave.

Seriously, though, let’s turn the tables. Let’s pretend Lutonia and Jakola are real. Starting, say, April 29, Nicola started trolling Antonia by dropping Luke-coded material online and really started ramping up those doe-eyed looks in Luke’s direction. Remember all that cute BTS? Perfectly timed to make it look like Antonia was trolling her when in reality Nicola was trolling Antonia! Unbeknownst to Luke, Nicola commissioned that Claddagh ring and started wearing it to make it look like she was in a relationship with Luke. She even organized a side jaunt over to Galway to introduce Luke to – surprise! – her mother! But, after being rejected by Luke – because he really is in love with Antonia (the USS Lutonia is blasting its horn right about now) – Nicola – YES, Nicola! – set up Papsmear to ruin Luke. I mean, if he wasn’t going to be her boyfriend, he sure as shit wasn’t going to be anyone else’s! All summer Nicola waited for Luke, but he’d gone into hiding, scared to surface because Nicola might find him! After growing tired of waiting for Luke, Nicola got her assassin, JVN, to start trolling Antonia online, that way Nicola could put all her efforts into finding and trolling Luke. She set up Chaos Week. She trolled him on the airplane. But, she needed help (after all she had so many other events and awards shows this summer) so she enlisted her unwitting accomplice, Jake! Jake helped her set up that Lukola FanFic to remind Luke of what could have been. But, nothing was working so Nicola upped the ante and volunteered Jake to be her confused boyfriend. “Luke…Luke…” I can still hear her desperate cries being carried like ashes in the wind…

SEE! I can do it, too – make up total bullshit to fit whatever narrative I please!!!

Yeah, yeah, maybe I went a bit too far (I warned you I had a dark sense of humor) but, honestly, I believe the only way the USS Lutonia and USS Jakola could stay afloat is if Nicola is the villain. She doesn’t even have to be a super villain. She just needs to be disingenuous enough to alienate Luke, terrorize Antonia, manipulate Jake, and mislead an entire fandom. Lucky for her, I don’t believe Nicola to be a real-life Rebecca. If you need an explanation as to why, then you didn't watch the same World Tour as me and you’re clearly on the wrong side of the fandom.

In truth, I believe the real villain to be…

YOU AS THE UNNAMED NARRATOR

Now, now, calm down. I’m not calling you out – at least not individually. I’m calling all of us out.

We as a fandom are the Unnamed Narrators of Lukola, Jakola, and Lutonia. We built these ships, and we control whether they stay afloat.

We took the narrative out of Luke and Nicola’s hands the moment we launched the USS Lutonia. Then we had to go and build the USS Jakola – I guess, because we were bored. No matter how hard Luke and Nicola try to pull the narrative back under their control, we allow side characters to feed us their side of the story! We fill our bellies with their nonsense and then vomit it all over the deck of the USS Lukola.

Seriously, we are the villains in this story. And, collectively, we are one bloody powerful super villain, aren’t we?

We control the narrative. So, if there’s a narrative you don’t agree with – for example, one that doesn’t make sense to you – stop being Conscientiously Stupid and feeding into it.

Remember what I said earlier? If you see Mrs. Danvers with a lit match, blow that fucker out! Otherwise, you’re going to let that bitch burn down the whole goddamn house.

#lukola #luke newton #nicola coughlan #my thoughts #my opinion #speculation only #my mood

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rapturously · 1 year ago

Text

kickstart my heart.

REQUEST SUBMITTED BY @darklylucid

“Paul’s always been flirty, and you’ve never really taken it seriously. After a minor incident on the boardwalk, Paul decides that he’ll make you take him seriously, one way or another.”

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆. | paul (the lost boys) x fem!reader.

𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐌𝐀𝐓. | one-shot — requested.

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓. | 6.8K.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒. | SMUT (mdni), friends to lovers, jealous!paul, paul is really flirty/touchy, oral sex (f!receiving), spit as lube, choking (m!receiving), hair-pulling, paul is definitely a mess, dirty talk, pet names (baby, girl, sweet girl), cowgirl, vaginal sex, scratching, biting, bloodplay (he’s a vampire), breastplay (paul loves your tits), fingering, clothes ripping, groping, nasty sex, manhandling, paul isn’t gentle

𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑’𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄. | i’m back and literally going insane for the lost boys ,,, thank you to @darklylucid for requesting this !!! first time writing Paul and it was so, so much fun! dwayne is up next, so prepare yourselves for that! also working on a poly!lost boys x reader series ,,, so yeah!

A cloudless dusk fell over Santa Carla, sky littered with millions of stars that hung above, providing a rather attractive backdrop to a less-than-savory town. The boardwalk was more alive than ever — it transformed with nightfall, becoming a den of depravity and mystique, coupled with the liveliness of families and the carnival atmosphere.

You were situated atop a blanket, feet partially buried within the cool sand as you sat on the beach. A concert took place many feet away as you watched people clamor from the staircase to the growing crowd. The rancor of music reverberated throughout the air, accompanied by the cheering and applause from onlookers.

Saltwater lapped at the gray shoreline, moon hanging overhead to light the way. You always came to the boardwalk at night — you made plenty of friends, but you happened to have a peculiar bond with a pack of vampires. It wasn’t intentional — you never meant to befriend them like you had, but you didn’t regret a thing.

The familiar roar of motorbikes resonated in the near-distance, splitting past swarms of carnival-goers as they descended the steps. It never took very long for them to find you, bearing down upon you like a pack of hyenas.

Marko’s laughter filled the air as he and Dwayne pulled up along the terrace above you, parking their bikes next to the length of black grating. David and Paul followed suit, hauling Star and Laddie in-tow. You were more focused on the gleam of the moonlight hitting the water and the seashell you’d been turning over within your palm.

A thump resonated from your left side, and you nearly shrieked, jumping from your own flesh as Paul landed atop the blanket. He scooped a finger against your chin, plump lips pulled back to reveal his pearlescent smirk. A faint aroma of stale cologne and hints of marijuana clung to him, but that was commonplace.

“Hey baby,” Paul crooned, kicking one leg up against his chest as the rest of the boys lingered around the balcony, save for Marko. He descended from above like a cat leaping toward perch, landing in the sand with grace. His presence was intentional, solely to agitate Paul. “Where’ve you been?”

Paul’s constant flirtation was something that you were used to — painfully so. You always wrote it off as something casual, a facet deeply ingrained into his wild and spontaneous personality. Paul often flirted with anyone that had a pulse and smelled appeasing, and that included you. It was fun to watch, but sometimes you wished that he meant it.

With a huff, you attempted to swat his hand away, but he was swift, arm resting atop his propped knee as he idly bounced his head to the music. “I’ve been here,” You mused, offering a kind greeting to Marko. “Where else am I supposed to be?” You inquired, tracing the pad of your thumb over the seashell’s ridges.

Paul’s nose wrinkled slightly. “I can think of a few places,” He mused, plucking at the top of your blouse. “You gonna come down tonight?” He asked, referring to you joining them in the cave. You normally went there with the group if they were satiated and fed. You were still human, after all — being in a nest full of vampires probably wasn’t the safest or smartest idea.

“Maybe,” You shrugged, feeling Paul perch his chin atop your shoulder. The physical aspect of his flirting always made your heart race, thrumming just underneath your collarbone. Your gaze flickered toward him, brows furrowing together. “What?”

“Please?” Paul insisted, lips twitching into a Cheshire smirk, teeth and all. “Wanna hang out with you.” Of all the pack, you were closest to Paul, but sometimes, you didn’t want to be. His constant touching and lascivious nature often left you wistful and confused, aching for something that he couldn’t give you.

“Don’t listen to him,” Marko interjected, busy ogling a wandering group of beachgoers — a gaggle of younger women hanging off of the arms of burly men. It smelled like potential dinner for him. “He found a guitar.” That was all you needed to know.

A giggle escaped you as Paul threw a handful of sand toward Marko, which happened to land against his patchwork jacket and golden curls. His visage contorted into a sour expression, glaring daggers at Paul before he stood up, shaking all of it out in the process.

“You found a guitar?” You asked, watching as Paul pushed your legs flat against the blanket, allowing him to rest his head within your lap. Admittedly, your heartbeat betrayed you — you wanted to be annoyed by the gesture, but instead, you let it go.

To Paul, you smelled outrageously wonderful — better than anything he’d had before. It was an amalgamation of softer, floral perfumes coupled with whatever wash you used. He detected peach and vanilla, sweeter aromas that clung to you like a pleasant haze.

His hair was akin to that of a lion’s mane, viciously unruly as it flew around him like a halo. “Yeah,” Paul replied, somewhat distracted by your scent. “Y’know, I didn’t find it. I stole it from these amateurs up by the empty lot.” Yoo assumed that these ‘amateurs’ were no longer alive, either.

“Aren’t you considered an amateur too, Paul?” You mused, reclining back upon your hands, letting yourself sink into the soft, white sand. As you glanced down toward your lap, Paul was staring at you for what felt like an eternity, and you couldn’t discern if it was out of offense or something else.

“You’re gorgeous,” Paul mumbled, tracing one of his ring-adorned digits over the expanse of your clothed stomach. “Lookin’ good enough to eat.” He mused, and while you would’ve initially brushed off that comment, he said it with a peculiar warmth.

Goosebumps erupted along the column of your spine, causing you to shift slightly. His finger didn’t stop moving, flicking around the ruffled cotton. He wished that it was your flesh — warm and soft, waiting to invite him in. You never took any of his flirtation to heart — in truth, it might’ve been his fault, but he wanted to make you see.

You belonged to him.

With a soft exhale, you attempted to mask your shudder of delight, absentmindedly nibbling along your lower lip. “Very original,” You uttered, twisting away from his touch as if it would incinerate you. It was all meaningless — mindless sweet nothings spoken from a very precocious individual. “You’re a genius.” You teased, voice becoming slightly sardonic.

“You are,” He insisted, comfortable within your plush lap. Your scent did little to ease his feelings, overwhelming him like a thick haze. “Baby, you’re the prettiest thing I’ve seen in ages. Where’ve you been all my life?” Paul sighed, and he didn’t attempt to touch you again out of respect.

“Right,” You uttered, masking your growing agitation. Paul could have anyone he wanted — and he always did. Girls at the boardwalk swooned over him, they were always easy prey, and he indulged himself plenty of times. You were nothing more than a friend, you weren’t desirable, nor would he ever want you. “You’ve told me that before.”

Paul visibly deflated, withering away like a shriveling flower — you really weren’t convinced.

Unfortunately for Paul, you were blissfully oblivious to any of his advances, but then again, he could understand why you were skeptical. Flirtation was a natural instinct for him. While he kept his head in your lap, he shamelessly opted to rove through your thoughts. It was cheating, sure, but he was itching to know.

“Paul,” Dwayne’s voice cut through his state of contemplation, rousing the sandy-haired blonde from his stupor. Paul’s head lifted off of your lap, hastily sitting upright as he glanced up at the terrace. “We’re going for a ride.” He briefly nodded towards you as a form of greeting, swinging Laddie up onto his bike.

“You’re coming, right?” Paul asked, voice invigorated with a sense of giddiness and excitement. He got a little wild around you sometimes, but it wasn’t anything that you weren’t accustomed to by now. “Do I have to beg you or something?” He groaned, trapping you between his arms.

“You’re pathetic!” Marko snickered, jumping down to snatch you up. Even though he was the smallest of the pack, his strength was often unrivaled, save for Dwayne. You let out a startled gasp as Marko hoisted you up over his shoulder, heckling Paul in the process.

Paul bristled with anger — typically, he could excuse Marko’s antics, but not this time. A white-hot rage blistered through him, crawling across his flesh as he attempted to shake that gold away from his eyes. A snarl escaped him, and he made sure to grab your stuff as a courtesy, leaping up over the bannister.

By the time Paul had landed on the rickety wood of the boardwalk, Marko had placed you on solid ground, unable to bite back the impish smirk on his features. He was deliberately getting under Paul’s skin, and he knew it — knew all about his feelings for you, too. Perhaps that’s what made it all the more enjoyable.

Like a bat out of hell, Paul swarmed the curly-headed blonde with a vengeance, countenance contorted into a look of sheer irritation and borderline rage. “You’re dead, Marko!” He growled, lip curled in disdain.

“Sorry, Paul. You made it too easy,” Marko mused, narrowly missing a rather unsavory blow from Paul, who yanked at his jacket instead. “Jesus! Easy, I was only messing around!” He snapped, with the two bickering and locked in what was supposedly a heated argument.

“Paul,” You gently tugged on his coat, attempting to steer him away from potential violence. “It’s okay, he was just playing around.” A soft sigh escaped you as you played mediator for two vampires, brows knitting together as Paul stepped back with a huff of irritation.

“Enough.” David barked, glaring daggers as he glanced between Paul and Marko. The last thing that he wanted was for them to expose themselves on the boardwalk — it was bound to happen if they didn’t stop the horseplay. With a visible frown, he revved his motorbike, signaling for the others to fall in line.

Jealousy was an ugly thing — unpleasant, often festering inside of oneself until it rotted away at their very core. It didn’t suit Paul whatsoever. He suffered from a bout of such a potent disease, despising the way Marko had touched you, held you over his shoulder. He was usually open about sharing with his brothers, but not you — you were completely off-limits.

Wordlessly, Paul sulked towards his motorbike, sitting down with a begrudging huff. You felt inclined to follow, standing beside him with an empathetic expression. “Are you going to let me on? We’re still hanging out, remember?” You asked, voice softening an octave.

Paul felt a little better — but not completely. His ego was momentarily maimed by Marko’s antics, but it was a wound that would dissipate with time. Fortunately, you were a worthy cure as he moved forward, letting you on the back of his bike. “Saved your stuff, too.” He mused, feeling you squeeze your arms around his midsection.

“You’re my hero,” You chuckled, trying to make him feel less agitated. “Thanks.” With Paul recovering from the scuffle, David motioned for the rest of the conclave to follow, whipping his bike around onto the stretch of the boardwalk that led out onto the shoreline.

You remembered the first time Paul took you for a ride — and you very nearly had a heart attack. He drove as if it’d be his last day on earth, but you’d gotten so used to it that you stopped being a backseat driver and let him do whatever he wanted.

He was talkative and boisterous by-nature, which is why you became so concerned when he didn’t talk to you very much on the ride to the cave. Paul was normally extremely egregious and outgoing, something that you loved about him, but his bout of silence was making you nervous. You wondered if Marko had wounded his pride that badly.

As you pulled up to the cave, the boys hopped off of their motorbikes, and even Paul didn’t really wait up for you this time — something was wrong. Marko noticed, lingering at the fringes of the cavern as he glanced at you, promptly disappearing down the rocky incline. You were left to make your way inside alone, no Paul at your side or helping you down.

Once inside, you felt awkward, more than usual. Being the lone human in a nest full of vampires would always bring a little tension, but without Paul around, you felt hollow and unnerved. David regarded you with his typical stare — cynical and somewhat indifferent, and Dwayne was always solemn, much warmer than the other.

“Where did Paul go?” You asked, and it was Laddie who pointed you in the right direction, pointing toward one of the rocky tunnels that led off into their ‘rooms’, of sorts. You often referred to them as the metaphorical coffins, but Star found it to be in poor taste.

With a shaky exhale, you nodded. “Thanks.” You’d been in Paul’s ‘room’ plenty of times before, but he rarely disappeared and left you to fend for yourself. With the coordination of a baby deer who’d just learned how to take their first steps, you clamored up the uneven terrain, holding onto the rope to guide yourself up.

When you found Paul, he was lazily strumming on a guitar — the one he’d ‘found’. He had one leg kicked up, propped against the rock, the other tucked towards his chest as he played a few chords. The lack of acknowledgement sent off several red flags as you swept aside the makeshift ‘door’ — an old, velvet curtain repurposed from the hotel wreckage.

“Thanks for waiting on me,” You uttered, tone dripping with sarcasm, which captured his attention. He smelled you long before you’d entered, prompting him to turn his head, lion’s mane of hair disheveled and tousled from being pressed against a pillow. “You know, if I knew you were going to sulk around this whole time, I would’ve gone to the comic store instead.”

Paul scoffed, countenance twisting into a look of agitation, which was so unlike him. It shocked you to see him behave with such indifference, something that went against the grain of his character. “Maybe Marko can go with you.” He uttered, playing another melancholy chord on the guitar.

That’s what this was about?

“You’re not serious,” You quipped, folding your arms across your chest. “Is this about what happened at the beach? Paul, I’m not a mind-reader — I didn’t know Marko was going to do that.” He was beginning to really piss you off, which hadn’t happened yet.

For all of the meaningless flirting he’d done, the constant teasing and toying, you were vigilant. You’d tried to keep your chin up through it all. You couldn’t fathom why he was so upset about Marko’s harmless stunt — it was all playful. It was something Paul would’ve done, truth be told. Paul kept quiet, reading your mind as he surveyed your rageful inner monologue.

Instead, you were met with a wall of silence, and that made you frustrated. If Paul was going to behave like a child, you’d treat him like one. With a huff of annoyance, you waved your hand in dismissal. Your night was mostly ruined, but you figured you’d go home and try to get some sleep.

You gave him another chance to talk — it was quiet. “Fine. I’m going home, Paul.” You sighed, turning around as you prepared to make the climb back down. With a shrug of your shoulders, you barely passed through the curtain before something rustled behind you.

Just as you grabbed the rope, Paul was in front of you with inhuman speed, and he immediately snatched at your hips, dragging you away. You were protesting, interrogating him about what exactly was going on, but he persisted, locking you in his arms as he pushed you up against the wall.

“I don’t want Marko touching you,” He murmured, brows knitting together. “I want you all to myself.” You couldn’t tell if this was playful Paul trying to flirt with you again — his tone sounded so different. “You’re mine, baby.” Paul clicked his tongue, brazenly groping at your waist.

“Wh— What?” Disbelief seeped into your voice as you shook your head back and forth. “Are you fucking with me again?” Before you could get in another word, his mouth was devouring yours, vigorous and completely needy. Jesus, he tasted good — without pause, your hands flew to grab his hair in fistfuls.

A desperate whimper erupted from your mouth, buried and lost within his ravenous kiss. You needed to know what had gotten into him — why now? You began to yank on his hair in an attempt to get him to cease, and when he did, you appeared more agitated than happy. Paul normally didn’t get this reaction when he kissed someone.

“You have to tell me what’s going on,” You huffed, gaze practically pleading with him as he held you close, inhaling another gust of your saccharine scent. “First you’re flirting, then you’re mad, and now this. What’s gotten into you?” With a pointed stare, Paul relented, but he didn’t move away from you.

“You don’t take my flirting seriously,” He countered, brows furrowing together. “You don’t want to? Fine, but I’m gonna make you see how bad I want you.” Paul murmured, voice husky and alluring enough to make your knees wobble. He licked his lower lip, one hand beginning to drift underneath your blouse.

This didn’t feel real — whenever you desperately tried to search for even an ounce of playfulness, there wasn’t any. Paul was completely serious about this, and it made you weak, warmth beginning to pool between your thighs as you nodded several times over. “Okay,” You breathed, itching for more. “Then don’t stop.”

“M’gonna fuck you,” Paul smirked, eyes unnaturally bright as they glistened in the dimly-lit alcove. “You mind if I eat you out, too?” He asked, matter-of-factly. His unruly tangle of dusty-blonde tresses were stiff with age-old product, making it somewhat coarse whenever you went to grab and pull on it.

Did you mind? Laughter bubbled within your chest as your lips parted, expression incredulous as you nodded several times over. “Whatever you want,” He was gorgeous — in that crazed and unhinged sort of way. Paul stared at you as if you were both a delicious slab of meat and the most beautiful thing he’d seen. “I want you.” You exhaled.

That was all it took for Paul to claw at your clothing as if it were nothing, fingers excitedly ruffling your blouse as he yanked it up, causing you to squeak. He wasn’t gentle, but you didn’t care whatsoever. Those veined, dexterous hands ripped your blouse off of you, tongue darting out to wet his lower lip.

He was pushing you towards his bed, which was only really used for salacious activities, and nothing more. It was a colossal mess, the scent stale and reminded you of damp rock as he got you on your back, crawling on top of you with a devilish grin.

“Fuck, baby,” Paul sighed, slicing your brassiere off with a simple stroke of his fingers, flinging the tattered remains elsewhere. “You’ve got such a gorgeous body.” He murmured, lips sloppily trailing over your neck and collarbone as he rucked your skirt up towards your hips. Your mewls and whimpers were like music to his ears.

“Paul,” You groaned, hips rocking forward as you ground yourself against him, meeting his groin. His jean-clad erection pressed into your thigh, completely and utterly shameless. He kissed wherever he pleased, stopping to admire your breasts as they rose and fell with your excitable gasps.

Trapping a nipple within his mouth, he greedily sucked and nibbled at your swollen mound, intermingling such ministrations with eager strokes of his tongue. “Pretty tits, too.” He guffawed, playfully biting at your breast as you clutched onto his hair. “S’all mine.” Paul huffed, kneading into your pliant chest with his other hand.

A pang of arousal coursed throughout your body, striking right between your thighs. Warmth coalesced between your legs, manifesting as a stickiness that oozed from your cunt. Paul nearly growled at the smell, which was calling to him like a siren’s song. He was tempted to rip away and go right to the source, but he loved your chest just as much.

Suckling on your breast, Paul promptly provided such attention to the other, greedily biting at the soft, pliant flesh. The way you bucked and squirmed underneath him was all the more enticing, cerulean hues fluttering toward your blissed-out countenance. You tugged on his hair, causing him to let out a satisfied hiss.

“Could stay here forever,” Paul mused, pressing messy kisses atop your perky tits, and he seemed to get a little ahead of himself in the moment. Kisses soon devolved into love-bites and sucking as he found a patch of skin between your breasts. He left a string of hickeys there, beyond content with his handiwork. “Perfect.”

“Jesus,” You groaned, a mess of moans and desperate, pathetic whimpers as you wrangled with his lion-like mane of hair. “You’re bad.” With a soft hiccup, you felt his hands knead into your hips, prepared to go elsewhere if you let him.

“I can be worse, baby.” Paul prompted, eyes swarming with that familiar golden glow, ringed with a red halo around the edge of his irises. He growled, capturing your mouth with his as he kissed you, ravenous and swift as he began to make out with you. He was between your legs, arms locked on either side of you.

With a wanton moan, your hands clamored from his tresses toward his coat, wanting him to shed a few layers, too. It was only fair. Paul complied, whipping his dark coat off with an excitable haste, peeling away the mesh shirt he wore underneath. Your palms splayed out across his broad shoulders, warm flesh melding with his icy temperature.

He was well-muscled, poised — he reminded you of a coiled jungle cat, prepared to pounce. You reveled in the smattering of hair peppered across his chiseled chest, leading toward the sandy-hued happy trail that slipped underneath his tattered white jeans. His teeth brazenly bit at your lower lip, blood oozing onto his tongue.

Between the clash of lips, tongue, and teeth, Paul shuddered, lapping up any pearl of crimson that he could, hands tearing your skirt asunder. The unfortunate remains of fabric were yanked away as he let it fall to the floor, groping and kneading into you, wherever his hands took him.

You’d never been kissed like this — as if he threatened to steal every wisp of air from your lungs, hungering for you in every imaginable way. Your heart hammered against your collarbone, thrumming erratically as you hitched a leg around his hips, drawing him closer as he kept you locked in a barrage of kisses.

“Fuck,” Paul groaned, licking at your lower lip. “You smell so good, baby. I wanna taste,” He insisted, ring-adorned digits curling into the waistband of your panties. He wrestled them down until they were hitched around your knees, but he simply tore at them like the rest of your clothes. “Spread your legs for me.”

It was your turn to go sheepish on him, deliberately parting your legs at a sluggish pace. You weren’t sure as to why you’d become shy, but Paul didn’t seem to care, swiping at a tendril of drool that pooled at the corner of his mouth. Without missing a beat, his hand slipped between your legs, two digits swiping up along your wet cunt.

He gathered your slick, placing his fingers into his mouth with a satisfactory groan. The sight of him sucking your arousal away nearly made you melt. “Almost as good as your blood, sweet girl.” Paul chuckled, absentmindedly licking his lower lip as he settled onto the mattress, pressed flat atop the surface as he gathered your legs into each of his hands.

Paul slathered several kisses against your inner thighs, but he kept it short and sweet — he was here for one thing. You expected him to give you some sort of warning beforehand. “Paul, are you — O-Oh. Jesus Christ!” You squeaked, a strangled gasp escaping you as your back arched off of the mattress.

There was no pause or waiting — Paul’s impulsivity got the best of him. He was on you like a starving animal, desperate for anything he could get. His tongue pushed past your slick folds, silkily lapping over the length of your slit, savoring your taste. It was hot — you felt as if everything were set ablaze as a pleasant heat crawled across you, from head to toe.

His tongue raked hot embers across your aching cunt, body electrified by his touch. Paul’s fingers greedily dug into your pliant thighs, tossing either of your legs over his freckled shoulders as he lapped at your sweet core. His actions were swift and fueled by lust, driven by instinct as he jerked you forward.

Your stomach churned with anticipation, bleeding heat from between your legs as your thighs squeezed at his head. You felt that immense mane of hair tickle your soft flesh, goosebumps erupting along your body. Paul grunted, face buried deep within your cunt as he ate you out, messy and sloppy as could be.

“M’not Jesus,” Paul slurred, grinning like a shark as he nipped at your leg. “You taste so good, baby.” He huffed, the words spoken through the husked voice of a ravenous vampire as he returned to lapping at your poor, needy slit. Each drop of nectar that you provided to him served to momentarily dull the ache within his throat.

You kept writhing and squirming, shamelessly bucking your hips forward. He pinned you down with one hand, head spinning as your scent wafted around him like an inescapable haze. “Paul!” You mewled, practically quivering like a leaf as your cunt pathetically clenched around nothing at all.

Paul was a good sport, able to flow with the constant jolting of your hips into his mouth. Though, it only served to fuel the fire as he continued to hastily drag his tongue along your cunt, slavering for your taste. You moaned, tapering off into a myriad of sweet whimpers as your hands relocated, reaching for his hair.

The cool metal of his rings left imprints behind atop your thighs, various patterns pressed into your flesh. You were aching, body feeling feverishly hot as you bucked into his face again, feeling him clamp down on you as he held you still. His mouth was divine — it was sloppy and full of an unrestrained need.

As your digits twined into his hair, you began to pull and tug, using his unruly tresses as an anchor. Paul didn’t care in the slightest — he found it unbelievably hot as you jerked and tugged, back arched into his ministrations. He only stopped to spit a wad of saliva onto your swollen slit, body shaking with sly laughter when you gasped.

“Makin’ sure you’re ready for me.” Paul teased, but it was under false pretenses — he just wanted to spit on your cunt. He didn’t hesitate, diving back in for more, assaulting your clit with a barrage of kitten-licks and gentle suckling, enough for you to sputter.

With every movement you made, Paul would simply coax you back onto his tongue with inhuman strength, lips pursing around your clit as he began to suck and toy with the sensitive bud. Your hand grappled with his coarse tresses, the other digging into his shoulder. Your nails sank into his flesh, and Paul didn’t care whatsoever.

Arousal pooled between your legs, leaving behind a sticky mess that he was all too eager to clean up. It was only when he began to use that tiny edge of teeth that you were soaring, choking on a whimper as it bubbled within the back of your throat.

Your body was screaming for release, orgasm beginning to mount and build as white-hot tension flew through you, consuming you like a tidal wave. Paul could sense it, burying himself in your pretty cunt as if it would be the last meal he’d ever have.

He switched between the eager, broad lapping of his tongue with sucking on your clit, making you claw at his shoulder blade. One hand repositioned itself, splayed out across your pelvis as his thumb slipped to the hood of your cunt, playing with your clit as the rest of his mouth lapped elsewhere.

“Paul, Paul,” Paul. It was the only word that rolled from your tongue, doing very little to mask the sound of your pleasure. With a wanton moan, you felt that hot coil of tension within your stomach begin to unfurl as you steadily reached your climax. You were suffocating him between your legs — conveniently, he didn’t need to breathe. “Fuck, Paul! M’close!”

“Cum for me,” His encouragement was all that you needed, that little push forward as he backed off, peppering kisses against your clit as you came. It was blinding, and you swore you saw stars. “That’s it,” Paul crooned, moving to clean you up. “Atta girl, baby.” He did very little to mask his eagerness in lapping up the remnants of your orgasm.

He wiped at his lips with the back of his hand, kissing his way up your body until his mouth connected with yours. You could taste yourself and the somewhat bitter twang of copper within his saliva as you let your tongue slip into his mouth. Paul groaned, grabbing at your haunches as he moved to lay beside you.

“Are you tired?” You mused, your own chest heaving with exhilarated sighs as Paul effortlessly wrangled you closer, eyes glittering with desire. You were wrong to ask that question as he raised his eyebrows.

“What kinda question is that, baby? You’re getting on top,” Paul smirked, gesturing toward his lap. His erection was practically itching for release, straining against the front of his white jeans. “You’re going for a ride.” He purred, snatching at your hips as he hoisted you on top of his lap, letting you get comfortable.

Paul lounged against the mountain of pillows beneath him, hands splayed out atop your waist. You savored the sensation of his rings biting into your flesh, and you immediately scrambled to unzip his pants, wrestling with his belt as you freed his cock. His hardened length fell against your stomach, tip oozing with a bead of precum.

You shivered, gazing down at your vampiric paramour, who stared at you with those vibrant, cerulean hues — as clear as a summer’s day. Paul tilted forward, lips reaching for yours as he planted a rather lazy, messy kiss against your mouth. “M’ready.” You murmured, feeling him lift you up as if you weighed nothing at all.

With bated breath, you felt your insides turn to mush, reigniting the spark of lust as Paul let you sink onto his cock. A fire burned bright within your belly, demanding to be extinguished as Paul’s head fell back slightly, letting out a series of groans and softer grunts. “Fuck,” He growled, feeling your palms rest against his abdomen. “You’re so fucking tight, babe.”

Liquid heat festered within the pit of your stomach as you gasped, cunt clenching around his cock as you adjusted yourself. “Paul!” You moaned, attempting to stifle the many noises you made with the back of your palm, but he quickly swatted your hand away. He was bigger than you thought he’d be — a pleasant surprise.

“Wanna hear you scream my name.” Paul huffed, rubbing circles into your hips as he began to move you. Superhuman strength and stamina certainly had roles to play in this as he guided you up and down in short, rhythmic movements. You liked that he manhandled you a little bit, one hand on your waist as the other grabbed at your chest.

A simpering moan left you as he guided you up his cock, stopping halfway before easing you back down again. Lewd noises reverberated throughout the alcove, accompanied by your sweet whimpers and his grunts and groans. You were barely given time to get used to his pattern before he was bucking up into you with the indomitable strength of a god.

There was no opportunity for you to catch your breath, watching as Paul snatched your wrists, redirecting them towards his pretty neck. That surprised you, but you didn’t protest, feeling the taut muscle tense underneath your palms, jugular bobbing as you began to squeeze.

He moaned.

Unable to bite back the smile that stretched across your features, you held onto his neck, digits flexing and tensing as you continued to apply pressure. Paul’s head fell backwards just a little bit, steadying you with one hand as he fucked into you at an erratic pace. Flesh clashed against flesh, causing you to whimper as you rolled up and down along his cock.

“You like that?” You whispered through a string of blissful whines, gaze bright with desire as he nodded several times over. “Your cock feels so good, Paul.” You huffed, teeth snagging across your lower lip as you began to let your thumbs trace along his perfect jawline. His weeks-old stubble scratched at your silken flesh.

“Little harder, girl,” Paul encouraged, wanting you to really wrangle his throat. He didn’t need to breathe anyway — that made it all the more enjoyable. He savored your hesitation — his sweet little human, afraid of harming the big, bad vampire. He smirked, lifting his eyebrows. “C’mon baby, squeeze.”

Fuck — he was going to be the death of you. Your cunt clenched and throbbed around his cock, with Paul continuing to jackhammer into you like a wild animal. Grunts and excitable groans left him in droves, rippling through his chest as you squeezed at his throat. The muscles were thick and tense underneath your small palms, slick with perspiration.

Your flesh felt dewy, especially within the oppressive heat of the cave. Paul was unstoppable, a force of nature as his hips continued to buck up, cock slamming into your poor, tight cunt. He wasn’t gentle, and he showed no signs of stopping. Delivering a sharp smack to your ass, he fillee you to the brim with his length, causing you to really grip his throat.

With a needy whimper, your eyes fluttered shut, lips parted in a state of ecstasy. “Paul,” You moaned, feeling his hand greedily knead into your chest, twisting your nipple between his thumb and forefinger. The stimulation was intensified tenfold, making your brain go fuzzy as he fucked you into a stupor. “Holy shit!”

The alcove smelled of sex — sloppy rutting that was steadily devolving into a complete mess. Paul’s precum was slathered across your inner thighs, coupled with the slick remnants of your first orgasm and current state of arousal. He stopped his erratic thrusting, sitting up a little more with one hand on your hips.

Without warning, his mouth went straight to your chest again, lips attaching themselves around one of your swollen nipples. He was sucking, grabbing a handful of your ass as he led you up and down along his cock. The warmth of your flesh intermingled with his cool, icy skin, only serving to make you sweat.

“Touch me,” You whimpered, palms still clinging to either side of his throat, nails digging in toward the nape of his neck. The sex was incredible — you’d never been fucked like this before, but he had you chasing after every sensation. “Paul, please.” Heat crawled across your flesh, leaving you drunk with desire.

Paul playfully scraped his teeth across your breast, teasing your nipple. “M’touching you already, baby.” He mumbled, propping himself up with his other hand. A simpering groan escaped you as you rocked forward, taking one hand off of his throat to play with your clit.

An impish snarl left his mouth as he snatched at your wrist, and in one erratic movement, had you pinned down on your back. His cock throbbed inside of you, desperate for a release just as much as you were. Paul cackled, lips twitching into a sneer as he began to fuck you, enough for the foundation of the mattress to rattle underneath.

“That was bad,” Paul purred, fucking you down into the plush surface, nearly pulling his cock out of your slick cunt before slamming right back in, repeating the movement over and over again. Fortunately, he was feeling generous, slipping one hand between your bodies as he found the cleft between your thighs. “Fuck, you’re soaked.” He groaned.

You clutched onto him for dear life, body responding vehemently to Paul’s erratic thrusts and uneven, primal tempo. With a loud, wanton cry, your mouth clamored to find his lips, meeting in a rather noisy clash of teeth and tongue. He circled your clit with his thumb, rutting into you with a fervor.

“Paul!” You whined, locking a leg around his hips as your nails sank into his shoulders, leaving behind angry-red impressions, embedded within his flesh. Paul encouraged your scratching, tongue lapping at the inside of your mouth. A white-hot ecstasy consumed you whole, causing you to shudder and spasm.

“Can’t hear you, baby.” Paul teased, biting at your lower lip as he peppered kisses wherever he could — greedy, wet kisses that ended up being vibrantly-colored hickeys. Your flesh was his canvas as he marked you up wherever he pleased, hyperfocused on your chest again. “You close?” He huffed, fingers tearing into the sheets.

It was exhilarating — you swore you saw stars, perhaps more as he fucked you within an inch of your life. You didn’t want him to be careful. You didn’t want him to treat you like glass — you wanted to belong to him. “M’close,” Another string of sweet, noisy moans escaped you as Paul brazenly bit at your left breast, leaving behind a crescent-shaped mark. “Close.”

Rivulets of crimson trickled across your skin, prompting Paul to lick it all away, irises shifting from cerulean to a burnished gold. It made the sex more intense as he pounded away at your poor cunt, which had certainly been pushed to the limit. He was becoming a little squirrelly, panting and growling into your ear.

Paul kissed you to distract himself from the temptation of feeding, lost within the saccharine bliss of your mouth as he felt you cum around his cock. “Yeah, baby. Go ‘head and cum for me, just like that.” He mumbled against your mouth, tongue lazily sweeping across your lower lip as he tensed and thrust forward.

He came right afterwards, reveling in the sight of you trembling and quivering, juices coating his length as he pulled out halfway through. It was messy and rather disgusting, but you didn’t care. Ropes of hot, white seed painted your stomach and breasts, which was some sort of fantasy for him.

You sighed, barely able to string a sentence together as you fell back against the mattress, coated in perspiration and his cum. “Jesus.” You uttered, pressing a palm over your face as Paul rolled over to lay next to you. Your legs twitched and spasmed as you came down from your climax, feeling something soft fall across your abdomen.

It was a rather unappealing-looking towel that seemed much too ancient, and you wondered how many times this had been used to clean up his mess. With a huff of laughter, you cleaned yourself up, feeling his arms tangle around you, urging you to come back to him.

“Makes you wish you’d taken me seriously sooner, huh?” Paul mumbled, nibbling along the shell of your ear. You couldn’t help but feel smitten afterwards, twisting over until you faced your vampiric paramour, who had the expression of the Cheshire Cat.

“You’re ridiculous,” You mused, holding his face between your palms. “You’re gorgeous, too.” A peculiar softness crept into your voice, prompting Paul to shower you in a cascade of needy kisses. He liked to be close, which you didn’t necessarily mind, despite the newfound scent of post-sex that permeated the alcove.

“I’m all yours, baby.” Paul smirked, shamelessly staring at your breasts without an ounce of subtlety. You couldn’t read his thoughts, but you suspected that he had something particular in-mind. “You’re in for a long night.” He purred, and before you could open your mouth to speak, he was crawling on top of you.

You would have to thank Marko later.

#slasher x reader #the lost boys x reader #the lost boys x you #slasher x you #slasher fanfiction #the lost boys #tlb 1987 #paul tlb x reader #paul tlb x you #slasher fanfic #slasher fandom #the lost boys fanfiction #tlb x reader #slasher x y/n #the lost boys 1987

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feistyvirghoe · 2 months ago

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☆⋆·˚ ༘ * pick a card disclaimers ೃ🤍⁀➷

pick a pile u feel most called to, the one u cannot look away from, the one that is pulsing, go with your gut, always trust yourself, and if u feel called to more that’s cool baby boo! there’s more for u!

these are general and for a vast amount of ppl, don’t get ur undies all twisted up bc it’s not resonating, it’s normal and it’s fine, this just wasn’t for u! <3

these are extremely general timeless readings and they’re meant for entertainment purposes, please don’t take things so seriously and also realize my readings are for people above 18!

╰┈➤ ❝ [.ೃ࿐🀥 ᴘɪʟᴇ ᴏɴᴇ- major changes regarding your interpersonal relationships, how you guys interact with people and letting yourself experience new friendships, romantic relationships. I feel like your message here is to let go of what has been holding you down for so long. This energy of not wanting to see the good after you’ve been betrayed. Brighter days are ahead. It’s like the universe wanting you to see your real potential. They want you to see that you are capable of living a joyous life. You’re capable of being happy without feeling guilty or ashamed of yourself. You’re not the only one struggling mentally or in any other way. I feel like your guys are nervous to experience new things again because there’s this feeling of you being like “will this even last?” “Will this eventually be taken away from me like everything else?” I feel like you guys may need to move yourselves out of this period of thinking the same things will always happen. It wont! Especially when we believe and change our mindset surrounding this topic. You guys are being led into a newer direction. Somewhere where you feel you belong. Forming new relationships that’s re healthy and authentic with likeminded people who understand you. Things don’t have to happen so quickly so it’s always good to remember not to push yourself to fit into a mold you know will never work. This major change will lead you to your true calling/purpose, where you will be seen by the right people for you, it really is all for you. But i know we can get stuck in this negative loop or tormenting emotions that confuse us about ourselves. I’d say, what I’m seeing happening for you next is you feeling more hopeful about this new opportunity or just this general change you’re making or should be making for yourself. I also feel like you may be getting into a new partnership with someone. This person seems like they may bring a lot of positive encouragement and helpful advice to broaden your perspective. I feel like you’re going to be celebrating yourself and what you know deep down you were always capable of. You just need to see this fr yourself. That you’re an amazing, strong, independent person that achieve their goals on their own. We don’t really need people, but it’s not good to isolate yourself and hide because of your fears that are hindering you from moving on. I feel like you guys are also being shown that you can put your trust into certain individuals that respect you and wont betray you for their own benefit.] ❞

Affirmation - solar crown → i am decisive and wise. When action is required, i move swiftly with courage. When wisdom is necessary i step carefully with grace. I trust my intuitive wisdom to decide correctly.

╰┈➤ ❝ [.ೃ࿐🀥 ᴘɪʟᴇ ᴛᴡᴏ-keep on going pile 2! If someone here is feeling like giving up, DO NOT, I REPEAT DO NOT! You seem to be so close to something. It seems like you guys have been working your asses off, to achieve a certain goal, or idea, it’s something that you can’t take your mind off of. The energy is so fast paced, like i just want to get into it, you all seem to be moving in the right direction. Using all the power you have within you to get to this thing of yours. I feel like it may have to do with work of some sort, it doesn’t have to be so extreme, but you’ve been putting in action or you need to put in that action. You have this spirit of persistence and not giving up on this decision. I feel like you guys know where you want to be. But it’s the moving, a lot of passionate energy here, man I don’t even think that this is something you can take your mind off. You’re just aware of what is needed, you shouldn’t hide what power you hold. There’s something about you guys being more in that masculine role, moving towards your purpose, which i feel is the theme of this entire reading, doing what you love to do without feeling ashamed of it. Yes this will take some of your time and have you very busy, but i think you moving and not staying in a stagnant place pumps up your energy. It could even be with building your strength within and outside of you. Taking better care of yourself, knowing your own limits and not falling off because of one setback. I feel like you guys are being shown that it’s okay to show off your talents and gifts. This light within you that you should never really repress, but don’t burn yourself playing with the flames. I feel like you guys really need to keep going, it’s just something about the messages coming out for you that are screaming at me to tell you to keep on moving forward. Leaving the unhinged shit in the past.

“I can heal now and always.” Another message that I’m getting is not pushing yourself to the point of burnout. That’s when it gets tricky, because you put your all into something all at once and then get weird results where you feel not good enough. But you are, you’re enough right now. No, you do not need to be where that other person is, i know working and working will tear you apart. You guys should give yourself a break from time to time to re-collect and realize that your healing journey will never look like or be anyone else’s but yours. It’s time to fight off these distractions and quiet that overthinking mind of yours. You can work and play as well. Don’t take everything so personally, know when it’s you and take yourself out of the equation. I feel like this full moon is helping you to own your full potential and understand that you are also in control of your life. Don’t leave everything up to chance and own your shush! You are an amazing powerful being and i want you to understand this deep down even if you feel different, you are fricking powerful, a goddamn badass! ] ❞

Affirmations - clairvoyant author → i am the author of my story, i am the author of my own narrative. I write the future in myself. I re-script negative self-criticism, and i narrate positive thoughts.

╰┈➤ ❝ [.ೃ࿐🀥 ᴘɪʟᴇ ᴛʜʀᴇᴇ- Right off the bat y’all, i truly feel like there is some sort of competitive, petty, jealous energy that is being projected your way. Either you already know this or you don’t to the fullest extent. But you guys seem so guarded and indifferent to this shit. I’m not sure if it’s one or multiple people projecting this towards you, but you don’t seem to be buying something or someone’s BS! Whatever this is, it’s extremely unhealthy, the energy is wonky and that’s probably how you feel. But this i feel has to do with some sort of relationship. I feel like you don’t want what this person has to offer, or there is an offer but you seem to be skeptical of it. Why do i feel like you’re being pulled in so many different directions, it’s like hard to make a choice. This confusion. I really hope you’re not with someone who’s trying to control you or even manipulate you into something you know is damaging for you. I feel like someone/something can’t let you go, there’s this energy trying to cling onto you. It feels like someone wants to block you from seeing your true potential. Because you are talented at something, you got the tools for whatever this may be, like you’re so fucking close. A chapter has ended, you have to decide if you want to walk away or keep repeating it with other people, but i feel like you already know that you should be taking things more smoothly. You can’t get up and go back playing kickball right after you sprain your ankle. It’s alright for you to rest and look after yourself. I feel like you guys need to let that wall down a little bit and remember the why, the why that made you get up and go after what you want every day even if its small steps. Small steps to creating a better social circle. Finding the right communities for you, engaging with people who get it. You don’t have to force anything or be anything to anyone but your most authentic self and i know we hear it all the time but it’s so true. It’s better to walk around knowing who you are instead of pretending to fit in. You don’t have to mold yourself. I feel like you guys should do some inner self-reflection and talk with yourself, journal, rage draw, whatever you need to do. Even crying, things are pretty intense. But I don’t want you guys to go around letting someone else try to influence you and tell you what to do, its reminding me of a Bret man rock video he was saying something along the line of “don’t tell me what to do BITCH!” lmao. But for real, don’t let anyone tell you what you can and can’t do with your damn life. It’s like they want you confused about who you are as a person. People seriously need to contain this obsessive jealousy and just mind their damn business. I feel like you guys need to be more kinder to yourself and show more compassion towards you! You’re very abundant and have a lot headed your way, i just don’t wanna see you giving up, fuck what people say about you! What gives them the right to try and tell you about yourself, unless you really need the reality check but I don’t think so. I feel like people really want to try this group. Don’t let em, nuh uh uh uh. You’re self sufficient on your own nd you didn’t really need me to tell you that, but i see it. You can take care of your damn self. Fuck the projections and let yourself live. Even if shits not so great, LIVE! Try to put a smile on that face everyday, but also feel your emotions and acknowledge it. I feel like you guys may not feel the love but you are so so loved, pease remember that, and I’ll tell u, i love you! Mwah! ] ❞

Affirmations -

Embrace divinity → i am a loved child of divinity. Reality is a love story written for me. I sit silently and experience the loving embrace from my eternal mother. I store up the words of affirmation of my ageless father. The tender words that spoke my consciousness into existence to become me.

Observatory of the mind → i have a happy heart. Today will be full of joyful moments waiting for me to discover. My gratitude overflows from my inner self to those around me.

Empowering friendships → i select my relationships carefully and invest in them fully. I am the average of the people i spend my time with.

hiiii, hope everyone’s doing well, i know i know, im back lmao, and i didn’t forget about the other PAC, i just wanted to do this first. hope this helps w anything you’ve been going back and forth w, or any kooky energy that you’ve been wondering about, stay safe and don’t let anyone walk all over you! <333

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p0orbaby · 2 months ago

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Life Was So Simple Then (1)

summary: you and leah embark on a trip through Europe in an effort to save your marriage

warnings: a smidge of angst but you’ll live

a/n: i may or may not be considering making this a series…

word count: 1.4k

The train moves at a comfortable hum, soothing in its way, while London shrinks behind you in pieces, in windows, in corners. The world outside your window looks surreal, vaguely greenish, fragmented by flashes of trees and brick houses. There’s something almost too quiet about it, an uneasy softness to the edges of this journey that is meant to patch you both back together.

You’ve been married for—what is it?—six years now. But you were Leah’s shadow long before that. You’ve been her plus-one, her background feature, her silent assistant in uncountable ways that now feel petty to list. The bitter edge surprises you as it rears up unbidden. You take a breath and decide you’ll name these feelings, as if naming things might tame them. Resentment. Grief. Stubborn hope. You and Leah have been through worse. But also… maybe not.

You glance at her. She’s examining her nails, mouth set into that default neutrality she pulls out when she’s feeling strange or anxious or tired. It’s her ready face, the one she’s kept in her kit since she was just a gangly teenager at Arsenal, desperate to be taken seriously, to get noticed for more than her posture and a fast left foot. You remember those early days. You remember being eighteen, in the stands, showing up for her even when you barely knew her. When all she had to offer was coffee in half-cleaned thermoses and lectures about work-life balance that were one part playful, two parts scolding, and strangely magnetic.

When you finally pulled her into that first kiss, it was a Thursday. You remember that because she had a match the next day. She’d stood there with her mouth half-open, one eyebrow raised, until she laughed that strange, short laugh, pulling you in by your wrist, the way she always did when she was uncertain about something but willing to give it a go. Afterward, you’d watched her lace up her shoes, this careful process that she performed like ritual. The order mattered: left, then right, then another knot. The same attention she brings to everything—coffee, calls, stretching, the single glass of wine she never finishes at dinner because it’s “almost too nice to ruin.”

Back then, she’d just been Leah. But then she’d become Leah Williamson, and you, married to her, got folded into the package. You’d get, “oh, that’s Leah’s wife!” from strangers at the shops, from mothers of kids at school fundraisers, from friends of friends who never bothered with your name. You hadn’t known how strange that would feel until it did, like there was this parallel version of yourself, waiting in the wings, and now this strange person had overtaken you. You’re still working on making peace with that, though there’s little peace about it.

Leah raises an eyebrow as if reading your mind, which is a trick she’s only gotten better at. “You’re very quiet. Am I allowed to ask if something’s wrong?”

“You could,” you say, but it sounds a little brittle, so you reach for her hand, entwining your fingers, hoping the gesture makes up for it. She doesn’t flinch, which is a start. You’re not entirely sure where you left off, after the months of silent dinners, of days bookended by her rising before dawn for physio appointments and crashing in bed long after you’d fallen asleep. Now, as her fingers brush your knuckles, you can almost feel that old connection, an unexpected sliver of warmth threading through the silence.

“Fine, be cryptic.” Her mouth quirks in a half-smile, the kind that used to come so naturally but has felt harder and harder to coax out. She lets go of your hand and turns back to her phone, skimming news alerts and whatever else she’s curated into a daily distraction routine. That’s new, too, the constant scrolling. It used to be just the morning Guardian and the Arsenal forums, but now she reads everything as if she’s half-waiting for some seismic news, some validation that she made the right decision. Retirement. The word feels abrupt, like something has been shaved off the ends. The other day she’d admitted to reading the tabloids. Just the sports ones, she’d said, in that overly casual voice she uses when she’s trying not to sound defensive.

“Did you pack the sandwiches?” Leah’s voice drifts up, and it takes you a second to process that she’s talking to you.

“Yes, your honour.” The words slip out like they used to, like you’re just starting out, laughing over drinks after midnight. You see her relax a little, a sign she’s actually been worrying about the sandwiches, and you realise she’s probably equally terrified that she’ll spend the entire trip thinking about where she’d rather be. The knowledge of her own shifting nature used to thrill her; she’d tell you she was “made of kinetic energy,” that she couldn’t ever be truly still. Now, it seems to disturb her.

“Well, just checking.” She doesn’t ask you to get them, and you don’t offer. You suspect there’s a silent mutual agreement that eating will come later, a familiar tactic she’s deployed whenever nerves or a big match made her too jittery to eat. You’ve read about married people developing shared instincts, unconscious patterns. But this knowledge, like all the habits you’ve developed over time, somehow doesn’t offer the comfort you’d expected. It’s like putting on a jacket that’s become a touch too tight, and you find yourself oddly self-conscious.

As you both sit in this semi-awkward silence, you try to remember the last time you truly sat together like this, uninterrupted. The thing is, you can’t. Even on the few weekends she’d been around the last season, it had always been meals with other players, birthday parties with people you barely knew, her agent dropping by with a sheaf of papers and a grin that you’ve come to resent, though you never say so. Leah had been “there” in a vague sense, the way a familiar armchair is there: functional, comfortable, reliable in theory. But Leah herself? The woman you fell in love with—that particular version of her seemed more and more like a house you once lived in but that someone else owns now.

“What are you thinking about?” she asks finally, in that deceptively soft tone that makes you feel like you’re on trial. She’s always done that, approached difficult conversations like they’re penalty shots. Direct, unflinching, too close to your heart.

“You, mostly.” The honesty slips out before you can stop it. “Us, I mean”

She lets out a soft sigh, nodding as if she understands something specific, though you suspect she doesn’t. Her understanding has become like that of someone who’s learned a language only halfway. There’s the ability to navigate, but no intuition, no rhythm.

“Does it feel strange to be doing this?” she asks. “Like, taking this whole trip to—what’s the word?—to reset?”

You nod, though it’s more than strange; it’s surreal. You’re on a mission to resurrect a version of each other that you barely recognise anymore. The stakes are uncomfortably high, like someone’s dared you both to restore something irrevocably broken.

“You know,” she says, “I used to imagine us doing something like this. But I thought we’d be sixty or something, grandkids on the way, planning things for fun, not… whatever this is.” She looks down, expression somewhere between regret and wonder.

“Yeah. Me too.” You allow yourself a small laugh. “I thought we’d be the kind of couple who’d stay on for tea in strange little pubs and get lost in French villages and drink wine in the countryside”

She snorts, “I’m not sure if I’d drink the tea. Have you seen the quality of some of the pubs out there?” The joke feels just shy of funny, but you force a laugh, hoping she doesn’t notice the effort.

“But you’re right,” she says, finally. “I thought the same. That’s the dream, right? And I don’t know…” She trails off, staring out the window, at the blur of countryside, the unremarkable patches of brown and green that scroll by. “I don’t know if I even know what I wanted anymore. Or what I still want”

The words hang heavy, a confession too thick for this tight, narrow train car. It’s too early in the journey to delve into it fully, too fragile a moment for honesty of this weight. You reach for her hand again, a steadying anchor. Her grip is warm, though her fingers feel a little too light, as if she’s not fully committed to the touch, a detail that pierces your heart like a needle.

“Then maybe…” you start, pausing, wondering if the words are too simple for what needs to be said. “Maybe that’s what we’re here to find out”

#leah williamson #leah williamson x reader #awfc #awfc x reader #engwnt #engwnt x reader #woso #woso x reader #woso imagine #woso community

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raccoon-in-the-danger-room · 2 months ago

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Sometimes I see reviews about D&W where people think Worst Wolverine's backstory is super lacking. That they expected something epic like how Mysterio tricked Logan to slaughter everyone in the Old Man comic run.

But that plot, at least to me, doesn't make The Worst Wolverine. It probably makes the Most Tortured Wolverine -- the story of a man slaughtering his own family with his bare hands because he was mind controlled. Which inevitably created a power vacuum so gigantic that the world basically collapsed as supervillains take over the world.

But the title of Worst Wolverine should belong to the Logan that completely abandons his most important moral value: to be the protector.

Sure, he tends to be nomadic and at times self-isolates, but at his core he truly knows what it means to be a pack animal: to be a part of a cohesive family unit, rely on others, be a guardian for the weak.

In a literal sense, a common backstory for him was that he just fucked off from human society after he mutated to live with a pack of wolves. He turned feral, but they also taught him about the importance of community.

Even if you aren't a fan of the wolf background (which I AM because I think it's funny and dramatic as hell), there's other stories where he got taken care of by the Blackfoot Tribe and Lord Ogun before somehow winding up in the Weapon-X Program. Then, the Hudson family rescued him and helped him gain his humanity back after the adamantium experiments. He joined Department H, and sometime after, he found his place with the X-Men.

My point being that past or present, Logan has always belonged to a family. He needs it -- his human AND animal side both need it. He's not meant to be a creature of solitude. When he is, it's a form of punishment that he inflicts upon himself because he doesn't feel worthy to be around the people he loves or he's worried about hurting them. Or it's something inflicted upon him -- aka he's been captured and is being experimented on.

So what does all this tell us about Logan's moral code? He cares deeply for others because it's in his nature to be a part of a pack and he will do anything to protect them.

He's very caring towards animals (ex. looking after wolves that took care of him, mercy killing a bear in The Wolverine, and saving the horses in Logan). He tried to save Silver Fox's life when Sabretooth attacked her. When his wife Itsu was murdered, he relied on the advice of Lord Ogun to get vengeance for her with the Muramasa Blade. He joined Department H and Alpha Flight because he owed the Hudsons so much after re-acclimating him to society. He stayed with the X-Men because Charles gave him a home, family, and purpose outside of being a weapon. He enabled him to be the good man that he is by not only using his powers for the good fight but also being a teacher for the students.

As a character, Logan was created to reflect the archetype of the cowboy/samurai with the morals of honor, integrity, and justice. He's also not afraid to be judge, jury, and executioner for the people he loves. He's a man of action.

So what is the antithetical? A man who dishonors himself by not taking his job seriously. A man of inaction who abandons those he loves. A man who doesn't seek justice but wallows in regret and guilt.

And what did the Worst Wolverine do?

He let his fondness for drinking harm his work. While he was drinking at a bar, a group of humans invaded the X-Mansion and killed a large part of the staff, students, and X-Men. He entered a berserker rage where he murdered the invaders AND innocent people. He tarnished the legacy of the X-Men.

The title of Worst Wolverine doesn't go to the man who got brainwashed and killed without knowing. The title goes to the Logan who killed indescriminantly and didn’t want to stop.

He chose to walk away when they called out for him. He went into a beast state that made the public completely turn against the X-Men in just one night. Instead of making up for his sins, he just went back to the bar -- the very thing that killed his family. He did everything he could to go against his morals of honor, integrity, and justice.

He was a man who failed his family.

THAT'S what makes him The Worst Wolverine.

#my post #wolverine #logan howlett #deadpool and wolverine #i went insane with this one #i just hate when people are like 'hur dur his backstory wasnt cool enough'#SHUT UP #HES NOT SUPPOSED TO BE COOL #HES SUPPOSED TO BE A PATHETIC COWARD!!!! THATS WHY EVERYONE HATES HIM!!!!!!!!!!!#HES THE VILLAIN OF HIS UNIVERSE YOU BUFFOONS!!!!!!#character essay

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svt-luna · 4 months ago

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𝜗℘ IF ONLY

❛ 𝘢𝘮 𝘪 𝘤𝘳𝘢𝘻𝘺? 𝘮𝘢𝘺𝘣𝘦 𝘸𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘯. 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘣𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘮𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘨𝘪𝘤’𝘴 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘳𝘶𝘯 𝘰𝘶𝘵? 𝘪𝘧 𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘪 𝘬𝘯𝘦𝘸 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘮𝘺 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘦. 𝘥𝘰𝘯’𝘵 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘪’𝘮 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘢 𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘮? 𝘪𝘧 𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘪 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘪𝘨𝘯𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘮𝘦, 𝘪 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘵𝘰 𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘪’𝘮 𝘮𝘦𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦— 𝘪𝘧 𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺. ❜

timeline: 2017 & 2018

synopsis: A moment of vulnerability, a confession left unanswered, and a heart quietly breaking— If only things had gone differently, but some stories take time to unfold.

warnings: cursing, crying, misunderstanding, drinking, angst, drunk confessions, rejection, sad!Luna, confused!Jeonghan, heartaches, talks about embracing the pain, unrequited love (?), a somewhat hopeful ending

surprise! my first ever one-shot in the Luna-verse, I really hope you guys like it! Also… I am so sorry for making this sad and angsty. A lot of you have been asking me about how Jeonghan rejected Luna ever since I posted the Group Ships… so here it is, but I promise it gets better from here. Luna and Jeonghan’s story is very very interesting so keep a lookout on that 🤍 (p.s. I made myself cry writing this.)

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

If only she wasn’t the way she was, that is what Luna thought growing up.

Luna had always found it difficult to make friends. From a young age, she was used to the way people looked at her— peers who seemed to keep their distance, children her age who were either too intimidated by her or too quick to judge. The few times she had tried to approach someone, their hesitation or outright dismissal had stung.

But with time, Luna learned to accept it. She carried herself with an air of quiet confidence, convincing herself that she didn’t need to fit in with the rest. Even as a child, she’d find comfort in the quiet, the solitude that followed her like a shadow.

That sense of isolation followed her into her teenage years, long after she had moved back to Korea to chase her dream of becoming an idol. At just fourteen, she had thrown herself into a world where competition was everything.

It was hard enough to adjust to the grueling training regimen, but there was something even more challenging— forming connections.

Surrounded by other trainees, Luna had hoped that maybe here, in the shared space of hard work and ambition, she would finally find people who understood her.

Instead, the distance only grew.

The girls she trained with didn’t just avoid her because of her looks. They avoided her because of her talent, her skill, and her determination.

Luna was better than them, and they knew it.

Every time she entered the practice room, Luna could feel the stares. Her sharp movements and flawless execution stood out, but not in the way she had hoped. It didn’t make people want to get closer to her. It made them wary as if they were afraid her presence alone was a threat.

Luna never intended to intimidate anyone; she simply wanted to do her best. But no matter how hard she worked, it seemed to push people further away.

Luna had taken it as a compliment as she got older. But back then, it was suffocating, watching the others group together while she was always left on the sidelines, untouchable, unapproachable.

If only she could have done something differently.

If only people could see beyond her cold exterior.

If only people weren't so quick to judge.

As she grew older, she tried to find some comfort in the idea that perhaps this distance was a compliment. If they were intimidated, it meant they saw her as someone to be taken seriously, someone skilled enough to be a rival. And rivals didn’t need to be friends, right?

But even as she told herself this, the isolation lingered. There were times when the silence became suffocating, and she wondered if anyone would ever approach her without that look in their eyes.

No one ever did.

Not until Jeonghan.

She remembered the first time they met vividly like it was etched into her mind.

It was her first day at PLEDIS after she had transferred from YG Entertainment. She had expected it to be just like the others— people watching her from a distance, maybe a polite nod or two but no real effort to get to know her.

But Jeonghan had been different from the start.

While the other trainees kept to their familiar circles, glancing at her curiously but saying nothing, Jeonghan had walked right up to her. His messy swept hair was already growing since then, and there was a smile on his face— easy and warm as if they had known each other for years.

“Hi,” he had said, extending his hand to her. “I’m Jeonghan. What’s your name?” he’d said with a casual smile like it was the most natural thing in the world. His warmth disarmed her and made her wonder why he didn’t hesitate like the others.

Luna had blinked, momentarily stunned by his straightforwardness. She had been so used to people shying away from her that for a second, she didn’t know how to respond.

“I... I’m Jiyeon,” she had managed to say, her voice uncharacteristically small. “Or Luna… you can also call me Luna.”

“Jiyeon or Luna,” Jeonghan repeated, his smile widening. “Welcome. If you need anything, just let me know.”

That was it. No fanfare, no awkward small talk— just a simple greeting, but it had meant the world to her.

It still does.

Jeonghan was the first person to make her feel like she wasn’t an outsider in the cutthroat world of trainee life. From that moment on, he became a constant presence in her life.

He became her first friend within the company and her first proper friend ever. The one who cheered her on during monthly evaluations when no one else would.

His voice would always rise above the whispers of competition, “You’ve got this, Nana-ya!” he’d say, his voice full of encouragement.

And when she did well— when she ranked first during one of the most intense evaluations— it was Jeonghan who was the first to congratulate her, beaming with pride as if her success was his own.

If only she had realized back then just how important he’d become to her.

Jeonghan became her anchor, the one person she could count on when the loneliness threatened to overwhelm her. He was the first one to truly see her—not just as another trainee, but as someone worth knowing.

Jeonghan was her first friend, her first best friend, but he was also the first guy she ever liked.

As time passed, it became clearer. Jeonghan wasn’t just a friend to her. Luna didn’t know when it had happened exactly, but one day, she realized that her feelings for Jeonghan had shifted.

It wasn’t a loud, thunderous realization. It crept in like a slow sunrise, soft and warm.

His easy smiles, the way his hair would fall into his eyes, the effortless kindness he showed not only her but everyone around him. It was the way her heart would flutter when he smiled at her, the way she would find herself glancing at him in the practice room, admiring his soft features, the way he moved with effortless grace… it all felt different.

It made her heart ache, a tender pull that grew with every interaction.

Jeonghan wasn’t just her best friend— he was someone she cared about, someone who had become more important to her than she had ever anticipated.

It started innocently enough, a soft crush that lingered in the back of her mind, growing stronger with every passing day.

Back then, Luna had convinced herself it was just admiration. After all, Jeonghan was everything she wasn’t— outgoing, charming, and effortlessly kind. He had a way of making everyone feel comfortable, and for someone like Luna, who had always been hard to approach, that was something she admired.

But it wasn’t just admiration. She knew that deep down.

If only she could stop herself from liking her best friend.

It terrified her.

Cause just like every first crush, it came with fear.

Fear that he wouldn’t see her the same way.

Fear that their dynamic would change, and the closeness she cherished would slip away.

As a trainee, Luna had done her best to suppress those feelings. She’d bury herself in practice, pushing herself harder and harder, hoping the exhaustion would numb whatever emotions were swirling inside her.

But Jeonghan always seemed to break through that wall. He was the one who encouraged her when she doubted herself, the one who praised her when she felt like she wasn’t good enough, and the one who always made sure she never felt alone.

He had this way of showing up exactly when she needed someone, even when she hadn’t realized she needed anyone at all.

If only it were simple.

If only her heart didn’t race every time he smiled at her during practice, or when he pulled her aside after evaluations just to tell her how well she’d done.

If only she could keep it all together like she wanted to. But every time they stood next to each other on stage, every time they shared a laugh behind the scenes, every time he gave her that gentle, knowing look that only he could, her feelings for him grew stronger, despite how desperately she tried to push them away.

And yet, she knew she couldn’t say anything.

From their trainee days to their debut, Luna kept those feelings locked inside. She’d convinced herself it was better that way. After all, they were in the same group now. They were members of SEVENTEEN, a team. If anything were to happen, if her feelings were ever discovered, it could ruin everything they had worked so hard for.

The thought of jeopardizing that terrified her. That is the last thing she wanted was to complicate things—for herself, for Jeonghan, or the group.

So, for years, Luna held back.

She smiled when Jeonghan smiled at her, laughed when he teased her during practice and pretended it didn’t hurt when he leaned a little too close to one of their other members, playfully tugging on their sleeves the same way he did with her.

Luna tried to delude herself into thinking that her feelings would fade sooner or later.

If only it did.

The feelings persisted, gnawing at her every time they shared a moment. And as much as she tried to hide it, there was no denying the truth: she had hard fallen for him.

Soon, she had become a master of hiding her emotions, of keeping her heart carefully tucked away.

By 2017, she had gotten so good at it that even she almost believed she didn’t care anymore.

Almost.

But it all came crashing down one late night in June, in the quiet of their shared dorm floor. The group had just come home from a long day, having performed at ‘Music Bank’, and the exhaustion clung to them like a heavy fog.

But for Luna and Jeonghan, the night was far from over. It had become their little routine— after a long day, after all the noise and chaos of performing and smiling for the cameras, they would retreat to either Jeonghan or Luna's place, pour a few drinks, and talk.

Tonight was no different.

The apartment was dimly lit, casting a soft glow around the living room where they sat on the floor, leaning against the couch, with half-empty glasses between them. The curtains were drawn shut, blocking out the city lights, and the only sound was the low hum of the air conditioner and the occasional clink of their glasses as they took small sips.

The rest of the members were asleep or off doing their own thing, leaving Luna and Jeonghan in their own little bubble, just as they always had been.

Jeonghan had been talking about something— Luna wasn’t sure what exactly, her mind was too clouded with the effects of the alcohol and the way he was looking at her, that soft, knowing gaze he always gave her when he thought she was overdoing it. His now blonde hair, now tousled from the day, framed his face as he watched her with that same concerned look he always gave her whenever they drank together.

“You’re going to regret this tomorrow, you know,” Jeonghan said, his voice soft but amused. He leaned forward, reaching for her glass as if to take it from her, but Luna pulled it back with a childish pout, cradling it against her chest.

“I’m fine,” she whined, her words slightly slurred, but playful. She leaned back against the couch, closing her eyes for a moment before glancing at him with a half-smile. “We are so busy nowadays that we never get to just… talk anymore. I miss this.”

Jeonghan chuckled softly, shaking his head. “We’re talking now, aren’t we?”

Luna nodded, her gaze drifting to the ceiling. The room felt heavy with unsaid words, with all the things she’d been holding back for years. And yet, there he was, sitting across from her, calm, composed, completely unaware of the storm raging inside her.

He was so infuriatingly perfect— always knowing what to say, how to make her feel safe, how to make her laugh, how to keep her at a distance just enough that she could never cross that line.

Jeonghan shifted beside her, his arm brushing against hers as he reached for her glass again, gently prying it from her hands this time.

“Nana-ya, you’ll get hungover if you keep this up,” he said, his tone more serious now. His fingers brushed hers as he took the glass, setting it aside, and she hated how even that small touch made her heart race.

If only if her heart stopped doing that.

“I don’t care,” Luna murmured, the alcohol loosening her tongue more than she realized. She slumped further into the couch, her legs stretching out in front of her, her head turning to rest on the cushion behind her.

She watched as Jeonghan stood up, stretching his arms over his head before leaning down to gently take her hand, pulling her up with him.

“Come on, let’s get you to bed,” he said softly, his voice low and soothing as he gently tugged her toward her bedroom.

“I’m not tired,” Luna whined again, stumbling slightly as she followed him, her body swaying from the alcohol.

She felt warm all over, not just from the drinks, but from the way Jeonghan was guiding her with such care, as if she were fragile, something to be protected. His hand was steady, firm but gentle as it held hers, and Luna found herself hating it. Hating how easy it was for him to be like this. How perfect he was.

“We can talk more in the morning. You need to rest.” Jeonghan said, his voice soft but insistent. He led her into her bedroom, helping her sit down on the edge of the bed.

Luna shook her head, her vision blurring slightly as she stared up at him. “You’re too good to me, Hannie,” she mumbled, her words tumbling out without her even realizing it. “You’re… too perfect, it’s annoying.”

Jeonghan paused, crouching down in front of her, his hands resting lightly on her knees as he looked up at her with that same gentle smile. “What are you talking about?” he asked softly, brushing a stray strand of hair away from her face

Luna's heart clenched. She hated it. Hated how effortlessly he could make her feel like this.

“You make me feel things,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “And I hate it.”

Jeonghan blinked, his smile faltering slightly, but before he could say anything, Luna let out a frustrated sigh, leaning forward to rest her forehead against his shoulder. He stayed quiet, his hands gently resting on her back, his touch light, almost hesitant. He didn’t say anything, didn’t push her away, didn’t ask her to explain. He just stayed there, holding her, letting her lean on him as the weight of her words hung in the air between them.

“You’re too perfect,” she repeated, her voice muffled against his shirt. “And I hate it. I hate that you make me feel this way.”

Jeonghan's brows furrowed as he heard her words, the frustration lacing her voice, and something in his chest tightened.

He had a feeling he understood what she meant— he wasn’t oblivious, after all. He’d seen the little signs, the lingering glances, the way her gaze softened whenever he was near. But even with that knowledge, there was a part of him that needed to hear her say it outright. To confirm what he had long suspected but never dared to address.

“What do you mean?” he asked softly, his voice gentle but probing, hoping she would clarify even though he already had an inkling.

Jeonghan’s heart beat a little faster, anxiety swirling in his chest. He didn’t move, his hands still resting lightly on her back, his fingers brushing against the fabric of her shirt. He could feel the heat radiating off her body, the weight of her leaning against him.

Luna pulled back slightly, just enough to look him in the eyes, her expression a mix of frustration and something else— something raw, something vulnerable.

“I hate you,” she muttered, her words slurred but filled with emotion. “I hate that you make me feel like this.”

Jeonghan blinked, momentarily taken aback by the bluntness of her statement. “What do you mean ‘feel like this’?” he asked again, his voice quieter now, a little more uncertain.

Jeonghan knew, of course, he knew, but hearing her say it— he needed that.

Luna huffed, her frustration growing as she ran a hand through her hair, tugging at the strands as if trying to pull herself together.

“Since we were trainees, Yoon Jeonghan,” she said, her voice rising just slightly, her words tumbling out faster now as if she couldn’t stop them. “You were always so... nice to me. Too nice. And you were always there, cheering me on, helping me, making me feel like I wasn’t alone. You made me feel so pretty… so loved… so feel special.”

Jeonghan swallowed hard, his throat suddenly dry. He listened, his heart pounding in his chest as she continued.

“And I hated it. I hated how much I needed that. I hated that every time you smiled at me, I felt something. Something I wasn’t supposed to feel.” Luna’s voice cracked, her frustration turning into something more fragile, more pained. “It’s been the same since we were trainees. And even now... even now, you’re still making me feel this way. And I don’t know what to do with it anymore.”

Jeonghan stayed silent, his mind racing. He could feel the weight of her words sinking in, each one hitting him like a stone, and yet... it wasn’t surprising. Not really.

Jeonghan was good at reading people, he had always sensed it— this undercurrent between them, something deeper than friendship, something unspoken that lingered in the spaces between their interactions. But hearing her admit it, hearing the depth of her frustration, her hurt... it made his chest ache in a way he hadn’t anticipated.

“Jiyeon-ah...” he started, his voice soft, but before he could say anything more, Luna slumped forward, her body going limp as the alcohol finally took over. She had passed out, her breathing evening out as she leaned against his chest.

Jeonghan froze for a moment, blinking down at her in surprise. His heart was still racing, his mind spinning with everything she had just said, but as he looked at her now, so peaceful in her sleep, all that frustration and pain gone from her face, he felt a wave of tenderness wash over him.

She looked so fragile in that moment, so vulnerable, and it made something deep inside him stir. He didn’t move right away. Instead, he sat there for a few minutes, watching her, his hand lightly brushing the hair away from her face as she slept. His heart ached for her, for the weight she had been carrying for so long, for the feelings she had kept hidden all these years.

If only things had been different.

If only he had realized sooner.

Jeonghan let out a soft sigh, his fingers trailing through her hair one last time before he leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead. It was light, barely there, but it was all he could offer at that moment.

“Goodnight, pretty angel,” he whispered, his voice barely audible as he slowly pulled away.

He stood up, carefully laying her down on the bed and pulling the covers over her, making sure she was comfortable before stepping back. He glanced around the room, his gaze falling on the mess they had left behind in the living room— the half-empty glasses, the bottle of soju, the scattered snacks. With one last look at Luna, he quietly left the room, closing the door behind him.

Jeonghan made his way back to the living room, his mind still spinning from everything that had happened. He cleaned up in silence, his movements slow and methodical as he cleared the table, washed the glasses, and wiped down the counter. His thoughts kept drifting back to her words, the way she had looked at him, the raw emotion in her voice.

By the time he finished cleaning, the apartment was quiet again, the night settling in around him. He stood in the middle of the room for a moment, his hands resting on the back of the couch as he stared at the empty space where Luna had been sitting earlier.

If only he had known earlier.

If only things were simpler.

The next morning, Luna woke up with a pounding headache and three immediate regrets.

If only she didn’t remember what she said to Jeonghan last night.

If only she hadn’t drank so much.

If only she drank more— enough to forget.

But she remembered everything. Every. Single. Thing. And she knew, with a sickening certainty, that Jeonghan did too.

Luna stayed in bed longer than she should’ve, staring up at the ceiling as her mind replayed the previous night’s events on an unrelenting loop. The hazy confession, the way her voice had trembled when she told him she hated how he made her feel—her heart sank deeper with each flash of memory.

She squeezed her eyes shut, willing herself to forget, but it was useless. The image of Jeonghan’s face, so soft and caring as she spilled her heart, refused to leave her mind.

Her schedule wouldn’t let her wallow in bed, though. Today was packed with activities: music shows, interviews, rehearsals, variety show tapings, and a radio appearance in the evening.

All of them required her to see Jeonghan.

Dragging herself out of bed, Luna’s stomach twisted at the thought of facing him. How was she supposed to look him in the eye after what she said?

She could still feel the weight of his gaze from the night before, the warmth of his hands guiding her to bed, the way his lips had brushed her forehead so tenderly. Her heart beat faster just thinking about it, but now all she felt was dread.

She couldn’t avoid him. Not when their schedules were so packed together. And yet… If only she could. She pulled on her clothes, barely paying attention to what she was wearing, her mind too preoccupied with thoughts of how to survive the day without falling apart in front of him.

The day started with a soundcheck at a music show. Luna moved through the motions, greeting staff, warming up her voice, and running through their choreography.

All while keeping one eye on Jeonghan.

She didn’t have to look to know he was watching her. She could feel it— the way his gaze followed her across the room. It wasn’t unusual for him to look out for her, but today it was different. His eyes lingered too long, his expressions too soft, too thoughtful.

And yet, she refused to meet his gaze. Whenever he moved towards her, she skillfully maneuvered herself away, pretending to be busy talking to another member or reviewing notes with their staff. When he tried to catch her between breaks, she’d feign exhaustion, lying down in the waiting room, headphones in, eyes closed, hoping he wouldn’t disturb her.

He didn’t. But he watched.

During the interview portion of their music show appearance, she stood sandwiched between Mingyu and Wonwoo, grateful for the buffer zone. Jeonghan was on the other side of the group, but still, she felt his eyes on her. Every time the camera wasn’t focused on them, he’d glance her way, and she’d pretend not to notice.

The weight of it was suffocating, but she couldn’t bring herself to acknowledge it. Not yet.

The rest of the day unfolded in a blur of performances and obligations. She danced, smiled for the cameras, and laughed when appropriate, all while dodging Jeonghan’s attempts to talk to her. When they left the studio for rehearsals, she managed to stick close to the other members, always positioning herself away from Jeonghan without making it too obvious.

But he was relentless. Subtle, but relentless.

For two days, she avoided him with increasing skill. If he took a step toward her, she’d suddenly have a question for staff or be deep in conversation with another member. If he tried to speak to her during breaks, she’d claim she was too tired or needed to use the restroom.

Thankfully, their schedules were so packed that it was easy to stay busy. The exhaustion from back-to-back schedules worked to her advantage— no one questioned why she was too tired to chat during their downtime.

No one, except for Jeonghan.

He never pressed her. Never forced her into a conversation. But Luna knew. She could see it in the way his eyes would flicker with something unreadable when she ducked out of his reach, the way his expression softened whenever she pretended to be preoccupied.

Jeonghan wasn’t fooled. He knew exactly what she was doing.

And he let her.

But there was no escaping the fact that the more she avoided him, the more she felt the tension building between them. It was like a taut string, pulling tighter with each passing day, each fleeting glance, each unspoken word.

And the worst part? She knew it couldn’t last. Eventually, she’d have to face him.

There was only so much running she could do before everything came crashing down again.

And it did.

Three days after her drunken confession, Luna found herself in the worst possible scenario— alone with Jeonghan.

It had been a long day of grueling practice, the kind that left everyone too exhausted to talk, but not too exhausted to finally notice the tension between the two of them.

Luna was desperate to get to her room, hoping to avoid another awkward interaction. She quickened her pace as soon as they entered the dorm, hoping to reach the elevator before anyone could catch up to her— before he could catch up to her.

One thing about Luna is that she hates elevators— she got stuck alone once when she was a child. From then on she never took it alone… till now, that’s how desperate she was.

She must have jinxed it.

As the elevator doors slid open, she stepped in quickly, but a second later, Jeonghan slipped in behind her. The doors closed, trapping her in the small, suffocating space with the one person she had been desperately trying to avoid.

“Fuck my life,” She cursed under her breath.

Where were the other members? Normally, someone would’ve joined them, but tonight, it was just the two of them. Jeonghan must’ve said something to the others, some quiet, strategic whisper to give them privacy.

Luna sighed audibly, her shoulders tensing as she avoided looking in his direction.

The silence in the elevator was unbearable. She could feel Jeonghan’s presence beside her, calm and unhurried.

She hated how composed he always was— how nothing seemed to faze him. Luna, on the other hand, felt like she was barely holding herself together, her heart pounding in her chest, her palms sweaty as she stared straight ahead, willing the elevator to reach her floor as quickly as possible.

But Jeonghan didn’t speak. He didn’t push, didn’t prod. He simply waited, giving her space, like he always did.

If only he wasn’t so perfect.

Finally, unable to bear it any longer, Luna broke the silence. "Just spit it out already," she muttered, still refusing to meet his eyes.

She knew he had something to say, something he’d been holding back for the past three days. It was the thing she had been dreading ever since she confessed her feelings to him— the thing she had been running from since their trainee days.

Jeonghan’s voice was soft, almost tender when he finally spoke. "You’ve been ignoring me."

He didn’t sound angry or hurt, just… understanding.

And Luna hated it. He was too perfect, too kind, too gentle for her own good. How could she not fall for someone like him? How could she not hate him for making it so easy?

A beat of silence stretched between them, heavy and uncomfortable.

Luna could feel the weight of his gaze on her, but she kept her eyes on the elevator doors, counting the seconds in her head, hoping this would all be over soon. But the words were clawing their way out of her, demanding to be spoken.

"What do you want me to say, Han?" Her voice was sharp, and defensive, as if she could protect herself with her words. "That I lied? ‘Cause I didn’t."

She finally turned to look at him, her eyes meeting his for the first time in three days. The impact of it hit her like a wave— his warm, concerned gaze, the softness in his expression, the way he looked at her like he saw straight through her defenses.

"If only it was," she added quietly, her voice breaking just a little at the end.

Jeonghan stepped forward slowly, his movements careful and deliberate, like he was approaching a wounded animal. His hands found her arms, his touch light, barely there, as if he was afraid to hurt her. He gently caressed her skin, his thumb tracing small circles against her sleeve, soothing in a way that only made everything worse.

"Jiyeon-ah..." His voice was low, almost a whisper, as if saying her name out loud might shatter the fragile moment between them.

He didn’t need to say anything else.

Luna knew him all too well.

She knew him inside and out— knew that the look in his eyes wasn’t just concern. There was something else there, something that made her stomach twist painfully.

A twinge of regret. Sadness.

She already knew what he was going to say.

And she dreaded it.

"I…" Jeonghan hesitated, his grip tightening slightly as he prepared to speak, his gaze never leaving hers. "I care about you so much, you know that, right?"

Luna nodded in defeat, biting down on her lip to keep the flood of emotions at bay. She didn’t trust herself to speak.

"But… we can’t do this." His voice was soft, so gentle as if he was trying to let her down easy. "It wouldn’t be professional. And it wouldn’t be fair to the others, to the team. We’ve worked so hard to get here, and… we can’t risk that."

There it was.

The polite rejection.

The one she’d expected but had hoped would never come. The words hit her like a punch to the gut, stealing the air from her lungs. She went numb, her mind buzzing with a kind of dull, painful shock.

She had prepared herself for this. She knew it was coming. But still, it felt like the ground had been ripped out from under her.

She couldn’t hear anything else.

The world around her became a blur, Jeonghan’s words fading into the background as her mind shut down, overwhelmed by the weight of it all. Her chest felt tight, her throat constricting as she struggled to keep herself composed.

If only she could forget this moment… this feeling.

At that very moment, something in Luna’s brain snapped— a survival instinct, a deep-seated need to protect herself from the pain that had just hollowed her out.

A switch flipped, and determination settled over her like a mask. She forced a giggle, light and airy as if nothing had happened. As if her heart wasn’t hanging in tatters inside her chest.

She could see Jeonghan’s face soften, but not in relief. No, his eyes were filled with something else—pain. He knew her all too well. Knew this was her defense mechanism. Her way of pretending everything was fine.

Jeonghan opened his mouth to say something, maybe to stop her from pretending and shutting him out but Luna was faster.

"It’s fine," she said, her voice calm, steady. Her smile not quite reaching her eyes. "I was drunk and being stupid."

There it was.

The first lie.

And then, with a forced chuckle, she gave him the second, her all-time favorite lie, one she had practiced in front of a mirror countless times just in case this moment ever came.

"It’s a little crush. It’ll go away soon."

Luna had become so good at pretending, at brushing off her own heartbreak as if it were nothing more than a mild inconvenience.

She waved her hand dismissively as if her heart hadn’t just been ripped to shreds and thrown at her feet. As if she wasn’t praying for the earth to open up and swallow her whole so she could disappear from the sheer embarrassment of being rejected.

"I’m sorry for worrying you," she said, her voice light, too casual. "You know me. I didn’t want to come off as weird and I’ve been missing my parents lately… Plus, with our schedule being so crazy, I’ve just been all over the place."

She was explaining herself, making excuses for her vulnerability, for the way her feelings had slipped through the cracks in her armor.

It was easier to blame it on something else— on homesickness, on stress— than to admit what was really happening inside her heart.

She saw Jeonghan frown, saw the worry deepening in his eyes as he tried to get a word in, but she was already moving, already pivoting away from the conversation.

"We’re okay." She cut him off, a little too cheerful. Her firm voice cutting through as if to reassure Jeonghan or more so to reassure herself. She stepped forward, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek, something she’d done a hundred times before but this time it felt like a goodbye. "Don’t worry about it."

As if on cue, the elevator doors slid open, and without waiting for a response, Luna slipped out, leaving Jeonghan standing there, stunned and silent.

The moment the door to her apartment clicked shut behind her, the facade crumbled.

Luna’s breath hitched, and she locked the door with trembling hands. Her knees buckled beneath her, and she collapsed onto the floor, the weight of everything she had been holding back crashing down on her in one violent wave.

She pressed her forehead to the cool surface of the floor, squeezing her eyes shut as silent sobs wracked her body. The room was too quiet, the kind of quiet that only amplified the buzzing in her ears, the heavy thud of her heartbeat.

She had known it would hurt, but she hadn’t expected it to hurt this much.

For years, she had kept her feelings carefully hidden, burying them deep inside her chest where no one could see, not even herself sometimes.

Luna had told herself it was better this way, safer. But now that it had all come out— now that she had laid herself bare only to be rejected— it felt like everything she had built around herself was crumbling.

All the walls she had put up, all the armor she had worn, were useless now.

If only she hadn’t said anything.

If only she had kept quiet like always.

If only she hadn’t let herself hope.

Luna was angry— at the universe, at herself because she couldn’t find herself to be angry at Jeonghan. It was not his fault after all. It’s not his fault he didn’t feel the same way, he didn’t do it on purpose. In the same way, she didn’t fall for him on purpose.

However, she was angry that she had been stupid enough to believe, even for a second, that he might feel the same way… even a little. Angry that she had let her guard down. Angry that no matter how hard she tried to let go, her heart had latched onto him with a vice grip that wouldn’t loosen.

Her thoughts spiraled, wild and desperate as tears streamed down her face. She had tried for so long to suppress her feelings, to push them down, to keep them from surfacing. But now, they were all spilling out, every fear, every insecurity, every moment of doubt.

Years, she thought, choking on the sobs. Years of holding this in, of pretending I was okay… all for what?

Luna had always known that liking Jeonghan would lead to this.

It had been inevitable, she supposed.

A quiet, creeping sense of dread that had lived in the back of her mind ever since they were trainees. She had always feared that this would be the outcome, that her feelings would only ever be one-sided, that the day she confessed, everything would fall apart.

But she had never expected it to hurt this much.

Her heart clenched painfully, and for a moment, she wished she could rip it out of her chest just to make the pain stop.

The rejection wasn’t even the worst part.

No, it was the fact that Jeonghan had been so kind about it.

So understanding.

So… perfect.

Luna hated that about him.

Hated that he had been so gentle, so considerate when he let her down.

It would’ve been easier if he had been harsh if he had given her something to be angry about. But instead, he had given her nothing but soft words, valid excuses, and apologies.

The buzzing in her ears became a dull hum as the last of her sobs faded, and in the silence, her body slowly went numb as she curled up on the cold floor, hugging her knees to her chest as she let the pain settle deep within her heart.

Luna didn’t push away the pain this time; she allowed it to consume her, to wrap itself around her heart like a vice.

Every ache, every sharp sting of rejection, she accepted it— because maybe if she let herself feel it fully, let herself drown in it for just this moment, her heart would finally learn.

Maybe this time, the hurt would leave a scar deep enough to remind her, to teach her, that hoping for more was futile. That loving someone who didn’t feel the same way was a battle she was always destined to lose.

Maybe, she thought, maybe this time, my heart will finally take the hint and move on.

But deep down, Luna knew better.

She had tried to move on before— countless times—and it had never worked.

No matter how much she wished for it, her heart had always found its way back to Jeonghan. Always.

And now, as she lay there, broken and exhausted, she realized with a painful clarity that this wasn’t the push she needed to forget him.

No.

This was only the beginning.

It was still painful, though.

Knowing that the first guy she had ever liked— the first person she had truly opened up to— would never see her the same way.

Jeonghan had been the first person to approach her, the first person to become her friend, the first person she liked, and now, he was the first person to break her heart.

If only things had been different.

Life, however, moved on.

The next day came with the same grueling schedule and the same routines. Music shows, interviews, practice sessions, and variety show appearances all blurred together as if nothing in her world had been torn apart the night before.

Luna didn’t allow any cracks to show; she was an expert at wearing her mask by now. She laughed with the other members, joked with the staff, and smiled for the fans— all while something heavy settled deeper within her chest, like a stone she couldn’t quite shake off.

With Jeonghan, it was as if nothing had ever happened. No awkward tension lingered between them, no strained silences or hesitant interactions. He treated her the same way he always had— kind, supportive, teasing her whenever the opportunity presented itself.

Jeonghan was worried, of course.

Luna could see it in the way his eyes lingered on her a second longer than usual, the subtle softness in his voice whenever he spoke her name. But he didn’t push. He didn’t force her to talk about what had happened that night, didn’t ask for explanations or demand a conversation she clearly wasn’t ready to have.

Luna spoke to him like she always did, her tone light and unbothered.

Not once did she avoid him because, in her mind, avoiding him would only prove that she wasn’t okay.

And she desperately needed to be okay.

She couldn't allow anyone— especially Jeonghan— to know the truth despite knowing he probably already did.

That her heart still beat just as fast when he smiled at her, that every casual touch sent a familiar warmth spreading through her chest.

No, she wasn’t going to let anyone see that she was still hurting.

Not again.

Days turned to weeks and weeks turned to months and Luna realized quickly that nothing had changed with her feelings.

They hadn't diminished, they hadn't been pushed away. If anything, they only grew stronger the more she tried to bury them.

So, she made a decision: she would lock them up deep down in her chest, chain her heart, and throw away the key.

It was better like this. Safer.

But fate has a cruel sense of humor.

Because no matter how far Luna thought she’d thrown the key, somehow, in some twisted cosmic joke, it landed straight into Jeonghan’s hands.

Unbeknownst to her, he had already begun to notice the cracks beneath her carefully crafted facade, the moments where her smile faltered just a little too long, or when her gaze lingered on him longer than she intended.

Jeonghan, who had always been so attuned to her, had found the key she so desperately wanted to hide.

And little by little, without her even realizing it, he was using it to unlock the very heart she was trying so hard to protect.

A year had passed since that night.

A year since Luna had bared her soul, and Jeonghan had rejected her.

It was 2018 now, during the filming of the music video of their song ‘THANKS’ and the air was thick with a quiet intensity as the members pushed through a grueling day of shooting.

But even amidst the rush and exhaustion, Jeonghan couldn’t help himself. His eyes followed Luna from a distance, as they often did.

She was talking animatedly to the camera set up for their ‘Inside SEVENTEEN’ behind-the-scenes footage.

Luna’s laugh echoed faintly across the set, and Jeonghan couldn’t stop noticing the smallest things about her.

The way her eyes crinkled slightly at the corners when she smiled— an indication that it was real, genuine, a smile that Jeonghan hadn’t seen in far too long. He noticed how her hair danced in the light breeze, strands occasionally kissing her face before she absentmindedly brushed them away.

Her smile stretched wide, almost reaching her ears, a sign that today, she was happy. Genuinely happy.

And Jeonghan was thankful for that. He’d worried about her for so long.

Luna turned toward him then, catching his gaze. For a moment, time seemed to slow as she smiled at him—soft, warm, real.

Jeonghan returned it with a smile of his own, but the second her attention shifted back to the camera, where she began laughing about something with Dokyeom who sneaked up on her from behind, his heart twisted in a way he hadn’t expected.

Jeonghan would be lying if he said he hadn’t thought about her confession every day since it happened. Because he had. It had haunted him, followed him into every quiet moment, and lingered in every glance they shared.

He couldn’t stop thinking about it— about her. He hadn’t stopped worrying about her since that night, either.

The truth was, he admired her— he always had.

Jeonghan admired the strength she had to smile and laugh even when she must’ve been hurting inside.

He admired how effortlessly beautiful she was, today, yesterday, and every day in between.

He admired how she seemed to carry the weight of the world on her shoulders but never let it dim her light.

But as Jeonghan watched her now, laughing freely with Dokyeom, something sharp and bitter jabbed at his chest.

It was innocent, of course. Luna and Dokyeom had always been close. Their laughter was nothing more than friendly.

But that didn’t stop the sudden realization from slapping Jeonghan across the face: he couldn’t keep this lie up any longer.

The lie that he had been telling himself since the night Luna confessed to him.

When she had stood there, vulnerable and raw, spilling her heart out, he had been scared.

He’d made excuses— talked about professionalism, about the team, about the risks. But deep down, they were just that— excuses.

He had lied, not to her, but to himself.

Because he felt the same.

He always had.

And he’d been too scared to admit it, too scared to face what it would mean to let himself fall for her.

If only he hadn’t lied.

If only he hadn’t been scared.

If only he had the courage to do what his heart had been telling him all along.

But the sight of her laughing with someone else, even if it was innocent, hit him like a bolt of lightning.

The thought of someone else making her laugh like that, of someone else being the reason behind those genuine smiles— he couldn’t handle it.

Jeonghan couldn’t let someone like Luna go.

Not now.

Not ever.

His hands were clammy as he fidgeted with the hem of his top, his leg bouncing anxiously. His heart was pounding so hard in his chest, it felt like it might burst out. There was a smile creeping up on his face, a warmth spreading through him, and for a moment, Jeonghan wondered if he was going into cardiac arrest.

But then, no… this wasn’t heart failure.

This wasn’t a symptom of physical pain.

This was him falling for Bae Jiyeon.

It wasn’t fear.

It was exhilaration.

It was the undeniable truth that he couldn’t keep hiding anymore. He was falling for her— had been for a long time, but now, it was clear as day. The thought of her with anyone else made him feel like he’d lose a piece of himself.

And there was only one way to fix that.

Jeonghan wasn’t discouraged by his mistakes from the past. No. He was determined now— more than ever.

Determined to make this right, to tell her what he should’ve said a year ago.

Determined to hold onto her before it was too late.

With the key to Luna’s heart, which she had thrown away in her desperate attempt to lock her feelings deep inside, now firmly in Jeonghan’s grasp, he was determined to unlock a future they both had wished for but were too hesitant and scared to reach.

Jeonghan is determined to do anything to turn the if only into an unequivocally so.

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