#i learned some nice things yay

[glorfindel-of-imladris]

Erestor and Glorfindel 🤍✨

[seaofreverie]

Delivery day!!!!!!!

[carcarrot]

anyway a different sneaky plan worked out in that i was able to find old listing photos of my dream house and ough..... i need her .....

[opens-up-4-nobody]

...

[terrified-spider]

Changes to the Zombie - Vers. 1

As part of my Ravenloft/Domains of Dread Hopping Campaign, my players are going to be visiting Falkovnia and defending a small lumber farm over the course of a few days leading up to the full moon. While I love fighting and/or playing zombies (my main PC is literally a spider-infested corpse), I find 5e's basic zombie stat block a bit lackluster, particularly when using it in mass combat with low level PCs. Of course, there's the Strahd Zombie, but the extra limbs become a pain to track, and when working with a party of four level three characters, I can't have too many of them in a fight.

With the session less than 12 hours away as I write this, here's what I'll be test running:

I'm using the RAW statblock as a starting point, and will be making only small changes to the AC, HP, and Damage details, to keep the CR close to 1/4.

Rather than just the Slam attack, I'll be adding a Bite and Claw/Slash attack. Each attack will have the same Damage dice, before taking into account the changes mentioned later. The main variations will be the Damage type, with slashing for the Claw/Slash, and piercing for the Bite. One of my favorite house rules I've played with and used is that the damage type for some weapons can change depending on how the attacks are described, and I want to provide the zombies with a few different options.

To keep with the CR, they won't receive Multiattack, and just have the option to shift between attack methods.

To make it easier to come up with descriptions for the zombies, and to create some mechanical variation between them, I created a simple table to roll on as needed. Most are purely aesthetic changes, though a few change speed, buff or debuff damage/attack rolls, and impact AC.

A Missing Jaw have a -1 to hit, along with the debuffs from a Broken Jaw or Missing Teeth.

Zombies with Missing Teeth, Missing Fingers, or a Broken Jaw have a -1 to damage rolls of their respective attacks.

A Limp drops speed by 5, and Missing a Leg by 10. Those Missing Both Legs are prone and must crawl.

Armor, even when broken, adds some kind of protection. Wearing it provides the zombie with +1 AC.

Larger zombies receive an extra hit die and +1 damage to Slam attacks.

Anyway, I'll be testing this stuff out tomorrow, I'll give an update as soon as possible about how it all went. I don't do a lot of homebrew, at least not beyond reflavoring stuff, so this will probably need a few revisions before it's actually decent.

An early "thank you" to my players, who don't yet know how much help they're going to be.

[astrxealis]

good eve hope u all r well 😇😙💗✨

[miniimight]

"S'NOT MY BIRTHDAY..." silly girl, thinking you need an occasion in order to be spoiled by them!

with gojo, nanami x fem!reader

notes trying out this writing thing again lol

in previous relationships, you had to deal with the bare minimum. a generic greeting card on valentine's day, a bunch of snacks for your birthday, and a necklace for christmas because 'that's what girls like, right?'

now, with him, it's different. he has no qualms about getting you anything your eyes linger on, no matter the price. he had so much money, he picked things up and swiped his card without so much as a glance at the cost. it baffled you sometimes.

it happened was early on in your relationship. you then quickly learned to just sit back and let him spoil you!!

GOJO

satoru's fingers were laced with yours as he swung your connected arms between you. he inhaled deeply, looking up at the high ceiling of the mall. "today's a good a day as any to throw some cash, don't you think baby?"

you giggle and squeeze his hand. "one or two things should be okay." that's what you budgeted for, anyway.

he rolled his eyes, scolding you for your tiny imagination before allowing you to pull him along to your favorite stores.

it wasn't long before your eyes spotted the store you loved but couldn't afford. your stare was glued to the window display, all the cute tops and pants and bags and shoes and bracelets and...

when he felt your steps slow, satoru glanced at you. you were laser focused on the clothing store—naturally, he sharply turned towards it.

"hey!" you squeaked at the sudden change of direction, and you hurried to match his pace again. "toru??"

"i saw you looking, baby, why didn't you just say you wanted to check it out?" he teased.

you looked over to the side, embarrassed. "i... i don't wanna tempt myself, cus i know i'll gaslight myself into buying something."

he narrowed his eyes, not in scorn but in confusion. "who said you were buying anything?"

"huh?" you chirped, eyebrows furrowing in confusion.

gojo stared blankly at you. you really were adorable, thinking he wouldn't spend his last dime on whatever you wanted, regardless of how trivial it was. a smile pulled at his lips.

"my sweet girl," he cooed. "my sweet, slow girl..."

you gasped indignantly and poked satoru's side, earning a giggle from him. "slow?!"

"obviously, i'll by whatever you want, silly." he tugged you towards the entrance of the store.

"but..." you resisted his pull. "it's not my birthday or anything..."

huh? he pouted. "as if i need a special reason to get you stuff."

"but..." heat creeped up your neck as you reveled in the unfamiliar feeling of being spoiled. something inside you told you that he was just being nice and was waiting for you to shut him down, save him the expenses. "it's not fair, is it? i didn't get you anything so far..."

his face fell slightly as he pulled you away from the busy traffic of the moving crowds. satoru pulled your chin up to face him. "i dunno what's running through that pretty head of yours, but answer me this, okay?"

you nod.

"you want it?" he gestured towards the store.

you hesitated, eyes straying from his face. he quickly squished your cheeks, causing your eyes to widen and snap to his. "—!"

"don't overthink it, pretty girl, just tell me."

"yesfh." you answer dejectedly, muffled against his hands.

"then you'll have it." he told you. "i want you to have anything and everything you say you want. i wanna buy it for you. and being able to hear you say 'my boyfriend got this for me' is all i need in return." he grinned cheekily.

you pouted, looking unbelievably cute in his eyes. he despises the partners of your past for leading you astray, thinking you needed to do something special in order to be appreciated. don't worry, he'll fix that in no time.

he pecked your pursed lips before hugging you. "okay?"

you giggle. "okay."

"yay!! now let's go!!"

by the end of the day, he had to call ichiji to help carry all the bags to the car. he was so proud of you!

NANAMI

kento was your shadow as you glided through the store, picking up things and setting them down.

"oh, this is so cute!" you squealed holding up a tee for him to see.

he smiled, more because of your excited expression than the t-shirt. "it is. you should get it."

you hummed, in thought. your hands drifted over the material, picking up the tag before inhaling sharply. "nah, another time."

he frowned. you'd done this at every store so far, picking up things you said you liked but leaving them behind. he was bewildered. "but... you like it, do you not?"

you winced, hoping this topic wouldn't come up. "i do! it's just the price. out of my budget, you know?" you said, trying to be light. you burned with discomfort. might as well just say you're poor.

kento frowned. "oh..."

"yeah."

you quickly turned away, avoiding the confused look on his face.

"y/n." he called you.

"...yes?" you glanced behind you, seeing him standing over the shirts.

"are you under the impression that you would be paying?" he asked.

you blinked. "oh?" yes, you were, but you were surprised to learn that he had the opposite understanding. "well... yeah."

he frowned, disappointed with himself. "i'm sorry. i didn't intend to make you feel that way."

you stepped closer, rubbing his arm soothingly. "what are you talking about?" you laughed softly. "you didn't make me feel any kind of way. i'm not upset, if that's what you're getting at. i never expected you to spend your money on me."

his frown only deepened. oh, how he has failed. "why not?"

you faltered. how did you manage to make it worse? "i'm not sure i understand..."

kento shook his head. "have you been thinking you'd be using your own money for purchases? this whole time?"

"um..."

"sweetheart, i'm paying. for everything, at all times." he refused to hear anything else, cutting you off when you opened your mouth to retort. "we'll have to circle back to the stores we previously visited."

it was your turn to frown. "kento, it won't be my birthday for a few months! you don't have to get me anything right now."

"what does your birthday have to do with anything?" he asked, genuinely confused. "i don't mean to interrogate you, my love, but i think i am the one who doesn't understand."

"you'd get me anything i asked for?" you shoot back, spelling it out for him. "for no reason?"

"for one reason," he replied. "simply because you want it. it'd make you happy."

warmth spread across your face. "that's two reasons." you mumbled.

he clicked his tongue, exacerbating your bashfulness when he pulled you into his side. he kissed your forehead. "you make me laugh, y/n. i was so confused as to why you weren't getting anything. surely that's not how you usually shop."

he bought that shirt for you, as well as the many things you thought were cute at all the stores you stepped foot in. now, you shop without any hesitations.

© miniimight ! thanks for reading <3

[cherry-leclerc]

method acting ☆ cl16

genre: angst, yearning, humor, fluff, journalist!reader, established relationship

word count: 13.2k

There’s a lot of things you’d like to do differently in life. And the weeks leading up to that night is one of them.

inspired by this, this, and this !

cherry here!… hello there. sooo this was supposed to go up a few days ago, but silly me scheduled the wrong date, haha, so this is me formally apologizing for that. on a more lighter note: i’m so excited for you guys to read this one considering this is the re-written version of ‘method acting’ if you guys even remember the original version. love u all very much, and enjoyyy :)

From his boyish smile, to his dominant smirk—you knew it all. 

The way it would slowly start to spread, but always ended with a dimple. You loved many things in life—many, many things—but nothing comes close to him. From the very start, he’s been gentle. A gentle giant, you’d sometimes joke with a teasing voice, to which he’d roll his eyes yet never deny. 

The way he’d start every sentence with—honey—and end with—I love you. The way he’d cradle your face between his hands, kissing the corner of your mouth first before pressing down completely. The way he’d translate for you with all the patience in the world. Everything about him had been so easy to learn, so easy to love.

But here, in a room, staring at each other, you begin to wonder if you ever knew him at all. Because suddenly you don’t know what the frown on his face means. What the furrowed brows with the pinched expression interpret to. You don’t know any of it. 

Why are you so surprised, though?

You caused this, anyways.

-

“I still can’t wrap my head around the fact that you don’t know how to use a USB, Lis. Aren’t you supposed to be, I don’t know—tech savvy?” 

Lissie aims a harsh glare before tapping her nail against the computer screen as if that might make the process a whole lot quicker. “So what? I lied on my resume. Everybody does it.”

You chuckle. “Who even uses USB’s nowadays?”

“Apparently Grandpa Will. Oh, yay, it's done!” She shimmies. “I’ll see you later, m’kay?” With that, she zips down the paddock without a second glance. You sigh, gathering your stuff and making your way down the busy crowd, heading straight towards Ferrari Hospitality. 

He’s on his computer when you first walk in, keys clicking. He nibbles on his bottom lip, knits his dark brows like he’s in pain. As soon as you tap your finger against the wall, he perks up, all his interest suddenly gone. He grins. “And to what do I owe this pleasure?”

“Lis,” you respond, claiming a seat next to him. 

The Monegasque hums, leaning in to kiss your lips swiftly. “Thank you, Elisabella.” You giggle, sneaking a quick peek at his open screen. “Whatcha’ workin’ on? Wait—let me guess. You’re getting your marriage license annulled?”

“To be with you, yes,” he agrees, nodding enthusiastically. “How do you think Joris is going to take it?”

A playful shrug. “He’s just going to have to accept it, no?”

“I suppose.” Snapping the computer shut, he fixes himself, head pressed softly against your lap, closing his eyes. The sight of his even breaths and curved nose makes you smile as you start threading your fingers through his hair. He sighs, tense shoulders instantly rolling back. “Journling, and whatnot. It’s a habit that has a near expiration date, for sure, but is quite nice as of now.”

And though he can’t see you, your neat brows raise up in surprise. “Journaling on an electronic device? Why not an actual journal? You know—something authentic. I actually know of a place back in Portland where they sell some cute ones, ver—”

“I’m not looking for cute. I’m looking for security.” A beat. “I’d lose it in a week, and we don’t want that happening, now do we? My laptop works just fine. Plus, I feel more at peace knowing it’s not something I will just leave behind.”

“I wouldn’t put it past you,” you declare, enjoying the way his lips twist with a childlike snarl. “Anyways, I’m glad you’ve picked up on a new hobby. It’s good for you, Charlie.”

“Learned from the best.” You blush. “By the way, media shouldn’t last longer than an hour? Wanna go out?”

“Aren’t you tired?” you question, forcing his eyelids open as he squirms, pushing your hand away.

“A little. But I still want to do something with you.”

A tired sigh. “Cute, but I can’t. Lissie and William are out for today, so it’s just me, which means I have to conduct all the interviews by myself.”

The brunette bats an eye. “Why?”

“She forgot she had a deadline—hence why I was busy helping her—and Will still has to look it over. They have to send it in by midnight and it’s—it’s a lot.”

“Why couldn’t she just email it?”

“That’s what I’m saying!” you screech, causing him to flinch and squeeze his eyes. Sheepishly, you pat his head. “He insisted on a USB. Says he wants all work done like the olden days.”

“That sucks,” he mumbles. “And who even uses USB’s nowadays? They’re so outdated.”

“That’s what I’m—” You stop, mid-sentence, lowering your voice when he sits up and scoots away. “Saying,” you finish, whispering. You purse your lips, sending a slight grimace. “You get it.”

Charles nods, standing up and placing his laptop into his duffel bag. “I’ll come back and pick you up, yeah? Meanwhile, I can maybe cook something for us.”

“Honey,” you coo. “I love you, but please don’t.” His face drops. What the fuck? You giggle. “How about take-out?”

“How about,” he mutters, stiff as a statue when you press your lips down onto his jaw, but quickly melts. “Chinese?”

“Sounds good.” Another peck. “I’ll call you!”

-

If you remember—and you do remember—you fell in love with writing ever since you watched The Devil Wears Prada. It was a reset for you because before that you had seriously considered going to law. At first, you started with column writing in your school's newspaper. No one ever read it, you’d always find it on the floor after being trampled on, but you never cared. 

Soon after, you started publishing smaller pieces here and there on your fashion blog that has since been taken down, but that was the moment you knew. Thing was, you wanted to nurture this into a career, you really did, but nothing to do with fashion, rather sports. 

Maybe it had to do with the fact that every Sunday your Grandpa would beg for you to come over to his house and watch the races with him. They were extremely boring at first. Who willingly drives for roughly two hours in loops? Then, it clicked. Everything changed and you were enthralled. 

After that, all you knew was that you wanted it bad. It was hard, studying over time in order to get done quickly and just start working, but it was well worth it. You met Lis the same year she started working with Formula One, so you both figured a lot of things out together, and for two years, it was just you and her, interviewing and writing about the drivers on the grid.

But he noticed you both years ago.

He first noticed the burn on the back of your left leg. He initially thought it was a band-aid by the way it healed, but later found out you had burned yourself with a curling iron back in highschool when you were rushing to get your senior pictures taken. Then he noticed your eyes and the way they always had a glimmer to them, even if something wasn't going your way. He respected the hell out of you after that.

 How do you do that? 

You freeze. Do what?

Stay so…so—optimistic. Happy, I suppose.

You laughed then, and he saw the way your hair fell over your shoulder like a silk curtain. He would have smiled if he wasn’t so stuck up on that. It’s all a facade. They way you see me—it’s not real.

Believe me, I don’t think you’re real.

You blush, looking back down at your journal where you’ve been too busy scribbling prior to his question. You just have to ignore them sometimes, you know? Remind yourself that they don’t know you and you don’t know them. Trust me, it helps.

And after that, you two never stopped talking. 

Whether it was about work, or perhaps even the weather, you two always had something going on. Something everyone noticed, but never brought up. And at one point, you confessed your next dream.

Journalist of the Year, he repeated, a goofy smile slowly itching his skin. Yeah, I can see that.

It’s not that easy, though, you retort, exhaling heavily. I mean, I’ve been doing this for quite a while now and I haven’t even been considered once, which is fine, maybe I’m not good enough, but maybe it’s also time to…I don’t know—give up?

He kept quiet, kept his eyes focused on you, and frowned. If it’s something you want, then it’s most likely something you can have. 

Pft, you scoff. Nah. Not this. It’s nearly unattainable for someone like me. Even Lissie has won, and we’ve been here for the same amount of years. Now I’m not saying she doesn’t deserve it, but that just comes to show that there’s always someone better. And I’m just here. You look up. It’s okay, you can laugh.

A beat. I could be a hypocrite to tell you that it’s not good to measure how talented you are or how talented you can be based on some award, but Jesus Chrsit, I do the same thing. I understand. And it’s because I understand that I’m telling you to keep working hard and prove yourself to them. You have it in you—I’ve known ever since we met. You smile. Your time will come, yeah?

And for the first time: you believed it. 

A nod. Thanks, Charles. Yours will too.

About a month later, you two started officially dating. It almost seemed too good to be true at times, but wherever he looked for you in the crowd, you knew it just had to be. 

But the start of your relationship was also the end of something else.

Interviews and articles? 

He nods. Right. None of that.

You follow his actions, nodding numbly as you blink. So, no more working together? Because you want me to have a fair shot?

Yes, he confirmed. I just don’t want you to be nominated—because it’s only a matter of time, I have a feeling—and feel as if they picked you simply because of your dating status. 

Who’s going to do all of that, then? 

There’s plenty of other reporters. Lissie? Will? Maybe even Natalie. He took a step closer, grabbing your hands gently. What I’m trying to say is that I want you to feel accomplished. That what you did was simply because of your work, and not having to do with your connections because trust me, that doesn’t feel good.

But I love working with you. You give his hand a squeeze, tilting your head and smiling sadly. You’re my favorite person to write about and talk to…

And he genuinely seemed to be pained by your words, wincing.

But you suck it up because you know he’s right. I’ll always be your favorite?

Only the best.

A hum. Alright then. You take a step back, extending your hand for a professional handshake. He smiles, taking it and giving it a good tug.

 It was nice working with you, Mr. Leclerc.

-

“I’ll never understand,” Lissie starts, pressing the elevator button for the twenty-fifth floor and chewing on a licorice. “Why you two ever create such a stupid rule like that?” A hard chew. “All I’m saying is that it could have definitely helped you out a whole lot. You probably would have won by now.”

You roll your eyes, but not without thinking how she might be right. You’ve definitely wondered about a world in which you two hadn’t taken this approach, and while it would have been nice, you also know that it would have felt a little less special knowing that being a nepo to Charles had something to do with it. Which is most likely what would have happened, let’s be completely honest here. 

“You came to this arrangement, what? Twenty years ago, maybe fourty? And it’s not to be rude, but you haven't been nominated, so was this really worth it if it hasn’t made much of a difference?”

“Okay,” you grunt, ripping the red candy away from her and throwing it into the nearby trash as soon as you step out of the elevator. She pouts, following along. “I think we get it, I fucked up, very funny.”

“No,” she hums. “I never said you did, I was simply thinking, that's all.” You scoff. “But whatever. I have a feeling this is it. You definitely have it in the bag. They’d be crazy not to add you for a fourth time!”

Spinning, you smile bitterly at the Brit girl. She gulps. “Thank you, Lis, your mild support is very much appreciated.”

You turn back around, walking faster.

“Sheesh, sorry,” she hisses, entering the familiar office with a lost expression.

Carly, your manager runs over, practically jumping onto you and hugging you tight. “Lis, close the door!” You groan at the loud sound against your ear, but she's none the wiser, already embracing you harder. “You did it!”

“I told you!” Lissie shoots smugly.

You freeze, heart racing. “You’re lying.”

“I’m not lying—”

“Why would she be lying?”

Letting go, Carly lets out a delirious laugh. “Everything—all of it—has finally paid off. You did it, you’re on the list!”

“Holy shit,” you whisper in disbelief, playing with your necklace as you pace the spacious office. Lissie and Carly both grin at each other from ear to ear, nodding enthusiastically. You come to a halt. “Are you making this up because I said I would kill myself if I didn’t make it this year because, for your information, I was totally kidding!”

“It’s not a joke,” the redhead squeals, jumping again. “I’m so proud of you!”

“I am too!” Lissie shrieks, running and kissing you face as you try your best to swat her away even though you’re laughing. “Even after what I said in the elevator, I knew this shit was the real deal this time! Didn’t I tell you? Carly, I told her.” She twirls you, making you grin harder.  “You won!”

“Okay, let's touch some grass, ladies,” Carly cuts in. “We can’t forget that this is just a nomination and that there’s still work that needs to be done in order to secure our best chances.”

“Right,” you respond, elegantly fixing yourself and nodding up and down. You freeze. “Wait, what work? I thought this was it?”

Carly shakes her head. “Oh honey, we’re just getting started.” A pause. “You have to write an article.”

“I am—confused. What do you mean by article?”

The Brit takes a seat in a nearby chair, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “It’s their one and only requirement. Show them why they should pick you.”

Carly nods, red hair bouncing. “Shouldn’t be too hard. You’re as talented as they come. Just do what you do, but…better!”

Color drains your face as you go back to pacing. “What do you mean better? This is all I got! There’s nothing left to show, oh God—”

“What are you talking about?” your manager yelps. “There’s always more!”

“Exactly,” Lissie hums, somehow munching on another piece of candy. “There’s always—that, yeah. More.”

Your eye twitches. “Okay, you already went through this and won. How did you do it?”

She pouts, tapping the licorice against her lips before clicking her fingers. “I wrote my piece on fashion and how it’s made its way into Formula One. Wasn’t even that hard. Well. Shouldn't be. Write what you know and it’ll come to ya, they say. Or maybe they don’t, but definitely still do that.”

Your shoulders drop, plopping down next to her and placing a pillow over your face. “Fuck. That’s genius.” It is, isn’t it? she mumbles, slowly chewing in deep thought. Screaming into the pillow, you feel the frustration you didn’t have a second ago finally erupt. “What am I going to do?”

“Sweetheart,” Carly starts, forearms pressed against her glass desk, and stern eyes trained onto you. “You have got to be one of the most raw writers I have ever worked with.” A beat. “Sorry, Lis.” 

“Screw you,” she snarls, focusing on her phone now. 

Your manager sighs, rubbing her temples. “And please take that as a compliment because it is. You don’t hold back, and you tell it how it is. That’s what makes you one of the best! And if it weren’t for you wanting this, I would have definitely sent an angry email on your behalf because you deserve this more than anyone.”

“Wow,” the Brit muttered, raising her dark brows. 

“Sorry,” she mumbles, cringing. “But you’ve won already, Lis, and we supported you, and now…” She faces you again with soft eyes. “We’re doing this for you. You got it, m’kay?”

“But—” your voice cuts off as you blink rapidly, losing focus with the thought of failing, imprinting itself into the forefront of your mind. “I don’t know what to write about, which is weird because I always have an idea, at least. That’s simply a bad sign, that much I know.”

“It’s only bad if you think it is,” Lissie says, clicking her phone off and smiling gently. “But in all honesty, I think it’s actually quite good. That means you know what's at stake, and you know you have to make this the best goddamn article in your entire life.” A beat. “Write what you know, I’m telling you.”

“What she said,” Carly squeaks cheerfully, eyes crinkling as she starts pouring champagne and handing them one by one. “But just so you know, we have to get this in by October thirteenth because they make their decision by the sixteenth.”

“But that’s Charles’ birthday week,” you wail, rubbing your eyes harshly. “Fucking hell—”

“He’ll understand,” Lissie cuts you off, clicking her glass against Carly’s who shrugs, sipping neatly. “All of us know he will.”

“Okay then,” you whisper slowly. You curl your hand tighter against the glass. “Cheers?”

“Cheers, mate!”

-

Entering his Monaco flat, Charles lets out a tired sigh, taking his shoes off and flinging his keys to the nearby coffee table. The loud thud makes him flinch before running over hurriedly. A large scratch lays across the rich wood as he panics, kneeling down to inspect it carefully.

“Are you serious, Charlie?” he hears over his shoulder, jumping to find you with a frown on your lips and hands on your hips. “That was a gift!”

“I’m sorry!” he squeaks. “From your Grandpa, I know, I’m sorry!”

You let out a breath, shrugging. “It’s fine. How was your day?”

He eyes you suspiciously once before getting closer to you and kissing you hello. “Eh. Decent. Yours?”

Plump lips twist before flattening back out. “Decent.”

He squints, noticing the way you play with your necklace. “You’re lying.”

“No, I’m not,” you answer quickly. Defensively.

His brows furrow deeper. “Blow me.”

“Blow you?”

“Yes. Right here, right now—blow me.” He demonstrates, letting out a breath as if taking a breathalyzer test. 

You let out a sore laugh, rolling your heels as you stumble back. What? Your laughing stops, though tears run down your face as you try to get your words out. “You mean breathe out, not blow you.” Your giggles pick up once again, making him blush deep red. “God, you need to learn a bit more proper english.”

He looks away, cringing at the sound of his voice replaying, and then turning with a stoic face. “Don’t change the subject.” A pause. “Breathe out.”

You freeze. “Why?”

“Don’t ask questions, just do it.” “I’m not going to do it.”

“Just do it,” he presses harder.

You glare. “No. I’m not.”

Taking one last glance, he leaps forward with zero warning and starts tickling you, making your squeal. Stop! “Breathe!” I am breathing, you twat! “Blow me—God damn it! Whatever! Blow! Breathe! Blow!” 

“Fine, fine, just stop!” you screech, giggles coming to an end as he nods and stares down at you, which by now, you’re laid down on the couch with him towering over. You blush, breathing out lightly, nearly nothing. He rolls his eyes. Blow me harder. “Blow me harder,” you mimic, copying his accent. 

He groans. “You get what I’m saying—”

“I don’t, though,” you joke, laughing harder. As soon as your eyes shut, he smiles down at you affectionately, but when they open again, he reverts his lips back into a straight line. Your lips wobble playfully. Letting out a big breath, he whiffs strongly. “Gross, Cha!”

“You smell like strawberry sorbet, relax.” A beat. “Open your mouth and stick your tongue out for me.”

“Okay, this is getting really kinky.”

He aims for a deadpan expression. 

Rolling your eyes, you do as you're told and he lets out a scream. “What the fuck!”

“It’s red!”

“No duh, Charles!”

“Strawberry sorbet. The last pint. You ate it all, didn’t you?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“So that's a yes.”

You frown.

“And we always share, but when we don’t it’s because you’re going through something and you couldn’t help yourself.”

“Okay, Sherlock Holmes, we get it,” you grunt, pushing him off as you sit up. He does the same, staring at you, concerned. “By the way, does that upset you?”

“The ice cream? Nah.”

You nod, then yawn. “Why do you have to be so attentive?”

“Because I love you.”

You smile. “I made it onto the list.”

“The list?”

“The list.”

A wide grin dances across his pink lips as he jumps onto the coach, up and down, making you bounce and stare up with a soft look. “The list! Thee list. Holy crap, congratulations, honey!” Landing on the ground, he hugs you, digging his face into the crook of your neck and kissing it over and over. “You smell nice—congrats—is that citrus—wait, this smells really nice—”

“It is citrus,” you giggle as he separates from you. “And thanks. It means the most coming from you.”

Silence takes over for a second or two before his brows knit neatly. “What’s wrong?”

“No. Nothing.” They raise up higher. “I’m not gonna lie—I’m scared.”

Tugging you closer to his chest, he drags so you two are laying back down. You close your eyes at the feeling of his arms wrapping around you like some blanket. “About what? You totally got this.”

“Hmph. It’s just that, I, uh. I have to write an article on a topic of my choice, and—I. Don’t know? I have no clue what to write about.”

Listening attentively, he doesn’t interrupt as your words begin to pour out like a prayer. He doesn’t even interrupt when you say something along the lines of being “at best—mediocre”, even though he really wanted to. You scoff. “It’s a silly problem to have, I’m well aware, but…it’s the truth.”

The Monegasque picks your breathing patterns, mindlessly copying as you cuddle him. “You’ll figure it out.”

You swiftly look up, cheek pressed against his heart beat. “That’s it?”

“What else do you want me to say?”

What do you want him to say? Your lips open aimlessly, then close forcefully. 

He grabs a nearby blacket, covering you both and hugging you the same he’s seen you hug your teddy bear. “I think you need to have a little bit more faith. In yourself, that is. Because your mind…” Green eyes connect with yours as your breath comes to a strong halt. He tends to make your body react that way, quite often. He sends a simple grin. Dimples and all.

“It's the most beautiful thing on this earth.”

-

Abu Dhabi 2021.

It’s been talked about too much already.

Spain 2016.

You’re kidding, right?

Fine. Azerbaijan 2018—

You let out a muffled scream. “Pierre, no! I need something better.”

“Better than all that drama?” he dead pans, genuinely confused as to why his ideas are being shut down.

You exhale, hair flying outward. “I love it too, but I need something new. Unheard of.”

The Frenchman pauses, curling a brow. “I’ve gone blank.”

You bite down on your tongue, shrugging it off. “It’s okay. I should probably come up with my own topic, anyways.”

Getting up, you wave goodbye and make your way to the ice cream truck that’s been rented out for the weekend. Smartest investment, you think to yourself as you twirl your tongue around the lavender spoon. 

“This time I really do mean it—blow me.”

Squinting up at the sun—which so happens to be behind Charles like a halo—you chuckle, feeding him a spoonful. “Good, no?”

“Delicious,” he hums, going in for another. “Have you tried the funnel cakes?” They have funnel cakes? you squeal, eyes shining. He nods. “Want one?”

You deflate. “Later.”

Watching the crowd walk by, you two sit there, switching turns and enjoying each other's company. It’s amazing how no one comes up to Charles, either. Not that he would mind, but it’s definitely a nice surprise. Glancing over, he hands the spoon back to you. “Come up with something?”

“I have a few ideas, but nothing solid yet.”

Pistachio ice cream melts away faster. “I told Pierre to leave you alone, I hope he didn’t bother you too much.”

“He’s actually the reason why I have these ideas. Don’t let him know, though, I would never live it down.”

Watercolor eyes go wide. “Really? Pierre actually helped?”

“Weird, huh?”

“Without a doubt.”

“Don’t stress out too much, honey. You still have time.”

You purse your lips. “But the sooner I figure it, the sooner I can start and just focus, and do the proper research and try and—”

“You have time,” he reaffirms with a knowing look. You cock your head and he sends a sly grin. “Plenty.”

“Plenty,” you copy as he nods along. Extending his arm, he signals to the spoon. You shake your head. “You can have the rest.”

“You’re the gift that keeps on giving.”

-

Write what you know. Write. What. You. Know.

What the fuck does that even mean?

Biting down on your pen, you’re spaced out, staring at the picture frame. In it, Charles and Carlos smile, you can tell, behind their helmets. While the Monegasque’s eyes crinkle sweetly, the Spaniards are dilated and wide. Both nice, but nothing beats those green eyes. 

You can slowly feel your sanity slipping away, day by day. There’d be times where you thought you had it figured out, but then you’d bring it up and Lissie would smile and say—

“Yes! Stick to that one! Start it. Right now.”

It wouldn’t seem genuine because you know she just wanted you to get it done given it’s due in less than two weeks. And even though it was good, it wasn’t good enough. 

“I’m just going to brainstorm a few more ideas.”

She’d given up, mumbling beneath her breath and grabbing her keynotes and headed to her meeting. Well, technically it was your meeting too, but again. Time crunch.

Hence, why you’re admiring the picture and thinking harder than you were a minute ago. The door slides open then, the two Ferrari drivers back from their media duties. You rip your gaze away as soon as they make their way closer. “How does one fake their own disappearance?”

“Oi,” the brown eyed boy warns, toothy grin expanding. “Good question, though.”

“Oi, you,” your boyfriend warns back, glaring at his teammate. “At this point, I’m sure she’d go through with it.” He turns to you. “Honey, you’ve got to decide already, it can’t be that hard.”

“I know that!” you burst out, ears burning as you avoid their eyes. “But there’s just so much! I don’t want to jump the gun and make a mistake, is all.”

Carlos juts his lip, then rolls his jaw. “If only you took someone’s very good proposition.”

A scoff. “I wasn’t going to write about Papaya Rules, Chili.”

“It would’ve been so good, though!” A beat. “What about—”

“Nor multi-21.”

His expression drops, along with his shoulders, and strolls away, flipping you off. I hope you figure it out, then! A low chuckle makes its way as you exhale loudly. “C’mon, what’s the problem this time?”

You bite your lip, brows drawn in together as you gaze back at Charles. “I’m not entirely convinced.”

“Honey…”

“A-and I know I’m running out of time, but I just want it to be perfect!”

He smiles, throwing his arm on your shoulder. “And it will be, but you need a topic.”

“Yeah…” You raise a brow.  “What happened to having ‘plenty’ of time?”

The Monegasque wiggles his brows. “You can’t take up too much advantage.”

-

I’ve decided. 

That’s the lie you settle with because quite frankly, you’re done with the constant questions. If you were going to come up with the best matter to write about, then you need to have a clear head. Carly is over the moon, Lissie is ecstatic, and Charles is proud. 

Great! What’s it going to be about?

It’s a surprise. 

At first, they were all as curious as can be, but later when you insisted that it’d be better that way, they nodded, though the interest was still there. 

Now—with only a week and a half before your due date—you lay, plopped on your stomach, fingers teasing the keyboard as you watch Charles jump into his race suit. You sigh, sitting up. “I think I’m going to stay in here today.”

He fixes the zipper. “Yeah?”

You nod. “That way I can work and watch you.” You point to the T.V. hung up on his room wall. “Is that okay with you?”

“Whatever you need to do in order to focus, baby.” A wink. “It’s fine by me.”

They’re in lap sixty out of seventy-five, the last time you check, and your page remains as white as a ghost and as bare as a newborn baby. It’s both amusing and mind-boggling. Groaning, you hit your head with the back of your hand before running it down your face. Then, to make matters worse, your laptop dies.

Shit, you grit as you look around and spot Charles’ placed neatly on top of a nearby chair. Strolling over, you grab and open it, typing in his passcode and signing into your account. A few seconds later, the blank page resurfaces. Blinking slowly, you spot it. 

Notes. 

You take a look around, but really don’t know why since you’re the only one in his motorhome, and then click onto the App, furrowing your brows with concentration. 

Turns out, you really like to read because one after another, you skim through his journal entries without a second thought. Eagerly, might you add. Some things you know, others you don’t, but nevertheless, you’re caught off guard. How sensitive he is and how it portrays in every word. Not only are you amazed, but you’re completely engrossed. 

And it sparks something in you.

With a large grin, the brunette makes his way back to his room, trophy in hand and handshakes and pats on the back all around. Grazie mille, he beams as he makes his way closer, sending a final wave before opening his door. Finding you with his spare helmet over your head, he laughs. You giggle, opening the visor. “That’s one good looking winner!”

He laughs, placing the gold trophy down and enjoying you the way you struggle to take it off. You let out a loud gasp as soon as he assists you, tugging it off. “Shit.” Another gasp. “How do you wear that thing for two hours?” Fixing your hair, you pat it down as you send him a sheepish smile. “Give me a kiss!”

“No thanks. Too sweaty.”

Pouting, you pinch his ear tenderly before he gives in, pressing his lips against yours. “You were amazing out there, Charlie. You really were, I want you to know.”

Green eyes soften as he tries his best to savor this moment. “Only cause you say so.” You giggle, hugging his waist and he drapes his hands over your shoulders and rests his chin on top of your head. “How far along were you able to get?”

A hum. “Quite far, actually.”

He lets out a whistle, making your cheeks glow. “Looks like we’re both having a good day.”

“Looks like,” you swoon. “Looks like.”

Tilting your head back, you match with his eyes as he sends a dimpled smile. 

Write what you know, you think to yourself as he leans back down to kiss you. His lips greedily crash against your own as you let out a soft moan, playing with his hair, large hands making their way down to your ass. And you, my dear Charlie…

He groans, shuddering as soon as you grind back against his thigh. You smile, admiring his open mouth.

I know you very well.

-

You feel guilty when you start on your first page, but by the time you make it to your third, you’ve talked yourself out of it. You would explain. As soon as you’re done, before you turn it in, you would explain it all to him. Tell him that this is simply because you love him. How he’s your biggest inspiration, and how this wasn’t you using him, but rather you showing others how amazing he truly is.

He notices it right away—the determination. And he admires you for it because he hasn’t seen you like that ever since your writer’s block. So, he tries not to intrude in moments where you’re on a roll, and instead makes sure to have a bath ready for you. He joins you sometimes, too.

Cracking your fingers, you yawn, exhausted, and stretch like a cat. He chuckles, closing his book like a light thud. “Update?”

“Six pages.”

“Wow. You really got it going on.” You blush. “You deserve something sweet. What do you want?”

“But it’s so late, and you have to be up early tomorrow…”

He rolls his eyes, already grabbing your trench coat. “It’s a bit cold out right now.”

You smile.

It’s not that far of a walk, three miles. After buying you a hot chocolate—with extra whip—he takes your mitten covered hand and leads you out the small coffee shop. By now, not many people are out, so it makes for a calm stroll.

“Shhh—ah,” you hiss, tongue sticking out as your face twists with subtle pain. He laughs, eyes crinkling. Drink slowly, he says, voice laced with humor. “The cool air helps,” you murmur, blowing on the hot drink. “Are you sure you don’t want anything?”

He shakes his head. “I just wanted you to unwind.”

“You’re so thoughtful,” you coo, enjoying the way his ears turn pink. You giggle. “Why do I feel like you’re thinking about something, though?”

“I am. You.” A gust of wind dances. “Always.”

You purse your lips, taking a slow sip, lipstick painting the white lid. “I’m serious, Cha. You’ve been quiet ever since you got off that phone call two hours ago.” Neat brows knit together with concern. “Is everything okay?”

“Yes,” he answers, but it’s too quick for it to be the truth.

Giving his large hand a squeeze, you send a knowing look. His breath hitches. “You can talk to me—”

“Are you almost done with your article?” he asks, obviously changing the topic as he stares up ahead, and if not, down at his shoes. Pink nose twitches. “I miss you, and call me greedy, but I was hoping you’d be done before my birthday, at least, that way we could…I don’t know—” He shrugs. “You’ve just been really busy—which I get why, and I understand—but I miss y-you.”

Wincing, you chew your bottom lip a couple times before letting go. “Almost, but.” His shoulders drop, making your stomach twist. You panic. “I feel like I’m missing something. Like the final bang in order for it to be…” A beat. “I’ll be done before your birthday, you can count on that.”

Round eyes finally flicker up as he nods, a more relaxed look evident. “This makes me sound so needy,” he says. “Which I guess I am, bu—”

“Don’t apologize,” you cut him off with a reassuring smile. “But please, tell me what’s going on…”

The Monegasque stiffens. Despite walking, you can tell. You can feel it. Also, it doesn’t take a genius to notice. “They’re not renewing Carlos’ contract for next year.”

You stop walking, making him stop too. He’s still holding onto you, rubbing small circles against cashmere. “W-why?”

“Guess.”

Your mind races. The rumors have definitely been swirling—everyone’s heard—but really? “They’re actually doing it?”

He nods.

“Lewis,” you whisper like it the first time you pronounce his name. “This is, uh…wow. I mean, wow.” 

“Yup,” he says, popping the p. “Wow, for sure.” Letting go, he takes a small step back, but still faces you with an uneasy look. “They brought it up as a possibility, but I don’t know why I never thought they’d be capable of…” He grimaces. “I can’t even begin to imagine how Carlos must be feeling.”

“Weren’t they just praising him last time during your guys’ team meeting?” You curl the cup towards your chest. “That’s fucked up.” Charles sighs, pinching the tip of his nose swiftly. Your eyes fill up with concern. “What about you?”

“I got an extension.”

You let out a breath of relief, nodding. “O-okay, okay. That’s good, Charlie, that’s really good.” When he keeps quiet, you pause all movement and blink feverishly. “Why are you upset, then?”

“I’m not,” he answers. “Only worried.” Listening closely, you silently wait for him to continue. He sighs, rubbing his eyes, suddenly tired. “It’s just that…he. He’s Lewis,” he finishes like that’s enough explanation.

You curl a brow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

A weak chuckle. “It means he’s better, and the team is going to favor him over me.” A timid shrug. “I get it, though. If anyone can bring a Championship home for the team, it’s going to be him.”

“It’s going to be you.”

“No.” The light in his eyes gave out, slowly and painfully so. “It’s not.”

Berry lips open, then close lamely, analyzing him like the world's biggest mystery. Sternly, you narrow your eyes down like knives. “World Champion?”

He flinches.

You click your tongue. “Do you realize how crazy you sound?”

“What?” he says, puzzled.

You nod. “Why are you giving up so easily, huh?”

Sharp jaw clenches. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s because he’s a former World Champion, and I’m not.” He chuckles sourly. “It’s really not that difficult to figure out. I mean, I’ve been working for it for so long now, and look at me! I’m nowhere close to being there!”

Silence. Chest heaves. You never let go of your gaze, and he has no other choice than to do the same. He’s not mad at you—not mad at anyone, really—but he’s frustrated. And yeah. Maybe he is giving up the fight, but anyone else who was in his position would too. No one wants to be the laughing stock, no one wants to be compared. 

“Listen to me Charles Leclerc, and listen to me closely because I’m only going to say this once.”

He waits.

“If it’s something you want, then it’s most likely something you can have.”

Pink lips turn upward as he tilts his head in the slightest of tilts.

Holding his face between your delicate hands, you raise your brows, shivering at the icy air. He can feel your hand vibrate against his skin as he grabs them, brings them up to his mouth, and blows hot air onto them. “I believe in you. Everybody does. Do you believe in that?”

And it takes a moment for him to answer. It takes a moment for it to register. He nods. Sure of himself.

“Only because you do.”

-

“A USB?” He frowns. “I thought you hated those?”

“I do,” you say, combing through your hair, staring at him through the reflection of the mirror. “But I feel like this makes it real. Physically turning it in, I mean. It’s dumb, but…” You check the time, shrieking and grabbing your things. “Carly is going to kill me! Okay, I’ll be back in an hour, and then we can go with your family for dinner, or I’ll meet you there, yeah?” You huff. “Red or white wine?”

“Sparkling water,” he ponders. “Maman is trying to get to ‘quit.’ Which is probably not the right way to put it because it’s not like Lorenzo, Arthur, and I are alcoholics.”

“Oh. Alright then, I’ll just get that instead.” Tippy toeing, you peck his cheek briskly, sweet perfume hitting him. “I love you.”

Adoration fills his watercolor eyes. “I love you, too.”

Who knew?

Who knew that’d be the last time you’d hear those words coming from him?

-

Entering the familiar office, you wheeze, crouching down to catch your breath before sending over a coy smile. Carly laughs, clearly amused, before signaling to the chair that sits right in front of her. “We could have done this any other day as long as it was before the deadline, you know?”

“No,” you pant, heart beat barely switching back to its regular pace. Well. Sort of. “I need to get this out of the way, I promised Charles I’d be free before his birthday. He said it was his one and only wish, could you believe that, he’s so cute, isn’t he?” She blinks. Pink dusts your cheekbones. “Anyways, here it is.”

Looking down at your extended hand, she almost lets out a snicker. “I get I’m older than you, but really? You emailing it to me would have been just as effective.”

“I didn’t want to risk it going straight into your spam folder.” That, and I don’t want to see when you actually read it because I have a funny feeling you’re going to disapprove, which is okay, fair. “Here.”

“Very well, then,” she mumbles, retrieving it. “Why don’t we proofread it together one more time before send—”

Horrified at the innocent suggestion, you leap up from your chair, pushing back. “There’s no need, I checked it about a thousand times.” She raises a sharp brow at your outburst, the defensiveness in it. You laugh nervously. “And I should get going, anyways. Pascale is cooking Cha an early birthday dinner, can’t be late.”

Placing her forearms against the table, she nods slowly, but still unsure. “I won’t hold you back any longer, then. Tell him I said happy birthday.”

Tight lips form a forced smile, uneven breaths expanding. “Of course.”

You’re expected in an hour, so when you should be up forty-five minutes early, Pascale is pleased, but a bit surprised. Hugging you hello, she opens the door wider, letting you in. “They’re out in the back. Dinner should be ready in a bit.”

“No worries. Do you need any assistance?”

She shakes her head, thin blond hair swaying. “I’ve got it all under control, chérie.”

Nodding, you put your things down and start making your way towards the sound, beers clinking. You let out a snicker. “And here you are claiming not to be an alcoholic,” you joke. Flustered, Charles turns to face your soft voice. 

“It’s my first,” he squeaks.

“Third,” both Lorenzo and Arthur shoot, greeting you with a gentle nod. 

“It barely even has any alcohol,” your boyfriend tries defending, but the crack in his voice makes everyone burst out with laughter. Blood rushes to his cheeks. “Weren’t you supposed to be with Carly?”

“I was, but we got done pretty quickly.”

“What’d she think?” he asks, tugging you onto his lap. You giggle, meanwhile Arthur gags and Lorenzo blinks unbothered. “Bet she loved it.”

“I wouldn’t know. I left before she read it.”

He cocks his head. “Seriously?”

You nod. “You said you wanted my full attention.”

“I didn’t say it like that—”

“Well, now you have it.” You kiss his nose gingerly. “Happy early birthday, Charlie.”

The Monegasque smiles deeply. “Thank you.”

“Arthur! Lorenzo! Come help and set the table!”

Arthur groans. “Why just us? What about Charles?”

Poking her head out the window, Pascale aims a stern look, making him dash up. You laugh, ideally going to stand up, but gets tugged back down onto his thigh. You roll your eyes. “I should help, too. But you stay here and relax.”

“I will, but only if you stay with me.”

“Pascale needs my help—”

“Right, but she has both of them already.” He gives your hair a gentle tug. “Stay.”

Sighing, you nod, resting your head on his shoulder as he holds you. From here, you can see the breathtaking view of Monaco’s sunset. The ocean, the trees. Filled with satisfaction in life, you kiss the side of his neck, making him squirm slightly. “Carly says happy birthday. Early. Early birthday.”

A hum. “Make sure to tell her that I said thank you, the next time you see her.”

The sound of waves crashing sings softly. He traces shapes down your leg. “When will I be able to read it?”

You’re sure you stop breathing. “S-soon. After Carly gives me the green light, at least.”

A beat. “I’m excited.”

Your stomach churns. “You are?”

“Mhm. Very. Didn’t you know I was your biggest fan?”

Fixing yourself to look at him, you open your lips, feeling how dry they’ve become. “Charles—”

Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.

A sore laugh. “They’re calling you.”

You reach towards your back pocket, pulling it out. Carly Freeman. Clicking it off, you shake your head. “It’s nothing.”

Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.

He wiggles his brows. “Doesn’t seem like it’s nothing. Answer her, it’s fine.”

“She’s going to have to wait until tomorrow,” you announce, standing up and dusting your hands off. “I’m here with you, and she's going to have to wait. Whatever it is, it can’t be more important than this.”

Buzz. Buzz. Buzz. 

He sends a worried look. “Are you sure? What if it has something to do with your article? You should pick up—”

“I said I’m here with you,” you affirm. “Tomorrow. She’ll be fine.”

“Okay…” Standing to his full height, he sends a gesture towards the house. “Let's go?”

His hand reaches out, waiting for you. You smile, taking it. “Let’s go.”

-

Your phone keeps buzzing and it doesn’t let him sleep.

That, and Carly is a terrible liar.

Shifting in the bed as quietly as possible, Charles reaches for your phone, trying his best not to wake you. “Hello?” he croaks. The line stays quiet, static rolling. “I know it's you, Carly.”

“Charles! How’s my favorite driver?” 

You twist, unwrapping your leg that was draped over him. He freezes, soothing you a bit before you settle down. Climbing off the bed, he walks out, gently closing the door and heading towards the living room. “I know your favorite is Fernando, what’s up?”

She laughs nervously, cursing underneath her breath. “Is my little journalist with you?”

“She is.”

“Great! May I speak with her very quick—”

“But she’s asleep.” She groans. “Why? Is something wrong?”

“Well…”

Sitting down on the couch, he leans back, placing his feet onto the coffee table. Normally, he wouldn’t, but you weren’t here right now, and lucky for him, he wasn’t wearing any shoes. He clicks his tongue. “Does this have something to do with your guys’ meeting today?”

“Yes. And no.” More static. “Do you mind waking her up for me?”

“Um…well I do. Sorry, Carly, but she needs to get some rest, she’s been working non-stop, and—”

“No, no, I get it!” she squeals. “I totally understand. Can you let her know that I need to talk to her as soon as possible? Like—urgent. Please and thank you and have a good night!”

“Wait,” he says, furrowing his brows and pushing the phone closer to his ear. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing to worry about. Too much,” she adds. “It’s just that I need a bit of clarification, that’s all.”

“Clarification?”

“Yup. On a tiny mistake of hers. But we can fix it together, she still has time, and if she hurries then we can still meet the dea—”

“She doesn’t make mistakes, though. Ever.”

A hiss. “It’s a tiny one, Charles—”

“Okay, tell me and I’ll tell her.”

“What? I can’t. I need to speak directly with her first.”

“Carly…”

“What now?” she grits. 

“What’s the issue?” he presses harder. “I’ll let her know right now.”

The line goes quiet. For a moment, he begins to wonder if she’s hung up already, but when she clears her throat, he listens carefully, but can’t decipher her mumbles.

“She gave me the wrong USB.” That’s it? She groans. “Listen to me Charles—the USB she brought to be today only has her title written on it along with a few notes about what it’s supposed to be about. It’s the wrong one and I need the other one now.”

“Okay,” he mutters slowly, nodding. “I’m sure she’ll bring it to you once I let her know, but that’s going to have to be until tomorrow.”

She gasps. “You said you’d let her know right now!”

He winces. “I know I did, but it’s late! Trust me, though. I’ll tell her you called and I’ll even drive her myself tomorrow to drop it off. It must be around here somewhere right…” And it sure is. Sitting nicely on the coffee table, inches away from his feet. He sits up straight away, picking it up as if it were some sort of new discovery. Which in a way, it was. “Carly, why is this so important to you?”

“She’s my favorite client,” she answers without missing a beat. “I only want what’s best for her, and right now we need to fix this little mishap and get this article in as soon as possible.” A beat. “Also, maybe don’t mention the first part to Lissie, she’d totally kill me.”

Analyzing the black USB, he remains stoic, blinking only because he needs to. “Goodnight, Carly…”

“Yeah. I, um—goodnight, Charles.”

Once he hangs up, he’s quick on his feet, retrieving his laptop from the counter and sticking the drive in without a second to process what he’s doing. He shouldn’t. Probably. Definitely not. But the interest Carly clearly has was enough to poke his mind and for him to start wondering what on earth is so significant? 

And it’s so obvious now why.

Charles Lecelrc: The Man Behind the Helmet

His eyes skim fast, narrowing sharply.

Like any other human being, he struggles with depression, though fails to admit. Many sleepless nights, many fights, many canceled therapy appointments, I begin to question: does every praise his fans give him make him think he’s above all these things? The truth hurts, but it's only because it's real. And Charles Lecelrc, you are nowhere close to being as perfect as everyone makes you out to be.

His heart stops, re-reading the last sentence. He wishes for it to say anything but that, but it never changes, and it only mocks him like a school bully. 

Many assume that the death of his late-father, Hervé, and his late-godfather, Jules Bianchi, have made him stronger in a sense. That it has fed the drive in him to succeed. To be the best of the best, but what if that wasn’t true at all? Would any of you be surprised? Probably, but again, no one truly knows him the way I do. So, what feeds his determination? 

The thought of failing the same way they did. 

Anger bubbles up inside of him, grinding his molar until they crunch loudly against his temples. 

But who can blame him for having that fear inherited down onto him? Tabloids also have a part in this, and so do unwanted changes. One way or another, we can relate with the latter, but never in the way he does. Reading and hearing rumors takes a toll on Charles, that much is true, but what can we expect when his next new teammate is a seven-time World Champion. 

I guess the only question that stands in not only our minds, but also his… 

Is he strong enough to come head to head with someone as talented as Lewis Hamil—

“Wake up.”

Groggily, you rub your eyes. “Charlie, it’s dark out, come on. Come back to bed.”

“Stop calling me that, and get up.” In a single movement, he rips the blanket away and yanks you from your wrist, forcing you to sit. You gasp, his change of heart sobering you up from your sleepy daze. 

“What’s wrong with you?”

He laughs. “Me? What’s wrong with me? Are you serious right now or are you stupid?”

You flinch, taken aback. “Don’t talk to me like that, what did I do?”

“I won’t waste my breath explaining.” He drops his laptop on the bed, making you freeze as soon as you spot the familiar USB. “I'll let you re-read it.” 

“Where did you get this from?”

“Really? That’s what’s important to you?” He rolls his jaw, rubbing it until his skin turns a light shade of red. “If you don’t want me finding it, then next time don’t leave it out.”

Your lips go dry, crawling to the edge of the bed, but as soon as you’re about to reach out for him, he grimaces, shaking his head and taking three steps back. “Charlie—”

“No,” he hisses, glaring at you with utter hatred. The sight alone makes your eyes well up. “You don’t get to call me that. You don’t get to call me that ever again.” A cry rings through the air as you cover your hands over your face. “A-am I supposed to be impressed by what I read or what?”

“It’s no—”

“Did I do something to upset you or w-why were you talking about me like that?” he questions, genuine confusion taking over as he furrows his brows until they cause his eyes to pinch up too. 

Sniffling, you get up quickly, shaking your head adamantly until you get dizzy. “It wasn’t supposed to come off across that way! Are you kidding me?” Grabbing your heart, you soften your eyes. “I’m your biggest supporter.”

“Yeah? Well, that,” he snarls, pointing at the open screen like it's the most disturbing thing. “That doesn’t make sense with what you’re saying…” A beat. “Why would you do this to me?”

“Do what, though?” you whimper. “Everything I wrote about you is based on what you told me!”

“Exactly!” he shouts back, making the distance between you smaller, making you shrink. “I told you! Just you! I never once asked you to air out my business, and quite frankly, I thought that was common sense.” He lets out a dry chuckle. “You called me crazy and troublesome among other things. Are you my girlfriend or wolves in sheep's clothing? I’m trying to understand your logic here.”

You push your hair back, breathing hard. “You can’t just say that, there’s context behind that, come on…”

“Oh. Okay. My bad. I’m crazy because I talk to my father’s tombstone and Jules’. It's troublesome because I used to do cocaine in order to de-stress. I’m in over my head because I actually think I stand a chance against Lewis—a chance you convinced me I had!”

“That’s not what I meant!” you squeak. “You’re taking it all wrong, Charles, I would never say that about you!”

“But you did,” he states firmly. “And you know? If I’m so unready to face a friendly competition against my future teammate, then maybe I’m unready to face a lot of other things, too.” You freeze, dreading his next words as you plead him silently not to say them. “Maybe I’m not as ready to settle down with you as much as I thought I was…”

That does it. That seems to cut the little oxygen you had, off. Stumbling back, you feel the tears start to form again. “You don’t mean that…” You smile weakly. “You’re just a tiny bit upset right now, okay, fine. That’s fine. But you don’t mean any of that.”

Glaring until it hurts, he maintains eye contact. “Don’t tell me what I’m feeling, you don’t get to do that!”

You flinch. “I’m sorry.” A droplet slides down. “I’m sorry, okay?” More follows. “For all of it. For all of this. If I could take it all back, I would, you have to believe me, Charles, you know I would.”

His gaze lingers for a while longer, taking in your rosy nose. Your swollen eyes. Your wet cheeks. Everything that's supposed to make him feel better, but it doesn’t. “I really did trust you…” You breath hitches. “And I really did want you to win…” Pause. “And I still do.”

Strolling over, he disconnects the USB, making the screen go completely black, and hands it to you. Blinking down, you shake your head, too embarrassed to even look at it. “I don’t want it.”

“Yeah, well I don’t want it either…” Forcing your palm open, he places it down, instantly making your skin burn. “Journalist of the Year.”

You let out a wet sob, shoulders shaking. You don’t know exactly what you’re feeling, but what you do know is that this doesn’t feel good and that your heart breaks with every passing second.

Never in a million years did you think you would experience any of this, especially with Charles. The Monegasque cocks his head, curls following. “I’m glad you’re about to get everything you’ve ever wanted, I really am.” He chuckles softly, eyeing you intently. “I just can’t help but wonder what that must feel like.”

“I was going to tell you,” you whisper meekly. “And you were supposed to understand where I was coming from.”

And if any anger was gone, well fuck that, it all came right back.

“Understand where you were coming from?” he spits out, shocked by your choice of words. “You really thought I would understand? I planned my entire future around you, and this is how you repay me? You went behind my back to write an article I didn’t even know about! We made a choice years ago!”

“No, you did!” you retort, despair rising hard and fast. “You came up with that decision all by yourself, Charles, I never agreed!” You look down. “Not entirely.”

“Huh,” he scoffs, squinting his eyes. “I was simply looking out for the girl that I love given that the internet is a scary place and she probably wouldn’t have been able to handle it, for God sakes, I guess this is my fault now, isn’t it?”

“I would have been able to handle it, but you never gave me the chance!”

“Yeah, because reporting on a driver and driver who's your boyfriend are two completely different things that you can’t seem to comprehend!”

Trembling, you blink carefully, gulping. “I would have done just fine.”

“You think so?” he challenges, a sour smile forming. You nod. “Okay. Sure. Why not?” Closing the final distance between you two, your breath gets stuck as he sends a dirty glare, one that's meant to sting. “You’re not talented. You only have your position because of your dating status, when in reality, your work is utter shit. Everything is handed to you.”

There’s a mix of a whimper and a plea that comes out of you as you screw your eyes shut. “You’re being mean, Charles…”

He laughs, clapping his hands once with amusement. “That’s what the internet is! Maybe I was right, then—you can’t handle it.”

“I could…” you murmur, but it's no use. 

The brunette catches himself wanting to comfort you. To apologize for everything. But then he figures—why? It’s not like he truly did something wrong. 

“You’re the greatest disappointment of my life.”

Something ended the moment those words left his mouth—you both knew it. Sobbing hard, your shoulders vibrate violently as you seemingly gasp for air. He looks away. 

“You know, our life could have been so good. So fucking good. But you went and ruined it.” Green eyes flicker back. “Why would you do this to us?”

“I never meant to hurt you,” you declare with wet lashes. 

“You did a bit more than that,” he replies, wincing, blinking rapidly. He smiles. “If you wanted to write your article on me, you should’ve asked me. You should have talked to me. But no. And the thing is, I would have let you! God. I would have let you write whatever you wanted—but not like this. You stole an interview from me with no right, honey…”

Quickly, you flicker your gaze up at him, hoping to see any trace of  love in that one word, but you’re not surprised when you don’t find any, deflating furthermore. He shrugs. Like what you did to him was no big deal. 

“You took it from me. But I would have given it to you.”

-

“Are you sure you want to do this? You can always change your mind, babe, it’s totally fine!”

“No.” You fix your hair, posture straight. You smile. “I need to.”

Lissie shares a slow nod, nibbling on her bottom lip before handing you her keynotes. “Alright. Good luck.”

The idea first sparked when the Brit girl mentioned how she was the only one granted permission to interview Charles at this year's FIA prize giving ceremony. You had debated back and forth with what seemed like forever, both Carly and Lissie trying to talk you out of it, but you pleaded until they reluctantly agreed. 

You haven’t seen him ever since that day.

It’s insane to think about, sometimes. You knew each other for two years, dated for three, and haven’t crossed paths for another two. And now, you’re here. He’d been upfront that day, didn’t even flinch with his one and only birthday wish, meanwhile you felt the last stab hurt more than anything.

I wish to never see you again. 

Not long after, he grabbed his things and left. But not before turning around, sending you one last glance, dull, empty, and nothing like him anymore. You still recall.

Turn it in, he said, smiling warmly despite his better judgment. Despite not meaning it. Don’t let this all be for nothing.

Shaking your hands, you grin, fixing your silk dress. The Brit girl stares worriedly, but as soon as you wink, she hides it. Not that well, but enough. “He’s going to be so mad at me,” she jokes, but it’s probably true. He has a soft spot for her, and he only gave permission to her. No one else. 

You wince, grabbing her hands delicately. “I really appreciate this, Lissie. More than you’ll ever know.”

Waving goodbye, you make your way to the private conference hall. It’s daunting, actually, the sight of the large table where he’ll be sitting and the small chair where you will. Quite the narrative. His picture is hung in almost every corner, from the beginning of his career to now. The latest one makes you smile as he lifts the trophy high up with a beaming grin, dimples poking out and eyes crinkled just the way you remember. 

You thought about apologizing again. Better this time. Once things simmered down. You really wanted to, but as soon as Carly informed you that the article would need to be published in order for fans to engage with your content and for them to decide on a winner, you knew the gist of him accepting your apology was most likely never going to happen. 

And you contemplated not posting it. Carly did too. Lissie did too. No one thought it was a good idea, but you still did it. Like he said—you couldn’t let all that be for nothing.

The hate came immediately, you expected nothing less. In their minds, you were a loyal girlfriend, but after reading your work, the comments came rolling in. You were honestly quite grateful because you know you deserved every last bit of it. 

But somehow—somehow—you won Journalist of the Year. 

You were shocked to say the least—bewildered. And you could see it in Lissie and Carly’s eyes too. So, while accepting the award with a forced smile, it hit you like a truck.

Did you truly earn this or was it all thanks to him?

Either way, does it matter anymore?

The door gently opens as he steps in, a loopy smile stretched onto his lips before coming to a complete stop. With your heart in your throat, you cough awkwardly, standing up and waving. You cringe, putting your hand down as soon as he furrows his brows, looking around. 

“S-she’s not here,” you say, voice cracking. You blush. “You’re looking for Lissie, right?” Utter silence. He blinks, unresponsive and as stiff as a tree. You lick your lips. “I-I-I can leave if you want.” But you really hope he doesn’t want you to.

The Monegasque’s features strike with something familiar—something you knew not long ago. Then…

He smiles at you. 

“It’s alright.” Carefully, he makes his way closer, scooting his chair right next to yours as you blink, sitting back down and staring with your plump lips slightly open. He cocks his head. “Y-you look the same.”

You giggle. “Is that supposed to be a good thing?” When he fails to answer, you bite down on your lip hesitantly. “You haven’t changed much, either.” 

He clears his throat, averting his gaze. “I don’t mean to sound rude or anything, but why are you here and where is Lissie?”

You flinch. Okay. This was expected. You practiced hours for this very moment. “Don’t be mad at her, okay, I asked her to let me do this. I wanted to…see you, Charles.” The sound of his name leaving your lips makes his heart stop because it's been so long since he’s heard it. Too long. A subtle blush. “I’m here to apologize.”

“Ah,” he winces, scrunching his nose. “Don’t. We’re cool.”

“Are we, though?”

He stiffens. 

Exhaling, you place your things down, pursing your lips. He watches the way your knee bounces up and down. How you play with your ring before covering it neatly with the opposite hand. That catches him completely off guard as he blinks rapidly, thinking he must be mistaken. 

“I know I don’t deserve any of this,” you say nervously. “By all means, I should have been kicked out five minutes ago, but you…” Round eyes soften, lashes batting slowly. “You’ve always been a kind and generous human being, Charles.”

“Stop,” he whispers. You frown. “Saying my name, I mean. You can talk—we can talk, but please, just. Don’t say it.”

“O-okay,” you mumble, stomach churning. “I won’t.”

He lets out a tight smile, tilting his head. Years ago, his hair was a tad bit longer, fluffier even. Now, it’s still the same, but somehow more mature. His eyes are still young and naive, but with a hint of wisdom. He usually would wear mismatching suits, but now it matches. A lot of him has changed, and you weren’t there to witness it.

“Congrats, by the way,” you add happily. “World Champion, eh?”

Pink spreads across his cheeks, slowly but surely. “Thanks. I was close to losing my mind.”

You laugh. “Seven years later, but it’s well deserved. I’m so proud of you.”

And for a moment, he goes completely numb. He’s heard plenty of kudos ever since winning his first title—and they were nice, they made him feel nice—but this. You? It’s the first time it makes him feel accomplished. And that feels more than nice.

Playing with his bracelet, he nods sheepishly. “How have you—how, um…God. I, um, how have you been?”

“Oh.” You let out a genuine smile. Soft. Angelic. And everything he wishes to find in any other girl that isn’t you. It’s not something he should notice. “I’ve been well.” You raise your hand. “Engaged.”

“You sure are,” he mumbles, finally acknowledging the silver band before flashing an easy smile of his own. And maybe it was real, or maybe it wasn’t, but he wasn’t as upset as he thought he’d be. Just a tiny bit bothered, is all. “Who’s the lucky guy?”

You lick your lips awkwardly. “You remember Carly’s son?”

A tide hits him as he internally screams. “Grayson, right?”

You nod. “She, uh, set us up a while ago and we hit it off.” You wince. “I’m sorry, is that weird?”

“No. Of course not,” he replies, shrugging. “You’re allowed to build your life with whomever you want. What happened between us was…” He chuckles. “So long ago. I’m happy for you both, I really am.”

And he means it this time.

Admiring the oval-shaped ring, you swoon as if you’re thinking of the exact moment he proposed to you, and that’s the prettiest sight Charles thinks he might ever see. Even if it didn’t end up being him. Once you look back up, he looks away, feigning interest in anything else stupidly.

“Yourself?”

“Myself?”

A playful eye roll. “Are you seeing anyone?”

A retch. “Ha ha, no! No, that’s not—that’s not for me.” You frown. He winces. “Please don’t be offended, but after you, I sort of lost interest in meeting other people. Pierre calls it trauma, I call it precaution.” A sore laugh. “B-but maybe one day. Never say never, am I right?”

The lights reflect directly towards you, so that lets him see the rosy blotches beginning to hug your cheekbones as your lips wobble. He panics. “N-no! Fuck. I didn’t mean to—”

“I ruined your life,” you wail, throwing your hands over your face. “Oh my God, I wrecked it!”

“You didn’t!” he tries. “I’ve gone on a couple of dates, here and there!”

You’re tiny cries take a quick pause. Sniffling, you shoot him a look, shiny eyes beaming back at him. “You have?”

“Yeah,” he whispers, slowly relaxing against his seat. “Sort of. Kind of.” A horrified expression maps out against your face. He grimaces. “I-It’s just not my thing!”

“I’m sorry, Ch—” You pause, rethinking your words. “I’m sorry.”

The Monegasque shrugs, hoping that’d be enough for you to drop the topic. “It’s okay, really. It’s a decision I made long ago, and I’d like to keep it like that for a while, at least.” You bite down on your bottom lip, nodding halfheartedly. “But please, um, tell me, how far along are you? Heard from Lissie that it’s a boy.”

You let out a wet giggle, wiping your tears away to the best of your ability. “Nineteen weeks. I’m in my second trimester.” Gingerly, you rub your tiny belly before your eyes light up. “Give me your hand!”

“What?”

Leaning in, you grab his large hand and place it down on your stomach, looking up at him to watch his reaction. At first, he’s weirded out, you can tell. He makes a silly face he probably doesn’t realize he’s making, but seconds later his features soften. His green eyes go round, no tension behind them. His brows lay flat, then knit together in amazement. He laughs, rubbing his thumb gently.

“Does it hurt?” he whispers. “When he kicks?”

You hum. “Sometimes it can. But I suppose it’s more discomfort than anything.” You wiggle your eyebrows. “Cool?”

He nods rapidly. “Super cool.”

Pulling away, he can feel his adrenaline as high as a kite, and as fast as his car. He feels different, he notes, as if something has finally shifted inside of him. With this, he takes time to admire you in a way he hasn’t been able to ever since.

Your hair is cut into layers now, glossy and shorter than he remembers. Your lips, round, plump and berry tinted. Your eyes, doe, innocent, and pure in a way he can’t seem to wrap his head around. Smile, even, wobbly, and everything in between.

Your gaze flickers. “Question…”

“Answer,” he replies, studying your body language. 

It’s harder than you had initially thought it would be, asking him what you’d been wondering for these past two years. Was it all that bad? The answer might be yes. Yes, it was. To him, perhaps. But it tugs your tongue, and it burns a bit, but you push through, focusing on him and his watercolor eyes.

“Do you—”

But he still knows you. He can still read you. Before you, it’s always him who understands your train of thought. 

He shakes his head, dimples imprinting like a finger in sand. “No regrets.” 

A peach seed forms as you let out a sheepish laugh. “I’ve made a lot of mistakes in life,” you admit, cringing slightly. “Just yesterday, I bought the wrong plane ticket. Got stuck in the airport for three extra hours.” He chuckles. “Totally unnecessary.”

“It happens,” he comforts you, clicking his tongue. 

“I guess so,” you say, sighing. “But betraying someone you love? Yeah. That’s got to be the worst mistake of my life.”

He flinches, an old wound suddenly opening. “Hey, you—”

You raise your hand, pleading with him. “Let me just…” So, he forces himself to sit there quietly, to not intrude no matter how much he really wants to. It’s fine, he wants to say, I’m fine now, we’re fine now, seriously.

A wince. “Do you know how guilty I feel whenever Grayson polishes my award?” A scoff. “He means no harm with his actions, but it makes me feel like shit everytime I walk past it. I’ve begged him to put it away somewhere in the attic, but he’s as proud as can be. Say’s an accomplishment like that deserves to be shown off. That it’s proof of all my hard work.” You smile. “Much like you and your trophy.”

You exhale. “You were right, though.” A hum. “I don’t deserve it.”

“I never said that.”

“Sure,” you give in quietly. “But you did say that if I won, I’d always wonder if I was truly respected for my work or if I was respected because of you.”

He bites his tongue. 

You shrug lamely. “And that’s just something I’m going to have to live with for the rest of my life…” Steadily, you ease your eyes back towards him as you find him already staring at you, listening close and curious. “And I want you to know that I’m fine with that.” A beat. “What I’m not fine with is you being mad at me for the rest of your life.”

Charles opens his mouth, feeling his tongue as dry as the desert and his throat as dusty as the highest mountain. “I’m not mad at you…anymore.” He sits up straighter. “I said a lot of things to you that night that I shouldn’t have said, but you have to understand that you hurt me a thousand times worse.” 

Tears well up your eyes as you nod shamefully. He continues despite feeling the need to reach out for you. “I just wanted you to feel what I was feeling, even if that meant—well. You know. And, um…I tried to forget all of that, but I, too, felt guilty, so—I’m glad you’re here. That way I can say…I’m sorry.”

“No!” you wail, raising your arms up. “No, I’m sorry! I broke your trust, and I was a God awful girlfriend.”

“You did,” he chuckles before scrunching his nose in deep thought. “But you were also the best I’ll ever have.”

A wet sob escapes.

“I forgive you.”

“S-shit,” you let out. “You don’t know how g-good it feels to finally hear you say that.”

A gentle smile. “You?”

You giggle, standing up. “I have nothing to forgive you for, but yeah. Okay. I forgive you, as well.” You open your arms for a hug. He blinks. “It’ll make me feel better.”

Tsk. “You used to do this all the time wherever we fought,” he says, a hint of sadness wavering in his eyes before disappearing into thin air. Extending to his full height, he towers over you before going in to close the distance. He halts, coughing awkwardly.

You snicker, eyes crinkling with amusement. “Right. You're hugging two of us now.”

A wave of jealousy pangs his chest for a second. You’ve moved on, and he’s stuck in the year you were still in his life. Still his. He envies Grayson in every sense there exists, but he swallows down that pill because he’d always been a nice bloke the very few times he interacted with him. He needs to move on, too. 

Even if it takes him his whole life to figure out how. 

“The more the merrier.”

Your face has gone completely numb by now from how hard you're grinning from ear to ear. Wrapping your arms around his waist as he goes over your shoulders, you sigh contently as you catch the whiff of his cologne. His heartbeat quickened at the smell of your perfume. 

“Question,” he whispered. You chuckle against his chest. Answer. He gulps, nose twitching. “Would it make me a bad person to say that you’re probably the only girl I’ll ever love?” Silence. He screws his eyes shut, gritting his teeth. Why the fuck would he ever say that—

“I’d only say that I don’t deserve to be her,” you respond. “Anyone but me.”

A flinch. “O-of course. You’re getting married, you’re having a baby, what was I th—”

“Honey…”

He freezes. 

You lean back, holding his face between your hands and smiling. “It’s not your name…”

His voice catches. “It’s not…”

A deeper smile. Nostalgic. “A piece of me will always love you.” A pause. “You know me so well. Better than anyone. You’ve seen me naked. You’ve dressed me. You’ve seen me with makeup. You’ve seen me without. And…well—you’ve seen my good side. But you’re also the only one who's seen my bad.”

His palms quickly get sweaty as he tries his best to not do anything he might regret. And not because he’ll wish to take it back, but because you would. Neat brows draw in together as you graze his stubble with your thumb. As nurturing as a mother, which he supposes you already are. 

“I’d say that makes us pretty close, no?”

“Not as close as I’d like to be.” 

“You’ll find someone.” A beat. “Someone who’ll love you right.”

“You didn’t?” he questions before he can stop himself. “Sorry—”

“My love for you was honest. But I blew it.”

I’m still here, he wants to yell out. If you still want me like I want you, then I’m still here.

But he refrains from doing so.

“You’ve never done me wrong,” he attempts, kissing your palm gingerly before softening his gaze. You send a playful glare. “Except for that one time.” You snort. “But I don’t want to talk about it anymore because—because it doesn’t matter anymore…”

Maybe it's the hormones, you sort of wish it was, but you know it’s due to his gentleness. You don’t deserve his sympathy, you don’t deserve even a fraction of it. Crying, you kiss his cheek, hoping everything you feel transfers itself into the warmth of his skin. And you don’t know, but it does just that.

Closing his eyes, he prays to dream about this kiss forever. Have nightmares, who even cares. As long as he doesn’t forget. 

You step away carefully, taking him in as his eyes flutter. 

“Charles Leclerc, first time World Champion…”

He smiles. You smile. 

His dimples pop out. Your eyes crinkle.

He loves you. You love him.

And maybe it didn’t work out in this life.

But maybe in the next.

“May I have an interview with you?”

taglist: @blueflorals @starmanv @coolio2195 @lovrsm @weekendlusting@chanshintien @brune77e @myownwritings @timmychalametsstuff @milasexutoire@alesainz @c-losur3 @darleneslane @togazzo @urfavnoirette @namgification @lpab @d3kstar @anniee-mr @nebarious @notkaryna @emmaxdelicate

[majestyeverlasting]

A Little Less Restless

Pairing: Bucky x Reader (friends to lovers)

Summary: As Bucky finds himself within the still familiarity of Brooklyn, he comes to realize that he deserves nice things. And, most of all, that he deserves you.

Word Count: 2k

A/N: I haven't posted any new writing in a bit, and it feels good to be resolving that (yay me). Please enjoy this piece I wrote today. Lot's of fluff and very obvious feelings. It's been a while since I wrote something for him. <3

Three knocks sound on Bucky’s front door as his reflection stares back at him in the bathroom. He's leaning close to the mirror in careful criticism. Enough to see the green flecks in his irises. The freckles on his cheeks from being in the sun. The pricks of hair making up his scruff. Then he eases back and squares his shoulders. They fall after he releases a breath. 

He prays he doesn’t look as restless as he feels. 

The smile you give him when he answers the door carries a warmth he isn’t sure he deserves. But he takes it because that’s all he can do. Enjoy it like a man who’s been cold his whole life. By some miracle, he feels himself smiling back in that small, weighted way of his. It was a trade off of sorts, and now you’re even. No outstanding debts. 

He motions you inside with a soft please, and you study him once you’re in the foyer. In the few seconds that you’re silently observing, Bucky wishes he knew exactly why. As tender as your gaze is, heat was already rising to his cheeks. But like everything else when it comes to you, he takes it. Looks right back at you shyly, pushes his hands into his pockets, and waits. 

“Your hair’s shorter,” you finally say, smile growing wider. “Did you cut it?” 

“Cut it,” he repeats like a question, hands moving to run through it. The previous night creeps back to the forefront of his mind. 

When he’d gone for a walk to get some air and inadvertently found himself being drawn in by the red, white, and blue barber’s pole spiraling on the next block. It’d been ages since he’d gone to a professional, but walking inside to the faint scent of tobacco and aftershave made him feel as though he’d never stopped. 

“Mhm,” you hum, certain. 

The stumped look on his face vanishes like it was never supposed to be there. “I went and got it trimmed at a place called Ricky’s last night.” 

“And you forgot that quickly?” Next thing he knows, you’re wrapping him in an embrace, peeking up at him after a few seconds, “I’m teasing.” 

He squeezes you back tighter. 

It’s you who eventually pulls away, and he finds himself trailing you as you venture deeper into his apartment, eyes roving thoughtfully. A coffee table now complements the couch in the living room. The walls are no longer bare. At long last, the space was beginning to look more like a home. 

For the longest time, Bucky had only seen it as a place to rest his head after countless assignments that took him miles away. It didn’t need to be anything special, or so he thought. One of the first things you told him upon coming into his life was that he needed a constant. A place to come back to that he could make his own. That was his. He’d spent so much of his life serving other people and belonging to other people that he was finally learning what it meant to be his own. 

It was exhausting not being halfway across the world with a task to busy his mind. Brooklyn was still in comparison. A place where he could recognize street names, faces, point out buildings that used to be something else when he was a kid. And now there was you, who made being stateside worthwhile in a way he didn’t think was possible. He realized then, how much he’d deprived himself of meaningful connections outside of work. 

“It looks great in here, Buck. What’d I tell you?” Your earnesty is genuine. Makes him, as old and borderline cynical as he is, feel special. “You’re gonna have to start inviting me over more.” You shoot him a wink, and he freezes because of the weight of the implication. If you notice, you don’t say anything. 

A few months ago you’d been strangers crossing paths. Then acquaintances. Now friends who cared about each other a whole awful lot. Only, it was more obvious on your end. He kept most of his sentiments guarded, not yet ready for them to bleed out like an open wound. It didn’t help that you were always wielding a knife, coming closer and closer to cut through the wall he built around himself. 

“You can come over whenever you want,” he says. “I’m always here.” 

“When you’re not on assignment,” you add. “And I know. I just don’t want to scare you away.” 

Bucky frowns at the suggestion, but his lips eventually turn up. “Good thing you’re not a scary person,” he says, counting on earning a laugh. Something. 

And you do, right before shaking your head. “I’m serious.” 

“You couldn’t scare me away,” he assures. 

You nod slowly. “So how’ve you been?” There’s something else lingering on the tip of your tongue, so he waits it out. It ends up punching him right in the gut. “You look…I don’t know.” 

It hadn’t been all too long since he’d come back from Morocco. Only a week. And it would be a while before he was sent out anywhere else. His mind was in the constant process of drifting to the type of thoughts all men sifted through when they have nothing but time. Those regarding purpose, belonging, and meaning. Not to a deep, crippling degree, but enough to make him want to spring into some sort of action. Find something to indulge in that wasn’t saving the world. 

Bucky swallows and shifts his weight. “Restless,” he offers. “Didn’t think you’d notice.” 

“I’ll always notice.” Silence stretches between the two of you and a siren wails in the distance. “Maybe we can go out tonight, just you and me. Is that something you’d wanna do?” The question sounds shy. 

What you didn’t know quite yet is that he’d probably do just about anything if it was with you. 

***

At the end of the night, it’s Bucky who pulls out his card and pays for dinner. Not even giving you the chance to think about digging into your purse. As an old tune continues playing overhead, your grateful eyes sparkle at him from across the table. 

Neither of you had dined here before. It’s one of the places Bucky said used to go by a different name and was run by a different family, Italians. You liked listening to him talk about what once was because it made you realize just how much he knew. Just how thoughtful and reverent he was when it came to the good memories he had. 

Being listened to so intently was new for him. But he enjoyed it. Especially when you’d ask questions or bring up a point he made further back in the conversation. By the time the waiter comes back around with his card and his copy of the receipt, the two of you are basking in the memory of the evening and thinking about what the rest of the night may hold. 

“This was really nice,” he says, folding his napkin and setting it aside on the table. Then his expression becomes consumed by a certain solemness. “I don’t know how well it comes across, but I need you to know that I appreciate you. A lot.”

Your heart nearly bursts. “I know, Bucky,” you promise. He still looks unconvinced, so you extend your hand face up on the table for him to take. “I know.” 

The cab ride back to his place is quiet. You hold onto his hand the whole way, relishing the feeling of his thumb tracing back and forth over your skin. It’s a gesture that says I’m here with, I’ll be here as long as you’ll have me. Brooklyn passes by in rushes of darkness peppered with light. Pedestrians walk alongside the streets, some holding hands just like the two of you. It isn’t long before the driver pulls up alongside the curb of the complex. 

It isn’t until you’re in the elevator that you’re sure that you want to stay. 

The two of you get off at the fifth floor. 

“Is it okay if I spend the night? If not, I completely understand. I know it’s such short notice,” you ramble as he’s turning his key into the door. He hopes you don’t notice the way he falters. But part of him knows you do. You don’t miss anything. Luckily for him, you’re just as fazed by your own question, holding your breath. 

It’s not until you’re inside that he graces you with an answer, “‘Course you can.”

Your shoulders drop in relief. What you’re not expecting is the laugh he tries to bite back. Maybe it was mean of him, but he liked knowing he could make you sweat. Sometimes it seemed like it was only ever you who made him openly anxious. 

“You’re terrible,” you accuse, failing at restraining a smile. “Absolutely horrible.” You’d forgotten to throw away an empty water bottle before you left, and it’s the closest thing you’re able to throw his way in retaliation. He catches it and tosses it in the trash himself. 

Mischief written all along his smile when he starts towards you. 

Partly scared and partly excited, you think to flee at the last second. After a few measly steps, you’re being pulled back into the firmness of his chest. He’s sure enough laughing now, the vibration rushing straight into your back right along with the warmth of his body. So are you. He only has one arm secured around your waist and, despite the fact that he’s not even trying, it's enough to hold you. 

“Wait, wait, wait—hold on a second!” your words come out giggly both because you’re anticipating some sort of attack, and because he’s never held you quite like this before. Unlike a normal hug, this feels like he has you rather than you having each other. It’s vulnerable. Dizzying. 

“You win, you win!” 

“What?” he laughs in surprise. His mouth is so close to your ear that you shiver. “Thought you had more fight in you than that,” there’s a playful warmth to his words. 

You shake your head in denial and relax back into him. You didn’t stand a chance of winning unless he let you, and you were more than willing to tap out early. Because even so, you were still in his arms at his mercy, and somehow that felt like the safest place to be. By the time you realize both of your laughter has faded to a thoughtful silence, he’s pressing a featherlight kiss to the shell of your ear. 

When he lowers his arm from around your waist, you turn around to face him. 

There’s a ghost of a smile on his face. He suddenly looks boyish, younger. Having crawled out of whatever shell of crushing expectation and responsibility he usually resided within. 

When he cups your face and presses his lips to yours, his shoulders relax and his breaths slow. And for once, he indulges. In you. In the prospect of having someone to lean on and being leaned on in return. It’s a reminder that he’s allowed to experience nice things. To have a life to look forward to outside of lending himself to cause after cause. 

You’re soft, and warm, and everything good a person could be. He pulls away slowly after a while, blinking down at you with heavy eyelids. You’re looking right back at him like he’s the world itself. 

“Maybe you’re not so terrible,” you whisper, smiling. 

Of everything he was feeling now, restless wasn’t one of them. 

_

Thank you so much for reading! I promise I see every like, comment, and reblog and appreciate them all very much. 

To join my “taglist,” follow @taleseverlasting

[amirasainz]

can you do a pierre x amira x kika

where it follows euros 2024 with portugal vs france and it’s like amira is stuck in the middle of them

I'm baaack! So I knoow that the Euro Cup is over, but I just started on writing some requests. There will be mentions of the Austian football team as well, but I just chose them randomly. My home team, thankfully, won the Euro Cup, YAY!

Enjoy reading and spam me with requests. :)

-XoXo

No Part 2!

Sitting in the middle

Amira never imagined she would visit Germany. It wasn’t that she had anything against the country; it simply hadn’t been one of her dream destinations. Yet here she sat, in the VIP area of a German football stadium, waiting for the game. For some, this match might not be the most exciting one during the Euro Cup.

But for Amira, it meant much more than just a game. Her companions, Pierre and Kika, supported different teams—each fiercely loyal to their home countries. When they learned that their teams would face off against each other, tensions escalated. Seeking a neutral presence during the game, they convinced Amira to join them in Germany after a day of cuddling and kissing, like friends just do.

And so, there she was. Pierre, decked out in team merchandise, sat on her right, while Kika proudly wore the famous number 7 on her back, Portuguese flags painted on her cheeks. And Amira, who decided to dress in normal clothes but had bracelets from each of the teams on her wrist, sat in the middle of them. The trio attracted curious glances from fellow spectators.

Initially, everything went smoothly. Respectful banter filled the air. But after the first half, things changed. “Of course, the Portuguese players have to collapse on the field, pretending they’ve suffered a catastrophic injury—even when no one touched them,” Pierre grumbled. Kika shot him a dagger-filled look. “Excuse me?” she retorted. Pierre’s sarcastic response— “You are excused”—didn’t help matters.

Amira, engrossed in chocolate-covered cherries, paid little attention to the escalating tension between her friends. As the second half began, emotions boiled over. “Pierre, you can’t be serious. EVERYBODY knows Portugal is better than France in football. We have players like Ronaldo, Pepe, Dias, Félix, Ne-”“Oh, come on! Ronaldo is the only player everyone knows from your team, and he isn’t even that good,” Kika interrupted. “What about M’Bappé?” she added.

Before the argument could escalate further, Amira innocently interjected: “I like the Austrian team.” Both Kika and Pierre stared at her, equally surprised. “They play like a real team—a close-knit family. Their joy on the field is contagious, and the fans are incredible,” Amira explained. Her friends exchanged puzzled glances but quickly agreed, because the didn't want to upset their babygirl. “Yes, you’re right, cherié,” Pierre conceded. “Austria won the toughest group in the Euro Cup.” Kika nodded in agreement. “Their players seem genuinely nice, and their fans show respect. Unlike those Turkish fans—disgusting behavior.”

Amira beamed at her friends. “Cherry, anyone?” she asked, lifting her fork.

[moralesmilesanhour]

Hello!!! How are you? I’ve been a follower for the past few days and was wondering if I could request something.

I was hoping to request a fic or like give you a prompt for something for miles42 × femreader

So it goes like this- yk those super corny reads that are like the reader's pinning for miles and like sometimes miles finds them annoying but in a cute way but he don't know that her yk? So he's talking to his homeboys about her, talm about some how she's so "annoying, a nuisance" and guess who's behind the wall listening? The reader herself.

So this goes one of two ways- she either matches up there, confronts him. And she's like "flipping fine, if that's how you feel then lemme get out of ur way- you won't hear a peep from me" and she like just ignores him and he learns how he feels about her, sees how his life is so boring without her and all that- goes to apologize happy ending..

Option number 2: silent treatment. Like just slowly drifting away until he once again comes to the realization that he needs her and all that happy ending yay!

Feel free to do whatever you want with this but I'm thinking of sending the same request to other authors to see what they come up with cause everyone has a style k? And i just love studying them and reading them cause evervtime- no matter how similar the prompt is- they always manage to invoke different feelings with in me.

Anyway- have fun doing this- but remember you don't have to cause this is kinda too much and I'm sorry😓

"I want my pen back."

wc: >1,200 A/N: okay so i got a bit carried away...this is a long one. (yes I am using this as an excuse to try out the gradient thing) thank you anon for this fun request! i also rlly like ur reasoning behind it and i hope i was able to do this prompt some type of justice lol

The gel pen clattered to the ground.

“I got it,” you said, grinning at Miles. You squat to grab it before the boy can act to get it himself, and he sighs as you hand it to him.

“Thanks.”

Miles turned the pen every which way between his fingers.

You had gifted it to him on the first day of school, with that same expectant grin. The little cartoon dogs that surrounded the perimeter had begun to fade with use because – admittedly – it had actually turned out to be a good ass pen.

He’d thought initially that you were just being nice; maybe you were handing shit out to everyone because it was the first day, understandable. 

But then, it was highlighters (the erasable ones).

Pink sticky-notes on his locker, telling him to have a nice day with the ‘i’s dotted with hearts.

A new sketchbook for Secret Santa.

Miles’ pencil case had rapidly gotten bulkier, and when you rushed to grab a seat next to him during the one class without assigned seats, it finally clicked.

You were trying to get his attention. And he wasn’t sure what would happen if you got it.

“I like the new braids.”

He was snapped out of his thoughts, and turned to you.

“Huh?”

“The braids,” you laughed. “I like the pattern. Who did ‘em for you?”

A tiny smirk ghosted the boy’s lips.

“My mom. Just like the last time you asked me.”

He ran a hand instinctively over the meandering zig-zag pattern that his cornrows had been sectioned into. Miles looked at you from his periphery; you were still staring. 

“Bitch, just ask him out already!”

Your friend smacked the back of your shoulder as the two of you took your sweet time getting back to your lockers.

“Alright, today, I swear,” you said, hand over your heart for emphasis.

A beat of silence passes. “But what if he says no?” 

She groaned.

“Then he says no, and you can save your money. But say something, it’s getting embarrassing.”

Your friends’ encouragement landed you here, around the corner of a building where Miles and a gaggle of other boys from your homeroom were bursting into raucous laughter.

“Yo, why you ain’t bag her yet? She wants you bad,” one boy said.

Unsure if the ‘she’ in question was you, you stay where you are and keep listening.

“I dunno, she kinda annoying,”

Miles’ low voice makes your ears perk up.

“One day she gon’ run outta things to say about my hair, she has to!”

…Oh.

The buoyant feeling in your chest sinks as the group erupts into another laughing fit. If you asked him out now, you’d hear about it for the rest of the year.

Shoving your phone into your pocket, you turn back the way you came. 

Miles knew something was off when you sat down the next morning without a word. 

“You good?” he asked.

You glanced at him, then nodded before going back to playing with the beads in your hair. The excruciating silence stretched on for almost the entirety of class before it was broken again.

“Do you…wanna help me with my homework? I’ll really let you, this time.”

You raised an eyebrow.

“Morales, you got an ‘A’ in every class.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Your name’s on every bulletin board.”

“Damn,” the boy muttered to himself as his leg bounced under the desk.

Your beads clattered against your back as you rose from your seat. The bell had rung, finally. You didn’t even say ‘bye’.

Miles cracked open his locker. One of your sticky notes from last week had begun to un-stick and fluttered to the ground. There were no new ones. He bent to pick it up, noticing how neat and round your handwriting was on these compared to the way you wrote in class. The letters didn’t run together, like you were in a rush.

Neatly folding the note and sticking it in his pocket, Miles shut his locker to reveal your face. The boy nearly yelped in surprise.

“Where the hell did you come from? Scared the shit outta me,” he said with a grin.

“I want my pen back.”

Miles froze. 

“Which pen?”

You tilted your chin up towards the one he was currently gripping in his left hand. He looked down at it like a wad of cash.

“Oh.”

He couldn’t just not give the pen back to you…

…but he didn’t want to give it to you, either.

“What you need it for? Don’t you have, like, a whole store full of these?”

“Miles, I gotta get to class. I’m not playing,” you reached for Miles’ hand, but he raised it high above his head.

Instead of a smirk or mocking sneer, something like worry was etched onto the boy’s features. 

“Tell me what’s up witchu first.”

“What are you talking about? I’m about to be late, c’mon.”

“You ain’t said a word to me all day,” he dropped his hand momentarily. “Are you sick? Did I do something? What–hey!”

You had snatched the pen out of the boy’s hand when he wasn’t looking, throwing it into your bag.

“I thought that’s what you wanted.”

You turn to retreat down the hallway, but stop with a huff when Miles calls after you.

“Wait!”

“I’m waiting.”

“Come see me after school?”

You kicked an empty can down the sidewalk in front of Miles’ apartment.

“Make this quick, I gotta go study.”

He looks everywhere else to avoid meeting your eyes, looking for the right words.

“You didn’t answer me earlier,” Miles awkwardly shuffled his feet. “Are you mad at me?”

“...Yeah, kinda.”

“For what?”

You stop to think for a moment, crossing your arms. 

“For…for letting me hand you that pen, knowing you weren’t gonna give it back,” you began.

Miles’ brows furrowed in confusion. “That’s it?”

You shook your head profusely, “N-no, I’m not done. You let me buy you all that stuff, put all that dumb shit in your locker, whole time you don’t even like me–”

“You don’t know that,” Miles interrupted. Your head snapped up to look at him, and you paused.

“I don’t?”

Neither of you say anything for a moment, then Miles remembers the note in his pocket. He takes it out and shows it to you.

“These? Are cute as fuck,”

He searches for more words, ten continues, "A-and I use that sketchbook every day. That pen? It’s like, my favorite,” he laughs. “I got half a mind to steal it back from you.”

Miles watches you expectantly. Your arms are still crossed, but the corners of your lips quirk up in amusement.

“So you like getting free stuff.”

“No-! I…”

The boy’s arms had begun to flail around in frustration. You hold back a giggle, never having seen him squirm like this before. It’s a nice change of pace.

“Alright, listen. I like hearing you talk to me every morning, and…”

He trailed off. He had begun slightly bouncing on his toes.

“...I like you.”

At some point while watching Miles struggle to explain himself, the float-y feeling in your chest had come back. You tilted your head to the side, and smiled.

“Okay. What are you gonna do about it?”

The boy’s eyes lit up.

“Where do you wanna go?”

[sunshine304]

FTH Fanbinding: "Concord" by Deastar

@youhideastar won my FTH auction and gave me a great gift: She wanted me to bind her CQL fic "Concord" including the thorough author's commentary she'd done. I was so happy when she chose this fic because I'd loved it so much and had pondered doing a fanbinding of it at some point anyway. 😄

Now that the book has finally arrived (spending two days in the air even, I guess, at least when one looks at the tracking info 😆), I can show it off here!

I tried some new stuff on this bind and also some things that I'd only done once before and that definitely need some, uh, perfecting. 😅 But overall, I'm very pleased with how this book turned out, as it's pretty close to what I'd imagined when I started it.

The fic is set in Cloud Recesses and Dea and I agreed that the colour blue should be prominent in the design, as it not only fits the setting, but also is of significance in the story itself. As the rules and traditions of the Lan sect also are quite important, I wanted a very clean, simple style for the case, a bit reminiscent of traditional Chinese bindings.

I did the title as a cut-out and used Japanese transparent paper for some extra flavour. The paper shows up inside the book as well early on and I liked the recurring motive of it. I'm also really pleased how well the hot foil came out on it! I was a bit scared that it might rip or something, but it's quite sturdy, after all.

I thought about doing a faux stab binding with red thread to get even more of a traditional feel, but then decided against it as I'd wanted to use two different blue book cloths and I felt that it might get too busy. Instead, I used the red ribbon as a nod to Wei Wuxian.

The little cloud illustration is used several times in the typeset and I like how it comes out in the title. I didn't even mess up this title, yay! (Mine's got a few tiny blotches but uh well, better mine than Dea's!)

I painted the edges with metallic watercolours - the second time I tried painting edges, but this time with several colours and trying to do a little illustration as well. Big thanks to @zhalfirin who quickly answered my question about how to get the paint to actually stick. 😆 I'd read several posts about how awesome water colours are for foreedge painting, but none mentioned that this kind of paint just rubs off again (I am no artist and have no knowledge of different kinds of paint). Zhalfirin told me to mix in glue and also wax the edges afterwards, which I both did and I think it's fine now. At least my fingers didn't turn blue. 😅

I really love how the shading came out on the head/tail; it could've been better on the foreedge and it looked great while the paint was still wet. Steep learning curve, this thing. I also died trying to sand the edges and I didn't get them completely smooth, but at least smooth enough to work with. That also needs some more work, I guess.

First time I sewed endbands with four different colours! I think they came out quite well! I also forgot the second row of dark blue on Dea's book and had to unravel half the endband again when I noticed at the very end... 🤦‍♀️

Nice marbled endpapers. For the title page spread, I used part a very famous Chinese painting, as it not only reminds me of the Gusu mountains but also, again, is very traditional. I played around with the colours to give the picture a bit of a bluer tinge.

The typeset itself was very straight-forward. There's the fic without commentary, and then the second part with it. I used a grey background for the comment parts to make it stand out from the actual story.

I had lots of printer issues with this fic (my copy actually had even more issues because the printer treated every page as an image for unknown reasons and therefore it not only took forever, it's also a tiny bit blurry. Hmpf.) and the greys tended to have a bit of a blue tinge, which was not my intention. But at least it works with the overall theme, I guess! 😅

I also did an extensive Appendix with all the meta links mentioned in the commentary as well as cut scenes and a little "praise for the author" section.

Last but not least, I decided to try making a slipcase for the first time! DAS_Bookbinding on youtube has good tutorials on that and I used one of them. It worked well on the first try. The second try, I used sturdier cardboard and should've added a few millimetres to the width, because the book didn't fit - the ribbon got stuck and I feared that it might get damaged. So I had to redo the case and then it was perfect.

I used wallpaper as cover material. 😄 The one you see on the outside? That's my living room wallpaper, a light blue with a lovely pattern and soft shimmer to it. My camera unfortunately is refusing to get the colour right.🤷‍♂️

The assembling process went well, for the most part. I'd forgotten to shorten the endpapers a bit which I only realised after I'd started casing in my copy. I carefully separated the textblock from the case again and then, in a moment of complete mental blackout, tried to cut the wet paper. 🤦‍♀️ That didn't go well. I managed to salvage it, mostly, and of course didn't repeat the mistake with Dea's copy, but ugh. 😆

This was a super fun project and I'm very happy with it! Thank you again, Dea, for your faith in me and your super generous donation! 💙

Materials used:

Printed on Clairefontaine DCP 100g

Case and endpapers:

booklinen Colibri cornflower

booklinen Paradise aqua

marbled paper 120g

transparent Japanese paper

Hot Foil (Memory Keepers)

Slipcase:

fleece wallpaper Newroom Nisa lightblue

fleece wallpaper grey glitter

[rafesweetie]

౨ৎ in which you’re the first customer at the kildare county surf shop, and the owner takes a liking to you

you didn’t know how to surf at all. but hearing that a group of pogues came up with the money to start their own surf shop? you just had to check it out. not to mention you’d seen the boys in the news, and couldn’t help checking if they’re just as cute in real life.

you walk inside the surf shop, ignoring the boards as you go to look at the cute merch they have. you stand on your tip-toes to reach a pink crewneck with the store logo on it. you go to grab it, but you cant reach the top to get it off the hanger. it feels like when you’re at a grocery store and you can’t reach the drink you want.

a voice behind you — a cute one at that. one that reminds you of the peaceful noise of the ocean, as if you could fall asleep hearing it. but the voice isn’t meant for you to hear. “holy shit,” is all the boy says.

“hey, first customer, man,” another says. “someone’s eager, huh?” a pause, then a laugh. “go talk to ‘er, man, she’ll give us a.. bad review or some shit,”

a girl speaks next. “and give her something free since she’s the first customer,” the boy chimes in, saying sarcastically, “what, like a sticker?”

the next words are whispered, but the boy with the pretty voice laughs at what his friend said, and then walks over to you.

brown eyes gaze down at you, boyish and inviting. your gaze darts down his entire frame. everything about him is inviting. his cute bandana, his beachy attire, skin kissed by the sun and wavy hair caressed by the ocean waves. wow.

“..uh, hey,” the boy says, scratching the back of his neck. he was not cut out for the business world, he’s awfully awkward. but maybe it’s just because you’re pretty. “need help finding anything?”

“oh, no thank you,” you say politely, smiling up at him. “i’m just looking. when did you guys open?”

“twenty minutes ago,”

“..you’re kidding,” you say softly. “wow. it’s nice in here. how many people have come in so far?”

“none,” he answers honestly. “y’the first,”

that makes you smile more. “oh my gosh, that’s so fun. i totally have to get something now,”

oh, you’re cute. he likes that. “yeah, totally. you looking for a board?”

shaking your head no, you respond. “no way. can’t surf at all. s’cool and all, but not my thing,”

“no? well, you should learn,” he suggests. “always fun to have more people surfing with the pogues,”

“sure,” you agree. “i will if you teach me,”

he’s the one smiling now. his first customer, and it’s a pretty girl who wants to surf with him. it feels like fate. “yeah? you serious? i absolutely will,”

“yay, perfect,” his eagerness makes you more excited. everything about him is contagious. “what’s your name?”

“john b routledge,”

“well, john b, i’ll take this crewneck,” you start, walking with him to the cash. “and i’ll see you soon,” his friends are behind the counter as well. you smile at them then focus on john b again as you hand him some cash.

“nah nah, take it for free,” he insists, putting his hands up so you cant give him the cash. “first customer, right?”

he boyishly grins at you, muscles flexing as his hands stay in the air. you playfully roll your eyes and take the cash back. “fine, you win,”

“uh huh,” he hums, as if he knew you’d give in. he’s sweet and sassy, you like that. “i’ll see you soon. come back and buy a custom board so i can teach you,”

“okay, john b, i’ll come back soon,” you promise. “see you around,”

and as you leave, his friends are excitedly elbowing him and teasing him. but he’s in his own world, watching as the creaky wooden door swings after you leave, looking at the ground where you stepped, and looking at the empty space where the crewneck you wanted once was. he’s never gonna be the same.

[whatsk-poppinhomies]

Pairing : Idol!Song Mingi x F!Reader TW : reader is an internatiol ATINY ; nationality unspecified ; pure angst ; long distance relationship ; arguing ; disastrous break up ; heartbreak ; it's just sad ; he's a little bit, slightly yandere ; Word Count : 8.0k A/N : Mingi angst!! Yay! Haven't written for ATEEZ in a good bit! This one is fun! I have full control and I love it! Time for some heartbreak!! This turned a little yandere... But I hope you still like it! Also, I'm sorry I haven't posted in a while. I'm trying to write as much as I can! Request : Anonny : hi! I was wondering if you could do a mingi angst! I've been reading your angst fics and well just your gifs for like the past year and never had the courage to ask until now! I don't really have specifics and you could just do whatever you want with plot wise or something! I haven't thought about plot and stuff yet, just mingi angst 😭

The last fancall, it was kind of sad, but in a way, also relieving. They got to just relax after this call, they didn’t have to try to understand what an international fan was saying, not that it was a problem, but it was hard, although they’d never expect anyone to learn Korean just for them. They all loved talking to ATINY though, even if it were just a few, they got to personally get to know them for a minute or two, they got to joke with them, laugh with them, even playfully flirt with them. It was just nice to have some kind of interaction with the fans that brought them to where they were today. 

It was your first fancall, you weren’t even sure how you had gotten so lucky to be chosen, but you had been, and when you got the email you screamed so loud that your neighbor started banging on the walls. Something as small as a video call, but it was huge to you, it felt like a dream. Surely, anyone who wasn’t a fan of k-pop wouldn’t understand, they’d probably think you were crazy for getting so excited over something like this… But this just might be the closest you’d ever get to any of them, and it would most definitely be the only time you ever got to talk to them. 

You had done your hair and your makeup and you had changed your outfit about six times before settling on something more casual. It’s not like any of them would remember you anyway, and you weren’t even upset about that, you were just glad to be able to have this opportunity… an opportunity that had you so insanely flustered that you could barely even speak when Hongjoong showed up on your screen. 

How embarrassing it was to sit in front of your favorite idols, not all of them at once, but one by one, they all got to look at you and see you looking so absolutely enamored that they were in fact actual people. The most you could get out was a ‘hello’, and even that was kind of squeaky and they would laugh, which in turn would make you more shy. They were all so nice though, asking you what your favorite song was and who your bias is, even though you couldn’t seem to find your voice. You wondered if things like this happened often. 

Then you got to Mingi, who was last second to last in the lineup. He wasn’t exactly your bias, you didn’t really have one, they were all amazing and attractive in their own personal ways. But damn did he look good. If you were awestruck before, you were completely starstruck now, your eyes widening as you took in his perfect features and just… everything about him. 

“Oh my god…” You said, under your breath you had assumed, but he had to have heard you considering he turned around and looked behind him before looking back at the camera to smile and wave at you. “Hi…” His turn was slightly different, it made you feel different. The other guys had simply looked at you, but it felt like Mingi was really looking at you. What did he see? Did you have something in your teeth? Was your hair messed up? You felt shy, like you were standing right in front of your crush. It was crazy. 

“You ever been to Korea?” He asked, and it was so blunt, but he had this cheeky smile on his face that both eased your nerves and somehow had them going haywire at the same time. You giggled nervously and shook your head no. “You should come, it’s nice here. A lot of pretty girls, you’ll fit right in.” He… He just called you pretty? Was this fan service? It had to be! He was just really really good at it. “Do you have a boyfriend?” None of the other guys had asked you these types of questions, why were things getting so personal? Why didn’t you seem to mind it when it was coming from him? You shook your head no once again. “Good. I’m your boyfriend now. Okay?” 

It probably wasn’t a good time to take a sip of water, not that you had expected him to say something like that, but you spit it out all over your desk, completely in shock at the words that you had just heard him say. There was no way he was being serious right now. His fan service was immaculate. “Oh…Okay!” You stammered out, and you wondered how long this would go on. He had surely passed up the timer. 

“My turn now!!” You heard Wooyoung shout from beside him, and Mingi groaned loudly as his bottom lip jutted out. “I’m gonna steal your girlfriend, deal with it.” He teased, and you let out a small sigh. It was just fan service. You felt kind of foolish for momentarily getting worked up over something that he probably said to 20 other people today. 

“I’ll see you again, yeah?” He asked, his words coming out rushed, and what the hell were you supposed to do? Say no?! You obviously wanted to see him again, that would be awesome, but the chances of you winning a fan call raffle twice were so low, you would be crazy to think that you’d ever have a moment like this again. 

“Yeah… Yeah, you will.” You said, because even though you knew he was just very skilled in acting, you might as well play along with it. For a few short seconds, you had been Song Mingis girlfriend… And now that you had moved to a call with Wooyoung… All you could think about Mingi and his words and the way he looked at you. It drove you crazy… He drove you crazy. He had just become your ultimate bias though!

///

“I’m not gonna be able to go to the Ateez concert.” Your friend mumbled, and part of you, the more selfish part of you, was partially glad that she wasn’t able to go. She had flaunted the fact that she got front row tickets and you hadn’t been able to get even a back seat, they were sold out before payday. “Stupid fucking job, not giving me a day off. I requested it too!” 

“That’s bullshit.” You shook your head, trying your best to sympathize with her, but all you could selfishly think was that if you weren’t lucky enough to go, she shouldn’t be lucky enough to go either. “Are you going to sell the ticket? You could get some good profit considering it’s a front row seat.” You quizzed, but the way she was looking at you made you quite uneasy. It looked like she was planning something… or at least thinking of something, and you didn’t know if it was malicious or something else completely. She was hard to read. 

Long, manicured nails tapped against the table top, the sound putting you even more on edge, and then she sighed. “I know that your birthday is coming up, and… well I’m poor because I bought this damn ticket so…” Her shoulders shrugged, but there was a slight, tight lipped smile spreading across her face. “I’m just gonna give it to you. Happy early birthday! Yay! Tell Yuno I love him so much.” 

Your jaw might as well have been on the floor. Was fate really giving you a good hand this year? Was this all that good karma you had earned from being a wonderful citizen in society? “Holy shit… No way! Are you being serious right now?” You just had to be sure. There was no way someone would just give up a front row ticket, especially not for free, even if it were your best friend. There had to be some kind of clause. 

“Yes, I’m serious. Now, accept it before I change my mind and just skip work that day. I would have done that anyway if I didn’t have to pay rent.” She rolled her eyes and sunk down in her seat. “Take as many pictures and videos as you can… for me. Please! That’s all I’m asking for.” You nodded your head firmly, shit, that was the easiest thing you’d have to do. “He’ll probably look so good… Maybe…” 

“No take backs!” You blurted out, your finger waving back and forth as you stared at her, and you hoped that she thought you were just goofing around and that your expression didn’t let on just how panicked you felt just by her words. “I will facetime you just so you feel like you’re actually there… Okay?” She was sulking, as anyone would be, you knew damn well that you would be if you were in the same position as her. 

“Just have fun… And make a big sign, you have to get at least one of them to notice you, especially since you’re front row. Take advantage of those seats, bitch.” She teased, reaching her hands across the table to grab yours as she let out a little squeal, kicking her feet and acting as if she were still the one going. Maybe she was just trying to hype you up. “I gave you the best birthday gift, nobody can top me, they shouldn’t even try.” 

“They should definitely still try though… I mean… I like getting things.” She snorted loudly, and you couldn’t help but laugh along with her. She was absolutely crazy and you absolutely adored her. A world without her as your best friend would be dull and boring and you didn’t even want to think about how sad it would be. You would have the best time of your life at that concert, and you’d do it for her. 

///

Picking out an outfit for something like a concert was much harder than picking out an outfit for a video call. This was important, especially since you were going to be in the front row. One of them - hopefully Mingi - would look directly at you at some point. You couldn’t just be casual about it, you had to draw attention to yourself, you had to make sure that you were noticed. This decision felt more crucial than anything else in your life, and that seems quite absurd, but these guys had been the subjects of all your dreams and daydreams, you at least wanted to look good in front of them. 

You had only been to one other concert in your entire life, and it was back during middle school for an indie group when you were going through your “emo” phase. This was bigger than that, you could already tell as you pulled up to the arena and saw the people pouring into the entrance. Your heart was hammering in your chest, it was crazy, you had even gotten there 2 hours early to try to make things easier on yourself but the crowd was already massive. 

The lightstick in your hand was already shaking, but only because of your nerves, but you knew that you couldn’t just sit in the back of the Uber forever, so you climbed out, taking a deep breath before heading into the building. It was somehow more packed inside than it was even outside and it was so insanely congested that it felt more like a train station than an arena for a concert. Did all concert venues look like this or was it just because ATEEZ was performing? 

Since you were front row, you got to go in and watch them warm up… funnily enough, you felt you might miss it considering you didn’t have a single idea where the hell you were going. You were trying your best to navigate through this cluster of people that were just as excited as you were, and you wished that you had someone to help walk you through this whole thing. It was so loud and you were being bumped into, and while they apologized for it, it didn’t make you any less anxious. 

By the time you finally made it in the arena, you were just exhausted. The big sign that you had made and brought along with you had miraculously made it through all of it unscathed, but you were drained. You dropped down into your seat, hoping that your hair and your outfit had survived as well as the sign, but there was no mirror and you didn’t want to risk getting lost on your way to or from the bathroom, so you just had to rely on that hope that you still looked as good as you did when you left the house. 

It felt like you hadn’t even had enough time to really catch your breath or cool off before the guys were walking out on stage. Everyone around you was screaming, but you were so enamored by the sight of them, literally right in front of you, that your mouth was hanging open but no sound was coming out. You had really thought that the video call was the most amazing thing, but now, you were sure that you were wrong. They were legitimately real, they were right in front of you. “Holy shit…” You mumbled to yourself, and for some reason, even though there were still a pretty good amount of people around you, you were self conscious, you were shy, you were nervous. 

They came to the edge of the stage, one by one, and they all walked by and finished hand hearts that other people were making and stayed still long enough to be in selfies with certain people, none of them really stopped for longer than a minute tops… No one, other than Mingi. 

Oh, Mingi… Who had managed to make your heart flutter through a simple video call, he made you feel like you were going crazy… Surely he wouldn’t remember you though. But why… Why did he full stop on your side of the stage? Why did he kneel down in front of you, his eyes locking with yours as his head tilted to the side? Gosh, he was adorable. There was no way that he would notice you after the couple months that had passed. The video call hadn’t lasted long enough for your face to be saved in his memory. Had it? 

The chants of the people beside you seemed to pull him out of whatever trance he was in, and he quickly stood up and scurried along the stage, but it didn’t go unnoticed that he continued to look back at you, his eyes narrowing as if in deep thought. Did he remember you? 

Soon enough they were off the stage and the rest of the stadium began to fill. The noise was much worse inside the arena, the sound just echoing off the walls and filling your ears, and you wondered how people could handle it constantly. You were sure that you’d have a major headache once you got out of there. The sudden influx of people and the growing excitement of the show that was about to begin had taken your mind off of the slightly strange interaction from before. You shouldn’t think so hard about those things, it was foolish and you didn’t want to be delusional. 

As the show started, the screams that you had originally thought to be loud seemed to multiply tenfold and your ears were already ringing. Of course, you had a seat right next to the speaker. Would your eardrums even make it through the night? Were there enough ibuprofen in the world to soothe the awful ache in your head once you got back home? 

It didn’t matter now, you just wanted to enjoy the show. You were here to enjoy the concert, to live the experience… But also, not forget to get enough video footage of Yunho to thank your friend for the ticket. This was something that you wouldn’t be able to do again, at least for a long time. Screw the headache, you should enjoy it while it lasts, and that’s exactly what you were going to do. 

///

“I swear, I think that’s her in the front row.” Mingi said backstage after the warmups. The guys all stared at him like he was crazy, but he knew that he wasn’t. He knew your face, he knew your eyes, they had filled his dreams every night… They thought he was crazy for that too. “I’m so serious right now. I wouldn’t say it’s her if it wasn’t.” 

Wooyoung snorted, but patted Mingi on the back as he walked by. “Maybe you’re the delusional one. Spotting your dream girl out in the crowd. That’s crazy. Come on, we have to get ready. Get your head out of your ass.” Mingi pouted as he walked over to the stylist and dropped down into his seat beside Hongjoong. 

“I’m being so serious right now. You believe me, right? I mean… You saw her in the call. You know what she looks like. That was her out in the crowd… Right?” Mingi asked, trying to keep his voice down so that Wooyoung wouldn’t come over and completely crush his dreams and rain on his parade. Hongjoong chewed on his bottom lip, looking at Mingi through the mirrors that were in front of them. “You… You believe me… Don’t you?” 

Hongjoong sighed, turning to Mingi with a slight pout. “I didn’t… But if you really believe you saw her, I’m happy for you. I’m not going to tell you that you’re crazy.” He pushed himself up off of his chair and stretched, preparing himself for the show that he was about to put on for all the fans. “It’s almost time to go out there…” 

“Yeah! Maybe you’ll see your girlfriend!” Wooyoung chimed in, seemingly coming from out of nowhere. “It’s okay to be delusional, bud. I’m not judging you for it.” Although it seemed like he was judging him a lot for it, Mingi tried to avoid the teasing and focus more on the fact that he was about to head out on stage in less than five minutes. 

He was so nervous though, not for the reasons that most would think though. Being up on stage in front of thousands of people wasn’t the issue, it was being up on stage in front of you. What were the chances of you winning a fancall and being at a show too? It’s like the universe was trying to bring the both of you together. He truly believed that. He couldn’t think of any other reason for those two things to happen. Especially with you being right in front… Front row seats, like he was meant to see you. It wasn’t a coincidence, it couldn’t be, and he knew that it was you. Your face was unforgettable to him. He daydreamt about it every day, he would have dreams of you every night. He couldn’t get you out of his head. 

///

The speakers in front of you send vibrations through the air around you, you could feel it in your muscles, in your bones. The entire arena went dark for a moment, and then you heard the crowd roar as they walked out. You had already seen them once during their warm up, but it was like the first time again, your breath held in your lungs as they walked out, the music crescendoing the closer they got to the edge of the stage. 

It felt like when you ride a rollercoaster, the slow climb to the top of the hill, and you knew that the edge was coming soon, that feeling of falling, excitement and fear all in one… But this time there was no fear, it was just the strange tingly feeling in your stomach, that last breath of air before you’d let it all out in one loud scream. 

Building and building, their bodies like shadows in the darkness, and then with one click the spotlights turned on and they were illuminated, the bright lights shining on each and every one of them, but you were only looking specifically at one. An audible gasp left your lips as you seemed to once again lock eyes with Mingi.

Your hands shook as you held up the sign that you had made, feeling quite foolish now as it was hoisted above your head. “Call Me Mingi”, with your phone number written neatly at the bottom. It was a joke, one that your friend had laughed about right alongside you as she added the glitter to the glue hearts that had been neatly placed along the board. 

It was crazy, you and your friend both agreed to that, but it was probably a good switch up from the typical signs that asked the idols to marry them. What was even crazier though was when Mingi pulled out his phone, aiming it in your direction and snapped a quick photo. You couldn’t be delusional, being delusional wasn’t good for your heart or your mind, but you also couldn’t help but think that maybe he took the photo so that he could check back on the sign… So that he could call you… 

The rest of the concert felt more like a blur, stuck in your own mind thinking about what Mingi could have wanted that picture for. You didn’t see any of the other guys taking pictures of the crowd… Or maybe you were so lost in your thoughts that you didn’t even notice if they did. You couldn’t stop thinking about it though, and before you knew it, the concert was over and you couldn’t even remember the setlist or the last song they played before the main lights in the arena turned back on and everyone began filing out. 

Your friend was going to kill you, you hadn’t gotten a single video of Yunho for her. You honestly were quite pissed at yourself as well. This is why delusions aren’t good at all. You missed the whole concert, one that you most likely were never going to be able to experience ever again, because you were too busy thinking about whether Song Mingi, a literal idol, would make the time to call someone like you. 

///

“You didn’t get a single video of Yunho!? Oh my god!” Your friend whined as you laid in bed, your phone next to your head, not even on speaker, but her voice was loud enough that it didn’t need to be. “Maybe it’s a good thing I didn’t go to the concert. I can’t afford to be a delulu as your ass.” 

“I’m sorry!” You mumbled, throwing your hands over your face and letting out a loud groan. “I just… I’m not even thinking about him calling my number at this point. I just don’t want him to post a picture of it online and have a bunch of people trying to call me or text me, you know?” You explained, finally getting over your delusions and moving onto a safer, yet still highly panic inducing train of thought. 

“Oh! Your phone is going to be blowing up! You’ll finally be super popular!” Your friend teased, snorting loudly as she said it, but you could only muster a slightly annoyed shut up in response before your phone started vibrating. “It begins! Maybe he did post it!” 

“Oh hell no! I’ll call you back!” You said quickly, ending the call with your friend to quickly answer the incoming call. “Look. I don’t know where you got my number, but if it’s from where I think it is, I will not tolerate unsolicited calls. This is harassment.” 

“Oh…” The voice on the other end was quite timid, but you could tell it was a guy. He sounded kind of nervous, and although all of you wanted to believe who you thought it was, you didn’t want to go down that road again, at least not tonight. “But your number was on the sign… I thought you wanted the phone call.” 

“The sign was a joke!” You explained exasperatedly, kicking your legs like a toddler in the store who was throwing a temper tantrum. You surely didn’t want to deal with this right now. “Unless you are Song Mingi, I’d advise you to hang up the phone and find someone else to bother this late at night.” 

There was a chuckle, although the sound was slightly muffled, but it was extremely agitating that someone found this funny. As if harassment was something comical nowadays. “So I shouldn’t hang up the phone then… Right?” You scoffed loudly, finally getting up from your bed and pacing around your room, something that you often did when you were just too annoyed to sit still. 

“Look, this isn’t funny. If you’re doing this to mess with me, I’m sure you’ve already had your fun. I’m trying to get some sleep, I’m exhausted. It would be really cool of you to not fuck with people like this.” The words came out in huffed breaths, you were beyond pissed, not just at whoever this person was, but at yourself for being stupid enough to put your number out so publicly just on the small chance that someone like Song Mingi would actually dial your number. 

A soft hum, and then your phone started vibrating again, this time an invite to a video call that you surely weren’t up to accepting. You let it continue ringing until it ended, and you thought that it would be a one and done type of thing, but then it started vibrating again. “Just for a second, you don’t even have to be on the camera, I just want to show you something.” 

You didn’t exactly mean to laugh as loudly as you did, but you had heard that line one too many times in your lifetime to trust it. “Look bud, I don’t want to see a live action shot of your dick and balls. I wasn’t born yesterday.” You snarkily shot back, and the audible gasp that came through your speaker had it crackling slightly. 

“Who did that to you? That’s disgusting… Hold up. We don’t have to call. I’ll just… Send you a selfie real quick. Not of my dick and balls.” Were you so annoyed that you were laughing, or did you actually find him funny? You weren’t sure, but regardless of what it was, you laughed at his little quip, your hand moving over your mouth so that the guy didn’t think he was actually getting anywhere right now. 

Your phone buzzed in your hand once again, and luckily it was only once, but when you went to your texts, you were met with a selfie of the guy that was on the other end of the line… The guy that the sign had been made for. “I call bullshit!” You blurted out, because there was no way in hell your little glitter bomb sign would have worked. You just couldn’t fathom it.

“Reverse image search it then. It doesn’t exist anywhere else than in your messages.” He said rather bluntly, quite cockily too. Now that you were really listening to his voice though, you couldn’t deny that it sounded all too familiar to the voice you heard at the concert, and not just that, but the voice you had heard in your phone before when you had won the fancall. You were stunned into silence, you didn’t know what to say or what to do next, and he could tell. “You believe me now?” 

“Mmhm…” Was all you could mutter, because what else were you supposed to say? How were you supposed to think of anything coherent when you were currently in a very real, very one on one call with Song Mingi… Or was it one on one? Did his managers know about this call? Were they just standing around him listening to every word you and him say? Did they freak out when he sent the selfie to you? 

“So… I’m going to be here… Close to you… For another two days…” What was he hinting at? Ain’t no way he was hinting at what you thought he was… right? “If you want to meet up for lunch or dinner… or something…” Holy shit he was. “I know that this is crazy, I just needed to be sure…” 

“Sure of what?” You asked, and your heart felt like a freight train, speeding straight to your ribcage and you were sure it was going to shoot out in a matter of seconds. 

“I… I need to be sure that I do actually like you…” 

///

Two days wasn’t enough, but in a sense, it was for him. It felt like a dream when he finally met up with you, even though he had to practically disguise himself from the public, it felt nice to just be able to sit across from you for lunch and talk to you. It didn’t take long for him to be 100… No… 500% sure that you were the woman that he wanted to be with. Love worked in crazy ways, but he trusted it, because the odds of everything lining up so perfectly to get to this moment… It was fate, it had to be. 

The way your body froze for a second before melting against his when he so suddenly pressed his lips to yours. It was a spur of the moment thing, but it felt right, and he needed to kiss you now because he knew that the moment wouldn’t come again for a long time. It wasn’t supposed to lead to anything more, it wasn’t what he had planned, but before either of you could really think twice, you were falling back onto the hotel mattress and he was falling on top of you. 

In that moment, it was like his heart grew ten times bigger, and laying beside you, your hair carelessly clinging to your sweat covered forehead as you dozed peacefully beside him… Love wasn’t hard to find, the world was just waiting to bring the one you were supposed to love to you. That’s how he felt, and he believed it wholeheartedly. How could he not when he felt like he was falling deeper and deeper in love with you with every soft breath that escaped your lips. 

To live in that moment forever, both bodies hidden underneath wrinkled sheets, his feet hanging out from the end of the blanket, your arm draped lazily over his bare chest. Could you feel his heart beating beneath his skin? It seemed like now it was only beating for you. He saw his future flash before his eyes, mornings like this, every morning like this, just waking up beside you, being able to see your beautiful face as soon as he opened his eyes. What a wonderful future it would be to spend it with you. 

Falling in love was easy when it was with you, but it was hard… It was hard because he knew he couldn’t stay with you, at least not in person. He had to go back to Korea, he had to finish the rest of the tour. His heart felt like it was connected to yours entirely, and having to leave you behind was going to be painful… But it would work. He’d make it work, solely because he couldn’t imagine his life without you in it. 

“I wish I could take you with me…” He whispered, and while he knew that that wish couldn’t be granted, not yet at least, he had been able to swindle security to pick you up just so that he could ride with you to the airport, so that he’d be able to see you one last time before he had to go. “I’ll message you… I’ll call you every day.” 

“What if you get bored?” You practically whimpered, and his heart cracked at the question. How could he ever get bored of you? He had spent months before the concert just thinking about you before he even knew where you lived or what you were truly like. He had been loyal to the singular thought of you. There was no way that he’d give up so easily when he finally had you and was able to call you his. 

“I’d never get bored, baby. I’ll wait, always… Until we can be together.” He reassured you, his hands cupping your cheeks gently as he wiped away the stray tears that fell from your eyes. “Don’t cry, please don’t cry. I’ll start crying and then I won’t be able to get out of the car because I won’t want to leave you…” He kissed your forehead, and then the tip of your nose before leaning back and giving you a smile that had his eyes disappearing momentarily. It was your favorite smile, you had told him multiple times, and it always seemed to cheer you up. 

“I’m sorry…” You sniffled, leaning forward and resting your head against his chest. Could you hear his heart now, could you hear how fast it was beating for you? “You should go now… I don’t want you to miss your flight.” The words sounded choked out, and he would have said more, but he knew that his words would come out the same way. 

For some people, two days wasn’t even enough to be acquaintances, but for him, two days was enough for him to feel like his heart belonged to you completely. You were his soulmate, his everything, without a doubt… He wouldn’t even look at another woman, he wouldn’t be able to look at anything without somehow finding a way to see you in whatever it was. He loved you with every ounce, every fiber of his being. 

“I’ll… I’ll try to make a stop here after the tour… I’ll visit you again… Before I go back to Korea… Okay?” He held out his pinky to lock with yours, twisting his hand and pressing his and your thumbs together. “Wait for me… Always wait for me, okay?” You nodded your head quickly, your nose scrunched up in the most adorable way as the tears continued to fall down your cheeks. With one last kiss, he was moving away, closer to the door. He hated goodbyes. “Get her home safe, okay… Please.” He told the driver who simply nodded, and then he was gone. 

The windows were tinted, and although he knew that you could see him constantly looking back at you through the windows, he couldn’t see you at all. The last image of you that he held in his mind was your tear stained cheeks and the expression of sadness as he let go of your finger and your hand dropped back down to your lap. He wished he could take you with him, but life just wouldn’t allow that… Not right now at least. 

///

For a good amount of time, you both kept in touch with each other frequently. Hell, you even had your first argument as soon as he got back to Korea because he pinky promised that he’d come visit you before he left, but he didn’t. It was quickly solved though, because one of the main things the two of you had going for the relationship was communication. He promised that when he had free time he would come visit you for a week, and you held onto that promise just as you had held onto the one from before. 

You would talk about how your day was, all the little things that happened, regardless of time difference or schedules, you both always found a way to keep in contact. For months your nights would end with video calls from him, and his nights would end with video calls from you. Everything was perfect, he truly felt that way. 

But soon the messages came in less often, it seemed like you were always busy doing something when he wanted to talk. He’d call you at night and you wouldn’t answer, always miraculously not having your phone with you or on when the call would come in. He didn’t understand it, and when he went to one of the other members to talk, he didn’t want to hear what they had to say either. 

There was no way that you were getting tired of him. You couldn’t be getting bored… Because he promised you that he wouldn’t get bored. It would be hypocritical for you to ask him if he’d get bored of you and then… then get bored of him. 

The thought stuck with him though, and while that would usually make most people give up, it just made him try harder. He messaged you as much as he could, he sent you constant pictures, he tried to call you whenever he knew you’d be on a lunch break or when you’d usually get off work. Your responses were always so dry though. Were you trying to get rid of him? Had he done something wrong? He was doing his best, it’s not like he enjoyed being so far away from you. It had only been 3 months… He was willing to wait forever to be with you… Why couldn't you do the same for him? 

“Hey baby, how did you sleep?” Nowadays he felt nervous when he texted you. He didn’t know whether he’d get a one word reply or no reply at all. It felt pathetic that the days he’d get the one word replies were his favorite, but you had been leaving him on read so often now that even the smallest response felt like a win to him. 

“I think we should talk…” A five word reply, and while the words didn’t sit right with him and they made his stomach do flips, it was nice. It was nice to think that you wanted to talk to him, regardless of what it was about. 

“Yeah sure! I’m down to talk, do you want to call? I haven’t seen you in a while. I miss you!” 

“No calling… It’ll just make this harder.” Make what harder? What were you going to say that could possibly be so hard? You weren’t… leaving him… were you? You couldn’t be… He hadn’t done anything wrong. He was devoted to you, he was loyal to you in every way. You weren’t just going to give up on him that easily… Were you? 

“Well, whatever it is that you have to say, I want you to know that I love you. I can’t wait to see you again!” Maybe that text would make you rethink whatever it was that you were about to send. If you knew that he loved you, although he did tell you every single day, maybe you’d realize that whatever you were planning on doing wasn’t the right thing to do. 

“Mingi… I can’t keep this up. I… found someone else…” 

“No you didn’t… No you didn’t!” He was already crying even though he wanted his mind to just forget that he had even read that text. “You love me! Don’t you love me?!” You had to love him… Why else would you have been so sad in the car when he went to the airport? “Is this because I couldn’t visit you after the tour was over? I’m sorry! I’ll come visit you! I’ll buy a plane ticket right now!” 

“It’s not that… I need someone that’s here with me. I don’t just want to keep repeating the same conversations every single day. The schedule differences and… Everything is stacked up against us… We weren’t going to work.” 

How could you say something like that? He was doing everything he possibly could to make it work. He was the one putting in all the effort. He was the one staying up later than he should just to be able to call you and message you when you were free. “No… You just didn’t want it to work… I still do!” His fingers moved like lightning across his screen, his eyes blurred with the tears that he was trying so hard to hold back. “You can’t decide something like that.. If you would have talked to me… We could have made it work.” 

Did you know that you were killing him, that you were breaking his heart? Would you take the words back if he told you? “I don’t want to argue with you… I just wanted you to know…” Were you as nonchalant as your texts made it seem you were? You really didn’t care… But maybe… Maybe if he gave you some time… A bit of time you’d come to realize that you did love him. He won’t message you… He’ll let it simmer… Maybe you’ll end up missing him and messaging him first. 

So he waited, and days turned into weeks, and he thought he’d be able to wait a month, but then you started posting on Instagram. You looked so happy in your pictures, you looked absolutely gorgeous, and the smile that you were wearing was the same one you had given him during those two days he got to be with you. He swiped through, and he was fine… Maybe not as fine as he wanted to be, but he was fine with seeing the pictures of just you. It brought back happier memories of when he was able to actually be with you. Then he got to the last picture, the guy that you were currently with, he assumed, his arms around you and his lips planted to your cheek. 

As if your words hadn’t been enough to have his heart breaking in two, the pictures felt like you were purposely throwing it in his face that he couldn’t be with you, that he couldn’t make you happy. He couldn’t stand seeing it, he was pissed, he was devastated, he wanted to lash out and he wanted to cry. Why were you doing this to him? What had he done? 

There wasn’t a single thought in his mind as he closed the instagram app and went to kakao, not even bothering to text you before his thumb slammed down on the call button. He didn’t care if you answered the first time, he’d just keep calling until you did, and that’s exactly what he had to do. It took 6 times for your exasperated breath to come through the speaker when you finally answered, but he wasn’t going to give you any time to complain. 

“Did you post it to piss me off or upset me? Because you did both! I guess you’re really winning now, aren’t you? You got to break up with a k-pop idol and break his heart! Good for you!” Right off the bat he was ranting, and maybe he sounded a little bit psychotic, maybe he sounded just slightly obsessed, but when you’re in love with someone, isn’t that how it should be? 

The sound of a man talking in the background had Mingis ears perking up. Were you with the guy still? Oh, how he wished the guy would get on the phone, he’d love to have a word with him. “You’re being ridiculous. I had a clear, logical reason to break up with you. I didn’t do it to hurt you or piss you off. I just wanted to be happy.” How could you sound so sad when you were the one that left him. He didn’t do this! You did! 

“What about my happiness?!” He screeched, running his hand through his hair. He had become aware of the rest of the guys all coming into the room to check on him, but he didn’t care enough to stop. You were going to listen to what he had to say, and those that decided to stick around would have to listen to it too. “You gave up on everything… You’re so selfish! And you weren’t even going to tell me!” 

“I was going to tell you!” You shouted back, and for some reason, it made him kind of excited to hear you fighting back. Something about hearing you get emotional over his words… It had butterflies swarming his stomach. “I didn’t even have time to fully think about how I was going to tell you, but you kept fucking messaging me and-” 

“Of course I kept messaging you! You were my girlfriend and I hadn’t heard from you! Don’t try to act like I’m the bad guy when you’re the one who was practically cheating on me!” While he was angry, he was also struggling to keep from laughing. It would probably sound a bit maniacal to start laughing right now though, and that’s the last thing he wanted. He just found it so cute, the way you were swearing and breathing so heavily, he could almost perfectly envision your face right now. 

You huffed loudly, and the sound was so beautiful to him. Maybe it was just the fact that you hadn’t hung up yet… You were still making time out of your day that you were spending with your boyfriend to focus on him. “I don’t know why you’re being such an asshole right now… I didn’t do anything to you. I never cheated on you… We… What we had… It couldn’t even be considered dating… We were only together for two days…” 

Now he was laughing though, his head falling back as the sound built in his chest. “Yeah okay! Let’s just hope that your boyfriend doesn’t have to go out of town or leave the country for more than a week. You might replace him too!” He shot back and he could almost hear the eye roll from your end. “Maybe you’re not actually meant for relationships, you just want someone to physically dote upon you daily. Sorry I couldn’t fit your selfish needs into my already busy schedule.” 

A small sniffle and the shuffling of fabric, maybe you were wiping your tears or maybe your wonderful boyfriend had come over to wipe them for you. “You’re being unnecessarily mean to me right now…” You whispered, sniffling again before swallowing thickly. “I’m sorry that you’re hung up… And I’m sorry that my happiness is upsetting you. I’m not asking you to stick around though… I’m not forcing you to. You don’t have to stalk my life… You can unfollow me.” 

Of course he wasn’t going to do that. He couldn’t imagine not seeing you on his feed when he opened Instagram, or not having your messages to look back on when he missed you too much. “You’re happiness won’t last long… You’re too selfish to be truly happy with anyone. The first time you can’t get exactly what you want, you give up. Have fun with that.” 

“I-” He quickly hung up, and it was only then that it sank in what he had done… And a wide smile spread across his face. He’d be kicking his feet if they weren’t touching the floor over the edge of the bed. The call only lasted 20 minutes tops, but hearing your voice that long… It was amazing, it made his heart beat a mile a minute and that familiar warm and fuzzy feeling washed over him. 

“Dude… What the fuck?” Wooyoung finally spoke up, concern masking the man's features as he stared at Mingi on the bed. No one had ever heard him talk like that before, and truthfully, he looked and was acting like a complete psychopath right now. “Who was that? What’s going on right now?” 

“I found a way to talk to her…” Mingi said, his chest rising and falling heavily as he let himself drop back onto the bed. He was happy, the happiest he’s been in weeks. “She’ll keep talking if we argue… I just have to keep arguing with her… Then she’ll come back to me. She’ll realize how much she misses me… This’ll work. I know it will.”

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[astrxealis]

bacc from skool

[tiniestkitty]

⋆｡‧˚ʚ how to start an age regression / inner child healing journal ɞ˚‧｡

🌷 content warning: very brief, un-descriptive mentions of having trauma 🌷

1. find a notebook you'd like to use ! this can look different for everyone. I picked a journal at the craft store with a pretty design on the front, but you could also use a simple composition book, a notepad or you could even keep a digital journal ! I personally prefer to have two diaries, one is for everyday boring "big-kid" stuff, and the other one is my agere journal ! ૮꒰˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶꒱ა if you'd like, you can combine them, but i personaly find keeping my trauma-processing stuff off to the side is helpful to me. 💛

2. brainstorm what things you'd like to accomplish with your therapy journal ( if any ! ) and what you'd like to write in it. you could set light hearted goals to reconnect with your childhood, process scary things that happened / everyday stressors , or to just keep it for fun ! remember that you don't need to know everything right away, though ! 🧸

for me, my goals are to understand trauma and learn how to grow from it, but I also like to draw pictures, write about the tinier parts of my day, do some affirmations , and follow simple prompts I find online. I will also use it as a tool to track triggers , trauma responses and anxieties to help myself better understand why I felt that way and know how to ground myself better during those scary moments . I also use it to write down thoughts or things I'd like to bring up with my therapist. ( my parents finally got me set up to see a therapist !! yay ! I am a minor so she is a pediatric therapist so she's extra gentle which is so nice hehe )

3. If you'd like, you can decorate the inside pages and the cover with all sorts of fun craft materials ! I like to use stickers and wash tape, but if you don't have those, you can print some pictures out and glue or tape them in ! If you don't have access to a printer, you could use one for free at a local library or at your school. you can also use markers, crayons, colored pencils, or whatever else you'd like to decorate the inside with fun drawings or to make some little worksheets for yourself to paste inside . maybe if you have someone to look after you or a little friend, you can ask them to come up with some for you to do ! 🩷 I like to make notes for my best little friend, wimsy, through dms hehe ! ૮꒰ྀི∩´ ᵕ ` ꒱ྀིა

4. you could make lists of things, too ! I like to list my favorite songs, all of my toys names, what I wanna do when it gets warmer outside, anything !

5. I find it helpful to make charts for stuff that can be challenging when having an icky day or feeling mentally unwell, like brushing my teeth or making sure that my pet chores are all taken care of. ( don't worry !! if I forget to give my kitty treats she will ask my mom hehe ! /lh ) I like to use a reward system, like if I brush my teeth two times every day for a whole week, I can have two breaks during homeschool. 🖍️

okie dokie ! that's all I have for now. hope I gave you some good ideas and tips ! this is all very new to me but I hope this was at least a little informative or helpful hehe . 💕🐰