#I’ve only recently realized that (as in yesterday)

[francisforever2014]

do u guys know where i live

[arionaleilani]

1. it’s my 24th birthday today, so my goal of being published by the time i’m 25 is now a one year looming monster, but i never specified what kind of published and am currently looking in various literary magazines that are recommended for writers who have yet to be published, so i’m surprisingly confident that i can make it work? and tbh even if whatever i write isn’t officially published before my 25th birthday, if i have someone in the process of being published then i’ll be happy!! no matter what though, i’m gonna try to be proud of myself for at least giving it my best shot!!

2. i honestly love that my birthday is on the ides of march because the ides of march meme shitposting is only a thing on tumblr but it also being my birthday makes it easier to like. be excited about the ides of march outside of tumblr. like even in person i can be like “it’s my birthday! i’m an ides of march babe (:” and if someone is like oh what’s that? or if they say something along the lines of oh like julius caesar? i can be like yep!! and even if it’s a small thing outside of tumblr it brings me immense enjoyment and amusement being able to bring it up off of tumblr

3. transportation situation has been very rough since june 2023 when i totalled my car, my gap insurance are being assholes and i ended up putting my foot down on the phone with them yesterday which i’m pretty proud of because i am NOT a confrontational person (something i’ve been working on this past year, so seeing some improvement with my ability to hold my ground and not be a pushover yesterday was very cool!!) i was told i’d get a response from them by friday next week no matter what, and if i don’t then friday of next week i will continue to wreak havoc upon them. but my moms car which i’ve been using since my accident broke down yesterday, hopefully it’s fixable but my parents were saying it might be done for, so trying to think of how i’m gonna get to work next week is kind of stressing me out lmao, but for now i’m just gonna focus on enjoying my birthday the best i can because i don’t want to start off being 24 with an overwhelming anxiety for something that won’t be a potential issue until monday. plus i already messaged my boss today to let her know that i’m going to do everything i can to make it work out but just so she’s in the loop and knows of the potential of me not being able to make my morning shifts (one of my coworkers said she’s more than happy to give me a ride for our afternoon shifts which does help relieve some of the stress!) and i told her i’d let her know for sure sunday so that if necessary she can have time to figure out someone to fill in for me in the mornings!

overall: life is weird and i ended being 23 yesterday with a shitty situation but a positive outlook and i am going to enjoy my first day of being 24 no matter what because honestly i fucking earned it. happy friday everyone, i hope it’s a good day for you and me both!

[sunflowerwinds]

bite it | v.a

summary: you and vi have decided that maybe each others company wasn’t the worst thing in the world. but you lay down some ground rules that you can’t help but break when you get pent up.

prev. part -> try it | next part -> lick it, spit it

pairing: fem!cheerleader!reader x soccer player!vi

contains: modern!au, mature content (MEN & MINORS DNI 18+) — fingering (r! & vi!recieving), oral (vi! & r! recieving), tit-sucking (r!recieving), possesive!vi (if you squint & reader if you squint harder), shower sex, kind of exhibitionism (they’re in the showers in a locker room so it’s open).

word count: 3.9K

a/n: SUPRISE!!!! let’s all pretend that i was supposed to post this over two weeks ago. okay? okay. THANK YOU TO MY VAL, MY GOLDEN GIRL @valeisaslut for editing this for me. ily 4ever <3 ENJOY HORNY FREAKS!!!

You and Vi came to an agreement.

If you were going to be fucking while you were partners for this project, there has to be ground rules. Mostly so that Caitlyn wouldn’t find out about it.

One: Only fuck during your ‘work’ time a.k.a your breaks to avoid being seen around campus together.

Two: Do not tell anyone about this as word spreads insanely fast. You two didn’t need your teammates finding out.

Two easy and simple rules that shouldn’t be hard to not break. Well, at least, that’s what you thought.

For the past two days, you had been feeling an abnormal amount of horniness; an aching feeling that can only be described as animalistic. You zoned out during practice and almost got kicked in the nose.

When Caitlyn asked you what’s wrong with you recently, you gave her a short response.

“I’m just stressed about classes,” you responded as you chug your bottle of water as during your break.

Being the absolute angel she was, she offered a quick solution. “Oh, we could study together down in the library on our free days. I’ve got Monday afternoons open.”

The guilt hit at that moment: reminding you of what she didn’t know and how terrible of a friend you’re being to her.

You couldn’t go five seconds without thinking of Vi’s tongue tracing over your clit or her abs pressed up against your back when she finger-fucks you from behind or the way her hands would tighten on your skin with such a natural dominance.

Then the daunting realization washes over you when you check your period calendar.

It’s ovulation week. And you aren’t going to see Vi for another three fucking days.

You tried to get off on your own but your hands and vibrator aren't good enough. Nothing feels as good as her as much as you hate to admit it.

You suck in a deep breath as you attempt to focus on one of your other courses but your mind desperately lingers to the last photo you remember Vi sending you just yesterday.

Being the absolute pain in your ass that she is, she sent you a photo of her ‘injury’ on her stomach on the toned skin that had been scraped from tripping over the ball when it had been passed to her without her realizing. Her hand had held up her jersey to reveal the miniscule spot of redness, the band of her black sports bra peeking from the top of the photo and the waistband of her briefs from the bottom.

Fucking tease, you had thought as you had texted her back immediately to put her shirt down as you couldn’t bare for her to know how you touched yourself to the sight of it ten minutes later.

You shake your head with harsh blinks as you click your pen on your notebook page rapidly to attempt to shush your arousing thoughts, taking in long stabilizing breaths.

What the fuck is wrong with you?

You’ve been sleeping with this girl for two weeks now and she’s making you feel like you’re slowly losing your sanity.

Should you–

No. No, you agreed. Only your Wednesdays with her.

But maybe she won’t mind one time. Just once, you try to convince yourself that you aren’t acting feral.

You grab your phone from next to your laptop on your desk, opening your messages with Vi to type something and send it before you can take it back.

You | come over, please?

You watch as the bubbles pop up for a moment, anxiously tapping your fingers on the desk. Your phone buzzes in your hand to show her response.

Violet | wow a please? did someone steal your phone?

You | you’re an ass

Violet | that’s not what you were saying last week when you sat on my face

Your face heats up at the memory of her sloppy noises underneath you as your hands gripped tightly to your headboard and her strong forearms holding you down by your trembling thighs on her face.

Fuck, that isn’t helping.

You | well, is that a no?

Violet | as much as i’d love to, i got practice rn.

Violet | but it ends in 30. i’ll hit the showers then head on over, gorgeous.

Part of you wants to just leave it there; ignore her and stand on your ground to yourself on having the patience you claimed to have. But, the more feverish part of you wants to run down to the field and take her right there in front of everyone.

Wait. Why couldn’t you just go down there?

You type on your phone's keyboard screen, setting it aside out of nerves.

You | i’ll come to you. wait in the showers for me

You resume your studying as if you hadn’t just sent that message, your leg bouncing out of anticipation. Hearing the soft buzz of her response coming through five minutes later, you snatch your phone and hold the screen up to your face.

Violet liked your message

Violet | will do, baby ;)

Desperation gains a whole new definition as you wait around the corner, watching as the last of Vi’s soccer team leaves the locker room, but not seeing her come out. So she can listen every once in a while and not be a stubborn pain.

You place a hand on the cold door, pushing it open with a grunt at the weight of it. The moment it was open, you could faintly hear the sound of a shower running towards the back.

Without further thought, you make your way past the tall blue lockers to enter the showers.

“Vi?” You call out, the echo of your voice filling the area.

The sudden squeak of a handle makes you wince before you hear the sound of a shower curtain being tossed open.

“Down here!” She calls back before resuming the water.

You suck in a deep breath to mentally prepare yourself to see Vi, following the sound of her voice, finding yourself standing in front of the only shut curtain amongst the others that were empty. You curse mentally at the sight of her silhouette, shaking your head.

“Are you just gonna stand there or come on in, gorgeous? I don’t bite.” Vi teases through the curtain, a soft chuckle leaving her. “Much.”

You roll your eyes before stripping yourself of the minimal clothing you had on, ignoring how your underwear had stuck to your sopping cunt. You simply set them down on the bench before gripping onto the flimsy plastic of the shower curtain, tugging it back with a harsh screech.

And god, you couldn’t suppress the moan that left your throat the second your eyes landed on Vi.

The steamy water from the shower head trickles down her delectably toned body, highlighting every ridge of her ribs and abs. Her back tattoo glistens in a way that nearly had you dropping to your knees to lick every line of ink. You truly couldn’t tell how much time passed of you gawking at her until you heard her clear her throat.

“Did you ask to come down here just to stare at me, princess? I mean I don’t mind but…” She trails off as her cocky expression somehow grows wider.

You blink as you lock eyes with her, stepping more into the shower so that the scorching water runs down your own bare body.

“Shut up,” you groan, placing your hands on her chest and pushing her up against the cold yellow tile.

Vi’s eyes, for a moment, widen at your eagerness before she smirks down at you. You don’t give her not even one second to say a smart-ass comment as you press your lips to hers with assertion, cupping either side of her neck to keep her steady. You moan into her mouth as her hands find their way to your ass, gripping the flesh with just as much desperation. Your tongue swipes over her bottom lip, humming as she sucks on your tongue with a soft moan.

You press your hips flush against her lower half, almost grinding into her for any sort of relief. Your clit pulses with need as Vi’s left pointer and middle finger tease at your slit from behind as her right hand holds one cheek open for easier access.

“You want my fingers, baby?” Vi mutters as she nibbles at your bottom lip then trailing down to the nape of your neck.

You whine as you nod against her, wrapping your arms around her neck to keep her somehow even closer to you.

“But,” you gasp as she captures one of your nipples into her mouth, distracting your train of thought. “I-I want to taste you first.”

Vi halts her movements for a moment, taken aback by your words. She pants softly against your skin as her hands grip your waist for a moment. You knew you weren’t as experienced with women but, somehow, the mere thought of getting a taste of her sparked that impulse in you.

“...If you’ll let me.” You add for reassurance, a hand cradling the back of her head as she’s still latched to your boob.

The red haired girl slowly releases your hard nipple from her lips, not before making sure to lick over it once more and standing upright. A ghost of a smile lingers on her lips, the water falling past her face in a cinematic light.

“Get on your knees, gorgeous.” She mutters as her hands follow up your body, as if trying to memorize every inch of you, before stopping to settle on your shoulders.

Her grips tightens slightly, doing as you're told, knees digging into the round drain over and jagged title. Your eyes are immediately hit by the streams of water as you attempt to look up at Vi, cursing at the feeling.

“Shit, sorry,” Vi reaches a hand up to maneuver the mounted neck so that it wouldn’t bother you too much.

You can’t help but feel your heart tighten at the simple yet gentle gesture, but still try to push it as quickly as the feeling comes. You wave her off with a chuckle, brushing your hair out of your face as you realize that your face is right in front of Vi’s crotch. Her bush has you salivating as you lean forward.

You press a kiss just below her belly button, her stomach visibly tightening at the feeling of your lips against her skin. Your hands settle on the thick meat of her muscular thighs as you trail the kisses down her v-line to her aching clit. It’s a hot red, calling for you to cool it down.

Finally, your arm hooks underneath her thigh to lift her leg. She gets the hint and rests her thigh over your shoulder, cursing when you lick that first long stripe over her puffy cunt. She gasps softly, her hips bucking into your face, chasing your tongue with a desperate libido.

“O-oh,” a broken soft moan leaves her lips.

Soaking in the encouragement, you continue your eager motions at her slit. You, shamelessly, moan into her cunt from the sole taste of her.

You can't help but think of what you had been missing out on. Was this why Vi would ravish you and ‘could never get enough of you’?

The addicting musky scent that lingers on your tongue along with the sound of her attempting to shield her noises sparks a flame in you even stronger. Your eyes lock on hers as you suck her clit, humming when she jerks her hips against your face. Your ego shoots through the roof as she lifts one of her toned arms to cover her eyes, her mouth falling open to prettily pant into the steamy shower space.

Her abs tighten as her grinding hips follow your tongue eagerly.

What you would give to have this image imprinted in your mind forever.

Sure, Vi would moan and groan softly into your mouth when she fucked you until you couldn’t hear your own thoughts. But these sounds? The quiet begging and endearing whimpers? Oh, they are driving you insane.

You’re relentless with your tongue along her slit as her breathing picks up, signaling you that she’s getting close. Your arm keeps her thigh up on your shoulder as the thick muscle tightens and threatens to fall back to the ground.

“Fuck, fuck, oh, just like that, baby,” she praises through stuttered whines.

You moan against her clit as you raise your free hand to her cunt, teasing the tip of your pointer and middle through the folds. Vi nods rapidly the second she feels your fingers, pushing her hips against your face.

You gently and gradually slide your fingers into her, making sure to not be too rough with her. She grinds down to follow the new feeling, eager to chase her orgasm that you’re pulling out of her. You curl your fingers as you continue to lick and suck on the sensitive bud.

Vi’s moans are growing higher in pitch, her jaw going slack. Keeping your pace with your tongue and eager fingers, you watch as her flushed face contorts, gripping onto your head to shove your face into her cunt harshly.

You weren’t complaining, that's for damn sure.

You feel her thigh shaking on your shoulder as she finally cums, coating your fingers, the warmth dribbling down your hand. You pull away from her clit but slow down your movements, eager to taste her arousal. Her knees buckle as she chases the orgasm, harsh pants leaving her lips as she attempts to recover.

“Well, fuck, princess,” she says with a shaky chuckle.

You peer up at her from your kneeled position, placing a few soft kisses on her clit teasingly. You hold back a cheeky smirk as she bucks her hips before standing on wobbly knees. Vi takes notice of this as her hands land on your waist to keep you upright, tugging you against her as she captures your lips into a hungry kiss.

Teeth clanking and loud panting fill your ears as you pull away slightly to raise the hand that was inside of her, holding up your two fingers to her red bitten lips. She stares at you with blown out pupils, greedily letting you wipe her own cum in her mouth.

“You taste good, huh?” You mutter with a hum.

Vi groans as she licks her lips to show you she agrees.

“Up against the wall and spread your legs for me,” she instructs as she places harsh kisses to your neck all the way down to your tits.

Usually, you would scold her about marking you up, but that lust blinded part of you wants to shamelessly show them off. So you simply do as you're told, licking over your own lips to remind yourself what you just did. Your back hits the cold tile as the shower water is running lukewarm at this point, no longer steaming up the confined space.

Vi’s teeth bare as she bites at your collarbone, digging her canines into your hot skin. You moan softly as her hand travels down to in between your spread legs to feel your slit with her middle and ring finger.

“Fuck, eating my pussy got you all wet for me, baby?” Vi questions.

You nod as you look at her with nothing but desire.

“I—fuck—needed you,” you admit with a soft whimper.

Vi’s baby blues lock on yours as her smile grows eagerly. You press your lips to hers to attempt to conceal that giddy grin (and the fact that her eye contact alone made your heart skip in an alarming way).

She chuckles, sliding her middle finger into you, messily making out with you as you wanted. Her tongue glides over your own as she easily slides in her ring finger next.

You shiver at the stretch as your arms wrap around her shoulders to keep her close. Her tits press against your own as she continues her sloppy kisses, beginning to pump her fingers into your needy cunt. She detaches her lips from your own to watch your furrowed brows and heavy eyes threatening to shut from the titillating feeling.

“So fuckin’ greedy, baby. What happened to only Wednesday’s, huh?” She teases.

You would snip back but you only moan when she asks the taunting question.

The two of you freeze at the sound of the heavy locker room door opening and shutting with an echoing rumble. Rushed footsteps follow along with low curses of annoyance.

The silence that comes over the two of you is deafening.

“Damn, Vi, you still here?” This person, who you assume is one of her teammates, calls out to the girl who has her fingers inside of you.

Vi stares at you with an eyebrow raise, holding her free hand up to press her pointer finger on her lips. You roll your eyes at her cocky smirk but hold your breath as you listen to the footsteps echoing around the locker room.

“Yeah. I’ll be out soon.” Vi calls back as she continues to pump her fingers in and out of you.

“Well, I think I left my phone here. Did you see it?”

Still, you'd be lying if you said the thought of almost getting caught doesn’t thrill you, just a little.

Your body is the one to give that away for you, clenching around her lengthy fingers, and meeting her eyes. Vi mouths a shush that only makes you want to release the moans itching at your throat even more.

The sound of lockers opening and closing and shuffling of clothes are reminders that you can’t make a sound.

“Did you check the field or the bleachers?” Vi calls out to her teammate as she continues her feverish pumps.

“Shit, you’re probably right.” The teammate mutters to herself as she slams her locker shut.

Vi curls her fingers to meet your g-spot, a sudden moan slipping from your lips at the overwhelming pressure, but she quickly uses her free hand to cover your mouth, your hips stuttering to chase her fingers.

You whine at the way her natural dominance took over in that moment.

“Stay quiet for me, gorgeous. She’s almost gone,” Vi whispers in your ear with a gentle kiss to your cheek.

You huff as you feel your stomach tighten, your orgasm begging to release.

“Vi, did you say something?”

The red haired girl grins at you before calling back: “No. Good luck with finding your phone.”

A beat of excruciatingly long silence passes.

“Alright. Uh, yeah, thanks. Don’t take too long or else Coach will have you running 100 laps again.”

Your brows furrow at Vi at her teammates' insinuation.

Again?

Has she fucked a girl in the showers before?

“Yeah, okay.” Vi snorts as she presses her lips to yours.

The two of you listen for the receding footsteps before the sound of the large door slams once again. You grab onto Vi’s wrist to push her hand away from your shielded mouth as you bury your face into her neck, freely letting your timid moans out now.

“You’re a d-dick,” you stutter out into her damp skin, nibbling a possessive hickey on her skin.

Vi throws her head back to allow better access for your markings, a grunt leaving her lips.

“Oh, you love it, baby,” she mutters smugly.

And the upsetting thing is you really fucking do.

Her arrogant words draw you closer to cumming all over her fingers. Your clit throbs as you remove one of your hands to reach in between your bodies, rubbing your own aching bud.

“Vi, please. ‘M so close.” You whimper.

Vi takes notice of how you’re touching yourself, shaking her head with disappointment.

“Take your hand off.”

Your brow quips at her tone. She sighs as she leans in more to kiss you deeply, making you hum as she pulls away to ghost her lips over your own.

“Please?” She adds with a cheeky grin.

You hesitantly remove your hand, watching as she drops down on her knees with her fingers still pumping inside of you. You watch her latch her lips around your clit and moan lowly at the relieving feeling of her tongue. Your hands weave into her hair instantly, rolling your hips against her face shamelessly, your orgasm clawing at the base of your spine.

Vi’s eyes are hooded with concentration, and she doesn’t dare let up her persistent thrusts. You fold over, attempting to clench your legs to ease the pressure. The familiar overwhelming feeling rips through your chest and stomach.

“I– oh my god,” you whimper throughout your orgasm.

Your inner thighs shake with sensitivity as you can feel yourself leaking down her toned forearm. You let out soft pants as you come down from the orgasm, pushing Vi’s face back as carefully as you could manage. You can feel your heartbeat in your ears as you lean your head back against the tile, shutting your eyes to calm yourself down.

A few seconds pass of Vi placing kisses up your body before you feel the stream of the lukewarm water hitting your boneless naked body.

“So, now, should I be expecting you to ambush me while I’m in the shower from here on out or what’s our schedule looking like?” She tilts her head at you, brushing your hair out of your face.

“I didn’t ambush you. I let you know I was coming,” you shake your head with an amused grin.

Vi’s smile grows at your accidental innuendo, placing a hand over her own lips to attempt to hide it. Before she can say anything, you roll your eyes as you push her chest slightly.

“Ha, ha. Yes, I definitely let you know I was coming. You are so–”

Vi holds her hands up in defense with a shake of her head. “Hey, you said it. I didn’t.”

You two shared heavy kisses until the water runs cold. Showering together felt eerily domestic; not fitting the dynamic you’ve established.

As much as you insisted on just leaving in the clothes you came in, Vi had the brilliant idea to swap clothes. You left the locker room in her baggy joggers and her black wife pleaser, while she sported your ribbed lace grey cami and Hello Kitty pajama shorts that had her ass nearly hanging out of them.

You giggle at the sight as she reaches behind her to tug the back down, walking down the hall to the exit door.

“Well, this is the sexiest you’ve ever looked, Vi,” you motion to her (your) clothing.

Vi scoffs before ranking her eyes up and down your body. “It’s definitely worth it seeing you in my clothes. You look…”

You finish for her as you fold your arms in front of your chest with a knowing smile. “Douchey?”

“Beautiful.” She says simply, her eyes shining as she tilts her head at you.

The soft comment throws you off guard.

It means nothing, you repeat mentally before you take one step forward to capture her lips into a gentle kiss; too gentle for what you two are. Her hands find your waist, thumbing at your hips.

You pull away, hooking your finger onto the strap of the cami to snap it against her skin. “Have fun walking home in that.”

“Same goes to you, princess.” She kisses you once more, lingering as if she wants to stay here with you. “I’ll see you Wednesday?”

“Sadly.” You sigh dramatically.

Vi’s eyes flicker to your lips again once she detaches herself from you completely, pressing her back against the heavy exit door. You watch her leave into the bright midday sun, making her way to her own dorm room.

But you couldn’t help but wonder as you walked home:

Why the fuck did you miss her so much?

TAGLIST: @sawaagyapong @unear7hly @leeidk87 @childishname @ferxanda @whisperingcherub @rad-radical2 @strawb4kdior @natscloset @aliendustpee @satorix @rosieeteaa @moodient @mars4hellokitty @klallx @skzvilleshi @drunkenrosesluv @fairexy78 @angelynn-nicole @sevikas-baby @milanyas @jajsnjz @oatmatchalatte

[sevsevteen]

Is there anyway you could write about the 14 th members struggle with sleep during comeback season? Maybe also they have a tight grip on caffeine which had been surprising their apatite, making filming more difficult ? The amount of nausea I’ve been having cause of this recently is mental

OMG get well soon girl 😭 this is so relatable, but please remember to take care of yourself too!!🤞 i hope this will make you feel a little better - i made it a little joshua-focused by accident BAHAHA prepare for the angst

-- જ⁀➴°⋆

The waiting room was colder than usual.

Or maybe it was just you.

Sat curled up on the floor between takes, your knees were drawn to your chest as the chatter of the staff and members buzzed distantly in the background. Your head throbbed with a dull, rhythmic ache that echoed behind your eyes - not painful enough to cry out, but sharp enough to disorient.

“Five minutes till next cue!” someone called.

You didn’t move.

For the past three weeks, your body had been running on caffeine and fumes. The combination of pre-dawn call times, demanding choreo and practice days, interviews, and rehearsals hadn’t let up - and as always during comeback season, your chronic insomnia decided to rear its head again. Every night, you’d lie awake for hours on end, scrolling endlessly or staring at the ceiling, unable to get a wink of sleep.

Three weeks. Barely any sleep. And now, barely any food either.

Breakfast was skipped because you didn't have any appetite after lying awake all night. Lunch was missed because the group had a last-minute schedule. Dinner…you couldn’t even remember the last time you ate a full one.

Only iced Americanos, hot Lattes, anything that contained at least two shots of espresso in them. Bottles of water. An energy bar once, maybe.

And now, your body was starting to turn against you.

Your vision swam for a second as you leaned your head against the wall behind. Your limbs felt unusually cold, stomach hollow and churning. There was a faint buzzing in your ears, like a warning siren your body was trying to sound.

You tried to breathe. Focus.

Just one more segment.

Smile for the fans. Laugh a little. Hold it together.

"You okay?"

You blinked, startled by Seungkwan’s voice. He had crouched in front of you without you noticing, brows furrowed.

“You look really pale.”

You forced a smile. “I’m okay, just a little tired.”

It wasn’t a lie. But it wasn't the truth either.

“You sure? You’ve been quiet all morning…”

Before you could answer, staff called for positions again. The members moved instinctively, stretching and walking toward the filming area.

You stood up on legs that immediately protested - the moment you pushed yourself off the wall, your balance tilted, and you nearly stumbled into the makeup table. Your vision whited out for a second as nausea surged from your empty stomach.

You pressed a hand to your mouth, heart pounding.

No. Not now. Just one more scene.

Someone gently touched your elbow.

“Hey.”

It was Joshua, his voice softer than usual, his eyes scanning your expression. You hadn’t even realized you were swaying on your feet.

“You okay?”

“I-” you opened your mouth, then froze.

Because the world tilted again.

And this time, it didn’t stop.

Your knees buckled as you felt your body give way, but before you could hit the floor, arms caught you - firm and warm. You gasped, trying to steady yourself, only to feel the panic in Joshua’s hold as he pulled you to sit down again.

“Someone get water—quick!”

The others were gathering fast, voices overlapping. The set blurred behind the haze in your eyes, sounds muffled.

You hated this.

Hated that it took this for someone to notice.

“I’m fine,” you mumbled weakly, “I just - I skipped breakfast.”

Joshua crouched in front of you again, worry laced in his usually calm expression. “You skipped all your meals yesterday too,” he said quietly. “You think we don’t notice when you’re only running on coffee?”

Your eyes widened slightly, guilt catching in your throat.

Wonwoo had already come with a bottle of water, pressing it gently into your hand. Jihoon stood nearby, frowning deeply as he talked to one of the managers in low, serious tones.

“We’re delaying the shoot,” he said firmly. “She’s not continuing like this.”

“No, I can-”

“No.” His tone was final. “We can always film it later. You’re more important than a damn shoot.”

You bit your lip hard, tears stinging at the corners of your eyes - not from pain, but frustration. Embarrassment. Relief.

So many things you couldn’t name.

Joshua took the bottle from your trembling fingers and opened it himself, holding it up gently. “Just sip for now, okay?”

“…Okay,” you whispered.

And when the bottle touched your lips, you let yourself accept it.

Your lips parted, and you took the water, letting the cool liquid trickle into your dry mouth. At first, it felt like relief.

But then-

Your stomach twisted. Violently.

It was too much.

The taste of metal rose in your throat, and your body jerked with a sudden, nauseating reflex.

“I-!” you gagged, hand shooting up to push Joshua away, water splashing onto your knees. You scrambled up on unsteady legs and stumbled toward the corner of the room where a trash bin stood, knocking over a stool.

The next moment, you were on your knees, bent over the bin as your body gave in.

The sound of you retching cut through the backstage chatter. The room fell into a shocked silence.

Behind you, Joshua immediately knelt to help but paused, respecting the space as you gripped the edge of the bin, gasping between each wave. Everyone's chest tightened helplessly at the sight of your shoulders shaking - not just from nausea, but shame.

No idol ever wanted to be seen like this.

Seungcheol muttered something curt to staff before walking over, immediately motioning to a manager to assist. “Get her jacket. And another water bottle,” he ordered lowly.

Seungkwan hovered near Joshua, jaw tight. “She’s really not okay,” he said under his breath, chest rising with stress. “She’s been running herself to the ground.”

When you finally stopped, you stayed hunched over, breathing in shallow, shaking breaths. Your throat burned, tears had spilled down your cheeks without noticing.

You didn’t dare look back.

You hated crying in front of them. Hated the worry it sparked in their eyes - eyes that saw you as strong, independent, unshakeable.

But right now, you were none of that.

A soft touch broke through on your back.

It was Joshua again, closer now, a tissue in his hand and worry etched so deeply into his features it almost hurt to look at him.

“I’m sorry,” you croaked, wiping at your mouth with a trembling hand, trying to regain some sense of dignity. “I didn’t mean to- I just-”

“You don’t need to apologize,” he said, crouching in front of you now. “Not for this. Not for any of it.”

Your eyes flicked up to meet his.

And for once, you didn’t hide the exhaustion in them.

Just behind him, Seungcheol nodded once. “You have nothing to prove.”

You could only muster a small grateful smile as your eyes burned.

Because this time, someone caught you before you could fall.

--

[cbeargyu]

the mysterious boy I met yesterday.

summary: after mysteriously traveling to the past, y/n meets yeonjun—a boy she was never meant to love. bound by time and torn by fate, they fall for each other knowing their days are numbered.

pairing: choi yeonjun x fem!reader

tags: time travel, angst, slow burn, romance, emotional hurt/comfort, bittersweet ending (turned sweet).

warnings: grief, trauma, memory loss, mentions of death, emotional distress, hospital scenes, crying, found family, soulmates au.

notes: i recently watched the girl who leapt through time and, as someone who’s always been obsessed with the idea of time travel, i couldn’t stop thinking about it. it left me with that nostalgic ache only stories like that give. so i decided to write my own version of a time-travel romance, loosely inspired by the movie’s premise. i’ve also always had a soft spot for stories set in the late 80s or 90s—there’s something so emotionally raw about that era, so this felt like the perfect blend of everything i love. this fic is very dear to me. i hope it makes your heart ache in the best way.

wc: 19,6k💀💀💀

seoul, 2017.

your last year of high school. new city. new house. same mother.

you spend the entire afternoon unpacking. the house smells like fresh paint and floor polish. the sound of cars and distant sirens floats through the open window as you fold clothes into drawers and pull books out of boxes with quiet precision. your mother’s already out—work, of course.

it’s always work.

you’re halfway through arranging your bookshelf when you notice the small box, shoved at the very back of your closet.

it’s dusty, floral, and closed with a delicate pink ribbon, now faded and fraying at the edges. you pause, frown. you don’t remember packing anything like this.

you hesitate.

but curiosity wins.

you open it slowly, careful not to rip the ribbon. Inside: old letters, photos, movie tickets, and folded stationery that still smells faintly of perfume. you realize this isn’t yours. these are your mother’s things.

you sit down on the floor, cross-legged, and let yourself explore.

among the old documents, tucked inside a faded envelope yellowed by time, you found something unexpected—a marriage certificate.

the paper was brittle, edges frayed and stained with age, but the writing was still legible in parts. your mother’s name was printed clearly: choi nari, written in graceful hangul beside the box labeled bride. but your eyes were drawn to the space marked groom. the name there had been violently scratched out, covered in thick black ink, as if someone had been desperate to erase it.

you remembered, vaguely, a moment from your childhood—your mother once muttering that your father had changed his name to sever ties with his family, something about an inheritance, disapproval, a scandal she never fully explained. the only clue left on the torn paper was a partial surname at the bottom—just enough to read: “...bin.” the rest was lost. after his death, your mother had legally reclaimed her maiden name, kim, burying his memory under years of silence. but now, holding this document in your hands, the pieces began to tremble in your chest—uncertain, unresolved.

the letters are written in your mother’s neat cursive, signed with hearts. there are photos, grainy and sun-kissed, showing young faces in school uniforms laughing in courtyards, holding umbrellas in the rain, posing with peace signs.

you start flipping them, one by one. no names. just dates on the back.

until you find the last one.

it’s your mom. her hair is longer, parted and soft around her face. she’s wearing a high school uniform, standing with a boy slightly taller than her. his hands are clasped behind his back. they aren’t touching—but the tension between them feels real. tender. almost sacred.

you turn the photo over.

March 15th, 1991 – my first love, Choi Soobin.

your breath catches.

you read the name again.

choi soobin?

you’ve never heard that name before. not once. and your mother doesn’t just forget names—she erases them. just like your father. just like everything else.

you slide the picture back into the box, hands slightly trembling, and stash the whole thing deep in the back of your closet. you don’t throw it away. no—you’re not ready for that.

you want to ask her.

but you’ll wait for the right time.

one week later...

that night, you come home late from another day of school. it wasn’t terrible, just... lonely. your new classmates were polite but distant. you introduced yourself with a fake smile, laughed at the right moments. you’re good at pretending.

the place is quiet. too quiet.

dinner is quiet.

you sit at the kitchen island in an oversized hoodie, legs tucked up on the stool, hair still damp from the shower. a reheated bowl of rice and kimchi stew steams in front of you, but you’re not really hungry. you scoop at it absentmindedly as the soft glow of the television flickers across the small living room.

the news is on.

the anchor’s voice is calm, too calm for the words she’s saying.

"today marks the 25th anniversary of one of the country’s most devastating railway accidents... the train, traveling from seoul to incheon, derailed shortly in the afternoon, resulting in the death of all passengers aboard. rescue efforts lasted several days. one individual was never found."

your chopsticks freeze mid-air.

the image that flashes on screen—a twisted rail line, charred metal, grieving families—makes your stomach twist. you swallow hard, suddenly nauseous.

"how awful…" you whisper to yourself.

etched in the corner of the grainy footage was the date of the tragedy: november 12th, 1992.

a strange, unexplainable ache blooms in your chest. It lingers for a second too long.

you grab the remote.

click.

click again.

cartoons fill the screen—bright, loud, ridiculous. a character falls face-first into a pie. you force a laugh and shove a spoonful of rice into your mouth, but the food tastes like paper.

you pretend it’s fine.

you pretend everything is fine.

the door clicks open.

you turn your head.

your mother walks in, heels clicking softly against the hardwood floor, blouse crisp, makeup untouched despite the hour. she always looks like she’s heading into court—even at 9 p.m.

she doesn’t say hello.

she walks straight to the kitchen, opens the fridge, and pulls out the container of stew. you watch her in silence as she spoons food into a bowl and places it in the microwave, her back turned to you.

when she finally faces you, she raises one perfectly shaped eyebrow.

"what’s with the face?" she asks, blunt as always.

you blink, then smile nervously.

"i found something today. while unpacking."

her hands stop. just for a second.

"it was this box. really cute. floral. tied with a ribbon. it was buried in my stuff, but it wasn’t mine. i think it was yours."

you pause.

"there were letters… photos. one of them caught my eye. you were in your school uniform, next to this guy. you looked… happy. it had a date on the back. march 15th, 1991."

you smile, hesitant.

"it said… ‘my first love.’”

your mother straightens up slowly, staring at you with an expression you can’t read.

"you went through my things?"

"it was in my things. i thought it was mine at first, i just—"

"you shouldn't go through what isn't yours."

her voice is ice.

"you had no right to open that."

"it was in my room!"

"it wasn’t yours!"

"how was i supposed to know that?! i thought maybe it was something you left for me—god knows you never leave anything else.”

her expression hardens.

"don’t turn this into something it’s not."

"something it’s not?!" your voice breaks, raw and high. "you never talk about anything. not about your life. not about him. not about dad!"

that name hits like a bullet.

she turns her back to you, but it’s too late.

"i don’t remember him," you say, quieter now, but trembling. "i don’t remember his voice, his hands, his laugh. i don’t even know what it felt like to be held by him."

she doesn’t turn. she doesn’t move.

"i had to memorize his face from one picture—one, mom—before you threw it out like garbage!"

her fists clench on the counter, knuckles white.

"i did what i had to do."

"no. you did what was easier for you. you pushed everything down and shut me out with it."

she spins to face you, eyes wild now, cracking.

"what do you want me to say?! that i was broken?! that every day i woke up alone, wondering how to feed you, how to work, how to breathe while everything i loved was gone?!"

you flinch.

but you don’t back down.

"i didn’t ask you to be perfect. i just wanted a mother. not a robot. not a cold wall. just someone who gave a damn."

her lip trembles. she hides it behind a scoff.

"you think i don’t care?"

"you don’t act like it!"

the words cut, sharp and true.

"i needed you, mom. all these years, i needed someone to tell me it was okay to miss him. to miss you."

her eyes shine with something unsaid. something heavy. but she swallows it back down.

she always does.

"you shouldn’t have opened that box."

her voice is flat again. walls up. steel drawn.

you laugh bitterly.

"right. god forbid i see even a glimpse of who you used to be before you turned to stone."

you push the stool back with a screech and storm off toward your room, throat burning, chest hollow.

behind you, your mother stands frozen in the kitchen, bowl untouched, stew long gone cold.

the door slams shut behind you, the sound dull but heavy, like a sentence being passed.

you stand still for a moment, your hands still trembling, your heart in shambles after the fight with your mother. the entire house feels like it’s holding its breath, as if it too sensed that something inside you just broke… again.

you walk slowly to your room, dragging your feet, your chest aching with a pain that’s too familiar. you collapse onto your bed, not even crying at first—just lying there, staring at the ceiling, as if the cracks in the paint might give you some kind of answer.

why can’t she just talk to me? why does it feel like she hates me?

the questions pile up, pressing down on your chest until that lump in your throat finally bursts. the first tears fall quietly, warm against your cheeks. then more come, and more, until you're curled in on yourself, sobbing with that kind of grief that comes from years of swallowing it down.

you hear your own voice echoing back at you:

"i had to memorize his face from one picture—one, mom—before you threw it out like garbage!"

it still hurts. and it’s true. your father died shortly after you were born. you don’t remember him—his voice, his scent, the way he held you. nothing. your mother never wanted to talk about him, as if erasing him would protect her from the pain.

but it left you with an emptiness.

you wipe your face with your sleeve, eyes puffy, nose red, and sit up slowly. still shaking, you walk to your closet.

it’s there.

the box.

that wooden box with the delicate, girlish design, half-hidden among your things, like it’s been waiting for this very moment.

you hold it in your hands. It’s heavier than it looks. the surface is slightly warm, as if someone had touched it recently—like it has a heartbeat.

you kneel in front of the open closet. your clothes sway lightly on their hangers, as if a breeze had passed through… but there are no windows open.

then you feel it.

the air shifts.

it starts as a soft vibration, barely there, like the whisper of a memory. then the scent hits you: something floral, old, like perfume soaked into love letters tucked away for decades. goosebumps rise instantly across your skin.

you squint into the closet, through the folds of hanging fabric, and you see it.

light.

a faint golden shimmer, pulsing gently, like someone lit a candle behind the wall.

you step forward, the box still in your hands. your fingers, trembling, press against the doorframe. just as you open your mouth to speak—maybe to ask what’s happening—

a single tear falls from your cheek and lands on the box.

there’s no explosion. no lightning.

just a heartbeat.

loud.

deep.

like the whole world exhaling through your chest.

the air grows heavy. your vision warps, the room tilting, folding in on itself. the walls ripple like water disturbed. you grab the edge of the closet for balance, but your knees buckle. everything spins. the sound of your breath is swallowed by something bigger.

and then—

darkness.

the spring air carried that distinct scent of dust, freshly sharpened pencils, and the faint trace of someone’s perfume lingering in the hallways. the school buzzed with life—lockers slamming shut, giggles echoing down the corridor, chalk scraping across boards in classrooms behind closed doors.

you walked slowly, your fingers tightening around the straps of your bag. your school uniform felt unfamiliar against the skin, the pleated skirt too stiff, the blouse too crisp. you kept your head low, eyes scanning faces that looked like they belonged in old photo albums. everything around your screamed nostalgia—except it wasn’t nostalgic to you.

because somehow...

you were actually here.

in 1991.

the bell rang, signaling the end of second period. students poured out into the hallway, some dragging their friends by the arm, others glued to books or snacks from their lockers. you leaned against a wall, trying to breathe, trying to blend in—trying not to freak out.

that’s when you saw him.

he moved through the crowd like he wasn’t part of it. calm. unbothered. a little detached. he wore the same school uniform, but his shirt was slightly untucked, and the headphones resting around his neck gave him this effortless, rebel-cool aura. a soft beat leaked from his walkman. his features were sharp, perfectly carved, lips full and eyes that looked like they knew things they weren’t supposed to.

he stopped in front of you, holding a thick envelope in one hand.

"y/n, right?" he asked, voice low and smooth.

you blinked, nodding slowly, your brain still trying to keep up.

"this came from the main office," he said, offering her the envelope. "you're transfer paperwork, apparently."

before you could even respond, you blurted out:

"wait—do you know someone named choi soobin?"

his eyes twitched. his expression shifted—barely—but it was there. a flicker of something.

then, with the most unimpressed smirk, he rolled his eyes.

"oh great," he muttered under his breath. "another one of my cousin's admirers. they just keep coming."

and just like that, he turned and walked away, sliding the headphones back over his ears, music rising in volume as he vanished into the tide of students.

you clutched the envelope to you chest, heart pounding. you looked around, dazed, but no one was paying you any mind.

once you found an empty bench behind the old gym building, you sat and opened the envelope with trembling fingers. inside was more than just a transfer form.

there was a letter.

it was handwritten. neatly. carefully. and it read:

"if you’re reading this, it means you made it. welcome to 1991. you’ll need to be careful from here on out. you cannot draw attention to yourself. do not talk about the future. do not ask too many questions. blend in. play your part. Go to the boarding house owned by mrs. son after school. she’s expecting a new girl. room 3 is yours." this is not random. you’re here for a reason. i will send more instructions soon. don’t trust just anyone. and above all… be ready to make difficult choices. some things in the past are meant to stay broken. others… need to be fixed. —a friend".

you stared at the letter, hands trembling.

what the hell was this?

why you?

what were you meant to fix?

you leaned back against the wall, looking up at the sky, your thoughts a chaotic mess.

your mind drifted to the photograph.

to her mother’s smile.

to the name: choi soobin.

and then… you eyes fell back on the letter.

was this real?

was this destiny?

your fingers brushed over the ink once more, and you whispered, almost to yourself:

"what am i supposed to change…?"

the final bell rings, and you stumble out of your last class like your brain’s just gone through a blender.

your head spins.

not just from the math formulas on the chalkboard or the endless chatter of your new classmates—but from the reality you still haven’t quite processed.

you’re in incheon. in 1991. in your mother’s freaking hometown.

the streets outside the school are buzzing with students. some run toward the corner shops for snacks, others grab their bikes, wave at friends, shout and laugh like nothing in the world has changed.

you, on the other hand, can barely keep your balance.

you blink slowly, your body moving on autopilot, trying to look casual, like you belong. but everything around you feels… off.

the way they talk.

the way they think.

the weird obsession with cassette tapes and soda in glass bottles.

even the smell in the air is different—less metal, more earth.

you’re overwhelmed. but you can’t fall apart yet.

you’ve got instructions. a destination.

you're still holding that damn envelope like it’s your last lifeline.

you turn a corner, heart pounding, and almost crash straight into someone.

“woah, again?”

it’s him.

the boy from earlier.

same walkman around his neck, same flawless face, same i-don’t-care energy wrapped in a school uniform that somehow fits him too well.

he eyes you with amused disbelief.

“are you seriously still carrying that?” he says, pointing to the envelope in your hands. “you’ve had that thing all day.”

you blink at him, still disoriented.

you have had it all day.

“i—i was going to read it again,” you mumble. “there’s an address. i’m supposed to go there but i don’t know how—”

“ugh,” he interrupts, sighing dramatically. “fine. lemme see it.”

you hand him the letter, fingers brushing his just for a second. his eyes skim the address, then glance back at you.

“i’ll take you. that place isn’t far.”

you exhale in relief, muttering a soft thank you.

you start walking together.

at first, it’s silent.

then the boy starts talking, throwing random comments into the air like confetti.

“you talk kinda weird, you know that?” you look at him. he’s not wrong.

you’ve spent all day trying not to sound futuristic. no slang. no weird expressions. no “lol”.

you force a smile.

“i’m not from here.”

“no kidding.”

“i mean—not from incheon.”

he raises a brow.

“then where?”

you scramble for a name and blurt out the most far-off place you can think of.

“ulleungdo.”

he stops walking and turns to look at you, blinking.

“ulleungdo? that island barely has electricity.”

you nod slowly, then force a cough like it explains everything.

“exactly. we’re... still catching up.”

he stares at you like you’re a walking mystery, then shakes his head and chuckles.

“makes sense. that explains why you look like you’ve never seen a vending machine before.”

you both keep walking.

for a second, the air is easier to breathe. almost normal.

but then, your mind slips—just for a second—and you ask:

“hey… who’s your cousin?”

he squints.

“what?”

“earlier. You said i was ‘another one in love with your cousin.’ who is he?”

he rolls his eyes, clearly annoyed.

“ugh. choi soobin. everyone’s obsessed with him. he’s perfect this, perfect that—blah blah blah.”

your heart stops.

soobin.

your mother’s first love.

you freeze mid-step. he walks two paces ahead before realizing you’re no longer beside him.

he turns around, eyes narrowing.

“why do you look like you’ve seen a ghost?”

you force a shaky laugh.

“no reason. just… remembering something.”

he looks at you for a long moment, then shrugs.

“whatever. just don’t ask me where he is. i’m not your tour guide to the ‘soobin fanclub.’”

you say nothing.

the letter in your hand suddenly feels heavier. like it’s burning.

you wonder what’s waiting for you in that house.

you wonder who wrote the letter.

you wonder if fate is playing games with you—or if this has always been the plan.

you walk the rest of the way in silence, the streets of incheon glowing in the golden haze of dusk.

and somewhere, deep down, something tells you: this is only the beginning.

the street narrows as you follow him down an alley of uneven cobblestones, the golden dusk pouring through the lattice of tangled telephone wires above. the neighborhood is quiet—older, slower than the city blocks around your school. the homes here wear age like a badge, wooden gates slightly weathered, tiled roofs sagging slightly under the weight of time. you pause outside a low two-story house with faded red shutters and a blue mailbox shaped like a cat.

the boy nods toward it.

“this is the place.”

you look at it, blinking in disbelief.

it’s not just any house.

it feels like a storybook. like someone reached into your memories and tried to replicate what “home” should’ve looked like.

the wooden gate creaks when he pushes it open, and before either of you can step forward, the front door swings wide with surprising force.

an old woman, short and sturdy with perfectly permed gray curls and dressed in a floral hanbok apron, stands in the doorway.

her face lights up when she sees you.

“ah! you must be mr. hong’s niece, where are you from, little girl?”

you freeze. then bow quickly, hands by your sides, trying to remember every etiquette lesson your mom ever mentioned about greeting elders in korea.

“yes, ma’am. that’s me, i am from ulleungdo"

mrs. son eyes you up and down, then lets out a soft chuckle.

“you’re awfully pretty for a country girl. and different. too polished. hm.” her eyes narrow. “still, you look good. very lovely, actually.”

you’re not sure whether to smile or feel insulted. was that a compliment? or just passive-aggressive commentary wrapped in lace?

you smile awkwardly and bow again.

“thank you…”

“anyway,” she continues, waving her hand, “someone dropped off your belongings this morning. they’re in your room already.”

your heart skips.

“my belongings?”

you glance at the boy, confused. he just shrugs, completely uninterested in the mystery.

but your mind races.

what belongings?

when you arrived here—wherever here even is—you had nothing. not even the clothes on your back, which had changed without you realizing.

before you can ask more, yeonjun steps back, hands shoved in his blazer pockets.

“well, i got you here. i’m out.”

“wait—!” you call out, stepping toward him.

he’s already at the gate, lifting it slightly so it doesn’t scrape. you rush after him, your shoes crunching on the gravel path.

“you never told me your name.”

he stops mid-step and turns, looking slightly amused.

“I didn’t?”

“no.” you reach for his arm gently, fingers brushing against his wrist. his skin is warm, his pulse quick beneath your fingertips.

yeonjun looks down at where you’re touching him. his eyebrows lift. a tiny smirk threatens the corner of his mouth, like he’s not used to girls being this forward—and definitely not ones who stare at him like you do.

“yeonjun” he said. “choi yeonjun"

you meet his eyes.

“thank you, yeonjun.”

it’s the way you say it. soft. sincere. like it matters.

he’s caught off guard, the confident, untouchable energy around him faltering for just a second. his mouth opens slightly, like he wants to say something, but then he shuts it again and just gives you a small nod.

“don’t get lost.”

and with that, he slips out the gate, turning the corner and disappearing into the fading light.

you’re left standing in the path, the sky streaked with orange and plum above you, a dusty breeze rustling the loose ends of your borrowed school uniform.

behind you, the house waits.

inside it, a room with your things. dropped off by someone who knows exactly where—and when—you are.

and somewhere, tucked inside your thoughts like a whisper you haven’t heard yet, a name echoes.

soobin.

the boy your mother once loved.

you exhale slowly and turn back toward the house.

the room is small but cozy, with warm wooden walls and a low ceiling that creaks softly under your footsteps. you close the door behind you, leaning against it for a second, your heart pounding—still not from the walk, but from everything. the entire day. the time jump. the unfamiliar warmth in yeonjun’s voice when he said your name. the letter burning a silent promise in your hands.

you glance at the small suitcase perched neatly at the foot of the futon bed. It looks old-fashioned—stitched leather with tarnished brass buckles and a handle that has seen better days. kneeling before it, you slowly open the latches, the sound loud in the quiet of the room.

inside, folded with surgical precision, are several sets of clothes.

your fingertips run across the fabrics: simple blouses, high-waisted pleated skirts, a pastel pink cardigan, a cream-colored sailor-style school uniform that looks almost identical to the ones you saw the other girls wearing today. everything smells faintly of lavender and time.

at the very bottom, nestled between a pair of plain flats and a pair of canvas shoes, you find a small envelope with your name written in neat, slanted hangul. you lift it gently, your breath hitching.

you sit on the edge of the bed, feeling the mattress dip beneath your weight, and unfold the letter.

the handwriting is delicate, old-fashioned. like someone took the time to write it with an ink pen, letting every word sink into the fibers of the paper.

"y/n, you must be confused. stay calm. there is a reason you are here. follow the instructions i send you. you are in the year 1991, in incheon—the city where your mother grew up. things are not as simple as they seem, but you mustn’t let anyone know the truth. you will blend in. your belongings have been provided. more will come. every step you take will be guided. do not ask questions you’re not ready to hear the answers to. there are things in the past that need your presence. be patient. be brave. soon, i will ask you to change something. until then… wait." -H.

your hands tremble slightly as you finish reading.

a chill runs down your spine.

who wrote this? how did they know where you’d arrive? why do they speak like they’ve done this before?

you fold the letter slowly, slipping it back into the envelope. your mind reels, swimming with questions that claw at you from every direction. there’s no logic, no explanation. one moment you were crying in your closet, and the next… here. in a world you’ve only heard about from your mother’s fading stories, wrapped in decades-old nostalgia and distant memories.

you don’t realize how long you’ve sat there, dazed, until a voice calls out from downstairs.

“dinner time, girl! come eat before it gets cold!”

mrs. son’s voice, clear and commanding, startles you into motion. you rise, smoothing your borrowed skirt, tucking the letter under your pillow like a secret you’re not ready to share with even the walls.

When you step into the kitchen, you’re met with the scent of something savory, thick and warm and unfamiliar. the room is bathed in soft golden light from a low-hanging bulb, casting everything in a nostalgic glow. mrs. son stands behind a small wooden table, setting down bowls and plates with practiced ease.

you stare at the food, recognizing almost nothing but finding it all intoxicatingly fragrant. there’s bubbling jjigae, a perfectly round plate of jeon with scallions poking through the golden batter, neatly arranged namul side dishes, and a mound of rice that glistens as if each grain were kissed by steam.

“don’t just stand there like a scarecrow,” she chuckles, motioning for you to sit. “eat, girl. you need energy. you’re too pale.”

you sit slowly, murmuring a thank you, and begin to eat. the first spoonful of stew burns your tongue but floods your chest with warmth. each bite is an exploration, a memory you never lived tasting its way into your bloodstream.

between spoonfuls, mrs. son starts talking—not directly to you, but more like letting the stories she’s carried her whole life spill into the air.

“you remind me of someone, you know. a woman who stayed in this house years ago. pretty thing. big eyes like yours. she was in love.”

you look up, surprised.

“she fell for a sailor,” she continues, “a local boy with a wild laugh and a heart full of the sea. he promised her the world. even got her a ring. but…”

she pauses to sip her barley tea.

“…before they could marry, his boat went down. storm off the coast. they say he drowned. some say he never wanted to return and used the sea as an excuse.”

she smiles sadly.

“but i saw her every night on that porch, waiting. right up until winter took her away too.”

you set down your chopsticks, the story making your chest feel tight.

a part of you aches for this woman you’ve never met.

a part of you wonders if the sea has a habit of stealing men who promise forever.

you stare down at your bowl, your appetite gone.

nothing makes sense.

not the past.

not the stories.

not your own existence in this strange, beautiful fragment of time.

the only thing you know for sure is this:

you’re not here by accident.

and someone, somewhere, is watching.

the day was already strange enough.

the 90s school uniform felt tight in places it shouldn’t, your socks kept sliding down no matter how many times you pulled them up, and your ponytail was starting to come loose from all the running around trying to figure out where your classroom was. you were still trying to adjust to the rhythm of this strange new world — a world that smelled like chalk dust, cassette tapes, and kimchi stew floating through the hallways.

you were walking through the back courtyard of the school, holding a borrowed notebook to your chest, when you missed the curb.

you fell.

it wasn’t elegant.

you hit the concrete hard, knees and elbows scraping against the rough ground. your notebook flew a meter ahead, your bag tipped over, and just as you tried to push yourself up, a sudden gust of wind blew from behind. and just your luck — you were wearing the uniform skirt that flared out slightly when you walked.

now, it flared up.

wide. high. completely.

right in front of a boy.

not just any boy.

his eyes widened comically as he froze mid-step, staring for a split second — a dangerous, deadly split second — before whipping his head to the side, red creeping across his neck all the way to his ears. He stumbled back with his arms up as if you were pointing a gun at him.

you screamed.

“YAH! don’t just stand there like a pervert — HELP ME!”

your voice cracked from the sudden mix of pain, panic, and fury. the boy flinched as if slapped, then scrambled forward, offering a trembling hand.

“i–i wasn’t trying to see anything!” he stammered, clearly about to pass out from sheer embarrassment. “the wind—! it just—! i didn’t—!”

you ignored his babbling, more concerned with your burning face and aching knees. but as he helped you stand, you got a good look at his face. that face.

the perfectly shaped lips, the soft, clean skin, the dark brows, the long lashes casting shadows across his cheeks... and those eyes.

those exact eyes from the photo.

your mother’s photo.

it was him. choi soobin.

in the flesh. younger, alive, real.

you gasped.

he tilted his head. “are you okay? you look pale—”

before you could respond, a loud thud interrupted the moment.

a soccer ball came flying out of nowhere and hit soobin square in the face.

he made a startled sound before falling flat on his back.

you stared at his sprawled form on the ground. “what the hell—?!”

moments later, both of you sat side by side in the school infirmary. the scent of alcohol pads and ointment filled the air. you were perched on the edge of a stiff bed, rubbing antiseptic into your scraped knees, wincing each time it stung. beside you, soobin sat with tissues crammed up his nostrils, his head tilted back and a faint blush still clinging to his cheeks.

the nurse — a woman with overly plucked, razor-thin brows, blunt bangs curled under with all the strength of a hot iron, and lips lined in dark brown pencil — shook her head.

“thank goodness it’s not broken,” she sighed, inspecting soobin’s nose. “you boys with your sports… always causing accidents. and you”—she turned to you—“keep your skirt down next time, young lady. what do you think this is, a fashion show?”

you blinked, mouth falling open in disbelief.

this place… this time… these people.

it was like you had fallen into a very vivid, sometimes painful, sometimes embarrassing dream. and now, the boy from your mother’s past was sitting beside you, sniffling through a nosebleed.

and you still had no idea what you were doing here.

soobin blinked at you, still slightly dazed from the hit. his nose was no longer bleeding, but the tissue stuffed under his nostrils made him look even more like the schoolboy he was. you were about to say something—maybe thank him, maybe apologize, maybe ask if he was okay—when the infirmary door creaked open.

“bin!” came a familiar voice, far too loud for the sterile silence of the room.

yeonjun.

he stepped in with an armful of paper bags and small boxes—colorful wrappings, handwritten notes, tiny trinkets peeking through. gifts. you watched as he strutted over to soobin’s bed with an exasperated groan.

"seriously? you just got here and you’re already collecting fans again?” he teased, tossing one of the bags onto soobin’s lap. “what is it this time—handmade chocolates or love letters?”

soobin groaned and rolled his eyes, muttering something about it being a misunderstanding, but you weren’t listening anymore.

yeonjun had looked up. His eyes landed on yours. recognition flashed across his face like lightning.

“you—”

he didn’t finish. he just stood there, blinking, mouth slightly parted like the pieces of his memory were trying to click together.

you didn’t think. you just acted.

ignoring the sting of your scraped knees, you jumped off the bed. the linoleum was cold beneath your socks, but your voice came out warm, too bright, too casual.

"hey, um… yeonjun, right?” you said quickly, your cheeks heating under his stare. “do you want to grab something to eat or… i mean, you helped me earlier and i—well, i don’t know anyone else here.”

he looked confused at first, almost suspicious. then a grin tugged at the corner of his lips. “you sure? you're not gonna faint on me or something?”

you laughed, awkward and real. “i’ll try not to.”

he shrugged. “fine. you’re lucky i’m hungry too.”

so the two of you walked out of the infirmary side by side. the late afternoon light spilled down the corridor in golden streaks, warming the tile beneath your feet. the air smelled faintly of antiseptic and school uniforms.

you were just about to ask him where he thought you could find something sweet from a local bakery when—

click. click. click.

footsteps. fast. familiar.

you turned at the sound, heart stuttering. your eyes caught a silhouette at the end of the hallway, the light from the windows casting her in soft profile.

it was her.

your mother.

but not as you knew her.

she was younger. smaller. her hair was long and tied half-up with a little bow. she wore the school uniform, the same one you had seen in the photograph. she didn’t look like a stern, cold lawyer. she looked like a girl.

she giggled. and then you heard his laugh.

soobin’s.

they stepped into the infirmary together, talking—laughing. you couldn’t hear the words, just the sounds, but it was enough to send a strange ache through your chest.

you had never heard her laugh like that before.

not in your life.

not once.

and in that moment, as yeonjun rambled beside you about the best tteokbokki stand near the school gates, you couldn't even process a word.

your stomach twisted.

your mother. soobin. that laugh. that moment.

and you—

you were caught between two worlds.

the red broth bubbled quietly in the small metal pot between you. the scent of chili, garlic, and sweetness filled the air as you leaned over the table, watching the glistening rice cakes dance in the simmering sauce. yeonjun, sitting across from you in his white school shirt with the sleeves rolled up, poked at one of them with a wooden skewer and raised his brow at you.

“you ever tried tteokbokki before?” he asked, eyes flickering with curiosity as he blew softly on the piece.

you shook your head, almost too eagerly. “not like this,” you murmured after the first bite, eyes widening. the heat was perfect, the chewiness addictive, and the flavor—intense but somehow comforting. “god… it's actually good. like really good. everything back in my—” you caught yourself, heartbeat spiking, “—my time is just so artificial and bland. like, processed. rancid, almost.”

yeonjun tilted his head, mouth halfway open with the next bite. “your time?” he echoed, blinking slowly, his eyes narrowing in suspicion.

your breath caught in your throat. shit.

“i mean—my town! my town,” you laughed, too quickly, waving your hands. “back in my town. it's really rural and… old-fashioned, i guess? i’ve been studying a lot of history too for exams. i read so much about the different historical eras, i think the word ‘time’ just slipped in.” you forced another laugh and stuffed your mouth with a rice cake, cheeks burning.

yeonjun stared for a second longer than was comfortable, and then snorted. “you’re weird,” he muttered around his own bite, though his lips curled into a faint smile. “but you’ve got a point. food tastes better before the big corporations mess it up.”

you nodded quickly, relieved at the shift. the tension melted a bit between the spice and the conversation, the kind that warms not just your stomach but something deeper—something that makes the loneliness of waking up in the wrong decade feel just a little less heavy.

as you sat across from yeonjun, the last few pieces of tteokbokki slowly disappeared from the pot. the spicy warmth lingered on your lips, but your mind was far from the food. you couldn’t stop replaying that scene in your head—your mother’s laughter, sweet and girlish, echoing behind the infirmary doors. and beside her, soobin, smiling back like they were already familiar with each other.

you chewed slowly, lost in thought, until the question slipped out before you could stop it.

“what’s soobin like?”

yeonjun looked up sharply, brow raised, a teasing smirk forming on his lips. “oh? so now we’re talking about him?”

you blinked. “no, no—it’s not like that.”

“right,” he said, drawing the word out, clearly not believing you. “let me guess—you’re using me to get close to him?”

your jaw dropped. “what? no! It’s not even for me.” you scrambled for an excuse, mind racing. “it’s for… my friend. she’s interested in him. but she doesn’t really know how to approach him. so i was just curious. you know… to help her.”

yeonjun leaned back, arms crossed, clearly amused. “a friend, huh?”

you nodded quickly, trying to keep your face neutral. “yeah. she’s… shy.”

he squinted, eyes narrowing like he was trying to read through your soul. “well, if you want the truth… he’s a total playboy,” he said with a completely serious expression.

your heart dropped. “really?”

yeonjun burst out laughing, almost choking on his soda. “god, you’re so gullible.”

you glared at him, cheeks heating up. “you’re such a jerk.”

he wiped a tear from the corner of his eye, still grinning. “no, seriously. he’s just a normal guy. chill, kind of awkward sometimes, but popular. everyone likes him. probably because of his face,” he added with a playful grimace. “also… his parents are loaded. like, seriously old money. but he doesn’t act stuck up about it or anything.”

you nodded slowly, absorbing every word. soobin… a boy born in privilege, admired by many, and yet—somehow—your mother had laughed beside him like they shared something deeper. you stared down at your drink, the fizz catching the light.

if soobin was already so adored… did that mean your mother had been one of his admirers too?

a strange ache bloomed in your chest, something between curiosity and dread.

you twirled a piece of tteokbokki with your chopsticks, still digesting everything yeonjun had said about soobin. the conversation had taken a strange turn, light and teasing at first—but your mind couldn’t let go of something he’d just casually mentioned.

“if soobin’s parents are rich,” you started, voice careful, “and they’re your uncles… then your parents must be rich too, right?”

the moment the question left your mouth, you felt the air shift. yeonjun's expression changed—subtle, but impossible to miss. his gaze dropped to the table, and he took a deep breath, the usual spark in his eyes dimming.

you opened your mouth, instantly regretting it, but he spoke first. “i live with my grandmother.”

that wasn’t what you expected.

you blinked. “with your parents too?”

he shook his head slowly. “no. just her.”

you rushed to fix your words, hands slightly raised. “i mean, that’s not weird or anything. a lot of families live with their grandparents. it just makes the family bigger, right? i only live with my mom and—”

he interrupted, voice calm, but distant. “my parents died.”

the words hit like a brick wall. your breath caught in your throat.

“it was a plane crash. when i was ten. they were coming back from the u.s.,” he continued, his voice softer now. “they’d been checking out places to live because we were supposed to move there together. but the plane… didn’t make it.”

silence blanketed the table like a thick fog. even the sounds of the street outside—distant laughter, scooters, the clink of bowls—felt suddenly muted.

you looked down at your lap, unsure what to say, but before you could even mutter an apology, yeonjun smiled. not forced, not bitter—just… gentle.

“it’s okay,” he said, looking up again. “i’m happy. my grandma takes good care of me. she runs a barbecue restaurant nearby. you should come by sometime. i’ll sneak you extra meat.”

your heart ached a little at his warmth. he was so open, so strong, despite everything.

you forced a small smile, eyes searching his face. “how old are you?”

“i’ll be eighteen soon,” he said, straightening a little with pride. “last year of high school. next year, i’m taking the csat. gonna try for a university in seoul.”

“that’s impressive,” you said genuinely.

“yeah, well… someone’s gotta get out of incheon,” he grinned, and the mood lightened just a bit again.

you didn’t know what to say after that, so you just kept eating, the tteokbokki no longer hot but still comforting. and all the while, your thoughts wandered—about soobin, about your mother, about how the hell you'd ended up here. but more than anything… you found yourself wondering just who choi yeonjun really was underneath all those layers.

that night, the air in incheon was unusually still.

you walked slowly down the quiet streets, your belly full of spicy tteokbokki and your mind spinning from yeonjun’s unexpected vulnerability. it had left a mark on you—how easily he smiled through pain. and the way he talked about soobin, half mocking, half affectionate… it made your chest tighten again. your mother’s laughter echoed in your ears, youthful and bright like wind chimes, paired with soobin’s soft chuckle. a sound you never imagined you’d hear.

you paused just outside the small gate of the son house, your temporary home in the past. the night air carried scents of distant grilling meat and flowers you couldn’t name. everything felt unfamiliar and familiar all at once. stepping inside, you slid the door shut gently behind you and walked up to your room.

but the moment you pushed open the door, your breath hitched.

there, neatly placed on your pillow, was another envelope. cream-colored, slightly yellowed like old parchment. your fingers trembled a little as you picked it up, the weight of the paper oddly heavy in your hands.

you sat on the floor, your back to the wall, and opened it slowly.

inside was a single folded sheet. elegant, slanted handwriting greeted you.

"there are things that must happen in their rightful time, and you are here to ensure they do. do not underestimate the importance of choi soobin. the first love always leaves the deepest mark." — H.

you stared at the letter for a long time.

your heart thudded violently in your chest.

choi soobin. the name might as well have been carved into your skin at this point.

was this… was he the reason you were sent here?

the connection to your mother felt too strong to ignore. her maiden name. that tragic love story mrs. son had told you earlier—the one about the sailor and the girl he never got to marry. was that somehow related?

was soobin him?

you reached for the tattered marriage certificate you'd found hidden in your mother’s things earlier. the ink-smudged name of the groom was still unreadable. all you had was a surname—choi. and now, soobin. was it all falling into place? or was your mind inventing connections where none existed?

you pressed your head back against the wall, eyes fluttering closed. “this can’t be real…” you whispered.

you hadn’t even had time to question how you ended up here. one moment you were in your mother’s room, digging through old boxes of memories, and the next… thrown into a version of korea you’d only read about in textbooks. no explanation. no instructions. Just instincts and heartbeats.

and now letters?

your thoughts swirled in chaos, and for the first time since arriving, your resolve faltered.

what if messing with the past had consequences?

what if you were the reason your mother’s love story ended in heartbreak?

what if you were supposed to stop something… or start it?

you pulled your knees to your chest, pressing the letter against your mouth to stifle the rising panic. the room was dark, quiet, humming with a kind of stillness that only came before storms.

and somewhere deep down, you knew:

whatever mission brought you here... it was only beginning.

time moved differently here.

days passed like water slipping through your fingers—slow and heavy, yet gone before you could truly grasp them. you’d started to adapt. your accent had softened, your posture adjusted. you walked with your hands folded in front of you like the other girls. you learned to bow at the right angle, to accept the stares without flinching, and to hide the flicker of your modern instincts when someone used a phrase you’d only seen in dusty textbooks.

in a way, you became someone new. but you never stopped looking over your shoulder, never stopped clutching the growing stack of letters from mr. hong like lifelines.

the latest one arrived tucked between the pages of a history book in the school library, hidden where only you would look. the handwriting, as always, was precise and calm—like a teacher’s, or perhaps a soldier’s.

“it is time to begin. you must guide your mother. help her open her heart to choi soobin. but beware—any alteration of their bond may cause irreversible changes to the future." H.

you read the letter three times, the words branded into your thoughts.

it made your heart ache with confusion.

soobin. always soobin.

you hadn’t seen much of him. he was in a different class, and so was your mother. both of them seemed to float in and out of your orbit like stars you couldn’t quite reach. you’d catch glimpses in the hallway—soobin, surrounded by classmates, a quiet but steady force of gravity. your mother, younger and nothing like the sharp, tired woman you grew up with. she was shy, always fidgeting with her sleeves, eyes lowered, cheeks turning pink when someone said her name.

and yeonjun… yeonjun had become your anchor.

you still didn’t know how it had happened, but one day, you were laughing at his terrible drawing of a teacher during lunch break, and the next, you couldn’t imagine surviving this world without him. he was the only one who could pull you back from the anxiety of feeling like you didn’t belong. the only one who let you be your strange, out-of-place self and still grinned like he was lucky to know you.

but that letter.

that letter twisted your insides.

because if you helped your mother fall in love with soobin… what would that mean for you?

would you vanish?

would your entire existence be erased?

you didn’t want to think about it. not now. not when your life here had finally started to feel like something real.

still, the next day, you found her.

she was standing behind the old school building, near the edge of the soccer field, half-hidden behind a low tree. the spring breeze tugged at her cardigan and sent petals fluttering to the ground. you followed her gaze and, unsurprisingly, found soobin on the field, laughing with a group of boys, his shirt a little untucked, his smile careless and devastating.

you stepped beside her slowly. she flinched when she noticed you.

“oh! you scared me,” she said softly, her voice barely audible.

You smiled. “sorry. i didn’t mean to sneak up on you.”

she looked down, embarrassed, brushing hair behind her ear. “i was just… watching.”

you waited a moment, then leaned in closer. “do you like him?”

she went still. Her face turned crimson. “n-no! i mean… maybe. he’s… kind.”

you tilted your head. “do you want help?”

her eyes met yours—young, hopeful, unsure. “with what?”

“to… get closer to him,” you said, forcing a calm tone even as your stomach coiled with doubt. “maybe i can help.”

you didn’t know why you offered. maybe because the letter told you to. maybe because there was something sweet about her innocence, about the way she twisted her fingers together like love was something too big for her to hold.

or maybe you just wanted to understand.

to see what could have been.

to believe that everything wasn’t just coincidence.

as she nodded shyly, hope blooming across her face, you felt something cold drip down your spine.

what if she really did fall for him?

what if he loved her back?

what if they married—and you… never existed?

but the letter burned in your pocket like a second heartbeat. you had to trust it. trust that whoever—or whatever—had sent you here knew more than you did.

you forced a smile and said softly, “let’s start with a smile. next time he walks by.”

she looked at you with wide eyes. “just that?”

You nodded. “you’d be surprised what a smile can do.”

but you weren’t thinking of her when you said it.

you were thinking of soobin.

of the moment his eyes met yours for the first time.

and of how your whole world had started to change since.

the evening had that golden hue, the one you only get when the sun starts to sink behind the old buildings, casting everything in a nostalgic warmth. you’d organized the dinner with care. a simple yet modern spot: a small restaurant that served american-style burgers, with metal tables, hanging lights, and a jukebox playing soft romantic ballads in the background.

you thought it would be the perfect setting.

they just needed to coexist, relax, laugh a little. if your mom and soobin could spend time together, maybe you'd fulfill the letter’s request. maybe you could keep moving the pieces without altering the whole game.

yeonjun arrived first, greeting you with his trademark crooked smile and a pack of gum in hand. then came your mom’s friends, followed by soobin, and lastly, your mother, who looked absolutely lovely without realizing it—her hair loose, a navy blue dress with a white collar, and her cheeks flushed, as though simply being here made her nervous.

everything seemed fine… at first.

they all took their seats at a round table. you were between soobin and one of your mom’s friends. your plan was clear: give them space. let them talk, let something spark between them. but it didn’t go as planned.

the friends started whispering among themselves, yeonjun was animatedly talking about a movie he wanted to watch, and somehow, you ended up talking to soobin. again.

it was easy to talk to him. too easy.

both of you ordered the same burger, without even knowing it. you both took the pickles out at the same time and set them aside. at the first bite, you both chewed in sync, making a little involuntary sound of pleasure.

“mmm…”

“mm-hmm…”

you exchanged glances and chuckled. without realizing it, you both reached for napkins to wipe the same spot on your right cheeks at the exact same moment.

“what the hell?” one of your mom’s friends exclaimed, pointing at you both with a smile. “you two choreographed this or what? you look like twins! no, wait—clones!”

everyone laughed, except your mom.

“yeah,” yeonjun murmured, leaning on his elbows, watching you both closely. “even now, you’ve both got food on your cheeks... like two little rabbits.”

the laughter died down. you quickly wiped your mouth and glanced over at your mom.

that look.

you knew it too well. furrowed brows, clenched jaw, eyes cold and full of something between anger and discomfort. you’d seen it a thousand times, when you were younger, when you came home late, when you did something “out of line,” when you weren’t the daughter she needed you to be.

you knew what was coming.

and it came.

she stood up from the table without a word, grabbing her purse with force and walking out of the restaurant hurriedly. the others stared after her, soobin looked around confused, and yeonjun sat up in his seat, about to stand.

you reacted first.

you bolted after her, pushing the restaurant door open, the cold evening air hitting your face. you caught up to her on the sidewalk, calling her name. it felt strange to say her name out loud, like it wasn’t even the right name for her anymore.

she turned to face you abruptly, her eyes wet.

“are you mocking me?” she hissed, her voice shaking with anger. “did you really think i wouldn’t notice? you used me. you just wanted to get closer to soobin, didn’t you? used me to play your game.”

you froze, your heart pounding in your chest.

“n-no… it’s not like that,” you stammered, looking down at the ground as if you were twelve again and she had just caught you breaking something. “i don’t care about soobin, i swear. i just… wanted to help you.”

she didn’t answer, just stood there, eyes drilling into you with that piercing gaze.

you swallowed hard and said the first thing that came to your mind.

“it’s yeonjun.”

her expression softened slightly. barely noticeable.

“what?”

“i… i like yeonjun.”

she blinked, clearly caught off guard. you could feel the air change.

“what?”

“i... i like yeonjun.” you bit your lip nervously, not entirely sure of what you were saying, but the words felt right somehow. “not soobin. it’s yeonjun.”

you could feel your chest tighten as your mother processed your words. she blinked in surprise, before letting out a small, incredulous laugh.

“yeonjun?” she repeated, eyes widening. “you like yeonjun?”

you nodded sheepishly, the words coming out in a rush. “yeah, i mean… i think i do. but i’m not sure. i’ve just… been thinking about him a lot. you know, he’s kind of—well—different. i feel comfortable around him, i guess.”

you didn’t even realize yeonjun had been listening in from behind a nearby wall. he had been standing there, eavesdropping quietly, his hands shoved deep into his pockets.

your mother looked at you, and for a brief moment, her anger softened. “i thought you liked soobin…”

you quickly shook your head. “no, not at all. i don’t even see him like that. you know, like how people do with someone famous or something. it’s just not the same…”

suddenly, there was a rustling noise behind you. you turned around to see yeonjun step out from behind the wall, his expression unreadable. you didn’t know if he had heard everything, but from the way his eyes locked with yours, you could tell he had. your cheeks burned.

“i, uh...” yeonjun scratched his head awkwardly. “you didn’t have to tell her that, you know.”

you opened your mouth to respond, but your mother didn’t wait for you to speak. she turned away, the tension still thick in the air.

“i don’t know what’s going on between you two, but... if you really like him, then go for it. i won’t stop you.” her voice was cold, the finality of it stinging. “but don’t use me for your own plans.”

you reached out instinctively, but she was already walking off, her steps quick and purposeful.

you felt a sharp pang in your chest. you hadn’t meant to hurt her.

but in that moment, yeonjun stood beside you, his presence oddly comforting despite the awkwardness of the situation.

the days blurred by as you found yourself caught in the web of your own actions. you had committed to this, to helping your mother—nari—conquer soobin, following the exact instructions hong had given you in that letter. you didn’t dare stray from the plan; it was your duty, a responsibility you couldn’t afford to fail. so, day by day, you found yourself subtly maneuvering your mother closer to Soobin in every possible way.

you'd suggest small moments where they could talk, push nari into soobin’s orbit, casually organizing group hangouts, dinners, or even study sessions. every time they spoke, you’d make sure there were just enough quiet moments where they were alone, hoping for that spark to ignite.

but as the days passed, yeonjun grew suspicious. he was noticing things, and it wasn’t hard to tell. there was something off about the way you acted, like you were always just a little too eager to get your mom and soobin together, like you were pulling invisible strings behind the scenes.

“why do you always look so nervous when i ask about you and soobin?” yeonjun had asked one evening, his eyes narrowing as he watched you carefully.

you froze, unsure of how to answer. you didn’t want to tell him the truth—not yet. it felt impossible to explain, and you certainly couldn’t let him in on the secret. not when it was still so fragile, so delicate.

“i—” you hesitated, then quickly changed the subject. “it’s nothing. just… weird timing, i guess.”

yeonjun wasn’t convinced. “no, it’s not nothing. you’re acting strange, and i don’t buy your story.”

his suspicion lingered, and his questions began to cut a little too close to the truth. you knew you couldn’t keep this up forever. and yet, you couldn’t bring yourself to tell him. not yet.

“i'm just… doing what I have to do,” you said quietly, your voice barely a whisper. “it’s... a duty, yeonjun. a matter of life or death.”

he blinked in confusion. “a duty? what the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

you sighed, rubbing your forehead in frustration. “i’ll tell you everything. just not now. i’m not ready yet. but i promise i’ll explain. saturday night, at your grandmother’s restaurant. we’ll talk then.”

yeonjun hesitated but nodded, as if he could sense the gravity of what you weren’t saying.

saturday night arrived quickly. you walked into the cozy, warm restaurant, the smell of grilled meats and spices thick in the air. yeonjun’s grandmother greeted you with a kind smile, and yeonjun led you to a quiet corner. he could tell you were nervous—hell, you were practically shaking with anticipation as you prepared to share your secret.

the moment the door closed behind you, you took a deep breath.

“so,” yeonjun started, leaning forward. “you said you were going to tell me everything. i'm listening.”

sou swallowed hard. there was no turning back now. you couldn’t run from this anymore.

“i—uh... i’ll start from the beginning,” you said, your voice wavering slightly. “a while ago, i found a photo between some old boxes when we were moving. it was a picture of a guy. he looked like he belonged in the past, like he didn’t fit in with the time i'm from.”

yeonjun furrowed his brows. “a guy?”

“yeah,” you nodded, the memories flooding back. “he’s… soobin. and my mom—she’s been acting weird, too. i started paying attention. i mean, she’s not like herself. she’s not the same person i remember. and it’s not just her attitude—there’s something deeper, like a whole other life she’s hiding. but it wasn’t until i found that picture that everything started making sense.”

yeonjun’s eyes widened as he leaned forward. “so, this guy, soobin... he’s important, right? but why are you involved? you’re talking about your mom like she’s not... your mom.”

you froze. his question hung in the air, thick and heavy. did he really get it? could he possibly know?

“i—i’m not from here, yeonjun,” you whispered, your voice barely above a breath. “i’m not from this time. i’m not even from this place.”

he blinked, a frown spreading across his face. “what do you mean? are you—”

“i’m from the future,” you interrupted, your words tumbling out in a rush. “from 2017. i was sent back here, to help my mom, nari. you see, in the future, things went wrong. a lot of things. i was... i was told that if i didn’t do this, something would happen that could ruin everything.”

yeonjun stared at you in disbelief, his face pale as he tried to process what you had just said. “you’re from the future? like, actually? you’re not joking right now?”

you shook your head, watching his expression change from skepticism to pure confusion.

“i’m not joking. i know it sounds insane, but it’s true. and soobin… he’s connected to it all. i think he’s the key to everything.”

“soobin?” yeonjun’s voice was barely a whisper. “is he your—your father?”

the question hit you like a punch in the chest. you had thought about it, briefly, in your mind, but hearing him ask the question was different. it felt real, like it was something that needed an answer.

you opened your mouth, but the words stuck in your throat. “i—i don’t know,” you admitted, the words trembling. “my dad... he was choi taesang. i found papers—an old marriage certificate. i even found a small part of his name, ‘bin,’ that matched soobin’s. my mom told me my dad changed his name because of some family issues, inheritance problems... but he died when i was little. i never knew him.”

you stared down at your hands, the weight of the past pressing down on you. “i’m not sure if soobin is my father, but i need to figure this out. i have to help my mom... i have to make sure things happen the way they’re supposed to.”

yeonjun sat back, his expression unreadable as he processed everything you had just told him. the silence stretched between you both, thick with uncertainty.

finally, he exhaled sharply. “so... what happens if you don’t do this? what happens if you fail?”

“i don’t know,” you whispered. “but i can’t take that chance. my existence depends on it.”

yeonjun stayed silent for a long moment, staring directly into your eyes. the disbelief that had once filled his expression seemed to melt away, replaced by something else. it wasn’t confusion anymore. there was a sense of determination now.

“i’ll help you,” he said, his voice confident, almost defiant, as if nothing could stop him. “i won’t let you disappear. i won’t let you face this alone.”

the declaration took you by surprise, and for a moment, you felt the weight on your shoulders lighten slightly. but at the same time, deep inside, something else stirred—sadness. because the simple fact that he was willing to stand by you in all of this meant one thing: sooner or later, you’d have to part ways. If this whole thing worked out, if your mission was fulfilled, your return to the future would be inevitable, and that would mean disappearing from his life, like you’d never been there.

yeonjun looked at you, a playful gleam lighting up his eyes. “in 26 years, i’ll be an old man, and you’ll still be a little kid. just imagining myself as an old man is enough to depress me.” he chuckled lightly. “26 years sounds so far away, but that’s when i’ll need to have everything figured out, right? i need to be satisfied with my life by then.”

you let out a light laugh, the weight of the conversation easing just a little. he was right, though. twenty-six years were a long time in the future, and that was when all of this would come to a head. but he was right. he had to fulfill his dreams and live his life, just as you had to. it made the whole situation feel... less heavy, for a moment.

yeonjun’s tone softened again as he looked at you. “i don’t fully understand your situation, but i know you’re under a lot of pressure. your life depends on this, doesn’t it?”

you nodded, a deep sigh escaping your lips. “it does. i don’t know what’s going to happen, but it feels like i’m running out of time. i... i don’t even know how to explain it.”

you looked at him, suddenly feeling vulnerable. “i’ll tell you everything,” you said softly. “come with me to the house where mrs. son is. i’ll show you all the letters. i’ve been keeping everything hidden, but i can’t keep this secret anymore. i’m sorry, mr. hong, for telling you all this... but i just couldn’t anymore.”

later that evening, you and yeonjun found yourselves sitting at the small kitchen table in mrs. son’s house. the air was thick with the weight of the truth you had just revealed, and it was starting to settle in for both of you. the letters, the photo of soobin, the strange messages from hong, and the terrifying idea that you could disappear from the timeline—it was a lot to process. but now, you were facing it all with yeonjun at your side.

yeonjun, still looking a little incredulous but trying his best to absorb everything, leaned back in his chair, his eyes searching yours for more clarity. "so, if you really are from the future, then... what happens there? what’s it like? What should i be worried about?"

you sighed deeply. the weight of the situation pressed down on you, but you could tell yeonjun was trying to understand, and that made it a little easier to talk. “the future is... weird. so much has changed, and so many things that we take for granted here—like technology—just didn’t exist when i was growing up. it’s all connected. everything is connected.”

yeonjun raised an eyebrow. “connected how?”

you shifted in your seat, gathering your thoughts before continuing. “like, some major things happen in history, things that change the way the world works. like... 9/11.

yeonjun looked confused. “9/11? is that... some sports event?”

you shook your head with a small, sad smile. “no. it was a huge terrorist attack in the united states, and it affected people all over the world. it’s something that... well, it's just a big moment in history. but, for you, it doesn’t really matter. it didn’t affect your life here. in fact, a lot of the things that matter there... just don’t affect you yet.”

yeonjun scratched his head. “that’s... strange. i don’t know much about world events like that.”

“yeah, i guess it’s not on your radar yet,” you replied, “but there are other things, too. football—soccer, i mean—becomes a huge deal in the future. International matches, world cups, they get so much attention. some players... they make history, you know?”

yeonjun perked up, leaning forward now. "wait, really? like who? who makes history?"

you looked at him, a bit taken aback by his sudden interest. “well, in 2002, south korea made it to the semifinals of the world cup. it was a huge deal. the entire country was celebrating. people were so proud of their team.”

yeonjun’s eyes widened, and he grinned. “wait, seriously? south korea in the semifinals? that’s insane!”

you laughed, feeling the warmth of his enthusiasm. “yeah. It’s like one of the proudest moments in sports history here.”

yeonjun’s face lit up even more as he absorbed the significance. "i can't wait to see that happen in the future. when it does, you’ll have to remind me, okay? i’ll throw a big celebration for it! just wait, i’m going to be ready to party!"

it was an unexpected reaction, but it made you smile. despite all the heavy stuff you were dealing with, yeonjun’s excitement about something so simple—celebrating a victory in a future that hadn't even happened yet—felt comforting. for a moment, it was like things weren’t so complicated. like he was still just a normal guy with normal dreams.

you could tell that, despite his earlier confusion, yeonjun was beginning to feel more at ease with the whole situation. “it’s going to happen, just not right now. but hey,” you said, “maybe we can actually watch it together. i mean... if i’m still around.”

yeonjun nodded, a teasing smile pulling at his lips. “we will. and i won’t let you disappear. not on my watch.”

it was said half-jokingly, but the sincerity behind his words was clear. you both sat there for a moment, allowing the silence to settle, but it wasn’t awkward. it felt... comfortable, like the weight of the truth was finally beginning to feel a little more bearable. yeonjun, despite all the confusion, was on your side. and that meant more to you than you realized.

“so,” yeonjun started, breaking the silence, “what’s next? what are you going to do with all this?”

you looked at the pile of letters on the table, still half-distracted by everything that had happened. “i don’t know yet. but i think i have to help my mom with soobin. i’m supposed to—well, the letters say it’s important. i just... i don’t know why. it’s all so weird.”

he leaned in closer, his tone serious now. “i don’t understand it all, but i get that you’ve got something you need to do. and i’ll help. whatever happens, we’ll figure it out. together.”

there was a sense of resolve in his voice now, a shift from the playful teasing earlier. he was no longer just a friend caught in the middle of your confusing life. he was someone who genuinely wanted to help you, someone who was willing to dive into the chaos with you and not back down.

and for the first time in a long time, you felt a glimmer of hope—hope that things might actually work out, no matter how strange and twisted your situation seemed.

the days passed, and as you and yeonjun continued to help your mother and soobin grow closer, you found a sense of tranquility in the small moments that blossomed between you both. you had done it. you’d helped them get to this point, this delicate moment where your mom was finally smiling in a way you had never seen before. the bond between her and soobin was undeniable, and watching it grow made your heart swell. it was a feeling you couldn’t quite explain—like a mix of pride and relief that you had completed a part of your task, something that had been weighing on your shoulders from the very beginning. but you weren’t just a passive observer anymore. you had become part of their story.

and on that day, march 15th, when your mom and soobin posed for their first photo together, you couldn’t help but feel a strange warmth settle in your chest. it was a moment you had carefully worked towards, a culmination of your efforts to see them happy, to see them closer. you were the one who took the picture, the one who captured their smiles—their shared joy that lit up the frame. they didn’t know it yet, but this photo would become a symbol of so much more than just a casual memory. it was a milestone, a turning point in all their lives.

you stood behind the camera, the lens capturing the gentle moment between them, and your eyes shifted to yeonjun, who was standing next to you. “you think they’ll be okay?” you whispered, adjusting the focus of the camera.

he looked at you with a soft smile, his voice gentle. “i think so. they’re finally seeing each other for who they really are.” his words were comforting, and you couldn’t help but feel that warmth expand.

but as you stood there, camera in hand, it wasn’t just their happiness that lingered in your heart. yeonjun, who had been standing next to you the entire time, his shoulder brushing against yours as you captured the moment, made the whole day feel like it was meant for the two of you. you had become part of something larger than yourself, something far beyond just the letters and the tasks hong had laid out for you. you had become a part of this world, a world that, in its own way, felt like it belonged to you and yeonjun.

days later, you found yourself sitting in your room, carefully sorting through the photos. there were the ones with your mom and soobin, their smiles as wide as the world itself. but then, there were others—the ones you had taken with yeonjun. the ones that seemed so simple, yet carried so much weight. you had never intended to take those pictures, but in the rush of moments, you had. there was the one where you both were riding his bike down the narrow, windy streets, laughing as he swerved the bike just to hear you squeal in fear. or the one where you were sitting on the school rooftop, your legs dangling over the edge as you whispered things about your time, things that felt like secrets shared between two souls who had no business existing in the same moment. those were the photos you’d kept—hidden in a little corner of your heart, tucked into the back of your mind.

you hesitated before pulling one of the pictures from the pile, the one where you were wrapped in yeonjun’s arms as he rode the bike. his face was full of joy, eyes crinkled in a grin, while you were buried in the back of his jacket, your face flushed from the wind and the thrill. you thought about whether it was allowed, whether it was okay to keep such a thing, but in that moment, you didn’t care. this photo, this simple image of you and yeonjun, held something more. something you didn’t have words for yet.

you tucked it carefully into your bag, your fingers grazing the edges of the photo one last time before you turned your attention back to the other picture—the one of your mom and soobin. you felt your heart tighten as you looked at her face, her expression softer than you had ever seen it. there was a glow there, an undeniable happiness that hadn’t been present before. she looked younger somehow, the years of hardship fading away beneath the tender light of a new love—of the first fluttering steps into something that could only be described as the beginning of something beautiful. you couldn't help but feel a rush of emotion wash over you. the woman who had always been so strong, so independent, was now looking at soobin with a softness that made her seem... fragile in the most endearing way. her cheeks flushed with the warmth of her newfound feelings, and her eyes sparkled with the innocence of someone discovering love for the very first time. it was almost impossible to imagine, but there she was, looking at him with a glow that almost seemed surreal.

you didn’t hesitate. you handed the photo to her, watching her take it with trembling hands, eyes scanning it like it was the most precious thing in the world. she looked at soobin, then back at the photo, and then back at you. for a moment, she didn’t say anything, and you almost wondered if she had even noticed the way her face changed. but then she smiled—a smile that wasn’t forced or polite. it was genuine, a smile that came from deep within her, and you realized, for the first time, that maybe you had finally done the right thing.

as the days passed, the air around your relationship with yeonjun grew lighter. you found yourselves spending more and more time together, and each moment seemed to deepen the connection between you both. It was something unspoken, an invisible thread that kept pulling you toward him, no matter how much you tried to resist it. there were moments when it felt so natural, so easy. riding on his bike—your arms wrapped around his waist, your face pressed against his back, feeling his warmth seep into your skin. he never seemed to mind. and when you helped him out at his grandmother’s restaurant on weekends, scrambling around the kitchen and laughing as you tried to juggle orders, it felt right. it felt like home.

“thanks for helping me today,” yeonjun said, a smile tugging at his lips as you wiped your hands on your apron. he stood next to you, leaning against the counter, his eyes glinting with something you couldn’t quite place.

“of course,” you answered, glancing up at him with a playful smile. “what else are friends for?”

he grinned back, but there was something deeper in his gaze, something you both avoided acknowledging. “friends, huh?” he murmured, just loud enough for you to hear.

“yeah,” you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper as you turned back to the counter, not daring to look him in the eye.

and when the two of you snuck away from class to spend a few stolen minutes on the school’s rooftop, your legs dangling over the edge, it was like time stood still. you’d share bits of your world with him—small things, like the way your phone had changed from an old flip model to a sleek, glass-covered touchscreen. or the way people started using the internet for everything, even their grocery shopping. but when you spoke about the past, about the things that would come to pass, there was always that look in his eyes—one that made your heart beat faster, as though he was hanging on to your every word, each story you told drawing him closer.

“so… the first man on the moon, huh?” yeonjun asked, a twinkle in his eye as he leaned forward slightly, his gaze fixed on you with an intensity that made your breath catch. “that’s a big deal in your time?”

“it is,” you answered softly, nodding. “it changed the way we see the world. the idea that we could be more than just earth-bound.” you paused, catching your breath before continuing. “it was… a promise. a promise that anything is possible.”

yeonjun’s gaze softened as he absorbed your words, the weight of them hanging in the air between you. there was something unspoken in that moment, something fragile, like the threads of a story yet to be fully told. you were both trapped in this moment, floating in the same strange space, neither of you daring to say what was on your mind, but both of you feeling it all the same.

“maybe one day we’ll go to the moon,” he said quietly, a light laugh escaping his lips. “wouldn’t that be something?”

you smiled, your chest swelling with a feeling you couldn’t name. maybe one day. maybe one day, you and yeonjun would do just that.

under the clear early-winter sky, you and yeonjun lay side by side on the worn-out blanket he had brought to the rooftop of the shared house. It was one of those nights that felt like it belonged in a diary—quiet, cold, intimate, and framed by a dome of stars so dazzling they seemed ready to spill from the heavens.

the night sky was purer than anything you'd seen in your own time. no pollution. no smog. no glowing cities to wash it all out. just the two of you, and a universe that felt infinite.

“the stars…” you whispered, eyes wide, fixed on the constellations. “they’re so beautiful here. so clear. in the future, you can’t see them like this anymore.”

yeonjun turned his head to look at you. his gaze was soft, filled with that quiet curiosity he always seemed to have when it came to you. “really? not even on clear nights?”

you shook your head, a breath slipping from your lips like smoke in the cold. “not even then. the city lights drown everything out. it’s like the stars have disappeared completely.”

he was quiet for a moment, watching the sky as if trying to memorize it for you—like he could bottle the night and give it to you to take home. then his voice dropped low, barely louder than a thought. “what do you think would’ve happened… if you’d never come here? if you hadn’t time-traveled?”

the question caught you off guard. your fingers brushed against his, half-consciously seeking him out on the fabric between you. “i don’t know,” you admitted truthfully. “maybe… we’d have never met.”

yeonjun let out a soft laugh—not teasing, just warm and tinged with something bittersweet. “yeah… i probably would've kept going with my life. not knowing someone like you even existed.”

“that sounds really sad,” you murmured.

he turned onto his side, propping himself up on an elbow to face you fully. the starlight reflected in his eyes, making them shine. “y/n,” he said quietly, “i think i was born just to meet you.”

your heart clenched. the words hit you in a way that felt too big for your chest. cheesy. ridiculous. impossible. but still—so honest it hurt.

you smiled, cheeks flushed pink from more than just the cold. “maybe i was born to travel through time… just to meet you.”

he blinked slowly, then grinned. “so destiny was playing matchmaker, huh?”

“looks like it,” you said, nudging his shoulder.

it wasn’t a confession. not really. but the space between you shifted, electric and fragile. there were no titles, no labels. just the quiet knowledge that you felt the same—unspoken, yet undeniably there.

since your arrival, months had passed. it was now early 1992. your mother and soobin were officially dating, a real couple. it felt surreal. every time you looked at them, you could feel your mission inching closer to its end.

yeonjun was starting to prepare for university applications. his excitement was contagious—he’d talk about moving to seoul, walking through huge lecture halls, making music with other artists. sometimes he’d describe it so vividly you felt like you were already there with him.

“you should come with me,” he said one afternoon while helping you dry bowls at the restaurant. “if you’re still here when school starts.”

you blinked at him. “you mean… to seoul?”

“yeah. why not? you can live in a rooftop apartment next to mine. we’ll eat cheap ramen together. i’ll walk you to your classes.”

your laugh was quiet. “i don’t even know if i’ll still be here. if my mom’s already dating soobin, maybe… maybe it’s almost over. maybe I’ll be sent back soon.”

his smile faltered a little. “right…”

there was a beat of silence before he asked it again—the question that lingered over both of you like a shadow.

“do you think soobin’s your dad?”

you exhaled slowly, eyes falling to the sink. “i don’t know. i wish i did. But i won’t know anything until i go back and… ask her. for real.”

yeonjun nodded, lips pressed tight. you could tell he hated the unknown, hated that all of this—the time you had together—was out of your hands.

still, he leaned in closer, his shoulder bumping yours. “whatever happens… i’m glad we met.”

you tilted your head toward him. “even if i disappear one day without warning?”

he looked at you, eyes unwavering. “even then.”

and in that moment, beneath the stars of a world untouched by time, your hands found each other again. fingers interlaced, quiet and certain. there were no promises. no confessions.

but you both knew the truth.

even without a name, this—whatever it was between you—was real.

though soobin and your mother acted like shy high school sweethearts—barely daring to hold hands in public, cheeks flushed at the simplest touch—you’d heard him once when he thought no one else was listening.

“i want to take you to meet my parents,” soobin had said, voice steady but soft. “i want their blessing. i know we’re young, but i’ve never been so sure about anything.”

your mother had stared at him, eyes wide with something between awe and disbelief. and you… you had frozen behind the door, hand on your chest, trying to breathe quietly.

it wasn’t just puppy love. soobin meant it. he was serious about her. about a future with her.

you swallowed the lump in your throat. was this… really your father?

you didn’t know what to feel. or say. or even think. all you could do was watch. hope. wait for time to untangle itself beneath your anxious feet.

through it all, yeonjun had been patient with you. so sweetly patient it almost hurt. he never rushed you, never asked for more than you were ready to give. he held your hand when you offered it. stayed close when you needed someone to lean on. you were happy—so achingly, dizzyingly happy—but every so often, reality would fall on you like cold water.

you weren’t meant to stay here. not forever.

you didn’t belong in the past.

if you stayed, who knew what chaos you could cause? butterfly wings and hurricanes. your existence here was a ticking bomb—you just didn’t know when it would explode.

letters from mr. hong still came, even after your confession to yeonjun. he didn’t mention what you’d done. he didn’t seem angry or hurt. just distant. polite. almost like a mentor trying to keep things strictly professional now.

but then… in may, a letter came that chilled you to the bone.

"this will be the last letter, but it doesn’t mean your mission is over. you may stay in the past for weeks, or months, even after this. but something dark is coming. something that will shake the foundation of everything you’ve protected until now. in august, during the farewell party for the senior students… something will happen. be alert. watch closely. whatever happens, protect them." -H.

your eyes scanned the paper in panic, fingers trembling.

you memorized every word. you carried the letter folded tight in your bag, your pillow, your pockets. you barely slept. you watched your mother like a hawk, stuck to soobin’s side more than ever. you hoped it was paranoia. that maybe nothing would happen.

but august arrived.

and so did the storm.

the night of the farewell party was warm and buzzing, the air thick with the joy of students celebrating the end of a chapter. you wore a borrowed dress, hair tucked up, eyes scanning every face. yeonjun stayed close. you could feel his hand grazing yours whenever you drifted.

then, it happened.

scream. loud. sharp. ripping through the music.

you turned and saw soobin—face twisted in rage—hitting a boy again and again. the boy on the floor was bleeding from the mouth, gasping, trying to block the blows. around them, students scattered, screaming. a teacher tried to pull soobin back, but soobin was gone. blind with fury.

someone yelled your mother’s name.

uou turned and saw her—shaking, pale, clothes torn at the shoulder, crying.

and then the cops arrived.

sirens. chaos. lights blinding.

they took soobin in cuffs. he didn’t fight it. he just turned to look at your mother, blood on his knuckles, and said, “i’m sorry.”

everything spiraled after that.

you learned later what had happened. the boy—older, drunk—had cornered your mother. tried to force himself on her. soobin had found them just in time.

but justice wasn’t simple.

soobin’s father, a well-known senator, came crashing down with fury. his name had been dragged through mud. his son in a scandal. a fight. a girl.

he beat soobin the night he got home. soobin showed up days later at your mom's house, face swollen, lip split. he said nothing. just hugged your mother and cried.

and then came the final blow.

his father announced that after soobin’s brief juvenile sentence, he’d be sent to the u.s. for good. a fresh start. a new life. a university abroad.

he was forbidden from seeing your mother again.

she wore the promise ring on her finger still. tiny, silver, nothing flashy—but it shimmered like a thousand diamonds when the light hit it. soobin had given it to her just weeks ago.

“i’ll marry you one day,” he’d whispered. “i swear.”

now she barely left her room. she stopped eating. stopped smiling. her eyes were always red.

you watched it all unfold. helpless. like your chest was being split open from the inside. you thought this was it. you thought this was the end of your mission—and that you’d failed.

maybe you were supposed to stop it. maybe this was the event. maybe this was what you were meant to prevent.

but now it was done.

and you hadn’t stopped it.

one night, after crying so hard your body physically ached, you found yourself in the backyard, curled up on a bench, arms wrapped around your knees.

yeonjun found you there.

he didn’t say anything. he just sat beside you, then gently pulled you into his chest. his arms wrapped around you like a shield. you buried your face in his sweater and sobbed. he stroked your hair slowly, patiently, as if telling you without words: i’m here. i’m not going anywhere.

“i think i ruined everything,” you whispered, voice raw.

“you didn’t ruin anything,” he said softly.

“i didn’t stop it. i didn’t protect them.”

“you’ve done more than anyone ever could,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your temple. "you’ve loved them. that matters. that always matters.”

you closed your eyes.

and for the first time since august began, you let yourself fall apart. safely. in yeonjun’s arms.

even if everything else was crashing down, at least—for now—he was still here.

the months slipped by like smoke between your fingers.

from august to october, the colors around you changed—summer golds fading into autumn reds, then the gray hush of early october. but inside the house, inside your mother's room, it was always winter.

she tried to smile. tried to live. you made her tea, left her notes, held her hand through silences that stretched across entire afternoons. but you couldn’t force her heart to forget.

she had been in love with soobin since the very first day.

it had been fast. intense. a fire that lit her from the inside out—and now, after being torn apart so cruelly, she was trying to breathe through the ashes.

“everything i felt for him was real,” she whispered one night, curled beneath her blanket like a ghost of herself. “i’ve never loved someone like that. and now he’s gone.”

he was gone. living on the other side of the world. his father had made good on his promise—sent him to the u.s., far from everything that made him human. from her. from you.

at first, letters came. they were sweet, hopeful, full of aching promises.

but then they stopped.

you weren’t sure if he was being watched, controlled, or if he’d been forced to forget her by the cold grip of his powerful family. all you knew was that her mailbox stayed empty. and your mother stayed broken.

but in your corner of this spiraling world, there was yeonjun.

yeonjun, who saw you even when you tried to disappear behind your guilt. yeonjun, who didn’t ask for more than what you could give. who held your fears gently in the curve of his palm and waited for you to breathe again.

he was the only one who could calm your unraveling thoughts.

but even that peace became fractured. as october arrived, he pulled away—not emotionally, but physically, lost in piles of paperwork and meetings and test prep for university in seoul.

days would pass without seeing him. you waited, restless. you’d grown addicted to his presence, to the way his voice softened your panic and made the world feel less heavy.

so when he finally said through the phone “let’s have dinner tonight. just us,” your heart skipped like a stone over water.

it was a sunday evening.

the sun had set early, painting the sky in smudges of burnt orange and deep plum. the air was crisp but not cold, the kind that wrapped around your skin like a silk scarf. the streets were quiet, glowing under amber streetlamps, trees shivering slightly in the breeze.

he waited for you at the tteokbokki place—the same spot where you'd first laughed over spicy sauce and nervous glances months ago.

but this time… he looked different.

he’d styled his hair back with gel, revealing the full line of his forehead and the soft arch of his brows. it made him look older, more refined. dangerous, even. the boyish charm hadn’t vanished—it had evolved, carved into something breathtaking.

you blinked, stunned. “you… you look so hot.”

he nearly choked on his water, laughing. “what?”

“i mean it. the hair. it suits you. you look like a model or something.”

his cheeks flushed red. “you can’t just say that and act normal.”

you leaned forward, smug. “i just did.”

the tension melted into warm laughter, echoing between the tiled walls of the tiny restaurant. it felt like you were the only two people in the world.

then, you picked up a piece of tteokbokki, holding it in your chopsticks. “say ‘ahh~’.”

he gave you a playful side-eye. “are we really doing this?”

“yes,” you grinned. “we’re method acting as a couple. you need to commit.”

he opened his mouth with a dramatic sigh. “ahhh—”

you fed him the piece, your fingers brushing his lips by accident, and you both burst out laughing. it was ridiculous. silly. but the way he was looking at you—it wasn’t silly at all.

then he said it.

“i love you.”

the world stopped.

your smile froze on your lips. time seemed to fracture around you, holding its breath.

before you could speak, he continued, voice lower now, almost trembling.

“i know you’ll leave. i know this isn’t your world. but you have something that belongs to you. me.” he reached across the table, took your hand. “even if our time is short… i want to spend it with you. i don’t want to regret not saying it. i don’t want to spend the next 26 years wishing i had.”

your throat tightened. your fingers gripped his.

“i like you, y/n. I like you so much it hurts. and if the universe tears us apart, i’ll be reborn just to find you again. in every timeline, i’ll search for you. always.”

your heart beat so fast it hurt. your mouth was dry. your body frozen.

but he wasn’t waiting for permission anymore.

he stood, leaned over the table, and kissed you.

softly. slowly. like the world didn’t matter.

his lips tasted like tteokbokki and heartbreak, sweet and fiery all at once. your eyes fluttered shut. everything blurred. the restaurant, the lights, the soft chatter of other customers—all vanished.

there was only him. his mouth against yours. his breath brushing your cheek. his hand cradling the side of your neck with delicate reverence.

the world spun.

but for the first time in months, you didn’t care.

you kissed him back. you kissed him like he was the only thing anchoring you to this moment.

because maybe he was.

you started a relationship without labeling it. no one asked, “will you be mine?” they just... were. and that was enough.

no promises, no declarations. only two hearts quietly choosing each other in the midst of borrowed time.

yeonjun didn’t push you. he never asked for forever. he just gave you his time—every second of it. and you, with a heart full of fear and a mind screaming you don’t belong here, you gave him everything you could.

your moments, your awkward laughs, your unsure hands, your kisses that tasted like soft desperation, your half-written thoughts and unfinished dreams.

every date felt like a stolen lifetime.

one warm afternoon, he took you to the park with an old checkered blanket and a thermos full of hot chocolate. he brought his vintage camera and snapped pictures of you while the sun painted you in gold.

“you look like a memory,” he said, looking at you through the lens like you were the most precious thing he’d ever seen.

another night, you strolled through the streets hand in hand, fingers tangled loosely, like a promise never spoken.

you passed by old storefronts and flickering streetlights, until you found a small cinema playing black and white films.

he held your thumb the whole time, tracing slow circles into your skin, and you weren’t even watching the movie— you were memorizing the way his jaw looked in the flickering light, how he leaned close when he laughed.

on a lazy saturday, he took you to a dusty secondhand bookstore tucked between an old pharmacy and a fruit shop.

you two hid between shelves, reading poetry aloud, laughing when he made up the endings, and somewhere between the little prince and a forgotten romance novel, he kissed you again— slow, reverent, like you were made of something holy.

some mornings, you just stayed home.

he made pancakes in a worn apron with a bunny print, and you danced around in oversized socks, hair a mess, and he’d tell you, “you’re my favorite song.” and you’d whisper back, how am i supposed to leave this?

but you didn’t say it out loud. you didn’t have to. you both knew.

and still—he stayed.

and still—you loved him.

while yeonjun became your calm, your anchor, your mother began to slowly stitch herself back together.

not in grand gestures. not overnight. but little by little.

she stopped crying in the mornings. she let you brush her hair again.

she smiled at breakfast, not because she was over soobin, but because she remembered how to feel sunlight on her skin.

you watched her heal. you watched her reread soobin’s old letters with trembling fingers, tears still fresh, but her spine straighter.

“i’ve never loved someone like that before,” she confessed one night while folding laundry, voice soft as dusk. “it all happened so fast… it was real. i know it was.”

and you nodded, because you saw it— the way they looked at each other like time was a thief.

and you were living that same story now. with your own boy. your own impossible love.

except you didn’t know how yours would end.

only that it had already changed you. forever.

it was thursday. early. too early.your eyes were heavy, your limbs sluggish with the weight of not enough sleep.

your mind replayed the night before in soft flashes— you and yeonjun lying side by side, talking about everything and nothing. he told you he'd be leaving at dawn to catch the train to seoul. his csat exam. he had smiled when he said it, eyes wide with excitement and nerves.

“i’ll take the 6 a.m. train,” he whispered. “i want to be early… less stress that way.”

you’d nodded, fingers brushing his. you kissed him—sleepy and slow—and told him good luck. told him you’d buy cake and celebrate when he came back. he grinned, “then now i’m more excited about the cake than the exam.”

your chest ached gently with the memory. how warm his voice had sounded. how real he’d felt.

you went about your morning like any other. brushed your teeth. took a quick shower. you padded downstairs, hair still damp, the floorboards creaking beneath your bare feet.

mrs. son was already up, bustling in the kitchen, apron tied neatly at her waist. the scent of warm broth and toasted rice filled the air. you walked past her to the small calendar on the wall.

she reached it before you. ripped off yesterday’s page in one clean motion. november 12th.

you froze a second. something tugged at your gut. but you shook it off.

“need help?” you asked, voice light.

“set the table, darling,” she said, smiling.

you did. poured the tea. laid out the bowls. and sat down across from her.

she talked casually as you ate. about the weather. the street cats.then she looked up from her spoon and grinned.

“you really won the lottery with that one, huh? so handsome, your yeonjun. if i had met someone like him in my youth…” she sighed dramatically.

you laughed. but there was a tremble in it. because this wasn't your youth. and it wasn't your time.

you were borrowing this moment. and somewhere inside, you knew the clock was ticking.

after breakfast, you stayed in the living room, watching a slow moving drama with mrs. son. she liked to yell at the characters, complain about the villains, cheer for the lovers. you leaned your head against the cushion, letting her voice wash over you, but your mind drifted again.

to his voice. to his train. to his smile as he said “see you tonight.”

and then—

the screen cut to static. just for a second. then the image returned, but it wasn’t the drama anymore.

breaking news.

you sat up.

a smoky image filled the screen. metal twisted into grotesque shapes, a train on its side, the ground scorched and steaming. bodies—blurry—too blurry— sirens. flashing lights.

your blood went ice cold. your lungs forgot how to breathe.

“the train… the train from incheon to seoul has… derailed—”

and you knew. you didn’t need them to say it. you knew.

the flashback hit you like a bullet— “the tragic accident of the incheon-seoul express…” your own voice, from before. before all of this.

“no.” the word spilled from you in a whisper. then louder. “no—no—no—YEONJUN!”

mrs. son barely had time to react before you were on your feet, heart slamming against your ribs like it wanted to shatter them, legs moving without direction—without control.

you burst out of the house, wind clawing at your skin, eyes blind with tears.

how could i be so stupid? you knew. YOU KNEW. you had the date. the place. the headline burned into your memory. and you let him go.

your breath tore out of you in gasps as you flagged down the first taxi you saw. the driver looked at you wide-eyed as you shouted,

“the train wreck—take me there. please—now.”

“miss, they won’t let you near it. police closed everything. it’s chaos—”

“my boyfriend is there!” your scream cracked your throat raw. “he’s in there—i have to get to him—i have to—”

he drove.

but you were already breaking. from the inside out. because the pieces were fitting together, one after another like cruel clockwork.

you could save your mom. you could save soobin.

but not him.

yeonjun. your bright light. your stolen season of peace. and you’d let him go with a kiss and the promise of cake.

god, why didn’t you say don’t go? why didn’t you scream the truth

you pressed your forehead to the car window, watching the blur of streets race past, but all you saw were his eyes. his hands. his smile.

the memory of his “i love you” slammed into your chest like a truck.

your vision tunneled. everything felt muffled. your body was still moving, still trying, but some part of you had already shattered.

you felt it. a cold certainty deep in your bones.

he was gone. and you’d known it. and you couldn’t stop it.

the sobs started in your gut—ugly, loud, and you curled into yourself in the back of that taxi, screaming his name as if the wind might carry it back in time and stop him from boarding that train.

but time, as always, didn’t listen.

the taxi barely slowed when you pushed the door open.

"hey! miss! what the hell—!" you didn’t hear the rest. your feet hit the pavement hard and fast. cars honked around you, drivers yelling, but none of it registered.

you ran.

the train station loomed ahead, a warped silhouette behind smoke and flashing lights. traffic had collapsed around it—cars trapped in a gridlock of sirens and screams. people were everywhere, shouting, crying, pacing the sidewalks with phones pressed to their ears, desperate for news.

but you only had one thought. one name.

yeonjun.

your breath tore from you in bursts as you shoved through the crowd, ignoring the sting of elbows and the heat of panic. you had to find him. he was here.

he was—

a loud honk split the air behind you.

you turned your head— just a flicker— and saw it.

a car.

too fast.

too close.

your eyes widened. you didn’t scream. just a choked, helpless whimper as your knees locked in place.

then—

impact.

your world tilted. the sky spun. your body flew—weightless— before slamming into the ground with a sickening crack.

pain.

then nothing.

voices.

screams.

doors slamming.

tires screeching.

everything faded—

the colors, the sounds, the smell of smoke and burning metal. all of it fell away, until even your mind went quiet.

you gasped awake. your scream pierced the sterile silence of the hospital room. your body jolted upright, limbs flailing beneath thin sheets, the ache in your chest unbearable.

"YEON—"

but the name—

the name—

what was the name?

you froze, heart hammering wildly as tears welled in your eyes. there was a face. a smile. soft brown eyes that crinkled when he laughed. warm hands. a voice that said “i love you” in the quiet.

but the name. what was his name?

a soft thud.

your mom—

startled awake from the small couch by the window.

“baby—baby, you're awake! oh my god—" she rushed to your side, holding your trembling hands.

you blinked at her. tried to speak, but your throat burned.

the door burst open. nurses flooded in, followed by a doctor with a clipboard and calm urgency.

“heart rate’s spiking—she’s in shock—prepare a sedative—” no. no. you didn’t want to forget.

you clung to the face in your mind. you bit your tongue to stay conscious. you tried to picture him— his eyes, his laugh, the way he said your name.

but the details blurred. the voice faded. and worst of all— you couldn’t remember what you used to call him. what he used to call you.

your body thrashed on the bed until the needle slid into your arm. warmth spread through your veins, thick and heavy, dragging you down.

you sobbed. not from pain— but from the terrible emptiness blooming inside your chest. something was gone. someone was gone.

when you woke again, it was quiet.your mother sat beside you, stroking your hair with gentle fingers. her eyes were red.

“you scared me,” she whispered. “you passed out two nights ago. i found you by the closet. you wouldn’t wake up.”

two nights?

your lips parted.

your voice came out hoarse.

“two nights…?”

“yeah. the doctor says you were dehydrated. exhausted. they ran some tests, but…” she paused. her brows furrowed. “they think it might have been psychological. you were… crying in your sleep.”

your mind raced. no—no— you were gone for longer than that. you lived another life. with another family. with him.

but the memories were slipping like sand through your fingers.

“i was somewhere else,” you murmured, barely audible. your mother leaned in.

“what, sweetheart?”

you shook your head, tears filling your eyes. “i—I was in the past. i was with… with…”

his face.

for a moment it was there again.

just a flicker.

but when you tried to focus—

when you tried to hold it still—

it scattered like dust.

you choked on a sob.

what kind of cruel joke was this?

you remembered how it felt.

the love.

the joy.

the heartbreak.

but not him.

not even his name.

you wrapped your arms around your knees, curling into yourself on the hospital bed.

“mom…” your voice cracked. “i think i lost someone important.”

she looked at you with quiet confusion, not understanding what you meant. but how could she?

how do you explain losing a person you’re not even sure existed anymore? how do you mourn someone your mind won’t let you remember?

but your heart knew. somewhere deep down, in a place no medicine could reach— it knew.

and it hurt like hell.

a month had passed since you were discharged from the hospital. the doctors said you had collapsed from shock, that maybe it was stress, dehydration, or a neurological response. none of them had a real explanation for why you’d been unconscious for so long, or why, when you finally woke up, you whispered a name you couldn’t remember and cried for someone who didn’t exist.

your body had recovered. you could walk, eat, shower, smile if you really had to. but something inside you felt... disconnected. sometimes you would stare out the window for hours, not even noticing the sun moving across the sky. sometimes you would wake up in the middle of the night with tears on your cheeks and an ache in your chest that wouldn’t let you breathe. other times you felt like a ghost living in your own skin—aware, but not present.

you couldn’t ride the train again. even the sound of one passing in the distance made your knees weak and your hands tremble. it was irrational. you knew that. but every time you tried, something deep inside screamed at you not to go. a primal terror wrapped around your ribs and wouldn’t let go. maybe it was trauma from the collapse. maybe it was something you brought back with you. you weren’t sure anymore.

you tried to convince yourself that none of it had happened. that it was just a vivid dream your brain created while you were unconscious. it had to be, right? people don’t just fall into different timelines. they don’t leap through summers that never existed, meet boys with eyes like galaxies, or change the past. yet, no matter how many times you repeated that logic to yourself, it never stuck. something in you knew it had been real. and that knowing haunted you.

you had changed. you were quieter now, reserved. you spoke only when necessary and often found yourself zoning out in the middle of conversations, eyes unfocused as if you were somewhere else entirely. school felt like noise. people buzzed around you, but you couldn’t keep up. your grades dropped. you didn’t care. you didn’t connect with anyone. making friends felt pointless when your heart still lived in a different time.

your relationship with your mother had shifted too. after your collapse, she was visibly worried, almost overly attentive—but you couldn’t let her in. not after everything. not when you remembered her as the teenage girl you met that summer, crying into your arms, struggling through heartbreak. that memory clashed too harshly with the woman sitting at the dinner table now, asking if you’d done your homework. you had built a wall between the two of you, and she didn’t know how to climb over it.

and then, one evening as you both sat eating dinner in silence, the question escaped your lips before you could stop it.

“is soobin my father?”

the fork in her hand froze mid-air, and her eyes flicked to yours, wide and sharp with alarm. her mouth parted slightly in surprise, brows furrowing in clear discomfort. you regretted asking immediately—until her expression softened. she sighed and set the fork down, folding her hands in her lap as she looked at you with a strange mixture of vulnerability and nostalgia.

“no,” she said quietly. “he’s not.”

your stomach twisted, unsure if the answer brought relief or disappointment. she looked away for a moment, as if remembering something from a dream of her own.

“soobin... was someone i knew in high school,” she continued. “he was sweet. shy, but in a charming way. he helped me get through something really hard. i remember this girl who was there too—she supported me, made me feel less alone—but i can’t remember her name now. it’s strange. i remember her eyes, her voice, but... not her name.”

your throat tightened. that was you. but you said nothing.

“soobin and i dated for a while. we thought we were meant for each other. but life had other plans. he left for the united states. we tried to stay in touch, but... things faded. i fell apart for a while. but eventually, in college, i met someone else. your father. choi wonbin.”

the name hit you like a wave. your eyes widened, heart stuttering in your chest. wonbin. not soobin. and that explained everything. that was why you hadn’t vanished when soobin left. that was why the timeline remained intact. your existence had never depended on him. your mother smiled softly, almost laughing to herself.

“i know, i know. soobin, wonbin—it sounds ridiculous. just a coincidence,” she said. “but sometimes... life is full of coincidences that somehow make sense.”

for the first time in weeks, the tension in your shoulders eased. it was as if a door had opened. as if something that had been stuck finally began to shift. and for the first time since you returned, you felt a sliver of peace.

a week later, a package arrived for you. it was small, lightweight, and addressed in delicate handwriting. your fingers trembled as you opened it. inside, you found a single letter. your breath hitched the moment your eyes recognized the script. it was his.

mr. hong.

“y/n, it wasn’t a dream. you really did travel through time. the reason you’re still alive and well is because you followed the path that was meant to be. everything happened as it had to. even the painful parts. even the losses. you played your part with courage, with love. thank you. now, rest. beautiful things await you. this is my final goodbye. live, y/n. truly live. —hong.”

your vision blurred as hot tears rolled down your cheeks. you clutched the letter to your chest, heart aching with a grief that had no words. you didn’t know why it hurt so much. only that something inside you had broken open. maybe it was because it had been real. maybe because it was over. maybe because someone had finally said thank you.

a few days later, your homeroom teacher called you into his office. you weren’t in the mood for anything. you shuffled into the room with tired steps and blank eyes.

“we have a transfer student,” he said with a warm smile. “i’d like you to show him around. since you’re both new, maybe you can help each other.”

you nodded absently, barely paying attention. your gaze drifted to his desk—a black pen, a leather-bound notebook—and something about the handwriting on the paper caught your eye. your stomach flipped. before you could say anything, he stood up suddenly.

“ah—excuse me, i have to take this call. meet him while i step out, alright?”

and then the door opened.

you turned.

your breath left your body.

there he stood.

tall. familiar. too real to be real.

ear piercings gleaming. airpods in. hands buried in his pockets. that same effortless cool. the exact look you remembered, etched into every corner of your heart.

he smiled at you—soft, warm, and impossibly alive.

“hi,” he said, voice smooth and gentle. “i’m yeonjun. son yeonjun. please take care of me.”

your knees buckled. your lungs stopped working. your heart screamed.

“you’re real,” you whispered.

he stepped closer without hesitation, taking your face in his hands, thumbs brushing your cheeks as if he’d done it a thousand times before.

“i told you,” he murmured, his forehead resting against yours, “i was born to meet you. and i’d follow you through time. in every line. every world.”

you choked on a sob as the tears spilled over. he wiped them away with quiet tenderness.

“we were meant to find each other. no matter when. no matter where.”

your arms wrapped around him, and he pulled you close—tight, grounding, safe. you buried your face in his chest and breathed him in. he smelled like summer rain and all the moments you thought you’d lost.

he tilted your chin, looked into your eyes with infinite softness, and kissed you. gently. surely. like it was always meant to happen.

and in that kiss, everything returned—every laugh, every memory, every promise unspoken.

outside, the rain began to fall. soft. steady.

but inside the room, wrapped in his arms, you felt the warmth of a hundred summers.

and this time, you knew with your whole heart—

you were home.

[nats--sw]

Gold chain (pt3) | Leah Williamson

A bit more of Leah while everything around you gets more intense warnings: just fluff and slow burn pt1 - pt4 - my masterlist

Leah's love for tennis skirts had just been solidified. She found herself frozen, her fork suspended midway to her mouth. Your video call had caught her off guard, and the first thing to greet her on the screen was you, your back facing the camera, only in your sports bra and the skirt you wore during your recent match, which had wrapped up just a few hours ago.

"Hellooo?" Leah said, gently placing her fork back onto the table.

"Just a sec!" you called out, still with your back turned to the camera.

Leah watched as you reached into your bag, pulling out a black t-shirt that you slipped on.  Unlike the tight one you wore for tennis, this one was baggy—definitely a guy’s shirt, she thought.

"Did you watch my match?" you asked, now facing the camera on your phone, which sat at the coffee table in the room.

"Yep" Leah replied, flipping her phone’s camera to show the TV tuned to the sports channel.  “Feeling nervous about the quarterfinals?” she asked, sounding both curious and supportive.

"Nah... I don't know who I'll be facing yet though," you said, slipping off your socks. "At least I’ve got two days to rest before the game."

"Yeah, like you’ll actually rest," Leah teased.

"You're probably right," you chuckled knowing she had you figured out. During your first call yesterday, you had explained your intense training routine before matches. "What are you having?" you asked Leah, curiosity evident in your voice as you held your phone again.

"Smiley faces," Leah said, poking a potato and showing it to you through the camera.

"What?" you laughed, not quite sure what she was showing you.

"Potato smiles. Delicious," she said, grinning as she popped the potato into her mouth.

"Ew! Didn't your mum teach you not to talk with your mouth full?" you teased, though you found it amusing to watch Leah goof around. "Do they taste like real potatoes? I've never tried them."

"What are you talking about?" Leah gasped, dramatically dropping her fork onto her plate. "Are you kidding me?"

"Whoa, you sound genuinely offended," you said, struggling to contain your laughter.

"Of course I am! How is it possible you've never tasted these? What did you eat all through your childhood?" she asked, her face completely serious.

"Leah... would you believe me if I told you I didn't try a nugget until I was 16?" you said, your tone turning more serious. "It was when a friend from school invited me over for dinner. My mum was always particular about what I ate." Leah's expression turned to a slight frown as she listened intently. "I always had well-balanced, hearty meals. She just wasn't a fan of processed food," you said, hoping to provide context and prevent any misconceptions about your mother.

"Sounds... kind of sad," Leah said, finishing her last potato. "I should invite you over for smiley faces, shouldn't I?" she asked with a shy smile.

"You could... I'd gladly accept," you replied.

"I'll think about it," Leah said, shaking her head with a playful grin. After a brief pause, her face suddenly lit up. "Oh, I wanted to ask you something."

"What is it?" you asked, intrigued.

"Today, something caught my eye. Well, actually, it's been catching my eye for a while now, but I think I've finally spotted a pattern," Leah explained, narrowing her eyes. "Your chain around your neck... I've seen you tug on it from time to time."

By reflex, your hand went to your neck, and you felt a brief panic when you didn't feel the chain right away, realizing it was hidden beneath your shirt.

"Is it something significant to you?" Leah asked.

"Yes and no. It's kind of silly," you replied, settling into bed and arranging the phone between the pillows. "Sometimes when I'm feeling nervous or a bit anxious, I tug on it to remind myself it's there, but it's not a big deal to me. I started wearing it a few years ago for a silly reason."

You hesitated, thinking you might bore Leah with the details. But seeing her through the screen, now cozy on her couch with a blanket over her legs and a smile on her face, you realized that perhaps this time someone would actually be interested in listening to you.

"I've never been picky," you began to explain. "I never asked my parents for anything special. They always gave me everything I needed, especially when it came to things that could improve my game. But as for gifts, I always felt too embarrassed to ask for certain things." You bit your lip, trying to stay on track with your story. "The thing is, I always wanted a chain. I didn't care much about the material. Everyone at the academy had one, boys and girls. It's a common accessory, after all. I wanted to be like them."

You fell silent, suddenly feeling a bit silly for sharing such trivial details. Leah, however, misinterpreted your silence and blank stare, thinking she had touched on a sensitive subject.

"Did someone special give you the chain you wear?" Leah's gentle voice interrupted your thoughts.

"No," you shook your head, trying to suppress a smile. "I bought it myself. That's why it has my initial on it," you explained, holding the chain up to the camera.

Leah felt conflicted. On one hand, the story ended with a bit of humor, but on the other, there was a hint of sadness. It was the kind of gift typically given by a loved one or partner, and in the end, you had to buy it for yourself… which was a bit sad.

"After I won my first WTA title, I had quite a bit of money, so I went to the first jewelry store I could find and bought it," you explained.

You noticed the puzzled expression on Leah's face; she had gone silent when you expected her to laugh at the end of the story. You smiled nervously, wondering if you were diving too deep into conversations with her.

"Maybe she thinks you're weird," the insecurity echoed in your head.

Just then, a notification popped up on your phone, rescuing you from overthinking.

"Ugh, I've got to go meet Lucas. He wants to work on my serve," you said, standing up quickly with your phone in hand.

"You have a great serve," Leah said without hesitation.

"You're only saying that because you're a fan," you replied, rolling your eyes and trying to ignore the butterflies in your stomach that always fluttered when Leah complimented your game.

"Exactly, and I watch every move you make," she said, crossing her arms and wrinkling her nose playfully.

"How adorable," you thought to yourself.

"Tell your coach you don't need any improvement," Leah said.

"He's my coach. I pay him to help me get better," you said as you slipped on your shoes.

"Yeah, whatever," Leah responded with a playful smirk.

"Do you buy the whole love at first sight thing? Ouch!" you winced as your physio applied pressure, stretching your leg into a position that felt tight.

"Take a deep breath," advised your therapist, easing off the pressure. "There you go," she said, gently returning your leg to its natural position.

"It's not something I believe in, in case you're wondering," you said, laying face down on the table and removing your headphones. Conversations during your physio sessions were rare, you typically dozed off, hence the headphones to drown out the noise around you.

"I guess that's not your cup of tea," your physio chuckled softly, now focusing on massaging your calves. "Is she pretty? They say love often comes in through the eyes, especially if it's love at first sight, as you said."

"She's definitely pretty, yeah," you admitted, wincing as your therapist's thumbs applied pressure into your muscles. "Geez, who said these sessions were relaxing?" you muttered, closing your eyes to bear the discomfort. "She's pretty, but it's more than that... I feel like I can talk to her."

"Y/N, you talk with tons of people every day," your therapist reminded you. "Honestly, you never seem to stop talking," she added with a laugh.

"It's different with her. I can talk about anything, even tennis, but there's no pressure... It's like talking to her puts me at ease," you explained.

It was so calming that you had fallen asleep chatting with her the last two nights.

"I shouldn't be catching feelings for someone I'm just getting to know," you sighed.

"Well, actually, it's perfectly normal," your physio reassured you.

You sighed with relief as the tension in your muscles began to ease under her skilled hands. It wasn't a sigh of relief because someone validated your growing feelings for Leah. Definitely not.

"There are times when love hits you fast and hard, you know? When it's intense." the woman explained, now focusing on your back. "And you, my dear, are intense. It wouldn't be surprising if you fell in love just as fast."

"I haven't fallen in love," you protested, attempting to sit up from the table, but your therapist effortlessly kept you pinned down with a swift motion.

"And you're impulsive," she added with a tired sigh, familiar with your reactions. "I'm surprised you haven't declared yourself to her already."

"There is no one," you insisted.

"You've already admitted there's a pretty girl and that you have feelings for her, even if you're not quite sure what those feelings are yet," she teased with a mischievous smile. Maybe it wouldn't hurt to have someone special," she suggested, helping you onto your back on the table. "She could be good for you… here" she said, gently touching your heart. "And here," she continued, touching your temple with her finger.

"What are we watching?" Lia asked, settling down next to Leah on the couch. They had planned a dinner date to catch up, but Lia suspected it was more about Leah avoiding another night of cooking.

"There's a match about to start," Leah replied, quickly grabbing the remote from her friend's hands.

Lia glanced at the screen, which now displayed the stats of two tennis players. "Has Wimbledon started already?"

"No," Leah sighed, rolling her eyes. "There are tournaments throughout the year, not just the Grand Slams," she explained, her focus on the screen.

"Since when are you an expert on this?" Lia asked, raising an eyebrow.

"It's basic knowledge, not all sports revolve around football," Leah defended herself as the players stepped onto the court.

"Is this match a big deal?" 

"It's the quarterfinals," Leah replied.

"How do they win?" Lia inquired further.

"They win by taking two sets." Leah explained, her irritation starting to show.

"And how do they win those sets?" Lia pressed on.

"God, Lia, just watch and you'll figure it out," Leah snapped, feeling her nerves creeping in. She was clearly on edge.

“Why are you so grumpy today?” Lia eyed her suspiciously.

"What's wrong with her? What's she doing?" murmured Leah, leaning back on the couch, her eyes glued to the match on the tv screen.

"Huh?" Lia turned to her.

"She's struggling to reach her shots," Leah pointed out, just as you lost another point. "She had the match in her bag."

It was true. You had started strong, winning the first set 6-1 and even taking a 4-1 lead in the second set. But now, your opponent had fought back, and you found yourself in a 1-6 tiebreaker, unable to secure more than a single point.

"Set point," was announced on the tv, and Leah waved her hand.

You positioned yourself, shifting from side to side, anticipating your opponent's serve. But before you could react, she sent a powerful shot down the line, leaving you with no chance to return it.

"Bloody hell," Leah exclaimed, standing up from the couch.

"Woah, I didn't know you were so into tennis," Lia remarked, intrigued by Leah's intense reaction.

"It just frustrates me when they give away easy points during a match," Leah explained, which was partly true. Your unforced errors had contributed to your opponent's comeback in the set.

Leah let out a long sigh and sank back onto the couch. She couldn't relax until you managed to turn the match around and win the third set tiebreaker 7-4, securing your spot in the semifinals. You had come dangerously close to losing your spot in the semifinals.

Leah couldn't bring herself to try talking to you all day. It had been a dreadful match, one of the worst she had ever seen you play. Despite not knowing you that well, Leah figured you probably needed some space and didn't want to talk to anyone for a while. She had watched you storm off the court after the match, something she had never seen you do before. The heated exchanges with the chair umpire and the tense moments with your coach had been impossible to ignore. 

She had only mustered the courage to send a brief message: 

"Hope you're doing okay." 

But you hadn't responded yet.

So, when she was already tucked up in bed, half asleep, she was surprised to see an incoming video call from you.

"Y/N?" Leah replied, not looking at the screen as she fumbled to switch on her nightstand lamp.

"Shit, I didn't mean to wake you up." you apologized.

"I wasn't quite asleep yet," Leah said, finally turning her attention to the screen. "Are you okay?" she asked, sitting up in bed, noticing your slightly red and puffy eyes.

"Yeah," you lied, settling back on the couch and pulling your blanket up to your neck. "What about you? How was your day?"

"I just watched your match, which was horrible," Leah thought, feeling sorry for you, but instead she replied, "Not much. I just had dinner with some friends."

Leah couldn't help but smile as she saw your features relax at her answer. She knew you had probably anticipated her bringing up the match. You had mentioned how intense your day usually was: tennis talk at breakfast, tennis talk in the afternoon, tennis talk at dinner.

"Nothing too delicious," Leah continued. "Did you have dinner?"

You didn't respond verbally, instead, you shook your head and bit your lip, a sign of your struggle to hold back tears. Leah immediately noticed.

"I was running late and didn't feel like eating alone," you explained. "But my physio brought me a sandwich about half an hour ago. I'm just not hungry."

Leah frowned. She mentally calculated the hours since the match had ended at noon. Considering the disastrous game, you probably hadn't eaten afterward, and your stomach was likely empty except for breakfast.

"You should eat," Leah insisted gently.

"I don't want to eat alone, it's... depressing," you admitted, sinking further into the couch. Leah could barely see your mouth now, the blanket covering you.

"Okay, hold on," Leah said, letting out a sigh as she got out of bed. She placed the phone on her bed and reached for a hoodie. "Come on," she said, picking up her phone again.

You watched through the screen as Leah left her room and headed to her kitchen, leaving the phone on the counter.

"Okay, what kind of sandwich did you get?"

"Huh?"

"I'll eat with you," Leah explained simply, reaching for the bag of bread. "Well?"

You rolled your eyes but couldn't help but smile. It was such a tender gesture, one that softened your heart. Leaning over to the coffee table, you picked up the bag your physio had left there. You hadn't even opened it yet.

"Let me see..." you said, pulling out the sandwich and reading the ingredients on the box. "Tuna, cucumber, mayonnaise, and salad cream."

"Ugh, not my favorite," Leah said, her face visible at the edge of the screen as she looked through her fridge.

"What's your favorite?" you asked, starting to unwrap your sandwich. Suddenly feeling your appetite return.

"I'm a ham and cheese girl. I like to keep it simple," Leah explained, already assembling her own sandwich.

"Sounds boring," you teased with a chuckle. Leah stuck her tongue out at you. "I prefer egg sandwiches. Probably the store didn't have any."

"What else did your physio get you?"

"Uh... a bottle of water and a bottle of juice."

"Orange?" Leah guessed, reaching for a box of orange juice.

"Yes," you confirmed, smiling as you watched Leah return to the couch, settled in just like you with a blanket on her lap. She held up her sandwich to the camera.

"Shall we eat?"

An hour later, you were in bed, with Leah still on the screen, tucked under her own sheets. The time had flown by as Leah passionately tried to convince you why Arsenal was the top club in London.

"Uh, according to Google, the men's team hasn't won a league since 2004," you teased in a mocking tone, enjoying Leah's furrowed brow and her stumbling attempts to defend her team. "And the women's team... maybe I shouldn't say anything," you added innocently, staring up at the ceiling.

"Oi! You're being mean!" Leah protested. "I just won a cup, you know?"

Of course you knew, you had seen the post on Leah’s instagram. 

"Winning a cup isn't quite the same as winning a league," you continued to tease.

"What would you know about it? You only just learned the difference between a cup and a league because I explained it to you," Leah retorted, though she couldn't help but crack a smile. Despite her attempt to feign annoyance, she couldn't shake the sense of relief seeing you in a better mood than an hour ago "You're such a headache sometimes.”

"Sorry," you said between laughs. "Well, I'd better get some sleep. Got an early start tomorrow."

Leah's heart sank at the reminder of your upcoming semifinal match. She knew you had pushed yourself to the limit today, both physically and mentally.

"Thank you," you added, catching Leah off guard.

"Huh?" Leah's brow furrowed in confusion.

"For not bringing that up," you explained, your cheeks tinted with embarrassment. "I really appreciate it... I just needed to talk to someone. And you're easy to talk to."

Leah's heart skipped a beat. 

"It was nothing. You can talk to me anytime, about anything, including that," Leah assured, offering you a warm smile.

You fell silent for a moment, your eyes closed. Leah almost thought you had drifted off to sleep until she heard your voice again.

"I've never won a semifinal match on grass," you confessed. "I hate playing on grass. I can't move like I want to, can't slide, the ball bounces weird... It's a faster game, and I don't like it."

Leah struggled to find the right words to comfort you, though it seemed you weren't seeking comfort. You just needed to vocalize your thoughts.

"Well… get some good rest," you said "Speak to you tomorrow."

"Sleep well," Leah replied softly, just before you disappeared from her screen.

Leah hadn't been able to watch your game; she'd been tied up with a radio interview in the afternoon. Perhaps it was a good thing, sparing her from witnessing what felt like a complete disaster.

You were trailing 1-0 after losing the first set 6-2.

"Y/N, listen up," Lucas's voice echoed in your head as you wiped your face with your towel. He sounded both concerned and frustrated. "You've got to get up to the net. Focus and do it just like we practiced this morning.”

The tension intensified in the second set, now tied at 3-3. Each point intensified, increasing the pressure on your already fatigued body.

Struggling to steady your breath and calm your racing heart, you attempted to regain your composure. Lucas's instructions only seemed to agitate you further. Your serves lacked accuracy and power, the weight of exhaustion settled in your arms and legs.

With your breath hitching, you turned to Lucas "Gotta keep your mouth shut," you muttered to him, before returning to your position on the court.

You squeezed your eyes shut for a moment, trying to shut out your coach's voice which, instead of helping, was only adding to the overwhelming pressure and fear of failure creeping in. 

For a while, you felt completely disconnected from the game, just focusing on getting the ball back over the net and hoping for the best. Your ears felt muffled, you swung at balls in every direction, chasing after them when your legs allowed. It felt like your body was on autopilot.

When you finally regained control, you glanced at the scoreboard. It read 5-4, with the set tied at 30-30. Had you been playing for that long already?

"Just 2 more points and I'm out," you muttered to yourself, accepting the ball from the ball kid who hesitated a moment before returning to her position. Your emotional state must have caught her attention, you could feel tears welling up, but you refused to let them fall now. You couldn't afford to show weakness, not in front of them.

You adjusted your visor lower, not too concerned that it obstructed your view. After all, you were resigned to the inevitable defeat, recovering from this set, let alone the entire match, felt beyond your grasp.

Taking a deep breath, you served. Your opponent effortlessly returned the ball, and when you sent it back, she executed a perfect drop shot with spin. Despite your best efforts, your legs failed to get you to the net before the ball bounced a second time. 

All you could do was shake your head and chuckle at the brilliance of the shot. It was a damn good point.

The next rally was a bit longer. Determined to get at least a point, you decided to take a calculated risk. You placed the ball strategically close to the net, hoping to force your opponent into a difficult position. Yet, she managed to return the ball, forcing you to approach the net. Anticipating her move, you weren't surprised when the ball sailed over your head, landing just inside the line behind you.

And with that, it was over.

"Stay the hell away from me!" you shouted as Lucas and your physio entered the dressing room. You pointed your racket at him. "I don't want to hear a word from you!"

"Y/N, calm down," Lucas said, his brow furrowed in concern.

"I said no! Get out!" Tears streaked down your face, your voice raw with frustration. "You're the reason I lost!" you accused him, venom lacing your words as you vented on your racket, smashing it against the ground. "You told me to charge the net," you seethed, the anger palpable. "And what happens? She pulls off the damn shot of her life!"

Deep down, you knew it wasn't entirely his fault.

Lucas struggled to make out your words through your sobs and the racket's crashing impact. He signaled to your physio to grab your bag of remaining rackets before you decided to destroy another one.

"You need to cool off," your physio interjected, her tone firm.

"I need everyone to leave me the hell alone!" you yelled, throwing the shattered pieces of your racket against the wall in a burst of frustration.

Lucas shook his head and firmly guided you to sit on the bench. "Listen to me," he said,but you shook your head, lost in your thoughts. Frustrated, Lucas removed your visor and tossed it aside to get a clear view of your face, then gently tilted your chin to meet his eyes. "I said listen to me, kiddo."

You met his gaze, holding your breath. He looked visibly upset, his brow furrowed deeper than usual. Taking a moment to study him, you noticed the new wrinkles and more gray hairs, likely a result of the stress you often caused him.

"You played well today," he continued, his voice steady but firm, still holding your gaze. "But she played better. It's not a reflection of your performance, it's not about you playing badly. Can we improve? Absolutely. And we will, I promise you that. But for now, we need to stop."

"What do you mean?" you asked.

"You're drained," your physio chimed in. "Your body can't handle more. Your muscles are exhausted."

"And your mind isn't much better. Since the first game you've been clouded," Lucas added, sighing. "We're heading back to England first thing tomorrow."

"Eastbourne?" you asked. 

Lucas shook his head. "No, you won't be playing in any more tournaments until Wimbledon. I've made it clear, you need to stop," he said firmly, now taking a seat beside you. "We're heading to London. Your psychologist is already there."

You had resisted having a psychologist travel with your team for months, but now circumstances were different.

"You'll see the psychologist tomorrow and then you'll rest for a few days. Your rackets are off-limits," your physio said, your bag slung over her shoulder as she tried to lighten the mood. "Seriously, no tennis, not even for fun," she added quickly, when she saw you about to protest. "We'll focus on light gym sessions, nothing more. These are your days off, you'll do anything but tennis."

You nodded, feeling somewhat scolded, almost like a child.

As the tension eased, the reality of a few days off in London began to sink in.

"Leah," you muttered. 

"Huh? Did you say something?" Lucas turned to you when he heard your voice. You hadn't realized you had spoken aloud.

"What time is our flight?"

[fatkish]

The Avengers x Y/N

——————————————————————————

[(Y/n) is sick and has been throwing up and is in the living room with the others]

Y/n: I want Bobo

Sam: *handing y/n a bottle of water* who’s Bobo?

*Bucky walks in*

Bucky: okay I got you that soda you like to drink when you’re nauseous, I also got some applesauce and some warm blankets

Y/n: *making grabby hands towards Bucky* Bobo!

Bucky: *snuggles next to y/n* Bobo’s here.

Steve: *lays the warm blankets on y/n and Bucky before setting the soda and applesauce packets on the side table and settling next to y/n* c’mere doll. You want to ask Loki to read to you? Would that help?

Y/n: yes please

Steve: hey Friday, can you ask Loki to come down and read to y/n, they’re sick

Friday: of course

Tony: wait a minute, you’re telling me rock of ages reads to y/n?

Thor: of course, lady/sir y/n says that my brother has a soothing voice and he often reads books to them that they are too lazy to read themselves

*a few minutes later*

Loki: *walks in with a thick book under his arm and sits behind y/n* alright now, where did we last leave off…oh yes, here we go. *proceeds to start reading aloud*

Y/n: *snuggles into Steve, Loki and Bucky while holding a large bowl on their lap and closes their eyes*

——————————————————————————

Natasha: If you had too, what would you give up food or sex?

Tony: Sex.

Pepper: Seriously, answer faster.

Tony: I’m sorry honey, when they said sex I wasn’t thinking about sex with you.

Pepper: It’s like a giant hug.

Natasha: Y/n, what about you? What would you give up sex or food?

Y/n: Food.

Natasha: Okay, how about sex or dinosaurs?

Y/n: Oh my God it’s like the movie Sophie’s Choice.

Steve: What about you Thor? What would you give up sex or food?

Thor: Oh... um... I don’t know, it’s too hard.

Steve: No, you gotta pick one.

Thor: Um, food... no, sex... no, food... sex... food. Ugh! I don’t know! I want both! I- I want hot people on bread!

——————————————————————————

Thor: So… I’ve seen you’ve been spending a lot of time with Loki recently.

Y/n: No, Thor, it's not what it looks like, I swear.

Thor: Oh really? So no reason for me to be jealous?

Y/n: No! You’re the only one for me.

Thor: Is that so?

Y/n: I promise! Loki and I are just dating, okay? He’s my partner.

Thor: So there are no best-friends-feelings involved?

Y/n: You are still my one and only best friend! Loki is just the love of my life, nothing more!

Thor: But I’m still the platonic love of your life, right?

Y/n: Of course bro!

Thor: Bro...

Loki: What the-

——————————————————————————

*y/n is playing Amnesia the horror video game in their room*

Y/n: *is humming the jeopardy theme song*

Steve: *in the living room* has anyone seen y/n

Peter: uh yeah, they’re in their room, why

Steve: I’m just curious, haven’t seen them since yesterday

Y/n: *the amnesia monster appears and starts coming after them* OH FUCK! Oh no! No no no no no no stay away! I’m gonna die

Loki: *had snuck into their room and was hiding*

Loki: *cast an illusion to make himself appear as the monster from the game and slowly creeps up behind y/n*

Y/n: *managed to get away in the game* phew, I’m safe. *takes off their headphones*

Loki: *taps y/n’s shoulder*

Y/n: *looks behind them and screams* Ahhhhhhhh!

Y/n: * falls out of their chair and runs out of their room screaming*

The avengers are in the living room watching y/n run away screaming followed by Loki smiling

Tony: I seriously do not understand their relationship

Thor: Loki is simply getting back at y/n for hiding the Poptarts and blaming him for eating them

Thor: *realizes something* this one may be my fault

Steve: how so?

Thor: I may have gotten a bit upset and possibly thrown my brother out the window…

Bruce: *looks at Thor with that bewildered and slightly horrified look on his face*

Clint: remind me never to eat the last poptart

——————————————————————————

*Y/n, Peter, Scott and Thor are in the living room with pictures of the other Avengers on the TV screen*

*Natasha’s picture comes up*

Y/n: pass

Peter: respectfully pass

Scott: well I’m with Hope so pass

Thor: I still don’t get the point of this game

Scott: Thor, if you’d have sex with the person who’s picture is shown then you say smash, if not then you say pass

Thor: ah! Well lady Natasha is indeed quite the warrior! Smash

*the other avengers walk in*

*a picture of Clint comes up*

Y/n: not gonna lie, if he weren’t married, I’d totally smash

Peter: pass

Scott: pass

Thor: I too would smash

*clint looks shocked at the others but also blushes*

*a picture of Tony comes up*

Y/n: meh, pass. He’s like a dad

Peter: pass

Scott: he’s mean to me, pass

Thor: Smash!

*Tony rolls his eyes*

*a Picture of Steve pops up*

Y/n: Smash! Smash that ass

Peter: smash

Scott: I want him to smash me

Thor: I too would like to smash the captain

*steve is shocked*

*Loki walks in as his picture comes up*

y/n: Smashsmashsmashsmashsmashsmashsmashsmashsmash! SMASH!

Peter: pass?

Y/n: *looks at Peter bewildered* you’d pass on this glorious piece of art!? Look at him! Look at that beautiful face! Tell me you wouldn’t want to see this face breathless and lust driven. I don’t care if he’s on top or bottom, he can blow my back out any day.

Scott: *whispers* smash

Thor: y/n, you find my brother attractive?

Y/n: yesssssss!

Loki: *walks up behind y/n with a smug look on his face* is that so darling?

Y/n: *turns around and faints upon seeing Loki*

Loki: oh dear, are they dead?

——————————————————————————

*y/n and Peter are in the living room inside of a inflatable kiddie pool filled halfway with water wearing swimsuits. Both of them are wearing snorkels and goggles and are laying on their stomachs.*

Tony: *enters the room and sees Peter and y/n* what the hell are they doing?

Scott: I have no idea but honestly I feel the same

Steve: it’s -5 degrees Fahrenheit outside and these two are laying on their stomachs in a kiddie pool

Tony: how long have they been like that?

Scott: I don’t know, they were like this when I got here

Steve: and how long have been here?

Scott: thirty minutes give or take?

Tony: alright, that’s it, I’m pulling the plug on whatever this is

Clint: *from the vents* it’s fine! The kids are just trying to pretend it’s summer. They’re trying to pray the snow away and bring back tolerable temperatures

Steve: how long have they been doing this?

Clint: *from the vents* 7 hours

Tony: Jesus, I’m getting them out. *taps on y/n and peter’s shoulders* C’mon you two, out.

Peter: *lifts his head and removes the snorkel* but mister stark

Tony: no, no buts. Get out.

Peter and y/n: awwww *gets out*

Tony: and clean this up

——————————————————————————

*y/n comes running into the living room with a box that’s taped up*

Y/n: it’s here! It’s here! *sets the box on the coffee table and proceeds to open it*

Tony: what’cha got there kiddo?

Y/n: *pulls out an old creepy doll* This is Bella-Ann and she’s supposed to be haunted

Clint: yeah nope, I’m not staying anywhere near that thing

Tony: oh come on Legolas, it’s not real

Y/n: Bella killed her last owner, supposedly…

Steve: why would you want that?

Y/n: cause it only cost me 2 dollars and the seller promised it was haunted

Tony: yeah no, I’m calling the wizard. *calls Strange*

Dr. Strange: *picks up and is clearly annoyed* what is it this time?

Tony: y/n bought a supposedly haunted doll

Dr. Strange: and why are you calling me?

Y/n: uh, Tony?

Tony: not now y/n

Y/n: Tony!

Tony: what?!

Y/n and Steve: *hiding behind the couch*

Y/n: *whispers* the doll has a knife*

The doll: *is standing and holding a knife*

Tony: *to Strange* yeah there’s definitely something wrong with the doll, it’s got a knife and is currently chasing y/n*

Y/n: *running from the doll* help me!

Dr. Strange: *sighs and opens a portal* fine

——————————————————————————

*y/n comes skipping into a meeting*

Y/n: Balls in holes! Who wants to put ball in holes?!

Fury: excuse me?

Steve: language!

Y/n: aww ain’t anyone wanna play skee-ball, I’ve got tickets

Tony: y/n, we’re in a meeting

Sam: I’d love to but we’re kinda busy

Y/n: fine, I’ll go play with myself

Steve: you hear what you’re saying right?

Natasha: don’t bother, they’ve been hanging out with Deadpool

——————————————————————————

[peachkkuma]

ᰍִ ۫͟ ͟ ☁️ ִ✧ 𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐈𝐅𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐌𝐘 𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌 𝐋𝐈𝐅𝐄

hello, I’m Tiffany and this is my manifestation diary! If you haven’t read my previous diary entries yet, recently I’ve come to the realization that I’ve overcome all of my obstacles and there truly is nothing in my way except for me. So I made the decision yesterday to put my foot down and take the leap of faith, in other words, stop putting off manifesting my dream life because of fear. now this account will hold not just my diary entries but also the documentation of my journey to finally and seriously manifest my dream life.

╰┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄ ♡ ♡ ♡ 05.21.2024

let’s begin!

ㅤㅤㅤ𝐈. ⊰ ۫ 🐻‍❄️ ◌ ִ ੭ ˑ DEFINING THE OBJECTIVE

I want to make the end goal a bit more clear, the term dream life is both pretty straightforward and a bit vague. what would I like my dream life to include? how would my dream life make me feel? and ofc, I’m not just manifesting my dream life, I’m manifesting my dream self. what would my self concept be? how would I like to be?

tiffany’s dream life check list - what it means to live my dream life

attend my dream school

be 100% perfectly healthy (physically, mentally, emotionally, in every way basically)

have good eating habits and a good relationship with food

have perfect straight A pluses (revision to previous grades as well)

have the perfect friend group for me

healthy, super soft, hydrated, moisturized, smooth clear skin (and elimination of acne genes) (body + face)

perfect tangle free hair at all times, pretty, voluminous, bombshell hair

a healthy, perfect, loving relationship with everyone in my family

own a super cute and fluffy golden retriever puppy

high paying jobs for my parents <3

have a rolls royce with a pink exterior

grow taller

have every single clothing item I’ve saved on Pinterest

have my YouTube channel blow up

complete head to toe desired appearance

desired lifestyle

perfect eyesight

be super good at makeup and have all desired products

have a gorgeous bedroom

have a very active and lively social life

have the perfect, most ideal school, social, and home life

completely healed phone addiction

have a lot of desired hobbies that I’m very good at

have a fun and eventful life, always have fun plans and something going on

be on the right track career-wise

elimination of social anxiety and shyness

high self esteem and confidence

be more in touch with my culture

be a complete master at manifestation

huh, this is shorter and less serious than I thought it’d be, ig this was also a way of getting out of my own head. I thought manifesting my dream life would be a bit challenging for some reason, but ig a dream life rlly isn’t as complex as I thought it was. I mean now I feel silly, it’s just a dream life! nothing more than a lifestyle and a few personal fixes. I feel like I just got humbled.

𝐈𝐈. ʚ ⊹ ִ⏲️ 𑁯͟ ɞ THE OUTLINE

alright, I know what I want and I know how manifestation works. but just to make sure I don’t over complicate anything or things dont get confusing, I’ll create a sort of plan or outline. Little steps I can fall back on if I get a bit lost.

step number one we have covered, have a desire

step number two, put your foot down and make the firm decision that you have it. this decision is for good, nothing u do can take this decision away so don’t u dare worry about “ruining progress” or “messing up”— u’re better than that.

step number three, once you’ve decided it’s done, it’s done. the only and I mean it when I say only thing for you to do is to act like it. imagine you, the creator of your reality, making the decision that you have something only to then be like “is it coming?” “do I have it?” BE FR!! act like you have it, think like you have it, and see the world as if you have it— because you do. you decided you did, didn’t u? It’s ur reality, what u say, goes. and no, you’re not acting like u have it to get something out of the 3D, you’re doing it for your sanity. Because you deserve a break, you deserve relief, you deserve to be the you that has it all!! let yourself be in the sowf because why shouldn’t u be certain you have it? don’t entertain anything that says u don’t. getting in the sowf is easy, u deciding u have it is all the confirmation u need. there’s no reason for u to not be certain u have it.

sowf = knowing that u have it

step number four, optional not necessary but it’s really gonna help and is fun. immerse yourself in the new story. experience it!! have fun!! u finally got what u want, u finally r who u want to be, so choose to live that life!! try methods for the sake of fulfilling urself (never to make anything appear in the 3D, u know better, 3D desperation doesn’t get anybody anywhere.) try out methods to have fun and be more familiar with having what u want.

that’s it girl, that’s all u gotta do, that’s all u ever had to do. decide it, experience it, assume it. u don’t always have to feel “good” or “happy” u just have to know u have what u want, u just have to assume. the goal is to truly know that u have it, to be faced with the 3D and still know it in ur bones u have what u want. u deserve to trust urself like that, u deserve to be fulfilled like that, and u deserve those things from YOU not from the 3D. U deserve to feel secure in urself, don’t let ur security come from the 3D. loa bloggers mean it when they say the materialization is simply the cherry on top and I get that now. For me, it’s about being able to depend and trust urself, to rely on urself, and in that way everything else comes off the pedestal.

✉️ : ahhh I forgot to finish up this post yesterday but here it is!! I’m so excited!! part two to come soon ♡

[geordikisser]

a/n it’s been MONTHS since i’ve indulged in redacted content sooo ,, but i saw my old mafia post and felt a surge of creativity rush in my veins ❤️ lmk where i can pick up from as a ‘returning’ listener (^_^) i hope yall enjoy this! im planning to make a series off this hopefully cuz i love this silly southern man

REQ OPEN

pinned down | mafia!sam x hitman!darlin

synopsis: darlin’ is a hitman for the shawfia & very infamous amongst the underground for their,, work. sam happens to be their newer target. sam wasn’t born yesterday, he’s been forced to walk on eggshells ever since. until recently, the pack has decided to make amends with the clan & collaborate with their,, differences aside.

content contains! gender neutral language, mentions of violence, a shitty pun

location: dahlia, ca

the time sits at a steady 9:24pm as you’re angled atop an apartment complex from a distance, your breath struggling to stay still as well your aim. your eyes feel worn. to make matters worse, this position isn’t comfortable either, especially after recently injuring your side during earlier escapades, making it harder to hold your breath. intense static scratches at your ears, “hello. tank, is this picking up?” a familiar, rough voice leaks from the ear piece. “yup.” you respond shortly.

“noo! you forgot to say ‘over’ after!” you hear asher whine from the background of david’s ear piece. david lets out a disgruntled sigh as milo shushes asher quickly after. “that’s a walkie-talkie, dumbass!” he grumbles as asher pouts. “same difference.” asher mumbles under his breath.

you’ve only been here for an hour, yet it feels like hours have slipped by. sleep looms near, as your body fights the urge to stay alert. your mind, however, pushes it aside. “we’re gonna move in shortly, tank. be ready.” david says as you quickly acknowledge this.

at 9:27pm, you spot movement near the dumpsters. you notice david peers out—your childhood friend, alpha. behind him is milo, that same shit-eating grin on his face, and asher, looking as unserious as ever. your reticle tracks vincent’s head as he greets david. vincent is a pale, vampire with red gleaming from his eye. another figure, assumingely porter, lurks behind vincent, sharing an unsettling sense of commonality. you slowly await for your target. as you waited, you unscope from your position. confusion splattered on your face.

what.

this isn’t adding up, where is he?

suddenly, a rough, brittle hand shoves your neck against the roof’s edge. you use your elbows and pierce them within their ribs. weakened, you attempt to make a run for it but it seems they’re faster. that same hand grabs the back of your head & shoves your face to the floor, you are shortly apprehended as the pressure on your lower half increases, and you groan softly. the ear piece getting crushed from the impact.

“easy there. wouldn’t want to worsen your condition,” a low, familiar southern voice says. you turn your head as best you can to see who’s got you. an older man with a rugged appearance & dark brown hair, has you pinned. there he is. samuel collins himself.

“fuck,,” you grunt, trying to wriggle free, but his grip only tightens. “ack—“ you cry out softly as he smirks. “you’re the threat he was worried about? pathetic,” he scoffs, wounding your pride. “you’re nothing yourself, y’know,” you grumble weakly. you pant softly as your vision blurs; the pressure on your lower back is causing your wound stitches to come undone. you need sleep, and this injury, along with the impact on your head, is really getting to you.

“tsk tsk tsk… you’re washed. sleep easy, rider.” you feel a sudden ‘prick!’ on the back of your neck. despite your mind’s fight, it’s looses for the first time in forever. the rest of the world around you begins to fade, blurred edges creeping into your vision.

as you awaken, you take in the dimly lit interior of the car. the air is thick with tension as you realize you’re bound in the back seat. memories flood back, and your heart races, adrenaline surging through your veins. it’s surreal to acknowledge your predicament. the rugged man in the front seat glances back at you through the rear-view mirror.

“didn’t think i’d get my hands on you so easily,” he says, his southern drawl smooth and taunting. his dark hair falls over his shoulder, giving him a casual air that contrasts sharply with the situation. “you think this is funny, samuel?” you retort, trying to keep your voice steady despite the fear bubbling beneath the surface. “funny? maybe,” he replies, his gaze piercing. “but this ain’t just a joke. there are consequences to certain actions that even assassins have to learn.”

you shift in your seat, feeling the ropes dig into your wrists. despite the danger, there’s an allure in his demeanor that keeps you on edge. who & how was this possible? is the sleep deprivation choking you out now? is this all a nightmare you can’t awake from? “what do you want from me?” he leans back, eyes on the road still. his expression cold but intrigued. “not a damn thing.”

“so,, what’s this all for then.” you shoot back, a sour bitter tone lacing your words. “oh don’t act like the word doesn’t spread.” he sighs. “you were looking to blowing the head off my damn shoulders. i’m not new to this sort of thing, rider.”

the air between you crackles with unspoken tension, an intoxicating mix of rivalry and something deeper, something you can’t pin just yet. you remind yourself of the stakes here, one of them being your life. silence falls as you lean back in your seat, your mind hazy. rider huh.

the car suddenly parks as the gentleman upfront sighs heavily. “we’re here.” he grumbles softly as he unbuckles his seat belt and exits the car. shortly after, your door opens and those familiar hands grab ahold of you. you stumble pass the doors of this building weakly, the tranquil having lingering side effects on you physically. he practically had to drag you along after you entered the building. you get toss into a cold, empty, stone room.

“stay here.” he says, your brow furrows as you give a frown. “kinda hard to move anywhere else— asshole,,” you pant out practically. you feel your eyes shut tightly as the wound on your hip begins to reopen due to the impact. his eyes linger towards your abdomen, noticing the redness leaking through your shirt.

he steps closer to you, his face still unreadable. he just lets out a low sigh & he rolls up his sleeves. "i can't just leave you bleeding like that," he says, his voice a low rumble. he kneels beside you.

a faint, warm glow emanates from his hands as he loosens the rope near your abdomen to lift up your shirt slightly, revealing the shitty stitches you done yourself. "hold still now," he murmurs, his voice softer than before. "this isn't going to be pleasant, but it'll fix you up."

“i think me planning to kill you is just as unpleasant.” you spat to him as he grumbled some curses lowly in response. the glow intensifies, and you can feel the edges of the wound knitting back together. it's still tender, but the bleeding has stopped. after a few minutes, he pulls his hands away, the glow fading. after analyzing his work his eyes meets yours and for a fleeting moment, you see a flicker of something in his eyes? – deep in the depths of his pupils lies something unintelligible. "there," he says, tightening the ropes once again, yet this time they seemed looser than before. "that should do it. here i thought i was supposed to be the injured one.” he grumbles as he lifts himself up from besides you and walks towards the exit.

“that southern hospitality, huh?” you grin. before he can answer, his phone rings. he gives you quite the side eye and slowly closes the door as a ‘boop’ follows that closing of the door. “hello,,? yes this is sam.” you hear from behind the door. you feel yourself doze off right after, as the conversation drowns out from your ears.

[momoswifee]

The Fall

Pairing: Mina x fem!reader

Synopsis:  "Have you ever gotten everything you ever wanted? No, but I once got very close."

Warnings: Grief, death mention, overworking, depression, alcohol consumption, isolation.

w/c: 2997

A/n: Hi!! I'm sorry for taking so long but yay! final chapter!! I'm so happy I finally finished this, I hope everyone who read all of this has enjoyed it, and thank you all for supporting me on this and for reading it!! I'm sorry if this feels rushed by the end, I really tried to write a good ending but yeah. I hope you guys enjoy it!

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4

“Mina, you really didn’t have to...” Your father says, smiling at the box she had brought.

“They’re your favourite, I have a shop near my apartment that sells them so it really isn’t that big of a deal…” she dismisses, handing him the expensive box of chocolates. 

“They were her favourite too…” He whispers, smiling at the thought, as he looks down at it. The contrary feeling washes through her. Every time she walks down the street she instinctively looks at it and wishes to go in, to get one of those ridiculously expensive boxes, bring it home and get drunk on your memory. 

Two years had passed, two whole years without you, and she felt like it was yesterday that they took you to the operating room and took you away from her. She had kept her word and had come to your parent's house for dinner occasionally, to remember you, to let them see her as an extension of their kid. 

As soon as she went through the door, a big white ball of fur almost tackled her to the ground. “Hey honey” she says, laughing as Otis excitedly pushes himself onto her, trying to get close. “I missed you too.”

Three months after your passing, Mina had already gone on the press tour, she had already attended the premier, everything to do with her most recent movie was done, and she had nothing to occupy her mind with anymore.

She only had herself, in her big empty apartment to worry about. Otis had been sent to your parents when she started the press tour, she couldn’t take care of him properly. She had never gone to pick him up after.

Once she was home, she could barely get out of bed, she didn’t talk to anyone, she didn’t answer any calls. She just laid there and thought about how you weren’t with her. At one point she did think about going to get Otis back, he was the only thing she had left of you. But as soon as she got in the car, she realized that she hadn’t been good to him, to the only thing you had left behind. If she wasn’t being good to him, she didn’t deserve him. He had gotten older, he was 10 now, and she had met him when he was 3, but he still greeted her the same.

“You’ve been working a lot,” Your mom starts, once they’re all at the table. “Have you been taking care of yourself?”

“I have a pretty good agent,” Mina replies, laughing, trying to show that she is happy with it, that it is something that she’s doing because she knows it’s good for her career. “I’ve been offered pretty good opportunities, I’m just trying to make the best out of it.”

The truth is, she took on the most challenging jobs possible so that she never had to think about you more than she had too. She needed to keep you out because it had been two years and if she heard a sound of a leave being crunched while she was walking she would automatically think that it was you who was coming to her. If she heard someone knock at her door, she would think that it was you who was knocking. Every time she went to the supermarket and decided to buy oranges, she would freeze because it reminded her of your citrus smell, she decided to just not consume oranges again. The mere mention of hockey would almost send her into a spiral. 

She hated that she would spend more time remembering you, than she had spent by your side, so, she focused on everything that had nothing to do with you. She would become another person, she would impersonate the character, she would absorb their essence and forget you. 

After lunch, Mina offered to take Otis on a walk, to go into the town, maybe get some groceries if needed. “Have you been having fun, buddy?” She asks, receiving an almost enthusiastic bark from him. She missed him, but she knew it was for the best.  

She hadn’t been to the town for a while, now usually her parents went to her, they knew she wanted to avoid it. At maximum, she would go to only their house or your parents and then leave. She honestly surprised herself when she offered to take Otis on a walk to town.

Once she had reached the center, what she saw first was your old shop, now turned bakery. She remembered the talk with your parents, how it was just you who was working there, there really was no need to keep it open, it would be best to leave the spot open for another business. 

The little bakery looked good, she got curious. She got closer. Inside were little cakes, cookies of all forms, pastries of all kinds, everything you used to love. A little tug from Otis prompted her to slightly look to her left, and there Jihyo was. She felt her heart stop. She had let her hair grow, her face had more set features, her smile lines still intact. She was laughing with some friends. She looked happy, so she did what she did best, she ran away. 

☾

“So we have a scheduled photoshoot until 4 pm and right after that you’ll be doing that interview because of your most recent nomination…”

Oh yeah, the nomination. Her role had been moving to many, so she had been told, it had been good enough to be considered for one of the biggest awards there were: an Oscar. 

“The driver will be there to pick you up after the shoot, and I’ll meet you at the script read ok?” Her manager, Miyawaki Sakura, an angel sent from heaven, said. 

Sakura, although a bit younger than Mina, had always been there for her, and more recently, had been trying to help her skyrocket her career as well as keep her healthy. After she had heard what had happened with her last manager, the over working, the whole episode where she went to the hospital, all she wanted was for Mina to have a safe and healthy environment at work, while still achieving her career goals. 

While she was being photographed, watched by people she didn’t know, all she could do was pose, blank her mind, just do whatever she was told. While she was being interviewed she did more of the same, answered the questions simply, always showing gratitude, always with her practised smile plastered on her face. 

“So Mina! First, congrats on the nomination!” The interviewer kindly says. “I’m sure this feels like a dream! I’m sure you’re getting closer to everything you’ve ever wanted right?”

She smiled politely and agreed with a nod. She continues to answer the questions with an almost excited tone, with a beaming smile. But in the back of her mind, she only heard a series of “no’s” being said right after the kind woman in front of her had asked if she had got closer to everything she had ever wanted. If she had asked this in the early days of her career, she would’ve said yes and meant it. If this had been asked before you had been taken away from her, she would’ve said yes and meant it. Now she said this half-heartedly, only wishing to go back to when she actually had everything, when she had you. 

☾

“She looked happy…” Mina says, a lingering smile on her face as she dusts off the leaves that had fallen on her. “I know you would be disappointed in me for not going up to her, but what could I possibly say to her after all this time?” 

You don’t answer, obviously, you’re not there. There’s only your gravestone with the flowers Mina had brought with her. Purple Hyacinths. 

“I miss you,” she whispers, picking out the little brown leave that rested on top of the stone. You loved autumn. The colours, the leaves, the nights with the soft rain sounding out. She was glad you had been put beneath such a big tree, that now displayed such fiery colours. 

After almost forgetting his presence, Otis makes himself known by huffing as he lays down his head on Mina’s lap, as he stares at the stone in front of them. 

All of this is way too familiar to Mina, taking Otis to see you had become a common outing, and she wishes it hadn’t. She longed for the days that he would run through the orange and red leaves happily while you held her hand and admired the seasonal sight. She hated having to come here with Otis and watch him slowly walk through those same coloured leaves, almost as if he was dreading having to face your grave, just as she was. 

☾

“Otis give it back!” 

Mina felt strange. She felt warm. The sun was hitting her just right, she felt so good. The breeze was hitting her face gently, the sound of splashing water, the birds above her, the branches of the trees swaying with the light breeze. It was perfect. 

“Well, I guess he just doesn’t want to play catch.”

A voice. Oh and what a sweet voice it was. 

“Hm, I’m sure just needs a little break.” She says, smiling instinctively at the person in front of her. The sun blinding her eyes, just letting her see the silhouette. 

“In the meantime I’ll keep you company” It says, sitting right next to her, offering her a smile. Your smile. 

You’re there. You’re there with her. 

She touches your hand, it’s warm. She can feel the heat travel through her body. 

Her right hand, as if gaining a mind of its own, goes straight to your face and her fingers trace your soft features. 

You look at her in amusement, already used to this kind of behaviour. Your smile is quickly replaced by a frown. “Mina, what’s wrong?”

Only then does she notice that she was crying. She doesn’t know why. Everything was fine. 

“I don’t know” Mina laughs, wiping her tears, leaning in to briefly kiss your soft warm lips. 

Everything was perfect. 

“Want to join me in the water?” You whisper into her lips, her hand at the back of your neck, not letting you get away from her that fast. 

The sun was so comforting against her back. She no longer felt that weird sensation. She was good. 

“I think I should stay here for now…” She whispers. 

“Ok.” You get up, gently taking her hand away from yours. “I’ll be waiting for you.” 

You send her a small, sad, smile as you leave, going in Otis direction. 

Suddenly a big thud is heard and Mina jolts awake in a cold sweat. She notices that the left side of the bed is empty. 

“Yn?” She quietly calls. Maybe you had gone to the bathroom. Before she thinks about getting up, she looks over to your side of the bed, and at your night stand, lay your dusty glasses. 

 She hated these dreams. She never knew they were dreams, it felt like she was back with you again. She couldn’t appreciate those fictitious moments because she never remembered that you were gone when she entered that dream state. 

You never left her head, you were constantly present, but in the past few weeks, you had come to see her more often as soon as she fell asleep. She would not be able to lie and say that she had been more excited lately to follow a more strict sleep schedule, it was, however, torture, waking up and not having you by her side. 

☾

Her throat burned. Every step she took felt like she was going to fall face down on the dirt. The bottle in her hand getting lighter with each step she took.

“I hate you” She spits out as soon as she sees you. “I hate you. I hate that I won one of the most prestigious awards there are and still the only thing I had on my mind was your name.”

Y/n, Y/n, Y/n, Y/n

It was all that was going through her head as she delivered her heartfelt speech. 

“Why can’t you just let me go,” she brokenly whispers as she kneels next to you. Her gold coloured dress now stained with dirt. “It feels like you haunt me, I can never live just a day without thinking about you, and it kills me” 

She says this, knowing that she doesn’t let herself move on. She left your shared house, she left your clothes, your precious peach trees behind. She even left Otis. 

She did however bring your glasses and pose them on a night stand next to her bed, she still wears her engagement ring around her neck, she still hasn’t thrown in the trash your little shampoo bottle you kept at her house, nor all your expired skincare products. Every morning she would wake up, gently massage her face with her precious serum while staring at yours. 

“Some days I wish I had never met you,” The burn down her throat now had become familiar. “I wish I hadn’t met you, so I could live a happy life.” 

Right after those words left her mouth she feels tears streaming down her face. It’s all a lie, the best thing that had ever happened to her was you. It wasn’t the stupid award she had just won, it was the life she had envisioned with you. 

Finally, she starts to feel like her knees are burning so she decides to just rest her body on the stone.

“You promished you wouldn’t leave” she slurs out. “I can’t do this without you…” 

Before she can even try to say anything again, she feels someone’s hand on her shoulder. She allows herself to think that it is you. That you had finally come to take her with you. 

“Mina-” 

Momo. 

“Mina, what are you doing here?” The oldest asks, taking in the sight in front of her. Mina resting against your tombstone, her once golden dress now stained with dirt, her make-up completely ruined. 

“I missed her.”

What was she supposed to say? That she came to yell at you to stop haunting her life? That she lied through her teeth when she had told her cousin about how well she was doing, how excited and anxious she was to learn about the award when in truth she couldn’t care less? 

Thankfully, Momo didn’t press for answers, she just took the bottle from her hand and helped her up, promising to take Mina home and helping her get better. 

On her way home, all she wanted to do was to beg Momo to take her back. She just wanted to be with you. 

☾

Momo hadn’t left her side since her escapade to see you. She stayed with her and kept her company, not wanting to see her baby cousin so distraught and alone. While she did appreciate the caring nature of the oldest girl, all she needed was to be alone. She had already asked Sakura if any job offers or any interesting roles had come up. She just wanted to get back to normal. 

She hadn't been sleeping properly, always too afraid of seeing you in her dreams. The stress of not having any work also didn't help, she felt useless. She had already, deep cleaned the house, re-arranged her closet, bought new curtains, and installed them herself. She needed to keep busy.

“Momo you really don’t have to stay here,” She sighs out, already tired of this recurring conversation. 

“I’m not leaving you alone. Mina, no one knew where you were, you just vanished. Sakura called me worried sick!” Momo exclaims. “I’m not trying to suffocate you, I just want to know that you’re alright.”

“And I am,” She says, trying to sound as reassuring as possible. “It was a moment of weakness, I’ve been missing her for a while." She stops. "I’m alright.”

"I-" Momo starts sighing. "You've been trying to keep busy, but have hardly slept. Try to sleep," she says, getting up from her seat. "You must be tired. I have to go to work now, but I'll be back when you wake up alright?"

She thinks about Momo's suggestion after she leaves. The truth is, she doesn't want to sleep. She's just afraid she will see you again in her dreams and not be able to remember and not appreciate her moments with you.

Unfortunately, sleep is stronger than her and she is knocked out before she knows it.

☾

"Are you sure you don't want to get into the water? It's actually pretty nice!"

She remembered everything.

There you were, inside the lake, softly smiling at her, waiting for her response.

She gets up and walks to you. She sits on the pier and lets her feet soak in the water.

It does feel nice.

Your hands go to hold her legs, gently rubbing them.

"I missed you." You whisper as you look up to her.

Her hand goes straight to your face. She can feel your skin. Every bump, every almost-healed acne scar. She can feel you.

"I'm here now." Mina says, looking into your eyes. The eyes she had fallen in love with.

And then she jumps into the water to be with you. All she feels is warmth. She feels your hands holding her waist and pulling her closer. She opens her eyes and sees that you had dipped with her. It reminds her of when you used to kiss her underwater, so she goes and brushes her lips on yours, melting into your touch when you pull her closer to properly feel her lips on yours.

She's happy, and she doesn't even think about ever going up to breathe.

She's with you at last.

[raysrays]

Crimson Guardian NSFW

Kyojuro Rengoku x Wife! Reader

18+ MDNI!🚫

CW: NSFW Content, minor angst, controlling/manipulating behavior, fluff-ish.

Y/N POV

Scenario : You've recently married into the respected Rengoku family, and while you continue your work as a demon slayer, life starts to get a bit messy. Balancing your duties becomes a real challenge as you navigate the challenges of married life. You find yourself having to make tough choices just to keep your husband happy, all while debating to stay true to yourself and your calling as a demon slayer.

Marriage. Truly one of the most beautiful milestones a couple can achieve. Marrying Kyojuro has undoubtedly been my greatest accomplishment.

I still remember it vividly, as if it were yesterday. Surrounded by friends, family, and core members, we pledged our lives to each other. Though it wasn't the most glamorous wedding ever seen, it was enough. Because really, all I've ever wanted was Kyojuro, and now, finally, I have him.

For the first few months, our marriage was nothing short of perfect. I moved into the Rengoku estate with Kyojuro's family, assisting Shenjuro with chores and gradually trying to get closer to Shinjuro. Though I'm not sure how successful I was.

It was only six months in that I realized being a demon slayer and a wife wasn't as easy as I thought.

Before our relationship, I was Kyojuro's Tsuguko. He was simply my mentor, and I trained hard under him to get myself where I am today. It was later down the road that we noticed each other's lingering gazes, the occasional flirting, and all the other subtle hints of wanting to be more.

Kyojuro was strong, and I knew he wanted a family, but I simply wasn't ready to give up training and my duties as a demon slayer just yet.

Every day, after helping out around the estate, I would hike over to HQ and pick up where I had left off the previous day, training until the late hours of the night. I would often come home exhausted, which usually caused Kyojuro to worry. As much as I reassured him, he never seemed fully convinced.

Now, here I was, sitting at the dinner table with Kyo across from me. It was a rare occasion for us to eat alone together like this. We made small talk about our day and training, and then he finally stopped eating and put his silverware down.

"Little Flame, I think it’s time we have a serious discussion about the way things have been as of late,” his usual happy smile seemed almost nervous.

I set my spoon down on my plate, giving him my full attention.

“Yes? What is it?”

“Sunflower, you have been working so hard as of late, and it’s quite admirable. I truly admire your dedication to the demon slayer corps and your training!”

“But…?” I ask, confused.

“But… since our marriage, I’ve found myself in constant worry over you. Every time you go on a mission without me, I have to painfully wait for your return. Not knowing whether or not you'd be injured or even-“

“Dead?” I finish.

I saw his body tense up at the word.

“Yes, my love. Dead. I cannot even bear the thought of you never returning to me. It pains me to my core,” he seemed so sad, so worried about me.

I know Kyojuro, I know he didn’t mean anything bad by what he was saying. However, I felt almost offended. He too was a slayer, a hashira. I also had to deal with the fear of him returning with serious injuries or even never returning at all.

Did he believe me to be incapable of protecting myself? He was the very one who trained me. Even though I knew Kyojuro was strong, much stronger than me, it just felt like he lacked faith in me.

“You don’t think I’m strong enough anymore? Do you think marriage has made me soft?” I realized I might have come off a little too harsh, but my emotions were getting the best of me.

His expression seemed surprised, but I could tell. While he may not have used those words, that was definitely the gist of it.

I watched him get up from his place at the table and walk over to me. He pulled my chair out from under the table, then grabbed my hands and kneeled down in front of me.

His big, bright eyes were now staring up at me.

“You are one of the strongest people I know, my love. I know how capable you are, but please remember…”

He brought my hands to his lips, kissing them softly.

“You are my wife before you are a demon slayer. I cannot risk sending you off only for you to never return.”

I could practically hear the desperation and love in his voice.

Kyojuro wasn’t someone who would usually discourage anyone from pursuing something they're passionate about. So if he was now, I knew that it’s something he’s been internally battling with for a while.

“What about you? Is it not the same? What about my worry? What if you never come home to me?” I could feel my face start to heat up. Everything he was saying seemed to come from genuine care, but it felt so hypocritical.

“I am a Hashira, my little flame. I have a certain responsibility you do not have to burden yourself with. I shall retire soon, in just a few years. So please…”

There’s no way he’d ask me-

“Please retire your sword, Y/N. Please stay home for me. Please allow my heart to rest easy knowing you'll be here waiting for me whenever I shall return,” his voice was pleading.

I felt so conflicted. I’d worked so hard. All of these years of training to hopefully become a high-ranking swordsman myself. However, at the same time, I never stopped to consider my romantic life and how being married would affect things.

We both sat there in silence for a few moments, and I finally rose up from the chair, pulling him up off his knees along with me.

I looked up at him, reaching my hand up to rest on his cheek.

“Kyojuro, you are the only one I would retire my sword for. So please promise me, promise me you will always come home to me. Until the day you yourself retire.”

“I promise you, Sunflower. As long as I know you are safe and waiting for me, there is no demon that could ever keep me away.”

I felt his hand on my lower back and the other holding up my chin.

We both leaned in, our lips meeting in a tender kiss.

This kiss started so gently, so lovingly at first. As we pulled away for just a moment, staring into each other’s eyes, we realized how long it had been since we really enjoyed each other’s company.

After that, the kiss only grew hotter and more passionate.

Kyojuro swept me off my feet and carried me straight to our shared room at the back of the estate, the most private spot. It seemed fitting for newlyweds, after all.

As he gently laid me back on the soft futon, I couldn't help but stay focused on him. Kyojuro was simply beautiful. His hair, his eyes, his body, everything about him looked like he was perfectly sculpted.

My admiration was interrupted as I felt him begin to kiss me again. One of his hands traveling to my breasts, gently squeezing it.

The other massaging my thigh.

I feel him pull away from me starting to kiss on my neck traveling all the way down to my chest.

Kyojuro had always known my weak points and how to make me say yes to his every request. He knew my body just as well as I did, and now he was taking full advantage of that knowledge.

I could feel him pressing against me as he moved his hand down my body, lightly touching me. I wrapped my arms around his neck and pulled him closer to me, wanting more.

Then I heard, Kyojuro's soft voice whisper these words, almost as a demand. "Enjoy this little flame, you've kept me waiting far too long.”

As soon as those words left his lips, I felt myself begin to relax. His movements were so gentle, so careful, so loving.

His fingers trailed down my sides, sending chills through my body. His hands went back up and caressed my neck, making me tremble. He kissed me once more, and I melted into him.

It was as if he had cast a spell over me, and all I could do was obey him. He was completely in control of me.

After a moment, I felt him move back down and remove my underwear, revealing my already wet entrance. His hand slid between my thighs, and I couldn't help but let out a moan as his finger slipped inside me. He was gentle at first, just barely grazing me, but it felt incredible.

"Is this okay?" he asked softly, his breath hot against my ear.

I nodded but I could tell that wasn’t enough for him.

“Use your words my love.” He demanded sweetly.

“Yes Kyo, it’s perfect.” I said, my voice trembling.

He leaned down and kissed my lips before pulling back again, smiling at me.

"I want to be inside of you," he whispered, his voice filled with desire.

"Please," I begged.

He removed his fingers, replacing them with his cock, his tip rubbing against my clit.

"Good girl," he whispered, thrusting into me.

I threw back my head, arching my back and digging my nails into his shoulders. His movements were slow and deep at first and then they became faster and harder, and soon my whole body began to shake. I couldn't stop the moans from escaping my lips, and I couldn't help but beg for more.

When he starts to speed up I know we are both about to reach our limit.

I feel his fingers interlock with mine and his lips pressing against mine again, but this time, he wasn’t just kissing me, he was also letting his teeth graze my bottom lip.

He was biting down hard enough to draw blood.

We were both so close and we were both trying to hold back but we couldn’t anymore. We were finally going to let ourselves release.

I was the first one to let myself go, arching my back as I moaned his name.

Then he followed not too far behind.

After he finishes, we just lay there for a bit catching our breath.

“I love you, Y/N,” he finally breathed out, turning his head to look at me.

I turned to face him as well. “I love you, Kyojuro.”

After that, the two of us drifted off in each other's arms for the rest of the night.

The next morning when I awoke, I was still trapped wrapped in Kyojuro's arms.

After a bit of struggling, I managed to maneuver my way out and make it to the kitchen.

There I saw Senjuro, who was already preparing breakfast for everyone.

“Good morning, Sen,” I greeted with a yawn.

“Oh, good morning, Y/N!”

“I'm almost finished with breakfast. Is my brother awake yet?”

“He should be awake soon. We both have to see Master Kagaya today,” I said, rubbing my eyes.

He stopped to turn and look at me.

“Did something bad happen?” he asked nervously.

Poor Senjuro always assumes the absolute worst in every situation. Well, I suppose in this case it’s somewhat understandable.

“No, Sen, nothing's wrong. Kyojuro and I are just going to inform Master Kagaya of my retirement. That’s all.”

He gave a puzzled look.

“Retirement? Why? Haven’t you been training for years to improve your sword skills to move up in the ranks?” he asked.

He was right. I know I shouldn’t go back on my word to Kyojuro, but I really was having second thoughts about my decision.

Senjuro could probably sense my doubt because his next response was:

"If this is something that you're not sure of, then you shouldn't do it. If you have doubts about this decision, then maybe you're not ready for retirement just yet."

His words really struck a chord with me.

Maybe he was right.

Before I could ponder that any further, Kyojuro had made his way into the kitchen.

"Good morning! How are my two favorite people doing?" he said cheerfully.

I smiled.

"Morning, Kyo. Did you sleep well?"

"I did, actually. Thank you, little flame," he walked over to me, giving me a kiss.

I could feel my chest tightening, nervous about what was to come.

The whole time at breakfast, I felt so spaced out. All I could hear was Kyojuro and Senjuro talking and the occasional grunt from Shinjuro drinking away at the table.

“Sunflower? Are you okay?”

I was snapped out of my daze by Kyojuro waving a hand in front of my face. All three of them were staring at me, kind of concerned.

“Oh, yeah, I’m fine. Sorry.”

I shook my head a little and looked down at my plate. I felt bad for Senjuro going through all that trouble to cook, but I simply couldn’t eat right now.

After we finished breakfast, Kyojuro and I headed out.

The thought that this would be the last time wearing my uniform with my sword by my side was so weird and almost uncomfortable to me.

I knew that this day would come eventually, but I always hoped in the back of my mind that Kyojuro would be the one to retire before me.

I had been so focused on training and my duties as a demon slayer that it had never even occurred to me how my marriage would affect everything.

I was now a wife. My first priority should be the estate, and helping Shinjuro while he was in his state of grief, and being there for Senjuro as well.

It wouldn’t be right of me to go against my husband's wishes either. Especially after the intimate moment we shared. Right?

As we made it to HQ waiting to speak with the master I felt my heartbeat racing inside of me.

The room was quiet, I could feel Kyojuro’s eyes lingering on me but I couldn’t bring myself to face him right now.

Both mine and Kyojuro’s attention was shifted as we heard the door open and Master Kagaya entered the room.

"Rengoku, Y/N. It's a pleasure to see you both," Kagaya said, his face as warm as ever.

"It's wonderful to see you too, Master," I replied.

"So what brings you two here? It seems urgent, judging by the fact that you came in so early."

"It is very urgent," Kyojuro began.

He then proceeded to explain our conversation from the night before, and how I was considering retiring.

"Y/N, this is a big decision, and it's important that you feel comfortable and confident in it. Do you think you can fully retire, knowing you won't be able to assist the demon slayers as you are now?" Kagaya asked.

I looked at the master and then glanced at Kyojuro. He seemed so proud and happy that we were here. I could feel the warmth radiating from him.

But, I could also sense the worry in his expression. He was nervous, scared almost.

I couldn't do that to him.

"Master, I've spent most of my life training for the opportunity to become a hashira. To serve the demon slayer corps and protect those who cannot protect themselves. But...I'm no longer just a demon slayer. I'm also a wife, and as such, I think it's only right that I focus on that," I answered.

The room fell silent for a moment.

"If you truly feel this is the right choice, then we support you, Y/N," Kagaya finally spoke.

"Thank you, Master," I bowed.

"Thank you so much, Master! I will never

forget your kindness!" Kyojuro bowed as well.

The two of us left the room and started to head out.

As we exited, we ran into a few of the other Hashira, who asked us about what we had gone to see Master Kagaya about.

They too seemed surprised and a little concerned when Kyojuro explained to them that I would be retiring so soon.

I could tell some of their reactions to the news annoyed Kyojuro. Shinobu used the word “controlling,” and you could see his smile almost falter.

"Controlling" was never a word I would have used to describe my husband. He just loves me, right? He wants to protect me. There's no way my sweet and kind Kyo would ever do anything to control or manipulate me.

Right?

Part Two

[penkura]

In My Heart

Note: I know I literally just did Penguin calming down his child yesterday but Law doing the same took over my mind, I'm so sorry I just had to do this today. I really hope you all enjoy this!

Your son Rosinante was an easy baby, he was quiet and would sleep quickly, his first full night of sleep happened only a month after he'd been born. You and Law could calm him down instantly when he started to fuss and cry, and that was nearly six years ago, he’s still easy to calm down when he’s upset, all you have to do is gently speak to him and he’s perfectly fine.

Your daughter Cora, however, was not as easy to calm down. She takes much more attention and time to quiet when she starts to cry, even Rosi trying to help her relax, though he keeps his hands over his ears as she wails when she’s upset. He’s happy to have a baby sister, but he never though she’d be so loud.

One night when Cora is six months old, she’s been inconsolable for hours, she’s been in pain more recently from teething, keeping all of you awake until well past one in the morning from her crying. Rosi has taken to having you hold him while he keeps his ears covered and eyes closed, trying to fall asleep, as Law holds and gently bounces Cora, though it does nothing to alleviate her wailing, even when he moves her up to his shoulder, she still grips his shirt and cries.

Law brings Cora over to your bed with him, sitting beside you and watching Rosi hide his face in your sleep shirt, eyes shut tight while you stroke his hair and try to shush your daughter yourself. You start to hum and rub her back gently which causes her wailing to quiet just a bit and gives Law an idea on how to calm her and get Rosi to sleep too.

“Here, I’ve got an idea,” Law sets his free hand on your shoulder briefly before putting it on Cora’s back, clearing his throat a bit which causes you to perk up and smile, “Come stop your crying, it’ll be all right. Just take my hand, hold it tight.”

While Law sings and Cora starts to settle, Rosi uncovers his ears, opening his eyes just a bit to watch his father and sister. You kiss the top of your son’s head, causing him to wrap his arms around your neck and lay his head on your chest, finally getting the quiet he needs to sleep too while you lean your head on Law’s shoulder.

“Cause you’ll be in my heart. Yes, you’ll be in my heart. From this day on, now and forever more.”

It’s been a while since you’ve heard Law sing, he’s normally shy about it even around you, but he’d started doing it more when Rosi was a baby, and now realizes he’d had the answer to calming down Cora from the start. She slowly settles completely, staring up him for a few minutes before her little eyes close and breaths even out, finally falling asleep and forgetting why she was even crying in the first place.

By the time he finishes the song, Law notices all three of you have fallen asleep, you still holding Rosi while leaning against him and Cora has slightly loosened her grip on his shirt. It makes Law smile as he leans back against the headboard of your bed, closing his eyes to try and sleep as well. To know the three of you are so comfortable around him, that you’re his own little family and you all feel more than safe enough to sleep easily, Law’s not sure he ever expected such things to happen, or to become a reality after everything he’d been through.

He knows his family would have loved you, that they and Corazon would’ve been absolutely in love with your children too. You’ve told him they’d all be so happy to see how he’s grown up, everything he’s built on his own, and now with you.

He's sure his family and Corazon are proud of what he’s become.

[c-e-d-f]

@fulcrum-021 got me thinking about a meet the parents Kalluzeb fic yesterday, and I wrote a bit of one today! Idk if it’s something I’ll continue, but I like what I have so far.

Cw for referenced homophobia and xenophobia

“What’s up, Alex?” Zeb asks when he walks into the common area.

Alexsandr realizes he’s been frowning somewhat severely at his ‘pad and endeavors to set his expression back to indifference when he looks up. “I’ve received a message from my parents. They would like—“

“You have parents?” Bridger blurts. Zeb barks a startled laugh.

“Yes, Bridger, I am one of the countless humans across the galaxy with parents,” Alexsandr deadpans.

Bridger flushes. “No, I just meant, like. You’ve never mentioned them before!”

“Kid’s got a point,” Zeb says.

Indeed he does. “Zeb, may I speak with you in private?”

Zeb narrows his eyes. He’s always known Alexsandr too well. “Sure. Ezra, you come in my room while we’re talking and you’re toast.”

“Ewww.” Bridger wrinkles his nose. “I wouldn’t want to risk seeing you guys kissing or something.”

“Good.” Zeb turns and heads back towards their room, and Alex follows him. “What’s up?” he asks once they’re alone.

“I wasn’t lying. My parents did message me. They want me to come home for Life Day.”

“Ya don’t sound too happy about that.”

“Yes, well, there is a reason I haven’t spoken of them until now.”

“I figured. You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want, you know.”

“I know,” Alexsandr says. He lays a hand on Zeb’s thigh. “But I want to. I would like you to know about them in some capacity.”

“I’m listening.”

“My parents were… displeased to hear of my defection. My father’s political position protected them from any fallout, as did their renunciation of association with me, but—“

“Hold on. You’re sayin’ they disowned you?”

Alexsandr winces. “After a fashion, yes. Apparently, though, they’ve recently declared themselves neutral and have taken refuge on our family’s land on Alderaan. I spent quite a bit of time there in my childhood, before the outbreak of the war. I suspect my rather spectacular defection put them in a stressful position on Coruscant, disavowal or otherwise.”

“And now they want you home for the holidays.”

“That’s what he said, yes.”

“Well, I guess there’s only one question, then.” Alexsandr cocks his head, and Zeb continues, “Do you want to go back?”

“I… don’t know. On the one hand, they are my parents, and they are getting old. This could be my last chance at reconnection. On the other hand…”

“All that other slag.”

“Quite.”

Zeb hesitates for a moment, clearly considering his next words. “What if I went with ya?”

Alexsandr’s stomach drops. “I would never ask that of you, Garazeb.”

“Well, you’re not asking. I’m offering.”

“My parents are somewhat outspokenly xenophobic.”

“I kinda figured. Maybe that would be good, get ‘em all riled up.”

Alexsandr finds himself laughing despite the situation. “My father will despise you.”

“Good! I love bein’ despised.”

“That is how we got our start, isn’t it?”

“Damn straight. Speaking of, they know ‘bout us?”

“No. I haven’t had contact with them since before we sorted ourselves out, and I’m not sure what I would say.”

“Do they know you’re gay?”

“My mother always suspected. My father… I don’t know. Neither of them are particularly fond of same-sex relationships.”

“They sound like real joys to be around. No wonder you came out to be such a ray of sunshine.”

[acanth3]

The Sound Of The Stars English Translation

EPISODE 11/14

A Few Days Later Back at COSPRO

HiMERU: Now, please start.

Mika and Jun: …..

Rinne: Great job, just like that, Mi~tan…

Why is Jun-kun doing it together with him?

Niki: He realized how important it is to know english while working abroad so he was studying with Kage-kun recently

Jun is so serious~ 

Kohaku: I mean it is convenient to know english to work with fans

Niki: I think you should be able to tell what’s going around based on the mood. If you showed me a menu on a table, I can just order pointing with my finger.

Rinne: Well, I don’t think I’d be able to speak english studyin’ like Niki.

Instead , we should take a picture of their hardwork, right?

Kohaku: No need to worry, their picture was already taken

Rinne: There’s only 3 days left till the space exam, Mi-tans grade’s have been growing little by little but haven’t finished yesterdays work yet…

How far will Mi-tan go durin’ this rush period? It’s really somethin’ to see♪

HiMERU: Stop being noisy, Amagi. They are taking an exam, be quiet. 

Rinne: Oops, Merumeru don’t get angry, you’ve entered this room like a teacher. If you put on glasses you'll look like a beautiful heroine in a manga?

Kohaku: He said don’t be noisy. Shut up for a little while 

Rinne: Even if ya say that, we still have our roles in Crazy:B, yea?

This whole space travel project and Valkyrie becomin’ major celebrities linked to COSPRO

We’re close to them, we have to make a documentary it’s why i’m recording.

If it’s so quiet, and don’t say anything, our viewers will get bored, right?

HiMERU: Huh….this kind of thing. Just edit it later and add narration, problem solved. 

Anyways, an exam is being taken right now, please don’t make so much noise. 

Rinne: (Whispering) HeyHey, got it. I’ll be quiet. 

Kohaku: Well, regardless of how Rinne-han is acting about this, a documentary is a good idea for promotion

Niki: At first, the attention on this project was high

This documentary by Rinne-kun can be a hot topic worldwide and gain more attention

Kohaku: I understand the spirit of it, but just got wary in case he had something else prepared…

Rinne: I’m not doing anything strange, not in this project.

Rather, the more successful this project becomes the more attraction COSPRO will get, the better the economy for us will be

In that case, isnt it wiser for us to make this project to our fullest, right?

Niki: Uwaah…that’s alot of ideas. Do you want to go with Kage-kun?

Rinne: If I wanted to go, it’s not like I could. Im not really interested in universe or stars

Kohaku: Is that so~ I’m a little intrested in space travel

This planet is big enough for me, I can’t believe theres a world bigger than this. I genuinely admire him 

Niki: Nahaha, Kohaku-chan is such a little boy thinking of the large scale of the world~♪

Kohaku: Niki-han I don’t yearn to go to space

HiMERU: –It was just Amagi, but now Oukawa and Shiina are being noisy. How many times do I need to tell you for you to understand? 

Niki: Uwah! HiMERU-kun you look like an idol! 

Kohaku: Theres no use with HiMERU, this conversation should just be quiet… (Idk if this is right0 

Rinne: Well, even if we’re being so noisy. It wont disturb their concentration, look at them they should be praised

Mika and Jun: ……

Rinne: I can expect the results for this test, right?

HiMERU: —Well, what about it?

Time’s up. Put down your pen and papers, please give it to me. 

Jun: Haha, I dont know about this but having HiMERU teach me studying feels strange~

Are you really that smart? I dont remember if you are sorry

HiMERU: Please refrain from speaking, I will grade it now.

Jun: Yes, yes. Thank you for your hard work Kagehira-san. How did you go?

Mika: …..

Jun: Kagehira-san?

Mika: Nnnah, what is it Jun-kun? Did you need somethin’?

Jun: No, I asked you how you did on the test…..

Kohaku: Mika-kun doesn’t seem to be looking okay but he should be fine right?

Mika: Haha, …..M’okay

But, I’ve been studyin’ and trainin’ everyday so maybe i’m just tired…

Rinne: Oi,Oi! If that’s so, take a fall and rest before you get on that space trip Mi-tan

Oi, Niki. Prepare a refine dish for Mi-tan

Niki: Ok~ay, meal wise I’m trying to make something the Vice President told me to make, but if Kage-kun isn’t feeling well, I’ll talk to him to change it. 

Jun: You shouldn't overdo it, it’s an important time now. 

If you're not up to it, I'll lighten up tomorrow's training. It’s okay to take a break.

Mika: Don’t worry, sleep is enough fer’ me, I’ll be fine. Oshi-san is aslo doin’ his best for me behind the scenes

And everyone in COSPRO has helped out so much

So much people are expectin’ alot from me, Whatever I have to do, I can do it…..♪

Rinne: Ooo, what a nice thing to say. I'm gonna edit this documentary with enthusiasm

Jun: …..

HiMERU: —Please refrain from talking now. I will announce the results

Kohaku: Oh, already graded? So quick, huh?

HiMERU: All you need to do is check the wrong answer, it doesnt take that long. 

First of all, it’s the results of the test, however for the time being we have been patiently waiting for this

Jun: Oh, looks like I surprisingly got a good score~ I had a hunch I would

HiMERU: Now, time for the main event Kagehira-san…

—Unfortunately, you have failed. It’s a pity you did not pass

Mika: …..I see, I couldnt do it. 

Jun: It’s alright, there’s still 3 days left till the exam

You’re getting to the point of it being a pity, huh, HiMERU?

HiMERU: If you could have answered correctly 2 or 3 more times you would have passed.

Jun: See, listen to what HiMERU said, dont be so depressed

Mika: Ahaha, thank you for encouragin’ me, Jun-kun. It’s okay I’m not so depressed.

Jun: Is that so..?

Mika: Yeah, but I still feel a bit stuffy

Sorry but I'm gonna go get ready for tomorrow's trainin’ and study, I’ll go home and sleep.

Jun: Huh, oh yea, thank you for working hard. 

Mika: Well, excuse me.

Rinne: Welp, this is quite the development

Well, that’s the end of Mi-tan, all cornered up…Gyahaha♪

Niki: Rinne-kun doesnt even have the heart of a human! How could you say such a thing in this atmosphere?

Kohaku: …..Is Mikahan okay?

He said he wasnt feeling depressed, but hes obviously depressed, right? Jun: …..

lol i know this is so late and like a month after the event

[mulletpermsicantlookaway]

The Jockification of Jeremy, Part 2: Jeremy in Love

(For Part 1 and the earlier stories this is a sequel to, see the earlier posts.)

Part 1 is posted here: https://www.tumblr.com/mulletpermsicantlookaway/756304730910752768/the-jockification-of-jeremy

The next day when I got up, I was already looking forward to wrestling practice. I had to go to school in the same shorts from yesterday, though, because nothing in my closet really seemed to fit me anymore, which was odd. I had kind of forgotten about all of Chase’s messages from the night before. In any case, I wasn’t going to go to a bunch of trouble trying to track him down. It’s not as if I could be seen spending all my time hanging out with a geek. What would the bros say? But Chase found me by my locker before lunch.

He came up to me and said, “What the hell happened to you? I almost didn’t recognize you with that outfit – and that haircut. Why’d you cut it so short? And where have you been? I thought someone had stolen your phone or something. You didn’t answer any of my texts, except for one message that didn’t even sound like you.”

“Chill out, bro, I’m fine. I was just busy. After basketball practice, I went over to Derek’s to watch the game with some of the bros; I told you that. And when I got home, I was so wiped out I almost fell asleep in my clothes.”

“You’re not making any sense, Jeremy. Derek? From the football team? Watching the game? Since when do you hang out with Derek? Or watch games? And since when are you on the basketball team?”

“Since practices started up. I talked to Coach Sanders yesterday. It’s fucking awesome, bro. You should think about joining. I’m sure I could talk to the coach about giving you a tryout.”

“Uh, I don’t think I’m exactly cut out for basketball, and I’m not interested, anyway. And I’m surprised you are. What is wrong with you, Jeremy? I mean, lately you’ve been starting to look like a jock. Now you’re talking like one, too, and hanging out with them, and wearing basketball shorts to school. At least your clothes fit now, but – you look different. Bigger. And taller. What the hell happened to you? Did you turn into a jock overnight? Where were you all day yesterday, anyway?”

“Bro, I already told you. I just went down to talk to the coach, and then I went to practice. Then I did some lifting and went over to Derek’s. Nothing to get your panties in a bunch over.”

“My panties are not in a bunch, you dumbass, and I’m not your bro. Seriously, did they do something to you? That’s it, isn’t it? I didn’t see it before, but somehow they turned you into one of them, didn’t they?

“Dude, do you realize how ridiculous that sounds? Look, I realize I’ve been going through some changes recently, but this is what I want, and I’m sorry you’re not okay with that.”

Just then, Derek happened to pass by. I gave him a fist bump and said, “Hey, Derek, bro, thanks so much for having me over last night. That game was fucking epic, man!” Derek and I talked for a minute. Chase stared at us the whole time. Derek ignored him completely.

As soon as Derek had left, Chase said, “You’re not kidding. You really are hanging out with that blond Cro-Magnon! Now I know something’s wrong.”

“What’s wrong with Derek, bro? He’s a nice guy.”

“To other jocks, maybe, but not to me. You really have turned into one of them, haven’t you? Jeremy, you’ve got to listen to me: this isn’t you. Somehow they did something to you. You’re totally acting like a dumb jock now!”

“Bro, I told you I’m fine.”

“If you’re fine, what’s two plus four?”

“Bro, those are, like, two different numbers,” I chuckled, but Chase didn’t laugh. “Okay, sorry, that was a dumb joke. I do know how to add. But seriously, what’s wrong with you, Chase?”

“What’s wrong with me is that I’m apparently the only one of us that can see that you changed overnight, and it doesn’t make sense.”

“Look, bro, I get that I’ve been changing, but I just wish you could be okay with it. I mean, we’re friends, aren’t we, bro?”

Chase stood there a minute, fuming, and then he said, “Okay, Jeremy, I give up. I still think something happened to you, but I guess there’s nothing I can do about it; at least, I can’t think of anything. I’m sorry, Jeremy, but could you just leave me alone, at least for now, okay? You’re my best friend, and you used to be, well, you used to be so cute, but I can’t stand looking at you and seeing some knuckle-dragging neanderthal. And quit calling me ‘Bro’. It makes you sound like a douche. I’m sorry. Please, just leave me alone.” And then he took off.

I let him go, but it honestly pissed me off that things were going so well for me and he couldn’t be okay with it. I mean, I try to be nice to the little dude, and he throws it back in my face, calling me a neanderthal! I seriously wanted to mop the floor with the little shit. I thought about it the rest of the day in class. I knew I should just let it go; I had plenty of bros to hang out with, and I didn’t need Chase. But I found myself missing him. I hadn’t been able to admit it to myself before, but I think I’d been in love with Chase for a long time. Now that I had finally figured that out, he didn’t want to have anything to do with me, and I didn’t know how to make things right. Suddenly I got an idea: I could talk over my problem with the coach. I was sure he could help. Today I had wrestling, not basketball, but I felt I knew Coach Sanders better than I did the wrestling coach. I should be able to catch him in his office before I had to go to practice.

When I got downstairs by the locker rooms after school, Coach Sanders’s door was open, and he was in his office. I knocked on the door.

“Jeremy!” he said. “Come in, big guy. Boy are you getting tall! But you look like you just lost your best friend. What seems to be the trouble? Girl trouble? Oh, I’m sorry, Jeremy; in your case it’d be boy trouble, wouldn’t it?”

“Yeah, Coach, you nailed it. I guess it is boy trouble. I have lost my best friend, I think. He and I have been friends since, like, grade school. But now he really seems to have a problem with me going out for sports and hanging out with my bros. And I don’t get what his problem is, but I feel bad, because we’ve been friends for so long. I know he’s just a skinny little dude, but I’ve always, you know, liked him, and I thought he, you know, maybe liked me, too. And I thought it would be really cool if he could, you know, join the team, and then we could hang out more together. But when I suggested he try out for basketball, he just about flipped his lid. He called me a dumb jock, and now he won’t even talk to me.”

“Jeremy, one of the things that happens to young men your age is that you’re all going through huge changes, but you don’t all change at the same time or the same pace, even if you’re the same age. Every guy’s body is different, you know. It’s like that for you and Chase right now. You’ve just gone through some rapid changes, and that’s something normal for guys your age. Your friend Chase isn’t changing the same way or at the same time, so he’s having a hard time dealing with you changing so quickly. And, realistically, Jeremy, you two may both change in such different ways that you won’t be able to be friends anymore. That happens a lot to guys your age. But then again, Chase might suddenly start changing in ways that will bring you two closer. You have to understand, Jeremy, that as you’ve changed physically, your interests have changed as well, but your friend Chase is still in the same place he was before. If he starts catching up to you, you may find you two have a lot more in common, even though right now you’re both in different stages of development.”

“That makes so much sense, Coach. Thank you, I really couldn’t figure out what the problem was. It’s as if he’s still twelve years old and wants to do little kid stuff, but I’ve grown, and I’m not interested in little kid stuff anymore.”

“It’s exactly like that, Jeremy. Maybe you two already went through something like this when you were both twelve years old and starting to become teenagers.”

“Yeah, I suppose we kind of did have some struggles back then, but not this serious. Thanks so much for helping me, Coach. I feel a lot better. It’d be so cool, though, if you could talk him into going out for basketball or wrestling or something. I mean, I wasn’t really interested in going out for any sports until after you talked to me. I just wish Chase, could, you know, feel how awesome it is to be a jock and hang out with your bros. I’m sure you could persuade him the same way you did me.”

Coach Sanders got up from his desk then and closed the door. “We should maybe have a little privacy,” he said. “I appreciate your confidence in me, Jeremy. Maybe I could persuade him the way I did you. I can try, but I can tell you from where I sit that peer pressure is a lot more persuasive to guys your age than anything their teachers or coaches tell them. Don’t underrate your friendship, even if Chase seems mad at you right now. If he sees how happy you are, he might come around to your way of thinking. And even if he doesn’t, I might still be able to help you.”

He rummaged in one of his desk drawers, got out a key, and unlocked one of the filing cabinets. He took some object out of one of the bottom drawers and sat back down at his desk, still holding whatever the object was in his hand.

“Jeremy, do you remember me telling you about how our former football coach had developed some amazing conditioning programs for helping young men like you reach their full potential?”

“Yes, Coach, I do. You had me watch one of his videos. It was great. I don’t totally understand what it was all about, but I liked it a lot.”

“Well, Jeremy, that was one the materials that we managed to save when he left. We don’t, unfortunately, still have everything he developed. That video is very effective, and I’m happy to share it with any young man that can benefit from it. What I’m holding in my hand right now is another one of his materials. It works in a different way, but it’s extremely effective. And it’s very special, because we unfortunately have only a very few of these left.”

He put the object he was holding on his desk. It appeared to be some kind of athletic cup, the kind you might wear with a jockstrap. The cup was sealed in a plastic bag with a tear-off top. It was unusual looking for an athletic cup, however. It was quite large, and it appeared to be made of some kind of carbon-fiber or other high-tech material, orange and black and grey.

“This, Jeremy, isn’t an ordinary athletic cup. It’s a conditioning device that can help young men like Chase reach their true potential as athletes. If you want, and if I can trust you to not talk about this with anyone else, I will give it to you. Talk to your friend again. Don’t mention anything about this. It’s possible you won’t need it. But if Chase still doesn’t see the advantages of becoming more like you, this will help him.  And if you don’t feel comfortable giving this to him yourself, there are students on the football team that have experience with these devices; just let me know, and I could have one of them help.”

I stared at the cup, wondering exactly what it did and how it worked. The idea of watching Chase develop into a jock enticed me, but I was missing something. “Coach, there’s one thing I don’t understand. Why would Chase need this when I didn’t? Wouldn’t the video help him?”

“It would, Jeremy, but it likely would not be enough to help him to reach your level of development. The video you refer to primarily conditions the mind to develop the routines needed to be an effective athlete. It helped you, for example, learn practice and workout routines that otherwise would have required weeks of drilling. And those mental routines help to condition you physically, which is critical to an athlete. However, physical conditioning can take considerable time, and the athlete has to be highly motivated in order to succeed. Even then, many young men, no matter how motivated they are, are at a genetic disadvantage and are just not capable of the physical development needed. That, Jeremy, is precisely why these devices were developed. They help those who otherwise would be unable to reach the necessary level of physical development. Now you, Jeremy, were a special case. You didn’t need a device like this. You got your physical conditioning from another source, from another young man who had already been conditioned thanks to one of these devices, and who was then able to pass that conditioning on to you. And because you had already been conditioned physically, you were primed, so to speak; you were willing and able to undergo the mental conditioning that allowed you to start becoming the athlete you wanted to become. Do you understand now?”

“Well, Coach, sort of, but the whole thing is a bit over my head. You’re saying that because I made out with…” I stopped, embarrassed.

“You don’t need to say anything more about that, Jeremy. I’m not trying to pry into your private life. But yes, having the kind of relationship you did started to condition you physically. And once we noticed that that process was happening to you, there was nothing left to do but complete the physical process by helping you to condition mentally. Otherwise, you would have been a very unhappy and confused young man. You’re perfectly happy now, aren’t you, big guy?”

“Perfectly, Coach. Happier than I’ve ever been. I know I’m, like, different than I was before, I suppose, but I would never want to go back. Honestly, it’s hard for me to remember now that I wasn’t always a jock. But what about Chase? I want him to be happy. This thing won’t hurt him, will it? He’s my friend, after all, and I wouldn’t want him hurt.”

“No, Jeremy. No one wants to hurt Chase or anyone else. Remember that these devices were developed to help young men reach their potential. But I want to be completely honest with you: it will cause him some physical discomfort. How much depends on the person. So, Jeremy, technically it can hurt him, but think of it like weight training. You’re still sore from yesterday’s workout, aren’t you? It hurt you, right? And yet you know that the pain is necessary for your muscles to grow, and that it will soon go away, and you’ll be stronger for it. If you really care for your friend, Jeremy, then you want what’s best for him, don’t you? I’ve seen Chase, Jeremy, and he’s a very slight young man. As he is now, he might have some potential as, say, a lightweight wrestler, but without the physical conditioning that this device can provide, he would be extremely limited in what he could accomplish as an athlete. But if you like him and he likes you, just imagine what it would be like to be a couple like James and Steve, both of you strong and powerful. Wouldn’t that be worth some trouble, Jeremy?”

“Yes, it would, Coach. I think I understand now. How long would he have to wear it?”

“It varies from person to person. Usually about a week or two, but sometimes longer. But you don’t need to worry about that. All you have to worry about is giving this to him. And remember, Derek or another one of the experience students can give it to him if you’re not comfortable doing it yourself.”

“I appreciate your wanting to help me, Coach, but I think that if I really want what’s best for Chase, I’m the one who has to do this. I can’t pass that responsibility on to someone else.”

“Then I respect your decision, son. Here, take it, and keep it safe. And remember, don’t mention anything about this to anyone. When you’re ready, you open the package and quickly place it over his privates. It doesn’t matter what he’s wearing at the time.”

“Oh, one other question, Coach. It won’t make him dumb or anything, will it? I mean, Chase called me a dumb jock, but I don’t think I’m any dumber than I was before.”

“Jeremy, ‘dumb jock’ is a stereotype. Most jocks are just a smart as anyone else. Some are smarter. Some aren’t. Many young men who’ve gone through this conditioning process have had some struggle with grades, but that isn’t necessarily because they lost intelligence. It’s because their interests and focus changed, and they ended up less motivated by academics. That’s why I warned you not to neglect your studies. I don’t think you need to worry about Chase. He may end up more interested in sports than English class, but that doesn’t make you an idiot. Any more questions?”

“No, Coach.”

“Then you’d better get to wrestling practice before I have to explain to Coach Halvorson why you’re late.”

The coach had given me a ton to think about, but I had no time to think right away. I had wrestling practice, and that took all the concentration I had. Both James and his bro Tyler went out for wrestling, but I didn’t spar with either one of them. They’re both heavyweights. I may be taller than both of them, but I don’t have anywhere near their muscle mass or weight. They’re both scary in a singlet, with their huge muscles, thick necks, and massive packages. Tyler’s the bigger man, but I think James has the bigger tool, not that Tyler’s isn’t obscene enough. But I didn’t realize how big I had gotten down there until I saw myself in my singlet again. I’d almost be too embarrassed to walk out into the gym like that, except that I’m not the only guy who’s showing. My balls must be nearly the size of chicken eggs by now. I wondered what Chase would think seeing me in this outfit.

Chase. It wasn’t until after practice, hitting the weight room, dinner, and a long night of catching up on homework that I allowed my thoughts to drift back to Chase. I missed him, and I couldn’t believe he was happy. I sent him a text, just saying “Miss u”. He didn’t answer, but at least he hadn’t blocked my number.

I knew I needed to talk to him again, but he was avoiding me. I wouldn’t let that stop me, but it was hard to find a moment to catch him without a bunch of other bros around, you know? And I had other worries. Clothes were getting to be a problem. My parents seemed to think I was just going through a phase of wearing workout clothes; somehow it hadn’t gotten through to them how much I had grown or that nothing in my closet fit me anymore. I was borrowing stuff from the other bros. I had maybe one or two pairs of shorts that fit, and some sweatpants that barely fit. I mean, I was almost 6’ 2” at this point, which means I had gained something like 6 inches in a few weeks. I was starting to pack on a lot of muscle, too. I finally had to tell them outright that I really needed some new clothes. My older brother was away at college, and I did find a couple of things in his closet that worked up to a point, but we weren’t really the same size. I stuck to basics for the new stuff, mainly loose shorts, athletic pants, and T-shirts. I still had a lot of growing to do, and I didn’t want to get things I was just going to grow out of in a hurry. I knew at this point that I looked, dressed, and acted like a total jock, but I was a total jock, and everyone except Chase seemed to forget that I’d ever been anything else.

To be continued

https://www.tumblr.com/mulletpermsicantlookaway/756499368644952064/the-jockification-of-jeremy-part-3-chase-makes

[lies]

Being a recap of my just-concluded trip to NYC. After a cut because I’m sure it will end up being stupid long.

The partner in crime and I went for a bunch of reasons. But the original reason was because a dear friend was putting together a weekend centered on a couple of events: Audra McDonald’s appearance in the musical Gypsy, and the performance of Jake Heggie’s opera Moby Dick. And we hadn’t seen the dear friend and his husband (henceforth David and Alan) in a year and a half, and they’re pretty much our favorite people in the world.

Our Gypsy tickets were for Friday, and the opera was on Saturday. We flew from LA on Thursday and flew home yesterday (Tuesday), so that gave us four days to be tourists. We filled in the schedule by seeing a performance of Oh, Mary (with Betty Gilpin as Mary Todd Lincoln) on Sunday and the first preview of Glengarry Glen Ross (with Bob Odenkirk, Michael McKean, Bill Burr, and Kieran Culkin) on Monday. During the days we went to museums (the Metropolitan Museum on Friday and the Museum of Modern Art on Saturday). There was a big dinner for the eight of us going to Gypsy before the show on Friday at a cool French restaurant called Cafe Un Deux Trois, and for the same group before the opera at one of a chain of Peruvian restaurants called Pio Pio on Saturday. On Sunday our same group (more or less) had brunch with Jake Heggie (Moby Dick’s composer) at a friend’s penthouse apartment, and we also went by ourselves a couple of times to our favorite restaurant in New York, Tratoria Dell Arte.

On the trip home I played a mental game with myself: if I had to eliminate one of the four performances we saw, such that I wouldn’t have seen it, which would it have been? And then so on until just one remained, the one that I would have chosen if I could only have experienced one of them. Not as a ranking of artistic merit or anything like that. Just subjectively, in what order would I give them up?

The first I would have eliminated was Glengarry Glen Ross. It was in a big theater (The Palace) and our seats were way up in the balcony, so that was probably a factor in it not hitting as hard. And this was the first preview performance, and the Broadway debut for a few of the big names, so there may have been some roughness around the edges due to that. Kieran Culkin had had his billing upgraded based on his Oscar win a few weeks ago, and there was some Beatlemania-style screaming for him when he first appeared and during his bows at the end. He was legitimately great, as was Bob Odenkirk; in each case they infused their performances with elements of characters I’d loved on TV (in Succession and in Breaking Bad/Better Call Saul, respectively). I didn’t know the story, not having seen the movie or the play before. David Mamet’s (the playwright’s) politics have become problematic in recent years, which isn’t fair to hold against the play, but maybe that was a factor in my having a harder time engaging with it. And it’s an older story, and while the themes are certainly relevant today there’s also that thing about art: it moves on. On balance it was a wonderful experience and I’m glad I saw it, but if I’m having to pick that’s the first one to go.

Next on the chopping block would be Gypsy. Which is kind of shocking for me to realize. It was a great show, and seeing it from up close in the center of the orchestra was intense, especially during the performance of “Mama’s Turn” at the end, when Audra let out all the stops. The way she reacted in-character to the huge ovation she got, hearing it in her head and drinking it in without engaging directly with the audience, in effect making us part of the performance, was something I’ll never forget.

Next up would be Moby Dick. I’ve only seen a handful of operas, but this one was beautiful. I’d never been to the Met before, so just walking past the fountain like Loretta in Moonstruck and gawking at the chandeliers made me kind of giddy. The staging was jaw-dropping and gorgeous, and it was incredibly cool how they blended surreal, abstract elements to evoke the sea, the ship, and the events of the story. The music was wonderful, the exploration of the themes and relationships in the libretto, and way it was realized in Jake’s music. Melville’s novel was rich, and weird, and complicated, and in hindsight opera feels like the perfect medium to convey that. It was a long opera, and there’s a side of me that wants it to have been shorter. But I don’t think that would have worked as well, and as with my experience reading Moby Dick years ago, it would have robbed the ending of its impact.

Last up, the performance you have to claw from my cold, dead hands, was Oh, Mary. It was at the Lyceum Theater, which is the same place I saw my surprise-favorite on our last trip to New York, Grey House. I just want to live in that crazy, madcap world. It was so incredibly fun. I can’t describe it. It just has to be experienced.

On a side note, the best food of the trip wasn’t at a restaurant. It was at the brunch with Jake at Carl and Tony’s apartment on Sunday. That event was great; hearing David and Jake and Carl (who all went to school together in the UCLA music department in the 1980s, which is where the partner in crime knows them from) reminiscing about their time together at school and their early music-industry jobs was fun. And it was interesting, if sad, to talk about current events, and have folks mentioning their dual citizenship and their plans to leave the country if they have to. But the conversation was mostly upbeat. Jake talked about the next opera he’s hoping to write, which I don’t think I’m at liberty to share, and isn’t necessarily going to happen (the rights are complicated). But if it does happen I can just say that a certain Shipwrecked megafan is going to be beside herself, and probably will be first in line at the premiere.

But the food! The brunch was prepared by Tony, one of the two hosts. I don’t know details about his professional background; I think he was a programmer/web developer at one point, but these days he apparently is a private chef for someone famous. But oh my god. It basically was like seeing Oh, Mary: I can’t describe it. It just had to be experienced.

Oh, almost forgot: the subway. I’d never taken the New York subway before, but on this trip I got it down, and am looking forward to putting my hard-won knowledge (take the uptown train, dummy) to good use on my next visit.