#i'm like do you not get how devastating and twisted that is??????

[humaling]

You're Still The One I Run To.

pt 2 of Hope Is A Dangerous Thing To Have

pairings: hijacked!finnick x reader

summary: in district 13, survival is routine—but when finnick’s quiet apology breaks through the silence, you begin to wonder if something lost can still be found.

contents: mentions of capitol's torture on finnick, slow burn

word count: 7.4k

author's notes: i'm sorry it took a while! i had a writer's block on this one hehe. next chapter will be the last and might take a while again.

Finnick shifts uncomfortably in bed, the thin mattress doing little to cushion the hard metal frame beneath him. Every time he moves, it creaks and groans, pressing into his back like a cruel reminder of how far he is from comfort. Honestly, the floor might be better than this.

The dim glow from the lampshade beside him casts long, soft shadows across the room, the only source of light in the bunker’s stale gloom. It’s quiet. Too quiet. The kind of quiet that feels dull, empty, lifeless—much like how his body feels during these godforsaken hours of the night. He lies there, restless, like his bones are aching for something he can’t name. Something missing. Something lost. He tells himself it’s just District 13—cold, gray, and not at all like District 4. Not home.

Beside him, Gale Hawthorne sleeps soundly. A low snore rattles from his chest, breaking the silence in an oddly grounding way. Finnick figures it’s better than nothing. Better than lying awake in silence and letting the darkness creeping in the back of his mind swallow him whole.

It’s been a few weeks since he was cleared. He’d been assigned to share this room with Gale, who hadn’t exactly seemed thrilled about it. Not that Finnick was either, but at least he didn’t throw a fit. Katniss told him not to take it personally—that Gale’s just been sensitive lately, with everything that’s happened. Finnick tried to take her word for it. But after Gale locked him out of the room one night, Finnick stopped caring altogether.

Stopped caring. Grew indifferent.

His mind weaves back to you when he first got here; the heartbroken look plastered on your face when he pushed you away, the way your eyes glossed as you plead with him. And then:

A soft laugh flits through his memory like a breeze—gentle, teasing, familiar. He sees you again: running down the shoreline, your laughter carried by the wind. Just for a moment.

He squeezes his eyes shut. A dull ache presses into his skull, pulsing behind his temple. The memory slips back into the darkness, but not before leaving behind its echo. That’s been happening more and more. The flashbacks, the headaches, the wave of nausea that always follows. Ever since the emergency drill in the safety vault, it’s like his mind’s been splitting open, one blurred memory at a time. A voice. A touch. An object that looks a little too familiar—they all bring something back.

The doctor said it’s the Capitol’s hijacking wearing off. Told him it was expected. Gave him pills to ease the side effects. Finnick tried taking them at first, but he’s always been terrible with medication. He gave up after a couple days. He remembers how his mother used to chase him around the house just to get him to take flu drops. Now, the pills are tucked away in the drawer beneath his bed, buried under bits and pieces he’s collected since he got here—things that don’t mean anything to anyone but him.

The doctors, and the few friends he has here, keep telling him the same thing—that the memories resurfacing now are real, and the ones the Capitol etched into his mind are nothing but lies. And he wants to believe them, he truly does. But it’s hard. Damn near impossible. Because how can something real feel so distant and fragmented, while the false ones remain vivid, sharp, and devastating?

He tries to reason with himself. Maybe this is exactly how the Capitol intended to break him. Twist his thoughts. Turn him against someone he once loved. Because what better way to destroy a man than to erase the love he once knew? To make him forget how it felt to be held by someone who saw his darkest parts and didn’t flinch—who cradled his brokenness like it was fragile glass and still chose to stay.

But on most nights, he isn’t reasonable. Most nights, he wonders if this is how Snow wanted him to unravel. Not with violence. Not with blood. But with quiet betrayal. With the slow realization that the person he held closest—who he thought cherished him most—might have been nothing more than a well-crafted lie. A backstabber wrapped in warmth. A performance masked as affection. And for what? What was he even used for?

There are cracks in those memories, though. Little gaps. Inconsistencies. And sometimes, that alone is enough to soothe the sharp ache behind his ribs. Annie tells him those might be planted memories, stitched together by the Capitol to manipulate him. He holds onto that thought like a lifeline.

That it wasn’t real. That it was all fake. That it was designed to hurt him. Designed to turn him inside out.

God, get out of his head.

Finnick sits up in bed, the frame groaning under the shift of his weight. He leans back until his spine hits the cold wall, and a shiver races down his back. His thoughts drift again. To you.

He hasn’t seen you much lately. He never asked why, didn’t think he should. But a part of him aches to know. And he hates himself for that. He’s supposed to hate you, isn’t he?

But instead, he finds himself lying awake night after night, staring at the ceiling and thinking of you.

~

Finnick threads through the sterile halls of District 13, his pace steady, his mind fixated on one thing: berries. One of the soldiers had let it slip that there’d be berries served with the oatmeal today, and honestly, that was enough to light a spark in his otherwise dreary morning. He never thought he’d get this excited over something so small. Mango had always been his favorite. But after spending weeks underground without a single glimpse of sunlight, even the faint promise of berries felt like a damn miracle.

Because those godawful oatmeals? They tasted like regret. Like wet sand. Like someone thought flavor was a war crime.

He weaves through the crowd with ease, tossing a few practiced smiles here and there—charming, effortless, Capitol-polished. Just enough to slip past the line of tired faces and into the cafeteria before the berry stash is gone.

Even though he’s so caught up in his berry-fueled daydream, he catches a glimpse of a familiar face sitting at the corner of the cafeteria. You.

There you are, sitting in the far corner, a few unfamiliar soldiers scattered around you. Finnick figures they’re from your unit—he’s heard you joined the front lines. Johanna said it’s how you cope. Annie thinks it’s something darker, something rooted in self-destruction. She’d nudged him the other night, whispering that you’re not doing well, like she expected him to fix it. But Finnick isn’t sure what to believe anymore. About you. About himself. About anything.

You look… different. And not in a way that sits right with him.

You’re thinner—sharper around the edges. Your shoulders slumped, expression blank, eyes staring somewhere far away. Hollow. Faded. Like something vital in you had been drained and never quite filled back in. Those weren’t the eyes he remembered. The last time he really saw you—back in the bunker—they were bright, even through the pain. You’d looked at him like you still believed there was something worth salvaging.

Now? You look like someone who stopped waiting.

It’s hard, seeing you like this. Because he’s supposed to hate you. That’s what he told himself. That’s what the Capitol etched into his mind—memories painted in betrayal, twisted in ways that still make his stomach turn. And yet, his heart doesn’t play by the same rules. Because despite everything, despite the mess, it still beats a little faster when you’re near. Still aches when you’re not. And that hate he clings to so tightly? It doesn't live in his chest. It’s in his head. Planted. Manufactured.

His heart never forgot you.

That might be the cruelest part.

The tray in his hands trembles slightly. He doesn’t notice until someone bumps into him, muttering an apology as they pass. He realizes, too late, that he’s stopped walking. Just standing there in the middle of the cafeteria, staring at you like some haunted fool. A few people glance his way. He doesn’t care.

All he can see is you.

And right now, you look like you’re about to fall apart.

He tears his eyes away with effort, forcing his feet to move, to carry him toward the other end of the cafeteria where Katniss, Johanna, Annie, Gale, and Prim are already gathered at one of the long metal tables. Their conversation is quiet, tired. The kind of talk that hums under the surface of war—just enough to feel normal, even if no one really believes in normal anymore.

Finnick slides into the seat beside Annie, dropping his tray onto the table with less grace than usual. No one comments. Katniss glances at him briefly, then turns back to whatever Gale is muttering under his breath. Johanna’s poking at her food like it insulted her, while Prim gently nudges a bowl toward him with a small smile. Strawberries. A few, nestled beside the oatmeal like some precious, rare gem.

He nods in silent thanks, though he’s lost his appetite. That dull twist in his stomach has nothing to do with hunger.

Annie leans close. “You saw her, didn’t you?”

Her voice is soft, barely above a whisper. He doesn’t answer, just stares at the berries, mind still wrapped around the ghost of your expression. That faraway look. That hollow shell. He presses his tongue to the back of his teeth and forces a swallow.

“She looks worse,” Johanna mutters, eyes still on her food. “Should’ve known she’d run herself straight into the ground.”

Katniss gives her a sharp look, but Johanna shrugs. “What? I’m not wrong.”

Prim stays quiet, her fingers fidgeting with the edge of her napkin.

Finnick doesn’t say anything. He can’t. The words are there, burning behind his teeth, but none of them make it out. Because part of him wants to cross that room and reach out. Ask if you’ve eaten. If you’re sleeping. If the shadows under your eyes are from nightmares or from living wide awake in one.

But he doesn’t.

He picks up a strawberry instead, stares at it like it might give him answers. It doesn’t.

He stays quiet, even as the conversation picks back up around him. Laughter in the background. War in the foreground. And in between it all, the echo of something he once held close slipping further out of reach.

~

The corridors of District 13 hum with the low thrum of machinery and distant footfalls, sterile and cold as always. Finnick walks beside Katniss, steps matching hers as Boggs leads them down a narrow hallway lined with reinforced glass. It’s part of the upper training sector—recently refurbished, apparently. Or so Boggs says, though everything still looks the same shade of lifeless gray.

“From here on out,” Boggs says, tapping something on a clipboard as he walks, “you’ll be expected to report to training units daily—combat drills, endurance conditioning, field strategy. Nothing too advanced yet, just enough to prep your bodies for real fieldwork.”

Katniss gives a quiet nod, her expression unreadable. Finnick doesn’t respond. He’s listening, mostly, but his mind drifts in and out, clinging to details and letting others slide. The talk of drills, the bark of instructors echoing from far-off rooms, the repetitive slap of boots against the ground—it all blends together.

They round a corner and come upon a wide observation dome. The floor here curves into a glass overlook, where rows of seats face down into a sunken arena—a simulation room for live training. Finnick almost keeps walking—the place reminds him a little too much of the hunger games. But something pulls at the corner of his vision. A flicker of movement. A flash of a face he knows too well.

You.

You're down below, dressed in training blacks, moving through a timed obstacle drill with calculated speed. Dodging, pivoting, sweeping your arm in clean arcs as you strike the dummy in front of you, reset, strike again. Your body moves with trained precision—quick, sharp, disciplined.

But he sees it. In the way your left leg slightly drags after each leap. The moment your fingers twitch around the training staff like they’ve gone numb. How your jaw clenches after every third hit. Movements smooth, but not flawless. Not anymore.

Finnick slows, falling a step behind Boggs and Katniss, gaze fixed on the glass.

“She’s been here every morning,” Boggs says without looking, as if he’s already guessed what—or who—Finnick’s watching. “Won’t take breaks. Won’t talk to the medics. She’s burning herself out.”

Katniss glances back at him, a flicker of concern in her eyes. “They said she passed out during drills last week.”

Finnick doesn’t say anything. He watches as you stumble for the briefest moment, catching yourself before anyone can notice—anyone but him. You reset again. Keep going. Determined. Desperate.

Something inside him pulls tight.

“She doesn’t want help,” Katniss says gently. “Not even from Haymitch.”

That doesn’t surprise him. You always preferred to fight your demons head-on, even if it meant losing the battle with yourself.

Boggs keeps walking, motioning for them to follow toward another corridor lined with equipment and holo-maps. Katniss gives him a small nudge, and Finnick finally turns away, the image of you lingering behind his eyes like an afterimage burned into his vision.

But as they leave the dome, all he can think about is the way your hands trembled when you thought no one was watching.

It becomes a routine before he even realizes it.

After drills with Katniss and Gale, after the tactical briefings with Boggs, after the debriefs and silent lunches where conversation feels like another mission in itself—Finnick finds himself back in the upper levels of the training dome, tucked into the shadowed corners above the observation glass.

You’re always there.

Sometimes early, sometimes late, but always training like your life depends on it. Maybe it does. Maybe you think it does.

He sits with his elbows propped on his knees, shoulders hunched forward, eyes fixed on the figure moving below. You run the same combat sequences he’s seen a dozen times—standard disarm techniques, pressure point strikes, simulated close-quarters combat. He could close his eyes and still know how your feet land, how you pivot, how your hand flexes just a second too long after each blow.

At first, he told himself he was only watching out of concern. That’s what Annie would say. That he’s just worried. That he’s just looking after someone who’s clearly slipping.

But deep down, he knows that’s not the whole truth.

It’s the ache. The invisible thread that still pulls when he sees your shoulders sag a little lower than they used to. The way your breathing hitches when you think no one can hear. The way you fight like you’re punishing yourself for something no one else seems to understand.

He wants to say something. Every time, he tells himself he will. He’ll wait for the end of the session, trail down the stairs, walk across the floor and say—

What?

I’m sorry?

I miss you?

I don’t know what’s real but I think it’s you?

But the moment never comes. Not really. He watches as you finish the last round of drills, your body trembling slightly as you lean against the mat wall, sweat clinging to your skin, chest rising and falling in shallow gasps. You rest there for a beat. Then straighten. Then leave.

Just like always.

You never look up.

And maybe he tells himself it’s because you don’t know he’s watching. Maybe he tells himself that’s what makes it easier.

But it’s not. Not really.

Because the truth is, part of him hopes you do know.

Finnick sits there, his thoughts swirling, his mind still caught in the mess of lies and truths. His fingers twitch slightly, the familiar itch of wanting to move closer to you, to speak to you, but he doesn’t. Not yet. Not while he’s still unsure of what he feels. Not while the Capitol’s poison still lingers in his mind, clouding everything.

The sound of footsteps makes him glance up, and before he can look away, you’re sitting beside him. He blinks, caught off guard by how easily you slipped into the space beside him, how you don’t even seem to mind that he’s been watching you for weeks now.

At first, you don’t say anything. You just sit there, cross-legged, twisting the cap off a bottle of water in your hands. He can feel the tension between you, thick like a fog. He wonders if it’s because of the distance he’s put between you two or because he’s been too damn silent, too afraid to approach.

Finally, you break the silence, your voice low, steady. "You’ve been watching me."

Finnick’s chest tightens at the way your voice holds no judgment, just a quiet knowing. He shifts uncomfortably, fingers flexing against his knees.

“I—yeah," he admits, his voice hoarse. "I couldn’t help it."

You nod, like you’ve been waiting for that. You take a deep breath, eyes fixed on the bottle in your hands, not looking at him.

"I thought maybe, just maybe, the Finnick I loved was still there," you say softly. "At first, I thought if I just gave you space, you'd come back to me. But you didn’t. You never did."

Finnick's heart tightens, the words cutting deeper than he expected. He opens his mouth to speak, but nothing comes out.

"But you know," you continue, "I can only put up with so much distance. I can only wait for you to find your way back for so long. It’s not that I stopped caring... I just—" You break off, your gaze dropping to the ground. "I miss you."

He doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t know how to fix what’s been broken for so long. All he knows is that hearing those words from you feels like a weight lifting off his chest. He’s afraid to look at you, afraid to see the hope in your eyes that he might be able to fix this, but he does anyway.

And when he does, when his eyes meet yours, the rawness in your expression takes him by surprise. There’s hurt there, but also something more—a spark of the love you once shared. It’s not gone. It’s still there, flickering in the dark.

"I didn’t mean to hurt you," he says, his voice barely a whisper.

You glance at him, your lips curling slightly into a small, sad smile. "I know you didn’t. But you did anyway."

He bites back a sigh. "I don’t know how to fix this."

You shake your head, eyes softening. "You don’t have to. Just stop pushing me away."

The words hang between you for a long moment. Neither of you moves, neither of you speaks. But the silence feels different now, heavier. It’s not an absence of words—it’s the space where the two of you are finally, maybe, finding your way back to each other.

Finally, you stand up, dusting off your pants. Finnick watches you, heart aching with every step you take away from him. But before you leave, you stop and glance over your shoulder, a quiet challenge in your eyes.

"I’ll be here. When you’re ready."

And with that, you walk away, leaving Finnick alone with his thoughts, with the lingering weight of your words.

~

The day starts on schedule, like it always does here. In District 13, time is a currency you’re expected to spend wisely. There’s no room for distraction. No softness. Just wake, work, train, repeat.

You lace up your boots with steady fingers, standing in your shared quarters under the flickering light. The air feels sterile, too clean. Too sharp. As if even the walls are trying to scrub the humanity out of you. You can still feel the rough edge of the bench beneath you from this morning—can still hear Finnick’s voice, broken and raw, circling like smoke in the back of your mind.

You don’t speak during training. You can’t. Your body moves on command, lunging and dodging through combat drills, sparring with people who don’t know you well enough to ask questions. That helps. You can lose yourself in the burn of your muscles, in the precision of every strike. But even then, there’s a hollowness that follows you. You duck a punch and see the look in his eyes again—tired, aching, like he was already halfway gone and trying to crawl his way back to you.

You scrub in for your assigned unit shift in the war room—tasked with logistics today—and sit at your assigned desk, eyes fixed on the columns of data cycling across the screen. Numbers. Supplies. Deployment routes. It’s important. It should matter. But none of it can drown out the echo of what he said.

I didn’t mean to hurt you.

He meant it. That’s what shakes you most. It wasn’t performative. Not like the Capitol, where every word is curated, every gesture designed to be consumed. No, Finnick looked at you like he couldn’t stand what he’d done. Like he’d been watching the fracture grow and hadn’t known how to stop it.

The silence between assignments in 13 is usually a relief. A breath. But today, it just gives your thoughts too much space. You spend your ten-minute break sitting on the lower level of the dormitory hall, hunched over with your elbows on your knees, staring at the scuffed floor. You know someone’s watching—they always are—but you can’t bring yourself to care. Not when all you can think about is the way he looked like he was trying not to shatter.

After curfew, you shower under low-pressure water that smells faintly of metal. You let it run down your back until your skin pricks with cold. You don’t cry. You won’t. You already gave him your honesty—you won’t let him have your grief.

But later, lying in the dark of your bunk with the lights dimmed and the rigid mattress pressed against your spine, you can’t stop the memory from playing again. The way his voice cracked when he said he didn’t know how to fix this. The way he looked at you like maybe he didn’t deserve to.

You don’t know if you want him to try or if it would only hurt more if he did.

But gods, you miss him. You miss you—the version of yourself that felt whole with him.

You turn your face into the pillow, as if the act of hiding could quiet everything inside you.

It doesn’t.

The night went out just as fast as it came. There’s no softness to mornings here—just the buzz of the overhead lights flickering on like a switch has been flipped inside your head. You sit up before the alarm sounds, already awake. Already tired. The sheets are stiff against your skin, the air dry in your throat. Everything feels muted, like the color’s been drained from the world.

You move through the motions. Dress. Report to duty. There’s a rhythm to it, cold and clean, and you follow it because it’s easier than stopping to think. You sit through morning briefing with your spine straight, eyes forward, nodding at schedules and supply counts. You’re praised for efficiency. You always are.

But even as the room echoes with clipped orders and footsteps on polished floors, your mind isn’t really here. It’s still in that quiet space between you and Finnick. Still circling around the way he looked at you, like he wasn’t sure if he deserved to.

You try not to let it show. You focus on the data in front of you, let your pen move across the page with practiced precision. You memorize updates that don’t mean anything to your heart, only to your role. Your identity here has no room for vulnerability.

By the time lunch rolls around, your stomach isn’t exactly hungry, but your legs still carry you out of habit, moving you through the labyrinth of white-walled corridors toward the cafeteria. The halls are half-filled with people walking in clusters, speaking in low voices or nodding silently to each other. You keep your head down. You don’t expect anything. Not here.

But then—his voice.

“Hey.”

You stop.

The word cuts clean through the haze, too familiar, too fragile. You don’t even have to turn around to know it’s him. That voice has lived in your chest long enough.

You turn anyway. Finnick stands there a few steps behind you, hands at his sides, his expression unreadable but open in a way that makes it harder to breathe. He looks steadier than he did yesterday. But not by much. Just enough to show up. Just enough to speak.

You’re not sure what to say. You’re not even sure if you want to. But something in his eyes keeps you there, rooted in place, heart suspended in your chest like it’s waiting to see what he’ll do next.

He doesn't speak right away, just shifts on his feet like he's working up the nerve. His hands are twitchy, fingers curling and uncurling at his sides, like they’re searching for something to hold onto.

You tilt your head, watching him with quiet curiosity. Finnick Odair has always been fluid and confident, a creature of effortless charm. But now? He looks like he’s standing at the edge of something vast and terrifying.

His lips part, close, then part again.

“I—uh…” He glances over his shoulder, like maybe he's reconsidering. Like maybe he thinks this was a mistake. But then he looks back at you, eyes soft and uncertain. “We're... we’re all sitting together for lunch. Katniss, Johanna, Gale, the others. Annie too.” He swallows, trying to play it casual, but you see right through it.

The pause stretches. He runs a hand through his hair. “You can sit with us. If you want.”

You blink, caught off guard by how tentative he sounds. He’s not asking you like a man who's used to being told yes. He’s asking you like he doesn’t believe he deserves it. Like the offer is fragile, like he’s fragile.

And suddenly, you remember—twelve years old, in the glow of summer light back home in 4. Salt on your skin, sand in your shoes, and Finnick looking at you like you held every star in the sky. He was nervous then, too. Fingers fidgeting with a fraying bracelet, voice cracking as he asked if maybe you wanted to go to the harbor with him sometime. He’d smiled too fast, too big, trying to mask the tremble in his voice.

He looks like that now. That same unsure, wide-eyed boy, just with more scars. Just with a world that’s tried to break him in every way.

And even if you’re still hurting, even if the ache in your chest hasn’t faded, some small part of you—that soft, quiet part that never stopped loving him—leans forward.

You nod.

“Okay.”

It’s all you say. But his shoulders loosen, just slightly. A breath he didn’t realize he was holding escapes his chest.

He doesn’t smile. Not really. But there’s a flicker of something in his eyes. Relief. Maybe even hope.

The cafeteria hums with the same low buzz it always does, voices blending into the clatter of trays and cutlery. Fluorescent lights cast everything in a pale, sterile glow, but the table Finnick leads you to feels strangely warm despite it. Familiar.

Annie’s the first to smile. It's soft and genuine, her eyes crinkling at the corners as she makes space beside her, nudging a tray out of the way with a quiet sort of grace.

“You haven’t changed,” she says, tilting her head toward you as you sit. “Still like to lurk in corridors until someone drags you to lunch.”

You let out a breath, the sound almost a laugh. “And you still think you’re so charming for pointing it out.”

She grins wider, and for a moment, it’s like the war hasn’t touched either of you. Like the years haven’t passed. You talk, low and easy, about nothing and everything—how awful the rations are, how the uniforms never quite fit right, how District 13 seems allergic to any form of joy. You feel something shift in your chest. Something loosen.

Across the table, Katniss meets your gaze, her expression unreadable as always. But there’s a flicker there. A silent nod. An understanding passed like a note between soldiers—you’ve been through it too. You return the nod, and that’s enough.

Prim beams at you like you’ve made her whole week. “Thank you,” she says, too earnestly. “Now I don’t have to sit with them for one day, then you and your friends the next—it was starting to feel like I had divorced parents.”

That earns a quiet laugh around the table. Even Finnick huffs out something like amusement, eyes trained on his tray.

You glance down the table at Gale. He hasn’t said a word. He just gives you a look—cool, curious, unreadable. Like he’s trying to decide what kind of Capitol creature you are.

You meet it evenly. You don’t know him either. Don’t trust him. He carries himself like he’s always one breath away from starting a revolution, and maybe that’s true. But there’s something about his conviction that rubs you wrong. You grew up around people who wore masks; Gale doesn’t. Maybe that’s why you don’t know what to make of him.

Still, for Katniss’s sake, you nod politely. He doesn’t return it. Just goes back to eating.

Johanna flops down across from you halfway through a story about Annie smuggling sugar packets. Her eyes narrow like she’s trying to solve a puzzle.

“Look who finally crawled out of her Capitol shell,” she mutters, reaching for a roll she probably didn’t wait in line for. “Did Finnick threaten to cry or something?”

You raise a brow. “I just missed the privilege of being insulted mid-meal. Thought I’d treat myself.”

She smirks. “There she is.”

And maybe most people wouldn’t catch it, but you do—beneath the sarcasm, there's a glint of approval. Maybe even affection. It’s all Johanna knows how to offer.

The conversation ebbs and flows, warm and awkward and strangely easy. It’s not perfect. But it’s something. And as you sit there, tray untouched, laughter slowly folding itself around you, you realize how long it’s been since you felt like you belonged anywhere at all.

Lunch ends slowly, the table thinning one by one. Johanna slinks off first, muttering something about needing to spar before she “goes soft from all the sap.” Gale disappears not long after, barely sparing you a glance. Prim and Katniss leave together, Prim bubbling with chatter, Katniss trailing beside her in her usual brooding silence. Annie lingers, brushing a hand over Finnick’s arm as she stands—something gentle, something old and familiar—and then she’s gone too.

It leaves just you and Finnick.

Neither of you speaks right away. He’s fidgeting again, thumb brushing the rim of his tray, shoulders too tense for someone who used to command every room he walked into without even trying. It’s strange to see him like this—uncertain, too careful with you. The last time you saw him look this nervous, you were thirteen, and he had a daisy in one hand and sweaty palms in the other, stammering through his first try at asking you to the District 4’s spring banquet.

You were both still whole then.

He glances at you now, that same look flickering behind his eyes—like he’s on the edge of a sentence he can’t quite say.

“You didn’t have to sit with me,” he murmurs, almost a question.

“I know,” you say softly. “I wanted to.”

His eyes flick up to meet yours, green and wide and uncertain. There’s a pause, then he exhales, like that admission untied something in him. He stands first, grabbing both trays without asking. You follow quietly.

The walk to the drop-off station is short, but he doesn’t leave you after. He hesitates, lingers just beside you in the corridor outside the cafeteria, shoulders brushing once—by accident or on purpose, you’re not sure. The hallway is quiet, colder now without the warmth of others.

“I…” He stops, starts again. “I didn’t think you would. Sit with me, I mean.”

You shrug, though it feels heavy. “You asked.”

He lets out a breath, a quiet huff of almost-laughter. “Yeah. I did.”

There’s a pause that stretches too long. You know he’s searching for words. You know because you are too.

“I meant it,” he says finally, quieter than before. “What I said. About not wanting to hurt you.”

You nod, because you know. But knowing doesn’t erase the ache. Still, something about hearing it again, here in the hush of this empty hallway, feels like balm to a wound you stopped looking at weeks ago.

“Hey,” he says suddenly. “Do you remember that night—back in Four—when we snuck out during the storm?”

You blink, surprised by the shift in tone. He’s looking at you now, not nervous anymore, just gentle. “The hurricane?” you ask.

He nods. “Yeah. We were what… fourteen? Maybe fifteen. We got caught in it trying to race to the docks. I’ve been thinking about it lately. I remember the rain hitting so hard it stung. And we ended up hiding under that overturned canoe.”

You let out a quiet breath, not quite a laugh. “You told me you’d protect me from the wind if I gave you half my chocolate bar.”

His mouth twitches. “You still gave it to me even after I told you I forgot mine on purpose.”

“I remember,” you say softly, looking down. “You looked so proud of that plan.”

He chuckles, a low sound, soft and fond. Then his voice quiets again. “I don’t know why that memory’s been stuck in my head lately. I just… I needed to know if it was real. If I didn’t just make it up.”

You meet his gaze, and in it, you see something achingly vulnerable. Not a man trying to make amends with grand gestures. Just someone trying to hold on to something true in a world that keeps taking.

“It was real,” you say. “That was real.”

Finnick nods slowly, and it looks like relief. Like something inside him finally exhales.

“Okay,” he murmurs. “Good.”

And it’s not a confession. It’s not a plea. It’s something simpler, more fragile—a thread being carefully, hopefully tied back between you.

He doesn’t ask anything else. And you don’t press.

You walk in different directions at the end of the hall, but the air feels lighter now. Less like absence. More like beginning.

~

It’s been three days since that hallway conversation. Three days since Finnick brought up the storm in District 4, since he looked at you like he was remembering how to breathe.

You haven’t talked since. Not properly. There were nods, the occasional flicker of eye contact, and once—just once—he passed by you in the training center and murmured your name like a quiet promise before disappearing into the next room.

You’ve been patient. Careful. Letting him come to you in his own time, if he ever does.

And then, that evening, just after the last strategy meeting lets out, you step out into the corridor—and he’s already there.

He’s leaning against the wall like he’s been waiting. Not with the sharp confidence the Capitol taught him, but with something softer. Familiar. Like he’s trying to be brave again.

“Hey,” he says, straightening a little. “You free?”

You raise an eyebrow. “Right now?”

Finnick hesitates, then nods. “There’s something I want to show you.”

The corridors of District 13 are quiet this late in the evening, lit only by the sterile, humming lights overhead. You follow Finnick through a series of winding turns, deeper into the underground. He doesn’t say much, only glances back now and then to make sure you’re still there. His pace is steady, but there’s a nervousness in the way his hands twitch at his sides—like he’s unsure if this is too much, too soon.

Eventually, he leads you to a small maintenance room at the end of a lesser-used hallway. He punches in a code and the door hisses open. Inside, it’s dim and cold, just metal walls and a few crates pushed into corners. But when he gestures you forward, you realize what he’s really brought you to see.

There’s a narrow crawlspace tucked into the wall—a vent path maybe, or a space cleared for storage. Finnick slips inside first and helps you follow. At the other end is a grate that opens into a hidden view of one of the District’s water filtration reservoirs. It’s quiet. Still. And the pale reflection of the underground lights in the water gives it a silvery, moonlit sheen.

Finnick sits with his back against the wall, knees drawn up. It’s cramped, but not uncomfortable. You take your place beside him, careful not to let your shoulder brush his, even though part of you aches to.

“It’s not much,” he says, voice low, “but sometimes I come here when I can’t take all the walls.”

You nod slowly, letting your eyes trace the ripple of light on the water. “It kind of reminds me of home.”

He glances at you then. “Yeah. I was hoping you’d think that too.”

The silence between you isn’t heavy this time. It stretches out gently, like waves lapping at the shore. And then Finnick’s voice breaks through, hesitant.

“Do you remember that cove just past the harbor in Four? The one we had to swim out to?”

You turn to look at him, and there’s something soft in his expression—uncertain, almost boyish.

“I remember,” you say.

“You got stung by a jellyfish and told me I’d better marry you one day or you’d haunt me for eternity.” He lets out a quiet laugh. “Did that really happen, or did I just make it up to survive Snow’s parties?”

You smile, warmth blooming behind your ribs. “No, it happened. You cried more than I did.”

His face shifts, the tension in his jaw loosening just enough. “I was scared,” he says. “I thought I was gonna lose you.”

You look at him. Really look. The tired set of his shoulders, the faint tremble in his fingers, the way his eyes hold on to you like he’s still trying to memorize this moment before it slips away.

“I never left,” you say quietly. “Even when you tried to make me.”

He doesn’t answer at first. Just nods. And when he does speak, it’s barely a whisper.

“I know.”

The silence settles again, comfortable in its stillness but laced with things too fragile to name. Finnick shifts slightly beside you, drawing his knees closer to his chest like he’s trying to hold himself together. His thumb rubs over the edge of a seam in his pants—slow, rhythmic, grounding. You can almost see the thoughts moving behind his eyes, but he’s too careful, too practiced now, to let them slip freely.

“You know,” he murmurs after a beat, “sometimes I remember things that didn’t happen. Or maybe they did. It’s like… pieces of a puzzle that don’t belong to the same picture.”

You nod, quietly. “That’s okay. You don’t have to be sure right now.”

He looks at you, grateful but pained. “But I want to be. Especially with you.”

There’s something in his voice that cracks. Not loudly, not dramatically—but in the quiet way that feels like the soft crumble of stone, worn down by years of pressure. He leans his head back against the wall and closes his eyes.

“I think I remember your laugh,” he says after a long moment. “Not the one they made you wear in front of cameras. The real one. From when you’d chase me down the beach because I stole your towel. You always caught me. Always.”

A laugh does escape you now—quiet, surprised. “You were terrible at hiding. You’d always leave a trail of seashells behind you.”

His eyes open. They meet yours with something like wonder, as though he wasn’t sure if that memory was his or just another echo the Capitol forced into his head. But hearing it from you makes it real.

“I needed that,” he says. “I needed to know I didn’t make it all up.”

You don’t reach for him—he still flinches sometimes, and you won’t take that from him—but your voice is steady when you speak again.

“You didn’t. We were real. You and me. Before all of this.”

He nods. Slowly. Like it takes effort to believe it, but he’s trying.

“I’m still trying to find my way back to that,” he admits. “Back to the boy who thought a handful of seashells was enough to win you over.”

“You didn’t need seashells,” you whisper. “You already had me.”

The words hang between you, fragile but steady. And for the first time in a long while, he doesn’t look away.

You can hear the faint hum of pipes in the walls, the steady trickle of the reservoir below. Finnick hasn’t moved, still sitting close, still watching you like your presence is the only thing keeping him tethered to the present moment.

Then, he shifts. Just barely. His voice is tentative, searching.

“Can I ask you something else?”

You glance over at him, nodding once.

“That game,” he says. “Real or not?”

At first, you don’t answer. Your breath catches, your mind reeling back—not to this cold, hollow bunker, but to another time entirely. The way you’d sat with your back pressed to a door in the Capitol, shivering and broken, unable to sleep, to eat, to speak. And Finnick, kneeling in front of you with a look in his eyes that said he understood too much. More than he should have.

He was the one who made you look at him. Who asked the first question. “Your favorite food is salt-crusted crab, real or not?” And you blinked at him, confused and exhausted, before whispering, real.

“It’s real,” you say softly, voice thick. “You made it up on the second night. When I couldn’t stop crying.”

Finnick exhales like he’s been holding his breath for years. His shoulders relax, just slightly.

“I thought maybe I imagined that,” he murmurs. “I wanted it to be real so badly I started thinking it was.”

You reach out, just enough to let your hand rest lightly on the edge of the wall between you. Not touching him—but close. “It was real. That game saved me, Finnick. You saved me.”

He goes quiet again, but there’s something different about it now. A flicker of hope trying to find shape.

Then, barely above a whisper, he says, “Do you think… you’d want to play it again? With me. Now.”

Your heart tightens, not with fear, but with that bittersweet kind of warmth that comes with remembering who someone used to be—and seeing traces of them still alive in front of you. Still trying.

“Yeah,” you breathe. “I’d like that.”

He doesn’t smile, not quite. But his lips twitch, and his eyes flicker with something close to light. He nods slowly, almost like he’s afraid to break the moment.

And then he asks—quiet, careful, like the boy from District 4 who once handed you a seashell and promised the ocean would always bring him back to you:

“Real or not: you used to hum sea shanties under your breath when you thought no one was listening.”

Your eyes meet his, and for a second it’s like nothing ever changed.

“Real,” you say. “Only when I missed home.”

Finnick’s gaze softens. He leans his head back against the wall again, letting that answer settle inside him like a wave returning to shore.

“Your turn,” he murmurs.

The game continues on in the silence between you, questions lingering like whispers in the space you’ve carved out together. You take turns, each answer grounding you a little more in the reality of the present. The past is never far, but for once, it feels like something you can touch without fear.

As the minutes stretch into an hour, the world outside fades away. There are no more games, no more masks, no more Capitol pressures—just two people, sitting in the quiet glow of shared memories, leaning on the simple comfort of each other's company.

And for the first time in what feels like forever, you let yourself believe in something real again.

[lowkeycasanova]

telling him you won't spend the night to get his reaction

Inspired by the tik tok trend. Requested but I can't find the message.

Headcanon

Characters: Monster trio + Ace & Law

Luffy

The ship had docked for the night. Sunny was rocking with the tide and dinner had been devoured. Now everyone was lounging around, chatting, cleaning up, or getting ready to turn in for the night.

"Oh, I decided I'm not gonna stay over tonight." you told casually told Luffy.

He blinks, processing your words like the don't quite make sense. Then his face immediately twists in a dramatic pout. "Huh? What do you mean you're not staying?"

You shrugged like it was nothing. "I mean I'm not staying over. What's the problem?"

His bottom lip sticks out and his brows scrunch in pure betrayal. "Where else would you go?"

When you don't take it back, he shifts closer to you. "Just stay. Why wouldn't you stay? You always stay." he says, softly caressing your hand.

You nearly want to melt right then, but you keep up the act. "You'll be fine for one night."

"No I won't." he argues instantly.

The look in his big, round eyes makes you crumble. You huff, unable to hold back your grin any longer. "Okay! Okay! It was a joke."

His face lights up, that pout disappearing like it was never there.

"Ahaha! I knew it!" he exclaims.

Zoro

Zoro sits on the deck, arms crossed, eyes closed - half napping, half listening to the sounds of the waves. You yawn beside him.

"Hey, so I'm actually not gonna sleep over tonight." you nudged him.

At first, he doesn't react. Just a slow blink, like he's debating on if he heard you right. Without opening his eyes, he mumbles, "What the hell do you mean?"

When you repeat yourself, his brows twitch slightly and turns his head to look at you. "Why?" his voice is steady, with an edge to it, like your answer better be good.

"I just wanted to sleep in my own bed tonight." you say as you force yourself to picture your own bed- how it feels, how it smells- anything to keep your expression neutral. Still you can feel the corners of your mouth threatening to twitch. You bite the inside of your cheek, staying strong.

"Tch. That's dumb. Just stay with me." he says so matter-of-factly like it's the obvious answer. Like there's no scenario where you shouldn't be in his bed tonight.

You insist and he narrows his eyes. "You tryna piss me off?"

He's not actually mad, not yet anyway, but the idea of you not being next to him irritates him more than he'd like to admit.

You keep it up but he acts unbothered. "Fine. Do whatever you want."

But when you stand up to leave, his strong arms wrap around you, pulling you down onto his lap. "You're not going anywhere."

He won't outright beg, but he's not above to using his strength to keep you exactly where you belong.

Sanji

Sanji is in the kitchen, smiling softly to himself with you on a stool a few feet away, enjoying each other’s company when you tell him, “Oh by the way, I’m not going to stay over tonight.”

The knife he’s holding clatters onto the cutting board. He freezes, mid-motion, shoulders stiff, as if you just told him the most heartbreaking news imaginable. Slowly, he turns to face you, eyes wide with pure devastation.

"What did you just say?"

When you repeat yourself, his brows knit together and he lets out a disappointed sigh. "Why?" his voice is calm but there's a clear sulking behind it.

You don't give a straight answer. He sets the knife aside, leaning against the counter with his arms crossed. "You always stay. Why not tonight? Did I do something wrong?" he asks.

"No, of course not." you told him. "It's nothing bad."

You try to get up and leave to really sell it but he reaches out, gently grabbing your wrist. "At least stay until I finish cooking. You don't have to sleep over but...just have dinner first."

It was then when you couldn't hold it in anymore. You laugh but also nearly hold back what you think are tears from how sweet he's being. You confess it was just a joke and he lets out a breath he didn't realize he was holding.

He runs a hand down his face, then showing that lopsided grin. A complete 180 from where he was a few seconds ago.

"My love, you nearly gave me a heart attack."

Ace

Ace is lying with his back on the bed, hands behind his head as he lazily watches you move around the room when you casually say, "Hey, I'm actually not gonna spend the night here tonight."

He blinks once. Then twice.

"Huh?"

When you repeat yourself, he stares at you as if you'd just slapped him. "You already told me you were staying. You changed your mind?"

"Yeah." you said like it was nothing at all. He shifts onto his side, propping his head up with his hand.

"If you want to break up with me, just say that."

You turn away, pretending to busy yourself with something- anything- to keep him from seeing the way your mouth is twitching into a smile and how your shoulders tremble from the effort of trying to hold in your laughter.

"'Cause there's no other reason you'd leave me here otherwise." he adds.

You bite your bottom lip, still refusing to turn around until you've mustered up enough strength to put on a serious face.

"I just wanted to have a night to myself. It's not that deep."

He lets out a wounded sigh. So dramatic. But the second you crack a smile, he sits up fast, pointing a finger at you. "I knew it! You're messing with me!"

Before you can even react, he grabs you and pulls you to the bed, wrapping his arms around you. His voice his smug, lightly brushing your ear. "Nah, you're staying. Too late to back out now."

Law

Law is sitting at his desk, flipping through some papers while he absentmindedly rambles to you about some new surgical technique.

"It's not widely used, but the survival rate is significantly higher-"

You sit on the bed that's close by, nodding along, but your mind is elsewhere. Which is a shame because it isn't often when he gets like this, talking about things he loves. You've been trying to find the right moment to say it but you can't just just blurt it out when he's speaking.

"The only issue is post operation infection. But if managed correctly-"

Okay, maybe once he finishes his thought.

Or the next one.

Finally, he pauses. Your fingers twitch. Just do it now.

You stretch your arms and pretend to yawn. "I think I'm gonna sleep in my room tonight."

He doesn't react at first. Just continuing to flip pages, pausing mid turn. Slowly, his eyes reach you, brows drawing together slightly. "...What?"

You repeat yourself and this time he sets the papers down completely. His gaze still lingers on you, sharp and calculating. "Why?"

"Wanted to sleep in my own room tonight." you shrug, keeping it vague. He exhales.

"But what's different about tonight?" he asks. You dodge it again.

"You're acting weird." he doesn't sound irritated, just skeptical. "Did something happen?"

You shake your head quickly, trying to keep your expression neutral. "No, nothing happened. Just felt like switching it up."

Law leans back in his chair, arms crossing over his chest as he studies you. His sharp eyes flick over your face, dissecting every little movement, every twitch of your lips, every blink too long. He’s catching on.

"You're lying," he states flatly.

Your fingers tighten against the sheets. "What? No, I’m not—"

"You are," he cuts in, unwavering. "Your body language changed the moment you said it." He tilts his head slightly, as if piecing together a puzzle. "You're suppressing a reaction. Trying too hard to act normal."

Damn it.

Law rubs his temple. "If you really didn't want to stay, I wouldn't stop you," he mutters, picking up his papers again.

The finality in his voice shatters your composure, and a laugh bursts out before you can stop it. You shake your head, waving your hands in surrender. "Okay, okay! You got me. It was a joke."

He clicks his tongue, shooting you a mildly exasperated look. "Figures." But the corner of his mouth turns up into a smile. Barely.

Still chuckling, you hop off the bed and make your way toward him, draping your arms over his shoulders from behind. "Aw, I'm sorry. " you tease.

He mumbles something under his breath. Then, without warning, he grabs your wrist and pulls you onto his lap, arms locking around you securely. His chin rests on your shoulder, his lips barely brushing against your skin as he exhales a quiet sigh, letting you know he's not as unaffected as he pretended to be.

[returnofeternity]

synopsis. you're still not coping well with the loss of your sibling. who better than to take your grief out on than your girlfriend who's at fault?

pairing: lottie matthews x gn!reader

genre: ANGST ANGST ANGST.

wc: 990

fic note. you're just replacing travis basically. just wanted lottie angst.

· · 𐂂 · ·

your heart feels numb as you lead lottie to the covered pit trap you started making a few days ago out of boredom, the dozens of stakes you carved over and over for your sibling's grave finally having a use.

you don't know when you decided that you're gonna kill your girlfriend. maybe it was when she took the opportunity to leave this place away from you. maybe it was when she held you back as the girls chased your younger sibling after they pulled the queen card, telling you that the Wilderness chose them for Its sacrifice and there was nothing you could do about it. maybe it was all the times you'd sneak away from sleeping with her and go to the place where you hid their bones, talking to them about how sorry you are.

you think it was after she curbed your chance at rescue that made you so angry at her. you finally had the opportunity to go home, to get away from this place and the reminder of your sibling that pains you every day. but lottie's also a reminder.

and while staring into the pit one night, you saw a vision of her bloody body at the bottom and felt all the stress and guilt leave your body.

in some twisted way, you think that maybe if lottie's gone, you can finally breathe. you don't know. all you know is that something is telling you that this is right, even despite the feeling in your stomach telling you that this is wrong.

you have to blame someone.

"what's wrong?" lottie calls from behind you, her concerned voice making you flush with unbridled anger. she steps closer to you, analyzing your blank face and clenched jaw. "tell me. you know i can help."

"can you?" you scoff bitterly, looking at her with disgust. if you were thinking clearly, you would've hated the way she sunk in on herself and made the most devastating frown. "all you do is ruin things. we could've gotten rescued, we could be home right now. how can you not understand that you're not helping?"

you look away from her sad face, guilt and anxiety eating away at your brain. you can't think correctly. all you can hear is the screams of your sibling yelling for you to help them, the feeling of lottie's hand keeping you from saving them burning your wrist like a mark you can't get rid of.

you mumble frantically to yourself, closing your eyes and tugging and scratching painfully at your hair as you try to make their screams stop. "i can't let you keep doing this... i can't. i can't."

"i'm sorry." her voice breaks you out of your daze, and lottie's heart aches at your anguished face glistening with tears. "i'm sorry." she repeats, stepping closer, her hand hovering out and waiting for you to give her the okay to touch you. "i just wanted you to see that they're still here with us."

you let out a choked sound, something between a scoff and a laugh as you look at her. your hands shake as you take them out of your pockets and clench them, itching to just grab her shoulders and push her into the pit. you can't believe her. i mean, you can, you know her better than anyone else, but really, fuck this. fuck her.

"it's bullshit. you're fuckin' bullshit, lottie." you spit, walking closer and getting up in her face. "they're not with us, they're fucking 10 feet in the ground because you killed them—because you didn't let me save them." you correct yourself, stabbing your finger harshly into her chest.

"the Wilderness chose," she says calmly which pisses you off even more. "i know you're angry, but denying the Wilderness-"

you push her shoulder and shout in irritation, your fingernails finding their way back into your hair and digging harshly into your scalp until you think you feel the skin break. you blink a few times, the world around you spinning and turning into a blur as you feel all the anger and sadness you've been keeping inside finally spill out.

"it's not real!" you yell, pushing her back to where you covered the pit with twigs and leaves, holding your breath as she stumbles back and lands on her ass. you feel your throat close up when she doesn't fall in and you drop to your knees, hands clutching your ears as you sob. "it's not real....it's not real."

lottie's by your side within seconds, combating your attempts to push her off as you scream for your sibling.

"no! get away." you elbow her in the chest to try and get her off of you, but you can't help but stop resisting as she cradles you in her arms and shushes you. "i miss them, i miss them so much." you weep, hand clutching tightly onto lottie's as you let everything out.

"i know, i know." she whispers softly, her thumb swiping across your hand to comfort you. "it's okay. i know you're mad at me. I'm sorry, i love you."

you grieve into her arms until you can't shed any more tears and until your throat can't produce any more screams. you're tired, slumped into lottie's body as you breathe heavily and sniff away your snot. pain racks through your body as you try to move your neck to look at her, eyes fluttering when you notice tear stains on her cheeks.

she smiles sadly at you, her hand coming up to softly grab your chin to pull you in for a short kiss. she scratches behind your ear before moving to stand up, and you shake your head and pull her back down.

"i don't wanna leave yet. can we just...can you just hold me here for a while?" you murmur, feeling embarrassed and ashamed. but you need lottie, you know that now.

[jakesimfromstatefarm]

no doubt ── s. jy (sneak peek!)

update: this fic's been posted! click here to read <3

↳ summary ── struggling to balance a world tour, endless responsibilities, and...well, the sting of getting dumped by his girlfriend, jake finds peace & comfort confiding in you—one of his closest friends. what begins as lighthearted late-night phone calls while he's away on tour deepens into something more, quickly pulling you both into uncharted emotional territory. as your connection with jake intensifies, so does your inner turmoil—torn between the comfort of your easy relationship with him and the terrifying possibility of falling for someone you're not even sure you can have in the first place. but jake? jake has absolutely no doubt of what he wants—and spoiler alert? it's you.

↳ pairing ── jake x f!reader, [ft. childhoodbestfriend!jungwon, bestfriends!enha]

↳ genre ── idol!jake, friends to lovers!au || fluff, angst, crack

↳ addie's ✉ .ᐟ ── hai everyone, the freaking turmoil & HOLD this fic has on me,,,has me writing til 8AM in the freaking morning because CLEARLY ─ i have unspoken issues . anyways here's a teaser of my recent hyperfixation that i'm sharing with the world. at the rate i'm writing this every night (& morning), it should be out soon (hopefully) :3 also this snippet i decided to include is my attempt at angst...i hope yall enjoy !

also send me an ask/comment if you'd like to be tagged !!! <3

snippet under the cut!!

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・

“Y/N.” 

His voice is quiet, almost drowned out by the muffled hum of music and laughter seeping from the party you should've escaped from a long time ago. You stop in your tracks, swallowing hard before turning around.  

Jake stands a few feet away, his usual easy confidence replaced by something raw, almost broken. He looks disheveled, his hands clenching at his sides as though they're the only thing anchoring him.  

“Can we talk?” he asks, his voice low but unsteady. 

You stomach twists, but you steel yourself, "What do you want, Jake?"  

You shift your weight and instinctively cross your arms, a defensive barrier between you and the boy you spent too long letting into your heart. His eyes meet yours, and for a moment, the vulnerability in them makes your resolve falter. 

He takes a hesitant step towards you before exhaling shakily, running a hand through his hair.  

“I—I messed up tonight. I didn’t mean to...," he trails off, his words fumbling, his eyes searching yours in desperation.  

"...to completely ignore me all night? Make me feel like nothing?" You finish for him, your quiet voice breaking despite your attempt to stay composed.  

"No. God, no. You're not nothing," he says quickly, his voice faltering on the last word. "Y/N, you matter so much to me."  

“Well it definitely didn't feel that way,” your voice is barely audible, but you finally look up at him, the hurt bubbling to the surface. “After everything you said—promised, everything we talked about…” 

"I know, I just—" he hesitates, his voice barely above a whisper. He takes a tentative step closer, his movements slow and careful, like he's afraid you'll shatter if he gets too close. "I was nervous." 

"It’s been so long, and I didn’t know what to say, how to act. I wanted to get it right—to make it perfect—but instead, I just—" he stops, dragging another frustrated hand through his hair. His eyebrows knit together in that familiar way that once made your heart flutter, but now only adds to the ache in your chest. 

You let out a hollow laugh, the sound foreign even to your own ears, “Well, congratulations, Jake. You managed to mess it up anyway.” 

“Please,” he looks devastated, his hands trembling at his sides. “Y/N, please don’t think I don’t care about you. I do. More than you know. I just—I don't know how to do this. I panicked and I didn't mean to hurt you, I swear."  

You look at him, your eyes stinging with unshed tears as you take a shaky breath, “Then why was...why was she all over you tonight? Why didn’t you stop her?” 

He falters, his shoulders slumping under the weight of your question, “It wasn’t what it looked like. I didn’t—I couldn’t—” 

“You couldn’t,” you echo, the words spilling out in a rush now, each one cutting deeper. “I should've known. Let me guess, she wants to get back together, right?"  

Jake's silence is deafening, and it immediately answers your question. He opens this mouth, but nothing comes out. The way he looks at you—eyes wide and filled with regret, lips trembling as if searching for the right words—confirms everything you’re afraid of. 

You squeeze your eyes shut, a shaky breath escaping your lips—the sound caught somewhere between a sigh of realization and a choked sob. No matter how hard you try, the wall holding back your emotions cracks under the weight of it all. The doubts you've tried so hard to bury suddenly resurface, crashing over you suddenly, each one carrying the sting of every insecurity, every fear you’ve ever had about this moment, about him. Your chest feels tight, your heart splintering under the realization that everything you were afraid of might be true. 

"Jake, I can't do this," you whisper, shaking your head. "I can't be the person you lean on while you try to figure out what you want."  

"No, no—Y/N, I do know what I want," he pleads, his voice cracking as he tries to step closer. "And it’s you. Always been you, Y/N. Everything I said before—I meant it."  

His words hang heavy in the air, the faint echo of the party music filtering through the cracks in the door and into the quiet hallway. You look away, refusing to let him see your tears finally spilling over.  

"You promised," you let out softly. "You promised you wouldn't hurt me. You said you'd prove that I could trust you, that I didn't have to be scared. You knew I was worried, Jake. And you hurt me anyways."  

"And I swear I meant every word I said. I still do," Jake says, his voice desperate. He steps even closer, his hand reaching out and brushing yours, but you pull back before he can close the distance. "You have to believe me. Please, Y/N. You're the only one I care about."  

You shake your head again, the tears now freely slipping down your cheeks despite your best efforts, "I don't know if I can believe that anymore, Jake. I wanted to, I really, really did. But tonight..."  

Jake’s face falls, the weight of your pain crashing into him all at once. His lips tremble as he struggles to hold himself together, his eyes glassy with unshed tears. This was the first time seeing you in so long, and this sight of you—broken because of him—cuts deeper than he thought possible. His voice is barely above a whisper, raw and pleading, “Y/N, I’m so sorry. I—God, please. Please give me a chance.” 

You look at him—at the boy who's become your safe space —and all you feel is the ache in your heart.  

"I can't do this right now, Jake," you finally let out a deep breath and take a step back. "I think I just need space."  

The words hang in the air like a death sentence. His breath hitches as if your words physically hit him in face, "Y/N..." 

Your phone suddenly buzzes, a text from Jungwon letting you know he's outside. You glance down at it, then back at Jake. For a moment, you hesitate, your heart screaming at you to stay, to give him the chance he's begging for. But your head knows better. 

"I have to go," you murmur softly, turning away before the tears threaten to spill all over again. You force yourself to keep walking, fighting the overwhelming urge to look back—to let him pull you into his arms, where you wished so desperately you belonged.  

Frozen, Jake watches helplessly as you walk away, his chest tightening with every step you take. Everything feels like it's caving in, regret clawing at him the more he sees you walk further away. He opens his mouth to say something—anything—but the words fail him, silenced by the weight of his own mistakes.  

The hallway falls into a haunting silence, broken only by the faint echo of your retreating steps, a cruel reminder of what he's just let slip away.  

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・

not my usual style of light-hearted crack...but sum of the other parts are still very rom-commy bc im sucker for dat shtuff :3

let me know if you'd like to be tagged !

<3, addie

[lilacmingi]

SECOND CHANCES

My works are 14+ ONLY. If you’re under 14 DO NOT interact with me or any of my works. And please don’t spam-like!

Pairing: Best friend!Yunho x fem reader (feat. Mingi)

Word count: 13,600

Note: I’ve written yet another imagine that’s 10K+ words oopsie. This one is a best friends to lovers because 1. Yunho fits it SO well and 2. I’m a sucker for that trope 🤧

The savory scent of meat being seared over an open grill wafted in the air, making your mouth water, the sizzle of the pork like music to your ears.

"Make sure you get a good char on it, Yunho." San mentioned, leaning over the table a bit.

Said man, seated beside you, nodded and flipped the pieces of pork over the grated surface. "Got it."

Mingi had invited you and the other guys out for dinner, not giving much of an explanation as to why, but none of you were one to turn down an invite to go eat, so you all agreed to meet up at a Korean BBQ restaurant.

Seated next to Mingi was his girlfriend whom he had been with for a year and a half. She was really sweet and fit in with the friend group well. There was only one teensy problem—you had a massive crush on Mingi.

Seeing him shoulder-to-shoulder with her made your stomach twist, even now after a year and a half. It was devastating when he first announced that he had met someone. Of course, you put on a happy face and pretended to be excited, but on the inside you felt sick. Yunho, one of the boys that you were closest with in the friend group, knew how you felt about Mingi and comforted you when you needed it. It was hard on you at first, but eventually got easier. His girlfriend was introduced to the group and it was impossible to dislike her, especially since none of what was happening was her fault. No one knew you liked Mingi, except Yunho.

The only silver lining in the whole situation was the possibility of them breaking up someday. It was a horrible thing to think, especially since the two of them got along like two peas in a pod, but a small part of you hoped one day it would happen.

"Y/n, you wanna have first taste?" Yunho's voice pulled you from your daze, a piece of beautifully-grilled pork held in front of your face between a pair of tongs.

Blinking yourself back to the present, you put on a smile, ignoring San's whining and complaints about not getting to have first bite as you took the piece between your teeth.

"Mmm!" Your eyes brightened at the flavors and you nodded approvingly.

"Alright." Yunho beamed, his heart flipping at the expression on your face. "Pork is done. He announced, placing each piece onto a plate for serving.

You picked up your chopsticks and started taking portions from the bowls and plates of various dishes spread along the table. Leaning forward a bit, you attempted to reach for a bowl of your favorite dish, your chopsticks not quite reaching their intended destination.

"I'll get it for you." Yunho cut in, stretching his much longer arm across the table, grabbing a few bite-sized portions of it and placing it onto your plate.

"Is that enough or would you like more?"

"That's enough for now. Thank you." The eye smile you gave him in return made his chest fill with warmth, a shy grin making its way onto his face.

"Is there any kimchi over there?" Wooyoung asked, peering down the table.

"Right here." Yeosang responded, pointing with his chopstick.

"Can you pass it to me?"

"No."

"Please? I'll do aegyo for it."

At that, Yeosang grabbed the small bowl and immediately passed it down to Wooyoung, who seemed mildly offended at his friend's quick jump to action.

"Why'd you react that way?" He asked with a frown.

"I'm not putting anyone here through that."

The table erupted in scattered laughter and chuckles at the playful jab from Yeosang. Things were often like this with the boys; lots of goofing around and teasing one another. It was one of many reasons why you liked having them as your friends.

Throughout the meal, the group talked amongst themselves, reminiscing on memories of the last time you all got together as well as general talk of how delicious the food was. The plates had long been emptied and the afternoon was coming to a close when Mingi cleared his throat, standing from his chair. Everyone's attention was turned to him as he opened his mouth to speak.

"So there's a reason why I invited you all out tonight." He rubbed his palms anxiously over his upper thighs. "I wanted you all to be here for this."

You watched as he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a black velvet box, your eyes widening. Mingi then turned to his girlfriend and pushed his chair aside so he could get down on one knee.

"I know we've been dating for a year and a half now, and that might not seem very long for some people, but I've been thinking about this for a while and I can't stand the thought of not spending the rest of my life with you."

Suddenly, all the food you'd eaten felt like it was going to come back up, your stomach churning with an uneasy feeling that only got worse as the next words left his mouth.

"Will you marry me?"

Mingi's girlfriend had her hands over her mouth in shock, the typical reaction of a proposee. She nodded her head, muffled joyous giggled leaving her before she pulled her hands away and held Mingi's face, leaning in to kiss him.

You felt like you were gonna be sick.

As much as you tried not to watch, you couldn't tear your eyes away when Mingi plucked the glimmering ring from it's box and placed it onto her trembling hand.

That was the icing on the cake, the final punch to the gut.

Everyone clapped, cheering for the couple and it took everything in you to play along as an unsavory wave of emotions hit you, leaving a bitter taste in your mouth. It wasn't jealousy. Well, maybe it was a little jealously, but for the most part it was guilt and longing. Guilt for never trying to spend more time with him or hint at how you felt.

Yunho seemed to take notice of your artificial reaction, knowing how you felt about Mingi. He frowned, leaning in a bit before whispering under the clamor of celebration, "Are you okay?"

You forced a tight smile while nodding, attempting to be blasé about the whole situation, but Yunho knew better.

His expression turned melancholy, eyes drooping with the corners of his mouth.

"Y/n, it's okay. I understand."

"I'm fine." You kept that same strained smile plastered on your face, a fallacious facade that seemed not to raise suspicions with anyone except Yunho.

Despite the chipper uptick in your tone, he knew you weren't well and that watching the proposal unfold had done a number on you emotionally, stirring up lingering feelings that hadn't gone away even after all these years.

He watched as everyone said their goodbyes and you gave Mingi and his new fiancé well wishes, his heart clenching at the sight. He knew it was killing you inside to be doing that. Lingering by the entrance of the restaurant, he stopped you on your way out.

"You wanna go somewhere and talk about it?"

He had always been a shoulder to cry on when you needed it and despite how much it hurt him to see you so attached to Mingi, he refused to leave you hanging.

You shook your head, declining his offer. "Thanks but I think I just wanna go home."

He nodded, pushing away the dull ache of disappointment. "I understand. Just let me know if you need anything—and I mean anything, okay?"

"I will. Thanks, Yunho. You're a good friend."

He winced imperceptibly at the stinging words that felt like a slap to the face. But that's all he was to you, right? A friend.

"Of course. Anything for you."

Three years. You wasted three years secretly and silently crushing on Mingi, too afraid to speak your feelings. And half of that time, he was in a relationship. If only you could've been brave enough to say something. It's all you could think about on the drive home. Wasted time.

Speaking of wasted time, the remainder of the day was spent binging shows and YouTube videos—any media that would occupy your attention span and take your focus off the events of that evening. It worked... for a little while. Even a hot shower didn't do the trick. It just gave you a quiet space to ruminate on what had happened.

As you lied down in bed that night, you stared at the ceiling and memorized the shadows the moon casted on its textured surface, your brain too awake to get you to the point of rest.

"It's out of your control." You whispered under your breath, closing your eyes.

The words were repeated in your head as you focused on your breathing, willing yourself to forget about it for the night in favor of some needed sleep. Eventually, the mantra faded out and you slowly drifted off.

The next day you couldn't shake the heavy feeling in your chest. It was unpleasant and no matter how hard you tried to distract yourself from it or push it away, it always came back.

What you needed was to get out of the house, get some sunlight, maybe even indulge in a little retail therapy.

You somehow managed to get out of your slump long enough to get ready and head out, walking down the street with your headphones shoved into your ears, using music to drown out your thoughts.

A quaint thrift shop with cozy-looking stained glass lamps and porcelain vases in the window caught your attention, slowing you to a stop. Printed in a vintage font on a sign were the words, Utopia Antiques. You always did like thrift shops and secondhand items so you decided to check out the place and scope it out.

The bell hanging above the door jingled at your entry and an elderly man behind the counter lifted his gaze from an old brass pitcher in his hands that he appeared to have been examining. He pushed his glasses up to rest on the top of his head, acknowledging you with a smile.

"Hello, young lady."

"Hello." You greeted him.

"Is there anything in particular I can help you find today?"

"No. I'm just browsing."

"Well, there's lots to browse." He smiled warmly, vaguely gesturing to the shelves of knickknacks and tchotchkes. "Take your time."

Moving further into the shop, your wandering eyes perused the various items lined up. There were small carved wooden chests, old jewelry boxes, and vintage metal signs. As you headed towards the back of the shop, a particular item grabbed your attention, standing out amongst the others; a bronzy gold hourglass glinting under the fluorescent lights. You carefully brought the item down off the shelf, examining it briefly before lifting the little tag tied to it. The price written was a little steep, perhaps slightly more than you would've liked to pay for it, but there was something about the hourglass that drew you in. It was beautiful and the design of it was eye-catching. You carried it around the shop with you until you were ready to check out.

"Oh. Very interesting." The man marveled when you placed the hourglass onto the counter. "This just arrived a couple days ago. It was found on a old ship, y'know."

"Really?" You inquired.

"Mhm. I receive items from many places. Auctions, old homes, old mansions, and on occasion, ships. I also pawn."

"Was that brass pitcher I saw you with earlier one of those things?"

"As a matter of fact, it was. Someone brought that in just a few minutes before you came in."

"Everything here looks like it's taken care of." You gestured to the many shelves lined with knickknacks.

"Oh, yes. I clean and polish everything I receive and I only take things I deem to be valuable. No junk here." He chuckled gruffly, removing the paper tag tied to the framing of the hourglass.

Your eyes wandered around the shop's interior again before landing on the man, who was pressing buttons on the register. He adjusted his glasses and turned to you with a smile, giving you the total.

Once the transaction was complete, he wrapped some old newspaper around the hourglass to keep it cushioned before bagging it, dropping your receipt in with your purchase.

"Thank you so much." You put on a friendly grin, carefully taking the bag from him.

"Have a nice day, young lady."

"Thank you. You too." You gave the shop owner a small wave and made your way out the door.

You left the antique shop feeling a bit better and the brief but pleasant conversation you shared with the man running the small business was a nice distraction from your turbulent thoughts. And the hourglass you bought would make a nice addition to your desk space in your bedroom or even on a shelf. You'd have to decide later.

You weren't exactly ready to go home just yet, as you hadn't been out of the house for too long, so you stopped by a small cafe and bought yourself a beverage. Sometimes a little treat helped when you were feeling down and this one certainly did.

While walking around town, you sipped on your drink and stopped in a few local shops to peruse, but didn't find anything that was particularly interesting or worth purchasing.

The low noise of the air conditioner greeted you as you stepped past the threshold of your home, your new purchase clutched in your hand. Kicking the door shut, you headed into your bedroom, tugging off the plastic bag and removing the newspaper from around the hourglass. Your eyes scanned one of the bookshelves in your room, trying to figure out the right place for your new item.

Even after your retail therapy, you couldn't shake the feeling of regret that weighed heavily on your shoulders and in your chest, part of you feeling like there might've been a possibility that you'd be the one Mingi proposed to if you'd done things differently.

Your gaze moved down to the hourglass, your fingertips rubbing along the curved, brassy gold bars that surrounded the sand-filled glass bulbs like a protective cage of sorts. You absentmindedly traced the shape of it while wondering what it might've been like to be proposed to by Mingi. To be the one he couldn't bear to live the rest of his life without. A heavy exhale left you as your fingers came rest at the peak of the hourglass. Without thinking much of it, you turned it, watching as the granules of sand shifted inside with the gravity and began slipping through the narrow neck and into the bottom bulb.

It was a little early to go to bed, but you didn't feel like doing anything other than sleeping, so you set the hourglass in an empty space on your shelf and went through your nightly routine.

It was almost ridiculous how much this whole engagement thing had affected you.

You should've done more instead of being scared. You should've tried harder, maybe even confessed your feelings. You might've had a shot if you'd just done something besides silently admiring him.

Closing your eyes, you let out an exhale, forcing your muscles to relax. There was nothing that could be done. What happened happened and there's no redoing it. No second chances. You'd just have to get over it and move on.

As you drifted off to sleep, the last grains of sand slipped through the narrow neck of the hourglass and it began to glow.

A soft, drowsy murmur escaped your lips as you slowly returned to the waking world. Cracking open your bleary eyes, you were met with the sight of a different set of sheets—ones you used to have on your bed, but had since changed. With furrowed brows, you rubbed your eyes as they adjusted to the daylight and you looked around your room. The decor was different. Posters you'd replaced quite some time ago were hanging back up and knickknacks you'd either boxed up or sold were sitting on your shelf.

My room hasn't looked like this in nearly... two years.

You froze, fully awake and alert now. Scrambling for the cell phone on your nightstand, you looked at the date as the screen lit up.

"No." You murmured, opening up the calendar app to get a more precise time only to have your heart drop to your feet.

This had to be a dream, right? There was no way you were in the past. Your fingers came up to pinch yourself on the upper arm harshly but all you did was yelp when a sharp pain stung the area.

Your head was spinning, chest tight, hands trembling. You were two years in the past.

At this point, you were seated upright in bed, gripping handfuls of your hair in a stressed manner. How? How did this happen? Was it a wish? Some strange miracle? Something in your mind clicked into place and suddenly it made sense.

The hourglass. You turned it just before going to bed.

Your hand came up to clutch your chest, your erratic heart rate thumping against it, reminding you of just how shocking this all was to you.

Once again, you snagged your phone, checking the date again, realization dawning on you. It was exactly a month before San's birthday. As you recalled, San had a party at the bowling alley, which is where Mingi ended up meeting his fiancé.

Were you perhaps getting a do-over?

If that was the case, you had a month to spend more time with Mingi before he met his future fiancé. You could do things differently this time. You could win over Mingi.

Your phone pinged in your hand and you glanced down at it to find a text notification from Yunho. He and Mingi were going to grab coffee and he wanted to know if you'd like to tag along. This happened exactly as you remembered it, though last time you said no and opted to stay home. Since you originally declined the offer, you chose to say yes this time, sending a quick response to Yunho before getting ready.

You arrived at the coffee shop, riddled with both nerves and excitement. You were getting a second chance.

The warm and welcoming aroma of rich coffee greeted you when you stepped into the cafe. Yunho and Mingi were already there, seated at a table by one of the large windows at the front of the establishment. They both waved your over with bright smiles.

"Didn't expect you two to get here so quickly." You commented while reaching to pull a chair out, but before you could, Yunho had done it for you. "Ah. Thank you." You lowered yourself into the seat. "Anyway, I hope you two weren't waiting on me."

"We haven't been here long." Mingi said, taking a sip of his iced americano. "Maybe five minutes."

"Good."

"I went ahead and ordered for you, Y/n." Yunho spoke up, sliding a cup towards you. "This is your favorite, right?"

Your brows raised and a small smile pulled at your lips.

"No, she likes plain coffee." Mingi chimed in before you could utter a single word.

You reached out to pull the cup closer to you. "It is this one. Thanks, Yunho."

He returned your small smile as you took a sip, humming softly at the flavor.

"This hits the spot."

Your eyes lingered on Mingi, taking in his sharp facial features before moving down to check out the rings on his fingers. "I like your rings."

"Oh." He stretched his digits apart to show off the jewelry adorning them. "Thanks. This one here is new." He pointed to one on his right index finger, a chunky silver ring with a square black stone on it.

As he talked about his rings and where he bought them, you were completely locked in, hanging onto every word he said. Unbeknownst to you, Yunho was doing some staring of his own, his gentle eyes full of longing as he gazed upon you, watching the way your own eyes twinkled in interest as Mingi went on. You were so enamored and Yunho could only wish you'd look at him that way.

"I've got my eye on one with a skull on it. It looks pretty cool." Mingi finished.

"Oh." You nodded enthusiastically.

"That color looks really good on you, Y/n." Yunho spoke up, grabbing your attention.

You glanced down at the top you were wearing and smiled at his compliment.

"It brings out your eyes." He added.

"Oh. Thank you." You let a tiny giggle slip out, flattered by his sweet words.

The three of you chatted and sipped on your drinks, enjoying each other's company. You were a lot more talkative with Mingi and really put forth an effort to engage in conversation, even going as far as lightly touching his shoulder while laughing, hoping to drop a hint. You weren't that way with him before, but since you were getting a chance to change things, you were doing everything you possibly could to show interest.

"And then Wooyoung nearly got sick after the roller coaster." Yunho finished through laughter, recalling a memory from the year prior when you all took a group trip to the amusement park.

"Yeah, he vowed to never eat funnel cake again after that." You cackled, dabbing away the tears at the corners of your eyes, letting out a long exhale as the laughter slowly died down. "That was a good day."

"It was." Mingi nodded. "I remember you tried so hard to win that cat plushie from the ring toss. What did you end up naming it? Pickles?"

"It was a dog plushie named Puddles because you said his brown paws looked like he'd been running in mud puddles." Yunho recollected with a small smile.

"Yeah, that's it." You nodded, grinning widely.

"Ah, that's right. Though I could've sworn it was a cat." Mingi murmured, shrugging.

"Do you still have Puddles?" Yunho asked.

"I do."

During your time together, you noticed Mingi wasn't as engaged as Yunho was. He made a few comments, adding to the conversation here and there while Yunho did most of the talking, bringing up different topics and speaking with such enthusiasm.

"I can take everyone's empty cups." He offered after noticing everyone had finished their drinks.

"Thank you." You handed your trash over to Yunho, watching for a moment as he walked to the garbage can near the cafe entrance.

"This has been nice." You commented, turning to Mingi with a small smile. "It was a good way to start the day. And thanks for buying coffee."

"Oh. I didn't pay for it. I bought my own."

Your brows raised a bit just as Yunho returned to the table, reclaiming his seat.

"You bought my coffee?"

His eyes widened slightly. "Yeah."

"Thank you. You're always doing stuff like that."

It was true. He often bought things for you like a meal or something to drink, always offering to cover the cost of something when you two hung out.

He chuckled softly. "I just like to take care of my friends."

The brief time you spent with Yunho and Mingi at the coffee shop was enjoyable, but you hadn't made much progress on your plan to pursue your crush. Despite engaging in conversation with Mingi, you still felt like you could've done more.

Instead of worrying, you pushed aside your concerns and reminded yourself that you still had almost a full month to change things. You had time.

Just a few days later, Hongjoong texted the group chat and asked if everyone was free to get together later that evening and check out a new restaurant in town. You remembered when this first happened and it was a fun night, in fact, Seonghwa ended up drinking a little too much, but you were hardly able to speak to Mingi due to being seated father away from him. You'd be sure to change that this time around—and maybe you'd advise Seonghwa to watch his soju intake.

You stepped into the restaurant to find Jongho, Hongjoong, and Seonghwa seated on a bench in the entryway of the establishment, likely waiting on the others.

"Hey!" Jongho greeted enthusiastically.

"Hey guys." You moved to take a seat on the bench beside him.

"So, how long has this place been in business?" Jongho asked Hongjoong, looking around at the interior.

"About a month. I've seen really good reviews online. I hear the jjigae is good, lots of people were recommending it."

"Did someone say jjigae?" San's voice bellowed as he entered the waiting area.

A chorus of greetings rang out as he joined the group, falling into conversation easily.

After a relatively short wait, everyone had arrived and the group was brought to a large table. Trying not to make it obvious, you slid into the chair beside Mingi, ensuring that you'd get some time with him this time around. Yunho was quick to slip into the empty seat to the right of you, offering a tiny smile as he scooted his chair closer to the table.

"Something smells good." He mentioned, referring to the aroma food from nearby tables that lingered in the air.

"It does." You agreed, reaching for your menu to scan the list, deciding to order something different this time around.

"I'm definitely getting soju." Seonghwa announced. "Anyone wanna join?"

"Me." Jongho piped up.

"You might not wanna overdo it." You cautioned.

"I'll be fine." Seonghwa waved off your comment.

"Suit yourself." You murmured, turning your attention back to the menu, eyes scanning over the pictures and names on the laminated pages.

Yunho's gaze drifted to you while your attention was focused on deciding what to order.

"Your eye makeup looks really good today." He spoke up, voicing his inner thoughts aloud.

"Oh." You were surprised he noticed something like that. "Thank you."

"It's different than what you usually do."

"Yeah, it is. I wanted to try something new."

"Well, it looks really good."

His compliment gave your mood a little boost, making you feel giddy. It wasn't often a guy took notice of a change in makeup, though if anyone were to notice, Yunho definitely would.

Mingi caught wind of the conversation and turned to get a look at your eyeshadow.

"Let me see."

You moved your head and closed your eyes so he could check out your handiwork.

"Oh. It's nice." He hummed. "Very shimmery."

Mingi's compliment made you even more giddy than Yunho's did, your heart fluttering in your chest. Your smile grew as you thanked him, unable to hide how his words made you feel.

Your waitress for the evening came over and one-by-one, everyone placed their orders. Despite your warning, Seonghwa did ask for a couple bottles of soju. Maybe some things you couldn't change. He and Jongho clinked shot glass after shot glass, laughing and cutting up until the waitress returned with everyone's orders. Your mouth watered as she set down various dishes, the different savory scents mingling in the most wonderful way.

The conversations and chatter died down as everyone started stuffing their faces, preventing them from talking. The only vocalizations were hums of satisfaction.

"Let's take a picture." Wooyoung piped up after some time, retrieving his phone from his pocket.

You, along with some others that were in the middle of chewing, wiped your mouth, swallowing your food and turning to where Wooyoung stood with his device stuck out.

"Bring it in a little." He gestured to the group, so you'd all fit in the frame.

You immediately moved closer to Mingi, using it as an excuse to be near him. Yunho scooted his chair over a bit and leaned into you, catching you off guard. Brushing it off, you smiled as Wooyoung snapped a couple photos, instructing everyone to do a different pose. You readjusted your pose, doing a half heart and nudging Mingi who gladly completed the pose. Feeling something as simple as his fingers pressed against yours made your heart stutter in your chest. You flashed another smile and Wooyoing snapped a photo before sliding his phone back into his pocket, letting everyone get back to their food.

"Send that to me, Woo." San told his friend.

"Me too." Seonghwa piped up a little louder than he should have, his ears and cheeks red from the soju.

"I'll send it to the group chat." Wooyoung assured everyone while piling his plate with some of the side dishes spread across the table.

And you did receive those photos in the group chat later that evening when you returned home along with a few typo-filled text messages from Seonghwa telling Wooyoung how great the images turned out. You dropped down to sit on the edge of your bed, zooming in on you and Mingi in the snapshot, unable to stop yourself from admiring the way you two looked together, your mind wandering. In the photos sent, there were some taken when everyone was switching poses and that's when you noticed Yunho. His gaze was directed at you when you weren't paying attention, something about his eyes making you stare for a little too long at the screen. You had never seen Yunho look at you that way before and you couldn't pinpoint a word to describe it. You chalked it up to your over-analyzing mind and brushed away any observations for the time being.

You were seated on your bed, going through some of the things in your room that you hadn't seen in a couple years, reminiscing. It was still a strange concept, being there in the past and seeing all the things in your room that you'd long gotten rid of or sold.

Time traveling. It shouldn't have been possible and yet there you were, standing in your bedroom decorated just as it was two years prior, getting a chance to correct possibly the biggest mistake of your life.

Caught up in your thoughts, you almost didn't hear your phone chime to inform you of an incoming text message. Flipping the device over from its spot on your dresser, you saw a text from Yunho.

Yuyu

Mingi is coming over to hang out and play video games. You wanna come by?

That's right. Yunho and Mingi had a video game night and invited you to join, but you weren't feeling well last time and passed on the invite. That certainly wasn't going to happen this time around. Taking the phone, you typed up a response, letting Yunho know you'd be at his place shortly.

Yunho had everything set up by the time you arrived, pillows piled on his couch, a vast spread of snacks, and his game of choice loaded and ready to go.

"Wow." You applauded. "You pulled out all the stops for this hangout."

"When do I not?" He chuckled.

"Touché." You slipped your shoes off by the door and headed inside, dropping down onto the sofa.

"Go on. Make yourself comfortable." Yunho remarked in a teasing manner, making you laugh softly.

His gaze lingered on you for a moment, taking in your appearance. "Are you wearing makeup?"

"A little."

"Ah." A knowing grin spread across Yunho's face. "You're wanting to look good for Mingi, is that it?"

A faint warmth tickled your cheeks.

"No." You denied.

Even if you were good at hiding your emotions, Yunho would be able to see right through you anyway. He knew you too well.

When Mingi arrived, you sat up a little straighter, subtly fixing your hair as he and Yunho greeted each other.

"Hey, Y/n." Mingi came into the living room, taking a seat beside you on the couch. "You gonna play video games with us?"

"I'm gonna observe for this game," You gestured towards the TV screen. "but I might join in when you guys decide to switch games."

"Well, let's not waste any more time." Yunho plopped onto the opposite end of the couch, grabbing a controller and starting the game.

You munched on some of the snacks Yunho had laid out on the coffee table, watching contently as your two friends moved their game characters across the screen, shooting at each other and collecting items along the way.

"Hey, hey, hey." Yunho laughed as Mingi's avatar rounded a corner where he was hiding.

Yunho narrowly escaped, only losing some of his HP in the process.

It was amusing to witness their playful banter and random outbursts during the few rounds they played. One of them would groan when they lost and the other would stand up to do a ridiculous victory dance that had you cackling.

The game was switched shortly after to one you were more willing to participate in—a classic racing game. A third controller was connected and the three of you started a round.

At some point, Mingi tried to sabotage you in the game, making you yelp out in surprise and struggle to regain your position in the race. In retaliation, you leaned over to bump his shoulder, hoping to throw him off.

"Cheater!" Mingi shouted, making you burst into a fit of joyful laughter.

"I'll give you something to laugh about." He knocked you harshly with his shoulder, a little grunt leaving you as your body jerked.

"Let's leave the sabotages in the game, huh?" Yunho spoke up lightheartedly, putting yours and Mingi's physical attacks to a halt.

After a few rounds of racing, the three of you started another multiplayer game, seated on the edge of the couch cushions in order to be closer to the TV screen to focus. You weren't sure how long you guys had gamed for, too engrossed in the moment to pay attention to the time.

"I think I'm gonna head home." Mingi announced, setting down his controller and stretching his long arms.

"You sure?" Yunho asked.

"Yeah, it's only 11 PM." You mentioned.

"I know, but I'm getting tired." He spoke through a yawn.

"Weak." You teased.

"Hey." Mingi chuckled. "Am not."

"Sleep is for the weak, my friend."

"At least I get sleep, unlike you." He poked your side, making you flinch away and laugh.

"He got you with that one, Y/n." Yunho chuckled, knowing how poor your sleeping habits were.

"Whose side are you on?" You asked, placing a hand over your chest in mock hurt.

He merely laughed while Mingi got to his feet, twisting to stretch out his tight back muscles.

"Alright. I'm heading out." He announced, fishing his keys from his pocket. "I'll see you guys around."

"See ya." You and Yunho waved as Mingi let himself out.

The room grew quiet after Mingi's exit, your foot tapping softly on the floor.

"You can stay longer if you'd like." Yunho extended the invite. "I'm not tired, so you don't have to worry about keeping me up or anything."

A smile pulled at your lips. "Neither am I."

"You wanna watch me play Valorant?"

"Sure."

Yunho had always been a huge fan of the game and played it often, sometimes with Jongho, who was also into the franchise. His fingers pressed around on the controls, picking up where he left off on his last game.

You readjusted your position on the couch, watching Yunho move around on the screen, scanning the area for any enemies.

"Anyone playing with you tonight?" You asked him.

"No, just bots. Jongho isn't online right now, which I'm kinda relieved about. I messed up last time and our team lost. I didn't hear the end of it for three days." He sighed, shaking his head.

You chuckled. "Yeah Jongho takes his gaming seriously."

"A little too seriously if you ask me. He wouldn't stop mentioning how I totally screwed our team over."

You chuckled softly, easily imagining Jongho teasing Yunho for days on end.

"Would you like to try?"

The offer was made after Yunho had played a round on his own.

"Oh. I'm not very coordinated with these kinds of games."

"You won't get better if you don't practice." He held the controller out, giving it a little flourish as if to tempt you.

"Alright, fine." You caved.

The Xbox controller was handed over and you held it, placing your thumbs on the joysticks.

"Okay so which button do I press to aim and shoot?" You questioned, wanting to get familiar with the controls.

"Left to aim, right to shoot."

"Got it." You positioned your index fingers over the trigger buttons.

"A is jump and B is crouch."

"Of course." You nodded, familiar with that setup already.

Using the joysticks, you moved Yunho's character forward, panning the area while he explained to you what the objective of the game was.

"There, there, there!" He pointed frantically at the TV screen. "That's one of your enemies."

"Okay. Okay." You squeezed the left trigger button and aimed before shooting only to miss. "Crap!" You hissed out in mild frustration.

Your thumbs moved to maneuver the character to a shielded area.

"I don't know what I'm doing." You huffed.

"Here. Let me help." Yunho readjusted himself, his long arms wrapping around your frame while his large hands came to rest over yours on the controller.

Your body stiffened imperceptibly at the sensation of his chest being pressed against your back and his arms caged around you. It felt oddly intimate and had your head spinning.

"You have to be quick about it." He spoke lowly due to his face being so close to your ear, which only made things worse.

You cleared your throat and nodded.

Yunho placed his thumbs on yours, making them push on the joysticks, guiding the character on the screen back out in the open.

"Aim." He pressed the left bumper, moving the joystick to center the target. "And shoot." He pressed the right bumper and the enemy fell to the ground. "See? Easy."

"Yeah. Easy." You blinked, swallowing thickly, trying to make sense of the emotions you felt.

It took you a couple days to get over the way being so close to Yunho made you feel. He had never done anything like that before nor had he ever done anything to warrant such a reaction from you. It was strange and different, but you managed to push past it.

It was finally time. A pivotal moment in this whole plan to change your past—the big weekend trip to Jeju Island. The whole thing was Jongho's idea as an early birthday present for San. The trip took place from July 6 to July 8, ending just a couple days before San's birthday. As you recalled from the first time, the youngest wouldn't stop bragging about how much better his gift was than everyone else's, claiming a trip was so much better than something like jewelry.

The group was split into two SUVs, four in one and five in the other. Your road trip buddies for the next few hours were Yunho, Mingi, Yeosang, and Seonghwa. Your excitement was barely contained as you were squeezed in beside Mingi in the backseat. He had shifted over when you got into the car, seated in the middle with you on the right and Yeosang on the left.

"I can't wait until we get there. Jongho showed me photos. The place looks awesome." Seonghwa spoke from the passenger seat.

"I can't believe he rented a house for the weekend. That makes my video game gift sound so lame." Yunho murmured, keeping his eyes on the road while he drove.

"He'll love it." You mentioned. "Trust me."

Mingi made himself busy, hooking his phone up to the Bluetooth in the car, dubbing himself the road trip DJ.

The five of you bobbed your heads, even singing along to some of the songs at the top of your lungs. A couple hours into the four hour road trip, you yawned, rubbing at your face to wake up.

"You tired?" Mingi asked quietly.

"Yeah."

"Here." He patted his shoulder.

"Are you sure?" You tried not to let your excitement show at his offer.

"Sure."

You leaned over and rested your head on his shoulder, mentally trying to convince your racing heart to calm down. This opportunity wasn't presented to you last time due to you being in Hongjoong's car with Jongho, San, and Wooyoung. Wooyoung and Jongho ended up snapping photos of you when you'd fallen asleep, leaving you to wake up to mischievous giggling.

Resting against Mingi's shoulder was nice and made you feel relaxed once you'd gotten used to it. It was much better than when you were with Wooyoung and Jongho the last time. You dozed off quickly, unaware of Yunho's gaze looking at the both of you in the rear view mirror.

The vacation home Jongho booked was a cozy four bedroom three bathroom accommodation. The only issue with four bedrooms was the fact that there were nine of you. Last time, you insisted on sleeping on the couch, which no one was okay with, but you convinced them to let you take one for the team. It was stiff and uncomfortable, so this time you weren't going to offer up yourself for taking the pullout couch and see what happened.

Everyone started checking out the place and calling dibs on different bedrooms, which is where the issue of rooming came about.

"I'd feel bad if Y/n slept on the couch." Seonghwa frowned.

"Me too." Yeosang agreed.

"Why don't we just do a random pairing? All the rooms are the same anyway." You offered up a fair compromise.

They all agreed and suggested a game to play to pair everyone up. Your heart was racing the entire time, silently hoping things would work out in your favor and you could room with Mingi.

As the game progressed and pairs started getting made, it seemed luck was on your side. That is until Mingi got paired with Jongho. You pushed aside your disappointment, knowing you'd have the weekend to spend some time with him.

"Okay. Yunho and Y/n. You two will room together. That leaves Yeosang for the couch." Hongjoong said.

Yunho. That wasn't so bad. He was the one you were closest with, so you weren't uncomfortable with that outcome.

"Alright. Yeosang gets the couch." Wooyoung grabbed his shoulders, giving them a squeeze.

Yeosang pouted and you almost caved, nearly offering to take the couch and repeat history, but you had to stay strong. Thankfully, Yeosang had no complaints.

Everyone started to get settled in, taking their duffel bags to their designated rooms, or in Yeosang's case, designated space.

You stepped into the room you and Yunho would be sharing, taking note of the king size bed. At least there'd be enough space for both of you, not that it would be a bad thing if there wasn't. Again, you were pretty close with Yunho and felt the most comfortable with him, so sharing a bed would be fine.

"We need some groceries for the weekend." Wooyoung mentioned while wandering the kitchen.

"Ramen is a must." Seonghwa piped up.

"And meat." Added San.

"Alright, so who's going?" Jongho asked.

"I vote Hongjoong." Wooyoung pointed to the second oldest who had made himself comfortable sprawled out on the living room floor with his eyes closed.

"No." He spoke from his spot on the hardwood.

"Two people should go." Mentioned Yunho.

"Well, there's only one way to settle this." Mingi held his fist up as a signal for them to start playing Rock Paper Scissors.

Since he was the one who suggested it, Mingi started the game and everyone put up a different hand sign, Hongjoong chose to participate right where he was.

Little by little, people started getting eliminated, clapping and celebrating when they found out they didn't have to go grocery shopping.

It was down to three people: you, Mingi, and Wooyoung. The last round was played. You and Mingi pulled paper and Wooyoung scissors.

"Yes!" He exclaimed, throwing his fists into the air in celebration. "Y/n and Mingi have to go grocery shopping."

Your eyes locked with Mingi's and you couldn't help but grin.

"I guess we should start making a list, huh?" He chuckled softly, pulling out his phone.

"Mingi, if you don't wanna go, I can do it." Yunho offered.

"I'm good. Y/n and I got this. Right?" He turned to you, holding out his fist.

"Yeah." You nodded, giving him a fist bump.

The boys started calling out different things and Mingi added each one to a list on his phone.

"Guys, we're only gonna be here for three days and I'm sure there are some nice local restaurants. Let's try not to buy too much." Seonghwa mentioned. "We just need a few things for when we want snacks or want to cook here."

The list was finally sorted out and you and Mingi left, headed to a nearby grocery store in the village you were staying in.

"The weather is so nice." You commented, enjoying the warmth of the midday sun and the light breeze that helped keep you cool.

"It is." Mingi agreed, pushing his hair back, that little action alone making your heart flutter.

You both made your way through small pathways that winded through the quaint village, running across a couple stray cats and a dog, stopping to pet them for a moment.

"Is this the place?" You asked Mingi, who was looking at his phone, using Naver Map to navigate.

"Should be." He lifted his gaze to look at the shop you were pouting to. "The map says we're here."

With that, the both of you headed inside and started shopping, grabbing a cart.

"Shin Ramen." You murmured, scanning the aisle of instant noodles. "Ah." You reached for a pack and tossed it into the cart Mingi was pushing.

"You should get two." He mentioned.

"Right. Seonghwa is there." You chuckled, referring to his big appetite, grabbing a second pack.

Rounding the corner, you headed down to the meat department and scanned the trays that were lined up.

"Everyone wants pork belly. Jongho said there's a grill outside." Mingi mentioned, grabbing a few packs. "Wow these look good."

"They sure do." You rubbed your hands together. "We should go get the alcohol next."

The group wanted to have a barbecue sometime during the weekend, so alcohol was a must. Half the group wanted beer and the other half soju, so you and Mingi stocked up. And, of course, since you were staying in Jeju, you bought some oranges.

Your arms were laden with plastic grocery bags when you and Mingi left the store. Mingi offered to carry the alcohol and drinks while you got the lighter stuff like ramen, meat, and other snacks. Getting back to the rental home was easy and once you returned, everyone perked up, excited to have some food.

Yunho was quick to jump up and help you out with the bags. "Here. Let me get those."

"Thanks." You smiled softly at his gesture.

The rest of the day was spent down at the beach, which was nearby. A couple towels were laid across the sand where everyone sat and enjoyed the fresh oranges that were purchased earlier. The citrusy flavor burst in your mouth like an explosion of fireworks as you gazed out at the ocean, your focus shifting to a screaming Wooyoung running along the shore away from Hongjoong, who was chasing him down. The sight made you laugh, watching in amusement, unaware that Yunho had pulled his phone out and was discreetly snapping candid photos of you. It might've been weird, but Yunho thought you looked so gorgeous and natural sitting near him, watching his friends chase each other. He was looking forward to spending some time with you this weekend.

Nighttime settled over the island of Jeju and a delicious meal was shared at the rental home. While grocery shopping, you and Mingi picked up a few bags of frozen dumplings and some tteokbokki, so that's what you had. While eating, plans were made on where to eat the following day as Yeosang and San scoped out local restaurants on Naver, checking out menus and whatnot. Cleanup duty was given to Jongho and Seonghwa after a lost game of Rock Paper Scissors, but of course everyone pitched in to help a little.

You stood in Yunho's room, donning your pajamas, all washed up and ready for bed. It had been a fun first day despite you having already lived it.

"Come on." Yunho patted the empty spot beside him. "You afraid to share a bed with your best friend?" He teased.

The question made your heart jump as the image of Yunho helping you play Valorant not too long ago flashed in your mind.

"No." You scoffed with a chuckle, crawling into the king size bed, making sure to leave a respectable gap between you and Yunho.

He offered the whole bed to you earlier when you were working out sleeping arrangements, but you insisted on just sharing the bed since it was so big. Besides, you didn't exactly want Yunho to sleep on the floor.

Snuggling into the pillow, you tugged the covers up a little higher and settled in.

"G'night, Yunho."

"Night, Y/n."

You dozed off quickly, all that walking and hanging out on the beach had worn you out.

You rolled over during the night, freezing when you heard steady breathing a little too close to you. In the dim moonlight shining into the room, you could see Yunho's face mere inches away, barely making out the shape of his nose and lips. It made your heart jump and you rolled back over, choosing to stay as you were.

You brought a hand up to your chest, feeling your thudding pulse beneath it. Why did that make you react in such a way? You didn't have any issues sharing a bed with Yunho, so why was your heart racing a million miles an hour? It was the same feeling you got when you played Valorant with him.

Sighing, you shook away the thoughts before you could spiral into an endless string of questions and internal analyzations. You were on a fun weekend trip with your friends, getting a second chance to change the future. You need not waste it.

The following day was spent checking out a local cafe for a light breakfast of coffee and baked goods, then you all did some sightseeing at a hiking trail, snapping photos and enjoying the warm weather. You walked close to Mingi nearly the whole time, chatting with him. You heart rate skyrocketed when he caught you after you misstepped and your ankle gave out. In addition to Mingi, Yunho also stepped in to help steady you, his eyes wide with worry.

"You okay?" Mingi and Yunho asked at the same time, their sentences overlapping.

"Yeah." You nodded. "I'm fine."

You rotated your ankle a bit, stretching it out before moving forward. Unbeknownst to you, Yunho started to walk closer, making sure you didn't misstep again or trip over anything.

That night, you guys went out for dinner at the restaurant the group decided on the previous night. They served classic Korean dishes that healed you from the inside out. Then back at the rental home, the nine of you played some card games which were provided by the accommodation.

The last day of the weekend trip arrived much quicker than anyone anticipated, but you all had two days full of fun and later that night was the scheduled barbecue, which would no doubt be fun—it was the first time.

Since it was the last day, you all took to the beach, walking in the waves and actually swimming this time.

Yunho's eyes followed your form as you headed into the water, laughing jubilantly when a wave splashed against your knees. The swimsuit you wore was so very you and the color complemented you so well. He couldn't tear his eyes away, standing at the edge of the shore where the waves laved the sand. He pulled his bottom lip between his teeth, chewing on it while thinking back on the night you came over to play video games and how his stomach flipped when he was teaching you how to play Valorant. How your hands felt under his. Wooyoung came up and splashed you with water, making you squeal, which pulled Yunho from his thoughts. He chuckled softly to himself.

"Get back here!" You shouted at him, struggling to run through knee-high waves while splashing water towards the culprit.

He decided to join, assisting you in getting revenge on Wooyoung.

As the sun set over Jeju, preparations for the barbecue were being made. Jongho and Yunho were on grilling duty while you, Seonghwa, and Wooyoung were making ramen inside in the kitchen. San was known to be a pro at grilling, but he was the birthday boy and no one permitted him to help out. Yeosang kept him company on the couch, both of them playing a game together on their phones. Mingi and Hongjoong worked to set out chairs and a fold-out table in the backyard.

An entire family-sized five pack of Shin ramen was emptied into a pot of boiling water, the seasonings and dried ingredients being added in shortly after.

There were some leftover frozen dumplings so Wooyoung got to work pan frying them, wanting to use up the groceries that were purchased. At some point, Yunho stepped inside with a piece of pork belly between a set of tongs to feed San.

"Mmm!" He hummed.

"What about me? I'm working so hard in here." Wooyoung complained.

"You're not the birthday boy." Yunho said, sticking his tongue out before retreating outside.

It wasn't long before everything was done. The giant pot of ramen was set on a towel on the table outside, a couple plates of dumplings, and freshly-grilled pork belly lined the table. Jongho and Wooyoung came out of the house with armfuls of beer and soju, distributing them to everyone.

"Let's make a toast to San." Hongjoong held his can of beer up.

The birthday boy appeared flustered, smiling shyly. Everyone raised their drinks and did a collective cheers before taking a sip, or in Jongho and Yunho's cases, giant gulps.

"Geez." You laughed at Yunho, who was seated to your left.

"Ahh." He sighed out. "It's been too long."

Unfortunately, you weren't able to sit beside Mingi, but he was across from you, which was the next best thing.

"Everyone dig in." Seonghwa urged.

The meal was delicious, just as you remembered, but something about this particular time just felt better.

Jongho boldly insisted on playing a drinking game, to which everyone agreed to right away.

The night ended with a flushed San and Seonghwa singing loudly at the top of their lungs, swaying in their seats. Yunho was quick to join while Hongjoong opted to rest his head on the table. It was even funnier witnessing all this a second time, though things had gone a little differently than you remembered. It seemed like the choices you made thus far were already changing things.

The bowling alley had a decent crowd, exactly as you remembered it. The guys bought a big party package for the group which came with a few hours of bowling, one meal, and one round of soft drinks.

"I'm kicking all your butts." Jongho vowed, chewing a large bite of pizza, pointing at everyone.

"We'll see about that." San stretched his arms.

The game began shortly and since San was the birthday boy, he went first, successfully scoring a spare. You watched in amusement as everyone took their turn, some getting embarrassed about starting the round off with a gutter ball.

Jongho's declaration proved to be accurate, as he was the one currently in the lead after a few turns.

Mingi went up to bowl next, rearing back only to fumble and drop the ball. Your body stiffened as you watched the blue and white marbled ball roll along the glossy floors. This was when Mingi met the girl he proposed to. She stopped his ball when it rolled a couple lanes over. Jumping to your feet, you rushed to intercept the escaping sphere with your foot, successfully halting it. You spared a glance over your shoulder and saw her standing with two people a couple lanes over. You hid the triumphant smile that tugged at the corner of your mouth.

"Thanks, Y/n." Mingi flashed you a sideways grin and picked up his ball.

"Make sure you've got a tight hold on it next time, butter fingers."

"Hey!" He laughed.

"Just saying." You held back a chuckle, walking back to your seat beside Yunho on one of the cushioned booth seats.

Your shoulders brushed with his and you quietly apologized, something almost bashful in your tone. Since the Jeju trip, something was starting to become clear to you, or at the very least making itself known. You were developing a liking to Yunho that almost went past the title of friend.

You were quick to get pulled back into the game, laughing at some of the trash talk being shouted back and forth between the guys, cutting up with Yunho a bit and momentarily forgetting about your big mission. You hardly even noticed when Mingi stepped away to get a drink, that is until you caught a glimpse of him by a soda machine... talking to her.

That didn't happen last time.

Your heart sank to your feet. You tried to change things and he still ended up meeting her.

There was a bitter taste in your mouth and the rest of the evening proved to be difficult to get through, nausea twisting your gut every time you thought about Mingi or even looked at him.

"You okay?" The always-perceptive Yunho asked, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder that momentarily eased some of the tightness in your chest.

"Huh? Oh. I'm fine. I must've eaten that pizza too fast." You lied.

"You don't feel well?"

You shook your head.

"Do you need to go home?"

"I'm alright." You put on a smile, not wanting to ruin San's birthday party.

Yunho decided to let it go for the time being.

Later that night after you showered and changed into some cozy pajamas, you dropped down on the couch, hugging one of the pillows to your aching chest. The image of Mingi smiling and laughing with her flashed in your mind on loop.

You failed.

A lump formed in your throat as the crushing weight of defeat bared down on you. You were forcing yourself to keep the tears in, not wanting to cry over something so trivial. On the other hand, you got a second chance from some sort of magical hourglass from an antique store that was letting you try again. And you failed. How could you not be upset?

Just as you were about to give in and let the tears spill, your phone buzzed. You flipped the device over and saw Yunho's contact photo on the screen, a FaceTime call. Yet another thing that didn't happen last time.

You groaned, hoping you didn't look like you were close to tears, answering the call but keeping only the top of your head visible. Yunho was on his bed, his phone propped on his nightstand while he hugged a pillow, watching the camera, his face lighting up when you answered.

"Hey." He paused, his brows furrowed. "Why are you hiding?"

You couldn't think up a believable lie so you lowered the phone to where you were in frame, grateful to see that you looked just fine.

"Sorry." You murmured.

"I was just calling to check up on you. You didn't seem alright earlier at the bowling alley."

"I'm fine."

"Y/n, it's just you and me. You don't have to lie."

You sighed stubbornly, closing your eyes for a moment.

"Are you okay?" He asked.

"No. I saw Mingi talking to this girl by the drink machines earlier."

"So?"

"He likes her."

"How do you know?"

"I just do." You huffed, knowing you couldn't tell him the truth.

He took his phone from where it was propped, his face moving closer to the camera. "Do I need to come over?"

"No. I'll be alright."

You appreciated his concern, you really did, but you didn't want him to go out of his way to comfort you.

"Too late. I'm coming over. DoorDash is gonna be on its way soon."

You chuckled, knowing he wouldn't take no for an answer. If he wanted to do something, he'd do it. No ifs, ands, or buts.

Yunho arrived a short fifteen minutes later, pulling you into a hug as soon as you answered the door. Every muscle in your body relaxed instantaneously and your eyes closed while you allowed yourself to enjoy his embrace, finding that you liked being in his arms.

"I hope you're not feeling sick anymore, because I ordered your favorite delivery food." Yunho said, pulling away.

"I'm not. I'm actually feeling a little better." You nodded, smiling softly.

The food arrived shortly and Yunho took it upon himself to answer the door, insisting that you stay right where you were on the couch. He brought the bag to the living room, setting it on the coffee table and opening it up.

"This one's for you." He handed your food over.

You thanked him and took a bite, grateful that it didn't taste unpleasant or make you want to throw up. That was good news and meant your uneasy stomach had settled a bit.

"Maybe it won't go anywhere." Yunho spoke up, trying to ease your troubled mind.

"What?"

"Mingi and this girl you saw him talking to. Maybe he was just having a friendly conversation with her."

"No." You shook your head. "Trust me. They're gonna start dating."

"You sound so sure."

"That's because I am."

His brows knit together, his skepticism and puzzlement showing through his expression. You were grateful he didn't press any further and instead changed the topic to something lighter. It helped keep your mind occupied long enough to finish your food.

"Oh. I didn't even think about drinks. Would you like something?" You offered.

"Just a soda will be fine."

You went to get a couple cans and brought them back into the living room, sitting back down on the couch. You cracked open your drink and took a sip, setting it on the coffee table. Yunho followed suit, settling back against the cushions of the sofa.

"Thanks for coming over." Your lips twitched into a faint smile. "You didn't have to, but I appreciate it."

"I know I didn't. I just couldn't stand seeing you upset and wanted to check in."

"I just," You hesitated, wondering if you should even tell him. "I've been trying to spend more time around Mingi in hopes that he might end up developing feelings for me. It's obvious that didn't work."

"Y/n." Yunho frowned. "You can't make someone like you."

"Clearly not." You sighed. "I thought if I hung out with him more often then maybe he'd develop feelings for me."

Tears blurred your sight, which you were quick to blink away before any could fall. Yunho frowned, not missing the glossiness in your eyes.

"Sorry." You huffed out, frustrated that you let your emotions slip in front of him.

"No." He shook his head. "It's fine. You're upset."

You expelled a faint sight, nodding. Your eyes met Yunho's and you felt something stirring in your gut. A feeling you couldn't pinpoint. "Thanks for coming over."

He smiled. "You're welcome."

It was weird. His behavior was making you feel funny, but not in a bad way. In fact, it was pleasant. Did you like him or were you projecting your feelings for Mingi onto Yunho? Or maybe you were feeling vulnerable and the attention was confusing your emotions. You didn't know and it hurt your brain to think about.

Too caught up in your own head, you didn't realize Yunho was closer to you. When did that happen? His hands were shaking and he hoped you didn't notice, his breathing quick and shallow as his gaze stayed locked on yours. There was something he wanted so badly to do and was having an internal battle with himself on wether or not he should do it.

Now would be the perfect time.

He imperceptibly started inching closer without having made up his mind, but didn't get far when you perked up, sitting straighter.

"I've got it." You gasped. "I'll invite him out tomorrow and take him somewhere with a romantic atmosphere, but not too obvious."

"Oh." Yunho deflated a bit. "That's... great."

He didn't stay much longer after that, using the excuse that he was tired. Naturally, you didn't think anything of it, your mind focused on executing your final plan; a last-ditch effort to pull a confession out of Mingi.

You reached out to Mingi the following day and invited him to a local botanical garden to hang out. There was no time to waste. You had to make a move. He agreed, which was already a step towards you getting the ending you hoped for.

Just two days after San's birthday party, you were walking past butterfly bushes, colorful hydrangeas, and other eye-catching blossoms with Mingi, an iced coffee in your hand that was sweating under the summer sun. You sipped your drink quietly, watching the water lilies floating in one of the few small ponds littered about the garden.

"This is nice." Mingi hummed, pushing his sunglasses up his nose.

"Yeah. It is." You put on a small smile. "Thanks for agreeing to hang out."

"Of course." His silver rings glinted in the sunlight as he raised his plastic cup, taking another sip of coffee.

You'd been walking for a while and were only having surface-level conversations with him. It was making you antsy. No one was around. All the other people walking the garden weren't anywhere near you.

"Wanna sit down over there?" You asked, gesturing to a shaded gazebo surrounded by floral bushes.

Mingi nodded and mentioned something about needing a little rest. You sat down beside him, butterflies fluttering around the area, birds chirping in the trees. The atmosphere was perfect, but he hadn't said anything. You took in a breath, preparing to just spill your guts to him. If he wouldn't confess, then you would.

Before you could utter a word, he spoke.

"We've spent a lot of time together lately."

"Yeah. We have."

"I've had fun." His tone was genuine. "It's been nice getting out so much."

"Yeah it has. Maybe we can spend more time together." It wasn't a question, but a suggestion.

"I'd like that a lot. I wanna hang out with my friends as much as possible."

Friends.

Your feelings weren't reciprocated.

He sipped his coffee casually, as if he didn't just break your heart into a million pieces.

Wait. You blinked, puzzled. There wasn't a painful ache in your chest or a crushing feeling of defeat weighing on you. Why?

"You okay?" Mingi asked, noticing you got quiet.

You blinked again, staring off in the distance.

"Yeah. I'm perfectly fine, actually."

Was this closure?

That night, you laid in bed, staring at the ceiling of your bedroom, not knowing what would happen the following day. One thing you did know was that you weren't upset over Mingi essentially friend-zoning you. You didn't feel like the world was going to end nor did you want to cry. Closing your eyes, you found yourself relaxing, looking forward to what the next day might hold.

The sun hit your eyelids, disturbing your deep and peaceful slumber. A groan rumbled in the back of your dry throat as you rolled over, lifting your head sluggishly from your pillow. Your droopy eyes shot open when you noticed your bedroom's appearance and decor. It was current. You were back in the present.

As happy as you were to have returned to where you belonged, your mind wandered back to the fact that Mingi only saw you as a friend. Being aware of this, you started analyzing your interactions with him, picking up on all the times when he never really acted like he was into you romantically. Why didn't you see it? You were chasing after a dead end.

Mingi would've done certain things if he liked you. He would've remembered something simple, like your coffee order. He would've checked up on you if you were upset or invited you to hang out. If Mingi really liked you as more than a friend, he would've acted like it. In fact, he would've acted like—

You paused, your body going stiff as something clicked, like two live wires connecting and causing a spark.

Yunho. He would've acted like Yunho.

Like a tsunami, flashes of your interactions with Yunho flickered through you head like a slideshow. He remembered the name of a plushie you won years ago, he knew your coffee order and paid for it, he noticed when you did your makeup differently, he checked up on you, he ordered your favorite delivery food, he was always perceptive of your behaviors and moods. Little things he had done recently and in the past were coming to light and you were only just now realizing. Yunho liked you.

Your heart beat faster and faster as more details stood out to you. It made you feel warm and fuzzy inside, a giddiness making your stomach flip with excitement.

The blood suddenly drained from your face as something came to the forefront of your mind. Yunho liked you and you gushed about Mingi in front of him so many times, not knowing how he felt. That night he came over after San's birthday party, you cried over Mingi. You groaned into your pillow, feeling so foolish.

"Stupid." You muttered. "You're such an idiot."

Your phone chimed, prompting you to raise your head and reach for the device.

Yuyu

I know it's last-minute, but do you want me to pick you up?

We can go together if you want

His text confused you until you checked the calendar, surprised to find that it was the same day Mingi proposed to his girlfriend. Yunho didn't offer to drive you last time, which meant the choices you made in the past had effected the present. You then looked to the shelf where you'd stored the mysterious hourglass, finding that section to be completely bare. That's right. Technically, you hadn't bought it yet.

Pulling your focus back to your phone, you sent out a response, accepting Yunho's offer.

You straightened out your shirt, tucking it in and frowning when it didn't look right. You untucked it, not liking how that looked either. Finally, after some adjusting, you got your top fixed the way you wanted it. Just as you finished getting ready, your phone chimed with a text from Yunho letting you know he was at your place and waiting outside.

Getting into Yunho's car, there was a noticeable change in your emotions. You no longer felt the same comfort that you did prior. Instead, you were a little nervous. As if realizing your feelings for Yunho changed the way you interacted with him.

"Hey." You greeted almost shyly, buckling up.

"Hey." His eyes took in your outfit. "You look nice."

"Thanks." You glanced down at the outfit you spent far too long choosing, subconsciously thinking of looking nice for him.

The ride to the restaurant was quiet and you kept stealing fleeting peeks over at Yunho, silently admiring his side profile, from his pretty nose to his delicate pink lips.

When you got to the restaurant, you and Yunho sat in the same spots you did the last time. The rest of the group arrived, including Mingi and his girlfriend, and for the first time, seeing them together didn't make your stomach twist into knots.

Everyone placed their orders and things were going smoothly. Like last time, Yunho was the designated griller, flipping chunks of pork belly along the grated surface of the small grill at the table.

"First bite?" He asked you, holding out a piece with the tongs.

Your heart fluttered at his offer and you nodded, taking a bite. As you chewed, you realized he did that last time and wondered if it was because of his feelings for you. It was little things like that that slipped you completely, going unnoticed, but now that you'd figured it all out, you were more aware.

Yunho finished grilling the meat and everyone started to fix their plates. You did the same, but just like last time, you couldn't reach everything spread out across the table.

"Here." Yunho cut in. "Just let me know what you want and I'll get it for you."

The first time he offered, you just thought it was simply a polite gesture, but now it felt like more, filling you with the giddiness of a lovestruck teenager.

There was the usual teasing and chatter as everyone ate and even though you knew what was coming, you weren't worried. Only when the group was finishing up their meals did Mingi get to his feet. This was the big moment.

He went through pretty much the same speech as the previous time you experienced the whole proposal, except this time, you were smiling, watching with genuine happiness for the couple. Everyone applauded when Mingi slipped the ring on his now fiancé's finger.

As Yunho drove you home after an enjoyable meal, you asked if he could stop by the antique shop under the guise that you had been wanting to check it out. He agreed, celebrating inwardly about getting to spend a little extra time with you.

The old man from last time was at the front counter examining the same brass pitcher. You regarded him with a nod and headed down the aisles, your eyes scanning the shelves until you spotted the hourglass. It was there. Seeing it under the lights in the shop, shining like a beacon made everything you experienced real—not that you ever questioned it.

"Did you want something?" Yunho asked from where he stood at the end of the shelves.

"No." You responded, gazing wistfully at the hourglass before tearing your eyes away. "I just wanted to look around."

With that, you walked away and exited the shop, leaving the hourglass for another troubled person to find, hoping it brought them as much closure as it did you.

The drive back to your home was mostly quiet. You spent a good chunk of the short trip staring at Yunho again, your wandering gaze landing on his hands, watching the way he effortlessly drove with only one. It's as if recognizing your feelings for him suddenly made everything about him stand out and become attractive.

The vehicle came to a rolling stop in front of your home and Yunho shifted the gear into park. There was a part of you that didn't wanna leave yet. You had something you wanted to talk to him about and it had been in the back of your mind since you woke up that morning.

"I hope you're alright." Yunho mentioned, breaking the silence that hung in the air between you. "I know you liked Mingi a lot, even if you haven't talked much to him over the last couple years. You kinda distanced yourself a little after your hangout with him."

You had no recollection of what happened between that day and the present. All you knew was the past you actually lived through, which made you wonder if anything else changed. Things went almost the same way today as it did the last time you experienced it, so maybe not much had changed. It was interesting, however, to find out that you distanced yourself after Mingi essentially turned you down without knowing it. You could definitely see yourself doing that, especially after getting the closure you needed.

"I'm okay." You responded. "I'm more than okay. In fact, I'm starting to see someone else in a different light." You looked at Yunho, whose eyes got a little bigger at your words. "I owe you the biggest apology."

"An apology? Why?"

"You've been there for me so many times when I was upset and have allowed me to vent to you. I feel like I didn't acknowledge that enough. I'm sorry I never noticed it."

His expression softened. "You've thanked me many times in the past, so you don't owe me an apology, Y/n."

"No, I do." You took in a deep breath, releasing slowly. "I realized something."

"What?"

"I've been chasing after the wrong person. I was so caught up chasing after Mingi that I didn't pay attention to what, or rather who, was in front of me. Who was and is always there for me."

Yunho swallowed, shifting in his seat a bit as his heart rate increased. He didn't wanna get ahead of himself, but if this was going where he though it was, he was about to combust.

"All those times I talked about Mingi in front of you, I had no idea how you felt. I feel like such a jerk. If I'd known, I wouldn't have gushed about him in front of you." You picked at your nails anxiously before continuing. "And I know this feels like it's coming out of nowhere, but I like you, Yunho. It took a big event in my life to realize how I felt. Once I let Mingi go, I started to realize my feelings for you. I hope I'm not too late and haven't screwed things up by taking so long to figure it all out."

"You like me?" He asked softly, not quite believing it even though it's what he hoped to hear from you.

"Yes, I do."

"For how long?"

"I started having some feelings the night I was at your place and you were teaching me how to play Valorant. You put your hands over mine and my heart went crazy." Warmth tickled your cheeks as you recalled the memory that occurred not very long ago for you.

Yunho's ears and cheeks were pink when you finally looked at him.

"You're not too late." He finally spoke. "And you're not a jerk either. You didn't know how I felt and I wanted to keep it that way. At least until I got the courage to confess, but I didn't wanna say anything since you liked Mingi so much."

"I really am sorry."

"Don't be." Yunho started leaning over the center console a bit, which prompted you to do the same, your eyes dropping to his lips for a fleeting moment before darting back to his eyes.

"I really want to kiss you right now." He whispered.

"Go for it."

The narrowing gap between your faces diminished completely as Yunho pushed aside his inhibitions and kissed you. His lips were soft and warm, pressing firmly against yours. If there were any lingering Mingi-related thoughts in your mind, they would've been chased away immediately, being replaced with ones about Yunho and how you wanted to kiss him forever. Your already rapid heart rate skyrocketed when his large hand slid up the side of your face to cradle your cheek, taking up almost the entirety of the space there. His touch was almost as delicate as his kisses, his thumb lightly rubbing your cheek as his lips encased your bottom one before dragging over it. Suddenly, you were mildly agitated with the car's center console that was preventing you from getting closer to Yunho, who pulled away far too soon.

"Would you be my girlfriend?" He asked breathlessly, his cheeks flushed from the kiss.

"I would." A smile was barely contained as you responded, leaning in to kiss him, again frustrated by the console as your elbow bumped it in the process. You parted ways just enough to speak. "Do you wanna come inside for a bit?"

Yunho pulled his bottom lip between his teeth to hold back an exited grin, nodding before pulling his car keys from the ignition.

The both of you couldn't seem to move fast enough, getting out of the car and speed-walking to your front door where you fumbled with your keys. You barely had time to toss them into the glass dish in the foyer and shut the door before Yunho was pulling you back to him, his arms snaking around your waist to keep you close as he kissed you deeply.

It took buying an hourglass that sent you back to the past to get to this moment, which sounded completely bizarre, but you wouldn't have it any other way because it made you realize what you wanted had been in front of you the whole time.

Masterlist ᝰ — enjoyed this imagine? reblogs & comments are very much appreciated!

DO NOT steal, plagiarize, copy, repost, alter, or translate my works in any way

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[shotmrmiller]

smut because somehow i always end up there.

yknow something that pushy ass cbf!johnny would do?

tell you that he'd get more benefits and/or pay if he had a spouse.

"Because you're in absolute poverty, Johnny."

He clicks his tongue. "Be serious, hen."

You are being serious. Johnny's not hurting for cash. His parents are still alive, so he has no need to buy a place of his own, and even then, he just swings by his family's home before coming back to stay with you until leave's over. Honestly, you should be charging him rent.

"Johnny. Unless you're planning on buying another ostentatious vehicle with tires too big for this tiny town, I'm not seeing what you're seeing."

He digs his thumb into the arch of your foot that's draped over his lap. "But think o' the possibilities! If say, you married me, ye wouldn't need to work anymore. Jus' worked on gettin' the job of yer dreams! An' besides, ah'd never realistically settle down anyway; too busy savin' the world an' all."

The extra income must be drastic if he's this insistent. "Why not marry the big brit with the skull for a face? You talk about him enough to sound like you've got a hard on for him."

He avoids your gaze when he informs you that Ghost is already married.

"And what about me? What if I find a boyfriend or something?" you playfully teased. Johnny's bright blue eyes turned to ice.

"Is there someone?" A muscle worked in his jaw.

Dread crawled up your spine. Abort. Abort. "Of course not." The tension melted from his face— gaze gentling and lips softening.

Christ, can he be intense sometimes.

You clear your throat. "Say I do marry you. What do you get out of this as my benefactor? Math isn't mathing, Johnny."

His lips curl upwards in amusement. "Nothin' between us would change. Jus' get a nice, shiny band on my hand tha' keeps unwanted advances off of me, and I wouldn't have to live on base anymore. Tired of eatin' tha' slop at dfac."

Johnny's long fingers curl around your ankle, thumb drawing gentle circles on the bone. "C'mon, hen. Think about your career! Marry me and ye won't even have t'change yer last name, swear."

Once again, fooled by the pretty face and dazzling smile.

You were a MacTavish by the end of the month, and he'd ended up in your bed that same night. Pushed your face into the soft mattress as he bullied his cock into you, telling you to feel how he splits his little wife's pussy open.

Mottled the delicate skin of your neck and collarbone with purple love bites when he hooked your knees over his shoulders, forcing you to take all of him in that devastating angle.

Made you look at yourself in the mirror in the bathroom, one hand gripping your neck, and the other on your swollen cunt, rubbing tight circles on your slippery clit. "Look at how beautiful y'are. How good yer takin' me." He tilts your head upwards, locking eyes with you. "This cunt was made f'me, wasn't it, wife?" he rumbles.

If he said anything else, it was promptly drowned out by a buzzing in your ears as your world went white. Warmth trickled down your legs as pleasure burst through you, spasm after gut-twisting spasm. Johnny blessedly slows down, working you through it tenderly, until you hiss in discomfort from oversensitivity.

"The way ye look in yer pleasure is somethin' i'll see behind my eyelids forever, bonnie."

Heat licks up the sides of your jaw. "Johnny, please—" you cut off, a moan tumbling out of your lips when he presses himself flush against your arse.

"Dinnae worry, ah'm not done with ye jus' yet." There's a hand in between your shoulder blades, pushing down gently. "Bend over, hands behind yer back, Mrs. MacTavish."

ghost is in fact, not married.

and the pay raise is mediocre.

[89pedri]

Inside of Love

⤑ Summary: Pedri moves through loud and quiet moments that slowly reveal a truth he can't ignore — he wants the kind of love everyone else around him seems to have already found. Angst & fluff. Pedri x reader!

⤑ Word count: 7,800+.

⤑ A/N: Based on Inside of Love by Nada Surf & himym (very loosely). Hope you enjoy!

*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ Watching terrible TV, it kills all thought. Getting spacier than an astronaut. *:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

"¡Montoya, por favor!"

The host's voice cracked through the speakers, desperate and helpless, as Montoya sprinted down the beach like a man possessed.

Fer choked on his drink from laughing so hard. "Look at it, it looks like a war scene, not a reality show," he wheezed, rewinding the scene to watch Montoya's heartbreak unfold all over again. 

Pedri just stared.

Montoya's face — twisted with betrayal, disbelief — stuck with him. That unfiltered pain. The rawness of it. The moment his world cracked open for everyone to see. And yet, there was love underneath it. Or something that once was love. Enough to make a man run like that. Enough to make a nation gasp.

Pedri bit his lip, eyes glued to the screen. But he wasn't laughing.

Fer noticed, nudging him, "What's wrong with you? Don't tell me that 'Montoya, por favor' moved you."

"No, no," Pedri muttered, shaking his head, but it lingered.

He wasn't sure why it hit him so hard. Maybe it was the fact that even Montoya — messy, dramatic, impulsive Montoya — had felt something that deeply. Had something to lose.

Something real enough to break over. Pedri hadn't even come close.

He reached for a handful of popcorn, missed the bowl completely, and sighed.

He felt like a ghost sometimes. Floating through parties, fake smiles, hollow conversations. Never running toward anything. Never being stopped by someone calling his name like they meant it. He wasn't sure if it was funny or devastating anymore.

*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ Making out with people I hardly know or like. I can't believe what I do, late at night. *:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

The club was too dark and too loud. Bass thumped beneath his feet like a second, relentless heartbeat, and the strobe lights fractured the room into jagged, breathless moments.

Flash — a girl laughing too close to his ear, her hand curling around his wrist like she owned it. Flash — Gavi pressing a drink into his hand, shouting something he couldn't hear over the music. Flash — the girl again, her voice high and eager, talking a mile a minute.

Pedri nodded along, barely listening at first. Until the words sank in.

"I can't believe it," she giggled, swaying into him. "I'm talking to Pedri, you know? Pedri! From Barça. You're like... I don't know, a legend already."

He forced a tight smile. Took a sip of the drink he didn't want.

She kept going, breathless with excitement, as if she hadn't noticed he hadn't said a word. As if he wasn't a person standing there — just a jersey, a name, a story to brag about later. "My friends aren't going to believe me when I tell them," she said, her fingers tapping against his chest like she was checking if he was real. "Can you imagine the photo? Me and Pedri. How cool."

Pedri swallowed hard, the music pressing against his temples. He knew this feeling. The weight of being looked at without ever really being seen. He couldn't listen to another second.

Before she could rattle off another breathless sentence about how "cool" it was to meet him, he kissed her. Fast. Sharp. Just enough to shut her up.

Her lips tasted of strawberry lip gloss and cheap tequila. She gasped in surprise, freezing for half a second before smiling into it, pulling him closer like she thought it meant something more. He let her think that. For a few seconds, he let himself think that too.

Then he pulled back, gave her a lazy, practiced grin, and slipped away into the crowd without a word.

In the men's room, he stared at himself under the harsh lights. Red cheeks. Messy hair. Empty eyes.

"What the hell are you doing?" he muttered, gripping the sink until his knuckles turned white. He splashed water onto his face, hoping to rinse away the hollow feeling clinging to his skin.

He used to believe it would happen differently.  That love — real love — would find him if he just stayed good. Stayed focused.

Now he was just burning through nights. Burning through kisses that meant nothing. And when the music faded and the night ended, he was always right back where he started.

*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ I wanna know what it's like on the inside of love. I'm standing at the gates, I see the beauty above. *:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

His parents danced in the kitchen sometimes. Not always. Not in a grand, dramatic way. But every once in a while, when the radio hummed out one of those old Spanish ballads his dad loved, something about it would pull his mom's gaze. She'd smirk, like she was in on a secret, then stretch out her hand. And his father, always a little goofy, always a little ready to make her laugh, would take it without hesitation.

Pedri had caught them, just a few weeks ago, early in the evening when the house was still bathed in that warm, soft light. The scent of lentejas bubbled from the pot on the stove, filling every corner of the house. He'd been passing through the hallway, halfway to the fridge, when he noticed the quiet sound of his dad's voice — soft and off-key, like it always was when he tried to sing.

His mom was in her slippers, the kind she never wore in public, just around the house, her hair loose and pulled back messily. Her head was resting against his dad's shoulder, but the way she looked at him — it was like there was no one else in the world, just them and the music.

Pedri stood frozen in the doorway, watching them. The way his dad swayed with an awkward, endearing kind of rhythm, his mom smiling like she didn't care what anyone thought. It was the kind of thing no one noticed unless they were really looking.

But Pedri did. He always did. It wasn't the first time he'd seen it. But it always hit him harder than he expected, like a wave that pulled him under before he had time to brace himself.

His parents had been through so much. They'd moved towns, more than once, started over, found new jobs, put everything they had into raising two boys who would one day grow up and leave home. It wasn't always pretty. There had been fights, long nights of uncertainty, tears, and stress. And still — after more than twenty-five years — they held onto each other like they hadn't forgotten how to.

They'd built a life together. They'd been through everything together. And yet, there they were, still looking at each other like the world hadn't changed them, like they could still be those young lovers in the kitchen, dancing with nothing more than the sound of their song and the echo of laughter.

Pedri shifted his weight, staying just beyond the doorway, invisible. His eyes stayed glued to the scene, even though he knew they didn’t see him. His mom's smile had that warmth in it — the kind that came from a place deep inside. It was effortless. Real. The kind of love that never needed to be validated.

He didn't know if he'd ever have that.

He wanted it. So much. Not the kind of love that was paraded around on Instagram. Not the flashy, public gestures or the quick kisses for the camera. He wanted quiet love. The kind that didn't need to shout. The one that existed between two people, built over years, with laughter and tears, with patience and compromise. The kind of love that didn't go away when the party ended or the lights faded. He wanted to be part of something like that — a love that stayed when the excitement wore off. When the world stopped spinning and it was just the two of them, sharing an ordinary day. But he wasn't there. He was always on the outside, standing at the gates of it. Watching it. Longing for it. But never quite finding his way in.

"Algún día," his mom had whispered to him once, a long time ago, after a long day when he was still a kid. She had brushed his hair back as he sat on the kitchen floor, watching her chop vegetables. "Te vas a enamorar de verdad, mijo. Vas a ver qué bonito es desde dentro." (One day, you're going to really fall in love, son. You'll see how beautiful it is from the inside).

He hadn't really understood what she meant back then. He hadn't needed to. But now, as he watched them, his parents moving in slow, contented circles to a song that no one else could hear, he thought he might finally get it.

He hoped she was right. Because right now, all he had was the ache of wanting it. The quiet, constant yearning. And maybe that was enough for now. But he couldn't shake the feeling that there was something more. Something real, waiting just beyond his reach. Something that wasn't just the kind of love that filled stadiums and created headlines. It was the kind of love that stayed, no matter what.

And he couldn't help but wonder: Would he ever be the one to find it?

*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ Only when we get to see the aerial view will the patterns show. We'll know what to do. *:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Sometimes he wondered if football had taught him to live too straight. Lines on the field. Lines in his life. Get up early. Train. Eat right. Rest. Focus. Win. There was a plan for everything — a structure, a rhythm to follow, like the predictable beat of a metronome. If you followed it, things worked out. If you played by the rules, the ball would eventually find its way into the net.

But love didn't follow a tactical map. There were no arrows drawn on a whiteboard for that. No strategies. No drills. No team talks about how to navigate the mess of feelings, misunderstandings, and moments that didn't make sense.

He remembered once — after a match in Madrid — stopping for coffee in a little café near the hotel. It was a small place with a quirky vibe: mismatched chairs, tiny wooden tables, and the faint hum of indie music in the background.

A girl had approached his table. She had curly hair that bounced slightly when she walked, and green headphones around her neck, a little carelessly thrown on, like she'd just taken them off in a hurry.

"Is it alright if I sit here?" she asked, her voice hesitant but not shy. She wasn't starstruck, and didn't know him from any other footballer. He'd said yes, out of habit. He wasn't used to saying no in situations like that. Besides, he liked the silence. He liked the anonymity of being just another person at a café, not Pedri, the star.

They ended up talking for an hour. Not about football. Not about his matches or his career, or her favorite team. No. They talked about books, mostly. She told him she loved fantasy novels, and how she'd reread The Hobbit at least five times. She asked him if he had ever read One Hundred Years of Solitude, but he hadn't, so she spent a few minutes describing it — the layers of magic and tragedy woven together. They talked about dogs too. She had one — a golden retriever named Tango — who was so friendly he could practically carry a conversation. And when she spoke about him, Pedri could hear the affection in her voice. It wasn't just an ordinary dog. It was her companion, her friend. Then, they talked about Sundays. She said Sundays always felt a little sad to her, like the promise of a new week weighed too heavy to be joyful.

Pedri listened. He was good at listening. Good at staying quiet while others filled the space with words. He wondered if that's how people fell in love — just by showing up, listening, being there in those little moments.

When she stood up to leave, she smiled and said, "It was nice meeting you, Pedro." The way she said it — as if it was a casual parting, not something monumental. And yet it felt like something bigger to him. She didn't even ask for his number. Didn't ask for his Instagram or to keep in touch. She just smiled and walked out, and that was it. 

He never saw her again. Moments like that came back to him sometimes. Quietly. Not with regret. Just with a kind of wonder. Was that something? Could it have been?

He often thought about that meeting. And others like it. Those scattered, brief encounters with strangers who weren't impressed by who he was. Who didn't know his last name or care about his next match. Just people who talked to him because, in that moment, they were two humans sharing a space.

But football had always been a clear path. There was always a next match, a next flight, a next tournament. He couldn't afford distractions, especially when there was so much to prove. And so he kept going. Straight ahead. Like he'd been taught. No matter what moments he'd missed along the way. No matter who he hadn't gotten to know.

Now, sometimes, he looked back at those scattered, quiet moments and wished he could step outside himself — trace the pattern they'd drawn without knowing it. Maybe then he'd understand it. The way those people, those fleeting interactions, those missed connections fit into something bigger. Something he couldn't see when he was inside it.

Maybe love worked like that. Maybe you couldn't see it when you were in it, tangled up in your own expectations, focused on the finish line, always chasing the next achievement. Maybe you had to get above it, far enough away, to recognize where you were meant to go. For now, he still felt lost.

And maybe, just maybe, one day, from a higher view... the path would make sense. And he'd look back and see all the pieces falling into place, one by one. For now, though, he could only hope.

*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ I know the last page so well, I can't read the first. So I just don't start, it's getting worse. *:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Pedri had always been good at endings. He'd seen them play out time and time again, with an all-too-clear predictability. Love started, blossomed, and then — just as certain as him being in Tenerife when the season was over — it faded.

The same cycle he'd witnessed over and over. He'd seen it with his friends, his teammates, even his cousins. They'd swear they'd found the one, the person they would grow old with, only for that bond to dissolve three years later, leaving nothing but regret and awkward conversations at family gatherings. 

Ferran and Sira had been different, though. Their love had looked so real. Pedri had watched them from the sidelines, noticed the way Ferran would light up when she called him, how they shared inside jokes, how their hands fit so easily together. There was something about the way they moved through the world — together, always in sync, like they had already figured it out. They had something many people only dream of. It was right there in front of him, visible, undeniable.

He remembered the way Ferran had talked about Sira, the little sparks in his eyes when her name came up in conversation. He had been happy. They had been happy. It had been the kind of love that seemed to defy everything. The kind of love you couldn't fake. The kind you wanted to believe in.

Then, one day, it ended. Just like that. No warning. No clear reason. Just one final conversation, and that was it.

Ferran came back to his house one night, and Pedri could see it in his eyes — the weight of it, the way he carried the broken pieces. Sira was gone, and suddenly, Ferran was a little more hollow, a little more distant. Pedri had been there for him, of course. The conversations, the late-night talks, the reassuring pats on the back. He'd done his best to help pick up the pieces of his friend's heart. But some things, he knew, couldn't be fixed so easily.

"What happened?" Pedri had asked him once, not knowing how to comfort him. "Why did it end?"  Ferran had just sighed, wiping a hand over his face. "I don't know. We just… couldn't keep it together anymore." His voice had been thick with something that wasn't just sadness, but a deep, exhausted kind of disappointment. Like he'd given all he had, but it still wasn't enough. Like love just wasn't enough. Pedri had seen that look in Ferran's eyes, and for the first time, he understood the weight of what love could be. It wasn't always about passion or grand gestures. Sometimes it was just the slow build, the quiet moments of connection. And sometimes, when it fell apart, it left a hole too big to fill.

The thought of that — of love coming and going, of starting something that would eventually slip through his fingers — made him hesitate. Why even try? He had seen how deep the cuts could go. He didn't want to experience that firsthand.

And Ferran had seemed to reflect that same weariness. The same caution that Pedri had built into his own life. They'd both learned, one way or another, that love wasn't a guarantee. Not like a perfect assist or a goal in extra time. Just as sure as it came, it could disappear in an instant.

Pedri didn't want to put himself in that position. He thought about all of it as he sat on the edge of his bed, scrolling through his phone, his fingers numb against the glass. The texts he ignored. The time he let slip away. The nights when the silence felt too heavy, when he told himself he wasn't ready for love, that it was better to keep things casual.

But in his bones, he knew. It wasn't fear of the heartbreak that held him back anymore. It was exhaustion. Exhaustion from waiting for something that might never come, or worse, from hoping it would only to watch it fall apart. He didn't know what it felt like to hold something real. The kind of love his parents had, the kind of love Ferran had with Sira before it all unraveled. The one he sometimes thought might pass him by.

But maybe he was wrong. Maybe he hadn't been looking at it the right way. Maybe, if he could stop worrying about the end and start letting himself feel something along the way, he might just recognize it when it came — before it slipped away for good.

*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ I wanna know what it's like on the inside of love. I'm standing at the gates, I see the beauty above. *:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

"Tienes novia?" The question was always there, always the same, lingering in the air after each match, each press conference, each training session. It came from the reporters who tried to see beyond the athlete, looking for the human side of the star. They wanted a story, something personal to dissect. (Do you have a girlfriend?).

And Pedri had gotten good at answering it with practiced ease, a routine smile that shielded the vulnerability beneath. "No, estoy muy joven todavía," he said that day, the words slipping off his tongue like they had a hundred times before. The smile was a little too smooth, a little too rehearsed — the kind of smile you wear when you're trying to cover up what's really going on inside. (No, I'm still too young).

It was a lie, but not in the way most people assumed.

Sure, he was young. Sure, his career was everything. But that wasn't why he wasn't ready. It wasn't about being too focused on football or not having enough time. It wasn't even about age, despite what he told himself and others. The truth, the real truth, was much more difficult to admit. He wasn't ready solely because he was scared. Scared of something he couldn't even name. Scared of walking into a world that seemed so full of love, of connection, while he stood on the sidelines, unable to cross the threshold.

He caught a glimpse of himself in the reflection of the studio windows as the interview moved on, his eyes lingering on his own face. He still saw the same kid he'd been when he started this journey, a player with dreams, with hopes, but a growing distance between him and the life he wanted outside of football.

I'm still too young. It was easier to say than the truth.

The truth was, love terrified him. Not the idea of it — the daydreams, the stories — but the reality of finding it, building it, holding onto it. His parents had the kind of love that felt timeless: shaped by years of shared memories, quiet struggles, and unshakable laughter. They were each other's anchor, each other's safe haven. He'd grown up watching it unfold — the way his mother's eyes softened when his father practiced his old goalkeeping drills, or how a single glance between them across the kitchen table said everything when Fer came home with a bad grade. That kind of love didn't just happen. It was rare. And Pedri knew it.

He recalled the times his mom had told him, over and over again, "Vas a ver, Pedri, el amor es bonito. Te va a llegar." She believed it. She was certain. But Pedri wasn't. (You'll see, Pedri, love is beautiful. It'll come to you).

What if it didn't? What if love wasn't meant for him? That feeling of being on the outside, watching people walk through doors he couldn’t reach — it was suffocating.

His hands clenched around the steering wheel as he left the training ground, his mind spinning with all the things he couldn't shake. He wasn't afraid of commitment. He didn't think he was afraid of being loved. He was afraid of never being able to find that love in the first place. The kind that felt like something real. The kind that wasn't fleeting, or superficial, or hollow.

He thought about how easy it seemed for others — how love found them without effort, like it had been waiting just around the corner. He'd seen it in his friends, younger teammates who lit up around someone who made them laugh without trying. He saw it at home, too — his parents, who had built something lasting from nothing, who turned ordinary days into a life shared. That was love. And still, the weight of living up to something like that — the fear of not being enough for it — lingered quietly in the back of his mind.

How could he know if he was enough for it when he didn't even know how to start?

It was easier to stay on the outside. To tell himself that he wasn't ready. To tell himself that the time wasn't right. That love could wait, just like everything else in his life. But deep down, the uncertainty gnawed at him. He didn't know how to trust himself enough to open a door, to take the risk. He wasn't sure he would know what to do if he ever stepped inside.

He also thought about the nights when he felt like an imposter. He'd be surrounded by people at parties or dinners, his laugh easy, his presence effortless. But inside, there was a loneliness that clung to him. A kind of quiet ache. He wondered what it would be like to find someone who understood that. To have someone by his side who wasn't just there because he was Pedri, but because they saw him — the person behind the name, the player, the public figure.

Would it be enough to make him feel whole? Or would it slip away before he had a chance to hold on?

Pedri sighed, letting his fingers trail across the steering wheel as the city lights passed by. Maybe his mom was right. Maybe love would come eventually, just like she said. But for now, standing at the gates of it, he didn't know if he was ready to walk through. Not yet. Not until he could trust that the door wouldn't close behind him once he stepped in.

*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ I wanna know what it's like on the inside of love. I can't find my way in, I try again and again. *:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

He had to try, right? If he kept waiting, kept pretending he wasn't interested in anything more than the casual, empty moments he'd always found so easy to slide into, nothing would ever change.

It started simple.

A dinner with a girl named Clara, someone he met through a friend at a social event. She was pretty—in that model-like effortless way. Her smile was warm, and her laugh was the kind that made him feel lighter, like he didn't have to be Pedri, the footballer. Just Pedri, the guy who loved talking about video games and places he wanted to see.

They spent hours talking that night. Not about football. Not about fame. Just about the little things. The kind of conversations that felt like they had no weight, no expectations. She asked him about his childhood, his favorite video games, and the last movie he watched. He asked her about her favorite books, her travels, what she dreamed of doing when she wasn't chasing deadlines. It was real, he told himself, or at least it felt like it.

For once, he felt like he could breathe without the weight of his public persona hanging over him. There was no footballer. There was no press. Just two people, sitting across from each other, talking like normal people.

It was easy. Light. Natural.

But as the days passed, it started to feel less real and more like something that should feel real, but didn't. They had a few more dates. Each one more predictable than the last. Dinner here. A walk in the park there. Casual, comfortable.

But something was always missing.

Clara was sweet. Easy to talk to, fun to be around. He liked her — genuinely. But it wasn't enough. It just wasn't love. Not really. There was something off-kilter about it, not loud or dramatic, just a quiet discomfort, like a pebble in his shoe he couldn't quite shake. He kept wondering, Is this it? Maybe he was just overthinking. Maybe it was him — being restless, overcritical, afraid to settle. He tried to silence the doubts, to convince himself they didn't matter. But they lingered, creeping in at the edges of every silence, every forced smile. No matter how hard he tried to ignore them, they stayed.

One evening, after a walk near the beach, when the air was cool and the city lights sparkled in the distance, Clara turned to him. Her face serious, but her voice gentle, "Pedri, what are we doing here?" He hadn't been expecting it, and for the first time, he didn't have an answer.

"I... I don't know," he said honestly, running his fingers through his hair. "I just... I don't know what I'm looking for. I'm trying."

It was the first time he had said it aloud. I'm trying. But no matter how hard he tried, no matter how many dates he went on or how much he wanted to believe in the moments they shared, there was still a distance. He still felt like he was on the outside.

Clara looked at him for a moment, and then a soft smile curled at the edges of her lips. "It's okay," she said gently. "I think we both know this isn't it."

That was it. That was the moment. It wasn't failure. It wasn't rejection. It wasn't even a breakup. It was just... nothing. A moment that never became something.

Pedri stood there, at the edge of the beach, with the sand still warm beneath his shoes, but the emptiness in his chest felt cold. He watched the waves crash against the shore, and for the first time in weeks, he wasn't sure what to do next.

He walked away from that night with a strange emptiness, not from losing her, but from the quiet realization that maybe he simply wasn't ready for something real. He tried. He really did. But he still couldn't find his way in. He couldn't find his way. At times, it felt that it wasn't just in love. It was in life. In everything, but football. He'd been trying for so long, but nothing ever seemed to fit.

And the more he tried, the more it seemed like he was getting further away from what he truly wanted.

*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ I'm on the outside of love. Always under or above. I can't find my way in, I try again and again.  *:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

The Copa del Rey final had been everything Pedri had dreamed of. The roar of the crowd, the weight of the trophy in his hands — everything felt like it was supposed to. He had worked for this moment, and now it was here, a symbol of his effort and determination.

He had scored — a clean strike from outside the box that curled past the keeper — and the stadium had erupted. It should have been the kind of moment that stayed suspended in time, frozen with joy. And for a second, it was. As his teammates swarmed him, his eyes instinctively searched the stands. He looked for his family — the ones who had been there before all the noise and the glory. And when he found them, arms raised and smiling wide, a warm pride bloomed in his chest. He loved them. He was proud to be theirs.

But even in that moment, with everything he'd ever wanted in front of him, a quiet thought slipped in — uninvited yet persistent. Shouldn't I be looking for someone else? Shouldn't there be someone else I should be sharing this with?

As the final whistle blew, the team erupted in celebration — cheers, laughter, champagne spraying into the air. But amidst the jubilant chaos, a quiet ache slowly began to creep into his chest, growing heavier with each passing minute. The noise of the celebration, the faces around him, all blurred into the background, and in their place, a subtle emptiness settled in, impossible to ignore.

He glanced around at the others. Gavi — never one to take much seriously — was completely absorbed in his girlfriend's laughter, her hand resting lightly on his arm as they shared a joke meant only for them. Nearby, Fermín leaned in close to his partner, their heads tilted together, voices low, like the rest of the world had quietly faded away. Then there were the older players, Raphinha, Lewandoswki — the ones who had already built families, their lives rooted in homes full of memory and affection. The kind of love shaped by time, by years of growing side by side, of weathering life together until it all fit without effort.

He didn't feel jealousy. He felt that all-too-familiar longing — the quiet ache for something just out of reach, no matter how hard he'd tried to grasp it.

Yes, he had his family, and that… that was everything. It had to be. His parents, Fernando and Rosy, had given him the kind of love that formed the bedrock of who he was. He still remembered the early mornings, when the sky was barely blue and his father was already in the car, waiting to drive him to training. The quiet pride in Rosy's eyes when he came home tired but smiling. The sacrifices they made — the hours, the money, the blind faith — all poured into his dreams without ever asking for anything in return. Fer had been his shadow and his cheerleader, always pushing him forward, even when he wanted to slow down. And he was grateful — deeply, fiercely grateful. But still, in this moment, surrounded by the quiet intimacy of others — stolen glances, soft touches, laughter shared in whispers — he couldn't help but wonder if there was something more waiting for him. Something he hadn't yet found.

For a second, he allowed himself to drift into the thought. He wasn't just craving the affection that came with winning, or the recognition. He wanted real connection. Something that wasn't born out of duty or circumstance but from mutual understanding, from sharing moments that had nothing to do with football. A love that wasn't just about celebrating trophies but about celebrating life, together.

But how? He'd been caught in the rhythm of his career for so long, constantly on the move, living in a world that required him to put his heart in the backseat, to focus on the game. And whenever he tried, whenever he made an effort to go beyond the surface with someone, he ended up feeling like he was faking it. The connection wasn't deep enough. The effort didn't feel right. No matter how many times he tried, it always slipped through his fingers.

And yet, as he stood there, the cool air brushing against his skin, holding the trophy that symbolized everything he had worked for, he couldn't ignore the ache. The weight of it starting to feel unbearable.

He had everything a footballer could ask for — success, recognition, a bright future. But at that moment, it didn't matter. Not really. He stared at the trophy in his hands, his fingers tightening around the cool metal, but it didn't bring him the comfort he expected.

The quiet loneliness wrapped itself around him again, more present than it had ever been before. He thought about all those moments he had seen in others — moments of genuine connection, of love. Of something that wasn't earned by victory, but by time, by knowing someone truly and fully.

It felt like he was always on the outside looking in.

He wanted to experience that feeling. To look at someone and know they saw him, just as him. To have someone in his life who would understand the quiet moments, the struggles behind the scenes, someone who would stand by him, not because of his career, not because of material things he could offer, but because they simply wanted to.

But tonight, as he stood alone, waiting for his family to join him on the field, a weight heavier than the trophy in his hands settled in his chest. It wasn't failure. It wasn't even disappointment. It was the simple truth that, no matter how much he had, something important was missing. And for the first time, he wasn't sure how to fill that gap.

*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ I'm on the outside of love - always under or above. Must be a different view to be a me with a you. *:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ

The wedding reception was warm, almost golden — the kind of light that made everything look softer, more intimate. Pedri sat quietly at a round table near the edge of the room, his hands wrapped loosely around a glass, his tie slightly loosened. The venue — an old finca in the hills above Tegueste — overflowed with laughter and the scent of jasmine and grilled fish, the kind of food that reminded him of long childhood summers.

He should've felt at home. Javier was one of his oldest friends. They used to ride bikes through the streets until their legs gave out, play pickup games until the sun disappeared behind the mountains. And now, Javier was standing in front of everyone — suit perfectly tailored, eyes locked on Lucía as if she were gravity itself.

"Thank you all for joining us today," Javier began, raising his glass. His voice was thick with emotion, just barely holding steady. "But above all… thank you, Lucía. Because you didn't just marry me today. You saved me. You made me believe in something more than myself. In an 'us.'"

There was a beat of silence before the crowd erupted in applause, a few people wiping at their eyes. Pedri smiled faintly, but the words hit him harder than he'd expected. His gaze drifted toward Lucía, radiant in her off-white dress, her fingers laced tightly with Javier's, her smile glowing even through tears. They looked like they belonged — like they had found something most people only ever pretended to.

He took a sip of his drink and leaned back, letting the low hum of conversation and clinking silverware surround him without truly registering any of it. All around him, people leaned into one another — couples whispering in each other's ears, hands resting easily on arms, thighs brushing under the table like second nature. It was effortless for them. Like breathing.

But for Pedri, it always felt like a performance. Like trying to learn a script everyone else had memorized years ago. He was good at the public part — the smiles, the charm, the gestures that made people feel like they knew him. But the deeper part? The part where you let someone stay, let them see? That always slipped through his fingers.

His phone buzzed in his jacket pocket, but he didn't bother to check it. Whoever it was, whatever it said, it wouldn't change anything. Not the strange ache pressing at his ribs, not the way the night felt like watching something through a screen.

He glanced back toward the newlyweds. Javier had leaned in to whisper something in Lucía's ear, her hand resting over his chest, and she laughed — not just a polite chuckle, but a real, full laugh that lit up her whole face.

And just like that, Pedri felt it again — the longing. That quiet, aching pull toward something he didn't even know how to name. Not love, exactly. Not just that. But the feeling of being seen. Held. Chosen, even when you weren't shining.

He remembered when Javier first told him about Lucía — a girl with a laugh that made him nervous and a mind that made him want to be better. Pedri had nodded, happy for his friend. But somewhere deep down, he'd wondered if he'd ever get that lucky. If someone would ever look at him and see more than a footballer, more than the safe version of himself he offered to the world.

Maybe that was the difference — maybe Javier let himself be loved. Really loved. Pedri wasn't sure if he knew how.

The music swelled again — a soft bolero that drew couples back onto the dance floor. Javier extended a hand, and Lucía stepped into his arms without hesitation, her head resting against his shoulder as they began to sway. There were no grand declarations now. Just closeness. Familiarity. A rhythm found in silence.

And Pedri, still hovering at the edge of the room, watched with that familiar quiet yearning — as if he were watching his comfort series, one where he was never written into the script. Everything unfolded around him: the laughter, the easy touches, the closeness that didn't need explanation. He wasn't bitter, just… distant, like the warmth belonged to another world entirely. And he couldn't help but wonder, not for the first time, if there would ever be a space like that meant for him. He couldn't help but wonder if someday, he would find a love that was really something, not just the idea of something.

*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ I wanna know what it's like on the inside of love. I'm standing at the gates, I see the beauty above. I wanna know what it's like on the inside of love. Of course  I'll be alright, I just had a bad night. *:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

He should've felt good. It was a night for something meaningful — for giving back. People were laughing, connecting, raising money for kids who needed it. And still, he felt like he was watching it all through glass. Present, but not fully part of it.

Pedri stood off to the side of the event hall, the soft hum of music and conversation swirling around him. The warm light from the chandeliers cast a glow over tables dressed in linen and gold, glasses clinking gently, smiles thrown across candlelit conversations. It looked like joy — like purpose. But inside, he felt weightless in the worst way. Like he could drift through it all and no one would notice.

He swirled the water in his glass, eyes unfocused, jaw set in something close to thoughtfulness but tinged with fatigue. It had been a long week — the pressure of the games, the expectations, the constant need to perform. He didn't know what he was waiting for. Maybe for something to reach him. Maybe for someone to ask him something that wasn't about football.

And then, there she was.

He noticed her before he fully understood why. She moved through the crowd like she wasn't trying to impress anyone — focused, composed, clipboard tucked under her arm. There was a quiet authority about her, like she knew exactly where she was supposed to be and was doing it without fanfare. She had that air about her — like she was useful, reliable, part of something. Not one of the glittery guests or wealthy donors, but one of the people who made the night actually work. Her smile came and went quickly, reserved for little moments — when someone found their name on the seating chart, when she passed a colleague and shared a quiet word. It wasn't the kind of smile that demanded attention. It was the kind that seemed to say, I see you, and I'm here.

She was calm. Grounded. Real.

He watched her adjust a centerpiece on a nearby table, check something off on her list, then pause and glance his way — catching him, eyes lingering for half a second too long. He dropped his gaze, embarrassed to be caught staring. 

But before he could fully retreat into himself, he heard her voice, "Are you having a bad night, or just really into that water?" He turned, startled. She was right there, standing a few feet away, looking at him like she hadn't just walked straight into the middle of his fog. He blinked. "Sorry?"

"You've been staring at that glass for five minutes," she said, smiling slightly. "Either it has secrets… or you just needed a reset." He huffed a quiet laugh. "Maybe both."

There was a pause. Not awkward — just open. She didn't rush to fill it.

"Too much going on?" she asked, tilting her head a little. "I get it. It gets overwhelming. Everyone trying to be charming at the same time." "Something like that," he said, shifting his weight. "I think I'm just… not really here tonight. Like my body is here but the rest of me is not." "Yeah, I got that vibe," she replied, her tone kind, not teasing. 

He studied her face — open, curious, but not pushy. There was no expectation in her gaze. No recognition, either. Or if there was, she didn't let on.

"I guess I've been stuck in my head," he admitted, glancing back toward the crowd. Her expression softened. "That's not a great place to be." "No," he said quietly. "It's not."

She moved a bit closer, almost instinctively, like the space between them felt too much. There was a quiet comfort in her presence — a gentleness that didn't demand anything from him.

He looked at her again. "You volunteering tonight?" "Yeah," she nodded proudly. "Helping with the auction, the seating chart, making sure people don't steal the centerpieces." She smiled again, "And apparently," she paused for a second, "checking in on footballers who forget how to socialize."

That made him laugh — unexpectedly, freely. He didn't realize how much he'd needed that sound until it left his mouth.

"You're good at this," he said, still smiling. "At what?" "At checking in on footballers who forget how to socialize. And, at making people feel more... here, less… invisible."

She paused, like the compliment caught her off guard. Then she glanced down at the clipboard in her hand, a faint blush touching her cheeks. When she looked back up, her eyes were warm. "Well, you're not invisible," she said softly.

She didn't say more. Didn't need to. Just stood beside him in the quiet of their corner, letting the noise of the event drift by. He felt something shift inside him, like he was waking up from a twenty-year-long fog. Occasionally, he found himself glancing sideways at her, drawn to the calm in her presence. There was something about her that made it… easier to breathe — like the weight of everything that had been pressing on him for so long had lightened just by her being there. She wasn't waiting for him to entertain her, or to explain himself. Her stillness felt like a quiet invitation to just exist. It was strange, how just standing beside someone, without words, could clear his mind. Like the noise in his thoughts had quieted, if only for a moment. And for a brief second, everything felt simpler, lighter.

When someone called for her from across the room, she turned slightly, scanning the crowd. Then, she looked back at him.

"Hey," she said, her smile returning, smaller now, but no less genuine. "I'm Y/N, by the way." A beat passed before he smiled in return, something softer resting behind his eyes. "Pedri." She nodded, like it confirmed something she already suspected, but didn't change anything.

Then, before turning to go, she asked, "Are you going to be okay?"

The question caught him off guard — not because it was dramatic, but because of how plain it was. How unpolished. No one ever really asked him that, not like that. Not without a reason or a follow-up or a suggestion about what he should do to be better. He looked at her — really looked. There was no agenda in her expression. Just a quiet kind of care. iIn the noise and the lights and the everything of it all, that landed heavier than anything else.

He exhaled, slow. "Yeah," he said finally, almost surprised at how true it felt. "Just had a bad night."

She gave him one last look, her eyes kind, then turned and walked away, disappearing into the movement of the room.

He stayed there, frozen, for a moment, the sounds of the event washing over him. But the heaviness he'd been carrying all night felt… different now. Lighter, somehow. Like something had been acknowledged, something unspoken.

For the rest of the night, his attention kept drifting back to her. Every so often, their eyes would meet across the room — brief, flickering glances that felt like questions neither of them dared to ask. It wasn't the pull of attraction or the hunger for attention, but a quiet gravity, as if her presence alone was enough to settle the rest of the noise in his mind. He couldn't name it, but the feeling was there — soft, persistent.

He didn't feel the need to chase her. There was no pressure to make anything happen, no rush to create a perfect moment. No desperation, no script— just the quiet hum of something unfolding on its own. No rehearsed lines, no anxious pauses. He didn't need to name it or hold it tightly — just let it be, and that felt like enough.

Because somehow, someway, he knew— he'd see her again.

[dandysworld-meh-imagines]

If we may, Toon!Sprout and Twisted!Reader where he manages to convince everyone to let him try to rehabilitate Reader and it. Kinda works(???)

Sprout Trying To Rehabilitate A Twisted Reader!

I hope I did this right!! Lemme know!! Ohhhhh, I really liked this request! I'm SUCH a sucker for toon x twisted stuff!! Here you go! Thank you for requesting! <3 sorry that requests are taking a while y'all!

-Anna

-When he lost you, Sprout kept blaming himself, he is supposed to take care of you and make sure everyone is well and okay! Not like this.. he knows he can't keep everyone in check but that still didn't make him feel better at all about the situation. He lost his lover, he was devastated.. though he tried his best not to lose anyone else, his overprotectiveness became even worse. Cosmo tried to comfort Sprout but he could feel how miserable his best friend felt and the best he could is stay by his side.

-The run continued for a good while and while he was hunting aggressively for any resources to help everyone else, he heard a twisted and quickly hid, checking to see who it was, only for his heart to drop when he realized that it was you. Oh, he felt so guilty and bad.. the way your body and features had changed made him pause for a good while, watching as you roamed around, eyes showing how much you are hurting and the way the ichor was sticking to you.. how hard it was to watch.

-Stepping out of the hiding spot, Sprout followed you, observing your movements and the way you reacted to things. Something told him that it was you deep down and he felt the urge to try and help you in any way he could, maybe even help get you back. Though he kept hesitating as he had watched his old friend's try to kill without hesitation before.. does he really stand a chance? He clenched his hands into fists as he took a deep breath. He knew what he was going to do would be stupid.. but he wanted to try it.. at least once.

-"Hey.. sweetie.. it's me, do you remember me..?" He had gotten kinda close to you as he grabbed your attention and as usual, you started to chase him, wanting to hurt him no matter what. Sprout held your wrists quite harshly as he looked into your eyes with his regular ones. "C-Can you try to remember me..? Does my appearance ring a bell, maybe?" He was holding you with so much strength, it almost started to hurt. Though he had to, one wrong move and he would get a harsh scar on him.

-It actually took a while for you to finally recognize that it was your boyfriend. The aggression from you didn't really stop although now you just stare at his every single move like crazy, ultra crazy! Here was were Sprout started to feel hope, at least a little bit. Of course, he didn't trust you around the others but now, he only kept talking to you, hoping his sweet, comforting voice reaches you more and more, lowering your aggression levels.

-"Here.. I made this especially for you, my sweetheart.. it's your favorite flavor too. I'll leave it here close to you, okay? Yeah, okay.." He left it on the floor before taking steps back as he watched you basically jump on the cupcake, sniffing it before biting into it, almost eating it in one bite. It made Sprout show you a smile and you stared at him as you seemed more.. calmer. He cursed himself but he tried his luck on touching you. It first made you flinch and shakily look at his touch before you melted a bit, your body remembering his soft and gentle touch.

-"Come here, you.." Sprout used this chance to hug you close and tight to him, not even caring if any ichor rubs on him. All he cared about was having you back and how he was going to bring you back to the others too, knowing that many would reject the idea immediately, it was too risky, after all. He used this time to also think about what was he going to do next. He first gets Cosmo close to you since you knew him very well too. Cosmo thought he was crazy at first before deciding to go with his idea after seeing how desperate Sprout looked for you to be finally back.

-Cosmo changes his mind after seeing you starting to grow calmer more and more as he and Sprout kept you company. He first needed distance so you won't try anything and he started to brainstorm with Sprout about ideas. Seeing as his team started gathering at the elevator, Sprout went back with Cosmo and you as he held your hand tightly and stared at everyone almost like he was crazy. He kept pleading for them to let you into the elevator, promising that you won't hurt them and they shouldn't be too scared. Cosmo was trying his best on this as well, seeing how much it meant for his best friend for you to be back.

-"I know they are still in there.. please.. I want you all to trust me on this, I won't let them hurt you, I promise.. let me try this one more thing.." He would pleaud and even cry as he did his best, he couldn't let you go, no, not again. He was going to do his best at fixing you and attempting to get you back to normal at least somewhat. It was hard to watch but everyone reluctantly agreed as you really did seem to be calm around him and Cosmo. You just kept an intense gaze to observe everyone else's moves and if they'll do anything to you.

-Back home, he patches you up, bakes you many goods and more as you stay only on his room, he refuses to let anyone close unless it's Cosmo, which is someone you also trust. When Sprout is with you, he can't stop talking softly to you, making sure that you feel safe, nothing would get you here now, it will be okay.. he is trying his best while being an anxious mess, give him some time! He loves you so much and he will never give up on trying to bring you back, no matter how long it takes. Even just some small progress is enough to make him smile, feel relieved and even give you affection slowly and slowly, hoping you look into his eyes one day and give him the smile he so misses.

Thank you for reading! <3

[colorlessjay]

hello! may be a weird request but do you have any fanfic recommendations?

BUCKLE THE FUCK UP

OH DO I HAVE SOME RECS FOR YA'LL

Mind you, 90% are based on personal preference and fics I think about way too often than I should. A lot of them influenced the way I make characters interact

Some of them might not be your taste and that's cool!

First off, Gotta promote the fics that people wrote inspired by my art (I am truly honored)

Time Cast A Spell On You by bethefirstwhoeverdid

Cabin of Feathers by Featherpie (Izupie)

Return To The Past by faeryn

NOW FOR MY COLLECTION

Just any fic written by everandanon

I swear to you, all of their fics are worth a read. They are frustrating (In a good way for me) but the worldbuilding, comedy, dialogue, and character interactions always have me physically getting up and laughing. At one point during Quarentantion, I had to stop reading to rant to my friends about it because it made me feel so much that I went to 3 different friends about it. With Interest actually made my heart physically hurt at certain points. Expectations had me on a roller coaster ride But if you think their fics are a little overwhelming, I recommend reading Casicorn. It's the first ever fic I read from them and it solidified my love for this author. I swear I am on my hands and KNEES waiting for them to finish their newest fic

Where All My Journeys End - (a Twist and Shout alt universe) by Say_It_In_Enochian

Did reading Twist and Shout devastate you? Did it emotionally hurt your heart and make you wish there was something to make the pain lighter? READ THIS FUCKING FIC NOW I got so fucking lucky when I found it immediately after reading T&S and when I tell you the JOURNEY this fic took me? It healed my soul The struggles, the history, the relationships, the LONG fight to get to their happy ending I am FLOORED this doesn't have 1000 Kudos!

The Ed Sheeran Effect by tricia_16

It made me laugh. That's it. It's sweet and funny and really fun and just feels very campy, like it could've been a decent movie I would rewatch on days I just feel like feeling good Am I a sucker for HighSchool/College AU fics? Yes do I fucking care? No

The Best Years of Our Lives, My Ass by ireallyhatecornnuts (CharleyFoxtrot)

I. fucking. love. this. fic The story alone was so interesting but it was the DIALOGUE that hooked me in. I swear I think about this fic in the middle of drawing and go "Damn, good times" like it's a long lost friend

Slide Away by Castielslostwings

It's the TENSION that got me. I can't explain to you how much I just love their hate-pining for each other Read it, love it, in my digital bookshelf

Sleep Without You by turningthepages

Hilarious. The density is so high it could float. I swear to god I've read this fic at least three times and think about it once a week I remember reading it and cackling so much that I woke up my mom

Should've Just Asked by Annie D (scaramouche)

I wish this fic had a follow-up that was just Dean's perspective because I would LOVE to read more of it. The situation is so absurd and I binged it all in one day (I'm a very slow reader)

Pinfall by crowleyo

I'm gonna say it. I'm so actually angry this fic doesn't get enough attention. It is so so SO well-written and heart-wrenching. Am I still a sucker for highschool sweethearts? YES! I OPENLY ADMIT THIS! But COME ON

Of fuming and partaking and so on by zation

This fic and literally any fic from Zation. I absolutely love the way this author writes. It's so funny and self-aware and the dialogue and scenarios always keep me entertained and laughing They have such a large catalog of fics that I'm pretty sure I have at least 15 saved on my phone

Mr. Blue Sky by anyrei, queerwolf79

This fic specifically and literally ANYTHING from these two. I swear, a lot of their fics are certified bangers. Mr. Blue Sky is probably a personal favorite of mine cause I actually teared up

Love Me More by Saiorse_Irvyne

I'm not the biggest fan of A/B/O stuff, but MAN this has me feeling things. When a fic makes me feel strong emotions, I just gotta recommend it

Lock and Key by tricia_16

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH it's THAT good

Kind Of A Forever Deal by komodobits

It's FUN. It's FUNNY. It's so fucking campy and cute and the progression of their relationship was just AAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

It's Always the End of the World Somewhere by Annie D (scaramouche)

I can sit here and recommend Annie D's fics all DAY, but I'm recommending this one specifically because of this: “Get a room, assholes,” someone mutters. “Hey!” Crowley whirls on the offender. “I could set on you on fire!” And that's one of many fantastic quotes

Cinderwings by bendingsignpost

One of the first fics I've ever read from this fandom, and I recommend it to ANYONE regardless of whether they know Destiel or not. The story is so fucking captivating it makes me want to eat my foot it's so GOOD

--------------

Do I have a type when it comes to fanfics? Yes

But I like gravitating towards funny dialogue and silly shenanigans. I thrive off of fun fics that sometimes take themselves seriously, but still pull me back and make me laugh

If a fic can make me feel such a strong emotion that I PHYSICALLY have to get up? Then fuck yeah it's going in my archives

I would recommend some of the darker fics I have, but this is for fun

[cupidddd-d]

heart eyes

aww, they're in love with you !

peter

"h-hey," peter's voice cracks as he tries to speak, clearing his throat as a blush creeps up his cheeks. "i-i mean, hey."

his hands fiddle with something underneath his robes, his freckles slowly disappearing as his flush grows darker.

"hi peter, what's up?" you offer him a polite smile as you try not to laugh at how adorable he is.

"s-so i noticed that um...y-you're really good at, um, ch-charms. c-could you maybe...tutor me? i-i mean, i-it's fine if y-you don't!" he stutters.

he clears his throat again as he stares down at the ground. preparing himself to be slapped. for what? he doesn't really know. maybe for even daring to talk to you, let alone asking you for anything. why would he deserve to hold even an ounce of your attention?

"sure, that's fine. i'm free anytime, so let me know when you want to meet in the library," you shrug simply, your eyes widening in shock as he shoves 3 boxes of chocolate frogs in your arms.

"okay, thanks, bye!" he rushes off before you can respond, practically running away from you.

"um...bye, i guess?"

james

"merlin-!" your neck almost collapses as james places his elbow on your skull, casually using you as an armrest and leaning his full weight on you.

"has anyone ever told you how short you are?" he ponders, letting out a quiet oomph when you shove him off.

"get off me, you...ogre!"

"sweetheart, i'm hurt. anyhow, have you heard of what happened to malfoy? i set his mattress on fire," he looks at you with a childlike grin, eager for your approval. "you said he was insulting you behind your back, didn't you?"

"oh, that's not...that's not really a prank. that's just, um...arson." you scratch the back of your neck awkwardly, your lips twisted into a weak grimace.

his smile dips slightly. "well, i didn't exactly consult the boys about it. was more of a personal project. for you. don't you like it?"

"um...it's the thought that counts, right?"

as dubious as your answer is, it causes james' spirits to lift once more, and he tackles you in a hug (which subsequently cuts off your air supply--who knew he'd have such a strong grip?).

"i knew you'd love it!"

sirius

"ahh, good evening, love. sitting at the fireplace all by your lonesome?" sirius says loudly as he plops down on the couch next to you, throwing an arm over your shoulder.

"not anymore," you gingerly pick up his hand as if it's radioactive, tossing it aside and leaving it dangling behind the couch--but most importantly, away from you. "what are you doing, black?"

"you're so cold to me," he sighs, raking a hand through his hair. "you didn't notice anything new about me?"

you shake your head cluelessly.

"nothing? really, love? shoes? haircut? rings? clothes? you don't notice anything?"

you shake your head again.

"i'm heartbroken! devastated! anguished! inconsolable, even! i did all this to fit your tastes, you know!" he complains. "can't i have a little kiss to heal my shattered soul?"

he puckers his lips, leaning in with a hopeful expression.

"yeah, maybe in your dreams, black." you snort as you get up from the couch, moving as far away from him as possible.

he bites his lip as he watches you leave, idly rubbing his jaw.

"oh trust me, i'm dreaming...hell, i'll do a lot more than dreaming..."

remus

"i couldn't stay for break, so i wanted to give you an early yule present, if that's okay?" remus rummages around in his bag and hands you a strange rectangle.

upon closer inspection, it seems to be a (poorly) wrapped gift, but it's the thought behind it that warms your heart and causes an involuntary smile to spread across your face.

yes, too much wrapping paper was used, and there's tape in unnecessary places, but remus made a gift for you. who cares that it looked like it had been constructed by a blind toddler?

"thank you, remus," you say sweetly, your voice dripping into his ears like warm honey. "can i open it?"

"o-of course, and if you don't like it, i also have a sweater in my dorm for you. i um, remember how you'd always compliment my sweaters, so i thought i might get us a matching pair." he offers you a shy smile that makes your heart melt.

"you're so sweet, rem," you say softly. you delicately tear the wrapping paper, not wanting to ruin his hard work.

"it's my favorite book. i thought you might like it, and i annotated it. i highlighted the lines that made me think of you, and i also wrote little comments in the margins," he explains quietly, picking at his cuticles. "but now that i'm saying it out loud, it seems stupid..."

"it's not stupid, rem! i love it! it's really sweet and thoughtful! thank you," you say earnestly. "i'm really excited to read it over break. i mean it,"

"you're welcome, dove,"

[urdreamydoodles]

Love your works!!!! And I love Mr. Pickles!!!

May I ask for headcanons if reader dies in their arms?

Asking for: Emma Frost, Charles Xavier, Jean Grey, Piotr Rasputin, Beast, and Illyana Rasputin

No pressure ofc!!! Thank you!!

And have I mentioned that I fucking love your works?!?!

X-Men x Reader (Part.1)

You die in their arms (Part.1)

In the heat of battle, you succumbs to fatal injuries in the arms of your partner. Each X-Men, torn apart by grief, reacts to the devastating loss, facing the crushing reality that their greatest power cannot bring back the person they love most.

Characters: Emma Frost, Charles Xavier, Jean Grey, Colossus, Hank McCoy & Magik

First of all, thank you for this message, you are my first request and you have no idea how much it touches me. And secondly, your compliments make me blush, I'm glad you like my work, because personally I've never had as much fun as writing about something as this. Get ready for a LOT of headcanons because I have a lot in store. Above all, don't hesitate to ask for other requests <3 And thanks to you, you inspired me to make your request for other X-Men and X-Women. PS: MR. PICKLES WILL RETURN

Emma Frost

The battlefield was littered with chaos—explosions, screams, and the metallic scent of blood filled the air. You and Emma had been fighting alongside the X-Men, as you had countless times before, but this time was different. This battle had been brutal, and even though you had faced danger before, nothing had ever felt this dire. You had always fought by her side, both of you in sync, but as the fight raged on, you felt your strength starting to wane.

Emma’s voice was sharp and commanding in your mind, as always. “Stay with me, darling. We’re almost through this,” she had said, her mental link giving you strength. But when the blast came—one you hadn’t seen coming—it sent you flying, the pain immediate and overwhelming. You crumpled to the ground, clutching your side, feeling the warmth of your own blood seeping through your fingers.

Emma’s scream tore through the battlefield, her telepathic wail so fierce it silenced everyone for a moment. In the next second, she was at your side, her diamond form shimmering as she knelt down, her hands trembling as they reached for you. The moment her fingers touched your skin, her diamond exterior shattered, leaving her vulnerable in a way she never was on the battlefield.

"Y/N," she whispered, her voice breaking. "No, no, no... this can’t be happening."

You struggled to stay conscious, your vision blurring as you looked up at her, the love of your life, her face twisted in anguish. "I’m sorry," you choked out, each word a struggle. "I tried... I really tried."

Tears fell from her eyes, something she rarely allowed herself to do. She pressed her forehead against yours, her voice shaking. "Don’t you dare say goodbye. Not yet. I won’t let you go."

But you could feel it. The life slipping away, your heartbeat growing fainter. You reached up weakly, your hand brushing against her cheek. "Emma... I love you," you whispered, your voice barely audible.

Emma’s breath hitched as she gripped your hand, holding onto you as if her sheer willpower could keep you alive. "I love you too," she whispered back, her lips brushing your forehead. "Please... please stay."

But you couldn’t. Your eyes fluttered shut, your body growing still in her arms.

For a moment, Emma just sat there, her mind refusing to accept what had just happened. Then, with a heart-wrenching scream, she unleashed a wave of telepathic energy so powerful that it swept across the battlefield, knocking down enemies, sending shockwaves through everyone’s minds. She cradled your body, her chest heaving with sobs, her mind desperate, reaching out to you, trying to find any trace of your consciousness.

But you were gone.

And for the first time in her life, Emma Frost felt utterly, completely broken.

Charles Xavier

The fight had been relentless, and despite the X-Men’s best efforts, the battle had taken a terrible toll. You had always been the calm in Charles’ storm, the grounding presence he could rely on when the weight of leading the X-Men grew too heavy. But today, everything had gone wrong. You had been separated from the team, cornered by enemies, and though you fought bravely, you had been wounded—badly.

By the time Charles found you, the world had already started fading around the edges. He wheeled towards you with a speed and desperation you had never seen in him before. His voice echoed in your mind, trembling with fear. *"Y/N, hold on. Please, just hold on."*

You could barely open your eyes, the pain in your body making it difficult to even breathe. But you heard him, and you smiled weakly, your heart aching as you felt his mind reaching for yours, trying to steady you, trying to keep you present. "I’m sorry, Charles," you rasped, your voice so faint it barely carried over the sounds of battle. "I wasn’t strong enough."

"No," Charles said, his voice firm, though you could hear the fear beneath it. "You are strong. You’ve always been strong. Don’t leave me, Y/N. I can’t lose you."

You felt his hand grasp yours, his grip trembling. You had always marveled at how Charles carried the weight of the world on his shoulders, always keeping his emotions tightly controlled. But now, there was no control. There was only fear, and love, and desperation in his eyes.

"You were always my strength, Charles," you whispered, your hand squeezing his as best as you could. "I love you. So much."

Tears filled his eyes, his voice breaking as he spoke. "And I love you. You are everything to me."

You could feel his mind wrapping around yours, trying to hold you there, trying to stop the inevitable. He was begging, pleading with you to stay, to fight, but your body was failing. You felt the warmth of his love in your mind, a comfort even as the world started slipping away.

"Please, Y/N," Charles whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "Please, don’t leave me."

But you couldn’t hold on any longer. The pain faded, the world grew silent, and your grip on his hand loosened.

Charles sat there, his hand still holding yours, as the battlefield around him seemed to blur into nothing. His heart shattered, and in that moment, all the strength and control he had maintained for years crumbled. He lowered his head, his tears falling onto your lifeless body, and he sent out a silent scream, a wave of raw emotion so powerful that it resonated across the minds of every living person on the battlefield.

Charles had lost many people in his life. But losing you felt like the end of everything.

Jean Grey

The battle had taken its toll, not just on the X-Men but on the world itself. You and Jean had fought side by side, your powers complementing each other in ways that made you an unstoppable force. But this battle had pushed you both beyond your limits. You had been caught in an explosion, your body thrown against the rubble, the pain blinding and all-consuming.

Jean was at your side in an instant, her telekinetic powers lifting the debris off you, her hands trembling as she reached for you. "No... no, no, no," she whispered, her voice cracking as she cradled your head in her lap. "Y/N, stay with me."

You could barely keep your eyes open, the world spinning as you struggled to breathe. "Jean..." you whispered, your voice so weak, so broken. "I... I don’t think I can..."

"Don’t you dare say that," Jean said, her voice fierce but laced with panic. "You’re going to be okay. I won’t let you go."

You could feel her mind reaching out to yours, wrapping around your consciousness, trying to keep you there with her. Her love flooded your mind, a warmth that soothed the pain, but you could feel your body slipping away, your strength fading.

"I’m sorry," you whispered, your hand weakly reaching for hers. "I’m so sorry."

Jean’s tears fell onto your face as she held you closer. "Don’t apologize," she said, her voice breaking. "You have nothing to be sorry for. You’ve always been there for me. Please... just stay a little longer."

You could see the anguish in her eyes, feel the desperation in her mind as she tried to hold on to you. But the pain was too much, and your body was failing.

"I love you," you whispered, your voice barely audible.

"I love you too," Jean said, her voice shaking as she pressed her forehead against yours, her tears falling freely now. "Please... don’t leave me."

But you were slipping away, the world growing darker, quieter, as you took your last breath. Jean’s sobs echoed in your fading consciousness, her mind screaming out for you, trying to pull you back. But it was too late.

Jean held your lifeless body in her arms, her chest heaving with sobs. She let out a scream, a psychic wave that shattered the air around her, sending shockwaves through the battlefield. Her grief, her agony, her love—they all collided in that moment, her powers surging uncontrollably as she held onto you, unable to let go.

In that moment, Jean Grey—one of the most powerful beings in the universe—felt utterly powerless.

Colossus

The battle was at its peak, and the sounds of war echoed around you. Explosions rocked the battlefield as Colossus, in his full metal form, fought valiantly beside you. His towering figure was always a source of comfort, an indestructible wall between you and the chaos. The ground shook beneath your feet as you moved to join him, your heart pounding with adrenaline.

But then, an enemy blast caught you off guard, the impact throwing you off your feet. You hit the ground hard, the pain immediate and overwhelming. Blood seeped from your wounds as you struggled to breathe, your vision blurring. You tried to push yourself up, but your body refused to respond. The sound of heavy metal footsteps reached your ears, and you knew Piotr had seen you fall.

His metallic form glimmered in the firelight as he ran toward you, his eyes wide with terror. You had never seen him like this, even in the most dangerous situations. He dropped to his knees beside you, the cold steel of his hands cradling you gently despite their immense strength.

"Y/N!" His voice was thick with fear, a sound you'd never thought you'd hear from someone as powerful as him. "Please, no. Not you. Not like this."

You tried to smile, but the pain was too much. "Piotr..." you whispered, your voice barely audible. "I... I can't..."

He shook his head, his metal features twisting in agony. "Don’t speak. I’ll protect you," he promised, though the pain in his voice told you he knew there was nothing he could do. He tried to stem the flow of blood from your wound, his massive hands shaking.

His metal body was usually unyielding, but now he seemed so vulnerable, so afraid. He held you close, his cold arms pulling you against his chest. "Stay with me, please," he whispered, pressing his forehead against yours. His entire body trembled as he struggled to maintain control.

Your hand reached up weakly to touch his face, the cool metal of his cheek sending a shiver through your fingers. "I love you," you whispered, the words catching in your throat as darkness closed in around you.

He let out a sob, his steel form shuddering with grief. "I love you more than anything, Y/N. You’re everything to me."

But it was too late. Your breath faded, and your hand slipped from his cheek, falling limply to the ground. Piotr let out a roar of anguish, his voice reverberating across the battlefield. He held your lifeless body close, his tears mingling with the blood and dirt that stained your skin. Even in his indestructible form, he felt more broken than ever before.

Magik

The battle had spiraled out of control, and you found yourself separated from the rest of the X-Men, the air thick with smoke and the sound of clashing metal. You had always admired Illyana’s ability to remain calm in the face of chaos, but this time, the situation was different. The enemies were relentless, and no matter how hard you fought, it wasn’t enough. Then, out of nowhere, a blade struck you, piercing through your side, and you collapsed to the ground.

Before you could even cry out, the world around you warped, and you found yourself in Limbo. Illyana stood before you, her eyes wide with horror as she took in the sight of your bloodied body. “No...” she whispered, her sword clattering to the ground as she rushed to your side.

You tried to speak, but the pain was overwhelming, your vision flickering in and out of focus. Illyana’s hands shook as she pressed them against your wound, trying to stop the blood that poured out of you. “I’ll fix this,” she said, her voice trembling. “I can fix this.”

You had always known that Illyana was powerful beyond measure, but in this moment, she looked small, fragile, as though she was trying to hold onto something that was slipping away. She stared down at you, her breath coming in shallow gasps as she knelt beside you, her hands glowing with the dark magic of Limbo.

“I can’t lose you,” she whispered, her voice breaking as tears filled her eyes. “Not like this.”

You reached up with what little strength you had left, your hand brushing against her cheek. “Illyana,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “I love you.”

Her breath hitched as she leaned down, pressing her forehead against yours. “I love you too, more than anything,” she said, her voice shaking. “You can’t leave me. I won’t let you.”

But you could feel your life slipping away, the pain becoming numb as the darkness closed in. You wanted to stay, to hold on, but it was too late. Your hand fell limp in hers, your chest rising for the last time as your heart stopped.

Illyana let out a scream that echoed through the very fabric of Limbo, a sound so filled with grief and fury that it sent shockwaves through the demonic realm. Her magic surged uncontrollably, her power crackling through the air as she cradled your lifeless body in her arms. In her rage, the demons of Limbo cowered, the sky itself trembling in fear.

But no amount of power could bring you back, and that realization shattered her. She held onto you, her tears falling onto your skin, whispering your name over and over again as the world around her grew dark, consumed by her grief.

Hank McCoy

The battlefield had turned into a warzone of destruction, and even though you and Hank had fought together many times before, this battle was unlike any you had experienced. You had always admired how composed and intellectual Hank was, even in the most dire of situations. But this time, the enemy had been too quick, too brutal, and before you could react, you had been struck by a powerful blast.

Your body hit the ground hard, pain shooting through you as you struggled to breathe. Blood spilled from the wound in your chest, and every breath felt like a mountain weighing down on you. Through the haze of pain, you heard Hank’s voice, panicked and desperate, something you had never heard from him before.

“Y/N!” He shouted, rushing toward you, his blue fur standing on end as he dropped to his knees beside you. His large hands were gentle as he cradled your head in his lap, his eyes wide with terror as he took in the sight of your injuries. “No, no, this can’t be happening.”

You tried to smile up at him, but the pain was too much. “I’m sorry, Hank,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “I didn’t... I couldn’t...”

“Shh,” he said, his voice shaking. He pressed his hand to your wound, trying to stop the bleeding, but it was no use. His eyes were filled with panic, his normally calm and collected demeanor completely gone. “You’ll be alright. Just stay with me.”

You could feel the life draining from you, the world growing darker around the edges. You reached up weakly, your fingers brushing against his cheek. “I love you,” you whispered, your voice barely a breath.

Hank’s eyes filled with tears, something you had never seen from him before. “I love you too, more than you’ll ever know,” he said, his voice breaking. He leaned down, pressing his forehead to yours, his tears falling onto your face. “Please don’t leave me. I can’t... I can’t do this without you.”

You wanted to stay, to hold on, but your body was failing, your heart slowing with every passing second. You looked up at him one last time, your vision blurring as you whispered, “I’m sorry.”

And then, everything went dark.

Hank let out a strangled sob, his entire body trembling as he held you close. His mind raced, trying to think of a solution, something that could bring you back, but he knew it was too late. You were gone, and nothing could change that.

He sat there for what felt like an eternity, holding your lifeless body in his arms, his tears falling freely as he whispered your name. The battlefield raged on around him, but for Hank, the world had stopped. You were gone, and with you, a part of him had died too.

[ven0moir]

Will had hope ... and then lost it.

He had hope that maybe, just maybe, Mike and he felt the same way. And I think it started here:

Mike expressed relief at the idea of Will not joining another party. And Will's look seems ... surprised but joyful? Like he's picking up on Something the audience is not.

Then we have this:

I know a lot of people say he meant this in a friendship way. But I don't think he did entirely. I think he was 'testing the waters' so to speak, to see Mike's reaction to him asking something like this so forwardly--an action driven in part, possibly, also by frustration. Of course their friendship was his priority but he was also Sending Mike a Message. Speaking in code, if you will. And I'm not sure if Mike picked up on it or not, but he knew what he was doing when he used the word 'us'.

Then of course we have Mike's speech to Will in episode 4. The way he slightly tilts his head to the side inquisitively after Mike said 'It's Hawkins, it's not the same without you', as if he's thinking "am I dreaming? Is he really saying this?" And not to be meta but he might even be wondering if he's being delusional here.

On top of that, the speech prompted him to gather the courage to do this:

hope again. But then his arc culminated in this:

Will's facial expressions when Mike is self-depricating ... he seems so sad. In the second one, even Mike notices and cuts himself off to apologize for bringing up this subject.

I think he, sadly, realized Mike did feel the same way as him, but not in the way he had initially hoped. Mike, like him, is struggling with not feeling good enough for the person he loves.

And Will did not want Mike to feel the same way he did. So he did what we saw him do and give the painting to Mike, which symbolizes his love for DnD, for what they do together, for their friend group, for him. His intention here was to make Mike feel better. Important. Seen. Even at the cost of his own heartbreak.

"Every smile you fake, I'll be watching you."

So to recap, at the beginning of the season, Will had been acting weird and painting for someone he liked ( according to El ). We find out very quickly that the recipient of the painting was intended to be Mike. I don't think Will ever intended for the painting to be a full blown love confession--but a start. A continuation of the 'hint dropping' they started doing at the end of S3. But of course, the whole world went to shit, and his feelings got amplified to the point where the painting's meaning took a different turn. And it became the basis of a veiled love confession.

I think this is devastating because the narrative forced them, once again, down a different path from the natural progression this would've been had Mike been allowed to enjoy a nice spring break in California.

I do believe by the end of S4, Will has completely lost the last vestiges of hope he had left that Mike would ever reciprocate his feelings, especially after Mike's love confession. I think he feels stupid for even allowing himself to believe there was a chance.

I mean, look at him. And, terrifyingly, I feel like that is exactly where Vecna needs him to be at the start of S5.

Sprinkle in some #birthdaygate and voila ... we have the perfect recipe for a horrible Vecna vision.

I don't know how they'll resolve this, but it does feel to me that the intention of Will's S4 arc was to get him to a point of loss of hope, which signifies the death of his dream.

Going into S5, he probably sees this dream now as stupid and childish--an impossibility. Adding to this, there's no way in hell Will is going to confess. Not when this happened and it was never resolved.

The ball is on Mike's court, for better or for worse.

And I think this is also another plot twist we will find out through Vecna: the fact that Will had hope that he and Mike could be together and felt the same way. And that honestly makes whatever Vecna does to Will 10 times worse because if Will had NEVER had hope, then there's nothing new there. But having hope and then having it crushed to the ground? Yeah ... my heart hurts as I type this.

[jjjjeonww]

hong joshua - "Dear, Diary. Damn my academic rival."

genre - romance! ~~in which you've seen joshua as your academic rival for years, but lets see how he sees you in his perspective. (just wanted to switch it up a bit heh) a/n: this is a little thank you for 108 followers hehe<3!! also, this is a fic requested by the one and only, @hanniescookie! you keep coming up with amazing ideas and requests my angel, and im always happy and always honoured to complete them and be the person who receives them <3 ( @wonkierideul, here's your tag my lovie! you've had a tiring day, take a break and rest up. a junhui fic will be coming soon, just for you🤍)

(remember, this is all in joshua's pov!) 28th December 2024 Dear Diary, Today I felt so stupid. Why? I couldn't take my eyes off Y/n as she pored over the latest batch of data, her brows were furrowed in concentration. The flickering lamplight casted shadows across her face, it highlighted the curve of her cheekbones. Honestly, to me, Y/n was a vision of focus and intellect, a force to be reckoned with. And damn if she didn't look gorgeous in the process.

When she glanced up and caught me staring, a small smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. It was a rare sight, that smile... but it was all the more devastating for its infrequency. I felt my heart stutter in my chest, my breath hitched slightly as I drank in the sight of her.

"You've got that look again," I said. I have no idea how, or why my voice came out more huskily than I intended. I cleared my throat, trying to regain my composure. "Like when Tom thinks he can finally eat Jerry. What are you so smug about?"

I saw her smile widening, a glint of mischief appeared in her eyes. "I'm not smug," she said, and I know I heard the stupid note of false innocence in her tone. "I'm just...satisfied with my progress." Note by Joshua: (As if she could do any better than me. Well, she did do better than me this time. Won't let it happen the next!)

5th January 2025 Dear Diary, Today we got our test results. Obviously I looked around to find Y/n and to see her reaction to her grade, only to find her right next to me, holding up her test results, the paper rustled softly in her hand. I leaned forward to see, my glasses slipping down my nose as I squinted at the numbers. My jaw clenched as I took in the scores - hers were higher than mine, by a margin that made my gut twist with reluctant admiration.

"What?" I scoffed, pushing my glasses back up. "You've beaten me again?" I leaned back in my chair, and crossed my arms over my chest. "Damn you Y/n. Next time... don't get too comfortable. I'm not going to let you stay ahead for long." Her smile turned into a full-blown grin, those eyes... they sparkled with that familiar competitive fire. "I wouldn't expect anything less," she said, a note of challenge in her voice. "But don't worry, Joshua. I have no intention of making this easy for you. I want to see you push yourself, to reach for even greater heights."

I felt a surge of determination, a fierce need to prove myself and rise to her challenge. But beneath that, I felt something else, something softer and more intense. A longing to see that smile on her face again and to keep this fire alive. Note by Joshua: (I guess I got another longing; For her to stop calling me by my name and instead call me 'hers'. And I'm cringing at my own joke haha! until next time diary!) 13th January 2025 Dear Diary, The days have turned into weeks, and my isolation and forced collaboration with Y/n only seemed to intensify the charged atmosphere between us. We clashed over theories and methods, our voices raised in heated debate as we paced the confines of the cabin. The air grew thick with tension, but it was a different kind of tension than before. There was an undercurrent of something else, something that made my skin prickle and my heart race.

Note by Joshua: (Today's note of 'love' was a short one. Guess our isolation was bigger than our forced proximity.) 27th January 2025 Dear Diary, Something happened this evening. As I was reviewing our notes by the flickering fireplace, I glanced up to see Y/n staring at the flames, a distant look on her face. She looked gorgeous in the firefight, shadows dancing across her delicate features and highlighting the curve of her lips. I found myself wondering what she was thinking about, what dreams or fantasies played behind those captivating eyes.

"You know," I said softly, to me, my voice was barely audible over the crackling of the flames, "sometimes I wonder what goes on in that brilliant mind of yours."

And she turned to face me, a small smile played at the corners of her mouth. "Wouldn't you like to know?" she teased, a mischievous glint in her eye.

I felt a smirk tug at my own lips, a hint of playfulness entering my voice. "I think about it more than I should," I admitted, my gaze locked with hers. "Especially when you look at me like that."

Her smile widened, a soft blush coloured her cheeks. "Like what?" she asked, a note of innocence in her voice belied by the heat in her eyes.

I leaned forward, my elbows on my knees, my eyes never leaving hers. "Like you're trying to figure me out," I murmured. "Like you're seeing right through me, past all the bravado and the competition, to the heart of who I am."

I watched how her breath hitched, and how she swallowed hard. "Maybe I am," she whispered, her voice was barely audible. "Maybe I want to know what makes you tick, Joshua. What drives you, what you dream about, what you...want."

I felt my heart pound in my chest, a fierce longing surging through me. I wanted to tell her everything, to lay bare the secrets of my soul and hope that she would do the same. But I held back, I didn't want to scare her off. Note by Joshua: (Maybe next time, we'll see what'll unfold for me and Y/n. But hey, at least today's 'love' note was a long one right?)

[roosterforme]

Covering the Classics Part 6 | Bob Floyd x OC

Summary: In the aftermath of the kiss, Bob and Anna try to process their feelings. Bob works on more of his poetry while Anna hides from her friends, but neither of them can get past their attraction. When another man arrives during a night out, all Bob feels is jealousy.

Warnings: Fluff, angst, adult language, masturbation, eventually 18+

Length: 5100 words

Pairing: Robert "Bob" Floyd x Female OC (this story is part of the Beer Boy/Sugar and Jake/Jessica universe)

Covering the Classics masterlist. Check my masterlist for more! Thank you to @mak-32 for the beautiful banner!

Taking Anna to Chippy's was a mistake, because Bob was falling harder by the minute. She was cute and smart. Witty and reserved. And the fact that she was a little tipsy after one drink just made her more endearing. Jessica could drink more Sam Adams than anyone he'd ever seen before, and Bradshaw's wife could probably play beer pong professionally, but not Anna. She was giggling and demanding he not download a dating app. She was smiling nonstop and touching him. And he wasn't even allowed to have a chance with her.

She only lived a mile or so from campus, which was a shame, because Bob would have liked to spend more time with her. He played with the radio dials in his old truck as he drove, trying to keep his hands busy. And that's when he swore he heard Anna whisper a line from his poem.

"What did you just say?" he asked, eyeing her closely.

"Nothing," she told him as the car behind his truck honked, and Bob tapped the accelerator when he realized the light was green. He must have been mistaken. There was no way anyone actually read the stuff he posted online, let alone Anna. He just did it for a way to help him release his emotions and thoughts.

But he wanted to make sure. When he parked at the curb in front of her building, he turned toward her with curious eyes and whispered, "I thought you said-"

He was instantly distracted by the way she kept her eyes on his as her chest rose and fell a little faster. She unbuckled her seatbelt and scooted closer to him along the seat, and he froze as she leaned in and kissed him. Her lips found his like it was the most natural thing in the world. When she made a soft sound, he raised his hand up to touch her cheek, something he'd been dying to do for weeks and weeks. Her skin felt silky soft as she nibbled gently on his lip, and then he remembered everything that she'd said to him. He couldn't start down this path just to have her put up another roadblock. 

He forced himself away from her. "Anna. I don't think this is something friends do," he croaked, praying that by some twist of face, she'd end up in his arms. 

"I'm so sorry," she gasped, hauling herself back across the seat and throwing the door open. "I'm so sorry, Bob." He watched her climb down and grab her tote bag, barely glancing back at him as she slammed the door and ran inside the building. 

He was going to offer to walk her to her door. He wanted to make sure she got inside safely. He wanted to do a lot of things that would hopefully come across in a friendly way. This was decidedly not how he imagined his night would end, staring at the spot where she disappeared inside and wondering if she regretted kissing him. She really ran away from him at top speed without any clarification.

"Damn it, Bob," he whispered as he put his truck in gear. But he didn't know what he could have done differently. He just wished he didn't know how fucking good it felt to have Anna's lips on his, because it would probably never happen again. He wanted to ask her why she kissed him in the first place. Then an even more devastating thought occurred to him. What if she didn't want to be his friend after this?

He really needed Nat to come home from her deployment, because he knew he couldn't mention this to Jessica at D&D. What would he even tell her? That Anna kissed him exactly once and then ran away faster than an olympic sprinter?

Then he parked in front of his house and saw the text that made him shove his phone into his pocket and not look at it again until morning. 

Anna Webber: I'm sorry. That was a mistake. Please forgive me.

--------------------------

Anna was curled up in her sad bed trying not to cry. Bob would probably never want to talk to her again now. What kind of person told a man they just wanted to be friends and then kissed him like the words meant nothing? Anna, apparently. But it felt so nice. No. Better than that. Kissing Bob felt necessary.

Before she could change her mind, she texted him and then turned off her phone. I'm sorry. That was a mistake. Please forgive me.

She rolled onto her back and started to cry. Not for the first time, she thought about calling Kevin and screaming at him for ruining everything. She should feel a sense of freedom by now after finally leaving him in New Jersey with Alyssa, but she just didn't. It wasn't fair that Anna had no control over what Kevin did when he still seemed to dictate what she was allowed to do. But she knew she had to be a better person than him.

When she reached down to the floor, her fingers found the stack of books she was currently reading for work and for entertainment. She picked up the Vonnegut from Bob, because it wasn't even really that late, and she was in a mood now anyway. Then she took the time to find the note from him. Her new bookmark. She read through her tears until they stopped. She didn't dog ear a single page. She used his note to save her spot, and then she fell asleep with the book pressed to her chest. 

She felt awful on Friday at work. When she gave her first lecture, it felt forced instead of insightful, and her notes seemed to blur on the pages in front of her. She didn't have an appetite, which was fine since she had no money for food and forgot to pack a lunch. Instead of going to the weird tree and the nicest women she'd ever met, she sat in her office and cried with her head resting on her folded arms. 

Bob didn't text her back, but she figured he wouldn't. There was really nothing else to say. She already decided she wasn't going to mention the kiss to Advanced Calculus or Advanced Physics, but perhaps she should tell them it would be a good thing after all if Bob went on a dating app. He deserved to be happy. Someone else would make him happy. 

As Anna was packing up everything she would need for the weekend, there was a knock on her office door. It was late, and her stomach was growling loudly, but she called out, "Come in!"

The room was so small, Bradley Bradshaw and his wife barely fit on the opposite side of her desk when standing side by side, and Anna watched him shuffle around so he was standing partially behind her. "What's up, Anna?" he rasped with a grin, and she had no difficulty imagining him ten years younger in a loud fraternity house. 

"Hi," she replied, clasping her hands together. "What are you both doing here? I was just about to catch the bus and go home."

"You never came to lunch today!" her friend complained. "And you didn't text me back. I was starting to get nervous that the creeper from the sociology department got to you or something."

"No," Anna replied with a soft laugh. "I'm fine."

Two pairs of eyes bored into her, and then Bradley and his wife both blurted out, "How was Chippy's?"

"Did Bob make a move?" Bradley asked, his hands caressing his wife through her tweed blazer. 

Anna swallowed a huge lump of guilt. "We're just friends," she managed to say.

"Yeah, yeah," he said with an eye roll. "Sure. But did he? Because I've been being a dick all week about getting him on a dating app even though I know he's not into the idea. Jake and I thought it might help."

"Are you serious right now?" his wife gasped, smacking at his hands while Anna rubbed her temples with her fingertips. "I told you not to interfere," she hissed.

"We're just friends," Anna repeated a little louder over the two of them arguing. "Chippy's was great. Amazing peanuts. Sticky floors. Grouchy bartender. It was like being back in undergrad."

Just as Bradley was raising his hand, about to speak again, he took an elbow to the side that seemed to make him think better of it as his wife asked, "Then you won't mind going back on Wednesday? To surprise Jessica for her birthday?"

"It's her birthday?" Anna asked, excited by the idea of being invited to a celebration even though Bob would definitely be there as well.

"Yes. I texted you about it when you skipped out on us at lunchtime."

"Right," she replied, knowing she'd only been checking her phone occasionally on purpose. "I'll be there on Wednesday. Of course I will." She was going to have to suck up her embarrassment over everyone trying to push her and Bob together, but at least they didn't know about the kiss she ran away from. "Anything for Jess."

"And are you coming to the Hard Deck tonight?" her friend asked as her husband's hands crept back into place on her body. 

"I have a lot of work to do. Midterms are just around the corner," she replied lamely. "So, probably not."

With a sigh, her friend nodded once and said, "Please don't skip lunch next week. We missed you."

Bradley said, "I'll make extra hummus," before his wife started pushing him to the door.

The confirmation that the hummus was in fact homemade left Anna feeling slightly jealous. That feeling only grew as she watched her friend take Bradley's chin in her hand and softly say, "Oh, Beer Boy. I don't even want to know what kind of a monstrosity of a dating profile you'd make for Bob."

He smiled and waved at Anna before he looked at his wife and said, "I just want all of my friends to be as happy as I am."

She grabbed him by his khaki belt and said, "Let's stop by the library."

Anna desperately wanted to be that happy, too.

---------------------------

"What's your problem, man?" Mickey asked as he drove Bob home from Dungeons & Dragons. "You were weird all night."

"Just tired," Bob replied, and he was being at least partially honest. He'd been staying up later than usual, working on some poetry and reading the books Anna recommended. He enjoyed all of them; she seemed to know exactly how to reach his innermost hidden thoughts and ideas. She somehow understood him, and that was more exciting than he wanted it to be right now. But when he and Anna had to be together in person again, he knew it was going to be a different story. He was almost relieved she didn't show up at the Hard Deck earlier, because he had no idea how to act around her now. 

She knew he had feelings for her, and that kiss had roughed him up a bit. Even a couple days afterwards, he thought he could still feel the pressure of her lips on his and smell her shampoo. 

"Are you still hung up on Anna?"

Mickey's words made Bob laugh. "More than ever before."

"You know what I think you should do?" his friend asked as he zipped along in his sports car.

Bob cradled his forehead and said, "I'd love to hear it," even though he was pretty sure it would annoy him.

"You should tell her that you don't want to be just friends. And then kiss her."

Bob turned and looked at Mickey as the passing street lights illuminated him and then left him in darkness over and over again. "I'm not going to do that. All I can do is hope she changes her mind." He didn't mention the fact that they had already kissed; he was sure she was too embarrassed by it to want it to become public knowledge. 

As Mickey pulled up to Bob's house, he said, "Well whatever you're doing right now, it's not working."

Bob sighed and said, "Thanks. That's really helpful. See you on Monday. Oh, and don't forget about the surprise party thing on Wednesday."

"Yeah, I won't forget. Hard Deck at seven o'clock."

"Chippy's!" Bob called out as he pulled away. Sometimes he felt like the most organized one out of all of his friends, and it was honestly amazing that Mickey even managed to get to work on time. At least Suzanne's lights were off as Bob walked up to his porch and let himself inside. He didn't have the energy to deal with anyone else tonight. 

He stripped down to his underwear and got ready for bed, but he took his computer with him. He was ridiculous for doing it, but he looked at the notes he'd typed up last night and started writing. It was never as beautiful or eloquent as the things he read from others, but posting his poetry online felt like he was at least taking ownership of something he created. This poem, however, he didn't know if he'd be able to post it at all. He found himself writing about red hair when he realized it would warrant a mature rating label if he ever did decide to post it. Then he started to think about all the things he wanted to do with Anna and her red hair. 

Bob grunted and set his computer aside. She was giving him mixed signals, and he wasn't sure she'd ever change her mind about being with him, but that didn't stop his body from responding as he imagined her beautiful hair spread out on his pillow. He'd take fistfuls of it and press his nose to it. He'd tug gently on it and tell her that she was beautiful. He would press kisses to the coppery strands and then guide her lower on his body as he grasped a little harder.

"Shit," Bob panted, kicking off his covers and pulling himself free from his gray boxer briefs. He jerked off to the idea of Anna and him together. She'd kiss his hips and thighs and laugh softly before licking along his length. His name would sound like the most beautiful poetry on her lips. Her freckles would stand out in the soft lamplight. He'd guide her along with his fingers wrapped around her hair as she teased him.

He stroked himself with his eyes closed, panting softly and whispering some of his own poetry, and he wasn't even surprised when he came all over his flat abs. When he adjusted his glasses with his clean hand, he thought he'd much prefer to see Anna in his bed with him.

--------------------------

Anna was starved for conversation with another human being by the time Monday morning arrived. Forcing herself to be a recluse as a means to distract herself from her plethora of issues was clearly not the answer. Not when she'd actually managed to make some friends in San Diego. She arrived on campus early and stopped in the lounge for a donut only to find nobody else from her department was really around. Then when she gave her first lecture, half of her students looked like they were still asleep. She tucked her new bookmark of sorts into Frankenstein by Mary Shelley and counted down the hours until she could meet her friends for lunch.

Jessica seemed none the wiser about her upcoming surprise party, but that was the whole point of the thing. Anna started bracing herself to spend some more time around Bob, hoping her kiss was so forgettable that he'd already moved on. Honestly, that was a pretty good possibility. She hadn't really considered that before, but it made a lot of sense. She was boring. After another day or two, he'd have probably forgotten all about it.

This helped Anna push herself through the week. On Wednesday, she took the bus home to change, and she knew she'd never make it to Chippy's on time in her sundress and denim jacket unless she took an Uber to the bar. So she gritted her teeth and paid for the ride, wishing for so many reasons that she hadn't kissed Bob so that she could have asked him to pick her up. But when she got to Chippy's, Bob wasn't even there. And Anna was met with a different issue in the form of a very attractive man with dark hair and dark eyes.

She felt his gaze on her as soon as she arrived, surprised he was looking at her of all people. But in her rush to get to Chippy's on time, all she really got to do was say hi to Jake and Bradley before they got her into position for the surprise. It looked like the bar had been reserved just for Jessica tonight, and that made Anna inexplicably happy and sad at the same time. Even that old bartender looked excited to celebrate. Even Dr. Rosenthal showed up. 

Then Bob rushed in wearing jeans, a snug fitting tee shirt and a worried expression. His hair looked damp, and he was straightening out his glasses as he glanced around and asked, "Did I make it in time?" Anna felt like someone knocked the wind out of her as he got closer.

"Barely," Bradley replied, checking his watch. "Sugar and Jess should be here any minute. Where the fuck were you?"

Bob's cheeks turned a little pink as he muttered, "I had to help Suzanne with her car. She had a flat tire. And then she insisted I come inside for a few minutes so she could thank me properly. I lost track of time."

Anna crossed her arms and pressed her lips together as Bob came to stand right next to her. When he softly said hello, she just nodded and tried to give him a smile, but she was too overwhelmed with too many different feelings. He smelled like soap, and she knew his body was warm without him even touching her. She didn't know who Suzanne was, but she was automatically a little jealous, which was ridiculous. But now she felt like that kiss last week was as forgettable as she both hoped and feared. 

Anna wanted to cry, but even her tears had to take a backseat at the moment as the door to Chippy's opened up and both of her friends walked inside. "Happy birthday!" everyone shouted, and Anna tried her best to look enthusiastic for the occasion. 

"No!" Jessica called out, shoving at the other woman's arm as she realized it was her birthday party. "You're sneaky! You lied to me about getting just one birthday beer!" Then she rushed forward in her adorable suit and high heels, heading straight for Jake's arms. But the second person she reached out to hug was Anna.

"Happy birthday, Advanced Physics," she said with a stifled laugh.

"I'm so happy you're here," Jessica gushed, and Anna felt a lot better as she returned the hug.

But all too soon, she was left on her own. At least all of the tables were covered in dishes of peanuts. Jake was paying for Sam Adams for everyone, but Anna knew she shouldn't drink. Not again. Not after she got tipsy with Bob. 

She could still feel those dark eyes on her as she broke open a peanut and enjoyed the perfectly salty taste. Who was that guy? His arms were wrapped around Jessica's waist, and Jake looked like he was about to go through the roof as his girlfriend laughed. Then he made his way over to Bradshaw's wife and gave her the same treatment. But Bradley looked completely unfazed when she kissed the other man on the cheek and smiled. They whispered something back and forth, and he met Anna's eyes with a wink. She quickly looked away, hoping to avoid a conversation. Bob was sipping a beer and smashing open his own peanuts, and she knew if she couldn't be with him, she didn't want to be with anyone else either. 

Too late. "Hi, are you Anna?" came an unfamiliar voice followed by the spicy scent of too much cologne.

"I am," she answered, looking down at the extended hand of this handsome stranger. "Are you a friend of Jessica's?"

He laughed as their hands met. "Sure," he replied smoothly. "But it's really Bradshaw and I that go way back. I'm Dev. Dev Borah."

"Oh," she said, still shaking his hand and trying to make sense of things. Why was she so awkward? She finally released him and said, "It's... nice to meet you. Um, how do you know Bradley?"

"Virginia. Undergrad. I graduated with the two of them, actually. Nearly died of shock last year when I heard they were both out in San Diego and getting married. Can I get you a drink, Beautiful? Something other than Sam Adams?"

"Oh," Anna gasped as she looked up at him in surprise. "Um... I don't really drink much."

Dev moaned and gripped at his chest dramatically. "You're killing me. I own a brewery!"

Anna could barely tell one type of beer from another, but she wasn't about to tell him that. And quite honestly, talking about making beer sounded interesting enough; she loved learning about new things. But he just called her beautiful. She was flustered and too hot, and then she saw Bob standing off to the side with Mickey, and his expression was one of great displeasure. 

"A brewery?" she asked, trying to force her attention back to Dev.

"Beta Brewing," he said proudly. "We're currently working on a two million dollar expansion project. It's kind of a construction zone, but if you ever want to come up to sample the goods, I'd love to have you."

Anna's eyes went wide. That sounded like an innuendo, but Dev's face was calm as he sipped his pint. Anna figured he must be okay if he was friends with all of these people, but she was never going to go there without the girls. "Maybe if everyone else wanted to go, I could tag along?"

Dev laughed and said, "Bradshaw makes the drive frequently enough. I'm sure we'll see each other again. But just to be sure... I could give you my personal number."

----------------------------

Bob was seething. He'd met Dev Borah exactly one time before, and while he'd had pretty neutral feelings about him prior to tonight, now he hated the sight of him. He'd persuaded Anna to have a beer even though Bob heard her say she didn't really want one, and now he was typing something into Anna's phone. He was giving her his number, just like Bob had done so many weeks ago.

"Stop torturing yourself, man," Mickey said, handing Bob some more peanuts.

"You think she likes him?" Bob asked, voice tight as he grabbed the bowl in his shaky hand.

Mickey shrugged next to him. "What's not to like?"

Bob tossed the bowl onto one of the tables. "You're not helping." He walked away to find someone else, anyone else, to talk to. He should have kissed Anna for as long as he could when he had the chance, because it was all he could think about now. It was all he wanted. She kept looking at him; if she was going to talk to Dev all night and say that kissing Bob was a mistake, then why was she looking at him?

He needed to get out of here and go home, but he knew his friends would be disappointed. Even Suzanne would shake her head. Honestly, he'd be annoyed with himself, too. But his mood was something so unfamiliar, he was ready to force himself to talk to the woman standing next to Anna who he thought was from the science department just so he wouldn't feel like a joke. 

"You know," Bradley said as he slung his arm around Bob's shoulders, "I had no idea Dev liked redheads so much. But then again, he never was too discerning back in the day."

"What do you want, Rooster?" he asked with a grunt.

"I just wanted to make sure you're having fun at Jess's little shindig."

Bob let Bradley slap him obnoxiously on the back as he asked, "Did you invite Dev? Is he going to give Anna a hard time or anything?" His eyes trailed back over to where Dev was still talking her ear off.

Bradley chuckled. "I invited him to get Jake riled up, but I had no idea you'd be collateral damage." He finally released Bob as he said, "And nah, Dev's harmless."

What Bob wouldn't give to have Natasha back. He missed her terribly, and all the guys seemed to be better behaved when she was around. But she'd take one look at Anna and probably embarrass him in front of her even more.

"I think I'm actually going to head home," came Anna's voice filtering over to Bob as she finally cut Dev off. "It was nice to meet you."

"Let me drive you," he replied immediately, and Bob could already picture him getting Anna settled into his Mercedes-Benz, his fingers grazing her bare thigh.

"No, that's okay," she told Dev as she backed away from him. "I'm just going to say goodbye to Jessica, and then I'll get an Uber."

She made her escape to the table next to where Bob stood, and Jessica gave her a big hug. "Happy birthday," Anna told her once again, followed softly by, "I'm glad we're friends."

Jessica squealed and hugged her tighter. "Me too."

"I'm going to call an Uber and head out," Anna was saying, but Jessica was already looking around. 

"No way. It's dark out, and someone here can drive you home. Hey, Bob? Can you drive Anna home?"

He knew he was going to say yes even though part of him didn't want to. And there was another part of him that assumed she'd just say Dev offered to take her. But when Anna looked up at him, he nodded and immediately said, "Of course."

To his surprise, Anna looked a little relieved as she took a step closer. "Are you sure you don't mind?" she asked him with a little wince.

"Not one bit. I was planning on heading home, and it's on the way."

Bob accepted a sloppy kiss on the cheek from Jessica who was well on her way to being drunk. Then he dug his keys from his pocket and nodded toward the door. Anna followed closely next to him, but unlike the last time they were at Chippy's, he didn't touch her. When Bob held the door open, he looked back over his shoulder at Dev who raised his pint glass with a smile of defeat, but he didn't really care about anyone except Anna.

"Thanks," she muttered, walking out into the cool, night air.

"Did you have a good time?" Bob asked, putting a little more space between them as he pointed up the block toward his truck.

Anna laughed, but the sound was tight and forced. "It was okay. I think Jessica was having fun, which is the most important thing, you know?"

"Yeah," he agreed, squeezing his key in his hand as all of the images of their kisses returned. Everything he thought about when he wrote new poetry and touched himself to completion. He swallowed hard; even being around Anna was a lot for his senses. He couldn't blame Dev for trying, but their interactions made him jealous. "Did you get Dev's number?"

Anna stumbled a bit on the sidewalk as she looked up at him, but he kept his eyes focused straight ahead. "I didn't ask for it. He just kind of gave it to me," she said softly. "He invited me up to his brewery to try some beers. When I told him I'm not much of a beer drinker, he said he'd really enjoy teaching me about the process."

"I'm sure he would," Bob muttered, running his fingers through his hair in frustration. 

When he reached his truck, he wrenched the passenger door open for Anna, and she glowed softly in the dim, orange interior lighting. "He's a bit much," she said, looking up at him.

Bob nodded once, but she didn't make a move to climb in. "I don't know him very well, but I know he likes to hear himself talk." When she still didn't move, Bob asked, "Are you going to call him? Give him the opportunity?"

"I already told you..." she said firmly. "I can't be in a relationship right now, so I wouldn't want to encourage Dev. And I'm really, really sorry about last week, Bob." She fidgeted with her hands and added, "But if I were in a place where I wanted to start something, I wouldn't pick him."

"Really?" Bob asked as his heart pounded. The most depraved part of him wanted to hear her say she liked him more than Dev. More than anyone.

"Really," she whispered, placing her hand on the seat. "I like old trucks better than fancy sports cars."

That was enough confirmation for Bob. His skin was tingling with anticipation he knew he couldn't quench, but he didn't mind as much now as he did ten minutes ago. "Yeah... you could do way better than a multi millionaire anyway."

Anna's laughter in response was so genuine, Bob laughed, too. The drive to her place was quiet but not as strained as he was afraid it would be, and when he was about a block away, she took her phone out and started messing around with it. "Thanks, Bob," she said as he pulled up to the curb.

He cleared his throat. "You know how you told me you didn't think I should use the dating app? Because I didn't need it?"

"Yeah?" she asked, reaching for the door handle but looking at him. 

He squeezed the steering wheel tight in both hands and said, "Well, I don't think you need Dev's phone number." He watched her jump down and turn to glance his way, and then she smiled.

"I already deleted it. Thanks again for the ride. Maybe I'll see you this weekend?"

He nodded once before she closed the door. As she walked inside, he said, "I hope so."

----------------------------

Oh. Oh, okay. She prefers you, Bob! Now get ready for action. Thanks @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls. And thanks @attapullman for all the underwear discussions.

PART 7

@thedroneranger

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[callmezayka]

Ex-boyfriend!Simon x Sex Worker!Reader

How big was your surprise when the door of your client's apartment opened and there was Simon, your ex.

Well, yes, it has been around ten years since you saw each other and he definitely had a glow up from the gaunt, funny boy you met back in the shitty neighborhood you two lived in Manchester. Same neighborhood, same type of family, same struggles growing up. You two had everything in common and could've ended up getting married and living in a one bedroom apartment in the same old neighborhood.

But he left.

Without goodbye, without explaining, he just left. You found out by his brother that he had joined the military. You were devastated, to say the least.

You stayed behind, having to take care of your ill mother since your father was a drunk bastard. Until he died when you were nineteen, killed during a bar fight. With the employment rate near to zero in the area you lived in, your solutions were either prostitution or drug dealing, and you refused to be involved with drugs.

That's how you ended up in the sex business. The money was good and you and your mother moved to London, and you started getting richer clients. That's how you ended up there, face to face with the man who broke your heart when you were only sixteen.

You two stared at each other in dead silence for a couple of seconds until you decided that he probably didn't even remember you, so you just acted normal, like you didn't remember him too. The money was too good to reject it.

–You're the one who called me, handsome?

You asked, your voice sickly sweet. He didn't answer, of course. At least not with words.

Without saying anything, he cupped your face with his big, callused hands, attacking your lips with his with deep, burning passion, the taste of his lips heavy with a mix of whiskey and tobacco. The taste had changed, but the way he kissed you, like a starved man, was the very same since you were both teenagers.

But, oh, he remembered you. More than you could've expected. And the moment he saw you standing right in front of the door, the feelings he had butried so deep came back to life in a explosion, leaving him blind with passion and longing.

After a moment he finally let go of your lips, pulling away just enough to get some air, his hands never leaving your face as he whispered in a raspy, rough voice who almost made you moan.

–Can't belive you're bloody real... Ten years, bunny. It's been fucking ten years.

And your heart stopped. He remembered. And hearing him call you the petname he had used with you so many times in the past made your heart twist in knots, eyes burning with tears that you refused to let fall. Your makeup was too expensive for it.

–I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry for not saying goodbye.

He murmured, kissing you again and again as he pulled you inside, shutting the door close without letting go of you.

Each kiss, each touch, everything about him and his presence was an explosion of feelings and sensations you couldn't describe, ecstasy cursing through your veins at each pump of your heart, lungs suffocating with the smell of his cologne at each uneven breathing, brain melting with every sweet word that left his mouth, body shuddering with every thrust of his divine sculpted dick.

–I'm never letting you go again, bunny...–another thrust –Gonna marry you...–another thrust –Gonna fill you up and make you a mommy, yeah?

All you could do was nod, your brain barely registering his words as he overwhelmed you with pleasure and love, and even if what he said wasn't true, it didn't matter at the moment. At that moment, you were both the old Y/N and Simon again, hiding inside his father's old truck at night to have a moment alone.

Your mind turned into a puddle as an overwhelming, destructive orgasm hit her, your warm and soaked cunt clenching and throbbing around his cock, and after a few more thrusts he made his words come true, filling you up to the brim.

Sure, at the moment you didn't actually believe he would marry you and take care of you, but then six months later you found yourself sitting on a comfortable armchair, hand resting on top of your round belly as you watched the most handsome man in the world build your daughter's crib in her pink room, under your inspection of course. Guess he took his promises way too seriously because after the first encounter in two months you were married and moving to a beautiful house in a nice, calm neighborhood, and everyday he made sure to remind you that you didn't have to lift a finger, he was your man, he's supposed to take care of you, right?

[operationslipperypuppet]

New to your blog and I'm curious and think this will probably be a good ask for you to cook on for a while: Sell me on Naddpod?

well first of all welcome! as much as i walk like a d20 blog and talk like a d20 blog i am in fact a naddpod blog a lot of the time so. look out. (everyone)

this is gonna get long.

now, to the task at hand.

naddpod.

imagine if you will that four improvisers/comedians who are very good friends combine their powers to tell stories that they want to completely sit in while also having the ultimate goal of making each other laugh.

naddpod is first and foremost a comedy podcast, there’s a reason dragon pussy comes up four and a half minutes in, there’s a reason “cumpatriots” being said in today’s episode left me completely unfazed. they want it to be silly. they enjoy it being silly.

but god do they also just simply care.

they care about their characters, they care about each other’s characters. they create a world together where when the dm (murph, most often) gives them a shocking twist, you can hear them waiting with bated breath, the same as you, for what will come next.

there are also so many deeply devastating emotional moments. “you ruined my night, brian.” is said in the show and oft repeated by the fans for a goddamn reason. you feel for the characters when bad things happen. you can’t wait to see them resolved. and they don’t feel cheap when they happen. you’re having a great time even as they have terrible times.

the worlds feel lived in. you also feel like you can see the worlds be created as you listen. it’s just so fun. there are several episodes where if i listen to them during a shit day i feel so much better.

sometimes, it’s deeply stupid. and it’s very fun. god are some bits insane. (shoutout to dip spit). but it’s just a good time.

they’re also incredible writers. the stories the dms are trying to tell come from this pure place of loving what they’re doing and being very good at it.

murph’s encounters are also some of the best in the game. even when they’re similar they don’t feel tired. he creates pictures you can see so vividly without having any visual aids. he keeps the stakes high even though he clearly wants his players to win. and they’re so endlessly creative. (c3 def has some of the best encounters due to his experience at that point but don’t discount some of the mighty c1 and c2 ones either)

in conclusion, listen to naddpod. please. you’ll have a great time. if you don’t enjoy the dragon pussy of it all, you might not love it, but if you enjoy it or can power through it, you’ll have fun.

and now. a quick rundown of like the general conceit of each (completed) campaign off the top of my head. in case you’re curious about where to start. (you can start at the beginning of any of these, in any order) and fuck it. i’m including a spotify link to every ep 1. i’m also def gonna do a bad job so. grain of salt etc etc.

bahumia (campaign 1): three legendary heroes saved the world three years ago, cumulating in their killing the devil. but then they vanished. and things have gone bad. so our adventurers attempt to figure out what happened. and how they can fix it. (100 episodes, dm’d by murph) (x)

trinyvale: sci-fi. three roommates work for a corporation on mini retrieval missions that eventually all come together to point toward one large mystery: what happened to the gods and how does it impact the world? (22 episodes, plus a few one-shots or mini arcs, dm’d by caldwell) (x)

the mavrus chronicles: five lads who are each other’s boys go on a beach vacation and one gets lost. they have to find out what happened, and find their friend, even if it means trekking across the water into the mysterious fog (7 episodes, dm’d by emily, ft. zac oyama’s guest pc from bahumia) [also has a sequel campaign, blazing babe, where they go to a burning man-esque festival and try to figure out who’s trying to ruin it. you can’t listen to that on its own. it has 4 episodes](x)

eldermourne (campaign 2): a dark fairy tale setting where those devoted to the gods continue to hold their alleged promises over people’s heads without quite explaining what it really means. and a secret order has left behind our heroes, who have no choice but to try to track them and what they’re working toward down. (41 episodes, dm’d by murph) (x) (also has a session 0)

ba2mia (campaign 3): we return to the world of campaign one, 200 years later. things have changed in the world a lot in the time in between, and it’s a much more cyber-punky place now. our heroes work for a megacorp attempting to dig itself into every major city in the world. they do their best to outrun that. and its ripples. (72 episodes, dm’d by murph) (x) (session 0ish)

twilight sanctorum: the family business is as detectives. and the business is slow. in a noir setting, a father/grandfather, son/father, and grandson/son work together to solve one single mystery: who is threatening the featured performer at the town’s most famous theater. (4 episodes. dm’d by emily) (x)

the episodes i shared will give a better early description than i did, certainly. bc they thought about them more.

anyway. long answer over. hope this helps. maybe. idk it ran away from me a little bit.

thanks for the ask!!