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ama3003 · 3 days ago

Text

A Pawn Once More (3)

Character: Haymitch Abernathy

Requested: Again Sorta??? Lol I've been seeing all the love it's been getting and had to continue. Plus I love this story.

Type: Angst/ Fluff

Summary: The final moments leading up the 75th Hunger Games.

Part 1: Here

Part 2: Here

I'm not going to lie, this was the most fun I had writing, and I'm lowkey very proud of this. Let me know if you wanna read her her being in the games.

A.N: I haven't read Sunrise on the Reaping, so please, No Spoilers. It's a Female!Reader. Age Gap: Haymitch is 41 and Reader is in her 20s (preferably 25)

***************

Your nerves hit like a wave the second you stepped into the waiting room.

The air was tense—heavy with the kind of silence that only comes when everyone is pretending not to be afraid. The tributes were scattered around the room, each lost in their own thoughts, their own strategies, their own quiet dread.

You felt your stomach twist.

Last time you were in this position, you scored a seven. Clean, precise knife throws. It wasn’t spectacular, but it got the job done—just enough to earn some sponsors without making you a threat. It kept you safe.

But this wasn’t like last time.

This time, you were older. Sharper. Tired in a way you didn’t know how to explain. And despite all of it, you had no idea what you were going to do in there. No plan, no performance. You hadn’t let yourself think too hard about it, because thinking meant caring—and caring meant fear. And you were so tired of being afraid.

The Capitol had already taken everything. Your home. Your peace. Your sense of self. And now they were back for what little was left.

Your gaze drifted across the room and landed on the District 12 pair, sitting quietly in the far corner. They weren’t speaking, just watching. Watching you. Their expressions were unreadable—somewhere between wary and curious. You offered them a small nod and the faintest smile. They didn’t return it, but they didn’t look away either. That felt like enough.

Then, you saw him—Mason, cutting through the room with that quiet steadiness he always carried.

He slid into the seat beside you without a word, his presence warm and familiar.

“Hey,” he said gently, his voice low. “You ready?”

You nodded automatically, but your fingers betrayed you—tapping anxiously on your leg, tense and restless. Mason noticed. He always noticed.

Without saying anything more, he reached over and placed his hand on top of yours. It was steady. Grounding. You immediately stilled.

“You’re going to be alright,” he said, soft but certain. “We both are.”

You looked at him—and just like that, something inside you loosened.

Those eyes. You remembered them. The same ones you met when you were sixteen, standing awkwardly at your Victor’s party, trying not to be seen. He hadn’t mentored your Games, but he found you anyway. Quiet, lost, and not ready for any of it. He’d seen you for what you were—another broken kid trying to survive something you weren’t built for.

He knew that look. He’d worn it once, too.

And from that night on, Mason became something steady in your life. Maybe even something safe. He couldn’t stop the Capitol from throwing you into another nightmare, but if you had to go back in, you were glad it was with him.

“It’s going to be fine,” you murmured, offering a small, tired smile. And for a moment, you let yourself believe it. Mason would follow you anywhere. You didn’t have to question it. His loyalty wasn’t loud or showy—it was just there. Unshakable.

“Y/N. Mason.”

You turned at the sound of your names and saw Cashmere and Gloss approaching, their movements smooth and practiced like they were walking a red carpet instead of waiting to face death again. Behind them, Enobaria and Brutus stood from their seats, joining the group.

Cashmere slipped her arm around your shoulders like it was second nature. “You ready to make some jaws drop?” she asked with that signature smirk. Confident. Stunning. But under it, you could see the flicker of something else. That same tension that lived in all of you now.

“Always,” you said, letting the corners of your mouth lift. “I think I’m just gonna wing it. Do whatever feels right.”

Cashmere raised an eyebrow. “That’s either brilliant or reckless.”

“Maybe both,” you replied.

“As long as you scare them a little, you’ll land at least a nine,” Enobaria said, cracking her knuckles and flashing her sharpened teeth. “I’m thinking of stabbing a dummy and barring my teeth at the Gamemakers.”

Brutus rolled his eyes. “Yeah, and they’ll send you straight to the Capitol psych ward.”

Enobaria grinned wider. “Sounds like a vacation compared to what’s coming.”

You huffed out a quiet laugh before turning to the siblings.

“What about you two?”

Gloss shrugged, arms crossed over his chest. “Spear work. Something fast and clean—show them I haven’t slowed down. I’m not there to impress them. Just remind them what I can do.”

Cashmere spun a knife lazily between her fingers. “Knives, obviously. Hit the vitals, maybe throw in a flip or two if I feel like showing off. Nothing too wild—we’re aiming for tens, not twelves.”

She looked at Mason, nudging his leg with her foot. “What about you?”

Mason tilted his head, thoughtful. “Not much I can do solo. Might ask to use the moving targets—simulate a real fight. Or…” he glanced sideways at you, smiling faintly, “maybe someone here’s brave enough to volunteer.”

You rolled your eyes, smirking. “Keep dreaming.”

But before anyone could say anything else, a sharp voice echoed through the room:

“District One, Gloss Tanner. Report for individual assessment.”

Silence fell instantly. All eyes shifted to Gloss.

He stood slowly, rolling his shoulders once, then turned to his sister. Cashmere reached out and touched his arm, her expression softening.

Gloss gave her a quick squeeze on the shoulder and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. Then he looked at the rest of you, smiled like it was nothing, and said, “See you on the other side.”

And then he was gone.

No hesitation. No second glance.

The moment lingered in the air. Thick. Heavy. Real.

Enobaria was the first to break the silence. “We’ll head back to our seats,” she said, giving each of you a quick hug like she didn’t want to think too hard about it. Brutus did the same—no words, just a quiet presence—and then they were gone.

“We should, too,” Mason murmured, giving Cashmere’s shoulder a squeeze.

You turned to her and wrapped your arms around her tightly.

“He’s going to do great,” you whispered. “And so will you. Okay?”

Cashmere gave you a watery smile, blinking fast. “Good luck, Y/N.”

“You too.”

She held you for a second longer, then let go and sat down, folding her hands in her lap, eyes fixed on the door Gloss had disappeared through.

Before heading back to your seat, you squat down in front of Finnick and Mags. Grinning, you greet them with a playful, “Hello, my fishies.”

Finnick rolls his eyes dramatically, but there's a smile tugging at his lips. Mags, ever the nurturing figure, pats you on the head as if you were a child, her touch gentle and warm.

“I swear, before I die, I’m going to need a new nickname,” Finnick jokes, sounding far more serious than he probably intends. “I can’t die with ‘Fishy’ on my tombstone.”

You nudge his knee playfully. “Oh, don’t worry, Finnick. I wouldn’t do that to you. But I would say, ‘Best Swimmer in the Mighty Seas,’” you add with a wink, your tone light.

Mags laughs softly, her eyes crinkling with kindness. You turn toward her. “Ready to blow them away with your rope-tying skills?” You can’t help but tease, excited for the elderly woman you admire so much.

Mags gives you a thumbs up, her smile all the answer you need. Then she points to Finnick, mimicking the movement of a trident with her hands.

“Oh, yes. Finnick and his big fork,” you tease, ruffling his hair affectionately. You and Finnick had always been close—almost like siblings, really. You won your Games right after him, and to say you leaned on each other would be an understatement. There was an unspoken understanding between you two, born from the shared experience of surviving this hell.

You hear Cashmere’s name being called, and as she rises, she shoots you a reassuring smile before heading toward the door.

Turning back to Finnick and Mags, you see the stress hanging heavy on their shoulders. Without thinking, you rise to your feet and give them both tight hugs. “It’s going to be fine,” you say, your voice firm but kind. “I’ve never seen anyone handle a trident as well as you, Finnick. And no one—no one—can tie a knot as tight as you, Mags.”

Both of them smile up at you, their faces softening. They know exactly what you’re doing—trying to ease their tension, give them a little comfort. That’s why they love having you around.

“I’ll catch up with you two after, okay?” You give them both a final squeeze. “Good luck out there.”

They nod, their smiles a little more relaxed now. You return to your seat next to Mason, feeling a brief moment of relief as you settle beside him.

“You’re being a great motivator. I’m feeling inspired,” Mason says with a half-smile, his tone teasing as he nudges you lightly.

You can’t help but scoff, shaking your head. “These are our friends. And we’re supposed to kill them like it’s nothing?” You laugh softly, but it’s a bitter sound.

Mason’s smirk fades, and he turns to face you more seriously. “We all know how this is going to play out,” he says quietly, his voice laced with a mix of resignation and practicality. “And we promised we weren’t going to take it to heart. Quick and painless, remember?”

You exhale slowly, your chest heavy. “Doesn’t mean it’s not going to happen. And let’s say… in the off chance that we both make it to the end. Then what?” You meet his gaze, both of you silently acknowledging the truth between you. Neither of you would be able to kill the other. Not after everything.

Mason’s eyes soften, but his voice is firm as he shakes his head. “That’s never going to happen. You know that,” he says, his tone heavy with certainty. “It’ll be someone else, or… it’ll be me.”

You can’t argue with that. It’s the cruel reality you’re both facing, one that feels too dark to even consider. You drop your head into your hands, the weight of it all pushing down on you.

Mason doesn’t have any comforting words—he knows they won’t help. He just reaches over, ruffling your hair lightly before pulling you into his side. His presence, solid and steady, is the only thing that’s keeping you from shattering in that moment.

You watch the District Three pair go, followed by Finnick, and then Mags. Each one of them stepping into their fate, and each one leaving a piece of their heart in the room.

Time passes slowly. Your own thoughts are heavy, weighed down by the same unspoken question everyone in this room is carrying.

And then, you hear it.

“District Five, Mason Cover. Report for individual assessment.”

Your body freezes. Your heart skips a beat.

Mason feels it, too. The weight of the arena, the uncertainty of what’s to come, the fear—it’s all there, hanging between you two.

“Darling, it’s going to be fine,” he whispers in your ear, his voice calm, steady. He presses a kiss to the top of your head, the warmth of his lips a small comfort in the sea of tension.

You try to return the reassurance, offering him a soft smile. “Good luck,” you murmur, even though you’re not sure if either of you believe it.

He meets your gaze, his smile small but sincere. “You too,” he says, his voice softer now. He ruffles your hair one more time before standing up. “See you on the other side.” His words are light, basically mimicking Gloss. But you still teared up.

You nod, trying to swallow the lump in your throat as you watch him leave. He glances back once, offering you a final wave, and then he’s gone, heading toward the door with that same quiet confidence he always carries.

Now, the fear was real. The anxiety had a tight grip on you, and no matter how hard you tried to steady your breathing, it was a struggle. Your chest felt heavy, each breath an effort.

You closed your eyes, trying to center yourself. Ten minutes. That’s all you had. Ten minutes to somehow find a way to push past the panic, to focus, to prepare yourself.

You were so far inside your head that you didn’t even notice someone sitting down next to you until you heard a soft voice.

“Are you ready for your assessment?”

You jumped, startled, and turned to see Peeta sitting where Mason had just been. He gave you a small, sheepish smile. “Stupid question, I know. I’m sure you’ve been asked by everyone else. Should’ve said something else.”

It wasn’t what you expected—Peeta of all people sitting next to you. You glanced over at Katniss. She was watching you closely from a distance, eyes trained on both you and Peeta, her protective instincts sharp.

You turned back to Peeta, trying to shake off the unease. “I’m ready enough to just get it over with,” you replied, your voice steady, but you could feel the tension coiled deep inside you. “Are you?”

He nodded, though his smile was a little strained. “Yeah, it’s kind of crazy, you know? I was doing this exact thing a year ago. Not much has changed.”

You shook your head slightly. “Everything’s changed, Peeta. You’re a Victor now. That means something.”

Peeta met your eyes, his gaze serious. “We both know I wasn’t supposed to be one.”

“I could say that about all of us,” you said, your voice soft but firm. “None of us were supposed to be Victors, but here we are. And it’s important, Peeta, that you start believing that. It’s the only way you’re going to make it out of the arena.”

He didn’t speak for a moment, just looking at you like he was weighing your words. Finally, he broke the silence, his fingers fidgeting with a loose thread on his sleeve. “Haymitch says we should team up. I know enough to sense how important you are to him.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You’re trying to recruit me?” you asked, teasing but also a little touched by his honesty. You could tell he wasn’t exactly sure where this conversation was heading, but he was trying to find his footing.

He looked uncomfortable but pushed on, “I’m not saying we should be best friends or anything, but you’re important to Haymitch. I think you’re important to Katniss, too, even if she doesn’t show it.” His voice softened. “I’m just doing what I can. You know, trying to look out for her… and for us.”

You couldn’t help but smile. “I don’t think your fiancée would agree,” you said, your tone light, but there was an edge to it.

Peeta let out a small, dry chuckle. “And I don’t think your partner would be thrilled, either, but here we are.”

That made you smirk. He had a way with words, even when he was hesitant. “I’ve always been on your team, Peeta. I just need you to accept that you’re on mine, too.” Your voice was quieter now, more earnest. You met his gaze, not backing down. “I’m behind you a hundred percent. And I know Mason will be, too. But you have to trust us. Just like you want to protect Katniss, I do too. I’ll do whatever it takes to see her come out of this alive.”

You leaned in slightly, lowering your voice. “If you don’t trust my words, trust Haymitch’s. I’m on your side.”

Before Peeta could respond, the loudspeaker crackled, cutting through the tension.

“District Five, Y/N L/N. Report for individual assessment.”

You tensed, your heart skipping a beat, but you tried to keep your breathing steady. This was it. You stood up slowly, then turned to Peeta. With a light touch, you patted his leg.

“I’ll see you later, Peeta. Good luck to you both,” you said, your voice more confident than you felt.

Peeta watched you as you turned to leave, his eyes following you until you reached the door.

Once you were out of sight, Peeta made his way back to Katniss, who was still watching him closely, waiting for him to speak. He sat down beside her, his expression thoughtful.

“I think we should team up with District Five,” he said, his voice low but sure.

Katniss looked at him, skepticism written across her face. “Are you sure about this?”

Peeta met her gaze, his eyes steady. “Trust me.”

After a long moment of silence, Katniss finally nodded, her resolve firming. “Okay,” she said quietly.

************

You stared at yourself in the mirror, your reflection a ghost of someone you used to be. The makeup was heavy, transforming your features, and for a moment, you looked like you did nine years ago—before the Games, before all of this.

Tomorrow, you would be thrown back into the arena. Tomorrow, you’d have to fight your friends, leave your husband behind, and maybe die. And the weight of it made everything seem so much heavier.

You were scared during your first Games, but this fear—it was different. It was paralyzing. It settled deep in your chest, like something solid and cold, and you couldn’t breathe.

The sound of cheers rang out as Caesar Flickerman strutted onto the stage, his perfect, rehearsed smile beaming across the crowd. Your pulse quickened.

"There, absolutely perfection," your stylist said, patting her face to dry the tears you hadn't realized had begun to fall.

"Thank you," you whispered, blinking the haze from your eyes. You stepped onto the line between Mags and Mason, trying to steady your breath, your heart threatening to burst out of your chest.

"Breathe," Mason whispered, his voice low but steady. "You look beautiful."

A small, trembling smile pulled at your lips. "Thanks," you murmured, looking at Mags. "You look pretty," you added, hoping it would ease the tension in the air. Mags smiled, a soft, knowing look on her face. She pointed to your dress. "Thank you," you said. "It’s supposed to mimic my first Games."

You swallowed, looking around at the others, trying to block out the tightness in your chest. Nervous energy swirled around you. The others could feel it, too, but everyone was doing their best to keep it together.

You saw Gloss take his turn, then Cash, and then Brutus. One after another, they walked past you, their faces filled with the same mix of dread and determination.

"I can’t believe tomorrow is the day," Mason said, jumping up slightly, the nerves evident in his voice.

"You're telling me," Finnick said, giving a smirk that didn’t quite reach his eyes. "I’m about to perform my best acting yet—pretend I’m not already dead inside—and then I’m gonna die. Sounds like a real blast."

Mags shot him a disapproving look, but you could see the faintest hint of a smile tug at her lips.

"We just have to get through tonight. Tomorrow’s a whole other day," you said, trying to sound reassuring, though the words felt hollow even as you spoke them. "We’ll figure it out then."

The others fell silent at your words, each one lost in their own thoughts, the realization of what was coming settling in.

Finnick went next, followed by Mags. Then Mason.

"Wish me luck," Mason said, winking at you before stepping onto the stage, the Capitol audience erupting in applause.

"Good luck," you said, smirking, watching him stride out with the swagger only Mason could pull off.

"It’s annoying how charming that guy is," you muttered, half to yourself.

Johanna let out a short, dry laugh. "Do you think, before I die, he’ll grant me a death-wish kiss?" she joked, her usual biting humor still intact.

You nudged her with a grin. "Hey, I think the probability of that is extremely high."

Mason’s interview went off without a hitch. He played the ‘I’m about to die, and I never loved anyone’ card, and the Capitol ate it up. The single women in the crowd swooned as he strutted off the stage, bowing to his fellow tributes.

"And now, for one of the Capitol’s favorite girls, let’s hear it for Y/N L/N!" The announcement was loud, and the crowd roared in excitement.

You took a deep breath, forcing a smile as you walked onto the stage, the eyes of Panem on you. You knew how to work a crowd, how to present yourself as the confident, charming Victor everyone adored. But tonight, it felt like more of a mask than ever before.

Caesar Flickerman’s smile was as dazzling as always, his voice smooth as silk. "Oh, my dear girl, how are you?" He leaned in for air kisses, his theatrics just a little too perfect.

"Well, I’ve had better days," you said, a soft smile curling at the corner of your lips.

"Today is so emotional and hard for all of us, isn’t it?" Caesar continued, his tone dripping with faux sympathy. "But you—good news for you—you scored an eleven! Absolutely amazing!"

"Thank you," you replied, trying to keep the flatness from your voice. "Since I’m probably going to die tomorrow, I wanted to go out with a bang, I guess."

You saw Caesar’s smile falter for a moment, unsure how to handle your bluntness. But he recovered quickly, ever the professional.

"Well, a bang you did," he said, voice still upbeat. "Now, my dear, we’ve heard so much about those waiting for you back at home. Who’s there for you? Anyone special?"

You forced your gaze to drift across the audience, your eyes scanning the sea of faces before finding the one that anchored you—Haymitch. His eyes were locked onto you, steady and unwavering, like a lifeline in the chaos.

"I have my parents back at home, taking care of my younger brother," you said, your voice a little softer now. "It was definitely a surprise when these Games were announced."

"I’m sure they’re watching you now and cheering for you back in District 5," Caesar smiled warmly, his eyes glistening with false compassion.

You swallowed hard, your throat tightening. "I doubt they will. They promised me they won’t watch. Who would want to see their child get slaughtered?" The words left your lips, cold and harsh, but they were the truth. The crowd grew silent, and Caesar struggled to regain his composure.

"Uh…" He coughed awkwardly, glancing toward the camera. "Well, that’s unfortunate, I’m sure they’ll be missing a good game. Is there anyone else waiting for you? Maybe a man? A little boy toy?"

You didn’t even need to think. The words felt right, even as they left your lips. Your fingers moved instinctively to the necklace around your neck, slipping it off with a deliberate motion, and you looked back at Haymitch. His eyes widened as your fingers found the ring you’d been wearing around your neck. The same one you’d both always kept secret.

"I do, actually," you whispered, barely above the noise of the crowd. A ripple of surprise ran through the room. "I have someone waiting for me."

You slowly slid the ring onto your finger, letting it shine under the Capitol lights. For a moment, the crowd was dead silent. The world seemed to hold its breath. And then, the cheers exploded.

You could see Haymitch in the crowd, his expression unreadable at first. But then, something in his eyes softened. He didn’t hide his emotions, even if you couldn’t hear his voice. It was in the way his hand shook as he reached for his flask, eyes never leaving you.

"You’re married?" Caesar’s voice was full of excitement now, a gleam in his eyes. "What a surprise! Tell us, who is this lucky man?"

You met his gaze again, locking your eyes with Haymitch's. "I’m afraid I’m keeping that information to myself," you replied, your voice calm but firm. "Just in case I die tomorrow, I want him to move on, to find happiness. Obviously, without all the cameras and media .That’s all I’ve ever wanted for him."

You glanced down at the ring, your fingers brushing over it gently as you spoke. "My death will not be the end of him. He will mourn, but he will live. Live for me. Live for us. Live for the world. My death won’t erase our love. Our love will live on. These Games may take everything from me, but our love? That’s something that will last forever." You blinked rapidly, tears beginning to blur your vision. "I’ve loved and been loved in these few years more than some do in a lifetime," you whispered, your voice cracking slightly. "I’m one of the lucky ones."

The audience was silent for a moment before an overwhelming wave of applause broke through the air. You could see the tears welling in Caesar's eyes, his voice shaking with emotion. "That… that was beautiful," he said, his tone sincere. "I’m sure he knows how deeply you love him. And he’s lucky to have someone like you."

"Thank you," you said softly, your heart pounding.

The audience cheered again, but you only had eyes for Haymitch now. You blew him a kiss, a simple gesture, but one that felt like it carried everything you couldn’t say aloud.

"That was amazing," Mason said, wrapping you in a tight hug the second you stepped off the stage.

You cried in his arms, the weight of everything threatening to swallow you whole. "It’s going to be okay, darling girl," Mason whispered, his voice warm and comforting. "He knows you love him, and you know he loves you."

Johanna was next to you, rubbing your back. "You really did a good job. I think all of Panem’s crying right now."

You stopped crying, and only the sound of the following interview filled the room until Johanna spoke again, her voice annoyed.

"Really? A wedding dress?" She raised an eyebrow at Katniss’s dress, which looked suspiciously like a wedding gown.

"Snow made me wear it," Katniss said, her tone flat, not caring much for Johanna, but glanced at you. Haymitch trusted you, and so did Peeta.

"Make him pay for it," Johanna smirked, causing Katniss to smile faintly.

"Come on, let’s get you cleaned up," Mason said, wrapping an arm around you, guiding you away. But then Katniss reached for your wrist, stopping you.

Mason tensed but you turned towards her.

"You did good," Katniss said quietly, nodding at your ring. "I know he appreciates it."

"Thank you," you smiled at her, though it was strained.

"Plus, I’m sure you made Peeta cry," Katniss added with a rare smile.

You laughed softly, your heart lighter despite everything. "Good luck," you said, offering her a smile before following Mason out.

"So, we’re really teaming up with District 12, huh?" Mason said, rolling his eyes.

You nudged him, a small smile playing at your lips. "Yup."

*********

You found yourself staring out the window of the living area in your suite, the stars twinkling distantly in the night sky. Mason was sitting across from you, nose buried in a book, but you couldn't tear your eyes away from the vast darkness outside.

After the interviews, you all held hands, the gesture simple but filled with power, as if, for a brief moment, the Games could be stopped. But an hour ago, Abigail had come in and crushed that fragile hope, informing you that the Games would go on as planned.

You sighed, the weight of the news heavy in your chest.

"I know you're not reading," you said, breaking the silence as you turned to Mason. "You've been on the same page for the last six minutes. It usually takes you three."

He looked up at you, a sly smirk tugging at his lips before he closed the book, setting it down on the table with a soft thud. "True," he said, the humor gone from his eyes. "But it's hard to focus on anything when death is looming over us."

You didn’t respond. Instead, you stood and moved to the window, resting your hands on the cool glass. He followed you, his footsteps soft on the carpet.

"Did Cash seem fine when you told her we weren't joining the pack?" he asked, trying to shift the conversation.

Your shoulders tensed slightly, "She wasn’t happy, but she knew," You said with a nod. "They all knew we were going with District 12. Expected it, even." Then you turned to him, your heart pounding slightly. "Are you mad at me?"

Mason shook his head instantly, his expression softening. "No. Never." He sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair. "I just… I just hope we're not making a mistake. That’s all."

You hesitated, then spoke the words that had been in your head. "You could always go with the Careers, you know."

The words barely left your mouth when Mason shot you a glare, his eyes darkening. "Shut up," he said, his voice sharp but filled with the raw edge of care. "I've been saying the whole time—it's you and me, always. If you want to team up with the newbies, we do it. If you want to team up with the Careers, we do it. Hell, if you want us to be on our own, we’ll do that too. I’m with you, partner, okay? You can't get rid of me that easily." He paused, a small, teasing smile creeping onto his lips. "I’ve been taking care of your ass for almost a decade. I’m not about to stop now."

A lump formed in your throat at his words, and you smiled, fighting back the emotions. "You're my best friend," you whispered, and he chuckled.

"Don’t let Cash hear that or she’ll make it her mission to have my head tomorrow." His voice was light, but there was something deeply affectionate in it.

"I’m serious, Mase," you nudged him, a little more forceful now, your voice cracking. "You’re my best friend. And this… this fucking sucks."

Without another word, Mason wrapped his arms around you tightly, his grip firm and warm. "Darling," he murmured into your hair, "no matter what happens tomorrow, know that you're my best friend. You’ve always been. And, I can’t really be mad at you. They're an alright team. The girl is good with those damn arrows. Plus, we get Finnick and Beetee. It could be worse."

You stayed like that for a long while, holding onto each other, the silent comfort of a friendship that had weathered more storms than anyone should ever have to. Then you heard a soft cough from the doorway, and you reluctantly pulled away.

You turned to see Haymitch standing there, leaning against the doorframe with a smirk. "Am I interrupting something?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

Mason rolled his eyes dramatically, his tone mockingly offended. "Dude," he said with a grin, "I just got told I’m her best friend, and you couldn’t wait five minutes to swoop in? That’s crazy."

Haymitch raised his hands in surrender, still grinning. "Ouch, I thought that was me." He turned to you with a feigned look of hurt on his face. "Sweetheart, you wound me."

You shot them both a tired, amused look. "Quiet, both of you." You turned to Mason, giving him a small, pleading glance. "Mase, can you leave us, please?"

He groaned, but there was affection in the sound. "Fiiiiiinnnneeeee." He dragged out the word in a mock pout, but then he wrapped his arms around you one more time, pulling you close. "I’ll see you tomorrow, okay? I’ll find you." He kissed your forehead softly, the gesture comforting despite the weight of everything.

He pulled back, moving toward Haymitch. Before he left, Haymitch stopped and whispered, "Take care of her in there, and I’ll take care of you both out here."

Mason nodded, just slightly, so you wouldn’t notice, before giving Haymitch a firm hug. He stepped back, his eyes lingering on you for a moment before he turned to leave. "Good luck, Mason," Haymitch said softly, patting his shoulder as he went.

Mason gave a small nod, trying to keep the tension from showing, and then he left the room.

The door closed behind him, and for a brief moment, the room was silent.

Haymitch walked toward you, his steps slower than usual, more weighted. You didn’t need him to say anything. You already knew.

This was goodbye.

Without a word, he wrapped his arms around you, holding you tightly like he was trying to memorize the way you fit against him. You buried your face into his chest, inhaling the scent of him—whiskey, pine, and something softer, something that always felt like home.

You wouldn’t see him tomorrow. As soon as you woke, the Peacekeepers would be there—no time for goodbyes, no time for holding each other like this. They’d tear you away from your bed, from this room, from him.

So this… this was it.

The two of you settled onto the couch in silence, your body curled into his, your face tucked into the crook of his neck, and his arms wrapped around you like armor. His hand moved up and down your back in a slow rhythm, steady and calming, though his heart beat loud and uneven against your cheek.

You could die like this, you thought.

God, you wished you would die like this.

"You know what I was thinking?" you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

Haymitch hummed in response, low and thoughtful, his fingers gently threading through your hair.

"I think we were meant to be with each other. In every universe. It's always you and I,” you breathed. “And I know... I know in another universe, we got to have a beautiful, long life together."

His lips twitched into a smile, pained but sincere. "You think so?"

"Oh, I know so," you said, the corner of your mouth lifting. “We have three kids. Two girls and one boy. They're perfect—just like we always dreamed. We live in this beautiful home with a white picket fence, big porch swing. You finally grow tomatoes that don’t taste like dirt. We grow old together. We see our kids have kids. We'd be cool grandparents."

"The best grandparents," he said quietly, still stroking your hair, his voice strained and cracked with longing. “Is it weird that I'm jealous of that us?”

"No... because so am I." You closed your eyes, the fantasy a cruel comfort. It felt so real. It should have been real.

Your voice broke as the grief crashed over you like a wave. “This isn’t fair.” The words came out as a sob, and you shoved your face deeper into his neck, clinging to him like he was the last safe thing in the world.

"I know, sweetheart. I know," he murmured, holding you tighter. His hand moved slowly over your back, as if he could rub the pain away, ease the break in your heart. "But I'm going to help you. You and Mase. It's going to be alright.”

He leaned back just enough to look you in the eyes, his own gaze sharp and urgent. “I just need you to stay with Katniss. No matter what—stay with her.”

You blinked, confused for a moment, but nodded. There was something in his tone, something just beneath the surface. You didn't know the full story, but you trusted him. You always had.

"I promise, Haymitch. I’ll try to protect them... for as long as I breathe."

He stilled. Completely.

His jaw clenched, and his grip on you tightened again.

He hadn’t meant for it to come across like that. God, no. He never wanted you to think you owed him that—your life for theirs. That wasn’t what this was.

"I just need you to breathe," he said, his voice rough and trembling. “That’s all I need, okay? Just breathe. Protect yourself. I’ll take care of the kids. I promise. But you—you look after you. No playing hero. No playing mama bear.”

You lifted your head to meet his eyes, your heart thudding. “You care for those kids, Haymitch Abernathy,” you said, voice firm. “I’m going to protect them as much as I can. Nothing’s happening to those kids if I’m there.”

He stared at you, the pain behind his eyes shining like glass ready to crack.

"And I care about you, Y/N Abernathy." His voice hitched. “So you're going to make sure you survive.”

Your bottom lip trembled. You looked at him—at the man you loved more than anything—and whispered, “Only one comes out alive, Mitch.”

Your voice cracked like a brittle bone.

“I’m not even in the top five of who should win.”

Tears welled in your eyes again, hot and burning, and his face crumpled just slightly as he pulled you back into him, his breath stuttering.

You could see it. The way he was unraveling. The storm brewing behind his eyes. He had been holding something in, and it was clawing its way out of him, ripping him apart from the inside.

You’d been accepting your fate quietly, trying not to make it harder for him. But he needed more from you now.

He needed you to fight.

He needed you to live.

He needed to say the thing that had been killing him since the moment he knew. There was this plan. A plan to get Katniss and all the other victors out of there. A plan that could save your life. And he wishes he could tell you scream it out.

But Plutarch didn’t want you to involved because of your close relationship with the careers. He said it could compromise the whole mission. But he needed to tell you. He needed to guarantee your safety. Plutarch be dammed. You’re his wife. You’re the only thing that matters.

"I—" he started, voice hoarse, his hands twitching at his sides. Just spit it out he thought to himself.

You turned to face him fully, one brow raised. He was spinning in his own mind, fighting every instinct. You could tell he wanted to say it, to scream it but there was something holding him back.

"There's thi—well, there's this... this plan... Plutarch—" Why couldn’t he just say it? His heart was screaming at him to spit it out.

You stepped in before he could finish, your heart stalling. You knew that look, the flickering indecision, the desperation caught behind his teeth.

"You're not supposed to tell me, right?" you asked gently, already knowing the answer.

He faltered, looking at you like you’d read the last page of a book he hadn’t finished. He wanted to tell you. So badly. And that’s what terrified you.

"There's this plan—"

"Stop." You raised your hand, voice quiet but firm. A small, tired smile tugged at your lips. "Don’t tell me."

He stared at you in disbelief, his brows furrowed like you’d just spoken in a language he didn’t understand. "What...?"

"There's a reason why you can’t tell me, right?"

He hesitated… and nodded.

"Then it’s probably a good reason.”

"It can save your life," he whispered, and that was when the first tear slipped from his eye. He was screaming at himself to tell you to save you. Why the hell isn’t he saying anything?

Your chest tightened, but you held your voice steady. "But it jeopardizes Katniss, doesn’t it?"

He didn’t answer. He didn’t have to. The silence was loud enough.

"Then don’t tell me."

"Sweetheart..."

"Don't tell me, Haymitch." You stepped closer, looking up at him with as much reassurance as you could muster. "I’m telling you not to tell me. You were going to—and now I’m saying no. So if anything happens, it’s on me. Not you. Never you."

You could already see it in his eyes—the guilt building like floodwater behind a dam. You couldn’t let it break him.

"You need to protect Katniss," you said softly.

His expression cracked as tears finally spilled freely, his voice breaking under the weight of his helplessness. "I need to protect you."

And that nearly broke you.

You had to look away, just for a second. "You’re putting her first," you said, your voice catching. "And that’s okay. You need to put her first. Always. You and I both know that. It’s for the greater cause—something bigger than just you and me."

He clenched his jaw. You both knew it was true. If the rebellion was going to work, it had to be Katniss. It had to be the Mockingjay.

"I need you safe," he said again, like if he repeated it enough, the universe would listen.

"And we need her alive." You were already shifting, already planning. Your voice quickened, desperate to be useful, to give him something to hold on to. "Both of them. Without Peeta, Katniss won’t want to do anything for the rebellion. Okay, I’ll look after Katniss and Mase can look after Peeta. Well of course I’ll also look after Peeta, but—"

You rambled, words spilling from you as your mind raced, building walls to keep the fear from crashing in. And he just looked at you.

God, he looked at you—like you were made of light and heartbreak and everything he could never deserve.

Then suddenly his hands were on your face, steadying you, grounding you. He needed to tell you. It was eating him alive.

You froze under his touch, your voice softening to a murmur. "Don’t tell me, Haymitch. I’m not mad. I won’t be mad. I’ll never make you choose between them or me. I care about them too."

He pulled you close, resting his forehead against yours, his breath trembling.

"It’s always been you," he choked, tears falling freely now. "It’s always going to be you."

You closed your eyes. If you could bottle this moment—this closeness, this certainty—you would have. You’d carry it into the arena like armor.

"This is more than just us, Mitch," you whispered. "If she survives… the districts' hope still lives."

He let out a bitter, shaking breath. "Damn it, woman, I want to tell you. I need to tell you."

You touched his cheek gently, tears stinging your eyes. "But you're holding back for her. And I'm telling you it’s okay."

You swallowed the lump in your throat and straightened your shoulders. "I told you since the beginning—I’m getting her out of that arena. Now you need to promise me you will too. Over Mags. Over Beetee. Over me."

Your voice didn’t shake this time. Not when it mattered most.

You looked into his eyes and saw the war in them—saw him silently screaming I can’t lose you.

But he knew you were right.

"I promise," he whispered, barely getting it out.

"It's going to be okay. We're going to be okay," you whispered, your voice thick with unshed tears as you pulled back, giving him a smile that trembled with hope and heartbreak. "And then one morning, you’ll wake up back in District 12… and you’re going to look out at the sky and feel it. Feel the peace. The Games will be gone. The children will be able to be children again. It’s what we’ve always wanted."

You smiled as you spoke, but he could see it—you weren’t just comforting him.

You were saying goodbye.

And Haymitch felt it. In the hollowness in his chest. In the way your voice cracked just slightly when you talked about a future you didn’t believe you’d see. You were accepting your death. Quietly. Gracefully. Willingly.

Even when the cause didn’t trust you enough to let you in.

And yet, here you were, dreaming about a life beyond the war—knowing you wouldn’t be part of it.

His hands clenched into fists at his sides.

“I feel like I’m making a mistake,” he said, voice raw, like it scraped his throat on the way out. Damn the cause. Damn Plutarch. Damn those District 12 kids. Damn this plan.

“You’re not,” you said gently. “You’re a mentor. We give our lives for those children. If I could’ve saved my tributes, I would’ve.”

You smiled through your tears, and it wrecked him.

“You’re the best mentor known to man. And an even better husband.”

That was the final blow.

“I love you,” he whispered like a confession, like a prayer. “So, so much. More than the moon loves the stars. More than the sun loves the ocean. I love you, Y/N.”

You cupped his face like he was fragile, precious. Like he wasn’t the broken man the world always thought him to be.

“And I love you, Haymitch,” you murmured. You nestled yourself back into his chest, fitting there like you were made for him. And maybe you were.

You both stared out the window as silence wrapped around you. Not a single word for an hour—just hearts beating in sync, like this moment could stretch forever.

But it couldn’t.

Eventually, you sat up slowly, blinking back the heaviness in your eyes. “You have to go check on the kids. The elevator locks soon… and I doubt you want to walk up seven flights of stairs.”

He clung to you a little tighter. “I’ll be fine. Come back here.”

You gave him that look. The one that always shut down every argument. Soft, patient, immovable.

He sighed. He knew. You were doing it for the kids. For him. If the Peacekeepers found you both here, alone, asleep—it would be over for him. You’d never let that happen.

“Fine. Fine.”

You walked him toward the elevator slowly, each step a thousand pounds heavier than the last.

Then you paused.

“Tell Effie I say that I love her… and that she needs to take care of you. No more than three whiskey bottles a week.”

He didn’t laugh.

He didn’t even smile.

He just pulled you into his arms like he was afraid you’d disappear the second he let go.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, and he meant it for everything—for the plan, for the Capitol, for the years wasted, for the future he couldn’t give you.

“I’m not,” you said softly, holding his face like a lifeline. “I lived a beautiful life… with amazing friends and a perfect husband. I meant what I said. I felt more love in the years with you than most people ever feel in a lifetime. You made me happy. You make me proud. After everything you’ve been through, we’re finally going to be at peace.”

He was breaking. He didn’t care how pathetic it looked.

“I need you,” he choked, like the words themselves were ripping something loose in his chest.

“And you have me,” you whispered, “forever.”

You kissed his cheek, pulled him close again, memorized the shape of his body, the weight of him in your arms.

“I’ll be fine,” you lied. “Remember your promise.”

You stepped back, slowly pushing him toward the elevator. Your hands were shaking, but your face was steady. Because if you faltered—if you gave in—he would stay. And that was too dangerous.

The doors slid open.

And he didn’t move.

He couldn’t.

But you gave him a little push.

Because you had to.

He stepped inside. And as the doors started to close, you saw the panic take over his features.

"I love you," he said, the words tearing from his chest like a final breath. His heart physically ached. Like it was collapsing in on itself. Like maybe, just maybe, a person could die from a broken heart.

"And I love you too," you replied, the softest smile breaking through your tears. How could you smile when you were walking into your death?

Haymitch didn’t know.

But you always found light, even at the end of the world.

“I’ll see you in the next lifetime,” you said, and your voice cracked on the final word.

The doors slid shut.

And as the elevator descended, the last thing he heard was the sound of you sobbing.

And that was it.

That was the sound that shattered him.

This felt extremely long lol anyways thank y'all for reading! I also live for your comments they actually make my day.

Let me know what you want to see!!!!

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hephslacker · 2 days ago

Text

Your post was incredibly fun and interesting to read and I couldn't help but want to point out some of my own observations and share some thoughts!

You have discussed how Ena’s sides represent her “individuality” and here’s another little thing I have noticed!

> In the game, Salesman actually says NOTHING regarding her opinion towards her job, staying “professionally-playful”, yet distant.

What I think is also a point of interest is that a few of the jobs Ena has collected didn’t promise her ANYTHING in return, basically making her work for free. And while helping Taxi Driver’s Heads might have been justified as "helping a fellow worker”, what about Hoarder Alex? The guy, at most, said that he MIGHT give us his thanks, but that’s about it. And yet Ena still accepts the job.

And we HAVE seen how Ena reacted when she thought that The Witches weren’t gonna pay.

The only explanation I can think of so far is that she was willing to let it slide due to the fact that she NEEDED to pass through the bridge, which made said task a priority.

> Just an interesting interaction I have noticed, especially if we take into account that this is Ena’s inner thoughts

> Another thing I wanted to talk about was the apparent “violent streak” you have briefly mentioned.

Technically speaking, “aiming for the target” could be taken metaphorically, aka cementing Ena’s main task as dealing with the Boss. What kind of “dealing” is being talked about remains to be seen!

> That brings us to another interesting point and a bit of a theme that I have noticed being subtly repeated throughout the game: miscommunication.

The most notable example of that would be the confusion that Genie and Bathroom cause, however I want to focus on what I think might be the most important miscommunication in the game, aka the one between Ena and Froggy.

What if we, and Ena, have misunderstood the task that was given? Considering that in this particular case Froggy was actually trying to use a fixed expression from a different language, it is quite probable that he might have caused confusion by what exactly he meant by “aiming for the Boss’s gut”. Do we have to kill him? Peacefully deal with him? Get rid of him? “Dethrone” him? Who knows!

> Another interesting thing is the Boss himself. What I have noticed is that… we actually have no idea if he’s been born, no?

After what the Receptionist tells us (You are too late! The Boss isn’t even born yet) I have realised that Froggy, while heavily implied, never did really SAY that the Boss has been born, no? For all we know he might be born SOON, but not yet.

It also aligns with the fact that both Froggy and The Receptionist mention us being “late”.

However, that’s just a speculation.

But who is the Boss? What does he do?

> Regarding Ena’s apparent Sin, it honestly feels like it’s not this specific Ena, but ENAs in general that are unforgivable. Honestly? It’s very hard to even start guessing what may be the reason, but I do have a few theories.

The first thing I have noticed is this particular sentence

I’m not doing what you SAY I’m doing

This most likely hints at some huge misunderstanding that has taken place.

If you think about it, misunderstandings are also quite a common theme in ENA DREAM BBQ. Just take the ending for example! Or when Ena goes to the Purge Event, during which Froggy assumes she’s partying and is having a good time.

Another theory I have is that Ena might be, quite literally, being punished for the sins of others, as has been hinted in the dialogue with Taski Maiden.

Maybe she’s unforgivable because she’s a “vessel” for the sins of other beings, hence her being unable to be “sin-free” herself.

Frankly, for all we know she might have been simply at the wrong place at the wrong time.

But of course, it’s impossible to say for sure, although some sort of misunderstanding playing a role might be quite a possibility.

Honestly tho, Ena’s overworking tendencies and disregard for herself is honestly quite saddening:(

Wonder if it’s due to the feelings of guilt or regret? And if so, are they misplaced?

Could it be that it’s impossible to forgive Ena because she can’t forgive herself?

Have you noticed how she doesn’t seem to be all that concerned by the idea of being unforgivable?

But, well, all of this is nothing more than a speculation at the moment.

DREAM BBQ

What if the whole game is Ena's subconscious?

I'm sure that most have already heard of such a theory, but what if everything (or mostly everything) is nothing more than a dream, in which case this may open a whole other bug of worms.

However, what I want to focus on are Ena's view of herself, because if the world itself is a dream, in whatever way of form, then it means that what we have seen regarding Ena would be completely Ena's own view and opinion of herself. That, in turn, would mean that her "unforgivable" state would be entirely her "fault" too.

Could it be that she did something she deeply regrets? Does she blame herself for something out of her control, or is she actually responsible for committing something terrible?

The idea of other ENAs existing, in this context, has left me thinking that, what if they actually are the "species" that represent certain people? With the hints to war and Ena's connection to the military, could they represent different participants, including those who might have simply been affected by such events, or are they only the people who have actively been participating?

Well, all of that remains to be seen.

I’m not sure if I have missed anything because it’s quite hard to keep track of everything but yeah!

Ena in Dream BBQ and Work Culture

HELLO Dashboard!! Ever since i first played DBBQ i've found the entire game endlessly interesting (as have most people, LOL) But one of the most interesting, and in my opinion, most Potent things, is Ena's character and how she relates to the game's commentary on modern work culture.

So for anyone as much of a #SICKO as me 😭 Here's an embarrassingly long analysis of just that! There's SO much to talk about with this game, and even when I'm trying to focus on one specific idea with this post, I'm sure I'll still miss things, so just stick with me best you can OK? 😭 😭

My aim for this post is to allow you to understand Just how deep in the torment nexus Ena is, and to want to say "she should be at the club" Only to realize she can't even go to the club. She can't even go to the club. Because of Job. (Among other, hopefully more intelligently articulated things!)

SO, Let's just jump right in :D

First, to state the obvious—Ena's literal entire life is her job. The only moods she expresses under normal circumstance are "smooth talking salesperson where every line is about working or trying to sell something" and "Stops keeping up the veneer and gets frustrated and pissed because she hates her stupid job."

This permeates every aspect of her character—I don't think there's a single line in the game so far where she says like, Anything about herself. There's nothing about what she may want or what she may like. It's all about her fuckass job or the fuckass Boss.

And of course, even in gameplay aspects, you literally don't get a chance to choose whether you accept a job or not, like the thought of doing anything besides giving her time and energy for other people or her job's benefit doesn't even occur to her (Or, it can't occur to her—I doubt the Boss would want to allow her reprieve from anything at all, and I'm sure Ena would know this).

(^ Ena's reaction to being told to find a mythical figure that she maybe didn't even know existed cause Froggy sure as hell didn't to do a stupid job for Froggy's stupid ass. Like)

Maybe i'm reaching here, but I even find it interesting how her red hand has no fingers (besides a thumb). I feel like that represents a lack of individuality she has when she's in Salesperson mode, or at least, a lack of individuality she's been allowed. A lack of having a defined being cause it's all about this stupid job.

There's lots of avenues to go from here, but let's start with another big point of the game: Everybody hates her. Except for like, three characters, every NPC in the game either insults her, talks down to her, blatantly doesn't respect her, or Literally tells her nobody should be punished for being born except her. Typical day for Ena.

I'm not going to get into why I think this is—for me there's not enough evidence to speculate with surety right now—but I think this does tie strongly into her commitment to her job. Ena working her ass off in every aspect of her life and earning nothing but disrespect for it is very reminiscent of real life work environments.

Think of how almost every NPC claims they are "the Boss" in such a way that many of them seem to want to be the Boss, like he's some kind of well-known or respected figure. The description for the game on Steam even says as much: "Play as ENA as she searches for the Boss that everyone wants to be."

(eg: "I am the B-O-S-S!"):

People wish they were the Boss, they want to be some kind of rich capitalist with power and fame, but when looking at someone who actually works for him, and probably is the reason the Boss has profit and success in the first place, they insult her and demean her no matter how much she gives herself to them and the Boss. I'm sure you can see the real life parallels here.

It's even possible one of the reasons Ena works so hard in the first place is as an attempt to earn respect from these people, or to make up for whatever everyone thinks she did that made everyone hate her so much. Especially considering...

Our society is one that tells its people that Work is unequivocally Good. Committing yourself to work is what everyone, no matter who they are or what they face, is what you have to do to be a valuable member of society, and to have any respect from other people in the slightest. It tells its people that you only have value as a living human being at all if you give your life to work.

Even though this blatantly isn't true. If people think you're the Wrong type of worker, or if people think your work isn't valuable, helpful, or that it doesn't require skill, you can work as hard as you want but you'll still be treated like shit. But, hey, work is still your duty as a member of society, right? Stop bitching and whining and pull yourself up by your bootstraps, right?

Needless to say, it's easy to see how this whole idea is being represented in DBBQ. She even knows how much she's sold herself to this, she just... Seems to have extremely casually accepted it all LOL, which, I mean... What else does she have the power to do?

This very casual and nonchalant acknowledgement of her lack of autonomy connects to another big point: Ena doesn't value herself, nor does she even know how to exist without being in a constant state of working.

Let's talk about the Purge: There's a LOT to get to here in terms of Ena herself LOL, but the intrigue starts before she even enters the party. Literally Froggy just saying she's about to enter an "Event" stops her in her tracks and worries her. Not to mention the next line...

This feels like an indication that despite how much she commits herself to it, Ena does "crave freedom" from her shitty job, although she can scarcely admit this anywhere else so far. Then, if you talk to this slime guy, you get some strange text.

As far as I know, the text for interacting with things doesn't look like this anywhere else in the game. And given that it looks exactly the same as how Ena's lines do in the Purge, it's seemingly the only peek we get into her internal monologue, and it is. Quite worrying! She literally can climb up a hellish freezing floating mountain and yet this is by far the most freaked out she gets in the entire game.

And then to actually get into the Purge, an Evil eye Ball tells her that she needs to give a literal arm or a leg to get in. And she just does it. Like no hesitation no further questions she just gives it away to the evil eye ball. Presumably for Good? Because the only reason she regains the arm later is because of Genie magic? Like Ena. Girl. Are we gonna talk about this at all.

But so many real life work environments expect you to give every part of yourself in order to be allowed to exist and live in society, including your physical being and critical parts of your personhood at all.

(Let me also say I find it intentional that she gave away her white arm. Whereas her red hand literally doesn't have fingers, the sharp claws she has on her white hand represent the individuality and unique identity she Does have. However, it's also the part of herself that's in conflict with her ability to be a Good Worker, that always does exactly what she's supposed to do, and never complains, and never gets in the way of her duties.)

She was already very distressed here, but it's a clear indication of how little she values herself. It was a motion to lose a part of herself just to reach the Genie, both for her stupid job, and possibly for the possibility of "freedom" from it all. And your average job these days—no matter how important you are to your cause—will drill it into you that your ability to be a good worker is infinitely more important than your existence as a person. It's easy to see how Ena may have internalized that.

And then she goes to the club one time and this happens

I won't get too deep into her dialogue with the NPCs here because I think their intention is pretty clear; Being in a place so antithetical to a work environment, and a place where she's supposed to let loose and have fun, is so distressing and impossible to even fathom for her that This Happens.

(see: "H-How can I leave this stupid event? M-my lame schedule is full,")

Like, everything at the Purge is insane, but this is a particularly heartbreaking line for me. One because of her job's shitty environment that's broken her down so much—do you think she EVER gets a break, because I sure don't—but also because of how it's conditioned her to not even believe she can "afford another minute of joy." Ena :[

Note how she's covered in these branches that started growing during Froggy's phone call, which look very similar to how she looks in this gag with the Shaman—it's literally her nervous system. In her scene with Mitu she even says she's feeling "sick," She's literally freaked out of her flipping Gourd with her goddamn Nerves On The Outside

Hell, even though Meanie's speaking (which, I mean, no shit, in another line she literally describes her job as "deplorable" 😭), these sprites in the files are actually labelled "Anxiety", suggesting that she's SO freaked out by being somewhere supposed to be so opposite to her work she's become another variant of herself, a la Drunk Ena from Season 1.

I won't get much more into this, because @cube-cumb3r has a PHENOMENAL post I'll link in the notes that goes deeper into this stuff from the Purge and the "Anxiety" thing, And also gets more into theory territory than I do here! Please please go read that post, it is so damn good.

In any case, I think the scenes with the Purge NPCs are the biggest examples in the whole game of how much she hates her fuckass job, yet she can't be allowed to be anything besides a wage slave to it. And just as she's internalized everybody in her world's dislike of her, she hates herself for it.

So:

We've established that Ena's shitty job parallels the real life work conditions that plague our world, and that these conditions have caused her to devalue herself and believe she can't have any reprieve from them... but, what even is her job?

Apparently she's a salesperson, but what is she even selling? She tries to offer a "divestment opportunity", and tells the Witches she can show them how to "grow [their] own [boss]" which definitely falls in line with the Sales thing, but besides that it's still not clear, even when she talks to Froggy.

I suppose the "grow their own boss" line does sound a lot like the phrasing used in MLM schemes, with how they lure people in by telling them they can "be their own boss." The Receptionist also calls Ena a scammer and a conman, so maybe she is a sort of scammer, but, I also don't exactly think the Receptionist think she has the most reliable opinions of Ena LOL

She also calls her a "pink-collar slug", pink collar meaning a job traditionally associated with women, which. ??? I don't fully know where to go with that.. like ...Nothing she does harkens to... Any kind of job expected to be done by women, imo?? Um. Yeah idk i just thought that may be significant??/ 😭😭😭😭 Listen man I can't know it all

Anyway. Maybe I'll be proven embarrassingly wrong when we receive more information in future chapters, but I think the lack of clarity on what she's supposed to be is representative of the games themes. The constant disrespect Ena receives makes her seem likely to be a low-tier worker, someone at the bottom of the ladder that people have no problems walking all over.

Because these types of jobs will treat you the same no matter who you are or what you're supposed to be doing. She's doing what the world tells her she needs to do in order to be a respected member of society, and yet she's also someone people feel comfortable treating poorly because she's at the bottom—because has no power of her own. It doesn't matter what she's supposed to be doing, it matters that she's the Wrong type of worker.

And how is she supposed to ever say anything for herself? It seems virtually baked into her Salesperson side to completely ignore past all the rude things these assholes say to her. After all, not only would that probably just make most people ruder to her (and impede her ability to complete jobs for them) isn't the customer always right?

...OK I will say her whole "Understood! Aim for the target!" line DOES seem like her overall job here is to fucking kill the Boss, but this is long enough already and the likely theme of Ena having a violent streak and whatnot is another beast entirely that I am NOT getting into here 😭😭

Besides, maybe she has no clearly defined job because we've already seen exactly what it is. To sell her life, time, and emotions to whatever all these clowns ask of her, and to receive no reward besides another goddamn job to do.

I think future chapters may delve more into Ena's true feelings on her situation, and possibly even how she'll get freedom from it. Allow me to mention the scenes with Theodora, wherein if you try to "aspire to receive a blissful life" Theodora just tells Ena "You can't aspire for more than what you are capable of." (LIKE OKAYYYY.... RUDE MUCH????)

Until, finally:

How is her mind—containing a desire for freedom—supposed to be in harmony with the letters it spits out, when she's been so conditioned that the only thing she's allowed to be is a worker?

Now, even I still have a lot of questions after this. Like: What has happened in Ena's past that made her this way? How and why did she take this job in the first place? What is up with the "Guys wait, I'm not doing what you say I'm doing" scene I literally didn't even mention that once here. Why should nobody be punished for being born except poor damn Ena, and does it relate to any of the themes I just talked about?

I... don't know. Like I actually truly have no idea. But I have confidence, even if it's in a delightfully vague and abstract Ena-typical way, that we'll find out eventually.

#ena dbbq #ena dream bbq spoilers #ena joel g #ena dream bbq #game theories #discussion #i love this game so much

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wooyoungiewritings · 2 days ago

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"A familiar Kind of New" - Mingi x Reader (PART 2)

Summary: You're still in the process of getting to know Mingi again after 10 years apart. He's grown into a successful, handsome man, but there's still parts of him that hasn't changed. And when you accidentally push him too far, just before the reunion, you're scared you've ruined it. At the reunion, things continues to escalate, because there's a certain person who made Mingi's life a living hell during High School, and he still hasn't changed. But maybe, that is what pushes you and Mingi in the direction you both longed for and maybe... you see a whole new side of Mingi you didn't expect him to have.

Word count: 11.6K

Genre: Fluff, nerdy boy x popular girl, slow burn, old friends to lovers, "the one that got away"-type love, smut (WOOOH you’re not ready for that, Mingi is wild...)

warnings: Nerdy Mingi with fem reader (fem pronouns). Mingi gets bullied and it gets really personal (bullying boooh), DOM MINGI, fingering, oral (fem receiving), dirty talk (Mingi goes all in.. eheheheh) unprotected sex, lmk if I missed anything!

This is all for fun and is not meant to represent Mingi in any way.

After wooyoung drove you home, your head was filled with a certain tall guy you saw earlier. The look on Mingi’s face was haunting you, making you feel bad in a way you didn’t know you couldn’t explain. It’s not like you and Mingi are dating or have even talked about being more than friends, but the thought of giving him the impression that you dated Wooyoung was making you twist and turn in your bed.

You felt like you needed to come clean. Even if Mingi didn’t want an explanation. But before you could even begin to write a text, your phone buzzed.

Mingi: Hope your day went well. Sorry if I interrupted anything earlier.

You frown.

You: You didn’t interrupt anything. Just a friend.

A minute passes. Then-

Mingi: He seemed very nice. I didn’t want to get in the way.

You stare at the message, and your chest twists in a way that surprises you. The way he writes is giving you flashbacks to high school. The way he apologises for just being there. You recall talking to a classmate about some homework one day, and Mingi joining the conversation for a few seconds to ask if it was okay that you rescheduled your study-session that day. He was gone within seconds, apologizing later for being in the way. Your heart broke just thinking about that.

You: Mingi. You’re not in the way. Not even close.

There’s no reply for a while. But the read receipt lingers.

You wonder if he’s staring at your message the way you’re staring at his.

***

You were curled up on the couch, your dinner half-eaten and some random show playing in the background, when your phone buzzed.

Wooyoung drinks tonight. come out, hermit.

You sighed, thumb hovering over the screen.

You who’s going?

Wooyoung me, maybe san, some others if I can convince them. you’ll be the hottest one there. unless you invite that tall drink of water you’ve been seeing.

You blinked.

You what?

Wooyoung don’t “what” me. mingi. the guy with the soul-piercing eyes and the “i own several companies” energy.

Your face warmed instantly.

You we’ve barely talked since he saw us in front of the restaurant. just a few texts.

Wooyoung cool cool so invite him. it’ll be fun. you get drinks. i get to see if he glares at me again. win-win.

You rolled your eyes, fingers hesitating above the keyboard.

You fine. i’ll ask. but if it’s weird, i’m blaming you.

Wooyoung that’s fair. but it won’t be. he’s into you. i have an eye for these things.

You took a breath, switched to your messages with Mingi, and typed.

You Hey… Wooyoung, my colleague, is dragging everyone out for drinks tonight. You should come too. If you’re free.

You hit send before you could overthink it, then stare at the screen, heart thumping like you��d just confessed something bigger. You don’t expect him to reply right away. Lately, your conversations with Mingi had slowed to brief texts here and there, little pings of warmth you clung to more than you’d admit. But tonight… maybe.

Your phone buzzed.

Mingi Where?

Your heart skipped.

You That was fast.

Mingi I was already holding my phone. Didn’t want to seem too eager. How’d I do?

You smile at the screen, tucking your hair behind your ear.

You You failed. You seem very eager.

Mingi Good. I was trying to.

There was still a trace of that tension lingering from the last time you saw him, from the way he looked at you outside the restaurant before walking away.

You We’re going to that bar near the station. 8:30. You coming?

There is a pause long enough to make your stomach flutter.

Mingi I’ll be there.

You stare at the screen for a second, blinking. Then you exhale, a smile spreading before you could stop it.

Wooyoung you’re welcome don’t say i never do anything for you

You didn’t even ask how he knew. You just grab your bag, suddenly too giddy to finish your cold noodles.

The bar is already buzzing when you walk in. Warm lights hang low over crowded tables, laughter rising and falling above the hum of music and clinking glasses. It’s cozy, familiar, just loud enough to feel alive, not so loud you can’t hear yourself think. You spot Wooyoung instantly. He’s posted up in a booth near the back, a half-empty margarita in one hand and a devilish grin on his face.

“Hey, trouble,” he calls out, waving you over. “Took you long enough.”

You slide into the seat beside him. “You only say that because I always pay for the first round.”

“Guilty,” he says, lifting his glass in a toast. “But also because your new boyfriend’s about to walk through that door and I want front row seats to the fireworks.”

“He’s not my-” You stop, exhaling sharply. “Shut up.”

He smirks, sipping his drink with obnoxious satisfaction. A few minutes pass. The booth fills with a couple more friends, the chatter turning louder, easier. You try to focus, but your eyes keep drifting to the entrance. It’s not nerves, not really. Just... curiosity. Wondering what he’ll wear, how he’ll look in this setting, if he’ll seem out of place or like he’s always belonged here.

Then the door opens.

And there he is.

Mingi steps inside, hands in his pockets, black sweater, sleeves pushed to his elbows, jeans perfectly fitted. His eyes move across the room, searching, and then land on you. Your lips curve into a smile, and his does too. He makes his way over, shoulders slightly tense until he reaches the booth. The others greet him casually, shifting to make space, but your focus stays locked on him.

“Hey,” he says, his voice warm, a little deeper in the ambient noise.

“Hey,” you reply, scooting to the side. He slides in next to you, close enough that your knees brush for a moment before you both adjust. You can feel the warmth of him, even with a bit of space between your arms.

Wooyoung stands abruptly. “Alright, I’m getting shots. You want tequila or chaos?” He points to Mingi.

“I don’t know what chaos tastes like,” Mingi says, glancing up.

Wooyoung grins. “Perfect. You’re getting both.” He heads to the bar, leaving you and Mingi with the rest of the group who’s deep in conversations.

You glance at him. “Glad you made it.”

He nods once, lips twitching like he’s trying not to smile too much. “Yeah. Me too.”

Wooyoung slides back to the table with a tray of shots balanced in one hand, grinning like he’s just won something. “Alright, team,” he says, setting the tray down with theatrical flair. “Hydration, but make it irresponsible.”

You laugh, leaning forward as the little glasses clink against each other. “What even is this?”

“No questions,” Wooyoung replies, already handing one to you and one to Mingi. “Just trust the process.”

Mingi eyes his glass like it might be a trap. “It’s green.”

“It’s also delicious,” Wooyoung chirps, raising his own. “To questionable decisions and hot friends.”

You glance at Mingi just in time to catch the way he shifts in his seat, eyes flicking from Wooyoung to you. You raise your shot in response, lips tugging up in a smile. “To hot friends,” you echo.

You clink glasses. The shot burns, then warms, and soon Wooyoung’s dropping into the seat next to you with a sigh like he’s never been more comfortable. He stretches an arm over the back of the booth. “So,” he says, wiggling his eyebrows at Mingi, “you’re surprisingly good at showing up, you know that?”

Mingi blinks. “Thanks?”

“Thought you’d be too busy saving the world with spreadsheets.” Wooyoung says casually, sipping his water like he didn’t just toss a grenade.

You nudge him with your shoulder. “Be nice.”

“I am,” he insists. Then to Mingi: “She loves when you surprise-visit her at work..”

“Wooyoung,” you hiss, but your cheeks are already heating up. Mingi’s ears flush a shade of red you recognize instantly.

“I’m kidding,” Wooyoung says, clearly not. “Kind of. But hey, glad you’re here.”

When you glance at Mingi, he’s smiling, not embarrassed, not shutting down, but smiling. That soft, slightly crooked kind that makes your stomach dip a little.

It’s after the second round that everything starts to feel lighter. The bar’s crowded now, the noise swirling around your booth like smoke. Mingi’s sitting a little closer now. Not obviously, he didn’t shift over or anything, but somehow, his shoulder brushes against yours more often. His knee rests against your thigh, like the space between you didn’t really matter anymore.

You glance at him mid-laugh, and catch him already looking at you. He doesn’t turn away.

“What?” you ask, raising an eyebrow.

Mingi shrugs, a small, almost shy smile playing at his lips. “Nothing. You just... seem different.”

You look at him, confused. “Different how?”

He taps his fingers against his glass, eyes flickering away for a moment before meeting yours again. “You just seem more... you. Happy.”

You tilt your head, intrigued. “Is that a bad thing?”

“No,” he says quickly, his voice firm, then pauses for a moment before adding, “I like it. You-.. I like it.”

For a moment, you’re quiet, warmth spreading through you at his words. Alcohol, maybe, but it still catches you off guard. You grin, teasing. “I think you just said something cheesy.”

Mingi looks away, clearly flustered, his cheeks tinged with pink. “I didn’t mean-”

“You totally meant it,” you tease, nudging his arm lightly. “And... I’m glad you said it.”

He shifts a little, trying to act nonchalant, but there's a hint of pride in his smile. “Yeah, well. I stand by it.”

And maybe he was right. You’re happy. Really, really happy, and being here, right now, made you feel like everything was okay. After more shots, the table is buzzing with energy.

"Alright, alright," Wooyoung says, lifting his glass. "Let's play something. A game, yeah? Something to get this party started for real."

He pulls out a small deck of cards, tossing them onto the table with exaggerated flair. The group eagerly gathers around, setting up for a round of Kings, and you notice Mingi is already looking at the game rules, trying to get the hang of it. You can tell he’s hesitant at first, unsure if he’ll fit in, but then he looks up at you, offering a small, almost shy smile.

"Do I... do I just draw a card?" he asks, still a little unsure.

You nod, laughing softly. "Yeah, just draw one. It's easy. Don’t worry."

Mingi nods, and when it’s his turn, he draws a card. "Alright, looks like I’m drinking," he says, his voice lighter than it was before, a grin tugging at his lips.

"Good job, rookie," Wooyoung teases, clapping him on the back.

Wooyoung catches your eye from across the table, his grin sly as he looks between you and Mingi. You raise an eyebrow, but Wooyoung simply winks and turns back to his drink. You’re not sure what he’s planning, but it doesn’t feel like he’s putting any pressure on Mingi. Instead, he’s just there, making everyone feel at ease, throwing in jokes, and making sure no one’s left out. It’s clear that Wooyoung’s enjoying seeing Mingi loosen up, just as much as you are.

At one point, you catch Wooyoung and Mingi deep in conversation about something completely unrelated to anything in the game. It’s the kind of easy back-and-forth that feels natural, and for a moment, you simply watch them. Wooyoung’s teasing Mingi about something trivial, probably some stupid thing he overheard at the restaurant, but Mingi’s laughing along, shaking his head in disbelief. This is a new side to him, one that’s more confident, more willing to let go and have fun. And seeing him enjoy himself like this, in a group of people, makes you feel... happy. You didn’t know how badly you wanted this until now.

The night winds down, and the bar starts to empty out, the buzz of chatter and laughter fading as people begin to shuffle out into the cool night air. You stand, stretching slightly, and glance over at Mingi, who’s still looking much more relaxed than when you first arrived.

Wooyoung, with his usual mischievous grin, slaps Mingi on the back as the two of them laugh over some inside joke you’re not quite sure you want to know.

"Hey, don’t forget to bring him next time!" Wooyoung calls out to you, his voice full of mischief. "He’s one of us now!"

You laugh, rolling your eyes, and wave back. Mingi, standing beside you, laughs too, a little awkwardly, like he’s still adjusting to being included in all this. The sidewalk feels empty after the warmth of the bar, but there's a kind of comfort in the silence between the two of you. The city hums around you, distant traffic, the occasional voice, everything seems soft, almost muted, like it’s just you and Mingi now.

“Tonight was fun,” you say, breaking the silence. “You fit in really well.”

Mingi shrugs, a small, genuine smile on his lips. “I didn’t think I’d have this much fun, honestly. I’m glad I came.”

“So, uh… Are you heading home now?”

“Yeah,” Mingi says, running a hand through his hair, his gaze flicking over to you briefly before looking away. “I can walk you to a cab, though. Just make sure you get home safe.”

You nod, the air around you both feeling warmer despite the cool breeze. “Thanks.”

You start walking down the street together, the tension between you palpable, but not something either of you acknowledges. It’s like the space between you is charged, but neither of you is quite ready to cross it yet. Eventually, you find a cab waiting by the corner, and you both stop in front of it. You stand there for a moment, the sound of the city fading into the background as the moment between you stretches out.

“Well,” you say, clearing your throat a little, not quite sure how to wrap things up, “I guess this is where we say goodbye.”

Mingi hesitates, his eyes locking with yours. For a second, everything feels still. His gaze is so warm, so steady, that you can’t help but feel your heart race a little. Without saying a word, he reaches up, gently brushing a strand of hair from your face, his fingers lingering for just a second longer than necessary. His thumb lightly caresses your cheek, the touch soft and tender, and it sends a shiver down your spine.

For that brief moment, you feel the undeniable urge to close the gap between you, to lean in and press your lips against his, but you don’t. Neither of you do.

Instead, Mingi gives you a warm smile, his eyes full of something unreadable, before he steps back slightly.

“Let me know when you’re home safe, alright?” His voice is low, but there’s something in it that sends a warmth spreading through you. He steps forwards, opening the door to a cab.

You smile at him, stepping inside the cab. “Thank you, Mingi.” He closes the door behind you, waiting for it to drive off. You watch as the cab pulls out onto the road, and then, as it begins to turn the corner, you look back and catch Mingi’s gaze. There’s a moment between you, his eyes holding yours as he gives a small wave, a soft smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

You lean back in the seat, heart still racing a little faster than it should.

***

You hadn't meant for this to become a routine, but it had.

Another week, another quiet night at Mingi’s place. Dinner, laughter, a little music in the background. His apartment, while temporary, was starting to feel strangely warm to you. Maybe it was the way it always smelled faintly like coffee and laundry. Maybe it was the way he hummed softly while plating food. Or maybe it was just him.

You’d offered to cook this time, he countered with takeout from that Korean place you both love. In the end, you met in the middle: he prepped, you helped, and now you were both full and mildly tipsy on the wine you opened “just because.”

He is in the kitchen, rinsing plates and stacking leftovers while you sit curled up on the couch, your eyes drifting lazily over the living room. The soft sound of his movements in the kitchen had become familiar. Comforting.

Then you spot it.

That same worn yearbook, this time not quite hidden. You leaned forward slowly, fingers brushing the edge of it. You pull it out and glance toward the kitchen to see if he would stop you. He seemed busy putting away the leftovers. You knew you wanted to find this yearbook today, so you find a pen from your bag and a blank page. Quickly, you let the words from your head form onto the blank page. You look at it with a smile and close the book just as Mingi walks towards the couch.

Clutching the book, you look at him as his eyes notice what you’re holding. “Have you thought more about the reunion?”

He didn’t respond right away. His jaw tightens. “Not really.”

“I still think you should come,” you say gently, sitting beside him. “Things are different now. You’re different.”

He glances over his shoulder to look at the yearbook still in your arms, expression unreadable. Like it physically hurts him to look at, he looks away again and keeps his eyes on the floor in front of him.

“I mean it,” you try again, trying to keep your tone light, coaxing. “It’s been, what, ten years? You’ve done so much, Mingi, time to show them the man you are.”

“I know,” he said. But there was something off in his voice. Tight. Strained.

“You could come with me,” you offered gently.

That got his attention. He turned, eyebrows lifting slightly, but his face was unreadable. “Why?”

“Because I want you there,” you say simply. “And because you should let them know who you've become. They should see who you are now.”

He was quiet again. Too quiet.

“Mingi-”

“I don’t care what they see,” he cut in, not harshly, but sharper than usual. “That’s the thing. I don’t want to walk into a room full of people who used to make my life hell just so I can pretend it didn’t affect me.”

You blink, surprised by the edge in his voice. Not angry. Just... cracked.

He exhaled slowly. “Do you know what I remember most about high school?”

You shook your head.

“Lunch,” he said. “Every day. Sitting alone. Or eating behind the library so no one would throw shit at me. Walking into class and hoping no one said anything that day. Hoping I could just... blend in.”

You stayed quiet, heart sinking.

“Jae once put old food in my backpack during biology,” he continued, his tone flat. “And everyone laughed. Even the teacher looked the other way. Like I was just supposed to take it.”

Your breath caught.

“And I did,” he said, softer now. “I took it. Because fighting back made it worse.”

You didn’t know what to say. He wasn’t looking at you anymore.

“I don’t want to go back there,” he said finally. “Even if it’s different now. Even if I’ve changed. That place- it still lives in me. I still feel like that kid sometimes. The one no one saw. The one they made fun of. The one who was invisible until I got important enough to hurt.”

Silence fell between you like a weight. You opened your mouth, tried to find the right words, but all that came out was, “I didn’t know it stayed with you like that.”

“I don’t talk about it,” he said simply. “Not really.”

Your fingers curled around the yearbook in your lap.

“I didn’t mean to push,” you said quietly.

“I know,” he replied, meeting your eyes finally. His expression had softened. He wasn’t upset with you. He just looked tired. Like digging that deep into himself had cost him something. The moment sat heavy between you. Neither of you moved.

Eventually, you stood. “I should go.” You placed the yearbook on the coffee table in front of you.

He stood too. “You don’t have to-”

“I know,” you cut in, managing a faint smile. “But I think… I think we should call it a night.”

He walked you to the door. He didn’t reach for your hand, didn’t try to stop you. But his eyes lingered on yours for a second too long.

“Goodnight, Mingi.”

“Night,” he said softly.

You stepped into the hallway, the door closing behind you with a quiet click.

And for the first time in a while, the silence didn’t feel comforting. It felt like something had cracked open, and neither of you knew how to close it again.

Mingi stands in the silence. It wraps around him like a too-warm blanket, suffocating and itchy with regret. He just stands there staring at the empty space you were in. You were sitting on that couch five minutes ago. Smiling. Laughing. Flipping through pages like they were full of magic. He walks over slowly and picks up the yearbook you left on the table.

Dust still clings to the edges. His name, barely visible in gold lettering at the bottom. He flips it open.

Blank. Blank. Blank. Every page a reminder of what it felt like to be invisible.

He hadn’t meant to snap at you. God, he really hadn’t. You were just being you. Bright and curious. Too warm. Too good. And he-.. He just panicked. Because you don’t get it. You can’t. You had friends. You had inside jokes. You were the kind of girl people noticed.

The apartment feels too big now. Too cold. You were the first person to make it feel like a home since he moved back. He sinks onto the couch and stares into the air. He runs a hand through his hair, groaning quietly.

“You idiot,” he mutters to himself. His phone is on the armrest, screen lit up with no new messages. You probably hate him now. Or at least decided he’s not worth pushing anymore. And maybe you shouldn’t have to push at all. But gosh, he wishes you would.

Because when you were here, flipping through that yearbook like it wasn’t a graveyard of his teenage self-esteem, he almost believed it didn’t matter. He almost believed it could be rewritten. That he could be rewritten.

He stares at the yearbook again.

Then sets it down.

Then opens it.

He runs through the blank pages until something catches his eyes. Something with black ink on a page that used to be blank. He tries desperately to find that page again, clearly remembering how nothing used to be written there and wants to prove to his mind that it wasn’t just his brain messing with him.

Then he finds it. A text with black marker in between the pages of nothing.

"Hey Mingi. Sorry for taking so long to write something in here. I hope you know how much you meant to me! Wouldn’t have made it through senior year without you - literally. And just so you know… you mattered. You always did.- Y/N”

His heart sinks.

And then he smiles a little. It’s sad. But it’s real.

Maybe he can’t change the past. But maybe the future doesn’t have to be written in pencil anymore.

***

You stare at your phone screen for way too long before hitting send.

You: Hey… I know things ended a little weird the other day. But I wanted to invite you to my art school’s gallery night tomorrow. Everyone in the program is showing their stuff, and, well… I’m finally putting some of my paintings out there. Even the one I told you I’d never finish. So. Yeah. You’re invited.

You add a smiley face. Then delete it. Then put it back. Then delete it again.

And finally, you send it.

No response. Not after five minutes. Not after an hour. Not the next day either.

It’s fine. You didn’t really expect him to come anyway. You tell yourself that over and over again as you carefully set up your section of the gallery. Your painting is centered. Framed. Lit with soft lighting that brings out every aching brushstroke. It’s the one you swore you’d never finish, the one that sat under your bed for two years because every time you looked at it, you felt exposed.

Too raw. Too seen.

You tried to tell yourself he was just busy. That he wasn’t ignoring you. But after that night at his place, the yearbook, the reunion, everything you’d unintentionally dug up, you weren’t sure where things stood anymore. You didn’t blame him. You knew you’d pushed, and maybe it had been too much.

You glanced around the studio. A few classmates had friends, partners, or parents hovering by their sides, offering compliments or taking photos. You smiled politely at the strangers who passed by your work, but none of them really saw it. Wooyoung had texted earlier to say he was slammed at the bar and couldn’t make it. He was sorry, so, so sorry, but his manager needed him. You understood. You always did.

You check your phone again. No new messages. No little grey bubble. Not even a delivered notification. You don’t know what answer you were hoping for. But silence hurts more than you thought it would. You look back at your paintings. It’s nothing extraordinary. But it’s yours. And it tells a story only you know how to tell.

Your fingers tighten around the plastic cup of shitty complimentary wine. You’ve never felt more invisible.

“...I thought you said you’d never finish it.”

You freeze.

You turn slowly.

And there he is.

Mingi.

He’s standing a few feet away, tall and steady and heartbreakingly familiar. Wearing a long wool coat over a dark button-up, his hair slightly messy like he’d rushed here. But his eyes, God, his eyes, they’re already on the paintings. And they’re soft. You open your mouth. Nothing comes out. Your throat clenches.

“I-” you try again, but it catches. “You… you came.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t text,” he says gently. “I wasn’t sure if you’d want me here.”

“I did,” you whisper. “I really did.” Something in your chest eased. Just a little. “I thought you were mad at me,” you admitted, voice small.

“I wasn’t,” he said gently. “It’s just- high school was hard. Seeing that yearbook again, talking about it, it pulled things up I didn’t expect. I was… embarrassed. That I let it get to me. That I snapped at you. You didn’t deserve that.”

You shook your head. “You didn’t snap. You told me how you felt. That’s not the same.”

Mingi looked down at his shoes, then back up at you. “Still. I wanted to be there for you. And I wasn’t. So… I’m here now.” His hands were still tucked in his coat pockets. He doesn’t look away from the painting. “It’s beautiful,” he says after a moment. “You finished it.”

“Barely,” you say, breath shaky. “I almost chickened out again. I was standing in front of it earlier thinking maybe I should just fake being sick and leave.”

“That would’ve been a shame,” he murmurs, finally looking at you. “It deserves to be seen.”

Your heart lurches at the way he says it. Like he means more than just the painting. You blink back sudden tears and laugh softly. “No one else seems to think so.”

“I do,” he says, voice firmer. “I see it.” Your breath catches at his words. And for a second, you can’t say anything. You just look at him, heart thudding. He clears his throat, glancing away like he didn’t mean to say that out loud. “Besides, I figured you’d throw paint at me if I bailed again.”

You laugh- relieved, emotional, overwhelmed all at once.

There’s a pause. A comfortable one. The kind you haven’t shared with anyone in a long time.

“You want to… walk around a bit?” you ask, feeling suddenly shy.

“I came to see your art,” he says. “So unless you’ve got another secret masterpiece hidden somewhere-” he gives you a small smile- “I’m good right here.”

You shake your head, fighting tears again.

You don’t say it. But this, him standing here, finally seeing something you made, something that means something, that’s worth more than anything tonight.

And even though your painting’s already dry, it feels like your heart is still wet on the canvas.

***

The gymnasium hasn’t changed much in ten years. Same faded banners from long-forgotten sports victories, same scuffed floorboards, same disco ball that had spun hopelessly over a hundred teenage heartbreaks. You step through the doors alone, scanning the crowd for any familiar faces, though most were now just older versions of the ones you vaguely remembered.

You adjust your skirt, more out of habit than insecurity, and make your way inside. Small groups have already formed, clusters of old friends, former cliques, high school couples who’d either made it or broken up five minutes after graduation. A few people wave when they see you, and you smile, nodding politely, though your thoughts are elsewhere.

It has been ten years, but you can’t stop thinking about the last time you were in this building. The prom. The night you waited for Mingi outside. The night he never showed. The night you ended up throwing a drink in Jae’s face when he brought up Mingi.

And speaking of Jae…

He made his entrance like he was still the quarterback of a team that hadn’t existed in a decade. Slacks too tight, grin too wide. You roll your eyes before he even reaches you.

“Hey,” he says, sauntering up. “Still looking good, I see.”

You give him a flat look. “Thanks.”

“Did you know my picture still hangs in the hallway by the gym?” he asks, smug. “Senior year MVP.”

“Good for you,” you respond, voice dry. You take a sip from your drink just to have an excuse not to talk.

He leans closer. “You know, if we’d dated back then, things would’ve been a lot different.” Before you could react, the crowd around the entrance stirred. Heads turned. Conversations quieted.

The whole gym seems to fall quiet when Mingi steps inside. It is like a slow ripple, someone glances up, their eyes widening, then they nudge the person next to them. A hush spread, and then came the whispers.

“Who is that?”

“Did he go here?”

“Oh my god, he’s hot.”

Mingi stands just inside, shoulders a little tense, scanning the crowd with that familiar cautiousness. But he looks like a dream, tall, composed, no glasses, black suit sharp against his frame, hair styled but not overdone. Every part of him radiates quiet confidence. Except you know better. You know how much it had taken for him to show up tonight. You set your drink down without a second thought and move through the crowd like a magnet is pulling you. When he spots you, his face lights up, every bit of awkwardness melting into the kind of smile you had gotten used to.

“You came,” you breathe against his shoulder, clutching him.

His arms wrap around you just as tightly. “Couldn’t miss out… again.”

You pull back and look up at him, eyes shining. “I’m so proud of you.”

He flushes, smiling sheepishly. But before either of you can say more, a group of people, especially women, swarms around him like moths to a flame. Compliments flying. Questions thrown at him. You watch as he tries to answer politely, his usual nerves clearly simmering beneath his smile.

You catch his eye and wink. “Go on,” you tease. “Your high school revenge arc is peaking. Enjoy it.”

He laughs, a little awkward, but nods.. And you are so damn proud of him.

Because even if he looks slightly overwhelmed, his fingers twitching at his side, that little nervous smile playing on his lips, he is here. He is being seen, really seen. And they didn’t know the boy he used to be, but you do. And that made you love this moment even more. Still, after a while, you drift towards the punch table. Watching. Waiting. You figured he’d be stuck over there all night.

Until you hear a voice behind you.

“Hey,” Mingi says quietly. “Sorry, I felt awkward over there.”

You turn and smile. “So you came to hide by me?”

He nods. “Yeah. I don’t know how to talk to that many people at once.”

“Don’t worry. You’ve got the important one covered,” you say playfully, nudging his arm. The two of you wander together through the gym, talking and pointing out old banners and faded class photos. He tells you the vending machine was still broken, and you laugh so hard you nearly cry. It feels like time has folded in on itself, like the two of you have slipped into some secret version of the past that only you share.

Until the air shift.

“Wait a second… no way.” The voice makes your stomach drop. You turn, and there he is.

Jae.

Mingi was still beside you.

Jae takes a slow, smug step forward. “Is that Song Mingi? Mingi the Mathlete?” He burst out laughing. “This guy?” Jae points, laughing louder. “Bro, you used to show up to class with anime keychains dangling off your backpack. You remember that? You had that one with the giant eyes and pink hair, what was her name?”

The words hit like cold water down your spine. It’s not just what he’s saying, it’s how. The way he still carries himself like he owns the room. Like high school never ended. Like he hasn’t aged a day, emotionally or otherwise.

“Jae,” you snap. “That’s enough.”

He waves you off. “No, come on. I’m just catching up with an old friend.” He looks Mingi up and down. “Remember when he cried in class because he got a B? Or when Coach made him run a lap and he tripped over his own shoelaces and broke his glasses? You remember that, Mingi?��

Mingi doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak. But his ears are red.

You clench your fists. “Jae-”

Jae shrugs. “What? It’s a reunion. We’re reminiscing.”

It’s like no time has passed. You’re standing in that same school again, ten years younger, heat in your face, fists clenched at your sides, listening to the same bullshit from the same smirking mouth. You had hoped that age would’ve mellowed Jae out. Maybe the world would’ve humbled him, knocked the ego out of his chest a little. But no. He’s still that smug, arrogant asshole in a letterman jacket, except now the jacket’s gone and the smug is somehow worse.

“You can’t undo who you were,” Jae says, voice low and venomous. “You don’t get to walk in here with your hair done and your expensive coat and act like that scrawny little loser didn’t exist. Because that’s who you’ll always be.”

His eyes slid to you.

“I still don’t get it. You threw a drink in my face over him? Really? That fucking nerd? Thought you had better taste.”

You opened your mouth, but Jae raised a hand, mocking.

“No, no-, go ahead. Tell me he’s changed. Tell me he’s this big successful guy now. Maybe he’s rich, maybe he’s hot, whatever. Still doesn’t matter.” His gaze cut to Mingi again, crueler than ever. “Because underneath all that? You’re still that awkward, stuttering freak who didn’t know how to talk to people unless it was about dragons or comic books. Still too scared to eat in the cafeteria. Still not good enough to be in the real world.”

He let the words sink in.

“You didn’t belong then. And you don’t belong now.”

Mingi’s breath was shaky.

You look up at him, he’s trying so hard to keep his face neutral, but you can see it. The muscle twitch in his jaw. The flicker of something behind his eyes. The way his fingers curl ever so slightly. You held Mingi’s hand tightly. You don’t even think he realizes it, how his grip tightens, how he’s holding his breath.

And Jae? He knows. He can sense it like a predator catching a scent.

“Let’s go,” you said quietly, holding it together even though your chest was burning.

You don’t even have time to process anything before you’re already moving, yanking on Mingi's arm and pulling him a few steps away from Jae, when Jae muttered just loud enough to hear:

“Fucking whore. Only just wanted to fuck you anyways. You’re worth nothing more than that.”

The words hit hard. You feel your heart slam into your ribs, and you feel Mingi’s whole demeanor shift. You feel a tug in your hand, and look back to see Mingi stopping completely, back turned to Jae. His hand jerks from yours, his body going rigid as his eyes burn with rage.

Without thinking, he turns, the words barely leaving his lips as he faces Jae again.

“Say that again.”

Jae sneers, taking a few steps toward Mingi, his smirk widening. “What? Did I hit a nerve?”

Mingi stepped closer, eyes steady. “I don’t care what you say about me. But you don’t talk to her like that.”

Jae sees the anger in Mingi’s eyes and takes another step closer, fully leaning into his role of tormentor. He’s enjoying this. He’s relishing every moment of pushing Mingi’s buttons. “Oh? Or what? You gonna lecture me? Gonna write a sad blog post about how bullying hurts your feelings?”

The moment he says those words, you see the storm inside Mingi break. Without a second thought, his fist flies out, crashing into Jae’s jaw with a sickening crack. The sound rings through the room, loud and sharp. Jae stumbles back, eyes wide, one hand flying up to his face in shock. The laughter and chatter of the reunion fall into stunned silence, everyone frozen in disbelief.

You’re frozen too, staring in wide-eyed shock at Mingi as he stands tall, his chest heaving from the force of the punch, but his expression is stone-cold. He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t show any satisfaction. Just the quiet fury of someone who’s been holding back for too long.

“That was ten years overdue.” Then he turns to you, eyes softening the moment he looks at you. And without a word, he reached for your hand. And just like ten years ago, you left prom early. But this time, you weren’t leaving alone.

And you don’t look back. Not at Jae, not at the stunned crowd. Just at Mingi, whose grip on your hand is warm and trembling, and whose chest is still rising and falling like he’s holding in a storm. You finally make it outside, the cold night air wrapping around you like a slap of reality. You stop just past the doors, heart still racing, and turn to face him fully.

“Oh my god- are you okay?” The words rush out in a breath, tangled in shock, concern, and the lingering echo of rage.

Mingi looks at you like he’s just now realizing where he is. His eyes are wide, lips parted slightly, and for a second he just blinks. Then he flinches, lifting his hand up in front of his face like it doesn’t belong to him anymore.

“Ow,” he mutters, his voice a stunned rasp. “That fucking hurt.”

Your heart lurches as you take in his expression. “Are you alright? Let me see.”

He shakes his hand, then flexes his fingers with a grimace. “They never talk about this in movies, do they? Like, no one ever says how much it hurts to throw a punch. I thought it’d feel… I don’t know. Smoother?”

You hover beside him, unsure whether to be furious at him for risking injury or proud for what he did. “Did you break anything?” you ask, already scanning his knuckles, which are red and already starting to swell.

Instead of answering, he tilts his head and looks at you with a bizarrely serious expression. “Did it look cool, though?”

You blink. “What?”

He doesn’t even flinch. “The punch. Did it look cool?”

Your mouth falls open. The ridiculousness of the question hits you all at once, and you cover your face with both hands, stifling a laugh that bubbles up before you can stop it.

“You can’t just punch someone and then ask me if it looked cool!” you exclaim through your laughter.

“You can’t laugh at something and then try to scold me for it,” he fires back, eyes going wide with mock offense, even as he cradles his clearly throbbing hand.

“I mean… Jae totally deserved it. I’ve wanted to slap him for years. But yes. It looked cool. Extremely cool. Hero-movie level.” you say, though you’re still smiling, still riding the tail end of that rollercoaster drop.

Mingi straightens a little, visibly pleased despite the pain. “Good. Worth it, then.” He nods once like he just completed a side quest. “Did you hear the line I said before we walked off?”

Your eyes light up, remembering. “Yes! ‘That was ten years overdue.’ You killed it.”

“Right?” He gives a proud little grin that quickly twists into a grimace. “Ugh-okay, ow. Excellent delivery, tragic consequences. I think I broke my hand.”

Your smile fades. “Wait, what?”

“I’m serious,” he groans, holding his hand up like it’s a rare and tragic artifact. “My fingers, my knuckles, they’re all shattered. I’m ninety percent sure I just punched straight through his skull and hit bone.”

You snort, and this time, you don’t stop the laughter. It pours out of you, shaking loose the tension from your spine. “Come on, let’s get you to the car before you end up fighting gravity next.”

You glance up at Mingi, at his swollen hand, his bruised pride, the quiet defiance still in his eyes, and you realize something in your gut:

He stood up for you. In front of everyone. Without hesitation. And even now, as he winces with every step and makes dramatic quips about broken fingers, he’s holding your hand like it's the only thing anchoring him to the moment.

You squeeze his hand gently, just once.

***

The car is silent on the way back to Mingi’s place, except for the quiet hum of the engine and the way his knuckles keep swelling. You keep stealing glances at his hand resting on the steering wheel, slightly curled, the skin around his knuckles already blooming red.

He pulls into the underground garage of his building, and you glance at him as he unbuckles his seatbelt. “Let me take a look at your hand upstairs. You’re not getting out of this with permanent knuckle damage.”

He grins. “Yes, ma’am.”

The elevator ride is quiet. So is the short walk through his apartment. When you step inside, you’re hit again with how massive it is. You tell him to sit down while you rummage through the kitchen for ice, and when you return with a small towel and an old first aid kit, he’s already rolled up his sleeve. You kneel in front of him, gently taking his hand in yours. He winces slightly but doesn’t pull away.

“It’s gonna swell more,” you say softly. “You really went for it, huh?”

He chuckles, the sound low and breathy. “I think I’ve been waiting to do that since I was sixteen.”

You look up at him. “You didn’t have to do that, violence is never the answer,” You took a gentle look at his knuckle as your smile grew. “But I’m really glad you did.” You try to stay focused, gently pressing the cold to his skin, but you can feel the weight of his eyes on you, he’s watching you, too closely, too quietly.

Then, finally, his voice cuts through the silence. Low. Careful.

“Is it true?”

You glance up, eyebrows furrowed. “Is what true?”

He hesitates, and his gaze drops to his injured hand like he’s trying to use it as an anchor. Then his eyes find yours again.

“What Jae said. About prom. That you… stood up for me? Threw a drink in his face?”

Your eyes fall away from his, back to the angry red swelling under your fingertips. You’re quiet for a moment. Then, softly, almost sheepishly, you say, “He was being mean about you.” You don’t know what to say. After tonight, him punching Jae in the face and all, everything just seems so overwhelming.

The air shifts. The silence changes.

“I was gonna go to prom, you know,”

You freeze.

“I really was. I had the corsage. I’d picked it out days before. I was wearing this awful suit my dad found on sale, and I hated how I looked in it. But I kept telling myself it didn’t matter. You asked me to go. You wanted to go with me.”

You look up at him.

“I drove all the way to the school,” he says, voice quieter now. “And I saw you standing there outside. You looked so… God, you looked so beautiful. You kept looking around, but you were with your friends, and I thought- I can’t do this. I can’t be the reason she has a terrible night. I can’t ruin this for her. So I just… left.”

You feel the ache in your chest as he continues, more breathless now, like the words are finally spilling out after years of being dammed up.

“I wanted to get out of the car so bad. Just… run to you. Tell you you looked beautiful. Ask you to dance. I even practiced what I’d say. But then I thought about how the second I walked in, someone would trip me, or laugh, or call me names. And I’d ruin your night.” He breathes in hard. “So I drove off. I didn’t even look back... I got signed for a program in another city and left two days later.” he murmurs. “But I didn’t forget you,” he whispers. “Even when I left. Even when I started building this life, this apartment, this job, this version of myself. You were always in the back of my mind.”

You’re still silent. Heart pounding. Barely breathing.

“I remember the first time we studied together,” he says with a soft laugh, shaking his head. “You got a math problem right, and you turned to me and just, cheered. Like it was the greatest thing that had ever happened. And I sat there thinking, She’s cheering because of me. She’s smiling because of me. Do you know what that did to a guy like me?”

He looks at you now, eyes searching. But you don’t say anything. You just wait.

“You called it a ‘study date.’ You probably don’t even remember that, but I do. God, I do. I went home and stared at the ceiling all night. And when you called me cute that day in the library, I swear, I thought I was gonna pass out. I told my mom. That’s how ridiculous I was.”

That makes you laugh a little, and he smiles. But only for a second.

“You used to touch my arm when you laughed,” he continues, voice trembling. “You’d borrow my pens and never return them. You brought me snacks when I forgot to eat. And you defended me. Over and over, even when it made you unpopular with the people you called friends.”

He looks at you, really looks. “You were my favorite part of every day. And it terrified me.” He swallows hard. “And seeing you again… it messed me up. Because you’re still you. Still kind. Still funny. Still so beautiful it makes my chest hurt. And I’m still me. Just in better clothes.”

You laugh, just once. Disbelieving. Tears forming in your eyes.

“God, I was in love with you,” he says, finally, the words tumbling out like a breath he’s been holding for ten years. “Head over heels, stupidly in love with you.”

You stare at him, completely stunned. And he just looks back, like he’s waiting for gravity to either pull you toward him or drop him straight through the floor.

Silence. Long and heavy.

And then, slowly, you move your hand to his and take it gently in your own.

“Say it again,” you whisper.

He tilts his head, eyes soft. “Which part?”

“All of it.”

He grins, a little breathless, a little shy.

“I was in love with you. Every day. Then, and probably now. I just… never thought you’d see me the same way.”

You’re the one who moves first, leaning in, your hands finding his face, and kissing him like your lungs depend on it. Like the air you’ve both been breathing for the last ten years was never quite right.

It’s not slow. It’s not hesitant.

It’s an eruption.

You lift yourself on your knees to reach him better. You need him close and he needs you more than ever. He pulls you closer, one hand tangling into your hair, the other gripping your waist like you might disappear again if he lets go. And when he murmurs your name against your lips, voice cracked with years of yearning, it all comes clear.

He’s the one for you and you can’t let him go again.

Your hands cup his face, and he gasps softly into the kiss like it shocks him every time you touch him. The way he reacts to you, the way his breath stutters, his body trembling slightly.

“You have no idea how many times I imagined this. I used to lie awake thinking- what if I’d just taken your hand and told you everything back then?”

“You don’t have to imagine anymore,” you whisper, thumb brushing his cheekbone. “I’m right here.”

That’s when he kisses you again. Like a man who’s been starving.

This time it’s deeper. Hotter. Hungrier.

You’re still on the floor, knees pressing into the carpet, lips swollen from the kind of kisses that don’t feel real until they’ve already stolen your breath. Your hands rest on his thighs, steadying yourself. Mingi’s still on the couch, legs spread, chest rising and falling in deep, uneven breaths.

His knuckles are red, still angry-looking from the hit he threw earlier, but he hasn’t looked at it once. Not when you're this close. Not when your mouth’s just been on his.

"Fuck," he breathes, looking down at you like you’re the first thing that’s made sense in years. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

You blink up at him, dazed, lips parted. “Then show me.”

Something shifts in his gaze. A sharp inhale. And then he’s leaning forward, his uninjured hand curling around the back of your neck as he drags you into another kiss, deeper now, more demanding. His bruised hand rests on your hip, thumb digging into the waistband of your skirt like he’s fighting restraint.

“You think I haven’t thought about this?” he murmurs against your mouth. “Ten years of imagining what you’d sound like… begging me.”

Your breath stutters. “Mingi-”

He kisses you harder, pulling your lower lip between his teeth before letting it go with a soft bite. “I kept my distance because I thought I wasn’t enough,” he says, voice lower now, like a secret pressed to your skin. “But now? You’re right here. You want this.” His thumb brushes under your jaw, tilting your head so he can watch your reaction. “So let me take my fucking time with you.”

Your body answers before your voice can. You crawl up, straddling his lap, your fingers threading into his hair as you kiss him again, desperate, open-mouthed. His hands move with purpose now, gripping your waist like he owns it, dragging you down harder against the growing tension between you.

And when he pulls away just long enough to whisper, “Tell me this is mine tonight,”

Your answer isn’t words. It’s the sound you make when he grinds up into you, lips crashing into his like you’ve waited ten years for this exact moment.

Your back hits the couch before you can catch your breath. One second you're straddling him, and the next, Mingi throws you down on the soft cushions while his hands are on your waist. Big, warm, claiming.

His bruised knuckle curls against your side, firm despite the injury. You glance down, worry catching in your throat, but he doesn't give you a chance to say a word. "Don’t look at my hand," he murmurs, voice gravel-thick. "I don’t give a fuck about it right now. I only care about you."

His lips crush against yours before you can reply, hungry, hot, so deep you swear he’s trying to taste the years between you.

You moan into his mouth, hands gripping his shirt, tugging him down. He follows your pull easily, bracing one arm on the back of the couch while the other drags up your thigh, slow and deliberate. Fingers pressing into skin like he needs to map every inch of you.

“I’ve waited too long to be gentle.”

His mouth trails down your neck, lips parted and hot. Teeth scrape your skin and your hips lift, involuntary. Needy. He groans. “You gonna let me have you? Let me make up for all the years I couldn’t?”

You nod, breathless.

“Use your words, sweetheart.”

“Yes, Mingi,” you whisper, needy. “Please.”

Mingi’s eyes darken at the sound of your voice. His hand slides beneath your shirt fully now, palm flat, fingers curling just under the edge of your bra. His touch is demanding, possessive. His mouth returns to yours, tongue sliding against yours with a filthy, practiced ease that makes your head spin. He moves fast, his body towering over yours as he yanks your shirt over your head. His eyes drag down your body like he’s starving.

“Fuck,” he groans, palming your breast through your bra. You moan when his hand slips down, loosening your skirt with practiced ease. “Lift your hips, baby,” he mutters, helping you out of your skirt and panties, tossing them somewhere behind him.

And then you’re bare beneath him. Vulnerable. Open. But not once do you feel anything except wanted. Mingi kneels between your legs, bruised hand curling around your thigh as he spreads you for himself. His eyes go dark, dangerous.

“Look at this,” he growls, running a finger through your slick. “Dripping already. You missed me, didn’t you?”

“Yes,” you whimper, back arching as he strokes you lazily. “I-, Mingi, please-”

“Oh, baby,” he grins, voice sinful. “You’re gonna be begging so much more than that.” he murmurs, kissing the inside of your thigh, dragging his lips up your skin. “Wanna hear every little sound you make. Wanna make you fall apart on my tongue.”

And then he does.

His mouth is on you, hot, wet, devastating. His tongue flicks out, tasting you, and you gasp, hands flying to his hair, tugging him closer. The feeling of his mouth on you, finally, is nothing short of intoxicating. His tongue slides over your clit, slow and deliberate, like he’s memorizing the taste of you. You gasp, hips bucking, but his hands are already locking your thighs down.

“None of that,” he growls against you, the vibration shooting up your spine. “You stay right here. You take it.”

You moan, your fingers tangling into his hair, gripping tight. He groans at that, diving deeper. His mouth is greedy, precise, teasing. And when you whimper, he chuckles darkly.

“That’s it,” he mutters, pulling back just enough to speak. “Make those pretty sounds. You’ve got no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this, make a mess of you.”

His hands grip your thighs harder, pulling you closer as he pushes his tongue deeper, moving faster now, the sounds of your pleasure filling the room. He’s relentless, driven, and you’re helpless to do anything but surrender to the overwhelming pleasure he’s giving you.

“You like this, don’t you?” he asks, voice thick with lust as he pauses to look up at you. “You like how I’m making you come apart for me.”

You’re already close and he knows it. You can feel the grin in the way his tongue flicks faster, his lips sucking your clit just right. You’re panting now, desperate, the pressure building sharp and hot.

“Go on,” he coaxes, fingers digging into your hips. “Come for me, sweetheart. Be a good girl and let me feel you.”

And god, you do.

It crashes over you hard, your moan breaking open and raw as your body jerks beneath him. He groans into you, not slowing down, licking you through it like a man obsessed. When you finally collapse back into the couch, boneless and gasping, he pulls away with lips wet and a wicked smirk.

“Fuck,” he breathes, voice wrecked. “You taste even better than I dreamed.”

You blink up at him, still dazed, and he leans over you, his hand sliding up your stomach, between your breasts, resting at your throat with just the barest pressure.

“I’m not done.” And then he’s kissing you again, filthy, tongue sliding against yours so you can taste yourself on his mouth. He grinds his hips against you and you feel it, how hard he is, how badly he wants this. “Turn around,” he growls, lips brushing your ear. “Bend over the couch for me. I wanna fuck you from behind.”

Your breath catches.

You obey.

Within seconds, you’re on your knees, front against the back of the couch as you continue to be fully exposed. But it’s not occupying your mind for long, because behind you is a man who has dreamt of this. Who has been longing for you and your touch for years. So you feel the safest you’ve ever felt, knowing this is exactly what you want.

You hear the rustle of his clothes, the sound of a zipper, his soft grunt as he strokes himself behind you. He doesn’t touch you right away. No, Mingi takes his time, and soon after the cushions dip. One of Mingi’s hands anchors at your waist, firm and steady, while the other traces down your spine, a slow drag of fingers over your skin that leaves a trail of goosebumps in its wake. A warm kiss is placed on your shoulder.

“Are you sure you can take it?” His breath is hot against your skin, but there’s something different about the way he touches you now, gentle, but demanding, like he’s holding onto something bigger between the two of you.

And when he looks at you, his eyes are full of fire, full of want.

“I can take it all.” You look back at him and his eyes sparkle in a way you’ve never seen before. Like this is truly the most important moment in his life. His corner of his lips tug and he places a soft kiss on your temple.

"Look at you," he murmurs, voice thick with heat. "Bent over for me like you were made for it." You feel his hand gather your hair, collecting it all. He lets the head of his cock slide through your folds, smearing your wetness all over him, groaning at the slick heat. “God, you feel like heaven,” he says, almost reverently.

And then, he’s inside.

One long, slow thrust.

Thick. Deep. Stretching you wide and full and making you gasp his name like a prayer. He bottoms out with a low, trembling breath against your neck, one hand gripping your hips again, knuckles white with restraint as he still holds your hair in the other.

“So tight for me,” he groans, hips snapping into you. “Ten years, ten fucking years, I’ve dreamed about this.”

You whimper his name, and he gives a sharp, satisfied growl.

And then he moves.

The first few thrusts are slow, deliberate, letting you feel every inch, dragging out the friction. But it doesn’t take long before he starts to lose himself. His pace quickens, rougher, deeper, the sound of skin slapping skin echoing off the walls. One hand reaches around to toy with your clit again, fingers circling with purpose while he pounds into you from behind.

Your head drops forward with a moan, nails digging into the couch.

“That’s it,” he groans, voice low and filthy in your ear. “Take it. Take all of me. Look at you-, so fucking pretty.” he pants, thrusts getting harder. “My good girl, you’re doing so good.”

The praising hits completely different from when he used to praise you for getting a math problem solved by yourself. Knowing this is the same boy who got nervous when you called him cute, is making your world shift. The confidence he’s showing despite his past is making you even hungrier for him, and you don’t think you can ever let him go.

Your arms are barely holding you up now. Every thrust hits deeper, harder, pushing you into the couch until you're trembling from head to toe. Mingi’s name slips from your lips over and over, broken, breathless, pleading. You don’t even realize how close you are until Mingi slows down, pulling out slowly and you whimper at the sudden emptiness. He’s breathing hard behind you, hands gripping your hips.

"Not yet," he mutters, voice thick with restraint. "I wanna see your face."

He grabs your wrist and gently tugs, guiding you off the back of the couch. You’re still catching your breath, dazed and wrecked, as he lifts you effortlessly and lays you down on your back. He kneels between your legs, hands trailing up your thighs, spreading you open for him.

His eyes are dark, completely black with lust, but there’s still that softness there too, hidden beneath the hunger.

“You look so fucking pretty like this,” he murmurs, almost to himself. “Let me see you when you fall apart again.” He lines himself up, and when he pushes in this time, it’s slow, agonizing. He fills you inch by inch, and the way he watches you, like you’re the most important thing he’s ever touched, has you clenching around him already.

You reach for him, shoulders, biceps, anywhere you can hold on, and Mingi catches your wrists, pinning them above your head with one hand. “You’re not going anywhere,” he growls, leaning over you, his mouth hot at your neck. “Gonna fuck you until all you can do is beg.”

He sets a punishing rhythm this time, deep, precise, dragging moans from your throat with every snap of his hips. His free hand roams your body, gripping, exploring, teasing, while his lips trace fire across your throat and jaw.

“You like this, huh?” he pants. “You like when I take what’s mine?”

You nod desperately, arching into him, and he chuckles darkly, loving every second.

“Say it.”

“Y-Yes,” you gasp. “I’m yours, Mingi- please…”

The pressure builds again, higher, hotter, unbearable. He’s rubbing against that spot inside you perfectly, your wrists still pinned, his hips relentless. He’s everywhere, above you, inside you, owning every breath you take. Your whole body is trembling, pinned beneath him, skin slick with sweat and mouth parted in desperate moans. Mingi’s pace is wild now, primal, every thrust harder than the last, driving you closer to the edge.

“I can feel you,” he grits out through clenched teeth, voice wrecked with need. “You’re so fucking close, baby. You’re squeezing me so tight-”

You nod frantically, tears pricking your eyes from the intensity, your whole body arching toward him. “I-I can’t-Mingi, I’m gonna-”

“Let go,” he growls, releasing your wrists just to cup your jaw, forcing your eyes to his. “Look at me when you come. I wanna see you.”

And that’s it.

The moment his thumb strokes over your clit and he slams in just right, your body shatters. The climax hits like a wave, ripping through you, your back arching, fingers clutching at his arms, a strangled moan ripped from your throat. Your whole body convulses beneath him, and Mingi swears, low, guttural, as your walls clamp around him so hard it nearly undoes him right there.

“Fuck-, fuck, baby-”

He loses it with a grunt, hips jerking as he buries himself deep inside you, holding you tight as he comes. You can feel the warmth of it, the way his body shakes, the way he moans your name like a prayer against your throat, almost reverent. For a long moment, the only sound is your panting breaths and the low, messy press of skin on skin as he slowly rocks you both through the aftershocks.

Then stillness. His weight resting against you. His breath in your ear. His lips soft on your shoulder.

He doesn’t pull out right away. Just stays there, forehead pressed to yours, eyes closed like he’s savoring it, savoring you, like he can’t believe it’s real.

“I’ve been dreaming about this,” he murmurs, voice hoarse. “For ten fucking years.”

You cup his cheek gently, heart pounding. “Me too.”

And for a moment, there’s nothing left to say.

Just you. And him. Finally together.

***

Morning creeps in slowly, golden and quiet. You’re not sure what time it is, only that the sunlight pouring in through the curtains is soft enough to let you stay in this bubble a little longer. Mingi’s still asleep when you shift in the sheets, one arm flung around your waist, the other tucked under his cheek. His face is peaceful in a way you’ve never seen before. Relaxed, gentle, boyish even. You resist the urge to trace the line of his jaw, but you don’t resist the smile pulling at your lips.

You eventually get up to pee, wash your face, steal one of his soft T-shirts. By the time you wander into the kitchen, Mingi is already there, messy-haired and shirtless, nursing a cup of coffee like he’s still not fully awake. He looks up when you enter, and the second he sees you, bare-legged in his shirt, he grins.

“Morning,” he says, voice low and rough with sleep.

You wrap your arms around his waist before you even say it back. His hand comes to your lower back automatically, warm and easy, like it belongs there.

“You look smug,” you murmur into his bare chest.

“I am,” he replies, unapologetic. “I woke up with you in my bed.”

You laugh, then tilt your head up for a kiss. He gives you one without hesitation, soft, slow, like he wants it to last all morning.

The coffee gets cold before either of you remember it.

You move around the kitchen together like you’ve done this a hundred times. Touching constantly, bumping hips, fingers brushing as you pass mugs and open cabinets. He sneaks kisses between bites of toast. You tug at the waistband of his sweats just because you can. It’s like the floodgates have opened and now neither of you can stop touching. You’re halfway through making another cup of coffee when you mumble it, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“You want sugar in yours, or are you going to make your girlfriend guess again?”

Mingi freezes.

You don’t even notice until you glance up.

His ears are bright red. “My… my what?”

You turn to him, fully facing him now, resting your hip against the counter. “Your girlfriend,” you say simply. “I am, aren’t I?”

He blinks. Opens his mouth. Closes it. Then:

“You-yeah. Yeah, I just-” He runs a hand through his hair, smile blooming slow and full. “I didn’t know I was allowed to call you that.”

“You’re cute,” you tease, stepping into his space. “You’ve always been cute.”

“Stop,” he groans, covering his face with one hand. But he’s grinning too wide to hide it. You lift up on your toes and kiss his cheek. Then another on his jaw. Then one right on the corner of his mouth. He finally grabs you by the hips and kisses you back like he can’t take it anymore, messy and sweet, both of you smiling into it.

He kisses you once. Then twice more. Then again, and again, and again.

You lose count after five. TAGLIST: I only have one main taglist, so if you wish to be added/removed, then let me know! xx @lveegsoi @vixensss @yizhou-time @imgenieforyou-boy @life-is-a-game-of-thrones @ateezswonderland @cozypaint @blutiny @aerangi @arigakittyo @femaholicc @queenofdumbfuckery @mingiatz @vent-stink (I couldn't get to tag some of the people who requested to be on the tag list :((( )

THERE WILL BE AN EPILOGUE! just a little bonus episode where we do a little time jump and see where you and Mingi are a few months into the relationship🥰🥰 thank you for the love on this!! it really means the world to me <3

#ateez fic #ateez #ateez scenarios #ateez smut #ateez au #ateez fluff #ateez fanfic #ateez x reader #ateez mingi #mingi x reader #kpop x reader #female reader #mingi fic #kpop smut

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krirebr · 2 days ago

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Lips Like Sugar 1

Pairing: sugar baby Ransom x late 40s female reader

Word Count: ~3.1k

Summary: Finally cut off by his mother and grandfather, Ransom has to find a new way to access the lifestyle he's accustomed to. He figures it won't be too hard to find some rich old lady willing to bankroll him in exchange for sex. You aren't exactly what he expected.

Warnings: sugar baby au, sex work, d/s relationship, power imbalance, explicit language—All of my work is 18+ - Minors DNI

Dividers by me

Series Masterlist

Masterlist

A/N: This one's a little different for me, but I had so much fun writing it! I hope you enjoy it too. But don't worry, my trademarked angst isn't gone forever. 🤭

Huge thanks to @biteofcherry for talking through the initial idea with me and @bigtreefest for being a sounding board throughout the whole writing process.

Any comment, reblog, or ask to let me know what you think will be greatly appreciated. And if you need to come scream at me, that's ok too!

As always, thank you so much for reading! 💜

Sixty days.

That’s what the certified letter said. The one he had to sign for. The one from Linda.

When she and Harlan had told him they were cutting him off, he’d rolled his eyes. What did that actually mean? He wouldn’t have access to his trust anymore? Whatever, that was fine. He had his checking account. He had his house. He had credit cards. The only thing he thought it really meant was that he wouldn’t have to see any of his asshole family ever again. He was coming out ahead, all things considered.

Except. He didn’t actually have much of anything, as it turned out. His parents were on his bank accounts and credit cards. The deed to the house was under Linda’s name. And she was fucking evicting him.

It was this panic, wrapping itself around his chest and squeezing, that he wasn’t used to. That he didn’t know what to do with. He’d gone out of his way, worked hard to make sure he never felt this way. To make sure his life was comfortable and easy. And now his asshole granddad and bitch mother had ruined all that. Now he had sixty days to find a place to live.

He needed to come up with a plan. He could do that. He was good at plans. But where to start? He couldn’t afford a place he’d actually be willing to live in on his own right now (he couldn’t afford a shitty place either, but he wasn’t going to dwell on that). His grandfather, during the announcement of Ransom’s new status, had suggested he get a job, but fuck that. Ransom knew, deep in his bones, that he wasn’t meant for work. And also, any job that wouldn’t make him want to shoot himself required relevant experience and degrees and all sorts of other things Ransom didn’t have. So getting a job was out.

He could sell his things but, as he’d been so rudely informed by this entire situation, he didn’t actually own much. The only thing of significant value that his name was actually on was his car. But he’d rather cut off his own arm than sell his vintage BMW. So he marked that down as an absolute last resort.

He could see if he could stay with a friend until he got things figured out, but all of his friends were assholes and he already knew that none of them would say yes. Plus, all of his friends were assholes and he’d sell his own body before he asked any of them for a favor.

Actually…

Okay, that wasn’t a half-bad idea. He knew exactly how hot he was. He’d been very aware of that since he was a teenager. And if he sat down and actually thought about what his biggest skills were, it’d be fucking and talking. In that order. This could work.

But how to go about it? He wasn’t eager to go out and stand on a corner in barely anything at all hours. Same went for sitting in a hotel bar and hoping for the best. Plus, he didn’t like the uncertainty of all that. He needed a reliable, steady stream of income that would be there whenever he needed it.

And that’s when he remembered Andrea.

His friend Chad had dated her for about six months. Well, “dated.” Everyone in their circle knew exactly what that arrangement was, even if Chad had never admitted it. Ransom pulled out his phone and sent off a quick text.

Hey, where did you meet Andrea?

The dick took two hours to respond.

Andrea? At the grocery store. Why???

Ransom responded immediately with an eyeroll emoji and followed it with

Cut the shit, asshole. What was the app?

The three dots to show Chad was typing appeared and disappeared three separate times before Ransom finally got the truth.

SUGR

But watch out, bro. That shit was way more expensive than it was worth.

Ransom smiled. That was exactly what he was counting on.

He didn’t bother correcting Chad about which side of this arrangement he was hoping to be on. He didn’t need the embarrassment of anyone knowing that mommy and (grand)daddy had finally cut him off. And if this worked the way he hoped it would, no one would ever need to know.

The first setback was that he had to pass a background check before he could join the app. What a fucking hassle. And it took a whole week before he got the email telling him he could move forward with setting up a profile. He could physically feel the number of days he had to find another place to live ticking down. The constriction around his chest got tighter with each one.

But in that week of waiting, he became even more convinced that this was a good idea. There had to be tons of old hags desperate enough to bankroll him in exchange for sex with a hot youngish thing. And he’d be able to suck it up and do what was needed if it meant his lifestyle wouldn’t have to change. Hell, that's what viagra was for.

The other thing he’d done while he waited was take about a hundred pictures of himself. He’d used all his best outfits—designer sweaters, skintight t-shirts, pants that hugged his ass. He did fifty pushups and then took a bunch shirtless so that he was sweaty and his abs popped. He had a few that were just of his junk in gray sweatpants. And then he threw in a couple straight up dick pics for good measure. He was ready.

But, ugh, there were so many forms to fill out first. He had to agree to all of the terms and conditions. The company reserves the right to blah blah blah. The company does not guarantee yada yada yada. Agree, agree, agree.

There were forms that asked him to detail the expenses he wanted covered and another that wanted him to rate kinks based on his interest. These were both optional so he skipped them. Was he the only one who understood what was happening here? He'd do whatever she wanted that guaranteed him the most money. That was it.

Finally, he got to the point where he could build his actual profile. It automatically imported some of the biographical information he had to give to set up his account, which wasn’t ideal. Hugh D. 35, stared back at him. He normally hated his given name, but he didn’t hate the way it kind of seemed like Huge Dick here. He could work with that. But that 35. That– that felt old for this sort of thing. He tried to change it to 30, but it wasn’t editable. Well. That was fine, right? He was going after women. Weren’t they known for being less shallow than men? That was part of the whole thing, wasn’t it? Yeah. It’d be fine. It just meant he knew what he was doing in bed. That’s what mattered.

He moved on to pictures. They only let you add fifteen, so he combed through all the ones he’d taken and picked the fifteen best. He scrolled through the ones he’d chosen before he clicked save and nodded to himself. Yeah, this was good. He was hot as fuck.

He skipped through all of the useless essay questions. Who cared what his interests were or what he was offering?? His dick pics spoke for themselves.

But he did put something in the headline area. Call me Ransom. >20k/month only

Perfect. Done. Save. Now he just needed to sit back and wait for the DMs to roll in.

The DMs did not roll in. It’d been forty-eight hours, and he’d gotten absolutely nothing. He couldn’t understand it. What was wrong with these women? He was offering himself up at a fucking steal.

He’d figured the onus was on the buyer to make the first move, but maybe he’d gotten the etiquette wrong. Maybe he needed to sell himself a little more aggressively.

He went to the browse feature and set his filters for women with the biggest budgets. Then he sent a random ten of them a simple “hey”. Then he made himself close the app.

When he came back a few hours later, he was chagrined to find that he hadn’t gotten any responses. There must be something wrong. When he went to the chats to make sure he hadn't missed something, half of them weren't even there anymore, and he couldn't find the corresponding profiles either. He refreshed the notifications page. He restarted his phone. He uninstalled then reinstalled the app. Nothing made a difference.

Finally, as he was checking his settings, a message popped up.

Honey, what are you doing?

Yes! Finally!

He clicked on the profile. Carolyn M., 55. Under what she was offering was rent, living expenses, and a negotiated allowance. Perfect.

He wrote back

I'm looking at your pictures and touching myself. What are you doing?

The response was immediate.

Oh my god, no. That's not what I meant.

He stared at her message, confused, but then she sent another.

I'm going against all of my instincts to just block you, and I'm going to take pity on you instead.

He was typing before he even fully processed what she'd said.

Excuse me??

This is not the way to get what you want.

What the fuck??

You’re obviously new to this, so let me explain something to you. Yes, these relationships are transactional, but most of us are looking for a genuine connection as well. No one who wants that is going to contact you based on your profile.

Who the hell did she think she was? Ransom knew what he was doing. He’d never had any issues picking up women. He didn’t need help. He locked his phone with a scoff and threw it on the couch as he got up and moved to his bar. He deserved a drink after dealing with that bullshit.

As he poured himself a glass of eighteen-year-old scotch, he paused. This bottle was $700. Who knows what everything in this bar totaled to? And this whole house. Fucking shit. He was down to forty-nine days. He didn’t have time to fuck around.

He took a large gulp of his drink and then picked his phone back up. He could do this. He could play the game. He could fake anything if it meant his life didn’t have to change.

Fine. How do I fix it?

Start by filling out the information. Be honest. Any prospective match will want to get a sense of who you are. Right now the only thing I can tell about you from your profile is how highly you think of your own dick.

This fucking bitch.

Okay, sure. What else?

You are demanding a lot of money without giving any details about how that money will be spent. Anyone who sees that will immediately feel taken advantage of. The best version of these relationships is an equal give and take. A lot of us are here because we enjoy taking care of someone. We don’t enjoy feeling like a faceless ATM. Give an actual, honest account of the expenses you would like covered.

God, this was annoying. But he had to keep his eye on the prize.

Anything else??

Put some actual effort into your first message to someone. Something you think you might have in common, something you liked about their profile, or a relevant fact about yourself. ‘Hey’ isn’t going to get you anywhere. And don't just jump into sexting immediately.

Despite himself, he took a screenshot of the conversation. If it helped him get more money, it was worth it.

Alright. I’ll do it.

You know, it’s customary to say thank you when someone helps you out like this.

He rolled his eyes.

Thank you.

He hoped she could feel the sarcasm coming through the screen.

Well, look at that. Maybe you can be someone’s good boy after all.

The heat that rushed to his face at that– He didn’t know what that was. Annoyance probably. What else could it be?

He was about to send something snarky back when her status suddenly switched to offline. Goddamn bitch.

Ugh. It took so much effort to take things seriously. To act like he cared. This was exhausting.

But he could do it if he kept the goal in mind: being the pampered pet of some rich old lady. Once he’d achieved that, all he’d ever have to do again was get it up for her once or twice a week, tops. He just had to get there.

So he poured himself another glass of whiskey and took a slow sip as he looked at the first section of his profile he’d previously left blank. The About Me header stared back at him as the cursor blinked. Come on. He could do this. What did these women want to hear?? He wished he could see other prospective babies’ profiles. Do some market research.

He skipped down to the next section: Looking For. He’d already selected women with no age restrictions. Now he just had to get into the specifics. Ok, this he could do. Buttering people up was a skill he’d been honing his entire life.

A woman with life experience who knows what she wants and isn’t afraid to go out and get it. Someone to share good times, good food, and good sex with. And yes, someone to spoil me rotten. 😉

That was cute, right? Yeah, these old bats would love that.

Ok, now it was on to what he offered. He remembered what Carolyn had said about not wanting to feel like an ATM. He needed to make it seem like he’s was bringing something to the table (more than just his dick, that is, which, honesly, should have been enough).

I’m offering companionship with plenty of intelligent conversation. I’ll keep you from being bored at any functions you may need to attend, and I’ll look great on your arm doing it.

That seemed good enough for now. He could change it up depending on what he found waiting for him out there.

He switched to the form for expenses. For rent, he put approximately 10k a month (he’d looked around the Boston area for what was available and that seemed to be the going price for the sort of place he wanted) with a note that his lease was ending soon and he’d need a new place to stay. That was close enough to the truth and made him seem like more of a charity case, which would normally bother him, but right now was exactly what he wanted. He divided up the rest of his asking price across utilities, clothing, and other expenses.

On the kink list, he started by putting yes to everything, figuring that’d make him more expensive. But would that look weird? Desperate? Fake? He went back and randomly switched a few to maybe and a couple to no. Ok, that was done.

He went back to his photos and removed the straight up dick pics. He left the sweatpants one, but moved it to the end. And he added a couple more of himself in sweaters that he knew made people drool.

There was only one thing left. This fucking About Me. Come on! Okay. Okay.

The only thing I love more than reading is getting to talk about what I’ve read. I’m well-educated, and I’m at a point in my life where I just want to be able to enjoy things with good company. I love trying new restaurants, and I know my way around a whiskey menu. And as for other realms of experience you might be curious about, let’s just say I know what I’m doing. 😏

Ugh. God. He hated this. The whole thing was so fucking corny. That had to be good enough right? The last thing he did was delete everything but Call me Ransom from his header. And then, without overthinking it, he hit save and immediately put down his phone.

Goddamnit, fucking Carolyn was fucking right. The whole thing made his blood boil. But now, finally, the messages were rolling in. Sort of. Moderately. But it was something.

He’d gone back and tweaked a few things based on the response he was getting, and each improvement seemed to have made a difference. He was starting to get the hang of this bullshit.

But, frustratingly, he hadn’t managed to hook a whale yet. He’d had some promising conversations, but none had ultimately gone anywhere. How exactly were these conversations supposed to move from “Hi, how are you?” to “What say we make this official and you bankroll my entire life? I promise I’ll lay the pipe real good.” The one time he’d tried that, it hadn’t gone over well.

But god, the days were running out.

He sat down with his phone, hoping to find something that would help him strategize, when a new message popped up at the top of the screen.

God, you’re pretty.

Ransom stopped and stared at the message.

He couldn’t remember ever being called pretty before. Handsome, sure. Gorgeous, hot, all the time. But pretty– Pretty felt different. And he couldn’t explain why.

He clicked through to the profile.

And there you were.

Don’t you want to be good for me? the line under your profile picture read. Ransom swallowed involuntarily as he kept reading.

You were forty-nine, had founded your own business (although you gave no clues as to what that was), and you were looking for someone to take care of. Glancing at what you were offering, Ransom surmised that what he needed wasn’t outside of your budget.

He moved on to your photos. He picked up a little more caginess there. There were no straight-on pictures of your face, but he spent several moments looking at a close-up of just your smirk, soft lines framing your mouth. Then, as he continued to swipe through the pictures, he stopped again at one that was just of the back of your legs clad in shiny, thigh-high boots, with some of the tallest stilettos he’d ever seen. Something about that image made his breath catch in his throat.

He moved back to your message and stared at it again, his fingers drumming against his leg. After thinking about it for far too long, he fired off a short response.

I know.

Your reply was immediate.

Yeah, I bet you do.

Tag List is open!

@stargazingfangirl18 @yenzys-lucky-charm @thezombieprostitute @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory @bval-1 @km-ffluv @texmexdarling @ladyvenera @roxyfan14-blog @darkserenity24 @midnightramyeoncravings @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @ronearoundblindly @brandycranby @steviebbboi @missaprilt23 @thiquefunlover63 @hisredheadedgoddess28 @stellar-solar-flare @alexakeyloveloki @kmc1989 @awkwardgiraffe726 @watermelontidewater @alicedopey @lokislady82 @sassybearfire

#ransom drysdale x female reader #ransom drysdale x reader #ransom drysdale x you #ransom drysdale #knives out #chris evans fanfiction #chris evans characters #fanfic #sugar baby au #sugar baby ransom drysdale #reader insert #sub ransom drysdale #domme reader #kris wrote something

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shotafish · 2 days ago

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rant ahead! (warning for suicide, threatening an animal, threatened murder, and self harm mention) also sorry in advance, im horrible at wording things, especially when ranting ++ i tend to go on and on about things + change subject too quickly

goodness, i need to RANT about this guy. So, we were in gym and the game we we're playing required hand-eye coordination, which I don't have because of my lazy eye. And the fact that no one is genuinely nice to me other than the few friends that are in the class with me just made the game impossible to enjoy to me. So, I made the smallest comment to him saying that I didn't enjoy it and he said "Oh my god, that game was easy!" And I decided to respond with something along the lines of "Working at Dairy Queen is easy too." because this guy worked 3 shifts before quitting, and all he was doing was taking orders, so of course I'm gonna make fun of him a bit. I also didn't think this would be a big deal since this guy has made multiple jokes about my suicide (even saying "do it right or i'll do it for you), the fact I have purposefully hurt myself, and has even joked about killing my dog. I thought be joking about him quitting a fast food job would be a "Haha fuck you asshole" thing rather than him lashing out at me. He went on to say something along the lines of "Fuck you, you don't know what it was like" and I genuinely don't know what he meant. If he means taking orders, I do know what that's like because I've worked concessions multiple times before. And his reasons for quitting were that it was too fast paced and that he was being "disrespected". Firstly, it's fast food, and secondly, his idea of being disrespected is being told no + he is disrespectful to everyone, so of course he's not gonna get respect back. Hell, this guy put someone on a "hitlist" because he simply said "Yet I still get more girls than you" (honestly I'm probably on that hitlist now lmao). OMG AND THIS HITLIST DUDE. He has a whole list of people it's not even funny. And he was constantly saying stuff like "if i ever get a katana im gonna kill [___]" and looking back, it's genuinely CONCERNING. He's also the type of person that thinks everyone wants him even though he's more chopped than a goblin shark and even said "ain't no way those mid-ass hoes walked in when i was talking" when they were literally just coming to see the teacher... he also called EVERY girl a "mid-ass hoe". He's just a bully and I'm genuinely so disappointed that I wasn't the one to break contact first. oh he also said the n word in like every sentence he could despite being whiter than clouds.

one of my irl friends was ranting to me about how people shipped Sans and Papyrus

i said "EWW they're brothers! 😥"

but I thought "ew... they're brothers 😈"

(this is a pro-fictional incest post ++ anti pro/com/dark ship dni)

#🪸 ：agar agar ᵎᵎ #🪸 ：agar agar rants ᵎᵎ

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misterbenzadrine · 3 days ago

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demetri ships as my fav spiderman ships

me procrastinating everything and anything: you know what tumblr really needs? more of my ck x spiderman bs...

but actually this really is just me rambling

also these don't necessarily take place in the same universe, bc the dynamics wouldn't make sense together, so definitely don't think too hard about it like i am, this is just fun

parksborn - hawkmetri

childhood bffs to enemies to lovers

huge identity changes they both have to adjust to

original recipe, i mean does a spiderman/demetri queer ship get more classic than this?

also already covered this whole au so yeah, i've thought a lot about this one in particular

eli found out about his secret identity after trying to kill spider-man the first time, he tried three times before realizing his childhood best friend was more important than getting revenge on spider-man

interwebs - sametri (platonic)

demetri would be more like ned but shhhhh

basically just a really strong sibling dynamic, sam is his guy in the chair

"okay don't go near mason ave, it's crawling with vulture's goons...DEMETRI WHY ARE YOU HEADING IN THAT DIRECTION?"

"wha- you said to go to mason ave!"

"I SAID DON'T-"

she worries about him a lot but she can't do much since she doesn't have powers. what she can do is help demetri by clearing away civilians when he's in the middle of a fight and help him do research on his enemies (which he constantly worries about bc he knows it could put a target on her back but he does as much as he can to keep her away from danger)

she found out his secret identity early on when she went to his house to check on him after a fight with kyler (that he shockingly won) and he entered his bedroom in his full spidey suit without seeing her

his mom walked in after he took off the suit, which led to a really awkward conversation and an even more awkward running joke ("people like spiderman can only do so much to protect us if we aren't careful ourselves...like a condom. which i hope is a familiar friend between you and that samantha girl." "oh my god mom, i've told you A MILLION TIMES nothing is going on between me and sam!" "i'm just saying, you can do what you want, as long as you don't make me a young grandmother-" "MOM STOP-")

being spiderman's best friend isn't something sam thinks about too much, he's still just demetri, her awkwardly tall and skinny younger brother

spideypool - robmetri

coworkers to lovers

opposites attract dynamic

"i don't agree with ur methods but we're working together against a common enemy"

not really enemies, not really friends, but a secret third thing (LOVERS)

tbh demetri would be more deadpool than robby but for pairings sake, this works

imagining robby being like a lone rebel, more vigilante/anti-hero than spiderman (obvi) and meeting demetri and being like "woah ur so silly, i like you, have a cupcake" and demetri stressing like "no you can't just kill these guys, they have families- PUT HIM DOWN! NO, I MEANT GENTLY!"

robby does know his secret identity but he prefers to interact with him in the suit (it's due to both of their slight insecurities in how they look, despite the other very much not caring what they look like)

spideytorch - migmetri

friends to lovers

miguel/johnny having that ladies' man swagger and demetri/peter being a flustered mess over it

miguel helping demetri in a few battles and flying away with a heart fire trail behind him every time

just an overall really sweet flirty ship

miguel doesn't know his secret identity at first. one day, demetri loses his suit and needs to borrow a fantastic four suit until he can get his own suit back. miguel finds his spider suit and brings it to him but holds it back to flirtingly ask what he looks like with nothing on. demetri rolls his eyes and takes off his makeshift mask (a paper bag).

"there, that's all you're getting, fire boy, can you give me my suit back now?...why are you staring at me like that?"

"...you're really cute."

"no i'm not- look, just give me my suit. i have to get back on patrol."

"i think i'm just gonna burn this suit actually. i don't want you covering that pretty little face again."

"miguel don't you DARE-"

petermj/spidercat - yasmetri

petermj bc this is the classic classic, i will find you in every universe, strings of fate soulmate deal

spidercat bc yas 100% is a vigilante/anti-hero that likes to mess with demetri's head by committing crimes and then helping him solve some

either she's his forever soulmate or she's a little menace that wreaks havoc on his life, there's no in-between

she doesn't know his secret identity, nor does he know hers, she prefers it that way, makes it more exciting. he doesn't though.

"you're always around this neighborhood, is this where you live?"

"nice try, spider-boy. i'm not that dumb."

"do you at least go to school around here?"

"focus up, arachnid. we're supposed to be keeping an eye out for kravinoff."

"maybe i can tell you some of my favorite stores and you can tell me if you like them too, even if you robbed them."

"i've robbed stores all across the coast, that won't tell you anything."

"a favorite restaurant then?"

spideymoon - axelmetri

I just think it'd be funny for demetri and axel's dynamic to carry over into spiderman universe, just demetri being like "how and why is this guy shifting suits mid-fight? and why does he always switch his accent?" and just wanting to know what his origin story could possibly be, what his powers are related to, what his superhero name is, what his motives are, etc.

he just has a really gross curiosity about what any of what he does even means and axel is just like "idk i'm on my own mission rn lol"

they don't know each other's secret identities

(also unrelated but THE HEADBAND MATCHING MOONKNIGHT'S LOGO DKJKJKKLS)

spiderelsa - kwonmetri

star-crossed lovers, meant to be and doomed to never interact in canon

made by someone who was probably insanely psychotic and sleep-deprived (i wonder who that could be...)

who's making the pregnant elsa/kwon fanart fr

kwon doesn't know his secret identity

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raspberrylovc · 2 days ago

Text

SOMEWHERE BETWEEN

warnings :: situationship (yes this a warning)

fear street 1978 travis au!!

—

DESPITE TRAVIS’ gaze being so heavy, you couldn’t feel it at all. it was as if you’d subconsciously learned how to tune it out. he hated how you didn’t feel it — how you didn’t even spare him a glance.

you were sat next to kurt, laughing at whatever flirty comment he threw your way. you didn’t think too much of it. it was just some stupid guy saying something even stupider. but travis couldn’t stop thinking about it. his jaw was clenched and his hands were shoved into his pockets, and he just watched. like he couldn’t pull his eyes away.

you didn’t even see him move until he was right beside you. “having fun?” his voice was low and bitter, immediately gaining your attention. a few people turned their heads, but not enough people to make a scene. you looked up at him confused but before you could even speak, his mouth opened again.

“guess it doesn’t take much to keep you entertained.” the words felt like a slap. to both of you. he didn’t even mean it, he just wanted you to hurt like he was in this exact moment. you heard someone awkwardly laugh, trying to play it off as a joke. but you knew better. you saw the anger in his eyes — felt the jealousy radiating off of him.

“what the hell is that supposed to mean?” you stood from your seat, crossing your arms across your chest. “you tell me.” he says. “one minute you’re all over me, and the next you’re laughing it up with fucking kurt. i’m just trying to keep up.”

“we’re not even-“ you cut yourself off. you weren’t even together. so why should you care what he thought? you didn’t owe him anything — that was the point of no labels. but it still hurt. especially since you were standing there, waiting for him to take it back, and he said absolutely nothing.

you felt your eyes starting to tear up, and with that, you walked off. you shoved past him without another word, you shoulder knocking into his as you stalked off into the woods. you didn’t look back. you couldn’t, or else the tears you were desperately trying to hold would fall.

you didn’t know how far you walked. you knew it was pretty far since you couldn’t hear any of the usual camp noises, but you couldn’t really bring yourself to care.

you weren’t crying. not really. maybe one or two tears fell, but you wouldn’t count it as crying. you hated how much you cared — how much you kind of hoped he had followed you. you didn’t want to, but you did. and, of course, your hopes came true.

after you walked off, travis panicked. he wasn’t mad at you, he was jealous. and his jealousy left him to react badly, to snap at you. he stood frozen for a couple of seconds, debating if he should talk to you or not, before walking after you.

he stood a few feet away, hands shoved deep in his pockets, shoulders tense. you could see the stubborn set of his jaw, the way he kept looking at you and then looking away like he didn’t know how to start. "i’m not good at this." he finally muttered, voice rough. "at... saying shit the right way."

you didn’t move. didn’t make it easier for him. he shifted his weight from foot to foot like he wanted to bolt but made himself stay rooted in place. "i didn’t mean it like that." travis said, softer now. "i just—" he ran his hand through his hair, frustrated. "i saw you with him and it- it pissed me off. i know i don’t have any right to say anything, but... i guess i thought-“

"you thought what?" you said, voice sharper than you meant it to be.

“i thought maybe it wasn’t just... this," he said, gesturing between you. "i thought maybe it meant something." you wanted to scream at him. you wanted to slap him. but another part of you also wanted to forget this happened and kiss him until you were both dizzy. you didn’t do any of those things. "you don’t get to make me feel like shit in front of everyone just because you don’t know what you want, travis."

“i do know.” he rushes out. “i want you.” he sounded desperate. the words hung between you two for a moment. and even though you wanted to stay mad, you found yourself taking a step toward him anyway. and maybe it was reckless but you closed the space between you and kissed him anyway.

—

A/N

i loveeee writing angst

#travis martinez #yellowjackets #yj #travis martinez x reader #travis x reader #travis martinez x you #travis x you #travis martinez x y/n #travis x y/n #fear street #fear street 1978 #angst #fluff

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rafesorchid · 2 days ago

Text

COTTON CANDY SKIES

plot: after a clumsy first meeting, rafe falls fast for the sweet, scatterbrained reader, and their slow friendship turns into something softer—leading to a shy first date.

CONTENT: Light swearing, slow-burn romance, awkwardness, fluff, light public embarrassment.

part 2 -> coming soon!

have fun!

you were sprawled on your bed, phone upside down on your pillow, legs kicking in the air, waiting for rafe to text back.

you’d sent him a very important question three minutes ago and it felt like a lifetime.

baby: do u think fish get thirsty or no??? baby: bc like. they r in water??? so do they still drink???

you stared at the screen, chewing your lip.

then you gasped when his name popped up.

rafe: baby i ain’t even sure how to answer that rafe: you’re somethin else

baby: lol is that bad baby: i feel like it’s a good question??? baby: i googled it but the answers were too science-y and i got confused

rafe took a second.

then:

rafe: it’s a good question rafe: real good rafe: and you’re real cute for askin' it

you buried your face in your pillow, squealing.

then you scrambled to type back:

baby: awwwww stopppp baby: i was gonna ask u another question but idk if ur busy???

rafe: never too busy for you baby rafe: call me

your heart thumped so hard you thought it might actually launch you off the bed.

your thumb slipped a little — you meant to hit “call” smooth and cool, but almost hit “facetime” by accident — and somehow, you managed to tap it right.

it rang once.

then twice.

and then —

“hey, sweet girl,” rafe’s voice rumbled through the speaker, warm enough to melt you into the mattress.

you swallowed.

“hi rafe!!” you said way too loudly.

then you winced.

“sorry i didn’t mean to yell. i just got excited. i also didn’t mean to call i was trying to text but my thumb is slippery from lotion and—”

you were rambling.

again.

but rafe didn’t seem to mind.

you could hear him smiling.

“s’okay, baby,” he said, voice all syrupy. “like hearin’ your voice better anyway.”

you kicked your feet harder, cheeks burning.

“what were you gonna ask?” he prompted, voice easy and low.

you flopped onto your stomach, squishing your face into the pillow for a second before mumbling,

“do you think clouds taste like cotton candy or like whipped cream?”

there was a pause.

then a deep, helpless chuckle.

“you’re fuckin’ adorable, you know that?” rafe said.

you blinked at the ceiling.

“…is that a compliment?”

“best one you’re ever gettin’,” rafe promised.

“also,” he added, “definitely cotton candy.”

you giggled.

“that’s what i thought too!”

for a second, neither of you said anything.

just breathing.

just feeling the line buzz soft between you.

you fiddled with the string on your hoodie, heart thudding too fast.

you weren’t even dating — not really — but talking to rafe felt like being caught in a daydream.

bright and easy and warm.

then rafe cleared his throat.

“hey,” he said, a little rough. a little shy. “you free saturday?”

you blinked.

“i think so,” you said. “unless i forgot something. sometimes i do that. one time i double-booked myself for a dentist appointment and a haircut and i got my teeth cleaned with half a mullet—”

rafe was laughing, deep and wrecked, before you could even finish.

“baby,” he said, still laughing, “i’ll take my chances.

wanna take you out. like— like a real date.”

your stomach did a full somersault.

“like… a real real date?” you asked, voice small and hopeful.

“yeah, sweet girl,” rafe said, soft and sure.

“been wantin’ to.

figure it’s about time i make it official.”

you buried your face in the pillow again, squealing so quietly he almost couldn’t hear it.

“okay,” you said, breathless. “i’ll go! but only if you promise not to laugh if i spill something. or if i trip. or if i get spaghetti in my hair. that happened one time too—”

rafe cut you off with another warm, easy laugh.

“baby,” he said.

“i’m gonna think you’re perfect no matter what you do.”

you blinked fast, the lump in your throat sneaking up on you.

no one had ever said it like that before.

no teasing.

no hesitation.

just real and simple and true.

“okay,” you whispered.

“i’ll pick you up at six,” he said. “wear whatever you want. you’re already perfect to me.”

you nodded even though he couldn’t see you.

“okay,” you said again, dazed and dreamy.

rafe stayed on the line a second longer.

like he didn’t wanna hang up either.

“sleep good, sweet girl,” he murmured.

“dream somethin’ pretty.”

“like cotton candy clouds?” you asked, sleepy and giggly.

“yeah, baby,” rafe said, voice all honey and smoke. “just like that.”

you fell asleep with your phone still clutched in your hand.

dreaming of pink skies and a boy who looked at you like you were made of sunlight.

author's note

i'm literally sosososos grateful for all 81 of you <3 if you want more specific drabbles/fics send in an ask! love u all lots <3

#ditzy!reader x rafe #ditzy!reader #rafe x reader #rafe x you #outerbanks rafe #rafe cameron #rafe fanfiction #rafe fluff #rafe imagine #rafe fic #rafe outer banks #obx rafe cameron #rafe obx #obx x reader #obx fanfiction #obx fic #obx

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unintentionaloracle · 3 days ago

Text

Say My Name [Fic]

While working on my current project, I just had to get a bit of a cracky, goof thing I thought while writing a scene to get it out of my system. It's kinda set in the universe, but really all you gotta know for context is Cody and Drew are "friends" with benefits.

Summary: Cody makes an unfortunate error while trying to tease Drew.

They'd been snuggled in bed for a while now, reminiscing about their past failed “romantic” relationship (well, as romantic as a fling between two egotistical young men could be). It might've been playing with fire, given their current arrangement was meant to be more physical, but it was nice.

“You know, you've improved a lot in bed from when we dated, Drew.” Cody commented, resting his chin on Drew's chest.

Drew smirked, running his fingers through Cody’s hair. “Yeah? Well, you can thank The Indies for that. I had a lot of fun there.”

Cody smirked back. “With anyone I know?”

Drew shook his head. “I don't kiss and tell, Cody.”

Cody’s smirk became a wicked grin. “Fair enough. I'm gonna assume it was Joe Hendry...”

“NO!” Drew exclaimed, but it was too late. He heard the music emanating from the hotel bathroom, making Cody jump from his lover’s grasp and Drew groan:

“Say his name and he appears! I believe in Joe Hendry!”

The door swung open as phantom claps rang out. There stood a platinum blond man in a blue shirt and white pants, back turned to the men. He then swiveled around, smiling.

“I believe in Joe Hendry!” The disembodied music proclaimed.

“...I didn't think it actually worked...” Cody said, bewildered.

Drew rubbed his face. “Of course it does...” He remembered when this started manifesting. It made complaining about the guy with the other guys in Black Label practically impossible. He wasn't even using that theme and it would play!

Joe tilted his head, somehow looking both confused and amused. “Drew, you and Cody?” He said, pointing at both of them.

“Not a word of this to anyone!” Drew said, sitting up in bed.

“Not even Grado?” Joe asked.

“ESPECIALLY not Grado!” Drew said, pointing at Joe.

Cody sat up. He leaned against Drew. Without thinking, Drew threw his arm around him. Though he soon wished he hadn't.

“Joe,” Cody said, the smirk audible in his voice. “Maybe you can answer this for me: did you and Drew ever hook up in the Indies?”

Drew scowled at Cody. “We didn't!”

Joe grinned. Then he gasped in mock betrayal. “Drew!” He feigned hurt as he put his hand over his chest. “You forgot our magical night of passion back in Glasgow?” Joe fake pouted.

“Oh, you damn liar!” Drew objected.

Cody chuckled. “I knew it!” he teased. Joe laughed along.

Drew sighed in resignation, knowing he couldn't beat two theatre kids (or at least theatre kid adjacent, in Joe's case) committed to the bit. He sulked, removing his arm from Cody. “I hate both of you.”

Cody rested his chin on Drew's shoulder, looking up. “No, you don't...”

Drew felt his heart pounding at the accusation.

“Soooooo,” Joe said, cutting through the budding romantic tension, “was that the only reason you said my name? Or were you two wanting a thr—?”

Joe popped out of existence, startling Cody again as he clung to Drew’s arm. “What the hell just happened!?”

“Someone else said his name, now he has to appear...” Drew said with a shrug.

“Oh. That's...that's a terrible way to have to live...” Cody said.

“I know,” Drew said with a grin. “Isn't it wonderful?”

Cody rested his head against his shoulder. He glanced up at him again. “You know, I kinda get why you tease me, now. It's fun.” He smirked mischievously. “And you're kinda cute when you're flustered.”

Drew knew his face was flushing. That he had butterflies in his stomach like a schoolgirl whose unattainable crush knew her name. And he hated it. He pulled his arm away. “Don't flatter me, I'm still mad at you. Goodnight.” Drew sulked, falling back to bed, deliberately turning his back to his situationship.

He felt Cody spoon him from behind. “Goodnight, Drew,” he said, settling against him. Drew sighed and allowed it: purely for their arrangement and not because it felt good to be held for once.

To stave off the feelings he felt rising, Drew thought of one thing: “What poor bastard summoned him?”

---

“See, Kevin? I said his name, and he didn't appear! You don't need to skirt around it. He's not Beetlejuice,” Sami said, “Now,” He placed his hand on Kevin's folded arm. “I'm trying to have a serious talk about us–”

A man in Scotland colors appeared beside them, his back turned to them. A disembodied voice sang “Say his name and he appears!”

Sami immediately clung to Kevin as the claps hit, both in surprise and to keep him from punching someone on instinct. Kevin looked at him, as if to say “Well, look at that: the handsome man who's right was right again. Never doubt me again, Sami.”

Joe whirled around to them to the tune of “I believe in Joe Hendry!”, that grin of his plastered to his face. Then he blinked, confused for a moment at the sight of the two of them, before smiling again.

“Ah, so you two are back together?” He said. “Congratulations!”

“GET OUT!” Kevin shouted, pointing to the door as he held Sami defensively.

#wwe #cody rhodes #drew mcintyre #codytyre #joe hendry #kevin owens #sami zayn #zowens #the oracle writes

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linkbetweenlinksau · 1 day ago

Note

I noticed the slight style change in Wars' scarf (from before you actually started LBL and then where we are currently) and so I was wondering.......

What was the og design for your Links? And then how did it change to how it is right now?

I thought that would be an interesting ask, so here you go!

I hope you ready for a big load of yapping Anon cuz I have many things to say about their older designs 🙏

So we’ll start with Sky!

Old design on the left and new design on the right. He had a cape LU style, baggier clothes, and had the loftwing feather attached to his earring. I have the skyloftians wear their loftwing’s feathers because it lets them feel closer to them when they’re separated from them on the surface! The thing about this design was that not only was it impractical, but it was also suuuuper annoying to draw and color. Idk if you read the old comic from before but that helped me know that his loftwing feather was driving me insane haha. The cape as well was super annoying and while baggy clothes fits Sky, it didn’t seem smart for him to have that. He was also 5’0” because I wanted him to be older than twi but shorter than him. When I redid Lbl I thought about what I hated about his design while drawing it and changed it around

I made him 5’5” so I wouldn’t have to make his Zelda super short (she’s 5’3”) and he’s definitely one of the “taller” Links. I put the sailcloth and loftwing feather at his belt so they were out of the way. I also gave him bracers that kept his baggier sleeves out of the way and yeah! Still not the most practical thing ever but this is fiction and idc 🙃I’m a little sad about the loftwing feather tho cuz I always wanted him to have a long feather on his earring since I first designed him but oh well. It’s for my own sanity haha. I still kept his more “comfier” clothes and his lightning scars hehe 😈 so yeah!

The rest of the ramblings are under here:

Minish also underwent a lot of changes:

Older design on the left and newer one on the right.

The old design not bad but it’s kinda plain to me. Being a blacksmith he has an apron and gloves, and I always imagines mc Link with curly hair. I do love his headband and I think it’s super neat, but that’s really it. It’s just plain and when he has no apron it’s even more plain. So I changed it to the newer one!

He still has curly hair and his headband but he has no more apron. His tunic is meant to resemble a Minish but I kept the golden outline for some pizzazz. I gave him back his blue eyes which are very integral to his sprite in mc imo and I changed his nose shape to match his grandpa’s and that’s probably my favorite change about him. I love his nose very much and it makes him look very unique. I kept his gloves but I also added some iron-toed boots just so metal doesn’t break his toes lol. And I always had the square belt buckle on him. It’s very fun exploring different ways to do that swirly belt buckle! I also made his tunic dark green so it’d look better. Overall I love his newer design!

Old on the left, new on the right. Time didn’t change too much but he did enough for me to talk about it! His shirt darkened to match his old tunic, gave him the gauntlets for something interesting to look at, changed his collar shape, and I changed his eye color! This actually happened after I made the newer drawing XD I changed his eye color to match Twi’s :) also I untucked his shirt. Idk why. I thought it’d look better so we’ll see lol.

Twi changed a LOT, and by a lot I mean his colors lol. I had a plan where he was going to be pale with dark brown hair to show that he isolated himself and stayed inside after tp, and lbl helped him heal and he was able to look like he went outside again. Buuuuut I changed it for my own sanity cuz that would’ve been so hard to do well lol. So the newer design has the colors he was going to get in the old lbl. Truthfully the old backstory doesn’t fit what I have in mind anymore anyways so it makes sense for him to be tan in the new one. I also added more battle stuff for him including bracers, that sleeve thing, and actual clothes that match ordon lol. I did keep the Ordona symbol tho cuz it’s cool. But yeah, other than that there wasn’t too much of a change in his actual clothes! I did give him dimples tho :> you just can’t see it

Four changed quiet a bit as well. As least when he’s merged. He used to have armor but I thought giving him a full thing of armor when he was only 14 was kind of odd so I instead took out most of the armor. I also made his colors more neutral cuz I loved the idea that Four’s colors were more white and brown to show the colors merging. But honestly i don’t like the look of it haha 😅 it makes more sense for all of the colors to be on Four anyways since it resembles the colors never fully merging so honestly I miiiight switch the colors… but anyways. I did keep the braid flower thing cuz many liked that as did I, and I changed his eye color to match the actual eye color of the colors. They will change depending on who’s in control! But yeah, change in colors 🙃 might change it again idk. I just don’t like the tan and brown haha.

I went through a whole thing with windy because he was originally gonna be 17 or 18. He was gonna be an adult. But I didn’t like that and changed him to being 14! The issue with that tho was that he looked too old in his old design. The blue lobster and coat that resembled Linebeck’s just didn’t fit him anymore so I decided to lean more into his green tunic and played with colors to get him his new design! Which I love a lot! It’s just a little more boyish with nice colors of sea foam green that I like, and it definitely fits his younger aura. That could easily have something to do with how I drew his face tho haha. The old design had the blue lobster cuz that’s what everyone else was doing and I thought the coat would be a cut homage to Linebeck. Including a gossip stone. Also no boots cuz idk, I like it. Makes it easier on me haha. And his scar is a little less healed in the new design than the old one :) it’s very clear that I decided to do what I wanted to do with his design instead of doing what I thought people wanted, and I love his newer design now. Should be easier to draw too!

Left drawing was the first design of Age, and there’s some things I do kinda like. For starters the cape is very neat and would definitely mark him as a champion, but that’s about all I like haha. His short hair is fine but it doesn’t make sense for him to cut it, the armored pieces are a pain to draw and the colors were hard to work with. So I got rid of the cape cuz I figured it’d be harder to draw and wasn’t super practical, changed the tunic color and his hair color to match canon, and gave him more simple bracers and boots. The thing about Age tho is that I don’t like his design. Same issue with Four honestly. It’s not satisfying and I wish I took the time to play with his design more instead of jumping in, so I might play with his design a bit more, might do something with the cape. But I did add Mipha’s scale to show that they’re a thing <3 and lastly he used to be 5’5” but I didn’t like that so I moved him down to 5’0”. He’s taller than Wild to show that the shrine of resurrection stunted Wild’s height (but honestly my Age did technically use the shrine of resurrection so) but he’s not absurdly taller than him haha. but yeah, i don’t like either of his designs 😔

Wild’s overall design didn’t change too much cuz I did like the champion’s tunic with the Hateno clothes on top of it, but something that I do wish I kept was that his hair can’t grow back on some parts of his head, leaving him bald. I might still keep it but it’ll be very well hidden under that mane of hair haha. I dropped the braid and let his hair flow beautifully in the wind, and smae with Age, changed the hair and tunic color! I wanted him and Age to both have the champion’s tunic so that they know that they’re technically the same :) luckily Wild has a lot of outfits so I can honestly play with the clothes whenever I want hehe.

And as you mentioned, Wars went through a lot of change too! Just like Wind I played with some ideas for him cuz I wasn’t vibing with his design. He and Sky are the only ones I had in the older lbl comic so I was able to know what I did and didn’t like about his design! I liked his tunic design for sure, and it’s still there, but the cape was kinda lame to me. It wasn’t fancy, had a bad color, and I hated the overall shape. He has his hat here but he was always going to lose it. So keeping everything else I decided to try to explore the scarf again and tried to find a style I liked. I didn’t want it to be like the game, and I wanted it to look unique to him, and eventually I settled on the big triangle shaped scarf! Makes him look more dynamic and I changed the colors so they’d look better, and I do really like his newer design! He didn’t go through much change, but it was enough to keep me satisfied! I do wish his Diamond clip was on his back like how it is in the game but oh well, I wanted it to look like some sort of Medal of Honor 🤷‍♀️ my beloved

And that’s about all the big changes! I didn’t include everyone cuz they either didn’t change much or they didn’t have old designs. Like Hyrule did change a bit with his design now having a turtleneck rather than a V-neck, but that’s about it. I don’t think Legend’s design changed at all (I love his design) and Totem and Rift weren’t in the older era of lbl :) I do need to draw refs for them tho augh. Spirit too didn’t change all that much and I don’t have room to include everyone haha. But yeah that’s what changed about them! I like the changes a lot (kind of) and I hope they won’t kill me when I draw the comic :’D I know wolf Link is giving me grief, mostly his colors.

But yeah, thank you for this ask! I love rambling about this stuff!! XD especially comparing old lbl to new lbl :)

#asks

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azaharinflames · 7 hours ago

Note

you’ve had such well-thought out answers to everything 911 and bucktommy so i wanted to hear your take on this. i just came across someone writing that bvddie endgame is corroborated in the overall story and not going there is in bad faith 😵‍💫

i’m sorry but when the showrunners - both tim and kristen - plus the actor who portrays one half of that ship have emphasised over and over again the deep friendship and brotherly bond between buck and eddie…what am i missing here?

there have been numerous instances where the writers have opened up the possibility of buck realising romantic feelings for eddie and every single one of those instances have been clear: it’s always been about TOMMY

I had a long answer to this, and then the blackout happened and I lost it :/ So, trying again!

First of all, thank you so, so much, Nonnie! I really appreciate your words.

I've always thought that there is no stopping from living in delusion, if living there is all you know. But what do I know, lol.

I don't see how Buddie endgame is corroborated in the overall story, I genuinely don't. And I think anyone trying to claim the people not seeing it do it in bad faith are adding to some harmful rhetorics I've been seeing a lot in the fandom. Where if you don't like Buddie, then you're labeled as a racist and a homophobe.

Stop it. Cut that shit.

What they're doing by throwing accusations like those so easily is trivialising some very serious issues, whilst actively engaging in perpetuating those. Meaning, you cannot seriously tell me I am homophobic for not liking Buddie when in the same breath you're saying (with your whole chest, mind you) that Tommy Kinard, a canonically gay man (or Josh, also a canonically gay man), should be run over by a train. It's not a joke. It's not funny. Stop it.

Sorry for derailing there a bit, but it truly annoys me.

Look, to be very blunt here, I don't think 911 has written a single one of their pairings as being corroborated by the storyline. They've hit gold with Henren, Bathena, and Madney, and now with Bucktommy, but honestly? In all cases, it was a product of their luck in having actors that had insane chemistry together without the producers expecting it, in having actors advocating for their characters and the directions they wanted to take them in... I am not undermining the talent of the writers. There is only so much an actor can do without some good material. But I genuinely believe not a single couple of 911 was planned from the start (save Henren, because of obvious reasons), nor did they orchestrate the whole series to fit them.

Bucktommy are an anomaly (affectionate), in the way that, somehow, they fit so well, to the point that the red string theory was born. But we all know they were not planned from the start, and that Tim is probably still in shock at how hard he hit the jackpot with them.

So. For Buddie? Nothing indicates it was them from the start, and I think some small fun tidbits (like the elf in Season 2) that were done to joke around with the fans got taken too far. I'll just put in as simply as I can, I guess:

If the show wanted them to be endgame from the start, their growth would've gone perpendicular. Meaning - the actions of one would constantly be reflected in the other. Furthermore, if they were meant to be endgame, you know what we would've seen? Them acting like they do in fanfics.

Hot take, idc. But I mean it. Because in fanfics, back when I was reading Buddie, I maybe could see it (in the ones that didn't heavily mischaracterize them). A situation where they were fully supportive of each other, where they were each other's number 1 (Chris on a whole other league ofc), where their decisions were heavily influenced by each other, where they shared every big moment with each other.

But that is not what we got. And that is not what we have, for as much as they want to twist it that way.

And they made that even more obvious once Tommy came into play. Once they had Buck leaving his sister's wedding momentarily because he wanted to share that moment with Tommy (who, also, put Buck as his priority the second the emergency was over). Once they had Buck going home to his boyfriend in 710, instead of almost moving in with the Diazes to try to fix Eddie's mess. Once they showed us how Tommy takes care of him in a way no one else will, will put Buck as a priority even when they are not together (yet), will feel Buck's pain as if it were his own.

I feel like this got very long, and that my thoughts are all over the place lol. But to sum it up:

I do not think Buddie endgame is corroborated in the show, nor do I think it would be as amazing as they think it would be. Mostly because we've had Eddie looking about done with Buck several times this season (and in a no-cute way, I'll say), and mostly because after all they've done with Bucktommy, how significant they've made them so far? Yeah... I don't know if they could ever achieve that again without people thinking: Oh, but this is just a copy of Buck and Tommy. Meh.

Sorry for the long ass answer hehe. I was answering this ask shortly before the power outage, so it was on my mind most of the day (whenever I wasn't worried sick lmao)

#bucktommy #tevan #anti buddie #anon ❣️

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wlwhyuluka · 3 days ago

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ALIEN STAGE - SWAPPED ROLES AU

something i’d like to talk about in my au is this particular confrontation :

if you’ve been following my au, you know the roles swap like this :

mizi 🔄 ivan

sua 🔄 till

hyuna 🔄 luka

something i wanna state is that this scene isn’t just rebranded with mizi and till instead, and nothing else. in fact, they aren’t even the ones in this scene. it’s still ivan and sua.

the only difference? sua is the one who is confronting ivan because she is insecure.

sua thought that ivan was like her. they looked similar, and they acted similar when it came to facial expressions and habits. so she thought he was twisted like her.

but she was wrong. ivan is kind, and he doesn’t mind other people and making friends. he is innocent, and he has a sparkle and hope in his eyes that sua lost long ago. he’s popular, and he is great at singing and other tasks from the seygein. people care about him. he has a chance to live in the awful world they reside in.

and worst of all, he has till. till, who would protect his life for him. till, who shields him from everything that seems like a threat. sua never once had that herself. she is extremely resentful of ivan for that.

to her, ivan is a cruel joke. someone that god made to mock sua. someone to tell her “he was never like you. unlike you, he’s someone strong and capable and smart enough to adapt to things.”

but sua knows something about ivan that he himself barely knows. he’s in denial that till might be lying to him. because he loves him too much for that, to believe that his god would ever dare to keep such a bad secret from him. and sua hates him even more for that. he’s so smart, yet he chooses to blindly follow his heart.

so sua approaches him, and mocks him coldly, telling him that till is using him and that he’ll just break his naive little heart when he doesn’t need him anymore. that till would never love an idiot like him. yet all sua does is project how she feels about herself onto ivan.

ivan, to her surprise, stands up for himself, and tells sua to not talk about till like that. ivan says that he knows till, and he knows how sensitive and sweet he is, and how he loved him and how ivan loved him back.

sua trembles, and then furiously runs away, in tears. it wasn’t fair. it was never fair. she was right, ivan wasn’t that easy to falter like she was. it was simple to understand.

ivan was the version of herself that wasn’t meant for failure.

so seeing ivan fall from grace, and lose badly in round 5, made her believe she was destined for the same fate. that her older sister was right, and that any dreams of freedom she had were doomed to be shattered. ( ivan isn’t dead btw, he was just saved by the rebels but sua thinks he’s dead )

now, is mizi jealous of ivan and till’s relationship? yes. absolutely. but the jealousy is more focused on the pairing, and not a singular person from the couple. it’s kind of like “why did they have what i couldn’t have with sua?” mizi doesn’t hate ivan or till, but she does get a small sick feeling in her stomach whenever she sees them together, which she pushes down.

whenever i make aus, i like to think about the characters personalities and keep them while swapping positions. i feel like swapping everything is very uncreative, and it doesn’t add as much fun to the story.

#alien stage #ivantill #mizisua #alnst mizi #alnst till #alnst sua #alnst ivan #alnst au #alien stage au #alnst #swap au #ivansua siblings #swapped au #doomed yaoi #doomed yuri #everything is doomed #my clematis #cure #trending

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4-the-l0ve-0f-art · 1 hour ago

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"Caleb becomes a wet rat (and gets unpixelated?!)"

Chapter 6: Homecoming Wings

Pairing: Caleb x GN Reader

Word count: 1180

Genre: Reverse isekai, fluff, romance, comedy, supernatural, angst, slow burn

Rating: General Audiences

Triger Warnings: none

A/N: I recommend replaying through Homecoming Wing's first part of chapter 1 while reading this !! i've also made a tag for this fic called fic: wet rat caleb which will be used to post updates on the future chapters and bonus content related to this story, just for fun

<< previous next >> Tumblr Chapter List Ao3 Link

---

Caleb was knocked out of his thoughts by your excited chattering.

“Let’s goooo!!! Caleb’s chapter released!” His head whipped towards your direction.

You looked up, sensing the stare. “Oh, not you, Caleb. I meant, like, Caleb-Caleb, you know? The actual Caleb from the game.” You lifted up the ipad to show him your screen. It was only for a brief moment, and Caleb was unable to catch what was written on the screen.

Caleb’s eyes narrowed. This was his chance.

He walked over and jumped on the couch, sitting right next to you. He glanced at the ipad and then back to your face.

You were staring at him in shock.

Oh. Oh my god. He’s sitting next to me.

He blinked at you with his purple eyes, not saying anything. His tail flicked to his side.

Okay. Okay. Stay calm. You don’t want to scare him away by reacting too loud.

“You really are interested in Caleb, huh? I knew it.. Even cats are going to like him.” You turned your focus back to the ipad in your lap, which was currently on the chapter selection menu for the main story.

Are we really talking about me? This much enthusiasm.. It’s unsettling.

Caleb was a bit confused. He knew for sure that the man on the screen was him, but he didn’t understand why you were so excited when you saw him. Both of you had watched the same video.

There was still a lot Caleb didn’t understand about the video. The man was him, but it wasn’t him.

“Did you honestly think I would always be the kind hearted boy from your childhood?”

He was talking to someone. Someone from his childhood?

There was no one. No one worth remembering, anyway.

What disturbed him more was the experiment report.

[They are the optimal weapon for destroying each other. This experiment is never to be restarted.]

One thing he was sure about was that there was no one, absolutely no one, who had been turned into a weapon the same way he was. That is how he rose to the ranks of Colonel, and that is how it’s supposed to remain. There was no one who had been able to endure the experiments long enough to be as powerful as him.

And that is why he didn’t understand what was going on in the video.

Or what was going on in general, to be fair. He had turned into a cat. A cat!

And here I thought things couldn’t get any worse when grandma was killed.

Snapping back to reality, he read the text on your ipad screen.

Homecoming Wings: Vanishing Skyward.

He watched your eyes twinkle.

“The background is so beautiful. That’s Skyhaven, I think..”

You were right. It was a picture of Skyhaven from a distance. He could recognize the layout of that island anywhere, it was his base after all. Or his prison. Depends on how you look at it.

“Let’s find out what you’ve been up to while MC has been suffering, Caleb.” You poked his head gently.

He narrowed his eyes on you. It was amusing how you talked to a cat, but the cat was still him. The situation was somewhat laughable, he thought.

You tapped on the block titled “01 Story: Infiltration”.

He read the text on the screen alongside you. It looked like it was written from someone else’s perspective.

“She’s dreaming about the explosion?” You muttered, focused on the screen.

Caleb’s eyes widened as the words “Aether Core”, “Ever”, and Bloomshore District Explosion” appeared on the screen one by one.

The scene seemed to switch from an office to the scene of an explosion.

Reporter A - “It’s been a week since the explosion in the Cascade District. The Farspace Fleet still has the region under lockdown.”

Caleb was baffled.

…

You stared at the screen in silence for an entire minute once the cutscene ended.

“Did you see that?” Caleb wasn’t sure if you were talking to him or yourself. Frankly, he didn’t care. He was just as shocked as you.

“I think infold really loves to introduce their characters while they kill someone.” You said, referencing a certain white haired man with a crow.

Caleb, on the other hand, was lost in thought.

The scenes that had just unfolded on the screen hadn’t happened too long ago to him. He had killed the man who had tried to sink his ship in the deepspace, on his first mission as Colonel. It had been a couple months since then and Caleb had adjusted well to the endless attempts at people trying to dethrone him, courtesy of Ever.

It was a weird experience watching it unfold from a different perspective, however. And even weirder when it’s from an ipad screen of a random person who didn’t know he was right there, next to them.

At this moment, his life felt like a fever dream.

…

Currently, you’re having the biggest crash out you’ve had since you started playing this game. And a cat was witnessing it all, sitting at his place next to you on the couch.

“Girl, oh my god..”

“You did not just get drugged by that guy. You did not—” You cut yourself off.

You looked at the cat next to you.

“Caleb, Do you see this shit? Do you???”

Caleb did, in fact, see the shit. And saying that he was flabbergasted would be an understatement.

“They deserved a better reunion scene. What the fuck was that?? “It really is me.” Who says that after being declared dead?” You mimicked Caleb’s voice line, clearly annoyed.

“And the MC just.. Accepted it? And then proceeded to stay at his home?”

That was not what Caleb was worried about. He was more so focused on the fact that he was a video game character in this world. And with a story which was eerily similar to his own, at that.

Just without the hunter.

I have no idea what you’re talking about. Caleb continued watching as you ranted.

“There's so much shit going on in this story, man..”

Strangely enough, Caleb didn’t think that his actions in the story were out of character for him. He didn’t resonate with the need to protect someone like the MC in the game, but in the end, he had still ended up in the same position as the other version of himself, regardless of whether that hunter was in the picture or not.

He had been forced to survive on his own either way. The only difference was that he had no one waiting for him at the end of it all. His desperation was fueled by his need to feel even a semblance of control over his life, which had been thrown into disarray since he was young.

And it was happening once again. This time, with an obviously cat-shaped dilemma.

Yet, maybe, just maybe, he didn’t mind it as much.

A certain someone sitting next to him was altering his reality, oblivious to it all.

And he was starting to accept it.

---

Taglist: @roseapov @mangooes @zukini-01 @browneyedgirl22 @mavix @staristoo @hohoooowhy @pirana10 @lunia-likes-pomegranet @bertieorangy @heyimseli @xxnessinessiellexx @mcdepressed290 @mentaltrouble2201 @stardustsunflowers13 @I-lover9 @destheoren @ixloom819 @super-nerder @mazlodowki @friedmagazineprincess @celestialzdiviner @deadghosy @fishwasher8 @dummiebunny @etsuniiru @wegottastayfocus @astraecho

A/N: You can DM me or comment if you want to be tagged in this series and it'll be done in the future parts !!

#love and deepspace x reader #love and deepspace #love and deepspace caleb #lads caleb #lnds caleb #caleb #caleb x reader #caleb x you #caleb x mc #xia yizhou #caleb love and deepspace #lads x reader #lads #reverse isekai #romance #my writing

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whitechocolate355 · 8 hours ago

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full court press

part - 3

pairing - paige bueckers x azzi fudd (pazzi)

word count - 4.9k

c/w - language

(repost !!)

hey guys... sorry for posting a little later today i started rewatching modern family and have since been sucked in. tbh i kinda hate how this chapter turned out but i promise i'll make chap 5 extra steamy to make up for it!!! hope u guys have fun reading! and as always, i'm open to oneshot requests and more feedback 😘

chapter 3: baseline tension

---------------

Paige -

The court buzzed with the sharp blasts of whistles and the rhythmic thud of sneakers hitting hardwood. Line drills: Paige's personal hell in Jordans yet— tryouts' cruel tradition.

They were close ten lines in and almost 20 girls had dropped out, panting and cursing on the side lines leaving Paige wondering how they even qualified.

By line 23, another swarm of girls had been wiped out, and Sarah's pace was starting to slow, her arms dragging like wet towels at her sides. she gave it one last push, stumbled on the turn, and waved a limp hand in surrender before slumping against the bleachers.

"SAURRR" KK shouted. "You told me you'd do this with me!" she yelled out, too tired to focus on the betrayal as she continued running her lines.

KK held on longer than Paige would've thought. her steps were clean, but her breathing betrayed her. At line 27, she tugged her headband off with a frustrated grunt and tossed it behind her like she was done with the world. “Girl, boo. I’m out,” she muttered. “I got asthma or pride or something.” Paige laughed, not sure which was true.

At line 31, Nika’s pace faltered. she was still grinning—because of course she was—but her legs didn’t match the joke she cracked about dying on foreign soil. “Tell Croatia i fought until the end” she gasped, collapsing to the ground like it was a luxury mattress.

By line 42, even Lou—steady, reliable Lou— was beginning to tire, her knees buckling mid-stride. She tried to ride it out in style, brushing imaginary lint off her shorts like nothing happened, but tapped out with a huff.

And Ice, who Paige had never heard speak more than four words at a time, actually groaned as she dropped out at 44. “y’all can run for the both of us,” she muttered, then sprawled on the court, making snow angels with the squeaky floor.

But Paige? She kept running. And so did Azzi.

It pissed paige off more than it should’ve. that Azzi was still going, still steady, like the line drills were just a warm-up jog through the park. Her dark curls had now been brushed into a sleek ponytail—swinging rhythmically with each step. Her sweat glistening across her cheekbones like highlighter, whilst Paige's left her body feeling uncomfortably sticky. Who does this girl think she is?

Barely panting, Azzi's breath remained measured as they neared the baseline again. It was annoyingly graceful. Like she was built for this. Like she hadn’t just lied to Paige and acted like the plane ride meant nothing.

Paige felt a stitch forming in her side, and the stuffy, gym air punching at her lungs. Her legs started to shake, muscles burning. The sweat in her eyes blurred the lines on the court. And still—Azzi ran. Unbothered. Effortless. Glowing. Damn her.

The anger built in Paige’s chest, tangled with frustration and something that felt dangerously close to heartbreak. She hated that she was letting Azzi affect her this much. Hated that every step beside her felt like a personal insult. So, on line 50, Paige made her move.

She slowed just enough, dragged the bottom of her black Nike shirt up to wipe her face. Sweat beaded along her collarbone, catching the gym lights. Her other hand pressed to the wall as she leaned against it with casual, practiced exhaustion. And waited. Waited for Azzi's reaction.

Out the corner of her eye, she saw Azzi glance.

Not just looking—staring. Like Paige had just knocked the wind out of her, like the sight caught her off guard. She gulped. That was new.

Paige couldn't deny her pleasure in seeing Azzi's face, knowing how much she was torturing the brunette. Good she thought, she deserves it.

But then— That look.

Sad. Almost apologetic. With those damn soft eyes again. It hit Paige like a wave to the chest—familiar and painful and real. She blinked, trying to stop her body from collapsing at the pained look in Azzi's face.

Then she remembered. The fake flirting. The avoidance. The secret she kept. And suddenly, all that softness curdled.

Paige scoffed—loud, deliberate—and pushed off the wall, shouldering Azzi on her way back to the line.

It had dawned upon Paige when they were nearing their 60th lap.

Weak. That’s what it made her feel. Azzi made her feel weak. With her stolen glances, her annoyed insults, her surprisingly good flirting.

It made her want to scream.

Or kiss her.

Or both.

But Paige needed to remind herself she was the opposite of weak. They were not on that plane anymore.

For all Paige new, that sweet, charming girl she met on the plane was long gone. That version of Azzi didn't even exist to Paige. Only the version of her now. A memory. A stranger. A rival.

She was not about to let Azzi win.

“You’re going to wish you never came here,” Paige spat, her voice a serrated whisper.

And then she was gone. Sprinting. Fueled by rage and shrimp and whatever this twisted thing in her chest was.

Let's see if Azzi can chase that.

---------------

Azzi -

She surged forward, legs carving the court with practiced precision.

Her feet slapped the hardwood in rhythmic patterns, a metronome to the chaos in her chest. She wasn’t even sure how many lines they were at anymore—maybe 70? 75?—but she knew only one other set of footsteps kept pace with hers.

Paige.

She hadn’t been able to stop thinking about that moment—the moment the door opened, and Paige had walked in with that effortless swagger, like she owned the room, like the gym was just another stage for her to conquer. Like she hadn’t shattered Azzi’s deliberate lie in a single, staggering second.

She’d tried not to react. Tried to breathe through it. But as Paige had jogged toward the baseline and done that double take, Azzi felt the earth beneath her shift, the fury in Paige’s eyes nearly bringing her to her knees.

She hadn’t wanted this. Not the rivalry, not the tension, not this… war Paige had declared with every step they took side by side.

Azzi had lied. She had lied because she thought she’d never see Paige again. She had lied to protect herself; from her emotions, from her confusion, both seeming to spiral out of control every time she was in the vicinity of the white girl. And now the lie had teeth. And claws. And a mouth that whispered: you don’t get to want her anymore.

But, God, did she want her. More than ever.

Especially when Paige pulled that move at line 40. Her black Nike shirt lifting with a rehearsed sweep. Azzi damn near tripped.

She tried not to look. It was obvious that Paige was trying to elicit a reaction from her. But she would have to go blind to stop her from staring.

Azzi tried with everything in her to keep her eyes ahead, to pretend the heat crawling up her neck was from the sprints and not the sight of Paige yanking her shirt up, slow and shameless, wiping sweat from her face like it was a damn performance.

The black fabric that once clung to her skin was now replaced with her toned stomach, and God, Azzi had prayed there would be nothing impressive underneath, but as always, her luck had failed her.

Azzi gulped— taking in the sight of Paige's abs. They were no joke—defined, flushed, slick with sweat. Every muscle line carved out by years of drills, lifts, suicides. And Paige knew it. Holding the shirt up just long enough to let the rest of them stare, like she was saying: This is what you're up against.

Azzi swallowed hard. Her throat felt tight. Her legs didn’t even feel sore anymore—just shaky.

Because in that moment, Azzi forgot every reason she shouldn’t want this girl. Forgot tryouts, forgot Matt (as if she remembered in the first place), forgot her lie.

All she could think was: I want her to ruin me.

And Paige saw it. Of course she did. Replying the dumbstruck brunette with a smirk, her eyes dark, wicked. Then, she leaned in—just close enough that no one else could hear—and whispered, low and lethal:

“Still think you can keep up with me?”

Azzi didn’t have an answer. She knew should’ve looked away, kept her eyes on the goddamn floor, on the baseline, on anything other than Paige. But her thoughts wouldn't let her.

She swallowed thickly, eyes darting away as fast as possible, but it was too late. Paige had seen the look on her face. The guilt, the awe, the hunger she wasn’t ready to admit to anyone—especially not herself.

She felt like her brain short-circuited for a second.

It wasn’t just the way Paige looked—though, (even that was enough to knock the breath out of her)—it was the way she moved. The cocky tilt of her chin, the unbothered hand on the wall, the way she waited, like she knew exactly what she was doing to Azzi.

Because in that moment, Azzi forgot every reason she shouldn’t want this girl. All she could think was: I want her to ruin me. Matt had never had made her feel like this. Not even close.

In fact, no one ever had. Matt’s touch had always felt like static — distant, half-hearted, forgettable. Even the one time he tried to go down on her, it barely stirred anything in her. Not the way Paige did — without even laying a hand on her.

And that made the guilt burn so much hotter.

Azzi blinked hard, snapping herself back to reality. This was bad. This was so, very bad.

Paige was angry. Hurt. She wore her betrayal on her sleeve, maybe it wasn't clear for others, but Azzi could see it. And it killed her to know that she was the one responsible for it all.

She hadn’t broken the connection—they’d barely had time to build it. But whatever spark they had, whatever fragile, luminous thing had flickered to life between their knees on that cramped plane… Azzi had crushed it before it could become anything more.

And Paige wasn’t letting her forget it.

She hadn’t meant to lie. In fact, in the moment, she didn't even know why she'd do it. She just hadn’t expected to ever see Paige again . But now, here they were—running line after line, the sting of betrayal tightening every breath between them. And yet Paige still found the energy to flirt, whispering in her ear mid-run like it meant nothing. Just mere flirtatious jabs meant to get under Azzi’s skin.

4th whistle:

“Didn’t think you’d get this lucky twice, did you?”

10th whistle:

“You’re panting harder than you did on the plane.”

26th whistle:

“Isn't it funny how you lied and still couldn’t stay away?”

Azzi had responded with a quick eye roll every time, refocusing herself onto the baseline. Yet every time, she caught herself biting back a smile—because even now, Paige couldn’t help but tease.

While Paige seemed to have the energy to flirt, she could also see the cracks. Azzi knew it wasn’t just a game.

She could see it in the way Paige’s energy faltered, the exhaustion creeping into Paige’s stride. Her legs dragged just a little more each time. Her breath came harder. And still, she kept pushing—pushing to outlast Azzi, to prove something. Her arms no longer pumping with ease, her breath no longer steady. She was running on pride and rage alone.

Azzi was fine. Her legs were starting to buzz, yeah, and her breath had thickened. But the girl had more in her. Another twenty lines, at least.

She could’ve gone another twenty lines easy. Her legs were starting to buzz, yeah, and her breath had thickened. But it had been light work so far.

Still, by the 80th line, she made a choice.

For Paige.

For those eyes that still burned with betrayal every time they glanced over.

For the chance—small and impossible as it seemed—that maybe Azzi could start to make it right.

So, she slowed.

Dropping to the floor with a grunt, hand on her chest like she was winded. Maybe part of her was.

It wasn’t real.

But it was honest.

Because the only thing hurting more than her lungs… was Paige’s anger.

And if collapsing now meant Paige wouldn’t look at her with that furious look again— She’d hit the floor every single time.

Azzi let herself lay on the floor for a moment, trying to sell her exhaustion to the coaches. She was panting, but not from the lines.

From the weight of those damn ocean-blue eyes looking at her like she’d ripped something out of her chest.

And yeah. She deserved that look.

But still, it hurt anyway.

---------------

Paige -

The gym was quiet now, except for the hum of the overhead lights and the distant squeak of a ball bouncing at the far end of the court.

Most of the girls were sprawled out across the floor, chugging water, untying sneakers, or groaning about how sore they were going to be in the morning. Nika had disappeared to the bathroom. Aaliyah and Lou were rolling out their muscles with the foam roller. And Sarah was flat-out asleep on her back.

Paige wasn’t tired anymore. Not really. Not in the physical sense. Her heart was still racing, but for all the wrong reasons.

Azzi was seated against the padded wall, legs outstretched, arms draped over her knees. She looked… unbothered. Serene, almost. Like the lies she’d told and the miles they’d just run hadn’t even scratched the surface.

And that pissed her off to no end.

She stalked toward her slowly, her jaw tight, sweat still clinging to her temples. Azzi didn’t move as she approached—just looked up, like she’d been expecting her.

Paige leaned down, hands resting on the seat above her, caging her in. She lowered her face until it was barely a breath away from hers.

“Were you this good at lying to your boyfriend, too?” she whispered, her voice seductive like honey, yet laced with venom.

Azzi didn’t flinch. Nor blink.

She just smiled—soft and sad. A smile full of apology and ache and something Paige couldn’t name.

And that—

That destroyed her.

Because how could she. How dare she look at Paige like that, like she regretted it all, like she was the victim, like she was the one who got hurt.

Paige’s heart thudded against her ribs, her breath hitching in disbelief. That smile—that smile—was enough to send her spiralling all over again.

“Don’t—” Paige breathed in, shuddering, her voice cracking at the edges. “Don’t look at me like that.”

Azzi opened her mouth, but nothing came out, her face looking down. And maybe that was worse.

Because Paige had come here ready to taunt, ready to win, ready to drag Azzi through the same hell she’d been in for past few days.

But now she just stood there, trembling with confusion, heat, longing—and hate, maybe. Or maybe just heartbreak dressed up as anger.

She stepped back, shaking her head. Everything felt messy. Stupid. Wrong.

And Azzi? Azzi just stayed there, still with that look on her face like she wished she could take it all back.

Paige hated her.

Paige wanted her.

She sighed. She didn’t know the difference anymore.

---------------

It had been somewhere over Colorado when Paige stopped pretending not to look.

Azzi had her hoodie pulled up over her head, one earbud in, cheek smushed softly against the plane window. The sky outside was pink-orange, leaking through the glass and spilling over her face like a filter. Paige didn’t even notice the turbulence anymore.

“You always fly with one earbud?” she asked, trying to sound casual.

Azzi cracked open one eye. “What?”

Paige gestured lazily. “You’ve had just one earbud in this whole flight. Who does that? You trying to keep one ear open for emergency announcements?”

Azzi smiled — really smiled — for the first time since they’d sat down.

“No,” she said, pulling the other earbud out and offering it. “Just hoping someone interesting would start talking.”

Paige blinked. Her hand moved on instinct, fingers brushing Azzi’s as she took the bud. She popped it in. Slow RnB filled her ears, smooth and lazy.

“Sonder?” Paige said, quirking a brow.

“Can’t go wrong,” Azzi murmured.

For a while, they just sat like that, shoulder to shoulder, music humming between them.

They sat in a pocket of silence, the plane humming quietly around them.

Paige rested her head back against the seat, legs sprawled out in front of her. She could feel Azzi next to her — the warmth of her, even without touching.

It was stupid, probably. They barely knew each other. And yet…

Paige turned her head a little, just enough to see Azzi fiddling absently with the strings of her hoodie. Like she didn’t know what to do with her hands. Like she was nervous too.

Paige smirked, trying to cover the knot in her throat. “You always this quiet?” she asked, voice low.

Azzi startled a little, then smiled — small, almost sheepish. “Depends who I’m sitting next to.”

Paige’s chest tightened at that, and she let out a breathy laugh, playing it off. “Good answer.”

She shifted, the leather seat creaking under her.

For a few beats, neither of them said anything. Just breathing in the same air, close enough to feel the tension start to crackle again.

Paige didn’t know what she was doing, only that she didn’t want to stop. She leaned in a little, close enough that she could smell Azzi’s shampoo — something light, clean, maddening.

“You’re… different than I thought you’d be,” Paige said quietly, the words slipping out before she could catch them.

Azzi tilted her head, curious. “Yeah? How’d you think I’d be?”

Paige thought about it — about the cool stares, the guarded smiles she had seen before.

“Harder,” she said honestly. “Colder.”

Then, after a brief moment: “Not like this.”

Azzi looked at her, something unreadable flickering across her face. And then she gave Paige a smile — soft, real, devastating.

It hit Paige straight in the ribs. Then, she let out a light, soothing laugh— making Paige grin like she’d just unlocked a new sound.

“Do you always flirt like this on planes?” Azzi asked after a beat.

Paige tilted her head. “Only when the girl has a ridiculous smile and keeps pretending she’s not staring back.”

Neither of them moved. Neither of them said anything else.

The space between them shrank until it felt charged, dangerous.

And that was it. That tiny look — shy and full of teenage confusion — that stayed with Paige long after landing.

Azzi dropped her gaze first, lashes brushing her cheeks. She bit her lip to the floor.

Paige turned back to the seat in front of her, heart pounding stupidly hard.

Something had shifted.

And even if nothing else happened on that plane, Paige knew — she'd remember this.

Azzi’s smile, her nearness, the way she made Paige feel seen and vulnerable all at once.

So why was Azzi now on the same court as her, reminding her how dangerously unforgettable she was?