#like it waits for someone to respond - itself - and then replies to that

[nullwork]

hate to be the bearer of bad news but you have to want to write to be an author and you have to enjoy writing to be a good writer. ai can't comprehend the artistic style that goes into writing. and it is an art. anyone can take a canvas and some paint and create something, but it won't look comprehensive if you don't know what stroke to use.

[backtothefanfiction]

Sleep Talking | Joaquin Torres

Summary; Joaquin could never keep a secret.

Warnings: none, this is all fluff

A/N: I couldn’t sleep until I’d put something out so yeah, this is just a real quick short before bed kind of story. I’ll get back on my asks/wips/part 2s of stuff tomorrow. For now, enjoy this. Also sorry I haven’t done tags it’s late and I’m tired so hope this finds you fine.

You woke unable to breathe. “Ouch, Joaquin,” you grumbled as your mind and body slowly dragged itself from sleep.

“Huh?” He grumbled sleepily.

“Baby, you’re squishing me.”

“What?” he groaned, but you could tell he was only half awake.

“Roll over. You’re squishing me. And you’re making me feel like I’m sleeping with a freaking radiator. Jeez.” you moaned as he shifted slightly and you truly felt how stifling it had become under the covers.

“It’s not me. It’s you,” he sleepily grumbled. You didn’t even have a chance to respond before he grumbled another response. “No.” he said with a sigh as he rolled back over onto his back on his pillow. “It was you. I know you ate my sandwich.” he mumbled.

Sandwich? What was he- ohhh, he’s sleep talking.

You chuckled to yourself as you rolled over onto your side to watch him sleep. Every now and again his lips would silently move to talk again, but it was mostly silent. You were just about to close your eyes and go back to sleep when you heard the words, “Because I’m going to marry her.”

There was a pause as if he was listening to someone else speak before he said, “What do you mean who? Y/N who else. I’ve already got the ring. I’ve been keeping it in my underwear drawer for weeks now.”

You were suddenly wide awake. You didn’t know if it was just the dream or if there was some actual truth to it and his subconscious was bleeding through. But there was one thing for sure, you weren’t going back to sleep until you knew for sure.

You tried to be as quiet as you possibly could as you crept out of bed, reaching for your phone and turning on the torch. Your feet padded quietly across the floor as Joaquin continued to let out small little murmurs. Every tiny shift you made to open the drawer sounded like thunder in your ears and you desperately hoped he wouldn’t wake up and catch you in the act. You gave one last quick tug on the old dresser drawer and there it was. Barely concealed by a pair of underpants, a square blue box.

You stood frozen in agony as you warred with yourself over what to do. Did you look and ruin the surprise completely or did you pretend you didn’t know it was there and climb back into bed. But you couldn’t help it. Now you knew of its existence, it was going to be burning a hole in the back of your head. You just wanted to be sure he picked a good ring, you tried to reason with yourself. You could be a good actress. You could still look surprised. You tried to rationalise as your fingers pulled out the velvet box. I mean he’s asleep, he’s not gonna know. You thought.

“Baby? What are you doing?” Joaquin asked, his voice hoarse with sleep. You looked at him guiltily. This was no sleep talking, he was well and truly awake now, sitting upright in bed as his eyes squinted, trying to adjust to the light of your torch in the dim room. That’s when he looked at your hands. “Oh shit!” he exclaimed. “Baby, I- wait, how did you-“ he paused as you continued to stand at the end of the bed frozen. Then he realised. “I was sleep talking.”

“Yes.” you finally said softly.

He groaned in frustration. “My mom said I could never keep a secret. I just wished for once I could have kept this one.”

“It’s alright,” you said.

“Did you look?” he asked.

“Not yet.” you replied. Your answer brought a soft smile to his face and he silently beckoned you over to sit with him.

“You know, I was waiting to do this on that trip to New York we were gonna take in a couple of weeks.” he began to explain, “but I guess this is good too.” Although it was dark in the room, you could tell he was beginning to blush as he took the box from your fingers.

“Y/N,” he said as his fingers deftly removed the ring from the box before he set it to one side. He tucked the ring into his fingers so you couldn’t see it just yet before he shuffled closer to you to continue his speech. “I have been in love with you from the minute I laid eyes on you. You can ask any of the boys, the second I saw you I said, that’s her, that’s the girl I’m going to marry. And of course they didn’t believe me, but I knew. You’ve been there with me for everything. Every hard day. Every promotion. You were always there to be my light and cheer me on.” he said, his voice shaking slightly with nerves. “You make every single day of my life, so much brighter and I don’t ever want to think of a day when you don’t wake up by my side. Y/N, will you do me, the greatest honour of my whole life,” he said, finally holding out the ring to you. “Will you marry me?”

It may have been 4am. It may have been in the dark of the night and extremely unconventional, but it was Joaquin. And you were always going to say yes to Joaquin.

[santaasi]

shape of my heart

pairing: jj maybank x bsf!reader

summary: sometimes you need to wait a little longer to find your true way

warnings: angst, fluff, friends to lovers, miscommunication, family issues, no use of y/n, english isn’t my first language

word count: 21.2k

a/n: based on this ask. thank u love for your request and I'm again so sorry that I made you wait so long.

ᯓ★ now playing…

sting - shape of my heart

Ten years ago.

THE PLAYGROUND WAS ALIVE WITH CHAOS — a symphony of children's laughter rising above the creak of rusted swings, sneakers scuffing across cracked concrete, and the distant thud of a basketball bouncing against the asphalt. You lingered on the edge, an outsider in a sea of familiarity, clutching your purple lunchbox like it was your last line of defense. The unfamiliarity weighed heavy on your chest, like you had wandered into someone else’s story.

You kept your eyes down, avoiding the girls weaving braids into each other's hair, the boys racing toward the gym, or even the smallest glances from passersby. Instead, you stared at the ground, at the stubborn tufts of grass forcing their way through fractured cement, small triumphs of resilience in a world that didn’t seem to notice them.

“Hey!”

The voice was sharp, cutting through the din like a whistle, startling you out of your thoughts. You glanced up, squinting against the golden sun, and there he was — a boy with sun-bleached blond hair sticking up in every direction and a faint streak of dirt smudged across his cheek, as if he’d been pulled straight from the earth itself. His grin was lopsided, too wide for his face, and yet it held a kind of magic that loosened something tight in your chest.

“You’re new, aren’t you?” he asked, rocking back on his heels, as though time didn’t apply to him.

You nodded, the words you wanted to say getting stuck somewhere in the tangled knot of nerves in your throat.

“I’m JJ,” he said, thrusting out a scratched, freckled hand. His fingers were rough, the kind that told stories of climbing trees, skipping rocks, and scraping knees.

For a moment, you hesitated, before placing your smaller hand in his. You mumbled your name quietly, almost afraid to claim it out loud.

“That’s a cool name,” he said with an easy confidence that made you believe him, and then his grin widened. “Wanna see something?”

Before you could respond, he reached into his back pocket and pulled out what looked like a wand — or maybe a stick. He held it out to you like it was treasure, tilting it so you could see the jagged letters carved into its surface: JJ.

“Cool, huh?” he asked, his voice brimming with pride. “Bet no one else has a stick like this.”

You stared at it, unsure whether to laugh or frown. “Why… do you need a stick with your name on it?”

His blue eyes narrowed, his lips twitching into a smirk, like you’d just asked the most ridiculous question in the world. “Why not?”

Before you could come up with a response, his expression shifted — suddenly sharp and purposeful. “Wait a second… you don’t have a stick, do you?”

You shook your head, your confusion growing.

“That’s what I thought.” He crouched down, his fingers digging through the dirt with the precision of someone who had done this before. “Don’t worry. I’ll make you one. Every tough guy — or girl — needs their own stick.”

You opened your mouth, then shut it again, your words tripping over themselves. “Are you even allowed to do that?” you finally managed, watching as he pulled a small, well-worn pocketknife from his shorts like a magician revealing his trick.

“Nope,” he replied cheerfully, flicking the blade open with a quick, practiced motion that made your heart skip. “But you’re my new best friend, so you’ve gotta keep my secrets, alright?”

“Best friend?” The words felt strange in your mouth, unfamiliar and heavy, like a coat that didn’t quite fit.

“Yep.” He didn’t even look up, his focus entirely on the twig in his hands. He carved with a jeweler’s precision, the blade gliding over the bark. “That’s how it works. I pick you, and you stick with me. Forever.”

Forever.

Something about the way he said it made your chest ache, a sharp pang that softened into warmth. You watched him work, his tongue poking slightly out of the corner of his mouth, the sun catching on the golden strands of his hair. And when he finally held up the stick, your name etched into its curve, the world seemed to tilt ever so slightly.

“Here,” he said, handing it to you like it was something sacred. 

Your fingers closed around the rough bark, and you laughed — a sound that startled even you. In that moment, looking into JJ’s impossibly blue eyes, you felt the kind of calm you hadn’t known in a long, long time.

Forever with JJ didn’t sound so bad after all.

Seven years ago. 

THE SKY ABOVE THE MARSH WAS AWASH IN THE MOLTEN HUES OF AN AUTUMN SUNRISE. Amber bled into fiery pinks, the colors rippling across the surface of the water like molten gold. The air carried the faint chill of impending cooler nights, but the day stubbornly clung to its warmth, as if unwilling to let go of summer. The Chateau loomed in the distance, a patchwork fortress that seemed to defy time itself. Its leaning walls echoed with laughter, the kind that concealed unspoken secrets and the weight of teenage dreams.

Inside, the usual chaos reigned. Bedding was strewn across mismatched furniture like a quilt of disorder, a testament to the ragtag family that lived there. Kiara sat perched on the porch railing, one bare foot swinging idly as she took lazy bites of an apple. She always had a knack for fitting in without trying, her sharp wit and effortless loyalty solidifying her place in the group. She was the kind of person who could call you out without making you feel small — someone who belonged.

Pope was hunched over the remnants of a broken picnic table, his brow furrowed in concentration as he fiddled with an ancient, rusted compass he’d unearthed from the swamp. Every so often, his face would light up with a flicker of triumph, his mind always chasing the next answer, the next puzzle to solve. His cautious nature often counterbalanced JJ’s wild energy, grounding their adventures in just enough reason to keep them all alive.

John B. was nowhere to be seen, but you could hear his voice faintly in the distance, shouting something about finding snacks. It was his house, after all. His rules — or lack thereof — held the fragile threads of your makeshift family together. His boundless optimism gave the chaos purpose, like a lighthouse guiding you all home.

But home didn’t feel quite right to you tonight.

You laughed when you were supposed to, smiled in all the right moments, and played your part well enough that Kiara didn’t ask questions and Pope didn’t pry. But deep down, a heaviness clung to you, a storm cloud that followed no matter how hard you tried to outrun it. Your family was crumbling, and every laugh felt like a flimsy shield against the ache in your chest.

JJ noticed. He always noticed.

He watched you from the doorway of the Chateau, his arms crossed casually over his chest. You were sitting on the edge of the porch, staring out at the horizon, your body wrapped in a loose blanket as if it could protect you from more than just the cold. The others were heading to the shore, their laughter fading into the distance, but JJ stayed behind. He leaned against the doorframe, his expression soft yet unreadable, and waited.

He didn’t push. That wasn’t his style. He’d wait until the silence wore you down.

Eventually, you stood and wandered toward the pier, your steps slow and deliberate. The wooden planks groaned underfoot, each creak a reminder of the weight you carried. Behind you, JJ’s boots clicked softly as he followed, keeping just enough distance to give you space. He caught up without a word and settled beside you at the edge of the dock, his legs dangling over the water like yours.

The swamp stretched out before you, golden and still in the last light of the day. The air was heavy with the smell of salt and earth, clinging to your skin like a second layer. But today, even that familiar comfort felt distant.

“Are you gonna tell me what’s going on, or am I supposed to guess?” JJ finally asked, his voice low but not unkind.

You shrugged, keeping your eyes on the rippling water below. “There’s nothing to tell.”

“Bullshit,” he shot back, though his tone stayed light. “Come on, don’t do this. Not with me.”

A bitter laugh slipped out before you could stop it. “What do you want me to say, JJ? That my parents can’t stand the sight of each other? That I’m stuck in the middle, pretending everything’s fine when it’s not?” The words came out in a rush, raw and jagged. “That every time they fight, it feels like the whole house is gonna split in two? Or that I’m terrified my dad’s gonna leave, and I’ll be stuck alone with my mom and her... her anger?”

JJ didn’t respond right away. He just sat there, his blue eyes steady and unwavering, like he was bracing himself to catch everything you threw his way.

“Yeah,” he said finally, his voice quiet. “That’s what I want you to say.”

The simplicity of his answer hit you harder than anything else could have. Your breath hitched, and you shook your head, willing the tears to stay put. “It’s not fair, JJ. I don’t know how to fix it. I don’t even think I can.”

“You’re not supposed to fix it,” he said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “It’s their shit to deal with”

You turned to him, your voice trembling like the first fragile breath of morning. “You don’t understand. You’ve got your own stuff — your dad...” The words faltered, dissolving into the hush between you, thick with history, with everything left unsaid.

JJ’s jaw tightened, his gaze drifting toward the horizon where the sky was just beginning to bleed into gold. The world held its breath, the only sound the slow, rhythmic lap of water against the dock. Then, at last, he spoke, his voice rough, worn like the tide-washed edges of a broken shell.

“Yeah. I know what happens when things break.”

You opened your mouth to apologize, but he shook his head, silencing you before the words could take shape. “It’s fine. You know about my dad. But my mom…” He exhaled sharply, like he was trying to push the weight of her memory away. “She used to talk about leaving. I was just a kid, but I remember — her promises, her trembling, the way she’d whisper about getting me out of here.” A bitter laugh escaped him, quiet and sharp. “Guess she changed her mind.”

“JJ…” Your heart ached for him, for the past neither of you could change.

He shook his head again, as if brushing off ghosts. “It was their mess. And it’s not my fault how it ended. Just like it’s not yours.”

His fingers found yours, warm and sure, grounding you in the space between then and now. When you turned your head, his blue eyes were already on you, soft but steady.

“She left this behind.”

From his pocket, he pulled a small silver ring, its surface worn, scratched — a tiny thing that had survived despite everything. He held it out to you, his fingers hesitant, reverent.

“She used to say it reminded her that no matter how bad things got, there was always something worth holding onto.”

Your fingers trembled as you took it, the cool metal pressing into your palm, heavier than it should have been. As if it carried the weight of his mother’s dreams, of his own unspoken hopes.

“JJ, I can’t- ...”

“Take it,” he said, quiet but firm. “You need it more than I do.”

With careful fingers, you slid the ring onto your finger, feeling its weight settle against your skin like an anchor. “Thank you,” you whispered, voice cracking like the first light breaking over the horizon.

JJ leaned back on his hands, tilting his head toward the sky, where the first flush of morning painted the clouds in soft pinks and golds. “You know… you remind me of her sometimes.”

“Your mom?” you asked, surprised.

“Yeah.” He glanced at you, the faintest smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “She was tough as hell. Stubborn, too. But she cared — about people. About me. Even when she didn’t have to.” He paused, his gaze steady, unreadable. “You’re the same.”

The words settled deep in your chest, too heavy, too meaningful to respond to right away. Instead, you turned your eyes toward the horizon, where sunlight spilled over the water in rippling gold.

“I’m scared, JJ,” you admitted, the confession barely louder than the breeze. “I’m scared of what’s gonna happen. Of losing everything.”

JJ’s hand tightened around yours, his touch warm, certain. “You’re not gonna lose me,” he said, his voice as steady as the tide. “Not ever.”

The promise hung between you, quiet and unshakable. And as the sun lifted higher, chasing away the last traces of night, you felt something you hadn’t in a long time — hope.

Five years ago 

THE OUTER BANKS SHIMMERED IN GOLD, THE KIND OF GOLD THAT MADE YOU NOSTALGIC BEFORE YOU EVEN KNEW WHAT YOU WERE MISSING. The waves lapped at the sand in gentle rhythm, their white foam catching the blush of the sun. The salt hung heavy in the air, mingling with the earthy scent of the marsh and the tang of summer heat. It wrapped around you like an old friend, welcoming you home, though the nervous flutter in your chest refused to settle. The truck rattled and groaned as it bounced over the uneven path toward the coastline, and you gripped the door handle with one hand, your bag with the other, as though bracing yourself.

“It’s just the dock,” you told yourself, your voice barely audible over the grumble of the engine. But the words rang hollow. It wasn’t the dock, and it wasn’t the coastline — not really. It was him. It was all of them. And it was what they’d come to mean to you over the years.

“Still quiet over there,” your dad said, glancing your way with a knowing smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes. He always had that knack for reading you, even when you wished he wouldn’t.

You tried to shrug off the tension, forcing a lightness into your voice. “I’m just... excited, I guess.”

“Excited?” he teased, the smile deepening. “Or nervous? Those are different things, you know, kid.”

“Dad,” you groaned, rolling your eyes even as heat crept up your neck. “It’s not like that.”

He let out a low chuckle, keeping his eyes on the road ahead. “Sure, kiddo. Whatever you say.”

You could tell he didn’t believe you, not even for a second. Maybe because you didn’t quite believe yourself.

Italy had been a dream, one of those picture-perfect, sunlit chapters you’d always imagined. Rolling hills stretching out endlessly, gelato melting on your tongue in the lazy heat of the afternoons, and your mom’s laughter echoing through quiet cobblestone streets. She had come alive there in a way you hadn’t seen in years. And yet, through it all — through the beauty and the memories — you’d felt something tugging at you, an ache that only grew sharper with every passing day. Homesick, you’d called it. But deep down, you’d known it wasn’t the place you missed. It was the people.

It was him.

And now, with the truck crawling to a stop behind the dock, your heart leapt into your throat.

“Are you sure they’ll be here?” your dad asked, pulling the gear into park. His tone was casual, but there was something amused in the way he looked at you, like he already knew the answer.

“Of course,” you replied, your voice a little too quick, too rehearsed. You tightened your grip on the strap of your bag. “They’re where they always are.”

The truth was, you hadn’t told anyone you were coming back early. You hadn’t even told JJ. Especially JJ. He had made you promise — more than once over late-night FaceTime calls — that you’d text him the moment your plane touched down. He’d even threatened to show up at the airport, laughing in that easy, reckless way of his, though you’d known he was only half-joking. But you hadn’t sent that text. You’d wanted to see the look on his face when he saw you standing there, unannounced. And maybe, just maybe, you’d wanted to see what you’d find in his eyes when the surprise wore off.

The dock came into view, and there they were. John B was sprawled across a bench, his cap tilted low over his eyes, giving him the appearance of a man who hadn’t moved all day. Kiara sat with her legs dangling off the edge of the dock, flicking water at Pope, who was laughing and grumbling all at once but made no effort to move away. It was a picture of everything you’d missed — easy, loud, chaotic, and alive.

And then there was him. JJ.

He stood leaning against one of the weathered wooden posts, barefoot and careless, his golden hair catching the rays of the setting sun like a halo. He was laughing at something John B had said, that loud, uninhibited laugh that always seemed to cut through everything and fill the air with warmth. The sight of him sent a rush of emotion through you, so sudden and overwhelming it left you breathless. He hadn’t changed — not really — but there was something about the way he stood there, so vividly himself, that made your chest ache.

Your father’s voice broke the silence. “Go on, kid,” he said softly, his tone uncharacteristically gentle. He nudged you with his elbow, his eyes flicking toward the group on the dock. “I’ll grab your bag.”

You hesitated for half a beat, the nerves tying knots in your stomach. But then you stepped out of the truck, the warmth of the wooden planks beneath your feet grounding you. The salty breeze tugged at your hair, carrying with it the distant hum of cicadas. None of them had noticed you yet; they were too wrapped up in their own world. For a moment, you just stood there, watching, letting the scene unfold like the opening act of a play.

And then JJ looked up.

His laughter faltered mid-breath, his head snapping toward you like a reflex. His eyes, that familiar piercing blue, went wide with disbelief, and for a split second, he didn’t move. It was as though the world had stopped spinning, frozen in the space between his surprise and your racing heart. His lips parted slightly, but no words came out.

Your heart thudded painfully against your ribs. “Hi, Maybank,” you called out, trying to keep your voice steady despite the way it wavered on the edges.

He blinked, like he was trying to convince himself you were real. And then, all at once, he was moving. He pushed off the post with a kind of urgency that made your breath hitch, his steps quick and unhesitating as he closed the distance between you.

Before you could say anything else, his arms were around you, pulling you into him with a force that left no room for doubt. His grip was tight, desperate, like he was holding on to something he couldn’t bear to lose. Your arms came up to wrap around his neck, and for a moment, the rest of the world melted away. It was just you and JJ, the sound of his heartbeat loud and steady against your ear.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” JJ’s voice was muffled against your neck, rough and raw in a way that made your chest tighten. His arms were still wrapped tightly around you, like he was afraid you’d vanish if he let go. You could feel the uneven rhythm of his breathing, the way his grip trembled just slightly. It was a rare thing for JJ to show cracks in his armor, and seeing it now left you speechless.

“I wanted to surprise you,” you murmured, your voice soft as you pulled back just enough to meet his gaze. His face was so close that you could see the golden flecks in his blue eyes, the way his brows knit together like he was trying to figure out how to put words to whatever was storming inside him.

For a moment, the world shrank. It was just you and JJ, the sound of the waves lapping against the dock, and the faint hum of the evening settling over the marina. His gaze roamed your face, slow and intent, like he was memorizing every detail — the curve of your cheek, the faint freckles the summer sun had scattered across your nose, the way your lips parted slightly, trying to form words that wouldn’t come. There was something in his expression you couldn’t quite name, something that made your pulse quicken. It felt like standing on the edge of something vast, something you couldn’t yet see the bottom of.

But just as quickly, the moment broke.

“Well, well, well,” John B’s familiar drawl cut through the air as he strolled over, a grin tugging at his lips. “Look who decided to grace us with her presence. Miss World Traveler.”

You let out a soft laugh, stepping back from JJ, though you felt the absence of his arms immediately. John B threw an arm around your shoulders in a casual hug. “It’s been way too quiet around here without you,” he said, giving you a playful nudge.

Kiara was next, pulling you into a hug so tight it nearly knocked the breath out of you. “God, your tan makes me sick,” she teased, pulling back to inspect you. “Italy must have been amazing. I’m so jealous.”

“It was,” you said, smiling, though the word felt incomplete. Italy had been beautiful, yes — but it hadn’t been home.

Pope stepped forward, his grin crooked as he gave you a mock-serious look. “You know he was unbearable without you, right?” He jerked his thumb toward JJ, who was now leaning against a post, trying (and failing) to look indifferent. “We thought we were going to have to sedate him by the second week.”

“Shut up, Pope,” JJ snapped, but the tips of his ears turned red. He glanced at you, and for just a second, his tough exterior cracked again. There was that shy, almost sheepish smile he gave when he thought no one was looking, the one that always made your heart stutter a little.

You laughed, shaking your head, but something warm and unfamiliar bloomed in your chest. JJ looked... different. His features had sharpened over the summer — the curve of his jaw a little more defined, his shoulders broader, like he’d grown into himself in ways you hadn’t expected. But it wasn’t just the way he looked. It was the way he carried himself, with a quiet kind of confidence that hadn’t been there before. And yet, underneath it all, he was still JJ. Still the boy with the crooked smile and the reckless charm that felt like sunlight breaking through storm clouds.

“Let’s go,” he said suddenly, his voice softer now. His hand found yours, his fingers curling around it like it was the most natural thing in the world. “You have a lot to tell us.”

The group fell into step together, leading you toward the bustling marina. The warm glow of the sun bathed everything in hues of orange, and the air buzzed with life — vendors calling out their wares, the occasional shout of a fisherman unloading his catch, the distant hum of a boat engine cutting across the water. It all felt so alive, so home, in a way that Italy never could.

The Pogues bombarded you with questions as you walked. What did you see? Was the food as good as everyone says? Did you meet anyone interesting? You laughed, trying to answer them all, but your attention kept slipping back to JJ. He hadn’t let go of your hand, his thumb tracing absent patterns on your skin — a mindless, gentle motion that sent shivers down your spine. It was such a small thing, but it made your heart race in a way you couldn’t quite explain.

“Italy sounds amazing,” Kiara said, her chin propped on her palm as she looked at you. “But I bet you missed us more.”

“Of course I did,” you said, smiling. The warmth in your voice was genuine, but you couldn’t ignore the way your gaze kept drifting toward JJ.

“She missed JJ the most,” Pope teased, leaning back against a post with a grin. “You should’ve seen him. He was a mess without you.”

“Pope, I swear to God– ” JJ started, his voice sharp, but his face betrayed him. The blush that crept up his neck was impossible to hide. He muttered something under his breath and looked away, scratching the back of his head.

You raised an eyebrow, leaning closer. “Oh? Did you miss me, Maybank?”

He scoffed, trying to look unaffected, but the corner of his mouth twitched in a way that betrayed him. “Just a little bit,” he said, his voice low. But the way his eyes softened when they met yours told a different story.

John B leaned forward, his tone conspiratorial. “He even tried to learn Italian, you know. Thought it’d impress you.”

“John B, shut up,” JJ groaned, his face now fully red.

“It’s true,” Kiara chimed in, grinning. “He kept saying ‘ciao’ like it was going to earn him points.”

You burst out laughing, and the sound seemed to melt JJ’s embarrassment just a little. He ducked his head, but there was a small, bashful smile tugging at his lips. And in that moment, with the sun golden shine behind him and the sound of your laughter filling the air, you felt it — the quiet shift, the unspoken thing between you. It wasn’t just friendship anymore. It hadn’t been for a while.

The sun dipped below the horizon, casting a deep amber glow across the water, and the group decided to head back to the chateau for dinner. You climbed into the back of John B’s van, squeezed between Kie on one side and JJ on the other. The ride was a cacophony of laughter, teasing, and JJ’s increasingly absurd defenses.

“Learn Italian to impress her?” Kie snorted. “Did you think she’d forget English while she was gone?”

“It wasn’t like that!” JJ protested, his voice pitched higher, feigning offense. “I was broadening my horizons, okay? Becoming a cultured man of the world.”

“You downloaded one app, dude,” Pope deadpanned from the front seat.

The laughter that followed was so contagious, you clutched your stomach, gasping for breath. JJ caught your eye and grinned, nudging your arm with his elbow. “They’re all jealous of my superior intellect,” he said dramatically, leaning back against the van’s rattling side.

“Yeah, that’s it,” you teased, your shoulder pressing into his. The warmth of his presence next to you was grounding, familiar, and something else you couldn’t quite name.

By the time you arrived, the air was heavy with the scent of salt and pine, the ocean waves a distant hum. The chateau stood as it always had, leaning slightly to one side as though it was part of the landscape itself. It felt like a hug, warm and unassuming, wrapping you in its charm the moment you stepped out of the van.

The group scattered almost immediately — Kie and Pope darted into the kitchen, debating whether Kie’s avocado toast counted as dinner or a snack, and John B headed straight for the radio, mumbling something about needing “vibes” to cook. But JJ lingered, grabbing your wrist gently and pulling you toward the porch.

The wooden boards creaked beneath your feet as you stepped outside. The air had cooled, the sun’s absence leaving the sky awash in deep purples and soft blues. Stars were beginning to blink into view, scattered like salt across a velvet canvas. JJ leaned against the railing, his hands in his pockets, watching you as you took it all in.

“You missed this place, didn’t you?” His voice was quieter now, free of the bravado and teasing he wore like armor around the others.

You nodded, your throat tightening with emotion you hadn’t expected. “Yeah,” you whispered. “More than I thought I would.”

His gaze softened, and he tilted his head slightly, studying you in that way he had — the way that always made you feel like he could see through every wall you’d ever put up. “What about us?” he asked, his tone playful but laced with something more.

“I’ve already told you!” You smiled, your chest tightening as your heart thudded against your ribs. “I missed all of these. Especially you guys.”

He grinned, his signature mischievous look creeping across his face. “And me? You miss me the most, right?”

You rolled your eyes, trying to ignore the way he suddenly felt so tall, so close, so... everything. “I didn’t miss you, Maybank. You wouldn’t leave me alone. You called every day,” you teased, trying to keep the mood light. But the truth lingered on the edge of your words, unspoken but heavy: I missed you more than anything.

JJ chuckled, but his smile faltered for just a moment, replaced by something uncertain. His eyes dropped to the floor before flicking back up to you. He shifted, tapping his bare foot against the wooden porch. “You... uh, you look different,” he said awkwardly.

“Different?” you repeated, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck in that nervous way you’d seen a hundred times. “A good different. Not that you didn’t look good before, because you did, obviously, but– ”

“JJ,” you interrupted, laughing softly. “Thanks. You look different too.”

He blinked, surprised. “Yeah?”

You nodded, your voice softening. “Yeah. In a good way.”

He straightened slightly, his gaze locking with yours. The dim light spilling from the house caught in his eyes, turning them into restless fragments of the sea — wild, endless, impossible to look away from. There was something in his expression, something raw and unguarded, like he was balancing on the edge of words he didn’t know how to say. It was the same look he’d had earlier at the dock, the one that had stolen the breath from your lungs.

Without thinking, your fingers found their way to the nape of his neck, threading through the soft strands of his blonde hair. He exhaled a quiet, contented hum, his eyes slipping closed for just a moment as his hand found your waist, pulling you closer. A soft giggle escaped your lips, ringing like a bell in the hush between you. His eyes fluttered open at the sound, locking onto you with an intensity that sent warmth curling through your spine.

The silence wasn’t awkward, but it wasn’t easy either. It sat between you, heavy with everything unspoken, everything shifting in ways neither of you had quite named yet. The air seemed to hum, thick with something electric, something that made your skin tingle and your heart hammer against your ribs.

His fingers flexed against your waist, just enough to draw you closer, and your body, as if pulled by an invisible force, leaned toward him in return. His head dipped slightly, the space between you dwindling to something fragile, something trembling.

Then…

Kie’s voice cut through the stillness, sharp and teasing. ‘Come on, lovebirds! The food’s ready!’”

JJ let out a slow sigh, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “We better go before Kie decides to drag us in by force.”

Still, he didn’t move right away. And neither did you.

Then, as if remembering himself, he extended his hand toward you. Without hesitation, you took it. His fingers were rough with callouses, warm and sure, grounding you in the quiet shift of whatever this was between you.

As he led you back inside, you wondered if he noticed the way your hand lingered in his, the way your fingers curled just a little tighter around his. Maybe he did. Maybe he didn’t.

But for now, it didn’t matter.

For all the things that had changed — Italy, the long summer apart, the way you caught yourself looking at him differently — one thing hadn’t. JJ was still JJ. And whatever this was, whatever it was becoming, it could wait.

Because right now, being here — being with him — was enough.

Three years ago.

THE SUMMER HEAT OF THE OUTER BANKS CLUNG TO THE WORLD LIKE A SECOND SKIN — THICK, STICKY, AND INESCAPABLE. The scent of saltwater mingled with sun-baked wood, and the ceaseless hum of cicadas filled the air, their song marking the passing hours like a heartbeat. At fifteen, you and the Pogues were in that strange, liminal space between childhood and adulthood — no longer the carefree kids you used to be, but not yet the grown-ups you pretended to be. Everything felt different now, like the tide had shifted without warning.

And for you, the biggest shift was JJ.

He’d always been your best friend, the boy you trusted with every secret, the one who could make you laugh so hard it felt like you might burst. He was constant, like the rhythm of the waves — a part of you, as familiar as your own shadow. But that summer, something about him was different. He carried himself in a new way, a confidence that made people look at him differently. His smile was sharper, his laughter louder, and there was a reckless glint in his eye that seemed to draw others to him.

And JJ didn’t shy away from the attention.

At every party, there was someone new. A girl with sun-kissed skin, her laughter ringing through the night as she leaned too close to him. She’d drape her arm over his shoulder, her fingers grazing his neck, and JJ would flash that grin — the one that could light up a room. You’d watch from the sidelines, your stomach twisting, and force yourself to look away.

It was Saturday night, and the Pogues were gathered around one of the many campfires dotting the beach. The fire popped and crackled, sending embers spiraling into the dark sky. Music blared from a nearby speaker, mixing with the steady rhythm of the waves. You sat perched on a weathered log beside Kie, clutching a can of beer, trying not to let your gaze drift.

But it always found him.

JJ was the center of attention, as he always seemed to be. He sat with a girl you didn’t recognize — a brunette with tan lines tracing her shoulders and a laugh that rang too loud. Her hand rested on his knee, and every time she shifted closer, your chest tightened. JJ leaned in, murmuring something to her, and whatever he said made her cheeks flush. She giggled, tucking her hair behind her ear, and you turned your gaze toward the ocean, swallowing against the lump rising in your throat.

The moon hung low, casting its silver light across the water in a shimmering trail. You tried to focus on that, on the soothing sound of the waves, on anything other than the way JJ smiled at her like she was the only person in the world.

“Hey,” Kie’s voice broke through your thoughts, gentle but insistent. She was watching you with that look — concern mixed with a knowing edge. “You okay?”

You forced a smile, one that felt more like a grimace. “Yeah,” you lied. “Just tired.”

Kie didn’t buy it, but she didn’t press — at least not yet. “You know, he’s just… being JJ. It doesn’t mean anything.”

You hesitated, your gaze flickering back to him. The girl had rested her head on his shoulder, her laughter cutting through the night like shards of glass. Your throat tightened, and you tore your eyes away again, back to the ocean, where the waves didn’t hurt to look at, gulping the rest of your beer in one go.

“That’s not it,” you said quietly, but your voice wavered, betraying you.

Kie raised an eyebrow, her lips curving into the faintest of smirks. “You’re a terrible liar, you know that?”

You opened your mouth, ready to protest, but stopped. What was the point? Kie already knew. She probably had for a while.

“Just forget it,” you mumbled, your fingers tracing the rim of your empty beer can.

But Kie didn’t say anything else. She just gave you a knowing look and leaned back, her attention drifting back toward the fire.

And then, as if to twist the knife, JJ’s laughter rang out again, loud and carefree. You risked another glance, unable to help yourself. He’d leaned back now, his hands resting behind him, his head tipped back slightly as he laughed at something the girl had said. The firelight danced across his features, highlighting the sharp angles of his jaw, the messy golden hair that never seemed to sit right, the mischievous spark in his eyes.

It was moments like this that made everything so confusing. Because no matter how much it hurt to see him like this — flirting, laughing, carefree—there were still times when JJ was just JJ. Your JJ. The boy who’d sneak out of his house at midnight to climb through your window when you couldn’t sleep. The boy who taught you how to surf, even though you were terrified of wiping out. The boy who made you feel like nothing in the world could touch you as long as he was around.

And maybe that’s what made it all hurt so much. That underneath all the bravado, the recklessness, and the flirting, JJ was still the boy you’d always known.

But now, he was someone else too. Someone who could break your heart without even realizing it.

It was easier when things were simple — when it was just the two of you, laughing, teasing, moving through life like you were invincible. But lately, even the simplest things felt like they carried a weight neither of you were ready to name.

Like now.

The sun hung high in the sky, beating down on the ocean as another wave crashed against the shore. JJ stood a few steps ahead, his board tucked under his arm, his sun-bleached hair glowing like gold in the afternoon light. That grin of his — mischievous and full of challenge — never failed to pull you in.

“Come on,” he called, his voice rising above the steady roar of the surf. “It’s simple.”

You crossed your arms, leveling him with a skeptical look. “It’s simple for you,” you muttered. “You’ve been doing this since you could walk.”

JJ rolled his eyes dramatically, wading deeper until the waves licked at his knees. “Trust me,” he said, holding out a hand. His grin softened slightly, and there was something steady in his gaze, something that made your heart skip in a way you refused to acknowledge. “I won’t let you drown.”

You hesitated, the familiar tug-of-war between reluctance and trust playing out in your chest. But, as always, JJ won. He always did.

With a resigned sigh, you grabbed the board and trudged into the water after him.

The next hour was a chaotic blend of saltwater, laughter, and repeated wipeouts. Every time you fell — and it was a lot — JJ was there, his hands steady as they pulled you back up. His laughter, warm and unrestrained, rang out like music, and though your pride took a beating, you couldn’t help but smile.

“You’re thinking too much,” he said after your fifth or sixth — or maybe tenth — tumble. He placed his hands on your waist, steadying you on the board once more. Your heart betrayed you, skipping a beat at his touch, but you stubbornly pushed the feeling aside.

“Easy for you to say,” you grumbled, brushing wet hair from your face. “You’re practically part fish.”

JJ chuckled, leaning closer, his breath warm against your ear. Despite the summer heat, goosebumps rippled over your skin.

“Then I guess that makes you a mermaid,” he teased, his voice low and tinged with a surprising tenderness.

Your cheeks burned, and you quickly turned your gaze toward the horizon, focusing on the rolling waves rather than the boy who suddenly seemed too close. “Let’s just try again,” you muttered, desperate to redirect the moment.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, you managed to stand. It was only for a fleeting moment — barely long enough to count — but it was enough. The triumph surged through you, exhilarating and fleeting like the waves beneath you.

“See?” JJ said, his voice softer now, as if matching the mellow hues of the setting sun. “Told you you could do it.”

You turned to him, breathless and grinning, and for a moment, the world stilled. The sun was sinking low, painting the sky in soft oranges and pinks. It framed him perfectly, casting a warm glow over his features.

“Thanks, JJ,” you murmured, the words heavier than they should have been.

His gaze held yours, lingering just a moment too long. A strand of his hair fell into his eyes, and without thinking, you reached up to brush it away.

The movement froze both of you. His smirk faltered, just for a heartbeat, and something unspoken flickered in his eyes — something that made your chest tighten. Then, as quickly as it came, it was gone. His grin returned, as cocky and disarming as ever.

“Careful, sweetheart,” he teased, though his voice was softer now, his eyes unreadable. “Don’t go falling for my good looks.”

You rolled your eyes, shoving his shoulder lightly. “Not a chance,” you lied, ignoring the way your stomach fluttered.

JJ laughed, loud and carefree, but you caught the way his gaze lingered just a second longer before he turned toward the waves.

And that was the thing about JJ — he could slip so easily between lightness and something deeper, between reckless teasing and the kind of silence that weighed heavy in the air. Moments like this, where the push and pull between you was almost tangible, never lasted long enough for you to grasp. Before either of you could acknowledge it, the moment was gone, carried away by the ocean breeze.

But there were other moments, quieter ones. Moments that felt heavier in their stillness, like those nights when JJ showed up at your door after another blowout with his dad.

The first time it happened, you found him sitting on your porch steps, his head in his hands, his shoulders hunched as if the weight of the world was pressing down on him.

“JJ?” you called softly, stepping outside.

He didn’t look up right away, but when he did, your breath caught. His face was bruised, his eyes hollow, and his exposed shoulders bore fresh cuts and bloodied scrapes, like shallow knife wounds carved by chaos.

“I didn’t know where else to go,” he muttered, his voice rough and breaking at the edges.

You didn’t ask questions — there wasn’t any need. You just held the door open and waited for him to step inside.

In the kitchen, the warm glow of the overhead light did nothing to soften the bruises on his skin. If anything, it made them starker, painting him in shades of blue and violet, evidence of another fight, another night gone wrong. You swallowed hard and pulled out the first-aid kit, setting it down on the counter with hands that trembled despite your best efforts to keep steady.

“Sit,” you said, barely above a whisper.

JJ obeyed without his usual smart remark, without that lopsided grin he used to mask the things he didn’t want to talk about. Instead, he sank onto the stool, shoulders heavy, jaw tight, his usual armor nowhere to be found.

You stepped closer, standing between his legs as you reached for his arm. His skin was warm under your fingertips, burning, like it was branding something into you. You worked in silence, dabbing at the cuts and bruises, trying not to think about how close he was, how you could feel his breath on your collarbone when he exhaled. Every now and then, he winced — just barely, but enough to make your chest squeeze.

“You don’t have to do this,” he murmured, voice hoarse, almost hesitant.

“I want to,” you answered, your voice soft but firm.

His eyes flickered to yours then, searching, like he was trying to read between the lines of what you were really saying. You focused on your hands instead, fingers brushing over his knuckles, the rough callouses there. When you pressed a bandage over a particularly nasty scrape near his collarbone, his breath hitched — not in pain, but in something else, something thicker, heavier.

You could feel it, that shift. The one that always hovered just beneath the surface, the one neither of you talked about.

When you finished, you didn’t step away.

And neither did he.

Instead, JJ reached out, his fingers ghosting over your hip before settling there, light at first — like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed. But when you didn’t pull away, his grip tightened, tugging you closer until your thighs brushed against his.

The air felt too thin. His knees caged you in, his chest so close that every inhale felt shared.

Then, slowly, he leaned forward, pressing his forehead against your sternum. His hands curled around the fabric of your shirt, fisting it like he needed something to hold onto. You froze, caught between the urge to step back and the need to stay right here, right in this moment where nothing else existed but the feeling of him against you.

“Thank you,” he murmured against your skin. His voice was rough, stripped bare in a way that made your fingers twitch with the need to touch him, to do something to ease whatever storm was raging inside his chest.

So you did.

Your hand found his hair, sliding through the messy blonde strands at the nape of his neck. He exhaled shakily, and his grip on you tightened just slightly, like he didn’t want to let go.

“Always,” you whispered, your lips barely brushing the top of his head.

The silence stretched, thick and charged. He was still leaning into you, still holding on. And you let him.

Later, when exhaustion finally claimed him, JJ collapsed onto the couch, his arm thrown over his eyes like he was shielding himself from something only he could see. You stayed close, curling up beside him on the floor, your knee brushing his where it dangled off the edge of the cushion.

At some point, his hand slipped down, his fingertips grazing your wrist. A slow, deliberate touch.

You didn’t move away.

Didn’t breathe.

Then, just as you thought he might have fallen asleep, his voice came, quiet, hesitant. “Sometimes… you’re the only good thing in my life.”

The words landed somewhere deep in your chest, something fragile cracking open at the sound of them.

You didn’t speak right away. Instead, you reached up, smoothing his messy hair back, letting your fingers linger just a little too long, letting them say the things neither of you could.

“You’re stronger than you think, JJ,” you murmured, letting your thumb graze the curve of his cheek.

His eyes, heavy with exhaustion, held onto yours for a second too long. Like he wanted to say something else. Like maybe, if you had both been braver, he would have.

But instead, he just sighed, eyes fluttering shut again, his hand still resting against your wrist.

As the night stretched on, as his breathing evened out, you stayed there, your fingers brushing against his in the quiet, in the space between friendship and something more, in the place where neither of you were ready to take that step — but neither of you could quite let go either.

At some point, exhaustion tugged at you, and you let your head rest against the couch, still close enough to feel the slow rise and fall of his chest. You weren’t sure when sleep finally took you, only that when you woke up, the room was filled with the soft, golden light of morning. JJ was already gone, but the warmth on your wrist where his fingers had been still lingered like a ghost of the night before.

Days passed, but that moment stayed with you, threading itself into the quiet spaces between you and him — unspoken, but always there.

And then, just like that, life moved forward.

JJ and your dad got along better than you ever expected. Your father’s easygoing nature seemed to calm JJ, something not many people could manage. The two of them spent hours on the dock fishing or tinkering with your dad’s old boat, a project perpetually in progress but never quite finished.

One evening, you leaned against the porch railing, watching the two of them by the water. The sun was low, casting golden streaks across the horizon, the kind of warmth that made everything feel softer, easier. JJ was crouched next to the tackle box, untangling a fishing line with a furrowed brow, while your dad stood beside him, gesturing animatedly as he explained some trick about casting in shallow water.

Your dad chuckled, shaking his head. “He’s a quick learner, I’ll give him that. Better than you ever were,” he teased, glancing over his shoulder at you.

“Hey!” you protested, crossing your arms with mock offense. “I was an excellent student.”

“Sure you were, kiddo,” your dad replied, grinning. “But this one’s got patience. You always wanted to skip straight to the catching part.”

JJ glanced up at you, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Guess I’m better at something, huh?”

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t help the small smile that slipped through. Because even as the moment shifted, as laughter replaced the weight of the night before, that quiet, unspoken something between you and JJ remained — always there, always waiting.

Later, after the lines were packed away and the mosquitoes started biting, the three of you retreated to the porch. The air was thick with the scent of salt and cut grass, the night settling comfortably around you. Your dad handed JJ a soda before easing into his chair with a contented sigh.

“He’s a good guy,” your dad said quietly, nodding toward JJ, who was leaning back against the steps, eyes lost somewhere in the stars. His fingers tapped absently against the can in his hands, his golden hair catching in the porch light.

You swallowed, your chest tightening at the sight of him like this — unguarded, weightless, like for once, the world wasn’t pressing in on him. “Yeah,” you murmured. “He is.”

Your dad turned to you then, studying your face with that knowing look only a parent could manage. “You care about him, don’t you?”

Your cheeks burned. “Of course I care about him,” you said quickly, too quickly. “He’s my friend.”

“Uh-huh.” Your dad’s voice was easy, but his eyes were serious. “Just make sure he knows it. Sometimes, people like JJ need to be reminded they’re worth something.”

The words hit deep, settling somewhere between your ribs, heavy and true. You nodded, not trusting yourself to say more.

On the steps, JJ shifted, stretching out his legs before turning toward the two of you. “What’s with all the whispering?” His grin was lazy, teasing, but his gaze flickered between you and your dad with quiet curiosity.

“Nothing,” you said quickly.

Your dad chuckled, shaking his head as if you’d just proven his point.

JJ’s grin widened. “You two always this suspicious?” He took a sip of his soda, watching you over the rim of the can. The way he looked at you — slow, steady, as if he was reading between every word—sent a shiver down your spine.

“What?” he asked when you didn’t look away. “Do I have something on my face?”

“Nothing,” you muttered, heat rising to your cheeks as you dropped your gaze.

JJ smirked and turned to your dad. “She always this mysterious?”

“She’s always something,” your dad said with a knowing smile. Then, softer, just for you, he added, “But don’t let him fool you. He looks up to you more than you realize.”

You glanced at JJ, watching the way his fingers curled around the can, the way his knee bounced slightly like he had too much energy trapped inside him. The words stuck in your throat. You wanted to tell him — to say something, anything — that might make him believe it. But before you could, he nudged your foot with his, just the smallest touch, grounding you back into the moment.

The Pogues, of course, noticed everything. Pope’s sarcastic quips, Kie’s amused smirks, and John B’s relentless teasing made it impossible to ignore the undercurrent of something more. But no one said it outright. No one dared to name the tension that crackled between you and JJ — the way your breath hitched when he leaned too close, how his gaze always found yours first in a crowded room, or how, even now, your legs rested against each other’s on the porch steps, neither of you moving away.

Maybe they were waiting for you to figure it out yourself. Or maybe, like you, they understood that some things were too precious to risk by putting them into words.

For now, you settled for moments like these — JJ’s quiet laughter mingling with your dad’s, the sound of waves lapping against the dock, and the certainty that, at least here, JJ was safe.

Two years ago.

THE SUMMER PRESSED IN AROUND YOU — THICK, RESTLESS, AND ELECTRIC, LIKE THE AIR BEFORE A STORM. It smelled of salt and adventure, but beneath it lingered something heavier, something that coiled tight in your chest with every reckless decision made in the name of gold. You had always been careful, the type to double-check before jumping, the one who hesitated when the others ran headfirst into trouble. But caution never counted for much with the Pogues. Trouble had a way of finding you anyway, slipping through the cracks, curling around your ankles, and pulling you under.

This summer was no different.

Treasure hunts, whispered secrets, maps worn soft by sweaty palms — it all blurred into the long, hazy days. But you never cared about the gold. Not really. The legend of the Royal Merchant and its lost fortune had always felt like a story belonging to another lifetime, another world. Yet somehow, you were tangled in it, caught in the chaos — not by the promise of riches, but by the boy who never once stopped to consider the fall.

JJ Maybank.

He was the reason. He had always been the reason.

With that reckless grin, sun-bleached hair that curled at the edges, and eyes that held the ocean’s mischief, JJ was impossible to ignore. He could turn a disaster into an adventure, a mistake into a story worth telling. And even when your gut twisted in fear, even when you knew the odds were stacked against you, JJ would throw an arm around your shoulders, press his cheek against the top of your head, and whisper things that made the world seem a little less terrifying.

“Relax, sweetheart,” he’d murmur, voice dripping with amusement yet carrying something softer underneath, something just for you. His fingers would squeeze your arm, grounding you. “I’m with you.”

And that was always enough. Even when it shouldn’t have been.

The search consumed everything — your days, your nights, your thoughts. You spent hours poring over clues, breaking into places you had no business being, running from men who wouldn’t hesitate to erase you if you got too close to the truth. Fear was a constant companion, coiling in your stomach, but it never seemed to touch JJ. He lived for this — the thrill, the danger, the chaos.

You wished you could say the same.

And then came Sarah Cameron.

She arrived like a summer storm — unexpected, electric, shifting the very air around her. You had spent so long balancing on the edge of what you knew, what you trusted, that you didn’t realize how tightly you had been holding onto it — until she knocked you off. At first, you resisted. The Kook princess with sun-kissed skin and a life spun from gold — what could she possibly understand about being a Pogue? About clawing your way forward with nothing but grit and a whisper of luck?

But John B fell for her — hard, fast, like a wave crashing against the shore. And somehow, without ever meaning to, so did you. Not in the way you had once imagined falling for someone, but in the way that existed in shared laughter between night shifts, in whispered confessions beneath a sky scattered with silver light. Sarah had a way of slipping past defenses, disarming without a single word. Before you could make sense of it, she was no longer just John B’s girl — she was one of you.

And just like that, the world shifted.

Something else was changing, too, hanging in the humid air like the promise of a storm. In the spaces between you and JJ, in the moments where words ran out and glances lingered too long. But neither of you dared to name it.

Not yet.

THE NIGHT FOLDED AROUND THE THREE OF YOU, WARM AND THICK WITH THE SCENT OF SALT AND SUMMER. The waves hummed their endless rhythm against the shore, distant yet steady, a lullaby you had memorized long ago. On the porch of the chateau, the wooden planks creaked beneath your weight as you leaned back on your palms, a half-empty bottle of stolen wine winking under the soft, flickering glow of string lights.

For the first time in weeks, the world was quiet. No running, no hiding — just Sarah’s easy laughter, Kiara’s sharp-edged grin, and the soft hum of night pressing in close, holding you all in the curve of its palm.

Kie stretched, her gaze flicking to you, something knowing in the curve of her lips. "Alright, let’s liven things up. Time for some girltalk."

You groaned, already knowing where this was headed. "Do we have to?"

Sarah clapped her hands, practically vibrating. "Uh, yes! I’ve been waiting for this moment forever."

"You’re tipsy," you accused, though a smile tugged at your lips despite yourself.

She only giggled, unbothered. "So what? That just makes it more fun. Okay, Kie, you first. What’s going on with you and Pope?"

Kiara scoffed, but the way her grip tightened around her glass didn’t go unnoticed. "What do you mean? There’s nothing going on."

"Oh, please," Sarah teased, nudging her shoulder. "The way he looks at you? It’s so obvious."

Kie sighed, tilting the bottle to her lips before answering. "Pope is... incredible. He’s kind, he’s smart, he actually listens to me. But I don’t know. If I let it turn into something and it doesn’t work out, I lose one of my best friends."

You reached over, squeezing her hand, the salt-sticky warmth of her skin grounding you. "You won’t lose him. Not Pope. He’d walk through fire for you."

Kie’s smile was soft, almost shy. But then she turned, sharp and knowing, her eyes gleaming in the dim light. "Okay, your turn, Honey. Any deep, dark secrets you wanna confess? Maybe about a certain blond hurricane we all know and love?"

Your stomach dropped.

Sarah practically vibrated with excitement. "Yes! I was just about to ask!"

You rolled your eyes, but your fingers moved on their own, finding the ring hanging from the chain around your neck. The metal was cool against your fingertips despite the heat of the night, familiar and grounding. A reminder.

JJ had given it to you years ago, slipping it into your palm with a rare kind of seriousness. "It was my mom’s," he had murmured, voice rough like he was handing over something more than just silver and memories. "Figured you’d keep it safe."

You had never taken it off.

The words sat on the tip of your tongue now, heavy and dangerous. You didn’t want to say it. Saying it would make it real, would give life to the thing you had buried so deep it felt like it was a part of you.

But Sarah and Kie were waiting, their trust shining so openly in the dark that it made your chest ache.

Maybe it was the wine. Maybe it was the way JJ’s voice was stitched into the fabric of your memories, the way his touch lingered even when he wasn’t there. Maybe it was the fact that, deep down, a part of you had been waiting for someone to ask — waiting for an excuse to finally say it out loud.

You exhaled. "JJ," you whispered, barely more than breath. "I think I’m in love with JJ. It’s always been JJ."

Kiara’s eyes widened. Sarah let out a delighted squeal, clutching your arm. "I knew it! I freaking knew it!"

"No, you don’t," you muttered, heat crawling up your neck. "He doesn’t see me like that. He looks at me like I’m his sister."

Kie snorted, tipping her head back. "Oh, sure. And I’m the Queen of England."

You laughed, but the weight of your confession settled like an anchor in your chest.

Because how could anyone not fall in love with JJ Maybank? He made it impossible.

The teasing. The ridiculous nicknames — "Princess," "Sweetheart," — always tossed out with that signature smirk, always laced with something else, something unspoken.

You told yourself it was just JJ being JJ. That the warmth in his voice was nothing more than habit. That the way his gaze lingered sometimes — soft, searching — meant nothing at all.

But then there were the moments when he didn’t speak, when his presence alone felt louder than words.

JJ Maybank, the boy who never shut up, who always had a joke, a quip, something to say — he knew when to be quiet with you. Knew when to sit beside you, knee to knee, shoulder to shoulder, saying nothing at all. Those moments stretched between you like an unspoken promise, like the space before a shift, before something fell apart or fell into place.

And maybe that was why it scared you. 

He was your best friend and always will be. And you didn’t believed that something or someone could change it. Ever. 

HE WAS ALWAYS THERE, ALWAYS WATCHING.

Protecting.

Sometimes, it was endearing. Other times, it was infuriating.

JJ had a way of stepping into your battles like they were his own, like he couldn’t stand the idea of you fighting them alone. But it wasn’t just when things got dangerous — no, it was the little things too. If someone so much as looked at you the wrong way, JJ was there, his easygoing demeanor hardening, his jaw clenching, shoulders tensing like he was ready to start a fight right then and there.

You had seen it happen before. But tonight, watching him all but snarl at some guy who had been a little too persistent at a party, you had had enough.

You grabbed his wrist before he could do something reckless — before he could do something stupid. "JJ, seriously, I can take care of myself.”

His pulse thudded under your fingertips. He didn’t pull away, but he didn’t relax either, his muscles coiled tight beneath your touch.

“I know," he muttered, eyes still locked on the guy as he stalked off, his shoulders squared in something close to satisfaction. Then, softer, like he hadn’t meant to say it at all — "But you shouldn't have to."

You stared at him, heart stumbling over itself, because what the hell was that supposed to mean?

JJ looked at you then, really looked at you, and for the first time that night, you saw something in his expression that you didn’t quite know what to do with. It wasn’t cocky, wasn’t teasing. It was careful. Measured. Like he was teetering on the edge of something neither of you were ready to name.

And maybe you should have said something. Maybe you should have called him out, demanded an explanation, asked him why he felt the need to throw himself between you and the rest of the world like it was his responsibility.

But you didn’t.

Because, deep down, you already knew the answer.

THERE WERE NIGHTS WHEN IT FELT LIKE THE WORLD OUTSIDE THE CHATEAU DIDN’T EXIST.

When the danger, the chaos, the constant search for something just out of reach — all of it faded into the background, leaving only the warmth of JJ beside you, the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath your cheek.

The two of you fit together without thinking, without needing to. His arm would drape over your shoulders, pulling you closer, and you would let yourself sink into him like it was the most natural thing in the world. The flickering glow of candlelight cast shadows on the walls, the scent of salt and smoke clinging to your skin, but all you could focus on was the rhythm of his heartbeat.

Thump. Thump. Thump. A sound so steady it could anchor you.

His fingers skimmed lazily through your hair, a slow, absentminded motion, like he wasn’t even aware he was doing it.

"You’re too good for me, you know that?"

The words were murmured into the quiet, his voice rougher than usual, low and edged with something you couldn’t quite name.

Your fingers, which had been tracing aimless patterns on his arm, stilled for just a second before you huffed out a soft laugh. “You’re an idiot.”

But the words lacked their usual sharpness.

Because he wasn’t joking.

Because beneath the teasing, there was something vulnerable, something raw.

JJ Maybank — the boy who threw himself into fights without a second thought, who always had a reckless grin and a cocky remark — was holding you like you were something delicate. Like you were something he was afraid to break.

And that scared you.

Because you didn’t know what to do with it. Didn’t know how to admit that your heart beat just a little too fast when he looked at you like that, or that you had memorized the way his arms felt around you, or that the ring hanging from your neck suddenly felt heavier in moments like this.

So you stayed quiet.

And he didn’t push.

The two of you just existed there, wrapped up in something too fragile to name.

Maybe you didn’t need to name it. Maybe it was enough to exist in these stolen moments, in the spaces between words, in the way his thumb absentmindedly brushed over your shoulder, in the way your fingers lingered on his skin longer than they should have.

But the truth was there. Unspoken, but undeniable.

It was in the way he looked at you, like you had hung the stars just for him.

It was in the way your chest ached when he wasn’t around.

It was in the way he always, always found his way back to you.

The search for gold continued, the stakes growing higher with every discovery, the danger creeping closer with every step. But JJ was always there. Always at your side. His hand firm on your shoulder, his reckless grin reassuring you that no matter what came next, you’d face it together.

And maybe, just maybe, that was enough.

For now.

One year ago. 

The world felt still. Not the kind of stillness that came with silence, but the kind that settled deep in your bones, pressing pause on everything outside this moment.

You sat side by side at the water’s edge, the damp sand cool beneath your fingertips, the ocean lapping at your toes in slow, steady breaths. The weight of reality — the danger, the chase, the impossible odds — felt distant, blurred at the edges like a half-forgotten dream. Here, in this in-between space, it was just you and JJ. No past, no future. Just now.

JJ sat cross-legged beside you, absently tracing patterns in the sand with a stick with his name on it, the movement lazy, almost thoughtful. His blond hair was a tangled mess, windblown and wild, falling into his ocean-blue eyes. He looked different here — quieter, lighter, as if the weight he carried had finally loosened its grip. The sharp edges of his chaos had softened in the lull of the waves, in the warmth of your presence.

“You know,” he murmured, glancing at you, “When we get rescued, I think I’ll miss this.”

You arched an eyebrow, fighting a smile. “The part where we’re stranded on an island with no food, no real plan, and absolutely zero chances of survival? Yeah, real paradise.”

He chuckled, the sound warm and easy, like sunlight breaking through storm clouds. “No, dumbass,” he nudged your shoulder, his touch lingering just a second longer than necessary, “I mean this. Us. The quiet. The way things feel here.” He gestured to the palm trees swaying lazily in the breeze. “Back home, it’s just one thing after another. Running, chasing, hiding. But here… it’s just us.”

His words settled between you, heavier than the humid air pressing against your skin.

You studied him — his tanned skin, the way his lips quirked up like he was always on the verge of a smirk, the freckles scattered across his nose from too many days under the sun. This version of JJ, the one sitting beside you with the ocean in his eyes and something unspoken in his touch, made your chest ache in a way you didn’t know how to explain.

“I get it,” you admitted, your voice quieter now, more careful. “It feels... different here. Easier. No drama, no treasure hunts, no running for our lives.”

JJ’s grin stretched wider. “Yeah, but you miss it. Don’t even try to lie.”

You rolled your eyes, but he wasn’t wrong. Chaos was part of you, just like it was part of him. You weren’t built for stillness, for lives untouched by adventure. And yet, something about this island — this fragile moment — felt like a dream you didn’t want to wake up from.

The thought unsettled you.

Your fingers curled around the chain at your neck, the ring cool against your skin even in the warmth of the evening. JJ’s mother’s ring. His most treasured possession, now hanging from your neck as if it had always belonged there. He had given it to you to keep it safe.

And maybe — just maybe — he had meant more than just the ring.

A lump formed in your throat as another thought surfaced, unbidden.

"Do you think they’re still looking for us?" The question slipped past your lips before you could stop it.

JJ stilled. The stick in his hand froze mid-motion in the water, his jaw tensing for just a second before he turned to you. His gaze, usually so easygoing, softened.

“Of course they are,” he said, the certainty in his voice wrapping around you like a shield. “They’d never stop. And your dad? He’d tear the whole damn world apart to find you.”

You swallowed, blinking up at the sky as if you could hide from the ache building inside your chest. His words were meant to comfort you, but they only made the weight heavier.

Your father.

You could picture him, pacing the floor of your childhood home, staring at the door every night, waiting for you to walk through it. The thought twisted something deep inside you. He didn’t deserve this — didn’t deserve to be left in the dark, to wonder if you were dead, if you had abandoned him the way your mother did.

"I wouldn’t do that to you." You had told him that once, years ago, after she left.

"I’ll always come back."

And yet, here you were. Gone. Just like her.

A sharp pang of guilt dug into your ribs.

JJ must have sensed the shift in you because, without a word, he reached out and took your hand, his calloused fingers curling around yours. His grip was firm but not demanding — just solid, just there. A tether in the storm. It was such a simple gesture, familiar in the way only JJ could be, but it steadied you, pulling you back from the depths of your own thoughts.

Your gaze flickered to him, drawn in by the quiet reassurance in his eyes. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to. He just held your hand, his thumb tracing slow, absentminded circles over your knuckles, as if he knew exactly how to wordlessly tell you, I’ve got you. I always will.

And for a moment, you let yourself believe it.

For a moment, you let yourself lean into the warmth of his touch, into the silent promise between you.

"Hey." His voice was softer now, careful, like he was afraid to break whatever fragile thing had settled between you. He tossed the stick aside and shifted closer, his knee brushing against yours. “We’re gonna be fine, sweetheart. You have me, remember? I won’t let anything happen to you.”

You turned to him then, really looked at him, and the sincerity in his eyes stole the air from your lungs.

JJ’s bravado was as much a part of him as his reckless grin, his sharp wit, his fists that curled too easily in defense of the people he loved. But this — this quiet, unshakable confidence, the certainty in his voice — was something different. Something deeper. Something that made your chest feel too tight and too full all at once.

"I know," you murmured, voice barely above a whisper. "I know we’re together forever. What did you say back then? That I’m not getting rid of you?"

JJ’s smile returned, softer this time, and before you could think too much about it, his hand was reaching up, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. His touch was light, almost hesitant, but it sent warmth curling through your veins, spreading beneath your skin like the lingering heat of the sun.

"There she is," he murmured, eyes crinkling at the corners as his grin widened. "That smile. For a second, I thought I lost my touch."

You rolled your eyes, but the laugh that slipped past your lips was real, unforced. It was easy, effortless — just like it had always been with him. And for a fleeting moment, the weight of everything else — the danger, the uncertainty, the endless stretch of unknown days ahead — faded into the background.

All that mattered was the golden light spilling across the sand, the waves humming their quiet song, and JJ’s laughter filling the spaces between.

As the sun dipped lower, the sky melting into deep hues of indigo and violet, JJ stretched out on the sand, hands laced behind his head. “Alright, come here,” he said, patting the spot beside him without looking.

You hesitated — just for a moment — before lying down next to him. The sand was still warm beneath you, cradling your body in its soft embrace. Above, the first stars flickered to life, tiny pinpricks of silver scattered across the darkening sky.

JJ turned his head to look at you, his expression unreadable.

"You know," he said after a long pause, his voice quieter now, almost distant, "if this is all we ever had… it wouldn’t be the worst thing."

Your heart clenched at his words, at the weight of them pressing into the space between you.

Because this — the two of you, side by side, lost but together — had always been enough.

You turned your head to meet his gaze, and for a heartbeat, the world held still.

All you saw was JJ.

The boy who had been your anchor and your storm. Your best friend. And something else, something unnamed but terrifyingly real, lingering between you like the spaces between the stars.

"Yeah," you whispered, the words slipping from your lips with the weight of a thousand unspoken truths. "I think that would be enough for me too."

JJ smiled — just barely, just enough for you to catch the way his breath hitched. And as the sky deepened and the waves whispered secrets only the ocean would ever know, you let yourself believe it.

Even if only for a moment.

Even if the world beyond this island would one day come crashing back in.

For now, in this sliver of eternity, he was yours. And that was enough.

BUT THERE ARE LESSONS YOU LEARN THE HARD WAY.

Like the fact that life is a bitch — unforgiving, cruel. And just when you think it’s finally smiling at you, it’s only a distraction before the next punch.

The golden light of the setting sun shimmered across the endless waves, casting long shadows as Kiara’s silhouette emerged in the distance. After what felt like a lifetime of being stranded, of fighting to survive, of holding onto the desperate hope that you’d all make it back — this moment should have felt like relief. Like victory.

But instead, it felt like the ground beneath you was crumbling.

Your chest tightened as Kiara took off in a sprint, her voice breaking into a joyful cry as she launched herself straight into JJ’s arms. And he caught her — easily, effortlessly. His arms wrapped around her waist as he spun her in a circle, their laughter intertwining in the salty breeze like a cruel melody.

It was the kind of moment that should have been beautiful — a testament to the unbreakable bond between friends who had been through hell together.

But all you could see was the way his hands lingered on her waist. The way her head tilted back, pure delight on her face. The way he looked at her.

You told yourself not to read into it. That it was nothing. That she knew.

She knew about the way your heart stuttered every time JJ’s hand brushed against yours. About the nights you lay awake, his voice and reckless grin haunting your thoughts. Kiara was the one you’d confided in during quiet moments, the one you trusted with the feelings you were too scared to admit even to yourself.

She wouldn’t do this to you.

Would she?

The question settled over you like a storm cloud, dark and suffocating, as the Pogues finally reunited. Their cheers and laughter rang hollow in your ears. You smiled when you had to, laughed when it was expected, but your gaze kept drifting back to JJ and Kiara.

You watched as he ruffled her hair, as she swatted his arm in playful protest. Their movements were easy, thoughtless—like they belonged to each other in a way you had only hoped you and JJ ever could. And then, for the briefest second, his eyes met yours.

And just like that, his smile faltered.

Not for long. Barely even a breath. But it was enough. Because instead of holding your gaze, he looked away.

The boat ride back to the Outer Banks should have felt like freedom. Like home.

But it was just another form of torture.

You sat alone at the stern, the wind whipping through your hair, the salty spray stinging your face as you stared out at the horizon. You forced yourself to focus on the endless blue, on the rhythmic crash of the waves, anything to drown out the quiet conversations and stolen glances happening behind you.

And then… 

It happened so fast that you almost convinced yourself you imagined it.

As you turned to grab a bottle of water, your eyes landed on them.

JJ and Kiara.

Leaning toward each other, so close their faces were only inches apart.

His hand was on her cheek, his touch careful, almost reverent. And the way she looked at him — soft, open, unguarded — made your stomach drop.

You couldn’t hear what he was saying over the roar of the engine, but it didn’t matter.

It was the way his thumb brushed against her skin. The way her lips parted slightly, her breath catching. The way it looked like the entire world had faded away, leaving just the two of them.

"Hey, did you guys see the compass?"

Pope’s voice cut through the moment, shattering it like glass.

JJ and Kiara sprang apart, their movements too sudden, too guilty. JJ laughed — forced and a little too loud — scratching the back of his neck, while Kiara ducked her head, rummaging through her bag with a kind of frantic energy.

"Yeah, it’s right here," JJ said, tossing the compass over without making eye contact with you.

You turned back to the water, gripping the railing so tightly that your knuckles turned white. The salt spray burned your skin, but it was nothing compared to the ache carving itself deep into your chest.

You had seen enough.

The way he looked at her… it was different.

Or maybe — maybe — he had never really looked at you that way at all.

AFTER RETURNING TO THE MAINLAND, THINGS BEGAN TO SHIFT IN WAYS YOU COULDN’T IGNORE.

It was in the way JJ and Kiara sat close by the fire, knees brushing, heads tipped together as they whispered things only they could hear. It was in the way they disappeared on a grocery run for almost an hour, returning with matching grins and a half-empty bag of snacks, like they had just come back from some secret adventure.

It was different now.

You didn’t want to admit it — to say it — but you felt it. The weight of something slipping through your fingers, the quiet erosion of a space that had once belonged only to you and JJ.

And yet, JJ still called you by those ridiculous nicknames — "Princess," "Sweetheart" — like nothing had changed. But something had changed. Because now, when he said them, his voice held an unfamiliar warmth, something softer, something that sent an uneasy shiver down your spine.

And then there was Kiara.

Lately, her gaze lingered on JJ just a little too long. Her laughter came a little easier when he spoke. She found reasons — excuses, really — to be near him. A touch on the arm, a playful nudge, a whispered inside joke.

Maybe it wouldn’t have mattered. Maybe you wouldn’t have cared.

If she didn’t know.

She knew about the way your heart stuttered whenever JJ looked at you.

She knew about the ring he had given you — the one you still kept tucked safely in your pocket, as if it held something sacred.

She knew — and yet, it felt like she was stepping into a space that was never hers to begin with.

And you hated yourself for feeling betrayed.

Because Kiara was your best friend.

And JJ wasn’t yours.

And you had no right to feel this way.

But logic didn’t erase the way your stomach twisted when you saw her lean into him, her fingers grazing his wrist as she laughed at something only he could hear. Logic didn’t make it easier when JJ looked at her with that smile — the one that used to belong to you.

So you stayed quiet.

And maybe JJ noticed. Maybe that’s why his gaze lingered a little longer when he looked at you now, like he was searching for something he couldn’t quite place. Like he was trying to understand why things felt different. Why it suddenly felt like he was losing something — like you were slipping away.

And maybe, just maybe, he was just as scared as you were to find out what that meant.

You tried to brush it off, to convince yourself that you were imagining it.

But the more you watched them, the clearer it became. And the clearer it became, the more you pulled away.

Pope was the first to notice.

"You’ve been kind of quiet lately."

It was late, the two of you sitting by the dock, working to repair a torn sail. His voice was careful, gentle — like he already knew the answer but needed to hear you say it.

"Just tired," you murmured, keeping your eyes on the frayed fabric in your hands.

He didn’t believe you.

You could feel it in the way he hesitated, in the way he watched you — really watched you, like he had been seeing the cracks forming long before you were ready to admit they were there.

You’d always been tired lately.

Pope thought about saying it out loud, but he didn’t.

Because he understood. Maybe not completely — maybe not in the way that mattered — but enough. It hadn’t been easy for him either, watching his best friend and ex-girlfriend fall into something neither of them wanted to name. But for you…

For you, it had always been different.

It had always been written in your eyes — you were only his.

"Yeah," Pope finally said, voice quiet. "It wasn’t easy."

And he didn’t push further.

He didn’t need to.

Because in the silence between you, in the way he sat steady beside you, he let you know — without saying a word — that he saw you.

Even if JJ didn’t.

Over the next few days, you found yourself reaching for Pope more often.

It was easier that way. Easier than being around JJ. Easier than pretending you didn’t notice how he and Kiara seemed to orbit each other like they had their own gravitational pull.

But JJ noticed your absence.

"What’s up with you and Pope?"

His voice cut through the lazy afternoon, sharp and laced with something you couldn’t quite place. You glanced up from your book, sprawled out in a hammock, the sun warm against your skin. He stood above you, arms crossed, his jaw clenched just a little too tight.

"What do you mean?" you asked, feigning indifference.

"You two are always together," he said, his tone deceptively casual. But his fingers twitched at his sides, restless. "Did I miss something?"

You tilted your head, studying him. "Why?" A slow smirk played on your lips. "Are you jealous?"

He let out a short laugh, but it was hollow—forced. His eyes, stormy and unreadable, flickered over your face, searching for something. "Yeah, that’s right. Just wanted to make sure you weren’t leaving me in the dark."

You forced yourself to smile. "I’d never dream of it."

But the lie sat heavy between you.

SARAH WAS THE ONLY ONE WHO SAW THROUGH YOUR FACADE.

"Do you want to talk about it?" she asked one evening as the two of you sat on the beach, the waves whispering against the shore.

You shook your head, hugging your knees to your chest. "There’s nothing to talk about."

"Come on," she pressed, her voice soft but firm. "I see the way you look at him. And the way you don’t."

A lump formed in your throat, but you swallowed it down. "It doesn’t matter. He’s happy. That’s what’s important."

Sarah’s hand found yours, squeezing gently. "You deserve to be happy too, you know."

You nodded, but the words felt distant, like a dream slipping through your fingers before you could grasp it.

So you threw yourself into the one thing that could keep you from drowning — El Dorado. The thrill of the chase, the adrenaline, the endless dangers. It was easier to focus on that than the ache in your chest. But even then, JJ and Kiara were always there, a painful, constant reminder of everything you couldn't have.

"WHY ARE YOU AVOIDING ME?"

JJ’s voice shattered the fragile distance you had so carefully maintained.

The two of you stood on the beach, the night air thick with salt and unspoken words. He had cornered you away from the others, the ocean stretching endlessly behind him, the stars like shattered diamonds overhead.

You stiffened, forcing your arms across your chest. "I’m not avoiding you."

“Bullshit.” He took a step closer, his blue eyes burning into yours. "You’ve been different since we got back. And don’t tell me it’s nothing, because I know you."

You exhaled shakily, staring at the sand. You couldn’t look at him — not when his voice was laced with that raw, unfiltered concern that always made your walls crack. "It’s just… too much, okay?" You gestured vaguely, grasping for an excuse. "The whole El Dorado thing. Everything we’ve been through. I just needed space."

JJ studied you, his expression shifting — softening. His fingers brushed against your cheek, light as a whisper, and you froze.

"It was easier on the island, wasn’t it?" His voice was quieter now, almost hesitant.

Your throat tightened as memories of Poguelandia washed over you. The stolen moments of peace, the laughter, the way JJ felt like home. "Yeah," you admitted, barely above a whisper. "It was."

His thumb traced along your cheekbone, lingering. "I miss it." His voice cracked, just a little. "It was just… simple. Like we could just be."

Your breath hitched. "Me too."

The words hung between you, heavy with meaning neither of you dared to name.

JJ’s gaze dropped to your lips. Your heart pounded, a war raging inside you. The words you had buried for so long clawed their way to the surface, desperate to be spoken.

"JJ, I…"

But then you stopped.

Because the moment you let those words escape, there would be no going back.

JJ frowned, searching your face. "What?"

You shook your head, biting your lip so hard it stung. "Nothing. It’s nothing."

His jaw tightened, frustration flashing across his face before he sighed, running a hand through his hair. "You know you can talk to me, right? About anything."

You nodded, forcing yourself to meet his eyes, forcing yourself to smile.

"I know."

But it felt like a lie.

And from the way JJ looked at you—the way his fingers curled into a fist at his side—you had a feeling he knew it too.

NOW THAT YOU WERE ON THE VERGE OF ANOTHER INCREDIBLE ADVENTURE, THE WEIGHT OF IT ALL THREATENED TO CRUSH YOU.

The jet’s engines hummed beneath you, a steady vibration that should have been reassuring but instead felt like a countdown. A reminder that time was slipping through your fingers. The air in the cabin was thick with anticipation, but it did little to settle the storm raging inside you.

Pope sat across from you, his fingers toying with the strap of his backpack, a nervous habit he’d developed over the years. Next to him, Cleo leaned back in her seat, her usual air of confidence contrasting sharply with the unrest in your chest. Further down the aisle, Sarah and John B. whispered to each other, their hands woven together, completely lost in their own world.

You should have been feeling the same rush they did — the thrill of what lay ahead, the rush of another impossible journey. Instead, all you could think about was him.

JJ.

Your eyes kept flicking toward the empty seat next to you. It was his seat. It was supposed to be filled by now.

He had gone to Kitty Hawk to get Kiara. He promised he’d be back in time. He promised.

"Don’t fly away without me, sweetheart," he had teased, flashing you that signature JJ Maybank grin, the one that could disarm you in seconds. And then, just before he left, he had kissed your forehead. A lingering press of lips against skin, warm and fleeting.

But now, the seconds stretched long, and he still wasn’t here.

You pressed your fingers to your temples, willing the creeping anxiety to quiet down. Your heart felt like a caged animal, slamming against your ribs with every passing minute. Because today —  today — you had made a decision.

After that night on the beach, you hadn’t been able to sleep. The words you had swallowed down burned like acid in your throat. The more you tried to push them away, the heavier they became, pressing into you until you felt like you’d suffocate under their weight.

You had spent days watching JJ laugh, watching him be himself again. Carefree. Happy. And it had become unbearable. Because the truth sat between you, unspoken but screaming.

You couldn’t do it anymore.

The moment he got on this plane, you were going to tell him. Everything. Every feeling you had buried, every longing glance you had stolen, every time you had wished — God, wished — he would look at you the way he looked at her.

You were going to risk it all.

And yet, he still wasn’t here.

"Are you okay?"

Pope’s voice broke through your spiral, his expression soft with concern. He had always been able to read you too well, and you cursed how transparent you must have looked.

"Yeah," you lied, forcing a tight smile. "Just tired."

Pope didn’t push, but Cleo wasn’t so easily fooled. She studied you for a long moment, her sharp eyes catching every detail — the way your fingers gripped the armrest, the restless bounce of your knee, the tension in your shoulders.

"You’re wound tighter than a fishing net," she remarked, tilting her head. "Maybe you should tell us what’s really on your mind."

You swallowed hard.

"I’m fine," you said again, though the words tasted like sand. "I’m just… worried about all of this."

Cleo didn’t look convinced, but she didn’t press. And for that, you were grateful.

Because how could you explain what was tearing you apart?

How could you tell them that this trip wasn’t what had your heart in a vice? That the only thing you feared right now wasn’t the danger that lay ahead but the way JJ’s absence felt like a missing piece of yourself?

And worst of all — what if he didn’t show up?

What if, for him, this adventure meant something different now?

What if you had already lost him before you even had the chance to tell him how much you loved him?

The minutes bled into an hour.

The empty seat beside you remained empty.

Every second that ticked by felt like a punch to the gut, the slow, agonizing kind that left you breathless but never quite knocked you out. You kept glancing at the entrance of the jet, expecting — needing — to see JJ come rushing in, his signature grin in place, an over-the-top excuse tumbling from his lips.

But he never did.

Anxiety coiled tight in your chest, a snake of worry and frustration twisting its way through your ribcage. John B. had tried to call him twice, pressing his phone so hard to his ear that his knuckles turned white, but both times, it went straight to voicemail.

"C’mon, man. Pick up."

The cabin was suffocating. The steady hum of the engines felt like a countdown to something you weren’t ready for. You gripped the seat beneath you, nails digging into the fabric, heart hammering in your chest.

"He's coming," you muttered under your breath, almost like a prayer. "He wouldn't just—"

But doubt had already crept in, dark and insidious.

Because what if he would?

What if JJ had finally stopped running back to you?

John B. exhaled sharply and pushed himself up from his seat, dragging a hand through his hair. His movements were tight, shoulders wound with tension as he turned to face the group.

"We can't wait any longer," he said, voice strained. "We'll miss the window if we don’t leave now."

Your stomach plummeted.

Sarah shifted uncomfortably, glancing between you and John B., lips pressing into a thin line. Pope shot you a cautious look, one laced with sympathy, but it only made the ache in your chest worse.

He was really not coming.

You forced yourself to nod, swallowing hard against the lump in your throat. Keep it together. Don’t let them see.

Pope’s hand landed on your shoulder, warm and reassuring, but it did little to stop the sinking feeling in your chest. The moment the plane began to taxi down the runway, it was like something inside you cracked wide open.

You turned toward the window, watching as the world outside blurred past. The sky was streaked with hues of orange and pink, a soft and cruel beauty.

JJ should have been here.

The weight of disappointment pressed down on you, suffocating. And beneath it, something uglier stirred — resentment, heartbreak, the bitter taste of being left behind.

Maybe, deep down, you had always known.

Maybe you had always been waiting for the moment JJ Maybank stopped choosing you.

SOUTH AFRICA HAD BEEN CHAOS FROM THE MOMENT YOUR FEET HIT THE GROUND.

There was no time to think, no time to process, no time to feel. You were too busy running. Hiding from dangerous locals, deciphering cryptic maps, escaping gunfire in the middle of the night. Survival demanded your full attention, and you gave it — because if you didn’t, you’d drown in the thoughts that crept in every time you stopped moving.

Thoughts of him.

JJ.

You had been ready. So ready.

Before leaving the Outer Banks, you'd made a decision — to tell him. To finally put everything into words, to lay it all out, no more running, no more pretending. You’d imagined the conversation a hundred times. The way his blue eyes would widen in surprise, then soften with understanding. Maybe he’d smile that slow, lazy smile, the one that always made your knees weak, and pull you into his arms.

But he never showed up.

And now, here you were, thousands of miles away, still carrying the weight of those unsaid words, letting them fester like an open wound.

But the pain in your chest was nothing compared to the moment you saw him again.

It was late at night. You had been running — all of you — navigating the narrow alleys of some unfamiliar town, adrenaline coursing through your veins as heavy footsteps thundered behind you. Your lungs burned, every breath sharp and desperate, but you couldn’t stop.

Then you turned a corner.

And crashed straight into them.

JJ and Kiara.

The world lurched beneath your feet.

For a split second, all the noise faded — the shouts, the pounding of feet, the chaos of your escape. It was just him. Just you.

Your heart slammed against your ribs, your brain scrambling to process what you were seeing.

JJ stood there, his chest rising and falling, his hair a mess, dirt smudged across his face like he had been running too. Relief surged through you so fiercely it almost knocked you over.

But then you noticed her.

Kiara.

And then — their hands.

Intertwined.

Fingers laced together like it was the most natural thing in the world.

You forgot how to breathe. The relief, the anger, the longing — it all collapsed under the weight of this.

JJ’s eyes met yours, and for a fleeting second, something passed through them — guilt. His easy, careless grin faltered, but only for a moment.

"Hi, guys," he said, as if this was nothing. As if this wasn’t everything.

Before you could even form a response, Kiara tugged on his arm, her grip tightening. On him.

"We need to move," she said urgently, her gaze flickering around the alley. "Right now."

You couldn’t move.

You couldn’t speak.

You felt everything — and yet, at the same time, nothing at all. It was like watching the ocean pull away from the shore before a tidal wave crashed down, swallowing everything whole.

Every shared moment, every stolen glance, every inside joke — gone.

Had you imagined it all?

Had you been so stupid to believe he was ever yours?

"Are you okay?"

Sarah’s voice was soft, hesitant. A hand touched your arm, grounding you. Cleo stood beside her, brows furrowed, as if she could feel the weight of your heartbreak pressing against the air.

You forced yourself to nod. Forced yourself to breathe.

"Yeah," you lied, voice barely above a whisper. "I'm fine."

But you weren’t.

You were anything but fine.

But there was no time to fall apart.

The next second, you were running again.

THE JOURNEY IN SEARCH OF GOLD HAD DRAINED YOU TO YOUR VERY CORE. Days bled into nights, exhaustion pressing into your muscles like an iron weight as the group clawed their way through dense jungles, ancient traps, and relentless enemies. Every step had been a battle. But now — here it was.

El Dorado.

The cave swallowed you in silence, thick and heavy with history. And at its center — treasure.

Gold, endless and gleaming, stacked in chaotic brilliance. The flickering torchlight made the ancient riches seem almost alive, the reflections shifting like liquid fire. The air smelled of damp earth and something metallic, something old. The sight should have felt like victory.

"We did it," John B whispered, voice unsteady with disbelief.

Pope let out a breathless laugh, his fingers tightening around Cleo’s hand. "We really did it."

Sarah turned to you, eyes glassy with unshed tears. "Can you believe this?" Her voice was barely above a whisper. "We actually found it."

You nodded, but the joy that should have come never did.

Because as the others celebrated, your gaze drifted — to him.

JJ stood a few feet away, but he felt worlds apart. His blond hair was tousled, his body relaxed in a way that made it seem like this was just another wild day, another reckless adventure. But it was who he stood with that made your chest tighten.

Kiara.

Their heads were tilted toward each other, their words low and intimate, as if the rest of the world didn’t exist. She said something, and JJ grinned, his signature smirk flickering across his face. The same one that had once been yours.

The gold around you blurred.

A sharp ache speared through your ribs, and you tore your gaze away before the lump in your throat could choke you whole.

The treasure was breathtaking. But it wasn’t enough.

It would never be enough.

Returning to OBX was surreal.

The sun still set over the water in a hazy blend of burnt orange and indigo, the waves still kissed the shore in a rhythmic lullaby, and the marshes still whispered secrets in the wind. Everything looked the same. But nothing felt the same.

The Pogues weren’t just Pogues anymore. They were legends. Their names passed through hushed conversations, spoken with a mixture of awe and envy. Reporters. Strangers. Questions. Cameras. The world suddenly wanted a piece of the treasure, a piece of you.

But beneath all the chaos, something far more dangerous had crept in.

Tension.

JJ stopped coming around.

At first, you told yourself it was because of everything that happened — the fame, the stress, the gold. But deep down, you knew the truth.

He didn’t come around because of her.

You saw them sometimes, glimpses of them through town — JJ and Kiara, sitting close, laughing, the world fading around them the way it once had for you and him.

You stopped looking.

You stopped waiting.

But your father noticed.

One evening, as the sun began its slow descent into the water, you found yourself sitting on the old wooden steps of your childhood home, watching the marsh sway with the breeze. You had barely spoken to him since returning. It wasn’t intentional — you just felt so lost that words had started to feel meaningless.

But then, your father sat down beside you, his presence heavy with unspoken concern.

"You’ve been quiet," he said after a long moment, his voice gentle but firm. His hands, rough and calloused from years of working on boats, rested on his knees.

You didn’t answer right away.

Because how could you?

How could you tell him that you weren’t sure who you were anymore? That everything you had fought for, bled for, had left you feeling empty? That JJ — the boy who had once been your best friend, your safe place—was now just another person who had walked away?

So you just shrugged. "I’m tired, Dad."

He turned his head, studying you. And that’s when you saw it — the flicker of pain in his eyes.

He didn’t recognize you.

Not because of the way you looked — you were still his daughter, still the same person who had grown up on these docks, chasing after dreams that once felt limitless.

But because the light in your eyes was gone.

Because the fire, the spark that made you you, had been snuffed out.

"I missed you, you know," he said quietly. "Missed my girl."

Your throat tightened, and you had to look away, your fingers curling into the fabric of your jeans.

"I’m right here," you whispered, but it felt like a lie.

Because weren’t you gone, too?

He exhaled slowly, then reached over and squeezed your hand — the simplest, smallest act, but it nearly broke you.

"I don’t know what happened out there," he admitted, voice thick with emotion. "And I won’t pretend to understand. But whatever it is, whatever’s weighing you down… you don’t have to carry it alone."

The words burrowed deep, but you just nodded, afraid that if you spoke, your voice would crack.

So he didn’t push. He just stayed there, watching the sunset with you, holding your hand like he used to when you were small.

And for the first time in a long time, you let yourself lean into the comfort of someone who had never left.

Someone who never would.

Days passed in a blur, and you did your best to exist.

You spent your time with Pope and Cleo, their presence grounding you when everything else felt like it was crumbling. Cleo’s quick wit and Pope’s unwavering logic kept you from unraveling completely, and you buried yourself in distractions — helping fix boats, working odd jobs, anything to keep your hands busy, to keep your mind from spiraling.

But none of it stopped the ache.

And none of it changed what had already happened.

It was a quiet afternoon when Kiara finally found you.

You were sitting on the porch with Pope, your fingers tangled in an old fishing net as you helped him untangle the stubborn knots. The rhythmic motion was comforting, something solid in a world that felt anything but.

Then Kiara’s shadow stretched across the wooden planks.

"Hey."

The single word was hesitant — uncertain. That alone made you pause.

You glanced up, fingers stilling. Her usual confidence was gone. She stood stiffly, shifting on her feet, avoiding your eyes like she wasn’t sure if she had the right to be standing there at all.

"Can we talk?"

The words made your stomach twist.

You didn’t want to talk to her.

You still felt the sting of her silence, the betrayal of knowing she had stood by and said nothing while you drowned in feelings you had never even gotten the chance to voice. Kiara had been the one to encourage you, the one who had known what JJ meant to you.

And yet, when she had taken him, she hadn’t even warned you.

But you knew the truth. You had no right to be angry.

JJ was never yours.

And that was the most painful part of all.

Kiara’s words hung between you, heavy with meaning, but not enough to fix anything.

You wanted to believe her.

You wanted to take a deep breath, let go of the ache inside you, and tell her that everything was okay. That you weren’t hurting. That it didn’t feel like something inside you had cracked wide open the moment you saw JJ’s fingers intertwined with hers.

But you couldn’t.

Because it still hurt.

Because no matter how much you tried to push it down, to convince yourself that it was just bad timing, just one of those things — you knew better.

And so did she.

"It’s just... a lot. For everyone."

It was the best you could offer. A truth, but not the whole truth.

Kiara swallowed hard, nodding like she understood. And maybe she did. Maybe she felt it too — the quiet breaking of something between you, something that no amount of apologies could completely mend.

The silence stretched.

The wind whispered through the trees, carrying the salty scent of the ocean with it. The marsh swayed in the golden afternoon light, the world moving forward while you stood still.

"I miss you," she admitted softly.

You let out a slow breath, looking at her — really looking at her. This girl who had been your friend, who had been one of your closest people, now sitting across from you like a stranger trying to find her way back.

And maybe, in another time, another life, you would have reached for her hand. Maybe you would have forgiven her, let her in, let yourself believe that nothing had changed.

But it had.

And you weren’t sure if you could ever go back.

"Yeah," you murmured. "I miss you too."

But even as you said it, you knew — some things, once broken, don’t ever fit the same way again.

THE SKY BLED WITH THE LAST REMNANTS OF DAYLIGHT, BRUISED PURPLES AND DEEP ORANGES SINKING INTO THE HORIZON LIKE A SLOW EXHALE. The ocean stretched endlessly, its surface a restless mirror, broken only by the occasional ripple of unseen movement beneath. The dock beneath your feet creaked as the tide whispered against the worn wooden pillars, a slow, rhythmic lullaby that did nothing to quiet the storm inside you.

The air was thick with salt and the distant scent of bonfire smoke drifting from the beach. A cold breeze curled around your shoulders, making you shiver — not just from the chill, but from something deeper, something that had been building inside you for months.

And then, just like you knew he would, JJ found you.

His footsteps were steady but hesitant as he approached, the kind of walk someone has when they already suspect they won’t like the answers they’re about to get. The moon cast a pale glow over him, softening the hard set of his jaw, but it couldn’t hide the tension in his shoulders, the weight in his eyes. His hands were shoved deep into the pockets of his hoodie, like he was trying to hold himself together.

“We need to talk.” His voice was quiet, but there was no mistaking the urgency behind it.

You didn’t turn to him. The waves in front of you were easier to look at. Easier to understand. “About what?”

JJ let out a short, frustrated breath. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“That thing where you act like you don’t know what I’m talking about.” He took a step closer, his presence radiating heat despite the cold night air. “You’ve been… different. Distant. And I don’t get it.” His voice softened for a moment, almost careful. “Did I do something?”

A bitter smile flickered across your lips before you could stop it. God, the irony. The déjà vu of it all hit like a punch to the gut. Same dock. Same moonlit ocean. Same boy, standing there, looking at you like you were a puzzle he couldn’t figure out.

The only difference was you.

Back then, you had still carried hope like a fragile ember, cradled in your chest. Now, all that was left was smoke.

Your fingers curled into fists, nails biting into your palms. You wanted to yell at him, to shake him, to make him see. But the words felt stuck, lodged deep inside a place you weren’t sure you could reach anymore.

So instead, you exhaled sharply and forced your voice into something steady.

“I’m just tired, JJ. That’s all.”

He scoffed. A sharp, humorless sound. “Bullshit.”

Your shoulders tensed. He rarely ever spoke to you like that.

“You’re always tired,” he went on, stepping closer. His eyes searched yours, desperate now. “But this is different. You’re shutting me out, and I don’t– ” He ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. “I don’t know what I did wrong.”

You turned to him then, finally meeting his gaze head-on. His eyes were stormy, filled with something between anger and hurt, like he was bracing himself for an answer he didn’t want.

“That’s the problem,” you murmured. “You don’t know.”

JJ blinked. Confusion flickered across his face, followed by something else. Something heavier. But it was too late.

He let out a breath, shaking his head. “C’mon. We’re friends. We always figure this shit out.”

Friends.

The word cut deeper than it should have. It landed in your chest like an anchor, heavy and suffocating, dragging you down into a truth you had spent too long trying to ignore.

Your breath shuddered as your fingers reached for the thin chain around your neck. You felt the cool weight of the small, worn ring — the one you had carried with you for years, the one that had once meant everything.

The one that meant nothing now.

You pulled it over your head, the metal cool against your fingertips, and held it out to him.

JJ stared at it, then at you. His brows knitted together. “What the hell is this?”

Your throat burned. “I’m giving it back.”

His face twisted in something close to disbelief. “Why?”

Your fingers curled around the empty space where the ring had been. The night air felt colder now, like the ocean had crept up and wrapped itself around you.

“Because I can’t do this anymore.” The words shook, but they were final. “I can’t keep pretending. I need to let go.”

For a long moment, JJ just stood there, looking at the ring in your hand like it was a foreign object, like it was something he had never seen before. Then, slowly, his fingers closed around it.

His voice was quieter now, rough around the edges. “So that’s it?”

You didn’t answer.

You just turned away, walking into the night, leaving him standing there with a piece of your past clutched in his fist.

The dock groaned beneath your feet, the sound echoing into the dark. The ocean whispered its endless secrets to the shore, uncaring, unmoved.

And as you disappeared into the shadows, you made a silent vow — one last promise to yourself.

To stop waiting for something that was never going to happen.

Present time. 

THE MOROCCAN SUN WAS RELENTLESS, BEATING DOWN IN WAVES OF UNBEARABLE HEAT, FLOODING THE ENDLESS DUNES WITH LIQUID GOLD. The air shimmered, thick with dust and despair, distorting the horizon into a cruel mirage of salvation that would never come. The wind howled low, stirring up the sand, slipping into your clothes, into your lungs, burning like fire. But none of it mattered.

Not the heat. Not the ache in your knees, pressed into the pitiless desert. Not the sunburn scorching your skin, making it raw and blistered. None of it mattered.

All that mattered was JJ. 

He lay sprawled in front of you, his once-white shirt dark with blood, the fabric clinging to his skin, soaked in scarlet. It spread like ink across his torso, seeping between your trembling fingers as you pressed down desperately, trying — failing — to stop the life from spilling out of him.

His usual electric energy — the endless, restless spark that made him him — was flickering, dimming by the second. His blue eyes, those damn ocean-blue eyes that were always so full of trouble and laughter, were struggling to stay open, heavy-lidded, dazed. And you?

You were falling apart. Piece by piece. With every shallow breath he took.

Your hands trembled as you pressed a handkerchief — his bandana — against the wound on his side. It was already soaked through. Useless. "JJ, no!" Your voice cracked, shattered, raw with panic. You were sobbing so hard you could barely breathe. "Just- … just hold on! Help is coming soon, I swear! Just a little more, okay? You hear me?"

He let out a choked, hoarse laugh, one that made your heart lurch violently. His lips curved into that same crooked, maddeningly cocky smirk, the one you’d seen a thousand times before. "Well, well, sweetheart," he rasped, his voice like sandpaper, barely audible over the pounding in your ears. His hand, calloused and warm even now, reached up, brushing against your tear-streaked cheek.

"I'm not worth your beautiful tears."

"Don't you dare say that," you choked out, grabbing his hand, pressing it against your face, as if you could keep him here just by sheer will. “Don’t you dare.”

His gaze never left yours, steady despite everything. That infuriating, impossible calm, like he wasn’t bleeding out in the middle of the desert. Like he hadn’t just thrown himself into danger for you.

And God, you hated yourself.

You hated yourself for every moment you ignored him, every glance you turned away, every time you convinced yourself he didn’t matter as much as he did. All because you couldn’t stand the way it burned — watching him and Kiara, pretending it didn’t hurt, pretending it wasn’t killing you.

"You shouldn't have done that," you whispered, your voice shaking, barely more than a breath. "You shouldn’t have risked yourself for me."

A ghost of a smile flickered across his lips, fading as another wave of pain crashed over him. "I couldn't help myself," he murmured, blinking slowly, his grip on your hand tightening for a fleeting second before going slack again. His smirk twitched, weaker now. “It’s just like me, huh? Playing the hero.”

You let out a shaky, broken laugh. "This isn’t funny, JJ. You don’t– ” Your voice faltered. A sob clawed its way up your throat, but you swallowed it down. “You’re not allowed to leave me.”

He tilted his head slightly, barely able to keep his eyes open, but still, still he reached for you, brushing a strand of hair from your face with trembling fingers.

"Why not?" he teased, voice softer now, thinner, like it was slipping through your fingers.

Because I…

The words tangled in your throat, caught between fear and regret and love so raw it felt like it was splitting you in two.

Tears blurred your vision, falling freely onto his cheeks, his chest, mixing with the blood. "I thought you knew," you whispered. "I- … I’ve loved you since the beginning. Please, JJ, please don’t leave me.”

His breath hitched, something flickering in his eyes — recognition, regret, something unsaid that had been there all along. A slow, fragile smile touched his lips, and for the first time in what felt like forever, he looked like himself again.

“I knew,” he breathed, the barest hint of a smirk still tugging at his mouth. His fingers curled weakly against yours. "I’ve been waiting for you.”

Your breath caught in your throat, and for a moment, the world stopped.

The wind died. The searing heat, the endless dunes, the distant shouts of the others — none of it mattered. It was just you and him, and the weight of his words crashing over you like a tidal wave, breaking something inside you, something that had been locked away for far too long.

“What?” you gasped, disbelief twisting in your chest, making it hard to breathe.

JJ's lips curled into a faint but sincere smile, though exhaustion dulled the edges of it. “I’ve been waiting for you,” he repeated, voice hoarse but unwavering. "I broke up with Kiara before this trip. I couldn’t pretend anymore." He exhaled shakily, his grip tightening around your fingers with the last bit of strength he had left. "You’ve always been everything to me. All this damn time.”

Your heart clenched violently.

Your mind raced to keep up, to piece together the truth that had been right in front of you, buried under layers of fear, miscommunication, and unspoken feelings.

"Then why – …why didn’t you say something?"

His eyes, deep and piercing even through the pain, held yours with quiet intensity. “Because you pulled away,” he said simply. "And I thought that’s what you wanted.”

The truth hit you like a punch to the ribs. You inhaled sharply, shaking your head. "No." The word barely made it past your lips. "No. I was scared. I thought I couldn’t handle it. Seeing you with her… It hurt too much. So I ran.” Your voice cracked. Your fingers clenched around his, desperate, desperate, desperate to hold on to something you had almost let slip through your hands. "And I'm sorry, JJ. I'm so sorry.”

He studied you for a moment, his gaze soft despite the pain creasing his brow. Then, with what little energy he had left, he smirked—small, tired, but undeniably him.

"Don’t apologize,” he murmured. "Just… don’t leave me hanging, okay?"

A sob broke free from your throat, raw and full of something you weren’t ready to name. You nodded fiercely, gripping his hand tighter. "I won’t. I swear to God, JJ, I won’t.”

The sound of running footsteps cut through the suffocating air, and you turned, the haze of panic breaking just enough for reality to crash back in. The Pogues. John B, Pope, Kiara — your family — rushing toward you, their faces twisted with fear.

John B dropped to his knees beside you without hesitation, his hands immediately moving to help press against JJ’s wound. His fingers were slick with blood — JJ’s blood — and the sight of it made your stomach lurch. Kiara stood frozen for a moment, her face pale, her hands trembling as Pope frantically rummaged through the bag for the supplies you had packed before the trip.

“We’ve got you, man,” John B said, trying to sound confident, but his voice wavered, just enough to betray his fear. “You’re gonna be fine.”

“Damn right,” JJ rasped, his smirk faltering as he winced. He turned his head slightly, his tired eyes finding yours again, and for a second, it was just you and him in the vast, unforgiving desert.

“Now I have something to live for.”

Your heart clenched so hard it hurt.

A fresh wave of tears burned your eyes, but you refused to let go. You reached for his hand again, holding on as if your grip alone could anchor him, could keep him here, keep him yours. “We’re not done talking about this,” you whispered, voice trembling but steady. "Not even close."

His lips twitched, a flicker of amusement dancing through the pain. "Looking forward to it, sweetheart."

The Pogues worked with frantic precision, their hands moving fast despite the tremor of fear running through them. Kiara handed Pope the bandages with shaky fingers, and John B pressed harder, murmuring reassurances to JJ, to himself, to all of you.

JJ’s breathing was shallow, but it was there. It was steady. A fragile, desperate reminder that he was still here, still fighting.

And as the sun dipped lower, painting the dunes in streaks of crimson and gold, you made a silent vow.

No more running. No more hiding.

JJ Maybank had risked everything for you.

And you’d spend the rest of your life proving to him that it was worth it.

THE NORTH CAROLINA COAST SHIMMERED UNDER THE LAZY GLOW OF THE LATE AFTERNOON SUN, ITS GOLDEN LIGHT CASTING LONG SHADOWS ACROSS THE SAND. The waves rolled in gentle, rhythmic whispers, curling and uncurling against the shore like a lullaby, as if even the ocean had settled into a rare moment of peace. A soft breeze carried the scent of salt and sunscreen, mingling with the distant sounds of seagulls calling to one another.

A year had passed since Morocco.

And somehow, after everything, life had fallen into something that felt too good to be true.

The Pogues, older, maybe even a little wiser — but still just as reckless and full of life — had gathered at the Chateau for one of their usual, chaotic meetings. Laughter mixed with the rolling tide, the weight of past troubles dissolving in the summer air.

At the heart of it all sat Jessica, now eight months old and the undisputed queen of their little kingdom.

She was sprawled on a sun-bleached blanket, babbling happily as she reached for a set of colorful beach toys scattered around her. Her chubby fingers wrapped around a bright yellow shovel, clumsy but determined. Beside her, JJ sat cross-legged in the sand, his usual cocky smirk softened into something infinitely more tender.

"Okay, Jess," he said in an exaggeratedly serious tone, flipping the shovel dramatically. “If we’re gonna build the greatest sandcastle this beach has ever seen, you have to stay focused. Just don’t eat the sand, alright?”

Jessica, wide-eyed and curious, blinked up at him — then immediately grabbed a fistful of sand and stuffed it into her mouth.

JJ groaned, head tilting back in exaggerated defeat, while you, a few feet away, laughed as you set out snacks on the picnic table.

"She doesn't take you seriously," you teased, leaning on the edge of the table with a knowing smirk. "I think your motivational speeches need work, Maybank."

JJ twisted to look at you over his shoulder, grinning. “You’re just jealous because she listens to me more than she listens to you.”

“Oh, is that what you think?” You raised a brow, stepping closer before squatting down next to him.

Jessica’s attention immediately snapped to you, her chubby little hands stretching out with an excited squeal. JJ gawked.

“See?” you said smugly, scooping her up into your arms. “She knows who her favorite is.”

JJ let out a loud, mock-offended gasp, placing a hand dramatically over his heart. “Losing my grip?” he repeated, shaking his head. “Damn, babe. You’re killing me here. Everyone knows I’m the funny one.”

“Of course you are,” you cooed, lips twitching.

As if to prove his point, JJ suddenly leaned in and made the most ridiculous face imaginable — eyes crossed, lips puckered, nose scrunched.

Jessica let out an explosive giggle, clapping her hands in delight.

You sighed, defeated, shaking your head. “Great. You’re officially raising a mini menace.”

JJ smirked, his eyes twinkling with something deep and unspoken as he watched you cradle Jessica against your chest. Despite all his bravado, his recklessness, his wild heart, there was an effortless ease to the way he was with her. Like he was made for this — this quiet, unspoken happiness. And maybe that was the most dangerous thing of all.

A few feet away, Kiara lounged on a blanket, lost in conversation with her friend, Maya — a quick-witted artist who had seamlessly slipped into their group like she’d always belonged. The two were locked in an animated debate over which beach snacks were superior, their laughter ringing out, blending into the symphony of the waves.

It was moments like this, the quiet ones, that made everything feel right.

That reminded you of just how much you all had survived.

And, more importantly — how much was still ahead.

As the sun dipped lower, painting the sky in a breathtaking blend of burning oranges and soft pinks, the salty breeze carried the distant laughter of your friends. The ocean stretched out before you, its waves rolling in slow, steady murmurs, as if the entire world had exhaled into peace.

JJ stood on the porch of the Chateau, Jessica cradled against his chest, his arms wrapped securely around her tiny frame. His usual restlessness had faded into something quieter — something softer — as he rocked back and forth, his movements gentle, instinctive.

You watched from the doorway for a moment, your heart swelling at the sight of him like this. Unburdened. Present. Real.

A soft smile tugged at your lips as you stepped closer.

"You're real," you murmured, the words slipping out before you even realized you’d said them.

JJ glanced at you, and for a fleeting second, his usual confidence wavered. A flicker of vulnerability crossed his face — something rare, something raw.

"I’m not sure about that," he admitted, his voice quiet, almost hesitant. His gaze dropped to the baby in his arms, and his features softened. "But everything feels... easier with her. She’s just– … God, she’s perfect, you know?"

You reached out, resting a hand lightly on his worn-out T-shirt, feeling the warmth of him beneath your fingertips.

"She’s got a pretty amazing godfather." You hesitated, searching for the right words. "And I have an even more amazing – …”

JJ's lips curled into a knowing smirk, but his eyes stayed soft.

“Boyfiend?" he teased, tilting his head. "The love of your life? A future husband?"

You let out a breathy laugh, leaning your forehead against his shoulder.

"All of the above."

For a moment, neither of you spoke, letting the ocean and the distant voices of your friends fill the quiet spaces between you.

Then, after a beat, JJ adjusted Jessica in his arms and looked down at you, something uncharacteristically shy in his expression.

"Hey," he said, clearing his throat. "I, uh... I got something for you."

You blinked, eyebrows arching in surprise as he carefully passed Jessica into your arms. Her tiny fingers curled into the fabric of your shirt, warm and trusting, as she settled deeper into sleep.

JJ reached into his pocket, fingers fumbling before he pulled out a small, familiar silver ring. Your breath hitched.

"JJ..." you started, but he lifted a hand, stopping you.

"I know it’s not a proposal," he said, his voice quiet yet certain, his blue eyes steady on yours. The words were familiar — spoken once before, in a different place, under different circumstances. "Not yet. But it’s still a promise. That I’m in this. For real. For the long haul."

He swallowed hard, rolling the ring between his fingers before gently sliding it onto your hand. His fingertips lingered, tracing the delicate curve of your knuckle like he was memorizing the shape of you.

"You’re everything to me," he whispered. "Always have been. Always will be."

Emotion swelled in your chest, raw and overwhelming, knotting your throat and making words impossible. So instead, you reached for him, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as you closed the space between you. His breath hitched just before your lips met, and then everything melted away.

The kiss started soft, tentative, but then he deepened it, his hand rising to cup your face. His thumb brushed your cheek, warm and rough, as though he wanted to wipe away every doubt, every fear. He kissed you like he was grounding himself in you, like he needed you to breathe. The warmth of him, the quiet strength of his arms — it left you dizzy and safe all at once.

By the time you pulled back, your foreheads rested together, breaths mingling in the cool night air. His fingers brushed down your arm, finding your hand again, twining his fingers with yours like he never wanted to let go.

"I love you," you murmured, your voice barely a whisper.

JJ’s smile was crooked, soft, a little breathless. "I know. And I love you more."

By the time you returned to the group, Jessica was fast asleep in your arms, her breaths soft and steady. The Pogues greeted you with their usual mix of teasing and tenderness—John B tossing out a smirk and Kiara shooting JJ a knowing look that made him roll his eyes. Pope, ever the observant one, just grinned as if he’d seen this coming long before either of you had.

But beneath the jokes, beneath the playful nudges and sarcastic remarks, was something deeper — an unbreakable bond that had carried you through the darkest of times and would continue to hold strong in whatever came next.

And as the stars slowly blinked to life in the vast, endless sky, you realized — without a shadow of a doubt — that you were exactly where you were meant to be.

hey lovies, i'm sooo happy to finally share this piece with you. i've been working on it for three months now, and honestly, i still feel like it’s not quite perfect. but i really wanted to post it today because it’s not just any day — it’s the one-year anniversary of this blog! 🥹 i started this whole thing with a jj fic, so it felt kinda special to keep that tradition going.

i just wanna say a huge thank you to everyone who's been here with me throughout this year. your support means the world to me, truly. every like and reblog is amazing, but your comments? they’re everything. they keep me inspired and make all the effort so worth it. so if you have thoughts — whether you loved it or not — i’d be over the moon if you shared them in the comments or my inbox :3

and before i go — happy international women’s day to all the incredible women out there! you are powerful, beautiful, and unstoppable 💫

love always, your santi 🪐

masterlist

[thomamaru]

Hierarchy of Intimacy (Chapter Rin)

Synopsis: Rin wasn't the type of person to be using slang words. After months of spending time with you, he started picking up on your vocabulary, but this would be a problem if one of them slips up during a match. (Copying their vocabulary)

Tags: Rin Itoshi x gn!reader, fluff, teasing from his teammates, brainrot humor

Author notes: this is a series based on a trend of tiktok. characters that will be included is nagi, yukimiya, rin, chigiri, isagi, reo, kunigami, sae, and bachira. If you want to add a character, you can request with a prompt :) BONUS: shidou

Rin Itoshi was a mystery wrapped in indifference.

On the field, he was cold, calculating, and intense, the kind of player whose sheer presence could send shivers down anyone's spine.

Off the field, his personality was much the same—stoic, distant, and utterly uninterested in small talk or social nuances.

His silence wasn’t an invitation for company; it was a shield. Rin didn’t care for relationships or connections. For him, it was just noise that distracted him from his goals.

Then you came into the picture.

At first, Rin didn’t know how to categorize you. Your quirky sense of humor felt out of place in his otherwise rigid world.

You would say the most ridiculous things with a straight face, unbothered by whether anyone found it funny. Rin thought it was strange—annoying, even.

“What does that even mean?” he’d mutter after you dropped yet another baffling slang term.

“You’ll get it someday, Rin,” you’d reply with a laugh, your tone teasing.

To his utter confusion, he did get it. Over time, your laughter wormed its way into the corners of his quiet world, filling it with a lightness he hadn’t known he was missing.

You didn’t push him to open up, but your sheer presence made him want to try. It was subtle at first—small changes, little words that crept into his vocabulary without his consent.

And everyone noticed.

It started during practices, with his teammates throwing occasional looks at him when he would respond to something with a term or phrase that seemed out of character.

The tipping point, though, came during an intense match.

The tension in the stadium was palpable. It was Rin’s chance to break the stalemate and seal victory for Blue Lock.

With precision and focus, he lined up the shot, but the ball veered just slightly, slamming into the goalpost with a loud clang.

Frustration twisted in his chest as the missed opportunity echoed across the field.

“My bad, sigma,” he muttered, barely loud enough for anyone to hear.

But someone did hear.

Isagi’s head whipped around, disbelief written all over his face. “What… did you just say?”

“Sigma?” Bachira echoed, already on the verge of laughter.

Karasu didn’t hold back, bursting into a fit of chuckles. “No way. Did Rin just say sigma?”

Otoya smirked from the sidelines, adding, “We got Rin saying sigma before GTA 6 came out. Someone write that down.”

“Shut up,” Rin snapped, his ears burning as the teasing continued. His usual sharpness was nowhere to be found, replaced instead by a rare sense of embarrassment.

From then on, “sigma” became a running joke among the team. Rin tried to brush it off, but the damage was done.

The fact that he’d unconsciously adopted one of your favorite phrases only reminded him how much of you had embedded itself into his life.

---

When Blue Lock was granted a three-day break after the U-20 match, Rin didn’t hesitate to make plans.

There was only one person he wanted to see. He set off early, his heart pounding with a mixture of anticipation and something uncomfortably close to nervousness.

It wasn’t like him to feel this way—restless, eager, and borderline desperate—but weeks away from you had taken their toll. He needed to see you.

The moment he spotted you waiting at your usual meeting spot, the weight in his chest dissolved.

You stood there, bathed in the warm light of the setting sun, looking just as stunning as the first day he’d met you.

Relief flooded his features, softening the tension he always carried.

He didn’t bother with words. Walking briskly toward you, he wrapped his arms around your waist and lifted you off the ground, holding you tightly against him.

The familiarity of your touch, your warmth, calmed the storm that had been brewing inside him.

“I missed you,” he said quietly, his voice rough with unspoken emotion.

You smiled, wrapping your arms around his neck. “I missed you too.”

Without thinking, Rin leaned down and kissed you—soft, unhurried, as though he wanted to memorize the feeling.

It was a grounding moment, reminding him of everything that mattered beyond the chaos of soccer and expectations.

The two of you were lost in your little world until a familiar voice shattered the peace.

“Can’t believe Rin got a girlfriend before the rest of us,” Otoya said, smirking as he and a few of Rin’s teammates approached.

Rin glared at him, his arms still around you. “Get lost, Otoya.” “Relax, we’re leaving.” Otoya glanced at you with a mischievous grin.

“By the way, you should teach him more of your humor. He needs it. Bye, sigma!” he called out, retreating with the others amidst their laughter.

You blinked, startled by the comment, before turning to Rin. “Sigma?” you repeated, a grin tugging at your lips.

Rin stiffened, his cheeks turning pink. “It’s… not what it sounds like.”

Your grin widened. “Have you been using my jokes?”

“I said it once,” he muttered, glaring at the ground.

“You said it during a match?” you asked, barely able to hold back your laughter. When he didn’t respond, you burst out laughing, holding onto him for support as tears formed at the corners of your eyes.

“Stop laughing,” Rin said, his tone flat, though the flush on his face deepened.

“Oh, Rin,” you said between laughs, reaching up to cup his cheek. “You’re so cute sometimes.”

“Tch. It’s not cute,” he grumbled, though he leaned into your touch without realizing it.

You smiled, your voice softening. “It’s just funny to think how much you’ve changed since we met.”

He frowned slightly, considering your words. It was true—you’d changed him in ways he didn’t entirely understand.

But what surprised him the most was that he didn’t mind. If picking up your strange humor was part of keeping you in his life, then he’d happily adapt.

Though he’d never admit it aloud, a part of him even wondered what other habits he might unconsciously pick up from you.

For now, though, he was content to stay in this moment, holding you close and savoring the sound of your laughter.

[michimichim]

author’s note: yes, yes i wrote 8.2k of pure filth and sin. yes i did that. and you would do it too, for a check?!🧍🏾‍♀️

ningning x g!p reader -> you were so adamant on never crossing the line between coach and client. what changed??

Lucky me

The metro hums steadily, its wheels grinding against the tracks in a low, rhythmic growl that vibrates through the floor and up into your legs. The air is cold, mixed with the distant scent of someone’s coffee and the crisp, sterile smell of the train itself. You’re slouched in your seat, one earbud dangling loosely, the other playing a muted TikTok audio with your duffel bag sitting heavily between your spread feet.

You swipe lazily through your feed—a dog singing Expresso by Sabrina, a chef flipping pancakes, a man tumbling mid-spin—when your screen suddenly goes silent. A notification slides in from the top, muting the video.

For a moment, you think it’s probably Ning announcing she’ll be late again, her schedule bleeding into yours like it does at times.

“the companys gyms closed come to my place instead … i still want my session :( ”

You stare at the message, your thumb hovering over the screen. The gym’s closed? Since when? You tap the notification and type back, “Why’s the gym closed?”

Her reply comes almost instantly, as if she’d been waiting for you to ask. “not the owner idk.”

You let out a small laugh. Typical. You send back a thumbs up, followed by, “Address?”

The response is swift, as expected. An address pops up. Before you can click out of the chat, your eyes catch the last message from her—a view-only-once photo she’d sent a week ago. You hadn’t responded, but the image lingers in your mind like a stubborn song.

It was late that night, after your workout session. She’d texted you out of the blue, asking about squat positions. You’d rolled your eyes, knowing full well she’d already mastered the form. But then the photo came through—a view-only-once shot of her hips, the curve of her waist accentuated by the dim lighting. Her skin had looked soft, almost glowing, the faint shadow of her sports bra strap cutting across her back. The caption read: “sooo sore.”

You hadn’t replied. You never did. But the image stayed with you, popping up at the most inconvenient times—like now, as you sit on the metro. You shift in your seat, bouncing your legs lightly as the train slows into the next station. The address she sent isn’t too far—just five stops past the gym. You exit the chat and pull up the map, double-checking the route. 

You’ve been Ning’s fitness coach for a little over three months now. When she first walked into the gym, you didn’t recognize her—not that you would’ve, anyway. You don’t keep up with pop music or the latest celebrities. But even then, there was something about her that made her hard to ignore.

She’d strutted in wearing a pink tracksuit that hugged her figure a little too perfectly, the zipper pulled down just enough to reveal a sliver of a sports bra underneath. Her hair was styled in loose waves, and her makeup was flawless, as if she’d just stepped out of a photoshoot rather than a workout session. She carried herself like someone who knew exactly how much space she deserved to take up, a cold confidence bordering on arrogance.

Yet, there was a playfulness to her too, something appreciative in her eyes as they swept over you, lingering for a moment too long on your arms, your shoulders, your stomach. It wasn’t subtle—the way she looked you up and down, as if judging you but couldn’t quite decide if she approved.

“Are you my new trainer?” she’d asked, flipping her hair over her shoulder with a practiced ease. Her voice was light, almost teasing, but there was an edge to it, like she was testing you.

Far from impressed, you’d nodded, your tone flat. “If you’re Ning, then yes.”

She’d smirked, as if your indifference amused her. “Lucky me,” she’d said, dragging out the words like she was savoring them.

At first, you thought she’d be like most of your clients—rich, entitled, and quick to quit when the workouts got too hard. But Ning surprised you. She showed up consistently, pushed herself harder than anyone you’d trained in a while, and never complained. Well, almost never. She had a habit of backtalking, questioning your methods with a snark that made it clear she was just trying to get under your skin.

And she did. Not in the way she probably intended, though.

It wasn’t that you were affected by her. You weren’t. But you noticed things—the way she’d “accidentally” brush against you while reaching for a water bottle, her fingers grazing yours just long enough to make you wonder if it was on purpose. The way she’d stretch in front of you, her movements slow, as if she were putting on a show. The late-night texts she’d send, asking about workout tips you’d already explained a dozen times, only to follow up with a photo that had nothing to do with it.

You told yourself it was harmless. That she was just being Ning—playful, flirty, and a little too confident for her own good. But you couldn’t deny that she had a way of testing your patience, of pushing boundaries you hadn’t even realized were there.

Like the time she’d placed her hand on the small of your back, her touch light but lingering, as she leaned in to ask a question about her form. Or the way she’d laugh at her own jokes, her eyes sparkling as she looked at you like she knew something you didn’t.

You didn’t let it get to you. You couldn’t.

The elevator doors slide open, and you step into the hallway, the plush carpet muffling your footsteps. The air smells faintly of vanilla, mixed with the crisp, clean scent of expensive cleaning products. The walls are lined with modern art, the kind that looks like it costs more than your monthly rent, and the soft hum of the building’s heater system fills the silence.

You follow the numbers on the doors until you reach hers. The gold plaque beside the door reads “Penthouse A” in sleek, minimalist font. There’s muffled music coming from inside—a rap song with a heavy bassline that thrums through the door. Adjusting the strap of your duffel bag, you knock twice.

The door opens almost immediately, as if she’d been waiting on the other side. Ning leans against the frame, her arms crossed over her chest. She’s dressed in a white top that stopped just below her navel and a pair of booty shorts that hugged her curves in a way that felt almost intentional. Her hair is pulled into a high ponytail, a few strands framing her face, and her lips curved down as she takes you in.

She tilts her head, her gaze trailing slowly from your hoodie to your navy blue shorts, lingering for a beat too long on the exposed skin of your legs. “You know it’s freezing, right?” she says, her voice lilting with mock concern, though the glint in her eyes gives her away. “Did you even check the temperature before leaving the house?”

You shrug, the movement loose and unbothered. “I run hot,” you say, your tone dry. 

Ning steps aside, her arm brushing against yours as you pass her. The contact is brief, almost accidental, but her lips curve into a small smile as she closes the door behind you.

The living room stretches out before you, bathed in the warm glow of a single floor lamp. The city glitters through the windows, a painting of lights blurred by the faint condensation on the glass. A yoga mat lies in the center of the room, flanked by a pair of dumbbells in front of the t.v. The air carries a faint sweetness—vanilla, maybe—mixed with the crispness of clean linen.

“Nice place,” you say, toeing off your shoes before dropping your bag by the mat.

“Thanks.” Her voice floats from behind you, light and airy. She moves toward the kitchen, her steps unhurried, the soft swish of her shorts brushing against her thighs. The muffled bass of a rap song pulses faintly in the background.

She opens the fridge, the cool light spilling over her face as she glances over her shoulder. “Can I get you a drink?” Her white nails tap lightly against the door, a casual rhythm that matches the beat of the music. “Water? Tea? Something stronger?”

“Nah, I’ll be fine.”

You kneel by your bag, unzipping it with a sharp tug. The sound of Ning rummaging in the kitchen fills the silence—the clink of glass, the soft hiss of water from the tap. When you glance up, she’s leaning against the counter, a glass dangling from her fingers.

“You sure you don’t want anything?” she asks, her head tilting slightly. The light catches the curve of her neck, the faint sheen of sweat already glistening at her collarbone.

“I’m good, love,” you say, pulling out the resistance band. The material stretches taut between your hands as you test its give, the snap of rubber sharp.

She hums, low and noncommittal, “Love,”  before pushing off the counter. “That’s new.” Her footsteps are soft against the hardwood as she crosses the room, glass still in hand. She sets it down on the coffee table.

You hum back distractedly. Dismissive.

“So,” she says, turning to face you. Her arms cross over her chest, drawing attention to the way her top rides up just enough to reveal a winking jewel nestled in her belly button. The light catches the piercing, sending a faint glimmer. “What’s the plan for today?”

You stand, the resistance band still in hand, and gesture toward the mat. “Warm-up first. Then we’ll work on your core.”

Her lips twitch, like she’s holding back a laugh. “My core, huh?” She steps onto the mat, slowly , savoring the way your eyes follow her. She pauses, tilting her head slightly, her ponytail swaying with the motion.

“What do you think of my progress so far?” she asks, her voice light but laced with something sharper. Without waiting for an answer, she turns around, her hands resting on her hips as she glances over her shoulder. The curve of her waist dips into the swell of her hips, the fabric of her shorts clinging just enough to emphasize the shape of her ass.

When she turns back around, the outline of her breasts is unmistakable, the peaks of her nipples pressing against the fabric as she shifts her weight slightly. Her stomach is taut, the faint shadow of muscle definition visible beneath her smooth skin. Every movement she makes—the slight arch of her back, the way her shoulders roll as she adjusts her stance—draws attention to the lines of her body, lean and sculpted but undeniably soft in all the right places.

You step closer, the resistance band still dangling from your fingers. Your eyes trail over her body, oh so slowly, taking in what you hadn’t let yourself linger on before. 

You don’t rush. You take your time, letting your eyes roam over every detail, every inch of her. 

When your eyes finally meet hers, she’s still looking at you, lips parted slightly, like she’s waiting for you to say something. Anything.

You don’t disappoint.

“You’ve got the kind of body,” you say, pausing, your voice low and steady, “that makes me want to skip the workout and just fuck you right here on this mat.”

For a moment, she freezes. Her lips part slightly, a soft inhale catching in her throat, and her eyes widen just enough to betray the shock she’s trying to hide. 

She then bites her lower lip—plump, teasing, the kind of mouth that makes you wonder how much work she could put into something if she really tried. The glint in her eyes sharpens, flickering between shock and something darker, something intrigued.

But before she can regain her footing, you’re already pulling away. Your face smooths into cool indifference, like the last five seconds hadn’t just happened, like you didn’t just knock her off balance and leave her scrambling for control. Let her chew on that for a while.

The corner of your mouth twitches, barely noticeable. You lean back, exuding nothing but ease, like you weren’t the one who just set fire to the air between you.

“Let’s get to work.” The sharp clap of your hands slices through the tension, final, dismissive.

For a beat, she doesn’t move. Then, a soft, breathy laugh escapes her—equal parts incredulous and amused. She tilts her head, smirk curling slow and taunting. “That’s it?” she says, her voice thick with mock disappointment. “No follow-through? Figures.”

The taunt is obvious—bait, a challenge wrapped in condescension. She’s used to winning, used to having people scramble to impress her. She’s trying to make it sound like you’re the one who can’t keep up.

You don’t take it.

Instead, you pick up the resistance band, rolling it between your fingers, your grip tightening just slightly. Follow-through? She’ll get it. Just not the way she’s expecting.

“Warm-up first,” you say, tone all business, as if you hadn’t just said something filthy enough to make her breath hitch. “Then we’ll hit your core.”

Her eyes flick to your hands, then back to your face, her smirk deepening like she’s already imagining ways to make you crack.

Good. Let her try.

The workout begins, and it doesn’t take long for Ning to start pushing boundaries.

During side lunges, she sways her hips with every rep, exaggerating the movement just enough to make you notice. The curve of her ass so fucking alluring as she dips low, her shorts riding up with each motion, teasing more skin than they cover. She knows exactly what she’s doing.

She glances over her shoulder, catching your eyes flicker—just for a second. Her lips curl, slow and knowing.

“Am I doing this right?” she asks, voice drenched in faux innocence. To drive the point home, she arches her back ever so slightly, her sports bra straining against her chest.

You twist your lips. “Lower your stance,” you say, voice flat, unreadable. But when you step in to adjust her form, your hands hovering just over her hips, you don’t miss the sharp inhale she takes, the way her breath catches for half a second before she steadies herself. The heat radiating from her skin, even through the fabric, doesn’t go unnoticed either.

She doesn’t make it easy.

During planks, she shifts her weight, her body trembling just enough to make it obvious. As she lowers herself a fraction more, her cleavage pushes forward, a bead of sweat tracing a slow path down her collarbone.

“This is harder than it looks,” she says, voice breathy, teasing. You catch the flicker of amusement in her eyes, the way she’s barely biting back a smile.

By the time you move to resistance band exercises, she’s fully committed to the game. She stands in front of the mirror, positioned just right so she can watch you watching her.

The band stretches tight around her feet, her thighs flexing with the effort, shoulders rolling back. Her breath comes slow, controlled, her lips parting slightly as she exhales. But it’s the way her gaze flickers—to your mouth, just for a split second—that makes your fingers twitch.

“How’s my form now?” she asks, her voice dipping lower, threading with something suggestive. She already knows the answer.

“Better,” you say, tone even, detached. But the slight clench of your jaw betrays you.

And she sees it.

The workout is over, but the tension lingers—thick, heavy, undeniable.

You're sprawled out on the couch, legs spread, back sinking into the cushions, muscles still burning from exertion. Sweat clings to your skin, cooling in slow, sticky trails. Your breathing is heavy, labored, chest rising and falling in deep, steady pulls. Across the room, Ning isn't much better—her shirt damp, her skin glistening under the low glow.

The only sound, aside from your breathing, is Flo Milli playing low in the background—sharp beats and cocky lyrics.

You watch her. Unapologetically now.

Ning stays stretching on the mat, rolling out her shoulders, arching her back in a way that puts her body on full display—whether it’s for you or just because she knows you’re looking, you can’t be sure. She tilts her head as she leans into a side stretch, her hair sticking to the damp curve of her neck, her breath coming out in slow, steady exhales.

Your fingers tap idly against your thigh. But the pressure between your legs is a different story—half-hard, pressing against the fabric of your shorts, aching just enough to make you bite down on the inside of your cheek.

Ning’s eyes flick toward your lap. And for once, she doesn’t smirk. She just watches back, lips slightly parted, chest still rising and falling with exertion.

“Look at me,” you say, voice low, firm.

She does.

And then—

“Take your top off.”

Ning doesn’t hesitate.

She shifts, languidly, sitting up on her knees on the mat, her hands sliding over her thighs as she straightens. 

Her gaze stays locked on yours as her fingers hook under the hem of her top. She drags the fabric up over her stomach, revealing inch after inch of glistening skin, the defined lines of her full waist, the swell of her tits beneath the tight compression of her bra.

She peels it off in one slow motion, arms raising above her head, back arching slightly as she pulls the damp shirt over her head. The movement makes her chest lift, makes the slick skin of her stomach tighten, and you catch the way her breath shudders as the air rushes over her overheated body.

The shirt drops to the floor.

She sits there, on her knees, looking up at you, her white sports bra dark with sweat, clinging to her like a second skin. The fabric outlines everything—the perky buds, the goosebumps.

Her fingers trail absentmindedly over her thighs, nails scraping lightly over damp skin as she holds your gaze, her chin tilting up just enough to look like a challenge.

Your fingers stop tapping against your thigh.

And then—

"Come here," you say, voice rough, thick with something that coils tight in your stomach.

Ning's lips curve, slow and taunting, but she doesn't move. Not yet. Instead, she shifts her weight forward slightly, tilting her head. "That all?" she asks, voice low, teasing, her eyes flickering down, then back up again, like she's daring you to give her something more.

Your patience is razor-thin.

"Now," you say, sharper this time.

And this time, she listens.

Ning moves.

Slow. Cat-like.

She leans forward, pressing her palms flat against the mat, and starts crawling toward you.

Her hips sway behind her with each measured shift of her body, her back arching slightly, the smooth curve of her waist rolling with every movement. She keeps her eyes on you the entire time—heavy-lidded, dark with intent, burning with something teasing, something so fucking sexy.

That look—it sinks into your skin, into your chest, into the heat pooling low in your stomach. 

Her gaze flickers down for a second—just for a second—to your lap, to where your fingers have already moved between your legs, pressing. She sees it all. The way your hand is pressing against the hard, aching shape of your dick in your shorts. The way your thumb drags along the waistband like you’re debating just how far you’ll let this go.

And fuck, the way she looks at it.

She licks her lips—takes it between her front teeth. Then her lashes flutter as she looks back up at you, her eyes molten, her smirk barely-there but devastating all the same.

You don’t stop.

Your fingers tighten around your cock, your palm pressing down, pleased at the attention. You want her to watch.

She keeps moving.

Every inch she crawls forward, the space between you shrinks, the tension growing thick, charged, a live wire stretched between your bodies. You can feel her heat before she even touches you. The scent of sweat, of skin, of something unmistakably hers, seeping into the space between your knees.

And then she stops.

Right between your legs.

Her hands rest on your thighs, light at first, barely-there touches that only make the burn under your skin worse. She tilts her head, eyes dragging over your face, then down—down to your mouth, down to your hand, down to where your cock is begging for something, anything.

She breathes out, soft, amused.

“So impatient,” she laments, her voice sweet and taunting, her nails dragging the slightest bit over your skin. “Didn’t even wait for me.”

But you don’t miss the way her own breath shudders at the sight, the way her fingers flex against your thighs like she’s trying to stop herself from moving too fast.

Like she’s just as desperate as you are.

Your eyes drag over her, taking in every inch, feeling every emotion—she’s close enough now that you can feel the warmth of her body between your legs, her hands still resting lightly on your thighs, fingers tracing barely-there patterns.

You let her sit there for a moment, just looking. Letting the weight of your gaze settle over her.

“Take it off.”

Your voice is low, even, but there’s no mistaking the command.

Ning tilts her head, her smirk deepening, playful and knowing. But she listens.

Her fingers move to the band of her sports bra, gripping the fabric, pulling it up—deliciously slow, enough to tease you. The damp material peels away from her skin, revealing inch by inch, until it drops to the floor beside her.

Your stomach tightens.

She’s so fucking sexy like this – flushed, glistening, every inch of her begging to be touched. Her breasts are perfect, soft and perky, the kind that makes your mouth go dry and your pulse spike. Her nipples are already hard, pebbled from the cool air—or maybe from the way your eyes drag over her, slow and unrelenting. You don’t know. You don’t care. All that matters is the ache in your hands, the hunger curling deep in your gut, the overwhelming need to touch, to taste, to take.

The way she stretches, the way her hands ghost over her tits, teasing pink nipples, knowing exactly what she’s doing. She rolls her shoulders back, letting herself be seen, and you catch the slight rise of her chest as she exhales, the way her thumb and index pinch her own skin, toying, testing.

You let your tongue swipe over your bottom lip, “You like showing off, don’t you?”

Ning moans, dragging her nails down her stomach, slow and absentminded. “You like watching,” she counters, her voice sweet, teasing, but there’s something darker under it now—something just as sharp as the way she looks at you.

And yet—

She looks up at you through her lashes, lips curving. “Do you like me like this?” Her fingers press a little harder against your thighs, a deliberate shift. “A pretty princess like me, sitting on the floor for you?”

She’s high maintenance, that much is clear. A spoiled little thing who knows exactly how much power she holds in a moment like this.

Your breath comes out slow, controlled, but the fabric of your shorts strains against your cock, already hard and throbbing, the tip damp and sensitive where it presses against the material. Every shift of your hips, every breath Ning takes, makes the coil of tension inside your stomach wind tighter, hotter, until it feels like you’re one touch away from snapping.

God, she’s something else.

And you need to take it up a notch. 

You watch her, a smile spreading across your face as you take her in once more. “You want me to like you like this, huh?” you ask, voice thick with amusement. 

You don’t break eye contact as you lean in, “I do love you like this,” you admit, the truth leaving your mouth like a slow burn. “A pretty little thing on your knees, looking up at me like you want to take my dick. Like you’ll do anything for me to fuck you the way you need it.”

Your hand slides from your thigh to grip her chin firmly, tilting her face up to meet yours. You let your thumb trace the curve of her cheek, dragging down to her throat, “But you’re going to have to work for it,” you murmur. “I want to see you begging. See how far you’ll go to make me want you more. If you can do that, then maybe I’ll give you exactly what you want.”

Your eyes trail down her form, “Get ready, love. You’re gonna need more than just a pretty face to get me to give in. Touch yourself." Your voice is rough with desire, leaving no room for backtalk as you lean back against the cushions.

Ning’s breath catches, just for a second. She doesn’t move right away—she lets the moment stretch, lets the silence thicken, lets you wait. But then, finally, her fingers start to trail lower, one hand skimming over your lap, and the other continues its trail down her pelvis, teasing herself just as much as she’s teasing you.

Your eyes stay locked on her, dark, but your hands aren’t still either. One slips inside your shorts to grab at your cock, while the other drags under your shirt, up your torso, under your bra, fingers brushing skin before finding your breast. You toy with yourself lazily, rolling a nipple between your fingers, watching the way her gaze flickers—between your hands, your mouth, your eyes.

She’s breathing harder now, her body tense with anticipation, her thighs pressing together like she’s feeling the weight of your stare everywhere at once.

"Show me how you touch yourself thinking of me."

Her lashes flutter, her fingers finally dipping lower, and the moment she touches her pussy over her shorts, the sound that slips past her lips—soft, breathy, wrecked—makes something tighten inside you, sharp and unrelenting.

And still, neither of you look away.

Especially you. Not when her fingers press gently against her shorts, the outline of her pussy unmistakable, the puffy shape of her lips visible beneath the thin material. She rubs herself at a teasing rhythm that makes it clear she knows exactly how much it’s affecting you.

She keeps her touch light at first—  the fabric clings to her, dampening with each press of her fingers, and you watch as she traces the seam of her shorts, feeling the way the pressure makes her hips shift, seeking something—more, more of her fingers. And more of your dick.

Her breath hitches, a soft sound that carries through the room, and her touch grows more urgent, her fingers pressing harder, making circles over her clit through the fabric. The shallow, uneven rhythm of her breath fills the space between you, and you don’t miss the tremor that runs through her thighs, or the subtle arch of her back as she grinds against her own hand, pushing for more friction, more sensation.

“Like this?” Her voice is quieter, breathless, teasing, but with an edge. It’s charged, heavy, and you can feel the way her gaze locks with yours, so hungry. It’s a question, yes—but it’s also an invitation.

You make a low sound of approval, a soft hum that vibrates in your chest, before your hand pats your lap, the gesture clear. And Ning doesn’t hesitate. She settles onto your lap, her body fitting against yours in all the right fucking ways. You feel the heat of her skin, the warmth of her pussy pressing against you even through the barrier of clothing, and it’s enough to make your cock throb, already hard and leaking against the fabric of your shorts.

She feels it too—the way it presses deeper, pulsing, the shape firm and insistent even through the thin barrier of fabric. Each shift, each subtle movement, each brush of the fat head pressing against her.

The music changes. The sound is light, playful, but charged with an energy that mirrors the way you’re both moving. Ning giggles, something light and teasing as she shifts, her hands traveling over your shoulders, fingers lingering at the nape of your neck. She leans in, brushing her lips close to your ear.

“That’s my song,” she whispers. 

You feel the heat of her words settle between you, but there’s a different kind of heat now—the kind you can feel all over, the way her pussy starts sliding over your cock, the friction just enough to make your hips jerk forward instinctively.

“Let’s fuck to it.” Your voice is quieter, and without hesitation, you press your hips closer to hers. It’s a slow burn, a pressure building, each movement of her hips grinding against you sending shockwaves through your body.

“Let’s record it.” You feel her shift again, grinding just a little harder, her body rocking with the beat of the song. Each movement makes your cock strain against the fabric of your shorts—it feels like too much and not enough all at once, every inch of her body pressing against you, her warmth seeping through the thin material. Your cock is leaking at this point, the tip slick and sensitive where it presses against her clit.


Your hands slide down her sides, fingers digging into the curve of her hips as she grinds against you. She’s driving you absolutely wild. The heat is unbearable, but you’re not done teasing her yet.

One hand slips lower, fingers tracing the curve of her ass before you bring your palm down in a sharp, stinging slap, skin on skin. The sound echoes, and Ning gasps, her body jerking forward against yours.

"Mmm," she exhales, her voice unsteady yet laced with something playful. A slow smile tugs at her lips, and her eyes gleam with mischief as she gazes down at you. 

You smirk, your hand lingering on the warm, reddening skin. “You’d like that,” your voice low and rough, “seeing how I’d fuck you senseless to your songs? Watching yourself bounce on my dick while your own music plays in the background?”

Ning laughs, a soft, breathy sound. She shifts her weight, grinding harder against you, her hips rolling in a way that makes your cock throb. “Wouldn’t you?” she teases, her voice dripping with playful arrogance. “This ass was made to be seen over, and over again.”

“Damn right,” you agree, your fingers digging into her flesh as you pull her closer, your lips brushing against her ear. “And this ass?” You give her another slap, harder. “This ass is fucking. perfect.” 

She moans back, high and needy, and you feel her body tremble against yours. Her fingers tighten around your shoulders, nails pressing into your skin as your hands glide over her waist, fingers curving possessively around her sides. With a firm pull, you guide her hips back—against your hard bulge. 

Ning’s breath catches, a sharp inhale before she tosses her hair over her shoulder. Then, without hesitation, she leans in, lips grazing your neck before sucking softly at your pulse. Her tongue flicks out, tracing a slow, heated path from the base of your throat to your ear, the sensation sending an army of goosebumps all over your spine. And just as the warmth of her breath ghosts over your skin, she moves—hips rolling forward, grinding the cleft of her pussy lips right on the outline of your cock. 

“God, you’re so fucking sexy,” you reply, your voice steady despite the fire burning inside you. 

“Mmm,” she keens, her voice barely above a whisper. “Imagine what else I can do with my mouth.”

You grin, and your hand slides around to her front, fingers dipping beneath the waistband of her shorts, and she gasps so prettily, her hips bucking against your touch. Your fingers tease and tease her fold through skimpy fabric – and damn, is that a thong? – feeling how wet her pussy is. “You’re making me want to skip all that,” you say, your voice thick with desire to fuck her already. “Skip all of it and fuck you right away.”

Ning’s breath crumbles into stuttered gasps, her eyes locking with yours as she grinds against your hand, and you deliberately slide in one knuckle … then the next, the juices of her arousal giving you easy entrance despite the very tight clench of her inner walls. You can feel them fluttering, soft flesh enveloping your finger and almost sucking it in while she keeps at moaning and grinding. 

Your eyes drop to her tits, the sight of her pert nipples, so hard and begging for attention. You don’t hesitate—you lean in, capturing one nipple between your lips, sucking hard, your tongue swirling around the sensitive bud. The sharp gasp that escapes her lips is music to your ears, and you feel her body arch into you, her hands tangling in your hair, pulling you closer.

This close you can taste the salt on her skin, feel the way her breath hitches, the way her hips grind against yours. She bites her lip, a high-pitched moan slipping past her clenched teeth as you switch to her other nipple, giving it the same attention. Her back arches, her body trembling under your touch, and you can’t resist the urge to slap her ass again, hard.

“Fuck,” she whimpers, her voice breaking as her nails dig into your shoulders, her hips rocking against you, desperate for more friction, more of you. “Don’t stop,” she breathes, her words barely coherent, her body writhing under your hands and mouth.

You pull back just enough to look up at her, your lips glistening, her nipples red and swollen from your attention. Your hand keeps sliding over her cunt and the other still grips her ass, squeezing hard. “You like it when I take what I want?”

She nods, her eyes dark with need, her breath coming in shallow gasps. “Yes,” she whispers, her voice trembling, her body pressing into yours, begging for more. “Don’t stop.”

You smirk, your hand coming down on her ass again, the sharp sting making her cry out, her body jerking against yours.

“Oh, God…” Ning says, her voice trembling. She lifts herself slightly, just enough to slip her fingers beneath the waistband of your shorts. The elastic drags against your skin as you help her ease them down, before your cock finally snaps free. Her gaze lowers, drawn between your bodies, her lips parting slightly as she takes in the sight of you— dick resting thick and heavy against the flat plane of her stomach, the contrast making her breath hitch.

The hand that had been teasing her pussy, slick with her wetness, moves to grip your cock, the warmth of her arousal coating your skin as you tap the tip against her stomach. Both of your fluid smear across her skin as you tease her. 

“Think you can handle it?” you ask, cockily, your grip tightening slightly as you drag the head of your cock across her skin. The question hangs in the air, as you watch her reaction, your thumb brushing over the sensitive tip, smearing a bead of pre-cum.

Ning bites her lip, her eyes dark with mischief as she brings her thumb to your lips, pressing it gently against them. Her touch is soft, her nail sliding against your lower lip and before you can react, she pushes your hand away from your cock, her fingers wrapping around you instead. Her grip is firm, her thumb brushing over the sensitive head, and it’s your turn to curse, your hips jerking instinctively.

“I’ve seen bigger,” she says, her voice teasing, her lips curving into a smirk as she looks up at you. Right … It makes you laugh, a light, rumbling sound that vibrates through your chest, but the way her hand moves on you quickly sobers you up.

Thick beads of precum meet her fingers as she delves right up to the head, her soft fingertips massaging your aching gland, rubbing the slit with a precision that makes your breath hitch. You sigh, your hand gripping the flesh of her ass, fingers digging into her skin as she works you with practiced ease. Ning moans softly, her thumb brushing light, curved paths under the very tip of your cock, the sensation sending a shudder through the root of you and pushing up a fresh gush of precum—right onto her waiting hand.

She circles your slit, slowly, before starting a slide up and down your length, her palm slicked with your precum. The wet, sticky sound of her hand moving on you fills the room, mingling with the soft, breathy noises escaping your lips. Her eyes never leave yours, her gaze heavy with intent.

“But I bet,” she murmurs, her voice a sultry whisper, thick with mischief. Her thumb pressing against the sensitive underside of your cock, “you’ve never had this kind of pussy in your life.”


Ning’s words hang in the air, but instead of responding, you decide to take matters into your own hands. In one swift, decisive motion, you flip her onto her stomach, throwing her face down onto the couch. Her surprised gasp is muffled by the cushions, but it quickly turns into a laugh—soft, breathy, and dripping with amusement.

“Let’s put it to the test,” you say, your voice low and rough, your hands gripping her hips as you position yourself behind her.

Ning doesn’t resist. Instead, she arches her back, presenting herself to you. Turning her head just enough to catch your gaze, her lips curve to the side, amusement dancing in her gaze. “Mmm, I hit a nerve?” she purrs, her voice lilting, teasing, as she gives the smallest sway of her hips—just enough to taunt, just enough to push you further.

You don’t answer. She titters once again.

You tug your shirt off in one sharp motion, leaving you in just your bra, the cool air brushing against your heated skin. Your hands move to her shorts, fingers hooking into the waistband and yanking them down the round of her ass. The sight that greets you makes your breath catch—a black thong, barely there, framing her ass perfectly. The fabric clings to her, accentuating the curve of her back dips into the rise of her ass, still red from the marks of your palm. The muscles there are taut but soft, the kind that begs to be touched.

“Jesus.” You mutter, marvelling next at the faint stretch marks that curve along the sides of her hips, subtle and easy to miss. 

Ning glances back at you again, her smirk widening. “Like what you see?” she asks, her hips swaying again – she knows too well what it’s doing to you.

Her breathing hitches when your hand settles on her ass, the warmth of your palm so much better than the with the cool air against her skin. You tug the thong aside, the fabric sliding against her slick folds with a soft, wet noise that makes you shiver. 

Her pussy is a work of art, glistening and swollen, the kind of pretty that makes your mouth water and your cock aches. The lips are full and puffy, a delicate shade of pink that deepens to a flushed red where her arousal pools. The folds are soft, almost velvety, parting slightly, begging for you, the wetness coating her thighs and glistening under the light. Her clit peeks out from its hood, swollen and sensitive, a tiny bead of desire that seems to pulse with every shaky breath she takes. 

It’s so perfect, so hers. You want to ruin it in the best way possible.

A firm push of your thumb, and she stretches open, taking your digit with a low, raspy gasp that almost breaks into a moan. Her eyes flutter shut, her face flushing hot as she tries to steady her breathing, but it’s just not possible with the way your thumb plunges deep, exploring her slowly, dragging out with accurate precision.

And when your thumb slides free, she lets out a faint, protesting whine, but you don’t give her a chance to recover. Instead, you bring your hand down in sharp, stinging smacks—one after the other—each one landing on a different cheek with a satisfying crack, the sound mingling with her breathy cries.

By the time you’re done, she’s reduced to a trembling, sobbing cry-baby, her body arching into your touch even as she tries to catch her breath. You don’t let up. Leaning forward, you press your hips heavily against her ass, your cock grinding against her slick mound from beneath. The friction is delicious, the heat of her body searing against yours as you rock against her, light veins rough grinding against her clit.

“You want this dick? Hmm?” you tease, sliding your cock across her slick entrance, the tip catching on her soft, trembling lips. You can feel her warmth, the way her body quivers in anticipation, and it’s almost too much to resist. Ning tenses, her breath hitching as she fights to hold herself together, but her body betrays her. Her pussy is greedy, desperate, and even the slightest pressure has the head of your cock sinking in, her wetness making it impossible to resist. She gasps, a sharp, broken sound, and you can’t help but smirk. That’s how wet she is—how much she wants you…

She can barely speak, much less think on her own.

She wants you. She wants you. She wants you so badly. So blindly, bad!

She’s barely coherent, her mind a blank slate as she arches beneath you, blindly reaching out, her fingers clawing at the air as if she could pull you closer. Her heart pounds in her ears, a frantic rhythm that matches the way her body trembles. A desperate, whimpering sound escapes her lips, and you know she’s lost in this moment, consumed by the need for you. Everything else has faded away—there’s only you, only this. 

A deep, pulsing ache coils inside her, an unbearable emptiness that leaves her trembling with need. It’s maddening—the way she craves you, the way her body betrays her with every shallow breath, every instinctive movement. She’s drunk on anticipation, on the slow, torturous build of what’s to come, until she can’t help but press back, rolling her hips in search of more.

And then—relief, sharp and so good. The head slips fully inside, stretching her open, and a strangled cry spills from her lips. Her walls grip you instinctively, clinging tight, as if trying to hold you there, refusing to let you go.

The sensation is dizzying, your teeth sinking into your lip hard enough to taste copper, the world narrowing to nothing but the slick, suffocating heat of her cunt.

“Hmm, fuck,” you breathe out, a laugh tumbling from your lips—breathless, almost delirious. Slowly, you pull back, just enough to make her feel the loss, before sinking in again. Her walls yield effortlessly, wrapping around you, in a scorching, velvet embrace that pulses and grips, the sensation so intense it sends a shudder down your spine to your toes. You shift, angling your hips just right, upwards, and the effect is immediate—another broken moan spills from her lips, her back arching as pleasure rips through her.

"Aah—slow down, s-slow d—" she stammers, her voice barely a whisper beneath the rhythmic slap of skin against skin.

But you’re not feeling generous. Leaning in, your fingers tangle into her hair, tightening at the roots as you pull her head back, forcing her to meet your gaze.

” But you’ve had bigger?" you murmur against her ear, voice dark and edged with something primal. To punctuate your words, you thrust deep, savoring the way her body reacts—how she clenches around you, how her eyes squeeze shut as she cries out your name like a prayer. And Ning just takes it like a champ, her hole suckling at the base of your cock like a good cunt. Like a good whore. “Hmm? Answer me.”

And to drive the point home, you quicken your pace, each snap of your hips merciless, relentless. Her cries grow louder, more urgent, every stroke pushing her closer to the edge. Your grip in her hair tightens as you lean in, voice rough and demanding—

"Answer."

“No,” she gasps, her voice cracking, barely holding together as she struggles to form words. "Hmm—fuck, no, I lied," She reaches back, fingers grasping at you in a desperate attempt to slow you down, but you catch her wrist with ease, pinning it behind her back. A quiet, defeated whimper escapes her, but it only fuels you.

Your other hand grips the soft curve of her ass, fingers digging into heated skin before you drag her back onto you with a sharp, punishing thrust. She screams—high, broken, the sound raw with pleasure and something dangerously close to surrender.

The room is filled with it—the sharp slap of skin meeting skin, the ragged sobs that spill from her lips, the wet, obscene sounds of her taking every inch of you. Your moans. You don’t let up. You can’t. You drive into her harder, deeper, until her toes curl and her entire body quakes beneath you, pleasure teetering on the edge of something unbearably exquisite.

She’s a mess beneath you—shaking, breathless, her thighs trembling, her ass flushed and hot beneath your grip. And you can’t get enough. Not of the way she clings to you, not of the way she tightens around you like she could die if you let her go, like she’s trying to milk every drop from you.

And she really didn’t lie. It’s the best pussy you’ve ever had. 

The distant thrum of music plays in the background, muffled and insignificant against the raw sounds of her pleasure—ragged breaths, gasping moans, the soft, wet suck of your cock inside of her.

You press her into the couch, your weight a delicious burden, pinning her beneath you as you drive into her with ruthless precision. Every thrust forces a choked cry from her lips, her body arching instinctively, desperate to take you deeper as she starts pleading to keep going.

But you don’t.

Slowly, you withdraw, savoring the way her walls clutch at you, slick and trembling, reluctant to let you leave. The sight of her—stretched, quivering, her body begging for more—sends a dark pulse of satisfaction through you.

And then, just as her fingers tighten in protest, you feed her the tip of your cock, slowly fucking into her. The drag is delicious. 

“Oh, look at that." your grip tightens around the back of her neck, pressing her deeper into the cushions as you claim her. The strain burns through your arms and thighs, but you don’t stop. There’s no stopping this. Your hips drive forward with relentless force, each thrust sending shockwaves through her body. "You're so fucking pretty when you're screaming my name, Ning."

Those moans, broken and breathless, feed the fire curling low in your spine. You're close—so fucking close.

For a moment, you pause, chest heaving, grounding yourself in the sight of her beneath you. But Ning isn’t having it. She pushes back onto you, hips rolling in desperation, her body greedy for more. Her moans come in shattered gasps, trembling with need and you can’t help but groan at the sight of her ass bouncing against your hips, her pussy dripping with every thrust. 

“Hmm, you’re so big,” she whimpers, cries, voice raw, breath hitching as she arches her back, taking you deeper. “Oh, fuck!” 

Your gaze is heavy, hooded, as you watch yourself disappear into her, each lsnguid thrust mesmerizing. The sight of her—sprawled out, pussy taking you so greedily—sends a thrill curling through you.

She rolls her hips on the next drag, making her ass jiggle, thighs slapping against your skin as she forces you deeper, desperate, insatiable. It’s like she’s been starving for this, for you, ever since she first laid eyes on you.

A low, guttural moan tears from your throat as you pull back before slamming into her again, harder, faster. The pace turns frantic, all restraint shattering. Ning’s cries pitch higher, her body bowing against the force of your thrusts. Her thighs shake, her ass reddened beneath your grip, and she can feel herself dripping, her pussy throbbing with an imminent release. She’s dripping, throbbing, falling apart beneath you, and when she whimpers your name, voice ragged and desperate, it nearly undoes you.

She’s screaming now, her body writhing beneath you as you fuck her through her orgasm, fucking her like she’s nothing more than a whore, your hands sliding down from her waist, pressing two fingers to her engorged clit, and she can’t even scream, her pussy clenches around you as she comes, her body shaking with the force of it.  You’re right behind, gripping her tightly as you pulse inside her and fill her with your release, the sensation so intense it leaves you breathless.

[pixiexdusts-world]

A taste of temptation

Hwang In-ho x younger!reader

Summary: Hwang In-ho’s shy date shares their first kiss with him, as he draws them into his world of control and temptation.

Word count: 668

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A Taste of Temptation

The night had ended too soon, or maybe not soon enough. Hwang In-ho, the stoic, ever-controlled figure I had gotten to know over the past few weeks, walked me to my doorstep in silence. My heart hammered against my chest with every step, each one feeling heavier than the last. He was older, commanding, intimidating even, yet there was something about his gaze that made me feel exposed, like he could see right through me.

I didn’t know how to act. The dinner had been pleasant, though I couldn’t help but fumble with my words, my hands, my nervous energy making itself known in every little movement. When he had asked if I’d like to go out again, I could hardly breathe. Was this really happening? Did he actually want to spend more time with me?

We reached my apartment, and I turned to face him, my heart in my throat. He wasn’t much taller than me, but somehow, he seemed to tower over me. His eyes—those dark, unreadable eyes—were focused on me, studying, assessing. He was waiting for me to say something, but my mind had gone blank.

“You’ve been quiet all evening,” he said, his voice low and steady, almost like he was amused by my awkwardness.

I opened my mouth to reply, but no words came out. Instead, my fingers nervously twisted the strap of my purse. He stepped closer, so close that I could feel his breath, warm against my face. I swallowed hard, too nervous to move, too scared to break the tension between us.

“You’re nervous,” he noted, the corner of his mouth lifting into a subtle smile. “I can feel it.”

I nodded, barely able to meet his gaze.

“It’s okay,” he said, his voice softer now, but still with an edge of something darker. “I don’t bite… unless you ask me to.”

His words sent a chill down my spine, and I instinctively took a step back, only for him to move with me, closing the distance in an instant. I wasn’t sure if it was the alcohol from dinner or the overwhelming tension, but something in me urged me to speak.

“I… I’ve never…”

His expression changed, and I noticed a flicker of interest in his eyes. “Never kissed anyone?” he asked, his tone smooth, like he was savoring the words.

I nodded, my face burning with embarrassment.

“Hmm,” he murmured, his voice tinged with something darker now. “You’re very… innocent.” He didn’t sound judgmental, but rather… intrigued. “I think I could teach you a few things.”

My heart skipped a beat, and I froze, suddenly unsure of where this was going. But before I could pull away, his hand reached out, brushing a stray lock of hair from my face. The touch was gentle, but there was a possessiveness in it that sent a shiver through me.

“You’re too beautiful to be this shy,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “Let me show you something different.”

His lips were just inches from mine now, his breath mixing with mine. I could feel the heat from his body, and it made my head spin. I had never been this close to anyone before—especially not someone like him. My hands shook as I tried to step back, but he was already pulling me in, his hand gently cupping my cheek, his thumb brushing along my skin.

“Relax,” he said, his voice soothing but with a hint of something darker beneath it. “I’m not going to hurt you. I just want to see how you react.”

Before I could protest, his lips pressed softly against mine. It was slow, measured, but as soon as his lips touched mine, everything else disappeared. He was gentle at first, coaxing me to respond, his kiss deepening when he felt me hesitate.

I was frozen, unsure of what to do, how to respond. His lips parted slightly, and his tongue brushed against mine, a silent invitation. He wanted more. He wanted to take control. And for some reason, I found myself letting him.

His kiss became more insistent, his hand now resting at the back of my neck, pulling me closer. I could feel his power in every movement, the way he commanded my body without a single word.

“You’re not as innocent as you think,” he murmured between kisses, his lips moving to my neck. “You just need someone to help you find out.”

His words sent a rush of warmth through me, and I couldn’t stop myself from kissing him back, feeling a part of me start to unravel under his touch. He was right—there was something in me that wanted to give in, to let him guide me, even if I didn’t fully understand what that would mean.

For the first time in my life, I felt a thrill from the way he controlled me, a temptation that I wasn’t sure I was ready for—but a temptation that felt impossible to resist.

[idkyetxoxo]

Three | Faultlines | Shadow and Flame

Pairing - Azriel x reader

Word count - 3.1k

Warnings - Angst

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A week had passed since the Illyrian camp. A whole month of this secret growing inside me, silent and dangerous like a blade pressed to the throat. 

One month of pretending, of lying with every breath in my lungs, to my court, to my family. To myself.

The nausea hadn't eased. If anything, it had taken on new cruelty, ebbing and returning like a tide that threatened to drown me. My body ached in quiet rebellion, as if every part of it was at odds with the baby inside me. 

Still, there were no visible changes yet and for that, I was grateful.

I lay curled on my side, a threadbare book in my hands. I wasn't really reading anymore, just staring at the words and hoping they'd distract me from the relentless hum of dread in my chest.

The door creaked open without warning, and Eris stepped in, his red hair catching the firelight like a match igniting.

I sat up quickly, setting the book on my lap, trying to look composed, alert. Normal.

"Father wants us to return to the Night Court," he said without preamble, flopping down uninvited onto the foot of my bed. "He needs us to confirm Devlon's reports. In person."

I didn't even pretend to care. 

"Go without me," I murmured, turning my back to him. There was a pause brief, but sharp with surprise. I could feel his stare burrowing into my spine.

"Excuse me?" he said, incredulous.

I didn't blame him. Me? Choosing to stay in Autumn when I wasn't being forced? It was laughable. 

We both knew I'd have once burned down the entire estate for a chance to escape it, even for a day.

"I'm tired," I replied flatly. "I don't have the energy for court politics right now."

The bed shifted as he moved, and in one smooth motion, he plucked the book from my hands. "You're tired an awful lot lately," he noted, a quiet edge to his voice.

My entire body went still. I didn't respond fast enough. His eyes scanned my face, too perceptive for my liking.

So I forced a smirk and said, "Yes, well, someone has to do actual work around here while you're off charming half the court."

He let out a snort, the tension in the air thinning just enough. He bought it or at least pretended to. The knot in my chest loosened slightly.

Still, he didn't let it go entirely. 

"He wants both of us there," Eris said after a beat, softer now. "Something's... off. Father's been short-tempered. Even for him. Devlon's last missive had mentions of unrest in Windhaven. Disobedience."

That got my attention. "Unrest?" I asked, sitting up straighter.

"No one knows," he admitted. "But Father's paranoid. He wants confirmation with his own eyes. You know how he gets when power shifts even an inch."

I did. Gods, I did.

And maybe going back would buy me some time. Or information. Criva's herbs were no longer enough. The pregnancy was progressing, and I needed answers. Fast. 

What would happen when an Illyrian and Autumn bloodline mixed? Could it be hidden forever? Was it even safe to carry to term?

Eris took my silence as reluctant agreement and grinned, rising from the bed with theatrical satisfaction. "I'll be waiting."

"I haven't said yes," I muttered.

He leaned down, ruffled my hair like I was still a child. "You never have to. You always follow."

Not this time, I wanted to say. But instead, I stood.

Because as much as I hated the idea of seeing Azriel again, of having to lie to his face while something of him grew inside me—I needed answers.

And there were only so many places left in the world where I could still find them.

The reports were useless.

Whatever our father had hoped to uncover through Devlon's correspondence was either misinformation or a deliberate distraction. Nothing we'd read pointed to unrest, defection, or any threat worth this gods-damned visit. 

Either someone was feeding Beron lies... or they were setting something in motion that hadn't yet revealed itself.

Frankly, I didn't care. I was too tired, too done to play spy on behalf of a court that would sooner burn me alive than listen to a word I said.

But more than anything, I was annoyed. We'd wasted the trip, and now Eris had informed me we'd be spending the night in Velaris before heading back.

Perfect.

"Rita's?" Eris offered, a casual grin tugging at his mouth but I didn't miss the edge in his tone, the too-careful way he posed the question.

I hesitated. Just long enough to answer without answering.

"I'll pass," I said with a tight smile. "The music's too loud and the drinks are too strong."

"Since when has either of those things stopped you?" he countered, not unkindly, but I could feel it—that gnawing suspicion he was dancing around. A month ago, I would've been the one dragging him out the door for a night of mischief.

I shrugged. "I'm going to the townhouse. Don't do anything I wouldn't."

"Which leaves me plenty of options," he called after me, but I didn't turn around. I couldn't.

The streets were quiet as I left, a soft breeze carrying the scent of the Sidra and flowering rooftops. I'd nearly made it when fate, in her cruel delight, twisted the knife.

Azriel. Training shirtless in the courtyard. A blade in each hand, wings flared, muscles rippling with every practised strike. Sweat slicked down his chest and back, catching the dying light and casting him in molten gold.

He looked like a fallen god. Or a curse made flesh.

His shadows twitched before he turned—always announcing me before I even stepped within reach.

Of course he knew I was here.

He lowered his blades slowly, his chest still heaving from exertion as he made his way toward me. Not quickly. No, Azriel always moved like a predator at ease, deliberate, measured, lethal even in stillness.

"You're back," he said, his voice hoarse from exertion. There was a faint rasp of amusement in it. "Didn't think you'd show your face again so soon."

I forced myself to nod, dragging my gaze up from his glistening torso to meet his face. Gods, why did he have to look like that?

"I didn't think it was worth a hello," I replied coolly.

A flicker of something passed through his expression. Not anger. Not quite confusion either. Just... disapproval. Disappointment.

And because he knew because he could sense that I was trying to push him away he crossed his arms over that broad chest, letting his wings fan out behind him, his jaw tightening.

"To me?" he asked. "Or in general?"

I stared at him. At the shadows that curled protectively around his calves. At the flex of his forearms and the glint of steel still strapped to his back.

He wasn't being fair. This wasn't fair.

"I'm tired, Azriel," I said softly, hating the way the words came out, dull and empty instead of sharp. I was always sharp with him. Always teasing, always biting. It was easier that way. Safer.

But nothing felt safe anymore.

His brows furrowed. He took a small step forward, not touching me, just breaching the space where warmth still lingered between us, a space that had once been sanctuary.

"You've been tired for a while now," he said, and there it was, the worry buried beneath his words, twisted up with jealousy and hurt. "You barely speak to me. And now you show up here and can't even look me in the eye."

I forced a smirk. "Maybe I'm just over you."

The words were a lie. A cruel, clumsy lie. One I hoped he'd believe, even though I knew he wouldn't.

His jaw clenched, and something flickered in those hazel eyes, something like pain. But he didn't lash out. Didn't snap. Just studied me for a long, quiet moment.

"Is that what you want me to believe?" he asked.

I stared at him. At the faint scar tracing his cheekbone. At the shadows curling at his feet, twitching with restrained tension. 

They didn't understand either—why I was suddenly cold where I'd once burned for him. 

Why the hands that used to reach for him without thought now stayed rigid at my sides. 

Why the mouth that used to whisper his name in the dark hadn't spoken it in weeks.

He was asking me to lie to him. To admit something I didn't mean so he could hate me for it. So he could finally let go. 

So I gave him what he asked for. "Yes," I said flatly. "Believe it."

Something sharp passed through his expression. Still, he didn't step closer. He didn't touch me like he used to. He just looked at me, through me, as if trying to peel back every layer I'd hastily wrapped around myself. 

Maybe he sensed now that he wouldn't like what he'd find.

"I don't get it," he muttered, mostly to himself. "We never made this anything serious—gods know we were never that. So what changed? Why now? Why cut it off completely?"

My heart beat a little too fast, too loud. I crossed my arms, needing something to anchor myself to. I looked away. I couldn't bear the confusion in his eyes. 

The way he was trying to make sense of something I couldn't explain. Wouldn't explain.

"I don't owe you an explanation," I said, biting each word off like it tasted bitter. "We fucked when it was convenient. That's it."

His brow furrowed, and this time his voice held a frustrated edge. "It wasn't just convenient."

I snorted. "Come on, Azriel. Don't do that."

"Don't do what?" he shot back, stepping toward me now. "Don't act like it meant something? Like you mattered to me? Because you did. You do."

My heart clenched. I forced myself to stand my ground.

"You have a funny way of showing it," I said, voice dry and brittle. "I was never anything more than someone you could disappear into when the world got too heavy. I knew that. You don't need to stand here and pretend it was something else."

He stared at me like he didn't recognise the person in front of him. "You're twisting this into something cruel. I never lied to you—I never promised more because you never wanted more. You were the one who drew the line."

"So what?"

I knew I was being unfair. I knew. But if I let myself be soft, if I gave in to the plea in his voice, I'd crumble. 

And then everything would come crashing down. The truth. The pregnancy. The life growing inside me that I was terrified to even name.

Azriel's throat bobbed as he swallowed hard. His hands fisted at his sides. 

I saw it then, just how close he was to unravelling. How much he hated not understanding. How much it hurt him not to be able to fix what had broken between us.

"Is there someone else?" he asked suddenly, the words punching out of him like they'd been clawing at his ribs.

I blinked. For a moment, the fury in me dulled to a stunned ache. "No," I said, quieter than I intended.

His jaw ticked. "Then what are you hiding?"

"I'm not hiding anything."

"You're lying," he growled. The shadows surged around him, curling like smoke, his wings flaring slightly behind his back. "And you know I can feel it."

"I'm not yours to interrogate," I shot back. "We were never anything real, Azriel. You want the truth? There's nothing here for you to hold onto anymore."

The words tasted like ash on my tongue. I hated myself for saying them. Hated the way his expression shuttered, like a door slamming shut on a room full of light.

His voice turned cold. "Then why are you still here?"

I faltered.

Because I was carrying his child. Because despite everything, a part of me still wanted him—in a way that terrified me. Because I didn't know how to be brave enough to tell the truth and not have it ruin us both.

But I couldn't say any of that. So instead, I offered him the last weapon I had left—distance.

"I won't be much longer," I said stiffly, already turning away. "You can go back to training. Or fucking whoever you want."

He didn't follow. Didn't call after me.

But his shadows did. They chased after me for a heartbeat, brushing lightly against my back, like they were reluctant to let me go. Like they remembered what I'd been to him, even if he didn't anymore.

And gods help me, I nearly turned around.

But I didn't. I kept walking.

Back in Autumn the next day, I felt like I was going to explode.

Literally.

No one had told me pregnancy would feel like this, like my body was a battlefield, and I was losing ground by the hour. 

My back ached, nausea simmered in the pit of my stomach, and the scent of roasted meat wafting from the dining hall only made it worse. 

Every muscle in my body screamed for rest, but Beron's monthly command dinner was not optional. Not for any of us.

Once a month, our father summoned all of us, every available son, his silenced wife, and me to sit down for a formal meal that felt more like a performance than a family gathering. 

No guards, no servants, no advisors. Just the High Lord of Autumn holding court over his fractured house.

The chairs around the long, polished table were occupied by his sons. Lucien, of course, remained absent. A sore spot Beron liked to twist whenever he was feeling particularly cruel. 

I sometimes wondered if Lucien had survived purely because he was smart enough to leave.

I sat between Eris, ever watchful, and Zag, who was currently picking at his nails with a dinner knife. Lovely.

My brothers had once been a coalition of tormentors, shadowy nightmares that made childhood a lesson in survival. 

Frogs in my bedsheets, dye in my bathwater, the heads of my favourite dolls stolen and paraded on pikes made from twigs. 

Lucien had defended me on occasion, Eris more often, but more times than not, I'd been left to pick up the pieces alone.

Now that we were older, the open cruelty had mellowed. The torment had become more subtle, more dangerous. Daggers dressed as questions. Smirks laced with suggestion. 

The only thing that had truly changed was that our father had become my worst bully of them all.

Conversation at the table was scarce, just a few murmured comments passed between brothers, and the occasional snide remark from one of them. 

The air was heavy with expectation, Beron's gaze flicking from one face to the next, always calculating, always measuring.

"How are affairs with the Night Court?" Beron asked suddenly, voice smooth as aged wine but sharp enough to cut. 

Though he looked at both Eris and me, I knew who the question was truly aimed at.

Eris straightened slightly beside me, always careful, always composed. "Steady," he said, his voice neutral.

My heartbeat quickened. Please don't look at me. 

My hands clenched in my lap, hidden beneath the table. I didn't think I could stomach any questions about the Night Court, especially not with Azriel's scent still burned into my skin, after the fight I'd barely walked away from intact.

Beron's gaze lingered a moment longer, then turned toward Zag, asking something inconsequential about trade routes, but I didn't relax. 

I couldn't—not when the entire dinner was just another stage for him to exert control.

This dinner was a tradition not out of love, not out of familial duty, but out of dominance. It was about reminding us all that we belonged to him. That no matter our power, our titles, our influence, he still ruled the table.

And we let him. Because the alternative was worse.

As the meal dragged on, Beron needled each of us with subtle jabs, probing questions, veiled threats wrapped in polite tones. 

He asked Zag about the inefficiency of his unit in border patrols. Chastised one of the others for the rumours he'd heard from Spring. And when his eyes fell on me again, my stomach turned.

"You look tired," he observed, voice a shade too curious.

I lifted my chin. "Long day."

His lip curled slightly. "Perhaps too long. I expect my daughter to uphold the strength of this court—not wilt at a little travel."

Before I could speak, Eris cut in. "She's been working closely with me on diplomatic efforts. It's taken a toll. She's earned rest."

I didn't look at him, but I felt the quiet protection in his words. It was not unfamiliar. Our bond, for all its rough edges, was the only stable thing I had left.

Beron's expression didn't shift, but his eyes cooled. "Let's hope the toll is worth it."

He returned to his wine, swirling it once with deliberate disinterest, but the threat had already landed. 

My spine remained straight, even as my stomach turned. He knew something or thought he did and that was worse. 

Beron didn't need certainty to become dangerous. Suspicion alone was enough to set him ablaze.

The rest of the meal crawled by in taut silence, save for the occasional clink of silverware or a muttered comment between brothers. 

But I could feel my father watching me like a predator waiting for the weakest step.

Later, after the meal ended and we were dismissed from the table like obedient little children, I turned the corner toward my room and nearly collided with him.

Beron. He stood in the shadowed hallway just outside the dining chamber, arms folded behind his back, posture eerily still.

"I trust you aren't hiding any weakness from me, girl," he said quietly, his voice so soft it scraped like ice over stone.

I froze. "No," I lied.

His gaze dragged over my face, too perceptive. "I've built this court on discipline, not excuses. Not indulgences. I won't have the only daughter I ever allowed to breathe air under my name falling apart because she's suddenly too delicate."

My lungs locked. "I haven't—"

The back of his hand struck the wall beside my face—not touching me, but close enough that the stone cracked beneath his knuckles.

He stepped closer, the heat of his presence suffocating. "You're my child, not some courtly ornament to be coddled and tucked away when the real work begins. Remember that."

"I do," I murmured.

Beron's eyes narrowed. "Then prove it."

He left me with that, the sharp click of his boots retreating down the corridor echoing in my ears like a death knell.

I leaned against the cold stone wall, heart hammering beneath my ribs. I couldn't afford to let anything slip, not the fatigue, not the hunger, not the nausea that had begun rising again like bile in my throat. 

The bruises might've faded, but the pressure hadn't. It never did.

Beron's temper was like dry timber in the wind, one spark, just one and the entire house would burn.

And this child inside me... this secret about the Illyrian blood it carried—it wouldn't matter that I was his daughter. He'd burn me to the ground just to extinguish the shame.

It was a death sentence if I wasn't careful.

A/n - We finally get the big confrontation—reader saying that it's officially over and while Azriel knows something's off, he still doesn't understand why she's really pulling away :(

On top of that, Beron's starting to get suspicious and that just makes everything feel even more dangerous!!

Unfortunately, it's only going to get messier, but I still hoped you enjoyed it and please let me know your thoughts <33

Shadow and Flame tag list - @coffeebooksrain18 @jaybbygrl @slut4acotar @justtryingtosurvive02 @mortqlprojections @sheblogs @moonlitlavenders @windblownwinston @queenoffeysand @tothestarsandwhateverend @saamanthaag3 @metaphysicaldoom @natalijassav @bookishbishhh @yourenothingbutnottome @holb32 @etsukomoonbeam @fxckmiup @i-am-infinite @megwan

[27spoons]

Abandoned Souls | Natalie Scatorccio

pairing: natalie scatorccio/gn!reader

request: just a short and sweet fic, you x natalie, my idea was that the whole sacrifice thing happens again, but you are chosen, so you get chased by everybody, but find some sort of hiding spot (up a tree? dunno), natalie finds you, but feeling terrible about javi and the past, chooses just to stay and comfort you until the night, cuddlefucking, fall asleep, undeterminate ending!! (anon)

wc: 3560

warnings: canon-typical violence/trauma, smut, bottom!nat, tribbing, fingering(nat!r), apology(?) sex, nat cannot catch a fucking break, it's really just angst with smut sprinkled on top, not proof-read we die like shauna's baby

a/n: post cabin fire, pre s3e1. like during the rebuilding phase ykwim

"We should draw cards," Misty's voice cuts through the sound of trees moving from the rough winds of deep winter, causing you to look up from the point of ground you've been staring at. "It's the best choice. Most fair."

"We aren't doing another fucking hunt, Misty," Nat replies sharply, warming her hands up in what remains of the cabin fire. "We aren't… eating someone else." Every word is laced with absolute disdain at the idea, but the clawing hunger that had shown itself in early winter is only getting louder. She already knows there won't be much choice soon, especially if no game is found, and the loss of the cabin only made everything more urgent. 

Taissa looks up from where she's seated next to Van, her face impassive. "So our two options are dying of exposure, or dying of hunger." She deadpans with a roll of her eyes. "Great options, Nat. Really." 

Nat's eyes snap to Tai, glaring daggers. "We aren't fucking killing anyone else."

"Misty is right," Lottie murmurs, barely audible. "It wants us to. The cards will decide."

"Majority vote? All those for drawing cards, raise your hands." Misty immediately raises her hand, looking around at the others.

Lottie is the first to follow. Close behind is Shauna, whom Melissa immediately follows. 

"You guys can't be serious!" Nat tries, her voice cracking as she glances around the group. "We can't just—"

"Let them vote, Nat!" Shauna snaps, cutting the Antler Queen off. "We were voting." Her gaze darts back around to those who haven't raised their hands, and speaks again. "All those for drawing cards so we can finally fucking eat, raise your hands."

For a second, no one moves. You hear Nat whisper something under her breath, maybe a curse or a prayer to a God she never believed loved her, but she doesn't argue further with Shauna. Then Tai lifts her hand, Van raises their hand, a very reluctant Akilah, and Mari seals the group's fate when she joins them. 

You watch a tear roll down Nat's cheek, her jaw clenching in an attempt to hold back genuine sobs.

"That's more than half the group." Shauna glares at Nat. "We draw cards."

"I know," Nat murmurs after a long, tense moment of silence. Her eyes flash between people, trying to come up with the right words for the situation. When her gaze lands on you, you see flashes of a terrified girl thrust into a position of power she never asked for. But when she looks down at her feet for a second, you already know she's resigned herself to following the will of the group. 

Shauna doesn't wait for Nat to respond. She just gets up, brushing her hands on her pants, and moves towards what's left of their supplies.

"Van. The deck."

There's no ceremony to it. No chanting or prayer. Just a silence that feels too big to speak through.

Van hesitantly pulls the battered card deck from the inside of her coat. The edges are warped from moisture, some cards curling at the corners. You've seen them before. Sometimes for card games, but recently? Recently, they've been an omen of something no one wants to name.

One by one, everyone gathers. A tight circle forms beside the flickering flames that still bleed from the cabin.

A few separate people shuffle the deck, as if to make sure no one's rigged the draw against anyone. When it's sufficiently scrambled, Van squeezes the deck a few times nervously before moving to stand next to Tai in the circle. "Should I..?" Van mumbles, unable to look at the emaciated teens who stand barely upright, fingers twitching like the nerves are misfiring. 

Shauna's eyes are glassy, distant. You're not sure she's actually heard a single word since the vote started. She turns to Van, but it's not focus—it's vacancy, like she's seeing a ghost, or nothing at all. "Yes. You can start."

So, they do.

Van draws the first card. Ten of spades.

Tai follows. Nine of diamonds.

Gen. Three of hearts.

Robin. Seven of spades.

You. The queen of hearts—

Time stops. Your pulse pounds in your ears, bile threatening to destroy what's left of your already damaged esophagus. You display the doomed card to the group, hands shaking from more than just the freezing cold.

No one speaks or sobs. No shocked gasps or anguished cries pierce the air.

Nat steps forward, steps laced with heavy reluctance, and removes Jackie's necklace from around her neck and loops it around yours. The golden heart settles solemnly against your chest, condemning you to a fate that may have been avoided at some point.

For a second, your eyes meet.

You see her jaw clench. You see the thousand words she wants to say die behind her teeth.

And then you speak.

"I'm not going to lie there and let you butcher me."

You step back. The pendant shifts against your sternum with the motion.

Lottie's voice is hauntingly devoid of emotion as she speaks. "I'll count to thirty."

You don't wait for one.

You turn and run.

The trees blur past you. Pine needles catch on your letterman as you nearly trip over a stray root peeking up from the snowy forest floor. The only noises you can make out are the vague sounds of girls howling and your panting breaths. 

You aren't sure how long you run for. It feels like hours—although it could very well be seconds—but your perception of time feels foggy on a good day, and this is far from a good day.

You don't recognize this part of the woods, and you gradually slow as you realise that you are helplessly lost. You no longer hear the animalistic cries of girls who have long since lost their sanity to the howling winds, and you're left with a crushing feeling of loneliness that you've never felt before.

Being out here was already isolating. Knowing you're completely alone, and that the only people you have left are the ones hunting you for sport, amplifies that tenfold. You subconsciously scratch dead skin flakes from your knuckles, a nervous habit you had before the crash that worsened once the hunger started to set in.

Your feet slowly resume their movements, carrying you in a random direction… hopefully away from the people actively tracking you.

Eventually, you stumble across a narrow gap in a moss-covered rock wall—no more than two feet wide, maybe less. Wide enough to slip through sideways or crawl, but you already know that your clothes are going to snag on the jagged edges.

It takes some maneuvering, but you manage to climb in through the opening, sacrificing a small scrap of fabric from your jacket on the way in.

It's already night outside, but the inside of the cave might as well be pitch black. Your hands guide you through the darkness, running along the walls until you reach a point you think is the far corner, and you shuffle down the rock until you're seated on the cold floor.

You aren't quite sure what your plan is, because either way, the ending doesn't look positive, but you decide to shelter in place temporarily. Maybe until morning, maybe until you're forced out, but you remain seated all the same.

An attempt at self-soothing is made, humming a song you barely remember from before your entire world got turned on its head. 

That's when you hear the quiet crunching of snow from outside your hideout, and your hand flies over your mouth in an attempt to muffle any and all sounds you can emit. You notice the flicker of firelight seeping in through the opening, and that's when you see a familiar ring-adorned hand clutching a torch.

When hazel-coloured eyes peer in, your heart drops into your stomach. She doesn't speak at first, watching you as though you were a cornered animal, and right now it sure as hell feels like you are. 

You inch closer to the wall, as though it could save you from an inevitable fate, and try pleading with whatever Gods exist in this long-forsaken forest.

Nat doesn't speak as she inches her way through the opening, but she does hiss when she accidentally hits her head on a protruding piece of rock. The flame from the torch flickers across the walls, revealing a far smaller cave than you originally thought, and you clutch the sleeves of your jacket in fear. 

She slings the rifle you didn't even realise she had from off her shoulder, but rather than pointing it at you like you thought she would, she tosses it to the ground. The sound reverberates in the confined space, and you can see the tears brimming in her eyes when you look up at her.

She's shaking like a leaf in high winds. She sits down opposite you, next to the crevice, and rests the piece of lit wood against a rock like a makeshift holder. Once her hands are free, she immediately presses her palms into her eyes in what appears to be an attempt to ground or comfort herself.

"I can't do it again," she finally mumbles, hands still covering her face as though she can't bear to look at you. "I can't… we can't…" 

The first sob slips out before she can stop it. The second tears through her chest. It's raw. Heartbreaking.

You want to comfort her, just like you want to be comforted, but the look on her face makes it feel all backwards. She's just as young as you. Just as fucked-up. Just as much as a high school kid pulled into something no one was meant to survive.

"Nat…" you whisper, inching a little closer. "It's… I know. I know you don't want this. I know you'd never want to hurt anyone. I know."

She looks up then, eyes rimmed red and tears streaking down her cheeks.

"I should." Her voice is flat. Cracked. "I should turn myself in. Or… I don't know. Something. But I—" Her breath hitches. "God, I'd rather die than have it be you. I can't watch that again."

Her body folds inward with the words, desperate attempts for air clawing their way from her chest, like the words physically hurt to say out loud.

And you're still scared. Of course you are. But underneath the fear is something else—something that says Nat would sooner freeze to death in knee-deep snow than lay a hand on you.

At some point, you realise you're crying too. It's pathetic. Gross, even.

You don't know who reaches out first, but it doesn't matter. You collapse into each other like gravity has given up trying to keep you apart. Her hands fist in your jacket, your face presses into her neck. The cave disappears. The cold fades. All that's left is the way she clings to you, like letting go might kill either one of you.

You curl into her because the cold hurts more than the fear does right now. The same girl you spent an entire childhood playing stupid games with, now comforting you after watching you be sentenced to death. 

For a long time, you just hold each other. Shivering. Breathing. Existing in the same collapsing silence.

Then her hand moves—slow, unsure—resting just above your hip. Not bold or groping, just there, like she needs the anchor as badly as you do.

You don't speak. You just shift closer and let her touch you.

When her fingers slip beneath your shirt, you gasp against the skin of her neck. She flinches, almost pulls away—but you kiss her instead.

It's clumsy. You don't know who moved first—just that it felt easier than talking. Cold mouths and chapped lips desperately meeting in the dim light the fire provides as it gradually dies out. You tell yourself it's just to swap body heat, maybe provide some semblance of comfort in a place that has none, but you know it's a lie when you tangle your fingers in her hair and pull her towards you.

She's trembling—or maybe you are. Whether it's the cold, the events of the night, or being in each other's arms that causes the shakes is left unsaid, but you aren't sure any answer would satisfy the deep-seated ache in your gut, regardless. 

You feel it before you see it: the hesitation in her hands, the way her breath hitches against your throat as she drags her lips up your pulse, and the quiet motion of her climbing into your lap like it's something she shouldn't ask for out loud.

She never used to have to ask, anyway. That spot was always hers.

Nat's knees press into the cold floor on either side of your hips. The weight of her settles across your thighs, warm and shaking, and for a moment neither of you moves. Her arms come up around your shoulders again, clinging tighter than before.

You brace her by the waist without thinking, fingers slipping under the multiple layers she's wearing to rest on the small of her back. Her skin's clammy, and you swear you can feel her heart thumping as if it belonged to a rabbit, and not a woman leading a group of girls. 

She leans back in, pressing her forehead to yours, and for a second, it feels like she might say something. But she doesn't. Just exhales.

Then her hips shift. Barely, but it's enough.

Your breath catches. Her lashes flutter. And then she does it again—slow, uneven, like she's not sure this is happening but knows she can't stop.

You don't stop her, either. Not when she shifts to straddle one of your thighs, and especially not when she bites on your lower lip, drawing it into her mouth and moaning at the taste. 

"Is this okay?" you tentatively ask between kisses, one of your hands sliding under the waistband of her jeans. "Are we—" You don't get a chance to finish the thought before she's pulling your head back in to slot her lips against yours once more, and you take that in place of a verbal answer.

Nat whines when your hand palms the rapidly dampening fabric of her boxers and eagerly presses her hips down in an attempt to find any form of friction. It's far from the first time the two of you have been together, but it feels like the first time—desperate hands and wanting bodies finding one another in the safety of night. Unlike your first time, neither of you makes an effort to discard anything that provides you with protection from the elements.

Hips frantically grinding against each other through layers upon layers of cloth, cold denim and rough seams scraping against each other as the final flame from the torch flickers out, leaving you and Nat in complete obscurity. 

"God, I fucking hate you," Nat whispers against your lips, somewhere between her hands sliding under your shirt and rolling her hips in a bid to find friction. "Why did you have to fucking…" A sob tears loose from her chest as she crashes into you again—mouth, hips, everything at once. It's a fleeting attempt to distract herself from the static that eats at her mind every time she's left alone too long.

"I'm sorry," you say in return, burying your face in the crook of her neck as your fingers start to circle her clit through her boxers. "God, I'm so fucking sorry." You aren't quite sure what you're apologising for, or why you're doing it so desperately, but the words keep spilling from you as you work her.

She sobs against your hair, nails digging into the skin of your back. You don't flinch. You just let her hold on, let her shake against you as your hand keeps moving in slow, uneven circles through the damp fabric of her boxers. 

"I hate you," she gasps again, but it doesn't sound like hate. It sounds like please don't stop.

Your mouth moves without thinking, pressing hot kisses across her throat and anywhere else you can reach. "I know. I know," you whisper, nudging her jaw with the tip of your nose. 

Tears continue to spill down her cheeks, soft sobs mingling with broken moans. She's desperate, just as eager as you are for some salvation in this forlorn forest—something to hold onto, even if it's only each other. Her thighs tremble where the straddle your leg, muscles twitching with every slow grind of your palm against her throbbing clit. 

You pull your hand back just enough to push it underneath the waistband of her underwear, fingers brushing through the thick curls at her center. There's no hesitation as you move lower, just the steady need to make her feel something other than fear.

Fingers slide through her folds, and you both groan as your middle finger starts circling her entrance. She clenches instinctively, breath catching in your ear, hips grinding down in an attempt to force your digits deeper. Maybe, if the situation were better, you'd make her wait. Tease her, draw it out… not tonight. You ease a finger into her, slow but steady, and feel her exhale like she's been holding her breath since the cards were drawn.

She's tight. Warm. Her cunt flutters around your finger, and you let her pull you deeper. Take what she needs. Her mouth finds your shoulder, canines digging into the wool body of your letterman as you push your index finger into her heat alongside your middle. Another sob escapes her, but this one is quieter, less afraid.

Muscle memory takes over any other course of action you had initially planned, finding those spots inside her like it's instinct.. It isn't long until you curve your fingers towards her belly button, finding that ridged patch on her inner walls. 

You settle into a steady rhythm, curling your fingers with every thrust, each movement rewarded with a breathy moan against your shoulder. It's messy and frantic, the kind of touch that's born not from lust but starvation—emotional, physical, and spiritual. Nat grinds down against your hand, chasing every ounce of friction you can offer, even as her body trembles from the cold and her mind tries to outrun the things it's seen.

Her mouth finds your neck, but she doesn't kiss you. She just breathes you in like she's trying to remember something—anything—good.

You press your cheek to hers, closing your eyes because you're unsure you could handle seeing her right now as she is—wrecked, falling apart at the seams, and trying not to cry again.

"I got you," you murmur as your fingers shift into a familiar rhythm that's brought her to orgasm a thousand times before. You keep going, stroking her from the inside with a practiced precision, feeling her slick streak down your wrist and further ruining her boxers.

Then her breath catches. 

Her whole body goes taut, a low sound slipping from her throat as her nails dig into your back. Her hips lock into place as her cunt clenches around you so tight it's almost painful. 

You don't stop, easing her through the orgasm that rakes her frame, each thrust of your fingers slower than the last, letting her ride the wave as it breaks over her in shudders and gasps. Her forehead presses to yours again, damp with cold sweat, and she lets out a trembling breath that sounds like it could tip into a sob if you weren't already holding her this close.

The last time you held her like this, it was the night her dad died.

That feels like a lifetime ago, now.

"I've got you," you repeat, brushing your lips against the corner of her mouth. 

She doesn't answer, just curls around you tighter as your hand eases out of her pants and comes to rest on her hip, rubbing small circles into the flesh as she attempts to make herself as small as possible, just a ghost of the girl she once was.

You aren't quite sure what time you wake up—or when you fall asleep—but when you do, you're still holding Nat in your arms, gripping her like a lifeline. You're freezing, but from what you can remember… you're still shivering, so it can't be that bad. 

Nat shifts in your arms when you begin to stir, turning to face you, her expression as numb as she probably feels.

"Hey," she murmurs, eyes meeting yours in the dim light. "You sleep like shit, too?" She tries to laugh, as if the past ten months had been nothing more than a cruel joke, but it falls flat when you both remember the events that transpired less than eight hours ago.

"What're we gonna do, Nat?" you whisper, running your digits through her matted hair. "We… they're still looking for us, aren't they? I… what if they—"

The crack of someone—or something—stepping on a branch outside yanks you from the conversation you had just started, and Nat slaps her hand over your mouth to cut you off. Her eyes bore into yours, and as footsteps and voices grow closer, you can only hope that they keep walking.

The torn shred of your letterman still attached to a jagged piece of rock on the crevice wall tells you they won't.

a/n: trying something new with the headers and shit we'll see if it sticks or not

[piftamere]

something real (wc : 1.4k)

secret santa fic for @eussstasss as part of the hq x reader secret santa by @/lale-txt, i hope you'll like it! i had fun writing it <3

synopsis : she asks her dear best friend, Suna Rintarou, to accompany her to her family Christmas party as her pretend boyfriend, too embarrassed to go alone another year. no ulterior motives.

content : suna rintarou x f!reader, fake dating, friends to lovers, fluff

divider by @nectardaddy

Year after year, the questions were the same.

"Do you have a boyfriend?"

"Are you still single?"

"Are you ever going to bring someone home to your family?"

And every time she had to disappoint them, forcing a smile as she replied she wasn’t seeing anyone. She could see their own smiles drop and their faith in her weaken.

This year, she couldn’t take it anymore. Something snapped. Before she could stop herself, she blurted out that she'd have someone accompany her to the family Christmas party.

The moment the lie left her lips, she wanted to take it back, but it was too late. Relief washed over her parents’ faces, her mother rushing to the phone to give her grandmother the big news.

She couldn’t shatter their happiness now, not when she’d seen how much it meant to them.

A few weeks later, she was slumped over her best-friend's couch, face buried in a pillow.

"I still haven’t found anyone," she whined, her voice muffled as she groaned in frustration. "It’s tomorrow."

Suna leaned against the armrest, amused. ''You sure you tried everything?"

"Yes, everything."

"And now you’re giving up?"

"Yup." She replied, defeated.

"So… no Christmas?"

"Nope."

As she was blocking out the mocking snicker Suna was making, an idea struck her. A desperate, ridiculous idea. She turned her head just enough to look at him, eyes pleading, peaking over the pillow.

"Wait…" she began hesitantly. She sat up, clutching his arm. "Do me this one favor. I’ll owe you forever. Please."

He raised an eyebrow, almost sure he knew what she meant, his lips stretched into a mischievous grin. "What?" He wanted to hear her say it.

"Be my fake boyfriend. Please."

"Why not just tell them you broke up with your imaginary boyfriend?"

She groaned again, burying her face in his sleeve. "I can’t. I can’t deal with the pity stares or them thinking i made it up. Please Rin, pretty please."

He wanted to reply that technically, she did make it up, but her desperation must have struck a chord because, after a beat of silence, he sighed, "Fine."

If she’d had more time to think it through, maybe she’d have asked why he agreed so quickly. Maybe she’d have wondered about that smirk on his face. But with the clock ticking, she ignored the signs.

She was going to regret this.

The next day, they were standing on the doorstep of her childhood home, a freshly bought pie in her hands. She glanced at the front door, now having second thoughts, her stomach tying itself into knots.

As Suna reached for the doorbell, he suddenly paused, his lips letting out a mischievous chuckle. "Wait a sec," he said, stepping closer.

She shot him a curious look. "What are you doing?"

Without answering, he slipped his arm casually around her waist, pulling her snug against him. She flinched, nearly dropping the pie.

"Relax," he said with a playful wink, his smirk slightly infuriating. "We have to sell it, you know?"

His hand rested comfortably on her hip, like it was the most casual thing ever. She swore she could feel the warmth of his touch burn her skin through the thick fabric of her coat.

Her cheeks flushed, both from embarrassment and the sudden realization of how committed he was to the whole thing. "You’re enjoying this way too much," she muttered under her breath.

"You begged me for this, remember?", Suna replied nonchalantly, reaching for the doorbell with his free hand.

Before she could respond, the door swung open, revealing her mother who practically dragged them inside.

It felt surprisingly good to walk around the house, introducing her "boyfriend" to her relatives. The warm smiles, the approving nods and whispers. She'd almost fall for the act herself.

If only she could ignore the strange, fluttery feeling settling in her stomach every time she looked at him.

At dinner, he played his part a little too well. In the name of being believable, his hand lingered on hers as it rested on the table. She had a hard time getting used to the soft squeeze of his fingers when he leaned back in his chair, cracked a joke with her father or complimented her mother's cooking. She blinked, taken aback by how effortlessly he seemed to fit into her family, like he’d been part of it all along.

She caught herself stealing glances at him, feeling peculiarly shy at this unfamiliar, charming side of him.

After dinner, they gathered around the Christmas tree to exchange gifts. The soft glow of the lights, the scent of pine in the air and the laughter of her family made this moment feel all too real.

Suna turned to her, a small, neatly wrapped box in his hand. She wasn't expecting this. How had he found the time to buy her a gift? She was trying not to read into it.

"Here," he said casually, holding it out to her.

"You got me something?"

"Of course. I’m your boyfriend." he replied with a small grin.

Their fingers brushed as he handed it to her, and for a fleeting moment, their eyes met. Something in his gaze, something warm, playful, and maybe a little too sincere for comfort, made her heart thump loudly against her ribs.

It was becoming harder to remember this was all an act.

She tore her eyes away, focusing on unwrapping the gift in an attempt to hide the blush creeping up her cheeks. Inside was a delicate bracelet, a thin chain with a beautiful charm that shined faintly in the tree's glow.

"So? Do you like it?" He asked, watching her reaction intently. He almost sounded nervous.

She nodded, "Rin… It’s beautiful. I didn’t think-"

"That I had taste? Ouch-"

She sighed and rolled her eyes, a smile still on her lips. "That you'd go this far."

Suna leaned in, his voice dropping just enough for only her to hear. "What can I say? I’m committed to my role."

Carefully, she took it out of the box. She was struggling to put it on, when he took it from her hands.

"Allow me," he gently wrapped it around her wrist and skillfully clasped it. His touch lingered on her skin, longer than necessary, but neither of them moved.

The rest of the evening passed in a blur, but her mind was far away. Every stolen glance at him, every playful touch, only made the knot in her chest tighten even more.

A little lost in her thoughts, she found herself by the window, gazing out at the snow-covered yard as she mindlessly fidgeted with the charm on her bracelet. The calming view was a welcome distraction as she tried to untangle the mess in her mind.

"Look what we have here." Suna whispered, coming up behind her, his voice tinged with mischief.

She turned, slightly startled as her eyes followed his hand pointing to the branch of mistletoe over her head.

"Seriously?"

"I don't make the rules," Suna replied, stepping closer. He shrugged, raising his hands in defeat.

Fed up with how confident he’d been all day, she sighed and tugged firmly on his sleeve. He stumbled forward, caught completely off guard. Now impossibly close, he stared at her, wide-eyed. For the first time since they arrived at her parents’ house, he was dead silent. She couldn’t help but savor the moment of peace.

Maybe for a moment too long, because the surprise was wearing off, a playful glint returning to his eyes. "What? Lost your-"

"Oh shush." she cut him off, her voice firm. Before he could react, she leaned up and kissed him.

His lips were still, as if the shock hadn’t quite worn off. But then he kissed her back, his hand coming to rest on the side of her face. His playful demeanor becoming gentle.

When they finally parted, her cheeks burned. His usually half-lidded eyes glinted with something she couldn’t quite name, something intense, real.

A little breathless, he spoke, "You said you’d owe me forever, right?"

Her brows knit in confusion, her heart still racing. "Yes?"

His lips quirked into a small, almost shy smile. "Go out with me. For real this time."

She stared at him, her mind reeling. And as she looked back on today and their relationship, that always seemed tainted by something a little deeper than friendship, she realized the feeling gnawing at her insides since this morning wasn’t anxiety, it was hope.

And maybe it was time to stop pretending.

[elryuse]

Hi can I request for a wonyoung x reader fluff smut where reader confidently put the ring when wonyo was sleeping because they know she will like it, and accepted their proposal too 🥹 I hope this gets accepted thank you 🫶🏻

Unexpected Proposal

Wonyoung X Male Reader

Tags : Vanilla Sex, Fluffy Fluff, Marry, Proposal, Love, Romance, Lovey Dovey, Couple Words : 6,506 Words

I Hope You Enjoyed This Fic My Friend. Keep Those Plots up Everyone. I've Been Enjoying Reading Your Request So Far

The clinking of plates and the sizzling sound of hot oil fill the small fried chicken restaurant in the heart of Seoul. It’s a quiet afternoon, a lull between the lunch and dinner rushes, and you’re stationed at the counter, wiping it down for the third time in an hour. The uniform feels a little too tight, the visor a little too crooked, but it’s a job. It’s not glamorous, but it pays the bills.

The bell above the door jingles, signaling a new customer. You glance up, prepared to give the usual polite greeting, but the words catch in your throat.

She walks in like a scene from a movie, her long black hair flowing softly over her shoulders, her figure framed perfectly by the sunlight streaming through the windows. She’s wearing a light pink sweater and a pleated skirt, exuding a youthful elegance that somehow makes the dimly lit restaurant feel brighter. Her eyes sweep across the room, searching, and when they land on you, your heart stumbles over itself. You quickly look down, pretending to focus on the register, but it’s too late. She’s seen you.

“Excuse me,” she says, her voice soft and melodic. You look up again, this time meeting her eyes. They’re warm, with a glint of curiosity. “Do you have any recommendations?”

For a moment, you forget how to speak. The question hangs in the air until your brain kicks into gear.

“Uh, yes,” you manage, clearing your throat. “Our crispy fried chicken is really popular. You can’t go wrong with that.”

She smiles, and it’s like the world shifts slightly on its axis. “I’ll take your word for it. Can I get an order of that? And maybe a cola?”

“Coming right up.” You punch her order into the register, hands suddenly feeling too big and clumsy. She steps aside to wait, and you can’t help but steal glances at her as you prepare her drink. She pulls out her phone, scrolling through it absentmindedly, but there’s something about the way she holds herself that keeps drawing your attention. You’re not sure if it’s her confidence, her beauty, or the inexplicable sense that she’s meant to be here, in this moment, with you.

When her order is ready, you carry the tray to her table, even though it’s against protocol. “Here you go,” you say, setting it down carefully. “I hope you enjoy it.”

She looks up at you with a surprised smile. “Thank you. That’s very kind of you.”

You nod, trying to play it cool, but inside, your heart is doing cartwheels. You retreat behind the counter, stealing glances at her as she eats. She seems to savor every bite, occasionally closing her eyes as if committing the taste to memory. You’re entranced, watching her in a way that’s probably borderline inappropriate for a customer-employee dynamic. But you can’t help it. There’s something magnetic about her.

When she finishes, she brings her tray back to the counter. “It was delicious,” she says, her smile lighting up the room again. “You were right about the crispy chicken.”

“I’m glad you liked it,” you reply, feeling a surge of pride as if you’d personally cooked it.

She hesitates for a moment, then says, “Do you work here every day?”

“Pretty much,” you admit, suddenly feeling self-conscious. “It’s not the most exciting job, but it’s steady.”

She tilts her head, studying you. “Nothing wrong with that. It’s nice to see someone who takes their work seriously.”

You’re not sure how to respond to that, so you just nod. She seems to realize she’s lingering and steps back, a faint blush rising to her cheeks. “Well, maybe I’ll see you around.”

“Maybe you will,” you say, and before you can stop yourself, you add, “I’d like that.”

Her blush deepens, and she gives you a small wave before heading out the door. The bell jingles again, and just like that, she’s gone. But the memory of her lingers, her presence filling the small restaurant long after she’s left.

Over the next few weeks, she becomes a regular. Her name, you learn, is Wonyoung. She’s a university student studying fashion design, with a dream of one day launching her own clothing line. She’s passionate, driven, and unfailingly kind, always taking the time to chat with you when she stops by. It’s not long before you start looking forward to her visits, counting down the hours until she walks through the door again.

“You know,” she says one day, tapping her finger against the counter, “you’re always so focused when you’re working. But I don’t know much about you. What do you do when you’re not here?”

The question catches you off guard. No one ever asks about your life outside of work. “Oh, uh, not much,” you say, scratching the back of your neck. “I’m taking a few night classes. Trying to figure out what I want to do, you know?”

“That’s great,” she says, her eyes lighting up. “What are you studying?”

“Business,” you reply. “I’ve always thought about maybe starting my own thing someday. Like a café or a restaurant. Something small and cozy.”

Her face lights up. “That’s a wonderful idea. You should do it. I can already tell you’d make an amazing owner.”

Her words stay with you long after she leaves, planting a seed of determination in your heart. You find yourself working harder, saving more, and dreaming bigger. And every time Wonyoung comes in, it feels like she’s cheering you on, even if she doesn’t realize it.

It takes months of stolen glances, lingering conversations, and moments that feel like they’re straight out of a romantic drama before you finally work up the courage to ask her out. It’s a quiet evening, the restaurant nearly empty, and she’s sitting at her usual table, flipping through a magazine while waiting for her order.

“Wonyoung,” you say, approaching her with a mix of excitement and nerves. “Can I ask you something?”

She looks up, her eyes curious. “Of course. What is it?”

You take a deep breath, your heart pounding in your chest. “Would you… would you like to have dinner with me? Outside of work, I mean. Just the two of us.”

For a moment, she just stares at you, and you’re convinced you’ve made a terrible mistake. But then she smiles, her cheeks tinged with a faint blush. “I’d love to.”

The relief is almost overwhelming. “Really?”

She laughs, a soft, melodic sound that makes your heart flutter. “Yes, really. You’re sweet, and I’ve been hoping you’d ask me for a while now.”

The world feels like it’s spinning faster, the edges of reality blurring into a dreamlike haze. You manage to stammer out a response, promising to text her the details, and she gives you her number before leaving with a wave and a smile that you’re sure will haunt your dreams.

The night of your first date arrives faster than you expected, and you’re equal parts nervous and excited. You’ve chosen a small, cozy Italian restaurant not far from the fried chicken place—a spot you’ve heard good things about but never had the chance to visit. When you arrive, Wonyoung is already there, waiting by the entrance. She’s wearing a simple yet elegant dress, her hair styled loosely, and the sight of her takes your breath away.

“You look amazing,” you say as you approach, unable to hide the awe in your voice.

“Thank you,” she replies, her cheeks tinged with a soft pink. “You clean up pretty well yourself.”

The evening goes better than you could have hoped. Over plates of pasta and glasses of sparkling water, you talk about everything and nothing, learning more about each other with every passing moment. You discover that Wonyoung has a playful sense of humor, a love for classic movies, and a soft spot for stray cats. She, in turn, learns about your dreams of owning a café, your favorite books, and the little quirks that make you who you are.

By the time the meal is over, it feels like you’ve known each other for years. Walking her home, you find yourself wishing the night would never end. When you finally reach her doorstep, she turns to you with a shy smile.

“I had a wonderful time tonight,” she says softly.

“Me too,” you reply, your heart pounding as you muster the courage to add, “I’d love to see you again.”

“I’d like that,” she says, her smile widening. And before you can overthink it, she leans in and gives you a quick kiss on the cheek. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” you echo, watching as she disappears inside, your hand absently brushing the spot where her lips touched your skin.

From that night on, your relationship blossoms. You and Wonyoung become inseparable, spending your days exploring the city, sharing your dreams, and supporting each other through life’s ups and downs. She becomes your biggest cheerleader, encouraging you to chase your dreams, and you become her rock, always there to listen and offer a shoulder to lean on.

As the months turn into years, your bond only grows stronger. You celebrate her successes in fashion school, marveling at her talent and determination. She, in turn, celebrates every milestone you achieve, no matter how small, always reminding you of how far you’ve come.

And through it all, you can’t help but feel like the luckiest person in the world, knowing that the girl who walked into that fried chicken restaurant years ago has become the most important person in your life.

It’s a quiet evening, and the buzz of the dinner rush has faded into a comfortable hum. You’re just finishing up your shift, untying your apron and stretching out your sore arms, when the door chimes. You look up to see Wonyoung walking in, a bright smile on her face and a neatly wrapped container in her hands.

“Hey,” she greets, her voice as warm as ever. “Perfect timing, huh? I caught you before you left.”

You smile back, feeling your heart skip a beat as always. “Yeah, just wrapped up. What brings you here?”

Instead of answering immediately, she holds up the container. “I made this for you,” she says, her cheeks dusted with the faintest blush. “Thought you might be hungry after a long day.”

Your eyes widen in surprise. “You cooked for me?”

“Of course,” she replies, a playful pout forming on her lips. “You work so hard; it’s the least I can do.”

The two of you settle at one of the tables, the restaurant now quiet and empty. She unwraps the container to reveal an array of delicious-looking dishes—kimchi fried rice, bulgogi, and some side dishes that look straight out of a home-cooked meal advertisement.

“Wow, Wonyoung, this looks amazing,” you say, genuinely touched. “You didn’t have to go through all this trouble.”

“It’s no trouble at all,” she says with a giggle. “Now, try it! I want to know what you think.”

You pick up a pair of chopsticks, a little nervous under her expectant gaze. Taking a bite, you’re immediately hit with a burst of flavor that makes you hum in delight. “This is incredible,” you say honestly. “Seriously, you could open your own restaurant.”

She beams at your compliment. “I’m glad you like it.”

What happens next catches you completely off guard. She picks up a piece of bulgogi with her chopsticks and brings it close to your mouth. “Here,” she says, her eyes sparkling with amusement. “Say ‘ahh.’”

You hesitate, your cheeks heating up, but her teasing smile melts away any reluctance. You open your mouth, and she feeds you, laughing softly as you chew.

“Why are you blushing?” she teases, leaning her chin on her hand. “It’s just food.”

“Because it’s you,” you admit quietly, avoiding her gaze.

Her laughter dies down, and she looks at you with a softness that makes your heart ache. “You’re too sweet.”

As you finish the meal together, the conversation drifts to more personal topics. Wonyoung starts opening up in a way she hasn’t before, telling you about her childhood, her aspirations, and her life outside of these quiet evenings with you.

“There’s something I need to tell you,” she says after a moment of hesitation, her tone turning serious.

“What is it?” you ask, setting down your chopsticks.

She fidgets with the edge of her sleeve, as though unsure how to phrase it. “You know how I said I’m studying fashion design? That’s true, but… there’s more to it. I’m also… an idol.”

Your mind blanks for a moment. “An idol?” you repeat, trying to process her words. “Like, a K-pop idol?”

She nods, watching your reaction carefully. “I’m part of a group called IVE. We’re pretty well-known, I guess.”

You blink at her, the realization hitting you like a ton of bricks. “Wait, you mean that IVE? The one with all the hit songs and music videos? The one everyone’s talking about?”

“That’s the one,” she says with a sheepish laugh. “I didn’t mention it before because… well, I didn’t want it to change anything between us.”

You take a moment to absorb this revelation. It’s a lot to take in, but as you look at her—this kind, talented, and humble person who’s shared so much of herself with you—you realize it doesn’t change how you feel about her.

“Wonyoung,” you say softly, reaching out to take her hand. “Thank you for telling me. And honestly? It doesn’t change anything. You’re still you—the amazing, thoughtful person who brings me homemade meals and makes me laugh. That’s all that matters to me.”

Her eyes glisten with emotion, and she squeezes your hand. “You have no idea how much that means to me.”

The two of you sit in comfortable silence for a moment, your connection feeling deeper than ever. Then, with a mischievous glint in her eyes, Wonyoung scoots closer to you, resting her head on your shoulder.

“You’re really something, you know that?” she murmurs.

You smile, your heart swelling with affection. “Takes one to know one.”

Later that evening, as you’re walking her home, she surprises you again.

“Hey,” she says, stopping in her tracks. “How would you feel about meeting my members?”

“Your members?” you echo, slightly startled.

“Yeah,” she says, her tone casual but her eyes searching yours for a reaction. “I think it’s time. They’ve been dying to know who’s been making me smile so much lately.”

You’re not sure whether to feel flattered or nervous. “Are you sure? I mean, what if they don’t like me?”

She laughs, her hand slipping into yours. “They’ll love you. Trust me.”

Before you know it, you’re standing in front of a sleek, modern dorm building. Wonyoung leads you inside, her hand still firmly holding yours, and your nerves spike as you approach the door to her unit. She punches in the code, and the door swings open to reveal a cozy living space filled with warmth and laughter.

“Guys, I’m back!” she calls out.

Within seconds, you’re greeted by a group of bright, smiling faces—her fellow IVE members. Each of them exudes a unique energy, but they all share the same curiosity as they look you over.

“So, this is him?” one of them asks with a grin. “The mystery guy?”

“Be nice,” Wonyoung warns, though there’s a playful tone in her voice. “Everyone, this is—” She pauses, glancing at you with a smile. “This is the person who makes my days brighter.”

Your heart skips a beat at her words, and as her members pull you into their circle with welcoming smiles and lighthearted teasing, you realize something important: being part of Wonyoung’s world, as daunting as it might seem, feels exactly right.

And as the night unfolds—filled with laughter, stories, and the beginning of new friendships—you can’t help but feel that this is just the start of something even more beautiful.

One year had passed since you and Wonyoung officially started dating, and your relationship had flourished in ways you never thought possible. The two of you had grown even closer, and as a natural extension of your bond, you also became good friends with her group members. They were a lively and dynamic bunch, each with their unique quirks that made every hangout memorable.

Yujin, the leader of the group, was often the loudest cheerleader for your relationship. One day, as the six of you sat around a cozy café enjoying a rare day off together, she smirked and leaned forward.

“So, when are you going to marry Wonyoung?” she teased, her tone playful yet laced with genuine curiosity.

Both you and Wonyoung froze, the question hitting like a bolt of electricity. Your cheeks flushed crimson as Wonyoung let out a nervous laugh, trying to play it off. “Yujin!” she protested, swatting her playfully on the arm.

Yujin just grinned, clearly enjoying your flustered reactions. “What? It’s a valid question! You two are like, disgustingly perfect together.”

Rei, ever the foodie, giggled from her spot across the table. “I’m just saying, if you do get married, please let me help choose the menu. I have some amazing ideas. Think about it—wagyu, truffle pasta, and a dessert bar with endless options!”

Gaeul leaned back, crossing her arms with a knowing smile. “I think Rei’s more excited about the food than the actual wedding.”

“Obviously,” Rei shot back, sticking her tongue out.

The rest of the group erupted into laughter, and even Wonyoung couldn’t hold back a giggle. She glanced at you, her smile radiant, but her cheeks still tinged pink. “They’re impossible,” she said, shaking her head fondly.

“I think they just really like the idea of us being together,” you replied softly, and for a moment, your eyes met hers, and everything else seemed to fade away.

As time went on, the marriage jokes didn’t stop. If anything, they became a running gag within the group. Every time you joined them for a meal or an outing, someone—usually Yujin—would find a way to slip it into the conversation. Wonyoung, despite her initial embarrassment, started to play along, her giggles becoming a regular soundtrack to the banter.

One evening, after a particularly long day, you and Wonyoung found yourselves sitting on the rooftop of your apartment, a blanket wrapped around the two of you as you gazed at the twinkling lights of Seoul. She leaned her head on your shoulder, her hair soft against your cheek.

“Do you think they’re serious?” she asked quietly, her voice carrying a mix of amusement and thoughtfulness.

“About the marriage thing?” you replied, chuckling. “I think they’re just having fun with it. But…” You hesitated, suddenly feeling the weight of the moment. “What about you? What do you think?”

She lifted her head to look at you, her eyes searching yours. For a moment, the world felt still. Then she smiled, a smile so full of warmth and love that it made your heart ache in the best way.

“I think…” she began, her voice soft, “that I wouldn’t mind. Someday.” Her cheeks flushed a delicate pink, but she held your gaze, her sincerity shining through.

Your breath caught, and you reached for her hand, lacing your fingers together. “Someday,” you echoed, your heart pounding with a mix of nerves and excitement.

And in that moment, with the city lights shimmering around you and Wonyoung by your side, you knew that someday couldn’t come soon enough.

The following months were filled with joy and quiet moments of contentment. Your relationship with Wonyoung continued to deepen, and the members of her group became like a second family to you. They were always there to tease, support, and celebrate the little milestones in your relationship, their love and enthusiasm infectious.

Yujin, true to form, kept dropping hints about marriage every chance she got. Rei started experimenting with wedding cake recipes, even going so far as to ask for your preferences in flavors. Gaeul and Liz would occasionally chime in with suggestions for venues, while Leeseo, the youngest, would giggle shyly and talk about what kind of dress Wonyoung might wear.

Wonyoung, for her part, took it all in stride. Her confidence and playfulness grew with every joke, and you could see how much she enjoyed the idea—even if she tried to play it cool. And as for you, every time the topic came up, you couldn’t help but imagine it: a future with Wonyoung, filled with love, laughter, and the unwavering support of the people who meant the most to both of you.

It wasn’t a question of if anymore. It was just a matter of when.

It has been 3 years, and Hearing those constant push up from the girls suddenly put a weight on your mind. You really wanted to marry her, right? The question kept appearing in your head, as slowly you started to think deeply of it. You indeed wants to marry her. You want to spend the rest of your life with her. Even in death and life, You'll be there, for her. With this newly found courage, You brace yourself and buy an expensive looking ring, as you wanted to give wonyoung your very best.

You wanted to suprise her, by coming to her dorm late night, and propose to her. You called Yujin, Asking if you can crash, When Yujin heard that you're proposing. She immediately cried, as she said yes. Of course you can come. Yujin also sternly asked you, To keep her safe, to always love her. You chuckled as You agree. The journey to her dorm was rough, Your heart was beating in an abnormally high rating. You've never experienced something like this. Was it the Thought of you and her maarying? Was it the fear of her rejecting your proposal. You didn't really know.

As Yujin opened the door, She immediately rushed in and hugged you. You were definitely suprised.but hearing her cry, means that she was proud of wonyoung, and proud of you. You immediately pat her back, as you thanked her and the rest of the members for being here for You and Wonyoung. Yujin giggles, as she wiped her tears slowly. She then thanked You, for always being there for Wonyoung, even through all the hardships that they've gone through. You cleared your throat, as you also realized, It was hard, to stick to her, It was never easy to date an Idol.But here you are, standing away from her bedroom door.Your heart began to beat uncontrollably,as you took a deep breath and gently knock on the door.

The room was quiet, save for the soft hum of the air conditioner and the gentle rhythm of Wonyoung’s breathing as she slept. Her dorm was familiar to you by now—the soft pink décor, the faint scent of her perfume lingering in the air, the way her bed was always slightly messy, as if she’d just rolled out of it. It felt like home, and so did she. You stood there for a moment, just watching her, your heart swelling with a love so deep it almost hurt.

Her members had let you in with knowing smiles, their eyes twinkling with mischief. They’d been in on your plan for weeks, and now, as you stood there holding the small velvet box that contained the ring, your palms were clammy, your pulse racing. This was it. You’d been waiting for the perfect moment, and somehow, this one felt right—quiet, intimate, just the two of you.

You crept closer, the floorboards creaking softly under your weight. Wonyoung stirred slightly, her lips parting as she let out a soft sigh. You paused, holding your breath, but she didn’t wake. You knelt beside her bed, your fingers trembling as you opened the box. The ring caught the dim light, the diamond shimmering faintly. It was simple but elegant, just like her. You’d spent months saving for it, imagining what it would look like on her finger.

Carefully, you reached for her hand, gently lifting it from where it rested on the blanket. Her skin was warm, her fingers delicate as you slid the ring into place. It fit perfectly, as if it had been made for her. You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding, your heart pounding in your chest.

I did it.

But then, she stirred again, her eyelids fluttering open. Her gaze was hazy at first, confused, but then she looked down at her hand and froze. Her eyes widened, her lips parting in a soft gasp.

“Wha—” she started, her voice barely above a whisper.

You didn’t give her a chance to finish. You leaned in, capturing her lips with yours in a kiss that was soft but full of everything you couldn’t put into words—how much you loved her, how much you wanted this, how much she meant to you. Her hands flew to your shoulders, her fingers gripping you tightly as she kissed you back, her lips warm and yielding.

When you finally pulled away, she was staring at you, her eyes shining with tears. “Is this…?” she began, her voice trembling.

You nodded, your own eyes stinging. “Do you like it?”

She let out a laugh that was half a sob, looking down at the ring again. “It’s beautiful,” she whispered. Then her eyes met yours, and she smiled, a smile so full of love and joy that it took your breath away. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” you said, your voice thick with emotion. “I’ve been thinking about this for so long, and I just… I couldn’t wait anymore. I want this. I want you.”

She threw her arms around you, pulling you into a hug so tight it almost hurt. You buried your face in her shoulder, breathing in the familiar scent of her, your heart racing. She pulled back just enough to kiss you again, this time deeper, more urgent, her hands tangling in your hair.

“You’re really doing this?” she asked between kisses, her voice barely audible.

“Yes,” you breathed, your hands sliding down her back. “I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”

She let out a soft moan, her lips trailing down to your neck, her teeth grazing your skin. “You’re crazy,” she whispered, but her tone was full of affection.

“Crazy for you,” you replied, your voice husky.

She pulled back slightly, her eyes searching yours. “Are you sure?”

You cupped her face in your hands, your thumbs brushing over her cheeks. “I’ve never been more sure of anything.”

She smiled, leaning into your touch. “Then yes,” she said softly. “Yes, I’ll marry you.”

Her words sent a jolt of electricity through you, and before you could think, you were kissing her again, your lips moving against hers with a hunger that took you both by surprise. Her hands slid under your shirt, her fingers tracing patterns on your skin, sending shivers down your spine. You let out a low groan, your body responding to her touch in ways that left you breathless.

She pulled away just enough to tug your shirt over your head, her eyes dark with desire. “I want you,” she whispered, her voice trembling.

“You have me,” you replied, your voice rough. “Always.”

You leaned in to kiss her again, your hands sliding down to the hem of her shirt. She lifted her arms, letting you pull it over her head, leaving her in just her bra and pajama shorts. Your breath caught at the sight of her, her skin glowing in the dim light, her curves soft and inviting. You kissed her collarbone, your lips trailing down to her chest, and she let out a soft moan, her fingers tangling in your hair.

“You’re so beautiful,” you murmured against her skin, your hands sliding down to her waist.

“So are you,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

You kissed her again, your hands moving to the clasp of her bra. She shivered as you unhooked it, letting it fall to the bed, and then your lips were on her again, exploring every inch of her. She arched into you, her breath hitching as you reached her breasts, your tongue flicking over her nipple. She let out a soft cry, her hands gripping your shoulders tightly.

“You make me feel so good,” she whispered, her voice trembling.

“I want to make you feel even better,” you replied, your voice husky.

You moved down her body, your lips trailing kisses over her stomach, until you reached the waistband of her shorts. She lifted her hips, letting you slide them off, and then she was completely naked, her body trembling beneath you. You kissed her thigh, your hands sliding up her legs, and she let out a soft moan, her hips shifting restlessly.

“Please,” she whispered, her voice urgent.

You didn’t need to be told twice. You kissed her again, your hands sliding between her legs, and she let out a soft gasp as you touched her. She was already wet, her body responding to you in ways that made your head spin. You kissed her thigh again, your tongue tracing patterns on her skin, and then you moved lower, your breath warm against her.

“I love you,” you whispered, your voice trembling.

“I love you too,” she replied, her voice barely audible.

And then your lips were on her, and she let out a soft cry, her hands gripping the sheets tightly.

The room seemed to glow with the warmth of your love, the air thick with emotion. You couldn’t resist kissing her again, your lips moving against hers with a tenderness that made your heart ache. She responded eagerly, her hands roaming your body as if she couldn’t get enough of you.

“I want you,” she whispered against your lips, her voice husky with desire.

“You have me,” you replied, your hands sliding down her back to cup her hips. “Always.”

She let out a soft moan as you pulled her closer, your bodies pressing together in a way that made your head spin. You kissed her neck, your teeth grazing her skin, and she shivered beneath you. Her hands slid under your shirt, her fingers tracing the lines of your muscles, and you groaned, the sensation almost too much to bear.

“Wonyoung,” you murmured, your lips trailing lower, “you’re so beautiful.”

She arched into your touch, her breath coming in short gasps. “I need you,” she pleaded, her voice trembling. “Please.”

You didn’t need to be told twice. You kissed her again, your hands sliding between her legs, and she let out a soft cry as you touched her. She was already wet, her body responding to you in ways that made your head spin. You kissed her thigh again, your tongue tracing patterns on her skin, and then you moved lower, your breath warm against her.

“I love you,” you whispered, your voice trembling.

“I love you too,” she replied, her voice barely audible.

And then your lips were on her, and she let out a soft cry, her hands gripping the sheets tightly. You took your time, savoring every moment, every sound she made. She was so responsive, so sensitive, and it drove you wild. You could feel her trembling beneath you, her body arching as she got closer and closer to the edge.

“Oh god,” she gasped, her voice trembling. “I’m—I’m—”

She came undone beneath you, her body shuddering as waves of pleasure washed over her. You held her through it, your lips pressing gentle kisses against her thigh as she rode out the aftermath.

When she finally caught her breath, she looked at you with a dazed smile, her cheeks flushed and her eyes sparkling. “You’re too good at that,” she whispered, her voice tinged with awe.

You chuckled, crawling back up to lie beside her. “I aim to please,” you teased, brushing a strand of hair from her face.

She rolled onto her side, facing you, her hand resting on your chest. Her fingers traced lazy patterns across your skin, and for a moment, the world outside seemed to disappear. There was only the two of you, the warmth of her body pressed against yours, the quiet intimacy of the moment.

“I can’t believe we’re really doing this,” she said, her voice soft and dreamy. “Getting married. It feels like a dream.”

“It’s not a dream,” you replied, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “It’s real. And it’s going to be perfect.”

She smiled, her eyes closing as she snuggled closer to you. “I love you,” she whispered, her voice filled with warmth.

“I love you too,” you replied, your arms wrapping around her. “More than anything.”

The morning sunlight filtered through the curtains, casting a soft glow over Wonyoung’s room. She stirred beside you, her hand instinctively reaching for yours, her fingers brushing against the ring you’d slipped onto her finger the night before. A small, sleepy smile tugged at her lips as she stretched, her eyes fluttering open to meet yours.

“Good morning,” she murmured, her voice still thick with sleep. “Did you sleep well?”

“Better than ever,” you replied, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to her lips. “You?”

“Mmm, like a dream,” she said, her smile widening. She looked down at her hand, the ring catching the morning light. “I still can’t believe it’s real.”

“It’s real,” you assured her, your heart swelling with love as you watched her admire the ring. “And I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

She giggled, a sound so light and carefree it made your chest ache. “I feel like I’m floating,” she admitted, sitting up and rubbing her eyes. “I should probably get up and start the day, but I don’t want to move just yet.”

“Stay,” you said, pulling her back down into your arms. “We have all the time in the world.”

She sighed contentedly, nestling against you. “You’re right. We do.”

The two of you lay there for a while, basking in the warmth of each other’s presence. Eventually, Wonyoung sat up again, stretching her arms above her head. “I should probably go get ready,” she said, though there was a hint of reluctance in her voice.

“Need any help?” you teased, watching as she playfully rolled her eyes.

“I think I can manage,” she said, standing up and walking over to her dresser. As she opened the top drawer, something caught her eye. Her smile faltered for a moment, and she reached in, pulling out a small, leather-bound notebook.

“What’s that?” you asked, sitting up with interest.

She hesitated, her fingers tracing the cover. “It’s… something I’ve been working on,” she admitted, her voice soft. “But I wasn’t sure if I was ready to show you yet.”

Curiosity piqued, you stood up and walked over to her. “Can I see?”

She bit her lip, her eyes darting from the notebook to you and back again. Finally, she nodded, handing it to you. “Just… don’t laugh, okay?”

You took the notebook from her, flipping it open. Inside, you were greeted by pages filled with sketches, color swatches, and notes written in Wonyoung’s elegant handwriting. It was a wedding scrapbook—a detailed, lovingly crafted vision of the wedding she’d been dreaming of. There were sketches of dresses, ideas for bouquets, and even little notes about what kind of music she wanted to play.

Your heart swelled as you flipped through the pages, each one more beautiful than the last. “Wonyoung… this is amazing,” you said, your voice thick with emotion. “When did you start working on this?”

She blushed, looking down at her hands. “A while ago,” she admitted. “I… I wanted to be ready, just in case you ever asked. I know it’s silly—”

“It’s not silly,” you interrupted, pulling her into a tight embrace. “It’s perfect. Just like you.”

She buried her face in your chest, her arms wrapping around you. “I was so scared you’d think it was too much,” she confessed, her voice muffled. “But I couldn’t help myself. I’ve been dreaming about this for so long.”

You kissed the top of her head, your heart aching with how much you loved her. “You don’t have to be scared,” you reassured her. “I love everything about you, and this? This just shows how much you care. It’s beautiful.”

She looked up at you, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “Really?”

“Really,” you said, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “In fact, I think we should start planning together. This is our wedding, after all.”

A smile broke across her face, brighter than the morning sun. “I’d love that,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

The two of you spent the rest of the morning flipping through the scrapbook, adding your own ideas and notes to her already detailed plans. The more you talked, the more excited you both became, the weight of the future settling comfortably around you.

As the day wore on, the conversation turned to more intimate topics, the excitement of the wedding giving way to the warmth of the present moment. Wonyoung leaned into you, her head resting on your shoulder as you sat on the edge of the bed.

“I can’t wait to marry you,” she said softly, her fingers intertwined with yours. “But I also don’t want to rush this. I just want to enjoy being with you.”

You smiled, kissing the top of her head. “Me too,” you said. “We have all the time in the world.”

She looked up at you, her eyes filled with a mix of love and longing. “I love you,” she said, her voice trembling with emotion.

“I love you too,” you replied, pulling her into a deep, passionate kiss. The world around you faded away, leaving nothing but the two of you and the love that bound you together.

The kiss deepened, their bodies pressing closer as the warmth between them grew. Wonyoung’s hands found their way to his shoulders, her fingers gripping tightly as if afraid to let go. His hands roamed her back, pulling her even closer until there was no space left between them.

Breaking the kiss, Wonyoung looked up at him, her eyes shining with tears of happiness. “Promise me we’ll always be like this,” she whispered, her voice trembling with emotion.

“I promise,” he replied, his voice steady and filled with conviction. “No matter what, we’ll always have this.”

She smiled, her heart swelling with love and reassurance. “Then I’m ready,” she said, her voice firm. “For everything. With you.”

He kissed her again, this time with a tenderness that spoke volumes. “Together,” he murmured against her lips. “Always.”

As they held each other, the world outside ceased to exist, leaving only the two of them wrapped in the warmth of their love and the promise of a future filled with endless possibilities.

[aidensolas]

STORED DATABASE (1) - A Forsaken Fic

Heya so I decided to keep writing as the conclusion I reached was just people being people like to ruin things that other people like due to hate. I want to say I might be distancing myself away from knowing about these types of things and just focus on what makes me happy. Enjoy the chapter!

Okay so you already pinched yourself 3 times and it seems like you aren't waking up so it's probably a lucid dream.

Anyways you might be wondering what's happening? Right John Doe and Elliot sitting neatly on your bed as John Doe looks at Elliot confused and staring at your figure he shrugs and looks around commenting on your room "Nice Room... for a runt." You held out your hand in a pointing motion and pointed it at John Doe which he responded to holding up his hands well... a hand and a spike up in a defeated motion "Can't take a playful 'poke'..." He said in a joking manner "So uhm... Hey? Where are we exactly?" Elliot suddenly piped in as you thought about the situation what's happening right now as you paced back and forth between the door of your room.

Okay so you might be wondering what exactly happened after they appeared in your bedroom? Well, I'm your mind! Here to recount things you never needed to remember again... So as they appeared in your room a series of silly events happened that involved John Doe trying to murder you and Elliot which was scary in itself then suddenly as he tried to pierce your stomach with his giant spike he suddenly got flung into the wall of your bedroom knocking down some shelves and cabinets full of your precious well... Whatever you keep in those as you were more scared about your home you realized the things once destroyed started to rearrange itself in a neat manner not knowing what to do you made up a bluff that no one can do anything in this house without your permission and if you break a rule you immediately get punished via getting ragdolled into walls which to your Suprise both Elliot and John Doe believed so now they're both setting on your bed.

Back to the current time! As you completely ignored Elliot's questioned (Rude.) "So where are you guys from and how did you guys exactly... Arrive here?" You asked not like you didn't know already you just thought that having prior information about them without them knowing who you are is weird so might as well keep the appearance that you don't know them.

"Ask the twerp beside me." John Doe nudged Elliot beside him "I can barely remember anything besides killing them over and over again." To which Elliot replied with a nervous laugh as John Doe nudged him "Well! About that it's uh... Hard to explain if you can give me some tim-" You raised your hand in front of Elliot before he could ramble on "No need. You don't need to explain if you aren't ready yet... Anyways would you kindly lea-" You got interrupted as well. Karma's a bitch ain't it? You heard the door open behind you as you quickly looked to turn around to see someone peeking in, wait is that Noob?... Dear God.

Okay you tap your foot in hurry as you paced around your main living room which was enough to accommodate the whole Forsaken cast including the out of place Mafioso who just randomly decided to show up despite being a variation skin of c00lkidd. Chance piped up seeing you walking around the room in a hurry as a coping mechanism of how your life is ruined now. "Hey... Uh your name whatever mind you settle down?" Okay you gather your thoughts and say down sighing as Builderman started to talk "This might be stressful and surprising to see various people you don't know inside your home and people with alarming looks to top it off of." he said as he discreetly looked at killers who were surprisingly not murdering anyone at the moment not like they can but you're surprised an attempt hasn't been made considering some things. "But we mean no harm and we would like to not bother you but when we tried to leave the front door a random pop-up would appear saying that we don't have access to do so. Would you happen to know anything about it?" Then Shedletsky decided to squeeze in a comment that's stated in a lighthearted joking manner "Who would wanna leave anyway have you seen this house?" Builderman replied by quickly stomping on his foot which made him wince as he grumbled "Okay... Okay... I get it." You squeeze your eyes shut as you cover your face with your hands as you resist the urge to cry into them. "I tried it as well. It said I can't open the door for at least another 7 days. First things first who are you guys." Yeah, you aren't asking them you were demanding an answer.

As they all introduced each other you quickly gave them their own lodgings and places to stay good thing you have a lot... Well, more than enough guest rooms to accommodate them since it was relatively late anyway you were preparing to sleep before you felt a tap behind you which revealed to be Dussekar "In my own lair, where dreams take flight, can I wield the brush to color my night?" What is bro saying? You thought about it for a second then realized he meant if he could decorate his own room to which you replied to "Go ahead it's all yours anyway for the time being." He nodded promptly before slowly floating away into his own room and closing the door. This is going to be a long week.

After waking up and feeling shit like always you decided to do your daily routine and as you leave your room you see Chance on the side of your door as you stumbled upon him he immediately takes your hand into his and drags you somewhere "Hey you never told me you had this." He said with a chuckle "Had what?" He then reaches a door to which he opens which reveals a whole ass casino. Wait... What. The. Hell. "Right and in case you forgot the name's Chance the best gambler you'll ever see." He said with pride as he closed his eyes striked a cool pose and flipped a coin the coin landed it rolling tails did make it a bit silly, but you won't ruin his day so you didn't mention it as he hid the coin, you nervously laughed to see people working inside the casino yet no other gamblers or people are present. "Yeah... I totally had this since the start, but you never asked, nor do we totally know each other... Haha.haha." to which then Chance looks back at you saying " That's fair but... Wanna go round all the people up and have a nice fun day in the casino? Well, it's yours so it wouldn't be a problem to treat us, right?" You never owned a casino, so you have no idea, but you felt like you were about to faint but, you gave Chance a giant totally not fake smile. "Sure, go ahead! Go call them up I'll treat all of you to some fun." Chance wasted no time bolting out the door and probably waking everyone up to drag them into this. You glanced at one of the workers who noticed you and it seemed to be the same people who you would see in a Roblox game but humanized or some sort... The worker stared at you and waved giving a small smile. Yeah.

This is definitely going to be a long week.

Notes:

Guys I'm sick so I couldn't promise the bulk of chapters I've written but most of it is done anyway so expect day by day and a random two-time x reader to pop up one day. Excuse my writing if it's on the wobbly side as I said I feel like absolute bunz anyways hope you enjoy this chapter. I wonder what happens next, I totally can't see into the future or anything, but I think it's going to be a casino chapter...

TAGLIST (raaaah)

@brain4stew @yukinaabutlazy @ilikedrinkingsoda @oniadopts @no-hearts-included @haveneulalie

Random note: Why do I feel like John Doe and Builderman would be great at telling Dad Jokes...

[noorpersona]

Confessions: Oikawa

(This is connected to another drabble I made in my series 'Unreq Love' so here is context if you'd like the full experience: Oikawa & Bonus)

--

The gym is quiet.

Not the kind of quiet that comes from peace, but the kind that settles like dust in the corners—heavy, still, waiting. The lights are off, but the late afternoon sun filters through the high windows, painting the floor in long strokes of gold. The volleyball net hangs limply between its poles, no longer taut with purpose. There are scuff marks everywhere, like memories burned into the wood—ghosts of spikes, dives, the relentless rhythm of ambition. The echoes of laughter, shouting, the rhythmic squeak of sneakers still seem to hum beneath the silence, like the gym itself refuses to forget.

You spot him immediately.

Oikawa stands near the back wall, his figure backlit by sunlight, facing the net with his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his jacket. His shoulders are drawn tight, his posture still and unreadable. He doesn’t move when you step in, but he knows it’s you. No one walks into a gym like you do—especially not after hours. Especially not him.

You take your time crossing the floor. Your sneakers squeak a little, but he doesn’t flinch. The air smells like dust and floor polish, and something sharper underneath—like endings. Like goodbye.

“I figured I’d find you here,” you say, coming to a stop beside him.

He huffs, a soft, humorless sound. “You always do.”

“Well,” you shrug, “someone’s gotta make sure you’re not brooding yourself into an existential crisis.”

Finally, he glances at you. There’s a tiredness in his eyes, something far quieter than the version of him everyone else sees. You know it well. You’ve seen it before, behind locker room doors, in the quiet of bus rides home, in the way his voice would sometimes crack when no one was supposed to hear. He looks like someone who's been chasing a shadow for too long and just realized it was always out of reach.

“I thought maybe if I stayed long enough, it’d feel different,” he murmurs, gaze shifting back to the net. “But it still hurts.”

“Of course it hurts,” you reply, arms crossing over your chest. “You gave everything to this place. You bled for it. You obsessed over every drill, every stat sheet, every match. Losing was never going to be painless.”

He chuckles, and it’s low and bitter. “We didn’t even make it to nationals. What was the point of all of it?”

You frown, nudging him lightly with your elbow. “Tooru, you seriously need to get your head out of your ass.”

That earns you a sidelong glance, the barest glimmer of amusement.

You soften. “You weren’t just chasing wins. You built something here. A team that trusted you. A legacy. People are going to remember you—not because of a scoreboard, but because you made them better. You made them believe. You pushed them to be more.”

He doesn’t respond right away, but his jaw tics. He always does that when he’s trying not to feel something. The weight of three years rests on his shoulders like armor that no longer serves him.

“And what about you?” he asks suddenly, turning to face you more fully. “You stuck by me through everything. Even when I didn’t deserve it.”

You scoff, leaning back on your heels. “Don’t get all sentimental on me now, Tooru.”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I. You think I followed you around like a lost puppy for three years because I enjoyed your tantrums and diva moments?”

A small smile tugs at the corner of his lips. “Maybe a little?”

“God, you’re insufferable.” You shake your head, but your voice loses its edge. “I stayed because you were worth it. Because you’re more than volleyball. You always have been. Even when you were too busy being dramatic to see it.”

The silence that falls between you is thick with years of shared glances, missed chances, and words left unspoken. The light shifts across the floor, turning everything gold like the last flicker of a day that tried its best.

You don’t mean to say it. Not like this. Not when he’s already unraveling.

You glance at him again, then down at your hands. Your voice comes out low, more to yourself than to him. “God, I can’t avoid this, can I?”

But it’s been sitting in your chest for too long, and something about the way the light hits his face—the rawness there, the quiet ache—makes it impossible to keep in.

“I love you.”

His head snaps toward you, eyes wide. “...What?”

You inhale slowly, like that’ll steady the thundering in your chest. “I said I love you. I’ve been in love with you since the moment we met. Since you made that dumb joke during orientation and somehow managed to trip over your own feet.”

Your voice wavers slightly, but you push through. “I thought it was just a crush. Something stupid. But it never went away. Through every win, every loss, every time you walked into a room and lit it up like you didn’t even know—through all of it, I kept falling. I knew every version of you—the charming captain, the insecure overthinker, the friend who stayed behind after practice to help pick up stray balls—and I still fell.”

You swallow hard, heart aching in your chest. “And I wasn’t going to tell you. I didn’t think I had the right to. I thought I’d be a distraction, or worse—just another person you’d feel responsible for. But standing here with you, watching you look at that net like it still owes you something... I couldn’t walk away without telling you. Because it’s not just about volleyball. Not for me. Not when it comes to you.”

You take a step back, the burn of embarrassment creeping up your neck, your voice quieter now. “You don’t have to say anything. I just needed to get it out of my system.”

You turn, ready to bolt before you make a bigger fool of yourself—but before your foot even hits the line, his hand wraps around your wrist.

You freeze.

His grip isn’t desperate, but it’s firm—anchoring. When you look back, he’s already there—closer than you thought, close enough that you can see the flicker of emotion dancing in his eyes. His breath is uneven. So is yours.

His gaze lingers on your face, moving from your eyes to your mouth, then back again, as if trying to piece together something he should’ve realized long ago. You see it hit him all at once—the memories, the missed moments, the way you’ve always been right there. His shoulders loosen like something inside him’s finally cracking open.

His hand moves slowly to your face, tentative but gentle, and his thumb brushes against your cheek like it’s something fragile he’s afraid to break. His fingers tremble just slightly, and the warmth of his palm grounds you in place.

“How did I never see you?” he breathes, and it’s not a question meant for you. It’s a confession all on its own, shaped by regret and wonder.

Then he kisses you.

Soft at first, hesitant—like he’s asking permission.

Then again—deeper, fuller, with the kind of reverence that comes from finally seeing someone who’s been standing in the light all along. His hand curves behind your neck, the other still holding your wrist like he's afraid you’ll vanish if he lets go.

And for once, Oikawa doesn’t say a single word.

He just pulls you closer, holds you like you’re the only thing keeping him grounded, and lets the silence speak for itself.

In that quiet, there is no loss. No disappointment. No game that slipped through trembling fingers.

There’s just you.

And it’s enough.

[ell0ra-br3kk3r-writes]

Morning Routines

pairing: robert "bob" reynolds x fem!reader

genre: flufff

requested? yes @sheownsthesun97

el's thoughts: i hope yall like it! again, still getting used to the character so it might be ooc... reblogs are always appreciated!

bob masterlist | masterlist

The tower was never truly quiet. Not with the chaos of missions, the lingering tension of the Thunderbolts, and certainly not with Bob Reynolds around—his mind was a cacophony most days, a storm held at bay by a threadbare curtain of control. 

But mornings were different.

Mornings meant peace.

And Bob had come to associate that peace with one thing: Y/N.

He didn’t even remember the first time he wandered into her bathroom while she was getting ready. Maybe it was after a nightmare. Maybe it was because the hum of her voice and the scent of her shampoo grounded him in a way nothing else did. Maybe it was because she never flinched around him, not even when he was quiet in that dangerous way. She didn’t treat him like a bomb waiting to go off. 

She just… lived. And invited him to be near her while she did. 

This morning, he sat where he always did: on the closed toilet seat, hands resting on his knees, watching her move around the bathroom like she owned time itself.

Y/N stepped out of the shower, steam trailing behind her as she wrapped herself in a towel, the soft cotton hugging her body. The scent of her lavender shampoo and body wash lingered heavily in the air.  She glanced at Bob in the mirror, unsurprised to see him already there, brown hair still messy, eyes unreadable but calm. 

“You sleep?” she asked, voice quiet, like speaking too loudly might shatter the bubble around them. 

“A little,” Bob murmured. “Didn’t want to miss this.”

She smiled softly, “You make it sound like a show.”

He tilted his head, eyes steady. “Kind of is. You’re like… the calm before the storm. Watching you makes it easier to stay here.” He tapped his temple. “In my head. Without everything else.”

Y/N didn’t respond right away. She simply nodded, her expression gentle, and then turned to the sink. The familiarity of it all was oddly comforting, like muscle memory. The way she brushed her hair, pressed moisturizer into her skin, and applied a faint tint to her lips.

Bob watched it all.

“Most people would be weirded out,” she said after a beat, “having someone stare at them while they get ready.”

“You’re not most people,” he said quietly.

She turned to him then, towel still wrapped securely around her, water droplets on her collarbones glinting in the morning light from the window. “No, I guess not.” She hummed with a soft smile.

Bob held her gaze. “I don’t mean to stare. I just… You make it easier to breathe.”

That quiet confession broke something soft in her chest. She crossed the floor and leaned forward, placing a hand on his shoulder. His body tensed under her touch for a half second—he always did, even now—but then he relaxed into it.

“You’re allowed to want peace, Bob,” she whispered. “You’re allowed to have softness.”

He looked up at her like she’d handed him the key to something sacred. 

“I don’t always know what to do with it,” he admitted.

“Then we take it slow,” she said. “Start with mornings. Showers. Skincare. You watching me get ready while the world remains quiet.”

He nodded once, slowly. “Yeah. That I can do.”

She stepped away to grab her hairbrush, and Bob returned to his silent observation, watching her hum to herself as she untangled her wet strands, the rhythm of her movement grounding him with every second.

“Do you ever… think about what this would be like if things were different?” she asked, eyes meeting his through the mirror. “If you weren’t constantly fighting to stay in control?”

“I think about it all the time,” Bob replied. “But then I remind myself… I’m here. Right now. And that’s already more than I thought I’d ever get.”

Y/N turned to face him again, towel now replaced with a soft T-shirt and lounge pants. She reached out and cupped his jaw gently. He leaned into her touch like it was his only source of oxygen.

“You have more than this, Bob,” she said softly. “You have me.”

And for the first time in what felt like all his life, Bob Reynolds—The Sentry, the man with the power of a million exploding suns—closed his eyes and let himself believe it.

[pervoshi]

WANTED . blade , yingxing

red.

it surrounded you.

on your hands, on your face, on your tongue.

you could barely recognize who was staring at you from the mirror.

blood stained every little inch of your body; splattered on you as if you were a canvas.

trembling hands grasped the countertop, then yourself, your fingers tracing the flesh of your lips, smudging the wetness onto your skin.

you’ve hurt others before; the splash of blood spewing from them was not unknown.

but this time - this time was different.

a body, still fresh, laid at your feet, the light from their eyes faded as blood slowly dribbled down their chin, staining the concrete beneath you.

still, limp, lifeless.

you’d never killed before, you let the others deal with the nauseating task, not worrying yourself with the repercussions of such a thing.

you would’ve kept good on your promise, you should have.

yet, here you were, stood still looking at someone who wasn’t yourself.

such a pig.

had you been left alone for a minute longer, you may have collapsed in on yourself, allowing the disgust to torment your body longer. but, a knock on the door shook you from your thoughts, startling you back to reality.

“are you alright in there, girl?”

you’d recognize that voice anywhere.

yingxing, or blade, as he preferred to be called now stood behind the door, his voice echoing inside the hollowness of your head.

“y—yes i’m fine, i’ll be out in a minute.”

liar. blade thought, the shakiness in your voice gave that much away.

he wasn’t aware of the extent of your condition, unaware of the brutality you’d committed on this seemingly simple mission.

perhaps you were just freshening up, the man believed that could be the case, yet the tone of how you responded puzzled him.

“i’m coming in.”

“wait— blade, you don’t need do that.”

“clearly something is the matter. you can either let me in or i will get in there myself.”

you tensed, body still drenched in the substances of that poor woman you had slaughtered.

no one could see you in this state; blade couldn’t see you in this state.

clearly you took too long to reply to the impatient man as the door slammed open itself, revealing the stellaron hunter.

his vision was met with the back of your head, then drifted to look into the mirror, displaying your disheveled form entirely.

“get out—!” you practically screamed, turning around on your heels, hands curling into the fabric of blade’s jacket as you attempted to push the man away.

“calm— do not push me away, girl.”

blade let his own bandaged hands grip yours, not painfully, but softly.

you paused for just a moment, eyes trailing to look into the red irises of yingxing, your hold on his jacket loosening just a smidge, allowing the man to hold them in his palm.

“why, why are you being so— gentle?”

blade, a stellaron hunter, a man wanted on more planets then you could count was now standing before you, holding you like you were going to crumble apart.

“you do not need to have such shame around me, i’m not a man who will so quickly judge your appearance.”

“appearance? look at me, i’m—!”

a sob left you, your voice breaking from the shear force of it.

“i’m disgusting.”

blade felt a tinge in his chest, eyes trailing over your face as he watched the muscles contract from each breath that escaped your lips.

“now please, leave me alone, i can’t allow you to see me like this.”

“leave you alone— are you a fool, girl?”

you knew blade was an upfront man, but sympathetic? that was unknown to you.

he watched your eyebrows furrow at his words, scoffing before he released his grip from your hands, now placing his onto your shoulders, spinning you around like a doll to face the mirror.

“blade,”

“quiet, eyes on the mirror.” he demanded, making you jerk a bit at his words.

you let out a shaky breath, feeling the embarrassment rise in you as your eyes finally drifted onto the mirror, being met with blade’s already looking back at you.

heat rose to your face, noticing how intently the stellaron hunter was examining every inch of your body.

“uhm—,”

“did i say you could speak?”

silence again, the air getting tighter within the cramped space of your bathroom.

you let blade continue with his investigation of your body, unsure on what would happen if you were to even breathe incorrectly at this point.

your body shifted on its own, the blood-soaked clothes sticking to your body making you more and more aware of just how drenched you were.

blade took note of that, settling his eyes back on your face before sliding his hands down the sides of your waist.

“your clothes, they’re making you uncomfortable.”

“y—yes.”

blade’s hands finally settled on your hips, his thumbs toying with the hem of your shirt as he watched your eyes dart to them.

“may i?” he asked, his tone never once faltering.

you hesitated, before finally nodding, eyes closing to avoid the sight of your skin.

yingxing grasped the inside of your top, dragging the fabric up your stomach, then your chest, slowly revealing your stained flesh.

you lifted your arms voluntarily, allowing the man to lift the shirt over your head, letting the ruined material fall onto the floor.

blade moved his gaze to you, hands caressing the stickiness of your skin.

a small whine escaped your throat as he let his hands cup the plump of your chest, letting them rest there for a moment before moving them back to your waist.

“please—,”

“shh, don’t say a word,”

yingxing leaned down, his lips grazing the flesh of your ear before speaking again:

“let me take care of you.”

you could’ve melted away, his soft voice sounded angelic, the words he spoke settling in the depths of your stomach.

“i, i cant— i don’t deserve this— deserve you.”

blade rolled his eyes, making a tut sound as he drew circles on your skin.

“so stubborn.”

his lip hovered over your neck, eyes staring into your reflection before turning away, letting his gaze settle on you before pressing a wet kiss to the flesh.

“i suppose i’ll have to convince you to surrender yourself to me, to allow me the pleasure of caring for you.”

aeons, his words made your heart skip, yet the deep shame you felt was still there.

“no—,”

“how long are you going to deny me, girl?”

his lips trailed down your neck, letting them stop every now and then to press a kiss against your skin.

“you deserve this,”

another kiss.

“deserve me,”

he stopped, looking up at you, before letting his teeth graze the flesh between your neck and shoulders, biting down softly as he listened to the whimpers echoing past your lips.

“deserve my touch,”

“b—blade,”

oh, how sweet you sounded, his name slipping off your tongue like it belonged there.

yingxing finally began moving his hands again, letting them slide down the cusp of your pants before once again gazing at you, asking permission to remove the garments.

you’d never felt so nervous before, yet his eyes, his touch made you so willing to nod your head in response.

blade unclasped your belt, loosening the leather before finding the button of your pants, letting it come undone as he began to push them down your legs, the material leaving a slick residue as they fell to the ground.

he stared at the last piece of clothing still left on you, your body squirming as his gaze practically tore your underwear off itself.

it didn’t take long for him to hook his thumbs into them, the cold air hitting the flesh making you hiss in response.

your body was now bare, on display for the stellaron hunter stood behind you, his chest now pressing into the nakedness of your back.

you felt dirty.

the blood staining your skin made you avert your gaze, not daring to look any longer.

“no, don’t look away.” blade snapped, one of his hands coming up to grip your jaw, turning your head so it was facing the mirror again.

“i can’t—,”

“you will.”

once more you looked, the flesh that you saw making you feel nauseous, yet you didn’t look away — you couldn’t look away.

“perfection.” blade whispered, the praise making your head spin.

yingxing guided his gloved hand to the flesh of your thighs, squeezing them, before slowly creeping towards your warmth.

“b—blade,”

he hummed, letting his fingers graze over the sensitive bud, consuming every sound that left you as he continued down to your gushing heat, his glove getting slick with arousal.

your head fell against his shoulder, teeth biting into the plump of your lip as he rubbed circles on your cunt, the friction making your hips jerk in response.

“sensitive.” was all he said before sinking one of his digits into you, teasing the walls of your pussy before letting in dive deeper, all the way up to his knuckle.

“so warm, so wet.”

his finger started to move, curling into your sweet spot as his bandaged hand move down from your jaw, now settling on your chest, groping and pinching at the flesh of your nipples.

“i wonder,” blade spoke, cutting himself off before sliding another finger in your cunt, copying the motions of the other.

you choked on your spit, hands coming down to grip at the man’s biceps as he turned your insides to jelly.

“squeezing me so sweetly — has anyone treated you like this before?”

you shook your head, eyes squeezing shut as tears began to roll down your flushed cheeks, becoming overwhelmed by every emotion in your head.

“speak, girl. let me hear you.”

“haven’t—,”

his fingers hit just the right spot before you could finish your sentence, your body arching into blade’s as his fingers worked you towards your release.

“close—, ‘m close—!”

yingxing smiled softly, mesmerized by how your face contorted as the pleasure consumed every atom of your body — his body.

“you gonna let go for me, girl? gonna show me how good i make you feel?”

“yes, yes, yes—! ‘s so good,”

blade could get addicted to hearing your voice like this, perhaps he already was, knowing that he was the reason for how you felt.

“you look so beautiful like this,” yingxing started, his own breathing getting shaky as he worked your cunt like a mad man.

“all messed up, just for me,”

your nails dug into his sleeves, eyes rolling into your head as his free hand rolled over the perkiness of your mounds.

“so fuckin’ pretty—,”

his lips were back on you, sucking and biting at the supple flesh, leaving trails of bruises across the surface of your skin.

“just look at you,”

another bite, one so deep that you felt blood rising from it, leaking onto your body.

“blood all over you, drivin’ me fuckin’ crazy—,”

you could feel yourself dripping onto his hand, soaking his gloved fingers as the kept drilling into your cunt.

“gonna— ‘m gonna cum, blade — please!”

“let go, let me see how filthy you are.”

it felt like a train hit you as your orgasm washed over your body, thighs gripping around blade’s wrist, your hips humping into his hand as you chased your high.

“good fuckin’ girl, that’s it.”

his hand working on your chest moved to cup the underside of your head, turning it so you could face him, his lips smashing against your own.

blade wasn’t gentle, his tongue forced it way into your mouth as his canines dug into the flesh of your own, surely bruising the skin from his force.

his fingers slowed, eventually coming to a stop once the stellaron hunter determined you had successfully reached your high, letting them rest inside as you calmed your breathing down.

yingxing slipped his digits from you eventually, hearing you hiss out a sensitive—! as he did so.

“i know, i know, calm down.”

blade let his hands settle on your hips, turning you around so he was able to look at you, at your entire figure.

your hands, still glued to his biceps, slowly loosened, letting them fall in front of you, nails digging into your palms.

blade brought his bandaged hand to your face, holding it gently as his thumb swiped away any remaining tears still falling from your eyes.

“lets get you cleaned up, i’ll start a bath.”

he was about to pull away, but a whine left you, hands coming up to claw at his muscles.

“don’t—, don’t leave me alone, please?”

his face softened, watching you cling onto him as he took no more then a single step away from you.

“tch, i’m not leaving you, girl. here—,”

you yelped, feeling the man scoop you up into his arms, now carrying you to the tub just a few feet away from your prior position.

he placed your aching body into the tub, turning the faucet on as he began to strip out of his own clothes.

you watched, mesmerized by how beautiful the man in front of you was, his body sculpted like it was made by the aeons themselves.

blade motioned for you to sit up, making room for him to slide himself behind you, his arms wrapping around your front to place you in his lap.

“better now?”

“mhm.”

the two of you sat in silence for a bit, blade using a rag to scrub away the blood, dirt and sweat from your body, the substances flowing down into the drain.

“blade?” you finally broke the silence, fiddling with the flesh around your fingers.

“yes? what is it?”

“thank you, for, um, tonight.”

blade scoffed, burying his head into your neck, letting your scent consume his senses.

“there is no need to thank me, i was simply allowing you to be taken care of for once.”

“mhm, i know; but still,” you turned your head slowly, making blade retract from the space between your neck, his nose brushing against your own.

“thank you, for making me feel wanted.”

[thequeenofneverland1]

Hwang In-ho/Frontman////secrets in the Dark

Anonymous request: could I request where the players thinks that you and Young-il are enemies, but in reality you and him are married

Warnings, Violence, Death, Psychological Tension, Manipulation and Betrayal, Conflict and Arguments, Survival Situations, Trauma, Emotions Distress, Isolation, Morally Ambiguous choices

The players were sitting on ground, some sitting in small groups, others keeping to themselves and You, Gi-hun, Jung-bae, Dae-ho, and Jun-hee were sitting together, engaged in a lively conversation. The group had been discussing something animatedly, laughing at jokes and tossing opinions back and forth. The energy was good, a natural flow that had everyone feeling at ease. Gi-hun had just finished making a joke when Young-il suddenly walked up, inserting himself into the circle without much hesitation. His interruption was abrupt, cutting through the thread of what someone was saying. You turned toward him, caught off guard by the interruption.

“Uh, excuse me, Young-il, but we’re in the middle of something here,” you said, your tone sharper than you intended, but the words were already out. There was a brief, charged silence as everyone processed the shift in mood. Young-il’s face tightened, and it was clear he was about to respond. Maybe a retort, maybe an explanation and his lips parted, but before he could say anything, Dae-ho cut in.

“Yeah, she’s right,” Dae-ho said, his tone calm but firm. He leaned slightly forward as if to emphasize his point. “We didn’t invite you into this conversation.” His words hung in the air, direct but not aggressive. The way he said it made it clear that it wasn’t personal, just a boundary.

Jun-hee glanced between you and Young-il, looking uncomfortable but not saying anything. Jung-bae shifted his weight slightly, crossing his arms, while Gi-hun avoided eye contact altogether, clearly trying to avoid getting involved.

Young-il’s expression hardened further, his eyes flicking to each person in the group as though weighing whether to push back or leave it alone. For a moment, it looked like he might say something else, but instead, he scoffed under his breath.

“Fine,” Young-il said, stepping back with an exaggerated shrug. “Didn’t realize this was some exclusive club or whatever.” He turned on his heel and walked away, his frustration evident in the stiff set of his shoulders.

The group watched him go, the air thick with an awkward tension. After a beat, Jun-hee sighed. “That was… a bit much,” she murmured, her voice soft.

“Maybe,” Dae-ho replied, running a hand through his hair, “but he really shouldn’t have just barged in like that.”

“Still,” Gi-hun added hesitantly, “it probably could’ve been handled a little… nicer.”

Everyone looked at you, waiting to see if you’d say anything else. The moment lingered, the silence a little too loud, before someone finally steered the conversation back to something else. But the mood had shifted, and it would take some time to ease back into the easy rhythm the group had before Young-il showed up.

The group had settled on the ground, forming a loose circle as you ate together. The atmosphere had lightened considerably since earlier, and laughter rippled through the group. Dae-ho was in the middle of telling a story about something ridiculous that happened back at home, and even the quieter ones like Jung-bae and Jun-hee were chiming in with jokes and reactions. It was comfortable just your group, relaxed and at ease. The food wasn’t much, but it was enough, and right now, that sense of camaraderie was more filling than the meal itself.

You were leaning back on your hands, half listening as Gi-hun tried to argue with Dae-ho over some small, inconsequential detail. Everyone was smiling, even you, when a shadow fell over the group.

You didn’t have to look up to know who it was. Young-il stood there, his hands stuffed in his pockets as he glanced around, seemingly oblivious to the subtle shift in energy. Without a word, he crouched down and then sat near you, sliding into the space that was barely big enough to accommodate him.

You didn’t try to hide your reaction. With an exaggerated sigh, you rolled your eyes and turned your head slightly toward him, your voice dripping with annoyance as you spoke. “We didn’t invite you to come and sit with us, old man.” The words came out sharper than you’d intended again. but you weren’t about to backpedal. You glanced at him as you said it, your expression making it clear you weren’t joking.

The group went silent. Dae-ho’s eyes darted between you and Young-il, his usual easygoing demeanor faltering as he seemed unsure whether to jump in. Jun-hee looked down at her food, clearly uncomfortable, while Gi-hun raised an eyebrow but didn’t say anything. Jung-bae simply chewed his food, his face blank, as if trying to stay out of whatever was about to happen.

Young-il froze for a moment, his jaw tightening as he looked at you. “Seriously?” he said, his tone somewhere between disbelief and irritation. He let out a short laugh, though there was no humor in it. “You really just can’t help yourself, can you?”

“You can’t help but barge in where you’re not wanted,” you shot back, sitting up straighter now. The words hung in the air, heavy and sharp, cutting through the fragile peace that had been holding the group together.

Dae-ho raised his hand, trying to diffuse the tension. “Hey, come on,” he said, his voice calm but firm. “Let’s not turn this into a thing, all right? We’re just trying to eat.”

Young-il gave a dry chuckle, shaking his head. “Right. Because I’m the one turning this into a thing.” He stood up abruptly, brushing off his hands as he glanced around at the group. “Enjoy your meal, then,” he said curtly, before walking off, his back stiff with frustration.

The silence that followed was deafening. Nobody seemed to know what to say, and the easy camaraderie from before felt like a distant memory. Finally, Jun-hee broke the silence with a soft sigh. “You didn’t have to say it like that, you know,” she said, glancing at you cautiously.

You shrugged, reaching for another bite of food. “He wasn’t invited. Simple as that.”

Gi-hun shifted uncomfortably. “Still, it feels like this is getting… worse.”

Dae-ho leaned back on his hands, staring at the ground for a moment before speaking. “We’ve got bigger problems to deal with than this,” he said quietly, his tone unusually serious. “Let’s not waste energy fighting with each other.”

The group nodded, albeit reluctantly, and eventually the conversation picked up again. But the tension lingered, hanging over the circle like a cloud. Even as the group tried to move on, the encounter with Young-il left a mark, a reminder of how easily things could unravel.

The tension between you and Young-il had been building all day, and now it was on full display for everyone to see. The players were all gathered in the dormitory area, some sitting on the ground, others laying on the beds, each trying to make the best of the little time they had to rest before the next round. Conversations buzzed here and there, but the center of attention quickly shifted to you and Young-il as your voices began to rise.

“You’ve got a real attitude problem, you know that?” he said, his voice cutting through the quiet. He wasn’t looking directly at you, but it was clear who he was talking to.

The group immediately perked up, sensing the brewing argument. Gi-hun winced, glancing between the two of you, while Dae-ho muttered something under his breath that sounded like, “Here we go again.”

You scoffed, leaning forward and narrowing your eyes at him. “Oh, I have an attitude problem? Says the guy who can’t take a hint and leave people alone.”

Young-il turned to face you now, his expression sharp. “Maybe if you weren’t so busy acting like the queen of everything, people wouldn’t have a problem being around you.”

A few players sitting nearby started to murmur, exchanging amused glances. Gi-hun, who had been sitting quietly, watching the exchange with his usual laid-back demeanor, leaned forward slightly, a small smirk playing on his lips. Dae-ho and Jung-bae, meanwhile, were exchanging wide-eyed looks, caught between wanting to intervene and letting the argument run its course.

“Oh, give me a break,” you shot back. “The only reason people have a problem is because you keep sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong. You can’t just walk into every conversation and expect people to welcome you with open arms.”

Young-il laughed, a bitter sound that only seemed to fuel the fire. “You’re unbelievable. You think everything revolves around you, don’t you? Newsflash: not everyone cares about what you think.”

Before you could respond, Jun-hee raised her hands in a weak attempt to intervene. “Okay, can we not do this right now? Seriously, this is getting old.”

But neither of you was listening. “At least I don’t go around acting like I know better than everyone else,” you snapped. “You think just because you’re older, you’re entitled to respect? Respect is earned.”

“Earning respect from you is like trying to squeeze water from a stone,” Young-il retorted. “You wouldn’t recognize decency if it hit you in the face.”

By now, nearly every player in the room had turned to watch the argument. Some looked uncomfortable, others entertained, while a few clearly enjoyed the spectacle. The tension was thick, but before either of you could say another word, someone broke the silence.

“You two really need to get a room,” one of the players called out, laughing. It was a guy from another group, leaning casually against the wall with a wide grin on his face. “Seriously, you argue like a married couple. I bet that if we weren’t all stuck in this hellhole, you two would probably get married.”

A wave of laughter rippled through the crowd, breaking the tension for everyone except you and Young-il. You froze, blinking in disbelief at the comment, while Young-il’s face twisted into a scowl.

“Married?” you repeated, your voice dripping with sarcasm. “With him? I’d rather die in the next game, thank you very much.”

“Oh, please,” Young-il shot back, rolling his eyes. “As if I’d ever even consider it. You’d drive me insane within a day.”

“That’s funny,” you said with a mocking smile. “Because you already drive me insane just by existing.”

The laughter in the room grew louder, and Gi-hun finally chimed in, raising his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright, let’s calm down before this turns into a full-blown lovers’ quarrel. We’ve got enough stress without adding romantic drama to the mix.”

Dae-ho smirked, leaning toward you and whispering just loud enough for everyone to hear, “You know, he’s got a point. You two do bicker like an old married couple.”

Jun-hee stifled a laugh, trying to maintain some level of composure, but her shoulders shook as she struggled to keep it in. “Maybe we should just leave them alone and let them work it out,” she teased, her voice light.

You groaned, throwing your hands up in exasperation. “Unbelievable. You’re all ridiculous.” Turning back to Young-il, you pointed a finger at him. “For the record, this ‘married couple’ nonsense is never happening. Ever.”

“Trust me,” Young-il said, shaking his head. “The feeling is mutual.”

The tension in the air was palpable as Gi-hun leaned back, casually throwing out his suggestion that Young-il should join the group. Gi-hun’s face was calm, almost too calm, as if he hadn’t just dropped a verbal bomb into the middle of your circle.

“Are you serious?” you said, your voice sharp with disbelief. “You want him in our group? After everything?”

Gi-hun shrugged, his usual easygoing demeanor infuriating in the moment. “Look, it’s not like we’re overflowing with allies here. Having one more person might help us later on. We’re all just trying to survive, right?”

You glared at him, your frustration boiling just below the surface. “Yeah, we’re trying to survive, not babysit someone who spends more time causing problems than being useful. Have you already forgotten what happened earlier?”

Before Gi-hun could respond, Young-il, who had been standing just on the edge of the circle, stepped forward with an arrogant smirk plastered across his face. “Well, it looks like I’m part of the group now,” he said, his tone smug as he glanced around at the others before turning his gaze to you. “Which means I’m allowed to talk. Guess you’ll have to get used to it.”

You stood up, not even trying to hide your irritation. “Don’t get too excited, old man,” you shot back, your voice cold and cutting. “Just because Gi-hun decided to take pity on you doesn’t mean I’m going to talk to you. And it definitely doesn’t mean you can butt into my conversations like you own the place. So stay out of my line, understand?”

Young-il raised an eyebrow, clearly amused by your outburst. “You really think you can tell me what to do? Hate to break it to you, princess, but if I’m part of the group, I can sit wherever I want, talk whenever I want, and do whatever I want. You don’t get to make the rules.”

You took a step closer to him, your fists clenched at your sides. “You think this is a joke? This isn’t about rules. it’s about respect. Something you clearly don’t understand. If you want to stay in this group, fine, but don’t think for one second that I’ll put up with your crap. Step out of line, and you’re on your own.”

The rest of the group watched the exchange with a mix of amusement and unease. Dae-ho leaned back, his arms crossed as he glanced between you and Young-il. “Well, this is going to be fun,” he muttered under his breath, earning a stifled laugh from Jun-hee.

Gi-hun sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Alright, can we all just calm down? Look, I get that this isn’t ideal, but we’re stuck in this situation together. The last thing we need is to turn on each other.”

“Tell that to him,” you said, jerking your thumb in Young-il’s direction.

Young-il smirked, his confidence unwavering. “Oh, I’m calm. She’s the one making a scene.”

You opened your mouth to fire back, but before you could, Jung-bae interjected. “Alright, enough,” he said, his tone firm. “We get it, you two can’t stand each other. But let’s be real none of us want to deal with this drama every time we sit down to eat and talk If you two can’t get along, then at least figure out how to ignore each other. The rest of us shouldn’t have to suffer because you two like to argue.”

You crossed your arms, still glaring at Young-il, but you knew Jung-bae had a point. With a frustrated sigh, you stepped back and sat down, though your eyes stayed locked on Young-il. “Fine. I’ll ignore him. But don’t blame me when he screws up.”

Young-il chuckled, taking a seat across from you with that same infuriating smirk. “Don’t worry, princess. I’ll make sure to stay out of your way. Wouldn’t want to ruin your perfect little world.”

You clenched your jaw but forced yourself to look away, focusing on your food instead. The tension lingered, but the group slowly began to settle back into their conversations, though it was clear the dynamic had shifted.

As the chatter resumed, Jun-hee leaned over and whispered, “You know, you’re going to have to deal with him eventually.”

You rolled your eyes, muttering under your breath, “Not if I can help it.”

The group had finally settled into an uneasy rhythm, with conversations drifting back and forth among the players. You sat with your arms crossed, still stewing over the earlier argument with Young-il. Though most of the group had moved on, you couldn’t shake the irritation gnawing at you. Every time you glanced at him, sitting there like he belonged, that smug look on his face only made your blood boil more.

As the conversation shifted to the earlier games, you couldn’t help but notice how quiet Young-il was. He wasn’t chiming in or offering any insight, which was unusual considering how much he seemed to enjoy running his mouth. That’s when it hit you, like a puzzle piece finally clicking into place.

Hey, old man,” you said sharply, your voice cutting through the murmured chatter. “I’ve got a question for you.”

Young-il raised an eyebrow, leaning back with a smirk as if he already knew you were about to accuse him of something. “Oh, here we go,” he said, his tone mocking. “What now? Didn’t I already promise to stay out of your ‘line’?”

You ignored his sarcasm, narrowing your eyes at him. “Where were you during the first game?” you asked, your voice steady but pointed.

The group exchanged uneasy glances, their curiosity piqued. Even Dae-ho, who usually tried to stay out of conflicts, looked intrigued.

“What are you talking about?” Young-il replied, his expression turning defensive.

“You heard me,” you said, sitting up straighter. “Where were you during the first game? Because I don’t remember seeing you there. None of us do. You showed up out of nowhere during the second game, acting like you’d been here all along. So tell me any care to explain, old man?”

Young-il’s smirk disappeared, replaced by a hardened expression. He sat up slightly, clearly caught off guard by the question but trying not to show it. “What, you’ve been keeping tabs on everyone here?” he shot back. “I didn’t realize I needed to check in with you to exist.”

“Don’t dodge the question,” you snapped. “Everyone else here went through hell in that first game. We all barely survived. But you? You just magically appeared when the second game started, looking perfectly fine. So either you skipped the first game, or you’re hiding something.”

Jung-bae shifted uncomfortably, glancing at the others. “She’s kind of got a point,” he said softly, though he immediately regretted saying anything when Young-il shot him a look.

Dae-ho scratched the back of his neck, clearly torn between wanting to diffuse the situation and his own curiosity. “Yeah, now that you mention it… I don’t remember seeing you during the first game either,” he said carefully.

Gi-hun leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “So? What’s the deal, Young-il?” he asked, his voice calm but firm.

Young-il let out a sharp exhale, rubbing his temples as if trying to compose himself. “Look, I didn’t skip anything, all right?” he said, his voice defensive. “I was there. You probably just didn’t notice me because I wasn’t making a scene, unlike some people.”

“Convenient excuse,” you said, your tone dripping with skepticism. “But I don’t buy it. We would’ve noticed you, especially since you seem to love getting involved in things that don’t concern you.”

Young-il’s jaw tightened, his patience clearly wearing thin. “What do you want me to say? That I hid like a coward? Fine. That’s what I did. I stayed out of sight and out of trouble because I wasn’t about to risk my life for some stupid game.”

The group stared at him, the tension thickening as his words sank in.

“At least I’m still here,” Young-il continued, his voice rising slightly. “Maybe I didn’t charge in headfirst like the rest of you, but I survived. Isn’t that the point?”

You crossed your arms, your expression unimpressed. “Survived by hiding while the rest of us fought to stay alive. How noble of you.”

“Enough!” Gi-hun suddenly interjected, raising his voice. “We’re all here now, aren’t we? What’s the point of fighting about what already happened?”

Dae-ho sighed, nodding reluctantly. “He’s right. As much as I hate to admit it, arguing about the past won’t help us survive what’s coming next.”

You clenched your jaw, wanting to push further but realizing you weren’t going to get any more answers at least, not now. “Fine,” you muttered, leaning back and crossing your arms. “But don’t think this means I trust you.”

Young-il chuckled dryly, shaking his head. “The feeling’s mutual, kid,” he said, his voice low.

The group sat in uneasy silence, the earlier camaraderie completely dissolved. Even as the conversation moved on, the lingering suspicion between you and Young-il remained like a crack in the foundation of the group, threatening to break everything apart.

“The air in the group had grown heavy over the past few days. Ever since the argument about Young-il’s mysterious absence during the first game, the tension between you two had only worsened. It was like a storm cloud hovering above, threatening to unleash at any moment. Everyone else in the group was walking on eggshells, trying to avoid setting either of you off.

But today, it finally exploded.

The group was sitting on the floor and everyone was quietly going about their business some eating, some resting, others just staring off into space, lost in thought. You were seated with your arms crossed, trying to focus on the situation at hand, but your annoyance with Young-il was bubbling just beneath the surface.

It started small, like it always did. Young-il, who had been leaning against a wall, made an offhanded comment about the group’s decision-making.

“Maybe if we stopped wasting time arguing about every little thing, we’d actually get somewhere,” he said, his tone sharp.

You didn’t even look at him at first, but the irritation was immediate. “Oh, that’s rich coming from you,” you shot back, your voice laced with sarcasm. “The guy who spent the first game hiding like a coward suddenly has opinions about how we should do things.”

Young-il straightened up, his eyes narrowing as he turned to face you. “You’re still hung up on that?” he asked, his tone dripping with disbelief. “How many times do I have to say it? I’m still here, aren’t I? Unlike some of the people who didn’t make it.”

Your head snapped toward him now, glaring. “Don’t you dare talk about them like that,” you said, your voice low and dangerous. “They fought to survive. They didn’t hide in the shadows and hope someone else would do the dirty work for them.”

“And look where that got them,” Young-il snapped, his voice rising. “Dead. You act like you’re some kind of hero because you played along with their little games, but all it did was get people killed. I did what I had to do to survive. You can hate me all you want for it, but at least I’m still breathing.”

By now, the rest of the group had gone silent, their eyes darting nervously between the two of you. Gi-hun sighed heavily, already regretting that he hadn’t stepped in sooner.

“Okay, can we not do this again?” he said, raising his hands in a weak attempt to mediate. “We’re all tired, and this isn’t helping.”

But you weren’t listening. You stood up now, pointing a finger at Young-il as you stepped closer. “You don’t get to lecture me about survival,” you said, your voice rising with every word. “You’ve done nothing but leech off this group since you showed up. You don’t contribute, you don’t help, and the second things get tough, you’ll probably run and hide again.”

Young-il took a step toward you, his jaw clenched and his eyes blazing. “You think you’re better than me?” he shot back. “Because you bark orders and act like you’re in charge? Newsflash: no one here made you the leader. You’re just as scared as the rest of us, but instead of admitting it, you take it out on everyone else.”

“Scared?” you repeated, your voice practically a shout now. “I’m not scared I’m angry! Angry that someone like you has the nerve to act like you belong here when you’ve done nothing to earn it!”

Dae-ho, who had been sitting quietly, finally stood up, placing himself between you and Young-il. “All right, that’s enough,” he said firmly, his voice cutting through the heated exchange. “This isn’t going anywhere. You’re both just yelling for the sake of yelling.”

Young-il ignored him, his focus still on you. “You want to talk about earning things?” he said, his voice lower now but no less intense. “How about you start by earning some respect? You don’t know anything about me, but you’ve been running your mouth since the second we met. Maybe if you spent less time pointing fingers, you’d actually see that I’m trying to help.”

“Help?” you scoffed, stepping around Dae-ho to get closer to him. “You call criticizing everything we do and refusing to pull your weight ‘help’? You’re nothing but dead weight, old man. And we’d be better off without you.”

Young-il’s expression hardened, his fists clenching at his sides. “Say that again,” he said, his voice dangerously calm.

“I said, we’d be better off without—”

“Enough!” Jun-hee’s voice cut through the chaos like a whip. She stood now, her small frame trembling slightly as she glared at both of you. “This is insane. We’re supposed to be working together, and all you two do is fight. If you hate each other so much, fine, but save it for when we’re out of here. Because right now, you’re putting all of us in danger.”

The words hung in the air, and for a moment, no one said anything. You and Young-il were still glaring at each other, but Jun-hee’s outburst had at least forced a pause.

Gi-hun sighed again, running a hand through his hair. “She’s right,” he said wearily. “We don’t have time for this. Save your grudges for later, or we’re all going to end up dead.”

You took a step back, your breathing still heavy, but you didn’t say anything else. Young-il relaxed slightly too, though his eyes were still locked on yours.

“This isn’t over,” you muttered, turning away and sitting back down.

“Not by a long shot,” Young-il replied, his voice cold.

The group remained tense after that, the silence almost suffocating. And even though the fight had ended for now, everyone knew it was only a matter of time before it flared up again.

After the chaos of the Mingle game, your group had grown. More players had joined, desperate for the safety of numbers, and while it was a relief to have more hands, the weight of the competition hung heavy over everyone’s heads. Trust was still a rare commodity, and tensions simmered just beneath the surface.

You and Jung-bae sat off to the side, away from the main group. The others were busy eating, tending to injuries, or silently staring into the distance, too drained to speak. The two of you had started talking quietly, reflecting on how brutal things had become, when Jung-bae suddenly grew quiet.

You noticed the shift immediately. His usual composed expression faltered, replaced by a troubled look. He rubbed his hands together, glancing over at Young-il, who was sitting on the far side of the group, talking to Gi-hun.

“What’s wrong?” you asked, leaning closer.

Jung-bae hesitated, his eyes flickering back to you. “There’s… something you should know,” he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper.

You raised an eyebrow. “About what?”

“About Young-il,” he said, his tone heavy. “Something I saw during the last game.”

Your body tensed at the mention of Young-il. After everything that had happened, you were already wary of him, but hearing Jung-bae bring him up with such a serious expression made your stomach knot. “Go on,” you urged.

Jung-bae took a deep breath, running a hand through his hair as he tried to collect his thoughts. “During the Mingle game,” he began, “when it got down to only two players in each room, it was me and Young-il. We managed to find a room just before time ran out.”

You nodded, motioning for him to continue.

“When we got inside, we saw another player already in there,” Jung-bae said, his voice dropping even lower. “Young-il told him to leave, said the room was ours now. But the player refused. He was desperate, just like the rest of us.”

Your brow furrowed as you listened, a sinking feeling settling in your chest.

“I didn’t think much of it at first,” Jung-bae continued, his expression darkening. “I shut the door quickly before any other players could get in. I figured we’d deal with the guy once we were safe, maybe try to reason with him or something. I turned my back to them for just a second… maybe less.”

He paused, swallowing hard. “Then I heard it a noise, like a sharp crack. When I turned around…” He trailed off, his eyes distant as if he was replaying the moment in his mind.

“What did you see?” you asked, though you already had a horrible feeling about what he was going to say.

Jung-bae looked at you, his voice shaking slightly. “I saw Young-il snapping that player’s neck.”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut. You stared at him, waiting for him to laugh, to say it was a bad joke, but his face was deadly serious.

“What?” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

“I froze,” Jung-bae admitted, his hands trembling slightly. “I didn’t know what to do. One second, the guy was alive, arguing with Young-il, and the next… he was just gone. Young-il didn’t even hesitate. He just… did it. Like it was nothing.”

You felt a cold chill run down your spine as you processed what Jung-bae was telling you. You glanced over at Young-il, who was still sitting with the others, laughing about something like nothing had happened.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” you asked, your voice tight.

“What was I supposed to say?” Jung-bae shot back, his voice barely above a whisper but filled with frustration. “If I called him out, he could’ve turned on me next. And if I told anyone, how do you think they’d react? Everyone’s already on edge. You think they’d believe me, or worse, you think they’d just kill him outright and start turning on each other?”

You clenched your fists, your mind racing. “So what, we just let him get away with it? Pretend like nothing happened?”

Jung-bae sighed, his shoulders slumping. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “But I thought you should know. You and Gi-hun are the only people here that I trust to do something about it.”

You stared at him, your heart pounding. Young-il had always rubbed you the wrong way, but this… this was something else entirely. You didn’t know whether to confront him, tell the group, or keep quiet and wait for the right moment.

“Thanks for telling me,” you said finally, your voice grim.

Jung-bae nodded, though he still looked uneasy. “Just… be careful,” he warned. “If he could do that to a stranger, who knows what he’d do to us if he felt cornered.”

You didn’t respond, your eyes fixed on Young-il as a sense of dread settled over you. Whatever trust or tolerance you’d managed to muster for him was gone. And now, more than ever, you knew he was a threat that couldn’t be ignored.

The group had gathered in a loose circle, with Gi-hun standing in the center, talking to a few players who had managed to survive the chaos of the Mingle game. Hyun-ju, Geum-ja, Gyeong-seok, Yong-sik, Myung-gi, and Min-su were all listening attentively as Gi-hun explained the group’s dynamics, how decisions were made, and the importance of sticking together.

You were seated off to the side, leaning against a wall, watching the scene unfold. It wasn’t often that Gi-hun took the lead like this, and you had to admit, he was doing a decent job of it. The players looked nervous but seemed reassured by his calm demeanor.

The moment was interrupted, however, when Young-il wandered over, his presence as unwelcome to you as ever. He strode into the circle without hesitation, his hands in his pockets, and looked around with a vaguely annoyed expression.

“What’s going on here?” he asked, his tone carrying that same irritating mix of mockery and authority that always grated on your nerves.

Before anyone else could respond, you rolled your eyes and sat up straighter. “Are you too blind to see, old man?” you said sharply, your voice cutting through the group like a whip.

Young-il turned to you, raising an eyebrow. “Excuse me?” he said, his tone challenging.

You ignored his feigned innocence, gesturing toward Gi-hun and the others. “Can you not see what’s happening? Or is your eyesight finally giving out on you?” you snapped. “Gi-hun is talking to them explaining things to the people who are about to join our group. Not that it’s any of your business.”

A few of the players exchanged uneasy glances, clearly unsure of how to react to the tension between you and Young-il. Gi-hun sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Can we not start this right now?” he said, looking at you with a mix of exasperation and pleading.

“I’m not starting anything,” you said defensively, though your tone was still sharp. “I’m just pointing out the obvious. If Young-il had half a brain, he wouldn’t need to interrupt to figure out what’s going on.”

Young-il smirked, crossing his arms over his chest. “Oh, I see what’s going on,” he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “You’re adding more people to the group. obviously more people to slow us down.”

The players bristled at his words, their faces falling as uncertainty crept in. Gi-hun frowned, stepping forward to address them. “Don’t listen to him,” he said firmly. “This group is about survival, and survival means sticking together. The more of us there are, the better chance we have of making it through this.”

“You really think that?” Young-il scoffed. “The more people we have, the more targets we become. And when things get tough, who’s going to take the fall? The players. They’re dead weight, and you know it.”

Your patience snapped. You stood up, glaring at Young-il with barely restrained anger. “Why don’t you just keep your opinions to yourself for once?” you said, your voice low but deadly. “These people are just as desperate to survive as the rest of us. They deserve a chance, and if you don’t like it, you’re free to leave.”

Young-il chuckled dryly, shaking his head. “Oh, I’m not going anywhere,” he said. “I’ve made it this far, and I’m not about to throw it all away because you want to play babysitter.”

Gi-hun held up a hand, stepping between the two of you before the argument could escalate further. “Enough,” he said firmly, looking at both of you in turn. “We’re not doing this here. If you’ve got a problem with the group, Young-il, then take it up with me later. Right now, we’re focusing on keeping everyone alive, and that includes these new players. Got it?”

Young-il narrowed his eyes but didn’t argue further. He turned and walked away, muttering something under his breath that you couldn’t quite catch.

You let out a frustrated sigh, sitting back down and crossing your arms. Gi-hun gave you a look, part scolding, part understanding. “You didn’t have to go that hard on him,” he said quietly.

“Someone has to,” you muttered. “I’m not letting him scare these people off before they even get a chance.”

The players looked at you with a mix of gratitude and nervousness. Geum-ja, the boldest among them, stepped forward and gave you a small nod. “Thank you,” she said quietly.

You nodded back, though your eyes lingered on Young-il’s retreating figure. The tension in the group was getting worse, and you had a sinking feeling that things were only going to get harder from here.

The group sat in a loose circle around a small, makeshift campfire. The air was heavy with tension, the kind that had been brewing ever since Young-il joined the group. Everyone was still on edge after the Mingle game and the influx of players, and the constant bickering between you and Young-il had only made things worse.

Gi-hun, ever the reluctant leader, rubbed the back of his neck as he looked around at everyone. He had been trying to keep the group together, trying to keep the peace, but even he was starting to show signs of strain. Finally, he let out a long sigh, breaking the silence.

“All right, let’s just address the elephant in the room,” Gi-hun said, his voice firm but calm as he glanced between you and Young-il. “As you guys are all painfully aware by now, Y/N and Young-il don’t get along.”

A few of the players exchanged glances, while others shifted uncomfortably. Hyun-ju, who had been quietly sitting near the edge of the group, raised her eyebrows but said nothing. Geum-ja crossed her arms, her expression cautious, while Jung-bae looked like he wanted to be anywhere else but here.

You rolled your eyes, leaning back against a crate. “Oh, come on, Gi-hun,” you said, your tone sharp. “That’s putting it mildly. I can’t stand him, and for good reason.”

Young-il, who was seated across from you with his usual air of indifference, let out a low chuckle. “The feeling’s mutual,” he said, smirking. “But at least I don’t make it my life’s mission to announce it every five minutes.”

Your eyes narrowed, and you sat forward, ready to fire back, but Gi-hun held up his hand to stop you. “Enough,” he said firmly, his voice cutting through the tension. “This is exactly what I’m talking about. The two of you are constantly at each other’s throats, and it’s making things harder for everyone else.”

Geum-ja cleared her throat, speaking up hesitantly. “It’s… definitely been a little uncomfortable,” she admitted. “I mean, we just got here, and it feels like we walked into the middle of a war.”

“Uncomfortable?” Yong-sik muttered under his breath, earning a glare from Geum-ja.

“Look,” Gi-hun continued, ignoring the side chatter. “I get that this situation is stressful. It’s stressful for all of us. But we’re not going to survive if we’re constantly fighting each other. We need to be united, and that means figuring out how to work together, even if you don’t like each other.”

You crossed your arms, your jaw tightening. “I don’t trust him,” you said bluntly, pointing at Young-il. “He’s a liability. And if we’re going to talk about things that are making it harder for everyone else, maybe we should start with him.”

Young-il’s smirk faded, and his expression hardened. “A liability?” he repeated, his voice low. “That’s funny coming from someone who spends more time complaining than actually contributing.”

“I contribute just fine,” you shot back. “The difference is, I don’t leave people to die or—”

“Enough!” Gi-hun snapped, his voice louder now, silencing both of you. Everyone went still, the weight of his frustration hanging in the air.

“I didn’t bring this up so you two could start another fight,” Gi-hun said, his tone heavy with disappointment. “I brought it up because we’re running out of time. The games are only going to get harder, and if we keep tearing each other apart, we’re going to lose. All of us.”

Jun-hee, who had been quiet until now, spoke up softly. “He’s right,” she said, looking at you and Young-il in turn. “We don’t have to like each other, but we do have to survive. And the only way to do that is if we stick together.”

There was a long, uncomfortable silence. You avoided looking at Young-il, your fists clenched in your lap, while he sat back with an expression that was unreadable.

Finally, Gi-hun sighed again, running a hand through his hair. “I’m not asking you two to be best friends,” he said. “I’m asking you to set this aside for now, at least. For the sake of everyone else.”

You hesitated, glancing at Jung-bae, who gave you a small, encouraging nod. Taking a deep breath, you finally muttered, “Fine. But don’t expect me to trust him.”

Young-il shrugged, his tone casual but with an edge of sarcasm. “Trust me, the feeling’s mutual.”

Gi-hun looked between the two of you, his expression weary but relieved. “That’s a start,” he said. “Let’s just hope it’s enough.”

The group slowly began to relax, the tension easing slightly, but the unease lingered. You knew this truce was fragile at best, and with each passing game, the cracks in the group were only going to grow deeper.

The boat rocked gently on the waves as it cut through the dark waters, the group seated in tense silence as they made their way toward their dangerous destination. The air was cool, carrying the faint smell of salt and seaweed, and the sound of the motor hummed in the background. The moonlight reflected off the water, casting an eerie glow over the scene.

Jun-ho, Woo-seok, Y/S/N, Captain Park, and two others sat scattered across the deck, each lost in their thoughts. The mission they had undertaken was dangerous, perhaps suicidal, but for everyone on board, it was worth the risk.

Woo-seok glanced at Y/S/N, who was sitting near the edge of the boat, staring out at the open sea. After a moment, he cleared his throat, breaking the silence. “Hey,” he said, his voice carrying over the hum of the motor. “I just wanted to say… I appreciate that you accepted our offer to help us find the island. I know you’ve got a lot on your plate, especially with… well, trying to find your sister and all.”

she turned to him, offering a faint but sincere smile. “Yeah, it’s been years,” she said, her voice soft, tinged with a quiet determination. “But I haven’t lost hope. Not yet.”

Jun-ho, who had been leaning against the side of the boat, straightened up slightly at the mention of a missing sister. His sharp eyes studied her or a moment before he spoke. “You have a sister that you lost?” he asked, his tone calm but curious.

she hesitated for a moment before nodding. “Yeah,” she said, her gaze dropping to her hands. “Actually, I’m a twin. She’s my other half. It’s been years since she went missing, but… part of me thinks she’s still alive.”

The group fell silent, the weight of her words settling over them like a heavy blanket. Even the sound of the motor seemed to fade into the background as everyone absorbed the revelation.

Jun-ho tilted his head slightly, his expression unreadable. “A twin,” he repeated, as if the concept carried a special significance to him. “ I understand the feeling of Losing someone so close to you.”

she nodded, her jaw tightening as she stared out at the waves. “It is,” she admitted. “Sometimes it feels like a piece of me is missing. But at the same time, I can’t shake the feeling that she’s out there somewhere, waiting for me to find her.”

Captain Park, who had been silent until now, let out a thoughtful hum. “That kind of bond,” he said, his gruff voice cutting through the silence, “it’s not something that just goes away. If you feel like she’s alive, maybe there’s a reason for that.”

she looked at him, her expression softening. “I hope so,” she said quietly. “I don’t know what I’ll find when I get to the end of this, but I have to try. I can’t give up on her.”

Woo-seok nodded, his usual bravado replaced by a rare moment of sincerity. “Well, if anyone can do it, it’s you,” he said. “You’ve already made it this far. That’s more than most people could handle.”

Jun-ho leaned back against the side of the boat, his eyes narrowing slightly as he processed the conversation. “You’re stronger than most,” he said finally, his tone neutral but with a hint of respect. “But be careful. Hope is a double-edged sword. It can drive you forward, but it can also destroy you if you’re not careful.”

She met his gaze, her eyes steady. “I know,” she said. “But I’d rather hold onto hope than give in to despair. If there’s even the slightest chance that she’s alive, I’ll do whatever it takes to find her.”

Jun-ho studied her for a moment longer before nodding, seemingly satisfied with her resolve. The boat fell silent again, the conversation leaving a lingering sense of gravity among the group.

As the waves lapped against the sides of the boat and the island loomed somewhere in the distance, each person found themselves lost in their own thoughts. But for her, one thought remained clear: no matter what lay ahead, she would never stop searching for you.

The eerie melody echoed softly through the dimly lit dormitory, casting an unsettling calm over the room. Most of the players were fast asleep, sprawled across their bunks, exhausted from the day’s chaos. The faint hum of the music blended with the sound of slow, rhythmic breathing, masking the quiet rustle of footsteps.

You carefully slipped out of your bunk, glancing around to ensure no one was watching. The dim light from the surveillance cameras hung heavy over the room, but you’d memorized their blind spots by now. Moving swiftly, you navigated your way to the bathroom, the door creaking faintly as you pushed it open and slipped inside.

Once there, you leaned against the cool tile wall, taking a deep breath. The silence in the bathroom was a stark contrast to the noise of the dormitory, and for a brief moment, you allowed yourself to relax.

Minutes later, the door creaked again, and you immediately tensed, preparing for an intrusion. But when you turned to look, your guard dropped as a familiar figure stepped inside. Young-il moved with practiced ease, his sharp eyes scanning the space before settling on you.

“You’re doing well, jagiya,” he murmured, his voice low and almost teasing. “Playing your part like a professional.”

You smirked, your expression equal parts smug and amused. “Of course I am,” you replied, crossing your arms as you leaned back against the wall. “Everyone thinks we hate each other. They think we’re just players like the rest of them, desperate to survive.”

Young-il chuckled, stepping closer to you. His usual air of arrogance seemed softer here, more intimate, as if the walls around him only came down in these stolen moments. “And in reality,” he said, his tone quiet but charged, “we’re married. Partners in every sense of the word. They don’t know who we really are.”

A sly smile spread across your face as you tilted your head, your voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “And they don’t know that you’re the Front Man,” you said, emphasizing the title, “or, as Gi-hun so dramatically calls you, ‘the leader of the mask.’ And me?” You shrugged lightly, your smirk widening. “I’m the loving wife, hidden in plain sight.”

Young-il’s eyes gleamed with a mixture of pride and affection as he reached up to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “You’ve always been good at this,” he said softly. “Better than anyone else. No one even suspects that you’re working with me, let alone who you really are.”

You laughed quietly, the sound low and bitter. “They’re too busy fighting amongst themselves,” you said. “All it takes is a little tension, a few carefully placed words, and they’re ready to rip each other apart. It’s almost too easy.”

Young-il nodded, his expression growing serious. “But don’t get too comfortable,” he warned. “The games are only going to get harder from here. And we can’t afford any mistakes.”

You rolled your eyes, though your smirk didn’t falter. “I know,” you said. “But don’t forget I’m the one keeping them distracted while you run the show behind the scenes. If anyone’s going to slip up, it won’t be me.”

For a moment, the two of you stood in silence, the weight of your shared secret hanging in the air. Despite the danger, despite the lies, there was an undeniable connection between you, a bond forged in the fire of shared ambition and unshakable trust.

Young-il reached for your hand, his grip firm and reassuring. “Just remember,” he said, his voice low and steady, “no matter what happens, we’re in this together.”

You squeezed his hand, your gaze meeting his. “Always,” you said.

The moment was brief but electric, a stolen flicker of truth in a sea of deception. And then, as quickly as it began, it was over. Young-il released your hand and stepped back, his expression hardening as he slipped back into his role.

“I’ll go first,” he said, glancing toward the door. “Wait a few minutes before you head back.”

You nodded, watching as he disappeared into the shadows, his footsteps silent against the tile. Once he was gone, you took a deep breath, steeling yourself before stepping back into the world of lies you had so carefully crafted.

As you made your way back to your bunk, the music continued to play, its haunting melody a fitting backdrop to the dangerous game you were playing. No one in the dormitory stirred as you climbed into bed, your face a mask of calm as you prepared for whatever the next day would bring. The truth remained hidden, and the game went on.

The next morning, the dormitory was alive with the sound of shuffling footsteps and low murmurs as players begrudgingly pulled themselves from their bunks. The tension from the previous day lingered in the air, unspoken but palpable, as everyone moved through their morning routine with quiet efficiency.

Breakfast was a simple, tasteless affair some sort of watery porridge ladled into bowls, accompanied by stale bread. The players sat scattered across the large dining area, eating in relative silence, the weight of the games making small talk feel almost impossible.

You sat with your group, slowly poking at your food with your spoon. The others chatted quietly, trying to keep their spirits up despite the grim atmosphere, but you remained quiet, lost in your own thoughts.

That was, until you noticed movement out of the corner of your eye.

From across the room, you saw Young-il approaching with his tray, his expression as cool and unreadable as ever. He didn’t bother asking if the seat next to you was free he simply placed his tray down and sat, his presence as commanding as always.

You didn’t bother hiding your irritation. Letting out a dramatic sigh, you rolled your eyes so hard it was a wonder they didn’t get stuck. “Seriously?” you muttered, not even looking at him as you shoved your spoon into the mushy porridge. “Of all the places you could sit, you chose here?”

Young-il smirked, clearly unfazed by your tone. “Good morning to you too,” he said smoothly, picking up his spoon and taking a deliberate bite of his food. “You know, for someone who claims to hate me, you sure spend a lot of time noticing where I sit.”

Your eyes snapped to his, narrowing in annoyance. “Noticing?” you shot back. “You’re impossible to miss, old man. You loom like a shadow, always showing up where you’re not wanted.”

A couple of the other players sitting by Gi-hun and Jung-bae, in particular exchanged uneasy glances, clearly bracing themselves for another round of bickering.

Jung-bae leaned over slightly, trying to diffuse the tension with a forced chuckle. “Uh, maybe we could focus on eating instead of, you know, arguing?” he suggested hesitantly.

Young-il ignored him, his smirk widening as he leaned back in his seat. “It’s funny,” he said, his tone almost teasing. “You say you don’t want me around, but here I am, sitting right next to you. Almost as if… you enjoy my company.”

You scoffed, turning your attention back to your food with a look of pure disgust. “Keep telling yourself that,” you muttered. “Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

Hyun-ju, who was seated across from you, tried to suppress a giggle but failed, her laugh coming out as a soft snort. “You two are like oil and water,” she said, shaking her head. “I don’t know how you haven’t torn each other apart yet.”

“Give it time,” you muttered, stabbing your spoon into your porridge with more force than necessary.

Young-il, ever the picture of calm, leaned forward slightly, his smirk still firmly in place. “Oh, I think we’ve found a good balance,” he said, his voice dripping with mock sincerity. “After all, every group needs a little… tension to keep things interesting.”

You glared at him, opening your mouth to retort, but Gi-hun quickly held up his hand, cutting you off. “Okay, that’s enough,” he said firmly, looking between the two of you. “Can we please just get through one meal without the two of you going at it? We’ve got bigger things to worry about.”

You huffed, leaning back in your seat and crossing your arms. “Fine,” you muttered, though your eyes still flicked toward Young-il with a look of disdain.

Young-il, for his part, simply chuckled and went back to his food, his calm demeanor only fueling your irritation.

As the group settled into an uneasy silence, you couldn’t help but steal a glance at him out of the corner of your eye. For all his arrogance and infuriating smugness, there was something about the way he carried himself. calm, unshaken, and always two steps ahead. that made it impossible to completely ignore him.

The rest of the meal passed in strained silence, the tension between you and Young-il hanging heavy in the air. But for the other players in their group, it was just another morning in the dormitory. another day of trying to survive the games.

The din of conversation filled the room as the players sat scattered in small groups, their voices rising and falling in a chaotic symphony. Everyone was busy strategizing, bonding, or simply trying to make sense of their grim reality. The tension from the impending rebellion hung heavy in the air, but it seemed to energize the group rather than dampen their spirits.

Amidst the noise and chatter, no one noticed the quiet exchange happening between you and Young-il in a corner of the room. Leaning in slightly, you kept your voice low, your tone sharp and calculated as you spoke.

“Jung-bae told me what you did to that player during the Mingle game,” you began, your words laced with accusation and urgency. “Snapping his neck like that. He’s already starting to put pieces together, and if he decides to run his mouth to Gi-hun especially during the rebellion they’ll all turn on you.”

Young-il leaned back slightly, his expression calm, though his eyes betrayed a flicker of annoyance. “He won’t,” he said, his voice measured. “Jung-bae knows better than to cross me.”

You shook your head, your lips curling into a smirk. “Don’t underestimate him,” you warned. “He’s already suspicious, and once the rebellion kicks off, he’ll have the perfect opportunity to expose you. If I were you, I’d take care of him before he gets the chance.”

Young-il raised an eyebrow, his expression skeptical. “Take care of him?” he echoed, his voice heavy with sarcasm. “And what do you suggest, jagiya? Should I just walk up to him and slit his throat in front of everyone?”

You rolled your eyes, your smirk widening. “Don’t be stupid,” you said. “You’re not going to do it as yourself. You’ll do it as the Front Man. Once everything goes down, you’ll have the perfect cover.”

Leaning closer, you spoke in a hushed tone, outlining your plan with ruthless precision. “Here’s what you’re going to do. When the rebellion starts, Gi-hun is going to split everyone into smaller groups, right? Jung-bae and Gi-hun will take the lead in one group while you’re left with two other players and tasked with taking out some of the soldiers.”

Young-il’s eyes narrowed slightly as he listened, his mind already working through the logistics of your suggestion.

“You’re going to kill those two players,” you continued, your voice cold and unrelenting. “Make it look like an accident or pin it on the soldiers doesn’t matter how you do it, just make sure they’re out of the way. Once that’s done, you’ll switch into your stulk and mask. No one will know it’s you.”

You paused for a moment, letting your words sink in before delivering the final piece of your plan. “When everything is under control and the chaos dies down, you’ll track down Jung-bae. He’ll probably be with Gi-hun. Once you do take him out, and make it clean.”

Young-il studied you for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Finally, he leaned forward, a sly smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “You’ve thought this through,” he said, his voice low and amused. “Almost like you’ve been planning this for a while.”

You shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “I’m just looking out for us,” you said. “Jung-bae’s a liability, and liabilities have no place in this game. Besides, once he’s gone, Gi-hun will be too heartbroken and stop the rebellion.”

Young-il chuckled softly, shaking his head. “You’re ruthless, you know that?” he said, his tone tinged with admiration.

You smirked, your eyes gleaming with cold determination. “Ruthless keeps us alive,” you replied. “And if you want to stay alive, you’ll do exactly what I’ve told you.”

For a moment, the two of you sat in silence, the hum of conversation around you masking the weight of your words. Finally, Young-il nodded, a hint of resolve flashing in his eyes.

“Fine,” he said. “I’ll handle it.”

“Good,” you said, leaning back in your chair and crossing your arms. “Now, act normal. The last thing we need is anyone noticing we’re talking.”

Young-il smirked, his usual air of confidence returning as he leaned back and picked at his food. To anyone watching, it would seem like the two of you had simply exchanged a few words before going back to your meal.

But beneath the surface, the wheels were already in motion. As the rebellion loomed closer, so too did the shadows of betrayal and bloodshed. And in this game, only the ruthless would survive.

Later that day, the tension in the dormitory had eased slightly, and small groups of players were scattered around, talking in hushed tones or making plans for the Special Game. In one corner, Young-il sat with Gi-hun, Jung-bae, and a few of the others, his usually stoic expression marred by a rare look of irritation.

He leaned back against the wall, his arms crossed, and let out a heavy sigh. “I don’t understand how any of you can deal with her,” he said, his voice tinged with frustration. “She’s insufferable. Every time I so much as breathe in her direction, she’s rolling her eyes or making some snide comment.”

Gi-hun raised an eyebrow, glancing up from where he was sharpening a makeshift weapon. “You’re talking about Y/N, aren’t you?” he asked, his tone a mix of amusement and exasperation.

“Of course I’m talking about her,” Young-il snapped, his voice rising slightly before he forced himself to calm down. “Who else could make someone this irritated? She’s constantly on my case, acting like she owns the place.”

Jung-bae chuckled, shaking his head. “Well, to be fair, you don’t exactly make it easy,” he said. “You always manage to get under her skin. It’s like you’re trying to start a fight every time you two are in the same room.”

Young-il scoffed, waving a dismissive hand. “I don’t try to start anything,” he insisted. “She just has a problem with me, and she doesn’t bother hiding it. The way she talks to me like I’m some kind of nuisance it’s infuriating.”

Gi-hun smirked, exchanging a knowing glance with Jung-bae. “You know,” he said, his tone teasing, “the way you’re going on about her, it almost sounds like you care what she thinks.”

Young-il shot him a sharp look, his expression darkening. “Don’t be ridiculous,” he said firmly. “I couldn’t care less what she thinks of me. I’m just saying it’s exhausting dealing with someone who seems to hate me for no reason.”

Dae-ho who had been quietly listening, finally spoke up, his voice calm but laced with curiosity. “You sure it’s no reason?” he asked. “Maybe there’s more to it than you realize.”

Young-il frowned, his jaw tightening. “What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked, his tone defensive.

Dae-ho hrugged, leaning back and crossing his arms. “Sometimes people lash out because they’re hiding something,” he said. “Maybe she’s got her own reasons for acting the way she does. You ever think about that?”

Young-il opened his mouth to reply but stopped himself, his expression shifting into one of contemplation. For a brief moment, a flicker of doubt crossed his face, but he quickly shook it off, scowling. “Whatever her reasons are, they don’t justify her behavior,” he said firmly. “She’s rude, she’s disrespectful, and she’s impossible to work with.”

Gi-hun chuckled, shaking his head as he set his weapon aside. “You sound like an old married couple,” he said, grinning.

Young-il groaned, running a hand through his hair. “Don’t even joke about that,” he said. “The thought alone is enough to make my blood boil.”

The group laughed, their voices echoing through the room, but Young-il’s irritation lingered. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he glanced toward where you were sitting with Hyun-ju and Min-su on the other side of the dormitory. You were laughing at something Min-su had said, completely oblivious to the conversation happening about you.

“I just don’t get it,” Young-il muttered, more to himself than anyone else. “What’s her problem with me?”

Gi-hun patted him on the shoulder, his grin widening. “Who knows?” he said. “Maybe one day you’ll figure it out. Until then, you’re just going to have to deal with it like the rest of us.”

Young-il let out another sigh, leaning back against the wall as the group returned to their conversation. But even as the laughter and chatter continued around him, his gaze lingered on you, his frustration simmering just beneath the surface.

The quiet hum of the boat's engine filled the air as your twin sat on the deck, staring out at the endless stretch of water. The faint scent of salt hung in the breeze, but the atmosphere was heavy with unspoken thoughts and shared determination. Jun-ho approached, holding a cup of water, and settled into a seat beside your twin.

For a while, they sat in silence, watching the waves ripple and crash against the boat. Finally, Jun-ho broke the quiet, his voice calm but tinged with curiosity. “It seems to me,” he began, “that you and I have something in common.”

She turned to him, raising an eyebrow. “Oh yeah? What’s that?”

Jun-ho offered a small smile, though there was a trace of sadness in his eyes. “I also have a lost sibling,” he said softly. “Except… it’s my brother.”

Her expression shifted, a mixture of surprise and understanding crossing her face. “Your brother?” She echoed.

Jun-ho nodded, his gaze fixed on the horizon. “Yeah. It’s been years since I last saw him. He disappeared without a trace, and I’ve been searching ever since. Sometimes it feels like I’m chasing a ghost, but… I can’t bring myself to stop. Not until I know the truth.”

She leaned back slightly, her arms resting on the edge of the boat as she studied him. “I get that,” she said quietly. “When someone you care about vanishes, it’s like a part of you goes missing too. You can’t move on because there’s always that question. what if? What if they’re out there, waiting for you? What if you’re the only one who can find them?”

Jun-ho nodded, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Exactly,” he said. “Sometimes people tell me to let it go, that it’s been too long, but… I can’t. He’s my brother. If there’s even the smallest chance he’s still alive, I have to keep looking.”

She glanced down at her hands, her fingers absentmindedly tracing the edge of the wooden deck. “I feel the same way about my sister,” she admitted. “We’re twins, so it’s even harder. It’s like… a piece of me has been missing all this time. No matter how much I try to focus on other things, there’s always this emptiness. This feeling that she’s out there somewhere, and she needs me.”

Jun-ho looked at her, his expression softening. “That must be hard,” he said. “Being a twin means you share a bond that most people can’t even begin to understand. Losing that… it must feel like losing a part of yourself.”

She nodded, her jaw tightening as she fought to keep her emotions in check. “It does,”she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “Sometimes I wonder if she even remembers me. If she’s alive, if she’s safe, if she’s happy… I’d give anything to know the answers.”

Jun-ho placed a hand on her shoulder, his grip firm but comforting. “I know exactly how you feel,” he said. “And I know how hard it is to keep hoping when it feels like the whole world is against you. But you’re not alone in this. We’re going to find that island, and maybe just maybe we’ll find some answers along the way. For both of us.”

She looked at him, her expression softening as a flicker of gratitude appeared in their eyes. “Thanks,” she said. “It helps, knowing someone else understands.”

Jun-ho offered a small smile, his hand falling back to his side as he leaned against the railing. “We’ll find them,” he said with quiet determination. “Your sister, my brother… we’ll figure it out. One way or another.”

For a moment, the two of them sat in silence again, the weight of their shared loss hanging between them. But amidst the sorrow, there was also a sense of quiet resolve a determination to keep going, no matter how impossible the odds seemed.

As the boat continued to cut through the water, she glanced at Jun-ho, their expression thoughtful. “You know,” she said, “for someone I just met, you’re pretty easy to talk to.”

Jun-ho chuckled, the sound light but genuine. “Likewise,” he said. “Maybe it’s because we’ve both been through the same kind of pain. Makes it easier to understand each other.”

She smiled faintly, her gaze returning to the horizon. “Maybe,”she said. “But either way… thanks.”

Jun-ho nodded, his own gaze following hers. “Anytime,” he said simply.

And with that, the two of them fell into a companionable silence, the sound of the waves filling the air as the boat carried them closer to the answers they both so desperately sought.

The dim light of the dormitory flickered faintly as the night wore on, the murmur of conversation dwindling as exhaustion began to settle over the players. You glanced around, noting how most of them were either dozing off or too preoccupied to notice you slipping away. Smoothing down your expression to hide any suspicion, you stood up casually and muttered something about needing the bathroom.

No one paid you much attention as you made your way towards the door, your footsteps quiet against the cold floor. Once inside the bathroom, you took a deep breath, the air thick with the faint scent of bleach. You leaned against the sink for a moment, your reflection staring back at you in the cracked mirror.

Moments later, the faint creak of the bathroom door opening made you straighten up, your muscles instinctively tensing. Before you could turn around, a familiar hand grasped your wrist, pulling you away from the sink and back against a solid chest.

“Couldn’t wait, could you?” Young-il’s voice was low and teasing, his breath warm against your ear.

You smirked, your pulse quickening as you glanced up at him. “Took you long enough,” you replied, your tone dripping with playful sarcasm. “I was starting to think you weren’t coming.”

He chuckled softly, his other hand coming to rest on your waist as he leaned in closer. “You should know by now I’m not one to leave you waiting.”

Before you could retort, his lips crashed against yours, his kiss urgent and possessive. Your back hit the cool tiles of the wall as he deepened the kiss, his hands sliding around your waist to pull you closer. The world outside the bathroom faded away, the tension and chaos of the games momentarily forgotten as you lost yourself in the moment.

Your hands found their way to his shirt, clutching the fabric as if anchoring yourself. There was something electric about the way his lips moved against yours, a mix of frustration, passion, and unspoken promises in every movement. It was a stark contrast to the way you had to act around each other in front of the others hostile, distant, like sworn enemies.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his breathing heavy but steady. “You’re playing your part really well,” he murmured, a sly smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Making them think that we’re at each other’s throats.”

You tilted your head, a mischievous glint in your eyes. “That’s because we are,” you said lightly, though your fingers still lingered on his chest. “At least, that’s what they think.”

He chuckled, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “Let them think that,” he said. “It keeps them off our trail. No one suspects a thing.”

You nodded, your expression growing more serious. “Good. Because if they did, everything we’ve worked for would fall apart. You’ve got your role to play, and so do I. We can’t afford any mistakes.”

Young-il’s smile softened, and he pressed a brief kiss to your forehead. “No mistakes,” he agreed. “We’ve come too far for that.”

The two of you stood there for a moment longer, the quiet of the bathroom offering a rare sense of intimacy amidst the chaos. But all too soon, the weight of reality began to press down on you again. You straightened up, smoothing down your clothes as you stepped away from him.

“We should go back before anyone notices,” you said, your voice steady but laced with reluctance.

He nodded, his usual stoic expression slipping back into place as he adjusted his shirt. “You first,” he said, gesturing toward the door. “I’ll follow in a few minutes.”

You smirked, giving him a playful glance over your shoulder as you opened the door. “Don’t take too long, old man,” you teased before slipping out into the hallway.

As you walked back to the dormitory, your heart still racing, you couldn’t help but smile to yourself. No one would ever suspect the truth. that the constant bickering and hostility between you and Young-il was nothing more than a carefully crafted façade.

And as you took your seat among the other players, acting as if nothing had happened, you felt a strange sense of satisfaction. In this deadly game where alliances shifted like sand, the bond you shared with Young-il was your greatest secret and your greatest weapon.

The tension in the dormitory was palpable as Gi-hun gathered the group to discuss the rebellion. The players sat in a loose circle, their faces marked with a mixture of hope and apprehension. The dim, flickering light cast long shadows on the walls, adding to the somber atmosphere.

Gi-hun stood in the center, his arms crossed as he addressed the group. “Alright,” he began, his voice firm but calm, “we’ve all agreed that we can’t keep playing their twisted games. If we don’t take a stand now, we might never get another chance. So, we need a solid plan for the rebellion.”

The group murmured in agreement, nodding along as Gi-hun laid out the basics of his idea. He spoke about timing, positioning, and how they’d need to use the chaos of the next game to their advantage. Everyone listened intently, some adding their own thoughts or suggestions.

Then, as Gi-hun paused to let the group absorb the information, Young-il, who had been leaning casually against the wall, cleared his throat. “I’ve got a suggestion,” he said, pushing off the wall and stepping into the circle.

You raised an eyebrow, already bracing yourself for whatever nonsense he was about to say.

Young-il crossed his arms, his tone calm but confident. “Instead of focusing on spreading ourselves thin across the dormitory or the arena, we could just use brute force. If we overpower a few guards early on, we could take their weapons and use them to control the situation. It’s straightforward and doesn’t require much coordination.”

For a moment, the group was silent, processing his words. Then you let out a scoff, your arms crossing over your chest as you fixed him with a sharp glare. “That’s… that’s a dumb plan,” you said bluntly, your tone dripping with sarcasm. “Just like you.”

A few chuckles rippled through the group, but Young-il didn’t flinch, his jaw tightening as he looked at you.

“I’m serious,” he replied, his voice steady but laced with irritation. “It could work if we all commit to it.”

You rolled your eyes dramatically, leaning back on your hands. “Oh, sure,” you said, your voice dripping with mock enthusiasm. “Let’s all risk everything on your ‘brute force’ strategy and hope the guards just magically hand over their weapons. Brilliant idea, genius.”

Young-il narrowed his eyes, clearly growing more annoyed, but before he could retort, you leaned forward, your tone sharp and cutting. “Actually, I’ve got a better plan,” you said, a smirk tugging at the corner of your lips. “We could sacrifice you.”

The room went silent for a moment, the tension thick as the group processed your words. Gi-hun let out an exasperated sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose, while a few others exchanged awkward glances.

“Sacrifice me?” Young-il repeated, his tone incredulous.

You shrugged, your smirk widening. “Think about it,” you said, your voice light but laced with venom. “You’re big and loud. perfect distraction material. While the guards are busy dealing with you, the rest of us could slip away or take control of the situation. It’s actually the first useful thing you’d contribute to this group.”

A few stifled laughs broke out among the group, and even Gi-hun couldn’t help but crack a small smile despite himself.

Young-il stepped closer to you, his expression darkening. “You’ve got a lot of nerve,” he said, his voice low and dangerous.

“And you’ve got a lot of bad ideas,” you shot back, meeting his glare without flinching.

Gi-hun quickly stepped between the two of you, holding up his hands to keep the peace. “Alright, that’s enough,” he said firmly, his voice cutting through the tension. “We don’t have time for this. We need to work together if we want this rebellion to succeed.”

You huffed, leaning back and crossing your arms. “Fine,” you muttered, though the annoyance in your tone was clear.

Young-il gave you one last glare before stepping back, his jaw clenched as he returned to his spot by the wall.

Gi-hun sighed, running a hand through his hair as he addressed the group again. “We need a plan that doesn��t rely on brute force or unnecessary risks,” he said. “Let’s focus on strategy and coordination. If we work together, we can pull this off.”

The group nodded, slowly returning their focus to the task at hand. But even as the discussion continued, the tension between you and Young-il lingered, an unspoken reminder of the complicated dynamics within the group.

The waves crashed gently against the hull of the boat, a rhythmic sound that matched the faint sway of the vessel as it cut through the water. The night sky stretched endlessly above, filled with stars that seemed to twinkle with quiet indifference to the turmoil brewing below. Your twin leaned against the railing, staring out at the horizon with a mix of determination and unease.

Jun-ho approached, his footsteps light but purposeful. He carried a thermos in one hand and two tin cups in the other. “I figured you could use something warm,” he said, his tone casual but carrying a hint of understanding.

She glanced over her shoulder and offered a faint smile. “Thanks,” she said, taking one of the cups as he poured some tea into it.

The two stood in silence for a moment, sipping from their cups and listening to the sound of the waves. There was a heaviness in the air, an unspoken weight they both carried, though neither seemed ready to address it outright.

“You know,” Jun-ho said finally, his voice quiet, “this feels like a never-ending circle. The searching, the questioning, the dead ends… sometimes it feels like no matter how far I get, I always end up right back where I started.”

She nodded, her grip tightening slightly on the cup. “Yeah,” she murmured. “It’s like every lead brings more questions than answers. I keep thinking I’m getting closer, but then something happens, and it all falls apart again. It’s exhausting.”

Jun-ho leaned against the railing beside you, his gaze fixed on the dark expanse of water. ”How long has it been since your sister went missing?” he said, more a statement than a question.

She nodded,her expression softening as a flicker of vulnerability crossed her face. “It’s been years ago,” she said quietly. “It was like she just vanished into thin air. No clues, no trace… nothing. A part of me wonders if I’ll ever find her, but I can’t bring myself to stop looking. It’s like… if I give up, then I’m admitting she’s gone.”

Jun-ho’s eyes darkened, his jaw tightening as he listened. “I get that,” he said, his voice low. “I’m searching for my brother. It’s been years, but I can’t let it go. I’ve uncovered bits and pieces. just enough to keep me going, but not enough to find him. And every time I think I’m getting close, something or someone gets in my way.”

She turned to look at him, her brows furrowing. “Someone?”

Jun-ho hesitated, his gaze flicking to the deck as if debating how much to say. “Yeah,” he admitted. “I’ve been on this trail for a while now, and there’s always been this… shadow. People who seem determined to keep me from finding the truth. At first, I thought it was just bad luck, but now I’m starting to think it’s deliberate.”

Her expression hardened, her free hand gripping the railing. “You think someone’s trying to stop you?”

Jun-ho nodded, his lips pressing into a thin line. “I don’t just think it. I know it. Someone doesn’t want me getting close to the island. And I can’t shake the feeling that whoever it is, they know more about my brother’s disappearance than they’re letting on.”

The two of them exchanged a tense look, the weight of their shared suspicions settling over them.

Unbeknownst to either of them, Captain Park stood below deck, his sharp eyes scanning over a map spread out on the table. He traced a line with his finger, marking the boat’s course. In his other hand, he held a small, black device a secure line to the Front Man.

The distorted voice of the Front Man came through the receiver. “Report.”

Captain Park’s jaw tightened as he spoke. “We’re en route to the island,” he said. “Everything’s proceeding as planned. But there’s a complication.”

The voice on the other end was cold and unyielding. “Explain.”

Captain Park glanced at the staircase leading up to the deck, his expression dark. “One of the passengers. Jun-ho. he’s been asking too many questions. He’s getting closer to the truth.”

There was a pause, and then the voice replied, “Keep him away from the island. Whatever it takes. Do not let him uncover anything. Understood?”

“Yes,” Captain Park said, his tone flat. “Understood.”

As he ended the call, his gaze hardened, and he turned back to the map. For years, he had been following orders, playing his part in the larger scheme. His loyalty to the Front Man was unwavering, but there were moments brief, fleeting moments when he questioned the morality of his actions.

Above deck, Your twin and Jun-ho continued to talk, oblivious to the storm brewing below.

“We’ll figure this out,” she said firmly, her determination cutting through the doubt. “Whatever it takes, we’ll find them. Your brother, my sister… we’ll get to the bottom of this.”

Jun-ho nodded, a faint but genuine smile breaking through his usually guarded expression. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “We will.”

But even as the two of them reaffirmed their resolve, Captain Park stood in the shadows, his loyalty to the Front Man ensuring that their journey would be anything but smooth.

The group had gathered once again in the corner of the dormitory, their voices low as Gi-hun laid out the next steps for the rebellion. The plan was delicate balancing timing, coordination, and the element of surprise. Everyone leaned in, listening intently, their expressions tense as they hung onto every word.

Young-il, standing with his arms crossed and an air of confidence that didn’t match the room’s energy, suddenly spoke up. “I’ve been thinking,” he began, his voice cutting through the conversation, “what if instead of splitting up like Gi-hun said, we all rush the guards at once? Overwhelm them with numbers. They won’t expect us to come at them head-on.”

The room went quiet for a beat, everyone glancing around to gauge the reaction. You let out a loud, exasperated groan, throwing your head back dramatically before fixing Young-il with a pointed glare.

“Seriously?” you said, your voice heavy with annoyance. “That’s your brilliant plan? Rushing the guards like a bunch of idiots?” You crossed your arms, leaning back against the wall. “It’s like you’re trying to find the fastest way to get us all killed. Do you even think before you open your mouth?”

Young-il’s jaw tightened, his expression hardening as he stared you down. “I’m just trying to contribute,” he snapped.

You rolled your eyes, clearly unimpressed. “Contribute? The only thing you’re contributing is a higher body count for their side. Do you ever stop to consider how stupid some of your ideas are? It’s better if you just keep your mouth shut, honestly.”

The group exchanged awkward glances, unsure whether to intervene or let the two of you go at it. Even Gi-hun seemed at a loss, his lips pressed into a thin line as he tried to keep the discussion on track.

Young-il took a step closer to you, his voice rising. “And what’s your plan, then? Since you’re so much smarter than everyone else.”

“Oh, I have a plan,” you shot back, your tone dripping with sarcasm. “And it doesn’t involve running into gunfire like a lunatic. But hey, if you’re so eager to play hero, we could always sacrifice you instead.”

That earned a few stifled chuckles from the group, though most of them quickly looked away when Young-il’s glare swept over them.

“Why Sacrifice me?” he repeated, his tone incredulous.

You smirked, leaning forward slightly as if daring him to argue. “Yeah, why not? Think about it, you’re loud, stubborn, and completely disposable. Perfect for drawing attention while the rest of us get actual work done. The only thing you’re good at is when you’re eating, so unless you plan on shoving food into the guards’ mouths to slow them down, I don’t see how you’re useful.”

A ripple of laughter broke through the tension this time, though Gi-hun quickly raised his hand to quiet the group. “Alright, that’s enough,” he said firmly, stepping between you and Young-il before things could escalate further.

You huffed, crossing your arms again as you leaned back against the wall. “I’m just saying,” you muttered under your breath, “some of us are trying to survive this, not get everyone killed.”

Young-il glared at you one last time before retreating to his corner, muttering something under his breath that you couldn’t quite hear.

Gi-hun sighed, rubbing his temples as he turned back to the group. “Can we focus, please?” he said, his tone exasperated. “We don’t have time for this. We need a plan that’s smart, coordinated, and gives us the best chance of surviving. If anyone has constructive suggestions, now’s the time to share them.”

The group murmured their agreement, shifting uncomfortably as they tried to refocus on the task at hand. You glanced at Young-il out of the corner of your eye, catching the frustration etched into his face.

“Good talk,” you muttered sarcastically under your breath, earning a few stifled smiles from the group.

Despite the tension, the conversation moved forward, though the air between you and Young-il remained thick with unspoken animosity. And as Gi-hun continued to lay out the rebellion’s details, you couldn’t help but wonder if Young-il’s presence in the group would end up being more trouble than it was worth.

The group was gathered in the dimly lit corner of the dormitory once again, the tension thick in the air as the weight of the upcoming rebellion loomed over everyone. Gi-hun had been explaining some of the risks they might face, but you could tell the group’s morale was shaky. Everyone knew the next game dubbed the “Special Game” was going to be brutal. If they wanted to stand a chance at survival, they needed a strategy, and they needed it fast.

You leaned forward, sitting cross-legged on the floor, your sharp eyes scanning the group. “Alright, listen up,” you said, your voice cutting through the hushed murmurs. “I’ve got an idea.”

Everyone turned to you, their expressions a mix of curiosity and desperation. Even Young-il, leaning against the wall with his usual smug look, seemed mildly interested, though his arms remained crossed in defiance.

You took a deep breath and began laying out your plan, your voice steady and confident. “When the Special Game begins, we already know what’s going to happen. ‘Team O’ are going to trying to eliminate us. Which is known as ‘weeding out the weakest,’ or whatever twisted logic they call it i. But we’re not going to play into their hands.”

The group leaned in closer, hanging on your every word. Even Gi-hun looked impressed by how quickly you’d taken control of the conversation.

“We’ll start by hiding under the beds,” you continued, gesturing around the room. “It’s not about being scared or weak. it’s about strategy. If we stay out in the open, we’re sitting ducks. Hiding under the beds, we’ll have the element of surprise. The soldiers will come in, guns blazing, stopping special game. and checking if the players are dead, But that’s when we make our move.”

A ripple of understanding passed through the group as they began nodding, murmuring in agreement.

“When they start shooting at the players, we’ll spring out and catch them off guard,” you said, your tone sharp and determined. “We’ll fight back, disarm them, and take their guns. Once we’ve got their weapons, it’s game over for them. They’ll realize they’re outnumbered, and most of them will retreat.”

You paused, letting your words sink in before adding, “But there’ll always be one one soldier who refuses to give up, who thinks he can be a hero. That’s the one we’ll corner. We’ll force him to cooperate, make him take us to the control room. And that’s where we’ll find the leader of the mask.”

The room was silent for a moment, everyone processing the boldness of your plan. Then, one by one, they began nodding, murmuring their approval. Even Gi-hun gave you a small, approving smile.

“That’s a solid plan,” Geum-ja said, her voice steady.

“Yeah, it could actually work,” Yong-sik agreed, his expression brightening with hope.

The murmurs grew louder as more players voiced their agreement, a newfound sense of determination spreading through the group.

You smirked, leaning back slightly and crossing your arms. Your eyes landed on Young-il, who was glaring at you from his spot against the wall. His expression was a mixture of annoyance and begrudging respect, though he clearly wasn’t ready to admit it.

“See?” you said, your tone dripping with mock sweetness. “Everyone loves my idea better than yours. That’s what you call woman power.” You gave him a pointed look, your smirk widening. “And be happy, Young-il. That I didn’t sacrifice you.”

A few members of the group chuckled at your jab, though they quickly stifled their laughter when Young-il’s glare swept over them.

“Don’t get too cocky,” Young-il muttered, his tone low and defensive.

You shrugged, unbothered by his reaction. “I’m just saying,” you replied, your voice light but laced with sarcasm. “Maybe next time you’ll think twice before suggesting one of your dumb plans.”

Gi-hun stepped in before things could escalate, his hands raised in a calming gesture. “Alright, let’s not waste energy arguing,” he said, his voice firm. “Y/N’s plan is solid, and if we stick to it, we have a real chance of turning the tide. Let’s focus on preparing and making sure everyone knows their role.”

The group nodded, their focus returning to the task at hand. Even Young-il seemed to begrudgingly accept the plan, though the tension between you two remained palpable.

As the meeting continued, you couldn’t help but feel a small sense of satisfaction. For once, the group was united, and your plan had given them a glimmer of hope. You just hoped that when the time came, they’d all be ready to act and that Young-il wouldn’t find a way to screw it up.

The sun was beginning to set, painting the horizon in shades of orange and pink as your twin and Jun-ho stood at the edge of the boat, the waves crashing gently against the hull. The conversation between them had grown more personal over the past few hours, their shared goal of finding their missing siblings acting as an unspoken bond that pulled them closer.

She leaned against the railing, staring out at the water, her expression distant. “You know,”she began softly, “it’s been years, but I’ve never stopped looking. Every day, I wake up thinking that today could be the day I find her. My twin… my other half.”

Jun-ho, standing beside her, nodded in quiet understanding. “I know exactly what you mean,” he said, his voice low. “When my brother went missing, it felt like a part of me disappeared with him. I’ve spent every waking moment since trying to figure out what happened to him. It’s like… until I find him, I can’t let myself move on.”

She glanced over at Jun-ho, her lips curving into a small, bittersweet smile. “It’s strange, isn’t it? How someone’s absence can take up so much space in your life.”

Jun-ho returned the smile, though there was a hint of sadness in his eyes. “Yeah. It’s like everything else fades into the background, and all that matters is finding them.”

They stood in comfortable silence for a moment, the sound of the ocean filling the space between them. Then Jun-ho spoke again, his tone lighter this time. “You know, once we find the island and you find your twin and I find my brother maybe we should celebrate.”

She raised an eyebrow, glancing at Jun-ho with a curious look. “Celebrate how?”

Jun-ho grinned, a rare flash of playfulness breaking through his usually serious demeanor. “How about dinner? You and me, somewhere far away from all this madness. A real meal, no rations, no guards, no games. Just good food, good company, and no stress for once.”

She let out a soft chuckle, shaking her head. “You’re already planning dinner, huh? We haven’t even found the island yet.”

“Hey,” Jun-ho said with a shrug, his grin widening. “It’s called optimism. You can’t survive something like this without a little bit of hope.”

She smiled, her gaze softening as she looked back at the horizon. “You’ve got a point,” she admitted. “And honestly? A real meal does sound nice. Something to remind us that there’s still life outside of all this.”

Jun-ho nodded, his expression turning more serious. “Exactly. Once this is over, we deserve to have something to look forward to. Something to remind us why we’re fighting so hard to get through this.”

She glanced at him, a hint of gratitude in her eyes. “You’re not bad at this whole motivational speech thing, you know that?”

Jun-ho laughed quietly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Don’t get used to it. I’m usually more of a ‘keep to myself’ kind of guy.”

“Well,” she said, a small smile playing on her lips, “I’ll hold you to that dinner, then. But only if we both make it out of this alive.”

Jun-ho extended his hand, his expression serious but with a glimmer of determination. “Deal. We both make it out, and dinner’s on me.”

She took his hand, shaking it firmly. “Deal.”

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting the boat in shadows, the two of them stood side by side, their shared resolve strengthening their bond. Though the journey ahead was uncertain and fraught with danger, the promise of a simple dinner a moment of normalcy in a world of chaos gave them both a sliver of hope to hold onto.

The dormitory had fallen into a heavy silence as everyone began settling in for the night. The faint sound of the guards’ footsteps echoed in the distance, blending with the rhythmic hum of the facility’s ventilation system. Players shuffled to their assigned areas, whispering final words to each other before pulling up their thin blankets. Despite the stillness, there was an undercurrent of tension a quiet storm brewing as everyone braced themselves for what was to come.

You sat on your bed, leaning against the cold wall as you absentmindedly toyed with a loose thread on your sleeve. The rebellion was so close now, the plans coming together perfectly. But the weight of everything your role, the deception, the risks hung heavy on your chest. You couldn’t afford any slip-ups. Not now.

As you were lost in thought, you noticed a shadow moving out of the corner of your eye. You didn’t need to look up to know who it was. Moments later, Young-il appeared beside you, his expression smug as he casually leaned against the edge of the bed.

“Marriage power,” he murmured with a sly smirk, his voice low enough that no one else would hear.

You glanced up at him, one eyebrow raised. “What?”

“That’s what I’m calling it,” he said, his smirk widening. “You called it ‘woman power’ earlier, but let’s be real—our teamwork, our strategy… that’s what’s really keeping this rebellion together. It’s marriage power.”

You rolled your eyes, though a small smirk tugged at the corners of your lips. “You’re insufferable,” you muttered, shaking your head.

Young-il chuckled softly, lowering his voice even further. “Do you think one of the soldiers is going to reveal themselves during the rebellion?”

You sighed, leaning forward slightly as you considered the question. “You know it’s happened before,” you said quietly. “It’s happened multiple times. And if it happens again, you know what we do.” Your eyes locked with his, a steely determination in your gaze. “We take them out, no hesitation. But we also need to be smart about it. We have to make sure that we have soldiers securing the control rooms and all of the places.”

Young-il nodded, his expression serious now as he listened intently. You continued, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve been thinking… during the rebellion, you could fake your death. It’ll throw everyone off, especially Gi-hun and his team. They won’t see it coming.”

A spark of intrigue flickered in Young-il’s eyes. “Faking my death, huh?”

You nodded, leaning closer. “Once everyone thinks you’re gone, you’ll slip away and change into your normal clothing and wear the mask. Then you’ll have the perfect opportunity to get to Jung-bae. You can eliminate him as the Frontman, and no one will suspect a thing.”

Young-il’s smirk returned, a dark glint in his eyes. “And Gi-hun?” he asked, tilting his head slightly.

“Gi-hun will be heartbroken,” you said without hesitation, your tone cold and calculated. “Jung-bae is his best friend. When Jung-bae dies, the guilt is going to eat him alive just like it did when he first joined the games back in 2020.”

Young-il let out a low chuckle, his smirk widening. “You’re ruthless, you know that?”

You shrugged, leaning back against the wall. “It’s not about being ruthless. It’s about surviving. And if Gi-hun’s guilt can be used against him, we’d be stupid not to take advantage of it.”

Young-il’s gaze lingered on you for a moment, his smirk softening into something more genuine. “I wish I could kiss you,” he murmured, his voice so low it was almost drowned out by the hum of the room. “I miss kissing you.”

Your expression softened for a brief moment, and you glanced around to make sure no one was paying attention. “Don’t worry,” you said softly. “Soon, this will all be over. And when it is, we’ll have all the time in the world.”

Young-il nodded, his smirk returning as a hint of mischief danced in his eyes. “Gi-hun and his little team will regret ever messing with us,” he said, his voice dark. “The Frontman and his wife aren’t just players. they’re the real architects of this game. And the games will continue. No one else is stronger, smarter, or more cunning than us.”

You allowed yourself a small, conspiratorial smile, nodding in agreement. “Exactly. And when this is over, no one will even remember Gi-hun or his rebellion. The games will stay, and we’ll be the ones pulling the strings.”

Young-il straightened up, his confidence radiating from him as he cast one final glance around the room. “Soon,” he murmured, more to himself than to you. “Very soon.”

With that, he slipped away into his bed, leaving you alone with your thoughts. The rebellion was coming, and so was the final act of your carefully crafted plan. All that was left now was to wait for the perfect moment to strike.

[plotbunnysyndrome]

More Than Honour

Chapter 6: A Chair Too Many

Anthony Bridgerton x fem!reader

Introduction: Every family has unspoken rules at breakfast — who pours the tea, who tells the first joke, and most importantly, who gets the chair next to you. This morning, someone didn’t get the memo. Because there’s a new face at the table, a chair too many pulled up to the Bridgertons’ breakfast. And while everyone’s smiling politely, one very specific Viscount looks like he’s already lost his appetite.

The morning after the ball feels like the air itself has been still, as if the world is holding its breath, waiting for something. The drawing room is warm, bathed in soft morning light, and the Bridgerton family has gathered for breakfast, their chatter light and familiar. You find yourself at ease here, a gentle calm settling over you as you listen to their teasing and their laughter.

Anthony, obviously, is the center of it. His attention last night, to your amusement, was on Edwina Sharma, the newest diamond of the season. There’s a certain satisfaction in knowing that the mighty Anthony Bridgerton has shifted focus to someone else for once.

“You do realize, Anthony, that Edwina is no more a challenge than your usual pursuits?” Daphne teases, her eyes dancing with mischief.

“And yet she’s the one with the diamond,” Eloise chimes in, a hint of sarcasm in her tone. “Careful, Anthony, or you’ll find the diamond a little too…polished.”

There’s a shared laughter in the room, and you can’t help but smile at their camaraderie. But then, as if to ease the teasing, Violet looks at you, curiosity glimmering in her eyes. “What about you, dear? You were quite taken with Lord Blackbourne last evening. I noticed him hovering nearby… You seemed to enjoy his company.”

The family turns to you expectantly. You feel the teasing gaze of the Bridgertons fall upon you like a gentle weight.

You keep your response playful, yet thoughtful, giving a small smile. “Lord Blackbourne, you say? He is a…compelling conversationalist.” You glance around the room, meeting their eyes, letting the mystery of it all linger a little longer.

There's a knowing look shared between the siblings. “Compelling, indeed,” Daphne remarks. “He’s a man who knows to make an impression.”

“He does seem to know how to make an entrance,” Anthony said, voice smooth as ever. “One might even call it…strategic.”

Before you can respond, a maid enters, her presence cutting through the moment like a breath of fresh air. “My Lady,” she says with a soft curtsy. “Lord Blackbourne is here to call on Miss Y/N.”

At the mention of his name, the room shifts. The teasing is no longer aimed at you; it’s turned in the direction of Lord Blackbourne. And just like that, a new layer of the game begins.

A few moments later, Lord Blackbourne strides into the room, effortlessly commanding attention as he does. His dark eyes scan the room with an air of quiet confidence before settling on you. A playful smirk dances across his lips as he makes his way to your side.

“Well, well, if it isn’t the Bridgerton family in their natural habitat. I must say, you are all as charming as the rumours suggest,” he says smoothly, his voice carrying warmth and wit. “But Miss Y/N—now there’s someone who truly stands out.”

He winks at you, and you can feel the gentle pull of his attention.

Violet, as always the gracious hostess, offers him a seat. “Lord Blackbourne, you honour us with your visit. I trust you enjoyed the ball last evening?”

“Quite satisfactory,” he replies smoothly, taking a seat. His eyes glint as he glances toward you again, his smile deepening. “Though I must admit, the true delight of the evening was in the company of Miss Y/N.”

The Bridgerton siblings exchange knowing looks, their amusement palpable. Anthony, who has been relatively quiet, narrows his gaze ever so slightly, the slightest shift in his demeanor that’s easy to miss but impossible to ignore. The atmosphere changes, a subtle shift from playful to something else, something charged, but for now, still veiled beneath the surface.

“So,” Eloise says, leaning forward with an almost mischievous grin, “Lord Blackbourne, you and Y/N seemed to enjoy one another’s company last night. Will we be seeing more of you two together?”

Lord Blackbourne chuckles, clearly enjoying the lighthearted banter. “I do enjoy a good conversation, Miss Bridgerton. And Miss Y/N is excellent company. I do hope I’ll have more chances to…indulge in such delightful exchanges.”

You smile, your eyes meeting his, and for a moment, it’s just the two of you—until Anthony clears his throat, and the room feels more aware of the slight tension hanging between them.

“I’m sure,” Anthony says, his voice even, but his eyes locked on Lord Blackbourne. There’s a subtle challenge in his tone, an unspoken remark that flits between them.

“You seem to be very familiar with Miss Y/N already,” Anthony continues, his gaze still fixed. “It’s quite…impressive.”

Lord Blackbourne doesn’t miss a beat. “It’s hard to ignore someone with such captivating charm, don’t you think? But then again, one could say the same about the…diamond of the season.” He glances at Anthony with an air of feigned innocence, but the challenge is clear.

The room grows quieter as Anthony’s demeanor shifts, becoming more rigid. His jaw tightens imperceptibly, but he’s too well-mannered to let his irritation show outright.

“Well, as we all know,” Anthony says, his voice smooth but laced with a touch of something sharp, “the diamond shines brightest when it’s properly courted, doesn’t it?”

You can feel the undercurrent of tension, and before it escalates further, you step in, your voice light but firm. “Now, now, gentlemen,” you tease. “Let’s not forget, we’re all friends here. We mustn’t spoil that with…misunderstandings.”

Your words are a soft nudge, a gentle reminder that while there may be tension, the game they’re playing isn’t so easily won. And you make sure both of them know it.

Lord Blackbourne, ever the smooth talker, adds with a smile, “Indeed. And rest assured, my intentions are as clear as they come. If I were to pursue Miss Y/N, it would be with the utmost seriousness.”

Anthony’s eyes narrow slightly, but before he can respond, the conversation shifts again, this time to something lighter. You smile at Lord Blackbourne, the atmosphere between you two still charged but now softened by your words.

Later that day

The door to Anthony’s study creaks softly as you enter, the space cloaked in the quiet of the early afternoon. The light streaming through the window is muted, casting long shadows across the room. He stands by the fireplace, hands clasped behind his back, his posture stiff, as if preparing for something he doesn’t want to face.

You hesitate for a moment, gathering your thoughts, before crossing the room. “Anthony,” you begin, your voice steady but laced with an edge of concern. “I’d like to have a word with you.”

He doesn’t turn to face you right away, but the slight stiffening of his shoulders tells you he’s aware of the shift in the air. Finally, after what seems like an eternity, he turns, meeting your gaze. “What is it?” His voice is neutral, but there’s an undercurrent of tension you know all too well.

You step closer, the distance between you shrinking in more ways than one. “I’ve noticed…your behaviour toward Lord Blackbourne,” you say carefully, keeping your tone light but pointed. “It’s been uncharacteristically rude. And if I’m to be candid, I don’t quite understand why.”

For a moment, Anthony has a flicker of surprise crossing his face before he masks it with a tight-lipped expression. He runs a hand through his hair, a nervous habit you know well, and sighs. “It’s nothing personal,” he mutters, though his voice betrays a hint of something deeper. “I simply don’t trust him.”

“You don’t trust him?” you repeat, arching an eyebrow. “That’s hardly a reason to behave as you have, don’t you think?”

Anthony’s jaw tightens, and his eyes narrow ever so slightly. “You don’t understand. He’s…he’s not like us. He’s not someone you should be entertaining.” His words hang in the air, heavy with unspoken meaning.

You take a step forward, meeting his gaze head-on. “And what do you mean by that, exactly?” you ask, your voice soft but sharp, challenging him to elaborate.

He hesitates, clearly grappling with his emotions. Then, in a quieter tone, he adds, “He’s not the kind of man who—” He cuts himself off, shaking his head. “I can’t explain it to you, not like this. I just don’t think he’s right for you.”

A pang of frustration wells up inside you, but you swallow it down. You know there’s more to this than he’s letting on, and his cryptic words only fuel the fire. “You’re assuming a great deal about someone you don’t even know, Anthony. And frankly, it’s not your place to decide who I should or should not entertain.” You pause, allowing the weight of your words to settle. “If you’re truly my friend, then I expect you to respect my choices.”

His gaze softens at the mention of friendship, but it’s fleeting. A moment of vulnerability, quickly masked. “I do respect you,” he says, his voice quieter now, “but I’m trying to protect you.”

“Protect me from what?” you ask, your voice gentle yet firm. “Lord Blackbourne has shown me nothing but kindness, while you…” You stop yourself, not wanting to push too far, but the frustration is evident in your voice. “You act as if you have some right to dictate who I spend my time with.”

He winces, as if struck but the force of your words. There’s a moment of silence, thick and heavy, before he steps toward you. “I never meant to upset you,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. “I just…I don’t want you to get hurt. Not by someone who can’t see you for what you truly are.”

You let out a breath, the sting of his words still lingering in your chest. “I know you care, Anthony. But that doesn’t give you the right to control my actions. I am perfectly capable of deciding who is worthy of my time.”

He meets your gaze then, his eyes dark with something you can’t quite decipher. “I know you are,” he admits, his voice low, but there’s something almost imperceptible in his tone—a flicker of regret? Of longing? “But sometimes, I can’t help but want to protect you from things I know won’t end well.”

You remain silent for a moment, considering his words. Your bond, your friendship, is too important to let it falter because of misplaced concern. “Anthony,” you finally say, your voice quieter, softer. “You have to trust me. Trust that I can make my own decisions.”

He nods slowly, though his expression remains tense. “I will try. I just…I just want what’s best for you.”

“And I'll decide what that is,” you reply, offering him a small but genuine smile.

There’s a long pause as Anthony searches your face, as if trying to gauge your sincerity. After a beat, he nods, though it’s reluctant. “I suppose that's fair.”

You both stand there for a moment, the weight of the conversation lingering, but the tension begins to ebb away. The friendship, though strained, hasn’t broken. Not yet, anyway.

“Thank you for being honest with me,” you say, finally breaking the silence. “But you’ll have to trust me when I say I know what I’m doing.”

“I’ll try,” Anthony responds, “butI won’t be silent if I think you’re making a mistake.”

You smirk slightly, crossing your arms. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

You give him one last look—a silent truce, but not surrender—before you turn and walk out of the study, the echo of your footsteps a reminder that this conversation is far from over.

Taglist: @bollzinurmouth @drewstarkeysrightarm