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meadowfics · 4 months ago

Text

no mercy

yandere!cho sang-woo x f!reader

one of the players grows obsessed with you since you were similar to him

warnings: yandere!sangwoo, reader/you have questionable morals since you commit a huge betrayal due to a strong sense of survival. mentions of death. age gap relationship, since reader is intended to be between 20-23 while sang woo is 46. changed plot from season one. the original character who is not reader is player 102.

you never thought you'd end up here.

your eyes tired, wearing a green tracksuit, number 111 stitched onto your chest like a mark of your desperation.

the scent in the room was thick with fear, tension, and unspoken threats.

everyone here had something in common: debt, misery, nothing much left to lose.

you? your debt wasn’t from reckless gambling or bad business deals like most of these other people here.

yours was from surviving.

years of hospital stays, surgeries, medications.

your childhood was spent in the hospitals, making sure that your body could grow healthily.

there were bills that kept stacking up even after you were finally healthy.

they said you were lucky to have made it out alive, but now you owed more money than you could ever pay back.

so when the salesman offered you a chance, you took it.

you didn’t suffer through years of hospitals, pain, and fear just to come here and die in some twisted game.

you were going to survive. no matter what it took.

the first night in the dormitory, you kept to yourself.

somehow, she found you..

player 102.

hot pink hair, too bright for this place, too carefree for someone stuck in a death game.

"hey, you look miserable,"

she plopped down beside you, stretching her legs out.

you didn’t respond.

just kept your arms crossed, watching the others.

"so, we’re both young. everyone else here is nearly middle aged, I think we should stick together,"

she continued, ignoring your silence.

"not a fan of getting stabbed in my sleep."

you eyed her for a moment before shrugging.

"fine."

you didn’t trust her, not yet.

she was right...it was better to have someone.

however, there was another player keeping a lookout on you.

player 218. sang-woo.

the man who kept his expression unreadable but watched everything.

at first, you didn’t notice him.

however, he noticed you. immediately.

you weren’t like the others.

you weren’t crying, begging, or making desperate alliances.

you were calculating. quiet. smart.

and he liked that.

before the second game is when you knew that 218 existed.

you overheard player 067 whispering to 218, the words

"melting sugar" slipping through the cracks.

your brain clicked instantly.

dalgona.

so when the masked men led you into a room filled with symbols

circle, star, umbrella, triangle.

you didn’t hesitate.

you immediately walked toward the triangle line, yanking 102 with you.

"what the hell? why so confident?"

she asked, letting you drag her along.

"just trust me."

sang-woo saw you move first.

his lips twitched.

you knew.

not a second of hesitation.

not a moment of doubt.

you had figured it out just like him.

he almost smirked when he saw you pull your ally along without question.

good girl, he thought.

you know how to survive.

he didn’t take his eyes off you as you worked on your honeycomb.

you handled the needle too well.

precise. careful. controlled.

when your triangle popped out perfectly, you even gave 102 a little smirk.

"told you,"

you murmured to her.

sang-woo clenched his jaw, barely paying attention to his own work.

you were dangerous.

smart.

capable.

and he wanted you.

he watched the way your fingers moved, steady despite the sweat on your skin.

the way your lashes lowered when you focused.

the way your lips parted slightly as you concentrated.

you had no idea he was studying you like prey.

"don’t worry, y/n," he thought.

"i’ll protect you."

"i’ll make sure you survive. you don’t even need to know."

because in sang-woo’s mind, you were already his.

back in the dorms, you and 102, who turns out to be named anya, sat on a shared bed, splitting the bland, dry rice and kimchi they gave you.

it wasn’t much, but it was enough to keep you alive.

"so, what brought you here?"

you asked, poking at your food with the tiny spoon they handed out.

anya stretched her legs out, sighing dramatically.

"oh, you know. influencers, shopping sprees, lavish trips. that kind of stupidity."

you raised an eyebrow.

"influencer?"

she scoffed.

"was. past tense. brand deals, sponsorships, all that shit. i thought i was rich when i really wasn’t. I got "cancelled" for some stupid shit and now I am here!"

she rambled for nearly thirty minutes, talking about her reckless spending, the money she blew through, the fake friends who ditched her when she went broke.

you let her talk, not minding the conversation.

she was easy to listen to, and at least she had a sense of humor about her downfall.

she turned the question on you.

"what about you, y/n?"

you took a small bite of rice, hesitating for a second before answering.

"hospital bills."

anya paused mid-chew, glancing at you. then, she nodded.

"ohhh okay."

something inside you twisted. maybe you should have kept that to yourself.

maybe that was something she didn’t need to know.

did she see it as a weakness?

did she think you were fragile?

you didn’t know her true intentions yet.

from across the room, sang-woo was wondering the same thing.

he leaned against the metal bunk, arms crossed, eyes sharp as he studied you and anya.

he didn’t trust her, not when she was getting that close to you.

she seemed harmless, but so did a lot of people before they revealed their true colors.

the girl had bright pink hair.

she didn’t exactly scream dangerous.

still, he didn’t like how easily you opened up to her.

as gi-hun talked to play 001 beside him, he looked ahead at you.

anya was the first to notice him watching.

she smirked, leaning in slightly.

"don’t freak out, but that player has been staring you down since we got back from dalgona."

you frowned, confused.

"who?"

anya subtly tilted her head toward player 218.

you followed her gaze and met his eyes.

sang-woo was staring right at you.

the first thing that crossed your mind?

he's sexy.

it wasn’t just that.

he wasn’t like other people who got caught staring and looked away quickly.

he held eye contact, unbothered, as if he was waiting to see what you would do.

only when player 456 called his name did he finally turn away.

anya snorted.

"oh no. you’ve got that look in your eye."

you blinked.

"what look?"

"the ‘i think he’s hot’ look."

she grinned, wiggling her eyebrows.

"don’t fall for it, y/n. he might stab you in your sleep."

you giggled, nudging her.

"shut up!"

even as you joked, you could still feel the heat in your face.

from across the room, sang-woo nearly smirked.

he had seen the way you looked at him.

he was going to make sure you kept looking at him.

when it was lights out, you lay there, staring at the dark ceiling, listening to the slow, steady breaths of the other players.

the dorm was eerily quiet, except for the occasional rustle of someone shifting in their sleep.

beside you, anya was curled up, her pink hair spilling over the pillow.

the girl's breathing was soft and even.

peaceful.

untouched by the paranoia that clawed at your mind.

you waited, making sure she was truly asleep before you carefully pushed yourself up from the bed.

this was stupid.

you knew it.

you didn’t care.

moving quickly and quietly, you weaved through the rows of bunk beds, walking across the open floor and walking through bunks until you reached the other side of the dormitory.

you knelt down in front of player 218’s bed.

sang-woo’s eyes were closed, but the moment you got close, you could feel it...he was awake.

sangwoo's breathing was too steady, his posture too tense, as if he had been expecting something.

his eyes flickered open.

and the second he saw you, he sat up.

"sorry if i woke you up,"

you whispered.

he stared at you, his face unreadable.

then, his lips twitched just slightly.

"no, you’re not."

you swallowed, caught off guard by how easily he read you.

"i just… i just wanted to talk to you."

"can’t sleep?"

his voice was low, smooth.

you shook your head.

he studied you for a second, then shifted, making space beside him.

without thinking, you scooted closer, sitting down next to him on the bed.

both of you sat in silence, eyes scanning the dark dormitory, watching the scattered bodies of sleeping players.

"what brings you here?"

he asked, his tone casual, but his eyes sharp.

you hesitated, already regretting your answer before it even left your mouth.

"hospital bills."

as soon as you said it, you cringed.

you had made the same mistake again.

telling people things they didn’t need to know.

you had no idea what sang-woo’s intentions were, no idea what kind of person he really was.

when you glanced at him, there was nothing threatening in his expression.

he nodded, and his voice was calm when he said,

"debt."

you nodded in return. most people were here for that.

suddenly, a wave of exhaustion hit you, making your body feel heavier.

you let out a soft yawn, rubbing your arm.

sang-woo noticed immediately.

"you should get some sleep,"

he said.

you sighed, not wanting to go back just yet.

"i don’t know if i can."

he thought for a moment, then said,

"i’ll walk you back."

you looked at him, surprised.

the idea of him walking with you made you feel… safe.

some kind of invisible shield was around you just by being near him.

you nodded, and together, you slipped back through the darkness.

when you reached your bed, you laid down beside anya, adjusting under the thin blanket.

sang-woo crouched beside you, his presence lingering.

you blinked up at him sleepily.

"you don’t have to stay."

but he did.

he stayed for another half hour, sitting silently by your bed, watching.

making sure no one tried anything stupid.

making sure no one touched his girl.

later on after the tug of war game, something inside you shifted.

the feeling of your body being pulled toward death, the sheer force it took to survive, the way you had to trust complete strangers just to stay alive

it made you realize something.

trust was temporary.

survival was everything.

you could feel some of your morals slipping, piece by piece.

it was only a matter of time before trust meant nothing.

anya didn’t seem to take the same lesson from it.

she was freaking out.

you noticed how she started muttering under her breath, shaking more often, picking at her nails until they bled.

she wasn’t built for this.

sang-woo? he was the opposite.

cold. calculating. calm.

you found yourself sticking closer to him, not entirely sure why, but knowing he was the safest option to be around.

when it was time for the glass bridge game, all hell broke loose.

you were in front of sang-woo, anya was in front of you, and some random man was in front of anya.

the tension was suffocating.

one by one, players were screaming, falling to their deaths, bodies smacking against the floor below like insects against a windshield.

the only ones left were 456, 067, sang-woo, you, anya, and the man at the front.

the man was trying to inspect the glass, claiming he could tell which one was weak, taking his sweet time.

the clock was running out.

three minutes left.

anya snapped, her voice sharp, full of panic.

"can you take any fucking longer?"

the man turned back, offended, but didn’t say anything.

two minutes, thirty seconds.

finally, he made his move.

he chose wrong.

the man's scream echoed, his body disappeared into the void below, glass shards flying.

"all of that for nothing,"

player 067 muttered.

you nodded, feeling your heart hammer against your ribs.

now, it was anya’s turn.

she froze.

the slavic's hands were shaking, her breath coming out in sharp, uneven gasps.

you tried to keep her calm.

"anya, it’s okay, you’ll pick the right one."

she didn’t move.

sang-woo suddenly stepped onto your glass tile.

your breath caught in your throat.

for a split second, you thought.. was he going to push me off?

no.

instead, he pressed himself right behind you, his body warm, solid, steady.

the man's big hand found your arm, gripping it gently, keeping you in place as you both watched anya.

"anya, come on!"

your patience was wearing thin.

anya sucked in a shaky breath, eyes darting between the two tiles in front of her.

"i’m sorry, i’m trying to guess."

two minutes.

finally, she jumped.

the right one.

everyone let out a breath of relief as they followed onto the next safe glass ahead.

except sang-woo.

he stayed right behind you onto the next glass.

you smirked slightly at the way his body heat pressed into yours.

one row left.

you looked at anya.

"okay, you got it right last time, now do it again."

you hear player 456 from the far back yell.

she was trembling, sweat dripping down her forehead.

"i don’t—i don’t know."

one minute, thirty seconds.

"anya, pick one, goddammit!"

your voice cracked, frustration leaking through.

"i’m sorry,"

she whispered, eyes darting between the last two panels.

one minute.

something inside you snapped.

you couldn’t wait anymore.

sang-woo shifted slightly, sensing it.

you turned, moving him off your back slightly.

then, you did something terrible.

you jumped onto the same glass tile as anya.

the russian's breath hitched, her whole body going rigid as you stood right behind her.

"anya, i’m sorry. forgive me."

she barely had time to turn her head before you shoved her forward.

she hit the glass.

it shattered.

anya's scream pierced through the air, her arms flailing as she plunged onto the ground below.

the pink hair was the last thing you saw before she disappeared.

you didn’t even breathe before hopping onto the correct glass, your heart hammering against your ribs.

twenty seconds left.

everyone else followed...sang-woo, 067, 456.

all of you had survived.

when you turned back, searching for any sign of anya’s body, it was too far down.

you couldn’t process it before—

the entire bridge exploded.

glass shards flew in every direction, slicing through your skin like razor blades.

you shielded your face, feeling the sting of cuts across your body, blood trickling down your arms.

everything blurred.

you felt yourself stumble, someone’s hand grabbing your waist, holding you upright.

sang-woo.

his grip was firm, keeping you from falling.

when 456 and 067 walked ahead, sangwoo stayed beside you.

the man's lips were close to your ear, his breath steady while yours was ragged.

"you did what you had to do."

your hands were shaking.

anya was gone.

the girl who had slept beside you.

the girl who had joked with you.

you pushed her to her death.

the worst part?

you didn’t regret it.

by the end of the last game.. the dorms were empty now.

just you and sang-woo.

no more screams.

no more bloodstained floors.

no more players, just two survivors standing in the aftermath of hell.

you had won.

you both had.

the massive room that once held hundreds of people was now eerily silent.

the beds, the sheets, the steel walls.. it all looked the same, but it felt different.

everyone else was dead.

you turned, facing sang-woo.

the man's expression was unreadable, always was.

the man's eyes locked on you like he was memorizing this moment.

"so," you exhaled, voice hoarse.

"we made it."

he nodded.

"we did."

"and we split the money."

the words left your lips, but something about them felt off.

sang-woo agreed.

he had said it himself.

you would split the money, go your separate ways, start over.

the way he looked at you now...

you knew that was never his plan.

"right,"

sang-woo murmured, stepping closer.

"we split the money."

sangwoo's tone was smooth, but there was a finality to it.

you understood exactly what that meant.

he wasn’t letting you go.

he had killed for you.

067. 456. gone.

you weren’t stupid.

he and 456 had some sort of a connection, something deeper than just the games.

maybe they were friends? you had no clue since he did not tell you.

shoot, he did not even tell you 456 and 067's real names.

you had seen the way they looked at each other before it all came crashing down.

however, sang-woo chose you.

he had to.

there was no hesitation when he ended 456.

no second thoughts when 067 bled out.

he did it all for you.

the 45.6 billion wasn’t just his money.

it wasn’t even just your money.

it was yours together.

blood money. tainted, filthy, but yours.

"i hope you understand,"

sang-woo said, his fingers brushing against your wrist, his touch deceptively gentle.

"i didn’t do all of this just to watch you walk away."

sangwoo's grip tightened slightly, firm enough to send a clear message.

you were his.

the man's breath was warm as he leaned in, eyes dark with something unreadable.

"you're coming with me."

you didn’t argue.

you didn’t fight it.

deep down, you had already accepted it.

you didn’t mind at all.

masterlist

#cho sang woo #squid game #cho sang woo x reader #player 218 #sang woo #sangwoo x gihun #squid game fanfic #meadowfics #squid game x reader #squid game x y/n #squid game x you #squid game s1 #squid game season 1 #squid game s2 #squid game season 2 #squid games #gi hun #gi hun x reader #player 067 x reader

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winnisblur · 6 months ago

Text

“Cracks In Our Hearts.”

pairing ❤︎‬: gender neutral reader x sunghoon. w.c ‪‪❤︎‬: 4.5 - 5k (it’s word vomit at its finest) synopsis ‪‪❤︎‬: you’re a player in squid game, and thanks to a certain square guard, you’ve managed to survive (and get fucked).

this fic includes ‪‪❤︎‬: smut so mdni, death(s?), blood, sunghoon is a guard and is hot with a mask and pistol, he’s also cold(i think that’s the word), reader just trying to survive, ends up dying tho lol, bathroom sex, choking, pain and gun kink, degradation, sunghoon is actually a jerk beneath the mask, so is reader, unprotected sex, readers skin colour nor private parts are mentioned and etc.

warnings ‪‪❤︎‬: english isn’t my first language, not really proofread so srry about that, and i’m nervous af cus this is my first time writing T-T, this is based off of s1 so spoilers ahead (for those who haven’t watched both seasons”.

…..I shouldn't have survived the first game.

The thought clings to me like a stain as I sit cross-legged on the cold gray floor of the dormitory. Around me, everyone's faces wear that same haunted look-eyes sunken, shoulders hunched-but it does nothing to erase this truth: I'm still here, and a hundred others aren't.

My hands shake as I clutch the bottle of water they gave us, the only comfort in this nightmare. “Red Light, Green Light” was supposed to be simple. A childish game, nothing more. But then, when the first shot went off, the simplicity was in pieces. I kept my head down, my steps calculated. An act of luck rather than any skill saved me. Halfway, my legs had locked, but the chaos around saved me. I was too scared even to breathe, let alone blink while that giant, doll-like machine scanned the field. The screams. The silence. They cling to me as much as the relief of being alive.

But that leaves me with just one question: how long will I last?

Dalgona Game

As the guards herd us into the grounds, that feeling of luck is not there.

The sun knocks heavily upon the earthy ground, and a whispering wave curls through the players. In front of us stood a table piled high with tins, each containing the next nightmare: “Dalgona candy.” The guard with the square mask appears to be in charge; he steps forward. His voice rumbles from behind his mask. "You will each choose a tin. Inside is a shape. Your task is to extract the shape from the candy without breaking it. You will have ten minutes."

That's it? A shape?

But then I look at the examples on the display-circle, triangle, star…and an umbrella. My stomach does a flip. Not just precision, but luck too. A wrongly picked tin means my death. The queue moved fast; shaking hands reached for tins, people picking as if their lives depended on it. Because they do.

When it's my turn, I force myself to breathe and reach for the one closest to me. The metal feels cool and heavy in my hands. I don't even open it right away, afraid to see what fate I've chosen. Finally, I lift the lid.

The umbrella stares back at me.

"Great," I mutter under my breath. I look around, and there are a few groaning in despair as they unveil their shapes. Most got stars or circles—luckies. The timer starts, and the courtyard almost becomes a battlefield of concentration. People start licking their candies, tapping needles at them, and quite a few try to bite them. I take the given needle and gently press it against the candy. The sound of cracking candy nearby makes my heart run. I start shaking and tracing the thin, delicate lines of the umbrella. "Steady," I say to myself. Halfway through, it happened.

Snap.

The handle of the umbrella broke off clean. My blood ran cold.

It was over.

Instantly, my head jerks up to find the nearest guard. They are already converging on other players who busted their candies. I heard shots ring out and immediately froze. That is when I see him.

One of the square-guards, taller than the others, stops a few feet away. I cannot see his face, yet there is something different in the way he looks at me. His head tilts slightly, studying me, and for that one fleeting instant, the noise falls away. Then he takes another step closer.

"No," I whisper. Shivering, my heartbeat surges as I hold the shattered candy tightly against my body, to hide it from view. But instead of brandishing his weapon, he leans in and whispers, "Pretend you're still working." I stare up at him, appalled. "Do it," he says sharply in a low voice, and I automatically comply. I push the broken pieces together, my hands shaking so severely it's a wonder they don't break into a hundred more pieces. The guard-he-stands close enough that I can sense his presence. He occasionally looks around, subtly blocking the other guards' view of me. “Why?" I dare to whisper. He says nothing.

Minutes tick by-although by some miracle, no one notices my snapped candy. When the buzzer goes off, I hold my breath for the worst to happen. Instead, the square-guard advances, feigning that he's inspecting the other players. Somehow, I get away.

The dormitory is noisier tonight. Some are cheering, others crying, but I do not think of anything besides him. Why did he save me? Was this some sort of mistake? A test? My head runs with the different connotations, but no sensible fact makes sense. Guards are not supposed to show mercy.

When the lights dim for night, I am awake. I play that moment in my head over and over-the quiet authority in his voice, the way he lingered just long enough to save me. There's just no getting answers, yet I couldn't help my mind from running over and over with thoughts of him.

Sunghoon’s POV

This was reckless.

I lean against the wall of the guard quarters, helmet in my hands, and let my breath out slowly. My heart hasn't stopped racing since I saw them-their trembling hands, the way they froze when their candy broke. I should've ignored it. I should've done my job. But something about the way their eyes widened, filled with fear and determination, stopped me. I don't know why I helped them. It wasn't out of pity. It wasn't out of guilt.

It was them.

I have seen hundreds of players, most of them desperate enough or selfish enough to catch nothing but their own survival. But they're different. I shouldn't be feeling this way. Guards aren't supposed to feel anything. Yet every time I think about their face, my resolve cracks just that little bit more.

If anyone finds out, I'm as good as dead.

But somehow, I just can't seem to care. Tomorrow's another game, another chance to see them. I just hope I can keep my distance.

For both our sakes.

The Next Day

I wake up to this gnawing feeling in my chest. It isn't the ache in my limbs or the exhaustion of staying up all night, reliving the events of the Dalgona game in my head; it's the dread of what comes next.

Another game, another chance to die.

They walk us to the next arena as effectively, coldly, with all the same efficiency of people used to doing a day's labor. My head was down, letting myself just become part of a whole, not standing out too much. The cold-faced, geometric-mask-covered guard statues line the wall opposite. My eyes fly toward each square mask.

Grievously stupid. Insane even-but what did it matter? Had he watched me just then? Was he going to try to save me?

A small part of me wants him to, but the larger part is reminding me of one crucial thing: here, I am on my own. Completely and utterly. Not even him.

Sunghoon’s POV

There they are.

Perched atop the arena above, my eyes find them in a heartbeat. They scan the guards again, their shoulders tense, eyes keen despite the exhaustion clinging to every player out there. I shouldn't watch them. Shouldn't give a damn.

Yet I can't peel my eyes away, though. Still alive, that's what matters.

My grip tightens on the rifle in my hands as the Robotic Female’s voice booms across the arena, announcing the rules for today’s game. I already know what’s coming. Another trial, another bloody mess.

And I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure they survive. Even if it means breaking every rule I’ve sworn to follow.

The Tug-of-War Twist

We are brought to a very large outdoors arena, with several platforms towering up to the sky. Ropes traverse atop thick, and beneath these? A fall so long I could hardly see the bottom.

Tug-of-war.

The explanation is simple: teams of ten; whoever wins lives. Losers. well, the fall does the talking. I'm pushed towards a group, and panic bursts in my chest as I realize the dynamics are uneven. None of them appear to be very strong. A few even shake so hard that I don't think they can hold the rope.

This is bad.

The guards line the edges, rifles in place to take out anyone showing even a millisecond of hesitation. My eyes flicker to them out of instinct, and there he is-square guard. His posture is stiff, but his helmet angles toward me as I step on the platform. Is he looking at me?

The thought's cut off by a buzz. And with that, the first match begins. I am horrified as the opposing team pulls with ruthless precision. Losing is being dragged, inch by inch, toward the edge. Their screams echo when the rope jerks once more, sending them plunging into the void.

This isn't just about strength. It's strategy.

When it's our turn, I reach for the rope, my palms already slick with sweat. My team looks hopeless, all whispering prayers and clutching at whatever scraps of courage they can muster. The opposing team, however, is all muscle.

"Pull!" someone yells as the buzzer sounds, and I dig my heels into the platform. The rope's abraded heat against my palms sears the skin as we're yanked forward. Arms scream, legs wobble-it feels like we are seconds away from catastrophe. "Lean back! Use your weight!" someone yells, but it's futile. We're losing so much ground. That's when I saw him.

The square-guard stood near the edge, his head cocked as he watched me. For what feels like an eternity he doesn't move, before finally he moves a step closer and leans on his rifle at his shoulder. I'm stuck until his hand moves after all, and it does really slowly.

It was the signal.

I watch transfixed as his gloved hand takes direction toward the other guys on the opposition side of this platform, then he tap-dances his foot quickly yet small - almost in a blur-close around anchor point holding their ropes steady. My eyes widen.

Is he telling me their side is rigged?

I have no time to think. I lean back with all my strength and yell to my team, "Pull to the left! They're off balance!" The others hesitate but follow my lead, shifting our weight. The opposing team stumbles, losing their footing, and in the chaos, I catch something flicker in the corner of my vision-a quick, subtle motion from his side.

The anchor point snaps.

The opposing team barely has time to act before they're pulled forward, screaming as they tumble into the abyss. We collapse onto the platform, gasping for air. Relief washes through me, tainted with disbelief.

I should be dead.

I glance toward him again but he's already gone, sucked back into the sea of guards. Tonight, I cannot get him out of my mind. The square-guard. The one who has saved me over and over again. No one else is paying any attention to anything but celebration or mourning as I slip into the shadows near the edge of the dormitory. The guards patrol the perimeter, their masks gleaming under the dim lights. And then I see him.

He leans against the wall, a little apart from the others. As I approach him, my heart pounds, and every step sounds louder than it should. "What are you doing?" I whisper. His head snaps toward me, and for a second, I think I have made a mistake. But then he steps forward, his voice low and sharp. "You shouldn't be here."

"Neither should you," I shoot back, emboldened by adrenaline. "You've been helping me. Why?” He hesitates, glancing around before tugging me further into the darkness. "You shouldn't ask questions you don't want answers to," he says. "I think I deserve an answer," I say, crossing my arms over my chest despite the tremble in my hands. "You've saved my life twice. Don't act like that's normal." For a moment, he says nothing. Then, with a sigh, he lifts his mask just enough for me to see his face.

He's younger than I expected. Sharp jawline, intense eyes that seem to pierce right through me. "You stood out," he admits, his voice softer now. "Most people here…they're just trying to survive. But you-" He catches himself, as if he's said too much. "But what?" I press.

“You fight," he says so simply. "Even when you're scared. Even when you shouldn't." The words dangle in the air, between us like a challenge. Heavy, electric. "I don't know why I do these things," he continues more irritably. "But if you wanna stay alive, don't trust me. Don't trust no one." His words shouldn't assure me, and yet suddenly, for the first time since I have been here, I do feel one thing: hope.

"Thanks," I say under my breath. He doesn't answer, but pulls his mask back down and steps away, leaving me in the shadows.

I trudge up the stairs, the fluorescent lights above me flickering with every labored step my legs take. It was mountainous, but I had survived another game, another step closer to whatever hellish end this place had in store. The other players say nothing. Their faces are hollow, their skin pale. No one dares speak anymore. Silence is safer.

I stop on the last step as a guard blocks my path. Square mask. My heart catches. "What's this?" I say, sharper than I mean to. Exhaustion has sucked any tolerance from me. "You're flagged," he says bluntly. "There's suspicion you might be carrying something you shouldn't be. You'll have to be searched." My blood turns cold. Suspicion? Prohibited? “That's crazy," I say, my panic rising into my chest. "I don't have anything-"

"Follow me." There's no request about it. The other players glance my way, their eyes wide and wary, but they don't get involved. They're too frightened to risk drawing attention to themselves. I hesitate, my mind racing. If this is a setup, if they think I've broken a rule, this could be it. This could be my end.

But I have no choice. Taking a deep breath, I follow the guard down a dimly lit corridor and into a bathroom. The sound of the door locking behind me makes me shiver. “Turn around," the guard instructs in a cold, emotionless voice. I do so, my heart racing. "Look," I begin, "I don't know what you think I've done, but-"

"Stop talking.” It cuts through my protest, and there's something about it-something familiar. I turn to face them, my brow furrowing. “What is this?" I ask. "Who are you?" For a moment, they don't respond. Then, with a slow, deliberate motion, the guard lifts their mask. My breath catches.

It's him.

The square-guard who's been helping me. The one I thought was gone, fired, or worse-killed for breaking the rules. "You-" I stutter, my voice barely above a whisper. "I had to see you," he says, his voice soft, yet urgent. "I couldn't stay away any longer." I blink, trying to process the rush of emotions-relief, confusion, anger. "I thought you were-what happened to you? Why did you stop-" "I had to lay low," he interrupts. "They were watching me. But I'm still here. I don't know what to say. My mind is racing, torn between gratitude and frustration. “Why did you bring me here?" I ask finally.

His eyes lock with mine, intense and unyielding. “Because I couldn't take it anymore," he says, his voice low, stepping closer. "Watching you risk your life, knowing I couldn't do anything to stop it-it's been driving me insane." I swallow hard, my heart racing as he closes the gap between us. "You shouldn't be doing this," I whisper. "If they find out—"

"I don't care," he says with finality. "I've already broken the rules for you. What's one more?" And before I can say another word, his hands frame my face, and he kisses me. It's not soft or tentative-it's desperate, raw, like he's pouring every ounce of fear and longing into the moment. I'm stuck in a freeze-frame moment for a second, mind whipping. Then I yield and cling to his uniform while kissing him back with every ounce of fierce intensity of my own. The world falls away, and I feel something other than fear for the first time since this nightmare kicked off.

But not for long.

He pulls away, forehead resting against mine, hard breaths mingling between our lips. "I can't protect you anymore," he says, his voice cracking. "Not with what's coming." I search his face, my chest tightening at the pain in his eyes. "You've already done more than enough," I whisper. He shakes his head. "It's not enough. It'll never be enough."

A heavy silence falls between us, and I know this is goodbye. Expect it wasn’t actually, his lips captured mine again, his lips….almost saying they wanted me, needed me. That is until he broke the kiss again, and pinned my back against the cold, colorful tiled wall of the bathroom. His body language seemed like he has longed for the dramatic (sort of) crash of holding me against the wall, kissing me like he was dreaming about this every single minute of the day.

He winced as my nails raked across his back through his pink suit, he probably felt like his outfit was being torn by my nails, which could get us both in trouble if that was actually to happen. He winced again as he took ahold of my wrists and slammed them to the wall in retaliation, wedging his knee between my thighs, which made a gasp leave my lips at the slightest bit of friction I was getting from his thigh.

“Didn’t know you were this desperate for me,” he teased after breaking the heated kiss for the nth time, leaving him and me breathless, panting with saliva connecting us. His low chuckle echoed through the empty, now suffocating bathroom, and making his vampire teeth pop out. “it’s laughable, really. Does the games make you horny?” he teased yet again, raising his thick eyebrows in a way that seemed mockingly, his thigh moving back and forth slightly, earning a whine from my lips as he chuckled like he was enjoying me being teased. “Does your life being on the line make you horny? You sadist bit-“ Pain blistered across Sunghoon’s cheek, he couldn’t help but grin as it sent shockwaves of sensation tearing across his body. Adrenaline hummed through his veins as he hungrily kissed me again, choking me with his gloved hands. I thrashed, ripping at the back of his head by a fistful of hair and biting down hard on his lower lip. Both of our lips were bleeding now, but the metallic tang only made him deepen the kiss even more, greedily trying to taste much of it as possible, masochist much?

“Fucking slut,” He hissed, licking blood and spit from my chin. “You’re a cunt and a dick, a motherfucking cunt and dick sucker.” I hissed back, he chuckled. He fucking chuckled this was all a fucking a circus show for him. “Damn right,” he teased. “But only good girls or boys get their cunts and dicks sucked by me, which isn’t you unfortunately.” he grinned, his hips rolling against my privates, yet again another chuckle slipped from his lips like he enjoyed watching me being frustrated sexually, and I could confirm it just by looking at his eyes that had a glint, a glint of giddiness everytime pain was inflicted upon me.

I hooked my foot behind his knee, forcibly collapsing it. First, he tries making me shit in my pants from coming out of nowhere and telling me that I had to be pat down, makeouts with me, choked me and almost knocked out all of the air in me, calls me names and now his hand is reaching up to my knee to bring me down with him…great. He smirked as he yanked me down onto him, flipping me onto my back and pinning me to the cold floor now instead. He gave just one slow, merciless grind of his hips against mine, and I’m only just realising but…he’s fucking big.

“Who said that…I want you to fucking suck me off or eat me out?” I bit out, nursing my injured lip to keep from moaning as he set out a torturously slow pace through our clothes. “It seems pretty eager to me,” Sunghoon teased, gloved fingertips dipping beneath the waistband of my pants. “I bet I could make you cum in- shit-!” His head smacked harder against the tiles than it should have as I tossed him onto his back, thighs clenched tightly around his hips. The throbbing pain only added to the throbbing pleasure as I rolled my hips. “Just who do you think fucking I am? Just- fuck- just because I’m trying to survive and win doesn’t mean I’m gonna be your fucking bitch.” Sunghoon grinned up at me, I was already flushed bright red and riding his hips with rough, desperate japs of my hips. “Big talk for someone who’s riding me like their life depends on it, ironically.” he snickers. “I can feel you, asshole. You’re in the same situation as I am!” Sunghoon smirked, and in one quick move, he snatched my wrist and rocketed back to his feet, spinning me back around and leaving me face-first against the wall. “You might not be able to kill people like me, and neither I could survive the games you’re playing but god…you’re right, I do want you.” I shuddered at his deep voice. I shifted, legs spreading to support myself better and Sunghoon slotted his knee right between them once more, hands settling on my waist as I got my one free hand between me and the wall, trying to push and give myself some space. I only succeeded in pushing our bodies closer than before, his cock nestled firmly against my ass.

“Let me have you,” Sunghoon purred, squeezing my waist and slowly moving up my sides the way that turned me into putty. I moaned, shuddering again. “Fuck you! If you want me so badly, then come and take it, take me!” well, that is an invitation that Sunghoon hasn’t heard before, even before doing this whole crazy guard thing at a unknown island. He growled, jerking my pants down in a hurry, like he actually couldn’t believe that his dreams are about to come true. I threw my elbow back, but Sunghoon just pinned my wrist back to the wall. “Stop being a fucking brat,” he hissed. I struggled and choking back a moan, feeling the material of his pink suit against my bare ass. “Get your shitty ass outfit outta the way,” I demanded. “Shit feels like sandpaper!” I hissed. “So sensitive and demanding,” he cooed, even as he let me have both hands back to brace myself against the wall. Sunghoon didn’t dare to move back and give me an opening to escape, only reaching up to unzip his suit and free himself, mostly his cock that was strained against the fabric and begging for friction as it twitched in his underwear. I adjusted, leaning away long enough for Sunghoon to free himself. “If you were me, you’d complain too!” I hissed. “Yeah, yeah, stop running your big mouth. You want it or not?” he rolled his eyes, his suit and underwear failing to his ankles as he leaned forward, completely trapping me between him and the cold wall, his bare cock resting just on my ass, just right where I needed him, so far yet so close. “I told you you fucking idiot, just take it-“ Sunghoon couldn’t help but thrust all of his cock in one go. Making me moan out loud at the blissful pain from the thrust.

For Sunghoon, you were a wet dream come true to life; Sunghoon’s cock glided through you without resistance, soft and slick, tightening only as he rutted against a known sweet spot along your walls. I moaned, arching my back, wrapping tightly around him. He groaned in response, leaning over me, his hands covering mine, fingers almost interlocked. The sweat on my neck left a layer of salt on Sunghoon’s tongue, but beneath it was nothing but you. Sunghoon muffled his own moans against my throat, sucking and biting his way down to my shoulders. I turned my head, covering my mouth with the inside of my elbow as he fucked me against the wall. Sunghoon hiked me up onto my tiptoes, leaning back to appreciate the view, your skin glistened with sweat under the fluorescent lights. “…Please, I’m close da- fuck-!” your words and moans rang loud in his ears, in the bathroom, the silence sharpening your cries. They acted as pokers to the hot coals of fire in the pit of Sunghoon’s stomach, making him embarrassed over how loud you were, neither was the wet and loud sound of skin smacking was making it any better. If any of his fellow guards were outside or just a tad bit close to the bathroom, he’s fucked and killed to death alongside with you.

That is when Sunghoon got an idea, an idea that satisfies his other personality, the one that was created whilst being here for a very long time that he has lost sense of time, and that is fear. He lives off of the idea of goosebumps appearing on the player’s skins just before he kills them, and in this case, while he’s fucking them and practically making them cock-drunk from his stroke game. Sunghoon leaned down and grabbed his long forgotten, abandoned pistol on the floor, aiming the barrel at your forehead, and with that his thrusts became harder, sloppier but you…you were terrified. Terrified on why there’s a gun to your head suddenly, is he going to kill you after using you like a worthless, lifeless sexdoll? Is that what’s going to happen? You couldn’t lie to yourself because the thought kinda turned you on and made you wetter even more, because you wouldn’t mind being his sexdoll if his cock was constantly inside you and making you go brainless. “Stop moaning like a whore unless you want me to pull the trigger right now, and kill you before they find us.” he threatened lowly in my ear, licking and bitting as he tried to muffle his own sounds. By now, you knew you looked pathetic with your eyes red, red and snotty nose as tears stained and wet your flushed cheeks as you began to bite onto your ragged and bloody jacket, trying to keep quiet because as much as it turned you on at the thought of dying on his dick, but you valued your life at the moment because, living longer equals bouncing on his dick for even more before you die.

Sunghoon barely managed to pull out on time, painting his pleasure all over your ass. He grinned at the realisation that you were still haven’t even came yet, still hanging on the edge as he lowered his pistol and patted his gloved hand on your ass, watching it jiggle with the motion of his hand, giggling to himself as he brought his head up and was met with the sight of you, eyebrows furrowed and eyes narrowed at him. “Get your own self off, brat.” he teased, putting on his suit back and mask, giving you one last cocky glance before he makes sure he looks presentable in the mirror and walks out on you, leaving you frustrated at him, at not being pleasured enough, at the games, and yourself because behind his handsome looks, he’s actually just like the other guards, ruthless and cold.

The Final Game

The days blur all together.

The games are getting more brutal, and the players, myself included, are growing desperate. Every moment feels like a race against time, against fate. The tension among the remaining participants is palpable. We’ve all become numbers now, not people—just pawns in a game that doesn’t care about our lives. The final game is announced, and my heart skips a beat.

It's the one everybody's afraid of: the glass bridge.

We line up in a row, one behind the other, in front of the two routes laid out before us, each comprising several glass panels, some strong and some weak. We had to walk over them and choose appropriate ones to cross or plunge to death. A shiver runs down my spine as the first few players go up front, and what happened was inevitable. One after another, they fall. Screams pierce the cold air, but clear had been the instruction from the guard that no one was to move unless his turn came upon him. Just as I'm about to take my first step, I suddenly feel. something.

It's him.

The square-guard above watches on, his eyes tracking my every movement, and for a split second, our gazes meet. The connection is brief, but it's enough. I don't know what to make of it, but something in the way he watches me is different. There's something in his eyes-something almost…regretful.

It's my turn.

I step onto the bridge, my legs trembling as creaks come from within the glass as my body weight presses down upon it. The first few steps are just fine. My luck has to turn sometime. The crack starts to give under me and I freeze. I looked back, and that is when I see it-something shifting in Sunghoon's posture. Moving.

Too late.

Balance is lost.

I heard him scream my name-my real name, not a number-and did not care. I fell. This was a never-ending fall. The world spun and the only thing I was aware of was air rushing in as I dropped with the pretty firm knowledge I'd not live to cry out.

And then, there was nothing.

Sunghoon's POV

The world is silent.

I stand in stock-stillness, my heartbeat the only sound of the drumbeat as their body disappears into the void below, and with every shattered piece of me. I should have. I should have—

My fist slams against the metal wall. Its echo rings out into that space. Why didn't I act sooner? Why couldn't I pull them back? Why couldn't I protect?

I close my eyes, the guilt suffocating me. This wasn't supposed to happen. I wasn't supposed to feel this way. But here I am, crushed under the weight of it, the weight of my failure. I should never have gotten involved. I should never have helped them.

But I couldn't stop myself.

And now…

I failed.

I failed them.

The game goes on, but Sunghoon's mind is a maelstrom.

The rest of the players are like shadows, their faces hollow with fear and exhaustion. To Sunghoon, however, time has stopped. He stares at the rest of the players, his eyes searching among them for any sign of the one he couldn't protect. Every step weighs too much to be taken. Every decision he makes feels like a mistake. And when the final buzzer goes off, he barely hears it.

It's the end of the day now, and it doesn't matter anymore.

The only thing filling Sunghoon's head is the weight of his own guilt. The others are rejoicing, but his mind is consumed by you-your face, your eyes, and the time you spent together. He had never gotten the chance to say goodbye.

And he never will.

#― enha !#sunghoon smut #sunghoon x reader #sunghoon imagines #enhypen imagines #enhypen smut #enhypen sunghoon #enhypen sunghoon imagines #enha x reader #enha imagines #enha smut #sunghoon angst #enha angst #enhypen angst

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physics-of-one-piece · 10 months ago

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The One Piece World Timezones [Fixed]

Okay, so I did a big WHOOPS. I thought the Grand Line is the equator. Someone in the notes pointed out that no, the Grand Line is not the equator and honestly, yeah, my fault for not going a bit deeper into my research.

Here is how the globe is and how the Grand Line goes. The blue thingy is I suspect the actual equator.

The reasons I thought the Grand Line is on the equator is:

1) weather

2) natural occurences

3) map on the One Piece Wiki

Crazy shit happens in the equator in our world.

Here is how the Grand Line is positioned as told by Law.

(source)

Now, let's fix the mistake. (Sighs)

And... ROTATE THE MAP.

Here it is. I sighed many sighs while rotating this and maybe I cried a bit at getting everything 3 hours wrong and then cried some more that Dressrosa & Hawaii aren't in the same timezone bcs goddamn it, that fit, as did Mariejois.

But FINE. I'm doing this for all the Doffy x Reader writers, all the One Piece x Reader writers, all the One Piece fanfic writers, full stop. I REFUSE TO ALLOW MY MISTAKE TO BE A CURSE. I'll also edit the OG post and put this pic there so both posts have the correct one.

Okay, one more time, 100% correct this time:

Paradise:

Reverse Mountain [UTC -1]

Cape Valley [UTC 0]

Cactus Island [UTC 0]

Little Garden [UTC +1]

Drum Island [UTC +2]

Alabasta [UTC +3]

Island where Luffy Kicked Bellamy's Ass Vol 1 Jaya [UTC+4]

Skypiea [UTC +4]

The Arc I Skipped After Seeing It Became Filler Ring Long Island [UTC +5]

Water 7 [UTC +5]

I'm so sorry, Snail 😭

Ennies Lobby [UTC +6]

Florian Triangle [UTC +6]

Sabaody Archipelago [UTC +7]

Amazon Lily [UTC +7]

Impel Down [UTC +8]

Marineford [UTC +8]

Holy Land of Mariejois [UTC+8]

All the thematic representation of it being UTC +12, splash into the water 😭😭😭

Fishman Island [UTC +9]

New World:

New Marineford [UTC -8]

Punk Hazard [UTC -8]

Dressrosa [UTC -7]

Totto Land [UTC -5]

Wano [UTC -4]

Law vs Blackbeard Island [UTC -3]

Elbaf [UTC -3]

Weird that it's Elbaf that's Northeast, since shouldn't Law have gone there as his route? Maybe Kid lied and went there still after Law said Northeast is the quickest path, while Law took a detour onto Winner Island to fight Blackbeard.

Hachinosu (Pirate Island, Blackbeard's HQ) [UTC -3]

Egghead [UTC -3]

Even though Egghead's not shown on the map, Luffy went directly south from Wano, and by the line, the Sunny would have entered the UTC -3 zone.

Lodestar Island [UTC -2]

Calculating Guide:

From East to West

- if it's 17:00 (5 pm) in Marineford (UTC +8) and you want to know what time it is in Dressrosa, this is what you do:

1) (Current time in Marineford) - (UTC time number of Marineford) which is

17 (5pm) - 8 = 9 am (UTC 0)

2) now that you have UTC 0, you put another minus, this one from Dressrosa's UTC, which is UTC -7, so it goes

9 am - 7 = 2 am

So it's 2 am in Dressrosa, while it's 5 pm in Marineford!

From West to East

Say it's 22:00 (10 pm) on Saturday in Dressrosa, what time is it in Holy Land? Here are the steps.

1) (Dressrosa current time) + (Dressrosa's Timezone Number) = time at UTC 0

So that's:

10 pm + 7 = 5 am Sunday (UTC 0)

2) UTC 0 time + Holy Land Time Number

So: 5 am + 8 = 13:00 (1 pm) Sunday

So while it's 10 pm Saturday in Dressrosa and Doflamingo is conducting business with the Paradise part of the Grand Line, in the Holy Land, the ugly Celestials are eating lunch on Sunday or napping bcs they are freeloading cu- (censored) unlike Doflamingo who's actually working!

(looks at the maps of my previous timezone post) Okay. It's fine. I only missed Dressrosa by 3 hours. IT'S FINE.

(it's not fine, I'm crying, it's not FINE, my favourite island and I couldn't even get it right the first time, if Doffy turns me into a toy I deserve it)

I'll go climb the Red Line and jump off it. This is the greatest shame as a scientist. Wrong numbers.

A/N: Of course, if what the pic above said is true, it might as well could be that the original tinezone map I made is semi- correct and the entire territory up until Wano has a timezone from UTC -12 to UTC -9 if it's only the first third of the New World, as those are the "thirds" of the west timezones. I don't read the manga, but I'm caught up with the anime and if the manga does reveal a map, actual map like that curved one in the picture with Law or Oda finally makes one, I give the manga readers full permission to send it to me in an ask and I will update the posts again. For now, this is the most "official" map we have, and the most recent one. Also, the Grand Line being in the shape of a rollercoaster is fitting, haha.

Taglist: @fanaticsnail @moonbaby26

#one piece #one piece fandom #one piece meta #physics of one piece

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cup1drul3z · 1 month ago

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★ — Only a vampire can love you forever | CH 8

ᴠᴀᴍᴘɪʀᴇ!ꜱᴇᴠɪᴋᴀ x ᴄʜᴜʙʙʏ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ x ᴠᴀᴍᴘɪʀᴇ!ᴄᴀɪᴛʟʏɴ | 7.5ᴋ ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ

CW : Dark!sevika, age gap, private school, toxic, forbidden love, mentions of blood, hopeless lesbians, TEACHER X STUDENT, porn with plot, oral sex, reader is a virgin, innocent reader, theres like a 500 year age gap, courruption, masturbation, cheating, odd love triangle?, READER IS STUCK IN THE MIDDLE OF A BUNCH OF ATRACTIVE VAMPIRES

A/N : yay!

1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8

The Kirraman estate was silent.

The kind of cold, calculated silence built into old money walls—where even the floorboards never dared creak too loud.

Caitlyn lay in bed, arms splayed over pristine sheets that she hadn’t bothered to tuck herself under. Her hair fanned messily across her pillow, dark shadows blooming under her eyes.

She hadn't been able to sleep.

Not since the meeting. Not since seeing you with Sevika. Not since realizing that maybe she wasn’t enough to keep you safe—or keep you hers.

Her eyes stayed fixed on the ceiling, but her thoughts?

You.

The way your lip trembled when you fought not to cry. The way you looked at her when you were scared, when you trusted her. That tiny noise you made when she kissed the scar on your neck for the first time.

She let out a shaky breath and dragged her hand down her stomach.

She shouldn't.

But she already was.

Fingers slipped beneath the waistband of her sleep shorts, slow, searching—like touching you through memory. Her breath hitched as her knuckles brushed heat, her thighs tensing instinctively.

She bit her bottom lip.

You. Sitting on her lap in the Kirraman library, thighs on either side of her waist. You, arching into her mouth that first night she fed from you—your blood still on her tongue hours later.

Her other hand found her chest, sliding under her tank top, thumb grazing a nipple as her fingers moved lower, slower.

"Fuck..." she breathed, a whisper to the dark, the ache between her legs now too sharp to ignore.

Her hips lifted slightly into her own hand as she imagined yours, imagined you on top of her, soft whimpers in her ear. She could almost hear you begging—

"Please, Caitlyn—"

Her breath caught. She arched, thighs quivering as pressure built fast, sharp, electric.

She wasn't graceful about it.

The orgasm tore through her like a thread snapping, her body shuddering as she gasped your name—barely a whisper, barely controlled.

And then—

Silence again.

Only her harsh breathing filled the room as her hand stilled, her body still trembling with aftershocks.

She stared up at the ceiling, chest rising and falling.

And then the guilt crept in. Slow. Heavy.

Not because of what she did.

But because she knew—

You felt it.

Somewhere, somehow— you felt her come undone.

And that meant you knew exactly who she wanted in the dark.

—

The dream felt real.

Warm hands trailing down your sides, slipping beneath the hem of your shirt, skimming across your bare stomach. Lips at your throat, soft but insistent, teeth grazing the scar just enough to make you gasp. You didn’t need to see her face—you knew it was Caitlyn.

She was between your legs, murmuring praise against your skin, her voice breathy and sweet and just a little possessive.

“You’re mine, sweetheart…”

You writhed beneath her, your back arching as her mouth moved lower. Her tongue flicked just right, her hands holding your thighs apart like she never wanted to let go.

The heat built fast.

Too fast.

Your fingers knotted in her hair as you trembled, on the edge of something overwhelming, your breath catching—

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

You jolted awake, your body seizing up in shock as the blare of an alarm clock filled the room.

Your chest was heaving. The room was too bright. Your sheets were twisted around your legs and—

You sat up sharply, blinking in confusion.

You didn’t remember setting an alarm.

And then you felt it.

The wetness between your thighs. A deep, aching pulse still thrumming through your core. Your underwear was soaked, clinging uncomfortably to your skin.

You swallowed hard, cheeks burning as the dream lingered in your mind in vivid flashes—her voice, her mouth, your name on her lips as you came undone beneath her.

Your fingers clenched the sheets.

It wasn’t just a dream.

You felt her. Through the bond.

Caitlyn had wanted you.

And now… your body knew it.

You dressed quietly, well before the rest of the campus stirred.

The sun hadn’t even touched the horizon. The world was still wrapped in that soft, eerie half-darkness where nothing quite felt real. You tugged on your navy-blue academy uniform, buttoning the crisp blouse and smoothing down the front of your short pleated skirt—the same one you kept meaning to get tailored. It still rode up higher than it should’ve. But at this point, it almost didn’t matter.

You needed to move. To breathe. To think.

You slipped out of your dorm, pulling the blazer tight around your body as the cool morning air hit your skin. The quiet was comforting. Isolating. It made you feel invisible.

Until—

“Hey.”

The voice came from the side of the walkway, deep and low, almost too calm.

You turned—

Jayce.

He was standing half in shadow, leaning against the edge of the girls’ dorm building. But something was off.

His eyes glowed red. Not gold. Not pink.

Red.

Blood-hungry red.

You took a step back, every instinct screaming that something was wrong.

“Jayce?” you asked, voice shaky.

He didn’t answer.

He moved.

Faster than you expected. One second he was ten feet away, the next— your back hit brick. Hard.

You gasped as his arm slammed across your collarbone, pinning you there. The world tilted. Your breath caught in your throat.

“God—” he rasped, voice rough, feral. “You smell like them.”

You tried to move, but your body locked up. Not from a power. Just… fear. Bonded, frozen fear.

“Caitlyn. Sevika. Violet. Every damn one of them got a piece of you, didn’t they?”

His face was too close. His breath was warm against your skin. You could see the sweat glistening on his brow, the shake in his jaw as he fought for control and lost.

His head dipped toward your throat.

You tried to scream. Your lips parted— Nothing came out.

His fangs grazed your neck. Not a full bite. Just a pierce. A drop of blood welled instantly, warm and terrifying.

And then—

Snap. ZZZZZT—

Jayce cried out, violently recoiling, his body lurching backward like something hit him.

You gasped and stumbled to your knees, your hand flying to your pocket.

The bracelet.

It had activated—glowing faintly, heat pulsing against your palm as it cooled again. The blood-red symbols along the silver band slowly dimmed.

Jayce writhed on the pavement, groaning, hands clutching his head like something inside him had been shocked.

You stared, panting, stunned.

He looked up at you—eyes now flickering between red and something more human. Confused. Dazed.

“What… what did I…”

But you didn’t wait for him to finish.

You ran.

You didn’t stop running.

Not when your knees hit the gravel path, scraping raw. Not when your lungs burned from the cold morning air. Not when your vision blurred with tears and the sickening sting of blood still tickled your neck.

You just ran— blind and breathless.

Until your shoulder collided with the stone siding of one of the east campus buildings. You stumbled, catching yourself against the wall, gasping for breath, knees throbbing and bleeding through your socks.

Then— a giggle.

High, soft, and familiar.

You turned too fast, heart in your throat.

Jinx.

Standing a few feet away. Her blue braids swaying. Her school blazer half-off her shoulder like she hadn’t even bothered to wear it properly. Her violet eyes glowed in the early morning shadows, casting an eerie purple ring around her pupils.

She stepped forward.

You backed up.

Your spine hit the wall.

She grinned.

“Aww, Y/N,” she said, her tone syrupy sweet, head tilting. “You didn’t tell the cops about me.”

You didn’t answer—just shook your head slowly, trembling as your hands instinctively went to your stomach, your hoodie pocket, the bracelet still faintly warm inside.

“That was really nice of you,” she continued, stepping closer until she was nearly chest to chest with you. “Most people wouldn’t have done that. Most people would’ve screamed. But you’re not like most people, are you?”

Her hand came up, gentle at first—brushing a tear from your cheek like a friend might.

But her other hand braced against the wall beside your head, boxing you in.

“You’re… special.” Her voice dipped lower, playful but hungry. Her gaze dropped to your bleeding knees. “And messy, too.”

You flinched, a sob catching in your throat as she leaned closer, her lips brushing the shell of your ear.

“Bet you’d taste better if you cried just a little harder—”

“That’s enough.”

The voice didn’t shout.

It didn’t need to.

Cold. Sharp. Commanding.

Caitlyn.

Jinx froze.

Her head turned slowly toward the source, the smile never quite leaving her face—but her whole posture stiffened.

Caitlyn stood a few feet away, backlit by the early glow of the sun just starting to rise over the roofline. Her eyes gleamed icy blue, but the pupils were sharp slits—glowing faintly, dangerously.

“I said back off,” Caitlyn repeated.

Jinx smiled wider, but you could feel it falter. The air shifted—heavy with something old. Power wrapped in centuries of discipline and absolute threat.

Jinx stepped back, raising both hands in mock surrender.

“Jeez,” she said, rolling her eyes. “I was just talking.”

“Get. Out of here.” Caitlyn’s voice was like glass cracking.

Jinx winked at you before skipping off, humming to herself like nothing had happened.

And then you collapsed to your knees again—shaking, crying, finally letting the full weight of it hit you.

Caitlyn was there in an instant, dropping beside you, wrapping her arms around your shoulders.

“I’ve got you,” she whispered, pulling you tight against her chest. “You’re safe. I’m here.”

But neither of you believed that last part.

Not really.

Not anymore.

Lunch hour buzzed with the low hum of conversation, trays clattering, and the occasional burst of laughter. You walked slowly, your tray in hand, heading toward the table where Caitlyn sat surrounded by a few of the more composed, less dangerous vampire students—ones who still smiled when they spoke and remembered how to blink like humans.

You saw her before she saw you. Caitlyn looked relaxed, laughing at something said under her breath, but her eyes kept flicking toward the entrance. Looking for you.

You picked up your pace.

And then—

“Y/N~”

Your name rang out like a bell—loud, sing-song, dangerous.

You turned before you even meant to.

Jinx.

Leaning back at her usual table near the center of the cafeteria, her violet eyes practically glowing beneath the dim lights. Her group sat with her, the entire table filled:

Jayce, his eyes red-rimmed but dull now, quietly stirring his drink. Viktor, unreadable, fingers tapping an invisible rhythm on the table. Violet, arms stretched along the backrest, her eyes lazily locked on you—dark, observant, almost bored. Ekko, scrolling through his phone, mind somewhere else

You froze.

Jinx smiled wider and tapped the seat beside her. “Come sit with us.”

You gripped your tray tighter.

“I—” You tried to keep your voice light, polite. “I promised someone else I’d—”

“Y/N.”

Violet’s voice cut the air like a blade.

Calm. Low. Commanding.

Your body moved before your brain did.

Your foot lifted. And then the other.

You couldn’t stop it.

Couldn’t even blink before you were sitting at the table, tray untouched, heart racing.

Caitlyn turned sharply from across the cafeteria—eyes locked on you, sharp and confused. Her expression darkened when she saw where you were, who was around you. Her hand curled slowly around her fork.

Across the room, Sevika stood at the entrance, shoulders squared, arms crossed, watching the table like a storm cloud. She didn’t move. Not yet. But her jaw ticked.

Caitlyn looked to her. Sevika met her eyes.

No words exchanged.

But the message was clear.

We need to talk. Now.

And then— SLAM.

Caitlyn stood, her chair scraping loudly against the floor as she pushed it back harder than necessary.

The room fell briefly silent as heads turned.

Your pulse jumped.

And beside you, Jinx leaned in close, her breath warm against your neck.

“Little Miss Kiramman is mad,” she whispered sweetly. “She doesn’t like sharing.”

You stared at your tray, eyes wide.

You didn’t know how much longer you could keep doing this.

Or how much more of yourself you could lose before someone noticed the pieces weren’t coming back.

The classroom was dark, the only light bleeding in from the high windows above. Dust drifted lazily through the air, and the faint hum of distant chatter from the cafeteria barely reached through the walls.

Caitlyn stood near the front of the room, arms folded, pacing in front of the chalkboard. Her usually composed demeanor was cracking at the edges.

Sevika leaned against the teacher’s desk, one boot up on the chair behind her, her expression unreadable but storming just beneath the surface.

“She was cornered,” Caitlyn said, voice low but hard. “Again. This morning. I didn’t want to say anything in front of her, but I walked in just in time. Jinx had her pinned.”

Sevika’s jaw clenched. “And you waited until now to tell me?”

“I had to get her out of there first!”

“Out of where, Caitlyn? Her own fucking school?” Sevika stood, fists clenched. “This is the second time this week. That group is circling her like she’s prey, and we’re just—what? Sitting around, hoping it gets better?”

“We’re not sitting,” Caitlyn shot back. “We’re trying to keep her alive.”

“I could keep her alive,” Sevika growled. “I could kill every one of them before they even blinked.”

“You think that wouldn’t make it worse?” Caitlyn asked, stepping forward. “We’d lose everything. The council. The cover. The safety we do have. And we’d still lose her.”

Silence.

Tense.

Until Caitlyn said, quietly: “We’re running out of options.”

Sevika turned away, pacing now. “There’s one option. But it’s not one they’d ever approve.”

Caitlyn’s breath caught.

She didn’t have to ask what Sevika meant.

Her mind jumped there first.

Turning you.

She blinked—and in the span of a heartbeat, a vision hit her:

You. Standing in the dark. Hair windswept. Eyes glowing red beneath the moonlight. Fangs bared. Breathing hard, flushed with blood. Unapologetically beautiful. Hers.

Her knees almost buckled at the image.

She exhaled sharply and leaned back against the desk.

“But…” Sevika said softly, shaking her head as if sensing where Caitlyn’s mind had gone. “The council would never allow it. Not with her bonds split. She’s already unstable.”

Caitlyn stayed quiet.

Her thoughts were still full of your fangs.

Then, after a pause, she muttered, “What if we sent her back to her dad?”

Sevika’s head snapped up. “What?”

“Just for a week,” Caitlyn said quickly. “A break. A reset. Let things cool off here.”

“You’re kidding me.”

“Sevika—”

“She told me she’d rather die than go back there.”

“She needs space. Maybe we all do.”

Sevika shook her head, stepping forward. “She won’t see it that way.”

Caitlyn sighed and leaned harder against the desk. “I know.”

And for the first time, neither of them had an answer they could live with.

Only risks.

And one very dangerous girl hanging in the balance.

You sat stiffly between them, your tray untouched.

Jinx was talking. Of course she was—animated, grinning like the two of you were best friends who shared secrets and pinky promises. She kept nudging your side, leaning in, laughing at things only she found funny.

“I’m just saying,” she chirped, balancing her juice on her fork like it was a circus trick, “if I did kill Bella, it’s kinda rude that nobody appreciated the irony. I mean—milk? Really? I was going for symbolism.”

You didn’t answer.

You couldn’t even look up.

Because all five of them were staring at you now.

And you could feel it.

Their eyes on you like predators circling something small. Something cornered.

Then— Viktor cleared his throat.

You glanced toward him just in time to see something silver and red flick between his fingers.

The bracelet.

Your blood ran cold.

Your hand twitched toward your blazer pocket—empty.

You hadn’t even realized it was gone.

“I believe this is yours,” he said flatly, holding it up just enough for the others to see.

Jayce leaned forward, expression hardening. “You gave her that?”

Viktor shook his head once, his voice cool and detached. “No. I must’ve misplaced it. She must’ve… taken it.”

The accusation hit like a slap.

Your heart plummeted.

“What?” you breathed. “No—no, I didn’t—I swear, I thought—”

But it was too late.

Ekko was already smirking, leaning his chin on his fist. “So much for sweet little Y/N.”

“I didn’t steal it,” you said, eyes wide, panic rising. “I would never—”

“You lied to us,” Jinx pouted dramatically, placing a hand over her chest like she was wounded. “That hurts, bunny.”

Your throat tightened. Tears pricked your eyes. You curled in on yourself slightly, shoulders folding, giving them that same small, sad expression they all seemed to feed on.

The look that said: I know you could hurt me.

And you didn’t even realize Sevika had entered the room.

Until her voice cut through the tension like a blade.

“Y/N.”

Every head turned.

She stood at the end of the table, hands in her pockets, looking down at you like she had just spotted someone who didn’t belong in a crime scene.

“Missed your make-up test. Now.”

You blinked.

She gave you nothing else. Just a firm nod toward the door.

You stood immediately.

Didn’t look back. Didn’t thank her. Didn’t breathe until you were three steps behind her, following her like your life depended on it.

Because in that moment?

It probably did.

The door clicked shut behind you with a quiet finality.

You hadn’t realized how fast you were breathing until you were in the stillness of Sevika’s office, the world outside locked out by thick walls and a solid door. The old desk, stacks of books, and the scent of motor oil and leather grounded you more than you expected.

You stood in the middle of the room, stiff, your fingers still twitching like they were trying to shake off the memory of being watched. Accused. Cornered.

Sevika didn’t say anything at first. She walked behind her desk, opened a drawer, and pulled out a soft cloth and a half-filled water bottle.

She returned, standing in front of you without a word, and gently took your wrist.

You let her.

She lowered you into the chair at the desk, crouching in front of you like she was tending to something fragile, and began wiping your scraped knees, silently.

You winced, but didn’t stop her.

Tears slipped down your cheeks, quiet and humiliated, but she didn’t draw attention to them.

Only when the silence had stretched enough that it felt safe to speak did she murmur, “Where did you get that bracelet.”

You sniffled, voice small. “They said I stole it…”

Sevika looked up at you, something unreadable flashing through her eyes. “You didn’t.”

You shook your head. “He left it. Viktor left it. And then pretended like I—like I…” Your voice cracked, and you looked away. “I just wanted to help that plant.”

Sevika gently brushed a damp curl off your forehead.

“You don’t owe anyone in that group anything,” she said quietly. “They’re not your friends. They don’t want kindness. They want control.”

Your lip trembled. “Why me?”

“I don’t know yet,” she admitted. “But I’m gonna find out.”

Her hand, warm and rough, squeezed yours.

“You’re not weak,” she added. “I know it feels like you’re breaking apart, but you’re still here. That means something.”

You nodded slowly, breath still shaky. “I hate feeling like this.”

“I know,” she said. “But I’m not gonna let them touch you again.”

You looked into her eyes then, really looked—and for once, there was no hunger, no fire, no tension behind the bond. Just fierce, anchored loyalty.

You leaned forward, resting your forehead against her shoulder.

And Sevika stayed there with you, holding the pieces together while you tried to remember how to breathe.

The soft knock came just seconds before the door creaked open again.

Caitlyn stepped into the room, papers clutched tightly in one hand. Her face was pale, her movements stiff, like her body was moving faster than her mind could catch up.

She looked at Sevika, then at you.

“Did you tell her?” Caitlyn asked quietly.

Sevika’s jaw flexed. She shook her head.

Your eyes narrowed. “Tell me what?”

Caitlyn didn’t speak right away.

She closed the door behind her and slowly crossed the room, placing the stack of papers on Sevika’s desk with a soft thud.

“I just finished speaking with the council,” she said carefully. “They’ve made a decision. My parents called your father.”

Your breath caught.

“What?” you whispered.

“They think it’s best…” she hesitated, forcing the words out like they hurt, “for you to take a short leave. A week. Just to… regroup. Away from campus.”

You were already shaking your head. “No. You’re not serious.”

“It’s not permanent,” Sevika jumped in, rising from her seat. “It’s just until this blows over.”

“He doesn’t want me back,” you said, voice rising. “They made him call because they knew I wouldn’t listen otherwise.”

Caitlyn stepped closer. “Y/N, it’s just for a few days—”

“Stop saying that!” you snapped, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. “You promised I wasn’t going back there. You promised!”

“It’s not what we want,” Sevika said, quieter now. “But it’s what the council will allow.”

You let out a bitter laugh, stepping away from them both.

“I don’t care what the council wants. They didn’t have to live in that house. They didn’t have to pack a bag and pretend it didn’t feel like being abandoned.”

“Y/N—”

“No!” You backed toward the door, breathing shallow, voice cracking. “Don’t follow me. Just—don’t.”

And with that, you turned and fled the room.

The echo of the door slamming shut was all that remained.

The world was a blur of motion and tears.

You didn’t know how long you’d been running—just that the lump in your throat had grown too big to swallow, and the hallway walls blurred into streaks of grey and blue. You pushed through the doors to the courtyard, sunlight too bright, your breath hitching and shoulders shaking.

Then—

Your foot caught.

Nothing was there—maybe a raised root or a crack in the cobblestone—but you went down hard, knees scraping against the pavement as you hit the ground with a grunt.

You gasped, pain flaring sharp and hot, and when you looked down—

Blood.

Your knee was torn open again, the skin raw, pink, and wet with red. You groaned softly and sat back on the ground, shifting so you were half-leaning on your palms. Your chest rose and fell with broken breaths, the silence of the courtyard unnerving. It was too quiet for lunchtime.

Then the silence broke.

A rustle.

A whisper of movement.

And Vi stepped out from the shadows beneath the overgrown archway of the courtyard path.

She moved slowly—predator-silent, eyes glowing like twin embers in the shade, fixed on the blood dripping from your knee. Her gaze dragged up your body, reading every inch of you like a map she already knew by heart.

You didn’t move.

Couldn’t.

You just stared, chest heaving, frozen with that same helpless, fragile stillness.

Vi crouched in front of you, her arms resting on her thighs, head tilted just slightly.

“I know you didn’t steal the bracelet,” she said quietly, voice smooth. “That was Viktor. His tells are terrible.”

You didn’t speak. You couldn’t.

Vi reached forward—slow and deliberate—and her hand cupped just under your knee.

Then her head dipped.

You flinched.

But she didn’t stop.

Her tongue ran slow and flat across the blood at your wound, dragging along the scrape like she was tasting honey.

You whimpered.

She pulled back just slightly, lips red and shining, her breath warm against your skin.

“You let them get in your head,” she murmured, her voice low and hungry. “Caitlyn. Sevika. Like they’re the only ones who can protect you.”

Her eyes flicked up to meet yours, pupils blown wide.

“I could do better,” she whispered.

Then she leaned in.

Too close.

You could see the faint shimmer of her fangs, just behind her lips.

And you broke.

The sob tore out of your throat before you even realized it—sharp, wet, and aching. Your shoulders curled inward as your body shook, hands fisting in the grass beside you.

Vi stilled.

Her fangs remained bared for a beat too long, hovering at the edge of a choice.

Then—

She pulled back.

Watching you.

Staring down at your trembling form, your wet cheeks, your silent plea to just be left alone.

And—for once—

She obeyed.

You didn’t know how long you stayed there—shaking, sobbing, curled into yourself in the middle of the empty courtyard.

Your eyes squeezed shut as tightly as your fists, willing it all away—Vi’s voice, her tongue on your skin, the gleam of her fangs, the way she whispered like she knew your every weakness.

You kept them closed until your breath finally started to slow, until the world went quiet again. Too quiet.

And then—

You opened your eyes.

She was gone.

No footsteps. No lingering scent. No trace.

Just the faint breeze rustling through the ivy. The sun creeping higher. The smear of blood still glistening on your knee.

You looked around, heart thudding—left, right, even behind you.

Nothing.

Your breath hitched again, your throat dry.

Was she even really there?

You swallowed hard, wiping your eyes with the sleeve of your blazer as your body trembled in confusion and aftershock. You pushed yourself up slowly, swaying as you stood, one hand pressed to your thigh for balance.

The pain in your knee was real. The blood was real. But everything else?

You weren’t sure.

And that was worse.

Because if Vi hadn’t been there… That meant you were losing your mind.

And if she had?

You weren’t sure what scared you more— Her presence… Or the fact that she walked away.

The dorm was silent when you returned—too silent.

The chaos of the day still echoed in your ears: Jinx’s whisper, Viktor’s betrayal, Caitlyn’s voice saying your dad, Vi’s tongue on your skin like she owned you.

But here?

It was just… quiet.

You stood in the middle of the room for a moment, frozen in the doorway, before moving on autopilot.

You pulled out your suitcase, the navy one with the broken zipper that always snagged on the corner. Threw it onto the bed. Started packing like a ghost.

Blouses. Socks. Uniform skirts. Your backup hoodie.

Your fingers moved faster the less you thought about it.

You reached for your books and notebooks next—stacking them without care, until your hand landed on one worn, soft-covered journal wedged between your Lit notes and an old charger.

You froze.

Halfway through sliding it into the corner of your suitcase, something in you hesitated.

And then—

You sat down on the edge of the bed, flipping it open.

Pages fluttered past your fingertips—entries about classes, crushes, song lyrics, doodles in the margins. Until finally… you landed on one dated about two months ago.

Before you knew.

October 2nd. Caitlyn walked me back from the library tonight. She told me my skirt was too short again but smiled when she said it. I think she likes me. Or maybe I just want her to. I feel stupid even writing this down, but she makes me feel safe in a way I don’t understand. I wish I could just say it. But I won’t.

You stared at the ink, faded slightly from where your palm had smudged the edge of the page.

Your throat tightened.

You weren’t that girl anymore.

Not since the bite. Not since the lies. Not since the way everyone had started circling you like a meal and not a person.

But some part of her was still here.

Still hoping Caitlyn liked her back. Still believing safe was something real.

You closed the journal slowly, fingers tracing the edge of the cover.

Then—softly—you placed it in the suitcase.

Right on top.

Like a piece of yourself you didn’t want to leave behind.

The dorm was silent when you returned—too silent.

The chaos of the day still echoed in your ears: Jinx’s whisper, Viktor’s betrayal, Caitlyn’s voice saying your dad, Vi’s tongue on your skin like she owned you.

But here?

It was just… quiet.

You stood in the middle of the room for a moment, frozen in the doorway, before moving on autopilot.

You pulled out your suitcase, the navy one with the broken zipper that always snagged on the corner. Threw it onto the bed. Started packing like a ghost.

Blouses. Socks. Uniform skirts. Your backup hoodie.

Your fingers moved faster the less you thought about it.

You reached for your books and notebooks next—stacking them without care, until your hand landed on one worn, soft-covered journal wedged between your Lit notes and an old charger.

You froze.

Halfway through sliding it into the corner of your suitcase, something in you hesitated.

And then—

You sat down on the edge of the bed, flipping it open.

Pages fluttered past your fingertips—entries about classes, crushes, song lyrics, doodles in the margins. Until finally… you landed on one dated about two months ago.

Before you knew.

You stared at the ink, faded slightly from where your palm had smudged the edge of the page.

Your throat tightened.

You weren’t that girl anymore.

Not since the bite. Not since the lies. Not since the way everyone had started circling you like a meal and not a person.

But some part of her was still here.

Still hoping Caitlyn liked her back. Still believing safe was something real.

You closed the journal slowly, fingers tracing the edge of the cover.

Then—softly—you placed it in the suitcase.

Right on top.

Like a piece of yourself you didn’t want to leave behind.

Caitlyn's lips never left yours for long. Every time she pulled back for air, her eyes locked on yours like she didn’t want to miss a second—like she wasn’t sure when she'd get to touch you again.

Your hands found the buttons of her uniform shirt, trembling slightly as you fumbled them open. She didn’t rush you. Just kissed down your jawline, her breath warm and steady, her voice barely a whisper.

“You don’t have to be afraid,” she murmured against your throat. “Not with me.”

You nodded, but your body already knew that. The bond buzzed softly under your skin, laced with heat and something deeper—something safe.

Caitlyn’s hands slid beneath your thighs, gently guiding you backward on the bed until your head hit the pillow. Her touch was careful, like you were something she wanted to unwrap, not take.

You let her.

Your knees bent instinctively as she kissed down your chest, your stomach, the curve of your hip—every press of her lips reverent, steady. She didn’t speak again. Just looked up at you once, her hands trailing beneath your skirt, fingertips gliding along your thighs.

You exhaled a shaky breath, lifting your hips slightly to help her slide your underwear down.

Her gaze never left your face.

Not even when she kissed the inside of your knee. Not even when she spread you open, slow and certain, like she’d imagined this more times than she’d ever admit.

And when her mouth finally met you— You gasped.

It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t greedy.

It was worship.

She kissed you like she wanted to memorize the shape of every sound you made, her tongue moving with a rhythm that made your spine arch and your hand fly to her hair.

Your thighs trembled around her shoulders.

You moaned her name—once, then again—and she hummed against you, savoring it. Encouraging it.

You felt like you were coming apart molecule by molecule. Nothing existed but her mouth, her fingers gripping your thighs, her breath against your skin.

And when you finally shattered beneath her— It wasn’t just pleasure. It was relief. Like your body finally found a place it was allowed to fall apart safely.

She stayed with you through it, holding you close as your chest heaved, kissing your inner thigh as if to say I’ve got you.

And she did.

The dream felt heavy.

Not in fear—at least, not yet—but in weight. Like the air itself was thicker. Like you were wading through something that knew your name.

You stood ankle-deep in cold, stagnant water, the hem of your long white dress soaked and clinging to your thighs. The fabric outlined every curve of your body as you slowly stepped forward, the water sloshing gently around your legs. The space was dim, damp—a massive basement or factory flooded halfway to ruin.

Pipes groaned in the distance. Water dripped in rhythmic plinks.

Your hair was wet, curling around your cheeks, heavy against your shoulders. You didn’t remember how you got there.

But you knew you had to move.

A figure stood at the far end of the corridor, just barely visible through the fog curling above the water. They turned, walking through a rusted door with no urgency—like they wanted you to follow.

“Wait—” you called out. Your voice echoed strangely, like it bounced off metal and bone.

You hurried forward, your breath growing unsteady.

You reached the door.

It groaned as you pushed it open.

Beyond it— A staircase.

Short, narrow, carved from wet stone and surrounded by dozens of candles. Their flames barely flickered, casting golden light on the slick walls. It smelled like wax and old secrets.

You climbed.

At the top, the hallway opened into a cramped space, every corner brimming with more candles—hundreds now, flickering silently. And in the middle, sitting atop a stone platform— An altar.

Empty.

But warm.

Like something had just been there.

You stepped forward.

Then— screaming.

Far down the hall behind you.

Loud. Piercing. Familiar.

You turned fast, your breath catching in your throat—just in time to see a shadow dart through the hallway you came from.

The candles blew out all at once.

And then—

BEEP.

Click.

The harsh sound of overhead lights.

You gasped and jolted upright.

The plane had landed.

The lights were on, the cabin buzzing with movement as people pulled bags from overhead bins and gathered coats.

The seatbelt sign blinked off.

The screaming was gone.

Just the rustle of passengers disembarking.

You sat there frozen for a second, blinking hard, your dress still vivid in your mind—soaked, clinging, and cold.

And the altar.

Empty.

Waiting.

The airport was buzzing with movement—people hugging, laughing, dragging luggage behind them in chaotic lines of reunion. But you felt like you were underwater.

The echo of the dream clung to you, a cold weight behind your ribs. You could still feel the wet fabric of that white dress, the way the candles dimmed all at once, the scream—

“Y/N!”

You flinched at the sound of your name.

Turning toward it, you spotted him.

Your dad.

Still tall. Still clean-shaven. Still dressed like a man who made a habit of pretending everything was perfectly fine. His smile was big. Too big.

Like he hadn’t been the one who put you on a plane with no goodbye.

He walked up fast, arms open, and pulled you into a hug before you could even process it.

His arms were warm.

They used to mean safety.

Now they just felt like a memory someone rewrote without asking you.

“God, you look great,” he said, pulling back to look you over. “A little pale, but school’s stressful, right?”

You gave him a small, forced smile.

“Yeah. Just a lot of late nights.”

He took your bag from your hand before you could even tighten your grip. “How’s the academy? They treating you alright? That uniform still blue? You still top of your class?”

You nodded, walking beside him as he led you toward the parking garage.

You played along.

Because it was easier than saying, You sent me away because she asked you to.

Easier than reminding him that he hadn’t called once since you left.

Easier than asking if he knew you cried the entire flight here the first time.

The car beeped as he unlocked it. “Got your favorite snacks at the house. Figured we could do a movie night if you’re up for it. Maybe even invite the girls over.”

The girls.

His new wife. Her daughters. Your replacement family.

You climbed into the passenger seat quietly, fingers fiddling with the sleeve of your jacket.

“Yeah,” you said, voice barely above a whisper. “Sounds great.”

And he smiled again—like it was all okay.

Like you were okay.

But your eyes stayed fixed out the window as he drove.

And deep inside your hoodie pocket… the bracelet pulsed once.

Just enough to remind you— Nothing was behind you.

Not really.

The house looked exactly the same.

Not in a comforting way.

In the stagnant way—where time passed and people pretended nothing ever changed, even when everything had.

The front door opened before your dad even reached for it.

“There she is!”

Karen.

Your stepmom stood in the doorway with a too-wide smile, arms already open for a hug she expected, not offered. Her bleached hair was pulled into a tight ponytail, and her sweater was an aggressively cheerful shade of yellow.

Behind her, standing just inside the foyer, were her two daughters—Harper and Chloe—twelve or thirteen now, maybe? You couldn’t really tell. They didn’t even look up from their phones, thumbs moving rapidly, earbuds half in.

You stepped inside slowly, your shoes silent against the polished floor.

Karen pulled you into a hug before you could even unclip your jacket.

You stiffened.

Awkwardly wrapped your arms around her shoulders.

And then said, quietly, “Hi, Karen.”

She froze for just a second.

Then let out a laugh. “You still calling me that? You can just say ‘mom,’ sweetie—” she winked as she stepped back, “—I don’t bite. Usually.”

You gave a forced smile, your stomach twisting as your dad chuckled behind you.

Harper and Chloe didn’t look up. Chloe muttered something about Wi-Fi as she wandered off toward the stairs.

Karen clapped her hands once. “Alright! Well, I set up the guest room—clean sheets, even lit one of those eucalyptus candles you used to like. And if you’re hungry, I think I have that frozen lasagna somewhere. Unless you're on a special diet now?”

“No, I’m good,” you mumbled, clutching your bag a little tighter.

She didn’t hear you.

She was already moving toward the kitchen.

And as you stood in the middle of the house—still wearing your jacket, still holding your bag— you felt more like furniture than family.

You climbed the stairs slowly, your fingers trailing along the bannister that used to have little nicks in it from when you were younger—scratches from backpacks, fingernails, a toy lightsaber you broke in half during a tantrum.

They’d buffed it smooth.

The hallway looked brighter, cleaner. Newer.

And when you turned toward your old room— you stopped short.

The door was open.

Inside was a gym.

Rubber flooring. Mounted mirror. A foldable treadmill and a full set of matching weights. Even a neon sign on the wall that read GRIND NOW, SHINE LATER.

Your name—once on a door-hanger shaped like a star—was nowhere in sight.

Your chest tightened.

You didn’t cry.

You just… stood there.

Then slowly turned toward the guest room at the end of the hall. The one Karen always reserved for "seasonal relatives."

It was nice.

Too nice.

Neutral-toned, spotless, like something from a magazine. The comforter looked like it had never been touched. There were no posters, no pictures, no books stacked haphazardly on the shelf. The kind of room that looked lived in by no one.

But in a strange way, it reminded you of Caitlyn’s room—pristine, neat, cold but safe.

You dropped your luggage on the bed with a dull thud, toeing off your shoes before shrugging off your jacket and tossing it over the back of the chair.

You sat down at the edge of the bed, the silence pressing in hard around your ribs.

Then you pulled out your phone.

No hesitation.

Your thumb hovered for half a second over her name:

Sevika.

And then you pressed call.

The phone rang once.

Twice.

You held your breath.

The phone barely made it to the third ring.

“Y/N?”

Sevika’s voice came through low, rough from either a nap or a cigarette—maybe both—but instantly alert.

You didn’t answer right away. Just exhaled softly through your nose.

“…You okay?”

There it was.

The worry. The way her voice sharpened just slightly, like she’d already stood up, like her hand was hovering near a jacket or a weapon. She felt it—the bond humming between you, faint but urgent.

“I’m fine,” you said quietly, lying badly.

Silence hummed across the line.

Then: “Did something happen already?”

You shook your head, even though she couldn’t see you. “No. I just… I got here. That’s all.”

You looked around the too-clean room again, your chest still tight. “My room’s gone. It’s a gym now.”

A pause.

“…Damn.”

You let out a breath that was half a laugh, half a sigh. “They put me in the guest room. It’s nicer than my dorm, so I guess I should be grateful.”

“You don’t have to be anything,” Sevika said. “Not with them. Not here.”

You pulled your knees up to your chest, phone cradled between your cheek and shoulder. Her voice made everything feel a little more solid.

“They acted like nothing happened,” you said, the words spilling easier now. “Like I didn’t cry when they sent me away. Like I didn’t beg him to let me stay.”

Another pause. Then a quiet, “I should’ve fought harder.”

You closed your eyes. “You did what you could. And you came for me. That counts.”

There was a sound on her end—a soft rustle, like she’d sat down somewhere hard, maybe her desk or the floor.

“You know,” she said finally, her voice a little softer now, “you can call me whenever. I don’t care what time it is.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat.

“I know.”

Another beat.

“You want me to talk you to sleep or something?”

You smiled faintly, a warmth blooming in your chest despite the ache. “Would you?”

“Yeah,” Sevika said. “Yeah, I would.”

You shifted on the bed, the screen of your phone glowing faintly in the dark as Sevika’s face appeared—tilted slightly, hair a mess, cigarette tucked behind one ear. Her eyes softened the moment she saw you.

“Hey,” she said, voice lower now, quieter. “There you are.”

You didn’t say much.

You didn’t need to.

The video call stayed open as you tucked yourself under the covers, the camera tilted just enough for her to see the top half of your face and your hand curled under your cheek. Sevika was sprawled on her couch, a book open on her lap, legs up on the coffee table like she was trying to pretend she didn’t care—but you saw the way her eyes kept checking your screen every few seconds.

“I’ll stay on till you’re out,” she said, already sounding sleepier.

You whispered a small, “Thanks,” before your eyes began to flutter closed.

The dream returned.

Water lapped at your legs. The white dress clung to your skin, heavier now, more translucent in places. The basement-factory echoed with soft drips and groans, like something alive just out of sight.

You turned the corner again.

The shadowy figure stood at the far end of the corridor—but this time, the face wasn’t hidden.

Caitlyn.

Her hair was soaked. Her uniform blouse clung to her frame, and her eyes were glowing faintly with something between warning and invitation.

She turned, stepping through the door again.

You followed.

The stairway was still lined with candles. Still flickering with that same quiet reverence.

But this time, when you reached the top— The altar had something on it.

A single white rose, streaked with blood at the petals.

You didn’t touch it.

But you knew it meant something.

And then the screaming came again—closer this time.

You turned—

GASP.

You jolted awake, breathing hard.

The room was dim, moonlight seeping through the guest room blinds.

Your hair was plastered to your forehead, the collar of your shirt damp with sweat. You rubbed your eyes, heart pounding.

You looked at your phone screen—still on.

Sevika was passed out, slouched deep in her armchair. A book had slid sideways onto her face, half-covering it, her mouth slightly parted in sleep. The room around her was lit by the soft gold hue of a desk lamp left on.

She’d stayed.

Even after you’d fallen asleep.

Your chest ached in a different kind of way.

You watched her for a moment.

And whispered into the dark, “…I wish you were here.”

#arcane #arcane sevika #sevika #sevika x reader #lesbian #wlw #wuh luh wuh #sissormetimbers

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just-some-user-hunny · 11 months ago

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Yandere! love triangle situation with Aemond and Aegon

~ It's unfortunate enough to capture the eye of one targaryen prince, but in this instance, you're unlucky enough to enrapture the attention of two.

~ Either you're a maid who works in the castle, a childhood friend, or it's a scenario of tarcest (say you're Daemon's daughter), it's inevitable to be within the sights of them.

~ As young princes, they would both Scrabble over your attention like it was a shiny new toy they both wanted. Aegon was brutish and mocking towards his shorter brother, whilst Aemond could only watch on and meekly/slyly attempt to capture your attention and time whenever he could. Taking Aegon's verbal beatings and beratings with a strong facade, letting his words slowly eat away at his self-confidence, fueling him to grow stronger and more capable.

~ Aegon, would inevitably be the boy who'd pull your braids and steal your things to get your attention. Whenever he sees you give Aemond a taste of attention, either it be through chaste conversation, or merely sitting closely with you at mealtimes, he'd act out in his own self-destructive ways and be determined to get your attention. It didn't matter if it was positive, or negative. He just needed your eyes on him.

~ Aemond however doesn't allow himself to sit down and let his brother trample all over him like that. He sharpens his skills with fighting and reading and learning, aiming to take advantage of his older brother by being more intelligent and capable than him.

~ Aegon will undoubtedly remain drowning himself in wine and women from brothels to fill the void that you refuse to fill. Holding both discontent and yearning for you. He would be a painfully lucid, yet desperate yandere. He's not outright clueless, he's aware he's made himself unlovable by now due to his treatment of you in the past. He's damned himself to loneliness, and there's little he can do to win your favour. However, he is still a selfish yandere. He'll naively take advantage of Aemond and cooperate to take you into their custody, to trap you within the castle with Aegon as your rightful king, and Aemond as your dutiful protector.

~ Aemond will become somewhat of a personal bodyguard to you during your stay hostage situation. He'll be hovering in your shadow, his gloved hand bracing upon your lower back whenever you walk with him, hovering behind you whilst you are seated- his arms bracing around you closely, or his hand upon your wrist in a firm iron grasp to keep you with him. He is the one who assigns whoever tends to you, picking only the most trusted handmaidens to bath and dress and tend to. If there were ever one foolish enough to try and help you escape, they'd be cut down mercilessly.

~ Aegon, now drunk with wine and power, the crown sitting heavily upon his brow, will be more selfish and demanding than ever. He's giddy and high from it, often calling you to accompany him during mealtimes. He especially enjoys watching you interact with his children, growing into a wishful delusion that they are yours. He'll watch with a smile as you treat them kindly and gently, warmth spreading in his chest at the sight.

~ You may often awaken in odd hours of the night to find Aegon drunk and soft headed- crumpled in a pitiful mess by your bedside, his hand grasping at your hand to nestle into his locks of unruly snowy hair, and his cheek pressed to the edge of your bed. Usually he's far too inebriated to fathom you're awake, but he will softly and weakly whimper for you to not leave if you try to remove your hand.

~ They're both demanding for your attention, and don't particularly like sharing. Aegon would definitely have this big-headed look upon it, like how he sees Aemond as his 'hound' that'd do anything he wants. But Aemond isn't the obedient pushover he thinks he is. I don't think Aegon is particularly stupid or anything, naive and a little clumsy with making decisions, but Aemond is sincerely much more calculated and cunning. There'd be a whole lot of manipulation going in between those two, and Aegon would think he's on top most of the time when really he's not 😅 Aemond will always be the one pulling the strings, the one holding the reigns, the invisible puppeteer so to speak in this whole dynamic. Aegon will go on with his gloating lovesickness, high on this deception of power that he believes he has in his grasp. With you in his palm, when really he's stepping beneath Aemond's heel.

~ Poor, sweet Helaena in this whole scenario is troubled for you. She's already mourning the loss of her little son, and now her brothers have kidnapped her friend and kept them hostage- just like she. A part of her down feeling comforted with you so close however, she knows how things will end. Forced to foresee the bloodshed and fire, her own brutal succumbing to death, and she's frightened by it all. All she can ask now is for some temporary comfort with you nearby, to pretend for just a little bit longer, that you are both safe and content in the gardens of your childhood- sewing embroidery and catching bugs.

~ During the battle of Rhaenys and Aegon, you bet Aemond will take advantage of this scenario. He wants to be king, and have you all to himself. Why not kill two birds with one stone?

~ Aegon had always been under the naive and gloated assumption that Aemond was under his thumb- at his heel, like a loyal and commanding hound, his to order around. He could only just tolerate having him share the attention he sought after from you. The moment that fateful 'dracarys' left Aemond's snake tongue, Aegon received the true taste of Aemond's view of him.

~ Aegon would be a weak and delusional mess in his weak and vulnerable state. He'd demand for you to be kept away, frightened of you seeing him like this. Ugly. Crippled. Deformed Just like Aemond likes him.

~ Yet in his stupor of strong herbs and medicines, slipping in and out of bleary restless dreams, and agonising consciousness, he would softly choke out for you. He wants you near, but stay away. He needs to hold your hand to distract him from the pain, but if you look upon him he'll cry. He needs you to tell him everything is ok, but if you look upon him as a weak and broken fool then he'll use whatever energy he has left in his whole body to scream in anguish.

~ Aemond would practically be relishing in his post-murder glow. Standing at the foot of his brother's bed, looking down upon him with a cold serpentine-like glare, an air of pleasure surrounding him at the sight of his rival and tormentor broken and simple at his feet.

~ After confirming that Aegon cannot remember being attacked by his own brother, Aemond will grow even more relieved. Gently kissing his brothers brow and promising to take care of you in his stead.

~ with the throne and you nearly secured in his grasp, he feels unstoppable.

There are some timeline things that I haven't thought through completely yet, but this is the whole vibe I get from a situationship between those two. It would be chaotic, akin to being tugged at both ends by two overly enthusiastic and possessive dogs.

I may elaborate more later on, but this is what I have for now! Any thoughts and ideas are very welcome :3

#yandere aegon ii targaryen #yandere aemond targaryen #yandere hotd #yandere house of the dragon

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casscainmainly · 10 months ago

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you’re soooooo right for the cass and jason stuff. i am obsessed with how their views make them behave in their own separate selfish ways. cass needing to believe people can change and be redeemed because she herself needs to believe she can be redeemed…… im thinking specifically in batgirl where she tries to save a murderer from death row. saying “maybe he changed” to the victims mother….. and then everything with jason really, the way he can’t see beyond how he was a victim to see how he has hurt and victimized others. how he has made himself into someone who really can’t see beyond his own tragedy in many ways… how he sees bludhaven literally blow up but refuses to let bruce leave to find Dick

YOU'RE so right because it's easy for people to side with Cass or Jason only, but it's more interesting to see it as neither being 100% in the right. That issue in Batgirl is literally so good - as this post points out, the crime the guy was in prison for was most likely a hate crime. The motive doesn't matter to Cass, since her belief is that no one should die, but it's deliberately disquieting that she doesn't stop to consider the victim until the victim is actually in front of her. Her point of view is focused around redemption and absolutes, to the detriment of justice and specific circumstances.

Jason, on the other hand, is so focused on justice that he has trouble making room for redemption. His is a situational ethics (in contrast to Cass' moral absolutism), which can be good in certain instances (like, debatably, killing the Joker), but can lead to really muddied actions and reasoning. Jason, like Cass, is fundamentally compassionate, but his actions are calculated in a way Cass' is not, leading him to sometimes lose sight of saving lives as the original goal.

Bruce, Jason, and Cass form a really interesting triangle of people whose views on murder are irrevocably tied to the perspective they witnessed the defining murder of their lives in. It's why none of them (yes, even Cass and Bruce) can ever truly understand each other, but also why they have a lot in common. Idk it's just very interesting to think about!

#cassandra cain #jason todd #batman #just a little bruce wayne analysis in here #i could talk about this all day but i'll leave it at this haha #god i love batgirl 19 #every issue of batgirl 2000 (even the bad ones) are filled with such interesting insights #DC LET JASON AND CASS FIGHT #i want cass' new solo to feature her beating jason up #not even morality related i just think she needs to definitively win a fight with him (b&r eternal DOES NOT COUNT)

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brunchable · 9 months ago

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𝐌𝐫. 𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐭'𝐬 𝐃𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐫 | 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐒𝐢𝐱

Part Five | Seven Pairings: Bucky Barnes x f!reader, Steve Rogers x f!reader | Daughter of Thaddeus Ross (Red Hulk) Words: 7.5K Themes: Forbidden/Off-Limits Reader, Love Triangle, M for Mature, 18+ , Post-Endgame, AGE GAP (24y/o reader). Summary: Bucky finds out from Steve that Y/N is taken. Meanwhile, with her symptoms becoming a hindrance in her life, Y/N decides to visit her Doctor.

taggies: @astrelz @pattiemac1 @mrsevans90 @disneyprincessbuffyannesummers @strepsils123

Y/N sat quietly in the passenger seat, staring at the bouquet of lilies in her lap. The flowers felt like a formality—something to soften the evening she wasn’t looking forward to.

Ethan sat beside her, his jaw clenched, hands resting on his thighs, his posture as stiff as ever. For all his calmness, she could sense he was bracing himself.

“Y/N,” Ethan’s voice broke the silence.

She blinked, her thoughts momentarily scattered, her gaze still fixed on the lilies. It took a second longer than usual to process what he had said. “Yeah?”

Ethan frowned, but he continued. “We need to talk before we go in,” he said, his tone more serious than usual. “I’ve been working on something—a real way out of this. But you need to hear me out.”

Y/N shifted slightly, feeling a twinge of discomfort at the edge of her thoughts. Had she already asked him something about this earlier? Her mind had been playing tricks on her lately, short gaps in memory that made conversations blur.

“Well?” she asked, trying to push through the fog.

Ethan exhaled slowly, collecting his thoughts. “You already know we can’t just break it off out of nowhere. You know how your father is. This isn’t just about us—it’s about public perception, about politics. The media is already watching his every move, and if we do this wrong, it’s going to backfire. For both of us.”

Y/N frowned, her fingers fidgeting with the ribbon on the bouquet. She tried to focus on his words, but her thoughts slipped away like they were caught in some strange, sticky haze. She blinked hard, as if clearing her vision would clear her mind.

“You keep saying that. But what’s your actual plan, Ethan?”

“Okay, here’s what I’ve mapped out,” Ethan said, shifting slightly to face her more directly. “We can’t break it off right now—not with the event coming up. Your father is going to introduce you to the public for the first time, and we need to maintain a united front for that. There will be too many eyes on him, on us—actually. . . this plan might be crossing some dangerous territory but trust me.”

Y/N’s frustration simmered, but she let him continue.

Ethan leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. “After the event, we create a slow, controlled narrative. We start appearing together less in public. Gradually, we let it slip to key people that we’re focusing on our careers, that we’re ‘growing apart.’ It won’t be sudden. It’ll be gradual, subtle. The public will buy it because we’ll be feeding them a story that makes sense.”

He paused, gauging her reaction, but Y/N’s expression remained unreadable.

“So after the event,” she said slowly, “we pretend like everything’s fine for a little while longer? And what dangerous territory are you talking about?”

“Huh? Did I say that? Ignore that and just trust me,” Ethan replied, his tone firm but calculated. “It’s all going to work out, I'll tell you more during the event.”

Y/N’s eyes narrowed. “And what about the engagement itself? What do we say about that?”

“We make it seem amicable,” Ethan continued. “We’ll say it was a mutual decision to step back.”

Y/N sat back, her mind racing as she considered his words. “And what about my father?”

Ethan sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “That’s the tricky part. Your father won’t like it—at all. But his is where the dangerous part comes in.”

Y/N’s fingers tightened on the bouquet as she considered his plan. “What dangerous part? You said it won’t be scandalous.”

“It won’t be on our part but this is necessary. If we’re strategic, we control the narrative. So what do you say?”

Y/N let out a slow breath, her mind spinning. Ethan’s plan was cold, calculated, but it made sense. He wasn’t asking her to be patient for nothing. He had thought it through—every angle, every move. Still, the idea of keeping up the façade for a while longer felt suffocating.

“We’re running out of time,” Ethan added quietly, as the car slowed in front of the White House gates.

Y/N stared out the window at the imposing building, the weight of her father’s expectations pressing down on her. She didn’t want this, didn’t want to keep playing this game. But Ethan was right—this was bigger than them now.

She sighed, nodding reluctantly. “Okay.”

Ethan gave her a tight smile. “I promise. Just a little longer.”

As the car pulled up to the entrance, Y/N took a deep breath, gathering her composure. Ethan offered his arm as they stepped out, the bouquet still clutched in her hands like a shield. She glanced at him, knowing they were about to walk into another performance.

× × × ×

The Avengers were gathered on the terrace, enjoying a rare evening of relaxation. Tony manned the grill with exaggerated flair, flipping steaks while bantering with Clint, who was attempting to sneak food from the grill.

“Clint, if you steal one more piece of steak, I’m revoking your Avengers membership,” Tony warned, eyeing him as he flipped another steak on the grill.

Clint smirked, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. But if you burn that one, I’m taking it.”

Clint grinned, pretending to hold up his hands in surrender. “I’m just quality-checking for you, Stark, in case you burn one. Consider it a service.”

“Please,” Tony said, waving his spatula, “I don’t burn anything. Ask anyone.”

Happy, standing nearby, raised an eyebrow. “That’s a bold statement, considering what happened with the burgers last summer.”

Natasha chuckled from her seat at the table. “Yeah, Tony, we all remember the ‘crispy’ burgers.”

Pepper walked out of the house, smiling as she set a basket of bread on the table. “I’m surprised you all still let him near a grill.”

“Hey!” Tony protested, “My grilling is top-notch.”

Peter, who was seated between Clint and Sam, leaned forward, grinning. “Well, I mean, if this doesn’t go well, there’s always takeout, right?”

“That’s the spirit, kid,” Tony said with a wink. “Now, everyone, prepare to be amazed.”

As the group continued to banter, passing around plates of appetizers, Thor raised his goblet of mead. “I must say, this meal is already fit for a king!” He took a long drink and slammed the goblet on the table, making Peter jump.

Bruce looked amused as he sipped his drink. “Thor, you’ve had three goblets already. Maybe slow down?”

“Slow down?” Thor laughed heartily. “Nonsense, Banner! This is a night for celebration!”

“Celebration for what, exactly?” Natasha asked, her eyebrow raised.

“Does a man need a reason to celebrate among friends?” Thor replied, grinning.

Sam chuckled. “You’re always celebrating, Thor.”

As the steaks were finally placed on the table, everyone dug in. Clint immediately went for the biggest piece, earning a glare from Tony.

“Steak thief,” Tony muttered under his breath, shaking his head.

Clint smirked, cutting into his steak. “What? It’s a gift.”

Peter was devouring his food with enthusiasm, looking between the adults. “This is awesome! I mean, I usually just have pizza nights with May, so this is... cool.”

Happy leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. “You’ve gotta try the Stark steak, kid. Just don’t expect it to beat New York pizza.”

Tony shot Happy a look. “Hey, nothing beats Stark steak.”

“Not even pizza?” Peter asked, genuinely curious.

“Not even pizza,” Tony said with a smirk, winking at the kid.

As the group dug into the meal, Tony took a sip of his drink and leaned back in his chair, a sly grin spreading across his face. “So, speaking of dinners... anyone get an invite to the Thaddeus Ross Spectacular coming up in a few weeks?”

Pepper rolled her eyes, giving Tony a light slap on the shoulder. “Tony...”

“What?” Tony shrugged innocently. “I’m just saying, it’s not every day a guy like Ross throws a party to show off his ‘secret family.’ You’ve gotta admit, it’s pretty intriguing.”

Natasha raised an eyebrow, smirking. “Let me guess—you’re more interested in the political gossip than the actual event?”

“Oh, come on, Nat. You know me too well.” Tony winked before turning his attention to the rest of the table. “So? Who’s going? Everyone get an invite?”

Clint leaned back in his chair, chewing thoughtfully. “Yeah, got one. Not sure if I’m showing up, though.”

Sam snorted. “You? Miss a chance to rub shoulders with the political elite? Shocking.”

“Apparently, he’s been keeping his daughter hidden away, and now he’s ready for the grand reveal.” Tony chuckles.

“Why now?” Bruce asked, curious.

“Politics, probably,” Sam said, taking a sip of his drink. “Everything’s about appearances.”

Happy chuckled. “Wouldn’t put it past Ross to use his family for a political boost.”

Pepper sighed, giving Tony a nudge. “Can we not gossip, please?”

“Just saying,” Tony grinned. “It’s not every day you get an invite to something like that. So, who’s going?”

Clint nodded. “Now that I know the context, I might.”

“Same,” Sam added. “Seems like a bit of a spectacle.”

Bruce shrugged. “I got one too. I don’t know if I want to go.”

Thor, who was already pouring himself another drink, chuckled. “I shall attend, if only to witness the drama.”

Peter looked confused. “Wait, Ross? Isn’t he the guy who—?”

“Yeah,” Steve said, cutting him off with a smile. “Same guy.”

“Okay, just making sure I’m keeping up.” Peter raised his hands.

Bucky, who had been quietly eating, finally chimed in. “I got one. Haven’t decided either.”

Tony gave him a teasing look. “Oh, come on, Barnes. What’s not to like? A stuffy political event, full of pomp and circumstance. Your kind of crowd.”

“Yeah, sounds like a blast.” Bucky smirked, shaking his head.

Pepper turned to Steve, who had been unusually quiet. “What about you, Steve? Are you planning on going?”

Steve shrugged, pushing a piece of steak around his plate. “I got an invite... I just haven’t decided.”

Tony chuckled, raising an eyebrow. “Come on, Rogers. You can’t pass this up. You’re curious, I can tell.”

“Maybe just a little bit,” Steve chuckles, “We'll see.”

The evening had grown quieter at Tony’s, the Avengers scattered around, finishing their drinks and chatting in smaller groups. Steve and Bucky stood near the terrace, leaning against the railing, a comfortable silence between them.

Steve glanced at his beer, swirling the liquid around. "I saw Y/N the other day... Thought I should try therapy too."

Bucky raised an eyebrow, letting out a small chuckle. “For what?”

Steve shrugged, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Oh, you know, now that I’ve carried on my legacy to Sam. Not Captain America anymore. Gotta figure out what’s next.”

Bucky nodded, though his thoughts were already starting to drift. “Huh. I see.”

There was a pause before Steve added, almost too casually, “I didn’t know Y/N has a boyfriend.”

Bucky’s head snapped toward Steve, his stomach tightening at the mention of Y/N. He caught himself quickly, casually retreating into a more neutral posture, but the surprise had already flashed through him.

“Wouldn’t be surprised if she was taken.”

Steve looked at Bucky, his curiosity piqued. “Really? You think so?”

Bucky shrugged, trying to keep his voice light, even though his thoughts were racing. Taken? He hadn’t even considered the possibility that Y/N could be with someone, and now the idea of her with another man—after she kissed him, twice—bothered him. What the hell was she doing kissing me if she had a boyfriend?

“She’s smart, successful,” Bucky said, keeping his tone nonchalant. “And let’s be honest, she’s pretty damn attractive. So, why would she be single?”

The words came out easily enough, but Bucky could feel the simmering frustration building in his chest. He had let himself get caught up in her—let her get under his skin—and now he was finding out she might have been playing him all along. Was I just a moment of curiosity for her? Some game to figure out who she kissed at that party?

Then it hit him—he once saw Y/N with a man in the café during one of their run-ins. Idiot!

Steve tilted his head, watching Bucky a bit too closely. “You say that like you know something.”

Bucky met Steve’s gaze, his face a mask of indifference, even though his insides were twisting in knots. “I don’t know anything. I just wouldn’t be surprised.”

Steve nodded slowly, “Huh. Guess I hadn’t thought about it that way.”

Bucky stared out into the darkened sky, trying to push the thoughts away, but the bitterness clung to him. The realization settled like a stone in his chest, and no matter how hard he tried to ignore it, the anger flared again. Why the hell didn’t she just say something?

They stood in silence for a few moments, Steve sipping his drink, still turning over what Bucky had said. But for Bucky, the silence was filled with the echoes of those moments with Y/N—the kisses. Now, it all felt like it had been a game. And the worst part was, he couldn’t shake how much it bothered him.

× × × ×

Session 4

The room was quiet, the ticking of the clock the only sound cutting through Y/N's voice. Y/N sat across from him, clipboard in hand, her professional mask perfectly in place as she glanced down at her notes.

She had been talking about progress, about making amends, but her words barely registered with Bucky. His thoughts were elsewhere, tangled up in frustration and confusion.

He couldn’t shake the image of Y/N with another man. Taken—that was the word that kept replaying in his mind. She was taken. He wasn’t mad that she had someone; he was mad that she kissed him like it meant something, only for him to find out she was with someone all along.

He wasn’t sure how long he’d been sitting there, simmering in silence, when Y/N’s voice cut through his thoughts.

“Bucky, you seem very closed off today. Is there something on your mind?”

He blinked, refocusing on her. “No.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, her eyes flicking to him from her notes. “Are you sure? You’ve been pretty quiet.”

Bucky let out a small, frustrated breath. Of course I’m quiet. How was he supposed to talk to her when she was hiding so much? When she had kissed him but still had another man? His fingers curled into his bicep a bit tighter, but he kept his voice leveled.

“I’m fine.”

Y/N didn’t press, but the silence that followed felt suffocating. She looked down at her clipboard again, jotting something down, and the sight of it—her calm professionalism—only made his frustration boil higher.

He shifted in his seat, his body tense. He didn’t understand how she could sit there so collected, while his mind was racing.

Y/N glanced up again, her tone gentle but probing. “Bucky, if there’s something bothering you, this is a safe space to talk about it.”

His jaw tightened. A safe space? That felt like a joke. He could spill his guts to her, tell her everything about his past, his pain, his guilt. But what about her? What was she hiding? What was she not telling him? The frustration simmered hotter.

He shifted in his seat again, trying to tamp down the anger rising in his chest. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could take this. The silence, the tension—it was suffocating him. Finally, he couldn’t keep it in any longer.

“You know,” Bucky said, his voice sharper than he intended, “it’s funny.”

Y/N blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift in his tone. She set down her clipboard, giving him her full attention.

“What do you mean?”

Bucky huffed out a breath, the words spilling out before he could stop them. “You know everything about me. All my baggage, all the crap I’ve done. But I don’t know one damn thing about you.”

Y/N straightened, her professional mask slipping just slightly. “Bucky, this is a therapeutic setting. The focus is on you—”

“Yeah, I know,” Bucky snapped, his frustration boiling over. “But how’s that fair? You’ve heard everything about me. You’ve seen every scar, every mistake I’ve made. And I don’t know anything about you. Not even something as basic as... if you’re—” He stopped short, biting down on the words he almost let slip, but it was too late.

Y/N’s brow furrowed, her voice still calm, though there was a crack in her usual detachment. “This is about helping you process what you’ve been through. It’s not about me.”

Bucky let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head.

“Of course it’s not. Because why would it be? Why would I get to know the person who knows all my deepest, darkest secrets?”

Y/N held his gaze, her expression softening slightly, but she still kept that professional distance. “Bucky, if I’ve crossed a line—”

Bucky leaned forward, cutting her off, his voice low and sharp. “Don’t play dumb with me. You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

Y/N opened her mouth to respond, but suddenly, her mind clouded, the words slipping from her grasp. It was like she was reaching for a thought, but it stayed just out of reach, teasing her from the edges of her awareness. Her heart raced in frustration, not just at the argument but at this unsettling feeling that had been plaguing her for days.

“I... I wasn’t—” she stammered, blinking as she tried to focus on Bucky’s angry face, the lines of it somehow blurring together. It felt like the room tilted for a brief moment, but she quickly grounded herself, inhaling deeply to stay composed.

“You kissed me,” Bucky’s expression hardened, mistaking her hesitation for guilt. “Not once, but twice. And now, I found out you’ve been with someone this whole time?”

Her breath hitched slightly, but she didn’t respond right away.

Bucky shook his head, his tone bitter. “What was that? Some kind of test? You trying to figure out if I was the guy from that party? Well, guess what? I wasn’t. But you didn’t even give me a chance to say anything before you tried again.”

Y/N’s face softened, and she started to speak, but Bucky wasn’t done.

“You know everything about me. Everything. But I don’t know anything about you. You sit there with that clipboard, all calm and collected, while I lay my soul bare. But what about you? What are you hiding?”

Y/N opened her mouth, but the words seemed to falter. Bucky could see the cracks forming in her usually unshakable demeanor. She wasn’t used to being the one under the spotlight.

“It’s not fair, Y/N,” Bucky continued, his voice quieter now, but no less intense. “You’ve got this wall up, and I’m supposed to just keep spilling my guts to you while you stand there behind it, safe and protected.”

Y/N’s lips parted, her voice barely a whisper. “Bucky...”

“No,” Bucky interrupted, his tone soft but firm. “I’ve told you everything. Every mistake, every regret, every damn thing that haunts me. And you? I don’t even know who you really are.”

Y/N’s hands tightened around the arms of her chair, her nails digging into the leather as she fought to stay present. His words cut through her, but the fog in her mind made it difficult to piece together a response. Why couldn’t she just think straight? The frustration bubbled up inside her, and her head throbbed as if under the weight of a thousand unsaid words.

Bucky watched her, waiting for something, anything, but the room remained heavy with unspoken words.

“I didn’t mean to—” she started, her voice shaking slightly, but she paused again, a sudden confusion taking over. Had she told him that already? Was she repeating herself? Bucky’s words echoed in her ears, and for a moment, everything felt disjointed, like pieces of a conversation out of sync.

“You’ve never asked.” she added, her voice barely audible.

Bucky blinked, then let out a dry, humorless laugh, the sound catching even him off guard. He shook his head, leaning back in his chair. “That’s your answer? I never asked?”

Y/N sighed, glancing at the clock, clearly trying to buy time. “It’s not what you think—”

Bucky scoffed, his laugh harder this time, sharper. “Oh, that’s rich. ‘It’s not what you think.’ What, you think this is just some misunderstanding?”

Y/N opened her mouth, but Bucky wasn’t done.

“You’ve got a guy, right? And yet, you've kissed me. Twice. What am I supposed to think, Y/N? You make me feel like I’m the guy on the side, like I’m stealing someone else’s girl. I don’t do that.”

Y/N’s face flushed, her lips parting slightly as if she wanted to respond, but she stayed silent, her eyes downcast.

The frustration had been simmering for days, ever since he’d found out she wasn’t single. And now, sitting here, watching her keep up that perfect, composed therapist façade, it was too much.

He wasn’t just angry—he was insulted. He wasn’t the kind of man to step into someone else’s relationship, and the fact that he had kissed her without knowing she had someone was eating him up inside.

“You didn’t tell me,” Bucky said, his voice lower now, filled with barely restrained anger. “You didn’t tell me anything. And now, what? I’m supposed to just sit here and pretend it didn’t happen?”

Y/N’s breath hitched, her voice barely above a whisper. “Bucky, I wasn’t trying to—”

“To what?” Bucky cut her off, his tone harsh. “What were you trying to do? Because from where I’m sitting, it looks like you were playing games. And I’m not the kind of guy who does that. You put me in a position I didn’t ask for. You made me...”

He stopped himself, running a hand through his hair, frustration radiating from him. He felt trapped, like he’d been dragged into something he had no control over. The last thing he wanted was to be tangled up in someone else’s drama, especially when it came to relationships. He wasn’t the guy who crossed those lines.

Y/N looked up at him, her expression softer, but she still didn’t speak.

“You’ve got your life, your man. Fine. But don’t pull me into it.”

The sharp sound of the alarm ringing broke the tension, signaling the end of their session. Bucky glanced at the clock, then back at Y/N, the frustration still etched across his face.

He let out a long, heavy sigh, standing up slowly. Without another word, he turned and made his way toward the door, his movements stiff, controlled. He paused for the briefest of moments, his hand resting on the doorknob, but he didn’t look back.

“You take care, Y/N,” he muttered under his breath, though there was no warmth in his voice.

And then he was gone, the door clicking softly shut behind him.

Y/N remained where she was, her eyes still fixed on the spot where he’d been sitting just moments before. Her throat tightened, and her vision blurred, but she blinked rapidly, refusing to let the tears fall. She was stubborn, always had been, and she wasn’t about to break down now. Not after that.

× × × ×

Y/N’s heart raced as she navigated the city streets, her thoughts a whirlwind of worry and confusion. The familiar sounds of the bustling city seemed distant as she pressed harder on the gas pedal, weaving through the evening traffic. The day had dragged on longer than usual, her symptoms clouding her focus as she worked through meetings and paperwork. But now, with the weight of uncertainty pressing down on her, she needed answers.

She pulled into the hospital parking lot, her fingers trembling slightly as she turned off the ignition. Inhaling deeply, Y/N gathered her things and stepped out of the car, moving quickly through the entrance. The sterile, fluorescent-lit hallways of the private clinic always made her uneasy, but today, her unease stemmed from something far deeper.

The receptionist glanced up as she entered. “Miss Y/N,” she greeted with a soft smile. “Dr. Kim is expecting you. Please, go right in.”

Y/N nodded, unable to muster more than a polite smile as she made her way down the hall. Her chest tightened with each step until she finally reached the familiar door. Pausing for a moment, she exhaled slowly and knocked softly before opening it.

Dr. Kim looked up from his desk, his expression immediately softening as he saw her.

“Y/N,” he greeted warmly, standing to meet her. “Come in, have a seat. What’s going on? You sounded urgent on the phone.”

Y/N sat down, her hands clenched tightly in her lap. The overwhelming need to explain everything spilled out of her, the words tumbling over one another as she tried to make sense of the chaos in her mind.

“Dr. Kim, I—something’s wrong. I don’t know how to explain it, but it’s been happening for weeks now. I keep getting these... these daydreams that feel so real. I’ll lose track of time, or I’ll end up in places and not remember how I got there. And my head... it’s like there’s this constant fog, like I can’t think clearly. I’ll forget things in the middle of a conversation. It’s—it’s scaring me.”

Dr. Kim’s brow furrowed as he listened, concern flickering in his eyes. He leaned forward slightly, his hands resting on his desk. “When did these symptoms start?”

“A few weeks ago,” Y/N admitted, her voice shaky. “I thought it was just stress at first—work, everything with my father, the engagement. But it’s getting worse. It’s like... like I’m losing control of my own mind.”

He nodded, his face calm but serious. “Have you experienced any physical symptoms? Headaches? Nausea?”

Y/N hesitated, then nodded. “Yes. The headaches are getting more frequent, and they’re... different. Not like any I’ve had before. And I get this dizziness, like the room is spinning, but it’s only for a few seconds at a time.”

Dr. Kim sat back in his chair, deep in thought. “Y/N, I’m going to schedule an emergency scans for you—right now. I don’t want to wait on this. Your symptoms... we need to rule out any serious issues.”

Her stomach twisted at the word "serious," but she nodded, grateful that he was taking action.

“What scans?” You shook your, trying to blink off the incoming headache.

“CT, MRI, PET. I'll add a Blood analysis as well—you might want to cancel plans, if you've got one tonight or you can go home and we can arrange a time tomorrow for the results.” He gave her a choice.

“I can stay. I need to know what's going on.”

Dr. Kim stood up, motioning for her to follow him. The minutes that followed were a blur—hushed conversations with nurses, the hum of machines, and the cold, sterile air of each scanning room.

She lay still as the machine whirred around her, her mind racing despite the calm instructions from the technician. It felt like hours and hours had passed by the time she was finally back in Dr. Kim’s office, waiting for the results.

When Dr. Kim returned, the air in the room seemed to thicken with tension. He carried a file in his hands, his face somber.

“Y/N,” he began quietly, taking a seat across from her. “I need you to listen carefully.”

Her pulse quickened, her intertwined fingers tightening on eachother. “What is it?”

He hesitated, glancing down at the file before meeting her gaze. “The scans show something... concerning. You have a rare form of cancer called Cloud Cytoma.”

Y/N blinked, her mind reeling as the words hit her like a wave.

“Cancer?” she repeated, her voice barely above a whisper. “How bad is it?”

Dr. Kim’s expression was gentle but unflinching. “Cloud Cytoma is an extremely rare type of cancer that affects the cranial nerves. It explains the symptoms you’ve been experiencing—memory loss, disorientation, even the vivid daydreams. The tumor is in the area of your brain that controls memory and perception.”

Y/N’s heart pounded in her chest, her breath coming in shallow, rapid bursts. "How… How long?" she asked, her voice barely more than a whisper.

Dr. Kim weighed his words carefully but there was no easy way to break out bad news. “I’m afraid the prognosis isn’t good. With treatment, we may be able to manage the symptoms for a little while, but... you likely have about six months, give or take.”

The words hit her like a tidal wave. Her breath caught in her throat as the world around her began to blur.

“I can contact specialists around the globe, who study this form of cancer. I will do my utmost best to find another way. . . . .”

For a second, she wasn’t sure if she was still in the room. It felt like she was slipping into one of those disorienting daydreams again, the ones that felt too real but weren’t. Her vision wavered, and she instinctively pressed her hands against her temples, trying to anchor herself.

“Y/N? Y/N?” Dr. Kim’s voice cut through the fog, concern deepening in his tone.

Y/N opened her eyes, blinking rapidly, trying to shake off the sensation that everything around her was crumbling. She took a deep breath, but the words "six months" echoed in her mind like a broken record, looping endlessly.

Six months. It was absurd. How could someone just say that so calmly? She had just come in here expecting to hear she needed rest, maybe a break from work, and instead, her entire world had been ripped out from under her in a matter of minutes.

She stared at Dr. Kim, trying to wrap her head around it, but the room still felt tilted.

"Six months..." she whispered, shaking her head. "That’s... not enough time to even figure out how to respond to something like this."

Dr. Kim nodded sympathetically, his eyes steady on her. "I know it’s overwhelming. But we’ll focus on making you as comfortable as possible and explore every option available."

Y/N bit her lip, staring down at her hands, her mind spinning. This was her life now—six months left to live. Six months to figure out how to say goodbye to everything and everyone. The absurdity of it all clawed at her chest. It was so ridiculous, so horrifyingly unfair. Six months. The more she thought about it, the more surreal it felt.

And then, out of nowhere, a small, unexpected sound escaped her lips. A laugh. It was quiet at first, almost like a hiccup, but it bubbled up before she could stop it. Her shoulders shook with it, and before long, she was laughing—softly, incredulously, like she couldn’t quite believe the situation she was in.

Dr. Kim blinked in surprise. "Y/N?" he asked cautiously.

But Y/N couldn’t stop. The sheer insanity of being told she had six months to live, just like that, felt like some sort of twisted joke. She wiped at her eyes, half-laughing, half-crying, the sound mixing into something she didn’t even understand.

"Six months..." she gasped between laughs, shaking her head. "I barely know what I’m having for dinner tonight, and now I have to figure out how to live with six months left?"

Dr. Kim watched her with a mixture of sympathy and confusion, clearly not expecting this reaction.

She took a few deep breaths, her laughter finally subsiding, though the absurdity of it all still hung in the air.

"Sorry," she muttered, a wry smile tugging at her lips. "It’s just... It’s kind of funny when you think about it. I mean, how does anyone process that? It’s so... random."

Dr. Kim’s expression softened, and after a moment, he allowed a small, understanding smile. "Everyone processes this kind of news differently," he said gently. "Sometimes, a little laughter helps. It’s your body’s way of coping with the shock."

Y/N nodded, still smiling through the haze of disbelief. “Yeah... maybe. But I can tell you one thing—this isn’t how I imagined my day ending.”

× × × ×

Y/N sat at the bar, swirling the amber liquid in her glass, trying to drown out the noise in her head. Probably not the best decision but with six months left? Why should she even care anymore?

When she took another sip of her drink, a sudden, sharp pain pierced through her temples. Y/N squeezed her eyes shut, trying to shake it off, but the disorienting fog that had plagued her for weeks started to settle in again. The world around her seemed to tilt for a moment, her breath catching as she tried to refocus.

She blinked hard, forcing herself to concentrate on the glass in her hand. Everything felt too bright, too loud, like the whole bar was closing in on her.

A presence beside her jolted her out of the fog. A man she hadn’t seen before, clearly drunk, sidled up next to her with a lazy grin on his face.

“Hey there, sweetheart,” he slurred, leaning closer than necessary. Y/N tensed immediately, her skin crawling at the intrusion.

“Why’s a pretty thing like you sitting here all alone?”

Y/N’s heart raced, but she pushed down the panic, trying to stay present. She had to. “Not interested,” she said flatly, her voice sharper than intended. She lifted her glass, hoping he’d take the hint.

But he didn’t. The grin on his face widened, and he leaned even closer, his breath reeking of alcohol. “Aw, come on. Don’t be like that. I’m just trying to be friendly.”

Her grip on the glass tightened, her pulse pounding in her ears. The fog was still there, lurking at the edges of her awareness, but she forced herself to focus, forced herself to stay grounded. She wouldn’t let this escalate.

“I said, not interested,” she repeated, her voice icy.

The man’s smile faded slightly, his hand reaching out to brush over her arm. “Feisty, huh? I like a girl with some fire.”

Y/N jerked her arm away, her heart pounding in her chest. “Back off,” she snapped, louder this time, but the man’s hand moved to her thigh, his grip tightening just enough to send a wave of nausea through her.

Before she could react, a strong hand clamped down on the guy’s shoulder, yanking him backward with force.

“Let go of her,” a firm voice said, filled with authority.

Y/N’s eyes darted up to see Steve Rogers standing beside her, his expression hard as he pulled the man off her. The drunk stumbled backward, a look of anger flashing across his face.

“Who the hell are you?” the man growled, trying to stand up straighter.

Steve’s eyes narrowed, his posture straight and unmistakably threatening. “Walk away.”

The man scoffed, rubbing his shoulder, clearly too drunk to realize who he was messing with.

“Nah, I’m good right here.” His eyes flicked back to Y/N, a disgusting smirk crossing his face. “She and I were just getting acquainted.”

Before he could say another word, Steve’s fist shot out, connecting with the guy’s jaw with a sickening crack. The man staggered back, crashing into the barstools before crumpling to the floor, clutching his jaw in pain.

The entire bar went silent, everyone turning to see what had just happened.

Steve stood tall, glaring down at the man on the floor. “I told you to walk away.”

The drunk groaned, still clutching his jaw as he scrambled to his feet, glaring at Steve but clearly outmatched.

“You’ll regret that,” he spat, stumbling toward the door, muttering curses under his breath as he left the bar.

Y/N sat there, still frozen in place, her heart racing. The sudden flare of pain in her head had passed, but the fog lingered, making everything feel slightly off-kilter. She had been ready to scream, to fight back, but Steve’s intervention had caught her off guard. Slowly, she released the breath she didn’t realize she had been holding.

Steve turned to her, his expression softening as their eyes met. “You alright?”

Y/N nodded, though her voice was shaky. “Yeah. I’m... fine.”

Steve studied her for a moment, his gaze lingering on her face, as if checking to make sure she was really okay. “You sure?”

Y/N let out a breath, finally allowing herself to relax. “Yeah. Thanks for... you know.”

“It’s nothing.” Steve gave her a small, reassuring smile. He motioned to the empty stool next to her. “Mind if I sit?”

Y/N hesitated, still shaken, but then nodded. “Go ahead.”

As Steve sat down beside her, the tension in the air began to dissipate, though Y/N’s thoughts were still a mess.

Steve glanced at her drink, then back at her. “Rough night?”

“You have no idea.” Y/N let out a small, humorless laugh, shaking her head.

Steve’s eyes softened, and he leaned forward slightly. “I’m a good listener if you want to talk.”

Y/N stared at her drink, debating whether to unload everything or to keep it all bottled up, like she always did. She sighed, shaking her head.

“It’s... complicated.”

“Life usually is.” Steve smiled faintly.

Y/N took another sip of her drink, her thoughts still swirling, when Steve’s voice broke through the heavy silence again.

“You know,” Steve said, a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, “it’s kind of funny.”

“What’s funny?” Y/N glanced up at him, raising an eyebrow.

“I’m sitting here, offering to listen to you, and you’re supposed to be my therapist.” Steve leaned against the counter, he gave her a playful look.

“You know, therapists need therapists too?” Y/N couldn’t help the small chuckle that escaped her.

Steve grinned, clearly enjoying the lightening of the mood. “I guess I didn’t realize I’d signed up for a two-way session.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, “I’m off the clock, Steve. If you want therapy, you’ll have to book another session.”

Steve let out a low laugh, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “Fair enough. But it feels like I’m earning some points here. First catching you before you fell, now the bar rescue, and now some free therapy advice? You’re really getting the full Captain America experience tonight.”

“Is that what this is? The Captain America experience?” Y/N shook her head, her smile widening.

“Saving lives and giving pep talks, all in a day’s work.” Steve raised his glass in a mock toast.

Y/N’s laughter came more freely this time, and for a moment, the weight of everything that had been pressing down on her lifted just a little. She hadn’t realized how much she needed a moment like this—something light, something simple. No complications, no lies. Just a small break from the storm that was her life.

She glanced over at Steve, who was watching her with that same warm, gaze he always had. There was something about him—his presence, his calmness—that made her feel at ease. For a fleeting moment, she considered telling him everything. But the thought quickly passed. She couldn’t drag him into her mess.

“Thanks, Steve,” Y/N said softly, her voice sincere.

Steve shrugged, still smiling. “Anytime. I’m not just good at punching guys, you know.”

“I’ve noticed. You’re also good at therapy.” Y/N smirked, giving him a playful look.

Steve chuckled, his eyes flicking over to her empty glass. “Well, if you ever need more... Captain America therapy sessions, you know where to find me.”

Y/N nodded, her smile fading slightly as reality began to creep back in. The joke was lighthearted, but the weight of everything she was carrying started to settle in again. She felt the heaviness pressing down again, but before she could sink too deep into it, Steve leaned forward, his eyes twinkling mischievously.

“You know,” he said, his tone conspiratorial, “there’s one thing I’ve always wondered.”

“Oh yeah? What’s that?”

Steve took a dramatic pause, glancing around the bar like he was about to share a state secret. Then, in a completely serious voice, he asked, “Do therapists actually read all those self-help books, or is that just for show?”

Y/N snorted, caught off guard by the absurdity of the question. She covered her mouth, trying to keep from laughing too loudly. “Seriously? That’s what you’ve been wondering?”

“Hey, it’s an important question. I mean, there are a lot of those books out there. The Art of Not Giving a Damn, How to Be Your Best You, 10 Steps to Inner Peace... Do you just have a whole library of them stashed somewhere?” Steve grinned, clearly pleased with himself.

“Well, some of us don’t need a self-help book to be as annoyingly well-adjusted as you, Captain.” Y/N couldn’t hold back the laughter this time.

Steve held up his hands, feigning innocence. “Annoyingly well-adjusted? I think that’s the nicest thing anyone’s said to me in weeks.”

Y/N rolled her eyes but couldn’t help smiling. “Alright, alright. To answer your question—no, I don’t have a secret stash of self-help books. But now I feel like I should start collecting them, just to mess with people.”

“You should. Imagine the look on people’s faces when you recommend something like Finding Inner Zen for Dummies.”

Y/N giggled, shaking her head. “Yeah, that would go over real well with my clients.”

Steve leaned in a little closer, dropping his voice to a mock whisper. “I bet Bucky would love that.”

Y/N’s laughter bubbled up again, the sound light and genuine. “Oh god, can you imagine? He’d walk out immediately.”

Steve nodded, his expression serious. “Absolutely. The moment you pulled out a book like that, he’d be gone. You’d have to chase him down with a copy of Anger Management 101.”

Y/N was laughing so hard now, her sides hurt. “Stop! I can’t breathe!”

“Okay, okay, I’ll stop. But only because I don’t want to be responsible for making my therapist pass out from laughing.”

Y/N wiped at her eyes, still giggling as she tried to catch her breath. “I’m supposed to be the one helping you, remember?”

Steve gave her a playful shrug. “Hey, you help me, I help you. That’s how this works, right?”

“I guess so. I didn’t realize I’d signed up for a comedy show, though.”

Steve crossed his arms, looking mock-offended. “Comedy show? I’ll have you know I’m much more than that. I’m also very good at giving bad advice and quoting old movies no one’s seen.”

“Oh, really? Now I’m intrigued. What’s the worst advice you’ve ever given?”

Steve pretended to think for a moment. “Hmm... worst advice? Oh, I know. I once told Tony that it was a good idea to let Peter drive the Quinjet.”

Y/N’s eyes widened in horror. “You did not!”

Steve grinned. “I’m kidding. I’d never let that happen. But Tony would.”

Y/N let out a relieved breath, still smiling. “I was about to say...”

The tension that had weighed her down all night seemed to disappear, replaced by the warmth of Steve’s humor. She wasn’t sure how he did it—how he could make her laugh so easily, even when her world felt like it was spinning out of control—but she was grateful.

Steve caught her eye again, his smile softening just a little. “Feeling better?”

Y/N nodded, the smile lingering on her lips. “Yeah. A lot better.”

“Good,” Steve said, his tone gentle now. “You deserve to feel better.”

Y/N’s heart squeezed at his words, but before she could dwell on the emotion behind them, Steve leaned back and gave her a cheeky grin.

“Now, do I get a discount on my next therapy session for all the laughs I just provided?”

Y/N burst out laughing again, shaking her head. “Absolutely not. You’ll pay double for that, Captain.”

Steve raised his glass in mock surrender. “Fair enough. It was worth a shot.”

As Y/N's laughter filled the space between them, Steve's smile faltered for just a second. He caught himself watching her more closely than he should, noticing the way her eyes lit up when she laughed, the small crinkles at the corners of her mouth. His heart ached—just a little—as he realized how much he wanted to be the one to make her feel like this all the time.

But he pushed the thought aside, burying it beneath the camaraderie and lightheartedness of the moment. He wasn’t sure when it had started—this subtle pull toward her—but he felt it more and more with each passing day. He wasn’t supposed to feel this way. Not when her world was already complicated enough. Not when his own feelings were supposed to be under control.

Still, sitting beside her, hearing her laugh, he couldn't help the quiet longing that settled in his chest.

164 notes · View notes

starryschemer · 3 months ago

Text

Unspoken Desires

Pairing: Hwang In-ho x reader, Triangle Guard x reader Summary: A Triangle Guard's defiance is taking a turn on In-ho, the cold leader, brings you to his office. As the power struggle between you both escalates, it turns into a mix of hate and desire, leaving you to question your own feelings as In-ho shows his control. Warnings: Power dynamics, emotional manipulation, hate/desire dynamics, dark themes, sexual content, strong language, smut Word Count: 1,358

Never in your life have you been so furious, filled with hatred.

The games had pushed you to your limits, causing people to die with every twist and turn. However, today, something seemed to shift. Every small thing the front man did seemed to grind your gears more than it usually did. The way he looked at you, the way he spoke. It was like nails on a chalkboard.

You were summoned to his office. It was meant to be a routine check. He was, after all, the man pulling the strings. You were just a triangle guard in the games. Well that is at least what you thought. He was always so distant, cold, calculating. But today? You noticed that he was acting differently. It was a mixture of amusement, malice, and something that made your stomach twist.

You barged into his office, a sharp breath escaping from your lips as you locked eyes with him. His cold gaze was uneasy to look at, his posture rigid as he took a sip of whisky, casually sitting on a couch, watching you like a hawk.

“Sit,” he commanded, his voice sounded like silk, smooth but laced with an undertone of warning. Patting next to him.

You clenched your fists tightly, resisting the urge to lash out. You had every single right to be livid with him, but you learned through the years that showing any weakness in front of In-ho was a major mistake. Instead, you crossed your arms against your chest, staring bullets into him, standing your ground.

“I don’t take orders from you,” you said with defiance, you sounded stern, even if your heart was pounding heavily.

In-ho’s lips curved into a smirk, enjoyment dancing in his eyes. “Oh, but you will. They always do.”

God, you hated the way he spoke, the way his words were so arrogant, as if he owned everyone and everything. It was the smugness that made your blood boil every time you had to be near that filth.

“What is this about?�� you asked, leaning against a wall, refusing to listen to him. “You know I'm not here for your tiny games.”

In-ho’s eyes narrowed, his eyes flashing with darkness. “You think you can act like this Y/N?” sipping more whisky. “Not listening to me without consequences for your actions.”

His words hung in the air, filled with a threat that made your pulse spike for a moment. You knew exactly what he meant. In-ho had a lot of power, so much that he could easily make your life a living hell. But you weren’t going to let this intimidate you. Not now. Not ever.

“If you think I am afraid of you, you are mistaken.” you bite back, stepping closer, narrowing the space between you and him.

In-ho placed the glass down, slowly standing up. You noticed his cold mask slipping slightly as his eyes flickered with something darker, more evil like. “You should be.”

Before you had the chance to respond, he took a step towards you, closing most of the distance between you. His presence loomed over you, his build alone was enough to make anyone feel small. But not for you. Not this time.

“Do you really think you can act like this, stand here and disregard me?” In-ho’s voice was threatening, low, as he stepped even closer, his hand grabbed your wrist with a startling force.

You tensed with fury for his sudden actions. “LET GO OF ME,” you yelled, trying with all your might to yank your wrist from his firm grasp.

However, he didn’t even budge. “No Y/N. Not until you can understand that disobedience requires consequences.”

Your breath hitched in your throat, not from the fear but from the tension that shot through the air. You both knew what this was about-your defiance, his need to show you just how much power he had. This had been building for months, years even, as you clashed with him at every turn. Today, however, it would reach his breaking point.

“Stop pretending like you have any control over me In-ho,” you spat, refusing to back down.

His hand tightened around your wrist, pulling you into his chest. His voice dropped to a whisper, a dangerous rasp. “I do have control over you. And I'll prove it.”

The words jolted through your body, a mixture of anger and an unexpected need of desire. But you couldn’t-wouldn’t-let him win. Not like this.

With a sharp tug, In-ho slams your back against the cold metal wall. His body now pressed flush against yours, feeling the heat of his body, trapping you with his weight. Your chest heaved, every part of your body was on high alert.

“Let me go,” you warned, your voice low.

In-ho curled his lips into a smirk, his breath now hot against your ear as he whispered, “You think you can win?”

He didn’t give you a chance to answer. His lips crashed onto yours in a kiss that was anything but gentle. It was demanding, rough, as if he was punishing you for your disobedience-and yet, you were responding despite everything. Every ounce of hatred you had bled into that kiss, each movement filled with raw emotion. You wanted him. You hated him.

The kiss deepened, much harder now, as he used his body to press you up against the wall, pinning you in place, his strength was overwhelming. In-ho’s hands roamed over your body, possessive, rough, taking what he wanted.

“Stop,” you gasped, your body betraying you. It responded to his touch, heat pooling between your legs, betraying your resentment for the pleasure coursing through your veins.

In-ho pulled back, looking down at you with a spark in his eyes. “You can’t lie like this to yourself. You want this.”

You hated him-but you couldn’t deny the desire that surged through you every time he made you feel weak under his control, every time he touched you.

Before you could protest more than you have, In-ho’s hands pulled the zipper of your jumpsuit down to your waist. “You’re mine now.” he said, a low growl in his voice, opening the space before he tore the fabric of your white shirt from your body.

You gasped, your chest was now exposed to him as he pushed you even further into the wall. There was no room for you to escape now, no room for any hesitation. You were well and truly trapped between his body and the cold concrete, and you hated that you couldn’t escape it, that you didn’t want to escape it.

His lips found your neck, biting down hard enough to cause blood as he tore the rest of your clothes away. The sheer brutality of it all made your pulse race. He was in utter control, using your body as his plaything, but the power shift was noticeable. In-ho had finally pushed you too far—and yet, you couldn’t help but want more.

“You’re nothing but a tool, you do know that right?” he muttered, his voice dark and dangerous. “But I’ll make you remember who’s in charge.”

The words stung you hard, but there was something in the way he said it, something that you want him more.

His hands were everywhere on your body, feeling you all over, spinning you around then pulling you close. You feel the very noticeable dent in his pants on your backside.

“Stay still, got it.” his breath hot and heavy filled with desire, you didn’t want to fight back anymore, you wanted his touch, you craved it.

In-ho didn’t give you time to respond, quickly, he ripped his pants off, before with one brutal thrust, he took you.

The pain was as sharp as a knife, but it quickly subsided into pure pleasure, a fire that blazed between the both of you. There was no love in this-only hate. Only domination. Only power and you were losing.

“You’ll learn to obey me,” he growled against your ear as he slammed into you with a force that took your breath away. “And when you do, you’ll beg for more. I know you will?”

A/N: Hope you enjoyed my first smut fanfic, if you want more smut please request them. If you would for this fanfic to be a miniseries. Maximum 5 chapters let me know and I will happily continue with this In-ho storyline. Credits for dividers: anitalenia, strangergraphics-archive

#squid game x reader #squid game x y/n #squid game x you #hwang in ho x reader #hwang in ho x you #hwang in ho x y/n #in ho x reader #in ho x you #in ho x y/n #front man x reader #front man x you #squid game smut #squid game fanfic #squid game fanfiction #squid game fic #in ho smut #front man smut

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frickingnerd · 6 months ago

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love triangle with kaito & kokichi

pairing: kaito momota x gn!reader x kokichi ouma

tags: rivalry, troublemaker!kokichi vs. good guy!kaito, silly fluff, kokichi annoying/provoking kaito, killing game setting

kaito might not be a very mature or responsible person, but next to kokichi, he certainly looks like one!

while kokichi is always causing trouble for everyone around him – and especially you, so he gets an excuse to spend time with you – it's kaito who always has to get you out of that trouble

whether it's stumbling onto a crime scene with kokichi and suddenly having a murder pinned on you, only to have kaito prove your innocence and save you or ending up ‘accidentally’ trapped with kokichi, kaito is always the one to get you out of the mess kokichi puts you into!

kokichi loves nothing more than to cause trouble and annoy kaito wherever he can! though he does genuinely feel bad for dragging you into his shenanigans, yet he knows it's the best way to force you to spend time with him

there's never a dull moment with kokichi and while he can be annoying at times, kaito is the one always nagging and complaining about kokichi afterwards, causing him to seem like the one always ruining the mood

kokichi is quite calculating and so through that he manages to put kaito in situations where he'll worsen his own odds to be with you, without kokichi having to be present and help worsen the way you view kaito

it's very obvious that the two of them do not like each other and they are constantly at each other's throat! kokichi is great at provoking kaito, who always falls for the same tricks and you often have to stop them from getting physical with their fights

and every time, kokichi will portray himself as the innocent goofball who just made a joke that kaito didn't like, while kaito seems like an aggressive asshole, thanks to falling right into kokichi's trap…

103 notes · View notes

areyoufuckingcrazy · 2 months ago

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Title: Command and Consequence

Fox x Reader x Wolffe

Summary: Your a friend of Jango Fett’s, he had asked you to come to Kamino to help train clone cadets, more specifically the cadets who were pre selected as commanders. Pre-Clone Wars. Pretty much just a love triangle between my fav clones. Bit angsty towards the end.

⸻

You hadn’t even wanted the job.

Kamino was cold, clinical, and crawling with wide-eyed clones who couldn’t shoot straight or punch worth a damn. But Jango had asked. And when Jango Fett asked, you didn’t exactly say no.

So, you found yourself here, drowning in rain and the hollow clatter of trooper boots on durasteel, overseeing the elite cadets being fast-tracked to become clone commanders.

They weren’t commanders yet. Not officially. But the Kaminoans had flagged a few standouts early—Fox, Wolffe, Cody, Bly, Neyo, Gree—and they were yours now.

Jango called them assets.

You called them projects.

Most of them respected you. Some feared you. And then there were those two.

Fox and Wolffe.

Walking disasters. Brilliant tacticians. Fiercely loyal. And completely, irredeemably idiotic when it came to you.

They’d been vying for your attention since day one—squabbling, sparring, brawling—and you’d brushed it off. Flirting wasn’t new to you. You knew how to shut it down. But these two? These two were stubborn. And clever. And just reckless enough to keep you on your toes.

You stood now at the edge of one of the open training rings, arms folded, T-visor reflecting a dozen cadets going through various drills. Cody was holding his own in a two-on-one blaster sim. Bly was shouting orders like he thought he owned the place. Gree was crouched in the mud, recalibrating his training rifle mid-drill.

But your eyes were on Fox and Wolffe, again.

They were arguing by the supply crates, the tension between them so thick it might’ve passed as heat if Kamino weren’t freezing.

“I’m telling you,” Wolffe was growling, “she was talking to me yesterday.”

“Right,” Fox drawled. “She called you ‘uncoordinated and overconfident.’ Sounds like flirting to me.”

“You don’t get it, she’s Mandalorian. That’s basically a compliment.”

“Boys.” Your voice sliced through the rain like a vibroblade.

They both snapped to attention so fast they nearly knocked heads.

“Get in the ring.” You didn’t even raise your voice. “Now.”

Fox and Wolffe exchanged a look—equal parts dread and defiance.

“Yes, instructor,” they muttered.

“I want five laps if either of you so much as winks.”

You tossed a training staff toward Fox. He caught it clumsily and frowned. “What, no sim?”

“Nope. You’re with me.”

Somewhere behind you, you heard Bly mutter, “He’s dead.”

“Pay attention to your drill, cadet,” you barked.

Fox stepped into the ring with the same confidence he wore into every disaster. “Try not to go easy on me, yeah?”

You didn’t dignify that with a response.

The fight started fast. Fox was quick, smooth, used his weight well—but you’d trained on Sundari’s cliffs, in Death Watch gauntlets, and in the company of monsters who made even Jango look tame.

Fox didn’t stand a chance.

He lasted maybe three minutes before you dropped him with a shoulder feint and a sweep that sent him crashing into the mat.

“Dead,” you said flatly, planting your boot on his chest.

Fox groaned. “You always this brutal with your favorites?”

“You’re not my favorite.”

“Oof.”

Then—Wolffe shoved past the other cadets and stepped into the ring.

“That’s enough,” he said, voice tight. “He’s training, not being punished.”

You cocked your head. “You volunteering?”

“I’m not letting you flatten my brother without a fight.”

You smirked behind the visor. “Your funeral.”

What followed was nothing short of combat comedy.

Wolffe was sharper than Fox. Calculated. But he was still a cadet. You pushed him hard—Mando-style, merciless, unrelenting. Rain slicked the mat, thunder cracked outside, and your staff never slowed.

Wolffe held his own longer.

But he was still losing.

Then, desperate—he lunged.

And bit you.

Right on the bicep.

“Kriffing—”

You staggered back, jerking your arm away, teeth clenching as the pain bloomed under your armor.

“Did you just—did you bite me?!”

Wolffe, still crouched and panting, looked horrified. “You weren’t stopping!”

Fox, flat on his back, howled with laughter. “You feral loth-cat! What, was headbutting too civilized?”

You peeled your glove off and stared at the bite. “You drew blood,” you growled. “I liked this undersuit.”

“Instinct,” Wolffe muttered.

“Idiot,” you shot back.

By now, the other cadets had gathered around the ring, wide-eyed and whispering. You turned slowly to the group.

“Let this be a lesson. I don’t care if you’re a cadet, a commander, or kriffing Supreme Chancellor himself—if you bite me, I bite back.”

Fox wheezed. “She’s not joking. I’ve seen her take out two bounty hunters with a broken fork.”

You jabbed a finger at him. “Fifteen laps, Fox. For running your mouth.”

Fox dragged himself upright and groaned, limping toward the track.

Wolffe started to follow.

You grabbed his pauldron.

“Don’t ever use your teeth in a fight again, unless you’re actually dying.”

“Yes, instructor.”

“…And next time, if you are gonna bite, aim higher.”

He blinked.

And you walked off, bleeding, storming, and already plotting their next humiliation.

Commanders?

Kriff.

They were barely house-trained.

⸻

The morning after the Bite Incident started like most—grey skies, howling wind, and Kaminoan side-eyes.

You strode onto the training deck in full gear, fresh bandage wrapped over the healing bite mark on your arm. The clones were already lined up, posture rigid, eyes straight. You could feel the tension radiating from the group like a bad smell. No doubt they’d all heard the rumors.

One of them bit you. And lived.

You stopped in front of them, hands behind your back. “Which of you thought it was smart to bet on me losing?”

Half the group tensed. Cody coughed.

You didn’t wait for an answer. “Double rations go to the one who bet I’d win and that one of you idiots would end up chewing on my armor.”

That got a chuckle—nervous, brief—but it broke the tension. Good. You weren’t here to baby them. You were here to make them legends.

“Group drills today. Partner up.”

Predictably, Fox beelined for your side. “So. How’s the arm?” he asked, lips twitching.

You turned slightly, giving him just enough of a smirk. “Tender. Wanna kiss it better?”

Fox visibly froze. For the first time in all the months you’d trained him, he blinked like a man who’d just taken a thermal detonator to the soul.

Wolffe, watching from across the training floor, snapped his training blade in half.

Like, literally snapped it.

You didn’t even react.

Cody whistled low. “He’s gonna kill someone.”

“Hope it’s not me,” Fox muttered under his breath, heart rate visibly climbing.

You raised your voice. “Wolffe. Grab a new blade and meet me in the ring. Fox, go help Gree with his stance. The last time I saw someone hold a blaster like that, they were five and trying to eat it.”

Fox, now flustered beyond recognition, stumbled off. Wolffe stalked over, eyes dark.

“You flirting with him now?” he asked, low and sharp, as you passed him a fresh blade.

You leaned in—just close enough for your voice to dip like smoke. “He flirted first.”

“And you flirted back.”

You tilted your head. “You gonna bite me again if I do it twice?”

Wolffe looked like he might combust.

The spar started aggressive—Wolffe striking fast, sharp, his technique tighter than usual, anger giving him extra momentum. You blocked him easily, letting him wear himself out. Letting him stew.

“Jealousy looks good on you,” you taunted, hooking his leg mid-swing and sweeping him to the mat with a sharp twist.

He landed with a grunt, breathless. You knelt beside him, blade tip pressed to his chestplate.

“I flirt with the one who keeps his teeth to himself,” you said, tone casual. “Consider that motivation.”

Wolffe didn’t answer. He just stared at you, cheeks flushed, jaw clenched so tight you swore you could hear it grinding through the floor.

By the time drills ended, Fox was glowing. Wolffe was feral. And you?

You were thriving.

Let them fight over you. Let them stew, and sulk, and throw punches at each other behind the mess hall.

This was war training. They’d better get used to losing battles.

Especially the ones with their own hearts.

⸻

You were late.

Not tactically late. Intentionally late.

The cadets were already lined up, soaked to the bone from outdoor drills—Kamino’s rain coming in sideways like daggers. You made your entrance like a storm, dripping wet and smirking like you hadn’t made half the room lose sleep last night.

Fox was waiting at the front, eyes locked on you. He didn’t salute. He didn’t even smirk. He just looked—calm, steady, sharp.

And you felt it. That shift.

Wolffe was off to the side, glaring holes into the back of Fox’s head. You caught it all in a sweep of your gaze.

“Who wants a live-spar match to start the morning?” you called.

Several cadets groaned. Cody actually muttered something about defecting to Kaminoan administration.

But Fox? Fox stepped forward. “I do.”

You tilted your head. “Sure you want that smoke, pretty boy?”

He smiled, slow and dangerous. “You think I didn’t train for this?”

You narrowed your eyes, intrigued.

The match was brutal. Not because Fox was stronger—but because Fox was different. Controlled. Confident. Calculated. He didn’t let your taunts shake him. He dodged quicker, pushed harder. When he caught your leg and sent you crashing to the mat, the cadets gasped.

Even Wolffe made a strangled noise like a dying animal.

You coughed, winded, pinned under Fox’s knee, his hand resting against your collarbone.

“Yield?” he asked.

You blinked up at him. “Don’t get cocky.”

“Already did,” he said, low enough for only you to hear. “You like it.”

You shoved him off you with a grin, rolling to your feet.

“Not bad,” you admitted. “But I’m still prettier.”

Fox actually laughed.

Wolffe walked off the mat.

Straight to the armory.

Because of course he did.

Later, when the others had cleared out and you were wiping sweat from your brow, you felt that familiar weight behind you—boots heavier than a clone’s, presence impossible to ignore.

“Jango,” you greeted, not turning.

“You’re playing with them.”

You wiped your blade clean. “I’m training them.”

“You’re toying with them,” he said, voice flat. “They’re assets. Not toys. Not lovers. Not soldiers you can break for fun.”

You turned, arching a brow. “I know the difference between a weapon and a man, Fett.”

He stepped closer. “Then stop pulling the trigger when you don’t mean to shoot.”

That one hit—low and sharp.

You swallowed hard, eyes narrowing. “They’re soldiers, Jango. If a little heartbreak cracks them, the war will kill them faster.”

“They need guidance. Not confusion.”

“And what about me?” you asked, arms crossing. “What do I need?”

His eyes didn’t soften. “You need to choose. Or leave them both alone.”

You didn’t answer.

He left you with the silence.

That night, you found Fox alone in the mess, bruised, hungry, and tired.

“You did good today,” you said quietly.

He didn’t look up from his tray. “So did you. Playing with me until Wolffe snapped?”

“Wolffe snapped because he thinks I’m yours.”

Fox looked up now, slow and dangerous. “Are you?”

You leaned in. Close. Almost touching. “I could be.”

Fox’s jaw clenched. “Then stop making him think he has a chance.”

You didn’t reply.

Not right away.

And that pause? That breath of hesitation?

That was the crack in everything.

⸻

You stopped showing up to the mess.

You didn’t call on Fox or Wolffe for sparring. You rotated them into group drills only. You stopped lingering after hours. No more teasing remarks. No more slow smirks and heat behind your eyes.

No more touch.

It was easier, at first. For you.

They were cadets. Not yours. Not meant to be anything more.

Jango’s voice echoed every time you started to second-guess yourself.

“Stop pulling the trigger when you don’t mean to shoot.”

So you holstered your weapon. Locked the fire down. Played it straight.

And watched them start to unravel.

Fox was the first to try and confront you.

He caught you in the hallway outside the training rooms. Quiet, calm, alone.

“You ignoring me on purpose?” he asked, voice low.

You didn’t stop walking. “You’re a soldier. I’m your instructor. That’s all.”

Fox stepped in front of you, blocking your path.

“So that was all it ever was? The fights? The flirting? Me on top of you on the mat?” His voice cracked slightly at the end, despite his best efforts.

You looked at him, jaw tight. “Fox—”

He laughed. Bitter. “No. Say it. Say it meant nothing.”

You couldn’t.

And that was the problem.

“It’s better this way,” you said instead, and slipped past him.

He let you go.

That was what broke your heart most of all.

Wolffe was worse. He didn’t say anything—at first.

He trained harder. Fought rougher. Every drill was a warzone now. He snapped at Cody. Nearly dislocated Gree’s shoulder. Wouldn’t meet your eyes. Until one night—

You caught him in the dark on the training deck, punching into a bag like it owed him his life.

“Wolffe.”

He didn’t stop.

“I said, stand down—”

He spun on you.

“Why?” he snapped. “So you can ignore me again?”

You froze.

“You think I don’t know what you’re doing?” he growled. “You pulled away from both of us. Playing professional like you weren’t the one making Fox look like a damn lovesick cadet. Like you weren’t the one making me feel like I was yours.”

Your chest tightened. “It wasn’t like that.”

“Yes, it was!” he shouted. “And now you think pulling back fixes it? You think it makes the want go away?”

You opened your mouth to reply, but Wolffe stepped forward, eyes burning.

“Let me make it real easy for you,” he said. “If you didn’t mean any of it—tell me you never wanted me. Say it.”

You couldn’t.

You didn’t.

You just turned and walked away.

Again.

And behind you, in the dead silence of the deck, you heard something break.

⸻

They started showing off.

It wasn’t even subtle.

Fox perfected his bladework, spinning twin vibroknives in a blur, always training just where you could see. Wolffe started calling out cadets for slacking mid-drill, standing straighter, yelling louder, fighting longer.

Every time you passed, there was tension—tight like a wire, straining.

And you kept pushing.

Harder, faster drills. No breaks. No leniency. You called them out in front of the others when they slipped. You sent them against each other in spar after spar, knowing they’d go all out.

They did.

Until Fox went down hard—breathing ragged, cut bleeding at his brow, fingers trembling.

And you snapped: “Get up. Again.”

He looked at you. Not angry. Not sad. Just tired.

Wolffe stepped between you before Fox could even move.

“No.”

You blinked. “Excuse me?”

“I said no,” Wolffe growled. “He’s bleeding. He’s exhausted. He’s not a toy you wind up just to see how far he’ll go.”

“This is training—”

“This is punishment,” Fox cut in, standing up slow behind Wolffe. “And we’re done letting you use us to beat your own feelings into the ground.”

The silence that followed hit harder than a punch.

You looked at both of them—Wolffe, tense and furious, jaw clenched; Fox, bleeding but still looking at you like he cared.

“You think this is about feelings?” you spat. “I’m preparing you for war. You’re not ready.”

“We were,” Wolffe said quietly. “Until you made yourself the battle.”

That hit you straight in the ribs.

You stared at them, breathing hard, adrenaline high, rage burning under your skin—and then you turned away.

“Training’s over,” you muttered.

Neither of them moved.

When you left the room, they didn’t follow.

And for the first time since setting foot on Kamino, you realized what losing both of them might actually feel like.

⸻

The sky on Kamino never changed.

Just endless grey. Rain like a drumbeat. A constant hum of sterile light and controlled air.

You stood at the edge of the landing platform, your gear packed, your armor slung over your shoulder like it didn’t weigh a hundred kilos in your gut.

“I thought you were done bounty hunting,” Jango said behind you.

You didn’t turn.

“I thought I was too.”

He walked up beside you, slow and even. No judgment in his stride. No comfort either.

“They got to you,” he said.

You didn’t answer.

“They’re good soldiers. You saw that. You made them better. You drilled discipline into their bones.” A pause. “So why run?”

You clenched your jaw.

“Because I stopped seeing them as soldiers,” you muttered. “I started seeing them as—”

You broke off. Not because you didn’t know the word. But because it hurt too much to say it.

Jango sighed. “I told you not to toy with the assets.”

“I wasn’t.”

“You flirted. You made them think—”

“I didn’t make them think anything,” you snapped, turning to him finally. “I felt something. I didn’t mean to. But I did. And now it’s bleeding into training and—” your voice cracked. “They’re getting hurt.”

Jango looked at you for a long, quiet second.

Then, almost gently: “You never had the stomach for clean lines. You’re too human for that.”

You laughed bitterly. “Maybe. But I won’t be the reason they break.”

Jango gave you a nod. Subtle. Approval, maybe. Or just understanding. He turned to leave, boots echoing on the wet metal.

“Where will you go?” he asked over his shoulder.

You looked back out at the grey sea. Thought of neon lights. Cold bounties. Silence without faces you cared about.

“Somewhere I don’t have to see their eyes.”

Jango didn’t say goodbye.

He never did.

And when your ship lifted off, you didn’t look back.

⸻

The cadets lined up in silence.

There was tension in the air. They could feel it—like a shift in pressure right before a storm hits.

Wolffe had a sick feeling crawling up his spine. Fox had barely spoken all morning.

You hadn’t shown up for dawn drills. Again.

Then the door opened.

Boots. Not yours.

Jango Fett strode in—full beskar, helmet tucked under his arm, scowl like a thunderhead.

Every cadet stiffened.

“Form up,” he barked.

The lines straightened immediately. But all eyes were looking past him—waiting.

Wolffe’s voice cut through the stillness.

“Where’s our instructor?”

Jango’s lip curled slightly. “Gone.”

Fox frowned. “Gone where?”

Jango stared them down.

“She left Kamino. She won’t be returning.”

Just like that.

Silence exploded across the room.

Wolffe’s fists clenched.

Fox’s mouth opened—then closed. His jaw locked.

“She didn’t say goodbye,” Neyo whispered.

Jango looked at them like they were stupid.

“She didn’t need to.”

No one breathed.

Then Jango paced in front of them, slow and deliberate.

“You were here to be trained to lead men in battle. Not to fall for someone who made you feel special. You don’t get attachments. You don’t get comfort. You get orders. Understand?”

No one answered.

Jango stepped closer to Wolffe, then Fox, his voice low and cold.

“She gave you the best of her and got out before you ruined it. Don’t make the mistake of chasing ghosts.”

And with that—he barked for drills to begin.

They ran until their lungs burned, until every cadet dropped to their knees from exhaustion. Jango didn’t ease up once.

Wolffe didn’t speak the entire time.

Fox trained like he wanted the pain.

And no matter how hard they hit, how fast they moved, how sharp they became—

You didn’t come back.

⸻

The job was supposed to be clean.

A simple retrieval on Xeron V—a mid-tier Republic contractor gone rogue, hiding in the crumbling husk of an old droid factory. Get in, grab the target, drag him to a shadowy contact with credits to burn and questionable allegiance.

But you should’ve known better.

The second you got your hands on him, everything went sideways. Someone tipped off the Republic. Gunships rained from the sky. Your target fled. You got cut off. Cornered.

And then the unmistakable howl of clone comms filled the air.

The 104th.

You almost laughed when you saw the markings—gray trim, wolf symbols, bold and sharp.

Fate had a sick sense of humor.

You were disarmed in seconds, pinned to the floor with your cheek pressed against cold durasteel.

Even then, you didn’t fight.

Wolffe was the one who yanked off your helmet.

You expected a reaction.

All you got was silence.

Not even a curse. Not even your name.

Just a stiff order to “secure the bounty hunter” and a curt nod to the troopers flanking you.

And then he walked away.

Like you were nothing.

Now you sat in the Republic outpost’s holding cell, bruised but mostly fine—aside from your ego and whatever parts of your heart still hadn’t gone numb. The armor plating of your new life, as a notorious bounty hunter, felt thinner by the second.

He hadn’t even looked you in the eye since they dragged you off the ship.

Not when you spat blood onto the hangar floor.

Not when they clamped the cuffs on your wrists.

Not when your helmet rolled to his feet like some ghost from a forgotten life.

Just protocol. Just silence.

Just Wolffe.

Outside the cell, Master Plo Koon approached his commander, his quiet presence always felt before it was seen.

“She knew your name,” Plo said gently.

Wolffe’s armor flexed as his fists curled. “She trained us. All of us. Before the war.”

“But there is more, isn’t there?”

Wolffe glanced sideways. “Sir, with respect—”

“I am not scolding you, Wolffe.” Plo’s voice remained steady. “But I sense a storm in you. I have since the moment she arrived.”

Wolffe said nothing.

“She left something behind, didn’t she?”

And for just a second, Wolffe’s mask cracked.

“Yeah,” he said, jaw tight. “Us.”

⸻

The hum of the gunship in hyperspace filled the silence between you.

You were cuffed to a seat, armor stripped down to a flight-safe bodysuit. Your posture was relaxed, but your gaze never left the clone across from you.

Wolffe sat still—helmet in his lap, eyes fixed straight ahead. He hadn’t spoken since takeoff.

“You gonna give me the silent treatment the whole way?” you asked, voice dry.

He didn’t even blink.

You sighed and leaned back, jaw clenching. “Fine. I’ll do the talking.”

No response.

“I didn’t think they’d make you my escort,” you continued. “You’d think after our history, that might be considered a conflict of interest.”

“Maybe they thought I’d shoot you if you acted up,” he muttered.

You smirked. “I thought about acting up. Just to see if you still care.”

That got him.

His head snapped toward you, eyes burning. “Don’t.”

“What? Push your buttons?” You arched a brow. “That used to be my specialty.”

“You used to be someone else.”

The smile dropped from your lips.

So did your heart.

Wolffe looked away again, tightening his grip on the helmet in his hands.

You turned your head toward the window, hiding the sting behind sarcasm. “You look good in Commander stripes.”

“And you look good in chains.”

There it was again—that damn tension. Sharp and unresolved. You almost welcomed the sting.

Almost.

⸻

Coruscant.

The gunship touched down in the GAR security hangar. Sterile, bright, swarming with guards in crimson-red armor.

You knew who ran this show before you even stepped off the ramp.

Fox.

The last time you saw him, he was still a smart-ass cadet fighting over who could land a blow on you first.

Now?

He wore the rank of Marshal Commander like a second skin. Polished. Cold. Untouchable.

The second your boots hit the durasteel, he was there.

“Prisoner in my custody,” he said to Wolffe, not even sparing you a glance.

“She’s your problem now,” Wolffe replied, handing over the datapad.

You smirked. “Nice armor, Foxy. Didn’t think you’d climb so high.”

He didn’t even blink.

“No jokes. No names. You’re not special anymore.”

The smile dropped off your face like a blade.

“I see the Senate really squeezed all the fun out of you.”

Fox stepped in close, nose-to-nose. “That bounty you botched? Republic senator’s aide was caught in the crossfire. He’s still in critical care.”

Your mouth opened, but he kept going.

“You may think you’re the same snarky Mandalorian who used to throw cadets around on Kamino. But you’re not. You’re a liability with a kill count—and you’re lucky we didn’t shoot you on sight.”

You swallowed hard.

Wolffe stood off to the side, helmet tucked under one arm, watching. Quiet. Controlled.

But his gaze never left your face.

Fox turned to his men. “Take her to holding. I’ll debrief in an hour.”

You were grabbed by the arms again, dragged off without ceremony. As you passed Wolffe, your eyes met just for a second.

You opened your mouth to say something—anything.

But Wolffe looked away first.

And this time, it hurt worse than anything else ever had.

The room was cold. Not physically—just sterile. Void of anything human.

One table. Two chairs. Transparent durasteel wall behind you.

And Fox, across the table, red armor like a warning light that never shut off.

He hadn’t said a word yet.

Just stood in the doorway, datapad in hand, watching you like he was trying to decide whether to question you or put a bolt in your head.

Finally, he sat down.

“You’re in a lot of trouble.”

You leaned back in the chair, manacled wrists resting against the tabletop. “Let me guess. That senator’s aide I accidentally shot was someone’s nephew?”

Fox didn’t flinch. “You’re lucky he’s not dead.”

“I’m lucky all the time.”

He stared you down. “Tell me why you took the job.”

You rolled your eyes. “Credits.”

“That’s not good enough.”

“It’s the truth.”

His fingers tapped against the datapad. A slow, rhythmic pulse that echoed through the silence.

“Target was mid-level intel—why would someone like you take a low-rank job like that?”

“I don’t screen my clients. I don’t ask questions.”

He leaned forward slightly. “You used to.”

You stilled.

There it was. The first crack.

“Back on Kamino,” he added, voice quieter. “You asked questions. You gave a damn.”

You looked away. “That was a long time ago.”

Fox’s jaw tightened. “Then help me understand what changed.”

You laughed once, bitter. “Why, Fox? This isn’t an interrogation. This is you trying to pick apart what’s left of someone you used to know.”

“No,” he said, too quickly. “This is me trying to figure out whether the person I used to trust is still in there.”

Your gaze snapped to his.

He didn’t blink.

Didn’t break.

But you saw it.

That same flicker he used to show you, late in training when he couldn’t hide how much he hung on every word you said. That look when he fought with Wolffe over who got to spar with you first. That silence after you left Kamino without saying goodbye.

“I trained you to be a good soldier,” you muttered. “Not to sit behind a desk and spit Senate lines.”

“I became a good soldier because of you,” he shot back. “But you left before you could see it.”

Silence settled again.

He dropped the datapad to the table and leaned back in his chair. “Do you even care who you’re working for these days?”

You smirked, tired. “You want me to say I regret it. But I don’t think you’d believe me if I did.”

Fox stood abruptly. “You’re right. I wouldn’t.”

He moved to leave—then hesitated, fingers flexing at his side. He looked back once, gaze sharp and unreadable.

“We’re not done.”

You lifted your brow. “Didn’t think we were.”

He stared at you another heartbeat longer.

Then left.

The door hissed closed behind him.

And still, his questions lingered.

⸻

It was past midnight, but Coruscant never slept.

The holding cell lights were dim, humming faintly above your head. You sat on the edge of the cot, elbows on your knees, staring through the thick transparisteel wall like you could still see stars.

Your wrists ached from the manacles.

Your chest ached from everything else.

When the door hissed open, you didn’t look.

You already knew who it was.

He stepped inside, slow and careful—like maybe if he moved too quickly, he’d change his mind and leave.

“Didn’t expect to see you again,” you said quietly.

“I’m not supposed to be here.”

“Figured.”

You turned your head. Wolffe was still in full armor, helmet off, but the tension in his shoulders was more than battlefield wear.

He stepped closer but didn’t sit. He just looked at you. Like he hadn’t had the chance to really see you until now.

“You really left,” he said.

You huffed a breath. “You mean Kamino?”

He nodded once.

“Jango warned me,” you said. “Told me not to mess with the assets.”

His jaw clenched. “You weren’t messing with us.”

“Weren’t I?”

Wolffe looked down, quiet for a moment. Then:

“We would’ve followed you anywhere.”

The silence between you cracked open—raw, vulnerable.

“I couldn’t stay,” you whispered. “Not after that. Not when I knew I was screwing with your heads. You and Fox were fighting over a ghost. I was your first crush, not your future.”

“You were more than that.”

“No,” you said gently. “I was just the one who got away.”

Wolffe looked like he wanted to argue. Wanted to reach out. But he stayed exactly where he was, arms stiff at his sides.

“You’re going to be court-martialed,” you said with a dry smile. “Visiting the prisoner. Real scandal.”

“I don’t care.”

“Yes, you do. You always did. That’s what made you a good soldier.”

He didn’t reply to that. Just let the silence stretch.

Finally, you asked, “So what happens now?”

Wolffe’s eyes hardened—not cold, but braced. “You’re staying. Senate wants answers. GAR wants a scapegoat.”

“And you?”

“I want—”

He stopped himself.

You sat up straighter. “Say it.”

He exhaled, jaw flexing, voice low. “I want you to walk out of here. I want you on my squad, back where you belong. I want to forget you ever left.”

You didn’t look away.

“I want to stop wondering if we ever meant anything to you.”

You stepped toward the barrier between you.

Then the comm in his vambrace flared to life.

“—Commander Wolffe, this is General Koon. We’re wheels up in five. Rendezvous at Pad D-17.”

He didn’t answer it. Just looked at you.

“I guess that’s your cue,” you said, trying to smile. “Duty first.”

“Always.”

But this time, he didn’t move.

He just stared at you like maybe—just maybe—he’d stay.

“I’m not asking you to forgive me,” you said. “I made my bed. I’ll lie in it.”

He nodded slowly. “You always did sleep like hell anyway.”

You laughed once. It hurt.

“I’ll see you again,” he said finally.

“You sure about that?”

“I’ll make sure of it.”

Another call came through. Urgent.

He stepped back, slow, deliberate, like every footfall cost him.

You stood alone behind the transparisteel wall.

And he left without another word.

Because he was a commander.

And you were the one who got away.

#clone trooper x reader #clone wars #star wars #star wars fanfic #star wars the clone wars #the clone wars headcanons #clone trooper wolffe #commander wolffe fluff #commander wolffe x reader #tcw wolffe #commander wolffe #commander fox #commander fox x reader #tcw fox #commander cody #commander bly #commander neyo

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myadagoat22 · 1 month ago

Text

Poly Ghostface Part 2 (THIS IS LONG)

The Summer, Days 2–5:

Billy and Stu kept showing up.

Y/N would be walking home from the corner store? They’d “just happen” to drive by. At the park with a book? Stu would plop down next to her, dramatic as ever, and ask what would happen if Jason Voorhees joined a book club. And somehow, by day three, all three of them were sitting in Stu's house, watching The Lost Boys like it was a religion.

Billy was still quieter. Calculated. He didn’t talk as much, but when he did, it was always with this little smirk, like he knew more than everyone in the room. Stu, meanwhile, was a hurricane with arms, saying whatever popped into his head and offering Red Vines like they were currency.

Y/N found herself caught in the weirdest, most magnetic friendship triangle she’d ever experienced. Stu made her laugh until her stomach hurt. Billy made her think. And both of them looked at her like she was some unsolvable mystery.

Day 6 of Summer: Curveball Time

Y/N was just walking into the local ice cream shop when she saw them.

Billy. Stu. But not alone.

Tatum Riley in a crop top and ripped jeans, laughing as she dragged Stu by the hand.

Sidney Prescott in her usual soft cardigan and cautious smile, arms loosely linked with Billy’s.

Double date.

Y/N stopped short at the door, pretending to check the menu in the window like her heart hadn’t just plummeted into her Converse.

Inside, Billy’s eyes flicked to the glass. He saw her.

And something changed.

He straightened a little. Loosened his grip on Sidney’s arm. His usual cool smirk twitched like it didn’t know what to do with itself. Stu caught on a second later, mouth mid-sentence before he glanced up, saw Y/N, and went visibly stiff.

“Oh... shit.”

Tatum noticed, of course. “You know her?”

Billy cleared his throat. “Yeah. Kinda.”

“From school?” Sidney asked, tilting her head politely.

Y/N walked in before they could make up lies. “Hey.”

“Heyyy!” Stu grinned wide, a little too wide. “Look who it is! Ice cream twins, right?”

Billy nodded slowly. “Y/N… this is Sidney. And Tatum. We’re, uh…”

Tatum smirked. “On a double date.”

Stu looked like he wanted to evaporate.

Y/N blinked. “Cool.”

Sidney offered a sweet smile. “You’re new, right? I think I saw you at the video store.”

“Yeah,” Y/N said, cool as hell even though her stomach was doing Olympic flips. “Y’all hang out a lot?”

“Oh yeah,” Tatum jumped in, slinging an arm around Stu. “These boys can’t get enough of us. It’s exhausting, honestly.”

Billy’s jaw twitched. Stu avoided eye contact.

Y/N nodded slowly, then shot Billy a look that said so this is the game? before turning to Sidney. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“You too,” Sid said, still nice as ever, totally unaware.

“Guess I’ll see you guys around,” Y/N added, turning before anyone could say more.

And as the bell jingled over the door behind her, both Billy and Stu stood there frozen—caught.

Tatum squinted at Stu. “Dude. You good?”

Billy muttered something about needing air.

And somewhere down the street, Y/N was already planning on calling those boys out.

INT. DINER – LATE AFTERNOON – DAY 9 OF SUMMER

A fan squeaks overhead as Y/N sits across from Billy and Stu in a booth that’s seen better decades. The three milkshakes are barely touched. It’s tense. Y/N leans forward, arms crossed, eyes locked on the boys like she’s ready to peel their skins metaphorically. (…hopefully.)

Y/N (quietly) “So. You two were just gonna keep playing me like that?”

Stu winces like she just threw a salt shaker at his soul. Billy’s face stays unreadable, but his jaw flexes hard enough to crack concrete.

Y/N “What was the plan? Flirt a little, hang out, and then what—vanish when your little girlfriends come back into town?”

Stu (awkward, nervous smile) “We didn’t vanish! We were right here. Sippin’ shakes. Eating fries. Existing.”

Y/N (coldly) “Yeah. Existing… with Sidney and Tatum draped all over you like you’re discount prom kings.”

Billy (to Stu, low) “Dude. Say something. Apologize.”

Stu (mouth open) “Me?! You’re the dark and broody one—can’t you do the sorry thing?”

Billy just stares him down. That Billy stare. The one that says "I may or may not kill you later."

Stu (sighing, dramatic) “Fine! Look, Y/N, I’m sorry, okay? We should’ve told you about Sid and Tatum. But it’s not like we were lying, we just didn’t mention having girlfriends.”

Y/N (cocking an eyebrow) “So what am I? Just another secret?”

Stu “Nah. You're a friend we will tell our girlfriends about.”

Billy groans.

Billy "What he’s trying to say is, it wasn’t about lying. It just… wasn’t time yet… to say anything.”

Y/N (sitting back) “You’re lucky I even came today.”

Billy “Yeah. We are.”

She finishes her milkshake, slaps a few dollars on the table, and slides out of the booth.

Y/N “For now... you’re forgiven. Don’t make me regret it.”

She walks out, hips swaying like a slow metronome of ‘don’t mess with me again.’

Stu watches her go, lowkey dazed.

Stu (whistles) “Dude… that girl’s got teeth.”

Billy (sipping his coffee) “Yeah. That’s why I like her.”

Stu (smirking, suddenly serious) “So, uh… are we puttin’ her on the list? Or are we adding her to the plan?”

Billy doesn’t answer right away. He just stares at the door she walked through, eyes narrowed like he’s thinking ten moves ahead.

Billy (slow, cryptic) “Let’s see where she fits first.”

Stu (grinning) “Bro, that’s hot.”

Billy “Focus, man.”

Stu “I am focused. I’m just saying, she’s got final girl energy, but like… the wrong kind.”

Billy “Or the perfect kind.”

They sit in silence. Outside, summer buzzes. Inside, something dark is brewing. The plan’s still on—but now, Y/N’s part of the equation.

And neither of them knows yet if she’s the killer... or the curveball.

INT. STU’S HOUSE – NIGHT – POOL PARTY CHAOS

It’s been a few weeks of accidental meetups, definitely intentional flirting, and one too many horror movie marathons. Now, the whole school’s packed into Stu’s sprawling backyard. The lights glow blue over the pool, music's thumping, and teenagers are everywhere—laughing, yelling, making terrible decisions.

EXT. STU’S BACKYARD – POOL AREA

Stu’s holding a drink, shirt unbuttoned, doing that half-dance, half-strut thing he always does when the attention is on him. Tatum’s got her arms around his neck, wet hair, red bikini, talking fast with that bite of hers.

TATUM I mean, honestly? Casey Becker always acted like she was the princess of Woodsboro just 'cause she dated Steve. Like please she's just mad you left her for me, right babe.

STU (grinning) “Yeah, totally.”

He throws a wink at Tatum. She rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling. Classic fake-boyfriend energy. He's having a blast pretending.

ACROSS THE POOL – BILLY & SIDNEY

Billy leans against the wall beside Sidney, playing doting boyfriend like it’s a damn audition. He nods along to her words, hands in his pockets, that soft Billy Loomis voice on full display.

But his eyes?

Locked on someone else.

Y/N.

She’s just arrived, rocking a cute bikini with a white cover over it and radiant confidence. She makes her way to the snack table where Randy’s posted up in his usual awkward glory.

Y/N (tossing a chip in her mouth) “Let me guess—you’ve ranked every girl here based on their likelihood of surviving a horror movie.”

RANDY (defensive and thrilled) “Okay, rude, but yes. And you? You’re like... final girl slash wildcard.”

Y/N “I’ll take it.”

She laughs. Stu, from across the yard, watches the scene with narrowed eyes. His smile dims slightly. Billy sees it too. And even while playing the boyfriend role, a flicker of irritation passes over his face.

INT. KITCHEN – MOMENTS LATER

Y/N slips inside for a drink. It’s cooler, quieter. She grabs a soda from the fridge just as Billy appears behind her, quiet as a ghost.

BILLY “He’s not your type.”

She jumps, not scared, just surprised. She turns to face him.

Y/N “Wow, you move like a serial killer.

(beat) And who says Randy’s my type?”

BILLY (smirking) “Just saying. You could do better.”

She takes a slow sip of her drink, eyeing him over the rim.

Y/N “Like who? You?”

BILLY “Maybe.”

Their eyes lock. The air shifts. That intense Billy Loomis gaze settles on her like he’s trying to read her mind. Y/N doesn’t look away.

Y/N “You have a girlfriend.”

BILLY “So, who cares.”

Y/N (staring) “But Sidney has been pretty nice to me.”

He steps in, close—too close. The tension practically buzzes.

BILLY “Like I said who cares.”

She doesn’t pull away. Their lips meet—brief, hungry, dangerous. It’s not soft. It’s not sweet. It’s a clash of curiosity and something dark simmering underneath. But she breaks it off first.

Y/N (softly, breathless) “That might have been wrong”

BILLY (smiling now) “Was it?”

She walks away, shaken but composed, like she’s not sure what just happened. But Billy?

He’s smiling. That slow, dangerous, someone just lit a fuse kind of smile.

#black reader #myadagoat22 #long reads #stuilly #stu x billy #billy x stu #slow burn #This gonna be a LONG series #billy loomis x reader #stu matcher x reader #scream #scream 1996 #tatum riley

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