#like again this is the SECOND game in the series. not a WORD of this in the first game

[gojover]

SOFT AS IT BEGAN ⭑ 02. THE CAPITOL.

district four’s only victors—satoru gojo, dazzling and deadly, and you, cunning and stubborn—are dragged back into the arena for the quarter quell. with the capitol watching and a rebellion brewing, the hunger games are no longer just about survival. they’re about trust, betrayal, and the unresolved past that still burns between you.

— pairing: gojo satoru x fem!reader — tags: romance, angst, eventual smut, action, slow burn, hurt/comfort. the hunger games!au, dystopian!au, enemies to lovers!au. this chapter contains: profanity, mentions of forced prostitution, mentions of death & violence. — word count: 9.1k

series masterlist ⋆ previous ⋆ next

The train was too clean.

Satoru hated it: the sterile shine of the floors, the glassy sheen on the windows, the faint scent of synthetic citrus pumped through the vents. Everything about it made his skin itch. It was nothing like the salt-slick wood of his old home, nothing like the creaky floorboards of Reiko and Ren’s kitchen, where the kettle always screamed before boiling and the walls were yellowing from too much sun.

He didn’t remember standing. One moment he was lying on the cot in his cabin, staring blankly at the ceiling, fingers wrapped tight around the mockingjay pin burning a hole in his pocket. The next, he was walking down the corridor, urged by some inexplicable force—resentment, maybe. Or your voice in his head, sarcastic and furious, telling him to go ahead and starve if he wanted.

He didn’t want to starve. But he didn’t want to eat, either. His stomach roiled unpleasantly.

The dining car was draped in Capitol excess, down to the velvet curtains and the marble-effect table. You were already there, face drawn, picking listlessly at a piece of bread. Across from you, Coral was mid-sentence, droning about how dreadfully boring the off-season was in the Capitol. Satoru’s stomach turned.

“Do you never get tired of running your mouth?” he said, tone flat and venomous.

Coral blinked at him, clearly unimpressed. She sat reclined, long legs crossed elegantly, a half-finished glass of crimson wine in one hand. Her curls gleamed under the artificial lighting and her nails—painted a garish shade of turquoise—tapped idly against the crystal. She didn’t stop smiling.

“Oh, Satoru,” she sighed. “Don’t tell me you’re still sulking. It’s so unbecoming. You’ve been given such a rare opportunity. You should be thanking us.”

He stared at her, blankly. “For what, exactly? Watching a man get shot in front of his grandkid? Being yanked from our homes and shoved into this freak parade of a train like pigs on the way to slaughter?”

“You’re so crude. No wonder your little tributes didn’t get any sponsors last time, what with their mentor being so despicably uncultured. It’s a shame even the Career districts don’t seem to—”

“That’s enough,” you interrupted, finally looking up from your untouched plate. Your voice was hoarse; Satoru suspected it had been all day. 

“Oh, you’re both so moody,” the escort drawled. “It’s a wonder they selected either of you. The Gamemakers won’t like that sulking thing you do.”

Satoru watched as you ladled some soup into a bowl and set it down across from you. He looked away. For a second, he thought he might actually lunge across the table and do something truly stupid—punch Coral, maybe. Rip the wine glass out of her hand and shatter it against the floor.

“They shot an old man in front of his grandson,” he said again, like it would make this air-headed Capitol bitch see sense.

“They did,” Coral agreed coolly, dabbing at her lipsticked mouth with a silk napkin. “And now here you are—alive, handsome and controversial. The Capitol eats that up, you know.”

Satoru felt something ugly lurch inside his chest.

Alive. He was alive. And she wasn’t.

Reiko and Ren’s mother was a good woman. She was the only adult who had looked at him after his Games without flinching, who had given him second helpings when he was a child and scolded him like he was her own. She had given him the pin with shaking hands, and said it belonged to his mother. His mother. He hadn’t even had time to ask her how she got it. She’d smiled at him, and then a Peacekeeper struck her so hard, her head hit the stone.

He hadn’t seen her get up.

Satoru gripped the back of a chair hard, knuckles bone-white.

“You should eat,” you said to him, not unkindly.

“I’m not hungry,” he muttered.

“Then don’t eat,” you snapped. “Just stop acting like a whiny little piece of shit.”

Satoru scoffed, bitter and humourless, and dropped into the seat. The soup in front of him steamed faintly, rich and full of spices. He stared at it. Picked up the spoon. Put it down again. His hands wouldn’t stop trembling.

“Do you children always argue like this, or is it just foreplay?” Coral said.

You stiffened. Satoru didn’t bother replying.

“President Snow is going to love you,” she added. “So tragic and rebellious. Just a hint of young, doomed romance. It’s positively Shakespearean.”

Satoru grit his teeth. You hunched your shoulders, tearing the crust of your slice of bread to pieces, over and over. The air inside the dining car was stifling—the cloying smell of rich food, the hum of the train tracks, the faint perfume Coral wore that reminded him of expensive flowers left too long in stagnant water. He still hadn’t taken a bite of his food. 

Coral leaned back again, lazily inspecting her cuticles. “Well, you’d better find your spirit soon. We arrive in the Capitol tomorrow morning, and it will be televised. And unlike your precious little fishing town, image actually matters there.”

Satoru stood up so abruptly his chair scraped against the floor, harsh and metallic. He didn’t say anything—just took his bowl, still full, and dumped it into the disposal chute without a word. Then he turned and walked out, fists clenched at his sides.

The hallway felt colder now. He walked past mirrored panels and velvet-lined walls, down and down until he put as much distance as he could between himself and the dining car. The windows blurred past wilderness and darkness and nothing that resembled home. He didn’t stop until the hallway ended, and even then, he simply stood there, staring at his reflection in the glass.

His face looked like his father’s, who had drowned in a boating accident when he was an infant. His eyes, bright and startlingly blue, were like his mother’s, or so he’d been told. He’d never actually met her. She died while giving birth to him. Satoru had been raised by his neighbours until he was old enough to do odd jobs here and there, helping out the fishermen and earning a livelihood from it. Then, he’d been reaped, and he had to watch his fellow tribute—Amanai Riko, the smartest and kindest fourteen-year-old he’d ever known—get shot through the head.

The Capitol was still miles away, but already, he felt like he couldn’t breathe. The pin in his pocket dug into his thigh when he moved. He took it out again, and turned it over in his palm. It was an old thing—worn, with the gold a little tarnished—but unmistakable. A mockingjay in flight.

He remembered the way the pin had felt in his palm: warm from Midori’s skin. And then the crack of the Peacekeeper’s hand across her face. And then the sound of his own scream.

He hadn’t been able to save her. He wasn’t going to be able to save anyone.

“Satoru—”

“Don’t.” He didn’t bother turning around. “You told me to starve, so I’m just following orders.”

You cursed under your breath. “I didn’t mean that. You know I didn’t.”

He heard you step forward anyway, the hallway narrow enough that even your silence felt like intrusion. Satoru didn’t move, didn’t flinch—just kept his eyes on the blurred lights outside the train window like if he stared long enough, he could will himself out of this life and into another one.

“I was angry,” you said. “We’re all angry.”

“They killed her,” he said. “She was the only person left who gave a damn about me, and they didn’t even hesitate.”

“You think I don’t know what it feels like to lose people?” you said, shifting to stand next to him, hand tightening around the brass edge of the doorway. “To watch them die and not be able to do a single thing?”

“That’s not what I said.”

“No, but it’s what you meant.”

He turned to you then, finally. His expression was thunderous, eyes rimmed red like he’d been crying—or maybe like he wanted to and didn’t know how. “You think you know me? You think just because we’re stuck on this nightmare train together, you get to play therapist? Screw that.”

Your voice shook, but you didn’t raise it. “You think I want to be here with you? You think I want to be picked as some Capitol pawn, paraded around with a guy who hasn’t said a kind word to me since I was reaped five years ago? You’re not the only one who lost something.”

“Don’t twist this—”

“I’m not!” you snapped. “But you’re not the only person in the world who’s hurting, Satoru. We all are. I’m just not throwing a tantrum about it every five seconds.”

He laughed, sardonic and joyless. “Oh, I’m sorry. Is my grief inconvenient for you? Maybe I should’ve just smiled for the cameras, like a good little martyr.”

“That’s not what I’m saying.”

“You sure about that?” he said, voice rising now. “Because you sound a hell lot like Coral right now. ‘Tragic and rebellious’—isn’t that what she said? Maybe I should lean into the aesthetic. Sell myself to the Capitol. At least that way, someone might survive.”

You looked like he’d slapped you. “That’s not funny,” you said, quieter now. “Don’t talk like that.”

But he was shaking, eyes wild. “What else is there to talk about? Do you want to hear about the Games? About how I didn’t sleep for months because every time I closed my eyes I saw Riko’s face? Or maybe about how my best friend got reaped the year after me and I had to watch him die while you stood and did nothing? Or maybe about how Reiko and Ren’s mom died simply because she gave me a pin?”

He was shouting now. You let him.

“I was a kid. I was a kid, and they made me kill for their entertainment. And now they want me back. Again. Again. And you’re telling me to calm down. To eat. To behave. To get it together because the Capitol doesn’t like messy tributes.”

“Fuck you, Satoru,” you said, and he didn’t even realise tears were streaming down your face until he looked at you properly, chest heaving. “Fuck you. They killed my parents, too. They used my body year after year, every single time I was sent with you to the Capitol as a mentor. President Snow made me coerce secrets from their mouths with the use of my hands touching their skin.”

Satoru froze—no more words, no more rage. He simply stood, blinking like he’d walked into a wall.

You dragged in a shaky breath, shoulders taut, fists trembling by your sides. “I did nothing?” you repeated. “You think I had a choice?”

Satoru’s mouth opened, but nothing came out. You pressed on.

“They made me watch,” you said, your voice cracking. “They made me memorise names, families, weaknesses. You were the golden boy—District Four’s prodigy, our great bloody hope. But I was the one they broke open, again and again, year after year, because I had pretty eyes and a warm touch and they liked how easily people talked to me.”

Silence fell like a blade. Only the dull hum of the train beneath your feet remained.

You wiped your face roughly with your sleeve, as though you were angry at yourself for crying. “I did everything I could to protect our tributes. I smiled for the cameras and kissed the sponsors and sweet-talked the Gamemakers. And every time I closed the door behind me, I screamed until my throat bled. But sure, Satoru, tell me again how I stood and did nothing.”

He swallowed hard. “I didn’t know.”

“No. You didn’t ask.”

That hurt, and you knew it. He flinched like you’d thrown something.

“I’m not proud of what I’ve done,” you went on, quieter now, the rage ebbing to something exhausted and spent. “I’m not asking you to forgive me. But don’t you dare pretend you were the only one who lost something.”

Satoru exhaled, long and slow. The silence between you stretched again, but it was different now. He was still breathing hard, eyes glassy, but the fury had dulled into something heavier.

“I just…” He ran a hand through his hair, fingers catching in the roots. “I’m scared.”

“I am, too,” you admitted.

Satoru’s shoulders dropped a little. He looked away, ashamed. “I didn’t mean what I said. About you doing nothing.”

“Didn’t mean what I said either,” you said, shrugging. “About starving.”

His laugh was dry. “We’re a pair of fucking disasters.”

“President Snow’s favourites,” you agreed.

The train slowed to a crawl the next morning.

Satoru felt it before he saw it, like the very oxygen shifted the moment the Capitol came into view. The glass of the windows shimmered under the harsh gaze of too much light, too much colour, too much control. He didn’t realise he’d stopped breathing until the screech of metal on metal echoed down the tracks, and the train eased to a halt.

He didn’t move.

Outside the Capitol sprawled like a wound that refused to scab. Towers of glass and gold cut into the sky like knives, their angles too clean, their beauty too deliberate. The streets below swarmed with people in grotesque, glittering costumes—some with skin dyed cerulean, some with implants under their flesh that pulsed like veins full of starlight. Feathers. Jewels. Artificial wings. Faces that barely resembled people anymore.

They were all smiling. Satoru hated that he remembered what it was like to be in awe of it. He hated more that some part of him still was.

You brushed your shoulder against him once, standing by the door. He nodded. He could do this. He had done this. But it didn’t get easier—not with the Capitol’s scent already curling in through the cracks: roses and blood and something chemical, sweet, and sharp enough to sting his eyes.

The train doors hissed open.

The moment he stepped out, the world exploded in colour. Cameras flashed. A Capitol woman shrieked his name from somewhere in the crowd, her voice high and warped by excitement. Someone else held up a sign that read “Satoru: Our Second Coming”, glitter glued in thick, uneven letters.

He swallowed bile.

“Smile, darlings,” Coral hissed through gritted teeth. Satoru tensed. He didn’t know when the escort had shown up, but she was behind him now, trailing that scent of that sickly-sweet perfume she used and her face powdered blue. 

Satoru didn’t turn to look at her. He kept his eyes forward, jaw tight, spine locked into something almost regal—if only to spite her. The cameras loved that posture, and so did the Capitol. The Victor they remembered wasn’t allowed to look small, or scared, or tired.

He was a symbol. A trophy polished to perfection. So he smiled.

Not the soft kind. This was the Capitol smile: sharp at the edges, glittering with menace. His lips curled like he knew something they didn’t, like he liked the attention, like he was their second coming.

Beside him, you didn’t smile at all. He didn’t need to look at you to know this. Coral didn’t seem to notice, or she did and didn’t care. She was already waving, stepping out onto the platform, her dress of coral-pink feathers trailing behind her like smoke.

Peacekeepers flanked the entrance, white uniforms spotless, helmets reflecting the overhead lights like polished bone. One of them nodded once. That was the only greeting they ever got from them.

Satoru scanned the platform. Still, the cameras flashed. He heard his name again. Then again, and then louder.

“Satoru! Look here—just a quick wave!”

“How does it feel to be back?”

“Tell us about the lucky girl! Are the rumours true?”

His stomach churned. Lucky, they said, as if being chained to memory and the Capitol’s golden leash was some kind of blessing. As if winning the Hunger Games hadn’t broken him into pieces he still didn’t know how to glue back together.

He kept smiling. 

He reached the car, which was sleek, black and armoured, though you wouldn’t know it unless you’d ridden in one before. You opened the door before the Peacekeeper could. Satoru ducked his head, and slid in without a word. You slid in after him, careful to avoid Coral’s train, which caught in the door and earned an irritated noise from her throat. She snapped something at you, but you didn’t reply.

The car drove away from the platform like it had done a hundred times before, tires humming against the smooth black road with mechanical perfection. The doors sealed with a hiss, insulating them from the frenzy outside—but not completely. Not even the Capitol’s best engineering could mute the roar of spectacle.

Satoru let his head fall back against the seat. The leather was too soft. The kind that cost more than most families in the districts made in a year. The kind they gave to Victors because comfort was currency here—another way to keep them quiet.

He could feel the static of the cameras still clinging to his skin, like spiderwebs. Like ghost hands.

The Capitol blurred past the tinted windows, too saturated, too symmetric to be real. Every building was a statement; geometry turned violent. The sky split with spires of glass that caught the light like they wanted to blind him, all chrome and gold and shimmering edges. Below, the streets crawled with people like insects in silk, each more grotesque than the last.

One man wore a suit of mirrors that fractured the sunlight into shards, throwing it across the asphalt like confetti. A woman walked a pair of cats with scales instead of fur, their tails split like serpents. A child skipped across a plaza in stilts shaped like wings, her giggles echoing through a speaker embedded in her throat.

Everything was noise. Everything was too much.

And still—God, still—some part of him felt that flicker of wonder. That traitorous, sick little spark remembered the first time he saw it, before the arena, before the blood. When he was just a boy, pulled from a grey world into a place that glittered so brightly, it felt like dreaming.

He hated that boy. He hated that he could still remember what it felt like to hope.

You sat across from him, quiet, your hands folded in your lap. Your posture was tight, controlled, but your gaze drifted—to the window, to him, then back again. He could see it: the calculation, the exhaustion. The way your shoulders sank half an inch lower when you thought no one was looking.

Coral babbled on across from you, scrolling through her Capitol-issued tablet like her life depended on it. She rattled off times and locations with a breathless efficiency, fingers fluttering like the feathers stitched into her ridiculous sleeves.

“Meeting with President Snow at noon. Tribute rehearsal at fourteen-hundred. Full prep schedule locked in by sixteen. We’ll need to trim that hair, obviously,” she added, glancing at Satoru like his pale curls were a personal insult.

Satoru said nothing. Instead, he watched the skyline twist as they turned a corner, the whole city unfolding like a living organism. The air smelled like roses. Not real ones—the chemical kind, the ones that clung to everything in the Capitol like perfume and rot. It was too sweet; too sharp. A scent that made his nose sting. It mixed with something else, too. Smoke. Ash. The faintest hint of ozone.

He remembered that smell. He remembered breathing it in as he watched Riko die.

Outside the window, a billboard flickered. His face stared back at him, a younger version—hair slicked back, eyes fierce, jaw set. A crown of fire had been edited into the shot, curling above his head like he was some kind of deity.

“SATORU GOJO: THE STORM THAT SURVIVED.”

“They love you,” you said flatly.

He turned to look at you, the Capitol’s reflection dancing in your eyes. “They love their idea of me.”

You didn’t argue. Instead, you looked out the window again, and your fingers curled into fists.

“Must I remind you to smile again?” Coral sang, catching your silence with the lilt of her voice. “President Snow won’t be pleased if you’re sulking.”

You both ignored her. The car slowed again.

They were approaching the Presidential Tower’s annex. It was all columns and balconies, soft blue lighting and manicured hedges sculpted into the shapes of snakes and songbirds. Satoru thought it looked like a mausoleum.

The car stopped. A Peacekeeper opened the door. Satoru stepped out, and the Capitol swallowed him whole again.

Everything felt thinner here: the air, the silence. Like even the space between his bones had to be approved by Capitol decree. He felt eyes on him already, from the windows above, from the cameras he couldn’t see. From the insects masquerading as stylists and sponsors and hosts, watching from the glittering towers.

Each step towards the building felt like the ground recognised him, like it remembered his blood.

He was back. The boy who won. The man who never really left.

Somewhere behind him, you followed—just as you always had. Just as he had once asked you not to.

But here you both were, again, just like the Capitol wanted.

The elevator ride up was silent. Not the kind of silence that soothed, but the kind that gathered in your lungs and settled like ash. Every second ticked by like the loading of a gun. Satoru stood rigid in the mirrored walls, his reflection splintered from a dozen angles, all of them wearing the same grim expression.

You were beside him, close but not touching. Neither of you spoke. There wasn’t anything to say. The doors opened with a sigh into the top floor of the Presidential Tower, the highest place in all of Panem.

It was colder up here, though Satoru couldn’t say why. Maybe it was the lack of colour. The entire corridor was white—white floors, white walls, white marble polished to an unnatural sheen, as if even dust had been outlawed here. The air smelled of antiseptic and roses, so thickly perfumed that it made Satoru’s throat itch.

Guards lined the halls, motionless in gold and black. Their visors reflected Satoru and you as you walked past, giving him back no expressions or names. Just hollowed-out silence in humanoid shape.

At the end of the corridor, beyond the skeletal archway of thorn-shaped beams, was President Snow, seated like a spider in the centre of his web.

The office around him gleamed with deliberate elegance—glass-paned walls looking out across the Capitol skyline, a blood-red carpet beneath his desk, and behind him, a flowering wall of roses, growing in unnatural white and red, vines crawling like veins.

The president smiled before he even approached.

“Ah,” he said, standing. “Our victors.”

His voice slithered across the room like fog: low, papery, always polite. He gestured with a skeletal hand. “Please, sit. You must be tired after your trip.”

Satoru remained standing. You didn’t budge an inch, either.

Snow tilted his head, still smiling, like someone indulging a pet. “No? Very well. Let’s get to it, then.”

He folded his hands behind his back. 

“You two have caused quite the stir,” he drawled. “Young minds are so… impressionable. All it takes is a single phrase, a single image, and suddenly the Capitol is flooded with whispers. Symbols.” His smile widened. “Martyrs. And you know what happens to martyrs, don’t you?”

Satoru said nothing.

The President turned slightly, studying the Capitol through the glass like it was a snow globe he’d built himself. “I find it… fascinating,” he said, “the way stories spread. A flicker becomes a flame, and suddenly there’s smoke in places it doesn’t belong. District Four. District Eleven. Even whispers from Twelve, and we all know how dangerous whispers can be.”

He turned to face you both, face still smooth, voice still gentle. “You are not martyrs,” he said. “You are actors. You perform. You smile. You play the part we assign you.”

Satoru’s throat felt dry, but he forced his voice to remain steady. “Everything we said was true.”

“Truth,” Snow echoed, amused now. “Truth is irrelevant. Believability is power. You’re lucky. We’ve spun something from this mess. A story the Capitol can digest. A romance. A tragedy. A pair of haunted lovers forced to return to the arena—but this time, together.”

His eyes gleamed. “The people are already eating it up.”

You shifted beside Satoru, the slightest hitch in your breath the only indication that you were listening.

“But I’ll be clear,” Snow said, taking a step closer. “If either of you deviate from the narrative—if you hesitate, or slip, or speak one wrong word—I will end the story myself.”

He reached up and adjusted the rose on his lapel, the petals shining blood-red in the artificial light. 

“And not with dignity.”

Satoru wanted to scream. To lunge. To shove every inch of marble and rose and power down this sick man’s throat, but he knew he couldn’t, because he knew the stakes.

Snow circled slowly back to his desk and sat once more. “You will go to hair and makeup after this. You will hold hands. You will cry, if you must. You will kiss, perhaps.” He waved a hand dismissively. “Whatever it takes.”

Then, almost as an afterthought: “Oh. And remember to thank me during the interviews. For giving you a second chance at love.”

The words stuck in Satoru’s spine like needles. The President turned away, already finished, and said, “You may go.”

The guards didn’t move, but you did: a single step, steady. You didn’t look back. Satoru followed you out into the hall, his feet like lead, his heart a roar beneath his ribs.

The prep team arrived two hours later—or maybe earlier; time didn’t pass properly in the Capitol. It stretched and buckled like melted sugar. One second, he’d been lying stiff on the too-soft bed in the penthouse suite; the next, the door had slid open and in they came, all perfume and sequins and chirping voices.

“Satoru!” cooed Lume, her eyes rimmed with rhinestones and something vaguely reptilian about the way her lips curved too far. “Oh, we’ve missed you so much. Didn’t we say he’d look taller in person, Davi?”

Davi—a man whose eyebrows were replaced entirely by a row of sapphires—clasped his hands together as if seeing Satoru was akin to witnessing the birth of a star. “Taller and paler,” he sighed. “He’s like a marble statue.”

“Mmm, delicious.” The third one—Krin—circled him with a tablet in hand, analysing angles. She had fins today, literal ones, shimmering gill-like extensions curling from the sides of her neck. “Still lean. So perfect.”

Satoru said nothing, because they didn’t expect him to, anyway.

The prep team didn’t speak to people so much as at them, monologues wrapped in cotton candy and electric laughter. They fluttered and hovered and gestured, and eventually ushered him towards the marble-tiled bathroom where the true transformation began.

It started with the clothes. Off, first. They made a show of not looking, but they always did—covert glances as they peeled the shirt from his frame, as they noted the new scars like collectors inspecting a rare coin. Satoru let them. Resistance was worse.

“Still no body hair,” Krin muttered, almost disappointed. “Is it natural, or—”

“Don’t ask,” Lume interrupted, slapping her hand away from his chest.

They scrubbed him raw. Water that smelled faintly of flowers and bleach poured over him, too hot. Hands moved with choreographed precision: one lathering his hair with a shampoo that tingled like mint and metal, another scraping calluses of his palms with something sharp. A third held a mirror up to his face, noting the faint shadows beneath his eyes, the near-imperceptible tremble in his jaw.

“He’s not sleeping,” Davi whispered, scandalised. “That won’t do. Coral will throw a fit.”

“No need to worry,” Krin said cheerfully. “I’ll send for the white drops. They’ll brighten the sclera, just enough to fake vitality.”

Fake vitality. That was all the Capitol ever wanted, wasn’t it?

By the time they were done with his skin—lotions, creams, serums with names he couldn’t pronounce—he felt scraped clean. Empty. A mannequin waiting to be assembled.

Then came the clothing. Today’s look, they informed him, was a study in tragic resilience. His stylist hadn’t yet arrived, but the outfit had been couriered ahead of time: a tailored suit in stark white, lapels lined with metallic thread that glinted like sunlight bouncing off the ocean’s waves. Beneath it, a high-neck shirt the colour of sea-foam. A single silver pin sat in the shape of a rose. Satoru wanted to throw up when he saw it.

“It’s so… haunted,” Lume said breathlessly, helping him into the jacket. “So wounded-boy-meets-iconic-messiah. Very in this season.”

Satoru stood still, arms out, as they fastened the cuffs.

He stared into the mirror.

The boy in the reflection was not a boy. Not anymore. He looked sharp enough to cut—his hair pushed back from his forehead, revealing his cheekbones; his skin unnaturally smooth, his lips touched with the faintest hint of colour.

He looked like someone who could inspire revolutions. He looked like someone they’d shoot on sight.

The prep team was still fussing, adding final touches—powder here, a dab of gloss there. They argued about whether or not to conceal the scar on his temple.

“Leave it,” Satoru said hoarsely.

They all turned. It was the first thing he’d said all morning.

“...Of course,” Krin replied quickly, nodding. “Yes. Of course.”

They said nothing else after that.

Lume smoothed the shoulders of his jacket and smiled too brightly. Davi handed him a small flask of something herbal “for the nerves,” which Satoru tucked into his pocket without looking. Krin stepped back and made a note on her tablet.

They left Satoru alone.

The room shimmered with Capitol excess—dripping chandeliers, crystal vases full of genetically modified orchids, and a wardrobe larger than his old house in the District. Everything smelled like artificial lemon.

Satoru’s mind was somewhere else.

Back in the Victor’s Village. Back on the train. Back to you, with your trembling hands and your resolute voice. The things you’d said. They want a hero, he thought, but he was never that. He was just a survivor.

He smoothed his jacket. Straightened his spine.

Coral would be here any minute to lead him down to the Tribute Parade. The cameras would start rolling. The world would be watching. 

He looked one last time in the mirror, and let them see what they wanted to see. Let them believe the lie.

Satoru stepped out of his suite and closed the door behind him with a gentle click, then stood there for a moment, fingers twitching at his sides. Hearing the sound of soft footsteps, he turned before he even heard your voice.

Your outfit matched his in almost every detail—the same pearlescent fabric, the same oceanic shine in the metallic thread that edged your cuffs and collar. Only yours had a veil. Translucent and whisper-thin, it hung from a small comb tucked behind your ear, falling like frost over your shoulders. You didn’t bother lifting it.

They’d done this on purpose. He could see it now, how calculated it all was. The paired whites, the blue accents, your stupid veil. A wedding aesthetic without the ceremony. The Capitol didn’t need to announce your love. It was already in the details, and anyone watching would assume it. Would need to.

Satoru’s hand curled into a fist at his side, the other smoothing down the line of his jacket, more out of habit than vanity. The tension in his shoulders was a low, coiled thing. 

“Snow has a sick sense of humour,” he muttered.

Your lips quirked behind the veil. “What gave it away? The matching outfits or the part where we’re supposed to pretend to be in love on national television?”

“Take your pick.”

“He’s serious about this,” you said.

“I know.”

You looked over your shoulder down the hall, then back at him. “So. What do we do?”

He opened his mouth to answer. Closed it. His hands found the edge of his sleeves, fiddling with the cufflinks. The hallway lighting threw shadows beneath your eyes. Maybe they’d tried to cover them up. Maybe they’d left them there on purpose, for the tragic appeal.

“We play along,” he said.

“You mean—”

“I mean we pretend,” he interrupted, “until we figure something else out. We’ll give them what they want. They love a good story.”

“Funny,” you said. “You’ve never been much of an actor.”

“Neither have you.”

You didn’t argue. Instead, you glanced down the corridor where Capitol handlers were no doubt waiting just beyond the next corner, armed with cameras and microphones. The Peacekeepers would follow soon after.

“Do you think they’ll believe it?” you asked sardonically. “That Satoru Gojo, the Capitol’s golden boy, suddenly fell in love with the girl he’s spent years hating?”

“Hating you was easy,” he said. “Pretending not to will be harder.”

You turned your face to him fully then, veil catching the light as it shifted like water. “Then maybe don’t try too hard. Your disgust might pass for passion if you squint.”

Satoru didn’t know why he stepped closer. Maybe it was instinct, that old, ruthless Capitol instinct to perform—to charm, to command a room, even when the room was empty. Maybe it was something else, something far less useful and far more dangerous. But he didn’t let himself dwell on it.

From this close, he could see the faint shimmer dusted across your cheekbones. He could also see the stubborn glint in your eyes, that familiar spark he’d hated the moment he saw it all those years ago in the Training Center, the spark that said you’d rather go down swinging than even let someone else win.

“Hold still,” he said quietly, almost low enough to be mistaken for tenderness.

Your brows rose behind the veil, but you didn’t move when he lifted one hand and let it hover in front of your face. His fingers hesitated for a heartbeat too long before he gently pinched the fabric near your temple and adjusted the comb just slightly, letting the veil fall a bit straighter. There—less crooked, more symmetrical. Picture-perfect.

He told himself it was about optics. Always optics.

“There,” he said. “Now you look fit to be a bride.”

His joke was in poor taste. You didn’t thank him. Of course, you didn’t. You tilted your head slightly and looked at him through the thin mesh, studying him with the same wariness you always had—like you were waiting for the knife behind the compliment.

He wished it annoyed him. It used to.

Before he could say anything else, Coral’s heels clicked into the hallway. But even after she reached them, even as she began her chirping monologue about camera angles and choreography, Satoru didn’t look away from you.

He didn’t like you. That part hadn’t changed. You were reckless and infuriating and always two steps ahead of him in ways that didn’t make sense. He remembered the first time you’d beat your fellow tribute, Suguru Geto, in a sparring match. You’d won not because you were stronger, but because you were meaner, cutthroat in a way he hadn’t expected. It had rattled something in him. 

That was the problem. You rattled him.

Even now, arm looped with yours, as Coral guided you both down the corridor, he could feel it—the gnawing hum of something pulling taut under his skin. Not attraction, not exactly. More like gravity. Something unpleasant and inevitable.

Satoru Gojo did not fall in love. But he did play the game, and if the Capitol wanted a love story, they were going to get one so dazzling they wouldn’t know where to look.

The elevator doors opened. He let you step in first. As the doors slid shut behind them, sealing off the world beyond, he looked at your reflection in the polished paneling. The veil shimmered. Your lips were pressed into a grimace.

He wondered, not for the first time, if you could put on an act convincing enough to fool President Snow, too.

He hoped so. He really, really hoped so.

The staging hall behind the Remake Center was cavernous and cold, the kind of cold that wasn’t from temperature but from gleaming walls, sterilised floors, and that metallic scent of too much money. Gold and glass chandeliers hung above the waiting area, casting warped halos over everyone beneath them. Like the Presidential Tower in the City Centre, and the penthouses in the Tribute District, it was too bright, too perfect, and too quiet.

Satoru stood with his hands loosely clasped behind his back, posture relaxed in a way that was entirely performative. He didn’t glance at the cameras tucked discreetly into the corners of the room, but he knew they were there, humming softly, hungry for any flicker of tension or weakness. He’d learned long ago that Capitol cameras didn’t blink. They just watched, and waited.

You stood beside him, slightly angled away like you couldn’t stand to be too close. Not that he blamed you. The veil still hung from the comb behind your ear, and from the corner of his eye, he could see the way it moved when you breathed—shallow, steady. Controlled.

You were always so good at that. Controlled.

There were already a few pairs gathered in the hall—other victors summoned back to die for the Capitol’s amusement in this sadistic Quarter Quell. Some Satoru recognised instantly. Some he hadn’t seen since they stood on podiums with blood on their faces and flowers in their arms.

He saw Kento Nanami, standing near one of the pillars like he’d rather be anywhere else. Satoru wasn’t surprised he was here. District 11 hadn’t produced many victors in the last few decades, but Kento had been a quiet legend in his own right: clever, composed, and ruthless in the arena when it mattered. Rumour had it he’d won his Games with a broken rib and a shattered wrist. The Capitol had tried to dress him afterward, sculpt him into something shiny, but even now, years later, Kento still looked like someone who didn’t quite belong in these rooms.

His uniform was darker than most, muted bronze with a charcoal sash over one shoulder. He was speaking in low tones to his district partner, who Satoru didn’t immediately recognise. Probably a younger victor. A new lamb for slaughter.

“You think if I throw up before the parade, they’ll cancel it?” someone piped up cheerfully nearby.

Satoru turned to see Yu Haibara, from District 7, beaming at him with a sort of unshakeable optimism that made Satoru’s teeth hurt. The kid was barely older than twenty, his brown curls slightly mussed by the stylists, his uniform stitched from dyed bark and deep green velvet. A nod to his lumber roots, no doubt.

“If it’s on camera,” Yu added brightly, “I might get extra sponsors.”

“You’d better empty your guts dramatically then,” Satoru drawled, slipping easily into Capitol charm. “Preferably mid-spin.”

Yu laughed. “Maybe you can catch me if I faint too. Really sell the tragic romance angle.”

Satoru flashed a grin. “Sorry. I only catch people I like.”

“Oh? Then she’s lucky,” Yu said, gesturing loosely towards you.

You didn’t smile. Not even a twitch. Satoru could practically hear the words you were not saying through the veil. But you stepped just slightly closer to him, shoulder grazing his, and for the Capitol’s invisible audience, it was a performance worth millions.

“Do you think Snow’s going to make us dance next?” Yu asked after a beat. “Like, literally dance? Before he lets us kill each other?”

“I wouldn’t put it past him,” Kento said, walking up to you three. He offered a stiff nod to Satoru, then to you. His expression was impassive, but his eyes were tired. “Though if we’re lucky, maybe they’ll send the mutts in before the waltz.”

“Have to keep the pacing up,” Satoru murmured. Mutts, or muttations, normal animals genetically modified in the Capitol’s labs into creatures more grotesque than he could ever imagine, were the least of his worries. “Wouldn’t want the audience to get bored.”

“God forbid,” Nanami replied dryly.

Satoru’s smile faded just slightly. There was a hollow spot behind his ribs that hadn’t stopped aching since the reaping. 

Yu reached into his sleeve and produced a bright red candy. “Want one?” he offered Satoru. “Tastes like synthetic strawberries. Or so they say. I’ve never actually had strawberries before.”

Satoru blinked at him, then took the candy and popped it into his mouth.

“Very sweet,” he confirmed. It wasn’t the worst thing he’d tasted in the Capitol. That title still belonged to whatever poison they called oysters.

Kento’s eyes flicked from Satoru to you. “How long do you plan to keep this act up?”

Satoru tilted his head, smiling like the answer didn’t matter. “As long as we have to.”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I.”

Kento rolled his eyes, but he didn’t push. Not here, where every word was being catalogued, where even the smallest twitch of tension could be repackaged and broadcast in high definition.

You spoke up then, voice quiet but clear. “It’s what they want, isn’t it? A star-crossed twist. All’s fair in love and war, and whatever other fuckery goes on in their heads.”

“You guys sound fun at parties,” Yu said.

“We used to be,” Satoru muttered.

The doors at the far end of the hall opened with a sudden, echoing click. A handler in Capitol lavender beckoned them forward. The chariots were being prepped. The parade was about to begin.

Satoru sighed once, long and shallow. He extended a hand towards you, palm up. Your fingers were cold. Or maybe his were. Either way, they fit too easily.

Yu winked as he passed. “Try not to upstage the rest of us, lovebirds.”

“No promises,” Satoru said, walking forward with you on his arm, every step a silent, glittering lie.

The Avenue of the Tributes stretched out before Satoru like a burnished mirror, polished till the cobblestones shone. Spotlights hovered above on silent rails, casting pools of white-gold light that tracked each chariot as it rolled through the wide boulevard, flanked on either side by rows and rows of screaming Capitol citizens.

Satoru stood at the front of the chariot, spine straight beneath the pearlescent jacket that shimmered in the light. Every movement made the fabric catch on itself—blue, then green, then silver—like he was wearing the ocean on his skin. At his side, you stood just as poised, your hand tucked loosely into the crook of his elbow, veil trembling slightly in the wind.

Your other hand was hidden between you, fingers curled around his. For balance, you’d said when you climbed into the chariot. You hadn’t let go since.

Cheers echoed through the corridor of lights and screens. The hover-cams whirred softly as they zoomed in, projecting close-up feeds of each pair onto the giant curved panels looming over the avenue. On one, Satoru caught a glimpse of his own face—mask-like, unreadable—and yours beside it, half-concealed by your veil. Together, you looked like the climax of a fairy tale, right before everything fell apart.

Good. That was the point.

“They’re eating this up,” he murmured, not turning his head.

Your voice floated back just as quiet. “You sure it’s not the outfits?”

“I think it’s the misery.”

You let out a faint huff that might have been a laugh. Or maybe a sigh.

Ahead of your chariot, the chariot from District 3 turned the final bend, where the wide boulevard narrowed into City Centre. From here, Satoru could see the Presidential Tower rising like a blade of glass into the night sky. All the light in the world seemed to pool at its base—cold, brilliant, all-consuming.

He hated that tower.

The chariot began to slow.

Coral had instructed him to do something big when they reached the end. “A gesture,” she had said, fluttering her manicured fingers. “Something iconic. They need to fall in love with the idea of you two.”

Satoru had nodded absently. He knew how this worked. He knew what sold.

He also knew that every camera would be trained on you and him in the next sixty seconds. President Snow would be watching from his perch, eyes like twin chips of frozen steel. Every Capitol citizen and every grieving mother in Panem would be holding their breath, ready to believe in the lie if he made it beautiful enough.

So when the chariot began to slow, and the crowd’s screams peaked into something shrill and hysterical, he turned to you.

Your eyes met his behind the veil, and just for a second, everything stilled. He saw the fatigue carved beneath your lashes. The way you held your chin just high enough to not look scared. The way your mouth parted slightly like you were about to say something—then didn’t.

Satoru reached up, slowly, and pushed the veil back.

It slipped over your hair like mist, pooling behind your shoulders, baring your face to the cameras. Gasps rippled through the crowd. You flinched, almost imperceptibly.

Satoru stepped closer, one hand still in yours. The other lifted to your cheek, resting there with the barest pressure.

“This is a terrible idea,” you said, breath brushing his lips.

“That’s what makes it romantic,” he said, and kissed you, not softly or chastely.

He kissed you like he was trying to rewrite the story with his mouth. Like if he kissed you hard enough, the Capitol might forget what this parade really was. Like maybe he could forget, too.

Your lips parted beneath his. You didn’t pull away.

The crowd screamed. Fireworks ignited above the tower in bursts of crystalline white and glittering crimson. Cameras whirred. Screens flashed. Satoru closed his eyes against all of it.

When he finally pulled back, your lipstick was smudged and your expression unreadable. The veil fluttered behind you, untethered. Your fingers were still tight around his. He forced a smile, something charming and rakish, for the Capitol. You didn’t smile back, but you didn’t let go of his hand.

The chariot rolled to a halt in front of the Tower. The anthem swelled, deafening now, but all Satoru could hear was the thud of his own heartbeat and the whisper of your breath against his collar. He stood there, hand still cradling your cheek, eyes on the President’s balcony, where a single white rose gleamed in a crystal vase.

He wondered what the Capitol saw at that moment. Their golden boy and his beloved? Or just two more corpses with pretty faces and perfect timing?

Let them choose, he thought bitterly. Let them believe whatever version of the lie they liked best. He could play this role until the end. He had to.

The applause didn’t fade so much as shift, muted behind the tall glass doors of the Training Center as the chariot peeled away into the underground corridors. The quiet was jarring, sudden, like someone had clamped a hand over the Capitol’s glittering mouth.

Satoru released a breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding. The veil was still pushed back, your fingers still tangled loosely in his, a quiet echo of the performance you’d just sold to the entire nation. He loosened his grip before you could pull away first. You didn’t look at him as you adjusted the comb in your hair. He didn’t expect you to.

Coral’s voice chimed in beside him—overly chipper, as though she hadn’t just watched you both broadcast a staged kiss to millions of viewers. “Darlings, you were stunning. President Snow’s aides are going to be in a frenzy by morning. I wouldn’t be surprised if he requests an exclusive interview before the interviews. Now, you two will—naturally, of course—be sharing a suite with a single bedroom. Lovebirds, and all that pizzazz.”

Satoru muttered something noncommittal and let her guide him down the main hallway. The Training Center was the same as always: gleaming floors, ceiling panels aglow with sterile light, the soft scent of something floral piped in to cover the antiseptic undertones. Every year, he remembered it being too quiet. Too polished. Like the building was pretending not to be what it was.

Prison. Vault. Mausoleum.

The elevator opened with a soft chim, and Coral stepped in with you, instructing the Peacekeepers to wait below. District 4’s floor was near the top, just underneath a few high-scoring districts. The doors slid open into a carpeted hallway lined with glass doors, each suite labeled in a metallic script. He hadn’t even reached his assigned room before a voice called out from the end of the hall:

“Satoru! Hey!”

Satoru turned to see Yu again, grinning as brightly as he had back before the parade, his dark curls windswept. He was still in his tribute outfit. Beside him, Kento leaned against the wall, eyes flicking between you and Satoru with a kind of calm interest.

“District Four’s really making a statement tonight,” Yu said, jogging up. “I knew you’d pull something like that.”

“Glad to give the people what they want,” Satoru replied easily.

Yu shot a teasing glance at you. “He always this romantic when cameras are off?”

“Worse,” you said, not missing a beat.

“Theatrics aside,” Kento said, walking over, “it was well-played. You’ll be the Capitol’s sweethearts by tomorrow.”

“Is that a good thing?” Satoru asked.

“Only if you don’t mind being watched,” Kento said. “Constantly.”

Another door opened down the hall.

Yuki Tsukumo stepped out barefoot, wearing an oversized black robe that barely grazed her knees. Her hair was still styled from the parade—loose curls and golden embellishments tucked behind one ear—and she walked with the easy confidence of someone who didn’t mind being the centre of attention in the room.

“Ah,” she said, eyes lighting up as she caught sight of your little congregation. “The lovers of the hour.”

Satoru barely had time to brace before she was in front of him, eyes dragging over the details of his still-buttoned jacket and the faint trace of lipstick smudged near his mouth.

“Didn’t know you had it in you, Gojo,” she crooned, tilting her head. “I always thought you were more of a solo act.”

He offered her a smile. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”

“True.” Yuki stepped closer, unabashed. “But I’d love to find out.”

From the corner of his eye, Satoru caught sight of your shoulders stiffening just slightly. He said nothing.

Yuki’s hand reached up, smooth fingers brushing the edge of his collar. “Nice stitching. Did your stylist tailor it just for you?”

“Yes,” he said flatly.

“I like a man with taste.”

“And I like a woman who doesn’t waste time,” he replied, stepping just out of reach. “But unfortunately, I’m spoken for now.”

He reached for your hand before he could second-guess it.

Yuki’s eyebrows lifted, clearly amused. “Well, how tragic for me.” She turned her gaze to you, lips curled. “But lucky you. If you ever get bored of the Capitol’s golden boy, let me know.”

You smiled. “If I ever get bored, I’ll be too dead to care.”

Yuki laughed and lifted two fingers to her brow in a mock-salute before sauntering back to her suite. The door closed behind her with a soft click.

Yu let out a low whistle. “District Two really doesn’t believe in subtlety, huh?”

“She’s just bored,” Kento said simply. “She’s already won once. Flirting’s just another way to stay sharp.”

Coral clapped her hands, clearly uncomfortable with the whole exchange. “Alright! Let’s get you two settled in. Training begins tomorrow, and I’d hate for either of you to look anything less than breathtaking at breakfast.”

You let her drag you towards the suite, your fingers slipping out of Satoru’s grip somewhere along the way. Yu yawned and pressed the button for the elevator, before waving goodbye and stepping inside. Kento, however, stayed where he was.

Satoru glanced at him.

Kento’s voice was low. “Keep your eyes open, Gojo. That kiss was a declaration—not just to the Capitol. To the other tributes as well.”

“What of it?” Satoru didn’t look away.

“You better be careful.”

Satoru said nothing.

When he finally stepped into the suite and the doors closed behind him, the noise of the hallway faded; all he could think of was that kiss, the way your breath caught against his cheek, the soft tremble he hadn’t imagined. He didn’t know what it meant, but he knew they were all watching now.

He wasn’t sure he could afford a single mistake from here on.

You didn’t enter the bedroom at all that night.

Satoru padded barefoot into the common lounge, hands in the pockets of his sweatpants, hair still tousled from tossing against Capitol pillows that, though soft, offered him no comfort. You sat on the low couch near the window wall, knees tucked to your chest, gaze fixed on the glowing skyline of the Capitol.

You didn’t turn at the sound of his footsteps, though you’d clearly heard them.

“Can’t sleep?” he asked, voice low.

“Didn’t know you were capable of whispering,” you said back.

He smirked, but didn’t answer. Instead, he moved to the opposite end of the couch and lowered himself onto it slowly, stretching one leg out and letting the other rest lazily against the floor. His elbows found his knees. 

“That kiss…” you said. “You really sold it.”

“You kissed me back,” he said.

“We’re playing a role.”

“Sure,” he said. “You still kissed me back. You don’t have to be afraid, you know.”

You turned to him, eyebrows lifted.

“I mean,” he continued, leaning his head back against the couch, “not of me. If you want… I can sleep on the couch tonight. You can take the bed.”

You blinked. “Why?”

He shrugged. “You seemed on edge. I figured having someone else awake nearby might help.”

Satoru didn’t have to tell you what he was actually referring to. He thought about your argument on the train more often than he should have, something dark and ugly and twisted slithering about in his chest every time he remembered your words. He wanted to kill all those fucking sponsors who’d touched you, tear their limbs off one by one—he didn’t like you, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to protect you. Suguru would have wanted it.

“I’m fine,” you said.

“I know,” he said. “Just offering.”

a/n: thanks for reading! and thank you to @mahowaga for beta reading :) comments are appreciated!

art credit: _3aem

[ginandvodka-riley]

Poisonous blood: Chapter 4

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Female Reader.

Synopsis: As a woman who became a mother at a young age, you never had it easy. You survived an abusive husband and, with all your might, raised your daughter alone. Now, 20 years later, you finally find love in a mysterious but sweet man. However, bringing him into your life seems like it might not be the best idea when a series of dark events begin to occur, and it's up to you to once again face the darkness that refuses to leave you.

CW: Suspense, rape, domestic and emotional abuse, child abuse, panic attacks, paranoia, reader has low self-esteem, mentions of suicidal ideation, dissociation episodes, religious trauma, partial hearing loss, angst. TW: Self-harm, paranoia episode, dissociative episode, angst.

Word count: k | Masterlist ← Prev | Next →

Hours, days, weeks, months.

Time passed deadly slowly, your perception of time deformed completely, if a minute passed you felt like as if just a second or the whole day had passed. Without the need to look at yourself in front of a mirror you knew that with every breath you were getting old, you could feel it in every itch that ran through your skin, your face was filled with wrinkles and your hair started to fall out, the clumps of hair over your lap and the floor were the prove. They were real, as real as the stabbing pain in your heart.

Now, looking at the piece of clothing and picture you understand everything. The day when you left Riley with the Prices and Simon was feeling guilty it wasn’t because of her, but because he had tried to get closer to your daughter, to make her his. That also explained why he had rejected you the other day, that suddenly his libido had died. How could he want to touch you when all that he had in mind was Samantha? Young, beautiful, fiery, self-confident, all the things that you weren’t.

The knot in your stomach made you nauseous, sick, disgusted with him and yourself.

Every word that came out of your ex-husband’s mouth years ago was right. You were stupid, useless, ignorant, ugly, just a mere mass of flesh, bones and hair whose only purpose was to serve him. So different from her.

You couldn’t help but felt jealous of Samantha. You knew it was wrong to feel that twisted emotion, but you were human, a sinner one full of flaws as your ex-husband used to say. You wanted to be like her, young, with a good normal life, beautiful, loved by everyone and the man you love the most.

You’re a bad mother.

Feeling as if she was the one to blame when the only culprit was him. The sick bastard was him, doing something so terrible as to try to abuse Samantha. He was like your ex-husband. The same, sick man. The photo in your hands was a prove itself, he was obsessed with a young woman, a girl that was beginning to explore the world, innocent.

Did that photo mean that he had already known you? Maybe that day at the market wasn’t a coincidence, maybe he had you and Samantha already in his sight. Probably he had planned everything to get close to you, to sooner or later get the chance to be with her. He was an elite soldier after all, and you were just another mission, another target to get rid of to get what he wanted.

“He’s a good man, and not many people manage to see his wounded soul.”

Price’s words echoed inside your skull, colliding with your brain.

Every time that the team had told you how lucky Simon was to be with you, thanking you for being an angel in his life. Did they already know the truth? Maybe they didn’t and truly believed that Simon loved you, falling into his web of lies too. Or maybe they already knew and were part of that sick game. They tried to manipulate you to help him get what he wanted.

Everything was a lie.

His tender caresses, the way he made you love worshipping your soul and body, every time he had said “I love you”.

Cruel lies.

The pain in your heart was unbearable, it was even worse than when your ex-husband hit you. Those times pulling your hair to drag you all over the house for being a bad wife, hitting your face until your lips broke and your eyes got so swollen you couldn’t see for the following days. The nights you had to lay on the bed face up waiting for him to touch you at his mercy, penetrating you without care or preparation, he tore your skin and flesh until there was nothing left behind but a broken soul.

Even the pain that he had inflicted felt like nothing compared to the pain that was tearing you from the inside out. Physical wounds heal with time and proper care, but emotional wounds were hard to improve. And now, not only did you just have to heal yourself but your daughter too.

How could Simon do something like that? He was a rape survivor, he knew how abuse feels like, then why did he decide to do something so vile? Not only did he cheat on you, but he also tried to abuse your daughter, and not satisfied with that, he had made a sick plan, a web of lies to approach you and use you to get what he wanted. Only God knows from how long.

The lump in your throat transformed into nausea, a sick sensation that blurred your gaze and twisted your stomach. You didn’t know from where you managed to get strength, but you quickly stood up and ran towards the bathroom where you emptied your stomach, all that you had eaten hours ago.

How funny, just five nights ago you were in Price’s bathroom vomiting due to the alcohol in your system, and Simon was with you all the time, holding your hair and patting your back tenderly.

“You’re beautiful even like this, my love.”

Liar.

He told you those sweet fake words only for hours later try to abuse your daughter while you were knocked out in the room.

The stab in your heart worsened because of the images of him abusing Samantha that invaded your mind, like a parasite biting your brains until forming a mass of putrid flesh and aberrant images covered in blood.

It hurt so much you couldn’t breathe.

Time passed and you were there, knelt in front of the toilet, your mouth covered in saliva and tiny digested pieces of food, for how much? You didn’t know. You only were conscious about time and your surroundings when you heard your cellphone ring in the bathroom, you have new messages that you didn’t want to respond to right now.

But at least the sound made you react, slowly you stood up and cleaned your face putting your whole head down the faucet, soaking your hair and blouse in the process. Feeling numb from head to toe you moved slowly, walking like a wounded fawn.

The pink thong captured your attention once more, balled up on the edge of the bed. From the first moment you saw it you recognized it, you were the one who washed the clothes, yours, Simon’s and Samantha’s.

Just the mere image of him abusing her made your chest tighten in pain.

He wouldn’t do it, right?

You must face him, know the truth.

For the next hour you were in the living room, sitting with your hands squeezing the thong weakly, trembling as if you were freezing. Maybe it wasn’t just your imagination, your blood felt heavy and cold inside you, slower, numbing your limbs.

Your breath was short; it caught your throat. The only thing that you wanted to do was to flee far away from there. But you couldn’t, not now.

The sound of the door opening stopped your heart, you even felt how your soul left your body the moment Simon appeared and entered the house. The first thing he did was look at you and his gaze warmed, but just half a second later that warmness evaporated and turned into a grimace of worry. Quickly he dropped the keys and his backpack and approached you, however you stood up abruptly and raised her hand firmly.

“No.” He stopped just hearing your command, increasing his worries.

“Luv, what―” You waved your hand in a ‘silent’ sign. The silence between you was so tick it could be cut with a knife, heavy over your shoulders, crushing you.

For what felt like hours none of you said anything, he was frozen like a statue, waiting for you to say something, anything. And you didn’t even know where to start, so without thinking about it anymore you raised your other hand and extended towards him, showing him the piece of clothing.

He looked at it confused, you could see it in your eyes, but that didn’t relieve your heart.

“What―”. Once more you interrupted him.

“I found it in your missions’ bag.” You couldn’t decipher his expression, it was blank, stoic as usual, so you continued. “It’s Samantha’s.”

When her name came out of your lips, his whole body tensed, you noticed it perfectly although it was subtle, barely visible. However, once more he didn’t react much more than that, his eyes were dark and cold, and the following minute he didn’t say anything, not a single word, crushing your heart with his silence.

“There was a photo wrapped in it…” Your voice broke and you had to encourage yourself to continue. “A photo that I’ve never shown you… in which Samantha had only fifteen.” The tears began to run through your cheeks making you hate yourself for being so weak. “Would you dare to explain?”

He didn’t respond. His body froze as a hard piece of stone, immovable like a mountain. But you noticed it, his tight jaw clenching so much it must hurt him, his gaze darkened and avoided looking at you, focusing on the thong as it was his worst enemy. His knuckles became white due to clenching them, and you were sure that if it weren’t for his gloves his nails would’ve already split his skin, bleeding mercilessly.

The room was heavy, cold, the only sound that could be heard was your slight sobs and knotting breathe. Maybe it’d passed just a couple of minutes, maybe just seconds, but time stopped and once more you felt aging, covered in wrinkles with every beat of your heart.

“Answer me!” Your yell made him flinch slightly, something weird in him. “Why were these in your bag?” His lips parted lightly once, twice, but nothing came out.

Before you could demand an answer again, he finally spoke, his voice trembled, and words got stuck in his throat.

“Luv, listen, I―”

“You did it.” It wasn’t an answer, it was a statement. He raised his hands as if you were a wounded animal and he was trying to calm you down.

“Luv, please, listen to me, let me explain you.”

“You did it!” You couldn’t hold back anymore, your heart exploded in a painful river of tears, tears that felt heavy and stabbed your skin. “How could you?!” You started to yell out, not caring about a thing in the world. “You… You’re a sick pervert!” You threw the thong and the photo away just to keep your hands free, then you took one cushion and threw it at him with your strength. He didn’t avoid it, not even moved or blinked, the only thing he did was breathe hard while focusing his gaze on the floor, trembling.

“I hate you! I hate you!” Your cries filled the house, it was a miracle you hadn’t hurt your throat, there was no human power that could soothe the unbearable pain in your heart. You felt like dying, and you wish that you could do it right there to stop the suffering.

You didn’t know what else you said to him, at least not exactly, you only remembered that they were cruel things about how sick he was for stalking you just to get closer to a young girl. But something that you remembered pretty well was how you lost control of yourself and began to throw the rest of the cushions at him, and when there was not one anymore, you approached him and started to hit him in the chest while you were crying and yelling.

And he didn’t do anything to stop you. He stayed petrified as a hard rock, letting you harm him as much as you wanted to, accepting his punishment. You only stopped when you saw tears running through his face. The mere image stabbed your chest and squeezed your heart painfully.

No, no, no…

He didn’t deserve your pity, nor your love nor anything from you, so you ignored that pain and started to push him.

“Get out!” You yelled repeatedly while pushing him until you managed to kick him out of the house, closing the door right in his face.

A huge red cloud blurred your memory from there, the pain was crushing you mercilessly, stabbing you in what felt like a crime scene.

From time to time, you were conscious, screaming your guts out and hitting yourself trying to calm the ache in your heart, but it was in vain. Other moments your memories were blurry, blank and red, then you regained consciousness, but only to feel like a zombi, limbs numbed and your mind anesthetized, seeing black stains wherever you looked.

The rest of the time your brain shut down, but didn’t sleep, you just stayed there in the middle of the house, laying on the cold floor looking at nothing.

Early morning, when birds chirped your mind began to settle down and came back to life. Your throat ached for screaming for hours, burned so much it forced your body to react and move towards the kitchen to drink water. With every step your muscles screamed in pain, and you finally noticed your skin red and irritated due to the scratches you inflicted on yourself.

But what hurt the most was your poor heart, wounding in agony, longing for a man that never loved you, craving for his sweet words and devoting caresses.

You were a mess from the inside out. A living dead.

After a couple of minutes when your mind was completely settled down you decided to fix all the damage that you’d caused. You prepared a cup of tea and with a heavy sigh you headed towards Samantha’s room.

Since it was still dark outside it was most likely that she was still asleep, but you had to talk with her, so you opened the door carefully of not make a noise and entered softly. As you thought, she was lying down in her bed, sleeping. Or so it seemed. You approached her and left the cup on the bureau and then sat gently on the bed.

She was beautiful even in her sleep, even with her eyelids red from crying. You began to caress her exposed shoulder, feeling the weight of all your actions crushing you.

“Don’t touch me.” You flinched at hearing her commanding voice, soft but firm. Despite that you wanted to hug her you obeyed and pulled your hand away.

“Hun, I…” The lump in your throat cut your words as a knife stabbing directly at your neck, the sorrow was painfully heavy. “I’m sorry…” She didn’t answer immediately, but when she did it, her words felt like venom through your veins.

“I hate you. What he did to me it’s your fault and I’ll never forgive you for it.”

You wanted to protest, to beg for her forgiveness, but deep inside you knew you had no right to do it. She was right, it was your fault for being stupid, naïve as a little girl that got caught in a sick man’s trap. You handed your own daughter over on a silver plate.

“I know…” Your voice broke and you couldn’t hold back your tears. “I don’t deserve to be your mother, never did and never will…”

No, you didn’t deserve it. You were just a child when you got pregnant, no child should be a parent, motherhood wasn’t easy not even for adult women, what could you expect from a thirteen girl? And now that you look back on the past, not even with time you learnt how to be a mother, and probably you’ll never learn to.

You’re a bad mother.

“But I swear on my life,” you continued “that I’ll do whatever it takes to fix it, to protect you as I should’ve done from the start.”

She didn’t respond, not even move. It hurt, but you couldn’t demand anything from her, not after what you had done.

So, you both remained quiet, frozen in time, the silence thick and heavy. You wanted to say more to at least make her feel safe and sound, but how could you? You were like Red Ridding Hood’s mother sending her directly at the wolf’s fangs. However, you must fix the damage, and things couldn’t stay like that.

“We must go, hun. It’s Simon’s house…” You sighed heavily remembering all those times that he corrected you saying it was your house too. “We can spend the next days in a hotel and… Before you return to college we’ll go to file a lawsuit against him.”

In the blink of an eye, she sat and faced you, looking at you with eyes wide open.

“No.” She snapped firmly, dead serious. As strange as it seemed you understood her perfectly, you had gone through the same; the fear of no one believing in you and blaming you for what had happened.

“Sam,” surprisingly your voice was firm and controlled, maybe because it came right from your heart and your promise to protect her “he tried to rape you, he must go to jail to paid for his crimes.”

“I said. No.” She grabbed your wrist, something that startled you. “Don’t you understand? He’s an elite soldier, a fucking SAS! I have no proof of what he had done, while he has influences, power. If we try to lock him up in prison it’ll be in vain, we’ll make him fucking angry and he will harm us.”

You took her hand trying to soothe her.

“No, hun, he’ll never―”

“What?” She interrupted harshly “Do something like that?” She mocked you. “Don’t be stupid, mother. He’s a monster, he kills people for a living, he’s capable of doing the worst.”

As a knife cutting your skin open to expose your flesh raw, the pain that her words caused you was unbearable. Simon, the man that you loved the most was a psychopath, and even now that you knew the real him, your stupid brain continued in denial.

“I can’t let things stay like this.” You murmured and your daughter laughed again.

“How stupid you are…” Despite the aching in your heart you accepted her insults, you deserved them. “He’s obsessed with me, okay? He’ll do anything to get what he wants, and if we do something to prevent it, he’ll kill us.” Before you could say something, she continued. “He clearly told me.”

A few tears ran through your face, imaging him saying those words, threating your daughter to kill you both was like a red-hot iron going through your whole body.

“We had to escape from him, hid in a place where he could never find us.”

Once more you wanted to protest, but she continued insisting that Simon would come back for you both, he’ll use all his power as an SAS soldier to harm you and get what he wanted. Describing a man that you swore on your life that wasn’t like that. But that was before revealing his true self.

You must protect your daughter.

Throughout the house the sounds of you both packing all your belongings, taking care not to leave anything behind. When you were ready, she asked for an uber that arrived in ten minutes.

The final destination was a passing hotel about an hour away, there were another that were nearer, but they’d be the first places where he’d search for you. However, you’d get there by tube, so the first stop would be there and then continue by public transport. That way you wouldn’t leave a trace, and what better way to hide than in front of a crew?

“Here.” She handed you a card, his card. You frowned and looking at your confusion she rolled her eyes. “We’ll go first to a nearby bank, and you’ll take out all the money you could before cutting it, we can’t leave a trace.”

“What?” You couldn’t believe what she was saying, and how did she find it? You had saved it in your bureau to keep it safe. Although he had given it to you, you only used it when necessary. “No, Sam, we can’t do this.”

“It’s the last we deserve from that imbecile.” You knew she was right; a rapist deserves nothing but death. But even so, you couldn’t do it, there was something that stopped you, and she saw it in your eyes. “Don’t be stupid mother. Or what? Do you prefer to stay with him and be a punching bag again?”

If it were her words that hurt the most or the fact that she was telling the truth, you couldn’t know, you only felt how your heart squeezed inside your ribcage, pushing your lungs and depriving you of air.

The memories of your ex-husband bruising your skin until bleed ran your blood cold, your stomach twisted upside down and nausea invaded you. The only thing you could do was to nod and let her to guide you since you were so weak to think straight.

And now you were there, in front of an ATM, to withdraw the maximum amount of money. You could go directly to a bank employee and request emptying the count, after all it was a shared account. But you couldn’t, no matter how hard you tried to. So, in the end, you decided not to tell her that you had full access to his account, you requested a withdrawal of all the money from your personal account, and then at the ATM, you withdrew only as much as possible from Simon's account.

It wasn’t much, but you’d survive for at least a few weeks, enough time to have escaped.

Or so you hoped.

The hotel was in a more touristic area, it was simple, with a small restaurant and a playground. The simplest is the cheapest, not to mention that in a place full of people it wouldn’t catch anyone’s attention, not even Simon’s.

If you want to do something secretly, do it in plain sight.

The first thing you did when you arrived was to breathe deeply. Meanwhile Samantha took your phones and broke them into pieces just out of security, since Simon could get your location through them.

At least she had another cellphone, the old one that you gave her years ago, with another number and a new account. This way he wouldn’t be able to track you, in addition to having communication in case of emergency.

That day you both stayed locked in the room, asked for room service to eat or whatever you needed, what wasn’t much since all you wanted was discretion. From time to time, you went outside to walk around with no destination. You only wanted, needed to breathe fresh air and clear your mind.

Something ‘funny’ was that now you were near the smoking area, not because you wanted to smoke, you’d never tried before, not even out of curiosity, but then Simon came to your life and turned your world upside down.

He wasn’t an addict, he only smoked occasionally when he was strained and stressed after a brutal mission, or when his nightmares tortured him more than usual. However, he slowly abandoned that bad habit of him because he wanted to improve for you, to be the good man you deserved.

So, every time he had the urge to smoke and you weren’t with him, he took a piece of clothing of yours, one that you hadn’t wash it in a time, like a hoodie, a sweater or a scarf, in that way your scent got impregnated in them and he could smell you wherever he was, no matter the distance, it was as if you were right next to him.

Or at least that was what he’d told you. Now you weren’t sure about it anymore.

Did he have a scent fetish? That’d explain the used thong kept in his bag. Or maybe he was just a sick perverted man that lied to you just so you’d think better of him.

Yeah, that was most likely.

And even so you couldn’t help but inhaled deeply the smell of tobacco, remembering him, those first dates where you seemed a couple of awkward teens, not knowing what to say or do, but that at the same time were eager to explore more of those new sensations that surrounded both of you.  When just a simple touch felt like electricity running down your spines.

How a good actor he was, pretending to be inexperienced and clumsy in love.

And how pathetic were you, clinging to those memories and the physical need to feel him there with you, still doubting the evil in him. Betraying your own daughter.

You were never a good wife, much less a good mother.

Among the train of sorrowful thoughts, you heard a deep voice not away from you. You looked around you, searching for the owner of that deep voice that you knew. It wasn’t Simon’s, but you knew you’d already heard that voice somewhere.

Your heart raced and your blood ran so fast you started to feel dizzy, seeing everything through a blurry crystal. You felt watched, even when all that you could see were people enjoying themselves, minding their own business and ignoring you completely, you were just another woman there.

But you swore that you heard Johnny’s voice, and could feel several eyes looking directly at you, judging you from head to toe.

No, you were just going crazy.

When you heard a child’s laugh, your skin prickled and your body flinched slightly, it was just a little boy playing with his father, but the feeling that was left inside your body was enough to make you run away from there.

Walking through the halls your mind got distorted with every step. Were you going in the right way? What floor was this? Wasn’t your room on the third floor? What room number was it?

Every face you saw seemed so familiar, even when you were conscious that you didn’t know anyone there, everyone had something that reminded you of them. The sky-blue eyes from that little girl there were like Johnny’s. That pretty straight nose of that old lady, wasn’t exactly like Kyle’s? And the men with the bushy beard, you could swear he was John.

And the worst part was that all of them were seeing you, reading your thoughts, knowing all your sins, how you let yourself been fooled by a pervert man and now your daughter had been abused by him, all because of you.

A bad mother.

They knew, and they were judging you, following your every step with those dark eyes.

Finally, you reached your room and got locked inside. Seeing you in that messed up state and wide eyes, your daughter asked you what was wrong, but you didn’t tell her the truth, didn’t tell her that you’d heard Johnny’s voice and how everyone was following you both. Not because you weren’t sure about it, but because you didn’t want her to worry, she already had enough for what Simon had done to her.

“Nothing honey, I’m just overwhelmed.” You smiled at her. “But don’t worry my child, I just need a cold shower.” And so, without saying more, you locked yourself in the bathroom and immediately got undressed.

You didn’t even wait for the water to run hot, you got inside not carrying that the water was almost frozen, so cold it made you difficult to breathe.

And there you stayed, feeling the cold water washing away your fears and thoughts until numbing your mind like a placebo. For half an hour, you were freezing, holding on some invisible force to keep yourself on earth.

At least it helped a little.

The rest of the day you spent the time with your daughter watching movies. Or well, with the tv on playing random comedy movies that neither you nor she were paying attention. She was absorbed in her old cellphone, watching videos and messaging with someone. Meanwhile, you were just looking at emptiness, thinking about anything, your mind was completely blank. Finally, your brain switched off.

By dinner once more you ordered room service to eat something light. When an employee knocked you went to receive the food, not wanting to expose your daughter to anyone. Opening the door, you were greeted by a man around your daughter’s age, not very tall but burly. He was very gentle, but something on him made your skin crawl in a disgusting way. Maybe it was his crocked smile, or the way his eyes scanned you completely, but whatever it was it activated an alarm inside you, a siren that was loudly screaming you to take Samantha and run away from there as quickly as possible.

Once you got the food you locked the door with every available lock, breathing hard.

“Mom?” Samantha’s voice caught your attention, however you didn’t answer, instead you gave her the food and ordered her to keep it in a bag. Then you approached the window and peeked out discretely, hiding behind the curtains.

Because of the hour it was already dark outside, but the hotel lights were enough to be able to see on the streets. People coming and going from the hotel, nothing weird.

Except for a black car parked not in the hotel’s parking lot, but right in the street, a few meters away from there.

“What are you looking at?” Again, you didn’t respond to her, you were focusing on something that you couldn’t explain with words because it was something that you felt deep inside your guts. As a prey that knew it was being chased.

Finally, you saw him. The young man who brought you food, walking among people around towards that car. He wasn’t wearing his uniform anymore, and furthermore, he was the only person alone around that was leaving the hotel, the rest were families or couples. The only one that didn’t park his car inside the hotel.

His face seemed extremely familiar to you, you could swear on your life that you had seen that young man somewhere before, you just couldn't remember exactly where.

You waited for him to drive away hoping to see the license plate despite the distance, but the car didn’t move nor a single centimeter. One minute, two, five, and the engine didn’t start. Thay boy simply stayed there, inside his car waiting for something. Or someone. You couldn’t know, but either way it wasn’t a good sign.

His dark aura that made your spine twist in goosebumps, how familiar his face seemed to you, Johnny’s voice, the feeling of being stalked.

It couldn’t be a coincidence.

“We have to go.” You snapped firmly, with your heart so fast you could heard it inside your head. “They found us.”

Tag list: @blahox @miluiel1 @vajjaa @phineyy @beautifuleaglealpaca @carolchaotic If you want to be added in the next parts leave me a comment!

Thanks for reading ♡

[monamedeiros12]

All Roads Lead to Texas: Where it Burns

Joel Miller x fem!reader

Part Two of All Roads Lead to Texas!

Summary: As the miles blur and the sun dips low, the middle of the journey turns out to be the most dangerous — where tension simmers, and control begins to slip.

Warnings: age gap (reader is 26, Joel is in his 40's), SMUT - MDNI 18+, swearing, flirting, oral (f!receiving), pet names, pinv, unprotected sex, a little bit of dirty talk, breast play.... think that's it.

Words: 4.6k

A/N: Here is the second chapter guuuysssss. Please let me know if you liked this one, your feedback is always welcome!! love u love u.

part one - series masterlist - full masterlist

part three (coming soon)

Back on the road, the world outside the windows began to shift. The harsh light of the afternoon melted into something softer — golden, slow, almost cinematic. The kind of light that made everything look a little more beautiful, or a little more dangerous. You weren’t sure which.

Joel had one hand on the steering wheel, the other resting lazily near the gear shift. He looked more relaxed now, but his jaw still tensed every now and then — like he was thinking about something he didn’t plan on saying out loud.

You shifted in your seat, stealing a glance at him, and he caught it — just barely. His lips curled slightly, the corner of his mouth betraying a smirk that didn’t quite reach his eyes. Not yet.

“Be honest with me now, Joel,” you begin.

“Ain’t I always?” he replies.

“Seriously, why did you decide to give me this ride? At first I really thought you were used to it, but you said that’s not the case. So… what was it?”

He thinks for a moment before answering, his face unreadable.

“I think I just sympathized with your situation. It happened to me before — car breaking down in the middle of the road. Figured since we were headed to the same place… and you didn’t look like much of a threat, I’d make the offer.”

You nod slowly, considering his words. There was something almost casual in the way he said it — like giving a stranger a ride was just another Tuesday. But underneath, there was that current again. That quiet awareness between the two of you, always humming just beneath the surface.

“But I was wrong though,” he adds, now glancing at you.

“About what?”

“You are a threat. A real dangerous one.”

A smile reaches your lips before you can stop it.

“Oh, really?”

“Yes, really. You got quite the mouth on you, sweetheart.”

“Watch it, Miller, or I’ll have to demonstrate exactly what this mouth is capable of.” So much for subtle, right?

He shifts slightly in his seat. “See what I’m talkin’ about?”

“Oh, I see,” you laugh it off. “But seriously, I’m really grateful you’re doing this. You’re saving me a lot of time. And I’m not just saying that. I mean it.”

“I know. And it’s nothin’, trust me. I’m actually shocked you said yes. You don’t really have much of a sense of danger, do you?”

“Okay. Let me defend myself,” you begin, “If this were any other situation, I never would’ve accepted. But I was already too far gone to turn back. So I just decided to trust my instincts that you weren’t a serial killer.”

“Don’t celebrate too soon — we still got plenty of miles to go.”

“I know. I’m also praying you actually know where the fuck you’re going. Because I’m relying 100% on you here.”

“Yeah, well, that was a dumb choice. I’m just followin’ the road, hopin’ we eventually get there.” He shoots back, sarcastic.

“Funny.”

“I know.” He winks at you.

You start to believe you’re not that bad of company, because after a while, Joel actually lets you change the playlist. You feel so flattered that you put on something he won’t totally hate. It’s still country — just not as old as the stuff he was playing before.

“Let’s play a game,” you declare.

“That’s a terrible idea.”

“No. It’s the perfect idea.”

“How old are you? Fifteen?”

“Shut up. I’ll go first. Name three things you’ve noticed about me since we met.”

“You mean, since we met five hours ago?”

“Exactly.” You smile at him.

“Let me think… You talk a lot.”

“Agreed.”

“You don’t know what good music sounds like.”

You roll your eyes, already tired of that one.

“Older men are annoying.”

“And last... I bet that hair of yours feels perfect wrapped around someone’s fingers.”

You turn to him, genuinely stunned. Heat creeps up your skin — slow and sharp.

“Well, I wasn’t expecting that,” you try to play it off, pretending your pulse isn’t racing.

“I know you weren’t.” A smirk pulls at his lips. “Your turn.”

Honestly, you’d need a few minutes to recover, but you try to think fast.

“Well, not only are you old, but you also like old things. You listen to old music, you have an old car, even though you have enough money to buy another one.”

“How do you know I have enough money?”

“’Cause you own a company.”

“A small company,” he corrects.

“Whatever. It’s a company.”

Joel shrugs.

“You try really hard not to smile when I say something stupid. But you do anyway.”

“That’s not—” he begins.

“It’s my turn now.” You dismiss him with a wave of your hand. “And your hands. I noticed those right away. Can’t exactly miss them.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He raises an eyebrow.

“I will not explain myself,” you reply, looking out the window.

That makes him laugh. “Okay, then.”

You couldn't say the truth. That you have imagined the most nasty things involving his hands. Like how his thick fingers would feel inside of you. Your skin starts to tingle with the thought, so you change the subject.

“Life is crazy isn’t it?”

“Oh, it is. Learned that a long time ago.”

“What do you mean?” you ask, turning to him with a curious look.

“I’ll explain in a minute. Finish what you were tryin’ to say,” he replies, eyes still focused on the road.

“Okay. I expected anything from this little adventure of mine, except to end it in a stranger’s car.”

“Well, when you put it like that…” He tilts his head, and you let out a short laugh.

“But that’s exactly what’s happening!” you say, laughing.

“I’m not sayin’ it’s not.” Joel chuckles along with you.

“But what were you saying before? About knowing life is crazy?”

Joel exhales slowly, and when you look at him, you can tell his mind’s somewhere else — another time, another version of him.

“I have a daughter,” he says suddenly, and your eyes widen.

“Really?” you gasp.

“Really.” He chuckles. “Sarah.”

“That’s such a beautiful name,” you say softly.

“Yeah, I think so too. I picked it.” A proud smile spreads across his face. Just saying her name lights something in him. One word, and you can feel how much he loves her.

“Do you know what it means?” you ask.

“Princess,” he answers instantly.

“Yes! I remember being obsessed with name meanings when I was younger!”

Joel looks at you with a wide smile, and it steals your breath for a second.

“I always loved that name, though I only found out what it meant later.”

Your gaze shifts to something you’d already noticed — in fact, it was the first thing you noticed. Joel doesn’t wear a ring. No photos in his truck. No sign of any woman. So you say:

“You’re not married, though.”

Joel notices your eyes on his hand and follows your line of sight.

“Nope.”

“Thank God. I was scared you’d hit me with a ‘my wife and I are taking a break’ kind of thing.” You fake a dramatic sigh of relief.

He laughs again, and you’re starting to get addicted to the sound.

“No, no. No wife, no break, no girlfriend,” he replies. “Why? Afraid I’d break your heart with a yes?” he smirks.

You laugh and roll your eyes. “Totally. Most stressful five seconds of my life.”

“And what would you do if I had said yes?” he asks, genuinely curious.

“I know I’m funny and easygoing, but I swear I would’ve slapped you for flirting with me while married.” You point a finger at him.

“Is that what I was doin’?” He feigns confusion.

“Shut up, Miller.” You laugh, shaking your head.

You turn your body to really face him, folding your legs beneath you, hands resting on your thighs.

“Tell me about her. About your Sarah,” you ask quietly, hoping it’s not too much.

That smile tugs at his mouth again. “She’s my whole world.” A few seconds pass before he continues. “Had her when I was pretty young — that’s why I know how crazy life can be. She’s 19 now. Just went to college.” His smile brightens. “Couldn’t be more proud.”

You can’t help but smile too.

“She’s the sweetest girl in the world. Hilarious. Crazy smart.”

“You really love her, don’t you?” you ask softly.

“Yeah. I do. Everything I do is for her.” He pauses. “Her mom, though… It’s complicated. Haven’t seen her in years.”

“Sorry about that,” you whisper.

“Don’t be. It’s better this way. She wasn’t the most reliable person.”

You hear it in his voice — something old and heavy — and you know not to push. So you change the subject.

“My parents live in New York. It’s really hard being that far from them. But for me, it’s impossible to stay away from my sister — even for a couple of months.”

“Let me guess, you’re the little sister?” he echoes your earlier words.

“Yes,” you answer with a grin. “She’s my biggest inspiration. We’ve always been close, ever since we were kids. So it’s extra hard being away from her.”

“I get it. I’m really struggling now that Sarah’s gone off to college. One of the reasons I’m takin’ more trips than usual. Tryin’ to keep my mind busy.”

“That makes sense,” you reply, but a yawn escapes before you can stop it.

Joel glances at you, raising an eyebrow.

“Am I boring you?”

“You? God, no.” you stretch your arms above your head, the movement slow and limited by the car, “Just didn’t sleep much, that’s all.”

“There’s a motel up ahead, but it’ll still take us almost two hours to get there,” Joel says.

“Awfully specific… You in a hurry to get me behind four walls and a bed, Joel?” you tease.

“In a hurry?” He snorts. “Honey, I don’t think you can do much of anything with all that yawning.”

“For you? I’d do anything. Sleepy or not.”

Joel looks at you — gaze locked on yours for a few seconds — before turning back to the road and murmuring:

“God, you’re trouble.”

You lean back in your seat with a shrug. “You started it…”

Two hours later, the motel finally shows up — a tired-looking sign flickering in the dark, casting a dull neon glow over the gravel parking lot. Joel kills the engine, and as you step out of the truck, you can practically hear your legs and butt screaming, “Thank you!”

The place isn’t bad — definitely better than a few of the options you passed that morning. Simple, but at least it looked clean. The lobby is dimly lit, fake plants in every corner, a couple of buzzing vending machines, and the lingering smell of stale coffee in the air.

You follow Joel to the reception desk, where a woman greets you both with a polite smile. He steps forward, resting his forearms on the counter like he’s done this a hundred times before.

“Hey, just need a room for the night,” he says.

She clicks around her computer for a moment, then looks up with an apologetic smile.

“Guess it's your lucky day, we have only one room left, a queen bed.”

“Well,” Joel murmurs, voice low and borderline dangerous, “think you can handle that, pretty girl?”

You scoff, arms crossed, a smirk tugging at your lips. “I’ve survived worse.”

Joel chuckles, clearly enjoying himself. “That right? Hope you’re not a kicker. Or a cover thief.”

You tilt your head, feigning innocence. “Hope you’re not a cuddler. I bite.”

He leans in just slightly, voice dropping to a husky whisper. “Careful, sweetheart. I might like that.”

You smile, sharp and playful. Joel turns back to the woman.

“That’ll do.”

——

The door creaks open, and the room greets you with a soft, amber glow. A single lamp near the bed casts warm light across the hardwood floor, pooling in golden tones. The queen-sized bed takes up most of the space.

It’s clean. Quiet. And just small enough to make things a little more... interesting.

Joel goes back to the truck to grab your bags so you both can change. While he’s gone, you slip into the bathroom to take a shower.

The bathroom is plain — white tile on the walls and floor — the shower tucked into a narrow glass stall. Not luxurious, but it’ll do. A small mirror hangs above the sink, reflecting the warm light spilling in from the bedroom.

When the hot water hits your skin, it’s almost a religious experience. You didn’t realize how tense your body was — sore from the hours in the car, sticky from the relentless summer heat. You needed this.

You’re almost finished when you hear a knock on the door.

“I’m back. Don’t go flashin’ me now, alright? I’m a gentleman.”

“Oh, please,” you call out. “You can drop the act. I know damn well that’s exactly what you want.”

“Guilty!” he replies, and you can’t help but laugh, cheeks warming.

When you step out of the bathroom, towel wrapped loosely around you, skin still flushed from the shower — you might be doing it on purpose.

Joel is sitting at the edge of the bed, typing something on his phone, but the moment he hears you, he looks up. And stares.

His gaze runs over you slowly — shamelessly — and he lets out a low whistle.

“Is this a test of my self-control?”

“It’s just a towel, Miller. Too much temptation for you?” you tease, rifling through your suitcase for a sleep shirt and some shorts.

“Oh, I think you know exactly what you’re doing, trouble.”

You laugh, not confirming, not denying.

It’s Joel’s turn to shower, and while he’s in the bathroom, you dry your hair and get comfortable. The motel, to your surprise, actually has a decent hair dryer.

Once you’re settled, you climb into the bed — left side — and lean against the headboard. Joel comes out a few minutes later, hair still damp, droplets trailing down the sides of his neck. He’s wearing gray sweatpants and a plain T-shirt — the fabric clinging to his chest and shoulders from the steam.

Seeing him like this — relaxed, no flannel in sight — is honestly a gift.

He rubs the towel through his hair, then tosses it aside and heads straight for the bed.

“Wow, you’re not even gonna offer to take the floor?” you tease, gaze following him. “Where’s that southern gentleman now?”

“I already picked you up, drove you halfway across the state, and listened to your music for two hours straight. I think I’ve maxed out my favor quota.”

“Chivalry is really dead…” you sigh, mock disappointment dripping from your tone.

“It’s not dead. Just tired. Like me.” He pauses, glancing your way. “And let’s not pretend you don’t want me right here.”

He’s not wrong. Joel turns off the light, leaving only the bedside lamp casting a soft glow across the sheets. The mattress dips as he lies down next to you — at a “respectable” distance. Frustratingly respectable.

“We’re leaving early tomorrow. That okay with you?” he asks, eyes already closed.

“That’s fine,” you reply — a little too tight. Joel notices.

“That fine?” he echoes, teasing.

“Shut up, Joel,” you mutter, turning your back to him — but not before catching the soft laugh he tries to stifle.

You try to sleep. You really try. You shift, turn, breathe. But rest won’t come.

Because Joel Miller is lying just inches away. And his warmth — his presence — is driving you out of your mind.

Your skin is buzzing, nerves taut like a wire pulled tight. Every inch of you feels hyper-aware — of the sheets brushing your bare legs, of your own breath catching, of the sound of his, steady and maddeningly calm behind you. Your heart won’t slow down, and you can’t stop imagining his hands — how they’d feel on your skin, how easy it would be to just turn around and take.

And just when you think he’s asleep, you hear his voice — low, rough:

“You keep movin’ like that, sweetheart... you’re gonna make it real hard for me to be a gentleman.”

The words land on your skin like heat. His voice, gravelly and restrained, sounds like it’s been waiting all night to come out.

You freeze — just for a moment — then let out a quiet laugh, still facing away.

“Maybe I’m testing you,” you whisper. (Lie. It was more the other way around.)

Without warning, he moves. Slow. Sure. The mattress shifts and his arm slides around your waist, pulling you back against him. You can feel every inch of him — solid and warm at your back.

His lips brush your ear, voice now deeper, hoarser.

“You’ve been testing me all damn day. You don’t fuckin’ know how strong I’ve had to be not to put my hands on you.”

Your body goes still — then tense. Not from fear. From need.

You tilt your head, just enough for your lips to hover near his.

“Joel,” you breathe, voice raw, “if I’d really been trying to drive you crazy... you’d have fucked me hours ago.”

He goes still.

Then you feel it — the shift in his breath. The grip tightening on your waist.

“Then stop fuckin’ holding back.”

Before you can think of a clever reply, he pulls you around — fast, but careful — and his mouth crashes into yours.

Hot. Hungry. No hesitation.

One hand cups your jaw, anchoring you to him like he’s afraid you’ll disappear.

There’s no more teasing now. Just want.

You thread your fingers into his hair, moaning into his mouth. He pulls you into his lap, flat on his back now, you straddling him — his lips never leaving yours.

You can feel his cock getting hard, right where you need it.

You break the kiss to trail your mouth down his neck, open-mouthed kisses over hot skin. His scent makes you dizzy.

Joel groans, gripping your waist tight, his other hand tugging gently at your hair.

“You’re gonna kill me, sweetheart.” he whispers.

“Good. Been thinking about this since the moment I saw you in that damn gas station.” you admit, all reservations gone.

It does something to him — you see it in his eyes, the way his jaw clenches. His hand tightens around your thigh and he murmurs, low and wrecked:

“Fuck.”

Then, without hesitation, his other hand comes up to grip your jaw, firm and hungry, and he pulls you into another kiss — desperate, messy, like he can’t get close enough, like he’s been starving for you. 

“Should’ve had you hours ago,” he says against your mouth. “Should’ve pulled over and fucked you right there, in the fucking truck.” 

You lose control.

Grinding down on him, chasing every bit of friction you can get with the frustrating layers of fabric still between you. Desperate for more. Needing more.

Joel finally grabs the hem of your shirt, pulling it up and over your head in one swift motion. And when he sees you — really sees you — the look he gives you is devastating.

His breath catches. His eyes roam over every inch of your skin, like he’s trying to memorize it, worship it.

“Goddamn…” he mutters, almost under his breath, like the sight physically wrecks him. Then, eyes still locked on you: “You’re unreal.”

You’re about to say something — something witty — but then his lips wrap around your nipple and suck gently, and all thoughts leave your body.

“Joel…” you whisper, breathless, arousal dampening your panties. 

His hands are huge, and when he grabs your other boob, it is too much for you to handle.

A moan escapes your throat, and you can’t stand still nomore. 

“Easy, pretty girl. You’ll get what you want, just let me have this first.” He murmurs, mouth still against your soft skill.

“Just let me feel you at least.” you say, voice struggling to come out. 

He helps you to take off his shirt, and your hands go immediately to his chest. His hot skin, his broad body, it was exactly how you imagine it would be. 

 “You’re so beautiful.” you whisper, a piece of your soul coming out of your mouth. But it was true, Joel was unfairly handsome.

Joel grabs your waist, eyes locked on yours.

“If I’m beautiful, then I don’t know what the hell that makes you.” His voice drops. “You... you’re somethin’ else. Damn near perfection.”

You smirk, leaning in just a little closer, your voice a soft tease against his lips.

“You haven’t even seen all of me yet.”

His jaw tightens as his hands slide lower, grounding you to him.

“I don’t need to,” he growls. “I’ve seen enough to know I’m already fucked.”

For that, you have no answer. So you just lean into him and kiss him again, slower this time, really tasting him, feeling the sensation of his tongue against yours. 

Your body is so hot that you feel like you’re on fire. You intertwine your arms around his neck, trying to get impossibly closer to him. 

Joel leans forward, and your hands go immediately to his back, like you’re trying to know every single piece of him with your touch. 

He switch positions, now it is his body that is pressing yours. His kisses start to trail down your body, making your skin tingle. And when he slowly takes off your shorts and panties, your body shakes in anticipation. 

He drinks in the sight of you, yor arousal glistening along your cunt, and Joel’s breath gets caught in his throat — He’s hypnotized. 

“I’m gonna ruin you.” he whispers, still looking at your dripping pussy.

“Good.” you say back, and he gives you one last look before his mouth is finally on you. 

Your moan is immediate, uncontrollable. His tongue is exactly where you need it, his movements confident, precise.

“You are incredibly sweet, pretty girl. Just like I knew you’d be.” he murmurs into you, voice sending vibrations through your core.

When his tongue slips inside you, you gasp, your body arching.

“Fuck, Joel. Fuck, fuck fuck.” 

Joel’s grip on your thigh gets stronger, keeping you in place.

“I know sweetheart, I know.”

The feeling was indescribable, his perfect movements making it hard to believe that this was actually the first time he was touching you. 

His pace is constant, and it doesn’t take long for you to feel that you’re close.

“Joel— Joel I’m—” you can’t even finish your sentences, but Joel doesn’t give you what you want. No. He does the opposite, taking his wet tongue out of you. 

“No baby. No yet.” he says, taking off his pants, “Wanna feel you cum on my cock, yeah?” 

He looks at you, and you nod quickly, giving him all the consent he needed;

“Yes. Yes, please.” 

Joel saddles between your legs, the hard head of his cock brushing your entrance until he finally pushes in, hard and rough, making you gasp with the intrusion.

It feels perfect — his heat inside of you making you question why you took the whole day to feel this. 

“Oh baby, you’re so tight.” he groans, jaw clenched.

“You feel so good, Joel.” you whimper “So fucking good.” 

Joel sets a rough and deep pace, hitting the perfect spot inside of you and making you go insane. 

You move your hips so he can go deeper. Your bodies moving in perfect synchrony.

Then, Joel starts to rub your clit, making you squirm under him. Your high getting closer again. You dig your nails on his back, trying to hold on to something.  

“You’re gonna come for me, pretty girl?” Joel says with a hoarse voice, making your arousal worse.

“Yes, Joel. Please let me have this one.” you cry out, desperate.

“Wanna hear you beg, baby.” he caress your thigh, making the skin tingle.

You don’t even hesitate.

“Please, Joel. Please let me come on your cock. Please give this to me.”

Joel puts your leg higher, and he pushes inside of you impossibly deeper. Three more thrusts and you're done. Body going limp when pleasure hits you. 

Your walls clench around Joel, his movements getting sloppy, and soon he’s pulling out just in time — spilling across your belly, breath ragged.

He collapses beside you, breath coming out ragged, and then he looks at you. Something indescribable in his eyes. And for a second, you’re worried that he somehow regret it, but then, a beautiful smile appears on his lips, and he leans in and kiss you, taking your breath away. 

“You okay?” he whispers, lips still on yours.

“Yes.” you whisper back, the same smile reflecting on you. 

You glance down at the mess on your stomach. Joel follows your eyes.

“Sorry ‘bout that.” and he sounds genuine, making you laugh a little.

“No problem, cowboy.” and with two fingers, you dip into his cum and taste it. Joel watching your every move. “You taste good.” 

“Jesus Christ.” he groans, hand over his face. “Don’t do that to me.”

“Do what?” you feign innocence, kissing him again — deep, hungry.

“Let’s get you cleaned up before I lose control again,” Joel says, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

“Okay,” you laugh softly.

Joel gets out of bed, puts his pants on and goes to the bathroom, coming back a few seconds later with a small cloth. He wipes your belly carefully, like you were made of glass. 

“All done, sweetheart.” 

“Thank you, Joel.”

“Think you’ll be able to sleep now?” he teases, a smirk on his lips.

“Not if you keep smirking at me like that.” you replie jokely, making him laugh.

“Tell you what—close your eyes and I’ll try to behave.”

“Deal.” 

You look around searching for your clothes, but find his shirt first.

“Mind if I wear that?” You ask, pointing at it.

“Not at all, honey. Just know that seeing you in my clothes might drive me a little crazy.”

“And the downside is…?” you tease, slipping his shirt over your head. His smell instantly infecting you. 

“Alright, trouble. Let’s get some sleep.” he murmurs softly. 

You both lie down on the bed, Joel instinctively pulling you close, your back pressed to his chest. It’s strangely peaceful — a kind of calm you haven’t felt in a long time.

He then starts to kiss you gently. Your neck, your shoulder, everything that he could reach.

“Didn’t expect much from today. Sure as hell didn’t expect you” Joel whispers through kisses, “But I’m glad I found you at that gas station.”

His confession knocks the air from your lungs, and you hold him a little tighter.

“Me too, Joel… Me too.” you whisper back in the quiet night. And in this “stranger’s” arms, you finally fall into a peaceful sleep. 

[motherroam-rs]

Lover, You Should’ve Come Over (1/7)

Bob Reynolds x Reader

Chapter 1 - The time you needed help to breathe (Read on AO3)

Next chapter (coming 8th June)

Chapter word count: 3,760

Masterlist containing full tags and description here - Series Rating 18+

Chapter summary: The mission where everything went wrong.

You aren’t a psychic. You don’t have any enhanced senses, no visions of the future or any tip off that this mission is wrong, nothing to explain the gnawing feeling in your stomach that there was something you were missing - almost as if you had left a house and forgotten to turn off the stove.

At least you had three teammates interrogating you to keep your mind off the very important and possibly world threatening mission that requires your complete undivided focus. 

“Can we not talk about this right now?” This conversation was bound to give you a migraine later. 

Over the last year of being a team, you’d dealt with your fair share of odd pre-mission chats, ranging from what you would all eat for dinner that night to what cutlery object best represented each of your teammates (you ended up getting a teaspoon for that one.)

Today’s topic was last week's fundraiser in the Watchtower penthouse, or rather the events after the party, and the fact you hadn’t been seen with Bob in a week. Something you were all too keen to forget and had spent the last few days hiding from - on the top of your game at ignoring. That was until John brought it up, like a dog that had latched onto something it definitely shouldn’t have in its mouth, and was refusing to let go of. 

“I’m just saying, something must have happened, otherwise you wouldn’t be avoiding Bobby.” John's hands are flying out in the small space that was the back of the transport truck.

You wonder if it would kill you if you jumped out the rear door right now, if the pavement would be softer than the stares of John, Bucky, and Ava.

“You guys are like glued to each other, it’s weird, you even cheat the rest of us at monopoly together.”

“I do not cheat, Walker!” The protest flies out of your mouth as you bolt upright, jabbing a finger to his armoured chest. “Maybe you just aren’t as smart as you think you are.”

He scoffs as Ava nods beside him and Bucky shrugs in semi-agreement beside you.

A sharp turn from Alexei makes the truck swerve sharply, and you curse as you all jostle around. Your teammate in the front seat throws around some colourful words about another driver on the road. They were Russian, but he’d been teaching you some of the basics (mainly curse words).

“Hey- my advice was good advice.” John lowers his voice, which does absolutely nothing given you’re all squished together in the back of the truck. 

“You gave her advice?” Bucky pipes up next to you, growing more interested in the conversation. 

John and his big mouth. 

“Yes - good advice.” John says at the same time you shake your head in denial.

“It wasn’t.” You grumble, checking the display on your tablet to see you were just rounding the corner to the docks. At least you would be able to escape in about thirty seconds.

“On monopoly?” Ava chimes in, just as confused as Bucky. 

“What?” You look up at her beside John. 

“No, at…” You glare at John for putting you in this position. Not just with having to explain this to your other teammates, but also the situation you’ve been pushing down with Bob. 

You didn’t need this situation explained, or dragged back up, you needed to pull the covers over it and put it to sleep, preferably a heavily medicated one, leaning more towards a borderline coma.

“Uh- Marriage. Yknow- cause they’re friends, kind of like being married-“

God he was an idiot, why had you even listened to his advice. Ten more seconds, you could do this.

“Well you didn’t have a successful marriage, Walker.”

Your foot was tapping on the floor now as Bucky taunts John, at least taking the focus away from you. Yes, let’s all beat the dead horse of John's ex-marriage again instead. 

“That’s what I said!” The van pulls to a stop with your exclamation, and the weight settles back into your chest when Alexei calls out jovially that you were here. 

The paralysing anxiety returns in full force, telling you to stay in the truck, to run and not look back. 

That wasn’t an option - maybe it would have been two years ago, but not now - not when you had teammates who relied on you.

In the few seconds it takes to pull yourself back together, to manually force slow breaths into your lungs, Ava’s already phased backwards out of the truck wall and John is throwing open the door into the cool night air with a grumble of ‘at least I was married’. Even Alexei has abandoned the van before you to get to the larger truck that waited nearby. 

Bucky’s slower to leave, perhaps just as hesitant as you, but if he was, he didn’t voice it.

“Time to go, I’ll see you in there.” He breaks you out of your stupor.

You nod quickly, dismissing him before giving any hint that you felt something wasn’t right. Missions were for strategy, for skill… not superstition.

Everything would be fine.

“Right.” You follow him out of the truck, and follow your individual planned route into the warehouse. It was a simple building, nothing out of the ordinary with warm spotlights on the outside like some sort of beacon calling to you, but it still knocked the breath from you.

Eyes on the ground then, keep pushing forward, get the mission over with and go home. 

You enter from the west, checking the cameras had been disabled by Yelena before your arrival, and you hiss at the groan the heavy door makes when you slip inside. 

Praying none of the gunmen heard that, you stay low and make a beeline for the nearest shipping container, beginning your daunting ascent up the side, using the door handles as some sort of a climbing wall.

You’re almost to the top of the pile, trying not to pant from the effort of climbing when Bucky’s voice buzzes to life in your ear.

“Thought you could escape this conversation?” 

You groan internally as you scale the final container.

“Conversations over Bucky, there’s nothing left to say.” You heave yourself over the edge, finally relaxing now you knew you weren’t at risk of falling to your death. 

You focus on trying not to make any banging noise on the metal as you crawled towards the centre, one jump and you were sliding yourself onto the roof beam that joined to a shaky metal walkway. Why would people in a warehouse even need to walk this high - and why on earth wasn't there a single gunman up here? 

All of your muscles tense up, ready for a fight as you slink across the walkway and drop down to the next beam, almost where you were needed.

“Hey, team channel,” John snips at both of you. “Keep it quiet, you’re gonna blow it.”

“You’re the one who started it.” You grumble back, but it goes unanswered.

Eyes raking over the warehouse, you settle into position on a rusted metal beam above the gunmen as you take stock of everything around you - again. 

There were shipping containers, and according to a pre-mission briefing over the intel, they contained biological weapons, some sort of drug in large quantities. The shiny new Valentina-funded-equipment had in fact confirmed there was liquid and powder within the crates. 

Just ahead of you is a crane, powered down, with a cable leading straight down to the group below. You count the people again - two times. 

But why? Why take the hostages? Why bring it into New York and not somewhere more inconspicuous? It makes no sense. 

Your name being called in your earpiece breaks the focus you had on ‘scary gunman with a moustache number four’.

“Are you in position?” Bucky’s voice is quiet, crackly and you frown at the static interference that echoed, like something was blocking it. 

“Yes.” You keep your reply short.

Although you don’t lock eyes with Yelena, you know that she’s seen you, a smirk on her face as she bickers with ‘scary gunman number six’. She sits at the front of the group of hostages, twenty three of them to be exact, a combination of docks workers and people the gunmen had just pulled off the street, somehow knowing your team would show up to stop whatever deal was about to go down. 

The men were growing increasingly arrogant, thinking that they had the upper hand after capturing Yelena. (Capturing being a rather loose term given that it was on purpose.) 

“Stay on the beam until I give the signal, Ava will close in on the leader and draw the gunfire once she’s dealt with the group guarding the rear entrance. Then John will come in and help Yelena get the hostages to Alexei while me and you deal with the men guarding the crates.”

All of the moisture in your mouth seems to have been redirected to your skin instead, causing your suit to stick to you, suddenly tighter. Your heart is now picking up too as the nauseating uncertainty grows, like a snake unlocking its jaw - preparing to eat you whole. You do another scan of the warehouse, mapping out the floor plan yet again in your mind. 

If anything - anything at all - goes wrong and an exit gets blocked, the death tally would be high. Too high.

“That’s too much time wasted, Bucky.” You shake your head even though he can’t see you from his position amongst the containers. 

“The hostages are safe, the targets aren’t agitated, they’re fine.” His voice rings back casually, less crackly the closer he’s moving to your position, he sounds like he’s done this a million times. He probably has. 

“What if the buyers show up earlier- what if-“ The anxiety is slithering around your chest now, sliding over your throat and squeezing, choking you. You weren’t even sure you’d been able to breathe properly since the party last week. No, you couldn’t think about that right now, couldn’t think of him-

“Stop talking, you’ll give away your position!” John hisses at you both over the comms.

Readying yourself to fire back a snide comment and point out how he’s the loudest of the three of you, the crackle of a radio snaps your focus back to below. 

A code word, an order you guessed -  going by the way the group nods at each other.

Voices filter into your ears, but you don’t listen, eyes fixed on the scene below you as the dominos fall, sparking a series of events. 

One of them raises their gun at Yelena, steady and sure, and your body moves of its own accord.

You should have stayed in the van - you should have run. Like you always did. 

Air rushes past you as you all but launch yourself off the beam. Your shoulder was almost wrenched from its socket and leather gloves burned from friction when you grasp onto the cable dangling from the crane. 

In seconds you’re sliding down, straight into the middle of the fight. 

You knew Yelena was gonna give you shit later for the superhero landing when you dropped in front of her, tearing out your earpiece to rid your ears of Bucky and John's protests. 

The gnawing has turned into full blown panic that claws at your insides when the group didn't even look that phased by your presence. 

Something was missing. 

Their calmness is at least short lived when Ava phases through one of the containers behind them and Bucky rounds the corner, closing in on the group from both sides. They were trapped.  

“This was not in the plan!” Yelena huffs as she throws herself onto her feet. She’s shouting instructions to the group of hostages to follow her as she slices her restraints on the sharp edge of a nearby container, strangely she was the only one bound out of the group.

“New plan!” You call back, dodging a fist. 

The buzzing in your skull calms down, and a small part of you is frantic with hope that this was it, that it really was this simple. You would take down the gunmen, free the hostages, and the biological weapons would go deep underground in a storage unit. 

Sure, later you might get a verbal beating from Bucky, maybe you would actually sit with Bob on the outer balcony of the tower as you relayed the events to him over some hot chocolate, like you had wanted to every night since the party last week. Maybe you would stop avoiding him once you get back to the tower.

But of course, it’s never that easy. 

A shot grazes past your left side, nothing more than a dull thud in your ribs as parts of your armoured vest scatter across the floor, but the metallic clink of a bullet falling on concrete, or lodging in a metal container, isn’t heard amongst it. 

Has it embedded in the second layer of armour underneath? Or straight into another one of your scary numbered gunmen but you just missed it hitting? Or- 

Agony. Searing like hot oil and spreading. 

Apparently a gunshot wound was one of those things that got worse with time; the spark that ended up turning into a forest fire. A scream crawls up your throat so fast that you choke on it. 

Part of you has always assumed getting shot would be like a firework, a sharp burst of light that popped and crackled in your body but would then lessen. 

That part of you could not have been more wrong. 

If anything, that initial impact was the easiest part, the least painful. It reminds you of one of the punches Bucky would land on you in the training room when you moved too slow in the morning, dulled at first by sleep, but then the pain grew throughout the day and forced you to rest.

Your adrenaline is the only thing helping you to keep your mind from focusing directly on it, to stop yourself being led astray from the mission.

Clutching together every ounce of self control, you keep yourself helping Ava and Bucky take down the gunmen one by one, whilst Yelena and a rather pissed off John get the hostages outside into the thankfully larger waiting transport driven by Alexei. 

You try not to think about your screw up, about John’s angry voice over the earpiece moments ago when you disobeyed Bucky’s orders, you could deal with it later. 

You try not to let the pain in your ribs distract you from the mission objective, to save the hostages. To take down the criminals and secure the biological weapons.

You really try. 

Despite your best efforts, by the time you’ve taken just one of the men down, Bucky and Ava have already managed six between them. Each punch you’re throwing seems to have less impact on the second man you’ve turned to. He’s deflecting them effortlessly as your movements grow more sluggish, doomed by blood loss to be uncoordinated.

Unlike the majority of the team, you aren’t blessed with any special powers or enhancements that will grant you the upper hand. No, all you have is vigorous training and a fancy suit that has shattered with a single well aimed, or simply lucky, bullet.

All of your self criticism is proved right now that you were already bleeding more than the second man you’re trying to take on, and a shadowy figure manifests at the edge of your vision, seemingly out of nowhere. 

You have no time to turn before something hard is slammed into your temple. 

“Bucky, get her!” Ava’s voice is the last thing you hear before the ringing sets in, muffling everything else. An explosion could probably go off and you’d have no idea. 

It isn’t the hit that bothered you so much as the immediate sickness, and the sudden darkness clouding the world that caused the floor to rush up to meet you. You barely feel the impact of this either at first, much like the bullet, only the wet crunch inside you as your already shattered ribs give way under pressure. 

Only a few beats of your heart pass before a body lands in front of your face, mirroring your own position, and going by the blood on the end of his rifle that was also now trickling down your face; you’re willing to bet this was the shadowy figure. 

You shouldn’t care about his unimpressive stature, that he wasn’t even the biggest or most agile looking of the group that you had assessed, meaning he had simply got lucky in your moment of weakness. 

No, what you should be more concerned with is the fact you can’t draw a breath. You understand now what a fish must feel like out of water, lips parting and closing, but no air passing them. Only something wet and metallic tasting. 

“Are you okay? Hey! Oh shit, no, no no …”

A man’s voice echoes in your ear so quietly that you wonder if you’re imagining the way it ebbs in and of that muffled ringing out like a weak radio signal, your only reassurance being that if it was another gunman talking, you would surely be as dead as the hollow eyes you currently stared into. 

They were open, unblinking, and reflected red in the blood creeping towards you, until they’re replaced by the terrified ones of Bucky’s.

His are blue, but not the same ones you’re currently thinking of as more of the hot, metallic, tar bubbled past your lips. 

He’s speaking but he’s so, so far away. 

You couldn’t stop your mind drifting elsewhere, somewhere more pleasant, as you struggle to respond to Bucky, who’s turning you onto your back. Instead, there’s a memory from just three weeks before playing out in your very painful head of you and the only non-present member of the team. 

“I can’t believe we’re up so early, I thought this was supposed to be ‘relaxing’.” Bob complained as you practically pulled him from your bed, clothes as dishevelled as they had been the night before when he let himself in as part of a familiar routine when he couldn’t sleep.  

“Yeah well, Alexei’s the one who suggested team yoga, complain at him.” You grumbled in response. 

In your hazy dream, Bob’s stormy blue eyes are meeting yours across a gym, lips pulled into a lopsided smirk as they mouthed the words ‘breathe’ in the time with a yoga instructor that had been more amusing than calming. 

You remember fighting back that smile at his attempts to make you laugh, but all you can do is grimace now when more of that searing pain bursts along your side, tearing you from your thoughts.

“You better wake up, doll, or he’s probably gonna kill me and half the damn world.” 

A bare palm taps the side of your face, harsh, and it makes a wet noise, sticky liquid left behind on your cheek.

If you had any energy left in your body to gag on that same blood bubbling in your throat, you would. But there’s no fight in you, you can’t writhe in pain, or claw back, you’re just limp. An attack dog that’s served its purpose and now needs to be put down, unable to continue at the only thing it was good for - what it was made for - to fight.

“No, don’t you dare go there, you aren’t giving up, I’m not letting you.” 

Bucky’s grunt pulls you back to the land of the living once more the moment you begin to drift away, and unfortunately to your body, the place where all your pain is. 

“There you are.” Bucky’s still frowning when your eyes are forced onto him, but his voice is relieved. 

“John’s got a car, we’re gonna get you back to the tower, you’ll be fine, I need you to try and take shallow breaths.”

It burns. It’s like someone’s snuck their hand inside you to grip your left lung and make it disobey you. 

You want to hate Bucky for making you try it when the hot tears slide down your face from the edges of your eyes, the last thing you wanted to do was cry in front of any of them. If you were going out, you were trained to die quietly, with dignity.

But nothing about bleeding out on a warehouse floor was dignified. Nor was it fair. Not when you had left so much of yourself back at the tower after years of refusing to take root. Shame fills you for thinking you could ever be more than what you have always been, for thinking you could have more. 

For thinking you could have…

“Bucky… she doesn’t look good.” A worried voice, paired to an equally scared face only makes you want to shy further into yourself. To hide yourself away like some dying animal. 

Bucky heaves you up, into his arms, and you can’t even draw enough breath to beg him to let you slip back into that quietness with Bob. All that you can manage is some choked, wet noise.

“Don’t. Ava.” Those are the last words you’re able to actually hear before everything goes quiet. 

You were stupid, so very stupid. Stupid for not running, stupid for not listening, stupid for not fighting well enough, stupid for taking Johns advice. 

Your earlier prayers to return to your dreams instead are answered in the worst way possible when your memory twists, imaginary Bob’s mouth repeating that final word instead as Bucky’s terrified eyes flicker across your vision for the last time.  Fluorescent lights and metal beams moving past his head, faster and faster until you see stars above him.

You like the stars, like the way they make you feel at home - laying on the landing pad of the watchtower as you squinted up through light pollution and tried to tell the planes apart from the celestial jewels - but you were missing something now. You weren’t sure what it was, but you felt like it should be laying next to you.

Bucky’s saying something to you, mouth forming your name, but you only hear one thing over and over.

Stupid.

You don’t need Bucky’s pressure on your wound, or his concerned shouts of your name as he carries you when your eyes roll back, you would be okay. 

You just

Need

To

Breathe.

[dullahandyke]

every time a kh fan insults chain of memories an angel dies

[shouyuus]

─── Ⅵ FIGURE EIGHTS

violet; 28,888 words; fluff and smut (at the end), semi enemies to lovers, fake dating, hockey!vi x figure skater!reader, ice dancers!meljayce, miscommunication, smau-intermissions, toxic ex!cait, simpgirl!vi, slowburn, the gays r bad at feelings, lots of making out that almost leads to something, emotional edging (for YOU lol), fingering (both receiving), thigh riding, oral (r!receiving), slightly unhinged!reader, no "y/n"

summary: a hockey player and a figure skater kind of, sort of, not really, but then actually fall in love. what could possibly go wrong? (narrator: apparently, everything.)

a/n: YALL. yall. YOU. ALL. lmfao. i can't believe i finished this (i say, after writing any fic longer than 5k words). but i TRULY doubted for a second that i would bc as i kept writing, it kept... getting longer? i hope that this doesn't drag, and that you guys like it. it's really a fucking labor of love. like heavy emphasis on the labor. shoutout to @vifilms for being my emotional support, and to my irl bf for actually physically reading through like 90% of this fic out LOUD with me to make sure the dialogue doesn't sound awk. BUT ANYWAYS. pls enjoy and PLS tell me what u guys think!!!! the smau fake texts won't start till chapter three, but ! it's my first time making like.. fake texts so sldkfjsd.

TABLE OF CONTENTS ━

prologue: party people

chapter one: shut up and kiss me

chapter two: fists to a knife fight

chapter three: love's dream

chapter four: for cup's sake

chapter five: don't hate the player (suggestive)

chapter six: six (nsfw)

─── TAG YOU'RE IT .ᐟ.ᐟ

pls comment below if you'd like to be tagged for this series! :) if you're already on my vi-taglist via my normal taglist link, then you're all good. if you only wanna be tagged for this series, comment below! pls pls have your age visible somewhere on your blog as this will be an 18+ fic!!!! thank you!!!

prologue: party people

─── Ⅵ IT STARTS WITH A GAME of spin the bottle — a college party post-game, the home team the exhalant victors, the crowds of adoring fans the worshippers at their beer-tower altars, doing keg stands and shot-gunning cans of cheap bud lite for an approving grin or a wink.

“Remind me why we’re here again?” you ask, jerking back as a drunken guy nearly topples into you, the red solo cup in his hand sloshing over onto the already sticky linoleum floor.

Mel sighs, “Because, darling, you promised me that you’d come out at least once if me and Jayce made it through the Challenger Series this year.”

She tugs you behind her, weaving through the crush of bodies till the cramped living room area opens onto a much larger patio, the mid-autumn chill cooling your skin.

“It was a joke,” you say, whining slightly even as Mel grabs what looks like an unopened hard cider from the table and presses it into your hand.

“Yes, and one that hurt my feelings,” Mel sniffs, turning her nose up, though a grin teases at her lips, “so to make up for it, you now have to stay at this party and have some semblance of a good time.”

And that was three and a half drinks ago, because sometime between then and now, you’ve found yourself pulled into an unwitting game of spin the bottle with what seems like half the entire hockey team, sitting next to Mel, her boyfriend Jayce on your other side, chatting animatedly with one of the girls hockey girls. You overhear the words “creatin” and “Bulgarian Squat” and decided that it’s time for you to tune out of the conversation.

“Vi, it’s your turn!”

Vi, your thoughts linger over the sound.

It’s a pretty name.

You glance up at the girl sitting across from you, Number Six — you’ve always known her as that, what with the tattoo on her cheek (there were rumors that it’s actually not real and she just reapplies one of those temporary tattoos every two weeks) and the fact that it’s her jersey number, it’s really not too hard to remember.

“Yeah, yeah,” she says, laughing as she reaches for the empty beer bottle in the middle of the circle. Her right hand’s bandaged up and you can’t help staring at it. When you look up next, it’s to catch her watching you, your eyes meeting in a startling clash of raw contact — the cacophonous noise of the party dulling out to a thin whine somewhere at the back of your head as you stare at her and she stares right back.

You’d never noticed that her eyes, even in the dark, beneath the dim, flickering patio lights, reads mourning-dove blue, so subtle it’s almost gray, so sharp as she takes you in that your stomach drops from inside you. She smirks and twists her fingers expertly around the bottle, setting it whizzing.

You tear your eyes away, your breath sent astray in your chest by just that look alone. You frown at the spinning bottle, your mind abuzz with fragmentary thoughts you can’t quite string along for long enough to form a full sentence — eyes… her lips are pretty… wasn’t she dating… someone? who??? what’s her name again? something pretty —

“— right, ice princess, you ready?”

“Huh?” you jerk your eyes up from the bottle to find everyone watching you. From your left, Mel nudges you with a sanctimonious grin, her eyes flickering down to the bottle and back up towards —

“Go on!” she hisses, even as you blink uncomprehendingly down at the bottle pointing right at you.

Across the circle, Vi’s questioning smirk is all the answer you need as your alcohol-addled brain finally puts together the pieces.

“R-right…” you push up onto your knees, but something holds you back, a niggling feeling in the back of your brain as Vi’s smirk grows wide and she jerks her head towards the living room.

“Want a bit of privacy? Or… would you prefer an audience?”

Half the circle wolf-whistles at the insinuation, the other half roll their eyes, leaning back on their elbows as if to settle in for a long night.

You lick your lips, feeling your mouth scald dry.

“Privacy. Please.”

You follow Vi stiffly from the patio back into the stuffy house, her fingers closing around your wrist as she tugs you behind her through a long hallway splitting off from the main living room, branching into a series of what look like bedrooms. Half the doors are closed, illicit sounds echoing out from behind them, but Vi finds an empty one near the end of the hallway and pushes it open, leading you inside.

“Oh wow,” you say, looking around the room. It’s a typical fratboy’s room, full of suggestive posters, the floor littered with questionably laundered clothes.

“What, not your ideal setting for a makeout-sesh with a stranger?”

You frown as your eyes slingshot back to Vi, her standing feet from you, hands tucked loosely into her pockets, watching you with dark, firefly eyes.

“Thought we were just supposed to kiss once.”

Vi chuckles, closing the distance between you in a few quick strides, crowding you up against the closed door.

“Sure. We can do that. Or…” she makes no effort to hide the way her eyes flicker down to your lips, trailing back up in a line of fire that sizzles against your skin. “I could show you what a real good time looks like.”

Your breath crystalizes in your chest, and the strange, tickling feeling traces down the back of your head till it gathers, hot and unconscionable at the nape of your neck — a spin-click wheel of half-formed thoughts and images ticking by behind your eyelids as you try to remember why the hell this feels so wrong.

And then, it clicks, and you press a hand to Vi’s chest just as she’s leaning down to graze her lips against yours, the friction so delicious you almost lose your train of thought.

“A-are you sure this is a good idea? Didn’t you just break up with that track and field girl? Caitlyn?” you blurt out, a culmination of all the snippets of whispered conversations and half-caught glances of the pair of them across campus. The It-Girl Couple, people called them, the hockey team star and the track and field genius. They were hard to miss, and even harder to forget.

A moth-wing-flicker of emotions crosses Vi’s face as she takes half a step back, her expression morphing into one of shock, and then hurt, and finally, hard-lined disgust as she looks down at you with a thin-lipped grimace.

“Oh fuck you.”

She yanks you from the door, storming out without a backwards glance. You catch yourself against the half-made bed, your breath coming in heaving pants as your head spins. Guilt curdles in the bed of your stomach like spoilt milk, and it only takes you half a second to realize that of all the things to say, that probably was the worst possible choice.

You’d heard mention of the breakup, even if you didn’t have any stakes in this so-called game. It was harsh and messy and loud, and it had spilled across campus like a backed-up toilet, oozing foulness and stank across the grounds till not a single person was left unstained in the aftermath.

“Wait —” you stumble after Vi, but it’s too late. By the time you reach the patio doors, she’s already settling back into her place in the circle, an easy grin slung across her lips.

You swallow, pushing through the door to scurry over to Mel’s side. Mel beams at the flush in your cheeks, convinced (just like the rest of the circle) that it’d been one hell of a kiss, judging by how entirely breathless you are.

“Damn Vi, you gotta learn how to go easy on them figure skaters, hm?” Margot smirks, her eyes glittering as she looks you over, “look at the poor darling — she can barely breathe!”

Everyone laughs, and Vi flashes a convincingly satisfied smirk, shrugging up a shoulder. You glance at her, only to shiver at the arctic ice behind her gaze as your eyes catch once more.

“What can I say? Easy isn’t a setting I come programmed with.”

You duck your head as Vi casts you one more frigid look before turning to laugh at something a teammate has just said, and the circle devolves into good-natured banter and pocket conversations. You gulp around your too-dry throat and pluck Mel’s drink from her hand, tossing the rest of it back in a single gulp. She blinks at you, eyes wide.

“Darling, are you —”

“I — I’m fine just — it’s — I think I’m gonna head back.”

Mel frowns, “Are you sure? I mean —” she looks towards where Vi’s been pulled into an impromptu arm-wrestling match with some dude from the football team, “you could try and —”

You shake your head, “No, I — I think I’m good. I had a good time, I just —” you run a hand through your hair, “I’ve got practice tomorrow and Amara’s gonna murder me if I get there late.”

Mel stares for a second before relenting, a soft sigh on her lips.

“Alright, alright — go on then. I’ll… I’ll see you tomorrow at practice, yes?”

You give her a tight-lipped smile, reaching out for a quick hug before ducking out of the party, skirting the edges of the growing mosh pit forming in the living room till you finally find yourself out on the front steps again.

You close your eyes for a second, pressing your back to the frat house door, feeling the dull thump of the music inside reverberating through the thin wooden frame as you breathe in and out.

You can still taste the heat of Vi’s breath on your lips, feel harsh sting of ice as she’d caught your eyes after. The chill air, once refreshing, pebbles your skin and an involuntary shiver shakes down your spine. You wrap your arms around yourself and give your head a good shake.

Whatever, you think, stepping off the porch, casting your eyes up at the star-strewn sky, a whisp of warm breath fogging up the air before you.

Not like it’ll matter. Bet she won’t even remember me after tonight.

taglist: @traiitorjoe @rizzscary @wetcat020 @alex-thegiraffeboyy @nanasemo @saturnhas82moons @unear7hly @drsnowrose @grantaires-waistcoat @isab3lita @ally-all-around @starrysetup22 @lipsent @lewd_alien @jack-frost-2010 @starsfortaylor @onesockcat @lesbian-useless @armins-slvt

[wirewitchviolet]

Sudokuvania: Digits of Despair is one of the most impressive works of pure game design I have ever seen.

Before I say anything else, I am going to be talking about a game that is VERY new and has pretty terrible search optimization, so in case this blog post somehow came up near the top of results for someone, here is the as-of-this-writing-current 1.02 release, and for good measure, here is the official FAQ page with the full version history, any future patches, and an FAQ for some of the more confusingly worded stuff that crops up later into the game. Now on with the praise-heaping!

So... Sudokuvania pretty much exactly what the name implies. It's a -vania, that is, a Metroidvania, and specifically one styled after one of the ones that's actually in the latter Castlevania series so that naming convention actually makes sense. Exploring a big castle, fighting bosses, getting various items letting you explore more areas, maybe breaking out of the borders of the map to find cool secrets here and there.

Also, it's a variant of sudoku. And I don't mean someone sat down with some videogame designing toolkit and made a videogame where some of the gameplay is solving logic puzzles on a grid you fill with numbers (I mean, I guess technically I do). I mean that link to the game I posted takes you to a website with a little built in standard app for solving sudoku puzzles and weird variations thereof, and the particular puzzle it's pointing to, somehow, manages to have a big map to explore, boss fights, special items that give you new powers, NPCs, and for good measure, fog of war. It is, again, an absolutely amazing hacky thing and I'm flabbergasted at how well executed it is. Now you're probably wondering how that even works, and that's why I'm writing this big gushy blog post. Here's what you see when you first load it up:

You're going to notice there is some absurdly small and kind of important text you can't possibly read, and that's because again, this is kind of a hacky thing this site so was not designed for. So it's kind of annoying but if you access this through the proper introduction page, it'll explain that the first thing you need to do is click the little gear icon in the floating tool palette, toggle on Visuals: Draw arrows above lines and Disable emoji replacement, then scroll all the way down to Experimental and turn on Test Large Puzzle UI. That enables you to zoom in and out with the scroll wheel, and right-click drag to pan around. It's... a little clunky because again, this website was NOT built for this, but tada, now you can zoom in, read the text, and start solving at a reasonable size. Then there's a couple gameplay concepts it does its best to explain, but... most people I've shown it to myself included needed extra explanation of a couple important early concepts. So let me just do a little color coding here to make this easier to get...

The map is not, in fact, one great big grid. It's 9 squares (and one rectangle that's not quite square over on the east side). Each of these is its own 9x9 Sudoku grid (well, the starting one is 6x6 and has those mutant 2x3 cells instead of the usual 3x3, and there's that weird eastern mutant). If you're solving stuff in one square, you completely ignore everything outside that square, except for where they overlap, in which case the numbers you're placing have to fit for both puzzles. So if we look at the light grey/green intersection on the left, those three overlap cells respectively can't be 4 6 or 5 (and whatever use you deduce in the grey box, but the pure green cells completely ignore all that, you're just focusing on the green 9x9 (which is going to have the overlap as a starting point, naturally).

The next bit that through me off a ton is the way fog of war works. Let me reasonably zoom in and do a little solving here. One second...

Here's the whole starting area all marked up to hell like you do when you're kinda bad at Sudoku and don't know how to spot a starting point. Penciling in little numbers in the corners. You'll also notice a that... most of the map is covered in this dark grey fog of war. A lot of in-game stuff mentions that you shouldn't go clicking out into the fog of war, because it'll show you names of later areas and preview certain special rules and all, but that's talking about clicking WAY off from what you can see. You are 100% allowed to solve stuff out in the fog of war, and it's pretty stingy about de-fogging. Don't go blindly guessing because then you can maybe end up sequence breaking but... yeah. Sorry I'm spoiling the Front Gate, it's basically the tutorial though. Anyway, first move is obvious, only one place we can put that 6, and suddenly...

Tada, important space so it rewarded us with a little fog clearing. You can also see that this will handily point out stuff in your pencil notes that can't be true, but only if A- it's untrue for standard sudoku reasons not special stuff, and B- it's not in the fog of war (or on the other side of some. You also maybe noticed that weird green thing under that first hint 6? That's something we need a tool for, you don't worry about it until you have that tool. Solving this out some more...

Little more de-fogging, both of the puzzle area and the margins where we're getting new information on playing the game in general. Now right here if you're observant, you'll see that bottom right corner has to be a 6. It's out in the fog of war, but you can mark it if you know what it is. And...

I was cropping it out before but the big purple number pad is always floating off to the side there, and the green text box over it, which among other things has an area name and flavor text for whatever grid you're in. This won't ALWAYS happen when you place numbers in fog of war, but there was a trigger on this 6 to load in a little piece of the first real area, and oh hey, we unlocked "Guide THERMO!" That's our first tool, and it's described up in the upper left.

So tada, from here out in addition to standard sudoku stuff, you've got these "bronze Guide THERMOs" that show up here and there and have this extra rule. You basically never get free numbers in the grid past the Front Gate, it's all slow-marching into new areas using what you're bringing in plus some easy starting examples of how your new tools work, plowing on from there. The fog of war is pretty stingy but it keeps you focused. You'll also notice the rules here mention bosses, all the 9x9 ones have one. It's clearly marked, and you should PROBABLY expose it from the fog first, but any time you're in the area really you, if you scroll around in that green text box or hit the rules button when in a grid, there's a link you can click to go fight it. The boss fights are all separate puzzles (site's good about auto-saving so don't freak out if it takes over your tab and you have to hit back after). These are very themey, sometimes VERY evil (especially boss #1, feels a bit overtuned) self-contained 9x9 puzzles, probably using the same tools their area is themed around, and I don't think there's a single pre-placed number in any of them. Beat the boss puzzle, it gives you some flavor text and a number to place in its cell back in the main castle puzzle, plug that in and you're always going to unlock something cool. Usually a new item, sometimes other weird stuff, and it just goes on like that.

Don't expect to be able to fully solve a given grid in one go. It's a Metroidvania, backtracking is expected. Even if you've fully de-fogged a grid, later stuff might reward you by straight up adding new symbols you couldn't see before or doing weird stuff with fog. It IS all solvable with pure logic... but there ARE a few places that do that thing I hate in tougher sudokus where you just kinda have to pencil in in a different faction and explore 2 possible futures for a bit to see which eventually contradicts itself. And of course the last couple of grids do some really evil mind-bendy stuff.

But yeah aside from a couple gripes where the way a tool works could maybe be a lot more grammatically clear, that first boss being a lot to deal with as you're first getting your feet wet, and a particularly cruel twist later on, I don't really have any complaints. Well, it might need a cool soundtrack. Maybe play some Castlevania music. Maybe switch it up for some real proper boss music when you're nearing victory.

Again I am just completely blown away that someone made something so meaty in a standard sudoku site's normal UI, and really managed to make it feel so much like playing a DS Castlevania. Some real proof of game design being an art form here. And now you too can just completely lose a day or two to it!

[solxamber]

"Let's Break Up" with: Cater, Floyd, Silver

and we're done with this series!

Other parts: Housewardens ; Vice-Housewardens + Ruggie ; First Years

Cater Diamond

“Let’s break up.”

Cater just nods.

No protest. No flinch. Just a quiet, almost too-casual nod, like you’d asked him what he wanted for dinner and he was still deciding.

It stings. Deeply. You wait—hoping he’ll say something, joke about how that’s the worst line in your whole relationship, call you dramatic, ask if it's a trend—but nothing comes.

So you turn, jaw clenched and heart aching, and begin walking toward the door. Fine. If that’s all it meant to him, then—

You glance back. Just once. Just to be sure. Just to prove to yourself that you’re not walking away from someone who cares.

And that’s when you see it.

Cater’s sitting on the edge of the bed, his sleeves pulled up, his face buried in the crook of his elbow. His shoulders are trembling, so violently you’re surprised you didn’t hear him before. He’s trying to keep quiet. Trying not to make a scene. But the sobs are still escaping, muffled and broken.

Your chest caves in.

“Cater.” Your voice wobbles. You’re already crossing the room. “Cater—wait—I didn’t mean it. I didn’t mean any of it, I’m sorry—”

He doesn’t look up, doesn’t stop shaking. You reach out and gently pull his arm down so you can see him. His eyes are red, the tears still falling. You’ve never seen him cry like this. Not even close.

“You could’ve stopped me,” you whisper. “You could’ve said something.”

“I…” He struggles to get the words out, throat raw. “I didn’t think I had the right to.”

Your breath catches. “What?”

Cater laughs, humorless. “I thought maybe… maybe I pushed you too far. I always do that, right? So when you said it, I just… thought, maybe I deserve it.”

You shake your head furiously. “No. No, that’s not true. I was angry. I was stupid. I didn’t mean it, not really. I just… I didn’t know how else to make you listen.”

His lip trembles. You pull him into your arms and he collapses into the embrace like a lifeline. His face buries into your neck, arms locking around you so tightly you think he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he loosens his grip for even a second.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur into his hair. “I’m so, so sorry.”

“I’m sorry too,” he whispers, voice shaking. “I should’ve fought for us.”

You both stay like that—clinging, crying, holding—until the weight of the argument fades and only the desperate ache of love remains.

Floyd Leech

“Let’s just break up.”

The words drop into the room like a stone into water—fast, thoughtless, and instantly irreversible.

Floyd blinks at you.

Then he laughs. Loud, grating. It's not his fun laugh—it's sharper, higher, the kind that makes your chest hurt. “Eh? That’s how it is, Shrimpy? We’re breaking up now?” He grins wide, all teeth, like it’s a game. Like he’s daring you to say it again.

You don't.

And that’s when it hits.

The grin falls like a mask. His shoulders drop, the light in his eyes flickers. “...Wait. You’re serious?” His voice is flat now, too calm. “You’re actually serious.”

“Floyd—”

“No, no no no, I got it.” He waves his hand like he’s brushing it off, but there’s a sharpness to his movements. “It’s cool! It’s totally fine! Who cares, right? You can just say that kind of stuff, super easy—snap—like it don’t mean anything!”

He laughs again, bitter and pacing now, hands tugging at the edge of his hoodie like he’s trying to keep himself from breaking something—or maybe breaking you.

“Floyd, please—”

He whirls back around on you, eyes wide and glassy now, voice trembling with fury and something underneath it you don’t want to name. “Don’t ‘please’ me, Shrimpy. You don’t get to look at me like that and still say that crap. You promised you’d stay.”

You take a shaky breath. “I didn’t mean it. I was angry. I’m sorry—”

He’s already marching over.

“You didn’t mean it?” he repeats, voice mocking, almost a whisper. “You didn’t mean it?” He reaches you fast and grabs your face with both hands—not rough, but not gentle either. “Then say it. Right now. Take it back, or I swear I’ll lose my mind.”

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. “I take it back. I didn’t mean it. I didn’t mean it.”

He stares at you, breathing hard. The fury in him twists suddenly, flips into something wounded. His thumbs brush your cheeks. His mouth twitches like he’s trying to smile, but it won’t stay.

“I hate you,” he mumbles. “I hate that you can make me feel like this.”

He presses his forehead to yours, shutting his eyes tight. “I was gonna go feral, Shrimpy. I was this close to losing it—throwing things, storming out, squeezing someone until they popped. But I didn’t. ‘Cause it was you.”

Your fingers wrap around his wrists. “I’m sorry,” you whisper again. “I shouldn't have said that.”

He exhales shakily and pulls you in, crushing you to his chest. He’s all muscle and desperation and twitching emotion. “Don’t do that again,” he mutters into your hair. “Don’t say stuff like that. You can hit me, yell at me, bite me back if you want—but don’t leave me.”

You nod against him. “I won’t.”

Floyd grumbles, half a whine, “You’re such a pain, Shrimpy… makin’ my chest all twisty.” He nuzzles against you, softer now, his voice small and muffled. “But you’re my pain, okay? Mine.”

And you just stay there, wrapped in the arms of a boy who doesn’t always know how to say I love you—but means it with every wild, aching part of him.

Silver Vanrouge

“Let’s… break up.”

The words are barely out before Silver is in front of you, his hands trembling as they gently wrap around yours. He lifts them, slowly, carefully—guiding your palms to rest against his cheeks. His skin is warm, a little damp, and his eyes—gods, his eyes are wide and shining with hurt he doesn’t know how to hide.

“Do you really mean that?” he asks, voice hoarse, like the thought alone is enough to choke him.

Your heart twists painfully at the crack in his voice, the way his breathing stutters, the way his fingers shake as they hold onto you like you're already fading.

“No,” you whisper, immediately. “No, I didn’t mean it. I’m sorry, Silver, I didn’t mean it.”

A deep, shuddering sigh escapes him, and his whole body seems to unravel. He slumps forward, resting his head against your shoulder, and you catch him instinctively, holding him up as though he might fall apart otherwise.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, voice barely audible, “I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize… I didn’t see how far I was pushing you. I thought we were okay. I thought…”

“We are,” you say softly, running a hand through his hair. “We will be. I was just overwhelmed—I didn’t mean it. I shouldn’t have said it.”

His arms wrap around you, slow and tight, like he’s trying to memorize the shape of you in his arms. “We’ll fix it,” he says quietly. “We can fix it. I’ll do better. We both will.”

You nod, your fingers curling against his back. “Together.”

And for a long while, neither of you say anything else. You just stay like that—wrapped around each other, silent and steady, hearts slowly calming in the space where love remains.

Masterlist

tags: @staplertwst

[primofate]

Confessions Series - Part 2: Description [Genshin Impact Male Characters]

In a nutshell: He asks if you have your eyes set on someone. You start describing HIS features and watch for his reaction. (Hint: He likes you too)

Other works in this series: (Part 1 - Overheard)

Warnings: The usual, haven't written in a while, please forgive mistakes, bit of angst in Diluc (couldn't help it), I am a sleep deprived mother, some profanity, for some reason did not feel like writing Zhongli though he's one of my faves.

Characters: Aether, Albedo, Alhaitham, Ayato, Baizhu, Bennett, Chongyun, Cyno, Dainsleif, Diluc, Gaming, Heizou, Itto, Kaeya, Lyney, Neuvillette, Scaramouche, Tartaglia, Wriothesley, Xiao, gn!reader

Personal Favourites: Diluc, Wriothesley

Aether

"Yeah, I do," you start. "He's very selfless...He's always running around helping other people,"

Aether nods, intense gaze in his eyes while listening.

"Hmm...He has...a partner. Like a companion he always travels with..."

Aether's brows start to furrow and his head tilts the slightest bit. Paimon flying next to him has no clue who it is whatsoever.

"He's not originally from Teyvat...He's on a journey, you see..." this is where you start getting nervous

You see it click in Aether's head slowly, and his eyes start to widen the slightest bit

"Hey, that sounds an awful lot like you, traveller! Why have we never met this person before, Y/N?" Paimon asks and you only smile.

"P-Paimon," Aether glances at her and then back to you. It's silent for a moment. Paimon is super confused.

But Aether being Aether didn't want to get the wrong idea and racks up the courage to ask you one last question. "He's on a journey...to look for his twin sister?"

You smile the brightest smile you've ever given him. "Correct!"

"Ah...Well..." Aether starts to feel the heat on his cheeks. "That's..." he doesn't say anything else for a few seconds. "Don't get me wrong, I'm just...I'm happy!"

Is basically flustered when he realizes you've technically just confessed to him.

Albedo

"Simply put, I think he's dedicated to his craft," You shrug and smile

"...An admirable trait," he responds.

"He's frequently in Dragonspine. He spends a bit of time in his lab there," you decide to just go straight for the obvious.

Albedo pauses. "I...see..." Turns to you with a small smile "I wasn't aware that you were that fond of me,"

"Now you know," you simply say and try to play it off with a wave of your hand.

He chuckles under his breath and strides over to you while saying. "Well then, I suppose it's my turn to talk about the person I've set my eyes on,"

Proceeds to describe you accurately, down to your likes and dislikes. In his eyes, you seem like something so precious and you can't help but feel a bit embarrassed.

Alhaitham

"Hmm... Sort of," you explain. "He's a little...hard to reach,"

Alhaitham "...and you still pursue him?"

You laugh a bit "I'm hardly pursuing him, I'm just...observing. I like watching him, even though he has the most unreadable face I've seen,"

Alhaitham goes quiet for a moment. He catches on fast, he already has an idea but is cautious about what he says. "...I see," he doesn't ask anything else, but you continue to offer information.

"He likes reading. Really smart guy...but kind of no nonsense type. Very straight to the point," You begin to feel a little nervous so you pretend to read your own book with a small shrug.

The silence is deafening.

"I suspect that type of person will be hard to put up with," he suddenly says aloud and you chuckle in response.

"Possibly, but he seems to be putting up with me too...I guess?"

He suddenly closes his book and leans forward to pry the one in your hands away. He locks his gaze with you. "...'Putting up' is hardly the word I would use." his lips twitch the slightest bit before continuing. "He has little to no patience for other people...so if he keeps you around...perhaps it signals something else,"

"Something else...As in, I'm special?"

Again he quiets for a moment, before he stands up, chair scraping the floor. "...Precisely," he turns to start walking out of the library, waving a hand behind him. "I'll pick you up in the morning tomorrow,"

Ayato

"I do, but he's a very busy sort of man,"

Ayato "Is that so?" he pours tea for you.

"Quite. He's also a very important person,"

He hums and watches the billowing steam from the tea. "It sounds as if I might know this person," but he genuinely doesn't know it's him, he just thinks its another noble.

"...You most definitely know him. He has a sister. Lovely girl." This is where you avert your gaze from him in fear of him instantly connecting the dots.

He talks in pauses "A...sister..." His mind is starting to make connections but he can't be quite sure yet. So he prods further. "...Does she happen to have a vision?"

"A cryo vision holder, yes," you're biting the inside of your lip at this point. There's a moment of silence before you hear Ayato laughing rather gleefully, like he was amused by a story.

"I see." he ends with a chuckle. "I apologize for being so busy, Y/N," he smiles at you "I promise I'll do my best to arrange my priorities in order to spend more time with you,"

Baizhu

"He takes his job too seriously and can be quite reckless...Sometimes he even puts himself in danger,"

Changsheng catches on immediately. The snake had already known for a while. Baizhu was just being dense. "Oh here we go," the snake half whines.

Baizhu gives it a weird look before turning his attention back to you. "That does sound reckless,"

"I've told him a couple of times to think about himself too...but I guess he's just really passionate about his job,"

Baizhu sort of shrugs, "What IS his job?"

"...Well for starters he owns a pharmacy around town,"

To Baizhu the realization hits all too slowly. It's not that he was slow or dense, but he was having a hard time believing that it was him you were talking about, specially when you hadn't said it outfront.

"...You do realize I'm the only one who owns a pharmacy around town?" he asks, eyes piercing through you and awaiting your answer.

Changsheng is the one who answers for you. "Yes you ridiculous doctor, Y/N's pertaining to you!"

It's the first time you've seen him blush and he turns his head away when he does so. "I-I see, well...that's rather, unexpected...but not unwelcome,"

Clears his throat "Just give me a moment"

Changsheng would roll its eyes if it could.

Bennett

"Has a lot of energy...Sometimes I wonder where he gets all of it. I really like him for that though."

Deflates as soon as you start talking about your "crush". What kind of answer was he expecting anyway? That you had eyes for him?

"He has a bit of a...problem when it comes to luck," you continue

Bennett stops, you look at him and you can practically see the gears in his head starting to turn a little faster.

"Y-Y/N? Are you talking about..." then the gears suddenly stop. "Oh what am I saying, it can't be. Ahahaha! Let's go!" starts walking again as if nothing happened

Your jaw drops and you're forced to just DIRECTLY tell him you're talking about him.

"...Oh...Oh! F-For real?! Oh...Sorry... I just thought... there's no way! B-But, I'm really glad! Really!"

Chongyun

"Hmm...He's a little shy...but he's very responsible,"

Chongyun stares at you intently and nods as if taking notes.

"He doesn't like spicy stuff,"

Chongyun nods twice, eagerly.

"He's very dedicated in learning about thaumaturgy,"

Chongyun blanks out, brows furrow but still nods. Slowly.

"He's really good with a claymore too!"

Chongyun stops and stares at you, you see a hint of red gracing his cheeks "Y/N...You can't possibly be...talking about... m-m-m-"

Can't seem to say it, so you outright say that it is, in fact, him.

Combusts into a tomato red

Cyno

"How do I say this...He's a pretty strict guy." The two of you are playing Invokation TCG during this convo.

"Mmhmm..." Cyno is focused on his cards, frankly he doesn't give a craps ass who you're into. He didn't even know why he asked, he just dug himself a hole.

"...but he really only takes his work seriously. It's his job to be serious, I guess. I think that's what Matras need to do," he finished his turn and its yours now, though he's still studying his cards intently. Until you get to the Matra part.

"He's a Matra?" You rarely see a surprised face on Cyno so you focus your gaze on him. "Which one?" He further asks. Honestly he looks about to murder someone.

You blank out a bit at how intense his stare was, "Well...You know. That one, the one who's really into Invokation TCG,"

He immediately follows up without missing a beat "I don't know anyone else who's into--" then it clicks.

It was so damn silent for a good 10 seconds. You clear your throat, tear your eyes off him "Um, it's your turn,"

STILL doesn't budge until he finally goes back to his cards with a whisper, you can't really tell but he looks slightly bashful and you can barely, BARELY hear him "...If I win then we go on a date,"

"Okay, and if you lose?"

Cyno "...I'm not gunna lose,"

"See, I told you he's a really serious guy,"

Dainsleif

"I think he's a very dedicated person," you get lost in thought a little, thinking about him. "Whenever I look at him...Sometimes I feel as if there's a certain sadness in him... Perhaps he blames himself for not being able to protect his nation,"

He IMMEDIATELY knows. And he knows that you hurt for him too. How could he not?

"He searches for answers... I don't know for how long, I suppose a long, long time," you close your eyes, imagining how long he must have been wandering Teyvat.

You only open your eyes when you feel a hand brush against yours. He's looking straight at you, neither happy nor sad. "...You don't have to feel that way, for my circumstances,"

The brush against your hand disappears and reappears next to your cheek, his fingers gently resting on it "...Knowing that you feel that way, has taken away some of the burden that I shoulder,"

His gaze suddenly hardens and his voice drops to a whisper, "But please, just don't end up in the same way as everyone else,"

Diluc (I don't know why I end up writing a whole novel for this guy. I guess he's my OG favourite)

You pause for a moment, wondering how to describe Diluc. "...Sometimes... I feel as if I know a lot about him and yet... he's still far off in the distance,"

Diluc, rifling through paperwork, doesn't even look at you. "...That tells me nothing about him," there's a bit of bite in his statement.

You sigh a little, "I mean, simply said he's a hardworking man. He always has Mondstadt's best interests in mind...but he prefers to work alone,"

He's silent, but you can still hear the paper shuffling.

"....but people love him. They care for him. I suppose I understand why he keeps a distance but..." at this point you don't even realize that you're just rambling and staring into space. Sort of in a daze of thinking out loud. "...isn't it lonely? ...I suppose I shouldn't assume how he feels. Maybe he's fine with it...I just wonder how long till he sees us..." there's silence, no ruffle of papers, you're still just staring at the bookshelf and you continue in a monotone voice. "...or sees me,"

You blink, and all of a sudden its as if a magic spell is cast on you and you wake up to the reality that you've been rambling about him. You sit up straight "Oh," then turn to him with a careful smile. You don't think he knows what or who you're talking about anyway. "I better get going," you stand, "Jean must be waiting for me."

You leave, and he doesn't stop you.

You don't really think anything of it, feeling as if your whole monologue was very vague...but to your surprise he knocks at your door in the evening, there's a bit of rain falling.

"Diluc? You're drenche--"

"I see you,"

The determination in his voice lulls you to keep quiet and only stare up at him, wondering if he had more to say, but instead of saying something, he leans in, wrapping his arms around you and resting his forehead on your shoulder, as if he had been defeated.

You only welcome his embrace, and, for the first time in a long time. Diluc finally feels like he's home.

Gaming

"Passion!" You nod your head as you say it. "He knows what he wants to do and is incredibly dedicated to it!"

Gaming looks surprised, has no idea you're talking about him. "Huh! That's really cool!" He thinks he's the total opposite. "Wish I could be as dedicated as him."

You kind of laugh out loud and he raises his eyebrows and tilts his head. "What?"

"Gosh you really sell yourself short," you shake your head "Anyway, this guy, right, he kinda works two jobs," you put out your hand to count one and two "One, for the Secure Transport Agency and two, he's in a Wushou Troupe,"

Gaming instantly straightens his back and looks at you wide-eyed. You figure you had to be direct when it came to him otherwise he'd never get it with how modest he was.

"...You're...talking about...me?" You smile at him sympathetically.

"You know, Gaming, I wish you saw yourself the way others saw you. You're a great person,"

Big smile, but legit looks like he's about to cry. "Between the two of us? I think you're greater Y/N,"

Heizou

"...Honestly he's kind of a flirt," you raise your eyebrows at the fact and kind of question yourself why you like this kind of person. "Makes me wonder if he does that to everyone, you know?"

Heizou hums and puts his hand under his chin in a "thinking position"

"That's not enough evidence to go by. Perhaps we can investigate this guy together to see if he's worthy,"

You look at him, pursing your lips while musing and giving him a suspicious look. You're not sure if he's figured it out.

He's got no idea. I mean, it was a pretty general description. "Any distinguishing features?" he asks.

You look at him in a deadpan manner. "Red hair, I guess. And moles under his eyes,"

He looks back at you with a matching blank face.

Then breaks into a wide, close eyed grin. "I see! From experience, that person is truly trustworthy,"

You sigh a little, "Is he though?"

He chuckles heartily. "I promise you he is," offers you his hand with a genuine smile. "Let me show you,"

Itto

"Ummm... big, tall, strong looking guy. Intimidating at first look but he's actually a dork," you explain.

Itto crosses his arms above his chest with an unamused face. "Tch! No way! Ain't no one taller than me in Inazuma!" Then he looks smug again. "Anyway, keep goin'. What else?" Only asked you because he wants to see what your "type" is.

"...Popular? Nah... Infamous is the word, I think. He kinda gets into a lot of trouble,"

Itto raises a brow "You serious? Whaddyou want with someone like that?" as if he wasn't a troublemaker himself.

"I mean... He also loves life and somehow always sees the good side of things."

Itto "Eh... guess that's a good thing..." folds his arms behind his head and huffs.

This guy is never gunna get it so you drop more obvious hints. "He's an oni who has his own gang."

For a split second he looked like he was going to get it, and then... "WHAT?! There's another oni who wants to challenge the Arataki Gang?"

"That's not what I--"

punches his fist onto his palm "Lead the way Y/N, let me at 'em!"

"I'm talking about you!"

"Huh?"

"Itto, there's no other oni around town!" leave it to him to make you exasperated.

He quiets for a few seconds. "...But Y/N..."

You expectantly stare at him, curious what he was going to say about your confession.

"...Did you just call me a dork?"

Of course that's what he picks up on.

When he finally processes it though, he's stoked and on an all time high.

Kaeya

"...good at talking to people, and he knows it... Exudes charisma like he breathes air," You're saying this with a glare.

He chuckles and rests his head on his fist. "Why, pray tell, do you look angry when saying that?"

"Not angry..." you mumble under your breath, eyes trailing away from him. "Just... probably a lot of people like him,"

"And you don't like that?" He smirks. He totally knows.

"...No...Well...I'm okay with it... It's just... I think he's so much more than what he shows to others,"

That, he wasn't expecting. He actually feels genuinely touched.

"Sure he jokes around a lot...Is good at making people feel comfortable...but he's also kind...and you can always count on him," there's a faraway gaze in your eyes now, a small smile on your face. "To me, he's...a safe space."

Kaeya's smile drops. It looks like he's unhappy and you think that maybe you've made a mistake. Still...there's no way he knows that it's him, right? It was kinda vague...

You're about to stand and excuse yourself but he catches your wrist easily. "...You know..." he starts, meeting you eye to eye. He looks at you as if he's looking into your soul, his eyes the gentlest you've seen them.

"You make it so hard, not to fall deeper in love with you,"

Lyney (I have no idea how this ended up so dramatic)

"He isn't exactly a trickster...but he has a lot of tricks up his sleeve,"

Lyney "Oh?" Raises an eyebrow. Something kind of clicks in him, but he shakes it off. "The good kind or the bad kind?"

You stall a little, thinking of the answer, knowing that he's Fatui. "The...good...kind,"

"You don't sound very sure," he gives you a lopsided smile.

"It's complicated," you admit. "Regardless of the circumstances though, I think he's a great magician,"

You watch his face turn into surprise quite quickly, but he still looks and feels unsure of himself. "Oh, perhaps...I can learn a thing or two from him?"

Your smile turns forced and hard. He can't be serious? He STILL doesn't know, or...what?

"I...Well..." You don't know what to say next, but he seems to get the idea.

"Sorry, have I put you in a hard place? Ahaha..." Scratches the back of his head. "My apologies, I was just curious,"

This, for some reason, really puts you off and you feel as if you've been rejected, even though you technically had not outright told him that you're talking about him.

It seems silly for you to get upset, but you are. So you stand, and make a request of him. "Can we... just pretend this conversation didn't happen?" and you give him some sort of excuse that you need to run an errand or something, and you're off, leaving him feeling...guilty. But he doesn't know why. Or does he?

Lyney would look like the type of person who would be confident about himself. But, really, as a magician, he had to be 1000% sure about something before he went ahead with it, and so...that's where his doubt stemmed from.

Lynnette is really the one who knocks some sense into him. "...and you...let Y/N leave?" after hearing the story from him.

"Oh, Lyney... Regardless of what Y/N feels... For you, next to Freminet and I, is there someone else that you love dearly?"

That's how he ends up at your doorstep. Though you've seen his disappearing rose trick hundreds of times, he was the most sincere at that moment, when he says sorry that he didn't get the hint and to give him a chance.

Neuvillette

"Serious person. He seems to put his work first, above all else," you say. "I respect him a lot for that,"

Neuvillette is interested in what you say, but doesn't know at all that it's him. "He does sound quite respectable," he says while looking through some files.

"A long time ago he said that he feels like he's an outsider...but really I feel like there isn't anyone who knows Fontaine the way that he does,"

Neuvillette, moves the file he was reading downwards, just to look at you questioningly. "He's from Fontaine?" this was surprising to him.

"Well...he currently resides in Fontaine, yes," you nod.

"Ah," he answered curtly. "And I have never met him?" he asks.

"...He's very busy." you bite your lip, about to say something and you know that the next sentence is the point of no return. "He's the Iudex...so it's hard to catch him,"

You swear you can hear your heart hammering in your chest.

You see him put his files down and just stare at you with a sort of...unsure look.

His shoulders relax, he wasn't even aware he had been tense that whole time. "That... must have taken a lot of consideration and courage to say," he clears his throat.

You only nod your head slowly, moving your gaze away from him with an awkward smile. Hand absentmindedly grabbing a book and flipping through the pages...you had no idea what you were doing out of nervousness.

"I apologize...I'm unfamiliar with what to do in these kinds of situations... However," he pauses and seems to think carefully about what he was going to say next. "Please don't take it as a rejection. I'd be honored to navigate this with you, if you would so graciously have me,"

Scaramouche

"He's an asshole," you bite back a laugh.

He instantly knows.

"Actually he acts all tough only to give in to his inner-kind-of-agreeable-personality,"

He snorts

"What? Am I wrong?" you challenge him. You KNOW that he knows. The two of you have been hovering around each other for a while, and there's a certain closeness between the two of you. Though that line was never crossed.

He doesn't answer you back but prods you more. "Is that all? You like that he's an asshole? Are you some type of masochist?"

You almost laugh. "No, you moron. I'm saying he has a weird way of showing he cares. He's always biting my head about not being careful enough. But if he really didn't care he wouldn't be screaming at me, you know what I mean?"

Scaramouche grumbles something under his breath and crosses his arms, turning away from you.

"Say that again?" You ask, not hearing what he said.

"...I said, you're not as stupid as I thought you were," shrugs his concealed embarrassment off and turns back to you all nonchalant again. "Anyway, stop yapping and get going, we got things to do,"

Snatches your hand and starts pulling you to walk with him.

Tartaglia (I feel like this is ridiculously short but I also feel like Tartaglia would have known a LONG time ago if the two of you had the feels for each other)

"Oh man...Probably the most reckless man I know,"

Also knows. Instantly. But shuts his mouth just so he can listen to you talk about him, but it gets deep real quick.

"In my opinion he's a handsome guy. Real charming," you smirk the tiniest bit. "but I don't know if I can keep up with him, honestly. It's a little hard not knowing when he's going to come back...or if he's even gunna come back at all,"

You weren't going to hide the fact that you were scared shitless he didn't return from Fontaine for ages. You legitimately thought he had died.

Tartaglia stops you there, by suddenly cradling your cheek. "Y/N," he's wearing a pained expression. "I'm sorry,"

"Don't be, it's your job, right?" You reassure him, and shrug.

He sighs "Yes, but I'll promise this to you as I've promised my family," he smiles, the most confident smile you've seen on him. Even more confident than when he wields his blades. "I'll come back to you, I always will,"

Wriothesley

"Er... How do I say this... He kind of has some... big boss energy?"

"Oh?" he sips at his tea, glancing at you while he looks at today's paper. "So he's a bigshot?" he asks curiously.

"Somewhat, yes. Intimidating at first look, but...he just has a great sense of responsibility," you pick at the selection of cakes and cookies he has.

"Huh," he lets out in a quick huff. In the deepest, DEEPEST parts of his mind there is a NANOSECOND that he thinks its him but it gets erased so quickly he's not even sure that he had thought about it.

"Sounds like a good person... Any interesting, weird quirks?" he grins as he says this, yet again glancing at your expression.

Your lips tremble a bit at what you're about to say, because you're SURE he was going to get it once you say it. You gulp and feel the hairs at the back of your neck stand before you say out loud "He likes tea. I kind of wonder if it's an addiction," you can't meet his eyes.

He's looking at the paper he's reading but nothing.registers.in.his.brain.its.like.it.stopped.working.

You shift in the uncomfortable silence but he calmly folds up the newspaper and places it on his table. "...I'm inclined to ask, because it would be embarrassing if I got the wrong idea,"

"Mmhmm," you pop a cookie in your mouth to distract yourself.

"By any chance, are you...talking about me?"

"Mm," you nod your head, still not looking at him and glue your eyes on the cookies instead, out of embarrassment.

Suddenly chuckles. You brave a peek at him, now covering his eyes with a single hand, head tipped back to rest on his chair.

You're not sure if that's a good or bad thing.

"Sorry, no, it's just... I didn't think it would happen this way." Visibly takes in a big breath and sighs it out slowly. Seems to have regained his composure and is back to his confident self, smiling at you. "Thanks Y/N, I... don't think it's much of a secret that I enjoy your company too. I'm just a little embarrassed that you beat me to it...some big boss energy huh?"

Xiao

"...He takes on everything by himself. I worry about him," You look at the stars as you say this. Xiao doesn't say anything.

"But I'm glad that he's opening up a lot more now. It's great to see him among friends,"

Xiao has a feeling at this point, that its him you're talking about, but he still doesn't say anything and keeps his gaze in front of him rather than on you.

"Yes, the road in front of him is long but...he's also already come a long way," you sigh a little "The time of Rex Lapis has long gone, but he still sticks to his principles. I think his dedication is part of what I like about him,"

This is when he turns to you, blank look on his face, contemplating on what to do. When you turn to meet his gaze, its then that he decides to bridge the gap between the two of you, shoulder to shoulder, leaning in sideways to catch your lips in a chaste and rather shy kiss.

"You should give a bit of credit to yourself, for putting up with me all these years, Y/N,"

End!

I’ve published The Ruthless Prince (Reader x Scaramouche) on paperback. Click here.

Consider supporting me to read some exclusive fics:

Ko-Fi

buymeacoffee

Here’s the Masterlist

[drewsephrry]

Love Island: Episode 5 - Tangled Hearts

series masterlist

pairings: rafe cameron x fem!reader

words: 5.7k

warnings: cuss words, sexual innuendos

It’s been two days since the Never Have I Ever game stirred things up and the villa is finally back in its rhythm. Bonds are forming, friendships are solidifying and for some, feelings are getting harder to ignore.

This morning, the boys are hitting the gym, hyping each other up between sets, while the girls lounge by the pool, spilling tea and dissecting every look, touch and lingering moment from the past days while also splashing around. 

"Rafe, can I talk to you for a sec?" John B waits until Rafe finally drops his weights, breathing hard as he grabs a towel, wiping the sweat from his face and chest. He nods and follows John B toward the kitchen, both of them grabbing cold drinks. John B leans against the counter, settling onto one of the stools.

“I think I’ve got a problem.” He says casually, cracking open his drink. That catches Rafe’s attention. He drops into the seat beside him, brow raising. 

“You good, dude?” He asks and John B nods. 

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. It’s just…” He hesitates, gaze flicking toward the girls across the villa. “I think I like someone.” Rafe grins immediately, slapping John B on the back. 

“Oh, shit! Who’s the lucky one?” He pulls back, his grin faltering. 

“Don’t say-” “It’s not Y/N!” John B cuts in before Rafe can finish. He glances around, lowering his voice. 

“I think I like Sarah.” He reveals, making Rafe’s eyebrows shoot up. 

“Sarah?” He asks and John B exhales, rubbing a hand over his jaw. 

“We’ve had these moments lately. Like, she gets my humor. And obviously, she’s gorgeous…but I don’t know. It just feels like something’s there.”

Rafe listens, nodding knowingly, as his gaze shifts toward the pool. His expression softens as he watches Y/N laugh loudly, trying and failing to pinch her nose before Maddy shoves her into the water. A splash erupts and she surfaces, coughing. Rafe chuckles under his breath before turning back to John B.

“Okay, so you’ve got a crush. Big deal.” He shrugs, cracking open his energy drink. John B shakes his head. 

“It’s complicated, man. You see how Topper looks at her. He’s smitten. And I have no idea how she feels. I could be reading this completely wrong.” He exclaims. Rafe leans back, tilting his head. 

“JB, man, just go for it.” Rafe says, taking a sip of his drink. “I’m sure Top will understand. And I mean…if anything goes wrong, there are still plenty of fish in the sea.” John B nods.

“Just-” “Not Y/N. Yeah, I know. Don't worry.” John B shakes his head. “Not my type, anyways.” 

Rafe glances back at the pool, where Y/N is now floating on her back, laughing as Maddy tries to dunk her again. His smirk lingers for a second before he looks back at John B. 

“Good.” He replies. “I mean, she's out of your league anyways.” John B chuckles at Rafe's comment and walks away.

“Sure, Cameron.” He shouts as he heads to the firepit where JJ and Pope are sat.

The villa glows under the bright sun, buzzing with low chatter and the occasional splash from the pool. Y/N leans back into Rafe, comfortably nestled between his legs at the edge, his arms loosely draped around her waist. He's absentmindedly tracing circles on her skin. Topper, Pope, Kiara and Sarah are spread out nearby, drinks in hand, the mood easy and relaxed.

“Hey, guys.” Kelce’s voice cuts through the warm air as he approaches. Everyone greets him cheerfully, motioning for him to join. Rafe's hands tighten slightly around Y/N's waist and she glances up at him before her eyes shift to Kelce.

“I...I actually wanted to talk to Y/N.” Kelce says, looking at her directly. “If you don't mind.”

She swallows and looks up at Rafe, who only shrugs. Her gaze returns to Kelce and after a short sigh, she untangles herself from Rafe’s arms. She presses a quick kiss to his cheek.

“Be right back.” She murmurs, before slipping out of the pool. Rafe watches her intently, eyes following the curve of her bikini-clad figure as she walks away with Kelce.

“Man, chill it with the staring.” Topper jokes.

“Shut up.” Rafe mutters, arms crossing over his chest.

Kelce and Y/N settle near the firepit, facing each other as she pushes her sunglasses up onto her head.

“Look, I…” Kelce begins, his voice uncertain as he fidgets with the mic cord. “This is…weird.” Y/N raises a brow, her arms folding as she sits back a little. 

“You're not wrong.” She mutters and he chuckles nervously. 

“Okay, good, so it’s not just me. Um…I know I was kind of a dick.” 

“Kind of?” She lets out a dry laugh. He winces, holding up his hands in surrender. 

“Fine. I was a dick. A full one. Like, capital D.” He corrects himself. Y/N tries to hold back a smile, but it tugs at the corner of her mouth. 

“Better.” She adds. He nods slowly, then exhales, gaze flickering around before settling on her again. 

“It’s just…being here, seeing you again, it’s been…a lot. Like, I didn’t expect it to mess with my head this much. But it did.” He pauses, eyes dropping to the ground. 

“Our relationship meant something to me. And just ‘cause we broke up doesn’t mean I didn’t care. I did. I still do. And it hurt, Y/N. Like…a lot.”

She opens her mouth to speak, but he cuts in gently.

“Let me finish?”

She nods, watching him carefully.

“I want you to be happy.” He says, voice softer now. “With Rafe or whoever it is. That’s what matters. And I’m sorry for coming in here and acting like that. I guess I just…missed my best friend.”

Y/N exhales slowly, some of the tension in her shoulders melting.

“Kelce…it wasn’t easy for me either. Our breakup…it really messed with my head. I had to put myself back together after that. Learn how to trust again. Let people in.” She lets out a quiet laugh, shaking her head as she starts fidgeting with her ring. 

“So yeah, seeing you here? It was a total curveball. I didn’t know how to feel. Still kinda don’t.”

He smiles faintly, his tone lightening. 

“At least you didn’t throw a drink at me.” He says. “Yet.”

“It’s early.” She gives him a look. They both laugh and the tension finally starts to lift.

“I’m sorry if it sucks seeing me with someone else.” She says, more gently this time. “But Rafe…he’s good to me. He actually…he cares. A lot.”

“You're making me sound really awful right now.” He groans and Y/N laughs, reaching over to smack his arm. 

“You’re such a baby.” She exclaims and he grins, rubbing his arm. 

“I know. But seriously, I’m happy for you. I really am.” Then he hesitates, scratching the back of his head. “But, like...did you have to go with the fake orgasm thing?” He asks, making Y/N laugh, loud and unapologetic. 

“You were airing out all my embarrassing moments! I had to strike back somehow!” 

“Alright, alright. That’s fair.” He throws up his hands. “So…we good now? No more public humiliation?”

“Yeah. I’d like that.” She smiles. Kelce opens his arms slightly, like he’s testing the waters. Y/N pauses for a beat, then steps forward and wraps her arms around him. It’s a little stiff at first, but then something softens and they both just stand there, holding on a little longer than expected.

“God, this is weird.” Kelce mumbles into her shoulder.

“You’re ruining the moment.” She mutters back.

And just like that, they laugh again.

It doesn’t fix everything, but it’s something.

Some time later, a loud ping echoes through the villa, causing everyone to turn toward the sound. Kelce, who’s now in the middle of a conversation with Maddy, grabs his phone with a grin.

“I got a text!” He announces, sitting up straight as the others look his way, with JJ stepping closer to the couch.

“Spit it out, man.” JJ urges. Kelce glances at the message, his eyes widening before he grins even wider.

“Islanders, tonight’s a big night. There will be a recoupling.” He begins.

“Holy shit!” Topper exclaims, earning a smack from Rafe.

“Kelce, you’ll have the chance to couple up with any girl of your choice. So, think carefully. #thechoiceisyours #makeitcount.” He finishes and a collective gasp rises from the group. 

Y/N sits on one of the kitchen stools, with Rafe behind her. Rafe tightens his arm around Y/N and she looks up at him.

“No need to worry.” She says quietly. “We’ll be fine.”

“Oh, I’m not worried about him picking you.” Rafe replies confidently with a smirk. “I’m more concerned about what I’m going to say when I choose you.”

Y/N grins, raising an eyebrow.

“Better ‘make it count’.” She teases, quoting the text. He leans down to peck her lips.

“I can’t believe I’m gonna have you back in my bed.” He murmurs, their lips almost touching. She chuckles softly before closing the gap again.

The girls are deep in glam mode. Curling wands heating up, makeup brushes flying, shimmer getting dusted on like fairy dust and absolute chaos over outfit choices.

“I talked to Kelce today.” Y/N says casually, wrapping a strand of hair around her curling iron.

“Everything cool?” Maddy asks, rummaging through the cabinet for a missing shoe.

“Yeah, yeah. We cleared the air. He said he’s happy for me, glad I’m moving on. Said he wants the best for me, that whole thing.” She shrugs and the girls nod along.

“That’s good.” Cleo says. “Always better to keep it civil in here.”

“Oh my god, where is it?” Maddy groans, making everyone laugh.

“Wait, is that the shoe John B wore?” Sarah squints at the one in Maddy’s hand.

“Why was John B wearing my heels?” Maddy deadpans and Sarah bursts out laughing. 

“He was trying to act like a girl, said he needed heels and I handed him those. You had to see it. It was iconic.”

“You and John B seem pretty close, Sar.” Kiara chimes in while brushing highlighter onto her cheekbones. 

“I second that.” Cleo adds, smirking.

“What? We’re just friends!” Sarah says, cheeks flushing pink as she finally finds the missing heel and tosses it to Maddy. “We’re just having fun.”

“Babe…” Cleo grins. “Gonna channel Ariana real quick, but…this is Love Island. No one’s here to ‘just have fun.’” The rest of the girls hum in agreement.

“So how’s it going with you and Topper, anyway?” Kiara asks, spinning around with an arched brow. Sarah flops down in her seat, letting out a sigh. 

“I mean…I don’t want to sound harsh, but-”

“There’s nothing there.” Cleo finishes for her. Everyone giggles. Sarah fidgets. 

“It’s still early. He’s sweet, he’s good-looking, I just…”

“Girl, stop lying to yourself.” Cleo interrupts. “You don’t like him. And that’s okay.” 

Sarah stares down at her nails. Y/N notices and reaches over, gently taking her hand.

“Hey. It’s totally valid to be unsure. You don’t owe anyone an explanation. We’ve got your back, alright?” Y/N reassures her and Sarah smiles softly. 

“Thanks.” She murmurs, grabbing her eyeshadow palette to finish her look.

“Alright, new topic.” Y/N says, switching the vibe. “Who do you think Kelce is gonna couple up with?”

“I forgot about that!” Alyssa gasps.

“Honestly, I think he’s got his eye on Miss Maddy over there.” Kiara teases, pointing with her lip liner.

“Again, I second that.” Cleo adds with a smirk. Maddy rolls her eyes. 

“Don’t start.” She mutters.

“Oh please.” Kiara grins. “You know there’s something there.”

Maddy drops into her seat, struggling with the heel straps. 

“No comment. And Sarah, your boyfriend stretched these out.”

“He is not my boyfriend!” Sarah calls back.

“Not yet!” Kiara and Cleo shout in unison, making everyone crack up.

“You guys are ridiculous.” Alyssa says, smiling as Cleo reaches over and kisses her cheek, leaving a lipstick mark.

“But you love us, Aly.” Cleo grins.

“I do. Unfortunately.” She says, wiping the mark off with a makeup wipe.

The room settles into a comfortable rhythm as the girls finish getting ready. But just as they’re about to head downstairs, they notice Y/N pacing, biting her lip and looking around frantically.

“You okay?” Sarah asks, slipping in her hoop earrings.

“I…yeah. I just-” Y/N throws open a drawer, rifling through her clothes. “I can’t find my ring.”

“The one you always wear?” Maddy asks, frowning.

“Yeah.” She sighs. “You guys can go ahead-”

“Uh-uh. We’re not leaving you.” Cleo cuts her off, turning back and searching through Y/N’s vanity. The others follow suit, checking drawers, makeup bags, under clothes, even their own stuff just in case.

After a few minutes, they all pause, exchanging defeated looks.

“Maybe it fell outside?” Alyssa suggests. Everyone nods, trying to stay optimistic.

“Hey, we’ll find it.” Maddy says, wrapping an arm around Y/N.

“Was it special?” Kiara asks gently.

“It was my grandpa’s. He made it for me.” Y/N swallows hard, glancing down at her bare finger. A pale ring mark lingers where it used to sit. 

“I’ve never taken it off.” She blinks and plasters on a smile. “Let’s just head downstairs.”

The girls nod, quiet but supportive, each silently determined to help her find it later.

Confessional - Y/N “We’re gonna find it. Wherever it is.” She nods slowly, more to herself than the camera. “We’re gonna find it.”

The sky fades into a dusky violet as night drapes over the villa, a cool hush settling across the space. Laughter hums through the air as the group lounge on the couches, drinks in hand and energy buzzing.

Rafe, JJ, John B, Sarah and Y/N sit together, scattered in relaxed positions, chuckling over something just said.

“So…” Sarah starts, swirling her drink. “How’s everyone feeling about tonight?”

The guys offer casual shrugs.

“I think one of us is a little more excited than the rest.” JJ says, nudging Rafe with a grin. The group laughs. Rafe smirks, a hand resting lightly on Y/N’s thigh.

“What can I say?” He shrugs with mock bravado.

Y/N gives a small, unreadable smile, her eyes scanning the group. 

“You don’t look too thrilled, Y/N/N.” JJ raises a brow, noticing her expression. All heads turn toward her. She blinks, caught off guard, mouth slightly open.

“No, no, no, I am! Totally.” She waves her hand dismissively. “Just tired, that’s all.” She lets out a well-timed yawn and melts deeper into the cushions.

The group chuckles and the conversation veers back to tonight’s drama, Kelce and his looming decision. But Rafe’s gaze lingers on Y/N.

“You sure you’re alright?” He murmurs, leaning in. She looks up and nods, offering a gentle smile. 

“Yeah. I swear.” She replies. He brushes a strand of hair behind her ear, eyes soft.

“If something’s on your mind…you can tell me. You know that, right?”

“I know.” She replies, her smile widening as she reaches for his hand. She starts to fidget with his signet ring, twisting it absently. Rafe glances down at the gesture, about to say something.

“Rafe!” Sarah’s voice cuts through the moment, startling them both. He snaps his head up.

“Y/N was just telling me about that disaster of a drink you made her the other day.” Sarah says with a mischievous grin. Rafe groans and laughs. 

“Yeah, you don’t wanna try that.” 

“It was awful.” Y/N chimes in, grinning as she looks at Sarah.

“Hey.” Rafe protests. “It wasn’t that bad.”

“It tasted like feet.” She deadpans. “I’m not even exaggerating.”

“How do you know what feet taste like?” JJ squints. John B claps a hand on JJ’s shoulder. 

“Just…don’t follow that thought, man.”

“Now I really wanna try it.” Sarah leans forward, eyes bright. Y/N widens her eyes. 

“Were you dropped as a baby? I just said it tasted like feet!” She exclaims.

“So?” Sarah shrugs, already getting up. “I’m curious!”

She grabs Rafe’s arm, tugging him off the couch.

“Borrowing him for a sec.” She announces, dragging him toward the kitchen as Y/N watches them go, still laughing.

“She’s insane.” Y/N mutters, grabbing her drink off the table as she watches Sarah disappear into the kitchen with Rafe.

“Yeah, she is.” John B replies under his breath. Then he pauses. “I mean, she’s not. She’s...totally sane. She’s just-”

“Dude, you’re glitching.” JJ cuts in, laughing. Y/N smirks and leans in toward the boys.

“You like her, don’t you?” She asks, dropping her voice just enough. John B doesn’t answer right away. He glances toward the kitchen where Sarah’s laughing with Rafe over some chaotic drink-mixing, then looks back at Y/N.

“Wait...did Rafe tell you?” He asks, suddenly suspicious.Y/N’s eyes go wide. 

“You told Rafe?” She asks, incredulous.

“Shit.” John B groans, rubbing his face. “I thought he told you or that he would!”

“Okay, okay, back up.” She says, holding up a hand. “That’s not even the point right now. The point is: you like Sarah.”

He takes a slow breath and JJ shakes his head with a grin.

“Man, it’s been obvious. You’ve been giving her heart eyes since day one.” JJ says.

“It’s not that simple.” John B mumbles. “She’s with Topper-”

“Who she has zero chemistry with.” JJ interrupts, then looks at Y/N. “What’s she told you?”

“I probably shouldn’t say.” Y/N hesitates, pursing her lips. 

“So she has said something!” JJ gasps, mock offended. Y/N laughs. 

“Not directly. But…she talks about you a lot. Like, a lot. And she blushes constantly when your name comes up. She hasn’t said the words, but I bet she likes you.”

John B looks back at the kitchen again, clearly overthinking.

“I think you should go for it.” Y/N adds gently.

“Go for it how? What does that even mean?” He asks, looking truly stressed.

“Well…” She says with a sly grin “We are about to have a recoupling…”

“You think I should pick her?” He asks, eyes wide.

“I think.” Y/N says, taking a sip of her drink. “When life gives you lemons, you make lemonade.”

JJ freezes. 

“Oh my god.” He says slowly. “I just got that. Like, literally just now. Twenty-five years on this floating rock and it finally makes sense.”

Y/N and John B burst into laughter.

“Thanks, Y/N.” John B says with a grateful smile.

“Anytime, JB.” Y/N nods.

In the kitchen, Rafe grabs a glass and starts pulling random ingredients from the cabinets.

“I’m warning you now.” He says with a grin. “This drink is genuinely terrible.”

Before he can start pouring, Sarah reaches over and snatches the marshmallows out of his hand.

“Yeah, I don’t actually want the drink.” She says plainly. Rafe pauses, brows furrowing. 

“Wait…then why are we here?” He asks. She glances over her shoulder to Y/N, who is still on the couch with the boys, laughing.

“Something’s up with Y/N.” She says softly. Rafe stiffens, the smile slipping from his face. 

“What happened?” He asks, voice low, already bracing for the worst.

“No one hurt her.” Sarah assures quickly. “She just…lost her ring.”

“Her ring?” Rafe’s face twists in confusion. 

“Yeah. It meant a lot to her. Like, emotionally. She’s trying not to make a big deal, but I can tell it’s getting to her.”

He nods slowly, taking that in. 

“Right.” He mutters, rubbing the back of his neck. “That explains why she was messing with mine earlier.”

Sarah points at the ring on his finger. 

“Exactly. So maybe don’t bring it up. Just…let her do her little fidget thing. I think it helps.” Sarah suggests. Rafe looks down at his hand, twisting the ring instinctively. 

“Got it. Thanks for the heads-up.”

Sarah offers a small, approving nod. Then she glances back at the counter, squinting.

“Okay but seriously.” She says, wrinkling her nose. “What the fuck were you about to make with tequila, hot sauce, and marshmallows?”

Rafe laughs, grabbing the things to put them back. She grabs a White Claw from the fridge and cracks it open.

“Come on, cocktail genius. Let’s get back.”

They walk back toward the group, the sound of laughter echoing.

Soon enough, a loud ping suddenly echoes through the villa, cutting through the chatter. Kiara, lounging with Cleo and Pope, grabs her phone.

“Oh, fuck me.” She mutters, eyes wide. “I got a text!” She shouts, instantly grabbing everyone's attention.

“Can all Islanders gather around the fire pit? #decisiontime #nogoingbacknow.” She reads aloud. Climbing out of the beanbag, she helps Cleo up beside her. One by one, the Islanders make their way to the fire pit. The boys take their seats, while the girls line up opposite them, hands linked tightly in anticipation.

Another loud ping breaks the tension, this time from Kelce’s phone. He reads the screen.

“Kelce, since you are the newest Islander, you get first pick. #alotofhottiesinthevilla.” He exhales sharply, slipping his phone into his back pocket. Rising from the couch, he adjusts his mic and scans the line of girls.

“I’d like to couple up with this girl because, from the moment I walked in, she caught my eye. She’s stunning and even in just a few conversations, I can tell we’ve got a lot in common. She's hilarious too and I’d really like to see where this could go. So, the girl I’d like to couple up with is…” He pauses, letting the silence hang.

“Maddy.”

Y/N gives Maddy’s clammy hand a reassuring squeeze. Maddy’s eyes go wide in surprise, flicking briefly to JJ, who’s sitting at the edge of the fire pit with a single eyebrow raised. The girls cheer and urge Maddy forward. She flashes them a nervous smile before stepping toward Kelce.

He holds out his hand and she takes it. They share a quick, tight hug before sitting down side by side.

“That was nerve-wracking.” Kelce whispers.

“Wait 'til you're on the other side.” Maddy replies with a soft laugh.

Next up is John B. He adjusts his Hawaiian shirt as he rises, his gaze settling on the fire flickering in front of him.

“I’d like to couple up with this girl because...I feel like there’s something there, even if neither of us has really said it out loud yet.” He begins, voice a little shaky but sure. “She’s beautiful, she’s hilarious and she’s got this bright energy that lights up the villa. Always knows how to make us laugh.” He pauses, takes a breath. “So the girl I wanna couple up with is…Sarah.”

Sarah’s eyes go wide. Cleo squeals next to her.

“Knew it.” She whispers under her breath, making the girls around her laugh as Sarah gets to her feet and heads toward John B.

Topper’s jaw tightens as he watches them hug, a bitter scoff slipping out before he turns his attention away, eyes scanning the girls instead.

“He’s pissed.” Sarah murmurs to John B as they sit back down.

“Yup.” He says, still staring into the flames.

Confessional “Yeah, um…John B’s choice definitely got to me. I’m not gonna lie.” He glances off-camera, jaw tightening. “It bothered me.”

Then Pope stands, running a hand through his curls as he steps forward.

“I’d like to couple up with this girl because ever since the public paired us together on day one, I’ve had the chance to really get to know her and she’s really amazing. And honestly, she’s just…really beautiful. I wanna keep learning more about her, seeing where this goes.” He doesn’t miss a beat. “So the girl I wanna couple up with is Kiara.”

Kiara offers a tight, polite smile as she walks toward him. He leans in and pecks her cheek, but her arms barely wrap around him.

“Thanks?” She whispers awkwardly before sitting beside him on the couch. 

Y/N shares a quick glance with Cleo, both of them catching the shift in tension.

Then Rafe stands, smirking as he rises to his full height.

“I’d like to couple up with this girl because she’s…amazing.” His eyes lock on Y/N and her cheeks flush as she grins. “She’s sweet, she’s kind and she’s ridiculously gorgeous, inside and out. And to be honest, I’ve missed her hogging the blanket at night.”

Laughter breaks out around them, Y/N included.

“So, the girl I wanna couple up with is Y/N.”

Without missing a beat, Cleo nudges Y/N forward. She laughs, walking up to Rafe and slipping her hand into his. Her eyes flick up to meet his, then down to his lips and before anyone can blink, he leans in and kisses her softly, drawing her closer. The islanders erupt into cheers and teasing hollers. When they break apart and head to their seats, Y/N leans in. 

“Happy now?” She murmurs. Rafe nods, still grinning.

“Very happy.”

She chuckles, tucking herself into his side.

Topper stands up slowly, clearing his throat as his gaze settles on the fire.

“I didn't think things would go like this, but, uh…” He trails off for a moment, then continues. “I want to couple up with this girl because she’s really pretty. We’ve had a few good talks and I feel like she actually gets me. So…I’d like to couple up with Alyssa.”

He reaches out his hand as Alyssa makes her way over. He gives her a quick, gentle kiss on the cheek before they both sit down.

Last but not least, it’s JJ’s turn. He stands with a grin and lets out a small laugh.

“Okay, yeah…I didn’t think this would happen either. But I want to couple up with this girl because she’s hilarious and I feel like we have a similar energy.”

“No, we don’t.” Cleo cuts in dryly, sending everyone into laughter. JJ smirks. 

“She’s also really pretty. So yeah, I’m coupling up with Cleo.”

Cleo walks over but swerves dramatically when he leans in for a cheek kiss.

“Ew!” She yells, laughing and the rest of the group cracks up with her.

Confessional - Cleo “JJ? Really?” She raises her brows, full-on judging. She scoffs, then leans back with a dramatic shake of her head.

With the recoupling over, the islanders begin to scatter. Some settling into quiet corners to chat, others cozying up with their new matches. John B pulls Sarah aside to the daybed, both of them sinking into the cushions with a bit of hesitation.

“Look, I…how-how are you feeling?” He asks, stumbling over his words. Sarah fidgets with a pillow in her lap, her expression unreadable.

“Honestly? I’m okay.” She says after a pause. “I was actually talking to the girls about…this. Us. And John B, you’re really sweet. We’ve had some fun moments already. And I think that’s what this whole thing’s about. Trying stuff out, seeing what works. So I’m glad you took that risk.”

John B’s eyes widen, surprised. 

“Really? You mean that?” He asks and she nods, smiling.

“Okay. That’s…that’s good.” He lets out a breath, then leans in slightly. “Because I think I like you, Sarah. And I meant what I said back there. I do wanna see where this goes.”

She looks up at him, softer now. 

“I do too.” She replies. They share a quiet moment, the kind that doesn't need anything more.

Across the villa, Cleo and Y/N perch on kitchen stools, picking through a bowl of chips. Rafe and Pope lean casually on the other side of the counter, half-listening to their conversation.

“He’s a good guy.” Cleo says between bites. “I’m not saying he’s not. I just don’t think we really have anything in common.”

“You could give it a shot.” Y/N suggests, reaching for more chips. “You never know.”

Cleo shakes her head, grinning. 

“He reminds me of the kids I work with, I swear. There was this one boy, Tyler. Same blonde hair, blue eyes, same ridiculous jokes. Always confused about what I was saying.”

“That sounds exactly like JJ.” Rafe chimes in, making everyone laugh.

“Seriously.” Cleo continues. “He even had the same look on his face when he didn’t understand something.”

“Maybe give him a chance.” Pope offers. “And if it doesn’t click, someone else will come in and have your head spinning.”

“Yeah… true.” Cleo mutters, her eyes drifting toward Pope as he pours himself a drink. She stares a second too long.

Y/N snaps her fingers in front of Cleo’s face. 

“You good?” She asks. Cleo blinks, startled, then quickly looks down and takes a sip of her drink.

Pope, unaware, clears his throat. 

“Did you see how pissed Topper looked?”

The group shifts with a new wave of laughter and commentary as the night rolls on.

The rest of the night passes easily, with the islanders lounging around outside, talking, laughing, soaking in the last bit of warmth before slowly peeling off to head inside for some much-needed sleep.

Upstairs, the girls settle into their routine, wiping off makeup and changing into soft pajamas.

“Oh, hey, Kie?” Y/N says, glancing over as she dabs her face with a makeup wipe.

“Yeah?” Kiara responds, tugging on a pair of shorts.

“I noticed something earlier…when Pope picked you tonight, you kind of…hesitated.”

That grabs everyone’s attention. They all pause, waiting for her to go on. Cleo’s eyes widen. 

“True! And that hug? That was the most awkward hug I’ve ever seen.” She exclaims, making the girls laugh, but Kiara just lets out a sigh.

“Look, Pope’s a great guy.” She starts. Cleo snorts. 

“Yeah, that’s never a good sign.”

Laughter bubbles up again, softer this time. Kiara shrugs.

“I mean it. He’s smart, sweet, attractive…but I don’t know. It’s like there’s just no real spark. We don’t click. Every time we talk, it either feels forced or uncomfortable. And I don’t like that feeling.”

The girls nod, taking her in without judgment.

“Do you think you should talk to him? Maybe clear the air?” Y/N asks gently. Kiara hesitates, then shakes her head. 

“Not yet. I just need to figure out how to say it…without hurting him.”

The room quiets for a moment, everyone giving her the space to sit with it. Then, slowly, the night routine picks up again soft conversation, makeup wipes tossed, drawers closing. The kind of silence that comes with knowing not everything needs to be fixed right away.

The girls finally descend downstairs, taking their places on their beds, some familiar, some new.

“We are putting pillows between us and I don't want to hear a word.” Cleo announces, already shoving a pillow wall between her and JJ.

“Oh come on, Cleo. You don’t wanna cuddle with me?” JJ grins. Cleo groans while the rest of the room erupts into laughter.

Y/N smiles quietly, making her way over to Rafe in their bed. She sets her water bottle down, then practically launches herself at him, wrapping her arms around his torso. He lets out a surprised yelp before chuckling and hugging her back just as tightly. She rests her chin on his chest, looking up at him.

“Hi.” She whispers.

“Hey, pretty girl.” He replies, brushing a strand of hair out of her face and tucking it behind her ear. His eyes drag over her like he's seeing her for the first time, soaking in the curve of her shoulders, the way her shorts ride up, the warm flush on her cheeks. 

“Oh, I almost forgot.” He gently nudges her back and pulls off his hoodie, handing it to her.

“What are you…Why are you giving me this?” She asks, eyeing the oversized Ralph Lauren hoodie in confusion.

“I want you to have it. I know you get cold at night.”

Her features soften, lips curling into a small pout as she leans in and kisses him.

“Thank you.” She murmurs. “You didn’t have to.”

“I wanted to.” He says simply. “And uh…Sarah told me.”

Her brows pinch together.

“Told you what?”

“About your ring.”

Her eyes immediately drop to the chain around his neck, her fingers instinctively reaching out to fidget with it.

“It’s whatever.” She mumbles nonchalantly.

“No, it’s not whatever.” He says, voice low and steady. “It means something to you. I’ll help you look for it tomorrow, alright?”

She shakes her head.

“No, Rafe. It’s okay.”

“I'm serious, Y/N. I’m gonna turn this whole damn villa upside down.” He says, unwavering. “And I’m not taking no for an answer.”

That gets her. She gives him a small, grateful smile.

“Thank you.”

He nods as she pulls the hoodie over her head, adjusting her hair.

“How does it look?”

“Like it was made for you.” He says, eyes locked on her. She rolls her eyes and shoves his shoulder, laughing as she slides off his lap and under the covers. He follows, pulling her in close, her arms naturally curling around him. The lights go out and he presses a kiss to her forehead.

“Good night.” He whispers.

“Good night, Rafey.” She teases, but his smile breaks wider than expected.

“Don’t ever stop calling me that.” He says seriously.

She pauses, caught off guard by how much he means it.

“Okay.” She replies softly.

He leans down and kisses her slow, but deep, like he’s trying to memorize the way she tastes, the way she fits against him. There’s a pull between them, something warm and steady and when her thigh shifts over his hips, he lets out a quiet groan.

“Sorry.” She whispers, starting to pull back.

“Don’t be.” He mutters, voice low as his hand slides beneath the hem of his hoodie, smoothing over her waist. “It’s okay.”

She smiles softly, leaning in again. Her nose brushes his and her fingers trail lightly across his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat under her palm.

“I just like being close to you.” She says, barely above a whisper.

His eyes flick down to her lips, then back up.

“Yeah.” He breathes. “Me too.”

They kiss again, slower this time and when it ends, she rests her forehead against his, both of them catching their breath in the hush of the room.

Rafe shifts beneath the covers, pulling her in tighter until her body fits snug against his. Their legs tangle, skin brushing skin and everything else fades, like the world outside them has softened.

She leans in again, lips finding his and after another long kiss, he gently presses her thigh a little lower. The motion earns another groan from him and he shifts slightly, adjusting himself with an embarrassed wince.

“Sorry…for that.” He mutters. Y/N giggles into his chest, her voice low and teasing.

“It’s okay.” She whispers with a smirk. “It’s kinda cute that you’re already, well, you know.”

He groans louder this time, burying his face in her neck, completely undone.

With his arms wrapped around her and her head tucked just below his chin, the chaos of the villa fades into the background.

to be continued...

taglist: @cherrygirlfriend @judesgfirl @slickdickwitchbitchh @leather-n-velvet @alinavalentine @littlelamy @nami11 @madiisynnxx @ts1mp0ne @starkeyslibrary @venusluves @rafecameronsfavourite @lolharrystylesissexy @nofacenocase00 @k4yr14 @drewslefttoe @tinie03 @angielvsnick @dellevans @malibuhearts @sabrina-carpenter-stan-account @harryweeniee @imawhoreforu @fastlovela @jjmaybankmylovee @miserablebl00d @nemesyaaa @drewsnr1slut @laniirackssss @emotionsmgcbabe @oconnrs @missabsey @amterasuu @cornliastreett @pvyden @italk2god @swagmoneydrew @lerclec @emmaaas-posts @rafecameronxxx @dorcas4meadowes @isabellaxlilah @xoxosblogsblog @bxbychxrry @julesbog @annaaaamichelle @st8rkey @lewispool @my-name-is-baby @silkylovey

[greenwitchfromthewoods]

text message. l Joel Miller

a/n : a while ago i got a message from anon asking me to write something for joel. i managed to do it today. sorry you had to wait so long. i hope you like it.

warnings : pre-outbreak Joel, some angst, misunderstanding, age difference (about 10 years), suspected pregnancy, argument, Sarah and Tommy mentioned, lots of uncertainty and fear

[Joel Miller masterlist] [my masterlist]

He shouldn't have done that. It was crossing all boundaries, violating your privacy and trust, but he couldn't help himself. When your phone made a series of strange noises that indicated a message had been received and you were in the bathroom at a gas station, Joel reached for it and looked at the screen. A cold chill ran down his spine a second later.

"Two weeks late? Did you take a test? You should see a doctor. What did Joel say?"

A heavy stone landed squarely in his stomach, and he felt his head spin. “Fuck!” he groaned almost silently, shaking his hand as he placed the phone back where you’d left it.

He immediately guessed what you and your friend could have been talking about, he had no doubts. If you were pregnant, that complicated everything.

Joel Miller wasn't entirely sure if he should do it, but when he met you on one of his bar crawls with his younger brother Tommy, he felt like fate had finally favored him. He was almost thirty-six, had a teenage daughter, worked hard, and couldn't remember the last time he'd met a woman. You, on the other hand, were simply beautiful, talkative, with a charming smile on your lips. You were also almost ten years younger than him.

It didn't bother him as much on your first date, or your second, or when you kissed on the couch, or after the first time you had sex. Joel felt younger and happier with you, and everyone around him noticed the change in him.

He fell in love like a stupid teenager, and you didn't make it any easier for him. It was only after a few months that he started to wonder. Maybe dating you wasn't so wise? Maybe you were really too young for him?

When you would visit him at work, bringing him lunch or something, guys would often make fun of him. Joel wasn't as immune to this as he thought. His insecurities grew, and worries about whether he was doing the right thing also grew in his mind too.

And now this. Pregnancy. When Sarah was born, he was too young, and now he felt too old to be playing in diapers. What if you, too, disappeared, like Sarah's mother? Would he be able to cope? What if no woman saw the possibility of a permanent relationship with him, and when the baby came, she simply ran away?

"Hey. Is everything okay?"

He didn't even notice that you had returned and were already sitting next to him. He nodded uncertainly and cleared his throat.

"Yeah. Tommy called, something at the construction site." he lied, quickly starting the engine.

"Do you want to go there?"

"What? No, I don't have to." Joel replied, "Sarah has a game today."

He didn't say anything else the entire ride home, and then to the game you went to with them. He seemed strangely distant, but you were certain he was constantly thinking about work. Even when you suggested ice cream afterward, Joel showed almost no interest.

You dropped Sarah off at a friend's for a sleepover and you were sure that you and Joel would go to his place, but when he suddenly said, "I'll drop you home." You already knew something was wrong.

“Did I do something wrong?” you asked as he pulled the truck up in front of your apartment. Once again, you spent the entire ride in silence, which wasn’t normal.

He shook his head. "No, everything's fine."

“Joel? Look at me, please.” He did it reluctantly, but eventually your eyes met. “You’ve been out of sorts all day. What’s wrong?”

"I've had a lot on my mind lately and..."

"Please, don't lie to me." You interrupted him. You weren't mad, he saw concern on your face. "Did something happen?"

“I…” he began, but the words were hard to get out of his throat. He felt your warm hand on his forearm and it broke him. “Are you pregnant?”

"W-What?" you blurted out, completely surprised.

"I saw, quite by accident, a message from your friend. You're two weeks late. Something about a test and a doctor. I need to know."

You looked at him with slightly parted lips, a small wrinkle appeared between your eyebrows. You couldn't gather your thoughts in your head, but Joel clearly couldn't stop himself from talking.

“I think about it all the time. You’re still young, you have plans,” he said, and you felt every word hit you harder. “I know we should be more careful. This whole thing between us is still new and uncertain. You’re so young, I shouldn’t have… Fuck. I fucked it up.”

"What the hell are you talking about, Miller?" you gasped, completely stunned by his words "What do you mean - too young? I..."

"Look at us. I have a teenage daughter, and you're at the beginning of your career. You can leave this town anytime you want, because there's nothing keeping you here. But what if you're pregnant? That complicates things like hell and..."

"Stop it!" you raised your hand in warning "You're talking nonsense! I knew how old you were from the beginning, I knew about Sarah and it didn't bother me."

Joel rolled his eyes. "Now you say that."

“Oh! And you’re a know-it-all!” you snorted angrily. “So I think it’s safe to say you took advantage of a young and fresh pussy.”

Joel gave you a stern look, but you didn't even blink. You were ready to fight him if he wanted to. You were aware of his fears and insecurities, but you thought that by this point you had already shown him how much you cared about him. Age was just a number to you, and ten years didn't make much difference when you weren't a teenager anymore.

"I never thought of you that way." he replied, clenching his grip on the steering wheel, his knuckles turning slightly white.

"I feel different now." you replied, shrugging. "Because you're acting like you're just looking for an excuse to break up with me. Because you read some message on my phone? Please! That's pathetic!"

“Pathetic?!” Joel raised his voice. How could you be so indifferent to how your life might change? No one in their right mind would decide to have a child so soon. But of course, you were still young, the romantic vision of a family still lingered in your mind, and you didn’t realize how much it would affect you.

Joel wanted to say something else, but you suddenly grabbed your things and got out of the car slamming the door. He quickly got out after you.

"Did you take the test? When are you seeing the doctor?" he asked, catching you before the door.

"Leave me alone." you hissed, ripping your arm out of his grip. "You have no idea what you're talking about."

"I think I do."

You looked at him in a way Joel had never experienced before. Your warm gaze turned hard and angry, your mouth a thin line, and your entire body took on a defensive stance. You had never argued like this before.

"Fine." you finally said. "I'll tell you. I have an appointment on Monday. Are you happy?"

"I'll go with you."

“Don’t be ridiculous, this doesn’t concern you at all,” you laughed nervously. “And it definitely doesn’t concern you now.”

Joel looked at you in surprise. So he's already screwed everything up? He's already erased those few really good months?

“I’m not pregnant,” you said, crossing your arms over your chest. “My last checkup showed I had ovarian cysts. They caused my periods to be irregular, and now my period is a few weeks late. The doctor said I should see him if that happens.”

"Cysts?" Joel repeated.

"Yes! I didn't tell you anything because I didn't see the need." you replied "I'm not pregnant, Joel. And you... You, fucked up."

You turned around and disappeared through the door before he had a chance to say anything.

Joel had all night to think about what had happened. All night without sleep, when he kept seeing your angry face in his mind, when he kept repeating your words and feeling worse by the moment. He picked up the phone several times to call you, but he kept giving up, terrified you wouldn't pick up.

What would he have done if you hadn't picked up? Would that have meant the end for both of you? He couldn't believe that his own fears and insecurities had led him to attack you so suddenly. He could have done it differently, he could have waited for you to say something. Instead, he had cornered you and forced you to admit to something that was clearly your own personal issue, one that you wanted to resolve on your own.

He knew nothing about women's health issues. When Sarah got her first period, he managed with the help of a nice store employee, and then his daughter took over. For Joel, a missed period meant pregnancy, and that meant panic and everything he had experienced before.

No, he didn't want to make excuses for his behavior. He had screwed up. He felt like you were disappointed in him and he had no idea what to do about it.

It was still early when he showed up at your place. You opened the door, sleepy, with ruffled hair, in one of those oversized t-shirts you slept in.

"Joel?" you mumbled hoarsely, rubbing your face, "Did something happen? Something with Sarah?"

He shook his head. "No. I had to see you. I had to... Fuck." He scratched the back of his neck, nervously shifting from foot to foot, "Can we talk? I, I need to know that I didn't completely fuck this up."

You looked at him for a moment in silence, as if you were considering his words in your head. It was a really long few seconds, but you finally pulled away, allowing Joel to step inside. The apartment was bathed in morning sunlight, and Joel's eyes immediately went to the few framed photos of him and Sarah that you had at your place. Another needle stabbed him in the heart.

"So?" you asked, folding your arms over your chest. "I'm listening."

"I don't know where to start." he mumbled completely sincerely.

"I suggest you start from the beginning."

"I'm sorry, darling. I'm sorry for everything I said. I'm a fucking idiot."

You tilted your head. "Good start."

Joel took a deep breath. He wanted to do it right, he wanted to take advantage of the chance he was given. Maybe it was the last one he had.

"I know now that I should have been honest with you from the beginning. You're the most amazing woman I've ever met, and I still can't believe you chose me. I kept thinking we weren't right for each other, that we were too different."

“Are you still thinking about age?”

He nodded. "Yeah. See, you're young, and I..."

You rolled your eyes and cursed loudly. “If you’re going to give me this age difference bullshit, maybe just leave. Jesus! That’s not twenty or fifty. Joel, I’m an adult, I work, I pay taxes. I get to decide who I’m with?”

“You think so now.”

“I thought so from the beginning! When I met you, the first thing I thought was that you have gorgeous eyes and really broad shoulders. I felt good with you, I liked you, and I think you’re really sexy. It has nothing to do with your age.” You took a deep breath and put your hands on your hips, like you were trying to explain something really obvious. “Sarah is amazing, I love spending time with her. I love you, even though sometimes you drive me crazy, and yesterday you really pissed me off. I didn’t tell you about the doctor because there was nothing to talk about. But if you had any suspicions, you should have come to me instead of getting even more upset. I felt like you were just looking for a reason to break up with me.”

“It’s not like that.” Joel took a step toward you. “When Sarah’s mother left us, I was left to fend for myself. Yes, there was Tommy and my mother to help us, but single parenting is no easy feat. I was certain you would disappear, too. Not only would you leave me with a child, but you would simply conclude that I was somehow flawed, that I wasn’t cut out to be with you. I guess I preferred sabotaging us rather than simply facing my fears.”

You looked at him, trying to understand his words. His face, eyes, and body language told you he wasn't lying. Joel was full of uncertainty and doubt, but you thought you were past that stage. You told him many times that you loved him, you didn't belittle his needs, and you always helped him with Sarah or around the house. And yet he felt all of this?

“I’m trying to understand you, Joel, I really am.” You finally said, sighing softly. “But I can’t be the only one in this relationship fighting for us. I feel like no matter what I say or do, you’ll find a reason why we can’t be together. Do you even love me?”

“Oh, baby,” he groaned, moving closer and taking your face in his hands. “You have no idea how much I love you. And that scares me. I’m always afraid you’ll find all my flaws.”

"You have a lot of them. I do too. But does it matter when we're happy together?"

No, it didn't matter. The fear of losing you showed Joel what really mattered to him. He cared about you more than he could admit. He saw how perfectly you fit into his family, always trying to help everyone and make everyone happy. He didn't think he'd ever feel the same way about anyone again. 

"I'm sorry, baby. I don't know what I could do to fix this." He whispered, you felt tears welling up in your eyes at how much he was going through. "But I don't want to end what we have. I love you, I'm sure of that."

"You think so now." You replied, parroting his words.

He smiled slightly. “I’ve known this for a long time, and I think the knowledge scared me. The fear that you’d disappear and I’d be left alone with this feeling. I don’t want you to disappear. I want to stay, permanently.”

"I want to stay too, Joel. Don't push me away ever again."

"Never again, baby."

He kissed you, softly and tenderly, as if he was afraid he still might. But when you kissed him back, Joel felt an unimaginable sense of relief. He had you in his arms again, all the dark thoughts swirling in his head dissipated and he felt happiness fill him. Your arms wrapped around his waist, pulling him closer to you, letting him kiss you like there was no tomorrow.

You could get through this, together. By being more honest, by giving each other a chance at happiness and love, by supporting each other. Joel knew he would do anything to deserve you, and you couldn't imagine not giving him another chance.

“I’ll go to the doctor with you on Monday if you want,” he said as you poured him a fresh cup of coffee and sat down next to him at the table.

“If you want. I could use some support,” you replied, resting your head on his shoulder.

He kissed the top of your head and smiled. He would give you anything, and you never asked for much. You just wanted him to love you, and Joel wanted that too.

☆☆☆☆

Thank you for your time.

[17020]

first kisses with okarun, momo, & jiji are slightly different.

okarun's first kiss is actually him acting on impulse and quickly pecking your lips goodbye, walking away before he can even process what happened and he falls to the floor in confusion and utter shock. when he tries to kiss you again a few weeks later, his eyes are shut close and his lips are puckered. he waits until you close the gap between you and him, and you can feel how hard he's puckering his lips.

okarun needs guidance, as he was hit with a 2 in 1: no knowledge, and no practice. your first kisses with okarun are about learning the basics, as well as getting comfortable with each other. when you finally kiss him with all your might, you breathe out one word: ken. he never knew that hearing his own name after months of not doing so could feel so good, especially since it rolled off your tongue so naturally.

momo is very eager. when she notices you're leaning in to kiss her, her eyes flutter shut and so do yours. however, you weren't really expecting your puckered lips meeting her open mouth. from all the media she's consumed and previous (but limited) experience, momo really seemed to dig the french. when she notices the clear miscommunication between you and her, she apologizes and laughs it off before kissing you nice and slow.

second time's where she goes all out, asking you to recreate some of her favorite scenes in movies she watched as a child. your first kisses with momo are all about experimentation, dabbling in what both you and her like, as well as finding out which ways you can kiss her best with seiko kicking her bedroom door open every five minutes.

jiji's kisses are short, sweet and fun. his first kiss with you is him practicing his silly faces while getting closer and closer to you every time his expression changes, until he leans in and places a sweet kiss on your lips. jiji's kisses are all about being playful, so at the start of your relationship, he never asks for a kiss directly. you have to deal with his many games, each one ending in his lips locking with yours. he also takes advantage of treats like ice cream and fries to kiss you at first, or even cliche snacks like pocky.

his second kiss with you happens when he asks you to share a can of ginger ale with two straws, asking you to lean down to drink from it at the same time as he does, with him pulling the can down and pecking your lips in return. jiji likes to make you work for his kisses, even if the tedious 'work' is just indulging him with his savory and sweet quests.

(new & open) taglist: @stunies @okkotsushi @moon-cakiie @maruflix @nyxypoo @littleplantfreak @heartkaji @vinomino please keep in mind that if you filled the old taglist with all the series i’ll most likely tag you in everything i post 🪷 if you have the time , please fill the new form. sorry for the inconvenience!

[onceinablueberrymoon]

made for this | husband!salesman x pregnant!reader

part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | series masterlist scenario: pregnant!reader has a doctor’s appointment and wants to help husband!salesman by recruiting some new players at the clinic. the salesman has a different idea in mind… setting: a couple months after the events of season 1; sequel to this but can be read as a stand-alone fic warnings: pregnant!reader; a bit of spice and a lot of fluff; both reader and salesman feel morally superior to others; no use of y/n; second person POV word count: 931 notes: thank you all for the love on the first part! i hope i didn’t make the salesman too ooc, i try to keep things as accurate to the show as possible! but i think he is somewhat capable of having soft moments, although very rarely. i have at least one more idea for this series (if it can even be called that), so be on the lookout for that ٩>ᴗ<)و (also if anyone has any ideas for this ship, send them my way!) please enjoy! borders by @strangergraphics-archive

“Hey, can I borrow some business cards? I have an appointment at the clinic today and thought I’d pass some out.”

At your call, your husband walked into the bedroom to find you standing in front of the mirror next to your shared bed, adjusting your outfit for the day. He crossed his arms.

“I don’t think so. Any public involvement with the Games could endanger you,” his gaze lingered on your swollen stomach. He sighed, “You can’t defend yourself in your condition, no matter how much you think you can.” 

You just rolled your eyes and shot him a piercing look. 

“My pregnancy doesn’t impact my job, though. I can take care of myself just fine.” You took a couple steps towards him. “Who’s the one who befriended Gi-hun again? You?” You looked around the room before you pointed at yourself. 

“Me, that’s who,” you grinned proudly, only for your husband to cover his face with his hands, his patience clearly running thin.

“Besides,” you shrugged, “it’s not like I’ll be playing ddakji and smacking people. No, my dear husband, that’s your thing.” You brought a finger up to your lips. 

“I have my own ways to play.” You flashed a wicked smile towards your husband, causing him to shiver. 

Right there and then, you knew that you had won the battle.

…or so you thought.

In the blink of an eye, your husband swept you off your feet and pinned you on the bed with only one arm. Your startled expression pleased him judging by the wild look on his face. His unoccupied hand came to gently press on your growing stomach, adding to the tense situation. He brought his lips up to graze your ear.

“See how vulnerable you are? Just think,” he lightly bit at your helix, “others won’t be so nice.”

It was your turn to shiver. 

When you didn’t respond, he continued nibbling at your ear with his hand still firmly planted on your belly.

Soon after, he lifted his head and asked, “What’s the matter? Cat got your tongue?” He kissed you deeply, only breaking away to gasp for air. The most smug expression was plastered on his face. 

“Oh wait, I do.”

How cheeky of him. And cheesy, too! 

You huffed, “Wow, already starting with the dad jokes? And not even the good ones either.” His eyebrow quirked upwards before he bent down to press his nose against yours.

“Do you really want to play this game?” He whispered softly, causing you to shudder. “You know I always win.”

Turning your head to the right, you let out a small chuckle.

“Oh really?” You retorted, “Prove it.”

This sent him into a borderline frenzy as he started planting kisses down the side of your neck. You threw your arms around his neck, a smile on your face. Sometimes it was just too easy to manipulate him.

As he was about to leave a mark, a sharp movement stopped him in his tracks. He blinked, snapping out of his trance. You were both confused when there was another movement, although not as sharp as the first.

The two of you looked down at your rounded stomach, and your husband removed his hand. The baby’s kicks continued nearly every minute, while you both just watched, not moving a muscle. Then, your husband lifted himself up off of you, moving to sit on the bed beside you. You sat up and, taking one of his hands, gently laid it on your stomach. Your husband carefully wrapped an arm around you, now acting as if you were made of glass.

“They’re so active. Do you think,” he paused, then in a whisper, asked, “Do you think I hurt them?” 

“No… I think they’re just making themselves known,” you kissed him on the cheek. 

Both of you sat in comfortable silence for a while, only to soon realize that you were now running late for your appointment.

“Is there any chance I can still get those business cards?” You pleaded. 

Your husband chuckled, “Absolutely not. In fact, I’ll accompany you.” 

“I thought we weren’t allowed to be seen together in public?” You furrowed your eyebrows. 

He let go of you and turned to open his briefcase at the foot of the bed. Pulling out some files, he nodded, “There’s quite a few prospective players residing at that hospital. You attend your appointment, I’ll recruit more players.” He flashed his signature smirk, putting the files back in his briefcase.

“Wow, I thought you wanted to come to my appointment with me!” You laughed, giving him a light shove.

Your husband gave you a knowing look, “I can’t do that. But I expect a copy of the sonogram.” He stood up, holding out a hand for you to take.

“What a gentleman.” You took his offer and stood up.

Placing a hand on your husband’s chest, you teased, “Try to take it easy at the hospital, hm? Most of the prospects there are already on the verge of cracking. We don’t want to break them before the Games – it wouldn’t make for a good show.”

Wrapping his arms around your waist, your husband pouted, “But where’s the fun in that?”

“Giving them a tiny sliver of hope, only to eventually rip it away…” You looked him straight in the eyes. “The suspense is so thrilling, don’t you think?”

“And here I was starting to think you weren’t cut out for the job,” he chuckled. He checked his watch, noting the time.

“We should get going – it’s rude to be late.” 

a/n: by the way, i don’t think i have it in me to write full-on smut, the most i can probably do is a bit of lime lol

tags: @preppyfella

[wqnsho]

second chance | hwang in-ho x fem! reader

*.✧ synopsis: hwang in-ho joined the games with one goal: to monitor and manipulate seong gi-hun. but everything changed the moment he saw his childhood friend among the players—a face he never expected to see again. *.✧ word count: 21.7k (are you even surprised) *.✧ warnings: squidgame season 2 spoilers, violence, death, choking, guns, explicit depictions of injuries, panic attacks (reader experiences one) usage korean words and suffixes, mentions of cho sang-woo, reader moved from in-ho's place to gi-hun's place (gyeonggi-do to ssangmun-dong), softie in-ho because its you, angst :D *.✧ note: I ACTUALLY THOUGHT CROSSROADS WILL BE THE LONGEST THING I WRITE, SURPRISE SURPRISE SECOND CHANCE IS HERE. hope you guys love it!! masterlist | request here

Your life wasn't supposed to go in this direction. 

Ever since you were small, people knew great things would come to you. You were talented and smart in every way, shape, or form. Teachers would gush about how bright your future was, and neighbors would brag to their kids about your achievements as if they were their own. So why were you here now, standing in a room surrounded by strangers for a chance of winning some money? 

Currently, all of you watched as the screen displayed various people getting slapped left and right. Announcing their player numbers, names, and how much money they owe. The sheer amount of debt displayed beside each name was staggering—hundreds of millions, even billions.

You shifted uncomfortably, trying to ignore the whispers around you. People were muttering under their breath, some recognizing names and faces, others lamenting their own debt in comparison. The tension in the room was suffocating, a shared humiliation that weighed heavy on everyone.

Player 132. [Last Name] [Name]. 562 million.

The words echoed in your ears like a slap to your face. Your own name, your own shame, displayed for everyone to see. A few heads turned toward you, but you refused to meet their eyes. You scratched the back of your head in shame, keeping your eyes on the ceiling as if you could avoid the weight of judgment all around you.

'Well... at least it wasn't from that stupid crypto bullshit,' you mumbled under your breath, though the bitter smile on your lips faded as quickly as it appeared. As the guard moved to another person, the crowd around you blurred into an indistinct mass of voices. You didn’t care to listen. You let yourself drown in your thoughts, tuning out the chaos.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Life was supposed to be a series of steady steps upward, not a freefall into the abyss. When your family moved from Gyeonggi-do to Ssangmun-dong, everything changed. 

Your father, once the pillar of the family, walked out one day without a backward glance. Which left you and your mother to fend for yourselves. He left for some woman he barely knew. Someone who didn’t have to deal with the mess he’d left behind. And then, as if that wasn’t enough, your mother decided she had better things to do than raise a child. 

One morning, you woke up to an empty house and a note on the dining table. The words were hurried, impersonal, as if she didn’t pushed you out and raised you. Worst of all, she didn’t even spell your name right!

The pain of abandonment never left you. It festered, growing into a heavyweight you carried everywhere. You tried to survive, piecing together odd jobs and small victories, but it was never enough. Debt piled up faster than you could manage, dragging you into this nightmare.

The first game was announced— Red Light, Green Light. 

You had doubts. The game seemed too simple, almost childish, like something even teens could survive without breaking a sweat—just a game, right? But as soon as the first shot rang out, you realized how wrong you were. Bodies fell like dominoes, blood staining the grass in vivid red. The sound of death was deafening, and the reality of it hit you like a punch to the gut. You froze, your breath caught in your throat, as the world around you erupted into chaos. People screamed, some running, others collapsing in terror. You couldn’t move. The simplicity of the game suddenly made sense—it wasn’t without cost.

Death was suddenly real, closer than it had ever been before. Your entire life flashed before your eyes—every mistake, every regret, every moment you had taken for granted. It wasn’t supposed to end like this. Not here, not now.

Luckily, a player stepped up and took charge. Player 456. He was calm and collected, advising everyone to hide behind the larger players, claiming that the robot wouldn’t be able to see you if you stayed out of its line of sight. His plan was simple yet effective, and with his guidance, you managed to survive the round.

As you returned to the main area, the tension from the first game clung to the air like a thick fog. Every breath felt heavy, and the adrenaline that had pushed you through the chaos now left your limbs trembling. Despite it all, a deep sense of gratitude toward him lingered in your chest. You wanted to stay close, to follow his lead. There was security in his presence, a grounding force that kept the worst of your fears at bay.

Suddenly, the sound of heavy boots echoed through the room. Guards entered in perfect formation, their masks as eerie as the silence that fell over the crowd. The sight of them sent a shiver down your spine. One by one, people began to plead for their lives, collapsing to their knees, their voices breaking with desperation as tears streamed down their faces.

“There must be a misunderstanding,” the main guard, marked by a square on his mask, said in a monotone voice. “We are not trying to harm you. We are presenting you with an opportunity.”

Before he could continue, the same player who had spoken during the first game—Player 456—interrupted with a sharp shout.

“Clause three of the consent form!” The room froze, all eyes, including yours, turning to him.

His words were sharp, filled with a sense of urgency and strength “The games may be terminated upon a majority vote. Correct?” he demanded, his voice firm.

“That is correct,” the guard replied, his tone unwavering, as though the question had been anticipated.

“Then let us take a vote right now,” Player 456 said, his words igniting a spark of hope in the crowd. It was as if a door to freedom had cracked open, and everyone could almost taste the possibility of escape.

“Of course. We respect your right to freedom of choice.”

A collective sigh of relief spread through the crowd, a fleeting moment where fear was momentarily pushed aside by a glimmer of hope. For the first time, you felt something that resembled a shift in the balance of power. They weren’t in control—at least, not entirely.

“But first,” the guard continued, “let me announce the prize amount that has been accumulated.” He pressed a button on his device, and the room suddenly dimmed.

A low hum filled the air, followed by the descending of a massive glass piggy bank from the ceiling. It gleamed under the harsh fluorescent lights, casting eerie reflections across the players’ faces. The sound of wads of cash clinking together echoed through the room, loud and clear, like the jarring noise of a twisted casino jackpot.

The players stared, wide-eyed, as the money poured into the glass bank. It was hypnotic—the sound, the sight, the overwhelming promise of wealth. Some players instinctively stepped forward, as if drawn by an invisible force, while others lingered at the back, still fearful but unable to resist the allure of the prize.

“The number of players eliminated in the first game is 91,” the guard announced, his voice as flat and emotionless as ever. “Therefore, a total of 9.1 billion won has been accumulated. If you quit the games now, the remaining 365 of you can equally divide this amount and leave.”

A murmur rippled through the crowd, and Player 100, who was standing near you, called out, his voice filled with disbelief. “How much is that?”

“Each person’s share would be 24,931,500 won,” the guard replied without hesitation.

The words hung in the air, heavy and cold, as a wave of murmurs spread across the room. There was a mix of disbelief, anger, and confusion.

“Twenty-four million? We almost died for that?” Player 124 scoffed, his voice dripping with disdain. You couldn’t help but feel the sting of it too. Twenty-four million wasn’t nearly enough to make up for the terror, the near-death experience, the trauma of the first game. Yet, at the same time, the number was hard to ignore. It was money. A lot of it. Enough to make you forget the panic, at least for a while.

“You said the prize was 45.6 billion!” Player 230 shouted, his voice rising with frustration.

The guard’s response was calm, almost detached. “The rule states that 100 million won is added for each eliminated player. If you choose to play the next game, and more players are eliminated, the prize amount will increase accordingly.”

There was a brief silence as everyone processed the implications of this. The numbers didn’t seem to add up at first. But as the calculation sank in, the possibility of even more money stirred the crowd.

“How much will it be if someone survives until the very end?” someone asked, their voice trembling with hope.

The guard, unbothered by the growing tension, simply stated, “As I already told you, the total amount of prize money for all 456 players is 45.6 billion won. If you are the sole survivor, you will receive the full amount.”

The room erupted into a chorus of gasps, whispers, and shouts. Some players looked at each other, their expressions shifting as greed began to seep into their eyes. Others remained still, haunted by the terror of the first game. The promise of so much money was a heady temptation, but it came at the price of their lives.

“So, we can take a vote again and decide to leave after the next game?” someone asked, their voice tinged with hope, as if the very idea of escape was now within reach.

“Yes,” the guard confirmed. “As outlined in the consent form, you may vote after each game and decide whether to leave with the prize money accumulated up to that point. We always prioritize your voluntary actions.”

You stood there, torn. The terror you’d felt during the first game still clung to you, wrapping around your chest. But the temptation of the prize money—of being free from the crushing debt that had haunted you for so long—was overwhelming. This could be your only chance to escape. A chance to climb out of the pit you’d been stuck in, buried under mountains of bills and threats. If you walked away now, you’d return to the same miserable existence, drowning in debt, with no way out in sight.

Your mind raced. You had fought so hard just to survive, and now, standing in this room, you were faced with a decision that could change everything. The terror from the first game still gripped your chest, but the lure of the money was almost impossible to ignore. It wasn’t just about survival—it was the chance to escape the suffocating weight of your debt, the years spent trying to climb out of a hole you’d fallen into.

The voting started with Player 456. You watched as he cast his vote, the air thick with tension. The red light from the voting machine flickered for a brief moment as he pressed his choice, a clear "X." One by one, others followed, some hesitating, while others quickly made their decision. The chaos of it all felt overwhelming. You couldn’t help but wonder if they had already made up their minds, whether they were giving in to the temptation of the money or if they were too afraid to continue.

When your number was called, your legs felt like lead as you approached the voting machine. Each step was agonizingly slow, the weight of your decision pressing down on you. The room seemed to shrink, and you could feel every eye on you, even as you tried to ignore them.

Your hand trembled as you reached for the button. The thought of pressing it, of choosing to continue, made your stomach twist in knots. For just a moment, you hesitated, feeling the weight of your decision crushing you from all sides.

Then, with a deep breath, you pressed the circle.

The blue light illuminated your face, a cold reminder of the choice you’d just made. A guard stepped forward, handing you a blue patch marked with the same symbol as your vote. You accepted it with shaky hands, bowing slightly before pinning it to your jacket. As you returned to your spot in line, your heart pounded in your chest.

God, why did it come to this? What could have gone so wrong? Had you done something to upset the gods? Or were you simply born unlucky, destined to live a life riddled with hardships?

You couldn’t stop questioning yourself—your decisions, your choices, the countless crossroads where you might’ve taken a different turn. You missed the early moments in your life when everything felt so simple, so light. Back then, there were no looming debts, no sleepless nights spent worrying about survival, no constant weight pressing down on your shoulders.

You had it all once—a lovely family with successful parents who made sure money was never an issue. You had good grades, a tight-knit circle of friends, and a future that seemed full of promise. You were happy, truly happy.

And you weren’t always alone. Aside from your parents and friends, there was someone else—someone who had been a constant in your life, a steady presence you could always count on. He wasn’t just a friend; he was the friend. The one who stood by you no matter what, even when the world seemed to turn its back on you.

When the bullies in school targeted you for reasons you never understood, he was the one who stepped in without hesitation. You still remembered the way he’d square his shoulders, his voice firm and unwavering as he told them to back off. He never cared if he got in trouble for standing up for you; all that mattered to him was that you were safe.

He wasn’t just your protector, though. He was the person who could make you laugh when you were seconds away from tears. He had this knack for knowing exactly what to say or do to lighten your mood, whether it was pulling a silly face, cracking a joke, or nudging you with that mischievous grin that always made you roll your eyes but secretly smile.

He was the one who stayed up late with you when you were cramming for exams, even though he wasn’t the most studious person himself. He’d throw pencils at you when you started to drift off, only to shove snacks in your face the next moment and tell you to take a break. He had this way of making even the most mundane moments feel special, as if just being around him made everything a little brighter.

And as much as you tried to deny it back then, he had become your everything. Your safe haven, the person you trusted more than anyone else. He was the one you turned to when life felt too heavy to bear, the one who never made you feel like a burden for leaning on him.

He was your partner in crime, the one who’d sneak off with you during boring school events, laughing as the two of you got caught and had to face detention together. He made life feel like an adventure, even in the quiet, simple moments.

But above all, he was your first love. Though you never said it out loud, it was there—in the way your heart skipped a beat whenever he smiled at you, in the way you found yourself searching for him in every room you walked into. It was in the way you felt safe and seen in a way no one else could make you feel.

He didn’t know, of course. How could he? You were just kids, too shy to even admit it to yourself most of the time. But looking back now, it was clear as day: he wasn’t just your best friend. He was the boy who had stolen your heart, even if he never realized it.

You paused. The faint buzz of the voting machines around you barely registered as you froze in place. Why were you thinking about him now, of all times? You clenched your fists, trying to will the memories away, but they pushed their way into your mind regardless.

You remembered the way he shouted at you, his voice filled with anger and frustration. The argument had been sharp, the words he threw at you cutting deeper than you ever thought possible. He had been upset that you were leaving, but instead of asking you to stay, instead of saying goodbye, he stormed off.

It didn’t matter how much time had passed; the wound was still raw. He was your best friend, the boy you loved so deeply you couldn’t even bring yourself to admit it back then. And he let you leave without so much as a goodbye.

Your chest tightened as the memories overwhelmed you, crashing over you like waves. You had convinced yourself that you were over it—that it didn’t matter anymore. But clearly, that wasn’t true. The emotions you had buried deep, the hurt and the unanswered questions, all clawed their way back to the surface.

Did he hate me? The thought stung, even now. Did I mean so little to him that he couldn’t even say goodbye?

The pain lingered, sharp and vivid despite the years that had passed. You could still see it, like a scene burned into your memory—the moment he walked past you on your last day of school. His face had been a mask of cold indifference, his eyes resolutely avoiding yours as though looking at you would cost him something precious.

You had called his name, your voice trembling with desperation and a plea you couldn’t quite voice. You just wanted him to stop, to look at you, to give you a reason, a sign that he cared. Anything to make the ache in your chest a little less unbearable.

But he didn’t.

He just kept walking, his steps steady and unyielding, leaving you standing there. The knot in your throat had tightened until it felt like you couldn’t breathe. He left without a word, without even a glance. And in that silence, you were left with nothing but heartbreak and questions that would never be answered.

And now, here you were, those same feelings dragging you down as the votes continued. The sound of faint button presses and shuffling feet filled the air, each vote drawing everyone closer to an answer.

You hadn’t been paying attention to the numbers flashing on the screen, but the tension in the room was suffocating. The votes were neck and neck—X and O, tied. A deuce. The final vote could change everything. You could feel the unease creeping over the room like a storm cloud ready to burst. The fate of the game rested in the hands of the last player.

The tension was unbearable. Everyone held their breath. It felt as if time itself had come to a standstill, the anticipation hanging in the air.

You forced yourself to look up, to see who the final person would be. Your heart pounded louder in your chest with every second, the weight of what was about to happen pressing down on you. Your gaze fell on the figure walking toward the voting station. You couldn’t immediately register who it was—your mind too wrapped in the urgency of the moment. The final decision.

 But then something hit you. A familiarity. A sinking feeling in your chest.

And then your breath hitched.

It was him—.

In-ho.

Your world seemed to tilt on its axis as you watched him. It was like a punch to your gut. Your chest tightened painfully, and your thoughts scattered like leaves in the wind. You had spent years trying to push him out of your mind, trying to move forward, but in that moment, it all came rushing back with a force you weren’t prepared for. The ache in your chest deepened, and you realized just how much you had never really healed.

Your mind swirled with the years you’d spent without him. The countless nights you had stayed awake, wondering what had gone wrong, why your friendship ended that way.

He was standing there now, in front of you, like a ghost of your past. He was so close, yet you couldn’t reach him. You couldn’t understand what you were seeing. Was this a dream? Was this some cruel twist of fate?

You watched his every move as if in slow motion. There was no hesitation in his actions. His hand reached out to press the button with a deliberate, practiced motion.

And then, he voted. O.

The cheers erupted around you, but they felt distant, muffled, like they were happening in another world. You could hear the excitement rising from the others around you, the shift in the air as the vote swung in favor of continuing the game. 182 to 183.

But none of that mattered to you.

All you could think about was how the boy who had once meant everything to you was here, in the same room, playing the same dangerous game. The same boy who had walked away from you all those years ago, leaving you in silence. 

You stared at him, unable to move, to speak. It was as if time had stopped, like the world around you had turned to static. Your mind was racing, a torrent of emotions swirling inside you. The hurt you had pushed down for so long had exploded back to the surface.

You couldn’t tear your gaze away from him, your body frozen in disbelief. All you could do was stand there, feeling the weight of the past, the weight of everything that had happened between you two. The questions that you had carried for so long—about why he left, about why he never said goodbye—pushed their way to the surface, raw and painful.

Your mind raced, but your body refused to move. You were trapped in this moment, unable to escape the overwhelming emotions that came with it. There was no easy way out.

The past was alive in front of you, and it had never felt so real.

Hwang In-ho was a man who prided himself on always being in control. Every move he made was deliberate, calculated, and designed to maintain his upper hand. He wasn’t one to take risks without knowing the outcome, nor did he leave anything to chance. His sharp intellect and knack for strategy had always kept him one step ahead of everyone else, whether it was in the games or in life outside of them.

So when he learned that Seong Gi-hun, the man who had also escaped the game’s clutches once, was coming back—not as a desperate participant, but as a threat to everything the games stood for. In-ho knew he had to act. It wasn’t just about the rules or the money; it was about protecting the intricate system he had helped sustain, the foundation he had sacrificed everything to uphold.

The idea of Gi-hun winning was infuriating. He wouldn’t allow it. Not because he believed in the games' morality, but because their collapse would mean his own failure. It would mean admitting that he, the one who always stayed ahead, had lost control.

And In-ho did not lose. Not to anyone. Certainly not to Seong Gi-hun.

The solution was clear: he had to join the game.

Adopting the alias "Young-il," In-ho entered as Player 001, his plan meticulously calculated. Every detail was accounted for—his presence would be unassuming, his actions deliberate. The goal was simple: get close to Gi-hun, observe his every move, and ensure the game remained firmly under his control.

It wasn’t just about safeguarding the system he had come to embody; it was about reaffirming his dominance. To In-ho, this was more than strategy—it was a statement. A test to prove that no matter the odds, no matter who opposed him, he would remain two steps ahead.

That was his purpose. His only focus.

Or so he thought.

Everything changed the moment he saw you.

It was as if the air had been sucked out of the room, leaving him breathless and disoriented. In-ho’s steps faltered, his carefully calculated composure slipping for the first time in years. His eyes locked onto your figure amidst the sea of players, and for a fleeting moment, he thought it was a cruel trick of his mind—a phantom conjured by guilt and memory.

But no. The wide, shocked eyes staring back at him were unmistakably yours.

The realization struck him like a physical blow, an ache spreading through his chest that he couldn’t ignore. You were here. You were really here.

You shouldn’t be here.

He froze, his usually sharp mind scrambling to piece together an explanation. What were you doing here? What had happened in your life to bring you to this place of desperation and death? He remembered you as you once were—bright, warm, full of life—and now, the thought of you standing on this stage of horrors felt wrong in every conceivable way.

Memories of you came rushing back, vivid and unrelenting. The way you used to laugh, how you’d pull him out of his brooding silences with a simple touch, the way you always seemed to bring light into his otherwise shadowed world. Those memories clashed violently with the reality before him. You didn’t belong here. Not in this uniform. Not in this nightmare.

He felt his mask of indifference. The armor he’d built over years of pain and regret started to crack. For so long, he had mastered the art of detachment, burying every emotion deep beneath a layer of control. But now, with you standing there, all of it came flooding back. Guilt. Regret. Anger.

And something else. Something he couldn’t name but had tried to bury long ago.

The look on your face gutted him. Recognition, confusion, hurt—it was all there, as raw and unguarded as the day he’d last seen you. You looked at him like he was a ghost, like you couldn’t believe he was standing in front of you. That look shattered something in him, something he hadn’t realized was still breakable.

For the first time in years, In-ho felt unsteady. His carefully constructed walls, the ones that had kept him in control, in power—shook under the weight of your stare.

This wasn’t part of the plan.

He clenched his fists at his sides, a desperate attempt to regain control, to force himself back into the cold, calculating mindset he’d mastered. He couldn’t let you see how much this affected him. Not here. Not now. This was a game—a deadly one—and emotions were dangerous, liabilities he couldn’t afford.

Even as he tried to steady himself, forcing his gaze away and focusing on the task at hand, something inside him rose above the chaos. He knew, without a doubt, that he had to protect you.

It wasn’t rational. It wasn’t part of his plan. But it was undeniable. Seeing you here, dressed in the same uniform, facing the same deadly stakes, ignited something in him that he couldn’t ignore. He had joined the game to regain control, to manipulate the outcome, to ensure Gi-hun wouldn’t tear everything apart. But because the one person he never wanted to see in this hell was standing right in front of him, the thought of sticking to that plan seemed impossible.

And no matter what it cost him—his control, his plan, his very life—he couldn’t let you die.

It was time for the second game: the Six-Legged Pentathlon.

You walked hand in hand with another player—Player 222, Kim Jun-hee, as she had introduced herself earlier. Together, the two of you moved through the crowded room, searching for three more players to form a team. Your eyes flicked down to the frail figure beside you, her grip on your hand trembling slightly, and you couldn’t help but feel a pang of protectiveness.

Earlier, before the announcement of the next game, you had found her curled up in the corner of the bathroom, clutching her stomach with a pained look on her face. She had been trying to hide her tears, but they slipped through anyway, leaving tracks down her pale cheeks. The image of her broken composure stuck with you, and even now, the weight of it hadn’t lessened.

The look on your face as you crouched beside her was indescribable. When you asked her what was wrong, she was silent at first, her gaze vacant and lost as if the weight of the world was too much to carry. Slowly, her shoulders sagged, and she spoke in a low, quiet voice, each word heavy with the burden she was trying to carry. It wasn’t just about the game anymore—it was everything. Her words were a confession, a painful release of all the fears that had built up inside of her. She spoke of being alone, of how no one wanted to team up with her, and the overwhelming worry that constantly gnawed at her. But it wasn’t just that.

She talked about her child. The one thing in this nightmare that kept her going, even if only by the thinnest thread. Her mind was consumed by the thought of them. She wondered if they would survive. But what hurt the most was the months of silence from the man she thought she would spend the rest of her life with. Her fiancé, who had disappeared without a trace, left her to wonder if he was dead or alive, only to learn he was in the same hellish game. She never imagined she would have to face this—alone, scared, with no one to lean on.

Something in her tone, the hopelessness wrapped in every syllable, struck a chord deep within you. For a moment, it wasn’t Jun-hee you saw—it was yourself. 

You had been there before. You knew what it was like to feel abandoned, to watch everything you had built slowly crumble, to be left in a world where trust was a distant memory. The same fears she voiced were the ones that had haunted you—the fear of losing your loved ones, the dread of facing a future where you had nothing, and the overwhelming loneliness that seemed to suffocate every hope you had left.

Her pain was your pain, her desperation mirrored your own. You had been there—fighting for survival, clinging to any hope that things could get better, even when the world felt like it was falling apart. It wasn’t just empathy you felt for her; it was the haunting reminder of your own struggle, a shadow of the darkness that had once consumed you. You didn’t want her to experience the same isolation, the same crushing hopelessness that had almost broken you. You knew too well how it felt to be lost, to question whether you’d ever make it out alive, to wonder if there was anything left to fight for.

As you looked at her, a quiet resolve settled deep within you. You wouldn’t let her walk this road alone. You wouldn’t let her fall into the same despair that had once threatened to swallow you whole. You could no longer stand by and watch someone else go through the torment you had endured alone. You would be her strength, her anchor—just as you had longed for someone to do for you when everything seemed to be slipping out of your grasp.

Without hesitation, you reached out, your hand finding hers, cold and trembling. You squeezed it gently, offering a steadying warmth that you both needed. “Then you’ll come with me,” you said. “We’ll figure this out together.”

You weren’t going to let her face this nightmare by herself—not when you knew the crushing weight of solitude so well. You wouldn’t let her fall down the same painful path you’d been on. From that moment on, you refused to leave her side.

You were supposed to focus on your own survival, you know that, but you couldn’t bring yourself to leave her behind. Something about her reminded you of someone else, someone you had been a long time ago. You couldn’t save everyone here, but maybe, just maybe, you could save her.

Meanwhile, In-ho’s plan was progressing smoothly. He had successfully gained Gi-hun’s trust and joined his team. Together with two others—Player 388 and Player 390—they were only one person short of completing their group. In-ho kept his head down, maintaining his facade as the amiable and harmless Player 001. He had positioned himself perfectly, right where he needed to be.

Until he heard your voice.

“Hello, excuse me. Do you have space for two more?”

His head snapped up instinctively. There you were, standing just a few feet away, holding player 222’s hand as you looked at Gi-hun and the others, avoiding him altogether.

In-ho couldn’t help but stare.

“We’re sorry, miss,” Gi-hun replied apologetically. “We already have four members.”

You didn’t falter, keeping your small smile. “That’s not a problem,” you said firmly. “Would you be willing to have her instead?”

Before anyone could respond, you gently nudged Jun-hee forward. She hesitated, glancing nervously between you and the group, but you gave her a reassuring squeeze on the shoulder.

In-ho stayed silent, watching the interaction unfold. He didn’t trust himself to speak. Irritation bubbled under the surface. Of course, you would do something like this. Even in a place like this, where survival meant looking out for yourself, you were still thinking about someone else. Always putting others before yourself, even when it didn’t make sense to do so.

You never change.

And yet, despite the frustration clawing at him, He couldn’t stop the flicker of warmth in his chest. It was small, barely noticeable, but it was there. A part of him—a part he didn’t want to acknowledge—was happy.

Because no matter how much time had passed, no matter how much this place had changed the both of you, there were still parts of you that remained the same. That stubborn kindness, that fierce determination to protect others—it was one of the things he had always admired about you.

It was one of the things that terrified him.

You still carried that same hope, that same belief that people could be better, that kindness had a place even in a place like this. It made his stomach twist. The fact that you hadn’t hardened, hadn’t become cynical like everyone else—it was both a relief and a danger. You couldn’t afford to trust anyone here, not without consequence.

What if you trusted the wrong person? What if you let your guard down just once and someone used that against you? He had seen it happen before, in a way that made his insides tighten with dread. People here weren’t to be trusted, and you were too pure, too unguarded. He’d seen how quickly things could turn, how easily alliances could break, how one wrong move could be the end of someone’s life.

It made him want to reach out, to warn you, to pull you away from the people who might betray you. But instead, he stayed silent, his heart racing faster than his thoughts could keep up with.

His gaze shifted to the girl you had taken under your wing. She was trembling, showing a strong facade. In-ho couldn’t help but feel a surge of protectiveness for her too—though he would never admit it out loud. She was vulnerable. She didn’t belong here. But you were giving her a chance. You were always giving people chances, even when they didn't deserve them.

He tore his gaze away, looking anywhere but at you. He hated the way you made him feel, even after all those years. Torn between wanting to protect you and wanting to pull away, he couldn’t reconcile the two. He had built walls for a reason—so that no one could get too close, so that no one could hurt him again. And yet, there you were, slipping through those cracks, reminding him that even after all this time, even after all the distance, he still cared.

“What about you?” Player 388 asked, his voice tinged with concern.

You gave him a small, reassuring smile. “I’ll be okay. I’ll find a group somewhere.”

“Are you sure?” he pressed, his brow furrowing with worry.

You nodded, your tone firm but kind. “Of course. If you want, you can help me?” you offered, though it wasn’t a question so much as a gentle suggestion.

The male nodded without hesitation, as though it was the most natural thing to do. He saluted you with a small smile, his expression brightening as he turned to lead the way. You followed quietly, walking side by side as the two of you engaged in light, casual conversation. The sound of your voices seemed almost out of place in the tense atmosphere of the game, but for a moment, it was just the two of you, navigating the chaos in your own way.

In-ho watched the interaction unfold from a distance, his gaze fixed on you. His chest tightened as he observed the way you interacted with Player 388, the ease with which you formed connections, the comfort you seemed to give others despite the grim situation. For a fleeting moment, he found himself wishing it was him walking beside you instead of that other player. He longed to be the one you relied on again, the one you trusted in a world where trust felt like a luxury.

He clenched his jaw, his fists tightening at his sides, trying to suppress the emotions that stirred inside him. It wasn’t supposed to matter. You had your own path to walk, and he had his. But the feeling gnawed at him, more intense than he liked to admit. A part of him wanted to be the one to keep you safe, to be the one to stand by your side. To be the one you turned to, the one who could offer you something real in the midst of all the chaos. But another part of him feels like that’s impossible to achieve now.

Busy with his inner battle, he didn’t notice the curious watchful eyes of the female beside him.

Luckily, you and Player 388—Dae-ho, as he introduced himself—found a group of four not long after starting your search. Players 149, 007, 120, and 095 stood in a tight circle, whispering among themselves as they looked around for their missing fifth member. Their faces were a mix of tension and determination, but they didn’t seem hostile, which was more than you could ask for in this environment.

Dae-ho, ever the confident one, strode forward with an easy smile. “Excuse me… do you need more members?” he asked, his voice warm and inviting.

All four turned to face you both, their eyes scanning you up and down. There was an unmistakable wariness in their expressions; trust wasn’t exactly in abundant supply here. Finally, Player 120 spoke, her voice measured. “I’m sorry, but we only need one more.”

Dae-ho didn’t even flinch at the rejection. Instead, his grin widened, his tone growing more playful. “Well, you’re in luck! You see, [Name]nim here is a master at spinning tops. Quick hands, sharp focus—everything you’d need for precision games like these. How could you possibly pass on a deal like that?”

You blinked at him, both amused and exasperated. Was he seriously pitching you like you were a product at an auction? Despite the absurdity of it, his tone was so casual, so confident, that it managed to disarm the tension in the air, even if just a little.

You gave Dae-ho a small shake of your head before stepping forward yourself, bowing politely to the group. “I may not be a master,” you began, sending a pointed but amused glance toward Dae-ho, “but I’ll do my best to contribute. Please, if you’ll have me, I’ll work hard.”

The group exchanged glances, their hesitation apparent. It was weird for them, hearing a casual and almost teasing tone in an environment where death is prominent. Still, after a moment, Player 120 gave a curt nod. “Alright. You’re in.”

Relief flooded through you, and you turned to Dae-ho, a small smile breaking across your face. “Thank you,” you said, your tone filled with genuine gratitude.

Dae-ho gave a casual wave of his hand, as if dismissing your thanks. “Thank me after you survive this game [Name]nim.”

You chuckled softly, shaking your head at his unshakable confidence. “Alright Dae-ho, see you later.”

As you turned back to your new team, introductions were exchanged before quickly discussing strategies. Despite the palpable tension in the air, they seemed cooperative enough. Each player carried their own air of quiet determination, though the stress of the situation was evident in the tightness of their voices and the stiffness in their movements.

Your team was one of the teams to go first. When it was your turn, you grabbed the top and string with trembling hands, whispering a small prayer under your breath. Slowly, you began winding the string tightly around the body of the top, starting from the bottom and wrapping upwards. But as you reached the middle, the string suddenly slipped free, unraveling entirely. You froze, your shaky hands betraying you further as you fumbled to pick up the loose string.

A lump rose in your throat as panic surged through you. You knew you were good at this. Spinning tops was your childhood talent, something you had always taken pride in. But now, in the most critical moment, your nerves were getting the best of you. Tears pricked the corners of your eyes as you looked at Player 120, your voice trembling. “I… I’m sorry. I swear I’m good at this. I’m just… really scared.”

Player 120’s expression softened, and she knelt beside you. Her voice was calm, reassuring. “It’s okay. You just need to take a deep breath and focus, alright? You’ve got this.”

Her words anchored you, and you nodded, inhaling deeply. As you exhaled slowly, a memory surfaced—something that always helped you when you were scared. Turning to 120, you asked hesitantly, “Could you… could you cover my eyes?”

She blinked at you, puzzled. “Cover your eyes? Why?”

You offered a nervous smile. “I promise it’ll help. It’s… just something I do.”

With a shrug, she moved behind you and placed her hands gently over your eyes. As darkness enveloped your vision, you felt a strange but comforting familiarity take over.

“What’s up with this weird ritual you do?” In-ho’s voice was teasing, his hands warm as they covered your eyes back then. “You’re always doing this!”

“It’s not weird!” your younger self had retorted, pouting.

“Is too!” he laughed. “Nobody else does this, you know.”

“Well, I get really scared when I see what I’m doing, okay?” you’d replied stubbornly. “So I thought, ‘What if I just don’t look?’ It helps me focus.”

You smiled softly at the memory, your hands finally steady as you began winding the string again. This time, it wrapped perfectly around the top, tight and precise.

When 120 uncovered your eyes, you felt a renewed sense of determination. But before you could proceed, a familiar voice cut through the air.

“To effectively spin the top, first, you must hold the loose end of the string firmly in your hand,” In-ho called out, his voice carrying an authoritative tone. He paced in front of you like a drill sergeant, his arms folded behind his back. “Next, throw the top onto the ground with a flicking motion. Pull the string sharply to make it spin. Understood?”

You straighten your posture, snapping a salute. “Sir, yes, sir!”

The two of you broke into laughter, a sound so pure and unexpected that it momentarily dissolved the tension in the air. When he handed you the fully wound top, his fingers brushed yours lightly. “Alright, [Name],” he said, his smile softening, “show me what you can do.”

Gripping the top tightly, you turned to him one last time, your eyes filled with uncertainty. He gave you a reassuring thumbs-up and a wide smile, and somehow, it was enough to calm your racing heart.

With all your might, you threw the top onto the ground, pulling the string sharply. It spun perfectly, steady and unwavering. Relief washed over you as you watched it spin continuously.

The cheers erupted so suddenly that it startled you out of your thoughts. Your teammates—149 and 120—rushed to your side, shaking your shoulders in celebration. Their excitement was infectious, and soon you found yourself smiling, laughing, and letting the moment sink in.

“Alright, alright, let’s calm down!” 120 said, her voice mixed with happiness and haste. She led the group to the next station, the victory fueling your collective determination.

In-ho watched from a distance, a quiet warmth blooming in his chest. It was an unfamiliar feeling, one he hadn’t let himself indulge in for years—a flicker of joy, the kind that came from something genuine. Seeing your face light up with relief and triumph stirred something buried deep inside him, something he thought was long gone. He couldn’t stop himself from cheering along with the others, maybe louder than necessary. Perhaps it was his way of masking the whirlwind of emotions inside him, or maybe it was just his heart acting on its own. Either way, he didn’t care to stop.

As your group crossed the finish line. The room became lively again. You couldn’t help but laugh, the sound pure and unrestrained, even as the adrenaline still coursed through your veins. For a moment, you allowed yourself to feel it: pride, joy, and the simple relief of success.

Amidst the commotion, your eyes instinctively searched the crowd—and then you saw him, his eyes never leaving yours. The sight made your breath catch, your smile faltering for a second before returning, softer this time.

And then it happened. Your eyes locked. Everything else seemed to fall away—the noise, the crowd, the weight of the game itself. It was just the two of you in that moment, a silent conversation unfolding in the space between your gazes.

His dark eyes, cold and guarded the first time you saw them, were now filled with longing, happiness, maybe even a glimmer of pride. It was as though he was telling you, I knew you could do it. I’m proud of you. But there was something deeper, too—something unspoken. His gaze held a vulnerability that he wouldn’t dare put into words, a quiet hope that you might still see him the way you once did.

You felt it, too. A warmth spreading through you, unexpected and disarming. The wall between you, built by years of distance and unspoken words, seemed to crack ever so slightly. For a brief moment, you forgot the tension, the pain, and the uncertainty. You saw him—not as an enemyl, not as someone you had grown apart from—but as the In-ho you once knew.

His lips twitched into a small smile, the kind that didn’t quite reach his eyes but still held a quiet sincerity. He wanted to say something, you could feel it. But words were unnecessary. The way his gaze softened, the way his shoulders relaxed, the way his presence seemed to pull you closer—it was enough.

The moment passed as quickly as it came, but it left something behind. A spark. A fragile yet undeniable hope.

As you were all escorted back to the main area, you found yourself glancing back at him one last time. He was still there, watching, his expression unreadable now. But you saw the faintest nod, as if to say, Please, let’s talk soon.

Maybe, just maybe, there was a chance. A chance to fix what had been broken. A chance to bridge the gap that had grown between you. A chance to reconcile, to find your way back to each other in a world that had done everything to pull you apart.

Your eyes remained locked with his until the door behind you closed.

Player 149 invited you to join them for a chat, a way to pass the time as the second game continued. With a small nod, you followed them to their little corner, settling on the stairs just behind Player 120. The group was warm and welcoming, and soon you were learning their names, hobbies, and bits of their lives outside the games.

Player 149 introduced herself as Jang Geum-ja, a kind but sharp woman who spoke with unwavering pride about her son, Player 007, Park Yong-sik. Her love for him was evident in every word and action—she had joined the games solely to pay off her son’s debt, determined to give him a better future despite the grim odds.

Player 120, Cho Hyun-ju, exuded a quiet yet approachable aura. A transgender woman with dreams of starting fresh, she joined the games not only to clear her debt but also to complete her medical treatments. Her plan was to move to Thailand and begin a new chapter in her life, one filled with hope and authenticity.

Finally, there was Player 095, Kim Young-mi, a soft-spoken woman with a warm, unshakable belief in the goodness of others. She and Hyun-ju had formed a close bond, their friendship blossoming into a dynamic partnership that made them inseparable—like two peas in a pod, finding strength in each other amidst the chaos.

As the room began to fill with players returning from the game, your eyes instinctively darted to the doors each time they opened. Your stomach twisted with worry, though you tried to stay composed. You were searching for Jun-hee and her group, your concern growing with each passing minute.

Finally, after what felt like forever, you spotted familiar faces walking through the doors. Relief surged through you as you quickly excused yourself from the group and descended the stairs. Without hesitation, you rushed straight to Jun-hee.

"Are you okay? How are you? How’s the baby? Did you feel nauseous? Do you want me to massage your back? Or your feet? Need to go to the bathroom? Pee? Puke?—"

Jun-hee's face turned bright red as she raised a hand to shush you. “Stop, [Name]nim, you’re embarrassing me,” she whispered, glancing nervously at her group. Despite her words, a small smile tugged at her lips, her eyes soft with gratitude.

“Hey! It’s [Name]nim!” Dae-ho’s cheerful voice cut through the moment as he jogged over to you.

“Dae-ho! Looks like I owe you a proper thank-you now, huh?” you said with a laugh, the tension in your chest finally easing.

The three of you exchanged warm words, laughter breaking through the otherwise somber atmosphere. Nearby, the rest of Jun-hee’s group—456, 390, and In-ho—watched the scene unfold. As 456 and 390 moved away to sit down at their spot, In-ho lingered, his gaze fixed on you for a moment longer before he turned to follow the others.

Moments later, you found yourself joining the group, introducing yourself properly. 390, a man with a friendly demeanor, grinned and replied, “Ah, how could we forget you? Thank you for giving Jun-hee to us. She’s really skilled in ddjaki! The name’s Park Jung-bae by the way.”

Your eyes widened. “Jung-bae? Are you Young-sun’s husband?” You asked, pointing a finger at him.

Jung-bae blinked in surprise. “Huh? How’d you know my ex wife?”

“I live in Ssangmun-dong! I visit your pub often. Young-sun would always keep me company when I stopped by.”

Recognition dawned on his face. “Ah! I remember now! You’re the one who splurged like crazy that one night. You even had to crash at our place because you were too wasted to leave! Young-sun told me you were whispering someone’s name... what was it... In-h—”

Panic shot through you as you clamped a hand over his mouth, heat rising to your cheeks. “Don’t. You. Dare,” you hissed, glaring at him.

Jung-bae’s eyes widened, and with a nervous nod, he raised his hands in surrender. You slowly released him, muttering an apology under your breath as you tried to regain your composure.

Dae-ho and Jun-hee, however, were staring at you, their mouths slightly agape. Who knew the kind person they looked up to was a raging alcoholic? Behind them, In-ho’s expression shifted subtly, something unreadable flashing in his eyes. Was it anger? Hurt? Curiosity? You couldn’t tell, and the uncertainty only made your heart race faster.

Breaking the awkward silence, Jung-bae cleared his throat. “W-well, speaking of Ssangmun-dong, my buddy here also lives there. We’re best of friends!” He gestured toward Player 456, who waved at you with a sheepish smile.

You bowed politely, offering a smile. “Nice to meet you.”

“Seong Gi-hun,” he introduced himself with a nod.

“What a small world,” you said, grateful for the distraction as the three of you fell into an animated conversation about your shared hometown.

From a short distance away, In-ho watched the scene unfold, his expression unreadable. His gaze lingered on you, his mind racing. Why were you talking about Ssangmun-dong like it was the greatest place in the world? What about Gyeonggi-do? What about the memories you shared there? What about him?

He paused, a flicker of something he refused to name surfacing in his mind. Was it jealousy? No, it couldn’t be—he wasn’t allowed to feel that way, not after everything he’d done to you. The very thought felt absurd. Yet, the knot tightening in his chest as you spoke to others wasn’t easy to ignore.

A nudge from Dae-ho jolted him out of his thoughts. He blinked, realizing all eyes, including yours, were on him, waiting for his introduction. Clearing his throat, he straightened his posture and forced a polite smile.

“My name’s Oh Young-il. Young-il sounds like ‘zero one’, and that’s my number, see?” He gestured to the 001 embroidered on his jacket. Dae-ho raised his brows, impressed by the coincidence, but your gaze lingered on him, a storm of confusion hidden behind your composed expression.

You knew his real name. You knew that he was Hwang In-ho, not Oh Young-il. So why was he lying? The thought gnawed at you. Had he changed his name after getting married? But there was no wedding ring on his finger. Maybe he’d taken it off? No, no. The contradictions piled up, yet a part of you didn’t want to accept the truth. He wasn’t meeting your gaze, deliberately avoiding you. He was hiding something, and you wanted to know what it was.

The moment was interrupted as the heavy boots echoed across the room. Guards marched in, their presence commanding silence. The atmosphere shifted instantly as the square-masked guard stepped forward.

“Congratulations to all of you for making it through the second game,” the guard began, his voice monotone yet eerily loud. He pressed a button on a remote, and the massive piggy bank descended from the ceiling once again. Wads of cash began to tumble into the glass container, the sound of bills hitting each other. Eyes across the room were glued to the spectacle, greed and desperation lighting up every face.

“The results of the second game are as follows: 110 players were eliminated. Therefore the total prize money accumulated is now 20.1 billion won. Since there are 255 players remaining, each person’s share is 78,823,530 won.”

Despite the staggering amount, you couldn’t shake the pit forming in your stomach. 78.8 million won. It was a fortune—more money than you could have ever imagined—but instead of relief, all you felt was disgust.

How could you be thinking about the money when 110 people had just died? Faces flashed in your mind, the terrified screams, the sight of bodies collapsing. And yet, here you were, wondering if it was enough to pay off your debts. The thought sickened you, and your throat tightened as bile threatened to rise. When did I become this person? You had stepped into the games for survival, for a better future, but now you couldn’t tell where desperation ended and greed began. The numbers on the screen blurred as hot tears welled in your eyes, your breaths coming quicker. I’m no better than the ones who created this place. Am I even human anymore? You clenched your fists, nails digging into your palms as you tried to silence the spiraling thoughts, but they refused to stop.

You felt your body tremble, your vision narrowing as the room seemed to tilt around you. The walls felt closer, the hum of voices blurring into a distant buzz that drummed in your ears. Every blink brought a sting to your eyes, tears welling and threatening to spill over. You tried to focus—on the floor beneath your feet, the faint pattern of the tiles, anything—but it all blurred together, a haze of shapes and colors you couldn’t ground yourself in. Deep breaths came shallow, catching in your throat, each inhale fighting against the tightness in your chest. Your hands twitched at your sides, desperate for something to hold onto, but all they found was empty air. You whispered to yourself, hollow words of comfort you couldn’t even hear over the pounding of your heart. Your pulse throbbed in your ears, drowning out everything else. All you could feel was the weight of guilt pressing down on you, the silent judgment of the room—even if it existed only in your mind. You were spiraling, untethered, a storm of shame and helplessness that swallowed everything in its path.

Suddenly, a hand gently rested on your shoulder. The warmth startled you, and you whipped your head around to find its source. It was him. In-ho. Or Young-il, as he’d introduced himself. But he wasn’t looking at you; his head was turned toward the commotion among the players, who were now arguing loudly about the rules. His hand, though, remained on your shoulder, steady and deliberate.

Before you could process it, he began to rub your shoulder in slow, soothing circles. His fingers worked gently, almost instinctively, massaging the tension from your stiff muscles. You stared at him, stunned into silence. His expression remained neutral, his attention seemingly elsewhere, but his touch told a different story.

After all these years, he remembered. He remembered how you used to freeze up during moments of intense stress, how just a simple touch—steady and grounding—could help you calm down. You hadn’t needed to explain it to him back then; it was something he’d noticed, something he’d done instinctively. And now, after everything, he was still the same. His hand stayed on your shoulder, firm yet gentle, just like before.

He remembered how you hated when people stared at you in moments of weakness, so he kept his eyes elsewhere. He knew you felt exposed, ashamed even, as if everyone was silently judging you, so he never let that happen. 

He remembered how you felt guilty for needing comfort, for drawing attention to yourself, so he never made a big deal of it. No words, no questions—just a quiet, unwavering presence that said, I’m here.

And you were thankful for that, more than you could ever put into words. It gave you hope. Hope that maybe, after all these years, there is still something left between you. 

With a grateful nod, you looked away as his hand left your shoulder, already missing his warmth. The commotion around you had ended, and people were drifting back into small groups, discussing their next move. You knew you had to focus, to think through the decision, but your mind felt like it was breaking into pieces. Should I vote X? If it wins, you’d leave with 78 million won—not nearly enough to erase your debt, but at least it would mean you were alive. Or should I vote O? That meant continuing the games. No guarantee of survival, but a chance at something greater—a chance to fix everything.

You tilted your head to gaze at the piggy bank hanging above, its glowing light taunting you. Before you could fully weigh your options, a conversation behind you caught your attention.

“Oh, don’t worry. I want to stop here,” In-ho’s voice said casually.

You froze, listening.

“I should go and be with my wife at the hospital,” he added.

Oh.

It was like someone had snuffed out the flicker of hope you’d just found. The energy drained from your body in one cruel wave as the words settled in. A bitter laugh bubbled up in your throat, and you swallowed it down, shaking your head. Of course, he has a wife. How could you have thought otherwise? You felt like a fool for hoping, for thinking even for a second that those small moments meant something more.

Dae-ho’s voice broke your spiraling thoughts. “I’m telling you, we’ll get out this time,” he said with determination, tugging at the patch on his jacket like it was the source of all his problems. “A marine should think strategically and know when to retreat,” he added, giving Jung-bae a playful shake.

Jung-bae, looking utterly rattled, nodded weakly. “R-right… that’s true,” he muttered, though his nervous glances betrayed his doubts.

“We have to end the games here,” Gi-hun said firmly, stepping into the circle of your group. His eyes met yours briefly, and you nodded. It was a silent agreement, one that seemed to lift his spirits slightly.

In-ho, standing off to the side, watched the exchange with something that could only be described as malice.

Dae-ho clapped his hands, calling everyone back to attention. “Alright, let’s huddle up!” he said with a grin, thrusting his hand into the middle.

One by one, everyone joined in. Your hand landed just below In-ho’s, and you tried not to think about it, about how the warmth of his hands made you feel .

“In one, two, three… Victory at all costs!”

“Victory at all costs!”

“This time the vote will begin with Player 001. Please cast your vote.”

All eyes turned to him, including yours. In-ho met your group’s collective gaze with a calm, unreadable expression before walking up to the platform. Without hesitation, he pressed the X button. The distinct chime echoed in the room as the counter for X increased by one.

The next player—Player 006—stepped forward. Without much deliberation, they also pressed X, their vote adding another mark to the tally.

“Player 007.”

Your eyes flicked upward at the familiar number. It was one of your teammates from the second game, Yong-sik. You spotted him in the crowd, watching him lean down to exchange hushed words with his mother. Her expression was tight, desperate, begging him to vote X but he simply nodded before walking to the machine. His hesitation was visible as he stood there, torn between his choices. Then, the sound of O being chosen played, the button glowing bright blue as his vote was registered.

Your heart sank as you saw his mother’s face fall, her grief and disbelief plain for everyone to see. You averted your eyes, unable to look at either of them any longer. You understood both sides of the story—the desperate hope of a mother to save her child so they can go home and the equally desperate desire of a child to pay his debt fully, leaving his mom with no more worries.

The votes continued, each press of a button punctuating the room like a drumbeat of tension. Finally, your turn came. You felt the weight of the decision like a physical burden pressing on your shoulders. Part of you wanted to vote O, to take the gamble, to fight for a chance to win enough to pay off your crushing debt. But the thought of your group—the first people in years who had truly accepted you—stopped you. You had promised yourself that you would protect them, that they would go home safe to their families.

You stepped forward and pressed X. The red glow of the button reflected on your face as the counter ticked up. You removed your blue patch as a guard gave you a red one. You stuck it to your jacket before, giving a small bow to them before retreating to your spot.

As you walked back, you felt In-ho’s gaze following your every step. His eyes burned with intensity, but you didn’t look his way. You wouldn’t give him the satisfaction, not when you knew the truth now. He had a wife—a life far removed from you. Whatever feelings you might have clung to in the past didn’t matter anymore. You would not degrade yourself into becoming a mistress in someone else’s story.

The voting continued until suddenly, a commotion broke out. Gi-hun stormed to the center of the room, shouting for people to vote X and urging them to end the games. His words rang out with desperation, but before he could fully plead his case, In-ho cut him off.

In-ho’s voice carried an edge of anger as he stepped forward, his composure cracking. “There’s no guarantee you’ll survive the next game! Do you really want to risk your lives for a few more million won?”

The room fell silent for a moment, tension thick enough to cut with a knife. Then Player 100 stepped forward, shaking his head with disdain. “And what if we don’t risk it? We leave here with nothing but debt and regret. One more game, and we’re looking at at least 240 million each. That’s life-changing money!”

His argument ignited the room, and chaos erupted. Voices clashed, some siding with In-ho, others with Player 100. It spiraled into a shouting match, each side growing louder, more frantic.

You stood still, detached from the chaos. As much as you wanted to support your friends, you couldn’t bring yourself to intervene. This wasn’t a debate to be won; it was simply another game of chance, with lives hanging in the balance. The outcome wasn’t up to persuasion or reason. It was up to luck.

Finally, the vote was tallied. O won against X by a wide margin, 139 to 115.

Your stomach churned, fear creeping in as you processed what it meant. You weren’t scared for yourself but for Jun-hee, her kind heart too soft for the brutality of these games. You weren’t worried about your own safety but for Dae-ho, whose unwavering faith in others had been betrayed as Jung-bae—someone he admired and respected—voted O.

When the vote ended, your group regrouped, the air thick with tension and unspoken emotions. You found yourself behind Jun-hee as she ate her portion of the day’s dinner. Her small frame trembled, though she tried to hide it, her hands shaking as she clutched the bread's wrapper.

Without a word, you placed your hands on her shoulders, massaging gently to ease her tension. You moved to her lower back, your fingers pressing lightly, offering what little comfort you could in such a bleak moment. She didn’t say anything, but the way her breathing slowed told you that it helped, even just a little.

Without a second thought, Dae-ho stood up, his face conflicted as he grabbed Jung-bae by the arm and dragged him over to your group. His eyes darted nervously between you, Jun-hee, Young-il, and Gi-hun before his gaze softened, and he let out a heavy sigh.

“I’m sorry, [Name], Jun-hee, Young-il,” he started, his voice low, his words laced with guilt. “Gi-hun, I’m sorry…” His apology hung in the air, sincere but laced with discomfort.

He went on to explain his decision to vote O, his voice shaky but determined. “You see, I borrowed some emergency cash, and the creditors have been harassing my ex-wife and kid. They’re threatening them, and if I play one more game, I think I’ll be able to settle the debt. So…” His words trailed off, the weight of his decision clear in his eyes.

Before you could speak up in defense of Jung-bae, In-ho cut him off, his frustration still fresh from the earlier commotion. His tone was cold, a sharp edge beneath the calm exterior. “Jung-bae,” he started, his voice low but heavy with disappointment. “You of all people shouldn’t have done that. It wasn’t twice as righteous.”

You felt a twinge of sympathy for Jung-bae, but In-ho’s words were true. Deep down, you understood why In-ho was so disappointed.

In-ho’s gaze flicked back to Jung-bae as he continued, his words almost regretful. “But looking at the results, even if you two voted against it, we would still have been outvoted.”

“Right? So it’s not really our fault,” Jung-bae quickly added, eager to find any shred of justification. He seemed relieved, like the pressure had been lifted slightly, but his eyes flickered nervously to the others, waiting for confirmation.

Dae-ho, who had been silently observing, scratched his head and gave Jung-bae a comforting pat on the shoulder. His movements were casual, though his eyes were thoughtful. “Honestly, I get why you did it. 78 million won isn’t enough. So when I went to vote, I really thought about going for ‘O’ too.”

You nodded in agreement, a soft murmur of approval escaping you. You understood the temptation, the overwhelming urge to fight for more when it felt like everything was slipping away. The money was too much to ignore.

Seeing the subtle nods of agreement from the group, Jung-bae’s confidence grew. He straightened his posture, eager to make up for his earlier decision. “Next game, I promise. I’ll—”

“Next game?” Gi-hun’s voice cut through the air, sharp and filled with a quiet intensity. “Next game, we might have to kill each other.”

The room went completely still. Everyone froze, the silence thick and suffocating. Gi-hun’s words hung in the air, their weight sinking into each of you. He was right, and the grim truth of it was enough to stop all conversation. There was no sugarcoating it. The next round could very well be the end, and the thought was unbearable.

The quiet that followed was heavy, the dread and uncertainty sinking into your bones. You couldn’t help but feel a cold shiver run down your spine, the magnitude of what was to come settling over you like a thick fog.

Annoyed by the uncomfortable pause, you spoke up, your voice cutting through the tension. “Gi-hun, that’s a bit much. We all know there’s nothing we can do about it now. Let’s just stay focused. We need to eat, get ourselves together, and prepare for the next round.”

The group seemed to agree with your statement, the momentary discomfort fading as they all began to refocus.

In-ho, ever the quiet observer, handed his milk carton to Jun-hee without a word, his gaze flicking to her briefly before he looked away. “I don’t drink plain milk,” he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper, as if the gesture was nothing more than a small, unnoticed act.

Jung-bae, following suit, offered his bread to Jun-hee as well, his eyes shadowed with guilt. “I don’t deserve to eat,” he said with an awkward chuckle, trying to mask the heaviness of his words with forced humor.

You watched the exchange, your heart twisting slightly, but before you could speak, Dae-ho leaned in, his voice light but with an edge of concern. “I’ll take the milk carton?”

When Jung-bae shot him a glare, Dae-ho hesitated, then pulled back, not wanting to push it further.

As you ate, you couldn’t help but feel the heavy weight of what was ahead. The uncertainty, the danger—it all felt too much. But in this moment, you focused on your meal, knowing it was the only thing you could control for now.

You found yourself sitting beside Dae-ho, your bread in hand, chewing quietly as you both took a brief moment of respite. Dae-ho seemed lost in thought, his eyes darting toward you, hesitant yet full of unasked questions.

“If you have any questions, just ask me, Dae-ho,” you said, offering a small smile. “I’m not gonna bite, you know?”

His cheeks flushed with embarrassment, caught off guard by your casual invitation. But he took a deep breath, calm now, and turned to face you fully. “Do you have kids at home, [Name]nim?” he asked, his voice low but sincere. “It’s just... whenever I see you with Jun-heesii, it reminds me of my mother taking care of me and my four sisters.”

You hesitated, feeling a slight pang of discomfort as you realized the question would require a vulnerable answer. In-ho, sitting nearby, seemed to listen in, his curiosity piqued. Part of him, though, wished you didn’t have any children, that you weren’t settled in on with somebody, a selfish thought he quickly pushed away.

“Ah, this is embarrassing,” you murmured, a soft laugh escaping you as you fidgeted with your bread. “I actually don’t have any kids or a husband... I’ve never even had a boyfriend. Boys don’t really look at me like that, if you know what I mean. Life wasn’t that nice to me, especially after we moved. I didn’t have the time or luck for any of that…”

Dae-ho’s expression softened with guilt. He immediately regretted asking the question, but when he saw the faint longing in your eyes, he paused. There was something more behind your words—something unspoken, something that told him you longed for a family, for the chance to live that dream.

In-ho, overhearing, felt a pang in his chest. What had happened to you? He knew things had ended badly between the two of you, but he never expected life to treat you so harshly. You were kind, generous, and had always believed in the goodness of people. He couldn’t understand why life had been so difficult for you. You didn’t deserve that.

Before the silence could grow any heavier, Jung-bae mischievously broke it with a suggestion. “Well, if you like, I can set you up with someone back in Ssangmun-dong. Right, Gi-hun?”

Gi-hun, who had been quiet up until then, blinked in surprise, his confusion evident. “Huh? Who?”

“You know! Sang-woo! The Pride of Ssangmun-dong!” Jung-bae grinned, clearly amused by his own suggestion. “I think he and [Name] would make a great couple, don’t you think?”

At the mention of Sang-woo, Gi-hun’s face shifted. His expression faltered, a wave of guilt and sadness clouding his features. A pained smile tugged at his lips as he nodded absently. “Yeah... I think so too,” he murmured, his mind clearly elsewhere as he drifted off into his own thoughts.

The sudden change in Gi-hun’s demeanor caught your attention. His usual angry and tense self had been replaced with something quieter, a deep sadness that seemed to pull at him. You looked to Jung-bae for an explanation, your brows furrowed in concern.

In a soft voice, Jung-bae filled in the blanks. “Gi-hun and Sang-woo were childhood friends, but... he’s been missing for years.”

You nodded, understanding the pain behind Gi-hun’s words. You could relate to that feeling—the ache of a long-lost connection. You couldn’t help but feel a pang in your own heart as well. Even though the lost connection was right in front of you, and he still felt so far away.

Gi-hun’s sadness wasn’t a good look on him. He was always either grumpy or happy, never in between. You wanted to change that. You thought back to when you missed In-ho so much, you’d drown your sorrows in alcohol and chatter to Young-sun about him. Maybe, just maybe, getting Gi-hun to talk about Sang-woo could help him, even if it was just for a little while.

“Hey, Gi-hun,” you called softly, breaking the silence. “Tell me more about this Sang-woo guy. Who knows, maybe we’d click together, you know?”

Gi-hun’s eyes widened in surprise, clearly caught off guard by your question. But something in his gaze softened as he began to talk. He recounted bits and pieces of his childhood with Sang-woo, his voice lighting up with nostalgia. His eyes shined as he described his friend’s strengths, quirks, and all the little memories they shared.

From the way Gi-hun spoke, you could see how much Sang-woo meant to him. The same way you felt about In-ho, the weight of love and loss behind every word. You silently prayed for their reunion. Gi-hun deserved happiness, and you wished for him to find it—whether through Sang-woo or another way.

In-ho’s jaw tightened, a flicker of irritation flashing in his eyes. If they were going to give you a partner, they should give you someone who can protect you—someone who knows you, your likes and dislikes, your type... His thoughts were possessive— jealous. His hands clenched into fists, though he forced himself to stay composed. He wasn’t sure why the thought of you with someone else hurt so much, but it did. It hurt more than he was willing to admit.

As the conversation shifted and laughter filled the space, In-ho stayed silent, the weight of his unspoken emotions heavy in the air. The conversation ended when they all went to the bathroom, leaving you and Jun-hee alone. She wasted no time asking a question that had been bothering her ever since she noticed something strange.

“[Name]nim, do you know Young-ilnim? Like, before the games?”

You were taken aback, your surprise evident in the way your eyes widened. What prompted her to ask such a thing?

“No, not that I remember,” you replied, a small ache tugging at your chest. It was hard to say those words. “Why do you ask?”

Jun-hee hesitated, her gaze flickering down to her hands. “It’s just that… I always see Young-ilnim looking at you, or staring at you. Especially when you helped me during the second game. His stare... it was like there was something there.” She trailed off, her voice quiet, unsure if she had crossed a line. “I thought you two might know each other. Sorry if I overstepped.”

“No, no... don’t apologize, Jun-hee. You didn’t do anything wrong,” you reassured her with a small smile. “Maybe I just remind him of someone?”

The conversation shifted, and though the topic ended there, you couldn’t help but linger on what Jun-hee said. In-ho, looking at you? Your mind spun with questions that you couldn't quite answer. But before you could dive deeper into your thoughts, the group returned from the bathroom, and the moment was gone.

Gi-hun gathered everyone, asking them to bring their mattresses and bedding to your designated spot. You all exchanged confused looks but did as instructed, gathering pillows and blankets. It was clear there was something important going on, and it wasn’t lost on anyone.

As you and Jun-hee handed out the bedding, the tension in the air grew. Jung-bae spoke up. “Hey, is this really necessary? I don’t like sleeping under here.”

Gi-hun continued setting down blankets without looking up. “Once the lights go out, someone might attack us.”

His words grabbed everyone's attention, and you paused, glancing around. Dae-ho, curiosity now evident in his eyes, asked, “Why would anyone do that?”

“The prize money goes up every time someone dies. It’s part of the game they designed,” Gi-hun explained, his voice tense with the weight of the situation.

You frowned, the idea feeling far-fetched at first. But as you thought about the desperation you’d seen in people—and the way some of the others eyed the prize board with hunger—it started to make a disturbing kind of sense. Gi-hun’s words seemed to settle over the group like a cold shiver, but In-ho wasn’t convinced. “Gi-hun, I think you're overreacting,” he said, shaking his head. “Even if that were true, people wouldn’t do that.”

Gi-hun turned to him sharply, fury in his eyes. “In the previous games, dozens of people killed each other at night. Right here, you have no idea how people can change in a place like this…”

In-ho trailed off, looking away, clearly uncomfortable. “I see… I guess I didn’t know what I was talking about. I’m sorry.”

The tension between the two men was palpable, but Gi-hun, though still angry, nodded with some understanding. “We need to take turns keeping watch after the lights go out.”

“I’ll take the first watch. You should decide the order for the rest,” Gi-hun added, continuing to spread the last of the blankets.

It wasn’t long after that you found yourself lying on the bottom bed, the silence in the room heavy. You couldn’t tell what time it was, but sleep seemed distant. With your eyes closed, you tried to rest, but your mind kept wandering. You couldn’t shake the thoughts of Jun-hee’s question, of In-ho’s gaze, and of all the tension in the air.

After what felt like an eternity, you couldn’t stay still any longer. You quietly rolled out of the bed, careful not to disturb Jun-hee beside you. As you stood, you rubbed your eyes, still groggy but wide awake. You walked over to the one who was supposed to be keeping watch.

“Hey... get some sleep. I’ve got it from here,” you whispered, your voice barely a breath in the darkness.

When no response came, you paused, your heart beating a little faster. Had you imagined it? You slapped your cheek lightly, half-expecting to wake up from a dream, but the sting was real. This was no dream. You were still in the game. But who was supposed to be guarding?

As you glanced toward the guard, your breath caught in your throat. There, in the dim light, stood In-ho, staring at you with wide, almost startled eyes.

“In-ho...” you whispered, the name escaping before you could stop it.

He blinked, his expression unreadable. “[Name]... sit down, will you?” His voice was quiet, laced with an undercurrent of tension. You did as he asked, your body moving on its own, though the atmosphere between the two of you felt thick with unspoken words.

You sat there, your knees pressed together. The silence stretched, heavy and thick. There were so many things unsaid between you, so many apologies left unspoken, so many reasons left unexplained. Neither of you seemed to know where to start, but the distance between you had never felt more real. You had shared a bond once, and now it was hard to find the words to bridge the gap that had formed.

In-ho shifted slightly, as if searching for something to say, but still, nothing came. Neither of you moved for what felt like hours, both of you stuck in a place neither knew how to navigate.

The silence between you and In-ho lingered, thick and suffocating, each of you carrying the weight of the years since you’d last spoken. Finally, In-ho shifted, breaking the stillness, his voice low and tight.

"[Name], I—I'm sorry," he started, his words hesitant, as though testing the waters.

"I shouldn't have acted like that, not when you were leaving. On our last day together, I—" He stopped himself, rubbing the back of his neck, his eyes avoiding yours, searching for the right words in the dim light. "I was so angry, I couldn’t think straight. I didn’t mean to push you away. I never should have let my emotions control me like that, especially when I knew you were going away."

Your chest tightened at his words. The apology you’d waited for, yet feared to hear, was finally being spoken, but the bitterness still clung to you. You swallowed hard, forcing the anger down, trying not to let it rise again. It felt like you were walking a fine line, torn between the hurt and the understanding you wished you could give him.

"You know," you said softly, voice wavering, "I was angry, too. You pushed me away, In-ho. I never got to explain myself, to tell you why I had to leave. It hurt so much that you didn’t even give me a chance." You paused, trying to steady yourself. "I don’t know what you thought, but I wasn’t running away from you. I... I never wanted to hurt you."

In-ho’s eyes flickered, regret and guilt tugging at his expression. His hand tightened into a fist, then relaxed at his side, as if searching for the right words but struggling to find them.

"I thought you were just... leaving, leaving me, leaving us." he said quietly, his voice strained with emotion. "I didn’t know how to handle it. I didn’t know if I could let you go. But you were going, and it felt like I was losing you, like you’d be gone for good. I was angry that you didn’t even try to stay. I thought you had already made your choice." He swallowed hard, his gaze still on the floor. "I thought you didn’t care about me the way I cared about you."

Tears threatened at the corners of your eyes, but you blinked them away. This was it. The truth you’d wanted to hear, but it didn’t make it any easier to bear. The anger you’d carried for so long still clung to you, but in this moment, it was tinged with understanding.

"I didn’t know you felt that way," you whispered, your voice breaking. "I thought you hated me for leaving. I thought I’d ruined everything, and you’d never forgive me for it." You took a deep breath, trying to steady the shaking in your chest. A tremor crept into your voice as you fought to hold back the emotions welling up inside you. 

"I understood why you did it," you said, voice cracking slightly. "I understood it at the time. You were scared, just like I was. But it didn’t make it hurt any less." Your voice dropped. "I didn’t know how to feel. You were the one person I thought I could rely on, and then you turned away without a word. And I had no choice but to carry that weight with me."

Your eyes locked onto his, your heart aching at the sight of the guilt in his expression. “I spent so much time angry at you, blaming you for leaving me like that. But now... now I know we were both just lost. I didn’t know how to handle it, and neither did you.”

In-ho’s face softened, his expression full of regret. "I wish I had known how to handle it better. I wish I had been braver... for you, for us. I should’ve told you how I felt, instead of shutting myself off."

The words hung in the air for a long moment, both of you silently processing what had been said. Then, as if a dam had broken, you continued, feeling a rush of emotions that you hadn’t been able to express before.

"All those years... I kept wondering if I could’ve done something different. If I could have convinced my parents to stay. But I was too proud, too scared. And when we left, it felt like the world just... stopped. I couldn't move forward, not without you. I didn’t know how to move on. And I don’t know if I ever truly did." Your voice cracked, the weight of it all coming crashing down in that moment.

In-ho’s breath hitched as you spoke, his eyes never leaving yours. “I was scared, too. I didn’t know how to handle the idea of losing you. But I realize now... that by pushing you away, I was only making it worse. I’m sorry, [Name]. I’m so sorry for everything.”

You both sat there in the quiet, the weight of the past hanging heavily in the air between you. In-ho’s voice broke through the silence again, softer this time. “I should’ve been better for you. I should’ve told you how I felt, not let my fear take over.”

Your heart ached hearing the sincerity in his words. He was so close now, but there was still a lingering distance between you. His hand hovered near yours, unsure if you’d let him in. Without thinking, you reached out, your fingers brushing his. The touch was like a lifeline, pulling you both back from the uncertainty.

In-ho’s eyes softened as he looked at you, his hand finally resting on top of yours. He shifted slightly, moving a little closer, his shoulder brushing against yours. There was a vulnerability in his gaze now, something you hadn’t seen in him before. “I don’t want to lose you again,” he said, his voice low and steady.

Tears welled up in your eyes, and you had to swallow hard to keep them from spilling over. For so long, you’d carried this burden of unspoken words, of lost time. But now, sitting here beside him, it felt like the weight was lifting, bit by bit.

In-ho seemed to sense your struggle, his hand gently squeezing yours. “I’m sorry for everything I put you through. I never wanted you to feel abandoned or alone.”

The words were all you needed. With a shaky breath, you leaned toward him, resting your head on his shoulder. The closeness between you felt like a reunion, a connection rediscovered after years apart. In-ho’s arm slipped around you, pulling you just a little closer, as though he never wanted to let go again.

He ran his hand through your hair, slowly, gently, as if trying to calm the storm inside you. The motion was soothing, and for the first time in so long, you felt at peace. The anger and the hurt slowly started to fade, replaced by something new—something warm.

“I’ve missed you,” you whispered, your voice muffled against his shoulder.

In-ho paused, his breath hitching as he processed your words. He pulled back slightly to look at you, his face inches from yours. “I’ve missed you, too,” he replied, his voice thick with emotion.

You both sat there in the quiet, letting the words hang in the air, surrounded by the unspoken promise of a new beginning. The past wasn’t something that could be erased, but it didn’t have to define you anymore. What mattered now was that you were here, together, in this moment.

In-ho held you close as you let out a shaky breath, feeling the weight of everything you’d kept inside for so long. You felt his chest rise and fall against you, steady and warm, as his presence grounded you. After a long moment of silence, he pulled back just enough to look at your face, his expression filled with concern and curiosity.

“What happened to you, [Name]?” he asked softly, his voice thick with emotion. “What happened all of this? I’ve been wondering for years.”

You hesitated, your heart pounding in your chest as the memories threatened to spill out. But, in his embrace, it felt safer to finally speak the truth. Slowly, you opened your mouth, your voice a whisper against his chest.

“I didn’t want to leave, In-ho,” you murmured. “But I had no choice.” Your voice cracked as you spoke, the weight of your past pressing down on you. “My parents... My father left for someone else, and my mother... she just disappeared. One day she was there, and the next, she was gone. I was... alone.”

You felt In-ho’s grip tighten around you as you spoke, but he said nothing. He just listened, offering his silent support.

“I tried to hold it together,” you continued, your voice barely above a whisper. “But the bills kept piling up, and I couldn’t see a way out. I was working non-stop, just trying to keep up, but it never seemed to end. So, I thought, maybe a small loan would help... just to get by for a little while. But it only made things worse. I kept borrowing, and the interest kept stacking up. Eventually, I couldn’t keep up at all. To cope with everything, I started drinking. I just needed something to numb the pain.”

You paused, trying to steady your breathing. It felt like the floodgates had opened, and now there was no stopping it.

“After a while, it became a habit,” you said, your voice shaking. “I couldn’t face the world without it. And... I lost everything. My job, my sense of myself. I kept pushing people away because I didn’t know how to fix anything. I didn’t even know how to fix myself.”

In-ho’s hand gently cupped the back of your head, pulling you closer against his shoulder as if to shield you from the weight of your own words. He didn’t say anything at first, letting the silence settle between you. Then, his voice broke through the stillness.

“I’m sorry, [Name], I wish I was there with you during those times,” In-ho murmured, his voice filled with regret, each word heavy, like it carried all the years of silence and distance between you.

You let out a quiet sigh, the ache in your chest growing as you tried to push back against the weight of the past. The pain, the loss—it was all there, hovering just beneath the surface, but you chose to focus on what was right in front of you now. You chose the present. “It’s okay, In-ho,” you said softly, trying to steady your voice, but your heart was louder than it had been in years. “What matters now is you’re here with me, just like before.”

He was still so close to you, your bodies pressed together in the embrace, his breath uneven against your shoulder. His hand traced the back of your neck, his touch gentle, as though trying to reassure you, to hold you together. But there was more to it—something unspoken, a pull between you that neither of you had fully acknowledged until now. The warmth of his body, the steadiness of his presence, felt so right, and yet, it stirred something deeper, something dangerous.

His fingers grazed your cheek, his touch soft and hesitant, like he was testing the waters. He lingered, his thumb tracing the outline of your jaw. The tension between you was palpable, and you could feel that silent question in the air, one you had both ignored for so long. Could you finally give in? Could you finally let go of the years that had kept you apart?

You wanted to lean in. You wanted to close that distance, to feel his lips against yours and forget everything else. All the pain, the years apart, the weight of the world—it could disappear, just for a moment. But your mind raced with doubts. What if this wasn’t real? What if it was just a fleeting feeling? What if you were getting swept up in the moment, in the desperation of it all?

And then, In-ho’s lips brushed against your forehead, his kiss tender and almost like a promise. You didn’t hesitate this time. The distance between you seemed to disappear, and without thinking, you leaned in. Your lips parted, and your breath mingled with his as you slowly closed the gap, inch by inch. Your heart raced, your pulse pounding in your ears. It was all so familiar, yet so new. You could feel everything—the pain, the longing, the need. You wanted to erase the distance, to bridge the gap that had haunted you both for so long.

But just as you were about to close the distance completely, just as you were about to feel his lips against yours, something flashed through your mind. The memory of him speaking of his wife, of the woman who was supposedly ill in the hospital, came crashing back. Your chest tightened. He was already married. You pulled back suddenly, your breath caught in your throat.

“What about your wife, In-ho?” Your voice trembled, barely above a whisper. The words had been building inside you, but you couldn’t stop them. The questions came rushing to the surface. The connection, the closeness—it felt so real, but how could it be? How could you trust this moment when he had a sick wife waiting for his return?

In-ho froze, his eyes widening for a brief moment. Then, as though realizing the weight of what he’d said, his expression softened. He reached for you immediately, his hands cupping your face gently, almost desperately, like he couldn’t bear the space between you now.

“No,” he said, his voice low and strained. “You don’t understand. I lied to them. The wife... the illness... even my name. I did it for safety.” He explained as fast as he could.

“I swear to you, [Name], I wanted you. I always have. I’ve always wanted you. I’ve been waiting... waiting for you. All these years.”

The words hit you like a wave, sweeping over everything you had believed. The confession shattered your doubt. The years apart, the silence, the feelings that had never gone away. You had thought he was moving on, that he had a life without you, but now he was telling you that it had always been you. That he had always wanted you.

You looked into his eyes, searching for the truth, and for the first time in years, you saw it—his vulnerability, his sincerity. He had waited for you. He wasn’t lying now. 

Tears welled up in your eyes, and in that moment, you whispered, almost to yourself, “I never stopped thinking about you, either.”

That was it. Your hands, almost on their own, moved to the back of his neck, pulling him closer. The hesitation, the doubt, all of it was gone. You leaned in again, this time with no fear, no second-guessing. You could feel his lips, just inches from yours, and this time, it was going to happen. There was no turning back.

But just as you closed your eyes, just as you felt the warmth of his lips moving toward yours, the room suddenly lit up. The loudspeaker crackled to life, its cold, mechanical voice slicing through the moment like a knife.

“Third game will begin momentarily. All players, please get out of bed and get ready.”

The announcement shattered the moment like glass and reality rushed in. You pulled away quickly, both of you flustered, eyes wide as reality snapped back into place. In-ho let out a frustrated sigh, running a hand through his hair. His gaze, still soft from the moment, quickly shifted into irritation.

You, too, felt your cheeks burn with the sudden shift. You couldn’t help but let out a nervous laugh, the absurdity of it all washing over you. “Of course,” you muttered, voice a little shaky. “Couldn’t be that easy, huh?”

In-ho shot you a look, a mix of disbelief and exasperation. “I swear, they have the worst timing.” He shook his head, clearly irritated by how things had unfolded, but there was a trace of humor in his voice that made the tension feel lighter.

You both sat there for a moment, the awkwardness of the interruption still hanging in the air but somehow feeling less heavy. It was like you’d both just come back from the edge of something important—and the abrupt break made you laugh despite the weight of everything. In-ho let out a short chuckle too, the irritation in his eyes still there but fading, replaced by a sense of shared frustration with the situation.

You glanced at him, eyes still lingering as you both realized how close you'd come to crossing that line. But there was no point in lingering on it now—not with the game calling you back to reality.

“Guess the universe isn’t ready for us yet,” you said, shaking your head.

In-ho gave a soft, exasperated sigh, but the corner of his mouth twitched up slightly. “Yeah, well, it never really was on our side before,” he muttered, then stood, adjusting his clothes and brushing off the frustration like it was nothing.

You nodded, taking a deep breath before turning your back, to tend to the pregnant girl you had been caring for. It wasn’t perfect, but it didn’t feel quite as impossible as it had before. In-ho followed suit, his gaze lingering on you a little longer than necessary. For a moment, the room felt like it belonged to just the two of you again. But the third game was calling, and you both knew you had to face it. Together, this time.

The third game was Mingle. A game where you had to form pairs based on a number assigned and get into a room within 30 seconds. As the platform spun beneath your feet, you felt a wave of nostalgia wash over you. It reminded you of times spent playing this game with friends back in Gyeonggi-do. You remembered one time in particular, when he had gotten into a fight with a common friend, because of the said game. You laughed softly at the memory, causing In-ho to glance over at you, curiosity in his eyes.

“What’s so funny?” he asked, his voice low but still full of interest.

“Nothing,” you said with a soft chuckle. “I just remembered how Byung-hun was angry when you pulled him off of me, so you and I could be partners instead. Didn’t peg you to be a jealous kid.”

In-ho immediately bristled, though there was a playful glint in his eyes. “Hey, I wasn’t jealous. He was hurting you by gripping you so hard.”

“It didn’t even hurt!” you teased, but the corner of your lips twitched upward, unable to keep a smile off your face. “You’re just jealous.”

“Whatever you say…” In-ho muttered, stepping onto the platform. You followed him, shaking your head but smiling at the same time.

After four rounds, you all began preparing for the final one. The rounds were nerve-wracking, the tension palpable, but you had made it this far with the help of your amazing group. The platform began to spin, the music creating a frantic rhythm as it played in the background. You found yourself standing beside Jun-hee, instinctively holding her steady to keep her from stumbling as the platform jerked beneath your feet.

“What do you think the next number will be?” Jung-bae asked, his voice alert as he looked around.

Without hesitation, In-ho spoke up. “Two.”

Gi-hun raised an eyebrow, glancing at In-ho, silently asking him to explain.

“There are 50 rooms, and 126 people still alive. Everyone will need a partner, but there won’t be enough rooms. This is how they conduct these games.” In-ho’s eyes were sharp, and you couldn’t help but feel a bit of awe at how quickly he had figured it out.

And as it turned out, he was right.

2.

Everyone paused, looking around at each other, wondering who would pair up with whom. Before you could grab Jun-hee to pair up, In-ho suddenly grabbed your arm, pulling you along with him. The rest of your group—Dae-ho with Jun-hee, Gi-hun with Jung-bae—quickly followed, all of you rushing to find a room.

You spotted an open door and, without thinking, you shouted. “Over there!” You both sprinted toward it, but before you could step inside, a man suddenly tackled you to the ground. Your head slammed hard against the floor, and for a moment, everything spun.

In-ho’s face twisted with fury as he watched the man try to crawl into the room you had been aiming for, disregarding you entirely. Without thinking, he reached for the man, grabbing him by the neck and shoving him away from you.

“Get in the room!” In-ho shouted, his voice sharp and commanding. You were dizzy and nauseous, the world spinning around you, but you didn’t hesitate. You stumbled to your feet, still feeling the lingering effects of the impact, and forced yourself into the room, fighting through the haze in your head.

But as soon as you entered, something coiled around your neck, a vice-like grip tightening with brutal force. You gasped, your throat constricting as you tried to draw in a breath, but the air seemed to vanish. Your vision blurred, dark edges creeping into the periphery of your sight. Panic surged like a tidal wave, and you clawed at the hands choking you, but they were relentless. Your breath came in short, desperate gasps, each one feeling more like a plea for life than a simple breath.

The world around you was fading, your chest tightening, your limbs growing heavier. You struggled harder, your body thrashing, trying to free yourself, but the darkness was swallowing you whole.

And then—just when you thought you would lose consciousness—there was a shift. The grip loosened. The constriction around your throat vanished in an instant, and you gasped, desperately drawing in the breath you had been fighting for. The air tasted sharp, bitter, as if the world itself was trying to punish you for the terror you had just experienced.

And there he was—In-ho.

He stood over you, his face a mask of fury, eyes wild and unrecognizable with the force of his anger. His knuckles were white, gripping his fist tightly, as though the act of hitting the man who had attacked you had only just begun to settle in. His face was twisted in a way you’d never seen before. Something inside him was unraveling—breaking.

Without a moment’s hesitation, he turned on the man who had attacked you, and the sound of his fist meeting the man’s face was deafening. A sickening crack echoed through the room, sharp and cruel, as In-ho’s punch sent the man crashing to the floor. But In-ho wasn’t done. The fury inside him was a beast, a monster he couldn’t control. He grabbed the man by the neck, his fingers tightening with savage force, twisting, until there was an awful snap.

The sound of a life being crushed, broken beyond repair, sent a shockwave through your body. Your stomach turned violently, and your chest tightened, as though you could feel the man’s life draining out of him, just like your own hope of ever seeing In-ho as you once had. It wasn’t just the man who had died. In-ho had killed, and something inside him had died, too.

Your breath hitched, and for a moment, you couldn’t move. You stared at him, frozen by what he had just done, your heart racing as the gravity of the moment began to settle in. His chest heaved, each breath coming out ragged and uneven. But it wasn’t the man’s blood on his hands that terrified you the most. It was the look in his eyes. Dark. Soulless. As though he was searching for something—anything—to bring him back to the man he once was. But it was gone. That warmth. That kindness. All of it.

"In-ho..." you whispered, your voice cracking as you reached for him, but he wouldn’t look at you.

His gaze was distant, bloodshot, as though he couldn’t even recognize the person standing in front of him. For a brief moment, you feared you were losing him—losing the man you thought you knew.

And you couldn’t let that happen.

“In-ho,” you whispered again, more urgently this time, your voice thick with unshed tears. “Thank you. For saving my life. Again.”

His jaw clenched, the guilt settling into every line of his face. “I’m sorry, [Name],” he said, his voice breaking, and you could hear the remorse in every word, the weight of his actions pressing down on him. “I’m so sorry.”

You shook your head, your heart hammering as you let out a shaky breath. “What are you sorry for?” Your voice was stronger now, fueled by a strange mixture of anger and desperation. “That bastard almost killed me, and I’m glad he’s gone. I’m glad he’s dead. What’s there to apologize for, In-ho? You saved me. You did what had to be done.”

But In-ho’s gaze softened for only a moment before it hardened again, his hands curling into fists. He was still haunted by what he had done. You could see it in the tight set of his shoulders, in the way he stood, as though he was trying to hold himself together. But the cracks were showing, and you couldn’t let him fall apart in front of you. Not when you needed him most.

Before you could say anything else, the adrenaline that had kept you both on edge began to fade, and the weight of everything—the violence, the pain, the fear—settled into the pit of your stomach. You threw your arms around him, not caring about anything else. Not the blood, not the death, not the mess that surrounded you.

You held him tight, pressing your face into his chest as sobs wracked your body, uncontrollable and raw. “I thought I was going to die…” you whispered between breaths, your voice trembling with the weight of the fear you had felt. “I didn’t know... I didn’t know what was going to happen...”

In-ho didn’t say anything at first. He just held you, his arms coming around you in a protective, desperate way, like he was trying to shield you from the madness, from the horrors that were closing in on you both. His chest was shaking with the same unspoken terror, his breath ragged in your hair as he held you closer, as though afraid you might slip away if he let go.

You closed your eyes, pressing harder into him, the weight of his words sinking into your heart. But no matter how tightly he held you, there was a part of you that was already broken, already afraid that the man you had just seen—the man who had crossed a line he never should’ve had to—was never going to come back.

“I thought I was going to lose you,” he whispered, barely audible. “I couldn’t let that happen.”

You both stood there in silence for a long moment, caught in the aftermath of what had just unfolded, the weight of the violence and the fear finally catching up to you. But for the first time in what felt like forever, you knew—no matter what happened next, you weren’t alone.

After the third game, the group gathered in the makeshift fort Gi-hun had set up, each player lost in their own thoughts. The atmosphere was heavy as they processed the brutal reality of the games. Gi-hun asked Jung-bae to report the number of players who had voted to continue. The tally revealed 56 players had voted O, while the X team remained outnumbered by twelve votes.

In-ho suggested that if six players switched their votes, it would result in a tie, and seven switches would tip the scales in their favor. The tension was palpable as everyone prepared for the vote. When the results were announced, it was a tie. Relief spread through the group, prompting cheers, but their celebration was short-lived.

The guards announced that a tie meant another vote would take place the following day. Dinner was served, and while the group shared light moments to ease their nerves, the tension lingered, a silent reminder of the stakes.

That night, chaos erupted when a fight broke out in the bathroom between the two sides. The O team accused the X team of initiating the attack, while the X team retaliated with their own accusations. The conflict escalated quickly, spreading through the room like wildfire. By the time order was restored, Team X had gained an advantage, now numbering 48 players compared to Team O's 47.

“Two people died on our side,” Player 047 said grimly, sitting down. “We lost three overall, but we’re still ahead by one vote.”

Jung-bae tried to remain optimistic, his voice steady. “As long as we don’t change our minds, we’ll win tomorrow.”

Suddenly, the announcement broke the silence.

“Attention, please. Lights out in 30 minutes. All players, please return to your beds and prepare for bedtime.”

Player 047 turned to the group, his voice firm. “Listen, no one can change their mind, okay? We’ll win tomorrow. Stay strong, and we’ll make it through.”

The group murmured their agreement, but Gi-hun’s expression remained tense.

Dae-ho leaned in, glancing toward the opposing team. “Those guys are acting really suspicious. They’re planning something—I can feel it.”

Jung-bae waved him off. “Whatever. Once we win tomorrow’s vote, it’ll all be over.”

“No. Once the lights go out, they’ll attack us.” Gi-hun spoke, his voice calm but filled with tension.

The room went silent. Player 007’s eyes widened. “Are you serious?”

“Yeah, They know we’re at an advantage,” He said, voice steady despite the situation. “They’ll try to kill some of us tonight to even the odds and raise the prize money.”

“Then we should attack first. We need to take them by surprise,” In-ho suggested, his tone firm. His words were met with agreement from Player 047, who nodded and added, “We have the women and elderly on our side. If they attack first, we’ll be at a huge disadvantage.”

But Gi-hun raised a hand, his expression grim. “No. We can’t start a fight like that.”

The group turned to him, confused by his sudden objection. Gi-hun’s voice cut through the growing tension, calm yet weighted. “We need to stay calm. If we kill each other, that’s exactly what they want.”

“Who are they? Who are you talking about?”

“The makers of the game,” Gi-hun said bitterly, his eyes burning with anger. His words hung heavy in the air, silencing the murmurs around the room. “They’re the ones who want us to kill each other. They’re watching us right now.”

A chill ran down your spine as you processed his words. The room fell silent, each player lost in thought. Dae-ho broke the quiet, his voice tight. “Where are they?” 

Gi-hun slowly looked up, his gaze fixed on the ceiling. “Up there,” he murmured, his voice barely audible but filled with conviction. You all follow. His eyes seemed to pierce the walls as though he could see straight into them. “The control rooms are above us. Their leader wears a black mask. If we capture him, we’ll have leverage.”

In-ho scoffed slightly, though there was no mockery in his tone. “How are you going to fight them? They’ve got guns.”

“We’ll take their guns.”

“From the masked men?” Player 246 asked, his disbelief evident.

Gi-hun nodded resolutely. “Yes. We’ll catch them off guard. They won’t expect it.”

“That’s too dangerous,” In-ho said, shaking his head. “Even if we manage to steal their guns, we’ll be outnumbered.”

Gi-hun’s gaze hardened. “What’s your plan, then? Sit around and wait to die? Watch as they pick us off, one by one? Is that your idea of survival?” His voice rose slightly, the desperation in his tone cutting through the tension.

The silence that followed was suffocating, each player wrestling with the grim reality of their situation. You could see some heads nodding in reluctant agreement, while others remained still, their fear paralyzing them.

Player 120 spoke up hesitantly, her voice trembling. “Do we even stand a chance?”

“We do,” Gi-hun said, his voice unwavering. “If we strike first, we catch them off guard. They’ll never see it coming. The people running this game think we’re powerless, but we have the upper hand now. This is our last chance to end these games once and for all.”

“How do you plan to take their guns?” In-ho asked again, his skepticism still evident.

Gi-hun didn’t hesitate. His determination was clear, as if he had already played the scenario out in his head. “Once the lights go out, we’ll have our chance.”

Lights out in ten.

The countdown began, the numbers pounding in your skull like the beat of a war drum. You lay stiffly on your bed, your muscles tense and ready to spring. Your heart raced as Gi-hun’s instructions echoed in your mind—Once the lights go out, get under the bottom beds quickly. You must not get caught by those planning to attack us.

You clutched the edge of the bed, your nails digging into the rough wood. The seconds dragged, each one stretching impossibly long, amplifying the terror building in your chest.

One.

The lights flickered violently before plunging the room into suffocating darkness. The sudden silence was deafening. You could hear every breath you took, each one louder than the last, as if your own body was betraying you.

For a brief, terrible moment, the room was still.

The silence was suffocating, a heavy void pressing down on you as though the darkness itself were alive. You held your breath, every muscle locked in place, straining to catch the faintest sound.

Then the chaos began.

Screams erupted, raw and animalistic, tearing through the suffocating silence like claws raking through flesh. Heavy footsteps thundered across the room as bodies scrambled and collided in the dark. The sound of someone slamming into a metal bed reverberated like a gunshot, followed by the sickening, wet crunch of bone meeting steel.

The sharp clang of makeshift weapons rang out, chaotic and dissonant, punctuated by the grotesque, unmistakable sound of flesh being pierced. It was chaos, raw and brutal, an orchestra of horror conducted by desperation.

You didn’t think—there wasn’t time to think. Instinct took over as you dove to the floor, crawling under the bed as Gi-hun had warned. Your breath came in short, panicked bursts, and you pressed yourself flat against the cold floor, willing the shadows to swallow you whole.

The room was a nightmare brought to life. The desperate shrieks of the dying mingled with the guttural grunts of attackers. Somewhere close, you heard a chilling, high-pitched laugh—a sound that sent icy needles of fear racing up your spine. The stench of sweat, blood, and raw terror filled your nose, a nauseating cocktail that made your stomach churn.

A body hit the ground nearby with a sickening thud, so close you could feel the vibrations reverberate through the floor. You froze, every nerve in your body screaming as you listened to their gasping breaths turn into choking, gurgling sounds.

You wanted to turn away, to block out the awful noise, but there was nowhere to go. Even pressing your hands over your ears couldn’t drown out the terrible symphony of suffering.

The screams were getting closer. You clenched your jaw, biting back a whimper as you pressed yourself tighter against the floor, your trembling fingers digging into the cold metal beneath the bed.

Your heart stopped when you felt it—a hand clamping down on your shoulder, strong and unyielding.

Your blood turned to ice, the chill spreading through your veins. Panic seized you, and you thrashed instinctively, your mind consumed by the singular thought that someone had found you. You opened your mouth to scream, but a second hand covered it before a sound could escape.

For a moment, terror blinded you, until a familiar face appeared as the lights flickered.

It was In-ho.

His expression was calm, but his eyes were sharp, scanning the room with laser focus. “Quiet,” he whispered, his voice low and urgent, barely audible over the chaos.

Relief swept over you, so sudden and overwhelming that it left you momentarily breathless. But it didn’t last. 

A bloodcurdling scream tore through the air, followed by the sickening sound of someone being dragged across the floor. You flinched violently, but In-ho’s hand tightened on your shoulder, grounding you. His grip was firm, steadying you even as your body shook uncontrollably.

The two of you stayed motionless, his presence the only thing keeping you tethered to reality as the violence raged around you. Every scream, every thud, every awful, wet crunch seemed amplified in the darkness, etching itself into your mind. You wanted to shut your eyes, to block it all out, but the terror kept them wide open, unblinking.

Gradually, the chaos began to subside. The screams turned into weak sobs, the sounds of struggle fading into an eerie, oppressive silence. Then came the mechanical hiss of the doors opening, cold and detached, signaling that the nightmare was over.

But you knew better. It was far from over.

In-ho’s hand finally relaxed on your shoulder, and you turned to him. His face was unreadable in the dim light, but there was something in his eyes—something fleeting, unspoken. Before you could say a word, he leaned forward, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“Stay safe,” he murmured, his voice low and steady. Then, without waiting for a response, he crawled out from under the bed, disappearing into the shadows.

You stared after him, your mind struggling to process what had just happened. The display of affection, so sudden and unexpected, left you reeling. By the time you snapped out of your stupor, he was already gone.

The sound of gunfire shattered your thoughts, sharp and jarring, each shot echoing like a death knell in the enclosed space. You curled into yourself, covering your ears as tears pricked at your eyes.

Please let them be safe, you prayed silently, over and over again, the words a desperate mantra. Please let them succeed.

After a while, Gi-hun’s voice finally rang out—calm but commanding—it felt like the first breath after being submerged underwater. “Hold fire!”

The gunfire stopped.

Slowly, you crawled out from under the bed, your limbs trembling so violently it was a struggle to move. The room was a battlefield, littered with bodies and soaked in blood. Your eyes darted frantically, searching for one face, one person who mattered more than anything in that moment.

Your heart leapt when you spotted Jun-hee crouched nearby, her arms wrapped tightly around herself, her wide eyes glistening with unshed tears.

“Jun-hee,” you whispered hoarsely, stumbling toward her. You dropped to your knees, pulling her into a tight embrace. She clung to you like a lifeline, her body trembling against yours.

The two of you stayed huddled together, finding solace in each other’s presence, until Gi-hun’s voice called out again.

“It’s safe to come out now.”

When everyone was told to gather in the middle of the room, you lingered, pretending to adjust your shoes. Jun-hee gave you a worried glance, but you waved her off with a reassuring smile. “I’ll be right there. Just... something I need to do.”

She hesitated before nodding, her small frame disappearing into the growing crowd.

Your heart raced as you scanned the room, the chaos of bloodied survivors and flickering lights making it harder to find him. But then you saw him—a familiar silhouette, half-hidden in the shadows of a secluded corner.

In-ho.

He was focused, his movements precise as he disarmed a fallen attacker, slipping the weapon into his grasp. His stoic expression didn’t falter as he worked. Even now, in the aftermath of chaos, he was calculating, steadfast, and unshaken.

Your breath hitched. You knew this wasn’t necessary. You knew you should be with the others in the middle of the room like you’d been instructed. But the ache in your chest, the fear gnawing at your sanity, pushed you forward. You couldn’t leave without speaking to him—without feeling the warmth of his presence one last time.

When you spotted him in a secluded corner, hunched over a stash of weapons he was collecting from fallen players, your resolve solidified. Silently, you crossed the chaotic room, weaving past overturned beds and scattered bodies. Your heart thundered in your chest, not from fear, but from the weight of what you needed to say.

Without a second thought, you ran towards him, your steps quick and silent. When you reached him, you didn’t wait for him to notice you. You immediately threw yourself into his arms, catching him off guard.

“[Name]!” he gasped, his voice sharp with surprise as he caught you. He always caught you. His hands steadied you automatically, even as confusion flashed across his face. “What are you doing? You’re supposed to be with the others. It’s not—”

Before he could finish, you cupped his face and kissed him deeply. The movement was so sudden, so full of everything you’d kept locked away, that it caught him off guard. He froze, his lips still against yours, the cold metal of the gun slipping from his grip and hitting the floor with a dull thud.

For a moment, he didn’t respond, and you thought your heart might shatter. Then, slowly, almost hesitantly, he kissed you back. His hands moved to your waist, holding you as though you might slip away if he let go. The kiss deepened, his lips trembling against yours, and you could feel the war inside him—the pull of his duty against the part of him that wanted to stay here forever.

His lips moved against yours, his hands gripping your waist as though anchoring himself to you. The kiss was messy, desperate, and full of everything you couldn’t say out loud.

When you finally pulled away, your breath mingling with his, your voice broke. “In-ho…” You could barely get his name out.

“[Name],” he murmured, his voice low and trembling. “You shouldn’t be here, you know that.”

“I don’t care.” You gripped the front of his jacket, your tears spilling freely now. “I don’t care about any of that. I needed to see you. I needed to know you were okay.”

“I’m fine,” he said, but his voice cracked, betraying the lie. His hands shook where they rested on your waist. “But you—you need to go back. You need to stay safe. I can’t…” He trailed off, his eyes darting away, as if meeting your gaze might break him completely.

“In-ho,” you choked out, clutching his jacket tightly. “Won’t you stay, In-ho? For me?” your voice crackled with desperation.

His breath hitched, and he pulled back just enough to meet your gaze. For a second, you thought he might say yes. But then, his face crumpled, and he shook his head. “I can’t,” he said, his voice breaking. “I want to—I want to so badly. But I can’t. I have to help them, [Name]. I have to make sure they have a chance.”

You tried to hold back the tears, tried to be strong for him, but the floodgates opened anyway. A sob tore from your throat as you buried your face against his chest. His arms wrapped around you fully now, steady and grounding, even as your world fell apart.

Of course, this was In-ho. The one who always puts others before himself. The one who bore every burden silently, who carried the weight of guilt and responsibility like it was the only thing keeping him alive. This was In-ho—your In-ho. The man who had always been so much more than you deserved.

And yet, even if it hurt, you loved him for it. You always would.

“What about me?” you whispered, tears streaming freely down your face. “What about us? Don’t we matter?”

His hands came up to cradle your face, his thumbs wiping away your tears even as his own filled his eyes. “You matter,” he said, his voice trembling. “You’ve always mattered. More than anything. More than anyone. But if I don’t do this… none of us will make it out of here.”

“In-ho…” Your voice broke, and he pulled you into his chest, his arms wrapping around you tightly.

“I’ll come back,” he whispered into your hair, his voice unsteady but full of resolve. “I swear, I’ll come back to you.”

“Please,” you choked out, clinging to him like your life depended on it. “Please, In-ho, don’t make me lose you again. I can’t—I can’t do this… not without you.”

“You won’t lose me,” he said, though the tremor in his voice betrayed his own uncertainty. He pressed a kiss to your forehead, lingering there as if trying to memorize the feel of you. “I’ll come back. I promise.”

Deep down, you both knew his promise was a fragile thing, held together by hope.

He leaned down, his hands trembling as they cupped your face. His lips met yours once more, this time in a lingering kiss, slow and deep, filled with everything he couldn’t bring himself to say. For a brief moment, the world seemed to pause. The chaos around you faded into a distant hum, and the weight of the moment lightened just enough for you to feel the depth of his love. A love as desperate and fleeting as the seconds you shared.

When he pulled away, his lips brushed against your forehead, a soft sigh escaping him as if the kiss had stolen the last of his strength. “I’ll be extra safe,” he murmured, his voice low and steady, though his eyes betrayed the agony tearing him apart. “I promise, [Name].”

The promise felt hollow, like a brittle shell barely holding together.

You nodded weakly, though every fiber of your being screamed at you to pull him close, to make him stay. But you knew. You knew who he was—knew that In-ho was the kind of man who always put others first, and there was nothing you could say or do to change that.

“I’ll come back to you,” he said, and the faintest hint of a smile tugged at his lips, as if he were trying to convince himself as much as you. “You have to believe that.”

Your voice wavered as you whispered, “I believe you, In-ho.” But the ache in your chest said otherwise.

He took a step back, his hands lingering on your arms before they fell away entirely. The warmth of his touch disappeared as he turned, moving toward the shadows with quiet determination.

Your heart shattered as you stood there, frozen in place, watching him walk away. It felt like every part of you was being ripped apart, your chest heaving with silent sobs. You wanted to scream his name, to demand he turn around, to beg him not to go. But the words caught in your throat, strangled by the raw, suffocating pain of letting him go.

As his figure grew smaller and smaller, the reality of what just happened sank in. The promise he made, the kiss he gave, the pain in his eyes—they all felt like goodbyes masquerading as hope.

As the silence closed in, the thought struck you with brutal clarity. This was the last time you would ever see him.

And it broke you, how painfully right you were.

[astonmartinii]

other side of the moon - chapter five | formula one imagine

chapter five: enter stage left

pairing: fem retired formula one driver reader x ??? fem retired formula one driver reader x platonic!kimi antonelli

one big car launch with every driver in attendance - what can go wrong?

MASTERLIST | TIP JAR | SERIES MASTERLIST

whatever bright spark decided that formula one needed one big, fancy car launch must want y/n dead. here she stood in one of the many green rooms in a black dress that’s a little too tight and an absolute pain to sit down in.

on one side of the room george sits in his dressing gown being doted on five different people while he talks down the phone in a tone too loud for the crowded room. kimi, on the other hand, sits on the couch on the other side, having waved off all of the people trying to smear yet another cream on his face.

“are you just going to be haunting me all season?” george said as he hung up the phone. glaring at y/n through the mirror.

“if i’m haunting you, does that mean you did something wrong?” y/n gasps, “am i the skeleton in your closet, georgie?”

the mercedes personnel in the green room were still, almost waiting for it to hit boiling point and all spill over. george and y/n stared each other down, waiting for someone to make the next move. george steadily looked y/n up and down, not being subtle at all. y/n raised her eyebrow at the brit.

“i could get used to you in my colours,” george said with a smirk.

“bore off russell, i don’t wear anything for you. these will be seen as kimi’s colours before you know it.”

a knock on the door signalled the start of the show. george stood up and took off his robe, revealing the new mercedes racesuit for the season. the brit made his way to the door but before he left, he turned to y/n and said, “don’t get too comfortable, i have my eye on you”

“oh georgie, you always have,” y/n flirted before schooling her face, “and how has that worked out for you?”

the brit pointed to his racesuit, “better than it has for you.”

that was a low blow, but y/n was prepared to play it that way if that was the game for the season. george looked at her again, as if to challenge her, but y/n stayed silent though her stare was unwavering. she had said a lot worse about herself to herself after the crash.

with that george turned and left, calling out to alex down the corridor.

“i really don’t understand him,” kimi said, “it was only like a week or two ago he was cussing you out in monaco, then today he checks you out but then threatens you like two seconds later?”

“first lesson of the year, kimi. do not trust a word that man says to you.”

the pair linked arms and made their way out of the green room. there was a gaggle of drivers at the end of the corridor, all decked out in their racesuits except the ferrari boys who were in normal suits. the group fell silent as they all turned to see the new arrivals.

“i didn’t know it was bring your mum to work day?” alex called out as they neared the group, smiling as he came to hug her.

a french-accented voice hollered a ‘milf’ from the back of the group, y/n suspected it was pierre, but paid no mind. an offended squeak followed as y/n looked up to see max delivering a slap to the back of his head.

“i’m just dropping him off, i gotta get to my seat before i’m roped into an interview. i had to sneak in this afternoon, i swear sky sports are like stalking me!”

the group watched along as y/n leaned in to whisper into kimi’s ear, “remember what i told you. smile, be likeable and tell jokes. these people are underestimating you, let them. we’ll do our real talking in the car. good luck and try and have some fun.”

the pair did their ‘handshake’, which really was just a pinky promise, and broke apart. y/n looks back at the group one more time, smiles at max and takes her leave. just a couple paces down the corridor, a voice called out her name.

“y/n, hey!” lewis called, catching up to her quickly, “i didn’t think i’d see you back here tonight.”

“i wasn’t planning on it, to be fair. kimi is technically an adult now, but i still didn’t want to leave him on his own here of all places.”

lewis laughed as the pair looked back at the group. kimi had nestled himself next to ollie, quietly talking to each other with esteban looking over both of them. y/n caught the gaze of esteban and the frenchman gave her a quick nod before inserting himself into the conversation. the height difference between kimi and esteban was comical, but y/n was happy knowing esteban would look out for him in places she couldn’t be.

“i didn’t think you would like the whole mentor role, being so young and everything, but you seem to be doing a good job.”

“thank you lewis, but honestly he makes it very easy,” y/n looked at the group again with a fond look on her face.

lewis brought his hand to her face and made her look at him, “i thought i’d never see that look on your face again.”

y/n looked down and blushed, shaking lewis’ hand off. “i am happy. a lot happier than i expected to be, anyway.”

“i’m happy that you’re happy. i’m happy you’re back, i won’t keep my distance this time, even if you’re in the home of the enemy now.”

y/n laughed, “well i thought it was bad going back to your ex, and look at me now. so maybe they’re not as much as an enemy as you think.”

an announcement from further down the corridor cute the conversation there, lewis tries not to look bothered, but y/n can still tell.

“looks like you’re needed elsewhere, superstar,” y/n said with a wink, “try not to let charles outshine you too much.”

“he wishes.”

y/n watched him walk away and was confused. lewis had never expressed interest in her before, platonic or romantic. even when she was a young rookie with stars in her eyes, she was never on his radar. was she now? the visit in london had been weird and the way his eyes had been fixed on her since she arrived today was even weirder.

y/n didn’t really have the time to be grappling with that struggle today, not with everything else going on. the audience seemed like enough distance between her and lando, but after monaco, there was no real knowing what could happen. george was just as confusing as his compatriot, with harsh words but also a glimmer of something else too.

she needed a glass of champagne pronto.

max watched the interaction between y/n and lewis like a hawk, so focused that he didn’t realise that he had formed quite an audience. nico hulkenberg, kimi, ollie and esteban watched him try and conceal his feelings, but his face showed every thought.

“you want to make it any more obvious that you’re jealous?” nico said, nudging max to break him out of his daze.

“i’m not jealous, i just wonder what they actually have to talk about…”

“you’re not jealous you say? you didn’t even glare at him this much during 2021.” esteban chimed in.

max furrowed his brows and forced himself to look away. he already felt guilty for harbouring these feelings for y/n and now he’s faced with a curious look from kimi, making him feel even worse. he did not want to make the same mistake as lando and george had in the past. he meant it when he said he just wanted to exist with her.

“kimi, how would you feel about having max as your dad?” ollie said, hiding slightly behind esteban.

“he’s very good with the cats?”

“thanks, that’s such a glowing recommendation, kimi, thanks!”

kimi held up his hands in surrender but max couldn’t be angry at the italian - plus he did take very good care of his cats and brando. in fact, he had nearly thrown his back out, much to red bull’s chagrin, building a new cat tower so brando could watch the birds from his preferred spot. the cat had settled in well in his place in monaco while y/n had been staying, the dutchman didn’t want to think too much about what it could mean, but it was on his mind.

“i just mean i caught you googling how to make sure your cat is getting enough vitamin d because you were worried about how cloudy it’s been in monaco?”

kimi tried to backpedal, but his anecdote was overheard by more drivers, bringing them into the conversation.

“are you being for real? vitamins are just pseudoscience dude,” pierre said but isack popped his head into the circle to say, “vitamins are real? and vitamin d deficiency is actually a really huge problem.”

“thank you isack!”

“as if i’m taking health advice from a rookie,” pierre laughed. yuki took his turn to pipe up next, “i saw you eat a whole jar of peanut butter in one sitting last winter break? what do you know about health?”

“why is it gang up on pierre hour? why aren’t we focusing on the real issue here? like how pathetic max is about y/n?”

max sputtered as even more drivers joined the conversation.

“i am not pathetic. brando is practically my son. kimi back me up, doesn’t he love me?”

“he does -” kimi started defending max before charles butted in with a: “calling for help from the other son? we see how it is verstappen.”

this was a losing battle. max just hoped it stayed this light hearted but he saw lando and george approaching the group.

“max is not my dad, but i wouldn’t mind. he drove all the way to nice to pick up my parcel because i didn’t understand monaco postal charges!”

poor kimi was trying to help, but he was just making it inadvertently worse.

“this is making your pseudoadoption last year look like child’s play, oscar,” alex said, earning him a whack from charles.

“kimi is not my son, but that doesn’t mean i won’t look out for him. this is a horrible place to come when you’re already disliked. some people, not naming names, have made it clear they have a problem with him and y/n, so it’s simply my moral duty to look out for him.”

the group quietened down, looking amongst each other.

“why am i so out of the loop, who is bullying this literal child?” nico said, pulling kimi into his chest, the italian letting out a squeak as the german petted him. “so? do tell.”

for two people who were very eager to call y/n and kimi every name under the sun just a week ago, they were very silent in that moment.

“oh! we’re talking about the lovely cocktail party i threw that was ruined by lando and george!” charles blurted out, he grabbed fernando’s hand, “it was so nice, i even brought olives, but they came in spouting all this shit about y/n and kimi and seduction and older women?”

both brits scratched the backs of their necks. the cocktail party drama was not a good move from them, especially so close to the start of the season.

“it wasn’t quite like that?” george hurried out.

“you accused y/n of trying to sleep with me?” oscar said.

“you said that i was going the max verstappen route of getting with an older ‘problematic’ woman?” kimi added from nico’s side.

“you also kinda implicated yourself in y/n’s crash?” alex heaped on for good measure.

“alex!?” george and lando shouted, “whose side are you meant to be on?”

“i’m not on a “side” because i’m not fucking five, but i will point out hypocrisy and stupidity and that’s both of you. come on, it’s 2025 and you guys are still stuck in like 2017.”

“right, i feel really stupid because what the fuck are you people talking about and why wasn’t i invited to this party?” fernando said, a confused look on his face.

“lando and george are still hung up on y/n years later even though she never actually expressed interest in them, max has the best odds on actually sealing the deal and i don’t know, kimi is getting shit because he brought her back and none of them can actually regulate their emotions!” charles said, exasperated, “keep up grandpa, you’ve been here the whole time!”

“i do not have the ‘best odds’ because y/n isn’t a horse, you don’t bet on women?” max bit back.

“actually i bet on women all the time,” yuki said but when he saw how the group were looking at him he added, “ufc, duh!”

even as they were herded towards the backstage, the group continued bickering like children.

“all i’m saying is that your crush is super obvious and you need to be careful! y/n will know and will use it against you, just look at what happened with me and george!” lando hissed at max.

the dutchman glared at the brit, this really had gone too far. “can you like actually give me an example of where she ‘led you on’ i am genuinely curious,” max snipped, “quickly.”

lando immediately looked at the floor and bit his lip. max began tapping his foot with an impatient look.

“well she would be super flirty with me in the videos the team would make us film?” lando didn’t sound convinced, and max didn’t buy a single second of it.

“if that’s what you think flirting is i feel sorry for all of your ex girlfriends, you must be a horrible boyfriend - ouch!” charles was cut off by a shove from george.

“stay out of this charles!”

“i won’t stay out of this, y/n is actually a friend of mine. yeah that’s right she doesn’t hate me because i don’t assume that any girl who is fractionally nice to me is in love with me.”

“lando you basically tortured that girl her entire formula one career, do you need to do it now as well?” max said, “i think this season will be a lot easier for you if you drop this now.”

“is that a threat?”

“it’s a promise.”

all the bickering surrounding the pair ceased, tension rising in the air. the call for the mclaren boys drew lando out of his stare down with max. the brit joined oscar at the front of the queue and painted on his PR smile.

y/n had found her way to her seat, flanked by natalie pinkham on one side and jenson button on the other. there goes her plans for a quiet evening.

“so the rumours are true,” jenson said before jumping up to give her a hug, “i’ve missed you, rocky”

y/n flushed at the nickname. since her first ever race in formula one, jenson had crowned her his ‘pocket rocket’ which had eventually been worn down to just rocky. she hadn’t heard it in so long, jenson’s appearances being relegated to messages via sara or flowers that only gave away his identity with the use of rocky.

“did sky set up this seating arrangement? are you going to ambush me for an interview?”

“i can’t believe you’d think so low of me,” jenson clutched at his imaginary pearls, “and as if you can say no to me anyway.”

the pair took their seats as the show started. natalie handed her a glass of champagne and whispered in her ear, “you might need this.” well that doesn’t bode well.

the two mclaren drivers made their way out onto stage, joined by zak and andrea. y/n leaned into jenson, “i don’t understand why he insists on being everywhere, have we not suffered enough?”

jenson tried to stifle his laugh, “are you sure you don’t want to work in commentary?”

“i think it’s best i keep my opinion on these men to myself.”

the mclaren spiel followed the closely the same scripts they used when y/n still raced for them, though a healthy dose of constructors champions boasting had been added. a second questionable decision from formula one reared it’s head when nico rosberg asked his first unscripted question:

“so boys, how do you feel about the return of former mclaren driver y/n y/ln to the paddock? excited to see her?”

y/n swore she could see lando’s eye twitch from her front row seat. there was an awkward pause and y/n could feel the rest of the audience tense. even though the general public didn’t know the ins and outs of the fall out, there was definitely rising suspicion.

nico found y/n in the audience and gave her such a shit-eating grin that she almost didn’t care about the situation he just put her in.

“we’re of course over the moon to see her back in the paddock. i know i’ve harboured a lot of guilt as to how i ended up with my seat, so i’m happy that y/n can see me in action and hopefully i can continue to make her proud!” oscar said with a genuine smile, the only convincing one from the men clad in orange.

“continue to?” nico asked, “have you had confirmation of this?”

y/n’s eyes snapped to oscar who despite receiving glares from his boss, continued on.

“we spoke at charles’ cocktail party. i’ve always been a fan of hers and it was great to finally set the record straight. she was a lot more graceful than i would’ve been in her position. to be honest i was a bit of a weepy mess, but she was very supportive. i’m only slightly jealous of kimi…”

“very nice. did you get any insight on her opinion on hungary?” nico pushed, only to be cut off by zak.

“if you so desperately want her opinion on everything, you can wait until you’re on sky’s dime. this is a car launch, no? we’re confident in our car for this season and intend on winning both championships. and do you know how we’re going to do that? with the two drivers on stage right now, not one who was a flash in the pan four years ago.”

you could hear a pin drop in the venue. even lando had a shocked look on his face as he and oscar exchanged a look.

“that’s fighting talk from the man who ended her career, but what do i know?” nico said sharply but then turned to the audience, “ladies and gentlemen, mclaren!”

there was tentative applause from crowd and when y/n and oscar made eye contact she gave him a small smile. this was only the first team…

nico looked for y/n in the front row and gave her a thumbs up to which she shook her head violently. jenson burst out laughing, “well, i don’t think we’ll be having this as the car launch format again.”

“i don’t know about you but i’m throughly entertained,” natalie said, “if nico was like that with mclaren, i can’t wait for ferrari!”

the next few teams were decidedly less dramatic. y/n could see kimi and george lining up next to come on stage and she hoped the italian remembered her advice.

george walked on stage with confident strides, followed by toto and finally kimi. the italian looked out at the audience, squinting from the harsh lights but calming his features when he saw y/n. she gave him a thumbs up and got a smile in return.

“you’re loving this mum role aren’t you?” jenson said.

“you’re making me feel old, stop. but yes i would kill myself if anything happened to him, so i guess so.”

back on stage, nico had started his interview. first toto was being grilled about the hopes for the season and how life at mercedes would be without lewis hamilton. the german was clearly trying to bait his former boss into giving him a juicy soundbite.

“kimi, let’s come to you now. you’re first season in formula one and you’ve already brought in the big guns? y/n y/ln as your mentor, that’s a big statement.”

kimi looked startled and his eyes snapped to meet y/n’s. she nodded to him, urging him to answer.

“why wouldn’t i want a legend of the sport like her as my mentor? she still knows what she’s doing, and if it ruffles some feathers in the paddock at the same time, what’s the harm?”

she was so proud of her protégé. jenson choked on his champagne at kimi’s answer, “kids got balls.”

“well, well, well. you’re not beating around the bush are you? but do tell me, kimi, what’s so special about you that y/n would come out of retirement?”

“i’ll save that answer for australia, nico,” kimi said, surprised by the laughs from the audience, “but maybe i’ve just got a charm the rest of the grid doesn’t?”

“holy shit,” natalie said, “was this the strategy, y/n?”

“i told him to make them like him? are you not entertained?”

nico, for once, was speechless on stage. george huffed next to toto, waiting for his turn to talk. the german clocked onto this and a devilish smile broke out on his face.

“so george, you and y/n grew up together… do you not have charm? as far as we can tell, you haven’t spoken to y/n in years?”

y/n’s mouth dropped open. jenson was right, there’s no way this format, at least with nico hosting, was ever happening again.

“i have more than enough charm, thank you nico. are you going to ask us anymore questions about the season or is it all just tabloid questions from you tonight?”

“tabloid?! well, now that makes me think you’ve got something to hide… but as for your 2025 season, are you afraid that you might lose to an 18-year-old rookie?”

george sputtered in response, “i have no fear of losing, i just beat a seven time world champion, a rookie, no offence, has no bearing on my season.”

“that’s a big claim, george. you better hope you stick to it. it’ll be your sixth season in formula one, do you think you’ll finally be able to claim the number one driver role?”

george’s face was getting redder and redder as he tried to remain calm. he made eye contact with y/n briefly, giving her the subtlest glare he could.

“i think i made a very good case for myself for the last two seasons and toto has faith in me to lead this team back to where they should be.”

nico had a wolfish grin on his face, he was enjoying this psychological torture a little too much.

“you don’t think toto has more faith in kimi, a driver he allowed to skip an entire step on the junior ladder and is giving his formula one debut at just 18? and straight into a mercedes rather than say… a williams?”

george’s shiny mask was starting to slip. this was meant to be a fun event for fans but had descended into a nico rosberg masterclass of making everyone suffer - and for once y/n was enjoying it.

“classy as always, nico,” george said.

“it’s what i do best,” nico laughed to himself, “back to you kimi, are you intimidated at all by your senior teammate? do you think you can make a case for yourself as the number one driver?”

the italian paused for a moment, thinking to y/n’s advice - he needed people to like him.

“i’m more than happy to play a team game to bring mercedes back to the top,” he smiled to toto, “but make no mistake i’m here to win and i won’t just step aside without good reason.”

“well, this is a duo i’ll be watching closely this season. mercedes!”

the trio shuffled off of stage and y/n let out a sigh of relief, she could throw back as much champagne as she wanted now.

another couple of teams made their way past nico’s questioning, but as nico hulkenberg and gabriel bortoleto made their way off of the stage the audience held their breath. next was ferrari.

charles, lewis and fred vasseur made their way on stage, and as has become classic fashion, lewis situated himself as far from nico as possible.

“welcome, welcome. a different line up this year and much to think about, do you think you can finally bring the championship back to italy?”

fred started on what was likely a pre-written script and y/n tuned out for a second. the ferrari boys looked nothing short of glamorous in their tailored black suits with the yellow of the ferrari logo popping on the left breast. both men looked assured, no nerves, just pure confidence - the type of confidence that draws you to a person.

y/n caught lewis’ eye and he gave her a quick wink, something that did not go unnoticed by jenson beside her.

“what was that all about, rocky?” jenson whispered. y/n kept looking forward, ignoring jenson’s stare burning into the side of her head. the brit kept poking her, “i’m not going to stop until you answer me!”

y/n batted his hand away, “i don’t know what you’re talking about old man, leave me alone!”

“i saw that, hell, the whole place saw that! you are aware that is a man 14 years your senior!”

y/n downed her champagne and whispered to jenson, “listen, i don’t know what the fuck is happening! he came to my apartment and he’s being really nice? i don’t know?!”

jenson looked between the two and grabbed his own champagne. “i was teammates with that guy! you might be a grown up now but he’s really old!”

y/n slapped a hand over her mouth to stop her laughing out loud. jenson did have a point. was lewis actually flirting with her or was he just being nice? was she falling into the same headspace that lando and george were in with her?

“i am not going to get with lewis, jens. he’s just being nice, that’s all. now shut up i want to see if nico makes the brocedes breakup all of our problem.”

nico had finished his interrogation of charles and set his sights on his former teammate. y/n grabbed jenson’s hand in anticipation.

“so lewis, new team, new you? how do you feel coming into a team where charles has dominated for the last five years?”

lewis gives nico a forced smile, “i am excited for the challenge. there’s a lot of changes coming into this season, people leaving and new faces. it’s best to face a challenge head on rather than running.”

“you didn’t run from mercedes? you didn’t want to stick it out and retire with the team that gave you so much success?”

“you’d know all about running wouldn’t you nico?”

y/n dropped her glass of champagne and the rest of the audience gasped but nico did not look phased at all.

“i am happy with my decision, time will tell if you’ll be happy with yours. charles dealt with sebastian, don’t think he’ll roll over for you.”

charles looked like he wanted to be anywhere else but on stage and fred’s face would tell you he’s at the gallows rather than a car launch.

“was in your brief today to make the vibes in here as rancid as possible? as i said i am excited for the season ahead and nothing you can say today will change that.”

lewis took the lead and left the stage, leaving nico alone with a pleased look on his face. the german found y/n’s gaze again and wiggled his eyebrows. if there was ever a man you need to take the heat off of you, he was the one.

there was one final team to go and this entire nightmare of a night would be over. the final team was none other than red bull - nothing could possibly go wrong here could they?

christian, like the other team principals, started with a long-winded spiel that said a whole lot of nothing. y/n smiled widely when she caught max’s eye and he responded with an eye roll directed at christian’s rambling. the dutchman, for a second, had forgotten he was in fact on stage in front of thousands. the pair stare at each other and bite their lips to keep the laughs in.

jenson leaned in again, “not to keep questioning you, but what is happening here? and don’t lie, i know he’s the only one you kept in contact with and who you have been staying with in monaco.”

“it’s nothing! it’s something? i don’t know what it is? we’re just existing together. i think romance in the paddock is the worst thing for me right now. i need to be fully focused on kimi.”

“first of all - we’re exisiting together? that’s so fucking gross. and two - you’re still allowed to have fun?” jenson wiggled his eyebrows.

“not everyone can be the playboy of formula one, stud.”

“true. i’m not sure you have the devilishly good looks to be a playboy - hey”

y/n snatched his glass of champagne and turned back towards the stage just as max took to the microphone.

“so max, do you think there’s a chance of a fifth title in a row?”

max laughed in his signature way, “here i thought you’d gotten all of your aggression out with lewis. we’ll have to see how we line up against the other teams, but you always have to believe you can win every single race, so that’s what i’ll continue to do.”

a quick glance from nico told y/n that her peaceful night hadn’t started just yet.

“you’ll finally have your best friend back in the paddock, are you still excited even though she’ll be in mercedes uniform?”

“i think toto has another thing coming if he thinks she’ll be wearing that ugly uniform,” max said, “but it makes no difference to me what garage y/n is in, we’re like magnets, you can’t keep us a part for long.”

nico hummed, “is that why you were the only one she kept in contact with after the crash?”

“yes? it’s mostly because we’re best friends but also because i’m a decent human being.”

oh fuck.

“how do you mean, max?”

christian tried to butt in, “i don’t think we need to go into that here.”

“oh i’m more than happy to, and nico has been stirring all night, what’s just a little more to add to the pot?”

you could almost hear the audience shuffling to the edge of their seats and for the first time that evening, y/n felt some of the cameras on her. she gave them a small wave and hoped they would pan back to the actual action.

“all i’m saying is that there are a lot of victim complexes in the paddock, it’s full of people who would rather say ‘i don’t know why she doesn’t talk to me?’ rather than do some actual introspection. y/n will talk to you if you’re not an asshole, just as kimi.”

“so you’re saying there’s a truth to the rumours?”

“which rumours? you know, since your employers like to report on so many?”

nico chuckled, “well, the rumours that perhaps the brits in the paddock didn’t get on as well as we were led to believe?”

max smiled, “well, that’s not my story to tell, but i’ve found that if you ask them, they’re more than happy to give you the scoop.”

for a moment, y/n’s heart stopped, fearing that nico would take this as the chance to bring her into the fray. max seemed to sense this as well and added, “but as for me, i’m just happy she’s back in any capacity. i’ve missed my partner in crime.”

“have you spoken about formula one in her break at all? you won all four of your titles in that time?”

“i know she watched it, but we haven’t spoken about it. i respected her boundaries at the time, but i knew she was watching based on some suspiciously timed texts.”

nico laughed, “i’m not sure we can ever stay away from this sport for long.”

“i’m glad that is the case,” max said, more to himself than anyone else.

the red bull boys were ushered off of the stage as nico delivered his closing remarks and announced the musical guests.

“he’s glad that’s the case? oh he’s in deep,” jenson gasped, “you can’t tell me that’s nothing, i rebuke it right this second.”

y/n sighed, standing and heading to the backstage bar. “i really don’t want to think about it jenson.”

“but you’re staying at his house, he’s building shit for your cat and gushing about you on stage!”

“i am well aware, but i don’t really know what you want me to do about that?”

“i want you to get your man and let him treat you how you’re supposed to be!”

y/n picked up another glass of champagne, talking the biggest sip before replying to jenson.

“you’re just as bad as the girls on twitter sometimes.”

kimi bursts through the doors, back in his comfy clothes, and rushes over to y/n. she wraps the italian into a hug.

“i’m so proud of you!”

kimi blushes, rocking back and forth on his feet, “thank you, y/n! i’m so glad we’ve got this out of the way i’m ready to race now!”

jenson laughed along side them, “an eager one, this one. i remember when i had that much energy.”

the rest of the drivers flooded into the room, grabbing drinks or just taking a seat. max, much like kimi, made his way straight to y/n, also pulling her into his chest. he whispered in her ear, “i’m sorry i got carried away talking about you, i just can’t help myself.”

y/n can’t help but feel the butterflies in her stomach at the confession. she was really trying to keep her feelings out of her return to formula one, but seeing max like this was putting a real spanner in the works. the dutchman’s protective nature along side his intense respect for her made her feel special for the first time since the crash.

“i take no offence, maxy. i’ll never say no to a compliment, especially from you.”

the group moves away from the bar and as they settle into their seats backstage, max’s arm wraps around her waist. y/n knew she shouldn’t do it, not here in front of everyone but that’s what her heart wanted. the first few weeks into her return and all the drama was wearing on her and they hadn’t even made it to the paddock yet. she snuggled into max’s side, letting the dutchman brush her hair out of her face.

“y/n?” kimi said from the other side of her, “i’m really happy you’re here, and i hope you’ll let yourself have this,” kimi motioned to max, who was deep in conversation with jenson.

“don’t you worry about that, kimi.”

“you’ve punished yourself for years, please don’t keep telling yourself that you’re not allowed this. also don’t wait up for me, i’m going to crash at ollie’s”

kimi said as his departing gift as he went to catch up with ollie and watch some of the music. y/n let herself relax back into max’s hold and her eyes close, all of the pent up stress of the evening rushing out.

“are we really that boring?” jenson asked.

“do you want to get out of here, y/n?” max asked, when y/n flopped further onto him, he took that as his answer.

grabbing her bag, max took y/n’s hand in his and pulled her from the seat. the pair exchanged hugs with jenson and made a quiet exit from backstage. they tried to be as subtle as possible, but nothing is ever secret in formula one.

jenson slid in beside lewis at the bar.

“you want to tell me what your plan is with her?”

lewis looked at his former teammate in confusion.

“i saw that wink and i know you were flirting with her when you went to her apartment. what’s the plan, you’re 14 years older than her?”

“i don’t have a plan? i felt bad about how i was when she was in formula one, i’m just trying to make her feel welcome again.”

“and winking at her at a televised event is definitely going to help?”

lewis scoffed, “i don’t really like what you’re implying.”

“i’m implying that you need to watch your step, seriously. the vultures are just waiting for her to make one wrong step, don’t give them an excuse to call her a gold digger or anything along those lines.”

“and what if i said i did like her?”

“i’d ask you if you actually know her? you didn’t speak to her after the crash, you didn’t speak to her when she was in the sport so i’m confused to where this would have come from?”

“you can drop the dad act jenson, i’m just being friendly. it looks like max got in there first anyway.”

jenson hummed, “not everything is a competition.”

y/n and max climbed into max’s hire car for the weekend and finally let themselves breathe.

“that was a lot,” y/n said, slipping off her heels, “nico really was out for blood.”

“i found it entertaining, but that usually is a death wish for anything in formula one.”

the pair laughed, and as max turned the ignition, y/n’s taylor swift playlist crackled into life.

“are you heading back to your hotel or do you want to crash at mine?” y/n asked as she put her address into the gps, despite max knowing nearly every route across london to her apartment.

“a chance to avoid team duties for as long as possible? count me in!”

“so you don’t want to spend more time with me? just want to avoid your team?”

max placed his hand on her thigh, “you know i always want to spend more time with you.”

the streets were relatively clear at this time with the event still in swing. max weaved through traffic as they entered west london. the dutchman nestled his car in y/n’s spot for her pink cadillac that was still in monaco. y/n started to fiddle with her heels to put them back on, but max stopped her.

he walked round to her side of the car and picked up her up bridal style. y/n giggled and wrapped her arms around max’s neck. the pair made their way up to her apartment as fast as possible, but made sure to say hi to frank who not so subtlety gave y/n a thumbs up and a wink.

the apartment was quiet without the meows of brando who was also back in monaco with jimmy and sassy. max stopped in the kitchen to pour two glasses of water but y/n went ahead to the bathroom to wash off the grime of the event.

she slipped into bed dressed in her pjamas that consisted of some old gym shorts and one of max’s toro rosso shirts. the dutchman knocked on her door.

“come in, maxy.”

max made his way into the room, placing the glass of water on her beside table. he sat on the edge of the bed, “good night, try not to dream of me too much.” the dutchman leaned down to give her a kiss on the forehead before moving back towards the door.

“max?”

“yes?”

“will you stay with me?”

“always.”

max got under the covers and tentatively reached out to her. sensing the apprehension, y/n turned over and tucked herself under max’s chin. his arms snuck around her waist and for the first time in three years, y/n finally slept peacefully without the images of her crash.

fin.

note: sorry this took so long, i've been a bit of a writing rut but i'm back!

taglist: @folkloresreputation @hc-dutch @shimmermotorsport @96mcobo @eclipsedcherry @formulaal @czennieszn @gothicwidowsworld @emily-b @suns3treading @henna006 @kazgirl20 @anotherapollokid @littlegrapejuice @daemyratwst @annimausi @yawn-zi @lulu-1998 @xsilkesworld @justaf1girl @daddyslittlevillain @evans-dejong @abq654 @elizamoe133 @wierdflowerpower @t1nkerbel1 @okcurran @raizelchrysanderoctavius @skepvids @multilovebot @fernandoalonso14 @jules-kup-172 @m4xgirlie @rorabelle15 @minkyungseokie @formula1-motogpfan @peterholland04 @miureiz @freyathehuntress @lighttsoutlewis @aleatorio1234 @chaosandevelyn@blueberry648579@dog-and-cat-person230@fastandcurious16@obxstiles@cosmicwintr@becca388510@savagittariuspy@tibadi @thisbitxhs-blog @finn-dot-com @scenesofobx @moofilms @alilstressyandlotdepressy @nana-love-bugzzz @mayax2o07 @obsessed-fan-alert @1-queenofpotatoes-1 @jajouska @poppysrin @mimimarvelingmarvel @jiyumie @heeseungthel0ml 

[melminli]

Dirty Cash (Money Talks)

summary - you had nothing against your colleague, but you weren't stupid enough to be fooled by his innocent smile and appearance since you knew exactly what kind of corrupt person was hiding behind that costume. after all, you were wearing the same one.

pairing: (gong yoo/ji-cheol) the salesman x fem. recruiter reader

word count: 1.4k

contains: talk about gambling + death and murder, sexual tension?, crack and just evil morals tbh

a/n: i watched maybe the first fifteen minutes or so of bullet train, but i thought of the two funny dudes from it while writing this bcuz their dynamic was funny af. also, i will use the actor's name in this fic since the character itself doesn't really have an official one that was mentioned in the series!

You straightened your tie with your free hand while watching your train approach from the side. The station was always pretty empty at this hour, which saved you the jostling and squeezing as you entered. After that, you sat down comfortably with a light sigh - next to the free seat beside your devilishly handsome colleague. “Are you alright? Don't tell me that you had a exhausting day?” he asked you worriedly with his typical innocent smile on his face but you've known the guy for a while now and you knew exactly how dishonest he sounded right now.

You returned his gaze for a second, uninterested, before turning it back in front of you to observe your surroundings from the window. “Exhausting day? Don't make fun of me or I'll punch you in the face,” you replied monotone and Gong Yoo didn't doubt your statement for a second - or Ji-cheol as you preferred to call him since you weren't a big fan of nicknames. “I had a great time punching those bastards in the face one by one. It feels kinda therapeutic, so I'm actually feeling pretty good right now,” you told him, talking about the subject as if you were talking about the weather.

Your colleague grunted with delight at your good news. “And I would never disagree with you on that.” he said and then just watched your figure silently for a while before speaking up again. “Since you're in such a good mood, would you be willing to play a more private game between the two of us?” he suggested, making you look at him in utter disbelief.

“A private game? With you?” you repeated, amused and laughed in his face. “Hell, no. But don't worry, I'll let you know next time I want to get totally screwed by a freaky pervert,” you added, your voice dripping with sarcasm. Which will be, never.

“Come on, don't be like that,” he asked you sweetly. As sweet as the wolf who pretended to be the mother of the seven little goats before he ate them all one by one. “It's just a tiny, harmless game. It's been so long since we've played anything together.” he complained to you earnestly as if you actually cared, and you didn't.

Yeah, you remembered the last time very clearly, even if you would much rather prefer that you didn't. You hummed. “Is that so? Huh. I mean, it could be because you almost killed me in a fucking game of tic-tac-toe the last time, but that's just a theory.” You said with a shrug, clearly still resenting him for that. However, he just rolled his eyes unaffected by your grudge. “But you didn't, right? It was the other guy who got the bullet in his head.” He replied, not even remembering his name. Not that he had to.

You just glared at him while you rubbed your forehead. “Yeah, maybe. But I'm tired of risking my life just because it makes you horny and you can jerk off to it.” You made your feelings on the matter clear. “You know that the whole living on the edge of death thing isn't really my cup of tea. At least try to understand me a bit here, too.”

I suppose she's not entirely wrong, I could give it a try. I never thought about it like that before, did I? He thought to himself in his head as he ran his tongue over the back of his teeth while he pondered. How selfish of me. “So what exactly do I have to do, to convince you?” He asked you while he already had a few ideas in mind.

You grinned. “You know that very well, don't play dumb.” You demanded as you leaned closer to him so that he could hear what you were singing softly. “Money talks, money talks - dirty cash, I want you, and dirty cash, I need you, oh ~”

He raised an eyebrow, not particularly surprised. “So you want to play for money?” He repeated it, not outright rejecting your request. “Don't you have enough of that already? You're really insatiable when it comes to cash and now you want mine, too?” he joked just to get you worked up.

Though, you didn't get the slightest bit offended by what he said. “Can you ever have enough money? Besides, I'm not forcing you to give it to me, am I?” you said with a smile, already knowing that he would agree to your terms. “But if you want me to play with you, I want eight million won for every round I win.”

She's so greedy for someone who is already more than wealthy. “Aren't you exaggerating a bit? Most people don't earn that much in a month,” he continued his act of - whatever this was - because he just loved arguing with you.

“So? We both have the same salary, I know you can afford it,” you said, holding a hand in the air as soon as you felt that he wanted to stretch this unnecessary conversation even more. “You have to decide now what you want to do or I withdraw my proposal again.”

Gong Yoo closed his mouth and started grinning even wider. “You don't even want to know what kind of game I want to play?” he asked curiously, nodding and accepting whatever you wanted as soon as he saw that you actually weren't interested. You couldn't even imagine how gladly he gave in to you at this moment. “All right, I agree with your request.”

You stood up with your briefcase in hand after your station was announced. “Good. Text me when you have something in mind, I'll be there as long as it fits timewise.”

Your colleague continued to watch you with a look on his face that used to make you more than just uncomfortable back in the day - though, it didn't even bother you in the slightest now. “You don't want to accompany me to the...office?”

You smiled while the train started to slow down. “Au revoir, Ji-cheol.” you just said your goodbye to him and stepped out of the doors. You didn't even spare the poor guy a second glance when he waved his hand at you from the window. She can be so heartless sometimes, he thought to himself, even if you were like this pretty much all the time. I'll have to think of something good to ask for in return should I win. I'm definitely not going to hold back when there's this much money at stake.

You didn't give a second thought to anything as you made your way home after a day's work like any normal citizen would do. However, your steps slowed considerably when you noticed a beggar in your field of vision and even though the rest of the crowd ignored the man and his entire existence, you couldn't help but focus your full attention on him. You looked at your watch, I've been off work for a while now. But even then, you couldn't help but notice that he was one of the people on your list to recruit for the game. He'll still be here tomorrow, but I don't mind another round of Ddakji. I love money more than anything - but I'm not doing this job for only that.

“Excuse me,” you spoke to the man with a polite smile on your face, and he only submissively avoided your gaze as he listened to you. After all, one rarely approached people like him and why would they? He held his cup of loose change out in front of him, probably expecting you to give him a small donation, but you wanted to give him so much more than that. Even if the guy didn't know it right now - you wanted to give him another chance in life, so that he wouldn't continue to be just a miserable failure.

You ignored his donation cup. “I was wondering if you might have a moment because I'd like to make you an offer,” you continued politely and the man met your gaze at that. Yeah, you were really looking forward to what was about to happen - after all, you were known for letting your opponent only win if you allowed them to.