#( save ) / ✦ you were just speaking from your heart .

[celestie0]

gojo satoru x reader | fake marriage au [18+]

in holy matriphony ch7. if u wanna get groceries

ᰔ pairing. fake marriage au - neighbor&realtor!gojo x nurse!reader (ft. choso x reader & suguru x reader)

ᰔ summary. gojo satoru is your extremely annoying next-door-neighbor who you're pretty sure is the most insufferable man you've ever met. given the fact that you exclusively work the night shift at a chaotic emergency dept, just got broken up with your boyfriend of seven years, and have been taking care of your sick mother ever since her multitude of diagnoses, yet somehow your neighbor is the main source of stress in your life should speak volumes. but when your mother's medical bills start to skyrocket to more than you can manage, and you learn that said neighbor of yours has the best private health insurance plan in the country, you ask him to enter a matrimonial agreement with you for the spousal benefits all in the name of saving a few hundred thousand dollars. but you'll have to see if suffering cohabitation w him is worth any amount of money.

ᰔ genre/tags. fluff, smut, angst, enemies to lovers (sort of), annoyances to lovers (that's more like it), small town romance, fake marriage, next door neighbors, lots of bickering, suburban shenanigans, slow burn, mutual pining, gojo likes to play house but you don't, hatred for the american healthcare system, gojo always forgets to mow the lawn, jealousy, an insane amount of profanity, mentions of cigarettes, depression/anxiety; btw gojo in this fic is in his mid 30s n reader is in her late 20s

ᰔ warnings. reader in this fic has a sick mother w alzheimer's & cancer so there is secondary medical angst!!

ᰔ chapter. 7/x

ᰔ words. 10.3k

a/n. hiii my ihm darlings!! i don't have much to say in this beginning author's note haha but i have some author's notes at the end if you want to read them. but anywho hope you enjoy this chapterrr :)

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Ovulation is a very scary thing.

You can imagine many great women have had their lives greatly affected by this phenomenon. 

This biological release of an egg into the fallopian tubes, simply desiring to be fertilized.

Women who have had their hearts set on their dreams, aspirations, full speed ahead towards the finish line on the other end,

Only to be dragged back by–

You shudder to even mention.

Attraction to a man. 

So horrible.

So insane.

So humiliating.

And yet so–...

So natural.

Unfortunately.

You’re pretty sure Sabrina Carpenter has a song about it.

This is what you think of as you lean over the kitchen island, perched up on your elbows as you eat a peach, staring straight ahead at a certain fake husband who is seated on the couch. 

He’s looking at the TV, watching some SNL skit he didn’t get to finish last weekend, tilting his head side to side with his grey sweatpant clad legs stretched out onto the coffee table in front of him, crossed at the ankles. He’s got a can of Celsius he’s swirling around with a loose grip, his elbow up on the cushion for a more lax resting state (which unfortunately also flexes his bicep very sexily from the positioning), and he doesn’t really seem particularly amused by what he was watching. And for some reason, it was hot.

You tilt your head to the right, watching him like a predator from across the hall, chewing down on a particularly juicy piece of peach that bursts its juice in your mouth, and you curse the fact that all you can think about right now is sex.

Sex.

When was the last time you had sex?

You postulated a little over a month ago when you and Choso were still together.

Granted, you’ve been too busy and overwhelmed and overstimulated with all the recent happenings of late to provide your own self with any sort of relief.

And God, it was showing.

Showing in the way that, no matter what, you can’t seem to shake the idea of wanting to sit in Gojo’s lap and be the second reason he never gets to finish watching that SNL skit. 

Maybe it will help.

Maybe sitting in a man’s lap right now would heal you.

You set the now naked seed of peach down on the counter before straightening yourself up and walking around the kitchen island towards the living room. Gojo’s eyes don’t flicker to you until you’re well in his periphery, and when he looks up at you, he straightens himself up on the couch with curious wide eyes and drags his feet off the coffee table to plant his feet on the rug.

You pull your grandma nightgown up to your knees so that you can sit in his lap, surprise evident on his face as he watches your every movement before you’re comfortably seated on him with your hands on his shoulders.

“Fuck me,” you tell him.

“Wh–” he stutters, “I’m sorry, I could’ve sworn you just told me to fuck you.”

“That’s exactly what I said.” The heels of your hands press into his chest further to the point where it has to hurt. 

“Is this a prank,” he asks as his hands fall to hold your hips on reflex.

You sigh, shifting around on his thighs. “Can you just do it already before I change my mind?”

“Wow. That’s the most romantic thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

You roll your eyes. “Alright. I’ve changed my mind.”

You push off of his shoulders and stand up on one leg, ready to get up and away from him to find some other way to satisfy your desperate desire for a penis, but he reaches out to grab your wrist.

“Heyyy wait wait wait,” he says, pulling you back into a seat on his lap. “Why do you want to have sex all of a sudden?”

You exhale slowly, twiddling with your thumbs as you look at him. “You said it yourself the other day,” you say, “good way to relieve stress.”

“And you’re not gonna kill me afterwards?”

“Umm no promises?”

“Look, as much as I’d like to take you up on the offer, a part of me thinks you’re making a…rash decision here.”

“Oh my fucking god who cares if I am?? Maybe I just wanna fuck for the sake of fucking?? What’s the big fucking deal??”

“The big deal is that, knowing you, you’re not going to speak to me or look me in the eye for three weeks if I let you go through with something you’re not a hundred percent on.”

Your shoulders sulk a little. You thought this would be an easy yes, where he tears your nightgown off and then ravishes you whole on this couch with every primal caveman instinct that’s encoded in his XY chromosome DNA. This was supposed to be spontaneous and sexy…not a candid conversation.

The thought flashes through your head that maybe he thinks that you’re just trying to use him.

“I want to have sex with you,” you clarify. And then a pause. “I think.” You pause for a moment again. “I’m, like, pretty sure.”

He slides you back to where you’re sitting closer to his knees than to his groin, and then fully leans back onto the couch before tucking his hands behind his head like he was physically putting himself in cuffs to prevent himself from touching you any further. “Tell you what. Let’s circle back in an hour, and if you still want to, then sure.”

“I cannot believe how diplomatic you’re being about this.”

“Well isn’t this whole thing between us a diplomatic agreement? That’s what you said to me when we got fake engaged.”

“That–” you blink at him, not expecting those words to eventually be used against you, “...whatever.”

“Also, what happened to the no sex rule?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He grins and leans forward, both of his elbows settling onto the top of the cushion behind him, and you’re proud of yourself for only staring at his biceps for 0.000034 seconds before meeting his line of sight again. 

“Are those rules just suggestions?” he asks with a stupidly teasing look on his face. 

You purse your lips together, skin feeling warm suddenly as you try to push him away by a palm to his sternum. But then you realized something. A fundamental rule of biology. The woman never chases. 

You smile at him, cheeky in a deceptive way that’s meant to scare him, and it does seem to alarm him when you push him back onto the couch rather forcefully. His hands fall to hold your hips again as he looks at you with round eyes, and you scoot forward on his lap, to where you’re almost sitting right above his groin. 

“Hey–” he says, like a warning. 

Like some awful romantic comedy, you’re drawing the tip of your nail down the front of his chest seductively, leaning forward so he catches the faint scent of the perfume you spritzed onto your skin in the morning, and you can tell it’s working from the way he tips his chin up in interest. You innocently “shift” in his lap to get comfortable, and see his throat bob when he swallows hard from the feeling. The finger that’s been running down the soft linen of his shirt trails up until it runs through the hair at the back of his neck, and he’s pulling you closer to him now by a rough grip on your hips. His breathing picks up, eyes somehow wild yet calm as he looks at you with a set jaw, and you try your best to maintain a sultry expression as you tilt your head down at him while strongly fisting at the longer strands of his hair that fall short at the nape of his neck. He shifts underneath you, sinking further into the couch, his breathing fast enough to where you can see the rise and fall of his chest, his gaze finally dropping to your lips as he parts his own, and he briefly runs his tongue over his bottom lip before–

Before the doorbell rings. 

You both blink at each other.

You don’t even realize how close you two were to making out until you realize you can’t even see the tip of his nose anymore. 

“My, uh,” he starts, voice sounding gruff so he has to clear his throat, “my wood just came.”

“Y–” you glance down at his lap, “your wood just what?!”

He leans away from you, sinking his back into the cushion and pointing over his shoulder with a thumb towards the door. “The cedar planks I ordered to finish my woodworking project. Pretty sure they just got dropped off.”

You blink at him, releasing the grip you still had on the hair at the back of his head, your arms moving to weakly rest on his shoulders instead. “Oh.”

“I’ve gotta go sign the delivery.

“Okay.”

“Sometime today, preferably.”

“Alright.”

“Can…can I head to the door? Is that allowed?”

“...I suppose.”

His fingers that were still resting under your butt in a strong grip push up gently on the flesh to prod you off of him, and you (reluctantly) swing your legs off of his lap then slump down onto the couch indignantly beside him, twiddling with your thumbs as you watch him get up off the cushions with a small grunt from the push of his palms on his knees. And then he heads to the door.

Continuing to assess your cuticles with the tuck of your chin towards your collarbone, you hear Gojo talk to whoever was at the door. Another masculine voice. Sounds younger, probably younger than you. Delivery boy. Gojo makes easy conversation with him, some buddy-buddy diction that’s entirely lost on you, and you hear the other man laugh. And the fact that you feel equally as possessed to want to fuck the delivery man makes you realize you need to put yourself in a cage the next time you feel like this.

You hear the door close along with the metallic click of the lock, and you peak your head up over the top of the couch to look at Gojo, who is leaning a giant cardboard box that looks really heavy against the wall. He then exhales, dusting his hands off and he’s stretching his neck from side to side again.

He glances over his shoulder to find you still looking at him.

“You woodwork?” you ask him.

“Yes.”

“Wait. Is that the noisy thing you do at six in the morning while I’m trying to sleep after a night shift?!?!”

“It’s not that noisy,” he says, leaning back onto the wall and crossing his arms. Then he grins. “Want to see what I’m working on?”

“No.”

“Oh come on.” He jerks his head towards the kitchen leading out to the screen door of the backyard. And then he’s shuffling his feet off into that direction. “Humor me for once.”

You slide off the couch onto the floor, grumbling something to yourself before you stand up onto your feet and shuffle your feet across the hardwood floor to follow him, the hem of your nightgown sliding across the surface.

Gojo pulls the screen door back and you step out into the pleasant afternoon. It’s sunny, with crisp air that settles on your senses, the casted shadows of clouds that slowly pass over the grass reminding you of your childhood, or perhaps of simpler times.

You step into the flip flops you see near the shoe mat, and they are nearly twice the size of your feet. Gojo opts for the dustier pair located behind the grill and then he walks across the grass of his backyard towards the shed tucked away near the side of the house. You’ve always been able to briefly see this shed from one of the windows in your house, but you could never see what went on inside. 

He unclasps the metal lock on the wooden door of the shed and pulls it open with a creak. You peer inside, the smell of wood shavings and some other rather comforting chemicals hitting you almost instantly. You also sneeze. And then sneeze again.

“Bless you,” he says, and when you glance at him, he’s smiling at you before he takes a step inside. You cross your arms and rub your elbows, feeling feeble in your ditsy nightgown as you step into a space that looks far too industrial for you. 

“See?” Gojo says once you’re fully inside the shed with him, drawing your gaze from the dusty ceilings towards the covered structure in the center of the workspace. He pulls the blue tarp back, revealing something square-looking. “It’s a coffee table.”

Your eyes widen slightly as you tilt your head to assess it. “Oh. It’s–...it’s actually quite nice.”

“Yeah.” He knocks on the surface with his knuckles. “It’s pretty sturdy. I’ve been looking to replace what I’ve got in the house for a while now. And–” he straightens himself up again, pushing his hands into the pockets of his sweatpants. “That wood I just got delivered is black walnut. Stunning stuff. I’m going to use it to finish the corners and the cabinets.”

“Ahhh,” you say, expressing interest. I mean, you were intrigued by his many strange hobbies. How can you explain this…you suppose after many years of working, sleeping, eating, and taking care of your mom, it's somewhat pleasantly disorienting to find yourself in the middle of a normal person’s life. Someone who has time to woodwork in his free time. Endearing. It was kind of endearing. 

“I’ve gotta flip it over though,” he says with a sigh, “I fucked up and forgot to build the base first.”

You lean back on one of the cabinets behind you that was level with your hip, and you watch Gojo for a moment as he bends down to assess all angles of the table before he grips the underside of it with his hands, the strength of his grip evident in the strain of the veins running up his arms and disappearing into the short sleeve cotton of his shirt. 

But he glances up at you before moving it. “Can you stand over there?”

“Huh?” You blink at him.

“Don’t want you getting hurt.”

“Oh,” you say, and realize you were standing in quite literally the exact zone of potential danger. You make a mental note to work on your survival instincts. 

You lean off of the cabinet and step off to the side. 

You watch as he begins to lift up on the table, his biceps flexing with the movement, oh and that grunt that leaves his lips once he’s got it at the angle he wants hits you somewhere you wish it didn’t. The sight of him leaning over, letting out a slow exhale as he slowly sets the table down on its side over the cushioning mat had you in a trance. 

Once he’s satisfied with wherever it’s at, he steps away from it and dusts his hands off. “Alright.” He pulls his phone out of his pocket. “Got an hour to work on this.”

You nod at him.

He glances over at you. 

You stare at him.

He stares at you.

“Did–...did you wanna watch?”

“Nope,” you say, shuffling your slippers to the other side of the door. Because you fear that catching the sight of him all sweaty and disheveled from woodworking would get you into serious trouble today. At least you know when to call it quits.

In the hour that Gojo spends doing god knows what sort of manly sorcery in that shed, you get dressed into something that wasn’t a cozy nightgown much to your dismay, and head over to your house next door. You figure you could use this time to clean up the place a little so that you can take pictures for the house on Zillow. 

When you step inside the house, the nauseating smell of medication hits you. It’s a smell that you can only know if you’ve lived with it for years. Something artificial, something that smells–...well, sick. It’s a scent you associate with sickness. It hits you randomly sometimes with the patients that you treat at the hospital. Patients that smell just like your mom does. Something akin to a pill closet. You’ve always cursed the human tendency to assort semantics to certain senses, because then it only takes away all the healing you thought you had gotten through.

You walk down the hall towards your mother’s bedroom. You figured you’d start here first, since it would be the most difficult to clean for you. Her bed is set up neatly, exactly as you left it before she left for hospice three weeks ago. 

Her well-worn rocking chair sits near the window with the old knit blanket she made over twenty years ago draped over it. It faces the window instead of the inside of the house, which was a habit she always had throughout her life. Maybe as an art teacher, she always felt that whatever was outside was more intriguing than within. 

You run a hand by the sturdy wooden dresser covered in dust and scattered medications, along with all of your mother’s draped headscarves. She liked to change them every day, the pattern of each of them aggressively absurd and somewhat hypnotizing, but it fits for her age–that sort of clothing. Your mother used to have beautiful hair. It was something all her friends had always been jealous of. She made the decision to shave it all off rather than watch as it slowly detangled from her hair from chemo, and she claims to have stashed it away somewhere, but you know that she likely donated it instead.

When you make it to her desk, you see paint splattered over it with a rusted easel holding up a blank canvas. But there were swipes of paint across the palette, as though she were trying to find the perfect blend of colors, but failed before she could put brush to canvas. Beside her little art setup, you see a little sticky note with scribblings on it.

Morning tea

Medications- Gabapentin 600 300

Today is Thursday. Oct 16th

800 432 5555 call Dr Johnson 

Turn off the stove

At the very bottom:

- daughter. Nurse. She loves you

You suck a deep breath in, releasing it slowly.

This was an impossible task.

To stuff all of this away into boxes. 

All of this life.

You slowly peel the sticky note off the desk, folding it neatly before placing it into your pocket. Then you start with the canvas, the easel, the paint. Exactly as is, without cleaning anything at all, you stache them away into boxes. You wanted to preserve what you could, even if it was all for show.

By the time you finish cleaning out her desk, you feel winded from emotions. You decide to take a break and try to clean whatever was upstairs instead. Before you leave the room, you see another sticky note written behind the door.

remember ! wear your sweater, it’s cold today

And that’s when you start crying. 

.

.

.

•┈┈┈••✦☽✦••┈┈┈•

”Hey,” you say as you walk back into Gojo’s house in the early afternoon, holding up a digital camera that you found in the attic in your hand. “The upstairs of my house is cleaned out now, and I’m almost done with the downstairs part…just waiting on finishing one room. Can we start taking photos to put the listing up online?”

Gojo glances up at you from where he’s stood in the kitchen, tugging at his sleeves, and you just now notice he’s dressed up in a dark navy suit with a white shirt underneath. No tie. “Uhh yeah I can help you with it, I’ve just gotta go run a few errands and then we can do it when I get back?” He ruffles his hair a bit and you see that it’s slightly damp like he just took a shower.

“What errands?”

“Gas, amazon return, Costco. Maybe get a donut if I’m feeling like being a bad boy.”

“Ew. Also, why don’t you get gas at Costco?”

“It’s a little cheaper at Sam’s Club.”

You gasp. “You have a Sam’s Club membership??”

“Yes.”

“You’re a traitor.”

He rolls his eyes as he pushes his shoulders back to get better settled into his suit jacket. “I have a Costco membership too.” 

“Can I come?”

“What? For–...for the errands?”

“Yes.”

He blinks at you from the other side of the island, brow furrowing slightly. “Uh. Sure?”

You know it sounds silly to say, but not having to take care of someone twenty-four-seven has left you with little to no sense of purpose, and an even more intense feeling of loneliness. And as much as Gojo gets on your nerves from time to time, you’ve noticed that you’ve been…craving his presence lately. Or maybe a presence might be more accurate than any one specific person, but you can comfortably admit it to yourself that you’re a somewhat codependent person that enjoys being largely implemented into someone’s life. You’ve even started borderline nesting in his home. You bought two new fluffy throw blankets for his couch, set up a bowl of fruits at the center of the kitchen island, and stocked up on laundry detergent, even though he already had two backup boxes. It was driving you crazy. This feeling of having too much free time and personal space than what you knew what to do with.

And it had been a while since you went to Costco. The holy land for all adults. 

“Can I get this? Ohhhh what about this? Can we get this too? Wait. Wait. Brown sugar boba mochi?!” You hold the packet up into the air as if it were baby Simba in the Lion King, and then you turn to Gojo, clutching the bag to your chest. “Please?”

He exhales, leaning over the handle of the shopping cart and levels his gaze with you. “...no.”

You sulk your shoulders and sigh as you put it back.

He begins to push the cart down the aisle again. “You do realize that you have disposable income too, right?”

You trail after him. “No. I don’t. I’m in six figures of debt.”

He nods. “Fair.” And then he grabs a stray bag of brown sugar boba abandoned on top of the instant rice boxes then places it into the cart. 

You watch as Gojo makes his rounds around Costco, very diligently aligning all the items in his shopping cart and assessing the quality of each thing he crosses off his list before deeming it worthy of purchase. Much different than your usual Costco run, which involves a lot of chaos and sweat. And he feels very husband material like this. Breaking no sweat to put the garden fertilizer in the cart shelf meanwhile you would’ve pulled your back out trying to do the same if you were on your own.

As you two make your way through the store, you get stopped by the post-office man, and then the local judge, and then the elderly couple that runs the church's weekly Bingo nights. All greeting you politely with a quick exchange of words and usually a sweet regard for your mother’s health before passing on by. You keep having to introduce Gojo as your husband, and many of them already know who he is, despite the fact that he’s only lived here for a year, which royally pisses you off to great extents, but he’s a social whore so it makes sense. And then all of them coo sweet things like wow, what a beautiful couple and you’re so lucky to have each other and my oh my he’s very handsome and at this point you would pay someone twenty bucks to say something like well she’s a looker! good for you! to Gojo because you’re sick of him always getting the ego boosts. When asked where you guys went for your honeymoon, you both say “Greece–” “Maldives–” at the same time in typical unrehearsed fashion. One of the town locals even asks when the two of you are going to have a baby, and you almost snort your free sample of San Pellegrino out your nose.

Perhaps the only thing that keeps a little pep in your step is the fact that everyone greets you first before they catch the familiar sight of Gojo too. It’s a small thing to celebrate, but when you’ve lived in the same town your whole life, it becomes somewhat of a prideful and wholesome thing when the town librarian, local mechanic, and farmer’s market lady all stop you in your lovely little Costco stroll. It was all in a day’s work.

“Jeez, you’re hella famous, y/n,” Gojo says as he continues to push the cart down the aisle after you just got done catching up with the volunteer Fire Chief.

You toss your hair over your shoulder at him. “Yes. I am somewhat of a princess in this town.”

“Does that make me your prince?”

“No. You’re my filthy peasant.”

“Alright…I like where this is going…”

“Get your nasty degradation kink away from me, you perv. This is Costco. It’s the holy house of God.”

Once you two make it to the wine section, you stare at bottles of dessert wines and hear Gojo talking on the phone off to the side.

“Hey, Sana. I’m at Costco right now. Do you guys need anything? I already got Juno’s muffins,” he says into his phone as he places two containers of blueberry muffins into the cart. You eye the raspberry cream cheese strudels. “Huh? Cornstarch?....If I tried to look for cornstarch at Costco, I’d be here for three hours.”

“Satoru,” you say to him once he gets off the call, tugging at his sleeve, “could we get those Haagen Daz ice cream bars? They’re so good.”

“No,” he says, pushing the cart down the chip aisle before he grabs a bag of tortilla chips. “We can’t get anything that needs to be frozen or refrigerated. I’ve gotta go prep a house that’s in the area since we’re out this far. I’ve got an evening showing.”

“What?!” you exasperate, “I thought we were just going home after this!”

“I never said that.”

“I can’t believe this. I had been dreaming of grabbing those ice cream bars since you mentioned the word Costco back at home. You could’ve brought your little cooler thing that you keep in the garage.”

“Well, I didn’t know that you wanted to come with me,” he says. “My original grocery list had seven non-perishable items on it.” You both glance at the cart, which was almost entirely full of things that you put in there. Things that nobody ever needs. Like a bladeless desk fan and an electric wine opener.

“Ah,” you say.

He smiles, leaning over the cart handle again and pushing it forward again away from the chilly air of the cooler section. “Retail therapy?”

You pout a little. “I haven’t had the chance in years.” You glance at the cart as he pushes it. “I should probably take it all out now.”

“It’s fine,” he says, “I’ll get you your bladeless fan. And whatever the fuck those other things are.”

You stop walking, blinking blankly at his back as he continues to wordlessly push the cart forward. There’s about a five second delay before you finally start trailing after him.

By the time Gojo finishes loading everything into the trunk of his car as you merely stand by for emotional support, and then he comes back from the long trek of returning the cart, you’re absolutely winded. You’re not sure why, because again, you haven’t really done much all day. But God damn, you forgot how exhausting it is to be a regular functioning member of society that contributes to the economy on the weekends (you didn’t pay for anything).

Gojo wordlessly takes off from the Costco parking lot and just when you think he’s going to get back onto the freeway to get to this house of his that he needs to prep, he jumps into the parking lot of a small shopping area before he parks his car in front of a smaller grocery store. 

You give him a puzzled look.

“Hold on,” he says before clicking his seatbelt off, “gotta go get that cornstarch.”

“Wait—” you say, reaching out to grab him by the sleeve of his suit jacket as the most intense sensation of FOMO you’ve ever felt in your life overtakes all of your senses. “I’ll come with.”

He quirks a brow at you. You’re not surprised at his confusion. After all, you’ve been acting like some drug addict in withdrawal of social proximity to him all day long. But you’re at least glad he doesn’t express any further bewilderment and allows you to follow him inside the store like a duckling.

As Gojo veers off in the direction of likely corn starchiness, in a confident manner that would suggest he’s been to this store many times before, you meander about the aisles at your leisure. You get lost in the bustling colors of produce stacked neatly on top of one another, such that they could rival the great pyramids of Egypt. Not to mention, processed foods lining the wall right next to it. This was what suburban life is all about. Matter of fact, this is what dreams are made of. 

“y/n?”

Oh, fuck. That voice is definitely not what dreams are made of.

The opposite, actually.

Nightmares.

You hear that voice in your nightmares.

You turn on your heel to find none other than your ex boyfriend, he who shall not be named (Choso Kamo), standing right behind you as he holds a grapefruit in his hand, blinking at you dumbly with surprise apparent on his face. 

“Wh—” you briefly stutter before the automatic scowl settles onto your face. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

“I’m buying fruit.”

“For what?”

“What do you mean, for what? To eat, obviously.”

“I don’t know. I’m not convinced you wouldn’t try to fuck that grapefruit. Given you have low standards for what you stick your dick inside of.”

“Uh?…I’ve stuck my dick inside of you plenty of t—”

“Shut it!!!” you yell at him, then turn away with a wince on your face. “I didn’t think it through before I said it.”

“As usual?”

“You’re being a jerk. You know who I meant when I said that.”

“Okay. So, you don’t think things through before you say them. And I continue to deflect said things. Let me know when anything’s changed between us, y/n.”

You cross your arms at him menacingly and unwaveringly glare at him as a meek mother pushes her young son by the shoulders away from the two simmering adults having their savory conversation within the produce aisle. You’re about the snark out another comment but then the automatic water sprayers interrupt your flow. And also a scrawny employee drops a giant box of eggplant onto the ground before placing them onto the produce shelf.

“What are you doing on this side of town? You’re never out here,” Choso says as he sets the grapefruit back onto the stack.

“I don’t know. What are you doing here?”

“This is my new go-to grocery store.”

“Why not go to the Trader Joe’s that we always used to go to? It’s way closer to you.”

His shoulders sulk slightly at that.

Oh.

Oh.

So, he’s been driving an extra thirty minutes each weekend to go grocery shopping on the other end of town,

Just so he doesn’t have to run into you anymore.

“Look…y/n,” he starts, “it’s not that I don’t want to see you—”

“Choso—”

“It’s just that you accuse me of fucking inanimate objects everytime I do see you.”

“I literally do not care if you do or don’t want to see me.”

He narrows his eyes at you, his gaze flitting downwards to your crossed arms, something catching his eye.

You glance down at yourself, and you catch the glimmer of diamond underneath bright fluorescent light.

“Oh come on,” Choso grumbles, “don’t tell me you actually wear that thing twenty-four-seven.”

“I’m a married woman, Choso. It’s what married women do.”

He clenches his jaw at that, tense enough to cause a vein strain in his neck, his brows narrowing into contempt, but just before he can say anything else, an arm wraps around your waist and you’re being pulled back into a broad chest.

“She’s pretty, huh?” you hear Gojo say and you blink up at him with your chin tilted towards the ceiling, and you yelp as he possessively pulls you in closer to him as he establishes jarring eye contact with Choso with that same old easy grin on his face. “Thank god I’m the one married to her.”

Choso almost blows a fuse at that. “I know she’s pretty,” he says through gritted teeth, “for six years, I was the one that got to f—”

“Ahh!!! Sale on tomatoes!!!” you interrupt the crass and ridiculously toxic masculine energy in the air as you wiggle out of Gojo’s grip then run over to the pristinely stacked romano tomatoes, picking some of them up and holding them like precious commodities. “Maybe we can make some tomato soup with grilled cheese tonight, honey???” you say with a forced smile towards Gojo as you now hold fifteen tomatoes in your arms, a couple of them falling to the floor with a bounce as they roll away.

“HEY!! LADY!!” the scrawny eggplant stacking employee from earlier yells out at you. Some late teens kid with acne speckled across his face and shaggy brown hair scattered over his forehead, somewhat slick with either gel or grease. “I just set those up!!! YOU SQUASH ‘EM, YOU BUY ‘EM.”

“Sorry,” you squeak out, putting the tomatoes back onto the display somewhat haphazardly before grabbing Gojo’s arm and tugging him towards the exit. “Let’s get out of here, please.”

“Huh? I’ve still gotta pay for the cornstarch though,” Gojo says, hardly budging despite your best efforts to womanhandle him.

“No time for that, we leave now. They don’t have cameras here, anyway. I already checked.” You continue to tug on his arm, your body leaning at an almost forty-five degree angle towards the exit as you struggle to get some drag to his feet, but again, he doesn’t budge.

You don’t know exactly why you so adamantly want to restrict Gojo from interacting with Choso, but maybe a part of it was embarrassment. You didn’t want Gojo to find out what Choso did to you and what an absolute fool he had made out of you. It would hurt your pride.

“Isn’t this guy a cop?” Gojo asks as he points his thumb towards Choso. “And you’re telling me to shoplift in front of him?”

“Can you just be on my fucking side for one second?” you grit at him, yanking on his sleeve so hard you almost tear the cuffs out of the holes, and he finally sighs before relenting into a gait towards your general direction.

As you hug Gojo’s arm tightly to keep his momentum towards you, you walk backwards and send Choso a nasty glare. His eyes are wide, studying you and Gojo together as you get further and further away from him. And for a brief, brief, brief, ever-so-slight fleeting moment of love and familiarity and the sight of his dark hair curling at the nape of his neck and the memory of warmth when he used to hold you in his arms in bed on cold winter mornings, you find that you miss him a little. But only a little. You swear that it’s only a little.

Gojo still makes a pit stop at the register much to your pleading dismay, but as always he has zero regard or interest for your melodramatic outbursts, but at least he shoves the extra change from the purchase into his pocket in a somewhat timely fashion so that you two can head out the door in your artificial haste.

In the car, you quickly click your seatbelt on and then have to watch Gojo as he takes his time clicking his back into place and enter some address into his car. You see the ETA on the GPS, and how it shows that this address is roughly thirty-four minutes away.

Once he gets onto the freeway, your mind begins to wander back to seeing Choso at the grocery store and how the sight of him rattled you. You twiddle with your thumbs in your lap nervously, shift around in your seat, chew at the edge of your nail, and Gojo seems to notice this.

“You know, having lived in this town your whole life, I would think you’d be used to the discomfort of running into people you don’t want to see,” he says.

You sigh. “Yes. In theory. But with Choso, it’s–…it’s different.” You hesitate.  “It’s just that—” you try again before worrying your bottom lip between your teeth, “it’s just that, sometimes I don’t get him.”

Gojo is silent for a few seconds as he stares straight towards the road before he responds with, “What do you mean?”

“Like, he avoids me like the plague, and then begs me to go back to him, and then he pretends like I’m just a nuisance to him, and then when he sees me with you, he acts all—…I don’t know…all—”

“Jealous?”

You sink into your seat. “Something like that.”

“Hm. Yeah, to be honest, I don’t know. But you’re not wrong to find it strange.”

Feeling strangely validated in your feelings, you sit there twiddling with your thumbs and then glance out the window. There’s a silence that lasts maybe ten seconds before you say,

“Thanks for interrupting back there. Although, you don’t have to try to deliberately make him jealous anymore. Even though I know I literally asked you to do that. Which makes me a woman of severe psychiatric ailment. Of which I am slightly embarrassed about at the moment.”

“Nah,” he says as he turns the right onto the freeway entrance. When you look over at him, he has a smile on his face. “I like it. It’s never boring with you.”

Unsure if that’s a compliment or some shade of insult, you say, “and that’s a good thing?”

He shrugs, releasing one hand from the wheel and curling the other in a tight knuckled grip at the top of it as the car drives steady down the freeway. He rests his right elbow on the storage console. “Well, it’s different from what I’m used to.”

What are you used to? You so badly want to ask him.

But a flashback to his childhood bedroom at his parent’s house comes back to you.

Yearbook signatures, trophies, and photos abandoned underneath a bed.

You almost don’t even want to acknowledge that he has lived a life before you.

Was that self centered? Or perhaps childish? Or perhaps all in human nature?

You decide not to respond, instead directing your attention to the world outside the car window. The blades of grass dance across the shoulder of the road, all greenery following suit in the same swift motion. You watch as the land slowly turns from developed to more and more remote, yet still cozy and charming. Fields of green, vineyard arrangements, a wooden sign for a winery, a picturesque red barn house, a small cattle farm, an old town church with a bronze bell, hills of empty acres that are just begging to be touched by some great idea or civilization.

You’re privy to change in texture underneath the wheels as Gojo makes a turn onto gravel road about two miles after getting off the freeway. He drives up a hill, maybe a forty-five degree angle, with the crunch of rocks rubbing against the tread of the tires and you see a more distinct, purposeful arrangement of short decorative trees that line the properties of this narrow gravel road. They were large houses, sitting on slightly slanted hills that were all a part of a bumpy landscape that extends for miles. Some had formal fences, some had chain links, but all had expansive yards with no clear distinction of boundary, where the backyard could be the front yard too if only you had the imagination for it.

One house in particular catches your eye. It’s a pretty two story house with a detached garage or perhaps shed, painted in a dusky auburn with dark wooden paneling and structure. It sat near the top of this hill, the front yard being a steep upwards slope of grassy terrain that stretched for the full length of the property, about a hundred yards. The backyard dips behind the back of the hill, downwards into some territory you cannot set eyes on. But it’s stunning. It was gorgeous. Serene. With views of lush green surrounding its every corner. Intimately located, yet open enough to fresh air in which you almost feel one with the world. And in the early evening light, it looked like heaven.

You let out a slow exhale as you take in the sight that looks like a painting to you. There was something so romantic about a home. For as long as time, humans have enjoyed personifying objects, such as boats or planes or cars or  trains. But what could feel more of a living thing than a home?

You hear Gojo click his seatbelt off beside you and you glance over at him. You click off your own seat belt and open your door, stepping out onto the gravel road.

Gojo comes around the car and approaches you, holding a folder in his hand with papers you can only assume have information on the property listing. You also hear the jingle of keys in his pocket as he pushes his hand into it. 

“Got about,” he glances at his watch, “twenty minutes to prep. Oh, and if my clients ask, I’ll just introduce you as my assistant. And we’ll pretend that we have some sort of inappropriate workplace relationship. Just to intrigue them. It’ll make the house more memorable. Sound like a plan?”

You roll your eyes. “Whatever gets food on your table.”

You watch as he pushes a copper key into the rusted lock that was clipped onto the chains holding the fence together, guarding the property. He yanks it down once he’s unlocked it and then pulls the fence apart, opening the way to head up the house. It borders on a feeling of trespassing, but you trail closely behind Gojo as he makes his way up the grassy hill, reminding yourself that he has the clearance as a realtor.

You glance around the property a bit more. There’s a small pond in the dip of one of the smaller hills, fuzzy with moss and some small fish you can see snapping at the surface of the water. Off to the right of it, there are similarly moss covered stone benches, small and antique. Perfect to sit there and watch the sun set behind the house. And towards the left, a small gondola with arranged stained glass stepping stones. 

“Charming, huh?” Gojo says over his shoulder at you, and you realize he’s caught you staring at everything in awe.

Gojo makes it to the veranda after lengthy strides across the broad concrete steps that lead to the most stunning hardwood door you’ve ever seen in your life. He turns around to glance at you when he realizes you’re still stuck at the bottom of the steps, digging your heels into the ground underneath you.

“It’s–” you start, looking across the landscape while melancholy washes over you, “...I just can’t believe that someone gets to live here someday.”

He pushes his hands inside of his pant pockets, silent for a few moments. “Is everything alright?”

You look up at him, the question threatening to make the rawness in your throat burn even more. “Yes, I just–” you scoff at yourself a little before turning back to face the little pond, now further in the distance, “I just realized that I’ll probably never be able to afford a house in my life, so I’ll never really know what it’s like to have a realtor show me around a home I could potentially one day call my own. It’s something that sounds so surreal to me.”

There’s a silence that lasts for three seconds, and when you look up at him, his gaze is soft.

“Alright,” he says, jerking his head towards the direction of the door with his hands still lax in his pockets, “let’s take you on a tour of this one, then.”

You blink up at him, heart beating a little faster. “O-...Okay.” And you hop up the stairs to meet him at the top. The fragrance of wild roses and lavender brush past your senses as the leaves sway with the breeze. 

The moment you enter inside, you’re greeted by a faint trace of vanilla lingering in the air. The foyer is warm, inviting, with soft oak floors that creak ever so slightly with each step you two take forward into it, proving the life that it’s lived. To your left, there’s a spacious living room that glows with the golden light of the early evening sun that has started to gently make its descent from high up in the sky. Filtering through sheer curtains, touching your skin from afar, you glance down at your arm and the glow of heaven that’s been imprinted on it. 

Gojo walks further into the living room, pulling the curtains back a bit and then opens one of the windows by pushing up on it. A small draft reaches you as you walk towards him. Off to the right in a corner is a fireplace, the mantle adorned with wilting candles and creased old books.

“Is it wood-burning?” you ask Gojo.

He nods his head. “Can easily convert it to gas if that’s something you’d like better.”

There’s a sense of joy in your chest at the way he continues to play along, pretending as if your opinion truly matters–as if, just for now, you were a serious contender to make this place your home. 

“No,” you say, tracing a finger over the dark wood of the mantle, collecting withered dust. “I like it better like this.”

As he leads you into the kitchen, set your eyes on the marble countertops that meet soft sage cabinetry, the window behind the sink overlooking the rolling landscape of the backyard. You stand on your tiptoes to get a better view of what’s down the hill, and you see a small trickling creek that flows down the valley. Your gaze diverts towards the countertops and you see an elegant collection of mismatched china.

Spinning on your heel, you find Gojo leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest as he watches you inspect every inch. “When were these appliances last updated?” you ask, running your hand across the oven handle.

“About fourteen years ago.”

“Ah, they’re a little old.”

He smiles at you. “So the tolerance for vintage charm ends with kitchen appliances?”

“Charm is cute,” you say, a little cheekily as you move on without him towards the staircase, “but not when the house burns down because of an oven gas leak.”

He hums from behind you as he follows you, and you can hear the smile on his face through the sound alone. “You’re looking out for the right things.”

The staircase, with its dark wood railing and white balusters, curves gently upwards into the second floor. Just like your own home, the third and first steps creak beneath your feet. You always loved the sound, although you know most people attempt to fix such things in a house. For you, it felt like each step had a story, and some were very vocal about never being forgotten. 

The upstairs hallway is lined with more windows, filling the space with the same golden glow that now dances across the soft, tapering wallpaper that has begun to peel around the edges slightly. Your feet wander on their own with a sense of grace that seems to have taken hold of you. 

The first bedroom you stumble across is small, but still enchanting. The bay window has a small reading nook with cushions piled up on the surface, inviting the image of lazy afternoons spent lost in books as the world beyond the glass panes flutters in the wind. The queen-sized bed in the center of the room is minimally dressed and faces an oak dresser that was leaning slightly away from the wall in a crooked fashion. 

The room across from the first bedroom appears to be a study. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves are bolted to the walls and a vintage writing desk sits by another window where the changing light of day turns the room into a living painting. Your mother crosses your mind. And how much she would’ve loved this window. You could picture her setting up her easel and canvas here, painting away with strokes that could threaten even the beauty of the view outside the window. You think about how much joy that would’ve brought to her. 

In that same trance, you walk down the hall to the end with Gojo following behind you. You push through the set of double doors that lead into the master bedroom. It was spacious, yet intimate, with vaulted ceilings and a four-poster bed draped in airy linen curtains. Sitting across from it is another fireplace surrounded by two picturesque little chairs. One with a square backrest colored a dark burgundy, and the other with an oval backrest colored a pinkish opal. Between the two was a small table that had a stack of a few books. 

The attached en-suite bathroom appears timeless, with a clawfoot tub resting beneath a wide, arched window that offers the view of the rolling hills in their entire glory. The marble vanity has vintage brass fixtures that reflect the soft glow of the chandelier that hangs from the ceiling, one that takes the shape of the roof of the house. 

You hear tapping on the window to your right, and when you glance over there, you see a tree branch bothering the surface due to the wind. 

Your eyes also catch the faint bordering corner of wood beyond the frame of the window.

With wide eyes, you turn to Gojo and point in that general direction. “Is that…?”

“The balcony,” he says, then nods, “it’s connected to this room.”

He leads you out onto the wooden platform, the floorboards warm under your feet from the early evening sun. It stretches out about ten feet and wraps around the entire back end of the house, with easily the most breathtaking vantage point you’ve seen thus far. An entire view of the creek that disappears into the valley, the image of dancing wildflowers on distant rolling hills, the sun that continues to glow in the distance, and a gentle breeze with the faintest hint of salt, as though from a distant ocean. It felt like its own quiet little world. A place where time slows, and you can just be as you are. It was difficult to put into words, but you had never felt more at peace in your entire life.

Gojo leans over the sturdy yet worn railing as he glances down at the grass near the foundation of the house. You come up beside him, loosely curling your hands into a grip around the rusted metal.

You see him turn his face to you in your periphery, but you continue to stay staring ahead.

“So…what do you think? Can you picture yourself living here?” he asks you as a soft brush of breeze passes by. 

“Well–” you start, but then a sobering thought flashes through you, “wait, Satoru, what happened to your clients?”

“Oh, yeah,” he pulls his phone out of his pocket to glance at it, “they texted me about ten minutes ago that they weren’t going to make it.”

“You should’ve told me. We could’ve left.”

“Well, you seemed like you were in some sort of trance while you were looking around. I was scared to interrupt it.”

You breathe in deep and then let out a slow sigh, your shoulders dropping slightly. “Mhm. The house is beautiful. And, yes, I could picture myself living here.” 

More than just that. It was like a dream house. The one that a person would see in fleeting memories right before they pass, as it holds all of their most beloved ones. That ethereal, it was. 

He hums softly. You look over at him and find him blinking slowly. The wind brushes through his hair, ruffling it up gently, to where you could see the blueness in his eyes a little more clearly. That, too, was ethereal. 

“Satoru,” you say.

“Hm?”

“Can I ask you something?”

He continues to stare at the horizon. “Sure.”

“Where did you live before you moved here?”

“New york city,” he easily tells you.

But the answer surprises you. “R-Really?”

“Yeah.”

“For how long?”

“Really long.”

“Mm. You don’t seem like it.”

“Like what? An asshole from the city?”

“Mhm. Just a regular asshole.”

He laughs. You feel the rumble of it from the way your shoulder was pressed up against his arm. 

“Do you ever miss it?” you ask him. But the question was not one that you had thought to say. Rather, it felt as though it was placed on your tongue by someone else.

You feel his shoulders rise slightly with the deep breath he draws in as he leans over the railing a bit more. “I don’t know. It’s hard to say. I still own a place there in downtown Manhattan,” he says, “but I don’t really plan on moving back there ever. So I was thinking of selling it and getting something out here instead.”

“Oh?” you say, “like what? Where?”

“This,” he says, pointing to the wooden panels you two were standing on, “this house.”

You blink, caught between surprise and something deeper. “This house?” you echo, your voice quiet. 

He nods, his fingers tapping lightly against the railing. “Yeah. Although, I still show it to people if they’re interested. It’s been on the market for over three years though.”

You let your gaze drift over the balcony, the way the light softens against the weathered wood, and suddenly, the house doesn’t feel the same. Like it carries more weight somehow. Like it feels more real, more alive. And maybe that’s what makes a house a home–the intent to belong in it. 

"You see that greenery over there?" he asks, his arm stretching out as he highlights an area in the distance with his hand, "aaaaall the way down there?" Now pointing at the creak.

"Mm," you squint, "uh-huh!"

"Believe it or not, those are all avocado trees."

Your eyes widen and then you look at him. "No way."

He smiles. "Yeahhh. Three-point-four acres of 'em. And they're all a part of this lot."

Your smile matches his equally as nerdy one. "Wow I bet you loooove that.

"I do," he grins, and then gratuitously sights, "all I can eat guacamole 'til the day I die."

You snort.

"Yeah, anyways, that's why no one wants to buy this house," he says, "guess how much it costs to water them per month.”

"Mm, per month?" you look up to the golden sky, "a few thousand?"

"Try a hundred-and-fifty thousand."

"What–...I beg your finest fucking PARDON?!?!"

He laughs. "Yeah that's usually the reaction I get when I end a tour of this house on that note."

“That’s so insane…what’s the point of buying the house, then?”

"Avocados are hard to grow, they can be finicky, but all the land on this lot is extremely fertile," he says, "and if you can import the produce, it actually ends up being pretty lucrative." He points across to the dip in the hill behind the creak. "You could turn that place over there into some kind of ranch, too. Or a wedding venue, and rent it out. I don't know. The property has a lot of investment value. But the house itself is a bit dated. Would need some work."

"Like a fixer-upper on HGTV,” you offer for the conversation.

"Yeahhh. Something like that."

"Mm," you hum.

"Y’know, I was on HGTV once."

"What?! There's no way."

"Yup. House hunters."

"Bullshit. I would've known. I have seen every single episode since I graduated college."

"Oh, well, this was back when they still had Design Star on. I was like twenty-four or something. Fresh new realtor."

"Oh right. I was still in college then. I forgot that you're ancient."

He gives you an irritated side eye.

"So...will you be fixing up this house?" you ask him. His hobby of woodworking starts to make a little bit more sense.

"Maybe. I don't know if I'm too young to be thinking about retirement yet...but that's kind of what I was thinking of turning it into. A dream retirement home."

"You're definitely not young. Don't worry about that."

He gives you another irritated look.

"What happens to your other house, then?" you say. "The one next door."

“Hmm," he muses, "I'll probably stay there another year or so and then rent it out eventually."

"You don't want to settle down there? Raise your kids there?" you blurt out. You immediately wince a little at the forward question, but wasn't that something people thought about when thinking of a house? Do they not imagine filling it with their own hopes and dreams? Do they not picture their spouse sitting on the porch outside, swinging with the wind? Do they not picture their children's laughter down the hallway? 

A shiver runs down your spine. You glance over at Gojo, who continues to stare forward towards the horizon, His brow furrowed ever so slightly as he's deep in thought staring out into the landscape as the golden sun begins to turn purple in the sky, casting a dimming glow on his face.

And you wonder. You briefly wonder what a home must mean to him, after having to witness his parents perish in the flames of the one that housed his childhood. 

"It's a nice house," he finally responds to you, "but a part of me wants to live faaaaar away from everyone and everything someday." A small smile tugs at the corner of his mouth, like he can already tell how contradictory you find that sentiment to be. Mr Grew Up In New York City wants to live in a quaint little cape-cod-esque agriculture farmland property miles away from major civilization? what was it about the city that changed him so much? “Just be at peace, you know. Plant a million more avocado trees out here in the middle of nowhere, and not have to worry about their devilish spawns dropping all over my cute neighbor's herb garden.”

You flutter your eyelids, the comment catching you off guard, before your entire posture softens. "Satoru...it's ok. I'll move my herb garden."

"Oh, you thought I meant you? I was talking about seventy-four year old Barbara to my right."

You sulk your shoulders and roll your eyes, turning away from him to face forward towards the landscape again.

He laughs. "I'm just teasing."

You glance over at him again, and there's that same distant stare he casts over the greenery in the distance. 

"I can't believe your dream in life is to become a farmer," you say.

"Ehhh. It's honest work." he exhales slowly. The sun is now sitting on the hilltop. "It's just a dream, anyways. Just a dream. I'm still allowed to have those, right?" It was asked with genuine curiosity. 

"Why are you asking me for permission?"

His eyes hood ever so slightly, a dip in his expression you can't quite discern. but it's evident in the way his gaze off across the horizon dampens. "Hm. I don't know."

You shiver a little as the evening wind brushes past, and Gojo catches sight of the movement. you mentally curse yourself, because you know that you've just cut this moment short.

"It's cold," he says, "let's get inside."

You try to think of ways to stay here. Ways to lengthen this moment. Ask him for his jacket and make some teasing comment about how he's not a gentleman. Or lie and say that you're not cold at all, that you run warm when you know all your life you've always had cold hands and feet. Or just tell him that you don't want this moment to end. Tell him you want to see the sun through its sunset. Tell him how you never want to step foot off of this house ever again.

"Okay," you whisper. 

And he leads you back inside, down the stairs, and as you stand out on the veranda, at the grassy hills towards his car, you implant this memory in your head, this feeling of standing on this home and dreaming as if it were yours. Before all it becomes is exactly that, 

Only a dream. 

.

.

.

.

.

[end of ch.7, ‘if u wanna get groceries’]

songs of the chapter:  groceries by mallrat  margaret by lana del rey

a/n. thanks so much for reading! this was a fun chapter to write, especially the house sequence. i think it’s mentioned in the chapter somewhere, but yeah…i just think there’s something so romantic and melancholic about a home :’’) i guess that’s a recurring theme in ihm, with reader’s childhood home holding the memories that her mother has lost of her, and then ihm gojo losing his parents to a destructive house fire, and also him being a realtor, and also reader planning to sell her house, and then the dream house in this chapter. it’s been fun breathing a bit of life into these different settings themselves. ah i also decided i want to include little “song(s) of the chapter” to the end of these! just as something kinda fun to do. i’d say these are songs that inspired me to write certain scenes within the chapter, or songs that i listened to a lot while writing the chapter, or songs i could picture playing during the ending credits if this were a tv show xd. but yeahhh!! also just a way to share music bc i love music lol.  big thank you to my beta readers mirl, leni, and ayelin for helping me out w parts of this chapter n giving me motivation to write it <33 i appreciate you guys sososo much!! i really attribute a lot of my writing motivation towards them, as i’ve been really busy but been able to write these lengthy chapters bc of their support.  i did kinda rush parts of this chapter just because i wanted to get it out on the weekend, so i apologize if there are errors or mistakes of if anything’s a little confusing or sudden. tbh i did want to spend a tiny bit more time on it but, that’s ok. fuck it we ball also! i just wanted to say a quick thank you to all of my readers and those that have stuck around for so long with me or maybe newer readers who have interacted or become invested w my works recently… i know that i am so slow w updates and sometimes inconsistent w it as well, life just gets so crazy for me and it’s a struggle to find proper time to sit down and write, and i wish soooo badly to put out chapters faster, but yea easier said than done haha. but all of my readers who continue to engage with lil ol’ me even despite all of that really means a lot to me, more than i can say :”) i still face self doubts so often w my writing, i’m halfway convinced i’ll never be satisfied w my craft, but the little interactions i have w everyone really make my day and push me forward to write even when it’s hard and i realized i haven’t really said a proper thank u to u guys for that as of late. plus i know jjk manga has ended and also i took a hiatus n also tumblr has lowkey been fuckin me over on the algorithm too lol etc etc i definitely have noticed i’ve lost some readers n engagement along the way, which i understand is natural n just a part of being a long fic author however daunting that may be, but i just really wanted to say a thank you to those who continue to be here irrespective of all of that. i appreciate everyone who sees value in my works enough to read them, follow up w them, interact w them, share them, like them etc. especially w ihm bc sometimes i feel so bad for the slow burn and the yap haha i’m sure some of you may be privy to the fact by now that this story will be very long and also so much more than just the romance. but…i find confidence from you all to follow my vision and i’m really grateful for that.  very likely that the next chapter is in ihm gojo’s pov :0 very exciting and makes me a lil nervous. for some reason i find his pov somewhat intimidating to write for loool. but hopefully i’ll pull it off.

much love!! there will be a delay in getting this chapter up on ao3 and also adding it to the masterlist etc bc i'll be away from keyboard when this posts from my queue, but everything should be updated by the time i'm back home tonight :) see you all in the next one <3 -ellie

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[aspenmissing]

hey! just wanted to say that i LOVE your writing style!!! :3 is it possible to get an s\a comfort for the arcane characters? nothing in detail of course- just the characters find out that reader gotten s\a'd. i'd really like that as someone who survived s\a. if you don't want to do that, that's fine! i get it. :) thank you! 🤍🤍🤍

ꜱᴀꜰᴇ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇɪʀ ᴀʀᴍꜱ

ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ | ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ | ᴊᴀʏᴠɪᴋ | ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ | ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ | ᴍᴇʟ || ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ/ᴄᴏᴍꜰᴏʀᴛ/ᴀɴɢꜱᴛ-ɪꜱʜ || 6598 ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ || ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: ᴘᴀꜱᴛ ꜱ/ᴀ (ɴᴏ ᴅᴇꜱᴄʀɪᴘᴛɪᴏɴ/ᴅᴇᴛᴀɪʟ)

ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛ ᴀɴꜱᴡᴇʀ: ���ʜ ᴍʏ ᴅᴇᴀʀ, ʏᴏᴜ ᴅᴇꜱᴇʀᴠᴇ ᴀʟʟ ᴛʜᴇ ʟᴏᴠᴇ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴏʀʟᴅ! ɪ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʙᴀꜱᴛᴀʀᴅ ɢᴏᴛ ᴡʜᴀᴛᴇᴠᴇʀ ʜᴇ ᴅᴇꜱᴇʀᴠᴇᴅ. ɪ'ᴍ ꜱᴏ ꜱᴏʀʀʏ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʜᴀᴘᴘᴇɴᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ʏᴏᴜ, ᴀɴᴅ ɪ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴇ ᴅᴏɪɴɢ ᴡᴇʟʟ! ɪ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴄᴀɴ ɢɪᴠᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ꜱᴏᴍᴇ ᴄᴏᴍꜰᴏʀᴛ, ʙᴜᴛ ɪ ᴅᴏ ᴡɪꜱʜ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʟʟ ᴛʜᴇ ʟᴏᴠᴇ! <3 <3 <3 <3

ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ | ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ | ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ | ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ | ᴍᴇʟ

JAYCE

The workshop was quiet, save for the occasional scratch of Jayce’s pen against parchment. Hextech schematics lay sprawled across the table, half-finished, waiting for the spark of genius he often found in the quiet moments. But tonight, his thoughts were elsewhere.

You sat by the window, the soft glow of Piltover’s streetlamps casting a golden sheen over your face. You hadn’t spoken much today, lost in a silence Jayce didn’t quite understand—but he felt it. The weight of something unspoken, something that pressed against your chest and refused to let go.

Jayce wasn’t the kind of man to push. He knew you’d talk when you were ready. But seeing you like this, so distant, so unlike the spark of life you usually carried—it hurt him. He had seen you in your brightest moments, laughing with unfiltered joy, eyes alight with wonder as you watched him work. Now, it was as if the light had dimmed, and he hated feeling helpless.

“Mi Amor,” he murmured, setting his pen down and pushing aside his work. He stood, crossing the room in slow, careful strides, as if afraid to break you further. “Talk to me.” (My love)

You didn’t look up, eyes trained on the world outside, but your fingers curled tighter around the fabric of your sleeve. He could see it now—the tension in your shoulders, the way you curled in on yourself as if trying to make yourself small.

His heart clenched.

Jayce had seen battle, had faced opposition, had fought tooth and nail to make the world a better place. But nothing, nothing in the world made him feel as powerless as watching you fight a war inside yourself that he couldn’t see. He wanted to fix things, but some wounds didn’t heal with science or innovation. Some wounds simply needed time, and someone to hold the pieces together.

“Please,” he said, softer this time. He knelt beside you, resting a warm, calloused hand over yours. “Whatever it is, you don’t have to carry it alone.”

A shaky breath left your lips, and that was the beginning of it. The unraveling.

Your voice was barely above a whisper. “Something happened to me… a long time ago.”

Jayce didn’t move, didn’t speak, but his grip on your hand tightened—not enough to hurt, just enough to ground you. To tell you he was here. That he wasn’t going anywhere. His mind raced with questions, with anger at the world, but he pushed it all aside, focusing on you and only you.

“It wasn’t my fault,” you continued, and the way your voice broke shattered something deep within him. “I know that. I do. But sometimes, I still feel like—like I’m dirty. Like I’m weak.”

Jayce inhaled sharply, his jaw tightening. Not at you, never at you, but at the cruelty of the world. At the injustice of it all. But he forced himself to exhale slowly, to push down the anger, because right now, you needed him to be something else.

Gentle. Safe.

“Hey,” he whispered, shifting onto the couch beside you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. He felt the way you tensed at first, before slowly sinking into him, letting him hold you. He pulled the blanket from the couch’s armrest, draping it over you both, creating a barrier from the outside world. “You are not weak, Y/N. You are the strongest person I know.”

A small, trembling hand clutched at the fabric of his shirt. “I just… I don’t want it to define me.”

Jayce pressed a kiss to your temple, lingering there. “It doesn’t.” He pulled back just enough to meet your eyes, warm brown meeting yours with nothing but certainty. “You define yourself. Not what someone else did to you. And I swear to you, I’ll be here—every step of the way.”

A tear slipped down your cheek, and Jayce caught it with his thumb. And when you finally let yourself cry, truly cry, he didn’t try to shush you, didn’t try to rush your pain away. He just held you, strong and steady, as long as you needed.

Because that’s what love was.

As the minutes passed, the heavy silence between you slowly morphed into something lighter. He traced gentle circles on your back, whispering reassurances whenever he felt your breathing hitch. The world outside carried on, the distant sounds of the city moving forward—but in this moment, it was just the two of you, wrapped in warmth, in safety.

“I love you,” he finally murmured, resting his forehead against yours. It wasn’t about fixing you. You weren’t broken. It wasn’t about saving you. You didn’t need saving. It was about standing beside you, through the shadows and the light.

And he would. Always.

VIKTOR

The evening was quiet, save for the steady tick of a clock and the occasional rustle of papers as Viktor reviewed his notes at the dining table. The soft glow of candlelight bathed the apartment in golden hues, casting long shadows against the walls. It was a rare moment of stillness—no rushing around the lab, no frantic calculations, just the gentle company of one another.

You sat curled up on the couch, a book resting open on your lap, though your eyes had long since stopped reading the words. Your gaze was distant, unfocused, as if staring past the pages into something only you could see. Something in your mind weighed you down like a heavy chain, an old wound resurfacing without permission, dragging you into memories you wished you could forget.

The warmth of the apartment should have been comforting. The scent of old books and Viktor’s faintly metallic, oil-stained presence should have grounded you. But tonight, none of it was enough to stop the shiver crawling up your spine.

Viktor’s cane tapped lightly against the wooden floor as he made his way toward you, his movements careful and precise. Even with his slight limp, there was an elegance to the way he carried himself, a grace you had always admired.

“You are awfully quiet tonight, drahý.” His voice was soft, tinged with curiosity but not pressing. He lowered himself onto the couch beside you, resting his cane against the armrest. His presence was gentle but unwavering, his sharp gaze studying your face, taking in every small sign of distress. (Dear)

You swallowed, your fingers tightening around the edge of your book. “I just… I remembered something I wish I hadn’t.”

The words felt heavy as they left your lips, like they had been stuck in your throat for too long. You hadn’t meant to say anything at all. The last thing you wanted was to weigh Viktor down with your ghosts. But there was something about his presence, the way he sat patiently beside you, that made it impossible to hold everything in.

Viktor didn’t speak immediately, but his golden-brown eyes flickered with concern. He was always quick, his brilliant mind piecing things together with little effort. He had known for some time that you carried burdens—unspoken ones, locked away in the depths of your heart.

Gently, he reached out, his calloused hand resting over yours. His touch was warm, grounding. “You do not have to tell me if it hurts too much,” he said quietly. “But if you wish to… I am here.”

You looked down at his hand over yours, the contrast of it. Viktor, for all his genius, for all his sharp wit and unrelenting ambition, had always been so careful with you. Like he understood you needed gentleness more than anything else.

A shaky breath escaped your lips, and after a moment of hesitation, you whispered, “Someone hurt me. A long time ago.” The words felt foreign in your mouth, like they didn’t belong to you. “Not just hurt. They… they took something from me. And sometimes, I still feel like I can’t escape it.”

Silence followed, but not the uncomfortable kind.

Viktor’s grip on your hand tightened ever so slightly, his fingers curling around yours in a silent vow. His eyes darkened—not with pity, but with something deeper, something unreadable. There was an anger there, not directed at you, but at whoever had left these scars on your soul.

“I see,” he murmured after a long pause. His voice was careful, steady, but you could hear the tension beneath it. Viktor, who prided himself on his ability to understand the world, to solve its mysteries—this was something he could not fix. And that thought seemed to pain him.

Tears welled in your eyes before you could stop them. You hated crying, hated feeling like this. But Viktor made no move to hush you, no attempt to tell you it would be okay when he knew such words were empty.

Before the first tear could fall, he shifted closer. He moved slowly, always mindful, as if giving you the space to pull away if you needed.

“May I hold you?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

You nodded.

With a tenderness that contradicted the sharp, brilliant mind always whirring with thoughts, Viktor pulled you into his embrace. His arms wrapped securely around you, his warmth seeping into your skin, steady and unshakable. You buried your face into his shoulder, inhaling the familiar scent of parchment and faint oil.

He didn’t speak right away. He didn’t try to fix it, didn’t try to offer empty reassurances. Instead, he simply held you, his hand rubbing slow, soothing circles against your back, his other threading carefully through your hair.

“I hate that this happened to you,” he murmured, his lips brushing the crown of your head. “You did not deserve it.”

The weight of his words unraveled something inside you, and the tears finally slipped free. You clung to him, shaking, but he never wavered. He held you like you were something precious, something unbreakable despite everything.

For a long time, you stayed like that. Viktor didn’t rush you, didn’t try to fill the silence with unnecessary words. He simply let you cry, let you be however you needed to be.

After some time, when the shudders had eased, he pulled back just enough to look at you. His hand came up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing away the last traces of tears. “I do not claim to know what you need to heal,” he admitted. “But whatever it is, I will be here. Always.”

His words wrapped around you like a safety net, a promise woven into the very foundation of who he was. Viktor had never been a man of empty promises, never one to say things just for the sake of them. He meant every word.

You let out a trembling sigh, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. “Just this,” you whispered. “This is enough.”

And Viktor, ever patient, ever kind, simply held you tighter, as if he could shield you from every nightmare, every ghost of the past. And maybe, in this moment, he did.

Because for the first time in a long time, you felt safe.

JAYVIK

The apartment was warm, lit by the soft glow of streetlamps filtering through the window. It had been a peaceful night—until it wasn’t.

Jayce’s hands had been on your waist, his lips tracing a path down your neck, and for a moment, it had been fine. You’d wanted this. You loved them—both of them. But then something shifted, something in the way he pressed a little too close, the weight of him trapping you against the couch. It sent a jolt of ice through your veins, a memory clawing its way up from the depths of your mind. Panic gripped you like a vice.

You barely registered the way you shoved him off, stumbling to your feet as your breath came too fast, too shallow. Your chest tightened, your vision blurred at the edges, and you could feel the room spinning.

“Y/N?” Jayce’s voice was distant, concerned, but it only made the nausea worse.

“Don’t—” Your voice cracked, shaking as you wrapped your arms around yourself, trying to ground yourself, trying to remember you were safe. But your body wasn’t listening.

Then, a familiar voice, steadier, softer, cut through the haze. “Drahý, breathe.” (Dear)

Viktor. His presence was close, but not too close. He stood carefully, his cane in hand, eyes locked onto yours with the kind of patience that had always made you feel safe. He wasn’t reaching for you, wasn’t crowding you—just waiting, offering you the space to come back to yourself at your own pace.

Jayce looked helpless, torn between wanting to comfort you and fearing he’d only make things worse. “I—I didn’t mean to—”

“I know,” you choked out, barely able to meet his eyes before squeezing yours shut. You hated this. Hated that the past still had this much power over you.

A warm hand, tentative but grounding, touched yours. Viktor. He was sitting now, careful, his golden eyes searching yours. “Come, sit,” he murmured, tapping the space beside him. “Let us be here with you.”

You hesitated, but your legs felt weak, trembling beneath you. Slowly, you sank down beside him, his cane resting against the arm of the couch as he adjusted, staying close but not overbearing. Jayce followed suit, hesitant, careful, his usual confidence replaced with concern.

“Was it… something I did?” Jayce asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

You swallowed hard, staring at your hands. “No. Not really. It just—reminded me of something.”

Jayce inhaled sharply, as if realizing exactly what that meant. “Shit. Y/N, I—”

Viktor gave him a pointed look, and Jayce stopped, nodding in understanding. This wasn’t about fixing it. This was about being here.

Viktor’s hand, still on yours, gave a gentle squeeze. “You are safe,” he reminded you. “With us, always.”

Your breath hitched, but this time, it wasn’t from panic. It was from the overwhelming sense of love wrapped around you, steady and unwavering.

Jayce exhaled and ran a hand through his hair before resting his palm on your knee, warm and solid. “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want. Ever.”

You nodded, still shaken but feeling less alone. Less like you were drowning. Viktor’s fingers traced slow, rhythmic patterns against the back of your hand, a silent reassurance.

“We can just stay like this,” Viktor murmured. “For as long as you need.”

The warmth of their presence enveloped you, a steady reminder that you weren’t alone. Viktor’s hand remained in yours, his touch light, patient, as if he was anchoring you to the moment. Jayce, still hesitant, moved just a little closer, his knee brushing against yours, testing the boundaries of what you could handle.

Minutes passed in silence, save for the quiet hum of the city outside. The steady tick of the clock on the wall gave a slow rhythm to your breaths, helping you count, helping you focus on the present instead of the ghosts clawing at the edges of your mind.

Jayce shifted, carefully, his fingers flexing on his knee before he spoke again. “Is there anything you need? Water? A blanket?” His voice was still thick with guilt, but it was softer now, focused on you, on making sure you were okay.

You hesitated, considering, before nodding. “Water… might help.”

Jayce stood immediately, as if grateful for something to do, and disappeared into the kitchen. The sound of cabinets opening and the faucet running grounded you further, the normalcy of it cutting through the lingering panic.

Viktor tilted his head slightly, watching you. “Would you like to talk about it?”

You chewed on your lip, unsure. Did you? The thought of saying it out loud made your throat tighten, but at the same time, you wanted them to understand. Needed them to know why your body reacted this way even when your mind told you you were safe.

Jayce returned, pressing a cold glass of water into your hands. You murmured a quiet thanks and took a sip, the cool liquid soothing your dry throat.

Finally, you exhaled. “It was a long time ago,” you began, voice barely above a whisper. “But sometimes… sometimes my body remembers before I do.”

Jayce sat back down beside you, his brows furrowed. “That’s not fair,” he muttered, frustration evident—but not at you. Never at you.

Viktor nodded, his expression unreadable, but his fingers gave another soft squeeze. “No, it is not. But you do not have to fight this alone.”

Tears pricked at your eyes, but this time, they weren’t from fear. They were from the sheer relief of being understood, of being loved despite the weight of your past. Viktor and Jayce didn’t ask for more than you could give. They didn’t push. They just stayed.

And right now, that was everything.

VANDER

The Last Drop had always been a place where time seemed to slow down. A haven for the weary, the broken, and the ones who had yet to be whole again. The flickering light from the lanterns cast a soft glow over the mismatched tables and worn stools, giving the place a sort of melancholic warmth. It had a life of its own, one that felt like a lullaby to those who found comfort here. But tonight, the usual chatter of laughter and boisterous conversation was missing. The bar was quieter than usual, and you could feel it in the air. Something was different.

Vander moved behind the bar with his usual fluid grace, his large hands skilled at cleaning glassware and wiping down counters. But there was something more to his movements tonight. The way his shoulders were drawn tight, as if he was carrying the weight of a thousand unsaid things. His eyes occasionally flicked toward you, noting the way you sat at the far end of the bar, your posture rigid, your gaze lost in the grain of the counter beneath your fingertips. You hadn’t even touched your drink, which was unusual for you. Your usual spark, the warmth in your expression that always made you stand out, was missing. Tonight, there was only a quiet storm behind your eyes, and Vander wasn’t one to ignore that.

He watched you for a moment longer before placing the rag down with a soft thud. The sound of it against the wooden bar seemed louder than it really was in the heavy silence. He made his way around the bar, his large frame blocking the faint light from the corner as he settled onto the stool beside you. It was a small gesture, but one that spoke volumes. He didn’t sit behind the counter, creating a divide between the two of you. He was right there, at your level, making it clear that he was present, not just physically, but emotionally, too.

“Y/N,” he said, his voice a low rumble that seemed to reach deep into your chest. “You alright, love?”

It was a simple question, but the tone of his voice, the gentle concern in it, made you flinch before you could even stop yourself. It was so small, barely noticeable to anyone else, but Vander didn’t miss a thing. His eyes softened, and he studied you for a long moment, looking for something you weren’t ready to show. You tried to force a smile, but it came out more like a thin line, your lips barely moving, and certainly not reaching your eyes.

“Just tired,” you mumbled, hoping the vague answer would be enough to satisfy him, to make him leave it alone. But Vander wasn’t someone who would settle for half-truths. Not when it came to you.

His gaze didn’t waver. “Y/N,” he said again, his voice low and steady. “You don’t have to tell me if you’re not ready, but somethin’ is weighin’ on you.”

The words hung in the air, heavy like lead, and for a long time, you didn’t say anything. What could you say? How could you explain it all without sounding weak? Without feeling like a failure? But Vander wasn’t asking you to explain. He wasn’t looking for your pain; he was just offering a place for it, a space where you didn’t have to carry it alone.

The silence between you stretched on, filled only by the quiet murmur of voices in the background. Finally, you sighed, the sound raw and full of weariness. You weren’t ready to tell him everything, but maybe you could start somewhere. Maybe just enough to take the weight off your chest, if only for a moment.

“Something happened,” you whispered, barely loud enough for him to hear. Your voice trembled despite yourself. “A long time ago. Before I came here. Someone—” You faltered, your throat tightening as memories flooded back, unwanted and sharp. The images came unbidden—faces, voices, moments you tried to bury deep within yourself. But they always resurfaced at the worst times.

Vander’s hand came down over yours, warm and steady, grounding you in a way no one else could. The simple touch of his palm against your trembling fingers was enough to silence the storm in your chest, even if just for a moment. He didn’t ask you to continue. He didn’t need you to tell him every detail. He just gave you the space to breathe. To be.

“You don’t have to tell me more than you want to,” he said softly, his thumb rubbing over the back of your hand in slow, reassuring circles. “But somethin’ happened to you, and I can see it’s still hauntin’ you.”

You swallowed hard, and for a moment, it felt like the world was spinning too fast. You didn’t want to admit it. You didn’t want to let him see you weak. But it was too much to keep inside. So, you let out a shaky breath and whispered, “It’s not easy to talk about.”

His gaze softened, but there was no pity in it. Just a quiet understanding that went deeper than anything words could express. He didn’t push you. He didn’t demand more than you could give. Instead, he waited, patiently, with the calm strength that was always there when you needed it most.

When you spoke again, it was barely above a whisper. “It’s just... sometimes it feels like it still has power over me. Like no matter how far I go, no matter how much time passes, it’s still there. Still lurking in the back of my mind.” You looked down at your hands, trying to steady them, but they were trembling, betraying you.

Vander’s grip tightened just a little, not enough to hurt, but enough to remind you that you weren’t alone in this. “It doesn’t have power over you, love,” he said, his voice firm with conviction. “Not here. Not with me. No one’s ever gonna hurt you like that again. Not while I’m around.”

The weight of his words settled on your chest, a warmth spreading through you despite the cold ache that lingered in your heart. It was like the first breath of fresh air after a storm, the first ray of light after the dark. For a moment, you almost believed it. You almost believed that it really was over, that the past couldn’t reach you anymore. But then the walls you’d built inside yourself started to crack, and the tears you’d been holding back began to fall.

You didn’t try to hide them. Instead, you leaned into him, letting his warmth surround you like a shield. Vander’s arms encircled you immediately, holding you close, strong but gentle. His scent—a mix of smoke, ale, and something deeper, something more comforting—filled your senses. It was the scent of safety. Of home.

“You’re safe, Y/N,” he murmured against your hair, his voice low and steady. “Always.”

And for the first time in so long, you believed him. You let yourself believe him, if only for this moment. Because with Vander, you knew that the darkness of the past could never reach you here. You were safe. You were whole. And in his arms, you had the peace you’d been searching for, even if just for tonight.

Vander didn’t speak again. He didn’t need to. He just held you, his presence a quiet reassurance that you weren’t alone, and that you never would be again.

SILCO

The rain drizzled against the windows of Silco's office, a gentle tapping that seemed to mirror the quiet storm in his mind. His usually sharp focus on the papers before him had waned, his dark eyes drifting, unfocused, to the water running down the glass. The rhythmic sound of the rain should’ve brought him peace, but today it only reminded him of the unease that had taken root inside him. It was an unusual occurrence for Silco, a man whose mind was always a step ahead, never easily distracted.

Y/N had been distant for the past few days, but today… today it was worse. She wasn’t just quiet or distracted. There was a heaviness in her gaze, a sadness that hung around her like a thick cloud. Silco had always been able to read people—had to be, to survive in the underbelly of Zaun. But with Y/N, it was different. Her pain, her struggles, never quite made sense to him. He knew she had a past, one that she rarely spoke of, but he never asked about it. Yet, now, he couldn’t shake the feeling that whatever haunted her had finally caught up to her, and it was something much worse than what he had imagined.

At first, he assumed it was just the stress of their work together—the constant battles with Piltover, the endless scheming, the weight of their shared ambitions. But today, as he watched her interact with the others in the hideout, he noticed small things. The way she flinched when one of the other members brushed past her, her hands trembling just slightly as she reached for a glass, and the hollow look in her eyes when she thought no one was watching.

It was when he had found her earlier in the hallway, almost jumping out of her skin when he stepped too close, that he finally understood. Something had happened. Something more than stress, more than the chaos of their lives. It was deeper. Darker. And Silco had no intention of letting her face it alone.

He had always been a man who kept his distance, preferring to watch and observe rather than reach out. But with Y/N… He had never wanted to be the type of man who ignored the pain of someone close to him. It didn’t matter how cold the world was, or how much the darkness seemed to consume everything—it mattered to him that she was safe. She mattered to him.

A soft knock at the door interrupted his thoughts. He barely registered it, his mind still tangled in worry for her, but the sound was enough to bring him back to the present. He glanced up as Y/N stepped inside, her head down, eyes cast toward the floor. Her posture was small, like she was trying to make herself invisible, and that only made his heart ache more.

She was different now. Gone was the woman who once held herself with a quiet strength, confident and steady. In her place was a shell, fragile and cracked. Her pale face, usually so expressive, was now hollow, her eyes dull with the weight of some unseen burden. Silco could feel his own pulse quicken at the sight of her. He hated this. He hated seeing her like this.

"Y/N," his voice was steady but soft, a rare tenderness in the way he spoke. "Come here."

There was hesitation in her movement as she crossed the room, and Silco didn’t miss the way she kept her distance, as though afraid of being too close to him. It wasn’t like her. He could sense the hesitation, the quiet wariness in her actions, and it cut through him like a blade.

She finally stopped in front of him, her eyes refusing to meet his. She stood there, trembling slightly, as though unsure of what to do. Silco rose from his desk, his presence commanding but gentle as he approached her. He didn’t need to ask what had happened. He already knew. He had known for a while now, even before she had come to him for comfort.

He didn’t ask her to speak. She didn’t have to say a word. It was enough for him to see the way she struggled, the way she tried to hold herself together in the face of her pain.

"You don’t have to carry this alone," Silco murmured, his voice low and smooth, each word measured and deliberate. "Whatever happened… I’m here. You don’t need to keep it buried, Y/N."

Y/N’s lips trembled, her breath shaky as she forced herself to look up at him. Her eyes flickered with an emotion too raw for her to hide—fear, shame, pain. She bit her lip, trying to suppress the tears threatening to spill. Silco could see it all: the weight of her grief, the sorrow she tried so desperately to hide. And in that moment, he knew that she needed him. More than ever.

He didn’t wait for her to say anything. Instead, he stepped closer, his hand reaching out to gently lift her chin, guiding her eyes to meet his. The warmth of his touch was enough to steady her for a moment, to make her feel grounded again.

"You are not broken," he said, his voice calm but firm, carrying a quiet authority. "Whatever has happened, whatever you’ve been through… it does not define you. You are not weak, Y/N. You are stronger than you think."

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat, and for the first time, she let her guard down. She closed her eyes, leaning into his touch as a sob broke free from her chest. She hadn’t allowed herself to cry for so long, hadn’t let herself feel the weight of everything she had been carrying. But with Silco, there was no need for restraint. There was no need to pretend to be strong when the pain was too much.

Silco’s thumb brushed gently across her cheek, wiping away the first of many tears that fell. His heart twisted with every drop, but he didn’t pull away. He wouldn’t leave her to suffer alone. Not now. Not ever.

"You’re not alone," he whispered, his voice breaking the silence. "I’m here. I’ll always be here. No one will hurt you again. Not while I’m around."

Y/N’s breath shuddered as she clung to him, her arms wrapping around his waist in a desperate need for comfort, for solace. Her tears soaked through the fabric of his coat, but he didn’t flinch. He held her close, feeling the tremors in her body as she let herself fall apart in his arms. She was broken, yes, but she was also stronger than she realized. And he would help her rebuild, piece by piece, if that’s what it took.

For a long time, they stood there in the quiet of his office, the only sound the steady rain against the glass and the muffled sobs of the woman who had come to mean more to him than he ever expected. And as she clung to him, Silco realized something he hadn’t before: he didn’t just want to protect her from the world. He wanted to protect her from the parts of herself she felt ashamed of, the parts that told her she wasn’t worth saving.

Silco gently lifted her head, his fingers brushing through her hair as he gazed down at her. His expression softened, his usual cold demeanor replaced by something warmer, something rare. "Rest now," he murmured. "You don’t need to carry the weight anymore. Let me carry it for you."

Y/N didn’t say anything, but the way she pressed her cheek against his chest told him everything he needed to know. She trusted him, in a way that felt sacred, and for once, Silco let himself feel the weight of that trust. He would protect her. He would stand by her side, no matter the cost.

For now, the world outside—the chaos, the schemes, the endless struggles—could wait. All that mattered was this moment. Silco and Y/N, two broken souls finding a quiet reprieve in each other’s arms.

And Silco… for all his ambition, for all his coldness, would be the one to show her that even in the darkest moments, there was still a glimmer of warmth waiting to be found.

MEL

The door to the bedroom creaked open slowly. Mel, fresh from a council meeting, entered, her heels clicking lightly against the floor. But something felt wrong—an unfamiliar stillness hung in the air. The usual warmth of their shared space was now replaced by an overwhelming silence.

As her eyes scanned the room, they found Y/N sitting by the window, her back hunched slightly. Mel’s heart tightened at the sight. Y/N’s hands were clasped tightly together, her shoulders trembling, and the soft sounds of stifled sobs drifted toward her.

“Y/N?” Mel’s voice was low and gentle as she moved toward her. She knelt in front of her, carefully reaching out to touch her lover’s hand, noticing how cold it felt. The contact was gentle, like a lifeline, but it sent a shiver of unease through Mel. Something was terribly wrong.

Y/N’s head snapped up at the sound of her name, her eyes red and swollen from crying. She immediately wiped at her face, but it was clear she hadn’t been able to hold it together for long, the rawness of her emotion still etched on her face.

“I’m sorry,” Y/N whispered, her voice cracking with the weight of unspoken sorrow. She quickly tried to mask the pain in her eyes, but it was no use. She couldn't hide it from Mel.

Mel’s breath caught in her throat. She leaned closer, her voice soft, but filled with concern. “Y/N, love, no... Don’t apologize. You don’t need to hide anything from me.”

Mel gently cupped Y/N’s face, her thumb brushing away a stray tear that had fallen, while her other hand rested on Y/N’s trembling arm. The vulnerability in her lover’s eyes tore at Mel’s heart.

“What happened?” Mel asked softly, pressing a kiss to Y/N’s forehead, her touch like a balm to the raw, exposed feelings surrounding them. “You don’t have to say anything you’re not ready to, but I need you to know that you don’t have to go through this alone. I’m right here.”

Y/N sniffed, her chest tightening as she shook her head slightly. She didn’t want to say it—didn’t know how to say it—but the weight of her past was a shadow she couldn’t outrun. She hadn’t told Mel about this part of her life before, and it felt like a secret that would destroy everything if it came out. But the truth was suffocating her, pressing her to confess.

“I…” Y/N began, but the words lodged in her throat. She choked on her breath, her mind racing with the painful memories she had kept buried for so long. “I… I don’t know if I can say it. It’s just… it’s too much. I’m not strong enough.”

Mel sat down beside her, her presence a steady, unwavering comfort. She didn’t pressure Y/N, didn’t force her to speak before she was ready. Instead, she wrapped her arms around Y/N, pulling her close. Her touch was firm and safe, offering warmth and strength.

“Y/N, whatever it is, we’ll face it together. I promise,” Mel’s voice was quiet but filled with certainty, a pledge that she would never leave Y/N, not now, not ever. The words wrapped around Y/N like a shield, grounding her in the love they shared.

For a long moment, they simply sat there in silence. Y/N clung to Mel as if she were the only thing anchoring her to the present, the overwhelming flood of emotions threatening to drown her. And then, finally, the truth spilled out, her voice shaky and small, as if saying it aloud would make it all the more real.

“I was… I was hurt a long time ago. By someone I thought I could trust.” Y/N’s breath hitched, and she turned her face away from Mel for a moment, ashamed of the tears she couldn’t stop. Her heart raced as she spoke, the memories still sharp and painful. “I didn’t… I didn’t know how to tell you. I thought I could bury it, but it’s not gone. It’s… it’s still here.”

Mel’s heart shattered for her, but she didn’t say a word. She simply held Y/N tighter, pressing her cheek against the top of her head. She felt the tremble in Y/N’s body, the silent sobs that wracked her form.

“You don’t ever have to face this alone, Y/N,” Mel murmured, the words both a promise and a comfort. She let her lips brush against Y/N’s hair, smoothing her fingers over the back of her head, her hands gently coaxing Y/N to let go. “I’m here. I always will be. And this, what you’re feeling? It doesn’t define you. It doesn’t change who you are. You are so strong, but it’s okay to feel broken, love. It’s okay to feel anything.”

Y/N’s body shook, the weight of everything coming to the surface. It wasn’t just the hurt of the past—it was the shame, the guilt, the sense of having lost something she would never get back. But in Mel’s arms, she felt a safe place to let go, a place where the dark corners of her mind couldn’t reach her.

“I’m so sorry,” Y/N whispered, her voice barely audible, full of guilt and fear. “I should’ve told you before. I should’ve been stronger…”

Mel pulled back just enough to look Y/N in the eye, cupping her face gently. “No, love, you don’t have to be strong for me. You just need to be you. And you are enough. More than enough. I love you, and nothing in this world, not even your past, will change that.” Her words were firm, resolute. The sincerity in her gaze was clear, her devotion evident in every syllable.

Y/N finally let herself break. She cried freely, her tears flowing without shame, without restraint. She had carried these burdens for so long, but with Mel there, holding her, whispering comforting words, she felt a sense of relief she hadn’t known she needed.

And in that moment, Mel held her—no words needed—just the warmth of her embrace and the unspoken promise that they would heal together, one step at a time.

Mel kissed Y/N’s forehead again, her hand gently stroking her back. “You are not alone in this, Y/N. I will never leave you. Not for any reason. Not for anything.”

The weight of those words, the depth of Mel’s love, was a balm to Y/N’s soul. Slowly, the tears began to subside, but Y/N didn’t pull away from Mel. Instead, she let the quiet comfort of her presence settle in, the warmth of their connection something she could lean on as they faced the future together.

Mel stayed with her, never rushing her to stop crying, never pressuring her to move forward before she was ready. They stayed there, wrapped in each other’s arms, letting the healing begin.

[promptedwordsmith]

I asked this request with someone else so you mayy or mayy not see the same request somewhere else. Depends on if you or the other person does write my request. It’s alright if you don’t wanna, write want you wanna to write. I just need this idea out of my system 🤣

MC is indicted that she is powerful. Good fighter, powerful evol where she can practically borrow someone else evol and the core in her heart. She much weaker for an unknown reason at the moment. But what if she wasn’t for a brief moment? 👀

What if MC physically fights the LaDS men without holding back 👀 like a scenario where a new wanderer shows up, puppets her or something, forcing the LaDS men to defend themselves. I need the angst and drama 😂 where the men are like “I don’t want to hurt you but you’re going kill me at this rate if I don’t do something.”

This keeps floating in my head, someone save me 🤣

OK soo I hope this is what you meant and it wasn't just me completely misunderstanding but the second I read this I just had to get started omg

I usually really don't like the whole "I'm going to save you by playing on our connection" trope but it suits this sort of story I think!

Caleb

The battlefield was silent. Not the kind of silence that came from peace, but the suffocating, eerie kind—the moment before the storm.

Caleb stood at the center of it, his chest rising and falling in uneven breaths, violet eyes locked on you. Or at least, the body that belonged to you.

But you weren’t there.

The moment the Wanderer had latched onto you, sinking its unseen claws into your mind, he’d known something was wrong. You had stiffened, your Evol flaring wildly for half a second before your entire stance changed. That was the first warning. The second had come when your gaze lifted to meet his—not with recognition, not with warmth, but with something empty.

And then you had attacked him.

His own gravity turned against him—the weight around his body fluctuating so rapidly that he nearly lost his footing. That alone had confirmed his worst fear. The Wanderer wasn’t just suppressing your will—it was using your Resonance against him.

You had stolen his Evol.

And now, he had to fight you.

But he couldn’t.

Not really. Not the way he fought others.

His hands clenched at his sides as he dodged another blast of gravitational force, feeling the way the air twisted and compressed around him. You were strong. Stronger than he had ever let himself acknowledge.

His mind was at war with itself. Every instinct screamed at him to fight back—to win—but the part of him that had spent lifetimes protecting you? That part was already losing.

Because how could he fight you, when all he wanted to do was save you?

You lunged forward, eyes still vacant, but your movements were clean, precise—yours, but also not yours. You weren’t just mimicking his power; you were enhancing it. His own gravity was being amplified, warped, turned into a weapon against him. It took everything he had to avoid the sudden shift in force, barely managing to stabilize himself before he was slammed downward with bone-crushing weight.

The ground cracked beneath him. His knees buckled.

Caleb grit his teeth.

If this had been anyone else—any other enemy—he would’ve ended this fight by now. But it wasn’t. It was you. And for the first time in his life, he was afraid.

Not of you. Never of you.

But of what he might have to do to stop this.

He tried to speak, voice raw. “You have to fight it.”

You didn’t respond.

You only lifted your hand, and the world collapsed inward.

The force struck fast—so much stronger than he expected, so much more precise. His body strained against the gravity pressing down on him, the weight overwhelming. If he had been anyone else, he would’ve been crushed.

And that’s when the realization hit him—this is what you feel.

Every time you resonate with him, every time you borrow his strength, every time you fight beside him, this is what your body endures. The sheer force of his Evol, amplified within you.

He had never really thought about it before. Never truly grasped just how much you took on when you fought at his side.

And now? Now that power was against him.

His arms trembled as he forced himself up. “I know you’re still in there.” His voice was hoarse, desperate. “I know you can hear me.”

Nothing.

His mind raced. He needed to think. He needed to find a way to reach you—not hurt you, never hurt you—but how?

His vision blurred at the edges. The gravitational pull you were using was unlike anything he had ever faced. Not even he had pushed his power to this extent before. His body screamed for relief, his Evol struggling against itself.

But then he saw it.

The slight hesitation. The way your fingers twitched—just barely, but enough.

It wasn’t the Wanderer controlling his Evol. It was you.

Somewhere inside, you were still fighting.

That was all he needed.

Caleb sucked in a sharp breath, shoving aside hesitation, pain—everything. His hands shot forward, fingers splaying wide, and for the first time in this fight—he didn’t resist your gravity.

He let it pull him in.

The instant he got close enough, he grabbed your wrist, forcing your Evol to connect with his. Forcing Resonance.

And that was all it took.

Because the moment your Evol touched his, he poured everything he had into it. Not just power. Not just control. But himself.

His memories. His thoughts. The lifetimes spent together.

The way you had always brought him back from the edge.

The way he had sworn to protect you—not just in this life, but in every life.

And then, for the first time, you hesitated.

A sharp breath escaped you, your entire body jolting as if something had just slammed into your mind. Your grip on your own power wavered—just enough for Caleb to take control.

Gravity twisted.

Not violently. Not in a way that would hurt you.

But in the way he always held you.

Steady. Unshakable. Safe.

Your body swayed, your breath stuttering, and then—then—your eyes flickered.

Your real eyes.

Not the Wanderer’s empty gaze.

Yours.

Recognition flashed across your face, confusion, panic—and then the force holding him down snapped.

Caleb barely had time to react before your legs gave out, and he caught you without hesitation, his arms wrapping around you, his Evol still steadying your weight.

For a long moment, neither of you moved.

Your breath was warm against his shoulder, your body trembling in his arms. He could feel your heartbeat—erratic, unsteady, but yours.

And that was all that mattered.

The fight was over.

He pressed his forehead to the side of yours, his grip tightening, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve got you.”

A shaky exhale. Your fingers curled into the fabric of his uniform. “I…” Your voice was hoarse. “I’m so sorry.”

Caleb exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “No. Don’t.” He pulled back just enough to look at you, his violet eyes burning. “You came back. That’s all that matters.”

And in that moment, he realized something—something that had been clear all along, but he had never let himself truly accept.

You weren’t just his partner.

You were his equal.

And no matter what, no matter how hard it got, he would always pull you back to him.

Rafayel

The battlefield was ablaze.

Not with fire, but with chaos.

The air was thick with smoke and embers, Rafayel’s flames flickering and dancing wildly across the ruined ground. Yet, despite the searing heat, his hands trembled. His chest ached—not from exhaustion, not from injury, but from the sheer horror of what was happening.

Because it was you standing against him.

And it wasn’t you at all.

Your eyes, usually filled with warmth, were void of emotion. Your stance, once fluid and graceful, was rigid—unnatural. The Wanderer who had taken over your body had turned your Resonance against him, amplifying his flames, twisting them, making them stronger in ways he never intended.

And now, that power was aimed at him.

A burst of fire roared toward him, faster than he could react. The heat seared his skin as he barely managed to throw himself to the side, landing hard against the dirt. His breath came out ragged as he quickly pushed himself up, his eyes locking onto you once more.

"Damn it..." he whispered, swallowing hard.

He couldn’t fight you.

But you—no, the thing inside you—had no such hesitation.

You lunged. Faster than he expected, stronger than he remembered. And maybe that was the worst part. He had always known you were powerful, but now? With your Evol fully unleashed against him, amplified in ways he never thought possible, he realized just how devastatingly strong you truly were.

And he had never feared your strength before.

Not until now.

You moved like fire itself—wild, relentless. Each attack forced him to retreat, to defend, to dodge, rather than strike back. He couldn’t. Even as his instincts screamed at him to fight, to survive, his heart refused to let him lift his hands against you.

"Come on, Rafayel," a voice that wasn’t yours taunted from your lips, hollow and mocking. "Is this really all you’ve got?"

Another wave of flames erupted toward him, this time crackling with an intensity that made his stomach twist. He barely managed to counter, his own fire surging up to meet yours, but the moment the two collided, yours consumed his completely.

His eyes widened.

His own fire.

It didn’t even stand a chance.

"Shit—"

The explosion sent him flying backward, slamming into the side of a crumbling building. He gasped, pain shooting through his ribs. But the physical pain was nothing compared to the helplessness clawing at his chest.

He had to think. Had to find a way to get through to you.

But how?

If he tried to burn the Wanderer out, he’d be burning you.

If he held back, he’d die before he got the chance to save you.

He gritted his teeth.

No. There had to be a way.

Slowly, he pushed himself up, wiping blood from the corner of his mouth. His eyes locked onto you again—his love, his muse—possessed and wielded like a weapon against him.

His hands clenched into fists.

"I know you’re still in there." His voice was hoarse, desperate. "I know you can hear me."

But you didn’t answer.

The Wanderer tilted your head, smirking through your lips. "That’s sweet," they mocked. "But pointless."

And then you attacked again.

Faster. Stronger.

You disappeared in a flash of heat—only to reappear behind him. He barely turned in time to block the hit, his forearm crashing against yours. The sheer force of it made his bones rattle. Then came another, and another—strike after strike, relentless.

And Rafayel could do nothing but defend.

Not because he wasn’t strong enough.

But because he couldn’t—wouldn’t—hurt you.

Think, damn it!

The answer came in a flicker of memory.

Your Resonance.

You borrowed the power of others, but it was a two-way connection. If he could reach that part of you—if you were still in there, buried deep beneath the Wanderer’s control—then maybe, just maybe, he could pull you back.

But he had to get close.

Close enough to touch you.

Close enough to take a direct hit.

It was a gamble. A stupid, reckless gamble. But he was running out of time, and there was no way in hell he was going to lose you.

So, he let go of his defense.

Dropped his guard completely.

And when you lunged at him again, aiming straight for his heart—he didn’t move.

The moment your hand made contact with his chest, he reached out. Not with his fire. Not with his fists.

But with his Resonance.

A connection.

A tether.

Through the blinding heat, through the searing pain of your touch, he focused on you—the real you, trapped beneath layers of someone else’s will.

"Come back to me," he breathed. "Please."

For a moment—just a flicker—something changed.

Your body froze.

The grip on his chest loosened, fingers trembling against his shirt. The flames flickering in your eyes wavered—just for a second.

And in that second, he poured everything into the link between you.

Your Evol, your power, the resonance that had always bound you together. He reached for it. Pushed his own power into it. Made it something bigger, brighter, than the darkness that held you captive.

"You’re mine," he murmured, pressing his forehead against yours despite the heat. "Not theirs."

The Wanderer shrieked.

The connection between you burned.

And then—

A scream tore through the air. Your body convulsed, and suddenly, the fire turned inward.

Not his. Yours.

Flames erupted around you, swallowing your form in a wild blaze—brighter, hotter than anything he’d ever seen. And then—

Silence.

When the flames finally died, you collapsed against him, body trembling, breath coming in ragged gasps.

But your eyes—

Your eyes were yours again.

"Rafayel..." Your voice was weak, hoarse, but it was enough.

His breath hitched, arms tightening around you as he pulled you close, pressing desperate kisses to your hair, your forehead, anywhere he could reach.

"You scared the hell out of me," he whispered, voice shaking. "Don’t you ever do that again."

A weak laugh left your lips as you buried your face against his chest. "Not exactly something I planned, you know."

He let out a breathless chuckle, relief washing over him like a tidal wave.

You were back.

And he would never let you go again.

Sylus

The night was warm, but Sylus felt nothing but cold.

He stood across from you, his crimson eyes narrowed, his breath steady—but his heart pounding.

You weren’t you.

Not really.

A Wanderer had taken your body, stolen your will, and twisted it into something unrecognizable. The way you moved—precise, calculating, almost inhuman—was proof enough. Your usual grace had been sharpened into something unnatural, something colder than he could stand to see.

He had fought countless enemies before. He had cut down traitors, eliminated threats, and broken those who dared to stand against him. But this?

This was the first time his hands trembled before a fight had even begun.

You raised your hand, palm out, and Sylus braced himself. A flicker of energy crackled around your fingers—his energy, twisted by your Resonance Evol.

The Wanderer inside you smirked.

“Your hesitation is touching, Sylus,” they said, your voice not quite right. “But it will be your downfall.”

Then, with a flick of your wrist, the world ignited.

A blast of pure, searing energy surged toward him—his own power, amplified and turned against him. He barely had time to react, throwing himself to the side as the ground where he once stood erupted in a violent shockwave.

Damn it.

He knew your Evol made you powerful, but now—now—he was realizing just how dangerous it was. With your Resonance, you weren’t just using his ability. You were enhancing it. Making it faster. Stronger.

Making it better than he ever could.

Sylus exhaled, rolling his shoulders as he steadied himself.

“Darling,” he said, his voice calm despite the ache in his chest, “if you wanted a fight, you could’ve just asked.”

The Wanderer inside you laughed. “Oh, don’t flatter yourself. You were always going to lose.”

You lunged.

Sylus barely dodged in time, his coat billowing as he twisted away. Another blast of energy, another near-miss. He felt the heat graze his cheek, singeing his skin. Tch. That was his power. Amplified. Used against him.

And worse?

He still couldn’t bring himself to attack you.

Because even though your body was moving against him, even though you were fighting with deadly precision—it was still you.

And the thought of hurting you was the first thing in his life that truly terrified him.

But this was no longer just about him.

He had to get you back.

Sylus moved with purpose, dodging, analyzing. He needed a plan—a way to break the Wanderer’s hold without breaking you.

But the problem was you were making it impossible.

You weren’t just strong—you were devastating. Every attack came faster, sharper. His own Evol, when amplified by yours, was far more than he could handle. It was overwhelming, relentless.

A pillar of energy surged forward. He braced, crossing his arms as the impact slammed into him, forcing him back. He barely stayed on his feet, his boots skidding against the cracked ground.

You’re too strong like this.

And that realization—it shook him to his core.

He had always known you made him stronger. Had always known that together, you were an unstoppable force.

But now? Now that you were standing against him instead of beside him?

He wasn’t sure if he could win.

And worse—he wasn’t sure if he wanted to.

“Come on, Sylus,” the Wanderer taunted through your lips. “You always plan for every possible outcome, don’t you? You must’ve thought about this scenario.”

He clenched his jaw. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

A smirk. “Oh? You really mean to say you never once imagined what would happen if your pretty little Resonance Evol turned against you?”

Sylus said nothing.

Because the truth was—no.

He had never imagined this.

Because in every scenario he had ever planned, in every possibility he had ever considered—

You were always with him.

The next strike was the closest yet.

A blast of energy—too fast, too precise. He barely managed to counter, the force sending him stumbling back. He could feel the bruises forming beneath his clothes, the sting of burned skin where your attack had hit.

And still, he hesitated.

“Why won’t you fight me, Sylus?” the Wanderer hummed, tilting your head. “Afraid you’ll lose?”

His eyes locked onto yours.

“I won’t hurt you,” he said simply.

The Wanderer clicked their tongue. “Oh, but I’ll hurt you.”

You raised your hand again.

And Sylus knew—this time, he wouldn’t be able to dodge.

But at the last second—you hesitated.

It was brief, almost imperceptible, but Sylus saw it. A flicker of recognition. A second where your body tensed—but your fingers curled inward, as if trying to resist.

You were still in there.

Sylus inhaled sharply. That’s it. Hold on, darling. Hold on just a little longer.

If you were still there, he could reach you.

He just had to risk it all.

So, instead of dodging—

He stepped forward.

The Wanderer sneered. “Giving up already?”

Sylus didn’t answer.

He just closed the distance—and grabbed your wrist.

The moment his fingers closed around your skin, he poured his energy into you.

Not to fight.

Not to hurt.

But to resonate.

If your Evol worked through Resonance, through matching the energy of those around you—then all he had to do was flood you with something stronger than the Wanderer’s control.

And there was nothing in this world stronger than his need to bring you back.

Your body stiffened. The energy in your hand faltered, flickering unsteadily between raw power and something uncertain. Your breathing hitched.

Sylus tightened his grip.

“Come back to me,” he murmured, his voice commanding. “I know you’re still in there.”

For a second—nothing.

Then—

A sharp gasp.

Your eyes, wide and yours again for just a moment, locked onto his. Your lips parted, but no sound came out. A violent shudder wracked through your body.

Sylus didn’t let go.

“You are mine,” he said, his voice a whisper, but carrying the full weight of his soul. “No one else gets to have you. Not them. Not anyone.”

A strangled cry tore from your throat. The Wanderer fought—but Sylus was stronger.

Because he knew you.

He knew your energy, your heart, your soul.

And no matter what—nothing could ever make him let you go.

The moment the Wanderer’s hold snapped, you collapsed against him.

Sylus caught you immediately, cradling you against his chest, his arms locking around you like a vice.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke.

Then, weakly, you whispered, “You’re bleeding.”

Sylus let out a breathless laugh, pressing his forehead against yours. “You should see yourself, darling. You made quite the mess.”

You gave a weak chuckle. “Guess that means I won?”

His grip tightened. “Never.”

Then, softer—

“Don’t ever scare me like that again.”

You nodded against his chest, and Sylus knew—

No matter what happened next, you would never fight alone again.

Xavier

The world around you spun. The cold, sterile air of the facility clung to your skin, and your heartbeat pounded against your chest as though it wanted to break free. You could feel the weight of your body, but it felt distant, as if you were no longer fully in control of it.

Your breath quickened as the world distorted, everything around you slipping out of focus. The pain in your temples only made the sensation worse, a sharp jolt of nausea sinking into your gut. It was as though your entire being was split in two, and one of those halves was being pulled in a direction you didn’t want to go.

You fought it, clenching your fists in an attempt to regain control, but it was no use. The foreign force inside you took hold with an iron grip, seizing every inch of you, weaving itself into your core until it became you. The invasive presence swirled within, a dark, malicious energy.

There was a flash of movement—Xavier. His silver hair caught the light, and his blue eyes found you with a look of deep concern. His steps faltered as he came closer, his gaze narrowing, confused. But the moment you met his eyes, the clarity of what was happening hit him all at once.

“No,” he whispered. The word trembled from his lips. “No, no, no…”

It was you. It was your body, but not your mind. Not your will. You weren’t in control anymore.

You were a prisoner inside your own skin.

“Xavier!” you tried to shout, but the voice that came out of your mouth wasn’t yours. It was cold, detached, and devoid of all warmth. A hollow echo of what you had once been.

Xavier’s eyes widened as his instincts kicked in. He knew you. He knew you, and this was wrong. This wasn’t the person he’d fought beside, laughed with, shared so many quiet moments. This wasn’t the person who’d trusted him with their heart, body, and soul.

But you weren’t completely gone. He could see it in the way your lips trembled, the subtle flicker of emotion beneath the cold mask the Wanderer had woven over you. But it wasn’t enough.

You were still trapped, still in that dark corner of your mind, but the Wanderer’s will was too powerful.

The presence inside you stirred, pushing against your resistance. Xavier took a careful step forward, his hand raised in a calming gesture, as though trying to reach the real you beneath the enemy’s control.

“I won’t hurt you,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “Just fight, okay? Fight it, please. I’ll find a way to get you back, I swear.”

But you didn’t respond—not with your words, not with any recognition of him. The enemy within you was far more cunning, pushing you forward, taking control of your every movement. You could feel it sinking deeper into you, exploiting the part of your mind that resonated with Xavier’s light. The resonance you shared, once a source of strength, now became a weapon against him, turning his own power into something he had to fight against.

It was then you saw it: the horrible realization in his eyes as he looked at you. He couldn’t bring himself to harm you, not even to defend himself, not when he knew what you’d become.

He took a deep breath, trying to steady his shaking hands, but you saw the struggle in his gaze. The anguish was raw, suffocating. He was trying to figure it out. He was trying to find a way to save you both.

The resonance between you and Xavier, the bond that had always strengthened you both in every situation, now felt like an anchor pulling you deeper into a sea of chaos. You could feel his power around you—surging, lighting up the space—but now it was a threat. A threat that made you feel like you were suffocating.

“No,” you whispered, fighting with every ounce of your being to reach him. “Don’t… hurt… me…”

But the Wanderer inside you wasn’t willing to let go. It twisted your body, forcing your hand up, and you could see Xavier’s eyes flicker with the realization that you were about to hurt him.

With a sudden surge of power, the resonance inside you flared to life—Xavier’s own Evol, manipulated by the enemy, twisted around you, harnessed into a blinding ball of light. The space around you erupted, and Xavier was forced back, his own power ripping through the air to fight against yours.

“Xavier—!” you screamed again, but the voice that came out of your mouth was filled with malice, not your own.

You didn’t know if he could hear the real you anymore. You couldn’t even feel the pulse of his Evol flowing into you as it used to. He was too far away now. He was so far away.

But Xavier didn’t back down. Even as the ball of light surged toward him, he didn’t flinch. His Evol blazed brighter, trying to counteract the resonance that had been corrupted. He didn’t understand it entirely, didn’t realize the full depth of what was happening—but he could feel you. He could feel that you were still somewhere in there, buried beneath the surface.

The battle raged on, your body moving against your will, fighting against Xavier. Every strike he blocked only caused him more pain. His own power—the very light that had once been his most treasured ally—felt oppressive, draining. He was fighting with everything he had, trying to reach you, but you were so far gone.

Xavier’s voice cracked with pain. “Please… come back to me.”

In that moment, everything froze. Time seemed to stretch as you felt the pulse of his light reach out, gentle yet forceful, like a lifeline in the storm. He wasn’t giving up. He refused to give up on you.

Somewhere deep inside, something inside you stirred.

The Wanderer’s control over you flickered, just for an instant. And in that moment, you were able to reach him.

You couldn’t speak, but you tried—your hand, shaking and weak, reached out toward Xavier. You were trying to call him back, trying to fight the darkness that had consumed you. But the Wanderer still lingered, still pressing down on you.

Xavier saw it—he saw the fight in you. He saw that you were still there.

And that was enough.

“Hang on,” he whispered, his voice full of promise and pain. “I’ll get you back. I swear I will.”

His Evol flared one last time, combining with the resonance that had always existed between you. This time, your light—the one that connected you both—fought back the darkness with a power neither of you had ever felt before.

The battle raged between the two of you, but this time, Xavier’s light pushed through the darkness, finally forcing it back. Your own resonance fought through the haze, giving you control once again.

And as you regained yourself, breathless and broken, you saw Xavier before you—his blue eyes filled with relief, but also the weight of everything he had just fought against.

He didn’t say a word. He didn’t need to.

Instead, he pulled you close, holding you tightly as if afraid that if he let go, you’d slip away again.

“Don’t ever do that again,” he whispered, his voice hoarse. But even through the pain, there was nothing but tenderness in his touch.

Zayne

Zayne could feel the cold creeping up his spine long before he saw you.

The battlefield was a chaotic mess of fractured ice and broken stone, an eerie quiet hanging in the air. You had been acting strange earlier—off, distant—but he never could have predicted this. Never could have anticipated what was coming.

Your eyes were distant now, completely blank as you stood across from him, an uncharacteristic stillness in your posture. A thick chill hung in the air, and the normally comfortable bite of his ice Evol now seemed like something far more dangerous—like something hostile.

“Y/N…” His voice was tentative, unsure. His heart pounded in his chest. He knew you. Knew you better than anyone else. So, why were you standing there, so calm, so detached?

You didn’t respond.

A dark energy, one Zayne couldn’t quite explain, pulsed beneath the surface, swirling through the air like a storm, wrapping around you. It wasn’t your power—he could sense that. But what came next? That, he hadn’t expected.

You raised your hand. Your own power—Resonance—flared to life, but it wasn’t the soft, gentle way it usually did. It wasn’t amplifying his power, it wasn’t supporting him like it always did. No. This time, your Resonance vibrated in sync with Zayne’s own ice, amplifying it and twisting it to your will.

And with a sudden burst of energy, Zayne watched in horror as his own ice began to materialize around you—not as defense, but as a weapon.

It was his Evol, the one he had honed and perfected for years, the one he trusted more than anything. And now, it was being used against him. His own creation.

“Y/N!” He yelled, his voice strained with both disbelief and desperation. But you were too far gone, the energy in your eyes too overwhelming.

Without warning, you thrust your hand forward, and the ice surged at him with the force of a tidal wave. Zayne barely had time to react, his body moving on instinct as he threw up his own defenses, sending a surge of ice to block the incoming attack. But it wasn’t enough.

You were using his own power against him. Every movement, every strike was amplified by your Resonance, making the ice you conjured stronger, faster, sharper. He barely managed to dodge one attack as the ice flew past him, slicing through the air and leaving deep gashes in the ground. His heart raced.

“I won’t hurt you…” Zayne muttered to himself, his hands shaking as he summoned more ice to defend himself. He could barely keep up with you now. It wasn’t just the power, it was the control. His Evol had always been something that was intrinsically tied to his soul, his emotions, but now, in your hands, it was alien, a force completely out of his control.

And worse—he didn’t know how to fight you without hurting you. The thought alone tore him apart.

You stepped forward, the ice swirling around you like a storm. It rose from the ground, wrapping around your body like armor, and you moved toward him with terrifying speed, your eyes fixed on him with a distant, eerie look.

Zayne didn’t want to fight you. But you weren’t giving him a choice.

With a cry of frustration, Zayne shot a beam of ice at you, but you deflected it effortlessly, sending shards of his own ice right back at him. One piece grazed his arm, leaving a trail of blood beneath the frozen surface. He winced but didn’t let up, his gaze locked on yours as he took another step back.

"Please," he whispered, voice ragged with emotion. "You have to fight this."

But you didn’t respond, didn’t show any sign of recognition. You just continued to move toward him, the ice in your hands growing more elaborate with each passing moment. A large block of ice shot at him with blinding speed, and Zayne barely managed to dodge it, but he was starting to feel the weight of the battle. His own powers were being turned against him, and he couldn’t keep up.

His breath came in shallow bursts, and his mind raced. There had to be something he could do, something to stop you from using his own Evol against him. He needed you to break free from this—needed you back.

His eyes searched the ground for something—anything—that could help, but all he could see was the snow and ice he had created. Your resonance, your amplification of his ice, was making everything around them feel like a frozen prison.

Then it hit him.

You were using his ice, yes, but you were still you. There was still a trace of your presence beneath the surface, beneath the coldness and the power you now wielded. The way your movements weren’t just about destruction, but about something else—something familiar.

The realization struck him like a bolt of lightning: He could still reach you.

Zayne closed his eyes for just a moment and focused, pulling at the ice around him, not in anger or fear, but with something deeper—something he had never relied on before. He wasn’t just using his Evol for defense. He wasn’t trying to trap or fight you.

He was trying to connect.

A wave of ice rippled through the battlefield, but it wasn’t just a defense. It was a gesture, a soft and delicate thing, like the ice seals he had carved for you when you were children. He called upon the memory of that moment, the warmth in the act, the love behind it.

Slowly, carefully, he shaped the ice into something, a symbol. A seal. A small ice sculpture, just like the ones he had made for you all those years ago. It was perfect. Beautiful. Simple.

The ice seemed to slow around him, the energy flickering. He could feel it—the resonance between the two of you, so faint now, but it was still there.

He placed the ice seal on the ground, hoping that this small act would remind you of who you were.

"Please," Zayne whispered. "Remember me."

The ice around you hesitated. The coldness seemed to crack, breaking apart like a frozen surface thawing in the warmth of the sun. You froze in place, your hand trembling as you reached for the ice seal he had created for you.

For a long moment, nothing happened. But then—slowly, so slowly—the coldness in your eyes began to melt, replaced by a softness he had longed to see again. You dropped to your knees, gasping as the power began to drain from you, leaving you breathless but you.

Zayne’s heart swelled as he rushed to your side, pulling you into his arms.

“I’m here,” he whispered against your hair. “I’m not going anywhere.”

And for the first time in what felt like forever, Zayne allowed himself to breathe. The battle was over. And you were back.

[enyaliuswrites]

➽ Senior!Caleb x fem!reader

Tags: College AU, reader doesn't have to be MC, fluff. From this request

Going on a camping trip with your friends has always been something you’ve saved in the back of your mind and now with your generous college professor organizing this trip you’ve mentally checked it off your mental bucket list.

However, laughing and sharing snacks with your friends near the back of the bus now feels unreal. Especially with a certain senior of yours, just a few seats behind yours, who you keep stealing glances at.

“Whatcha starin’ at?” your friend asked, turning around and seeing the lilac-eyed senior as she turned back with a grin, “Checking out Caleb? I mean who would’ve known Mr. A+ would take the same free elective as us. Totally get you, he’s an absolute feast for the eyes.” 

“Shut up! I wasn't looking!” you hissed, cheeks burning as you glanced around, hoping no one else on the bus had heard her. Desperate to change the subject, you opened your mouth to speak, but before you could, a deep voice cuts in instead.

Looking up at the source of the voice, you see a strikingly handsome male student, casually dressed, gripping the seat tightly as he balances himself on the moving bus.

“I was wondering if-” 

“Hey! It’s dangerous standing here, let’s go back.” Caleb's voice cuts through, commanding and confident. He had appeared so suddenly that it made you flinch and garnered attention from the professor.

“Sit back down, boys. It’s dangerous.” the professor called out as Caleb gave a quick nod. With a firm grip on the student’s shoulder, he pulled him back with a force that left no room for argument. 

“Sorry to bother you, girls.” Caleb added, flashing a smile that made your heart skip a beat as he dragged the student back to his seat.

Stunned, you turned to your friends, who were equally speechless, as you all began talking at once—some giggling, others blushing furiously.

As you and your friends struggled to put your tent together for the nth time that evening a very helpful senior just happened to be in the area (even though this was the designated girl’s tent area) and offered help. In just less than 10 minutes the giant tent was set up flawlessly and your friends rushed in to check what it looked like from the inside.

Turning around to thank Caleb you discovered that he had just vanished into thin air. As you spun on your heels, you finally spotted his tall figure walking away in the distance. Strange. Throughout all of today you must've seen him like a dozen times—of course that’s to be said, you WERE on a trip together, but something was just off with whenever he showed up. 

When you were out of breath from hiking up the mountain, one of your classmates had offered his bottle of water after you had drunk all of yours. You weren't going to accept it, since he had already drank half of it, but Caleb magically appeared and handed you an unopened bottle of water before grabbing the poor guy’s wrist and disappeared into the group.

Or when the same guy on the bus had found a stick and was just about to give it to you. Caleb had also turned up from thin air and given you a studier hiking stick, before pulling the guy away behind some thick trees, leaving you to your friends' relentless teasing.

Or how about when-

“Hey! Helloo? I called your name like 20 times.” You’re met face to face with your friend as you instinctively yank your head back before taking a deep breath and shaking it off. You turn slightly on the sleeping bag, glancing up at the tent as you readjust your pillow.

“Sorry, Sorry. What were you saying?” You apologize as your friend shakes her head and sighs at you. Suddenly you heard a faint rustling noise outside. Flicking your head left and right you start to feel a little paranoid, “Bears?”

“There’s no bears here. Probably a bunny or even the wind. Calm down, the professor assured us that it’s safe.” Your friend’s reassurance calms the rapid thumping of your heart as she starts to rant about assignments and soon you both find yourselves drifting off to sleep. 

Caleb was glad that your friend was an idiot. Well, not an idiot, but not nosy. His lips tugged into a smile as he heard your even soft breathing, the thin nylon being the only wall between you two. Caleb had always had trouble falling asleep, so when he heard shuffling and hushed snickers he almost immediately got up and out of his tent. And he was glad he did.

The three boys that had tried to sneak into your tent were now all battered up, lying on the grass. What a bunch of perverts. There was just no end to these creeps; from the nobody on the bus, the loser who tried to give you water that he had already drank from, the clown who tried to give you such a thin flimsy stick as a hiking stick, to these peeping toms.

“I’m sure you guys aren’t that dumb, so you should know what this means.” He squatted down, grabbing the beaten up boy’s chin, forcing him to look at Caleb's piercing lilac eyes. He nodded frantically, his body shaking as he could only see out of one eye, the other swollen and bruised.

Caleb stood back up, a sigh leaving his lips as he watched the boys chaotically dragged each other away as far as possible, tripping over each other in the process. You were so innocent, pure and kind. Caleb wouldn’t allow for anyone to taint that innocence or to even come near you, especially not low-lives like them. He would take care of you, even if he had to from a distance. Hopefully one day you’ll see how much he loves you.

A/N: Honestly this took be a lot longer than expected. I hope you guys like it!! Please give me more asks/submissions because my mind is blank and the combination of work and assignments are killing me. As always, stay delusional! (*´∀`*)

[cvnt4him]

Shoyou breaking up w you before you both graduate.

Shoyou has such a hard time breaking up with you. He truly loved you so much but he had to follow his heart. He couldn't hold onto you, he felt as if that if he made you wait for him; wait until he was finally ready to put down roots then he'd be asking you to save yourself for longer than he even knew. It was wrong in his eyes, he loves you so much but it isn't fair to you. It isn't fair to hold you down like this.

“ I can't hold on to you...not like this....I love you, too much for this..”

You both cry in each other's arms, foreheads leaning against one another. You both sniffle and try to hold back your sobs. The way he spoke gently to you, it was so soothing yet so heartbreaking. That was the last time you'd seen him.

A couple of years past, you and a few other former kurasuno affiliates sat inside the bleachers waiting for the game to end everyone on the edge of their seats with the heated game going on. However there was a particular reason you were squeamish...shoyou hinata. He was playing. You watched him move with quicker than you remember jumping higher than ever. He was more attractive than you could even bear.

His tanned skin sweating and reddened slightly, that stupid smile he had on his face that he got when he was eager...goodness. you bit your lip and squeezed your thighs together. It's been so long since you last seen him, since you two had last spoken. You were nervous...what would he say when he actually seen you?,

After the game ends everyone says their hellos and stuff. You were so nervous fidgeting as you groan lowly to yourself. There was no way you could face your ex boyfriend, not like this. It was too......much for you to handle..

Just as you were about to call this whole thing quits and walk away you hear a familiar voice shout to you..

“...hey.”

You stop in your tracks seemingly unable to move. You knew exactly who it was, emotions were filling you. Such a mix of them making your stomach churn. You gulp down hardly before slowly turning to face him.

Your eyes met with those vibrant gleaming orange eyes. So wide and full of neverending potential. He was absolutely gorgeous, even more up close. You could see his skin glisten with sweat and small strands of his ginger hair sticking to his forehead. He offered you a small smile slightly opening his arms to you, letting you do what you will with that.

What else could you do than run into his toned arms. Tears well in your eyes as you laugh inhaling his newly distinct scent inside your nostrils. He wrapped his arms around you tightly chuckling above you. He had gotten a bit taller than you and way more muscular than you'd remembered.

As you both pulled apart clearing your throats from the small laughter you shared, you couldn't help but admire him closely now. He was so ethereal, and goodness that smile....

You seen the way he died you up and down slowly biting his lip lighting as he did so. S small amused scoff leaving him. You felt so jittery underneath his gaze like this.

“ you look good.”

His voice was deeper than you remembered as well...sending vibrations right through your body. You stammered on your words trying to find what to say as what he says goes straight to your head, making your face warm up a bit.

“ yeah...uhm, yes well so do you. you really uh tanned up a bit, huh. suits you.”

He chuckled lowly at your words, rubbing the back of his slightly sweatened neck sighing as he speaks to you.

“ yeah well uh, you're not actually the first person to notice that. not the first person to say that either. alot of uh soccer moms seem to love the tan.”

He laughs at the end of his sentence, you can't help but to laugh along with him. Sighing shakily as you stare at him. You feel as if it's wrong to do so, you hate how much you want him badly but gosh he's so sexy.

You both just look at each other for a moment staring deeply into each other's eyes. You see the way he slowly nibbles at his lip.

Before you knew it you were making out in the bathroom trying to be as quietly as you could considering all of the people that were outside. His hot breaths fanning your face as he struggles to get your clothes off with his slippery hands. He groans lowly as you begin to nip at his neck, his hands wrapping around you and pulling you closer to him.

“ god, I want you so fuckin’ badly.”

Shoyou groaned above you, sitting you up on the counter as he cranes your head up to his so he can kiss you once more. He lets his tongue find it's way inside of your mouth. Your tongues swirling around each others spit slipping at the corners of your mouths.

Once he gets your shirt off her quick to attack your chest kissing sloppily over your pushed up boobs, hands going to your back to quickly remove your back his hands coming up to replace it, gently squeezing and groping the meaty flesh. He groans and moves his kisses and small sucked down to your bare chest, suckling one of your nipples into his mouth.

You hold him close by his head tangling your fingers through his ginger locs, small curls forming around your fingers and you scratch lightly at his scalp humming with a small laugh laced in. You kiss his head lightly as your breathing changes, you pant lightly and lowly a small mewl leaving your lips as he continued leaving hickeys and sucking harshly.

A small knock at the door causes you to tense in his hands, a light gasp leaving you as you pull at his hair slightly. He groans and continues as if he's even more needy than before. Pulling you impossibly closer to him.

A voice speaks slightly muffled due to the barrier you couldn't exactly make out what the male said due to shoyous excessive moaning.

“ shoyou.. there's, there's someone at the door...”

A small grunt leaves his mouth as a response you don't know what to do, you sigh beneath his touch jittery and nervous due to the person

After a while it appears he'd left, but by then shoyou was already burying his face inside of your cunt. Inhaling deeply at the smell of you he missed so much, a small whine leaving him as he kissed your clothed cunt sloppily.

He pulled away swiftly to remove the barrier, pulling your pants and panties down at once. Delving his tongue inside immediately without hesitation groaning at the taste of you on his tongue eyes slightly rolling as he struggles to keep his composure.

He licks and sucks up everything you give him trying to maintain eye contact with you as be makes out with your cunny having his thumb rub circles on your clit slowly. As he pulls away momentarily from you a line of your arousal and his spit connects him to your cunt making you shudder at how he looks at you.

Hes so pussy drunk he can't help but to push his face back into your sweet folds tongue flicking and swirling around your clit as he fingers you slowly. There were murmurs outside of the door causing you slight concern, maybe you were being too loud or maybe he was slurping too loudly. There were so many things clouding your head, however with your orgasm coming fastly and crashing down on you all you could do was grab shoyou by his hair and try and pull him away from you.

He kept licking up everything you gave him sighing in your pussy as he rubs your thighs soothingly. He pulls away from you finally licking up everything left on his face before making eye contact with you once more. He smirks and scoffs lowly before pulling your clothes up and riding to his feet.

You catch your breath, yet feeling a bit more breathless as you look into his eyes. Full of determination and a hint of cockiness. He pulls you into a slow kiss letting you taste the flavours of yourself on his tongue.

You sigh shakily before pushing him away lying your head in his shoulder as you continue to level your breathing. He wraps his arms around you and kisses your head making you laugh lightly.

“ I miss this. I miss you.”

He rubbed your shoulder softly looking at himself in the mirror facing the music of his previous decisions. Shoyou didn't know what he wanted but he knew he couldn't let you go. Not again.

“ you were right....before, that is.”

He hums looking down at you, you dust yourself off before jumping off of the counter turning to wash your hands and encouraging him to do the same. You two stand side by side as you both dry your hands, he looks at you wondering whatever it is that you mean .

“ I was holding you back. I still might...you're meant for greatness. I would only get in the way of that.”

He scoffed annoyed at your response. Shoyou didn't care about any of that, sure he knew some of his fans would be upset upon hearing he would be in a relationship but he doesn't care. He truly does love you and he always has. There was no way in hell be would pass up getting to follow his passion and being with you.

“ y/n I love you. more than I do anything else in this world. I can handle a little hate from some people, especially if it means I can be with you and do what I love.”

You sigh. This was a lot. You didn't want to take him away from the world or from what he loves. It would make you feel bad, not just about yourself but for him. At first you didn't get it, but now you understand. All too well unfortunately. You can't hold him back like this, not again. He'd be better off following his dreams and focusing on them rather than having to worry about you and manage himself and his goals.

You turn to him tears welling in your eyes once more, you give a wobbly smile to him one that he knew couldn't mean anything good. He sighed shakily accepting what he knew was to come. As fun as this was you both knew it wouldn't work. You loved each other too much; cared for each other too much. So much so that it held you both back.

Just as you were about to speak, about to apologize he simply pulls you into a hug. It was tight and comforting exactly what you both needed. His breathing changed as if he were trying to hold back his emotions. You kissed his cheek before letting him go telling him he should wait few before leaving after you. He agrees.

As you walked out of that bathroom you ran into a couple of people saying your goodbyes and giving your hugs to everyone and leaving.

Weeks pass and just as you thought you could get over whatever you needed to get over in order to focus on yourself. You scroll on social media to find everyone talking about ‘japanese volleyball player shoyou hinata, better known as 'ninja shoyou' from the black jackals seen leaving bathroom after another woman.’ there was a clear video showing you walking out of the bathroom fixing yourself up and saying goob ye to people and then shoyou walking out about a couple of minutes later.

Fuck

[pursued-by-the-squid]

viii. check your footing

pairing: gi-hun x gn!reader x in-ho

word count: 13.9k

ao3 | masterlist

That could have been you. It should have been you. You glance over up Gi-hun as he shuffles inside the player room just ahead, his head and shoulders hanging unbearably low. You almost wish it had been you.

Fuck, that’s a lie, no you don’t. You’re so relieved to be alive that it clouds your vision and chokes your lungs. You want to drop onto your knees and praise the universe for allowing you to live. But then you remember how desperate you’d been to save Jun-hee’s life and the life of her child, the way you’d looked up at Gi-hun and told him without words that you were terrified to leave him because it might mean you’d die alone, without him. Jung-bae only left because of you.

You killed him. It’s your fault he’s dead.

You can’t help feeling like you’ve killed Gi-hun too. The man you see now is unlike anyone you’ve ever known before. Despair clings to him like a second skin. Every time you think he’s finally stopped crying, his shoulders ripple and he doubles over with another sob. He is shattered beyond belief and you don’t blame him for that, you never could, but you still feel like every gut-wrenching gasp and every tear is only there because you were selfish enough to put your life and the life of a stranger before Jung-bae’s.

No one speaks. What can they say? Any apologies or sympathies for Gi-hun’s sorrow will only come out hollow, a nicety without any real value because none of you knew Jung-bae like he does. Did. Because he’s dead. Oh God.

Young-il takes a seat immediately next to you, his leg pressed against yours with a shock of warmth. You can feel how heavy his gaze is without even looking at him, can feel him studying you and you don’t even know why. You don’t have the heart to ask.

Several long minutes go by. “Why don’t you go to him?” he murmurs.

A quick glance in Gi-hun’s direction tells you exactly why you shouldn’t. He’s huddled up against the nearest stable surface with a hand over his eyes as he cries, his body curling in on itself until he looks more like a child than the man you know. It’s heartbreaking. And it’s your fault.

Because I killed him, you think. Because it should’ve been me. Why would he want to even speak to me after what I’ve done?

You shake your head. “I don’t think it would help.”

“Don’t you?” Young-il rests a hand on your knee. “You’re his friend, [___]. Maybe he needs you.”

Guilt streaks across your soul and you wrench your leg away from him with a grimace. “I’m the reason he’s dead,” you growl, your voice rasping as you drop it as low it will go. “I-I can’t–.”

Sorrow wells up inside you until you’re choking on it. You were too shocked to cry before, too busy trying to keep Gi-hun from dragging the entire team across the arena or getting a gun to the head for disobeying orders to worry about crying. But now with the freedom of space and time, your guilt is bubbling over and threatening to spill down your cheeks.

There’s a beat of silence where you’re struggling to maintain your composure and Young-il just… sits there. His hand hovers uncertainly between you. Maybe he’s realizing you’re right, that you are the reason for Jung-bae’s death. Maybe he’s regretting now the choice to ever befriend you, just like you’re sure that Gi-hun is.

And then, finally, he’s wrapping an arm around your shoulders and pulling you into a side embrace. “It wasn’t your fault,” he hums.

“It was.”

“It wasn’t.” He squeezes his arm a little tighter. “Jung-bae-ssi made his choice. He chose to find another team and… his team lost. It’s unfortunate, yes, but it isn’t your fault.”

You suppose that’s his way of trying to comfort you – find the logic in the situation and accept it – but it doesn’t work for you like it does for him. Because you can still see the shape of Jung-bae’s body on the floor. You can still see his blood. You can still hear Gi-hun screaming in the back of your mind.

You sniffle lightly into your hands. “Then why do I feel like it is?”

He’ll tell you something poetic and charming, you think, about how you’re a kind soul who cares too deeply. That’s what anyone else would say were they in his shoes. Whether he genuinely believes that or not, though, you have no real idea because Young-il decides instead to curve his hand over the shell of your ear, brushing some of your hair away from your face.

“Give Gi-hun-ssi the space to mourn, hm?” You’re so stunned by the gentle lilt of his voice and the vulnerability of the gesture that you can hardly breathe. “He’ll come to you when he’s ready.”

His tenderness leaves you fluttering amid the swirling maelstrom of your emotions. It feels so out of place, so inherently wrong, to accept a kind word and gentle touch after all the death you’ve witnessed. Where was Jung-bae’s tenderness? Where was the mercy he deserved and what makes you worthy enough to live in his place?

You aren’t even afforded the chance to antagonize yourself on the matter further because the doors at the front of the room suddenly open, revealing several of the pink soldiers. 255 of the original 457 players remain, as reflected on the scoreboard above. More money is added to the pig’s belly – 20.1 billion won now and nearly 79 million won per person. The amount is staggering in your mind, even after years of receiving Gi-hun’s financial boons.

Yet so many players are unhappy with these results. It’s too little bloodshed, they complain, and not enough money. How are they meant to pay off their debts with such a small amount? How are they meant to survive in the cold, cruel world outside these games with only 79 million won?

Standing tall and unwavering beneath the scoreboard, Square Mask surveys the room. Cold and detached. “I completely understand your disappointment,” he says cooly. You wonder if he feels anything under that mask, if he feels any sympathy for the people he’s helped to slaughter or if he’s truly as soulless as he appears. “However, we always keep the door open for you to pursue new opportunities. You will now take a vote to decide whether to continue the games or not.”

Chatter starts among the players as they lean in and whisper to one another. You can see the greed in their eyes.

“Whether to continue the games for a bigger prize or to stop here is entirely your choice. Please feel free to exercise your right to choose in a democratic manner.”

Gi-hun is still shaking. His sobs have quieted until they’re nothing more than sharp inhalations, quickening and slowing unpredictably. It breaks your heart all over again. How can they force him to endure another tedious round of voting when he hasn’t even had the chance to recover from the shock of Jung-bae’s death? A single look is all it takes to tell you that the man can hardly stand on his own feet.

“Ah, Y-Young-il-ssi?” The sound of Dae-ho’s voice draws you from your thoughts. He’s approached the stair that you and Young-il are both perched upon, with his hands drawn together over his stomach as he fidgets. He nods his head politely. “Are you going to vote O again, sir?”

What remains of your little team – just you and Jun-hee now that Jung-bae is… – shifts its attention to Young-il, each of you curious to see his response. He’d said it was his business that was in trouble. Is he as desperate as the rest of these players? Is he willing to stay for another game even now?

He presses a hand flat over his breast where the blue O patch sits and he grimaces. “Don’t worry,” he sighs, “I want to stop here.”

And it’s such a relief to hear. If he were to choose to vote O again, the betrayal would be too much for you to bear. “We’re all agreed, then?” You glance between the four of you without drawing any further attention to Gi-hun. You think that Young-il might be right, space may be exactly what he needs right now.

Jun-hee nods with a hand rubbing over the swell of her belly. Dae-ho looks from her to you, his expression sweet but tinted with grief. And finally Young-il, his mouth drawn tight as he watches you.

“For Jung-bae, then?”

Dae-ho sticks out his hand, palm down. “For Jung-bae,” he agrees. Your hand claps softly atop Dae-ho’s, followed immediately by Jun-hee and a slightly hesitant Young-il. “Victory at all costs,” he murmurs, and it’s far from the battle cry it had once been on the rainbow track.

Victory. You’re not sure if that’s even possible anymore, but you have to try. For Jung-bae and Gi-hun, you must.

Last time, the vote had been considerably close. Young-il had been the one to tip the scales, but there had still been a decent chance of you and Gi-hun returning home. This time, there is no such chance. With so many players distraught over the low amount of money they’ll receive, a lot of them are opting to vote O. Vote after vote rolls in and the number for the O’s ticks higher and higher.

You keep expecting Gi-hun to do something, say something. He’d been so full of fire just yesterday. He had pleaded and shouted and explained until a soldier was forced to ram their gun into the back of his head just to shut him up. But there is no such fire tonight. You look into his eyes and find that nothing looks back. Even after his tears have dried, Gi-hun’s eyes are glassy and distant.

If he won’t speak up, then who will?

You catch Young-il’s gaze from across the room. Being the first to cast his vote has placed him in the very center of the allotted X space, which feels an entire galaxy away from you right now. You want desperately for someone to lean on, someone to make you feel safe amid the unknown and the chaos and the death, and putting that burden onto Gi-hun is simply inconceivable.

Have hope, you imagine him saying, though really you can’t be sure if that’s what he’s thinking or not. Maybe he’s laughing at you and your desperation for hope. Maybe he’s already accepted his fate, as Gi-hun seems to.

You don’t want to accept it, though. You’re not ready for another game, another opportunity to lose Gi-hun or your own life or even Young-il. And what of Dae-ho and Jun-hee? Hyun-ju? The sweet mother and her son? What will happen to all of them if another game is played and the odds aren’t in their favor? How many Jung-bae’s can you stomach before you lose yourself to the horror of it all?

“Gi-hun?” You take the seat beside him, careful to leave enough room between your bodies in case he feels overwhelmed by your presence. But you have to try. “Gi-hun, shouldn’t we do something?”

The next player is called up, Player 100, and you glance away from Gi-hun only long enough to cast a scowl in 100’s direction. He can’t see it, of course, but it’s the principal of the thing. The O vote ticks up by one.

Gi-hun is uncharacteristically silent. He doesn’t look at you. He doesn’t move. You’re not even sure if he’s breathing, actually. He just sits there like a corpse that’s been arranged to look slightly alive. An ancient memory of the ddakji businessman sprawled out on Gi-hun’s chair, the very chair you’d sat in a hundred times until that night, comes to mind and you try not to hurl.

You place a hand on his arm, if only to prove to yourself that he’s still alive. “Gi-hun, I… I’m so sorry. I’m sorry you had to-.” There’s a lump in your throat that won’t go down and it keeps choking you every time you speak more than a few words. “Please. We have to do something. I don’t want anyone else to die here.” I don’t want you to die. I don’t want to lose you.

There’s a moment where you think he might be moved to act because he blinks, and his eyes settle on you, and you think you see a moment of clarity peering out from behind the mist of his agony. But it’s only a passing thing.

“Player 120.”

Hyun-ju. You find yourself peering over the heads of other players to watch her cast her vote, hoping that someone as kind as her might finally be moved to act sensibly. She lingers before the podium, like so many before her, before finally voting 0 and you wonder what it is specifically that gives her pause. What is she facing in the real world that makes her think she has to endanger her life and yours just to survive?

It’s the money, you realize. Everyone here needs money but they’re so adamant that 79 million won each isn’t enough to live with. But what if… what if there was a way to add more money to the pot without anyone dying?

Player 124 is called forth – Thanos’ accomplice from last night’s fight. He has no qualms about voting to stay, which you suppose shouldn’t surprise you, but it’s what he does after the vote that does. He lingers near the podium and watches as Player 125 approaches. Player 125 who, if you’d seen correctly, bears an X patch. Player 125 who hesitates over his choices, who turns to see 124 staring at him through mock-binoculars. Player 125 who votes O with shaking hands and a shameful expression.

People are being coerced, whether they need the money or not, because the desperate players are just that desperate. So what if you eliminated that need? What if you contributed more money to the pot and convinced even a single player that voting O isn’t necessary to be saved?

Once last glance at Gi-hun’s sunken, tear-stained cheeks is enough to give you the courage you need. You stand so quickly that it nearly throws you off balance. As you push your way through the crowd, you try not to think of all those eyes – hundreds and hundreds of them – staring you down, judging you, praying for your downfall so that they might prosper. You try to think only of Jung-bae and the already festering wound his death has left behind.

Your feet have hardly touched the bottom step when Young-il suddenly bursts from the crowd of X voters with a shout. “Are you all out of your minds?” The red and blue lights cast him in a soft violet hue, entirely at odds with the incredulous despair that ravages his voice. “You still want to keep going after watching all those people die? Who's to say you won't die in the next game?”

For a long, long moment, you simply watch him. You’re almost transfixed. There’s something about him that’s catching you off-guard, something a little too similar to Gi-hun and still so entirely Young-il that gives you pause. Was Jung-bae’s death really enough to move him this deeply? To change his entire mindset?

He gestures angrily to the undecided voters you stand among. “We have to stop. We'll all die if we keep going! Come to your senses and leave with that money. You've got to survive first, or there won't be a next step.”

Player 100 breaks from his group and your immediate reaction is to gag because you hate him. You hate the way he spoke to Gi-hun before the game. You hate the way he holds all life in contempt except his own. You hate his pompous attitude and his stupid hair, and you hate the way that he looks at Young-il like he’s not even worth the air he breathes. “What do you think we can do with a mere 79 million?” he questions. “I don't know how much you owe, but for most people here that doesn't even cover 10% of their debt. Am I right?”

It's the overwhelming cry of agreement that has you finally daring to be bold, to raise your voice above the cacophony. For Gi-hun. For Jung-bae! “What if you had more than 79 million?” And this time, you’re sure most or all 255 sets of eyes are focused on you and only you. Player 100 and Young-il both look at you as if you’ve grown a second head. “Gi-hun and I… Player 456, I mean. Neither of us needs the money. We’d both be willing to forfeit our share and contribute it to the total if the rest of the players all vote X.”

Both his worth and yours would total to 200 million won. You’re not sure how much that would add to each player’s take home amount, but it has to be worth something, doesn’t it?

More players stop and look at you, while others start whispering to their neighbors. More and more eyes swivel and land on you, pinning you in place until you start to feel like a bug caught beneath a microscope. They’re pulling your legs off one by one, trying to see what interesting things you’ll do when the pain becomes too much.

Young-il is on you in an instant, grabbing you by the arm and yanking you to him so no one else can hear. “What are you doing?” he whispers, though there’s nothing soft about it. He’s all harsh lines and rippling confusion.

Isn’t it obvious? “I’m trying to save people.”

But before he can question you further, 100 interjects, drawing the focus back to him as he continues spouting greedy, inhumane nonsense. “Your money isn’t enough,” he sneers. “I have 10 billion in debt! What can you give me to take care of it, huh?”

Young-il’s teeth glisten in the violet-red light. “Step back,” he utters, his hand still tightly squeezed around your bicep.

“Young-il-nim.” You press a hand to his chest to calm him. Because you need to do this, you need to try. If Gi-hun can’t fight anymore, then who else will stand up for him? “It’s alright.”

“[___]–”

“I don’t have 10 billion won just lying around to give you, sir,” you explain to 100. He stands nearby with his chest puffed out and his mouth wrinkled into a frown, thoroughly unimpressed. “But I do have 2 billion won that I would be willing to share with everyone here. If the rest of us all vote X.”

“If you have so much money, then what are you here for? Are you a spy sent from the people who run this place, huh? Like your friend?”

Rage the likes you’ve never known before floods your system. How dare he drag Gi-hun into this after the way he treated him today. “It doesn’t matter why I have that money; it’s mine to do with as I please.”

A slightly younger player hanging just behind 100 smirks, though you can’t see his number clearly. “Trying to help your boyfriend?” he snorts, and several of his assorted cronies snicker in tandem.

“I’m trying to save innocent lives, but I wouldn’t expect a sick motherfucker like you to understand the concept.” And before 100 or his friend can retort further or press you for more answers you aren’t able to give, you turn your attention to the undecided players. Young-il’s hand falls away almost without notice. “I’m willing to forfeit all the money I’m worth in these games, plus my two billion, if all of you will vote X.”

The players devolve into scattered murmurs that ripple through the crowd, “two billion?” and “that’s at least seven million more a person” being the loudest and most distinct among them. Already you can tell that the shift in numbers has started to convince a few people. For players like 100, you know it won’t be enough, but you hope that for others it will be the push that they need to vote appropriately. No more people should have to die, not for something as soulless and brutal as cold, hard cash.

“Player 457.” Square Mask is staring at you from behind the podium. While several other players, including 100, have already taken to arguing in favor of an O vote, you can suddenly feel the weight of hidden eyes settling on your skin. “You are disrupting the democratic process of this vote.”

“Me?!” What about the others? What about Young-il and 100?

You’re already starting to gesture to the other players when you spot one of the guards at the far end of the room lift his gun. The pink suit and black mask cut easily through the crowd, quieting all dissenting voices until there is only silence, the sound of your labored, frantic breathing, and your feet slapping on the floor as you pinwheel backward.

“As was established during the previous vote, interruptions in each player’s right to express themselves democratically will not be tolerated.” You find yourself stumbling over other people’s feet and slamming into unknown bodies in your desperation to back away before the soldier can advance any further. “All requests to forfeit the Games will result in instant disqualification.”

So, death. They’re gonna shoot you because you tried to forfeit. Why the fuck didn’t you think of that before you went and opened your big mouth?

“I take it back, I take it back!” You squeeze your eyes shut, preparing for a bullet that never comes.

The gun never fires, but even if it had, it would’ve had to go through both Young-il and Gi-hun to reach you. Young-il, you realize after several moments of terrifying silence, has stepped into the guard’s path. And Gi-hun… You’d thought he was still barricading himself in the far corner, drowning in his sorrows, but he isn’t. He’s here, standing as tall as his weary body can withstand as he shoulders his way directly in front of you.

He doesn’t move. The voting continues, albeit dotted with various attempted chants to play one more game, but Gi-hun remains steadfast. His shoulders quiver, but he stays. Players shove into you as they pass or they grant you a scowl when their number is called, yet Gi-hun is there, unfaltering and strong even in the rising defeat that marks itself on the scoreboard.

Your vote and his don’t even matter by the end. The O team is at least 20 votes ahead of you. You lost, and it feels like Jung-bae’s dying all over again.

You should’ve done more. There should have been some other way to change minds and win people over to your side, but you’d seen the barrel of the pink soldier’s gun and had cowered behind the first solid thing you could shield yourself with. You’d let them beat you down. It’s just that being brave is so much easier when you’re not staring down the very weapon that could end your life. Being brave is a bolder inclination when the moment has passed and all that’s left to do is torture yourself over what-if’s.

“That was very foolish of you.”

You and Gi-hun turn in tandem toward Young-il’s voice. The disappointment you hear creeping into the edges of his condemnation feels like a slap in the face. “I was trying to do the right thing,” you explain, though you can’t bring yourself to look him in the eyes when you do.

“And instead, you’ve put a target on your back.”

That hadn’t been your intention. It hadn’t even been a possibility in your mind. “I’m sorry, I… I was just trying to do what I thought Gi-hun would do.” And why does it feel like such an embarrassing thing to admit? “That’s why he’s here. To save people, so I thought–”

There’s a muscle along the bottom ridge of Young-il’s jaw that clenches before he speaks. “Gi-hun-ssi has played these Games before, [___]. You haven’t. And you very nearly got yourself shot because of it.”

Is that why he’s so upset? Because he’d felt the need to step in the path of a potential bullet in the hopes of protecting you? Because he’d risked his life for yours and he wishes now that he hadn’t?

Perhaps Young-il has a touch of telepathy about him, or perhaps you’re the most emotionally transparent person on the planet, but either way, Young-il seems to realize that you’re confused and wounded by his sudden flash of frustration. He seems to wrestle with himself for a bit before finally relenting, allowing his restraint to drift away with a heavy exhalation before he finally decides to approach you.

“What you did was admirable,” he admits, and he takes one of your hands as he does. “Foolish, yes, but admirable, and I don’t fault you for it. But it was also reckless.”

On that, you suppose you can agree. “I know.”

Young-il sighs again, lighter this time, but his body is still tense. “You aren’t a hero, [___]. That isn’t what you need to be.”

Gi-hun still lingers somewhere behind you, frozen in the same place he’d stood when you had cast your vote. Does he feel the same, you wonder, or does he wish you’d made a more decisive stand? Do your actions, however reckless and foolish they might have been, make up for Jung-bae’s death, or were they pointless from the start?

He lowers his voice suddenly and when you blink, Young-il is leaning in so his forehead nearly brushes against yours. “We have a Seong Gi-hun already,” he breathes, and is it your imagination, or does this feel more intimate than every moment shared with him over the past few years? “We don’t need another.”

Dinner has long since ended by the time Dae-ho and Young-il decide to depart for a bathroom break. You’re not comfortable leaving Gi-hun on his own and Jun-hee seems more inclined to curl up in her bed for a bit, rather than sit and stew in the awkward silence that Gi-hun carries with him, so it’s just the two of you now. It’s both familiar and foreign.

Mealtimes have always been special for you, at least when it comes to him. All those corner store stops, all the ramyeon cups stacked high in his trash bin and the take-out containers in the firing range, they’ve always meant security for you. They’ve always meant Gi-hun.

But it doesn’t feel like that anymore. Now, mealtime feels uncomfortable and sickening. It doesn’t help that the soldiers aren’t giving any of you enough food, and it doesn’t help that when you twist your feet just right, you catch a glimpse of blood on your soles and your appetite is gutted.

“You really should eat something,” you say, even though you know there’s no point. Gi-hun’s too far gone to do much of anything right now. Still, you have to at least try. A gentle prod against his shoulder draws his attention just long enough to display the remainder of your dinner. “Here. I saved some of mine, in case you get hungry later.”

You know you’re going to be hungry yourself later tonight, but you’re more worried about him. He’s mourning. He deserves something good to eat so that at least a part of him isn’t in constant agony. But there’s nothing. No “you’re wasting your time”, no “go fuck yourself”, not even a “I wish it had been you instead”. Not a single word.

Isn’t he angry? Doesn’t he want to hit you or something? You almost wish he would because surely enduring his rage would be less painful than staring into the empty, sunken eyes of the husk he’s become.

“Gi-hun, please. Talk to me?”

It feels like the birth, life, and death of galaxies takes place in the time it takes him to respond. His lips part – chapped, swollen, and indented where his teeth have worried at the same spot for too long – and he sighs. “What would you like me to say?”

And suddenly, you’re leaning in faster than you can stop yourself, your fingers curling loosely over his wrist so he can’t escape you. “Anything. Anything you want, it doesn’t matter.”

“He was my friend.”

You nod lightly. I know, you want to say. I wanted to know him better. But you know you shouldn’t. It wouldn’t feel right because this isn’t about you or your feelings, this is about him. This is about trying to fix something so irreparably damaged that you don’t actually know if anything you’re doing is a help or a hindrance.

Gi-hun pulls his hand away. “There’s nothing else to say.”

“Gi-hun.” He looks like a stranger when the lights hit his face. Even the way he stands has changed; he’s stiffer, less fluid, his movements sharp and jagged. But that’s not what worries you – it’s the fact that he’s trying to leave. “Gi-hun?”

The steps creak lightly beneath and behind you. You reach out as you stumble to your feet, eager to bring him back from the metaphorical edge, but are almost immediately cut off. “Hey, 457!”

You don’t recognize the voice and they clearly don’t know who you are, so you decide right then and there that you don’t care who it is. Gi-hun is more important. It would just be nice if he wasn’t trying to run away from you right now.

“Gi-hun, wait.” You nearly trip over your own foot trying to run up the steps after him. “Gi-hun!”

Footsteps fall heavy on the stairs behind you, followed by a hand on your elbow, and you whirl around with a glare. “Can I help you?” For once, you don’t give a single shit if you sound rude.

Player 124 stands on the step just below yours. “You’re the one with the two billion, aren’t you?”

God, seriously? You’re in the middle of trying to chase after your best friend to make sure he doesn’t do something reckless and this guy’s worrying about fucking money? You roll your eyes and you don’t bother to hide it. Fuck this guy and fuck every other player in here who bears the same poisonous O patch on their chests.

“The offer’s not on the table anymore, sorry.”

He yanks hard where he’s gripping your elbow when you attempt to free yourself and steers you around so you’re stumbling down to his level. At first, you think he’s just trying to detain you. Intimidate you, probably. Quite frankly, you don’t give a shit about that either. You’re not above throwing a smack or two after the day you’ve had. But when you try to tear yourself away, you find yourself backing into something tall, broad, and solid. The overwhelming scent of sweat and two or three-day old cologne floods your senses until you nearly choke.

“Woah, hey, where d’you think you’re going, man?”

Because of course. It isn’t bad enough that Jung-bae is dead and Gi-hun is utterly unrecognizable in his grief, oh no. No, you just had to go and open your stupid mouth, didn’t you? Had to go and say something idiotic like “I’ll give everyone free money if you let me go home”. You don’t even have the right to be surprised anymore.

The smile you force onto your face is more grimace than anything else, but again – you don’t really care. You’re not in the mood and you don’t have the time for this. “Thanos, right?”

A shock of purple hair comes into view as he steps out from behind you, grinning ear to ear. “The one and only.”

“Look guys, I’m not interested in… whatever this is. Your vote won, so I’m not feeling very generous anymore.”

But Thanos only shakes his head. “Oh, no, no, no, man, that’s not it at all!” He brushes you off like it’s nothing, like he doesn’t take you seriously – and he probably doesn’t, but that suits you just fine because you can’t take him seriously either. “We just want in on your little industry, or whatever the fuck.”

“I…” Industry? What, he thinks you run some kind of underground criminal empire? “What are you talking about?”

There’s a flash of color on his nails when he flutters his fingers at you, each one a perfect match for the fucking infinity stones. What a fucking joke. “You know, however you got that two billion.” He wiggles his eyebrows when he leans in to get a closer look at you. “You running a drug ring or something? Because I know a thing or two about that.”

You’re so massively dumbfounded by the accusation that it takes you several very long, very agonizing seconds to find your voice again. “What about me makes you think I run a fucking drug ring?”

“I dunno,” he drawls in a lazy attempt at English, “maybe ‘cause of all that money you were bragging about.”

“I wasn’t bragging–”

“Sure sounded like it to me.” Thanos snaps his fingers and 124 suddenly appears, nearly scaring the crap out of you. You’d kind of forgotten about him. “Nam-su–”

“Nam-gyu,” he corrects with a heavy roll of his eyes.

Thanos just rolls his eyes back, crinkling his mouth until he looks more like a toddler throwing faces across the playground than a grown man. “I said that, man,” he tsks. “Whatever. Nam-gyu, don’t you think 457 was bragging about having a fuckton of money?”

124 – Nam-gyu – juts his chin in your direction, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. “Yeah, I do. And I think you’re just being greedy now ‘cause you’re pissed you’re not going home yet.”

A dozen different retorts flash through your mind, ranging between “what are you gonna do about it?” and a more level-headed, albeit entirely sarcastic, “let me give you my number and we’ll talk if we all survive this”. You’re debating which one is least likely to get you beaten and bloodied and none of them are particularly encouraging when Nam-gyu suddenly smacks the back of his hand on Thanos’ chest.

“Uh, hey, isn’t that–?”

Thanos suddenly straightens as his eyes shift nervously over some unknown point behind you. His throat bobs noticeably. “Time to go.” To you, he purses his lips, nods, and then he and Nam-gyu are hurrying off like rats scattering in the dark. You don’t fully understand why until you see Young-il.

“Those two bothering you?” he asks. You can hear the unspoken implication, can read it in his face – if there’s a problem, he’ll fix it himself.

You duck your head, smiling just a bit and pretending that you are very much not flushing at his attentiveness. Because Young-il is nothing more than a good friend with a desire to keep you safe and reading into that any further is not only stupid, but entirely inappropriate. For multiple reasons.

“No,” you finally answer, “it’s alright. I’m fine.”

If the touch of his hand at your shoulder causes you to still, or the brush of his knuckles over the curve of your wrist, or the gentle hum of his breath does anything to make you fluster or stare or linger in a way entirely unlike yourself for the rest of the evening, then that’s your own business. You can only hope that no one else, and certainly not Gi-hun, notices it.

The torn-open plastic wrapper and scattered crumbs of bread are nothing compared to the usual offerings left at a funeral, but this is hardly a normal funeral. He supposes that he ought to be moved by it. In a place where people turn on one another like animals and food is scarce, Gi-hun knows that he should be grateful for a moment of peace to remember his last surviving friend. He should be grateful that you sacrificed part of your own meal (if a single round of bread can even be called that) for it. He should be grateful for you because if you hadn’t suggested a vigil, he would have been too lost in his grief to even consider it.

But all Gi-hun can feel is the merciless nothing that consumes him.

He’s vaguely aware of the others shuffling into their beds behind him. Each of them has chosen to believe him and listen to him, and for that he’s thankful. At least he can try to save another few lives. The only question is for how long, if the attempt is even worth trying anymore.

There’s the sound of feet then, and he sits up a little straighter because in that moment, Jung-bae is still alive and they’re back in Ssangmun-dong, sharing a glass of soju. And then he catches your scent and the shape of your silhouette, and reality comes crumbling down all around him. He tries not to be disappointed. He also tries not to feel guilty for being disappointed, but he fails at both. In the end, all he can do is hang his head in remorse.

“Hey,” you say softly.

You’ve been cagey around him since Jung-bae’s death. It’s only been a few hours, but the difference is blatant – your touches are hesitant and dramatically decreased, your body closed off from him, and even your voice sounds different. An attempt at kindness, he thinks. Then why does it grate him so?

Gi-hun doesn’t acknowledge you beyond the gentle huff of an exhalation. You seem to take that as all the permission you need. “You don’t have to take the first watch if you don’t want to. I don’t mind.”

He resigns himself to the fact that a conversation will apparently be necessary. “I’m not tired,” he tells you, drawing his legs to his chest so he can wrap his arms around them. It’s easier to ride each wave of sorrow when he’s compressed into something small like this, when the world can’t reach him.

“Me neither.” Your leg is bouncing – a nervous tick he’s not sure you’re even aware of. “I just thought I’d offer. If it would help.”

The only thing that would help him now is a gun in his hands and the Captain on his knees so he can shoot him through the skull. So he can tear this island down with his bare hands, brick by brick, until there’s nothing left. Only he lost the chance to do so two days ago when the tracker was ripped from his jaw and you were abducted, forced to play these Games simply because your very presence is a constant stab through his heart.

He'll find a way. If it kills him, he’ll find a way to exact the revenge he needs. For Sang-woo, for Jung-bae, and for all the ways you’ve died and been reborn since the Games have started.

Gi-hun takes a deep breath to open up his ribcage and release the tension that’s been coiling in his chest for the past hour. “Get some rest,” he says, and his tongue feels heavy when he does. “You need it.”

A month ago, you might have fought him on it and demanded he get some rest too. Maybe you would have looked at him in that special way, where the light catches your eyes and you smile differently and it leaves him feeling flayed apart, and he might have at last relented. A week ago, he might have asked you to stay the night – so he could keep you close, keep you safe – and you might have even said yes, and Gi-hun would’ve spent the entire night dreaming of possibilities and open-mouthed kisses, and he still would have gone to the club to meet the Captain because at least he would’ve died remembering you.

This time, there is no fight. This time there’s just quiet deference and a weary heart too bruised to beat any longer.

He glares at the crumpled piece of plastic on the step and the pathetic smattering of crumbs that serve as an offering to Jung-bae’s spirit, and he vows never to rest until the game runners and the Captain get exactly what they deserve.

Young-il greets you when you retreat. The lights have gone out by now, shrouding the entire room in darkness bar the glowing X and O on the floor, so he couldn’t turn and watch the interaction even if he wanted to. He doesn’t, of course. What you do in your own time with your own friends is none of his concern. Not even if your friend is rubbing a soothing hand into your shoulder. Not even if your friend is making you laugh. Not even if your friend is… Wait, he’s not urging you to join him, is he? Gi-hun’s misunderstanding him, surely.

He forces as much air into his lungs as he can, holding it in and suppressing the thundering beat of his pulse so he can hear better.

“I don’t want to …,” you whisper sweetly.

Young-il’s voice is similarly softened. “… insist.”

This is pointless. It doesn’t matter how quiet he is, he won’t be able to hear a thing, and since when does it matter? Why is this what he’s choosing to focus on? Where is his rage? Where is his hatred and his fight? Is he truly so fickle that his plans turn to dust the moment you elect to share a bed with another man who, might he remind himself, is married?

Jung-bae is dead, just like Sang-woo. He needs to plan. He needs to organize.

Gi-hun squeezes his eyes shut until they hurt and that, at last, is enough to snap him out of his strange reverie. The Games cannot continue like this. The voting is going horribly and the O players are winning by a higher majority each time, which means that when tomorrow comes and more X players die, the chances of returning home will be almost zero. Not even your naively offered 2 billion won will be enough to change the hearts and minds of the O players who remain.

Your 2 billion… He’d given it to you because he thought he was dying, because he wanted to ensure that you would be able to take care of yourself in his absence. The money is yours now with no strings attached, but he can’t help feeling frustrated that you would be so quick to relinquish it. And for people like these? Drug addicts and dirty tradesmen, gangsters, loan sharks, gamblers.

He feels his own fingernails digging into his palms.

The gambler who had first accepted a smack from the ddakji recruiter and the gambler who stands watch now feel like two very different people. Gi-hun sometimes wonders if he isn’t just a spirit left to wander the Earth in a foreign body, traveling aimlessly, fighting against the ongoing tide of hopelessness and violence that haunts him. He wonders if that’s what Jung-bae saw before he died.

He wonders a lot of things, really. He wonders how things might have gone if Jung-bae had stayed and you had gone. Would you have ended up on the same team? And the pregnant girl – what if she had never asked for help? What if you had never offered? Would his oldest and dearest friend still be alive? Would you be dead in his place?

What if he had never stopped to help you in the first place? Where might your life have led you? Jung-bae might still be alive, or perhaps he would have come to the Games anyway – he supposes he doesn’t know the full extent of Jung-bae’s financial problems and that’s his own fault. He never stuck around to ask. He didn’t want him to know.

He sighs and tilts his head to gaze at the empty space on his left. It’s difficult to articulate why, but he can’t help feeling like Jung-bae ought to be sitting there. They would talk, he thinks, and Gi-hun would try not to engage because he doesn’t want to be distracted, but Jung-bae would insist. And they’d probably laugh over something stupid, or share a tense moment remembering the past, and Gi-hun would remember what it felt like to have a friend who knows you inside and out. He supposes he’ll never know that feeling for the rest of his life, though he’s not certain it matters. He doesn’t expect to live much longer anyway.

If he tries very hard, Gi-hun thinks he can imagine Jung-bae’s face – not the face of a dead man, but of a living soul who always smiles and sometimes drinks too much. Don’t be so hard on yourself, Gi-hun-a, he might have said (though he isn’t entirely sure he’s gotten the inflection right). We’ll grab a soju when this is all done, huh? Just like old times.

Maybe he’ll ask you do it for him. Jung-bae liked you, from what little time he had to acquaint himself, and you clearly feel some amount of affection for him on behalf of their friendship. He stares, misty eyed, at the crinkled plastic wrap and breadcrumbs and he smiles. You’d be more than eager to drink a glass of soju in his honor. That’s one of the things he admires about you – your heart.

It keeps him going long into the night. When his eyelids are finally too tired to stay open, Gi-hun drags himself onto the nearest mattress. If he sees you half weaseled under the nearest bed frame and half exposed, he doesn’t think much of it. If he sees your arms folded under your chin and your face pressed into Young-il’s shoulder, he doesn’t dwell on it. He can’t. It doesn’t matter, he reminds himself.

But if he happens to nudge Young-il awake and ask him to take the next shift, then that’s entirely on purpose and Gi-hun isn’t afraid to admit that to himself. He doesn’t touch you, doesn’t wake or stir you except to help maneuver you out of Young-il’s way so the other man can keep watch. You moan softly in your sleep, your face all scrunched up, but quickly fall back into your heavy slumber, and Gi-hun watches. He commits the shape of you to memory.

He's already lost Jung-bae and he’s already lost himself, but he refuses to lose you as well. Not the Captain, not the Games, and not even Young-il can take you from him, of that he is absolutely certain.

The set design is pretty, you suppose – whites and pastels, carousel horses atop a raised platform, and elegant curtains that rise up to the ceiling – but that’s all it is. It’s a design. It isn’t real. It’s a death arena made to look pretty and quaint, accompanied with charming music and a charming announcer, but it’s a death arena all the same.

“Welcome to your third game. The game you will be playing is Mingle. Let me repeat: the game you will be playing is Mingle.”

You glance sideways at Dae-ho, who’s already starting to fidget. “What is it?”

“I think I remember playing this in school,” he frowns. “We’d form groups by hugging each other.”

The announcer seems to further the idea, following Dae-ho’s musings with a more intricate explanation. “When the game starts, the platform will begin to rotate and you will hear a number. You must form groups of that size, go into the rooms, and close the door within 30 seconds.”

A secondary look around fills you with more despair than hope. “This place is massive,” you say, more to yourself, but the rest of the team manages to catch it.

Dae-ho nods in agreement, but he doesn’t look as defeated as you feel. A little nervous, maybe, if the shaking hands he lays on Jun-hee’s shoulders are anything to go by, but still somewhat hopeful. “I believe in us. We all made it through the race, didn’t we?”

Not all of us.

“We just need a strategy,” he continues, surging forward with all the bravado you’ve come to expect from him. His fist shakes eagerly in Young-il and Gi-hun’s general direction. “What do you think? How should we play this?”

The most obvious answer is given first – a five person group won’t require anything more than to run as fast as you possibly can. That, at least, is a relief and you really hope they call five before anything else. Anything larger than that, everyone will work to find another player. Your eyes scan the crowd in search of the familiar 120 on the back of Hyun-ju’s jacket. Maybe you can snag her if you need to.

“No matter what happens,” Young-il says, “don't panic. Let's stay calm. Let's trust each other. We'll all make it out together.” You admire his tenacity and his ability to remain calm even now, before the game has even started.

He extends one arm into the center of the group, palm down. “Here.”

Your hand falls easily atop his, your fingers splaying out as they unconsciously seek the warmth of his skin. Dae-ho comes next, then Jun-hee, and finally Gi-hun. You choose to pretend that Jung-bae is with you all in spirit, too, piling his hand atop his friend’s. His memory lives on in the battle cry that Dae-ho exclaims at the top of his lungs: “Victory at all costs!”

There is a final request from the announcer that each player relocate to the platform, then a flashing of the lights, and then the entire world is turning. You’re nearly jolted off balance, but are caught by a strong hand and a quietly encouraging nod from the player to your left – Hyun-ju! You go to thank her, but find your voice immediately drowned out by the sound of singing as the world keeps spinning.

“Round and round we go! Round and round we go!”

Dread blossoms in the pit of your stomach. Not only are you already feeling lightheaded from the turning of the platform, but the sound of children singing gleefully while you’re dragged to your potential demise is enough to make you actually sick. Rainbow colored doors glide past, round and round, and you have to reach out for Hyun-ju’s arm to keep yourself steady.

The announcer had said to listen for a number. Is the number somewhere in the song? Do you have to listen for it and then run? Will the platform stop? What happens if you fall? It’s too many questions and too much uncertainty. What if this, what if that? How? Why? When?

“Round and round we–.”

The platform grates to a halt and the lights flash out. The announcer’s voice crackles somewhere overhead. “Nine.”

Nine. Nine people? Oh shit, holy shit.

You grab blindly at Hyun-ju’s wrist. “We have five!” you shout over the sudden, raging chaos.

She nods frantically with a flash of her other hand in your face – her fingers are interlocked with another player’s, a young girl who looks about as scared as you feel. “Four!” she calls back. She looks over your shoulder, presumably at Gi-hun and the others. “We have four!”

“That’s nine!” you hear Young-il say. “Everybody run!”

Hyun-ju’s fast. Like, really fast. She practically drags the other girl off the platform, but you’re close behind, following her blindly, desperately, your arms and legs pumping. You’re vaguely aware of Gi-hun shouting directions; “green door!” is really the only thing you hear before you, Hyun-ju, and her friend are all slamming into the wall and scrambling for the handle.

Someone’s shoving at your shoulder. Someone else is urging you to “go, go, go!”. There’s a blur of limbs and concrete and teal green tracksuits, and Hyun-ju rams into the far wall, and somebody’s feet get caught under yours, and then you’re dropping to the floor with a shout as people trip all over you. You curl in on yourself so all your vital organs are protected, your arms thrown over your head, and people are wheezing and whispering, and you can still hear others on the outside as they scream and slam their doors shut, and it’s awful.

“[___].” Your hands are gently pried away from your face to reveal Gi-hun as he bends over you, his face drawn tight with worry. “Come on,” he urges softly.

You go willingly, happily, into his arms and are soon back on your feet, though your legs are about as wobbly as a bowl of ramyeon noodles. He still has a hand on your shoulder when you hear the first round of gunfire. The entire room goes quiet.

You’d figured it would be this way. You’d figured that not finding a room in time would be a death sentence, but it’s a different feeling to actually see it happen, to know that you fought for your own life just a little bit harder than someone else and because of that, they’re being executed.

You think of Jung-bae. You slap a hand over your mouth to keep from doing something stupid like screaming.

Someone gets shot directly in front of your door. You know not only because the sound is loud enough to make your ears hurt, but because Gi-hun’s entire body jolts as if he’s just been electrocuted. Did he have to witness things like this the last time, too? Was he locked inside a room and forced to watch while innocent people were slaughtered?

You reach for him on instinct while your own thoughts begin bubbling up within your chest, choking you to the point of desperation, but your hand never finds its mark. Young-il is there quite suddenly, his fingers closing around your wrist as he steps into your path. “Give him space,” he murmurs, as if his wisdom is a kindness he’s imparting to you.

“But–”

His voice drops a bit. “He needs it.” And before you can protest further, Young-il gathers you into his arms and presses his chin atop your head. “It’s alright, [___]. It’s alright.”

The shooting has long since ended by now, but something even worse has taken its place: the beeping of a forklift, the sound of caskets being unloaded and filled with bodies, the slick wetness of boots on fresh blood. It’s worse now than it was yesterday, somehow. Not being able to see makes the suspense weigh heavier on you, it encourages your imagination to run wild.

If you aren’t fast enough next time, that’s going to be you. You’re going to get a hole in your brain and you’re going to be packed up like a sardine in a can, carted away to be disposed of and forgotten about. Young-il hushes your weak little cries with a hand at the back of your head, and you freeze. What if he gets shot? What if something happens and you get separated? What about Gi-hun? And oh God, what about Jun-hee? If she dies, then her baby…

It hits you the moment you step outside. The blood. You don’t even know how many players were killed, you were too busy trying not to dissolve into a huddled, trembling mass of uselessness in Young-il’s arm, but you see at least a dozen separate pools of blood dotting the floor and platform. You know because you step in one almost right away. It’s wet underfoot, no different from stepping in a puddle of water after a rainstorm, but you know the difference. You know what it means.

You can’t let that become you. You can’t let it become any of your friends.

The platform jolts to one side as the music starts up again. “Round and round we go! Round and round we go!”

You can feel the blood squishing under your weight whenever you move. You can feel your knees locking. You can hear the blood rushing in your ears and feel the pulse in your fingertips. You can see each and every bloodstain marking the spot where another person has died so that you might live.

The song cuts off with a clear, concise, “Five”, and then the world narrows to only a single point – freedom.

“Three.”

He’d known the number even before it was announced, of course, but knowing cannot override instinct and his first instinct is to grab you by the collar and drag you into the nearest room. He wouldn’t even need to grab hold of Gi-hun; he already knows that man would follow you to the ends of the Earth and back. Yes, he knows.

But that isn’t what Gi-hun has in mind. “[___], Dae-ho, Jun-hee! Go!” he commands.

Dae-ho and Jun-hee acquiesce without a fight, each of them scrambling to grab one of your hands and pull you to safety, but you recoil before they can even touch you. “No!” You whirl on Gi-hun with a fire blazing in your eyes, bright and brilliant, and for a moment, In-ho finds himself adrift in an endless sea. “I’m not leaving you!”

He should have anticipated your obstinance, perhaps, but it had slipped his mind amid the chaos and the chaotic uncertainty of life versus death. “We don’t have time for this!” he shouts. The clock is counting down too quickly and now the entire team is at risk because you are too stubborn to abandon either of them. In-ho looks to Dae-ho, looks to Jun-hee and the baby growing in her belly, and he feels an uncomfortable prickle of uncertainty. “Both of you, go! Find a third!”

He doesn’t pause long enough to think about whether or not they will survive. “Run!” he bellows, and he propels you forward with a shove, pointing to one of the remaining open doors. He doesn’t wonder about Jun-hee. He doesn’t wonder about her baby. And he doesn’t think of his wife, not in the slightest. All he does is run.

Sharp eyes catalog the remaining players scrambling for life, then the timer counting down. 19 seconds. A trio of men goes tripping over themselves in an effort to push themselves into one of the open doors, the very door In-ho had chosen. It’s the nearest one and one of the last ones still open. Anger flares within his stomach at the audacity of these filthy, greedy trash heaps to take what belongs to him, to think that they could possibly beat him at his own game.

Abandoning you to Gi-hun’s capabilities is not something that worries him. Surging forward and slamming his body into these three players does not worry him either. If one of them escapes into your room, he could live with that. If he gets himself caught and Young-il ‘killed’, he could live with that too. But he cannot risk you, or even Gi-hun, dying because all his plans hinge upon your shared survival. Gi-hun will not die here today and neither will you. Later, perhaps, but not today. Not now.

“Young-il!” he hears you screaming, but he pays it no mind.

He slams his fist into one player’s face, then a brutal kick to another player’s groin.

“Young-il-ssi!”

A smile pulls at the corners of his mouth. So, he’s managed to coax Gi-hun into trusting him, has he? Into caring for him? He body slams the third player with a growl before finally choosing to turn and run. The door flies open without him even touching it, and it slams shut behind him at Gi-hun’s insistence.

You’re on him in an instant, your arms wrapping around his neck as you breathe heavily into his ear, your chest heaving and your body pressed so firmly against his that In-ho is sensorily overwhelmed. A memory of your body pressed similarly to his from last night flickers to life in the forefront of his mind and his mouth goes dry.

“Don’t do that again,” you murmur through trembling lips.

Six mattresses in rows of three maneuvered beneath the canopy of bed frames, but only four of them in use. He had seen it on your face as clear as day – the two vacant beds bothered you. After all, one of them belonged to a dead man and the other belonged to a man you no longer recognized. In-ho knew he could fix that for you, or that he could at least distract you from it.

“Here,” he prompted with a palm flat on the mattress next to his.

“Oh, no, that’s alright.” You waved him off as politely as you could, but it did nothing to hide either your surprise or your blatant interest. “I don’t want to crowd you.”

And In-ho had smiled at you without a single hint of his true motives. “I insist.” Just a friend seeking to comfort a friend.

He hadn’t anticipated that keeping you close would make his blood boil and his body flush. It had been another chess piece carefully moved into the most advantageous position, another attempt to worm his way into the bloody gash that Gi-hun’s rejections and absence had carved into your heart, and yet it had left him feeling exposed and restless in an entirely foreign way.

His hands press firmly against your hips as he guides you away. Holding you at arms’ distance allows him the control he seeks, but it also lays bare the most embarrassing weakness he has ever encountered in the last nine years. He uses the blaring of the final few seconds as a distraction, carefully turning you away from the heat straining against his tracksuit pants so you’re none the wiser.

You wander towards Gi-hun, which In-ho can only consider to be a small mercy given the circumstances. “Do you see them?” There is a noticeable edge to your voice as you try pressing in beside him to peer out the window. “Jun-hee? Dae-ho?”

Gi-hun shakes his head, only to bodily flinch and recoil when the shooting starts. You cower like a frightened child with your eyes squeezed shut while Gi-hun remains frozen at the door, his gaze caught on the nameless bodies dropping to the ground. Punishing himself as he has the previous two rounds, impaling himself on a rusted old blade that has killed dozens before him and will likely kill hundreds more after. Doesn’t he ever grow tired of playing the sanctimonious victim?

“Oh God.” In-ho’s eyes flicker back to where you’ve braced yourself against the door, your legs shaking and your eyelids watery as you start to slide to the floor. “Oh God, I killed them, didn’t I?”

Perhaps you did. It would be intriguing, not to mention convenient, if you had because for all your compassion and eagerness to follow in Gi-hun’s footsteps, this round had been the one to break you. Or rather, the lingering memory of Jung-bae’s death and the possibility of losing your dearest friends in a similar fashion had urged you to place his and Gi-hun’s lives before the lives of anyone else. Fear has finally turned you selfish.

You collapse into a pile of limbs and shuddering, breathy noises that go straight to his gut, and suddenly, In-ho is struggling to keep his feet firmly planted in the present.

Sleep had taken its time coming for you. In-ho had offered what kindness he had – a comforting hand resting near your pillow, a soothing phrase, a fleeting smile – and had watched you until you finally drifted off. The camera he’d studied you through on your first night simply could not compare to the physical reality of sharing your breath or feeling your warmth soak into the mattress.

Is this what Gi-hun had witnessed the first night he brought you to his motel?

Grief cannot haunt you in your sleep, he’d soon discovered. Your expression lightened gradually – a twitching eyebrow here or a sigh there – until your entire body was pliant, entirely freed of the horror and shame you’d been clinging to. In-ho was surprised to find himself entranced once more, almost inexplicably so.

And then you’d moved. A subtle shift in your subconscious had urged a small sound from your lips, followed by the rustling of your blanket, and In-ho was left reeling from the weight of your arm pressing against his. It shouldn’t have affected him. Since you met, he’d been forced onto the receiving end of your affections more times than he could count and it had never bothered him before. It was simply the cost of his game, and a remarkably low one, at that.

This is different, he’d realized.

It takes him a moment to regain his bearings and, in that time, he catalogues Gi-hun’s reluctance and self-imposed distance and your trembling desire to be comforted. Both of you suffer from the same failure to hide your emotions in any meaningful way. He takes it as an opportunity, another freshly opened wound for him to press his infection into.

“It’s alright,” he assures you as he lowers himself into a crouch.

Bleary, tearful eyes gaze up at him in desperation. Another bolt of electricity lances through him, stealing his breath, his tongue, and every carefully laid plan until he is nothing more than a blank slate. It’s terrifying. It’s disgusting. He wants to wrap his hands around your throat and throttle you for daring to weaken him so thoroughly, and at the same time, he wants to slam Gi-hun’s skull into the concrete and bash him bloody for destroying his Games, his equalizer.

In-ho studies you for several impossibly long moments before he finally understands. He settles into the small space left between your body and the side wall and curls an arm around your shoulder to draw you close. He feels that same spark inside his chest, that same heat pooling beneath his stomach – the same things he’d felt last night when you mumbled incoherent dreams into his ear and curled into his chest like it’s what you were born to do.

It wasn’t the Games that made Gi-hun his equal. It wasn’t the 45.6 billion won or the innumerable deaths or the trauma that carved itself into both their souls. It was you.

You’ve all survived. You’re not sure how exactly because you were absolutely terrified that you’d lost Jun-hee and Dae-ho in the last round, but they made it and so have you. You would be overjoyed if your sanity wasn’t currently tearing itself apart at the seams. All this running, all the stress and the fear, it’s making your body overheat and your heart race, and the spinning platform is no help either. You tear wildly at the zip of your jacket and start whipping it back and forth, desperate for a moment of relief. Or some water. God, you would kill for some water right now.

“What do you think the next round will be?” you hear Dae-ho ask.

The numbers have been steadily counting down, so your first thought is to guess something small like one or two. Either option would be absolutely devastating because there are still so many players left alive and only 50 rooms to fit them into. But what if it’s a higher number? The Captain, or whoever it is that may have chosen these numbers, might be trying to lull everyone into a false sense of security, make them all plan for a smaller number only to be stuck in the chaos when the number ends up being something insane like 15.

“Everyone pick a partner,” Young-il suggests after several moments. He’s close enough that you can hear him clearly over the music. “If the number is higher, we stick together, and if not–”

The announcer’s voice cuts through it all, sharp and hot like a freshly forged blade. “Two.”

Everything happens in the blink of an eye, yet takes an eternity to live through. Young-il grabs your sleeve and drags you to the edge of the platform as he runs. Your legs are like gelatin, wobbly and uncertain, but there is still determination in your bones and life in your lungs. You’re not going to die here. You are not going to die here!

Another player trips and falls on your left. Someone screams on your right. You keep running. Young-il’s already picked out a door, his arms pumping furiously as he powers forward. He’s shouting too, you think, but it’s swallowed up by the surrounding chaos. Doesn’t matter. Just keep running. Don’t stop. You’re going to survive this.

There’s a flash of movement in the corner of your eye and you turn just in time to see someone with a 400-something number emblazoned on their chest reaching for you. They snag the corner of your jacket, pulling you back, but you’re faster, stronger, you have to be, because you have to live. One arm jerks free of the jacket, then the other, and then you’re tripping over your feet and tumbling through pools of half-dried blood. It smears over your palms, gets into the creases of your elbows, wets the ends of your hair as you skid to a halt.

“Get up!”

You’re already scrambling to your feet. Young-il is screaming so hard that his throat looks misshapen. The 400-something who tripped you is already yanking open the door of the room meant for you and Young-il.

You’re going to die.

Another player tries to run inside and you think for a moment that Young-il might just leave you both to your own devices and take that second spot for himself. You can see the ugly glint in his eye, the same one you know is in yours, that gut-deep, selfish desire to keep living no matter the cost. You run faster than you ever have before. He grabs the other player and throws him to the ground. Your hands slam into the doorframe.

There’s still someone inside. Oh God, there’s still someone in here, and you know what happens when there’s one too many people inside a room. The evidence of it is painted on the walls.

“Get out!” you scream.

The man shakes his head frantically as he crowds himself into the farthest corner. For a moment, it’s you who considers betrayal. You could slam the door shut and lock 400-something’s friend and Young-il outside, and you would be saved. You’d be condemning him to death, but you would live and isn’t that more important?

The timer near the ceiling flashes a gruesome 00:15, accompanied by the intercom, and you hear the door slam shut behind you. Is that it, did you make it?

Young-il’s shoulder bumps into yours and you feel a wave of disappointment. Coward. You’re glad that he’s alive, but if one of you doesn’t leave right now, then you’re all going to die! Murderer.

“Get out!” you scream again, this time lunging forward to grab the man by the arm and shove him in the direction of the door. “Go!”

His friend slams into him just as the door swings open. Young-il surges forward then, landing a punch on 400-something’s jaw that drops him to the floor. Just outside the door. His legs are kicked aside, the door slammed shut, and the lock clicks in place.

00:00

But there’s still three people locked in a two-person room, and that means you’re dead. No. It can’t end like this. You’re not ready. You don’t want to die, you’re not ready to die!

You’re halfway to the door, hoping against hope that if you wiggle the handle hard enough, the lock will give way and you can shove that man into the path of the firing squad, and you can live. Almost at the door, your gaze locked on the face of the man you’ve betrayed as he peers at you through the cut-out, begging to be saved. Hand on the door, pulling with all your strength when you know that it’s futile.

A round of bullets fires. The door jerks on its hinges as Player 400-something sags against it, then slumps to floor, dead. He’s dead. He’s dead and you’re the reason he’s dead, and the guard that shot him is looking at you through the cut-out, his gun still raised.

“No!” you screech.

You drop to your knees, hands on your head as if an extra layer of flesh will spare your skull from being blown wide open, but it’s not just the ground that meets you. Bones crack against hard cement, a wet slap following when your bloodied hands fly out to brace yourself, and the face of the player whose life you’d decided was worth less than yours is tilted unnaturally against the ground a few feet away. His neck bends in a way it shouldn’t. His body is slumped over as if he’s just been tossed aside like garbage. Unblinking. Unmoving.

Dead.

…

Dead?

You sit up, confused. You didn’t hear another round of gunshots. He’s not bleeding and you are still alive, so how is he dead? Why is he dead?

You find the answer sitting with his back against the wall, chest heaving, his eyes pitch-black and endless. The other man’s legs are still caught awkwardly between Young-il’s, almost as if… but no, that can’t be right. He wouldn’t be able to do something like that. Shouldn’t. Couldn’t.

You ask the only question you can find the strength to vocalize. “Is he…?”

Young-il nods with a heavy sigh. His legs are spread and bent at the knee, his elbows braced against his thighs, and his eyes… Deeper and darker than the blackest hole in the farthest reaches of the universe. You look at him, fresh off the murder of another man and utterly unremorseful, and you feel like you’re gazing into the galaxy itself – vast and terrifying and brutal.

There’s a knock at your door, then the flash of a black mesh mask, and you push yourself back into the nearest corner, folding in on yourself until you’re as small as physically possible. “No, don’t, he’s dead! He’s dead!” you cry. “There’s only two of us!”

The guard remains quiet, perhaps waiting for the order from his superior to gun you down like the selfish, cowardly, murdering bastard you are. Young-il nods almost imperceptibly and then, just like that, the guard is gone. And you’re alive. And you suddenly feel like you’re standing on the edge of a precipice with no way down except to jump.

“[___].”

You catch him trying to touch you from the corner of your eye and you recoil as if he were the one with the gun, not the guard. “Don’t touch me,” you gasp. You don’t deserve to be touched. You don’t deserve anything gentle.

It’s clear he doesn’t appreciate your bluntness. His fingers coil around empty air and his face turns hard as it morphs into something cold and distant. The mask of a killer, maybe, because he’s just as bad as you are, isn’t he? He killed that man with his bare hands. And you… you almost locked him out of the room because you wanted to survive so badly.

“I’m sorry,” you weep, your eyes unseeing and stinging as your tears finally overflow. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to…” To what, almost sacrifice him for your own good? To be so weak and pathetic that you couldn’t even shove that man out of the room yourself? “It’s my fault.”

That’s the only thing that makes sense, really. Jung-bae died because of you. Jun-hee and Dae-ho almost died because of you. And now Young-il. Now the dead man between his legs and the other one just outside the door. You did this.

The room is horrifyingly quiet for a long while, but when Young-il finally speaks, you find that he sounds like a total stranger. His voice is raw and agonizing. “What are you talking about?”

Your eyes flicker briefly over his face before focusing again on the body before you. You can’t seem to look away. “I should’ve pushed him out,” you whimper. If you had, maybe Young-il wouldn’t have his blood on his hands.

“What?”

He sounds so incredulous, it’s ridiculous. What part of this isn’t he understanding?

“I should’ve pushed him out!” you exclaim. “I was too scared and I wasn’t thinking. I-I just wanted to live and I almost…” I almost killed you.

Metal scrapes against concrete somewhere beyond the door as stacks of caskets are lowered to the ground. Young-il pushes himself onto one knee, his hands hovering non-threateningly around his waist as he studies you, watching you like a scientist might watch a cornered animal. The metaphor is surprisingly apt considering it was in your power to kill him only moments ago.

“[___],” he starts slowly, “take a breath.”

You know he wants to come closer. You know he wants to understand. “No.” You shake your head firmly. “Don’t.”

He pauses. “You’re afraid of me.”

What? “No.” It feels as if all the air has been punched out of you. “Why would I…? Y-You didn’t – I mean, it’s not…”

Young-il creeps forward until he’s close enough to touch you, and this time you don’t stop him. A murderer you both may be, but he is still your friend and you crave the normalcy of a friend right now more than you hate yourself.

His knuckles brush lightly over the back of your hand. “Explain,” he prompts, not unkindly or harshly, but with the gentle confusion of someone with no desire to judge or deride.

“I don’t want you to hate me,” you sob.

“I don’t.”

He’s still not understanding. “But you will.”

The door unlocks before you’re forced to reveal anything more, thank God. Small mercies. You accept Young-il’s offer to help you stand, but you don’t allow yourself to linger in his grasp. You have to get out of this room before you lose it.

“[___]!” Gi-hun’s face falls the instant he lays his eyes on you. You’re not sure where he appeared from so quickly, but you suppose it doesn’t matter when his hands trace wordlessly over your arms, over the blood, the blood, so much blood, and he ducks down to try and catch your eyes. “What happened?”

You’d been so focused on surviving that it hadn’t even occurred to you that his own life had been on the line as well. It hadn’t occurred to you that your dearest friend might actually be dead until you were being ushered out of that room and forced to confront the outside world.

Your brain feels kind of fuzzy right now, so you’re cautious when you shake your head. “’s not mine. I fell.” You’d lost your jacket, too. Is that why you suddenly feel so cold? You’re not sure.

Gi-hun is quick to draw you in, and you’re thankful for the sudden proximity because he’s really the only thing you’re sure of right now. You’re guided back to the platform. The world is off-kilter and strange to you, but you’re the only thing that’s changed. Well, you and Young-il. The two murderers.

You rotate your shoulder so Gi-hun’s hand slips away. You don’t want him to touch you either.

“Clapping our hands together! Singing along as well! La lala lala lala la la la la!”

“Six.”

You’re not sure how it happens. You had meant to grab Gi-hun or Young-il’s hand once the speaker announced the next number, but then the number had been too large to accommodate everyone and there were so many voices layered over each other that you couldn’t hear much of anything. And then you were running, only to realize that it was Dae-ho holding on to you, not Young-il. Not Gi-hun.

It doesn’t matter, you tell yourself. Just run. Because you keep thinking about what happened the last time you hesitated and you don’t want to do that again. You can’t watch someone else die because of you.

The first room is already full, and you think you catch a glimpse of Player 100 in there, but Dae-ho pulls you away before you can get a proper look. He’s half dragging, half pushing, guiding you several doors down where Hyun-ju stands with her arms flailing. The mother and son go first, then Dae-ho, then you, until you’re all huddled in the far end of the room, panting.

“Young-mi-a.” You look up to see Hyun-ju at the door, her eyes frantic and wide. “Where’s Young-mi-a?”

A small, timid voice just outside cries out. “Unnie!”

Hyun-ju turns so fast, she’s practically a blur. She bolts past the door as the timer begins to count down, just three seconds from zero, only to be brutally shoved backwards as another player comes rushing in. He slams the door shut just in time for the lock to click into place while Hyun-ju crashes directly into you.

“Unnie!”

A face appears in the window – a pair of eyes and the tip of a nose, shaded by dark bangs. Young-mi. The younger girl on Hyun-ju’s team. The one with the sweet eyes who always seems to be trailing after her. All this time, you never knew her name. Now it doesn’t even matter.

She’s slamming her fists against the door, screaming Young-mi’s name, and it’s all too familiar because the way Hyun-ju screams reminds you too much of Gi-hun. The way Young-mi’s body slowly slides down the door reminds you too much of the man you helped to kill.

She screams and tears at the door until the shooting stops, and then she turns on the new player – 333 – with a snarl. Her fingers curl around the collar of his jacket, chipped black polish digging into the fabric. “It's your fault!”

333 practically spits at her. “Don't kid yourself. If I hadn't come in, you'd be dead too.”

“No!” she screams, and you’ve never seen someone so contorted with rage. Not even Gi-hun. “It's your fault! I could have saved her!”

“There was no time!” 333 grabs her by the wrists and pulls until he’s free, then shoves her hands aside. He has no care for the sorrow that carves itself into Hyun-ju’s face and shatters her spirit. He isn’t even being gentle about it. “The moment you went out to save her, you'd have died along with everyone else here for not having enough people!”

He turns on the rest of you then with a shout, even as Hyun-ju cowers in the corner, shaking and sobbing. “I saved your lives! All of you!”

No one says a thing because what is there to say? That you’re glad you’re alive and it’s a real shame that Young-mi is dead? That he’s right? That he’s wrong?

“Isn't that right?” he demands. “Am I wrong?! Well, say something!”

You don’t have anything to say. 333 did what you might have done and Young-mi paid the price for it. There is no consolation, no candied words to soothe a broken heart. There’s no way to turn back the clock and bring her back to life. But, you think, there is the chance to atone for your almost-mistake by offering Hyun-ju the kindness she needs.

You shoulder past 333 without sparing him even a passing glance and you throw your arms around her quivering shoulders. She falls into you without pause, sobbing into your shirt as you lightly pat her on the back.

It’s not okay. It’s not right. You can’t bring Young-mi back and you can’t fix this, but in this moment at least you’re not a monster. At least you’re not the killer this time.

[xmintpiex]

The Bullet Point

wc: 3,721

Marriage and everything else that came with it were part of your dream. Not Sae's.

content: Sae Itoshi x fem!reader, sfw, sunshine!reader (she's def over the top), fluff, romance, childhood friends, shoujo inspired (specifically itazura na kiss), silly. AU.

The idea had sounded absolutely perfect when Mrs. Itoshi brought it up, the certainty in her voice, that twinkle in her eyes. Rin seemed to be all settled in his apartment now, and your dad had plenty of helping hands at his bakery. It was the perfect time to carry out the plan you had been dreaming about, tossing and turning and giggling with excitement late at night about for years now.

The plan, that dream that kept you going even when things got hard, when you felt sad and alone. The plan that Mrs. Itoshi fully supported you in, always coming up with the most brilliant ideas to add, Mr. Itoshi speaking up gently to maybe make them a little more realistic. The one that Rin would roll his eyes at and call you stupid over (he was just jealous! hmmph!). The one that your dad would shake his head fondly at, with amusement and that subtle pride in his smile.

Words written down in your old childhood diary, circled and doodled around, the page covered with hearts and stickers and the sign of age, yet still just as true.

So you bought that long one-way plane ticket from Japan to Spain that same day, spirits high and determination unbreakable. After all, Sae was all alone in that foreign land, left to fend for himself for so many years, you couldn't bear to leave him like that anymore! Now you finally had the chance to be there with him! Yes, that’s right, you would be there to cook his favorite meals (..the ones that fit his highly selected meal plan anyways..), make sure his luxury apartment wasn't just a house but a home (cozy pillows, photos, and matching toothbrush holders and so much more!), and cheer him on during each and every one of his games, in person now!

Your smile was still so bright as you somehow managed to hail a taxi driver at the airport with a mixture of your nonexistent Spanish and incredibly poor English (..perhaps you should have studied a little more...) and showed them the address that you had saved on your phone for months. The address that was memorized by heart, the one that you had already sent a plethora of letters and care packages to.

Your eyes were dazzling as you got out of the cab and stood in front of that sleek, beautiful apartment complex that Sae was residing in. You could hear your heart beating so fast at the thought of finally being able to see Sae after 4 months of being apart, and that this time it would be permanent, it wouldn’t be just another short visit. The apartment no longer just the photo pinned to your bedroom wall, your dreams no longer only confined to the touch of the glossy paper and magazine cutouts beneath your fingertips.

It was only when you got that panicked phone call from Mrs. Itoshi, as you were trying and failing to get the apartment complex’s security guard to let you in that your bright smile diminished a bit. Because Sae was not currently in Spain. He was in Germany, as was Rin, and would be there for at least a month due to some football event he had joined.

The twinkle in your eyes seemed to die a bit and your smile became so much smaller as you came to the sudden realization that you were in a foreign country, two large heavy suitcases at your side, with no understanding of the language and no place to stay. You sank to the ground, hugging your knees as you inhaled heavily to hold back your tears as fear clouded your thoughts.

But!

You would be okay because you had the power of a credit card! And just like that, you popped right back up, your determination burning brighter than the scorching sun above you (the young security guard might have been looking at you with a look of utmost fear, but that didn't really matter right now).

So you decided to go for a little walk around the neighborhood, taking in the fresh crisp ocean breeze, the sound of distant seagulls and crashing waves soothing your worries. Stopping for a delicious lunch at that cute little restaurant you spotted (giggling to yourself as you pictured eating there with Sae next time, oh so romantic!), noticing a cute little storefront that seemed to have been recently sold (perfect for a bakery you mused dreamily) before you managed to get another taxi to take you right back to the airport.

You miss how the security guard of Sae’s apartment complex so desperately tried to wave you back over, his black cell phone pressed to one of his ears as you excitedly looked at your trip itinerary for Germany in the back seat of the taxi.

The first thing Eita Otoya notices about you is your cute, sunny smile as he sits down next to you on the crowded plane and your excitement and relief at the realization that he also speaks Japanese. The second thing he notices is that dainty rose gold ring around your finger, twisted and dotted with little white diamonds, reminiscent of ocean waves in the sunset. It looks vaguely familiar, a small tickle in the back of his head that he can’t quite pinpoint. He assumes it must be some trendy designer jewelry piece he saw somewhere like that overly expensive bracelet that so many of his ex-girlfriends had wanted him to buy.

The third thing he notices about you is your soft, sparkly eyes, the light flush of your cheeks when he asks you if you have a boyfriend (he’s learned the hard way to always ask that question), and how you bashfully shake your head ‘no’. How cute. He assumes he’s in the clear then, to have you be his friend for a bit while he stays in Berlin, he’s already picturing taking you out to restaurants, enjoying a good meal together, having you cheer him on, and a bunch of other things with a cute girl like you at his side.

Eita Otoya does not notice the bubble of giddy laughter that is barely contained behind your bright smile, that far-off, dreamy look in your eyes after he had mentioned the term boyfriend. Because you definitely did not have a boyfriend.

Not anymore!

Rin Itoshi is already feeling a migraine forming from the grueling experience of having to sit between his two most obnoxious teammates on that 2-hour plane trip from Paris. He thinks he’s officially lost it, that he’s seeing hallucinations now because he swears he sees your dumb smiling face in the goddamn Berlin airport. Impossible. There's no way, even you aren't stupid enough to plan something like this, right?

…

Right?

…

Sae Itoshi’s manager thinks today is the day he will die. If not from the extreme levels of stress he is currently experiencing, it will be from Sae Itoshi’s cold wrath. The poor man is sweating, his normally pristine suit rumpled and drenched, sleeves rolled up, glasses sliding off his damp face as he has his phone pressed to his ear, laptop open as he desperately scrolls through credit card transactions and airline information.

Sae is still in the midst of his interview, answering bluntly and clinically in his typical manner yet his words seem even more curt than normal. Left foot subtly bouncing, hands locked together, cold teal eyes glancing back to his frantic manager between questions.

Immediately taking his phone out of his pocket the moment the cameras are turned off and everyone is packing up. Jaw clenching when the number he calls leads straight to voicemail.

It’s not until you’re at the hotel lobby (Otoya-kun's suggestion, oh he's so nice, you're so happy you made a new friend!), taking out your card to pay for your hotel room, it finally dawns on Otoya about where exactly he had seen your ring before. His eyes zeroing in on that very, very familiar name printed on the credit card in your hands.

Oh.

(Ninja Art: Strategic Exit)

You're done paying for your hotel room, excited to finally put your suitcases somewhere and then go eat at that amazing restaurant Otoya kept mentioning, turning to face him only to find him nowhere to be found. Brows furrowed and lips pouting in concern and confusion as you look around the hotel lobby, trying to figure out where your new friend could have gone.

"You."

That familiar voice, the one that you could recognize with your eyes closed, the one you sometimes fall asleep to while on facetime with. The voice engrained into your heart. Monotone and cold yet anything but (especially right now). Your smile is the brightest it's been all day, the brightest it's been in months really, suitcases and hunger and exhaustion (and Otoya-kun's mysterious disappearance) all forgotten from your mind as you rush over to him, flinging your arms around him.

"Sae!"

Your heart so warm, beating so brightly, so bubbly like your favorite fizzy candy. A feeling you've always felt with Sae.

Like when you were 6 and you dropped your ice cream cone.

You’re in absolute shock, ready to cry yet again and Sae does not want to deal with that again, he doesn't like it when you cry. You've had too many things to cry about recently, but at least this situation is something he can try to control. So he shoves his own ice cream cone into your hand, hoping that’ll be enough. It’s something he’s used to doing for his younger brother, just the most effective way to stop your nearly endless tears. Another crybaby in his life to take care of. Your small hands linked together as you walk around the neighborhood park, your shimmering eyes glued to him.

Or when you’re 8 and you and your dad and the Itoshi family go out for your weekly movie night.

An established ritual of going to see a movie together with reservations ready at that yummy restaurant later, something your families have done ever since you could remember. The movie was your choice this time, a story of a mermaid becoming a human princess and living in a seaside castle with her adorable sea creature friends and her beloved prince, fixing all their problems with the power of love and friendship.

Your eyes barely left the movie screen as they dazzled in excitement at how the mermaid princess and her human prince danced and spun around on that beautiful balcony overlooking the ocean. The warmth in your heart and the little tears of happiness that bubbled in your eyes as the prince and the mermaid got married.

You still weren’t too sure what marriage was, all you knew was that it meant you could sleep in the same bedroom like Mr. and Mrs. Itoshi did, that you would love each other forever, make each other happy forever, even if you couldn’t see each other (like how your dad visited your mama every year, a fresh flower bouquet, warm glossy eyes, and soft smiles). An endless playdate with your favorite person in the whole universe, always happy and together!

That was what you wanted, that was what you dreamed of. So you declared during dinner, a little too loudly in the quiet restaurant, that you had a dream of what you wanted to do as an adult. Clumsily standing up from your seat, nearly tipping your water cup over, face scrunched and rosy with determination and courage and too much soda.

Your declaration that you and Sae would get married when you were older and live in a seaside castle just like in the movie and live together forever and ever (and become mermaids and other such crucial details). Your small warm hand had gently grabbed Sae’s hand during your declaration and his teal colored eyes bore down at where your hands were linked. “Okay.” He had simply said in that monotone voice.

Your dad and Mr. Itoshi looked at you wide-eyed before laughing heartily, your dad reaching over to ruffle your head. Mrs. Itoshi nodded enthusiastically, overwhelmed by your absolute cuteness as she sniffled proudly, already calling you her precious, adorable daughter-in-law, already envisioning and planning a grand wedding as Mr. Itoshi gently rubbed her shoulder in hopes she wouldn't make this even more of a scene.

Rin grumbled and huffed and told you that was stupid, that something like that was impossible and even if it were, Sae wouldn’t live in some stupid seaside castle! His big brother would live in a football stadium with him, the two of them the #1 and #2 best strikers in the whole entire world!

You were pouty and your eyes full of tears, like the little crybaby you were as you bickered with Rin (h-how dare he! You were older! Hmmph! Why did he never listen to you as he did with Sae!). Sae was silent through the whole thing, still chewing on his bite of pasta, quiet as he usually was when the two of you harmlessly fought over him, his free hand still in your grasp. Until finally cutting in.

"We can do both."

Rin eventually agrees that you can have your castle across from their football stadium and that you can host your tea parties to celebrate every single game they will win. You reluctantly pout back that he can be a mermaid too and have sleepovers in your castle…if he listens to whatever you say!

Amongst the laughter and chatter and the sound of Mrs. Itoshi’s camera, as she forever immortalized this moment, Sae Itoshi added another minor detail to that small list of bullet points he kept in his head.

It’s when you’re 10 and you’ve made your first batch of homemade cookies all by yourself without the help of your dad (aside from helping you with the oven stuff).

Your fingers are a little burnt (and so are the cookies), but your eyes are sparkling, smile bright and hopeful as you rush off skipping to the neighborhood park to meet up with Sae and Rin, holding the little red cookie tin to your chest.

"They taste burnt."

Sae says matter-of-factly after a bite, chewing slowly as if that would help him make a proper critique.

"Yeah, they're burnt! Bleh! Burnt!"

Of course, Rin mimicking him before adding his own little flair.

Your lip wobbling, lashes fluttering slowly, eyes getting hot and wet with tears.

Sae reaching into the little tin for another one and then another until they're all gone, eating each one despite your tearful, pouty whines.

"They're not bad. Just keep making them, I'll eat all of them."

It's when you’re 13 and Sae is leaving.

Leaving to go live in a whole other country, away from you. Your tears are large and already seeping into Sae’s brand-new jersey as you wish and whine so badly that you could go with him. He’s quiet, and calm, telling you to stop being a big baby, saying he’ll be back for a visit in a few months probably. His hand in yours, a subtle squeeze, as his other hand gently pinches your pouty lips. You'll be good for him, right?

A little moment of hesitation before he suddenly leans in, cheeks just as red as yours, his lips clumsy and quick, a sweet little press against yours. Your eyes on him, wide and bubbly, heart nearly beating out of your chest. Your lips wobbling as you attempt to pucker them, looking up at him expectantly in hopes he will do it again.

He lets out that rare little noise you adore, that soft chuckle, the corner of his lips slightly upturned, only your silly face in his teal eyes. He leans in and you perk up excitedly, wanting to make sure your second kiss is perfect, longer, closing your eyes, hands trembling.

Only for him to pinch your lips again with his fingers.

"Crybabies don't get second kisses unless they're good."

And when you’re 14 and Sae is visiting for a few days.

It’s a cold winter day, full of fluffy white snow and you’re bundled up tight in the red scarf that Mrs. Itoshi gifted you. It’s just the two of you because Rin refuses to leave his room (he’s been in a really bad mood recently, you're still figuring out how to cheer him up..both of them up).

The two of you walk around the park as the snow falls, Sae is quiet, even more than normal, as you point things out or tell him about some of the things that have happened while he was gone. Your gloved hands are entwined, as always when the two of you walk. His hand feels different, a little bigger, a little thinner, a little more rough, just like the rest of him. His teal eyes are dull, trained on the snowy path you walk, before settling onto your obnoxious beaming smile, the flush of your cheeks, the way he looks reflected in your eyes.

Pulling him to go sit on a snowy bench before taking out that familiar old cookie tin, full to the brim of sugar cookies, sprinkled with red and blue sprinkles, edges a little cracked.

"I'm on a diet, you know."

Yet he's reaching for one, pressing the allegedly "heart-shaped" cookie to his lips and taking a slow bite. Your eyes watching every little moment of his mouth, your heart beating nervously and your gloved hands fisted with nervousness.

"Better than last time."

Your smile too bright, it could rival the sun.

He reaches for another only to be tugged down, his lips unceremoniously pressed against yours, too sudden, your nose nearly hitting his. Crumbs still on his lips, now on yours. Sweet like vanilla and butter.

So perfect.

It’s when you’re 16, having another one of your long-distance phone calls.

You babble endlessly as always, phone pressed to your ear as your legs sway back and forth as you lay on your plushie-covered bed. Sae, as usual, is mainly silent as he continues with his gym routine, responding with an occasional grunt or ‘hmm’ as you go on and on. His ears full of nothing except the clinking of gym equipment and your loud, cheery voice. You mention your new friend who you’re going to the movies with this weekend, the boy at your school who offered you his umbrella on a rainy day (so kind!), and who always wants to eat lunch with you.

"Didn't you fail your math test? Don't waste your time on stupid things like that and study instead."

"..S-Sae!!" (As usual…he was right.)

A few days later you receive a small package from Spain, sent via express mail, a little silver ring, and a simple four-word note.“Do not take off.”

You're ecstatic, showing off to everyone who will listen (and Rin of course). Spamming Sae's messages with way too many selfies. Your hand and that sparkling little ring the main focus in all of them, receiving nothing back but that little 'read' indication and a single "go study" message.

It's when you're 17, sat at the Itoshi's kitchen table.

Going through the recent sports magazine that Sae graced the cover of, your handy scissors at your side as you happily recount Sae's most recent interview to those present.

(Your smile too wide as you trace over that familiar silver ring that's hung around his neck, barely visible under his jersey, fingertips against the cold, glossy paper.)

Rin with his arms crossed and trying to look as disinterested as possible while Mrs. Itoshi happily nods from where she's typing away at her work laptop. But you give Rin that smile that always makes him huff, nervous at whatever dumb thing you're going to do now, seeing him twitch and try to hide his flustered look as you produce a second magazine of the same issue, still in its plastic wrap.

"This way you can cut out Sae's pictures and have them on your wall too! Let's make dream boards together, Rin!"

"S-shut up!"

It's right now, settled in the back seat of the car as the driver drives the two of you back to where Sae is staying, your head on Sae's shoulder.

You're already fast asleep, your exhaustion, the happiness of your heart catching up with you (and the jet lag). Hands entwined. Matching wedding rings glowing under the bright passing city lights, the softness of the moon.

His phone is silenced, lighting up for a moment, the notification of his new interview being posted, before the screen fades back to darkness, tucked away in his bag next to that red cookie tin you had excitedly taken out of your suitcase. For now, the interview was irrelevant, forgotten in the midst of your peaceful snores, his soft, amused smile.

But in the morning, when Sae was already well into his morning routine, you would be cozy and warm and still so sleepy under the silky covers. He would then take the time, sat at the small hotel room patio with his kombucha, to skim over his interview.

'Sae Itoshi Confirms Marriage Rumors.'

He knew that once you woke up, once your sleepy, jet-lagged state gave way to your usual bubbly energy, you'd be over the moon. Squealing and giggling and saying how you needed to save the article in your scrapbook. Nearly jumping on him as you showered him in too much affection, messy little kisses, and cheeks pressed together. Undeniable proof of your dream coming true, solid like that ring around your finger, like the marriage certificate framed back in the apartment in Spain.

Your dream.

But not Sae's.

Because for Sae, marriage was not a dream, not some goal he would eventually achieve when he deemed it time. It had never been any of that. You and your overly burning love, your too-radiant smiles and laughter, your crybaby tears, your warm hugs, and noisy kisses, and sweet sugar cookies were just truths. Undeniable facts in his life. Your presence in his life, your relationship never a dream, never a goal, never a checkmark, but a bullet point. A bullet point on that little list of things that were fundamental to Sae Itoshi's life.

[pretty-royals]

Love at First Battle

| summary : You never believed in love at first sight. You thought it was just a silly fantasy, the kind of thing hopeless romantics clung to. But then you met him—mid-battle…

Warnings : Mid-Violence, Swearing,Near-Death,Cornyyyy, The slowest “fight” ever because someone got distracted by feelings,Sanji being Sanji

The chaos of battle surrounded you. Swords clashed, gunfire rang through the salty air, and the shouts of fighting pirates filled your ears. Your captain had decided today was the day to attack the Straw Hats—an impulsive, reckless decision that left you questioning his leadership. But questioning orders wasn’t an option.

You had a role to play in this fight.

And that role currently had you standing face-to-face with a blonde man in a black suit, his cigarette hanging lazily from his lips as he blocked the path ahead. He had an easy smirk, but his stance was solid, his presence radiating confidence. He wasn’t taking you lightly.

Sanji

You knew of him, of course. The Straw Hats’ cook, the one who could destroy opponents with his legs alone. And damn, now that you were seeing him up close, you realized the rumors hadn’t done him justice.

But you didn’t have time to admire him. You had a fight to win.

Your grip on your weapon tightened, and you lunged.

And then he looked at you.

Blue eyes locked onto yours, piercing straight through you like a damn sword. There was no warning, no slow build-up—it hit you like a cannonball to the chest. Your heart stuttered, your breath caught, and your entire body froze mid-strike.

What the hell?

Your mind screamed at you to move, to swing, to do something, but all you could do was stare. It was like time itself had stopped. The battle around you faded, distant and unimportant. All that existed in that moment was him.

And oh, you were fucked.

Because it wasn’t just attraction. No, this was something deeper, something terrifyingly immediate. It was like your soul had just recognized something it had been searching for all along.

Sanji’s brows furrowed slightly at your hesitation. “Huh?”

You couldn’t speak. Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t do anything.

Which was a problem—because the next thing you knew, a glint of silver caught your eye.

Zoro’s sword, swinging straight for your head.

You barely had time to react before a blur of black and blonde crashed into you, knocking you off balance and sending you tumbling to the ground. The impact left you breathless, but at least you weren’t dead.

“What the hell, Marimo?!” Sanji’s voice rang out above you, furious.

“She’s an enemy,” Zoro shot back, his sword still raised.

“She’s a lady! You absolute caveman!” Sanji’s weight shifted off you as he scrambled to his feet, standing between you and Zoro like a protective barrier. “You don’t just go swinging at a beautiful woman like that!”

You barely registered the words, still trying to process what had just happened. You had stopped attacking him. He had saved you. And now he was defending you?

Your face burned.

Zoro scoffed. “She was about to attack you.”

“Do you really think I’d let that happen?” Sanji exhaled, shaking his head like he was disgusted. “You wound me, Zoro. You really do.”

Meanwhile, you were still on the ground, staring up at them like an idiot. Your crew was fighting, your captain was barking orders, and you were sitting here having a crisis over some blonde man with a cigarette and a stupidly charming smile.

Sanji turned back to you, his expression softening. “Are you alright, mademoiselle?” He offered you a hand, his voice dripping with concern.

You hesitated. You shouldn’t take it. You were supposed to be enemies. This was supposed to be a fight.

But… god, you couldn’t help it.

Your fingers slipped into his, and he pulled you to your feet with effortless grace. The warmth of his skin sent electricity up your arm, and suddenly, you were hyper-aware of everything—his touch, his scent, the way he was way too close.

You had never felt so stupid in your life.

“I—uh—” Words? What were those again?

“I…I should-…have to go”

Sanji blinked, seemingly surprised. “You’re leaving?”

Yeah. Because if you stayed any longer, you were going to die of embarrassment.

You took a step back, heart hammering in your chest. This was ridiculous. You couldn’t just fall for someone in the middle of a battle. That wasn’t how this worked!

But as you turned to retreat, you couldn’t resist one last glance.

Sanji was still watching you, his expression unreadable. And maybe—just maybe—there was something in his eyes too. Something dangerous. Something too real.

You swallowed hard.

Yeah. You were definitely fucked.

[cinnamqnx]

# 𝐏𝐋𝐔𝐆 ! ⋮ ( ʚɞ )

── .✦

summary. keigo takami (hawks) as your plug

warnings. drug use (weed), alcohol use, swearing

♡ you meet hawks from a mutual friend, wanting to find a dealer after only getting/smoking weed from friends

♡ they recommend ‘hawks’, he goes to the same college as you but you’ve never actually spoken to him. he’s sort of like the college plug

♡ the first time he meets you, he finds you so adorable. your awkwardness when asking him what you’re after pulls a small smile on his face

♡ after that, you’ve kinda been on his radar

♡ definitely makes you pay less than what he actually charges

♡ even gives you pre rolls to save you the trouble, and this man knows how to roll

♡ over time you gradually get closer to him, seeing him at parties every weekend, regularly going to him for weed, it was inevitable

♡ i also feel like he doesn’t really fw many people, so he always had time for you

♡ lets you call him keigo, even though he usually prefers that people call him hawks and only letting close friends call him his real name

♡ sorta becomes your personal guard dog at parties 😭

♡ always grabbing you water when he thinks you’ve drank way too much and ordering you an uber home

♡ if he hasn’t really drank, he’ll drive you home after taking you to some fast food place and eating in his car (he’s lowkey panicking when he sees you whip out any sauce)

♡ refuses to give you anything stronger than weed

♡ “nah, i don’t really want you on the hard shit.”

♡ doesn’t want you ending up addicted or ruining your life for drugs and always gives you lectures about it, even if it’s unprovoked

♡ he’s just veryyyyy protective when it comes to you

♡ i also feel like dabi would also be some type of dealer, and him and keigo have this little rivalry going on

♡ warns you to stay away from him, i feel like he’d go crazy if he saw dabi speak to you or even look at you

♡ everyone around you is confused whether you’re actually together or not because of how you act together

♡ however, keigo has a reputation for sleeping around, just doing his own thing, so it’s definitely thrown you off getting involved with him in that way

♡ even though he hasn’t really been entertaining anyone since you both got closer

♡ but he’s scared to fuck things up with you so he doesn’t say anything

♡ you don’t really know what you’d refer to him as in your life either, but you’re glad to have him around at least

♡ this man is always paying for you

♡ whether you need your nails doing, hair or you just need some more clothes, keigo always is the one paying for you

♡ also always buying you food, whenever you both smoke together and you get the munchies he’s ordering food for a family of eight

♡ you always tell him he doesn’t need to, but he’s more than happy to do it, something about your grateful smile has his heart pounding

♡ you start noticing problems when keigo starts showing his jealousy towards men you’re talking to

♡ you haven’t had chance to actually date any of them, since they’re either scared off by keigo or don’t want to get involved since they can clearly sense the tension between you both

♡ now, keigo has no real reason to be jealous, you’re not his girlfriend after all

♡ but when he sees you grinding and being way too close to this one guy for his liking, he snaps

♡ in his head, it was justified, you were acting different since you got involved with him and keigo had no choice but to step back from you despite how difficult it was for him

♡ he’d had enough

♡ storming over to the two of you and throwing his drink in his face, a fight broke out immediately, the frat brothers rushing to break them apart before keigo grabs your wrist

♡ “why the fuck would you do that? you know i like him.”, you yell at him after he had dragged you outside

♡ “he isn’t good for you, y/n!”

♡ “you don’t even know that! we haven’t spoken in days, like, you’ve been distancing yourself and acting weird for weeks, and now you wanna punch the guy i’m talking to? what the fuck-”

♡ “yeah, cause i fucking like you. bro- how have you not seen how badly i’ve been wanting you for months?”

♡ after hearing that, you swear your heart stops, and suddenly the thoughts of the guy you was with crumbled

[4lexnilsen]

“that’s what it was,  yeah…”   alex absently agrees,  nodding his head and sucking on his still bleeding lip.   a fresh wave of guilt fills his heart and he hears himself saying,   “i think most people are just jealous of you.   you have everything,  helena.”   and it’s no excuse for bullying,  but in a way it is an explanation.   “i can only speak for myself and although i don’t see you as a rich,  entitled brat,  i am very much jealous of what you have.   and i’m not even talking about the money,  that doesn’t mean much to me.”   even though,  it must be nice to never worry about getting a job or wondering how you’re going to pay the rent.   “you were right about me.   i wish i had a dad like yours.   yours wants to give you the world while mine doesn’t even know when my birthday is.”   shoulders shrugging faintly underneath the puffer jacket like it’s no big deal,  eyes flickering back onto the road when they begin to sting.   “and so people attack your family or your upbringing because they’re jealous,  but believe me,  if given the opportunity,  they’d swap lives with you in a heartbeat.   you’re not a horrible person.”   he glances down at her hand lingering on his skin,  butterflies fluttering in the pit of his belly,  making him simultaneously nauseous and infatuated.      

“is that a hammer?   what were you planning to use it for?”   he laughs dryly,  somewhat amused by the contents of his friend’s pockets but still very much disgusted with himself.   but the mere memory of their very first meeting has his features softening,  a gentle smile tugging at the corners of his lips,  causing the wound to reopen.   not that it bothers him.   he feels so warm and tingly,  confused feelings brewing deep inside.   “you saved my life that day,  i’m not even kidding.”   maybe in a way he’s managed to pay his debt tonight by disarming harry.   “oh,  then i’ll get mine virgin,  too.   i’m not much of a drinker.   i’m actually pretty famous for always bringing a book to the bar.   that’s my thing.”   it’s very kind of her to offer him a ride back home,  but the bar that he has in mind is only a few blocks away from his apartment so there will be no need for that.   “yeah,  of course,”   he agrees,  focusing on driving and turning the radio on so that it can fill the silence between them.   katy perry’s old song is playing,  the one that got away,  and alex finds himself sinking his teeth into his busted lip to keep from getting emotional.   stupid song.   

they circle the block a few times before alex finds an open spot,  right outside the small corner bar that he’s been telling helena about.   its neon sign flickering half-heartedly,  but there are quite a few people inside.   this place is the opposite of that fancy lounge,  its patrons stink of vodka and cigarettes and don’t drive rolls royce,  but maybe that’s exactly what they need.   a change of scenery.   the black mustang pulls in,  barely fitting between two beat-up sedans.   “alright,  here we are,”   he mutters,  cutting the engine and unbuckling his belt before climbing out into the cool night.   he circles the car and opens helena’s door for her,  offering her a hand,  but doubting she’ll be willing to take it.   the air around them smells like wet concrete and distant food trucks,  but at least the hum of traffic has all but faded away.   inside the bar,  it’s warm and dim,  which alex figures works in their favor —   at least no one will ask questions about their faces.   does it look like they were in a domestic brawl?   probably.   he leads his friend over to the wooden bar,  helping her slide into a high stool.   shoulders brushing as he takes a seat beside her.   he orders them a round of some fruity beverages,  virgin.   and when the bartender places two glasses in front of them,  with sugar-dusted rims,  he doesn’t even realize the guy didn’t hear the last part.   there’s rum in their strawberry daiquiris,  but as he takes a sip,  he can’t really tell a difference.   “so…   what a night,  right?”

"i've took a lot of self defense classes and such, but i don't think that was it. i think that was just anger talking, i just had enough of being called a rich entitled bitch. like i'm some horrible person for things out of my control, i can't help who i was born to." another curse word she'll repent for. but remnants of anger are still left soaring through her, when you have been judged for it your entire life you finally realize you're not going to take it so lightly anymore. "no." she answers, she doesn't know who she is. but she's guessing she's someone who frequents the lounge looking for what she got tonight... or was. since she's sure she and alex have ruined their mood.

dumping her pockets of all the tools she had them filled with... screw driver, taser, mini hammer, phone. head turns towards him when his fingers touch her cheek, setting off an unwanted spark to burn beneath her chest. "i do have one." a first-aid kit, that's always a number one thing to have. "ever since you needed a walgreens trip, i've been inspired to keep one." helena would laugh, almost there with the start of a smile at the fond memory, until the said memory fades along with the smile that was just beginning to bloom across her face with ache because that was before everything he said to her tonight that's made her view him as a different person. words are not quickly forgotten, unfortunately. and now everything's tainted. even her favorite memories of him.

"let's go there, then. i'll get mine virgin though." not telling him it's because she's never drunk before, he'll make fun of her for it. "you'll need someone sober to drive you afterwards." she claims, pretending the tears stinging her eyes isn't because of the memories being tainted. blaming it on the cut across her jaw. "watch the road, i'll be okay." fingers gently wrap around his hand, slowly removing it from her face even her touch lingers a little extra longer against his skin before letting go completely.

[buckets-and-trees]

Huffily Ever After: A CindereLloyd Story [6/8]

Chapter Six - An Afternoon Adrift

Characters/Pairings: Lloyd Hansen x curvy Millennial Female!Reader Word Count: 6.5k Summary: You're fired, and it's not a joke.

SERIES Content/Warnings: modern Cinderella adaptation, unknown identities, enemies to lovers, toxic coworkers, eventual smut

Notes: Tenth story for the Valentine Storygrams.

Previous Chapter | Series

↠ Main Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

"What's going on?" you asked, your voice sounding small and uncertain even to your own ears, and you hated that. "Isn't it obvious?" Amilla said, her voice as cold and sharp as an icicle. "You're fired."

The words hit you like a physical blow, knocking the air from your lungs.

"What?" you gasped, your mind reeling. "Why?"

Amilla's gaze was unflinching, her posture rigid. "We lost Zhongxin to Hansen Global this morning," she started. “Holly and Anya told me you’ve been spending every minute you can with people from Hansen Global since you got here, so since you’re clearly jumping ship, I’m cutting you out first so you don’t get the satisfaction.”

Your mind reeled, struggling to process Amilla's words. The accusation was so absurd, so far from reality, that for a moment you were speechless. The bustling lobby seemed to fade away, leaving you in a bubble of disbelief with only Amilla's cold stare penetrating the haze.

"That's... that's ridiculous," you finally managed. You cleared your throat, forcing strength into your words. "I haven't been 'spending every minute' with any one person or group. I've been attending sessions, networking with potential clients and collaborators to consult with, just like we planned."

Amilla's eyebrow arched skeptically. "Really? Because that's not what the team says. They've seen you with Claude Dumont and Lloyd Hansen multiple times and word spread that you were at the Hansen Global table at the awards gala last night cozying right up to Robert Hansen himself."

Your mind raced, trying to make sense of Amilla's accusations. "I spoke with Claude and Lloyd at a few networking events, yes. And I was invited to the Hansen table for part of the gala, but that was just—"

Amilla cut you off with a sharp wave of her hand. "Save it. The evidence is clear. Even now your boyfriend’s inserting himself after lurking in wait for you.”

You turn and look over your shoulder, angry to see Lloyd just a few steps away.

“I’m not her boyfriend,” he says, voice low and clipped.

“Stay out of this,” you hiss.

He’s not your boyfriend, nor do you want him to be, but his instant rebuttal still stung your pride in the moment.

Amilla’s laugh is devoid of any actual mirth. “You've been consorting with our biggest competitor, and now we've lost our most important international client to them. The timing is too convenient to be coincidence."

Anger rages within you, cutting through the shock. "This is ridiculous! I've poured my heart and soul into Nexus, into the Zhongxin account. I would never betray the company like that!"

"Actions speak louder than words," Amilla replied coldly. "And your actions have spoken volumes. Since it’s a firing with cause, you’re termination is effective immediately, and no severance package will be offered. Now, if you’ll excuse me,” her last words were dripping with falsely overdone politeness, “we’re done here, and I’m done with you forever.”

With that, Amilla turned on her heel and strutted away and back into the restaurant.

You stood rooted to the spot, your mind reeling as you tried to process what had just happened. The bustling hotel lobby blurred and turned to white noise, leaving you in a daze of shock and disbelief. Your career, your reputation, everything you had worked so hard for - it all felt like it was crumbling around you.

"Hey," Lloyd's voice cut through the fog of your thoughts. You'd almost forgotten he was there. "Are you okay?"

You turned to face him, anger flaring hot and bright. "Am I okay? No, I'm not okay! I just lost my job because of you and your company!"

Lloyd's eyes narrowed, his jaw clenching. "Because of me? I had nothing to do with it!"

"Really?" you scoffed. "Your company poaches our biggest international client, then I'm accused of consorting with the enemy and fired on the spot. Seems pretty connected to me."

Lloyd took a step closer, his voice low and intense. "I had no idea Zhongxin was your client when the deal was made. And I certainly didn't orchestrate your firing."

You wanted to believe him, but doubt and anger still churned within you. "Then why were you following me just now?"

"I wasn't following you," Lloyd said, exasperation creeping into his tone. "This is a public lobby. I was on my way to meet someone when, yes, I did slow down out of curiosity and overheard the conversation. I couldn't just walk away when I heard what was happening."

He couldn't walk away when he heard what was happening? You searched his face, skeptical, before throwing out a, “Fine,” and turning away.

“Fine?” he scoffed. “You’re still pissed at me?” he followed you as you headed for the elevators.

You spun around to face Lloyd, anger flashing in your eyes. "My career just imploded in front of me, so, yeah, I’m angry, I’m hurt, but don’t flatter yourself into thinking that every one of my thoughts are centered around you, Lloyd Hansen.”

You spun and walked as swiftly as you could without running, weaving through the clusters of tourists and conference attendees in the lobby. The opulent surroundings that had once filled you with awe now seemed to mock you, a stark reminder of how quickly fortunes could change. Crystal chandeliers sparkled overhead, their light catching on the gilded mirrors lining the walls, reflecting your harried expression back at you from every angle.

As you approached the bank of elevators, you could hear Lloyd's footsteps behind you, his longer stride allowing him to follow you easily. You jabbed the elevator button repeatedly, willing it to arrive faster, desperate to retreat to the privacy of your room.

"Wait," Lloyd tried. "Just hear me out."

The elevator dinged, its doors sliding open. You stepped inside, turning to face Lloyd as you pressed the button for your floor. "I don't want to hear anything you have to say right now," you said, your voice trembling slightly despite your efforts to keep it steady.

Lloyd's hand shot out, holding the elevator door open. His blue eyes bored into yours, intense and unyielding. "Five minutes. That's all I'm asking for."

You hesitated, torn between your need to be alone and the nagging feeling that there was more to this situation than you understood. The elevator chimed impatiently, urging you to make a decision.

"I don't think there's anything left to say."

Lloyd's expression hardened, a muscle twitching in his jaw. As the doors began to close again, he delayed them once more. "You're making assumptions based on incomplete information."

You crossed your arms and pinned him with a venomous stare, “You can’t reverse what just happened, so I don’t think there’s any information you could share that would really help the situation at all, okay?”

Lloyd's jaw clenched, his piercing blue eyes boring into yours with an intensity that made you want to look away. But you held his gaze, refusing to back down.

"Fine," he conceded, his voice low and controlled. "If that's what you want."

He stepped back, allowing the elevator doors to close. As they slid shut, you caught one last glimpse of his face - a mixture of frustration and something else you couldn't quite identify. Regret? Concern?

The moment the doors closed fully, you sagged against the elevator wall, the enormity of what had just transpired was about to crash over you in waves, you could feel it. Your career, your reputation, your future - all of it had been upended in a matter of minutes. Tears pricked at your eyes, but you blinked them back furiously. You wouldn't cry, not here, not now.

The elevator ascended swiftly, and you knew you only had to keep it together for a few more minutes.

As soon as you entered your hotel room, the facade crumbled. You collapsed onto the bed, body shaking with sobs you could no longer contain. The injustice of it all overwhelmed you - the baseless accusations, the loss of the job you'd poured yourself into, and no chance to even defend yourself.

Your mind raced through the events of the past few days, searching for any sign, any clue that could have warned you of the impending disaster. But there was nothing. Just yesterday, you'd been riding high on the success of your panel discussion, feeling like you were finally carving out a place for an exciting future in the industry.

Victor trying to force himself had shaken you and been humiliating, but you had been able to work through enough of that with Maggie to know that it would just be a dark spot but not ruin everything. It had been a private struggle, and you could even guess that it wasn’t probably even that much to do with you, you just happened to be the one he’d fixed on this week.

But this?

It was personal.

You had known Amilla tolerated you because she had to and you delivered results. But she’d found a reason to finally shove you out. And now? Now you were unemployed, accused of betraying the very company you'd given your all to in the first chapters of your journey, and stranded at a conference where you no longer belonged. The weight of it all pressed down on you, making it hard to breathe.

As the initial shock began to subside, a new emotion started to take hold: anger. Anger at Amilla for jumping to conclusions without giving you a chance to explain. Anger at Holly and Anya for apparently spreading rumors about you. Anger at Lloyd and Hansen Global for their role in this mess, even if you weren't entirely sure what that role was.

And beneath it all, a simmering anger at yourself. Should you have seen this coming? Had you been naive in thinking your hard work and dedication would be enough to secure your place at Nexus?

Your phone buzzed incessantly on the nightstand, likely filled with messages from confused colleagues and friends who had heard snippets of gossip. But you couldn't bring yourself to look at it, not yet. The thought of facing their questions, their pity, or worse, their judgment, was too much. So you turned your phone to do not disturb for the next hour before putting it back on the nightstand.

You lay on the bed, staring blankly at the ceiling as your mind raced. The plush comforter was your only respite in this moment, and yet even that made you acutely aware that you no longer belonged here, in this posh hotel room paid for by a company that had just unceremoniously fired you.

When your phone buzzed again an hour later, it pulled you from a nap you didn’t know you’d sunken into. Your mind hadn’t quieted, but evidently being still, in the cozy bed, the emotional exhaustion had swallowed you up - racing mind and all. With a heavy sigh, you reached for your phone, bracing yourself for whatever fresh hell awaited you.

The screen was filled with notifications for missed calls, text messages, and slack alerts. Your thumb hovered over the screen, hesitating. Did you really want to deal with this right now?

Before you could decide, a soft knock at the door startled you out of your daze. For a moment, you considered ignoring it, not wanting to face anyone. But then a familiar voice called out.

"It's Gus. Please open up."

With a heavy sigh, you pushed yourself off the bed and made your way to the door. When you opened it, Gus stood there, his face etched with concern. Without a word, he stepped forward and pulled you into a tight hug.

"I don’t even know what to say," he said softly. "I'm so sorry."

You melted into his embrace, fresh tears streaming down your face, but at least you were past sobbing - for the moment.

"How did you find out?" you asked, your voice muffled against Gus's shoulder.

Gus pulled back slightly, his hands resting on your shoulders. "Word spreads fast at these things. I overheard some people gossiping about it in the hallway. I couldn't believe it, and I tried to text you but you didn’t answer, so I came straight here."

You stepped back, allowing Gus to enter the room. As you closed the door, you felt a wave of gratitude wash over you. At least you weren't completely alone in this mess.

"I know it happened, but I still can't believe it," you admitted, sinking onto the edge of the bed. "One minute I'm preparing for what I assumed would be a red alert meeting, and the next..."

Gus sat beside you, his brow furrowed. "What exactly did happen? The rumor mill is going wild, but I want to hear it from you."

You close your eyes and pinch the bridge of your nose. Amilla had set you up for a spectacle in your firing. That was abundantly clear now.

You took a deep breath, steeling yourself to recount the painful scene. "Amilla, Anya, and Holly were already there - she told me to meet them at noon, but they’d already been seated and had ordered even though I was a few minutes early. She ushered me out into the lobby, accused me of conspiring with Hansen Global, said we lost the Zhongxin account to them because of me. She fired me on the spot, effective immediately, and said it was so I couldn’t quit on Nexus after what I’d done."

Gus's eyes widened in disbelief. "That's insane! You've been nothing but loyal to Nexus. How could she think you'd betray the company like that?"

You shook your head, frustration bubbling up again. "Apparently, Holly and Anya have been spreading rumors about me spending time with people from Hansen Global. And then Lloyd showed up right as Amilla was firing me, which only made things worse."

"Lloyd? As in Lloyd Hansen?" Gus asked, his tone sharpening slightly.

You nodded, rubbing the back of your neck. "Yeah, he just appeared out of nowhere. He said it was just terrible timing, but it definitely didn't help my case."

Gus's eyes narrowed. "What did he want?"

"He tried to talk to me afterwards, said he wanted to explain something," you replied, shaking your head. "But I was too upset to listen. I just wanted to get away from everyone."

Gus was quiet for a moment, his brow furrowed in thought. "Do you think... is there any chance he actually knows something about what happened?"

You paused, considering. In your anger and shock, you hadn't given Lloyd any chance to speak. "I don't know. Maybe? But even if he does, how could it possibly change anything? I've still been fired.”

"And what exactly is your relationship with Lloyd Hansen?"

You felt a flash of irritation at the implication in Gus's tone. "There is no relationship," you countered firmly. "We've interacted at a few events, that's all. He invited me to dance at the afterparty of the gala last night, but it was purely professional, and then he helped me out in that Victor altercation as any decent person would have."

Gus looked skeptical. "Are you sure about that? He seems pretty interested in you."

You stood up abruptly, and began pacing the room. "Even if he is - which I'm not at all convinced of - it doesn't matter," you said, your voice rising with frustration. "What matters is that I've lost my job and I have no idea what I'm going to do next."

Gus held up his hands in a placating gesture. "You're right, I'm sorry. I shouldn't be pushing you about this right now. What can I do to help?"

You stopped pacing and took a deep breath, trying to calm yourself. "I don't know, Gus. I feel like I'm drowning here."

"Okay, let's take this one step at a time," Gus said, his tone gentle but firm. "First things first, do you want to stay for the rest of the conference?"

You hadn't even considered that. The thought of facing everyone after what had happened made your gut churn. “No, but I don’t have the money to just jump on a plane back home. God, am I even still allowed to stay in this room? Nexus was paying for everything for our travel!”

Gus's expression softened. "Don't worry about that right now. We'll figure it out. If you need to, you can crash in my room until we sort things out."

You felt a wave of gratitude wash over you. "Thanks, Gus. I don't know what I'd do without you right now."

He gave you a small smile. "That's what friends are for.”

You nodded, grateful for Gus's steady presence. As you both sat in silence for a moment, your phone buzzed again, startling you back to its presence.

"You should probably check that," Gus said gently, “but do you want to yet?”

You grimaced at him before your eyes flicked back to the phone.

“Okay, no,” Gus said, “there might be something important, but I’m making the executive decision that it can all wait for at least one more hour. We’re going out for a walk. Fresh air and the city streets will be good for your soul, and then you can with all of this,” he snatched your phone from the nightstand, shaking it around before pocketing it in his pocket.

You frowned, but nodded. You felt like you should be ready, but you weren’t ready. “Okay. But one hour. Then I should at least skim things.”

“Totally agree to that. Now go splash some water on your face, grab a jacket, and then we’re going. I downloaded six audio-guided walking tours of the city and have only done one of them!”

You managed a weak smile at Gus's enthusiasm. "Alright, alright. Give me a minute."

In the bathroom, you did as instructed and splashed cold water on your face, trying to erase the evidence of your tears. The person staring back at you in the mirror looked pale and shell-shocked, but at least your eyes were no longer red and puffy. You took a deep breath, steeling yourself for the outside world.

You and Gus were able to head down to the ground floor and make your way out out of the hotel without bumping into anyone, and the bustling city street hit you with a wave of noise and energy. It was jarring after the quiet cocoon of your room, but also oddly comforting. The world was still turning, life was going on all around you, oblivious to your personal crisis.

Gus handed you an earbud and pulled out his phone. He tapped the screen a few times as you inserted the proffered but and then a chipper voice began narrating directly into your ear.

"Welcome to the Hidden Gems of Paris-Montparnasse according to an ex-pat Walking Tour! I'll be exploring some of the lesser-known historical sites and architectural wonders of this vibrant city. Let's begin our journey at the Saint-Jacques Metro station…"

As you and Gus followed the audio guide's instructions, weaving through the bustling streets, you felt some of the tension in your body start to ease with the movement. The narrator's enthusiastic descriptions of century-old buildings and quirky local legends provided a welcome distraction from the turmoil of your thoughts.

Gus occasionally nudged you, pointing out particularly interesting details or making quiet jokes about some of the more outlandish claims in the tour. His presence was comforting, a reminder that you weren't alone in this mess.

After about forty-five minutes, you were just exiting the Gardens of the Observatory of Paris when Gus suddenly tensed beside you. You turned to follow his gaze, and the sight that greeted you was both unexpected and overwhelming.

There stood Maggie, her arms laden with an assortment of paper bags. Next to her, also holding bags and looking slightly uncomfortable but determined, was Claude Dumont.

"What a perfect coicidence!" Maggie exclaimed, her voice infused with a forced cheerfulness that didn't quite reach her eyes as they approached. "We were on our way back to the hotel to try and find you - and we come bearing sustenance for the weary."

You stood frozen for a moment, your mind struggling to process this new development.

“What do you say to a picnic here in the park?” Maggie suggested more than asked.

You hesitated, torn between the desire to press on with the walking tour or retreat back to your room and the realization that you couldn't hide forever. Gus squeezed your arm gently, a silent show of support.

"I guess that would be okay," you managed. These were two people

Maggie's smile softened, becoming more genuine. "Wonderful. Let's find a nice spot, shall we?"

Following Maggie and Claude deeper into the garden, you couldn't help but notice the tense set of Claude's shoulders. He kept glancing at you, but didn’t speak yet, the tension palpable but manageable as Claude's presence served as a stark reminder of the company at the center of your predicament.

You found a secluded area with a few benches surrounding a small fountain. The gentle sound of water provided a soothing backdrop as Maggie and Claude began unpacking their bags.

"We've got a bit of everything," Maggie announced, beginning to open bags. The rich scent of freshly baked bread wafted towards you, mingling with the sharp tang of cheese and the sweet promise of pastries. It was a sensory bliss that further distracted you from the upheaval of your life today. Your stomach growled in approval, reminding you that you’d missed lunch.

"I... hope my presence is not wholly unwelcome," Claude said, his usually confident demeanor somewhat subdued. He held out bottles of sparkling water and spring water, letting you take your pick. "I insisted on accompanying Maggie on her mission to find and feed you. I thought perhaps I could offer some clarity on the situation."

You felt a conflicting surge of emotions. Over the past few days, you'd grown fond of Claude. His wit, charm, and genuine interest in your ideas had been a breath of fresh air in the often stuffy atmosphere of the conference. His friendly overtures had been so genuine and welcome, but now…

You hesitated, torn between your desire for answers and your instinct to protect yourself from further hurt.

Maggie intervened, her voice gentle. "I know it's a lot, but I think you should hear him out. Claude reached out to me the moment he heard, and... well, I think there's more to this story than we realize."

You took a deep breath, trying to center yourself.

"Okay," you said finally.

The late afternoon sun slanted through the window, casting long shadows across the landscape and illuminating the worry lines etched on Claude's face.

Claude cleared his throat, his fingers drumming a nervous rhythm on his knee. "First, I want to say how deeply sorry I am about what's happened. The deal with Zhongxin... it was news to me this morning as well."

Your eyebrows shot up in surprise, and you exchanged a quick glance with Gus, who looked equally taken aback.

"What do you mean? You’re head of international relations at Hansen Global.”

Claude nodded, a rueful smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "Indeed I am. But the world of international business is often more complex than it appears on the surface." He leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees as he began to explain.

"You see, Zhongxin has been a coveted client for many companies in our industry for quite some time. Months ago, when they opened up a bidding process, inviting proposals for representation, multiple companies jumped at the chance, including both Nexus and Hansen Global. I was heavily involved in our pitch, given my role. We put together what I believed to be an impressive proposal - innovative strategies, cutting-edge technologies, the works."

As Claude spoke, you found yourself transported back to those intense weeks of preparation at Nexus. The late nights, the endless revisions, the nervous energy that had permeated the office. You remembered the thrill when Nexus had been selected, the pride you'd felt in being part of the team that secured such a prestigious client. The memory now felt bittersweet, tainted by recent events.

Claude continued, his voice drawing you back to the present. "We lost that bid to Nexus, fair and square. It was disappointing, of course, but not entirely unexpected given Nexus's stellar reputation emerging in the Asian market."

You nodded, a small spark of pride flickering despite everything. Your team had worked incredibly hard on that pitch.

“I have a longtime friend who is a member of Zhongxin’s board, so afterwards I asked if there was anything we could have done differently, anything that might have swayed their decision. And do you know what my friend told me?"

You shook your head, curiosity piqued despite yourself.

"He said no, that our proposal was excellent. But then he mentioned something interesting. He said that in the end, there was a dynamic young professional on the Nexus team that they had a really good feeling about. Someone who had not only showed remarkable insight and passion during the presentations, but who had been diligent, eager, and helpful in all correspondence from the beginning stages up to the end." Claude paused, and his gaze intense gaze held a visible glimmer of admiration despite the gravity of the situation. "He was talking about you."

The revelation hit you like a wave, momentarily washing away the ache of your recent firing. You remembered the pitch meeting vividly - the way you'd passionately presented your ideas, the energy in the room, the approving nods from the Zhongxin representatives. At the time, you'd attributed their positive response to the strength of the overall proposal. Now, learning that you had played such a pivotal role in securing the account filled you with a bittersweet pride.

“I told you the night we met that I was already aware of your work in Southeast Asia and this was what pointed me in your direction, and I’ve been keeping tabs on your work since then.”

Claude's words hung in the air for a moment as you processed this new information. You felt a mix of pride and confusion, unsure how to reconcile this revelation with your current situation.

"But if I was such a key factor in winning the account," you began, your voice wavering slightly, "then why would Zhongxin suddenly switch to Hansen Global? And why would Amilla think I had anything to do with it?"

Claude's expression darkened. "That's where things get complicated. And, I'm afraid, rather ugly."

He paused, seeming to weigh how to proceed with the next bit. The air was thick with tension as everyone waited for him to continue.

Claude sighed, running a hand through his hair. "About a month ago, I started hearing whispers that Zhongxin was starting to become unhappy with Nexus. Nothing concrete, just murmurs of discontent. I didn't think much of it at first - client relationships often have ups and downs, especially as two parties learn to navigate the client relationship in the first year.

"But then," Claude continued, his voice lowering, "I heard something that troubled me deeply. There were rumors that someone at Nexus was deliberately sabotaging the Zhongxin account."

You felt your stomach drop. "What? That's impossible. We were all working so hard on that account!"

Claude nodded grimly. "I have no doubt that you were. But the whispers persisted. Now you worked most often with Min Ho Song, correct?"

“Yes.”

“And Min Ho learned that your team director, Amilla Tremaine, was making a trip to Shanghai to meet with a potential new client.”

“That’s right. Amilla and Zhongxin’s schedules weren’t lining up while she was going to be there, and since Zhongxin wasn’t paying to bring her out, she had to prioritize the other client, but Min Ho and the team seemed like they were understanding.”

“Well, it turns out Amilla did find a pocket of time to meet with Zhongxin.”

A pit began to form in your stomach.

Claude's expression grew even more somber as he continued. "According to my friend on the board, Amilla's meeting with Zhongxin was disastrous. She arrived nearly an hour late, offering only a flippant apology about traffic. This, in a culture where punctuality is highly valued, especially in business settings."

You felt your chest tighten, imagining the scene. The Zhongxin executives, impeccably dressed and perfectly on time, waiting in a sleek conference room as the minutes ticked by. The growing tension, the exchanged glances, the murmured concerns.

"But it gets worse," Claude said, his voice low. "Throughout the meeting, Amilla reportedly displayed a dismissive attitude towards Zhongxin's concerns and questions. She interrupted speakers, checked her phone repeatedly, and at one point even rolled her eyes at a suggestion from one of their senior board members."

You felt sick. This was not wildly different than how she treated you, but you were stunned that she had treated any client this way - especially one as large as Zhongxin.

“Seemingly fed up with their input and concerns, she proposed drastic changes to the current strategies - strategies that, as I understand it, were largely based on ideas you had pitched to launch some of their key campaign and marketing strategies. When they tried to express that they only wanted to discuss adjustments and expansions, she said they should trust her expertise - that she didn’t tell them how to do their jobs, so they shouldn’t tell her how to do hers.”

Your jaw dropped.

“The chair of the board then said she was right - and as board chair, he knew when it was time to terminate a toxic partnership.”

“Wait,” Gus interjected. “Are you saying that Amilla knew she killed the relationship before she even left Shanghai?”

Claude nodded. “Before she even left the building.”

“What the hell! How long did she think she’d be able to keep this quiet? Or did she think she’d be able to recover?” Gus asked.

You were still too stunned to speak.

“She may have even thought closing a deal with the new client would compensate for losing Zhongxin,” Maggie tossed out.

Claude shook his head, a wry smile playing at his lips. "It's anyone's guess what was going through Amilla's mind. Perhaps she thought she could salvage the situation, or maybe she believed losing Zhongxin wouldn't be as catastrophic as it's turned out to be. The human mind has an remarkable capacity for self-deception, especially when pride and ego are involved."

He paused, his gaze sweeping over the lush gardens surrounding you. The late afternoon sun filtered through the leaves, casting dappled shadows on the ground and highlighting the vibrant colors of the flowers nearby. A gentle breeze carried the sweet scent of blooming roses, mingling with the earthy aroma of freshly cut grass.

"As for Zhongxin," Claude continued, his attention returning to you, "they didn't waste any time. After deciding to terminate their contract with Nexus, they immediately revisited the proposals that had been on the table a year ago. Our offer, it seems, still held viability and appeal for them. They worked with our office in Southeast Asia to finalize and sign the deal in the last twelve hours, and by the nature of the time difference, I only found out a couple of hours before they issued their press statement.”

You felt a mix of emotions swirling inside you - anger at Amilla, disbelief at the turn of events, and a growing sense of injustice. "But why would Amilla accuse me of betraying the company? Why fire me?"

Claude's expression darkened. "That's where things get even uglier. It seems Amilla needed a scapegoat."

Maggie leaned forward, her voice gentle but firm. "Think about it. Amilla knew she'd messed up catastrophically. She needed someone to blame, and fast."

"And I was the perfect target," you said, the realization running like ice through your veins. "Young, ambitious, someone she's never fully trusted or liked, and the person who had the closest relationship with the Zhongxin team."

Claude nodded grimly. "Exactly. By pinning the blame on you, she could potentially save face with the higher-ups at Nexus. She could claim that you had been secretly working with Hansen Global, feeding us information, and that's why we were able to swoop in so quickly after the fallout."

"That's ridiculous!" Gus exclaimed, his face flushed with anger. "There's no evidence to support that!"

"Evidence isn't always necessary when someone is desperate to cover their tracks," Maggie said softly, reaching out to squeeze your hand. “Not in the corporate jungle.”

You felt numb, struggling to process the enormity of what you were hearing. The injustice of it all made your head spin. You had poured your heart and soul into that account, into Nexus, only to have it all ripped away because of Amilla's incompetence and desperation to save face.

"So what happens now?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Claude leaned forward, his eyes intense. "That's up to you. But I want you to know that Hansen Global would be more than happy to bring you on board. In fact, when Zhongxin signed with us, they specifically suggested we poach you."

You blinked in surprise. "They did?"

Claude nodded. "They spoke very highly of your work and insights."

A small spark of pride ignited in your chest, but it was quickly doused by the weight of everything else. "I... I don't know. This is a lot to consider.”

"But this isn’t fair!" Gus retorted, his face still furious. "We can't let her get away with this!"

You appreciated Gus's righteous indignation on your behalf, but a creeping sense of hopelessness was settling in. "What can we even do? It's my word against hers.”

Gus gasped then.

“What?” you asked immediately.

“Helen!”

“Helen?”

“Yes!” he laughed. “She just landed a few hours ago! You’ve got to talk to her! You were basically her protégé! She’ll have to believe you!”

With all the drama, you’d forgotten she was on her way to Paris from Amsterdam, and while you’d been thrilled with that news this morning, now you were nervous to face her - if so many others knew you’d been fired, she certainly would by now, too.

Gus hastily pulled your phone from his pocket and thrust it into your hands. You bit your lip as you turned off Do Not Disturb.

Sure enough, among the sea of notifications, one stood out - a DM in Slack from Helen, your former boss and now the VP of Strategy and Innovation.

HELEN: We need to talk as soon as you can.

It had been sent almost an hour ago.

You stared at Helen's message, your heart racing. This could be your chance to set the record straight, to have someone with real influence at Nexus hear your side of the story. But doubt crept in - what if Helen had already made up her mind? What if she believed Amilla's version of events? Amilla was the one she’d hired as a director.

"Well?" Gus prompted, his eyes bright with anticipation. "Are you going to message her back?"

You took a deep breath, steeling yourself. "Yes, I am."

With trembling fingers, you typed out a reply:

YOU: I'm available now if you are. Where would you like to meet?

The response came almost immediately:

HELEN: Meet me in the hotel lobby in 15 minutes.

You showed the others the message, a mix of hope and apprehension swirling in your stomach.

"This is good," Maggie said reassuringly. "Helen knows you, she'll listen to your side of the story."

“And if not, I’m serious about making you an offer,” Claude reiterated. 

“Do not accept anything from him until you speak with me though,” Maggie said. “I’ve been wanting to start my own think tank, and I came to the conference this year specifically to scope out members to flesh out my team.”

You couldn’t help but grin. “Wait, really?”

Maggie's eyes sparkled with excitement as she nodded. "Yes, really! I've been planning this for months, but I wanted to find the right people to bring on board. And after seeing you in action this week, I'm more convinced than ever that you'd be perfect for what I have in mind."

You felt a rush of warmth at her words, a stark contrast to the cold dismissal you'd received from Amilla earlier. The idea of working with Maggie, of being part of something new and innovative, was incredibly appealing.

"That's... wow, Maggie. I don't know what to say," you stammered, genuinely touched by her offer.

Maggie's smile widened. "Say you'll have dinner with me tonight so we can discuss it properly. I've got a reservation at this charming little restaurant I discovered last time I was in Paris.”

You nodded eagerly, “Yes, that would be perfect! Thank you." And then you said it again with more softness and warmth, looking at each of them. “Thank you. I don't know how I would have gotten through this day without your support.”

You felt so much gratitude for these people who believed in you, even in the face of this disaster - Maggie who had known while during your graduate pursuit, Gus who had worked along side you since you started at Nexus, and Claude who’d only known you a few days but had apparently been watching your career over the past year.

As you stood to leave, Claude reached out and gently touched your arm. "Remember, regardless of what happens with Helen, you have options. Amilla's actions will not define your future."

You smiled, determination taking root in your gut again at his words. You had always worked hard for everything. It was just time to pick up and do it again.

With a deep breath, you set off towards the hotel, Gus at your side, your mind racing with all you'd learned and the conversation to come. The walk back seemed both too long and too short, your nerves growing with each step.

The hotel lobby bustled with conference attendees, their animated chatter creating a low hum of background noise. Your eyes scanned the crowd, searching for Helen's familiar face. You spotted her almost immediately. She was seated in one of the plush armchairs, her tablet in hand, looking every bit the powerful executive you remembered. When she saw you, she stood, Gus squeezed your shoulder in a show of support and good luck, and you stood a little taller as you approached the Nexus VP of Strategy and Innovation.

"Hello," she said, her voice calm and measured. "I think we need to talk.”

next chapter: coming February 17

Only two more chapters!

↠ Main Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

I do not do tag lists, but FOLLOW @buckets-and-stories and TURN ON NOTIFICATIONS to be updated any time I publish a new work!

[arsonistfriday]

8. "Who did this to you?"

With Killer and someone of your choice! I just need someone to fuss over my boy, you know how I am

[Ask game]

CWs: implied abuse, mentioned/referenced sexual assault, dissociation

It wasn't uncommon for Pomegranate to find people collapsed in alleyways or even on the streets, as depressing as it sounded. He did his best to help them whenever he could, but sometimes he was just too exhausted himself and had to shamefully walk by.

This was the first time he found another skeleton monster ditched in a dirty alleyway. At first, he stumbled back, expecting to find his brother covered in bruises and half-unconscious. Though, when he looked closer, his concern turned to confusion.

This skeleton monster looked roughly the same height and shape as him, but he knew only he and Sugar were the only skeleton monsters to exist. Cautiously, he approached them, getting a closer look.

They were face-down on the ground, curled up on themself. Their soul was a strange shape, glowing a bright red with markings of white in the shape of a heart. He frowned and crouched down beside them.

“Oh, honey, who did this to you?” He softly murmured, pulling them up from the ground. They barely reacted except for tilting their head slightly up to look at him. Their eyes were completely empty, black tears streaking their cheeks. He wiped them away on instinct, only to find it stung when he touched them.

“Where…?” They tried to stumble onto their own feet, but fall back against Pomegranate, legs twitching.

“Shh, don't try to speak right now, save your strength.” He wrapped an arm around their shoulder and guided them out of the alleyway.

They nodded weakly, stumbling to try to walk themself without depending on him. They eventually gave up, just leaning against him with a soft groan.

He sighed, “someone really did a number on you, huh? Don't worry, you'll be safe with me. Let's just get you cleaned up.”

[wingedprincesskoala]

General...

How old were you when you first heard a SP/Journey song, and what was it?

Who’s Crying Now in 2021, I think. Asked my friend to recommend me some melodic playing and that was what she showed to me.

How has SP/Journey positively impacted your life?

Well, I haven’t slept much since I got into the fandom back in October last year but no regrets! Haha I love it here, the band, the fans, the whole community 😊

What song means the most to you on a personal level?

Patiently. The song that started everything.

What SP/Journey song do you most like to sing or play along too?

It depends on my mood. I can listen to the same song for the whole day lol

If you ever had the chance to speak to Steve Perry, what would you say to him?

I’d tell him that I love him and thank you for the music. And then I’d tell him that Neal loves him and he’s waiting for that damn coffee forever.

What song do you think deserves more recognition?

The album Arrival with Augeri in its entirety. I just love it so much!

Who is the most underrated band member?

Smitty.

If you were to introduce someone to SP/Journey, what would you show them?

Who’s Crying Now and Open Arms. The latter actually made me cry.

What story/fact can you not get out of your head?

STEAL! ❤️

Your favourites...

MORE THAN ONE!

Top 3’s... (because it’s hard to have favourites)

17. What are your top 3 songs from Journey’s Infinity album?

Patiently, Wheels, Lights

18. What are your top 3 songs from Journey’s Evolution album?

Lovin’, Touchin’, Squeezin’, Lovin’ you is easy, Just the same way

19. What are your top 3 songs from Journey’s Departure album?

Any way you want it, I’m crying, People and places

20. What are your top 3 songs from Journey’s Captured album?

The party’s over, Walks like a lady, Feeling that way

21. What are your top 3 songs from Journey’s Escape album?

Whose crying now, Open arms, Stone in love

22. What are your top 3 songs from Journey’s Frontiers album?

Separate ways, Faithfully, Send her my love

23. What are your top 3 songs from Journey’s Raised On Radio album?

Suzanne, Why can’t this night go forever, Be good to yourself

24. What are your top 3 songs from Journey’s Trial By Fire album?

Don’t be down on me baby, When I think of you, One more

25. What are your top 3 SP/Journey albums?

Infinity, Escape, Arrival

26. What are your top 3 SP/Journey song of all time?

Too many to name, their catalogue is huge, love them all!

Personal thoughts on band members... (with utmost respect!)

27. What are your personal thoughts on Steve Perry?

Complicated but relatable, love his voice and style. Very sexy!

28. What are your personal thoughts on Neal Schon?

Messy but mesmerizing, love his guitar playing and his looks. Gorgeous smile!

29. What are your personal thoughts on Jonathan Cain?

Creepy and weird but a great composer, love his part on the keys

30. What are your personal thoughts on Ross Valory?

Funny and a great friend, he was the glue in Journey

31. What are your personal thoughts on Steve Smith?

Underrated, easy-going and humble

32. What are your personal thoughts on Gregg Rolie?

Complicated, messy, sexy, underrated… great voice!

33. What are your personal thoughts on Aynsley Dunbar?

Talented but loves them way too young *yuck*

34. What are your personal thoughts on Herbie Herbert?

Potty mouth, hot-headed, complicated relationships with Journey band members lol

35. What are your personal thoughts on Steve Augeri?

Great looks, great voice, love his contribution to Journey post-Steve

36. What are your personal thoughts on Arnel Pineda?

A little guy with a big heart, hard-working and talented, he basically saved Neal’s dream to tour forever haha

37. What are your personal thoughts on Randy Jackson?

Talented and easy-going, this guy always had a lot of fun on stage

38. What are your personal thoughts on Robert Fleischman?

A fkn diva lol

39. What are your personal thoughts on Deen Castronovo?

Great drummer, can sing Steve’s songs while playing the fkn drums!

40. What are you personal thoughts Irving Azoff?

Heard he’s good at what he’s doing so I guess the right guy for the job

SP/Journey Ask Game

Hello everyone! Hope you’re all ok 💛 I thought I would make an attempt at SP/Journey ask game to help keep us all busy!

If you would like anyone to send you an ask please feel free to reblog...

General...

1. How old were you when you first heard a SP/Journey song, and what was it?

2. How has SP/Journey positively impacted your life?

3. What song means the most to you on a personal level?

4. What SP/Journey song do you most like to sing or play along too?

5. If you ever had the chance to speak to Steve Perry, what would you say to him?

6. What song do you think deserves more recognition?

7. Who is the most underrated band member?

8. If you were to introduce someone to SP/Journey, what would you show them?

9. What story/fact can you not get out of your head?

Your favourites...

10. What is your all time favourite Journey song?

11. What is your all time favourite Steve Perry song?

12. What is your favourite Journey album?

13. What is your favourite music video?

14. What is your favourite live performance?

15. What is your favourite album cover artwork?

16. What is your favourite SP/Journey interview?

Top 3’s... (because it’s hard to have favourites)

17. What are your top 3 songs from Journey’s Infinity album?

18. What are your top 3 songs from Journey’s Evolution album?

19. What are your top 3 songs from Journey’s Departure album?

20. What are your top 3 songs from Journey’s Captured album?

21. What are your top 3 songs from Journey’s Escape album?

22. What are your top 3 songs from Journey’s Frontiers album?

23. What are your top 3 songs from Journey’s Raised On Radio album?

24. What are your top 3 songs from Journey’s Trial By Fire album?

25. What are your top 3 SP/Journey albums?

26. What are your top 3 SP/Journey song of all time?

Personal thoughts on band members... (with utmost respect!)

27. What are your personal thoughts on Steve Perry?

28. What are your personal thoughts on Neal Schon?

29. What are your personal thoughts on Jonathan Cain?

30. What are your personal thoughts on Ross Valory?

31. What are your personal thoughts on Steve Smith?

32. What are your personal thoughts on Gregg Rolie?

33. What are your personal thoughts on Aynsley Dunbar?

34. What are your personal thoughts on Herbie Herbert?

35. What are your personal thoughts on Steve Augeri?

36. What are your personal thoughts on Arnel Pineda?

37. What are your personal thoughts on Randy Jackson?

38. What are your personal thoughts on Robert Fleischman?

39. What are your personal thoughts on Deen Castronovo?

40. What are you personal thoughts Irving Azoff?

[eiiskonigin]

@caeloservare: //Is it Missa loving hours? You're a sweetheart. Plus you're a really good writer, on top of being a good friend. It's fun to see your Winter on the dash, even if James would never ever engage in shenanigans (he's trying to be cool in front of her ok) xD Your Raven reminded me how much fun kindergarten style definitely-not-flirting is and how twisted chaos it can be. It was amazing. I like your muses with their sharp tongues and unapologetic approach. And of course I can't wait to meet you ;u; My plans might be changing as they form, but I must get to meet you and hug you!

I actually saw this on my fifteen minute break and had to wait to reply. ;w; but it was a very nice positivity burst in the middle of a very long day. ♥ James has very definitely succeeded in being cool in front of Winter, perhaps to a detrimental extent that now she tries so hard to be cool around him. x'D Raven is just feral I don't have any good excuses for her, but I do love writing her with you and hopefully will write more seriously over there soon !!

You are one of my dearest internet friends and I love you bunches and even if our meeting gets pushed back, it's going to happen one day and then I will hug you so frickin' tight you better be ready.

1-800-how’s my portrayal?

[tendoujo]

━━━ ` ° . tag dump 2. general 💙

[hueseok]

it was always you.

for as long as you remember, you’ve always had the fattest crush on your childhood friend, jeon jungkook. it never blossomed into something more though, because that’s what happens when life naturally takes it course—you grow up, you move on, and you pretend that those feelings never existed in order to maintain the good friendship that remained between the two of you over the years.

so when he visits you after work one day, asking you to marry him, you do everything you can to refuse, because the reason he’s asking you isn’t due to the fact that he finally realized that he loved you after all this time, but because he thinks he’s doing you a big favor.

or at least, that’s what you think.

pairing: jungkook x reader

word count: 13.2k

rating: 18+

content: fluff, semi-angst, childhood friends to lovers au, pining au | ft. naval aviator!jungkook + brother’s best friend!jungkook; professor!reader + editor!reader | inspired by purple hearts

warning/s: swearing, potentially wrong medical & military information (i’m sorry but i tried to do as much research i can 😭), mentions of having type 1 diabetes, making out, heavy petting, implied sexual content: oral (f. receiving), fingering, penetrative sex, unprotected sex (this is only fiction!)

MINI PLAYLIST: ♫ die with a smile — lady gaga, bruno mars ♫ juno — sabrina carpenter ♫ selfish — *nsync ♫ nandito na ako — benj pangilinan, angela ken

opening note. omg this is my first full length fic in two damn years i think??? certainly took a long time before i had the motivation to write again but i hope y'all like this! to my og readers who still keep up with my shenanigans, this one's for you 🥹💗

“Any questions?”

A boy wearing half-rimmed glasses raises his hand and you gesture for him to speak. “Can we get an extension on the Save the Cat project due tomorrow?”

You sigh, just as several of your students begin agreeing with him and muttering reasons of their own why the extension should be approved. It’s the week before finals, and you’re aware that the class must be packed with assignments and projects for several of their classes because of it, hence the rather last minute request. They look tired and pleading, a complete reflection of how you were when you were the one in their position nearly a decade ago, begging for an extension from a professor who you thought was kind enough to be swayed with the proposition.

You scan the crowd. “How many of you are at least 70% with it, hm?”

More than half of the class raises their hands.

“Okay, that’s honestly unexpected,” you say, pleased to know that they aren’t slacking on your subject. “Does Monday sound good? That’s three more days, to be fair. I don’t want to extend it further because I have to read everyone’s work and you guys know I don’t like rushing it before turning in your final grade.”

A chorus of relief and thanks echoed in the room, all of your students either dramatically sinking in their chair or erupting in an animated conversation with their seatmate or making crying faces to portray how grateful they are.

“Thank you so much, Ms. ____!”

“I love you, Ms. ____!”

“Ms. ____, I will offer my first child to you,” one theatrically adds and you smile a bit, rolling your eyes at students like this one who is now opting to flatter you way too much for your act of kindness.

“Alright, alright. Just get it done and I’m expecting quality work, okay? Class dismissed.”

The whole class begins to gather their things at the cue and you don’t stay there a minute longer after your announcement, exiting the lecture hall to head to the faculty room where you’re certain half of the teaching staff have gone home already. It’s already 8:47 p.m., and all you want to do is head home to get the rest you deserve after an eventful day.

There was a time that having a schedule from 6 p.m. to 9 p.m. wasn’t the norm for you. You used to value work life balance so much—it was even a nonnegotiable you used to say in interviews, saying that if you didn’t get enough rest within the week, then the job most likely wasn’t for you. But things have been very different for the past months; you have definitely grown out of that mindset due to the fact that you’re simply in need of another source of income to pay for your monthly rent, utility bills, and now your medication. You’re in a stage of your life wherein you consider working part time as a professor was a blessing rather than a big nuisance.

Making a right turn to where the hallway to the faculty room is, you’re too busy rearranging the papers inside the folder you’re holding to notice a man sitting on the bench placed just beside the entrance. He notices you the second you appear in his line of vision though; he straightens his posture and proceeds on standing up immediately upon seeing you closer, calling your name softly when you failed to look at his direction, too preoccupied with the thought of finally coming home that you’re oblivious that the man trying to catch your attention is Jeon Jungkook.

“____,” he calls again and this time you notice him, your eyes widening instantly.

“Holy shi—” You stop yourself from finishing that sentence. “Jungkook?”

He grins. “Hey, lamb chop.”

“What the hell are you doing here?”

“Is that how you greet an old friend?”

“Oh, fuck off.”

He laughs, following suit to you who’s already giggling just by his presence alone, outstretching his arms then. “You gonna hug me or what?”

You beam and step forward to embrace him. He returns it without hesitation, muscular arms circling around you and squeezing tightly that it lifts you up from the ground for a quick second. The faint smell of fabric conditioner on his clothes enters your nostrils and you feel like a teenager again, warmth rushing to your face while your heart hammers loudly in your chest. Regardless of how old the both of you are, you think your hopeless crush on the guy will forever live on and constantly transform you into a middle school girl whenever opportunities like these to have him near arise. You’re just happy you’ve trained yourself to be better at hiding it now compared to when you were younger.

“Aren’t you supposed to be in base or wherever it is that you’re designated?” you ask, the first to let go from the hug.

“Actually, I returned from deployment three days ago. I’m on leave for two weeks.”

“Wow. Two weeks, huh?”

“Yep. It’s the longest break I’ve gotten in a while.”

“That’s good. Everybody needs a break from time to time.”

“Says the girl has a day job and a night job.” He points out with a smirk; your heart does a little leap at how handsome he looks doing that. “When the hell did you get into teaching, by the way? I never pegged you to be the kind who can tolerate it. You hate kids.”

“You’ll find yourself tolerating lots of things in this economy.” You snort. “And my students aren’t kids. They’re in college.”

“Yeah, which you graduated from six years ago. Still technically kids.”

“Are you seriously jabbing at my age when you’re two years older than I am?”

He rolls his eyes at that one, an indication that you won the argument. “Anyway,” he starts again and you grin, “I didn’t come here to compare how old we are—”

“You didn’t?”

He sends you a look. Your grin gets even wider.

“I’m here because I was hoping to treat you to dinner.”

“Dinner?” you repeat, not masking the surprise from your voice.

Let’s get the facts straight before we proceed to this conversation.

It isn’t a lie when you say that you and Jungkook are great friends. You have been since you were 7 and your family just moved into the house next to theirs. He was a natural playmate, a companion when you couldn’t tolerate the antics of your older brother, the boy who looked out for you aside from said older brother, and the person you’ve shared significant history with throughout your youth that you can never seem to forget nor disregard.

It’s just that you never deemed that you were great enough friends for him to go out of his way and visit you at your workplace, offering to treat you for dinner. Gestures like that were reserved for your older brother, Seowon, who’s the same age as he is and who you’re sure is considered as his best friend. Compared to them, yours and Jungkook’s dynamic shifted slightly after graduating from college. What once was a really close friendship turned into a casual one, with mostly just teasing, light talks, and the occasional welfare checks at times you hear certain news from the other that’s worth speaking directly about.

At the mention of that, realization dawns on you on why he must be here.

“Jungkook…” You’re trying not to sound mad but you can’t hide the exasperation from your voice. “That’s not the real reason you’re here.”

“Of course, it is. Why else would I be here?”

“He told you, didn’t he?” you ask, not willing to drag this out. “You’re just going to give me another lecture that I definitely don’t need.”

Jungkook frowns, like he’s dismayed that you caught on pretty swiftly.

“I’m right, aren’t I?” You pressed.

“He meant well, ____.”

You scowl. To remark that Seowon is unnecessarily nosy and coddling would be an understatement. That man hasn’t left you alone the second he was aware of your condition. Usually, whenever he gets into his ‘big brother tendencies’, his girlfriend Winnie steps in and helps you lay him off your back. However, it’s different this time; no matter how much you reinstill your independence and insist that you’re fine, it’s like you’re talking to a wall.

“What exactly did you hear from him?” you query.

He seems hesitant in answering that. “That you got diagnosed with type 1 diabetes.”

You wince.

“Look,” he steps forward towards you, “I wasn’t going to bring it up unless you did, okay? I’m just here because I’m genuinely worried about you and I want to know how you’re doing.”

“I’m fine.” You murmur. “You don’t need to worry.”

“Worry doesn’t vanish magically just because someone says so.”

“Well, it should—because I’m fine.”

“You sure? I heard that you’re struggling to buy insulin among other things you’re having a hard time paying.”

“Fuck. Seowon told you that too? That’s private.”

“My parents know. He just filled me in because he wants you to have as much support as you can get.”

“I don’t need that. I’m an adult. I’ve lived by myself for years. I can fend for myself just fine.”

“It doesn’t look like it from what I’ve been hearing.”

“All you’re hearing is a warped and exaggerated version of the story told by Seowon who won’t listen to a word I say.” You huff. “I’m fine and I’ve been doing everything I can, alright? I’m taking care of myself. I’m going to the doctor whenever I need to. I’m making ends meet, buying treatment for this goddamn disease and regulating my sugar levels all the fucking time. Why do you think I’ve been working two jobs for the past year? It’s because I’m doing everything I can to stay alive.”

Jungkook doesn’t reply, he only remains gazing at you.

“If you’re here to offer me money or whatever because of what he said,” you add, already embarrassed that you can’t even look at him anymore, “then I don’t want it.”

“That’s not what I’m here for,” he says.

“Then are you really just here to treat me to dinner?” you question sarcastically.

He laughs and you dare return your eyes at him, catching him peering at you with a fond expression. “Yes. It’s my way of doing a welfare check.”

“Welfare check.” You echo with squinted eyes. “Well, in that case, here I am—alive and healthy.”

“I can see that, and I’m glad.” He smiles. “But I need more than just seeing you. I need a conversation and an apology.”

“An apology?”

“For being the last person to know about your condition.”

“And we’re still talking about that apparently.” You mutter under your breath. “Sorry. I didn’t think that you wanted to know.”

“Of course, I would have wanted to know. It’s you we’re talking about here.”

Something about how he said you causes your lips to twitch as you fight off a smile. This isn’t a good time to dive into your romantic feelings for your childhood crush, but when he’s letting go of lines like that which are sure to have your heart soaring out of your chest, it’s hard to keep on a cool and unfazed facade. You just convince yourself that he sees you as a little sister and that’s why he’s so worried; you should already be past your ‘delulu’ phase at this age to be affected by such statements.

“I didn’t want to add to your worries,” you reason. “You already have your life to think about. Add to the fact that you’re a naval aviator—so you literally have your own life first to think about.”

“I can make space for you.”

Is he flirting? Is this a normal thing to say between friends?

You blink. “Okay, uh, that’s… that’s completely up to you, I guess.”

“I just like knowing those things first hand. It makes me worry less.”

“Got it. Next time I learn I’m dying, I’ll tell you.”

“____,” he says your name in warning, and you know he’s serious.

“Sorry.” You heat up. “I couldn’t resist.”

“Don’t be a pain in the ass.”

“I promise that’ll be the last time I make a dark joke, Lieutenant.”

Jungkook’s nostrils flare. You prevent yourself from grinning like a fool again in success of getting on his nerves.

“Are you done here? Because I’m hungry and would really like to get going now.” He changes the subject and gestures to the faculty.

“Yeah. I’ll just get my things and then I can get out of here.”

“Great. You’re letting me take you to dinner, right?” 

“Do I have a choice?”

“No.”

“Fine.” You deadpan.

This time, he’s the one who’s beaming at you. “I’ll wait for you here and we can go.”

“Okay.”

****

When Jungkook discovered that you had type 1 diabetes through a phone call with Seowon, he spent the rest of the night staring at the ceiling, ignoring the snores of his squadmates and overthinking what’s supposed to happen to you now that you had an autoimmune disease which he was told didn’t have a cure. He was assured that you were okay despite it, that there was medication to treat it, and that you had access to them and have been very careful with your lifestyle due to the diagnosis ever since.

He still couldn’t be put to ease though. As ridiculous as it may sound, he had this overwhelming realization that life truly was short, that you had to make certain decisions all the time because you need to adjust to what the universe is only willing to give you. It was funny coming from a person who risked his life for a living. He thinks that perhaps he never understood the philosophy of the quote ‘time is gold’ until he had a loved one on the same trajectory, always one step closer to possible death.

And so that same night, he decided to file a leave for two weeks, effective immediately after his deployment. 

He wasn’t sure what his game plan was exactly in filing that two-week leave. Was he supposed to barge in your life and force you to let him take care of you? Was he supposed to demand why you ended up having diabetes? Was he supposed to act as a big brother like your actual big brother because he was that worried about you? But if Jungkook was going to be truthful, he already had an idea on what he wanted to do in the back of his head—he just didn’t want to execute it because it was absolutely insane.

Until he heard Seowon suggest it himself when they met up at a bar to share a drink together.

“She would never say yes,” Jungkook said, beyond doubt that you won’t be persuaded that easily with a plan like that.

Seowon made a face. “I know. That girl is so hyper independent—she’d rather die than accept help.” He scoffed. “She needs it though. It’ll help with her medication and she won’t have to pay rent for that shit apartment she’s living in. Plus, she'll actually get the chance to take care of her body if she’s not juggling two jobs to have sufficient income.”

“You’re right.” Jungkook shrugged.

“You’ll do it then?”

He took a sip of his beer. “Yeah. I’d do anything for ____, you know that.”

“Even as crazy as marrying her?”

“Sure.”

Seowon stared at him, narrowing his eyes and morphing his expression into a teasing one. “Are you sure you’re not just considering this because it’s a perfect excuse to marry my sister? I know you like her.”

“I don’t like her.” 

“You’re in love with her.”

“I don’t—” Jungkook began to deny but Seowon was staring him down. “Fuck you, man. Don’t make me some kind of pervert who’s trying to lock her into marriage because he likes her. You’re the one who brought the idea up.”

Seowon laughed out loud. “I know, I just can’t believe you’d agree. It’ll benefit ____, that’s for sure—you, on the other hand? It’s career suicide.”

He shrugged. “I’m okay with the thought that she’ll be okay.”

“Because you love her, man.” Seowon pushed. “Why on earth would you consider this if you weren’t? It’s a fraudulent marriage. You’ll be thrown in the brig and be dishonorably discharged if you get caught.”

“We don’t even know if she’ll agree to this whole thing. You said it yourself, she would never say yes.”

“Yeah, unless maybe you’re the one who tries to persuade her.”

“Me?”

“Yes.”

“Do you want me to buy her a ring and kneel down before her or something?”

“That can work.”

“What?” Jungkook laughed.

Seowon raised an eyebrow. “Don’t tell me you don’t know how she’s been crushing on you since we were kids.”

He barked out a laugh again. That he knew; it was impossible not to when a lot of friends and cousins kept on teasing you before, especially at instances Jungkook was in the very same vicinity. “We’re not kids anymore and I barely see her though.”

“Still, it ought to count to something. It raises the chances of her agreeing.”

“You’re really cool with me marrying your sister, Won?” Jungkook asked.

Seowon placed down the beer bottle he’s consuming on the counter. “Yeah. You’re a good guy. You’re not perfect, but I know you enough to know that you won’t do anything that will purposely hurt her. Besides, if this sham marriage ends up to be a real relationship and then for some reason, you fuck up and decide to break her heart—I’ll easily know what to do, where to find you, and then I’ll do everything I can to fuck you up.”

Jungkook pressed his lips together to stifle a chuckle.

“Noted.”

****

It’s always been a big wonder to you how no matter how long it’s been since you saw each other, it still feels like no time has passed between you and Jungkook. You think that’s why you can never get over him; he always had this comforting and familiar aura that you appreciate—something that you sought for in every other person that you liked. Maybe it was impractical, maybe it was the reason you can never hold a relationship for more than two years, but unless you gain the courage to confront your feelings and tell Jungkook about it, then you constantly dispel any doubts you might have whether this was good for you or not.

You don’t want to lose him. Admitting that you harbored romantic feelings for him would just make it awkward for everyone: your brother, your family, and then his family. You don’t think you can ever trade his smile, the sound of his laughter, and all the good things about him for anything in the world. 

“Are you dating anyone?” he asks.

You choke on your drink, having just poured yourself and Jungkook a glass of water after the server arrived with the pitcher. You’re in a Japanese restaurant near the university, aware that the cuisine was a favorite for the both of you hence why it’s what you recommended when he asked where you wanted to dine. The place is packed with people from the workforce and students; you’re thankful that you don’t see any of your students within the mix.

“We’re getting straight to it, huh?” you say.

Jungkook smirks. “I’m just making sure I’m not upsetting a boyfriend by meeting you tonight.”

“Don’t worry, you’re not upsetting anyone.”

He nods in understanding. You don’t want to add more meaning to his actions for the evening but he seems glad about the information.

“How about you?” you ask back. “Are you dating anyone?”

The ends of his mouth lift a bit upwards. “Nope.”

“Why? You don’t have the time for it?”

“Precisely.”

“It must be really hard dating when you’re in the Navy then.”

“Kinda. We’re away a lot and stationed in different places most of the time. It can get really dangerous for us too and people don’t like the stress that comes with that.”

 You bob. “Does it get lonely?”

“Sometimes, but when you’re on duty, you don’t get to think about those things.” He chuckles. “Besides, I don’t know if this sounds fucked up or not—but it can get exciting. Flying a plane can be fun, you know. Not to mention that it helps when you’re surrounded by good men in your squadron.”

“You’ve always been an adrenaline junkie.”

“And you’ve always been a scaredy-cat.”

You scoff at the declaration. “No, I’m not.”

“Remember when Seowon and I forced you to ride that ship in the amusement park that sways left to right and as it goes on it falls from a higher standpoint?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

But you do, and Jungkook knows you do, it’s evident by how your expression is trying to feign innocence. That memory is your villain origin story; the whole pretext of why you refuse to ever visit the amusement park or ride an exhilarating ride again. Yet you can’t help but recall that it’s one of the rare instances wherein you got to hold Jungkook’s hand when you two were younger, as his hand was the one you were clinging for dear life when it happened while the other was too busy slapping Seowon in irritation.

He snickers, appearing like he’s replaying the scene in his head. “We should do that again with Seowon during my break.”

“Hell no.”

“I thought you weren’t a scaredy-cat?” He challenges.

“I’m not.” You give him a kittenish glare. “But I am busy. I have to send the final manuscript of this book I’m editing to the chief editor next week and it’s about to be finals week for my students as well.”

He fakes a shiver. “I don’t know how you can do two jobs like that, ____. Truly.”

“You work as a naval aviator so I’d say we’re pretty even.”

The waiter arrives with your orders not long after, and you and Jungkook carry on with your conversation, jumping from topic to topic without difficulty. You’re not certain when was the last time you saw each other like this to have so much to talk about—was it last Christmas? Or was it more recent or longer than that? Nevertheless, it feels good and you find yourself blushing multiple times throughout the night, whether it’s because of how his words can have two meanings or how his eyes are staring at you so intensely whenever you’re the one who’s talking.

You like the undivided attention, the back and forth that’s occurring as you discourse, the subtle touches one of you does when something funny arises, how your knees are touching underneath the table. You wonder what’s so different with this encounter that the energy feels so bizarre in a good way? As far as you’re concerned, you’re positive that you’re acting like you always have in his presence—lively, smiley, sarcastic—and aside from the little touches of flirting here and there, Jungkook’s acting like he always has too.

When dinner was done, Jungkook offered to drive you home. You obliged, no longer in the mood to annoy him for you were tired to make the effort. Before stepping outside the restaurant however, you excused yourself to the restroom first, checking your blood sugar with the glucose meter you brought along wherever you went. It’s a hassle but it’s necessary, largely because you’re still in the middle of saving up for the insulin pump that would help you regulate your sugar levels easier.

After administering yourself with the insulin injection you have, you spend a few more seconds inside the enclosed room. You should be past the point of feeling sorry for yourself, but it’s times like this wherein you’re with a loved one that the dejection hits and you wish that you’re in a better predicament than you are right now. You’re close to being broke, you’re overworked, you’re somehow fatigued all the fucking time—those factors aren’t soothing your worries at all. It’s a miracle how you manage to keep an optimistic mind amidst everything.

“Ready to go?” Jungkook smiles at you once you’re back at the table and you nod, clutching your bag tighter against your body and following him to his car.

He drives you to your place, turning the radio on, and letting it play while the both of you sit in silence. You’re both tired and you almost even sleep during the ride. It’s only when Jungkook gently shakes you awake that you realize that you’ve arrived in front of your apartment building.

“I’ll walk you up,” he insists as you’re unbuckling the seatbelt. 

“That’s no need, Kook.”

“Of course, it is,” he says. “I’ll walk you up. That’s nonnegotiable.”

So, you allow him.

It takes five minutes tops to reach the door leading to your apartment. As you rummage through your bag to grab your keys, Jungkook patiently stands there, occasionally glancing around the hallway and even smiling when the old lady that resided in the same floor got out of her room to throw out the trash. He receives a smile in return which you notice and grin fondly at.

“Well, this is me.” You turn to him, done unlocking your door. “I’d invite you inside but you should probably get going. It’s quite a long drive back home.”

“Yeah.” He breathes out a chuckle. “Hey, tonight was fun. It made me realize how I missed you.”

Your brain temporarily malfunctions; you force yourself to recover quickly. “Me too. I had fun tonight. Maybe we should do this again whenever you’re on a break.”

“Agreed.”

You flash him a smile. “You can go now. Goodnight.”

Jungkook nods, however doesn’t move a muscle. He’s looking at you, like really looking at you, his eyes moving from one feature to another, as if he’s memorizing your face or having a hard time arranging the words he wants to say. You guess it’s the latter, familiar with a tongue-tied Jungkook that it takes you a few good seconds before you’re demanding why he’s impersonating a mannequin.

“There’s something I want to say,” that’s what he utters and you almost snort due to your assumption being right.

“Okay…” The smile is still on your lips. “What is it?”

“Promise me you won’t get mad first.”

“Well, if you’re making me promise that then it’s probably worth being mad about.”

“It’s not as bad as you think.”

“That’s not convincing at all.”

“It’s just…” He begins and trails, biting his lower lip, “it’s… it’s why I went here. Why I went here to see and meet you, I mean.”

You unconsciously recoil at the revelation. It’s certainly a rookie mistake to believe that there was no ulterior motive in Jungkook meeting you today. You just didn’t reckon you’d actually be truly disappointed at that—at the idea that he just didn’t randomly decide to visit and be with you earlier until now.

You draw a long breath. “Well, I knew you weren’t just feeling generous and wanted to treat me to dinner out of nowhere.”

There’s a pause and then he resumes. “Just—before I say it, you have to hear me out, okay? You have to let me explain before you berate me.”

“I can’t promise that either.”

“You have to.”

“Why do I have to?”

“Because what I’m about to say is for your own sake. You know I always have your best interest at heart, don’t you?”

You wrinkle your forehead in further confusion. “Can you just get on with it? The vagueness is making me more annoyed.”

“I just don’t want you to misunderstand.”

“Misunderstand what?”

“What I—and Seowon—genuinely think is the best option.”

“Oh, and Seowon is in on this too?” You bellow. “Have you and Seowon just been conspiring behind my back the whole time?”

“Calm down.” Jungkook puts his hands on your shoulders, a chuckle inevitably escaping him. “I’m sorry for dragging it out. You should know I’m high key afraid of you, that’s why.”

“You should be.” You grumble.

Another chuckle, but he’s back to appearing anxious. You want to shout that this isn’t healthy, that you’re close to giving him a real reason to be afraid of you—yet once he blurts the confession out, you’re speechless, gawking at him and staggering backwards in complete shock. Perhaps you would have bolted as far away from him as possible if not for his solid grasp.

“What?” You hiss.

He swallows hard.

“I want you to marry me, ____.”

You don’t bolt away running. You shake off his hold on you though, and before he gets another word in, you’re hastily rushing inside your apartment and slamming the door to his face.

****

Jungkook was your first kiss.

It happened in a game of truth and dare. You were at a party of a mutual friend and when the bottle miserably pointed in Jungkook’s direction, the person who was tasked to think of his dare when it was his pick said that he dared him to do 7 minutes in heaven with you. 

He profusely refused at first, especially since Seowon was in the same party, but everybody began booing and next thing you know, Jungkook was agreeing as long as it was fine with you. When you nodded to make your consent apparent, your friends were quick to shove you both in the closet, some of them pulling Seowon back who was complaining how it wasn’t right to bully you into doing 7 minutes in heaven with Jungkook. They calmed him down once they bullied him into agreeing too.

“We don’t have to do anything,” Jungkook told you in the darkness, his breath fawning over your face. “You don’t have to feel pressured. It’s just a stupid game.”

You blushed.

Secretly, you were hoping that he’d kiss you or touch you. Who didn’t want to do anything with their crush at the age of 15? A lot can happen in 7 minutes. You were aware that sometimes people made out, went as far as third base, and although you didn’t want to go that far with Jungkook, you wanted something to happen while you were stuck in this small closet with him. There weren’t a lot of instances that put both of you in this kind of situation; you wished that you were brave enough to ask him to kiss you or do the first move yourself.

5 minutes in, Jungkook turned towards you.

“Is it true that Taehyung kissed you last week?”

You whipped your head so fast that you might have given yourself whiplash. “That’s—that’s not true. Where did you hear that?”

“During homeroom. Some girls were talking about it.”

Your cheeks burned. “Oh.”

“So, it’s not true?”

“No.” You shook your head. “I haven’t even had my first kiss yet.” You laughed weakly.

It was his turn to seem stunned. “You haven’t had your first kiss yet?”

You shook your head again, then realized he might not see you doing so. “Not yet.”

“Want me to change that?” he asked, grinning.

He said that with a boyish grin and teasing tone, but you sucked at social cues (plus, you really couldn’t see shit that much) that you started nodding.

“Okay,” you told him.

“Huh?”

“You can kiss me.”

“Oh, oh, shit—I didn’t—” He was blabbering, about to take back what he offered. “I mean, I was just joking but—”

You widen your eyes. “You were? Oh my God, I’m sorry, I thought you were—”

“No, it was my fault. That was a little out of line for me. I’m sorry.” He was laughing and you felt like burying yourself 6 feet under. “It was a stupid thing to say. But if you want me to kiss you, it’s cool.”

“It is?” Hope sparked within you.

“Yeah. It’ll just be a peck anyway.” You can tell he was smiling through his voice. “Just don’t tell Seowon because he might punch me in the face for kissing his sister.”

You cackled. “Deal.”

56 seconds before the 7 minutes were up, Jungkook leaned down to match your level and placed his lips on yours. 

****

You’re seething with rage, the embodiment of Godzilla, channeling the God of War, Ares, in your body; you harshly press Seowon’s number on your phone to call him and he answers after three rings.

“What’s up?”

“I will fucking murder you,” you snarl.

A beat. You hear shuffling. Then he answers, “you already talked with Jungkook?”

The nonchalance and calmness in his voice drives you to be more frustrated than you already are. “Yes, I have! What is wrong with you? Why would you plant that idea on his head?” You yell, not caring that your walls are thin and that your voice can probably be heard by the couple that lived next door. You’re feeling a mixture of anger, embarrassment, and every negative emotion that exists at the moment. You’re comparable to a bull who just saw the color red.

“____, it won’t be a big deal if you don’t make it to be.”

“Are you hearing yourself right now?”

“Did you even let Jungkook explain?”

“I don’t need him to spell everything out. I know why he’s asking me to marry him.”

“Then you know too that it’d be good for you.”

“Marrying him won’t be good for me.”

“Why not?”

“It just won’t!”

“You’ll get health insurance benefits that you don’t get with your current jobs. You can pay less rent once you move in at Jungkook’s place—there’s a huge chance he won’t even let you pay him while you stay there too. He’s away most of the time anyway, so staying there wouldn’t be a problem. Plus, you can start studying for a masters degree like you’ve always wanted.”

You groan. “Not like this. This is crazy.”

“The both of you can divorce once you’ve saved up a little. It really isn’t that complicated.”

“It’s a sham marriage!”

“It’s a sham marriage with Jungkook.”

“That doesn’t make it better.”

“Are you sure? Your grade school diary might disagree.”

“Oh my God, that’s fucking low of you to bring that up. You just gave me another reason to hate you.” You stomp around the living room, acting like a teenager because of your brother’s behavior. This isn’t the first time he revealed that he’s read your diary before; that doesn’t mean it’s less infuriating to be reminded that he has. “I swear, you better fucking sleeping with one eye open tonight. I’m choking you to death.”

Seowon laughs out loud. “Just marry him. He’s surprisingly amicable with the idea.”

“That’s because you’re pressuring him! I bet you and Mom devised this entire thing together.”

“Mom doesn’t know. To be fair, she’d probably have the same reaction as you. It’s all me and Jungkook.”

“Wow. You have two brains and yet none of you thought this was goddamn stupid?”

“It’s not stupid. It’s genius if you come to think of it,” he says. “Jungkook just wants to help you, dude. He wants to make sure you’ll be okay and all that shit. You’re the reason he filed for a two-week leave, did he tell you?”

Your heart does that jumping thing again. “No.”

“Well, he did. He’s on a break for two weeks because he wants to convince you to marry him and actually marry you within that time frame.”

“This is nuts.” You sigh, finally flopping down the sofa and rubbing your face with your free hand. “The both of you are nuts. How are you okay with this?”

“It’s Jungkook. I trust him. Don’t you?”

“Of course, I do, I just—” you cut yourself off and frown, “I just feel like it’s unfair for him. I’m marrying him because of military spouse benefits and what does he get?”

There’s a long pause, and you almost check your phone to see whether Seowon has already hung up on you or not.

“It’s better that Jungkook answers that question,” he tells you finally.

“Why? You can’t answer it on behalf of him?”

“Something like that.” You can imagine him shrugging. “All I know is that he’s genuinely concerned about your health and your financial status right now. So, just think about it, okay?”

“God, fuck it, fine. I’ll think about it.” You grimace.

You hang up and glance at the door.

You don’t think the conversation you just had with Seowon took that much time. The initial rush you had upon having your longtime crush propose to you is wearing off and you’re realizing that it was a dick move to literally slam the door right in Jungkook’s face earlier, leading you to stand up from your seat and look through the peephole to check if he’s still there.

He isn’t, which you sigh in relief at.

As you lean against the door and regulate your breathing, you think how funny it is that Seowon is right about one thing—and that was grade school you would have been delighted at the thought of getting married to Jungkook. He’s your dream guy; your parents loved him, his parents loved you, the both of you got along very well, and his personality and looks are everything that you’re looking for in a partner. It sucks that you live in a world where the only reason he wants to marry you is because he’s afraid you’ll die because of self-neglect. 

Your phone pings and you unlock the screen to look at the message that flashes on it.

Jungkook: hey, seowon just messaged me to say that you two already talked Jungkook: i’m sorry for jumping on you with a topic like that… Jungkook: i’m shit at confrontation lol Jungkook: also it’s the first time i’m proposing so give me some slack

You scoff at his audacity to joke about it this soon.

You: it’s okay You: i’m sorry too for what i did You: the answer is no btw

Jungkook: already??? Jungkook: let’s talk about it first

You: no need You: i don’t want to marry you

Jungkook: oof that’s harsh

You: sorry not sorry?

He doesn’t respond and you think you’re safe. Maybe Jungkook does take no for an answer and you’re confused because you’re a little disappointed that he’s not falling on his knees, begging you to marry him like what your imagination is supplying you.

However, after you took a shower and went to check your phone again, you see that Jungkook messaged you a few minutes ago in response to your last message.

Jungkook: give me 10 days and i’ll change your mind

You have the urge to go take a shower again because of how hot your body is feeling at the statement.

You: hate to break it to you but you’re not matthew mcconaughey

Jungkook: 🤣🤣🤣

****

It’s not part of Jungkook’s branding to chase a woman. Typically, women chase him; they chase him in every city and country that he gets stationed in, flirting with him and hoping that they’ll get the chance to take him home for the night for a mindblowing one-night stand. They never succeed though, for despite their pretty faces and sultry gestures, Jungkook only smiles and declines every offer, saying that he had a girl waiting back home that he loved very much.

He used to think that he only used that as an excuse because he’s not the type to hook up with every attractive girl he meets. There are times when he succumbs, when he gives into the temptation of a little fun, especially after a life threatening or highly stressful mission—but most of the time, he thinks he declines and use that pronouncement of his because his mind reverts him to the idea of you, to what would happen if he just gained the balls to ask you out.

Evidently, although asking you out and asking you to marry him are two completely different things, he’s a bit afraid that your answer will always be a hard no. It’s what you’ve been literally spelling out to him since the day he presented the idea, regardless of how he’s trying his best in swooning you or explaining how this is the perfect plan to help you gain an upper hand with your diagnosis.

“I’ll file a restraining order against you, I’m serious,” you say to him when he appears yet again outside the faculty room, waiting for you to gather your things and head home. You’re wearing a white button up shirt and pinstripe wide leg trousers, an outfit combination that he ogles at before he goes down to business.

“You wouldn’t.” He glares at you. He gestures for you to let him take your backpack, and despite what you said, you let him. “Also, what the fuck is in this thing? You’ll break your back if you keep using this.” He swings your backpack on one shoulder.

You laugh. “My laptop, its charger, a couple of notebooks, books, pens, then the outputs of my students.”

“Aren’t they supposed to submit virtually? What happened to Google Classroom?”

“I still use it, but sometimes I like to have their work printed out so I can write the comments better. How do you know Google Classroom?”

“I have a squadronmate whose kid uses it for class.”

“Ah.” You nod in understanding.

You two continue walking forward.

This has been your program for the past few days. Jungkook goes to the university you work at, he’ll wait outside, you’ll threaten him with something ridiculous, he’ll take your bag, he’ll offer to take you to dinner, you’ll decline, and then he’ll drive you home anyways. Before that routine ends, he’ll lean on your door frame and give you his best puppy eyes, asking you to marry him for the sake of your welfare, and you’ll scowl at him, insisting that you don’t need his help to survive.

“Dinner?” he asks, right on schedule.

You glance at him. “No. I want to go home and sleep for 12 hours.”

“Busy day?”

“Yep.”

“You know, if you marry me, you won’t have to work two jobs and overexert yourself.”

He doesn’t need to turn to you to know that you’re giving him a dirty look. “I won’t marry you, Jungkook.”

“Why not?”

“Because marriage doesn’t work that way.”

“It does. Billionaires do it all the time. The mafia does it too. It’s always been some kind of transaction.”

“Well, if I marry you, what do you get?”

“The assurance you’re taken care of.”

“That’s cheesy.”

You share a laugh and he grins.

“It’s true,” he says. “I’ll be fine as long as you are.”

He waits for you to quip back a reply, flickering his eyes to you when it takes longer than usual. Instead of the sneer he’s expecting, you appear to be flustered, an expression that is very recognizable for him who’s known you since forever—an expression that makes it too obvious for Jungkook that the crush you had on him that he thought has been long gone was still there. He’s been seeing it a lot lately, particularly when he’s uttering lines that sound flirtatious on purpose; he’s positive that you’ll threaten to kill him when you discover that he basks on the fact that he can still make you all flustered and cute, which encourages him to do and say anything that would elicit a reaction from you. Was it unethical to seduce you into marrying him? He might have to rethink that part too.

Reaching the parking lot, he unlocks the doors to his vehicle and places your bag inside the backseat. He watches you walk around the car, about to go to the passenger’s side, but then you wobble a bit and his attempt to get inside is instantly forgotten.

“Hey,” he strides to where you are, gazing at you as you now hold onto the hood, “you alright?”

You raise your chin up. “Kook, can you get my bag?”

Jungkook doesn’t need to be told twice. He’s swinging the door again and getting your bag from the other end of the backseat while you get on the passenger’s seat, keeping the door wide and placing your legs outside, your feet planted on the concrete.

“What do you need?” he asks, crouching in front of you and zipping the bag open.

“Glucometer.”

He halts. “What does that look like?”

“It’s in the yellow bag. There.” You point at it right when he rummages through a certain part.

He brings it out and you take it from his grasp. Your movements are sluggish but he can discern that you’re doing your best not to be too slow; he’d present to help but he knows that he might prolong what you’re doing due to his cluelessness, so he just observes, noting how you’re pricking your finger with a device and then pressing it lightly to the glucometer which shows that your blood sugar is low.

“Apple juice,” you mutter to him and he finds it faster than the last one.

You grab the juice pouch from his grasp, prying the straw attached on the back, pushing its end for it to pop out of its plastic cover—then your hand shakes, preventing you from continuing and punching in the straw properly.

“Let me do it,” he says.

You don’t fight him, you just slump against the seat as Jungkook picks up from where you left, and the moment he does the job and guides the straw to your awaiting lips, a long exhale through your nose escapes you.

“How are you feeling?” he whispers. He didn’t notice that he was holding his breath the entire duration of the scene.

Another sigh. “Better.”

“Does this happen a lot?”

You seem to hesitate. “Not a lot. Just when life gets a bit too hectic.”

“____—”

“Just take me home.” You don’t give him the chance to lecture you. “Please, Jungkook.”

Defeated, he nods. “Alright.”

“Thank you.”

He helps you position yourself properly on the passenger’s seat. “But we’re talking about this at your place.”

Before you can protest, he closes the door.

****

Lee Hyunwoo was the name of the guy that you brought home for Christmas Eve eight years ago. It was the first time that you did, and Jungkook hated how Hyunwoo was considerably handsome, intelligent, and kind—the exact kind of person he always imagined you deserved.

In the short time Hyunwoo spent with theirs and your family that night, everybody loved him and was already inviting him to the next gathering, all the while Jungkook avoided him at every cost, puzzled by this strong dislike he was feeling for your guest. He was annoyed at the manner in which Hyunwoo had an arm around your waist the entire evening, how you grinned up to him, eyes sparkling and all that shit. Hell, you used to look at him like that.

“Honey, can you get the mango float we have in our freezer?” Jungkook heard your mother tell you, and without thinking, he stood up from his chair and made a beeline to where you were, telling you he’d accompany you to your house.

“That’s fine,” you told him. “It’s literally next door.”

“Yeah, but it might be heavy.”

“It’s not.”

“Better safe than sorry.”

You rolled your eyes and agreed then, excusing yourself from Hyunwoo who was in an engaged conversation with Seowon. The pair were geeking out because of their mutual love for the MCU and the next film slated to be released the following year.

Upon arriving at your home, you dashed to the kitchen with Jungkook trudging behind you. He wasn’t sure what his next course of action should be now; all he wanted was some alone time with you, away from the presence of that college boyfriend of yours, but now that he had that, he couldn’t think of anything that he wanted to say or do. He wasn’t even sure why he was feeling a bit jealous—was it because of that saying? Wherein people are bound to want what they can’t have? Or was it that you only appreciate what you had when you’ve already lost it?

“How long have you and Hyunwoo been dating?” he asked, leaning against the counter as you pulled your freezer open.

“Four months, I think.”

“Four months? And you already brought him home?”

You snorted at his tone. “His family is in another country so I thought it’d be nice to invite him.”

“You must really like him then.”

“Yeah, but I’m not in love with him or anything.” You placed the mango float on the space beside Jungkook on the counter. “He’s nice, and he likes me too.”

“Does he treat you well?”

You flashed your eyes at him, amusement dancing in them. “What’s with that question?”

“What’s with it?”

“Nothing, it’s just that…” you trailed, a smirk etched on your face. “Wait a minute, are you… you can’t possibly—” Jungkook was widening his eyes, ready to deny your accusation once you questioned whether he was jealous of Hyunwoo or not— “are you pulling an overprotective brother skit on me, Kook?”

Fuck, thank God, he thought.

“I prefer ‘overprotective friend skit’,” he said.

“That doesn’t have a nice ring to it.”

“But I’m not your brother.”

“You don’t have to be, I’m just saying that you and Seowon have been acting similar since Hyunwoo and I arrived.”

“Nonsense. Seowon likes him.”

“Oh, so you don’t?”

He pressed his lips into a tight line.

“Did you just admit that you don’t like Hyunwoo?” you asked, chuckling. He was grateful that you didn’t seem to be offended by it.

“I didn’t say I didn’t like him.”

“Instead you implied it.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“You kinda did.”

He heard you laugh and he couldn’t help but allow himself to laugh as well.

“I’m sorry,” he apologized. “Maybe I’m just not used to you dating anyone. You are chronically single.”

“Can’t say you’re wrong.” You snorted and picked up from the mango float, marching back to his house and gesturing for him to follow you.

He did, no words spoken between the both of you once more. Though when you were entering their place again, with Jungkook holding the door open for you, he mentioned something he never reckoned he’d have the guts to mention out loud.

“When you open my gift,” he began, “don’t do it in front of Hyunwoo, okay?”

“Why not?” You weren’t paying attention to where you were going, intrigued by his warning.

“He might not like it. You’ll see.”

That night, at the comfort of your bedroom, Hyunwoo nowhere near but instead sleeping at the coach downstairs in your living room, you opened Jungkook’s gift and saw that it was a necklace with your birth flower as its pendant.

You smiled, rolling your eyes to yourself, and slept with that giddy look never leaving your face.

****

“Not so fast,” Jungkook grunts.

Did he think that you were going to be less difficult since he was helpful earlier? Yeah, he did. He likes to think that if it wasn’t for him, you would have taken longer in feeding yourself with apple juice, so he at least wanted a thank you in the form of your willingness to have an adult conversation with him tonight. However, that clearly isn’t the case because when he walked you up to your apartment like he always did, you’re attempting to lock him out, shutting the door as fast as you can once you’re inside, thus trying to prevent him from initiating that talk he wanted the two of you to have.

“Seriously?” He successfully pries the door open and you scowl at him.

“Jungkook—”

“No, you don’t get to reason your way out of this. I’m done hearing you out. It’s your turn to listen to me.” He steps inside your apartment.

You groan, striding to the sofa and throwing your bag there. “You can’t force me to marry you.”

“Is marrying me so fucking bad that you can’t get over it for health insurance benefits that can really help you?” He demands, infuriated. 

“That’s not the issue.”

“Then what is?”

“You can get arrested!” you exclaim. “And so can I! Does that not freak you out?”

“We’ll only get arrested if we get caught.”

“I’m not willing to take the risk.”

“I’m not willing to see you die.”

You scoff out a laugh. “Who the fuck said anything about dying? I’m not dying.”

“You almost passed out on me. You almost—”

“It’s an error on my part, I admit.” You sigh. “When I get busy and preoccupied, sometimes I forget to check my sugar levels regularly throughout the day. I’m sorry.”

“And you expect to be convinced that you have everything handled?”

“God, I’m not a child. Stop treating me like I can’t do shit for myself.”

“Please, ___,” he approaches you with the most pleading expression he can muster, and he watches as your hard expression crumbles, “just accept my help. It’s really not a big deal—you won’t even see me often, so keeping up with the whole marriage ploy wouldn’t be difficult. We’ll divorce in two years, we can pretend we never got married after that.”

“You just don’t get it, don’t you?”

“What do I not get? If you think I don’t understand something, then explain it to me—”

“I can’t marry you,” you say. You do so like it’s final, like there’s no point in arguing with you because he can never change your stand on this. As he’s pleading with his eyes to urge you to agree, you’re communicating with your eyes in a similar way that’s wishing he would just drop this. “It’s wrong.”

His eyebrows furrow. “This isn’t the time to go on your high horse and decide what’s wrong and what’s not. It’s a fraudulent marriage—of course, it’ll be wrong to some degree.”

“No, I mean…” You turn away from him, rubbing your face in exhaustion. “It’d be wrong of me to marry you. I’m taking advantage of you if I do, and I don’t like that.”

Jungkook shakes his head, frustration worsening at the childlike excuse. Surely, you weren’t that naive, were you? “You’re not. I’m not doing this against my own will. Besides, we get extra pay just for being married. If it makes you feel better, I won’t split it with you.”

“That won’t make me feel better.”

“Then what will?”

You flop down on the coach and lean back, closing your eyes. He knows he’s being a pain in the ass but he can’t just stand here and do nothing. He thinks he’s already come too far in convincing you, he isn’t going to back out now. Every single day spent together, he can feel you warming up to the idea of marrying him for health insurance. Your connection and entirety of your relationship has been off the charts recently that it’ll be harder for him not to be assured that before he leaves for his job, you’ll be taken care off.

Jungkook goes to the spot beside you, sitting down. Your knees bump together, he keeps on gazing at you, waiting for you to focus on him; a minute passes and his gaze moves to your hand that’s laying on the small space between you.

Without overthinking, he stretches out and clasps it, allowing his fingers to play with yours that finally captures your attention. The moment he glances up, he sees that you’re staring at him and he doesn’t let go, he even smiles, a quiet promise that he’s always willing to listen to whatever you want to tell him.

You hesitantly smile back. “You know,” your eyes train back to your intertwined fingers, Jungkook reveling in the warmth of your skin, gaining more confidence in acting out his feelings, “there was a time wherein I would have said yes immediately if you asked me to marry you.”

He smirks, can’t deny how hearing that inflates his ego a bit although this route in the conversation isn’t where he expected to go. “What changed?”

“For one, I grew up.”

“Ouch.”

You laugh. Then you stay quiet for a while before speaking. “Can I confess something?”

That piques his interest. “Anything.”

“But you have to promise not to make fun of me.”

“That’s impossible.” He teases. “What is it?”

You stall, readjusting your position so that you can directly face him. Jungkook doesn’t let go of your hand, he keeps it in his grasp, his thumb rubbing along the expanse of your knuckles.

“I like you, Jungkook. I really really do,” you finally say and he blinks, startled.

It shouldn’t surprise him, considering that it’s been long established that he knew of your crush already, though he doesn’t seem to have anticipated for you to boldly admit it when all these years, it’s only been some kind of unspoken understanding that neither of you downright acknowledged.

You continue speaking. “In fact, I like you so much that maybe it developed into love at some point—I’m not sure. I’m at this stage of no longer being afraid of what I feel, I think? Most of the time, I just let it occur like it’s something so natural. Like it’s a feeling that I can never get away from? Like whatever I do, there’s no way to shake you.” You chuckle half-heartedly. “Though never in a million years would I have thought that I’d confess all of this. What for anyway? I don’t want you to be burdened with what my teenage heart couldn’t rub out.”

His mind is racing; hundred thoughts, hundred scenarios, hundred experiences he’s spent with you since the day you met. Jungkook never realized how much he needed you to say that you liked him—that maybe you even loved him—until he heard it from your very mouth that you did, causing every inhibition and doubt he had to vanish. Now, he only wants to engulf you in an embrace and shout Yes, I feel the same way! Sorry for being a fucking corward and not doing this first!

He would have done all of that in a flash if it didn’t appear that you still had something to say. Based on your rather constipated posture and the hand he’s holding that’s becoming clammy, he discerns that you’re just in the first part of what you wanted to admit.

“Actually, that’s also why I can’t let myself marry you,” you say. “I know it sounds ridiculous, but I don’t know… it feels really icky somehow. I feel like I’m holding you hostage, or that I’m tricking you because of an ulterior motive, or that I’m defying the laws of the universe by having the chance to marry you. I’m not sure. I just know that I don’t want to marry you if it means I’ll only get to do so because you think you’re doing me a huge favor. I don’t want to be your charity case, Kook—I deserve to be more than that, you know? I’m not traditional or whatever but if it’s not for love, I’m not keen on getting married.” You abruptly pull away from his clutch, embarrassment washing on your features by what you stated. “Plus, two years might not be that long but what happens when you meet someone and you like her? How can you explain that you’re only married to me because I need it for my medication? It’ll just be unnecessarily messy. I don’t want to hold you back from those kinds of things. I don’t want to be a hindrance.”

That’s his cue. That’s when he knows he’s supposed to kiss you and take your breath away, to admit that he’s certain that he has loved you since that one time when he was in the Naval Academy and although the training was hard as fuck, the thought of you gave him strength and he didn’t want to see anyone as much as he wanted to see you after—that when you and Seowon visited him, that familiar urge to have you alone was all he felt the entire time, solidifying the idea that perhaps he didn’t just see you as a friend.

“You’re unbelievably dense, ___,” he murmurs, smirking at the play of events, and you glance at him, expression showing disbelief that he’s somehow treating this matter lightly.

“What?”

“Do you honestly think I go around and offer marriage to every woman out there who can benefit from being a military spouse? Do you think I’m that generous? I’m not. I wouldn’t ask anyone to marry me for the same reason if they weren’t important to me—or if I didn’t like them. I’m not that much of a saint,” he adds. “I mean, I’m taking a two-week break to convince you to marry me. I’m spending time with you every single day. I’m driving for almost an hour and a half, enduring the traffic to get from my apartment to the university you work in to do that—and you think this is because I want to be charitable?”

Silence. Your forehead wrinkles. He thinks you’re still not getting the point.

“I’m in love with you, ____,” Jungkook says.

Your breath hitches in your throat. You’re opening your mouth, then closing it, then opening it again, then pressing it into a thin line. He thinks you look cute, being taken aback like this, and he’s wishing that he’s done this sooner so that the last five days of him chasing you around like a lost puppy was spent with talking more about what’s possibly waiting for yours and his relationship next.

“Are you serious?” you ask after what seems like forever. “Or are you just saying that because you’re that desperate to have me on board with the whole fraudulent marriage thing?”

“God—” He’s inching closer to you now, laughing, watching your lips twitch at his reaction— “I’m convinced that you were born into this earth to drive me fucking crazy.”

And just like that, he no longer restrains himself from kissing you.

It takes you a few good seconds before you will yourself to move. You can’t seem to process the reality of Jungkook admitting that he was in love with you and then taking the liberty to plant his lips on yours. You’re not complaining, of course, but you are a bit overwhelmed that it literally makes you freeze, unaware of what you’re supposed to do now that your fantasies are coming into life.

However, once you feel him angle his head to the side, doing so to deepen the kiss, your reflexes kick in and you’re kissing him back, encircling your arms around his neck and leaning towards him, Jungkook sighing in what appears to be relief. He grips your hips to support you as you try to straddle him, but your movements are so clumsy that you end up sprawling against his chest instead, perched on a leg of his that provides pleasure on the spot you need him the most. He chuckles at your lack of gracefulness, gliding his lips to your cheek and down to your jaw, nipping.

“This okay?” he whispers with a palm drifting to your bottom.

You nod and Jungkook’s mouth is back on yours in an instant. He squeezes your ass, takes his time in fondling with it, cheekily slapping whenever you get brave yourself and push your tongue past his lips, before he skims his hand lower to your thigh and signals for you to mount him. Upon being properly sat on his lap, you get an immediate feel of his hard length through his jeans, prompting your imagination to run wild and induce the filthiest things he can do to you if neither of you stops.

“Holy shit,” he curses, your kisses roaming to the base of his throat where you lap and suck.

It becomes a dirty pattern for a while. The both of you will take a brief pause from making out to remove a piece of clothing or kiss every other exposed skin there is: the cheek, the jaw, the neck, the collarbones, the shoulders. Then one of you hauls the other back for another passionate kiss, hands skating everywhere on your bodies, sounds of arousal echoing inside the room; you’re starting to get lightheaded but you’re positive it’s not because of your sugar levels running low.

“I hate that it took us so long to get to this point,” he mutters.

You grin. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. I’m the man—I should have confessed long ago.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“I don’t know. ‘Was afraid to lose you, I guess.” He draws his head back and admires your blissed out expression. “But then when Seowon told me you had diabetes, I panicked and thought that I might lose you either way.”

You go back to making out, Jungkook guiding your hips in grinding on his clothed length. It’s addictive—the intimate feel of him, how he’s not shy in making sure you know how much he’s craving to be as close to you as you are to him. You think you can spend the whole night just doing this and be okay with it.

“Fuck, Kook,” you groan against his mouth, a hand descending to his stomach and to his manhood, “you’re so… so fuckin’ hard.”

You’re palming him now, tracing the erection evident under his boxers.

He lets out a grunt. “Yeah, baby, I know.”

“Do you… do you want me—” You’re breathless, not able to continue whatever it is that you want to say.

He understands you just fine though. “No.” He shakes his head. “Don’t do anything.”

You’re not sure what Jungkook means by that. How are you supposed to do nothing when you want to do everything to him? You soon comprehend what he means when he guides you to lay down on the sofa, when his lips skim lower and lower, passing your breasts, giving them the attention they deserve, until he goes lower than that and discards your underwear, kissing you in between your legs.

It’s like he’s releasing all the pent up emotions he’s been keeping all these years. His tongue and fingers are relentless, his voice is telling you that he’s eager to coax an orgasm out of you, and as he lifts himself up to return to his previous position, face hovering yours, you’re positive that he’ll get everything he wants because without a doubt you’ll give him everything he wants from you too. Hell, if he uses this opportunity to ask you to marry him again, you might answer yes straight away, no longer bearing in mind the worries you expressed to him earlier.

Although did that even matter anymore? Jungkook said he loved you. He said you drove him crazy. You never thought you’d come to see the day he’d utter those words but here you are. The man of your dreams is kissing you, pleasing you, and looking damn enthusiastic as he does all of that.

“Last chance to stop me,” Jungkook teases. His eyes are glassy and you can feel his cock nudging on your thigh.

You giggle, bringing his head closer to press another long kiss on those pink and plump lips of his. “Please never stop.”

“Never?”

“Never.”

“I’m going to take you up on that.”

“Please do.”

After this night, you’re certain that you’ll never allow yourself to be with another man aside from Jungkook. At the back of your head, you always thought that you were his, regardless if that wasn’t true or that there was no real relationship to prove that—however, at this moment, as he thrusts in and out languidly, you unquestionably know that you are. You belong to him now and he belongs to you; he lets you know through his love-filled gaze, his passionate kisses, and the manner wherein he moans your name.

“I love you,” he says, like he’s still in deep longing for your touch and affection.

You hum, tangling your fingers through the strands of his hair. “I love you, Kook.” You stare at his eyes. “I can’t remember a time I didn’t.”

A boyish grin erupts on his features.

Time passes by quickly. In a few more of his kisses, of the intoxicating slam of his hips, of his seductive whimpers, you’re coming beneath him, Jungkook pulling out and jerking his length until he too comes, his seed landing on the base of your tummy. You have the nerve to giggle at that, grinning at him with low-lidded eyes, and Jungkook hastily wipes his cum off your skin, attacking you with another passionate kiss that leaves you breathless.

“There’s no way you’re not marrying me after this,” he murmurs.

You teasingly graze your teeth on his bottom lip. “I’ll think about it.”

He groans. “Don’t think about it. Just say yes.”

“At least let me sleep on it, Kook.”

“Fuck—fine.” He grabs your sides and pulls you flush against his body. “Guess I’ll have to keep on convincing you until you agree.”

****

“God, why is this so difficult?” Jungkook whines, keeping you in his embrace, head tucked between your cheek and shoulder.

The air is very humid and Jungkook’s in his naval aviator uniform, which doesn’t look cool in a sense that air is properly flowing through the material. He doesn’t care though, doesn’t care that it’s sticking to his skin as he refuses to let you go, not even when you complain playfully.

“Kook, I’m fucking sweaty.”

“I don’t care.”

You laugh. 

He’s leaving to return to his duty and you’re here with him outside the base before he enters, being with him until the last possible minute because that’s how much of a good wife you are.

Yes, you and Jungkook did get married. Three days ago in fact, at the city hall’s courtroom. Neither of you invited your parents; they didn’t know about the occasion and you refused to tell them, afraid that they may be critical about yours and his choices when they discover the true reason why you’re rushing to be wed. The only people that remained to be aware of it was Seowon and his girlfriend, Winnie, who served as the witnesses, which was fine by you. In your understanding, this was just for the papers and your health, and not the real deal yet to be celebrated lavishly.

“I’ll propose to you again after a couple of years,” Jungkook promised after the ceremony. “Let’s renew our vows and I’ll give you an amazing wedding.”

You would have told him that there was no need, but who were you kidding? You did want a proper wedding with Jungkook. The previous week didn’t even feel like you were newlyweds. Yes, the both of you compacted all of the dates you could have if one of you weren’t such a chicken in five days, and yes, though the honeymoon stage was experienced and practiced—it was only because you were a new couple who after years of hiding their feelings for one another, was now finally free to express it as much as they desired.

“Call me everyday?” you ask when he finally pulls back, Jungkook pecking your lips one more time.

“Definitely.” He smiles. “Visit me whenever possible?”

“Of course.” You kiss him too.

His smile transforms into a grin. “Take care of yourself, alright? Keep me updated all the time. No sugarcoating allowed.”

“Yes, Lieutenant.”

Rolling his eyes, he gives you another kiss and engulfs you in a tight hug, lifting you off the ground that causes you to giggle.

“Okay, pack it up, love birds!” Seowon shouts.

The two of you turn to your brother who’s leaning on his car, the vehicle that was used to transport the three of you today. You’re still in the middle of moving your belongings at Jungkook’s place and Seowon was kind enough to volunteer helping, always dubious that you could do stuff on your own. Despite your reluctance, you let him assist you, mostly because you’re trying to make a conscious effort in not upsetting him again.

Let’s just say that when the judge hailed you husband and wife at the civil wedding, Seowon wasn’t thrilled to see that the kiss shared between you and Jungkook wasn’t as fake as the supposed sham marriage, leading him to the conclusion that in the middle of Jungkook’s ruse of convincing you to be his wife, something must have happened that led to your approval and that rather 18+ rated kiss. Mostly though, he’s just offended that neither of you thought of telling him that you were an official couple before the wedding.

Jungkook unwillingly places you down.

“I think I need to go,” you say.

He nods with a sigh. “I’ll miss you.”

“I’ll miss you too.”

“Call you tomorrow?”

“Yes.” You affectionately caress his cheek, bringing his face down for the very very very last kiss. 

He leans into it. “Fuck, I don’t want to leave.”

“Seriously—hurry up!” Seowon shouts and you pull back.

“I will kill him,” you tell Jungkook.

“He’s your brother,” he says. “And now, my brother-in-law, so I can’t let you do that.”

“That might be your very first red flag, Jungkook, insinuating that you’re choosing my brother over me.” You cross your arms. “Tell me, if the both of us were drowning, would you save me or Seowon?”

“You,” he answers without missing a beat.

You narrow your eyes. “Is that the truth?”

“Of course. Seowon would probably undrown himself anyway and you’re shit at swimming. It’s an easy choice.”

You punch him hard on the shoulder and he feigns hurt, snickering. “For the record, I don’t think anyone can ‘undrown’ themselves—but fine, you pass the test.”

Jungkook faces Seowon’s direction and does a final salute, your brother returning it swiftly, and just like that, you and him share your last farewells. You watch as he goes through the entrance of the base and sends you a wave of goodbye; you weakly copy the gesture and stand there for a few seconds, just watching him fade from your view the further he trudges inside. You don’t think saying goodbye to him ever felt this heavy, and you blame it on the fact that after all this is the first time you’re saying goodbye to him with the assurance that he loves you too—and that alone weighs millions.

You spin on your heel and go to Seowon who’s already in the driver’s seat. As soon as you get in and wear your seat belt, he’s giving you a dirty look.

“What?” you ask.

“Please never do that in front of me again.”

His statement makes you smirk. “Why? Didn’t you want this?”

“Want what?”

“Me and Jungkook to be together.”

“When on earth did I say that?”

“You previously admitted that you were lowkey playing cupid by suggesting that Jungkook marry me for health insurance.”

A short pause. “Yeah, but that doesn’t mean I have to watch you two reenact a porno every fucking time.”

“We’re not—”

“You are. Don’t deny it.” He grumbles. “God, every time I see you two, it’s like I’m Ross from that one Friends episode where he accidentally sees Monica and Chandler doing it from the window of his apartment.”

“Yeah, I remember that.” You laugh. “In my defense, you haven’t seen me and Jungkook actually do the deed so—”

“Wait, so the two of you have?”

Your expression drops. His tone is approaching older brother protectiveness territory and you’re quick to attempt diffusing the situation. “I will not dive into that. All I’m going to say is that I’m a grown adult and so is Jungkook.”

He grimaces before starting the engine. “Yeah, never dive into that. I don’t need to hear the details.”

You share a laugh and then silence fills the car.

You press your lips together, looking at him while he backs out from the parking spot. “Hey, thanks, by the way. For driving today, and for offering to help me later, and maybe for also never minding your own business.”

You recall how Seowon was the one who couldn’t stop worrying about you and finding a solution when you told your family that you had type 1 diabetes. Your parents were concerned, they pestered you for months to force you to accept financial assistance from them, but they gave up soon after. Seowon though? He never did. He persisted through every outburst you had; he tolerated your bitchiness and your dirty looks all the time. Out of everyone in your life, you always felt like regardless of how stubborn and prideful you could be, Seowon was worse—in the best way possible.

A crooked smile illuminates his face. “You’re my kid sister. It’s my job to never let you experience peace in your whole life.”

You scoff. “Well, you’re damn great at what you do.”

When you reach Jungkook’s apartment, unloading the boxes and arranging your stuff to its designated places, your heart swells in happiness as the reality sinks in that your life is heading in the right direction after months of feeling hopeless. It drives you to be more thankful to the little things, to the people who were always by your side, to your previous circumstance that although wasn’t ideal was still manageable. A lot don’t get to have that kind of privilege and you promise yourself that you’ll make an effort to find more things to be grateful about from this day forward.

“Oh, I forgot to mention,” Seowon approaches in the middle of you arranging your books on Jungkook’s near to empty shelf, “Winnie wanted to give you this. She would have handed it over herself but she’s going to be busy for the next few days.”

You take the frame from his hand and see that it’s the picture Winnie took of you and Jungkook after the ceremony. It’s in the restaurant that you ate at to celebrate the civil wedding. Jungkook was grinning at you with an arm around on the backrest of your chair, you were leaning towards him, smiling at the camera—and the absolute selling point of why this was the best picture ever taken was because of how cake icing was scattered on your faces, places on spots in an artistic manner like it was planted there on purpose for the picture and not because the both of you were being silly that instance.

You think it showcases your relationship with Jungkook marvelously. It’s playful, it’s sweet, and most of all, it demonstrates how you two are clearly great friends.

“This is so beautiful, Seowon,” you say.

You immediately send Winnie a heartfelt thank you message for the gift and continue to take a photo of the frame, sending it to Jungkook as well.

Once you hit send, you type out a message to accompany it.

You: look how cute we look 🥹

You’re certain it’ll take hours before he replies so you keep your phone again, going back to staring at the picture which is now placed on one of the shelves. It’s the sole picture frame you have with Jungkook. In fact, it’s the only picture that Jungkook has in his apartment, and you like to think that this might be the mark of the new beginning you’ll have with him. Even though your relationship wouldn’t be traditionally explored given his occupation and how he’s most likely going to be away a lot, you don’t mind.

If there’s one thing you really believe in, it’s that waiting for Jungkook—whether consciously or unconsciously—always brings out the best outcomes.

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