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persicipen · 3 days ago

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𑑛 “IMPULSE” ﾉ SUNDAY. HONKAI STAR RAIL

fem reader ﾉ words 2.5k ✘ master-servant but not in a kinky way. unless… sleeping with your boss. lowkey office romance. secret relationship. reader is a chambermaid. mentions of appearance — makeup, short dress, pantyhose. sunday has some controlling tendencies. overstimulation. crying from pleasure. cumming inside. petnames — angel, dove, sweetheart ﾉ rewritten ✘ ADULT CONTENT ﾉ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

“I would prefer if you refrained from visiting me at this hour until further notice.” His voice is tired and unusually drags each syllable as if to prolong the time before uttering something he doesn’t actually want to say.

His divine silhouette of ashy whites and delicate plumes slumps on the armchair as he tries to regain at least an ounce of energy — futile, only making him more aware of the mental exhaustion of the passing day. His head still hurts, even though it has been going on for days now.

A few steps, and he notices a movement behind him, hands slowly unbuttoning the tight collar from around his neck and undressing him carefully in complete silence. A feather falling could have easily made more noise. The sigh he exhales is out of relief mixed with a dash of fatigue after sitting up properly. The soreness spreads along his body as you unwrap him from the layers of fine fabrics that hug him gently.

“Thank you.”

The only answer you deliver is a soft smile of appreciation towards his gesture.

He looks over your side to check if no one else is near his bedroom to listen, then pulls you by the arm across his lap, resting your foreheads together with his eyes shut. You two spend several seconds in silence, simply feeling each other’s breaths getting calmer and bodies relaxing with every moment shared like this. Your delicate fingers start moving up his chest slowly as if examining it for any anomalies; when finding none, you take it upon yourself to embrace him tighter in response.

On the contrary, Sunday caresses your head just above the scalp until eventually lifting your face with a finger under the chin. Your eyes meet halfway, burning with lust — unspoken since morning yet unsatisfied even during lunch break, where he tried relieving himself before taking a quick nap in bed.

He lets out a few weak chuckles, thinking about how hard he should try avoiding any contact today, not letting anyone suspect anything, before giving in to the impulse.

The taste of your lips leaves nothing behind except wanting more, despite knowing exactly how much it already affected you two — physically and psychologically alike.

“This is precisely why I requested you not to come here… I need to reclaim composure first, but with that exhaustion and your presence, it’s impossible.”

Your expression softens after hearing his confession, also catching his muscles relax; the grip loosens as you move away slightly from the position above his crotch. He rests against the velvet chair once more while trying to compose his thoughts after admitting a weakness towards something trivial and simple — in comparison to politics-related problems.

There were many reasons he couldn’t stop himself from continuing.

“Mr. Sunday, I’m here to help you with anything and everything. Just so you can rest enough to welcome another day with your mind at least slightly less troubled… alright?” you speak in hushed tones, voice calm but determined.

All traces of previous worry are wiped out as he exhales deeply before answering your question. He smiles again — tired but sincere.

“Yes.”

At this point the atmosphere shifts immediately once again, making things less serious than a moment ago between the two individuals, now more than just employer and employee. You resume by unbuttoning the shirt on his torso completely, revealing his pale skin underneath before pushing off the material completely to the sides.

With his chest exposed to cool air along with the robe sliding down onto his lower back, he leans forward, kissing your forehead.

A string of soft pecks going up from there along the bridge of the nose toward the mouth, leaving it just outside of reach, teasing you like this when you were sure he would continue straight away to your lips…

You shift nervously on his lap, overwhelmed with tension and his closeness, causing the entire scene to unfold right under your own gaze yet unable to do anything about it, too shy of the difference between your statuses.

Sunday knows how much power he holds over people… including you. Whenever you end up sitting on his legs for extended periods — especially lately since it’s been happening more frequently these past few months. A sight that brings immense pride to his heart. He continues his gentle assault by dabbing kisses across your eyelids, slowly one at a time, before lowering them all over your face, lingering there longer than usual each time around before reaching your earlobes once more for one last kiss.

A tingle shoots through your spine upon his warm breath, tickling your sensitive spots as he speaks next.

“Do you trust me?” the question itself seems harmless in contrast to how your body reacts whenever it’s spoken directly against your jaw; you shudder involuntarily after every word, goosebumps rising because of his sultry tone.

“Yes, absolutely…” Your response comes almost automatically. No hesitation, followed by his silent chuckle.

“And if I say that you should listen to what I command tonight, then what? Would you grant my every wish until tomorrow morning?”

As the intensity increases dramatically, you swallow the lump in your throat. Sunday’s body language is somewhat threatening, but at the same time so gentle and calming, unlike previous occasions when dealing with clients or rivals during negotiations… It’s inviting you, luring you into his open arms.

“W-what do you wish me to do, then?”

His hand reaches to cup your face, turning towards himself for one more look before taking advantage of an opportunity presenting itself before his very eyes — he captures your mouth after closing the distance between them quickly.

Your eyes widen momentarily while struggling against the sudden surge of electricity coursing throughout your body while feeling completely trapped when he cuddles you by your waist. He nibbles with care at your bottom lip before biting, teeth scraping over it.

There is a certain taste in his saliva; bittersweet yet addictive as it mixes inside your mouth. Unable to protest when his hands sneak behind you to hook the short dress up enough to grip the softness of your ass firmly. He uses force on your rear to rub up against his cock harder than moments before as you find yourself losing grip on reality until it hits that you won’t escape anymore… You will spend the rest of the night fulfilling his desires.

After all those years in his service, you learnt to submit quickly — but you wanted nothing else more than this, either.

After you separate from each other, panting hard, Sunday cups your face one last time before whispering into your ear.

“You’ve always done the best job helping me cope with stress in such wonderful ways.”

A compliment given so sincerely contrasts with his fingers dipping from behind just to tap your pussy through the sheer fabric of your pantyhose, making you jolt back, startled as you grab tightly onto his shoulders, whimpering softly as heat rushes across your cheeks.

“M— Sunday, ah…”

Before you even realise, he’s already grabbing the nylon and tearing it apart, ripping down along the seams with ease. Then he places a finger right at the top of your heated folds. He drags through them back and forth without applying any pressure whatsoever, causing your insides to convulse with excitement. Your legs tremble on each side of his hips, dragging your weight against his clothed erection that still hides beneath grey slacks; bodies locked together while the fabric becomes damp in an instant.

He laughs huskily as you look down in shame between your bodies — an attempt to hide your face away from his gaze while biting back moan after moan. Before reaching up underneath the dress, Sunday moves his hand away, brushing his fingertips across smooth skin. To your surprised gasp, his touch lands upon your clit, pressing there to spread tingles in small circles around the sensitive pearl.

“Open my trousers in the meantime. Touch me first, just for a while, and then ride me, okay, dove? Let’s continue from there.”

You fumble with the zip, drawing it down to reveal his needy cock despite trembling fingers. He guides you to grab the shaft between thumb and index finger, sliding up and down smoothly even with pre dribbling down already. You two synchronise your motions after a while.

“See, isn’t this much better for us both?”

You nod weakly, eyes rolling back as he slips easily into your slick entrance. The sounds of squelching are soon replaced with rhythmic slaps from below each time you sit down, bouncing atop his length. Your walls are wet, swollen, squeezing every inch out as you buck yourself up until only the tip remains inside, forcing breathy sighs from him each time you connect with him again.

“Just like that, angel, just like that,” he guides you whilst gripping your hips forcibly. He knows exactly what makes you two crazy, but he enjoys pushing the limits of your patience to the breaking point until nothing else can be done except him taking the initiative. “Ah… hold it right there. Yes, perfect.”

His back arches deliciously every time you stop for a second because it’s too much to handle.

It’s unbelievable how much your dishevelled state can affect him when he usually tries keeping his emotions in check — never letting anyone see through any cracks even if one did appear, no matter how insignificant it appeared on the surface. But the fact of having you in complete obedience on his own lap, whining and shaking from the pleasure he is providing — it’s exhilarating.

The sensation of your warmth wrapping snuggly around him entirely brings him the utmost satisfaction. To see you lost in bliss, caused exclusively by him alone, is a delight on its own.

Sunday’s thoughts go rampant at times like these. The logical part screaming inside his brain to stop, saying this shouldn’t happen with an employee working under him… however, every instinct tells otherwise as you dwell on pleasure, trying your best to not disappoint him with the faltering tempo. There is no break between bounces, and just like a puppet on strings, he pulls the strands leading your body towards the release desperately needed since your last meeting.

His fingers dig deeply into the flesh of your butt, making sure that nails don’t graze the skin too much. You deserve much more than a mere slap or spanking session; you deserve proper treatment, especially now after showing how willing you are to serve him.

So he picks up the pace himself, holding onto you and guiding every single move effortlessly, even in this awkward position where you’re forced to cling to him like a lifeline. Your lips clash in frenzied kisses until the air runs out, but he refuses to relent, drinking every bit of saliva dripping out of your mouth and tasting sweat mixed along with it as you struggle to keep composure.

“Please! Please, Sunday, it’s too much…”

Your fingers claw into his shirt, leaving red irritated marks behind. Nevertheless, he grins smugly with one last stroke upwards, causing your pussy to squeeze tight against the base again while feeling tremors passing throughout the core before stopping altogether. He lowers your body in one quick movement, sitting you right on his cock until your orgasm subsides.

He exhales, burying his head in the crook of your neck, kissing tenderly all over. You stay tense for a long while, simply melting in his arms, completely spent. Slowly regenerating strength as he strokes your hair, soothing aching muscles until you relax again.

“That’s right, dove. I love it when you do it… just for me to see. Can you take some more? Please, at least until I finish, too?” Sunday murmurs tenderly between each peck pressed across your jawline.

You hum lazily, nodding again, albeit somewhat reluctantly compared to the previous agreement, but consenting enthusiastically enough.

He starts moving slowly, drawing slow circles inside your pussy.

“Yes, yes, like that…” you respond, leaning more on him with each thrust. He nibbles your neck lightly as a reward for such positive reactions.

As minutes tick away, he gets impatient once again. Your hands tighten around his open shirt, pulling him close enough to bite and lick every piece of skin visible. The amount of pleasure building inside becomes almost unbearable as he drives you insane, forcing you to accept how weak you feel at this moment.

You shudder from head to toe when his fingertips brush along the sides, causing the whole body to tense up. Hearing your whimpers, he hushes you lovingly.

“I know you can. Just one last push. Come on.”

And so he does… not stopping.

He pounds ruthlessly into your soaked cunt until there’s no more air left inside your lungs as you pant frantically while trying to not collapse right away; bodies locked together intimately, your hands desperately grabbing onto shoulders until knuckles turn white from the strain. He’s doing the same around your hips, using a soft force to press every single inch of flesh against flesh.

“There you go, sweetheart, you can do it. You’re almost there… Just one more second.”

With that sentence said, Sunday flips your body forward and lies back comfortably in the chair, shifting you up and down a few inches until he finds the ideal angle. He pulls your hips down hard on his cock as he slams his pelvis upwards at the same time, causing loud moans to erupt from your throat along with high-pitched noises.

Tears begin to stream freely, trickling off your chin with each rough thrust while rubbing sensitive spots that leave you writhing, desperately trying to hold off any sort of response. The urge to let it all go builds stronger as he continues the incessant rhythm with barely enough pause between strokes to let you breathe before diving right back in again.

He groans loudly before ramming into your pussy again and again. Until he eventually clears the pent-up frustration, cumming rope after rope into your fluttering heat.

This triggers the follow-up from your side, reaching a peak soon after him. Your muscles contract erratically while remaining frozen above him, eyes squeezed shut tightly as you wail throughout the release, bucking hips on him, milking his cock out of every drop. You feel his cum coating your core, making everything throb and slip inside; every little goosebump on your skin burning.

By the end of it all, you fall motionless upon his chest; completely exhausted yet fulfilled, and still leaking from his twitching shaft, which softens gradually within the depths of your body. Sunday peppers kisses around your neck after cradling your tired form.

“Well done, my sweet dove. I’m proud of you for staying with me through it all.” He whispers before gently wiping away your tears and removing all traces of makeup from your cheeks.

The gesture feels natural, as if he’d been doing it all the time in secret before this point.

#writing.#honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail x you #honkai star rail smut #hsr x reader #hsr x you #hsr smut #sunday x reader #sunday x you #sunday smut

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heliosunny · 3 days ago

Note

moze lucky egg pretty please! or some moze foods… there arent many on tumblr do people not like this goofy man or sth im crying so down bad for him 😭 ily btw!

LUCKY EGG

Yandere!Moze x Reader

The egg had an aura of mystery from the moment it appeared, a smooth, dark violet shell etched with faint crimson and silver veins. It gave off no sound, no vibrations, just an eerie, unsettling stillness that seemed to draw the eye and silence the mind. For three days, it sat in your home. There was no hum or shift, just the kind of quiet that made you feel like you were being watched.

On the third night, as you prepared to sleep, the egg changed. The faint light of the moon seemed to reflect off its surface unnaturally, creating subtle ripples of motion within the shell. No sound accompanied the cracks that began to spread along its surface, the splitting lines glowing faintly silver, almost too dim to notice.

When the egg finally opened, there was no burst of energy or dramatic display, only silence. The pieces of the shell disintegrated into a mist that dissipated almost instantly, leaving behind a tall figure who stood as still as a shadow.

His presence was suffocatingly quiet. His silver hair caught the faint light, and his violet eyes, sharp and cold, scanned the room methodically before settling on you. He said nothing, his expression unreadable, but the intensity of his gaze spoke volumes.

After a long pause, he finally broke the silence with a soft, almost dispassionate tone "You didn’t summon me. Someone else did."

His words, though few, felt heavy, carrying layers of meaning you couldn’t yet unravel. Before you could respond, he turned his attention away, scanning the surroundings with calculated precision, as though assessing potential threats or gathering information.

You blinked at him, your confusion obvious. “What do you mean, ‘someone else’? I got you from a Lucky Egg Dispenser. You’re the one who hatched from it.”

He tilted his head slightly, his eyes narrowing as though your answer presented a puzzle he needed to solve. He sat down across from you with a fluid grace that made no sound, his hands resting calmly on his lap. “A mere chance?” he murmured, more to himself than to you. “Fate, then. How inconvenient.”

His voice was quiet, almost a whisper. You could tell he wasn’t dismissing you entirely, but his eyes, piercing and observant, seemed to dissect your every move.

“I… wasn’t expecting to spawn anyone, let alone you” you admitted, still trying to process the situation. “You’re...uh...different.”

The man let out the faintest exhale, something that could have been a laugh if it weren’t so devoid of amusement. “That much is obvious” he said. “I shouldn’t even be here. My skills aren’t meant for… casual company.”

He was cryptic, but before you could ask what he meant, he vanished. Just...gone. One moment, he was sitting in front of you, and the next, the space he occupied was empty. You froze, whipping your head around the room.

“Moze?” you called out, wait.. how did you know his name?

A shiver creeping up your spine.

There was no response. The silence stretched long enough that you started to second-guess yourself. Had he left? Or worse, had he never been real to begin with?

Then, out of nowhere, a gloved hand rested on your shoulder.

You yelped and spun around, nearly stumbling over your chair. Moze was behind you, standing close, his face unreadable as he observed your startled reaction.

“Do you frighten easily?” he asked, his tone neutral, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes. Amusement? Curiosity? You couldn’t tell.

“What? How—did you…?” you stammered, trying to catch your breath.

He ignored your question, his voice dropping lower, almost conspiratorial. “You’re not safe. Not from me. Not from anyone. Keep that in mind.”

Was it a warning? A threat? Or some strange attempt at reassurance?

Whatever it was, one thing was clear, Moze wasn’t like anyone you’d encountered before. He moved like a shadow, disappearing and reappearing at will, his very presence unsettling yet impossible to ignore. You couldn’t shake the feeling that, whether you wanted him or not, you were now under his watchful eye. And his gaze, silent and calculating, promised that he wouldn’t be letting you go anytime soon.

The day felt normal enough, even with the weight of Moze's mysterious presence lingering in the back of your mind. You’d gone out as usual, stopping by the market to grab a few essentials, chatting with friends, and dropping off some packages for people who had asked for your help.

You didn’t think much about him- well, not entirely. A part of you assumed he was nearby, watching like a silent shadow, but there wasn’t any point in worrying about it. After all, he had made it clear that he was skilled at staying unseen, and there wasn’t much you could do to change that.

As you arrived home, you pushed the door open and let out a small sigh, glad to finally be back. The groceries weighed heavily in your arms, and you focused on setting them down before tending to anything else.

“You’re careless” came a low voice right behind you.

You jumped, nearly dropping the bag of food in your hands. Turning around sharply, you found Moze standing there, close enough that you could see the sharp, calculating glint in his eyes.

“Can you not do that?” you snapped, your heart still racing. “What is with you and showing up like this?”

Moze didn’t flinch at your tone. If anything, he seemed unfazed, his expression blank as usual. “You’re easy to follow” he replied, as though that were some kind of excuse.

You stared at him, baffled. “I don’t even know how you followed me. I didn’t see you once all day.”

“I didn’t need to be seen” he said simply, his voice as calm as ever.

The statement unsettled you, though you weren’t sure why. His ability to blend into the shadows was almost uncanny, and while it should have felt impressive, it mostly made you uneasy.

“Why are you even doing this?” you asked, crossing your arms. “I didn’t ask you to babysit me.”

Moze tilted his head slightly, his gaze unwavering. “You didn’t need to” he said, his tone dropping into something more deliberate. “It’s not safe for you to be so… accessible.”

“Look, I can handle myself” you said, trying to shake off the unease. “I don’t need someone following me around like some kind of guardian angel—especially not one who keeps scaring the life out of me every time he shows up.”

Moze stepped closer, his movements as silent as ever, until the air between you felt suffocatingly thin. “You don’t see what I see,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “That’s why you think you’re fine. But you’re not.”

You swallowed hard, feeling the weight of his words.

“I’m not here because you want me to be” he continued, his eyes narrowing slightly. “I’m here because you need me to be. And whether you realize it or not, you’ll be safer if you stay under my watch.”

His words left you speechless. You didn’t know how to respond, didn’t know whether to feel reassured or terrified. But one thing was certain—Moze wasn’t going anywhere.

It had been a few days since you realized Moze's presence had started leaving faint traces behind—wisps of purple smoke that seemed to hang in the air wherever he was. At first, it was subtle, but now, you could feel his presence like a sixth sense, the faint smoky trails marking his hiding spots.

At first, Moze didn’t seem to notice, or maybe he didn’t care. But when you caught him twice in a row, once behind the curtains and another time perched silently on a rooftop, he began to understand.

“You shouldn’t be able to find me” he muttered one evening, his voice as flat and unreadable as ever.

You shrugged, pointing to a faint swirl of violet mist by the windowsill where he’d been moments before. “I don’t know how, but… it’s like I just know where you are now. Maybe it’s something to do with that egg you hatched from?”

Moze considered this for a long moment, his eyes narrowing slightly. “A bond” he murmured, almost to himself. “That must be it.”

You raised an eyebrow. “A bond?”

He nodded, though his expression remained neutral. “A connection between us. It’s rare, but not impossible. Perhaps the egg linked me to you in some way.”

“Oh that's why I know your name...”

“What was that?”

“N-nothing!”

The idea made you feel… strange. You weren’t sure if you liked the thought of being linked to someone so secretive and intense, but at the same time, it wasn’t entirely unwelcome.

“Well, if that’s the case, then you don’t need to sneak around so much anymore,” you said, crossing your arms. “I can sense you anyway, so there’s no point in hiding.”

Moze tilted his head slightly, as if weighing your words. “It’s not about hiding” he said. “It’s about staying sharp. But… if you can find me that easily, perhaps it’s time for a different approach.”

“Different how?” you asked, narrowing your eyes.

He didn’t answer, but the faintest hint of a smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. It was the first time you’d seen anything close to an emotion from him, and it sent a shiver down your spine.

Still, you couldn’t deny that having someone else around, even someone as cryptic as Moze, made life a little less lonely. As a freelancer, you were used to working on your own, but his presence, odd as it was, had started to grow on you.

One evening, as you sat at your desk going over some requests, an idea struck you. Turning to Moze, who was leaning against the wall like a silent sentinel, you spoke up.

“I think we need a change of scenery!” you said.

He raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued but not willing to ask outright.

“I mean, we’ve been cooped up here for days...” you continued. “And honestly, I could use a break. What about you? Wouldn’t hurt to, I don’t know, do something together.”

Moze seemed to consider this, his gaze flickering toward the window. “Where?” he asked simply.

You thought for a moment before a grin spread across your face. “How about the mountains? Fresh air, open skies… it’ll be good for both of us. And who knows? Maybe we’ll find some work out there too.”

Moze’s expression didn’t change, but there was a flicker of interest in his eyes. “If that’s what you want” he said, his voice low and even.

“Great!” you said, clapping your hands together. “We’ll leave in the morning.”

The next day, you packed up a few essentials and set out with Moze by your side. The journey was quiet, but not uncomfortably so. Moze wasn’t much for small talk, but every now and then, he’d offer a comment or observation that caught you off guard with its sharpness.

When you finally reached the base of the mountains, the crisp, cool air was a welcome change. The two of you hiked for a while, taking in the scenery, until you found a spot with a breathtaking view of the valley below.

“This,” you said, gesturing to the view, “is exactly what I needed.”

Moze stood beside you, his eyes scanning the horizon. “It’s… peaceful” he admitted, his voice softer than usual.

You smiled, surprised by his comment. “See? I told you this would be good for us.”

For the first time since you’d met him, Moze seemed to relax, the tension in his shoulders easing as he stood there beside you. And for a brief moment, it felt like the bond between you, whatever it was, had grown just a little stronger.

The serenity of the mountaintop was short-lived. Moze stood a few paces behind you, his gaze fixed on the horizon as you enjoyed the view. The crisp wind whistled through the rocks, carrying with it a fleeting sense of peace.

But then, you heard it, footsteps.

You turned, expecting to see fellow hikers, but instead, three unfamiliar figures emerged from the treeline. They moved with purpose, their eyes cold and scanning until they landed on Moze.

“Finally found you” the tallest one said with a sly smirk.

Moze shifted slightly, his stance becoming rigid, but his expression remained neutral.

“Friends of yours?” you asked cautiously, glancing at him.

“They aren’t” he replied, his voice steady yet laced with a faint edge.

The tallest figure took a step forward, his eyes narrowing. “You’re good at hiding, I’ll give you that. Took us weeks to pick up your trail. You’ve caused quite a stir, you know.”

“I don’t care” Moze replied coldly, his hand resting near the hilt of the dagger strapped to his side.

The man chuckled, though there was no humor in it. “You should. Someone like you doesn’t get to live in peace. There’s too much value in a talent like yours to let it go unnoticed.”

You stepped back instinctively, suddenly aware of the tension crackling in the air. “What do you want?” you asked sharply, though you already had an idea.

“Not you” the man said dismissively, his gaze flicking back to Moze. “We’re here for him. If he comes quietly, no one gets hurt.”

Moze didn’t move, his icy stare locked onto the group. “You won’t get the chance to hurt anyone.”

The words were barely out of his mouth before the closest figure lunged toward him, drawing a blade.

What followed was a blur of motion. Moze moved faster than you thought humanly possible, dodging the strike with ease and countering with a swift, brutal strike to the man’s wrist. The blade clattered to the ground, and Moze followed up with a precise kick that sent his attacker sprawling.

The other two hesitated for a fraction of a second before charging in together. Moze met them head-on, his movements fluid and calculated. Every strike was deliberate, every dodge flawless. Within moments, all three were incapacitated, groaning on the ground.

You stared, your heart pounding in your chest. You’d known Moze was capable, but seeing him dismantle three armed opponents so effortlessly was something else entirely.

Moze turned to you, his usual calm expression replaced by something darker. “This won’t be the last time” he said, his voice low and dangerous.

“What do you mean?” you asked, still trying to process what had just happened.

“They’re after me” he said simply. “And they’ll keep coming.”

You felt a chill run down your spine at the certainty in his tone.

He stepped closer, his sharp gaze softening ever so slightly as it locked onto yours. “I’ll deal with them,” he said firmly. “But you—” He paused, his hand brushing against your arm. “You need to be careful.”

“I can handle myself.” you said, though you weren’t sure you believed it at that moment.

Moze’s jaw tightened, and for a brief moment, an emotion you couldn’t quite place flickered across his face. “That’s not good enough” he said quietly. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

Moze crouched down near the unconscious attackers, methodically searching them for anything that could reveal more about their intentions. His movements were calm but precise, as though this was something he’d done countless times before.

You stayed rooted in place, your eyes following him nervously. “What are you doing?”

“Checking for clues” he replied without looking at you. “Who they work for. Why they found me here. Anything that could give us an edge.”

“Us?” you echoed, raising an eyebrow.

He paused, glancing back at you. “Yes. You’re part of this now, whether you like it or not.”

“I didn’t ask to be” you muttered.

“No” he said softly, almost to himself. “But I’m not leaving you out of it. I can’t.”

Moze stood, holding up a small device he’d retrieved from one of the attackers. He pressed a button, and a holographic projection sprang to life, displaying a list of names and locations. Your stomach dropped when you saw your own name on the list.

“Why am I on there?” you asked, stepping closer.

“They’re not just after me” Moze said grimly. “They’re using you as leverage. A way to draw me out.”

You felt a surge of anger and fear, clenching your fists. “This is insane. I don’t even know these people.”

“They don’t care” Moze replied. “They’ll use whatever they can to get to me. And now they know you’re important to me.”

“Important?”

Moze’s eyes locked onto yours, unflinching and intense. “Yes.”

Before you could respond, the sound of distant voices reached your ears. Moze’s head snapped up, his body instantly tensing.

“We need to leave” he said, his voice sharp. “Now.”

The quiet hum of the night settled around you as you lay on the stiff mattress of the inn, exhaustion weighing heavy on your body. Moze had been restless earlier, but you convinced him to rest, even if only for a few hours.

Yet when you woke up, the room was eerily empty.

Frowning, you sat up, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. The blanket that had been draped over you, no doubt Moze’s doing, slipped off as you got to your feet. The night air was crisp as you stepped towards the slightly open door, a faint glow of lantern light flickering from the hallway.

You heard voices.

Pressing yourself against the wall, you moved silently, instincts guiding you as you crept toward the source. Around the corner, past the wooden railing of the inn’s second floor, you caught sight of Moze standing in the shadows of a candlelit alcove. He wasn’t alone.

A group of men stood before him. They spoke in hushed voices, but you managed to catch snippets of their conversation.

“—should just take care of it now.”

“No.” Moze’s voice was firm, colder than you’d ever heard it. “I’ll handle it my way.”

Another man scoffed. “You’re getting soft.”

There was a low, metallic sound, Moze’s weapon being unsheathed just slightly. The group stiffened.

“Say that again” Moze murmured, his tone a razor-sharp warning.

The man hesitated before muttering a curse under his breath. “Tch. Fine. But I don’t think your plan will go smoothly.”

A tense silence stretched before Moze spoke again. “This is my problem. I'll handle it myself.”

He was planning something. Something dangerous. And worse, it involved you.

Before you could process it further, a chill ran down your spine.

The air shifted.

You turned, only to find yourself face-to-face with Moze.

Your breath hitched. You hadn’t even heard him move. His hand gripped your wrist before you could step back, his purple eyes boring into yours.

“You shouldn’t be here” he murmured, voice devoid of emotion.

“I—” You swallowed. “Moze, what was that? What are you planning?”

His grip tightened, not enough to hurt, but enough to keep you from escaping. “You were listening.”

“Of course I was! You were talking about handling something alone. If this is about me—”

“It is.”

The blunt confirmation sent a jolt through your chest.

“Moze—”

“I told you before.” He leaned in slightly, his presence overwhelming. “They won’t stop coming for you. I’m just making sure they never get the chance.”

His voice was eerily calm, but his eyes burned with an unsettling resolve.

You shook your head, trying to steady your breathing. “That’s not— You can’t just kill people, Moze. There are other ways-”

He sighed, tilting his head as if you were missing the obvious. “There’s not.”

“You don’t get to decide that!” you snapped, trying to pull your wrist free. His grip didn’t budge.

“I do” he said simply. “Because you’re mine to protect.”

“You’re lying.” Your voice was firm, but deep down, you weren’t sure.

Moze stared at you, unblinking. “Am I?”

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to stay steady. “Those men—your ‘enemies’—they were your allies, weren’t they?”

He didn’t answer immediately. His silence was louder than any confirmation.

“I heard everything, Moze.” You took a step back, but there was nowhere to go. “They weren’t trying to hurt me. They were questioning you. You’ve been acting on your own—”

Still, nothing. But his eyes darkened ever so slightly.

Your breath came out uneven. “Why?”

A flicker of something unreadable passed over his face before he finally spoke.

“Because you don’t belong to them. To anyone. But me”

“You were never part of their plans” Moze continued, voice smooth, composed. “I was the one planning it all along. They don't see your value. That's why...”

“You—planned this?” Your voice faltered, but you forced the words out.

Moze exhaled, almost like he was relieved you had finally caught up. “Yes.”

The admission knocked the breath from your lungs.

The way he always knew things before you did. His unnatural protectiveness, his unwillingness to let you go.

It wasn’t coincidence. It wasn’t instinct.

It was deliberate.

From the very moment he entered your life, Moze had decided what your future would be.

“You weren’t supposed to find out this soon” he murmured. “I was going to give you more time to adjust. To accept it on your own.”

“Accept what?” Your voice shook with anger, confusion, fear.

Moze finally stepped closer, slow and careful, as if soothing an animal ready to bolt.

“That you’re mine.”

His hand lifted, fingers grazing your wrist—light, like a whisper of smoke.

“You think you still have a choice?” His tone wasn’t mocking. It was genuine. “I erased that the moment I decided to keep you.”

Before you could react, the floor beneath you rippled with darkness. A thick, swirling mass of smoke coiled around your ankles, rising like grasping hands. The air grew heavy, suffocating, laced with an energy so foreign yet undeniably his.

“Moze—” You barely choked out his name before the shadows surged upward.

Your vision blurred as gravity slipped from your grasp. The world twisted, silent and consuming, like sinking into an abyss with no end.

You hit solid ground, stumbling as the weight of the teleportation pressed into your bones. The atmosphere was different. The usual city noises were gone. No distant voices, no hum of life beyond thick walls.

You whipped around, pulse racing, but Moze was already there.

The dim lighting cast shadows over his figure, making him look almost ethereal. He stood between you and the only visible exit, his posture relaxed, unreadable. Yet the way his eyes fixated on you sent a clear message.

Your voice came out hoarse. “Where are we?”

Moze tilted his head slightly. “Somewhere safe.”

Safe.

For who?

Your breath came out shaky, but you forced yourself to stay composed. “You can’t just.... take me like this!”

Moze let out a quiet sigh, almost like he had expected this reaction. “I told you. You have no choice but to stay. With me”

His gaze, sharp and unwavering, pinned you in place.

Your hands curled into fists. “You can’t keep me here forever.”

Moze took a step closer, shadows curling at his feet in response. “You’d be surprised what I can do.”

#yandere x reader #yandere #hsr x reader #honkai star rail #hsr x you #yandere honkai star rail #yandere hsr x reader #hsr moze #moze x reader #moze x you #moze x y/n #heliosluckyegg

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portraitofalinkonfyre · 3 days ago

Text

Riptide

Pairing: Twilight x Reader

Warning(s): Smut and very brief mentions of drowning

Notes: Commissioned by the wonderful and amazing @bellamyers2043. Hope you enjoy! <33

Masterlist

It started with Wild, because, really, when didn't things start with the Champion?

You yawned, stretching your arms over your head, twisting your spine just enough to ease the steady ache that had been building since the group headed out this morning.

A warm hand laid itself on your shoulder, and Twilight's country baritone rumbled in your ear as he joined you by the grove. Time had called for a rest a few minutes ago, leaving you temporarily unoccupied. "Tired, darl'?"

You turned to face him, hands resting on the curve of your hips, grin threatening to split your face. It was always a pleasure to talk to him, not that you were going to admit it. "Not on your life, Rancher."

He laughed, a rumbling sound that rolled through the air like thunder, and patted you with a gentleness you'd sworn you'd only seen the Ordon goats receive. "Jus' don't wear ya'self out, you hear? Not that 'm opposed ta carryin'--"

"First of all, rude," you stuck your tongue at him, moving your arms to cross over your chest. "And second of all, I've got legs, you know."

Twilight's eyes sparkled and you immediately cursed every choice that had led you up to giving him ammunition for those Hylia-awful dad jokes. "Ah might've noticed; here 'n Ordon we've got these helpful things called eyes."

"Har har," you rolled your aforementioned eyes, reaching over to flick his chest. "Now that you've got that out of your system, what's happened?"

"Wha'? Ya think ah need a reason ta spend a little time wit' my favorite person?" the Rancher joked good-naturedly, throwing in a wink. You snorted and tried not to think about how smooth the action was. After a moment, he acquiesced with a huff: "Ah'right, ah'right, 's Wild."

"...Oh no?"

"'S more than that, darl', ah'm just 'ere to warn ya 'bout supper."

"No," you breathed, trying and failing to hide your terror. "Don't tell me...?"

"'Fraid 's true," Twilight said sadly, and you were sure he'd be holding his hat to his chest if not for the fact that he didn't have one. "Ah tried ta warn 'im 'bout that spice, but he's goin' straight fer that Goron--"

"Let me guess, we're having chili tonight?" You asked with budding despair.

The Rancher's gaze was sympathetic, though you weren't sure if it was for you, him, or your combined tastebuds. "...How'd ya know?"

You groaned.

Epona noticed it first.

She was a good horse; kind and gentle, with a sassy streak that made her all the more lovable. Unfortunately, she didn't seem so lovable now, but you supposed the fact that her hooves were currently inches from your face was a pretty good cuteness-dampener. Your hands fisted her reigns as you desperately tried to calm her, but she continued to rear, forelegs kicking, stark mane tossing in the breeze like a flag caught in a hurricane.

“Hey–!”

Something wrapped around your waist, and you were yanked back into a very familiar chest. Twilight’s arm tightened, keeping you close as Warriors closed in to reclaim the mare’s reins, trying to coax her back to Earth. You hadn’t the faintest clue what could have made her act like this–the only thing ahead was a bridge, for Hylia’s sake!

Warm, frantic breath fanned over your ears. “Ya alright, darlin’?”

“Y-Yeah,” you stuttered, heart hammering in your chest as you struggled to regain control of yourself. Even through the multiple layers, the Rancher was unnaturally warm, and you shivered as choppy waves of heat soaked into your back.

Twilight, mistaking your shiver for one of fear, made a soft noise and patted your head.

“Yer ah’right, ah promise– jus’ keep breathin’,” he coaxed, and it was with no small measure of surprise that your body seemed to obey, if the sudden influx of oxygen in your lungs was anything to go by. “Ah’ve got ya, sweetheart.”

If you weren’t burning before, you sure as hell were now. It was only when Warriors managed to calm Epona were you released from the Rancher’s embrace, red-cheeked and quick to put some much-needed distance between the two of you. The others were quick to crowd in, each voicing their personal thoughts on the insanity that had just occurred.

“The hell was that, Rancher?”

“Ah’ve got no idea, she ain’t usually…” he turned his gaze to the bridge, suddenly thoughtful. “...could be somethin’ ta do with that bridge up ahead.”

“...It does look old,” Hyrule added, rocking slightly on his heels before laying a hand on your shoulder, asking in a significantly quieter tone: “Are you alright?”

You nodded quickly, the interaction giving you the courage to clear your throat of any residual scratchiness. “We could try going in pairs? So we don’t overload it?”

“I like that idea,” Sky nodded along, already looking around for someone to drag along with him. He eventually locked arms with Wind, who was all but bouncing over to the bridge. “We’ll go first.”

“Yeah!”

You waited with bated breath as the two heroes ambled over the creaking wood, half expecting it to simply break from force of premonition again. Fortunately, they made it across without any problems, and the rest of the group was allowed a sigh of relief. Four and Hyrule went next, crossing the bridge in a similarly cautious fashion, with the Smithy looking particularly relieved when his feet touched the rocky ground.

There was movement on your left side, and you turned your gaze to study Twilight’s offered arm. The Rancher grinned when you took it, eyes crinkling at the corners. “Third time’s tha’ charm, right?”

“Don’t jinx it,” you teased, letting him lead you to the rickety thing. A thick sensation settled in your stomach as soon as the toe of your boot bumped solid wood, but you ignored it. The others had made it across safely, so what about this was different. You just had to breathe, and pretend you weren’t walking arm-in-arm with your months-long crush. Easy peasy, right? Right.

Your foot settled fully on the planks. The bridge shuddered. You felt Twilight’s grip on you tighten.

“I’m fine,” you whispered, a bit unsure of whether it was him or yourself. Maybe both; maybe neither. Either way, there was birch beneath your boots and a thick lump in your chest, threatening to rattle through your esophagus at the slightest sign of danger.

Everything was fine.

Crack.

Until it wasn’t.

You didn't have a name for what happened next, only that it was accompanied by the inexplicable feeling of falling. You remembered the terror, the screaming–because no one liked falling–and the dreaded moment you realized there was water in your mouth, hair, nose, eyes, shaping the world into a black-light abyss that cradled and swallowed you in equal, terrible measures.

There was a yell. It was far away, and so were you, though it didn’t stop your eyes from forcing open, droplets of salt joining the ever-rushing waters of the river. Your body twisted in the swift current, like a marionette on silver strings or a ragdoll that had been pitched from a cliff. Something bubbled from the depths of your chest, erupting in a series of terrified burbles that did little but bounce to the shifting surface.

Don’t fight, your mind whispered, eerily calm despite the fact that your life was flashing before your waterlogged eyes. You remembered learning to swim, and the resulting lecture about rip currents when your parents realized you were too curious for your own good. The current. Sideways. Don’t fight.

Your arms clawed at the water, fingers pressed together in an attempt to form makeshift paddles. Above–or was it below?–you, the surface winked like a smug mother or certain errant rancher. If you could just–

As if sensing your intention, the world inexplicably flipped, sending you spiraling into the depths. You cried out, then bit down, and, suddenly, murky water wasn’t the only liquid in your mouth, the sharp bite of copper now taking precedence over overworked taste buds. Fuck, fuck, fuck!

The surface was gone, replaced by an inky blackness that had every nerve in your body positively screaming. Hell, you could be screaming. Who even knew at this point? Plus, your chest hurt, and you were starting to realize that not all the darkness was due to the water. You tried to lift your arms, but they refused to move, pinned to your heaving sides by the raging current.

Your mouth opened for a final, desperate cry. The terrifying world tilted once more, sending you deeper into the abyss. It was cold. Frigid. Soul-sucking.

You crumbled at the same moment a hand seized your wrist.

Drowning, you discovered first, was a dry experience.

Alternatively: coughing, you discovered second, was a horrifyingly wet experience. It began with a shuddering of the lungs, accompanied by a swift rattling of cracked ribs, and, suddenly, you were on your side, hacking like a maniac as water spewed from the depths of your body, splattering all over the chilled ground–

“–arlin’!”

–Wait.

Your vision was a mess of colors by the time you decided to force your eyelids open, squinting at the blurry, half-tan, half-green mass before you. A straggly wheeze escaped your lips, a dreaded remnant of the coughing fit, and you let your eyes squeeze shut once more. Something was shaking you, and you had half a mind to cuss them out for doing so.

The shaking persisted, as did the voice.

Something pressed to the side of your neck, probing the damp flesh. Two fingers, your exhausted brain guessed. Large. Thick. You would have killed to have those inside you.

“–n’t ya dare die on me, ya hear!”

Why… why did that sound familiar? The voice sounded male, and you could have recognized that country drawl anywhere–

You were rolled onto your back. The fingers at your neck moved to your nose, pinching your nostrils together–you would have gasped in outrage if you could–and another hand slid between your lips, tugging your jaw ajar. You tasted murky water, leather, and a smattering of coppery blood.

–Twilight!

Your eyes snapped open just as the Rancher’s mouth slotted over your own.

Time seemed to grind to a halt when a puff of warm air invaded your throat, slicing through your throat until it reached your lungs, making you feel more like an inflated balloon than a waterlogged rat of a human. He did it again, and your hands found his chest, administering a surprisingly powerful shove.

The hero was off you in less than a second, and it didn’t take a genius to register the flush atop tanned, tattooed cheeks. You found yourself coughing once more, chest heaving as your body worked to force out every last drop of water. Dying, it seemed, was a terribly exhausting endeavor, seeing as you didn’t even have the strength to resist as Twilight moved you to your side once more, a large, warm palm patting your back with just enough strength to push the last dregs of river water onto the now-soaked ground where they belonged.

“Jus’ keep coughing,” you could hear him a lot better now, likely because of the sheer adrenaline his previous action had sent rushing through your overworked veins. He said your name; once, twice, and it was all you needed to gasp a behemoth of a breath. “Get it all out, darlin’.”

And so you did, until there was nothing left to hack up but your own spit and the congealed blood from your bitten tongue. Everything ached, and it felt like an eternity before you were once again maneuvered to your back. The hand previously on your spine moved to brush strands of hair from your face.

Your eyes cracked open.

Above you, Twilight looked positively horrified. His hair was a mess, sticking every which way as it dripped water onto his cheeks. Your heart twisted at the sight of a bruise marring his collarbone, not to mention the nasty-looking scrape on his jawline. Fuck, he looked every bit as rough as you felt.

A weak smile tugged at your lips.

“I thought…” your voice was scrap-y at best, and downright pitiful at worst, but you were grateful that you could speak at all. “...we agreed… not to jinx it.”

The Hero of Twilight, defeater of Ganondorf and protector of Hyrule, burst into tears.

A gust of chilled wind swept through the cave as Twilight carefully set you on the stone floor. After nearly soaking you all over again with his tears, he had gone in search of shelter, not taking ‘no’ for an answer when you protested being carried like a limp maiden. By all accounts, he had suffered the same as you, but this was the Rancher, so you eventually sucked it up when the ache in your throat became unbearable. Despite your weak protests, it wasn’t hard to find a place to hunker down when the area turned out to be a veritable smorgasbord of caves.

When he turned to face the vine-covered entrance, likely to search for firewood, you found it in you to interject. “Twi…”

He was at your side in an instant, hands on your shoulders in a manner that would have made you blush mere hours ago. “Wha’s wrong? Ya in pain? Tired?”

You tried not to wince, you really did. Unfortunately, your companion took that as a sign of maximum agony, and fingers prodded your pulse once more as his other hand coaxed you to lay against the floor, making sure the hood of his cloak was pillowed beneath your head. It was another action he hadn’t taken ‘no’ for an answer with, though you were less inclined to argue when it was wrapped snugly around your shivering shoulders, still encased in the clothes he pulled you out of the river in. “Ah don’t have any fairies on me, but ah can–”

His rant was cut short when you grabbed his wrist, channeling all your energy into the action because, damnit, he was injured too! “Stop,” you croaked, loud enough that it rang through the cave, reverberating thickly against the damp stone walls, and, in a far quieter tone: “Breathe.”

By some miracle, he actually did. The hands left you in an instant, though you suspected it didn’t do much judging by how his shoulders continued to shake. Fuck. Ignoring any mumbled protests, you sat up, leaning against the wall with a determined expression. You could do this, you could help.

“You need to rest,” you said, voice not quite as harsh now that you were actually using it. Your gaze swept over his clothes, taking note of just how wet he looked. “...You’re going to freeze.”

Twilight looked down at himself, then back at you. You waited for the gears in his head to finish turning. “So are ya…”

For Hylia’s sake…

“Take your tunic off.”

“Darlin’–”

Your eye twitched. You would not let him die because he was scared of being naked in front of you. Fuck your crush, because he was your friend first. “Take it off or I’ll do it for you, Link.”

The Hero of Twilight gulped, but the Hero of Twilight was also a smart man, so the tunic was off in less than a minute, revealing a frankly delicious chest you had seen many a time. Not that you were weird about it, but there were only so many shirtless-woodcutter incidents you could handle before gazes began to dip.

“Thanks,” you told him, hands worrying the hem of your own tunic. If you wanted any chance of surviving the night, it would have to go, so you steeled yourself and began to lift, only to pause when Twilight flushed and very obviously turned away. “...Are you kidding me?”

“Don’t mind me, ‘m just protectin’ tha’… perimeter.”

It was a miracle unto itself that you didn’t roll your eyes. Until you realized that your newly-discovered noodle arms were not all equipped to handle the task that was getting your own tunic past the swell of your chest. Fuck.

“...Twilight?”

His ears perked, though he didn’t turn around. “...Yes?”

“I need help.”

The defined muscles in his back tensed, and you were pretty sure the flush had expanded to his shoulders, but he turned regardless, wearing an expression that could only be described as bashful. Calloused hands found the hem of your tunic from where it was bunched at the beginnings of your ribs. “Can ah…?”

“Yeah,” you whispered, and he waited no longer, gently tugging the tunic up and over your head, leaving you in nothing but a few paltry lengths of bandages around your chest. Your nipples were stiff from the chill, and the way the Rancher paused informed you that you weren’t the only one to notice. Your mind raced, but not with the urge to cover yourself.

Coughing, Twilight took both tunics and moved to lay them in the center of the cave to dry. While he worked, your hands found the hem of your pants, which were also soaked, shucking them off in a move that you suspected would have taken any man out. Your underwear went next, hastily in the right leg of the shed pants, and you used the last of your strength to wrap the pelt around you in a manner that preserved both modesty and sanity.

Wordlessly, the Hero of Twilight grabbed your waterlogged pants, laying them out in a similar fashion. He didn’t comment on the suspicious bulge in the right pant leg. When he was finished, you decided to act once more.

“Come here, Rancher.”

Stormy blues regarded you from over a toned shoulder. Twilight only hesitated a moment before shuffling to lean against the wall, tossing a chaste arm over your shoulders and pulling you against his size. He had chosen to remain in his trousers, likely to maintain some dignity, and, while you understood, a small part of you couldn’t help but feel disappointed.

A beat passed. It was awkward, but the whole situation was awkward. Life was awkward.

You shifted in a half-hearted attempt to gain some friction. “Are you warm?”

“...Mhm,” he hummed. There was a shiver. Your eyes narrowed.

“Liar.”

You were in his lap before he could defend himself, tastefully ignoring the surprised noise that escaped him. Without a word, you pressed your chest against Twilight’s, making sure the pelt was still obscuring your form, and buried your face in his neck. There was no way in hell you were going to stand by and watch him suffer, no siree.

For a moment, it was as if the world had simply ceased to exist, and you were the only two people alive, nestled among the simple comforts of Mother Nature. For a moment, neither one of you resembled a waterlogged animal, half-drowned and all-exhausted. For a moment, you could pretend that he loved you as much as you loved him.

“It’s going to be okay,” you told him in all your squeaky-voice glory.

There were hands on your mid-back, pressing you against his furnace of a chest. This time, you leaned into the warmth. “Yer trembling.”

You didn’t miss a beat. “So are you.”

“...Ah need ya ta stop bein’ right, darlin’.”

It was a Hylia-damned miracle that you found the energy to chuckle, turning your head to giggle in his ear. “That was dumb.”

A hearty pat to the spine was his response. “Yer laughin’.”

He had you there.

Another gust of wind thundered into the cave. You huddled close, praying to whatever deity was listening that your clothes would be dry by the time this bullshit was over. “Shit, I’m about to freeze my tits off–”

His breath hitched, but you were far too focused on regaining warmth to notice. Your hips rocked slightly as you pushed a bit closer, only to bump against something ha–

Oh. Oh shit.

Your eyes snapped open, and you resisted the urge to throw yourself back from sheer force of shock alone. Was that–? Your hips twitched again and, lord, it was exactly what you thought it was. A pulse of heat warmed your belly when Twilight’s hands tightened around your back, fingers stiff and tense.

Well, fuck.

What in Hylia were you supposed to do now?! Tell him? Run away? Pull that monster out of his pants and get warm in a real way– No! Bad thoughts!!

Despite your… feelings, Twilight–Link–was your friend, and that would always come first. Even if you had to bite your lip and pretend his clothed dick wasn’t pressed in the crease where your bare thigh met your even barer core. By Hylia, you could get through this. You would get through this.

There were hands on your mid-back. There were hands– shit, there were hands on the small of your back now! A shuddering breath tore from your lips, and you turned your head to the side in an attempt to regain some sanity. “Twilight��”

The hands immediately shot up, and you wanted to scream in frustration. The Rancher’s voice was tinged with apprehension as he shifted, though it did nothing to help the situation. “‘M sorry, darl’, ah don’t know what came–”

“No, no, no, you’re fine,” you said quickly, feeling a bit frantic yourself. Your core felt warm, and you tried not to perceive the budding wetness between your thighs. “I’m just cold and, uh, you’re warm. Really warm.”

You could practically hear him bluescreen from here. “Ah… happy ta help…”

Twilight’s bulge throbbed against you.

You chewed your lip. The Rancher sucked in a breath.

“...Do you need help?”

It was as if time had frozen. Twilight’s entire body jerked, and you could all but feel his gaze burning holes into you, though it was a bit hard to tell when you had your face buried between his neck and shoulder. Should you not have asked? Was he going to hate–

“Ya don’t…” his voice was husky, tinged with an emotion that had your thighs begging to clench together. He said your name, just once, and continued: “Ya don’t know what yer askin’.”

Your breath caught in your throat. His cock twitched through his pants. You were going to hell.

But you already knew that, didn’t you? In a move that would have given your mother an aneurism, you brought your face to the column of his neck, letting your lips brush against the trembling skin, all the while adjusting your hips so his erection was nestled snugly against the burning heat of your core.

“Maybe,” you murmured against his Adam's apple. It bobbed, and you allowed yourself the ghost of a grin; hook, line, sinker. “But I can learn.”

A low sound filtered from Twilight’s chest, gravelly enough that you could have mistaken it for a growl had you not known it was him. Your name rolled off his tongue once more, accompanied by a gentle hand on your hip. He didn’t squeeze, simply feeling the weight of your flesh against his palm, and you took the opportunity to sit up fully, hands flat on his shoulders, thumbs tracing gentle circles on bared flesh.

“Twi,” you paused, wondering how much more impactful this little pocket of time could be. “Link.”

There it was, the shudder you had only imagined in your deepest, darkest dreams. Like a miniature earthquake, rattling your nerves with blessed friction. “Ah ain’t gonna make ya do anythin’ ya don’t want to,” he told you; eyes soft, tone softer. Every syllable was a promise, a chance to break free and contemplate your life choices, and it was a sorry shame you would never take it.

You drew in a breath, filling your burning lungs once more. The pressure ached, but so did your belly, your core, your heart. Everything hurt when you were so close, yet so far. “So don’t.”

Then, you kissed him.

The first kiss was awkward–as most tended to be–and you were rather inclined to call it more a consensual collision of lips and teeth and tongue than anything else. Twilight kissed like the world would end if even the slightest modicum of space appeared between the two of you, gripping your hip in one large hand while the other slid to your jawline, tracing your skin in the same manner in which his tongue slicked against your lips. The second was less so, after a minute-long break to catch your nearly nonexistent breath, and you were beginning to understand why

The third was a revelation of wandering hands down a toned, heaving chest and the tender joining of people who may as well have been lovers. The fourth; a returning slide of fingertips against your chest, stopping to press against your pebbled nipple, unblinking cobalt eyes watching the skin dimple beneath a firm touch.

His name–the true one, the one that began with a rolling syllable, and ended far too quickly–fell from your lips, swallowed in the heady press of flesh and puffed breaths. You had no doubt that he heard you, from the rumbled rendition of your own name flitting into your ears, but all thoughts scattered when that clever thumb meandered across your breast, returning each time to stroke the waiting, silky nipple in a manner that made holding back your moans feel like a herculean task. Your back arched, pushing yourself impossibly closer, but no move was made to take further advantage of the situation, and it was with astonishing clarity that you realized Twilight wasn’t going to push you further. The beast in his head may have wanted, but the hero in his chest would never take.

“Link,” you panted, squeezing the flesh of his shoulders as the pelt slid down your back, revealing the arched, goosebumped expanse of your back for all to see. You were simultaneously freezing and burning, trapped in a torturous circle of polar opposites, hips rolling just enough to slide a few inches along the side of his contained length. It was so large, hot, and you were distinctly aware that it would likely take more than a few tries to fit that monster within you, but, damnit, did you relish a challenge.

His thumb moved to trace down the knobby joints of your spine. “Tell me what ya need,” he murmured; unhurried, yet so fucking desperate. You could see it in the sheen of those storm-blue eyes, the glistening beads of sweat gathering at the fridge of his hairline, and the way his fingers twitched against your skin.

Wetness pooled between your legs, undoubtedly soaking the fabric of his pants. You didn’t care, and you suspected that he didn’t either. “I need you,” the words puffed from your mouth like clouds, hanging in their air until they shattered into a million meaningful fragments. Your hips rocked. He hissed. “Please.”

The world tilted on its axis as your body was maneuvered to lay on the ground, the sharp edges padded by the soft expanse of his pelt. You let yourself fall–allowed tender hands to guide your legs where they belonged: a loose, gentle clasp around his waist–and you let yourself stare when he leaned down, down, down to press a smooch to your damp hairline, then another on the bridge of your nose, all the while your gaze roamed the tousled, wild mane he called hair, the blood-flushed skin, and the darkened patches littering his chest and neck where the river nearly sent you both to meet your maker.

When your hips made to roll, he stopped them, lips brushing the perked shell of your ear. “Not yet,” said Twilight in a tone that both soothed and stoked your desire. His back bumped up a few inches, creating plenty of room for a hand to slip against your thigh, feeling the way your muscles corded beneath a mere brush. When you whined, he hushed you: “Ah gotcha, darlin’. Jus’ relax.”

Relax?! How were you supposed to relax when–

A finger probed your folds with all the care in the damn world, simply stroking the skin for a few small eternities before even daring to dip into shimmering wetness. Nary a breath was heard as the appendage became one with you, and, when your hips squirmed for more, it became two, administering a gentle stretch that had more than your walls clenching.

–oh.

You hardly registered his voice until it boomed above you, a cacophony of hushes and praise that would have made anyone tear up. Maybe you were tearing up. Who knew anymore, when all that mattered was the hand between your thighs and the desperate, lovesick burble of your heart. Please, you wanted to whisper, say you love me.

When a thumb grazed your clit, your hips nearly lifted off the pelt, a tepid gasp clawing from the depths of your throat. Twilight leaned in to press the start of many open-mouthed kisses to your throat, trying to distract you as his fingers scissored away, coaxing your gummy walls with a purpose. Are his eyes glowing or is that just you?

Twilight was a natural, and a damn quick study. Seconds felt like an eternity when his fingers curled, brushing up against a spot within you that had you practically wailing to the unforgiving ceiling, stars swirling in your vision like flickers of the Goddess herself. A whimper moan tore from your throat, hands flying to claw lines down his shoulders, and he did it again, again, again, again until your belly was reduced to a roaring wildfire, so bright and burning that it threatened to swallow you whole.

“Tha’s it,” said the hero; your hero, tone rimmed with desire, seasoned with a kind of desperation that had your heart clenching in your chest. “Jus’ let go. Ah’ll catch ya.”

So you did; vision white, throat screaming. Everything blackened, then lightened, pulsing with the pleasure shooting through every nook and cranny of your body. You jerked like you were dying, but he held you steady. The Hero of Twilight caught you, all while keeping a delicious rhythm that coaxed every muscle to clench in brilliant sync.

For a moment, you couldn’t breathe. For a moment, being with him felt like drowning–the good kind, the kind that made you wrap your arms around his thick neck and bring your lips together in one swift motion. His fingers left your body with a lewd pop, practically dripping with slick. Your mouth all but fell open when he sat on his haunches, made frankly intoxicating eye contact, and licked the digits in a motion that was far too smooth to not have been practiced.

A chilled gust swept through the vines. A bare-chested Twilight shivered. He didn’t speak, but he didn’t have to. You beckoned him with a hand, shooting a swift glance to the growing wet spot in his trousers, and scooted to make room on the pelt.

He was at your side in a heartbeat, wrapping your form in a tight embrace; chests pressed together, hips wishing they were. The heat from his body soaked into your skin, creating a makeshift barrier against the elements. Your heart skipped a beat when his erection brushed your belly.

It wasn’t the best idea you’d had, nor was it the worst, but you had no time for semantics when you brought a hand to the Rancher’s abdomen, purposefully dragging your fingers over his skin as you let it dip further, only stopping when your fingertips bumped his waistband. “Is this okay?” you murmured softly, not wanting to push him.

He looked baffled that you felt the need to ask. “Darlin’, after everythin’ we just did–”

Twilight cut himself off with a gasp, then a moan as you slid your hand into his pants, taking the length of him in a soft, exploratory grip. His cheeks blushed crimson, contrasting beautifully with the obsidian design marking his cheekbones and forehead, and you felt him throb. Fuck.

Thighs pressing together, you began to stroke, running your fingers over firm, spongy flesh until his hips bucked. Your other hand loosened the tie keeping his trousers secure, and the Rancher’s groan was nothing short of relieved when you finally freed his aching cock. It jutted proudly from his pelvis, the shiny head flushed a deep, cherry red. You had half a mind to scoot down and take him in your throat, but you knew the hero in him would never let that fly after everything that had happened.

With that in mind, you settled for pumping his length at a steady pace, thumbing over the head to smear the glossy burbles of fluid leaking from the tip. Twilight breathed your name like a prayer, and his hips rocked softly, pressing more firmly into your touch. He was enjoying this, and the thought alone filled you with more warmth than you knew what to do with.

After a few dragging moments, he brought his hand to cover yours, temporarily halting your movements. Confused, your gaze met his, eyebrows raised–had you done something? Did he not want to continue?–but the hero merely smiled, moving your hand even lower until it no longer lay between his dick and your core. The tip flopped between your thighs, pulsing against where your clit peeked from between your folds. Twilight’s eyes never left yours as he moved to hold your hip in a gentle grip.

“...Do ya have any idea what ya do ta me?”

You swallowed. You hoped your grin wasn’t too sheepish. “Hopefully nothing bad.”

The hand on your hip slid to grasp the back of your thigh, positioning it over the curve of his hip, further opening you up to his hungry gaze. You let it happen; hell, you even moaned a bit when the swollen head slipped lower, just barely parting your lower lips as it slid, hot and heavy, against your weeping entrance.

“Ya could never.”

Twilight kissed your forehead. A puff of breath fanned over your sweat-slick skin.

Then, he pushed.

Your eyes flew open the second the head breached you, a sharp gasp tearing from your throat. It wasn’t painful, per se, but there was definitely a stretch, and you were eternally grateful when he paused, quietly letting you adjust. A warm palm stroked the flesh of your thigh and there were lips on the column of your neck, lapping at sweat-slick skin with purpose. His hips gave the smallest of rocks, sending your nerves skittering as another inch slipped inside your cunt.

“Link…” you whimpered; like a promise, or a prayer. Maybe both.

His mouth popped off your neck with a soft noise, head lifting to plant more kisses on the apples of your cheeks. “Yer okay,” he soothed, holding you as close as possible without making things uncomfortable. You appreciated the contact, smiling softly at his attempts to distract you. It was freezing outside, but you didn’t think you had felt this alive in years. “Ah’ve got ya.”

“I know,” was your response, quiet as the night. “I love you.”

Twilight’s hips jerked. You moan-screamed as he pushed in the rest of the way and filled you fully, bodies pressed together in all the right ways.

“Ah– shit, darlin’! ‘M sorry,” he apologized quickly, looking rather mortified at the turn of events. You had to tighten your leg around his hip to keep him from sitting up and performing yet another wellness check because, goddamnit, you were an adult and you could have sex after almost dying if you damn well pleased! “Ah didn’t– I love ya too– does it hurt??”

Without waiting for him to continue, you reached up, grabbed his face, and practically smashed your mouths together. Twilight’s reaction was instantaneous, tongue sliding against your own in a manner that had you clenching like a vice around his length, drawing another moan from the depths of his chest. One of his hands trailed down to palm your breast, flicking your nipple with purpose until you separated, to which he bent to capture that very same nipple between plush, kiss-swollen lips. Your head fell back against the pelt, back arching in an attempt to bring yourself impossibly closer, a broken rendition of his name rolling off your tongue.

Twilight shuddered as you spoke his name, eagerly sucking and nipping at the stiff peak. A particularly harsh suckle had you whimpering, leg tightening around his hip, and he gave a short, gentle thrust that had you seeing stars. He repeated the motion once, eyes training on your face from his position at your breast, then twice, until a steady rhythm began to take shape. It was too much and not enough, you thought as you gripped the back of his head tightly, moans and whimpers spilling from your mouth like the water you coughed up earlier.

His mouth moved to your other nipple, giving it the same mind-numbing treatment, and it took everything in you not to shriek when a particularly deep thrust sent waves of pleasure skittering up your spine like spiders. “Link!” you called, if only to use your tongue for something other than wailing as he drilled in and out of you.

The Rancher’s ears perked. He tentatively repeated the action, watching intently as your mouth fell open. “H-Here?”

You nodded quickly, eyes squeezed shut when he angled his hips to do it again, again, again, and again until you hadn’t the faintest clue which way was up. A slew of praises left his mouth, which eventually dipped to suckly at your neck once more. It felt like an eternity before the hand on your breast slid down down down to thumb the sensitive nub of your clit, borderline growling when you whimpered and clenched down on the cock within you. You didn’t care anymore, not when you were like this, pressed so close that you could feel his heartbeat in your very soul, and it showed from the way the scream of his name bounced off the cave walls, ricocheting through the space like a cannon.

A tightness formed in your belly, growing with each delicious stroke of his hips. The thumb padding soft circles on your clit didn’t help in the slightest, and you could feel yourself drawing closer and closer as the seconds ticked by. Your fingers, still tangled in the mess that was his hair, twitched as the pleasure ramped higher and higher, until–

“C’mon, d-darlin’,” oh god, oh fuck, you were not going to last if he kept talking like that. “Cum fer me, I want ta–fuck–feel ya. I love ya so much–”

Without warning, the coil snapped. You screamed your release to the stone, and the sky, and the vines, twisting and turning like you were being burned, vision whiting and thoughts scattering like a thousand sparking stars. Somewhere nearby, there was a god-to-honest growl, though you lacked the brainpower to fully comprehend anything but the sensations skittering through every single nook and cranny of your exhausted body.

Twilight fucked you through your orgasm, abandoning all other efforts in favor of thrusting into you like an animal, his balls smacking against the bottom of your ass with each fierce jerk of his hips, leaving you helpless to do anything but cling to him and pray to whatever deity was watching for survival. Just as overstimulation began to set in, he stilled, face buried in the curve of your neck as his length gave an almost violent twitch. You stiffened when the first splash of liquid hit your insides, not expecting the sudden warmth, but he kept you close, and you eventually relaxed, all but collapsing onto the pelt to catch your breath. The sound of harsh panting told you that the hero was doing the same, and the two of you just… laid there. Thinking, breathing, perhaps wondering what the hell this made you two now.

“...Are you okay?” you whispered once your heart rate had returned to a somewhat calm level.

“I love ya,” was his response; exhausted, but sweet. A pair of arms wrapped around your back, and the Rancher pressed the softest kiss to your lips. “More than anythin’.”

“I know,” was the last thing you said before the world went comfortingly black.

My first commission!! I'm really proud of this one (6k words can you believe it??!!) and I hope you all love it as much as I do <3

#linked universe x reader #link x reader smut #linked universe #the chain x reader #lu x reader #loz smut #lu twilight x reader #lu twilight #flaming commissions

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greentrickster · 1 day ago

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Me: ...

No one: ...

Me: Okay, but it's canonical that Javert was born to a fortune-teller while she was in prison and his father was serving in the galleys, meaning not only is he a victim of this horrible system in his own right, he was literally born to it, it dominated his entire life and sense of self, and he never escaped it, adding a truly breathtaking layer of tragedy to his already fascinating character-!!!

#les mierables #les mis #inspector javert #javert #this book/musical has been on my mind lately for... reasons #and I'm sure what I've just said has been said before but I haven't seen it and I just thought of it #so now you get to see it #fun fact: I am seventy-five fandoms and counting stuffed in a trenchcoat

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fake-mouthstatic · 2 days ago

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surprise

@bucktommyfluffebruary, day 8. rated G.

💕

The first thing Buck notices when he turns onto his street is the fire truck parked outside his building.

No, two fire trucks he realises as he gets closer, their lights flashing amid a buzz of activity.

A police officer waves him down and he slows to a stop, rolling the window down.

"Uh, hi, is everything okay? I live here."

"There's been a fire, sir," the officer says, looking down at his clipboard. "Which apartment are you?"

read the rest under the cut or on ao3 // other days here

"416."

"Mr Buckley?"

Buck's stomach twists with unpleasant anticipation.

"Yeah, that's me. What floor was the fire on?"

The officer grimaces a little.

"The fourth. Apartment 414."

Next door.

Not the kind of surprise Buck might have hoped for at 5am after coming off a twenty four from hell.

"The fire's out but your apartment may be damaged," the officer continues. "We're waiting on the fire captain to confirm the building is safe to re-enter."

"Yeah, it's alright, I'm a firefighter too, I know the drill," Buck says, smiling at him.

The guy seems to visibly relax and Buck can only imagine how many irate people have shouted at him already, as if any of it was his fault; one of the perks of working with the public that Buck knew all too well.

"Shouldn't be too long," the officer says and Buck nods, pulling away to find a parking space.

********

Half an hour later and he's unlocking the door to his apartment, letting the captain of the 133 go in ahead of him to assess the damage.

It's definitely not habitable, that's for sure.

As well as the smell of smoke lingering thickly in the air, what's left of the wall between him and next door is blackened and damaged, the kitchen cabinets and appliances burnt beyond repair. Add to that the layer of water across the floor and Buck can't see himself being back here for a while.

"Sorry, kid," the captain says, turning to Buck with a grimace. "You got somewhere else to stay for a while?"

Despite everything, despite the fact that he's standing in the burnt out husk of his kitchen, his stomach flips excitedly at the question.

"Uh yeah, I can call Tommy, my boyfriend." He checks his watch. "Though he got off shift at 2am so he's probably sleeping."

"Firefighter too?" the captain asks, prodding at the damaged wall.

"Firefighter pilot, actually," Buck says, unable to help the proud little smile he always got when he talked about Tommy.

"Wait," the captain replies, grinning, "you're not Kinard's boy, are you?"

Well doesn't that send a pleasant thrill down Buck's spine.

"Uh, yeah," he says, blushing a little. "You know him?"

"Just a little," the guy smirks, and Buck can tell there's some kind of history there, thinks he might recognise him from an old photo of the 118. "I hope you know he doesn't shut up about you. Do me a favour when you call, tell him he still owes Sal a beer, would ya?"

#stretching the definition of fluff a little but it will make more sense tomorrow...#bucktommyfluffebruary #char writes a thing #char does fluffebruary #911 #bucktommy

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solivagantvolf · 2 days ago

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Star Trek Jayvik~☆

Finished piece! One of my special interests is Star Trek. So I thought I would draw them in the trek setting! Viktor is a trill and Jayce is half betazoid! This was a fun colored sketch and I really enjoyed combining my interests.

I plan on make a short comic! There will be more arcane characters~

Please do not use my art without permission. Do not feed it to ai. Do NOT post my art, only reblog. Sharing my art on fb, insta, and twitter will feed ai. I do not post there for a reason. Thank you!

Okay, lastly, I gotta share this because this had me laughing so hard. For this sketch, I didn't want to draw my own background like this last one. I didn't have energy. I fit the image to my canvas above all the layers then... put it below them all. To see this beauty. I laughed at for a little too long tbh... so I has to share. Picard you dirty dog, where are you looking?

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cyber333angel · 10 hours ago

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thinking about gamer!violet x reader.. how cute she would be when she explains the lore of yet another game play that has a larger meaning to human life, and how game 2 was extraordinarily better than game 1 by many points including the change in graphics. she has you sitting in her lap on the game chair with her kitty ear headset on, that you made for her and is now the only one she will ever use, and playing on the matching pink controllers you both gifted each other on your anniversary. vi loves you, without a doubt in the world she would do anything for you but sometimes your girlfriend can just get so.. immersed in the game that she doesn’t pay any attention to you, leaving you to whine for her to notice you. “vi how much longer are you gonna play? m’bored and it’s been hours by now..” you say with a huff, straddling your girlfriends lap as you look at her. “i know, just one more round yeah? i promise baby” she says as she gives you a kiss on the lips, with the same excuse she used and hour ago. you get annoyed, all you want is to have her attention on you and she won’t even give you that. as if a light bulb appeared above your head you slightly perk up, coming up with an idea that will definitely catch vi’s attention.

“yeah im coming around the back, cover for me.” she says, oblivious for only a moment longer as she talks to her teammate. you were only wearing a pair of short n soft night shorts while in your girlfriends lap, which coincidentally made perfect for easy access to touch yourself. so you moved to have your back rested on vis chest, ass pressing against her lap.

you spread your legs a little wider and stretched the thin fabric to the side, other hand reaching around to rub around your clit. naturally this caught your girlfriends attention making her eyes widen like she had seen a ghost, “what are you..doing right now?” she moved her eyes from the game back to what was sitting in her lap back and forth. but no, she couldn’t give you attention before she doesn’t need to now. “it’s none of your business vi..” you panted out of breath as your fingers started to linger deeper into your cunt, index finger that was holding your panties circling your bud. “pay attention to your game!”

at this point vi could feel herself getting wet in between her legs, slightly fidgeting around under you as her focus on the game became faint, the character in her game going idle and her teammates wondering why her mic went mute all while she watches you like a needy puppy. “im done now! please let me help you..” she sounded so whiny with her hands not knowing where to go, she couldn’t put her hands where she really wanted to and she couldn’t rub one out even if she wanted to. you were sitting on top of her. it was basically torture to make her sit and watch her sweet girl play with herself like that.

“s’too bad vi, shoul-shouldve played with me when i asked..!” and boy was she regretting it now, her eyes were glued to the inside of your thighs, messy pussy glistening from how wet you were and all your girlfriend wanted to do was dip her hands there and taste it. she knows how sweet you taste, god this was so cruel. “fuck..babycakes just let me touch you a little. hm? please i need to so bad.” the least you allowed vi to do was kiss and suck at your neck, dark spots forming and adding to your pleasure. her pleads might have worked earlier because she just sounded so cute but it was to late. you were already cumming, a thin layer of slick was on your fingers as your thrusted in and out of your cunt, messy hole clamping your fingers down while your legs quiver on vis gaming chair.

“f-fuck vi m’cumming!” and you do, with a cry as you rub your clit furiously and close your legs unconsciously from the overwhelming feeling. without a doubt vi was soaked by now and neglected. “that wasn’t fair..” she looks so cute when she pouts that you can’t help but give in, getting up from her lap to straddle your girlfriend face to face. “I didn’t mean to bully you vi, we can go again! hmm?” you say covering her face with kisses as vi rest her bandaged hand on your ass, nodding with you.

yeah no she was definitely getting you back for that.

#vi x reader <3 #vi x reader #vi x y/n #vi x you #vi arcane smut #arcane smut #vi smut #vi season 2 #arcane x reader #vi arcane #so so short but i wanted to post smth >.<#and it’s mega old

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pixiepipedreams · 9 hours ago

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♡ ˙ ˖ ✧ — intrusive thoughts, tied up in knots, by the concept of us // in-ho x reader x gi-hun

♡ ⁄ pairing: in-ho x reader x gi-hun ♡ ⁄ warnings & tags: fem!reader, canon-typical violence & death, obsessive behavior, lying/manipulation, age gap (reader is 20-22, in-ho & gi-hun are late 40s, early 50s) ♡ ⁄ wordcount: 6.9k ♡ ⁄ summary: the second vote holds no promises for a brighter future, and both in-ho and gi-hun find themselves contemplating the ever intriguing player 132. THIS IS PART THREE OF A SERIES! (➊) (➋)

﹒˚ ₊ ︵﹒⊹ ๑ ︵︵ ๑ ⊹﹒︵ ﹒˚ ₊ ︵﹒⊹ ๑ ︵︵ ๑ ⊹﹒︵

In-ho had dedicated his youth to policing the criminals of Seoul, and he has seen the balance of human nature. He had been devoted to fighting the good fight, keeping the criminal population in line, dealing with drunks and abusers and the worst of the worst. He’d never done anything unjust, never used unnecessary force, but still, he’d been tossed to the curb in his hour of need, falsely accused of accepting bribes. Like clay, the cruel hands of the universe shaped him into what he needed to become to survive. The games had been both a blessing and a curse, a way to fight back, to save his wife and unborn child.

None of it had mattered. Every sacrifice was just another digit pressed into his moldable form, so slow and sure that he hadn’t even noticed the difference until he’d received the invitation from Il-nam to front the games. It had felt like a reclamation, a saving grace, a way to hide from the misery of his life as a widower, from the disgust he felt with an uncaring world. When choosing between the lesser of two evils, he chose the more black and white option - give one or two pieces of gum on the bottom of the country’s shoe a chance to unstick themselves and reform, while the rest get tossed and burned like the trash that they are. Like everyone is.

That’s what you should have been.

Another piece of gum, debris, a bag of trash rotting on the side of the road. Another inconsequential player, another layer of scum on this waste of a planet. But at every turn, you surprised him. The optimism in your view of life, the intelligence in your eyes, the strength that you carried even in fear. You pointed out flaws in Gi-hun’s arguments, you challenged In-ho just by existing. He should hate it. He should want to corrupt you, bring you down to his depths of apathy and revulsion with the world.

In a way, he does.

Player 132. (Y/N). You were an unexpected factor in his mission, made all the worse by the fact that you bear the same number he did in 2015. Every flicker of feeling that you cause in him is only accentuated by the closeness the games force the players into, the camaraderie between those meant to be competitors. Despite himself, he feels that same union with his team, as well, celebrating the victories of every passing team in the Pentathlon.

Weakness. Human connection. One that he can work in his favor, a flaw to exploit.

That’s what he pretends the victorious feeling in his chest means while they return to the dorms, but even he can’t deny the high of winning as a team. His sabotage had only made it more delicious that they all made it out alive, and the adrenaline still buzzes in his veins, better than any glass of whiskey.

Your hands fidget nervously as you stare at the player count, wondering how much longer it could be before you find out if Young-il, Gi-hun, and player 222 made it out alive. The bed you sit on is closest to the open concrete floor, and you feel on edge, ready to jump and run at a moment’s notice. The rest of your team is more tucked into the tighter enclosure the bunkbeds make, conversing about the games. Where are they?

“Hey,” player 120 says, her voice soft and assuring, calling for your attention. “132. You surprised me out there. It was really… impressive, honestly. You sure you’ve never played Spinning Top before?”

You look over, smiling faintly, your leg jittering as it bounces in place. “I’ve never played it. Well - in America, we have tops, but you just spin it from the axle. No twine. I guess I just… had a good teacher.”

007 laughs, but covers it quickly with a cough. His mother whacks him on the chest, then turns to you with kind eyes. “Are you and player 001 close? He doesn’t seem like the… helping sort.”

You tilt your head, surprised by the observation. But you can understand it - when Young-il isn’t engaged in conversation, he shows little to no emotion, carries a coldness that seems impenetrable. “We’ve talked,” you say vaguely. “He promised to help me with any games that I don’t quite understand. Since I wasn’t raised here.” You clear your throat, feeling oddly embarrassed, like you’re admitting to some deep secret crush, even though you’ve done nothing of the sort. “What are your guys’ names? So I have something to call you besides a detached number.”

The group goes around sharing names, and you commit them to memory. Whatever the outcome of these games, you refuse to forget any of them. Perhaps it would be too big of a burden to remember everyone’s name who’s already died, would haunt you until your own end, but it feels like a bigger sin to not know at all.

Light discussion starts, easy joking, but you can’t focus, your eyes flicking from the group to the door as you wait endlessly. Where are they?

When his team returns to the dorms, In-ho’s eyes instantly find you, a locked missile on target. You’re sitting near your team, but still separate, disengaged. Another curiosity - despite your disposition, and your apparent friendly nature, you keep yourself apart. Perhaps you recognize the truth he’s accepted long ago - despite any kinship one might feel with a person, or a group, everyone is on their own at the end of the day. Family, friends, coworkers, passing acquaintances, they all fall away to serve their own needs. It takes you less than a second to meet his eyes, and his stomach clenches at the way you instantly relax, sheer relief etched into the line of your posture. He’s not foolish enough to assign his own reaction to unease.

He gives you the tentative smile that Young-il would give, but his eyes are dark. Whatever cocktail you stir inside him, he knows that your own reaction to him is much simpler. Attraction, maybe. Comfort, certainly. Why him, of all people, instead of Gi-hun, or that player, 120, that you’d spoken to before, he can’t begin to comprehend. Is his mask that good, his performance so inviting? No, it’s not quite that. He needs to dig into your mind, unravel the knots into understanding. Perhaps the knots are his own.

He follows his team with a sense of purpose, duty, forcing himself to look away and your warm, relieved smile, that churning in his mind feeling so out of place in the typically still waters of his mind. As they sit, he shakes his head, focusing on the group, his team.

“I’m sorry about earlier. I don’t know what happened,” he says, infusing a sheepish embarrassment into his words, his hands clenching the metal of the bench as his shoulders tuck forward.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Dae-ho says quickly, his voice overlapping with Gi-hun’s own assurance.

“What happened earlier?”

In-ho’s spine straightens on instinct at the sound of your voice, and he forces himself to relax, looking up, oddly surprised to see you step up to their group. He shouldn’t be. His eyes trace over you, as if checking for wounds, even though he saw you escape earlier entirely unscathed. Your hair is a bit messy, the grease of not showering settling in, and your hands are shoved into your pockets, an infused nonchalance to the posture. You make a concerted effort to look at everyone in the group before your eyes land on In-ho.

His mouth goes dry.

“Ah, it’s nothing,” Jung-bae says with a small grin, always playful and easing the tension. “Big bad number one over here just struggled on his game. We made it out, though! So nothing to worry about.”

“If he hadn’t helped me in Jegi with the final kick, we never would’ve made it,” Gi-hun adds, a trace of his old smile on his lips, trying to comfort whatever tension in him that he’s sensing.

Your eyes narrow, searching In-ho, in a different manner than he just analyzed you. Like you know something. That intelligence you hide behind easy smiles flashes in full force, but then it’s gone, any concerns or comments you had not even reaching your throat. “I’m glad you all made it,” you say finally, smiling, and your eyes flick to player 222. “Especially you.”

She meets your gaze, a quiet appreciation in her expression. She nods her head slightly, unable to express her true gratitude, and that’s another thing that In-ho doesn’t wish to think about. The pregnant player. Another barnacle on the world’s ship, but perhaps the way he closed off his feelings after the passing of his wife had left some backdoors open for unwanted sympathy. He refuses to wonder about what the outcome would be if his wife had entered the games instead of him, refuses to imagine her in this place, founded on cruelty and equality.

She would have died either way. There’s no reason to wonder, to feel the sick twist in his gut.

In-ho rocks in place, unable to tell if it’s the surge of his own undesired emotions or the act of Young-il that causes it. “222, are you doing alright?” he asks, but doesn’t care. He doesn’t.

“Yeah. Thank you all for including me on your team,” she replies with a slight bow of her head, and In-ho catches a soft smile on your lips, likely comforted by the fact that you genuinely helped her.

“She smashed that ddakji and flipped it on her first try!” Jung-bae adds, grinning. 222 ducks her head, hiding a proud smile. “And for a pregnant lady, you were fast, too. We were lucky she joined our team.” His eyes flick to you, and In-ho clenches his jaw briefly. There’s too much ease in Jung-bae’s words, in every conversation, and he finds it grating - both with Gi-hun and you. In-ho’s eyes flick to Gi-hun, his own expression dry of any emotion or reaction.

Gi-hun is already looking at you.

He hadn’t heard the conversation the two of you had last night, too far away at the time, but he had watched. Observed. Even not knowing what passed between the pair, he knew that some sort of understanding had been reached, that you hadn’t taken your eyes off him for a moment.

That earlier, when you brought the pregnant woman to his team, you’d looked at Gi-hun first.

The conversation continues, and In-ho laughs in all the right moments, in the bond over the victory, but he keeps you in his line of vision. When Dae-ho stands next to you, his eyes land on the distance between you both, a sour feeling in his gut, like bile.

“Perhaps we should learn each other’s names. I still don’t know any of your names. I’ll start.” He gives his name, and its meaning. Huge tiger. In-ho suppresses a laugh - which is an odd feeling. Laughter doesn’t come easily to him anymore, and fighting to keep it down is unfamiliar. Jung-bae gives his next, because of course he does.

When player 222 offers hers - Kim Jun-hee, a name that instantly gets engraved in his mind - he can’t seem to help the words bubbling from his lips. “Jun-hee, when we get out of here, you should head straight to a hospital. You’ve been under a lot of stress. You need to get yourself checked out.”

“Okay,” she replies softly.

“I’m Oh Young-il,” In-ho adds, tossing his false name into the ring. Amusement rises in his chest - it’s likely that no one will look too closely at his name, or assume he’s lying, but he’d been rather proud of the joke of it all. Right down to the last detail, of taking Il-nam’s family name. Flying right under Gi-hun’s nose.

“Young-il?” Jung-bae repeats, arching a brow.

“Yes. ‘Young-il’ sounds like ‘zero one,’ and that’s my number,” he explains with a playful smile, his finger pointing to the patch on his chest. His eyes meet yours, catching the way they narrow. It would make sense that you hadn’t put the pun together yourself, and he gets the cold feeling that you’re suspicious of him. You, of all people. It isn’t that you come off as naive, but you had trusted him so easily last night, allowing him to sit with his hand in your hair as you fell asleep. He had assumed you didn’t see through his manipulations, the strings he pulled in the world of these games.

The group shares a laugh over his name, but not you. You arch a brow, smiling, but with that sharp look in your eyes. “The gamemakers must have a sense of humor,” you murmur wryly, but that coldness spreads in his body. Everyone else chuckles, but In-ho knows there’s more to your statement.

And he realizes there might be even more to you than he thought.

“And you?” he asks quickly, looking to Gi-hun. “Your full name, I mean. I only know you as Gi-hun.” Another lie, so little in comparison to the rest.

“Oh, right, um… Seong Gi-hun is my full name,” he replies quietly, eyes flicking between In-ho and you. Curious.

“Seong - that literally means last name, doesn’t it?” he asks, feeling almost nervous. It’s not the right word, but the strange tightness in his chest can’t seem to be described any other way. He laughs, his chuckles rolling off him through the anxious energy, at his own bad joke.

Nobody else laughs, but there’s a flicker of amusement in your expression. “Like our ‘un-Seong hero’?” you add, voice laced with humor as you speak in English for the first time in his presence. He laughs harder, not expecting the cheesy joke from your lips, and you laugh too.

Such a delightful sound. Something bright and sweet, like the sky on a cloudless day in a past that’s long gone. There’s a couple chuckles in the group, but nobody laughs as much as the two of you do. Somehow, you make him feel like Young-il, the man he used to be, and In-ho, the man he’s become, the man he’s always been underneath it all.

The doors open, guards filing in, and the joviality of the room quiets, stills. Any small relief that the groups have managed to find after escaping the last game with their lives dissipates. You tear your eyes away from Young-il, your mind churning, twisting over the information, but it’s hard to stay focused on his potential deceptions with the gut-dropping recognition of the button being wheeled in.

“Congratulations to all of you for making it through the second game.” The head guard stands in the center of the group of pink-clad soldiers, the rigid square on his face an indicator of his rank. The lights turn off, the now-familiar glow of golden light shining down on them as the pig takes the spotlight above their heads. “Here are the results of the second game. In the second game, 110 players were eliminated.” The familiar chiptune plays as the bank above everyone's head fills with bundles of won, counting the bodies that had been bloodily removed from the schoolyard scene of the last game. “The prize money accumulated up to this point is 20.1 billion won. Since there are 255 players remaining, each person’s share is 78,823,530 won.”

Uproar. People start shouting out complaints, the ‘O's growing restless at the realization that even with so many dead, the split of the prize pool isn't enough. Even for you, that amount isn’t enough to settle your father’s debts and pay his medical bills.

In-ho has to hide a smirk, even as something inside him clenches. Just as expected, desperate greed wins over the lives of the people whose blood invisibly stains the prize pool. He eyes Gi-hun, who stares around the room, cataloguing the people complaining with barely disguised loathing. Gi-hun, who has never been able to look past the cost of all that money to see the freedom it grants. In-ho can hardly judge. He’s barely touched his own money, after all.

“I completely understand your disappointment. 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. 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.” The guard’s voice is clinical, rehearsed, and a sick feeling twists at your gut. Just how many games have there been? How many times has he said these exact words?

And the implication slams into you, the easy manipulation of the words. The vote hasn’t even happened yet, and you already know the outcome. Desperation, self-preservation. Nobody is leaving the games today.

“I should go,” you say softly, as the crowd accumulates at the edge of the glowing ‘X’ and ‘O’ separation on the ground. You give a slight bow of your head, turning to leave, feeling displaced, uneasy.

“Wait, (Y/N),” Gi-hun says, halting you in your tracks. Your eyes flick to him, widening. “Stick with our team. You said you, uh, you wanted to fight by… by our side, last night, didn’t you?”

Lips parting, you can’t seem to take your eyes off his face. That wasn’t quite what you said, but based on his shifty expression, he knows that. You said you wanted to fight by his side. The invitation still surprises you, but underneath that surprise is a warmth at being included, at him asking you to stay. You nod, smiling a little. “I would appreciate that, thank you. And, if it’s at all possible, if… if we end up staying for another game, I’d like for us to try and keep an eye out for the team that kept me alive today.” If. You don’t want to crush their spirits with the foresight you currently hold.

Gi-hun’s eyes soften, smiling just a little, but it feels like a victory. You find yourself craving more of that smile, to see the full force that used to come easily to him, if the lines of his face are anything to go by. “We’ll do our best,” he replies, his voice just as soft as those eyes. He must be a very kind man. You get a little lost, looking at him, at the lingering cloak of who he once was. "We have to end the games here,” he adds, turning to the group. “I will help you all with my winnings from the first game when we get out. Please trust me, and vote to leave.”

“Don’t worry,” Young-il adds, eyes locked on Gi-hun. “I want to stop here too. I should go.”

“Yeah,” Gi-hun says, his eyes softening as he looks back at Young-il. “You should be with your wife at the hospital.”

And then you freeze. Wife. Your lips stay closed, but your eyes widen a fraction, feeling a horrible sense of disappointment that takes you by surprise. It shouldn’t be shocking, you should have suspected it, seen the train coming at you full force. He’s twice your age, it makes sense for him to be married - hell, Gi-hun probably has a wife too.

Young-il’s frozen too, and his eyes slowly slide to meet yours from the side. His expression is unreadable, and he doesn’t respond for a moment, his lips parting. Then he looks back at Gi-hun, giving a smile that seems a little tight around the edges. “I’ve been away too long,” he responds quietly, agreeing.

The group chatters, quickly agreeing to all vote to leave. Deep in your gut, you know it’s not enough. But you’re not thinking about that, not in this moment. You’re thinking about Young-il’s hands on yours, guiding you through the motions of spinning an invisible top. You’re thinking about him cradling you to his chest, of the details of his face that you don’t dare to look at now. And you come to the realization that you’re well and truly fucked.

“Guys, all huddle up again,” Dae-ho calls, drawing your attention to him. He’s much easier to focus on than Young-il or Gi-hun. He juts his hand out, arm rigid and straight, into the center of the group. Everyone lays their hands on Dae-ho’s, and you hesitate, before setting yours down last. It’s strange, being a part of a group. “In one, two, three. Victory at all costs!”

“Victoryat all costs!” You all call back.

The voting is in reverse order, this time. Young-il doesn’t hesitate before pressing the ‘X’, but there are a few surprises - namely, two of your old teammates pressing ‘O’. But you can’t blame them. Even with Gi-hun’s offer to pay off your group’s debts, you don’t know what to pick. Hyun-ju hasn’t received that same offer, nor has Young-sik.

Player after player gets called up, but it’s obvious early on that your vote alone won’t matter. Even if every ‘O’ on your team switches, even if Young-sik and Hyun-ju had voted differently, it wouldn’t be enough.

“Player 132.”

Your body trembles, but your feet move automatically, not sparing a glance for Gi-hun or Young-il. When you reach the buttons, you stare down at the glowing red and blue domes, unblinking. It doesn’t matter, does it? What button you press? You already know the outcome. You feel a horrible guilt at the idea of taking Gi-hun’s money, just another stack soaked in blood. The money floating above you may be no different, but at least it’s from your competition - the cost of your own survival, not his.

You press ‘X’. It won’t be a close vote, not by a longshot, so your ‘X’ serves no purpose other than to prove to Gi-hun that you stand with him. Your mind is still detached as you step to the red side, standing next to Young-il but refusing to look at him.

He leans closer to you, heat prickling at your skin from his proximity. “(Y/N),” he murmurs. You bite the inside of your cheek, not reacting. You feel ridiculous, like the little kid you haven’t been in so many years right now, crushing on a married guy. It isn’t his fault. Maybe he felt protective of you, just because you’re only in your 20s. He never actually did anything untoward.

His hand in your hair, stroking it until you fell asleep. Comforting, safe, but not wrong.

The blue crowd cheers on their side - another recruit to continue the games. He sighs softly, settling a hand on your arm. Your body jolts, despite yourself, a zing running through you, your eyes flicking up to meet his despite yourself. “I–”

“Excuse me, everyone!” Gi-hun’s voice rings out across the room, taking command of it. Your breath catches, head turning to stare at him as he walks toward the center. Ever since the first game, he’s been magnetic, unignorable. Young-il’s hand tightens on your arm, then drops, and he suddenly steps forward before Gi-hun can make it to the open space.

“Are you all out of your minds?” Young-il shouts, sending a shiver through you. Your eyes flick to him, stunned. “You still want to keep going after watching all those people die? Who’s to say you won’t die in the next game? We have to stop. We’ll all die if we keep going! Come to your senses, and leave with that money.”

You feel like you’re waiting for something - maybe the guards to step in, to shout that interruptions to the voting process aren’t allowed, for one of them to press a gun to Young-il’s head. But it doesn’t come.

Players from the ‘O’ side step up to argue, including the detestable player 100. But your eyes drift back to Gi-hun, watching him watch Young-il. Touched isn’t the right word, but Young-il joining him in protesting the continuation of these sadistic games definitely affects him. Gi-hun’s eyes are huge, relieved, to not be fighting for this alone. Awe doesn’t fit any better, but it’s the only thing your mind comes up with.

“If we play one more game, the prize will be at least 240 million!”

For some reason you cannot decipher, it’s Gi-hun’s expression that pushes you to step forward, into the aisle. “And if you die?” you say, your words sharp, eyes flicking to player 043, who had just spoken. “Almost a third of the players died in this last game. What makes you think you’re special enough to make it out? You’re all cowards, just hoping as many people as possible die. You’re not fucking invincible - everyone here has the same odds of getting out. Do you feel so lucky? There’s 255 of us left - if another 110 die, that’s almost half of us. 50/50 odds - a coin flip. Heads, you win - tails, you’re gone forever, and you’ll be the one who dug that grave.”

Silence, for just a moment. Then, player 095 - Young-mi, you remind yourself, Young-mi - sobs, tears streaming down her face, pleading with the other players to not continue these games. Pity wrenches through your gut, and again, you wonder what someone so fragile could have done to end up here. How she ever called the number on that business card after being slapped by the recruiter. You find yourself unable to look at her, your eyes finding Gi-hun’s once more. Something akin to dread builds in his expression, but there’s a quiet gratitude laying under the surface.

Young-il steps between you two, eyes locking on yours for just a moment before scanning the crowded ‘O’ side.

“If you die here, your family won’t even get your body. Then it’d be the end for you and your family! Don’t you see?” Young-il shouts, but the ‘O’s are beyond hearing. Their arguments are solid enough, but they refuse to acknowledge on thing - that every single one of them is praying that as many people as possible will die, besides themselves. It doesn’t take long for them to start up a chant, mob mentality kicking in, spreading like an airborne virus.

“One more game! One more game!”

A chill runs through you. Those words were exactly what you had thought during the first vote. One more. Just one more.

The vote continues, digital numbers climbing higher and higher, and you can’t bear to watch. Knowing the way something ends is much different from watching it all happen. Will you survive one more? And what about the one after that? There’s little chance that the vote will turn back to your team’s favor - at least, not while player 100 is alive. 10 billion won owed… that man won’t rest until there’s at least only four players left, splitting the prize into 11.4 billion per person.

Gi-hun’s posture is slumped in the glow of his red vote, and your heart aches for him. He’s a good man, you know it deep in your soul. How a man like that could possibly win such cruel games is beyond you. And to be the only one to make it out alive…

Your feet take you to his side before your mind catches up. “Gi-hun,” you murmur, your hand grabbing his wrist. He goes still, statuesque, but you persist. “Please, can we… can we talk?”

A few breaths pass, but he nods, turning to you, his wrist slipping from your hand. He looks down at his arm, then his eyes meet yours. He feels… strange. It’s the same tightness in his chest as he felt earlier, when you approached his team with Jun-hee in tow. There was no guarantee that his team would do better than any other, especially since he hadn’t known the game going in. But the look in your eyes as they met his, a desperate edge to them, but not desperate on your own behalf… it had stunned him into silence. He wasn’t able to speak. It wasn’t the desperation, but the sheer trust that affected him so. You had trusted him with two lives, neither one of them your own. He’s not worthy of that trust. Every life that has been entrusted to his care, with the exception of two, has met a violent end. Both you and Young-il, so firm in your belief of him. He wants to apologize now, for not speaking up when you asked for his help. But what could he say? He can’t explain his reaction, the stunned twist of his chest the way he’d been trapped in your gaze. The way his mind had fit the puzzle pieces into place to paint a clear picture of his understanding of your character.

Your eyes are wide, intense as they meet his. “What is it?” he asks quietly, his brows furrowing, his lips set in the frown he’s worn for years now. “Are you alright?”

You huff out a breath, nodding, the intensity never leaving your expression. “Yes, but… Well. I had a few questions,” you say slowly, your expression pinching, as though you’re holding something back.

“A few questions,” he repeats dumbly, rubbing at his wrist, still feeling the warmth of your hand. He hasn’t been touched, not gently, in years now. “About?”

You swallow, and his eyes follow the bob of your throat, chest seizing with that strange tightness. “About… about your games. If you don’t mind. I know it’s a hard subject, but… We need to plan ahead, to think more about how this will all play out.” He just gives you a blank stare. Faintly, he feels himself nod for you to continue. “At this point in the games, how… how many people were left, in yours?”

Gi-hun’s brows furrow, and he tries to think, beyond the blood splatters on the playground scene, beyond the sounds of gunshots, beyond his tongue desperately working to melt the sugar honeycomb candy. “About 100,” he says finally, taking a deep, shuddering breath.

“Oh, wow,” you mutter, eyes flicking up to the board. “So… 155 less than we have now. You really must have saved a lot of people this time around, interfering in that first game.”

His eyes squeeze shut for just a moment, remembering the weight of a body pinning him to the ground, after the first death caused a stampede of people attempting to escape. But… but you’re right. So many more people died in his first Red Light, Green Light game. “And?” he asks tiredly, rubbing his forehead, trying to focus on this room, not that giant field filled with blood. To not remember revisiting it later, when it was empty, with only one opponent. Sang-woo. He flinches, tries to cover it with a cough, but when his eyes meet yours, he can tell he wasn’t fooling you.

“Sorry, it’s just… Well, it’s impressive. You’ve given more people a chance, here.” You cross your arms, shoulders hunching up, but your eyes don’t leave his. “They said it was new, allowing the players to vote after every round. You didn’t have that choice?”

“No… well. If the players called a vote, and the majority decided to leave, then the money would be split among the deceased players’ families. None of the surviving players would get anything. My…” His jaw clenches on reflex, and he shakes his head. “One player called for a vote, after the first game.”

“And everyone chose to stay?” you ask, brow furrowing.

“No… no, actually. We all left. But they gave us the option to return. Most of us did,” he explains quietly, eyes flicking around the room, finding it hard to look at you as he answers the stream of questions, the tightness in his chest only growing.

You pause, taking that in, your breaths even beside him, almost meditative. He peers at you out of the corner of the eye, taking in the contemplative twist of your lips. “Why would they change the rule?” The question stuns him, and he doesn’t have an answer. If anything, it might be because of him. To prove a point. But that feels too self-important to say, to admit that the Front Man may be choosing to play a separate game with him at the cost of hundreds of lives. But you don’t wait for an answer, sucking in a quiet breath. “How many people made it to the final game?”

His eyes flutter shut. “Two. Is that all of your questions?” he asks, voice a bit too sharp, now. Raw emotions threaten to crash over the dam he’d built in his mind. Memories, he can handle. But they don’t exactly have therapy for the kind of trauma he went through, and every emotion goes unsorted.

Silence. Gi-hun opens his eyes, squinting at you, feeling oddly guilty. It’s not your fault, not really. But this isn’t a subject he’s spoken openly about, ever, and he feels like a stripped wire. “Yes, sir,” you mutter, arms tightening across your chest. “I’m just trying to figure out the best way to convince these people to leave. One of them needs 10 billion - that means he won’t rest until there’s only 4 players left. If not less. I’m sure the gamemakers will want to cut the number of players by more than half in the next game, to try and make the final games closer.”

His eyes slowly open more as you speak, surprised by the observations. They’d tickled at the back of his head, but he’d been operating on blind determination this entire time. Analysis has never been his strong suit, though admittedly he’s gotten better at it in the years since his own game. You remind him of…

He bites the inside of his cheek, almost hard enough to draw blood. “Yeah,” he agrees, his voice quieting to something softer. “You don’t need to call me sir,” and those words are just blurted out, spilling like a bowl of ramen after too much soju. It’s the last thing that he should have focused on, but it feels wrong, to have you call him something so impersonal. “I’m sorry for being short with you, it’s just that… I don’t speak about that time.” He reaches out, but aborts the motion halfway through, his hand hanging in the air. What the hell is wrong with him? “You say that you think they’ll try to cut the players by more than half?”

You nod, your eyes softening as you look up at him. “We need to keep our team together next round. To keep as many of us alive as we can, but also… because we’re the only votes that can be guaranteed to be ‘X’ next time.”

Resourceful and compassionate. Something inside him aches as he nods, feeling struck dumb. “You said you were a student, didn’t you?” he asks, eyes roaming over your features as you blink back at him.

“Uh… yeah, actually. I spend most of my time studying, to be entirely honest,” you admit, eyeing him curiously. “Why?”

The corners of his lips twist up, a gesture that feels unfamiliar in his life after becoming a billionaire. “Nothing. I can tell, though. I appreciate having your brain to work on this with me.” He pauses, tilting his head. “Is that why you’re here? Student loans?”

You stiffen, eyes widening a fraction, biting your lip. But you nod. “That, and to help my father,” you say vaguely. You have every right to play your cards close to your chest, but he wants them laid out bare, for him to study, learn, understand. The urge terrifies him.

He swallows past the lump in his throat, nodding. Your father. “You shouldn’t be the one bearing your father’s problems,” he mutters. A brief alternate future flashes through his eyes, one where Ga-yeong, as an adult, has to pay his gambling debts, one where he never entered the games. Guilt stabs through him. “What is it? Gambling?”

What he doesn’t expect is the way your expression darkens, your mouth twisting into a frown that doesn’t fit your face. “Housing debts. He hasn’t had a job in a while, and he was never good at holding one down to begin with. Maybe gambling - I haven’t asked.” Your face is pinched, your lips a distractingly cute shape, even in your upset. He feels a bit dizzy, actually, but he shakes it off, feeling an instant aversion for your father. Perhaps it’s because he reminds Gi-hun of who he used to be, who he still could’ve become. “He’s in the hospital,” you add in a hushed tone, but don’t elaborate. He doesn’t want to push you, but he feels a shocking wave of anger. You shouldn’t be here - although he believes that about every person in this room, that nobody deserves to end up in these games, it’s fiercer, more violent when it’s you. Sure, you likely have your own debts as a student, but your father’s incapability shouldn’t be the reason your life is on the line.

“So that’s why you voted to stay after the first game?” he asks, his voice insistent, intense. Angry.

Maybe you think he’s angry at you, because your eyes narrow. “Yes. But I voted ‘X’ this time, didn’t I? Why, is that a problem?”

“He shouldn’t be your responsibility. He should be taking care of you.”

“He’s my father,” you snap back, defensive. “He’s the only person I have in this country, the only parent I have left. I’m not–” You cut yourself off, eyes oddly shiny, and it takes him a moment to realize that you’re tearing up. His mouth opens, then clamps shut, his expression clearing itself of the white-hot anger he’d felt. His hand reaches out, taking your upper arm in his grasp. Right. Your father is in the hospital, and here he is, practically yelling at you for giving a damn, just because it made him uncomfortable to be speaking to someone on the other side of the situation he had been in years ago.

His own mother’s death sits in his chest, unresolved, clumsily compartmentalized along with every other horrible thing he’s had to deal with. The guilt of eternally letting her down, until the very end. Of not even being by her side in her last moments. Of Ga-yeong, thousands of miles away, and the way these games got in the way of everything and everyone he cared about.

“I’m sorry,” he says quickly, his eyes wide, flicking between your own.

Gi-hun hadn’t said anything that you hadn’t already crossed your mind. Your own guilt feels like lead in the pit of your stomach, Gi-hun’s words mirroring your worst thoughts. His apology stings, a slap to the face. Why should he be sorry? You feel sick. “Whatever, alright? It’s fine.” You rub at your eyes, at the tears that never fell. “We all have baggage.” Yours just happens to be a sick, indebted father, and a strained relationship with your dead mom. “I voted to leave, even though that money up there isn’t enough to cover it all. Whatever your baggage is, beyond these damn games, isn’t my fault, and you shouldn’t be taking it out on me.” Gi-hun just stares at you, wide-eyed, looking a little younger. Not by very much - but he looks like the man he might’ve been, before his first time in these games.

A thought bubbles up like a laugh, that it’s probably been a while since he was last scolded by a woman for hurting her feelings.

He presses his lips together, eyes darting to the side, and you realize, belatedly, that his hand is still warm on your arm. “I’m sorry,” he repeats, softer this time. “I told you, though, I’ll give you enough money to cover your debts. Your father’s, too.” He squeezes your shoulder, his other hand partially raised, almost in surrender.

You would laugh if that sentiment doesn’t twist the knife in deeper, despite being well-intentioned. “I already feel horrible enough, taking the blood money from this game,” you reply, voice tight. “I don’t know if I can handle your ghosts on top of my own.”

Gi-hun’s expression twists, but there’s a deep understanding in his eyes. “Please. If that money is good for anything, it’s helping people escape the same fate that others couldn’t.”

Your insides are churning, a befuddling mixture of guilt, pain, understanding, appreciation, and… something else, something you shove deep down. If your feelings for Young-il were misplaced, you refuse to make the same mistake twice. But something about Gi-hun tells you that he’s unmarried, unattached. A man with any kind of relationship in the outside world, filial or romantic, wouldn’t come back to a place like this.

“If we make it out,” you finally reply, your shoulders dropping, arms loosening. Gi-hun nods, his expression drawing in at the reminder. One more game. “I’m still with you, Gi-hun. I trust you.”

He smiles, just a little, and finally releases your shoulder, albeit hesitantly. There’s something strange in his eyes, stress or guilt or something more. As you finally walk away, you don’t let yourself wonder, don’t let yourself get caught up in frivolous emotions for a man who carries too much weight to ever let someone else lighten the load. And you pretend you don’t feel Young-il’s eyes watching you as you take a bed in the corner with Gi-hun’s group, choosing to lay down and stare at the mattress above you, trying not to think of anything at all.

﹒˚ ₊ ︵﹒⊹ ๑ ︵︵ ๑ ⊹﹒︵ ﹒˚ ₊ ︵﹒⊹ ๑ ︵︵ ๑ ⊹﹒︵

♡ ⁄ taglist: @pursued-by-the-squid @in-hos-wife @bloooooopblopblop <33333 @nellabear @gloriousjellyfisharcade @politicstanner @xcinnamonmalfoyx @beebeechaos @delfinadolphin @bbrainr0t @ineedazeezee @watasinekoru @solarpotato @nerdytif @speedymagazinewhispers @machipyun @dilfismz

#front man x reader #hwang in ho x reader #in ho x reader #in ho x you #the frontman x reader #gi hun x reader #gi hun x you #seong gi hun x reader #the frontman x you #front man x you #squid game fic #squid game fanfic #oh young il x reader #hwang in ho x you #young il x you #young il x reader

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nomie-11 · 18 hours ago

Note

Ellie Williams x Reader, the Reader is immune like Ellie and both find out the other is immune while out on patrol. They have feelings for each other and when the truth comes out about their immunity and their feelings they start dating and eventually become a couple. If Joel is alive in the story maybe his reaction to there being another immune person.

Breathe Me In

masterlist!

synopsis: the above request!

pairings: ellie williams x reader

The floor gives way before either of you can react. One second, you’re moving through the abandoned building, snow melting off your boots, and the next, the rotten wood splinters beneath your feet.

The world tilts.

Your stomach lurches as you crash through layers of decay, falling hard onto your side in a pile of broken furniture and debris. Dust explodes around you—and despite the gas mask on your face—that wasn’t what made your breath catch.

Spores. Thick, swirling clouds of them.

Your heart pounds as you scramble up, your gas mask still snug over your face but your eyes immediately lock onto Ellie. The air was knocked from her chest, she’s coughing, and at first you think it's because she hit the floor so hard you could hear the air rush past her lips. But then you look up, watch her shake off the impact, and—her mask is cracked.

A deep fracture splits the glass down the middle, already letting in the infection that should be filling her lungs.

Your entire body goes cold.

“Ellie!” Your voice cracks as you lurch forward, hands already ripping at the straps of your own mask. The rubber digs into your face as you yank it off, ignoring the awful sting as the air—thick with spores—hits your skin. Your only thought is her. Her, with her mask split, her with her lungs exposed to the infection, her with wide green eyes locking onto you in absolute horror.

She’s on you in an instant, faster than you expected, fingers clawing at your wrists. “What the fuck are you doing?!” Ellie’s voice is sharp, bordering on desperate.

You try to shove the mask at her, pressing it to her face, your grip shaking. “Put it on! Ellie, put it on, now—”

Her hands snap up to catch yours, her grip iron-tight. “No! Jesus, y/n! Keep it on!” She wrestles with you, trying to force the mask back over your own mouth, her panic rising.

You don’t let her. You can’t let her.

“Ellie, please! Just take it!” You push harder, trying to slip the straps over her head, but she’s fighting you like her life depends on it. And maybe she thinks it does.

Ellie shoves at your hands, her breathing ragged, her green eyes wild with desperation. “What the hell is wrong with you?! You need to keep it on—just keep it on, okay?” Her voice cracks at the edges, and it kills you, the fear laced in her words.

You shake your head violently, pushing against her resistance, your grip slipping against the sweat forming between your palms. “No, no, Ellie, you don’t understand! You need it more than I do—just put it on, please!”

She’s shaking now, her fingers digging into your wrists hard enough to bruise as she fights you, her entire body wound tight. “Stop it!” She practically begs, trying to force the mask back over your face, her voice trembling. “You don’t get it, you can’t—breathe this in—”

And fuck, if only she knew.

But she doesn’t.

Just like you don’t know about her.

You can see the panic in her eyes, the way her chest heaves with frantic breaths, and it makes your own heart feel like it’s breaking apart, because she’s not scared for herself. She’s terrified for you.

“Ellie—” Your voice wavers, your throat tightening. “Please, just take it. I can’t—” Your breath stutters, raw emotion bleeding into your words. “I can’t lose you.”

Her face twists like you’ve just physically hurt her.

And then she makes a split-second decision that nearly knocks the air from your lungs, yanking your hand down, the mask clattering to the floor as she grabs your face between her shaking fingers.

Her forehead presses against yours, her breaths mixing with yours, warm and uneven.

“No one’s losing anyone,” she whispers, her voice breaking on the words. “Not today. Not ever.”

Tears sting at your eyes, your fingers curling into the fabric of her jacket as your body trembles with the weight that both of you are standing in the basement covered by spores without masks. The way she holds onto you, like you’re the only thing anchoring her to the ground. The way she’s so willing to put her secret at risk to save you, without hesitation, without question.

And it’s unbearable, because you would do the same thing for her. You are doing the same thing for her.

Ellie closes her eyes for a second, breathing you in, before she slowly pulls back just enough to look at you, her hands still cradling your face.

“We have to go,” she says, her voice quieter now, but not less urgent. “We have to go before something shows up.”

You nod, swallowing against the lump in your throat, your fingers reluctant to let go of her. “Okay.”

Neither of you acknowledge the truth that hangs in the air between you.

Not that you’re both still standing. Not that you’re both still breathing. Not that neither of you are infected.

For now, you just hold onto each other, grip tight, fingers still trembling, as you push your way out of the ruined building, the weight of what just happened settling like a ghost between you.

——————————————

The kitchen is silent.

The kind of silence that weighs heavy, pressing into your skin like a damp cloth, suffocating in its own way. The only sounds are the occasional creaks of the old wooden house settling, the faint whistling of the wind slipping through gaps in the windowpanes, and Ellie’s foot tapping idly against the leg of the chair.

Neither of you have spoken since you got back. Since you climbed out of that ruined basement, since you forced your breathing to slow, since you walked through the front door of Joel’s house Ike nothing had just shattered the foundation of your entire world.

Ellie had thrown her jacket over the back of her chair, sat down, and you’d followed, dropping into the seat across from her. And now you’re here. Sitting. Waiting.

For what, you’re not sure.

The clock on the wall ticks. A fork in the sink shifts slightly. The sound makes Ellie’s jaw tightened, her fingers twitching against the wood of the table.

You should say something. Maybe make a joke, ease the tension, bring up the fact that you’ve just experienced the most batshit insane moment of your life. That she's like you. That you’re like her.

That you’re not alone.

But the words won’t come.

So the silence stretches.

Until the front door swings open, and Joel steps inside, boots heavy on the wooden floor. He exhales as he shrugs off his coat, muttering something under his breath about the cold before turning toward the kitchen.

And the second he sees the two of you, he stops.

His brows furrow, gaze flicking between you and Ellie, taking in the way you’re both sitting there, shoulders tense, hands still.

His expression shifts. “Alright,” he says slowly, crossing his arms, standing firm in the doorway. “What the hell is goin’ on with you two?”

Neither of you answer.

Ellie stares at the table. You focus on the small crack in the wood near the salt shaker.

Joel’s gaze hardens. “Ellie.”

She shifts slightly but doesn’t look up.

“Y/n.”

Your throat feels tight. You say nothing.

Joel exhales through his nose, stepping further inside, letting the door shut behind him with a soft thud. “What, did y’all burn down a building or somethin’? Kill someone you weren’t supposed to?” His voice is gruff, laced with that sharp edge of concern he’s never quite been able to mask.

Ellie’s fingers curl into her hoodie sleeves.

Then, finally, she speaks.

“You weren’t lying.”

Joel’s frown deepens. “The hell are you talkin’ about?”

Ellie lifts her head, finally meeting his eyes. And when she speaks again, it’s softer. Almost disbelieving.

“There are others.”

Joel’s whole body goes still.

Ellie looks at you then, and it makes your heart stutter.

“She’s immune.”

Silence.

Joel’s expression doesn’t change at first, like his brain hasn’t fully registered what she just said. But then his jaw clenches, his eyes darken just a little, and his arms drop to his sides. “That ain’t somethin’ you joke about, kiddo.”

Ellie shakes her head, voice steady. “I’m not joking.”

Joel’s gaze shifts to you, and suddenly, you feel like you’re under a microscope, every inch of you being examined. You swallow hard.

He stares for a long moment, then exhales, rubbing a hand over his face. “Jesus Christ.”

Ellie leans forward, eyes sharp. I saw it, Joel. We were in a basement filled with spores. My mask was off. Her mask was off.” She swallows, voice quieter. “Look at her. She’s fine.”

Joel doesn’t speak, he just turns his gaze back to you, and this time, it’s not skepticism. It’s something else. Ellie is still staring at you, something new in her eye, relief flooding her softer gaze.

You’ve both spent so long thinking you were alone, and now, suddenly you’re not.

Joel finally speaks. “You told anyone?”

You shake your head again. “No.”

He exhales sharply, dragging a hand down his face, muttering something like ‘fuck, I liked her more when they were just datin,’

Ellie is still looking at you, a hundred thoughts floating behind her eyes. Then, slowly, she traces a finger over the scar on her arm, buried under a chemical burn and layers of ink. “Where’d you get bit first?”

You hesitate, before pulling up your shirt, revealing a similar mark, a faded bite on your hip.

Ellie’s lips part slightly, looking between yours an hers, like she’s trying to make sense of it, like she’s seeing herself in you.

“So, what now?” She asks, voice quieter, uncertain.

Joel sighs, rubbing his temples. “Hell if I know.”

But as you look at Ellie—someone who understands, someone who is like you—for the first time in years, you don’t feel alone.

———————————

The night air was crisp, carrying the faint scent of damp earth and old wood as you and Ellie sat side by side on Joel’s porch. The rocking chairs he had made last winter creaked as you shifted slightly, your knees pulled up to your chest wile Ellie leans forward, elbows resting on her thighs.

It’s quiet, the kind of quiet that settles deep in your bones, but it’s not uncomfortable. It’s the good kind of quiet. The kind of quiet you only find when you’re sitting with someone who understands.

Ellie exhales, tilting her head up to the sky. “You ever think about how fucking weird this is?”

You glance at her, raising an eyebrow. “You mean the whole ‘I should be dead, but I’m not’ thing?”

She snorts. “Yeah. That.”

Silence trenches between you again, but this time it’s different—warmer. It lingers, pressing against your ribs, curling around your fingers as you pick at the frayed hem of your jeans.

“I wasn’t alone,” Ellie says suddenly, her voice quiet. “When I got bit, I mean.”

You look over at her, but she’s still staring at the sky.

Her fingers trace the mark on her arm absentmindedly. “Her name was Riley. She was my best friend. My…” she hesitates, her throat bobbing as she swallows. “More than that.”

You don’t say anything, just let her have the space to breathe through it.

Ellie sighs, her hands curling into fists. “We snuck into this mall together. We were just… being stupid kids, y’know? Drinking shitty alcohol, messing around, dancing like idiots.” A soft chuckle escapes her, but there’s no humor in it. “And then… the clickers came. I don’t even remember how it happened. One second, we were wearing Halloween masks and dancing, and the next, I’m curled into her side on the floor of the mall, my finger’s tracing over the bite on my arm.”

Her voice gets quieter, barely above a whisper. “We decided to wait it out together. Just… go crazy together. But then she turned, and I didn’t.”

She finally looks at you then, and there’s something raw in her eyes that makes your chest ache. “I kept waiting. I thought maybe it was just delayed. That maybe I’d turn later. But days passed, and nothing happened. And I had to—” she cuts herself off, blinking rapidly.

You reach out, fingers brushing against hers, and she exhales shakily, but doesn’t pull away.

“I was alone when I found out,” you admit, voice barely audible. “I was traveling with this group, people I barely knew. We got ambushed, and I got separated. A runner came out of nowhere, tackled me, and bit my hip just as I was about to shoot it.” You pause, your grip tightening slightly around Ellie’s hand. “I thought that was it. I just sat there, waiting to turn. Hours passed, then a day. Then another. And I was still me.”

Ellie’s gaze is locked onto you now, her breathing slow and steady.

“At first, I thought maybe I was just lucky. Maybe it was a fluke. But I couldn’t believe it, not really. So I tested it.” You swallow, your voice barely above a whisper. “Again. And Again.”

Ellie’s fingers tighten around yours, her expression shifting. “What do you mean?”

You turn your hand over, rolling up your sleeve, showing the faint, scattered scars along your arm. “I needed to be sure,” your voice is steady, but your heart pounds. “So I let them bite me.”

Ellie inhales sharply. “Jesus, Y/n.”

You shrug, but there’s no real weight to it. “I had to know. I had to be sure I wasn’t just hallucinating it.” You force out a chuckle, but it just comes out hollow. “Turns out, I’m really fucking immune.”

Ellie shakes her head, her thumb tracing absent circles against your skin. “That’s… fucking insane.”

“Yeah.”

Another pause. The wind picks up slightly, rustling the trees in the distance.

Ellie shifted in her chair, turning more toward you, her leg brushing against yours. “You were really going to give me your mask back there, huh?”

You met her gaze, something tender blooming between the two of you.

“My secret wasn’t worth you dying,” you admit softly. “I wasn’t gonna let you die.”

Ellie exhales, shaking her head with something between disbelief and fondness. “You’re an idiot.”

You huff out a laugh. “So are you.”

A small smile tugs at her lips, and Ellie watches you for a long moment, her fingers still brushing against yours, her eyes flickering down to your lips just once before darting back up. Your stomach flips.

You don’t think you just move.

Slowly, cautiously, you lean in.

Ellie doesn’t pull away. Her breath hitches, her fingers curling slightly against your palm as she tilts her head just enough to meet you halfway.

It’s soft. hesitant. Just the barest brush of lips, warm and tentative, like neither of you are quite sure you’re allowed to have this.

But then Ellie exhales against your mouth, something easing in her shoulders, and you both lean in just a little more.

It’s not desperate, not rushed—just the quiet understanding of two people who have spent so long being alone, finally finding something, someone, who makes the world feel a little less heavy.

When you finally pull back, Ellie’s eyes are still closed, her lips parted slightly.

She breathes out a laugh, quiet and disbelieving. “I think I like you.”

You grin, heartbeat hammering. “Yeah?”

Ellie opens her eyes, and there’s something so soft in the deep forest green that your heart feels as though it’s being squeezed.

“Yeah.”

The wind whistles through the trees, and for the first time in a long time, you feel like you can finally breathe.

If you enjoyed this one shot, please check out my other series!

#ellie willams x reader #ellie williams x reader #ellie the last of us #tlou ellie x reader #ellie x reader #ellie williams x y/n #ellie williams x female reader #ellie williams x you #tlou ellie #ellie x y/n #ellie williams #ellie x fem reader #ellie x you #the last of us x y/n #the last of us x you #the last of us x reader #the last of us

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weekendlusting · 2 days ago

Text

A TALE OF FAME

pairing ꪆৎ charles leclerc x ahaana patel ᥫ᭡. f1 driver x bollywood actress au

chapter ꪆৎ 4

summary ꪆৎ she's everything, and he just drives.

note ꪆৎ no hate to any characters used in the story, none of what i write reflects on how they actually are. all my love, happy reading.

The streetlights cast their golden glow on the slick cobblestone streets, as Monaco’s night embraced the quiet lull after the evening crowds had long since dispersed. Ahaana Patel had just finished another grueling reading session for Jigra, this time with Vedang Raina, her co star who plays the "jigra" in the movie, and Vasan Bala, the director of the movie.. The call had been buzzing with activity, the air thick with anticipation for the movie’s impending launch. But as she made her way through the still night, her mind wandered, caught between the excitement of returning to Bollywood and the unease of stepping back into a world she had once distanced herself from.

Her phone vibrated in her pocket. A quick glance at the screen revealed a message from Karan Johar, the producer who had not only rekindled her Bollywood career but was also, for better or worse, the force that pulled her back into this whirlwind. Ahaana smiled at the message: "Remember, tomorrow's reading important. Don't overthink it!"

Her smile faded as she shoved the phone back into her bag. It wasn’t just the upcoming filming that had her thoughts in a frenzy. The rain started slowly, as if the weather itself had decided to add an extra layer of drama to her already chaotic emotions. It drizzled gently at first, but quickly grew more intense. She was about to pull her umbrella out when a sudden gust of wind caught her off guard, flipping the umbrella inside out. With a frustrated huff, Ahaana gave up and wrapped her arms around herself, quickening her pace as she made her way toward the coffee shop she had promised herself as a refuge for the night.

Monaco had a way of shifting moods within hours, and the glamour of the Grand Prix could never quite prepare someone for the kind of solitude one might encounter in the city’s winding streets. The lights from cafes and bistros flickered softly, but the rain blurred their reflections, creating a dreamy, almost surreal atmosphere. Ahaana welcomed it—she needed this. A quiet moment where she could collect her thoughts and prepare herself for the whirlwind to come.

Her shoes splashed against the wet pavement as she hurried forward, the rain now soaking her to the bone. She didn’t mind—though it was cold, it was somehow soothing. The slight discomfort of the wet clothes reminded her that she was still human beneath the polished image people expected of her.

As she rounded a corner, her phone slipped from her hand, landing with a soft thud in the nearest puddle. Her breath caught as she quickly crouched down to retrieve it, wiping off the water that had already soaked into the screen.

“Great,” she muttered under her breath, before looking up.

It was then she heard the sound of an engine revving, the smooth hum of a car pulling up beside her. The headlights cut through the dark as the vehicle slowed down to a crawl. Ahaana barely had a chance to look up before a familiar voice broke through the quiet night.

"Underwater yet?”

She looked up, startled, only to meet Charles Leclerc’s amused face, framed by the dark interior of his sleek, black car.

“You seem to have a knack for finding me in the most inconvenient moments,” Ahaana said, her voice tinged with sarcasm but a playful glint in her eyes. She could feel her heart rate pick up slightly at the sight of him, and she tried to mask the sudden flutter with a nonchalant tone.

Charles raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. “I wouldn’t be so quick to judge. You seem to be doing quite well in your little adventure out in the rain. But if you’d like, I can offer you a ride.” He paused for effect. “Unless you plan on swimming to where you're going?”

Ahaana was about to brush him off, but something about his voice—calm, caring, and teasing all at once—made her pause. She glanced up at the coffee shop, now barely visible through the rain, and then back at Charles, his car still idling, waiting for her response.

“You don’t have to do that,” she began, though her body language was already betraying her. The chill from the rain was seeping deep into her bones, and she wasn’t in the mood for another cold walk to her destination. She shivered involuntarily as the wind picked up. “I’m sure your car is far too nice to have someone like me soaking up the seats.”

Charles chuckled, a warm, easy sound that seemed to cut through the damp night air. “It’s closer than that coffee shop, and I’m guessing you’re already a little too wet to care about how nice my car is.”

Ahaana tilted her head, her expression a mix of amusement and hesitation. “You know, you’re really hard to say no to.”

“I’ve been told,” he said, grinning as he opened the door to the passenger seat. “Come on, get in before you turn into an ice sculpture.”

Despite her internal resistance, Ahaana found herself walking toward the car, stepping in and shutting the door behind her. The warmth of the car enveloped her, and she let out a quiet sigh of relief as she settled into the plush seat. She immediately reached for her damp hair, trying to push it away from her face, but the rain had soaked through so thoroughly that it didn’t seem to matter.

Once inside, Ahaana groaned, pulling at her soaking wet sleeves. "Ugh, I’m going to catch pneumonia."

Charles reached into the backseat, pulling out a hoodie. "Here."

She hesitated before taking it, slipping it over her damp clothes. It was warm, slightly oversized, and smelled exactly like him—clean, fresh, with just a hint of something she couldn't quite place but immediately liked.

She let out a dramatic sigh. "I guess you’re not the worst Monaco tour guide. But only because you came with amenities."

Charles shook his head, a smile tugging at his lips as he started the car. "And here I thought I was making an impression."

Little did she know, she was making an impression on him instead.

“So,” Charles began, after a few moments of comfortable silence, his tone light but laced with a curiosity she hadn’t expected, “how’s Jigra going?”

Ahaana glanced at him, raising an eyebrow. “Not what I was expecting as small talk, but sure,” she said, her voice laced with mock surprise. “I thought you’d ask about something more stupid, like how you noticed my shirt is absolutely see through right now.”

Charles smirked at that, "Oh I definitely noticed that." To which Ahaana let out half a chuckle and a scoff. “But, I’m more interested in what’s really going on. Jigra is a big deal, right? Can I ask why? I mean this isn't the first intense film you've done, from what Max told me. And by his reaction that day I'm guessing there's more to this.”

“Keeping tabs on me are you?,” she teased, trying to lighten the tension in her shoulders because of his question, her gaze briefly drifting to the window as the rain slid down the glass in rivulets.

She turned back to look at Charles's magnificently handsome face, only to see him with a raised eyebrow as if asking her to elaborate. She sighed and said “It’s nothing. It's just something happened during my last film that I haven't quite gotten over yet. Of course I want to do this film, it's a great role, Satya is an amazing character to play. But it's not the acting I'm scared off, it's just weird for me to go back to film city right now.”

“Well, I don’t see you as the type to get scared of anything. I think you're gonna be just fine.” Charles’s voice was teasing, but it was also full of sincerity.

Ahaana’s gaze flicked back to him, and for a moment, their eyes locked. There was something about his presence—so steady, so grounded—that made her feel like she could exhale for the first time in weeks.

“You’d be surprised,” she said quietly. “I’ve had some time away from acting, and the pressure... it’s not what I remember. It’s a lot harder to let go of all the expectations people place on you.”

Charles looked at her thoughtfully, his fingers drumming lightly on the steering wheel. “I get it,” he said. “The weight of it all, the constant eyes, the pressure to keep being perfect. It’s exhausting. I’ve been there.”

Ahaana regarded him carefully, intrigued by his response. “So what do you do when it gets too much?”

He shrugged, a small, wistful smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I just keep going. It’s all you can do, right? And sometimes, when things feel a little too heavy, you find ways to laugh. You keep yourself grounded.”

Ahaana chuckled, her gaze softening. “I could use more of that, I think.”

“I can help with that,” he said, his voice playful but sincere. “I’m pretty good at keeping people grounded. Or at least distracted.”

“You seem to be very confident in your abilities,” Ahaana teased, her eyes narrowing with playful suspicion.

“Well, I have to be,” Charles said, his smirk widening. “It’s part of the job description.”

The light banter helped break the tension, and Ahaana found herself more comfortable than she had expected. The warmth of the car and the easy rhythm of their conversation was soothing in a way she hadn’t realized she needed.

They drove the short distance to Charles’s apartment in comfortable silence, the kind that only happens between people who don’t need constant chatter to fill the gaps. When they pulled into his garage, Ahaana looked up, taking in the sleek, modern building, the lights inside casting a warm glow across the driveway.

Charles parked, turned off the engine, and immediately got out of the car, moving quickly around to her side. As soon as the door opened, the cold hit her like a wave, and she stepped out gingerly, wrapping her arms around herself to try and stave off the chill.

“Come on,” Charles said gently, offering her a hand. His touch was warm and steady, and for a moment, Ahaana hesitated before taking it. His fingers curled around hers, firm but gentle as he led her through the entrance of the building.

As they walked through the door, Charles led her into the living room, which was a spacious, airy room filled with muted tones and sleek furniture. The whole place had a modern but homey vibe—like the kind of space someone could live in without it ever feeling cold or sterile. There was a large window that framed a perfect view of the glittering city below, the occasional car headlights cutting through the rainy night. It was peaceful.

“You can sit here,” Charles said, gesturing toward the sofa. “I’ll get you a towel.”

Ahaana lowered herself onto the soft cushions, still shivering as she wrapped her arms around herself. She felt self-conscious for a moment—being in his space, accepting his help—but her exhaustion, both physical and mental, quickly overtook that discomfort.

She looked around, her eyes landing on the sleek glass coffee table in front of her, the coffee cups left casually on the surface. It was clear that Charles’s place wasn’t overly formal, but it also wasn’t careless—it was a place he seemed to have carefully curated for his own comfort. And somehow, that made it feel even more personal.

Charles returned a few moments later with a thick towel in hand, his expression soft but determined. “Here, let’s get you dried off a bit. You’re absolutely freezing.”

Ahaana took the towel from him, a little reluctantly at first. But then she let out a small sigh and began drying her hair, pressing the fabric into her scalp to soak up the moisture. The heat from the towel, along with the warmth of the room, felt like a relief she hadn’t realized she needed. She could feel her body finally starting to ease into the comfort of the moment, though she couldn’t entirely shake the tension in her chest.

“Such chivalry,” she teased, her voice softer now, probably because she was freezing. “You sure you're not doing this to get laid Leclerc?.”

Charles, who had settled himself on the opposite end of the couch, looked at her with an expression that was equal parts amused and understanding. “Ahaana,” he began, his voice low and husky, sending a chill down Ahaana's spine, she didnt't know it was because of him or the cold, “Trust me baby, if I wanted to seduce you I wouldn't be offering you more clothes right now.”

Ahaana laughed, and just shook her head. “Alright, alright, knock it off.” she said, her voice lighter now. “I’ll take advantage of your hospitality for now.”

Charles chuckled, and for a moment, they simply sat in silence, letting the quiet fill the space between them. The steady beat of the rain outside continued, creating a rhythmic soundtrack to the peace that had settled over the apartment.

The soft hum of the rain against the windows had begun to settle into the background, a calming melody that accompanied the flickering warmth of the lights in Charles’s apartment. Ahaana, now thoroughly dried off, had settled back onto the couch, wrapped in the plush towel like a cocoon. The cold was starting to fade, and with it, the tension in her body. Still, there was a softness in the air, the kind that made it easy to stay in the moment without thinking too far ahead.

Charles, having noticed her growing comfort, stood up and moved to a nearby closet. “I’ve got a shirt you can borrow. It’s not fancy, but it’ll keep you warm.”

He returned with a simple black T-shirt in hand and offered it to her with a warm smile. Ahaana took it with a quiet, grateful nod, and without thinking much of it, slipped it on. The fabric, soft and oversized, enveloped her like a second skin. It was exactly what she needed—a little comfort, a little security.

Charles took a seat on the opposite end of the couch, his eyes never leaving her as she adjusted the shirt. “There. Much better,” he said, his voice easy and teasing, but with an undertone of something deeper—something that lingered just beneath the surface.

Ahaana chuckled, running a hand through her damp hair, trying to ignore the flutter in her chest. “I feel like I’m wearing a blanket,” she said, adjusting the shirt, feeling the coolness of the fabric against her skin. The way it hung on her made her feel both cozy and oddly exposed. “It’s... comfortable, though. Thanks.”

Charles nodded, still looking at her with that relaxed smile of his. “You’re welcome. And now, how about some coffee?”

Ahaana raised an eyebrow, laughing softly. “That sounds like heaven.” He grinned bright, moving toward the kitchen.

Ahaana smiled as she settled back into the couch, her legs folded under her. The apartment was quiet now, save for the rain that pattered against the windows. Charles’s space felt more like a retreat than a home—a sanctuary of sleek, minimalist design with subtle hints of personal warmth. The dim glow of the lights created soft shadows around the room, highlighting the simple elegance of his furnishings.

When Charles returned with two mugs of steaming coffee, he handed one to her before sitting down. He took a deep breath and let the steam rise from his cup, savoring the warmth before looking back at her.

The soft hum of the rain against the windows and the warm, cozy glow of Charles’s living room created an atmosphere that was far from what Ahaana expected when she’d stepped out of her hotel earlier that evening. Her clothes were still a little damp, but the T-shirt she’d borrowed from Charles fit her in that way that made her feel comfortable yet oddly aware of the fact that it wasn’t hers. It was just the right amount of snug, and the familiar scent of Charles’s cologne lingered faintly on the fabric, making it hard to ignore the closeness between them.

As she sat on the couch, sipping the coffee Charles had thoughtfully handed her, she felt an unexpected sense of ease. The tension of the evening—the rain, the rush, the impromptu ride—had faded into something softer, something gentler.

Charles had settled back in the armchair across from her, his gaze not quite focused on anything, as if he were trying to read her. She noticed how he ran his hand through his hair absentmindedly, the gesture casual but endearing. The way he looked at her, though—there was something undeniably different about it. She could feel it in the air, in the way he leaned forward slightly, as if he were hanging on to every word she said.

"Not bad, huh?" Charles finally spoke, breaking the silence that had fallen between them. His voice was warm, easy, like the most natural thing in the world.

Ahaana took a small sip of her coffee, then met his eyes with a playful grin. "Not bad at all. This whole place—it’s very… you."

Charles smirked, clearly amused by her response. "I like to think it’s got a little charm." He leaned back, stretching his legs out in front of him. "I mean, it's not a mansion or anything, but it’s home."

Ahaana tilted her head, glancing around the sleek apartment. The minimalist décor, the soft lighting—it did have a certain charm, but there was something else about it. It felt warm, lived in. "It’s… very cozy, actually."

Charles’s expression softened a little, and he smiled. "Cozy is good. I like cozy." He paused, and for a moment, the easy banter they’d been sharing turned into something a little more genuine, a little more introspective. "I guess we all need a place where we can just… be ourselves, right?"

Ahaana thought for a moment, her fingers tracing the rim of her coffee mug absentmindedly. "Yeah," she said quietly, her voice soft but steady. "I think I’ve been looking for that. A place where I can just… not be in the spotlight for a while."

The vulnerability in her voice didn’t escape Charles’s notice. He shifted in his seat, leaning slightly forward. "Well, you’ve got it here, Ahaana. No one’s watching. Just… you and me."

Ahaana caught the glint of sincerity in his eyes and felt a flutter in her chest. She wasn’t used to moments like this—moments where everything wasn’t so complicated. The world outside didn’t matter in this little bubble they’d created, just the two of them, drinking coffee in the glow of candlelight, the rain outside acting as a backdrop.

Before she could respond, Charles gave her a playful grin, as if the moment had slipped back into something lighter. "Hey, you know," he said, tapping his mug with his fingers, "I think this might be the most spontaneous evening I’ve had in a while."

Ahaana chuckled, her eyes sparkling. "Spontaneous? You almost ran me over in the rain. I’d call that an accident, not a plan."

Charles laughed, the sound easy and light. "Okay, fair point," he said, raising his hands in mock surrender. "But I’m kind of glad it happened."

Ahaana raised an eyebrow, her smile playful. "Really? You’re glad I nearly got hypothermia?"

He shrugged, the corners of his lips curling up into that endearing half-smile that she’d already come to find impossible to ignore. "Well, maybe not the getting drenched part. But I don’t mind the company."

Ahaana felt a warmth spreading through her chest, not from the coffee, but from his words. There was something so easy about Charles—the way he didn’t overthink things, the way his humor made her forget about the little worries she carried with her. He didn’t expect anything from her, just… enjoyed being around her.

"I guess I don’t mind the company either," Ahaana said, her voice a little quieter this time, but the smile on her lips was genuine.

For a few seconds, neither of them said anything. The silence between them was comfortable, almost like it wasn’t something that needed to be filled with words. Ahaana let her gaze wander, noticing the subtle details of his apartment again—the simple elegance of it all, the way the dim candlelight made everything feel more intimate, more… personal. She hadn’t realized how much she liked being in his space until now. It felt welcoming in a way that she wasn’t sure she was ready for.

Charles broke the silence with a half-laugh, pulling her attention back to him. "You know," he said, his voice a little quieter, "I’m not used to being so… relaxed. It’s kind of nice."

Ahaana leaned back on the couch, glancing at him through half-lidded eyes. "Well, maybe you should get used to it. Relaxing seems like something you don’t do enough."

He tilted his head, meeting her gaze with a hint of something deeper, a subtle curiosity. "What makes you think that?"

Ahaana shrugged, tapping her mug gently against her lips. "Just a feeling. You look like you could use more quiet nights, less racing around the world."

Charles looked at her for a long moment, his eyes flicking down to her lips before meeting her eyes again. For a brief second, something in the air shifted between them—something that made her heartbeat skip a little. The way he looked at her, the way he was so unguarded in that moment, it made her feel like she was the only one in the room.

Before either of them could say anything more, the lights suddenly flickered. Both of them looked up in surprise as the apartment was plunged into darkness.

"Great," Charles muttered, but there was no frustration in his voice. It was more an amused sigh, as if this was just another one of those small, inconvenient moments that life liked to throw at him.

Ahaana couldn’t help but laugh at the timing. "Seriously? What is it with tonight and things going wrong?"

Charles smiled, shaking his head. "You should’ve stayed in your hotel room."

But Ahaana, her lips curling into a playful grin, leaned forward, resting her chin in her hand. "I’m glad I didn’t. It’s… more interesting this way."

Charles raised an eyebrow, clearly amused by her response. "More interesting, huh?"

"Yeah," she said, her voice light, but there was something in it that made Charles’s heart beat a little faster. "You’re not so bad to hang out with."

Charles let out a small laugh. "I try my best."

Charles quickly got up and dug up some candles to help. Charles placed the candles and Ahaana lit them up using the lighter, both working like a well oiled machine in silence.

The flickering candlelight cast long shadows across the room, creating an intimate ambiance that seemed to cocoon the two of them in a little world of their own. Charles’s eyes never fully left Ahaana’s, even as she casually took another sip from her coffee. There was something magnetic about her tonight—something that made him want to keep her here, to keep talking to her, to keep feeling like the moments they shared weren’t just fleeting.

The rain continued to tap against the windows in soft, rhythmic beats, the sound almost comforting in its consistency. Outside, Monaco was bathed in soft lights, but inside Charles’s apartment, the world felt small and quiet—just the two of them, the gentle hum of the night, and the occasional flicker of the candle.

Ahaana shifted in her seat, adjusting the shirt of Charles’s she was still wearing. It hung loosely on her, the sleeves slightly rolled up, revealing a glimpse of her toned arms. The comfort of the shirt seemed to settle her into a kind of quiet relaxation that had been absent earlier in the evening, when she was still tense from the cold rain and her doubts. Now, she felt lighter somehow—lighter, and more at ease.

Charles watched her, his gaze softening as he saw the shift in her posture, the way she almost looked like she belonged here, in this moment, in this space.

"Are you sure you don’t mind me staying?" Ahaana asked, her voice soft but carrying a hint of uncertainty. She had been a little hesitant to let herself fully relax, but the night had unfolded in ways she hadn’t expected. It was strange, staying at someone’s place in the middle of a rainstorm, especially when that person was someone who had been slowly worming his way into her thoughts more and more.

"Are you kidding?" Charles said with a smile, his tone light, but there was an earnestness beneath it that caught her attention. "It’s late, and it’s a downpour out there. You’re not going anywhere." He didn’t make it sound like an imposition; if anything, it came off as more of an invitation, a quiet assurance that this moment wasn’t just a passing thing.

The room fell into another moment of comfortable silence, but this time, it was different. There was a certain ease to it, a kind of understanding that they didn’t need to fill the space with words all the time. They both seemed to be lost in their own thoughts, yet still very much present with each other.

Charles broke the silence, his voice soft. "You know… I never really get nights like this. Where everything just feels… simple. Easy."

Ahaana turned to look at him, a little surprised by his admission. She’d never expected him to open up like that. He had always been the one to deflect, to keep things light. But tonight, it was as if the walls between them had started to come down, just a little bit.

"Yeah?" she asked, her voice almost gentle now, as if she, too, was starting to understand just how rare this moment was.

"Yeah," he replied with a smile that was almost shy, as if he wasn’t used to sharing this side of himself. "I’m usually running from one thing to the next, you know? Racing. But this… this feels different, refreshing."

Ahaana tilted her head, watching him closely, her gaze thoughtful. "I get it," she said after a pause, her voice barely above a whisper. "I feel like that too. Like I’m always… running. Running from something, or towards something, but never really stopping to… just be." She didn’t realize how much she had said until the words were already out. But once she’d said them, it was like a small weight lifted off her shoulders. Talking about it didn’t seem so hard anymore.

Charles was quiet for a moment, his eyes never leaving hers. The intensity in his gaze made her feel both exposed and understood. He wasn’t judging her; he was just listening. And in that moment, Ahaana felt a shift—a subtle change in the air. She wasn’t sure if it was just the night, the rain, or the quiet intimacy of the moment, but something between them was starting to change.

"I think I know what you mean," he said, his voice steady, yet there was a vulnerability in it that she hadn’t expected. "Sometimes it’s hard to just… be. But tonight, it feels okay. With you."

She smiled, her heart fluttering lightly at the sincerity in his words. "Yeah," she agreed softly, her voice barely audible. "Tonight feels okay."

A few beats passed in silence, but this time, it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was the kind of silence that felt full, complete. As if they had said everything that needed to be said without really saying it all.

Then, Charles stood up suddenly, drawing her attention. "You want some more coffee?" he asked, his tone light but sincere, like he was trying to keep things casual, even though everything inside him was starting to feel… different.

Ahaana nodded, not trusting herself to speak at first, so she just watched him move around the kitchen, preparing another cup for her. She felt the pull between them intensifying with every moment. Every glance. Every word. Something was happening, something neither of them had expected.

And Ahaana, despite her usual reservations, couldn’t deny it anymore. There was a growing connection, a magnetic pull that she couldn’t walk away from, no matter how hard she tried to convince herself otherwise.

When Charles came back with the coffee, their hands brushed as he passed it to her, and for a brief moment, the electricity between them crackled again. Ahaana glanced up at him, their eyes meeting in a long, silent exchange, and she couldn’t help but feel the shift in her heart.

The air between them crackled, and Ahaana couldn’t deny it anymore. There was something building. Something… undeniable.

She looked at him now, watching him with an intensity she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. His features were soft in the candlelight, the slight stubble on his chin giving him a rugged edge that contrasted with the quiet warmth of his eyes. There was a sincerity in his gaze, a depth that made her heart flutter and her thoughts scatter. The way he looked at her made her feel as if she were the only person in the room, the only person that mattered.

Charles noticed her gaze, and for a moment, he forgot to breathe. His heart beat a little faster. There was something about the way Ahaana looked at him—something that made him feel seen in a way he hadn’t in a long time. The teasing, the playful banter—they had all melted away, leaving only this unspoken tension between them. He couldn’t quite place it, but he knew it was real. He knew that this—this—was something that wasn’t just going to slip away.

His eyes lingered on hers, his breath catching in his throat. It wasn’t until the silence stretched just a little too long that he realized he was leaning forward slightly, drawn in by the magnetic pull between them. He didn’t want to move too quickly. Didn’t want to make it awkward or force something that wasn’t there. But the way her lips parted ever so slightly, the way her chest rose and fell as she exhaled—he could feel the heat between them, the undeniable tension in the space that neither of them had been able to ignore.

Ahaana, too, felt the tension, the charged energy swirling between them. It was like something was building, an invisible force that neither of them could quite name, but both of them were painfully aware of. Her heart was beating faster, her breath coming a little more shallow than usual, and she felt that familiar pull toward him, a magnetic force that made her want to close the space between them, to see where this moment could go.

She swallowed, and for a brief moment, she considered pulling away. But the thought was fleeting. She didn’t want to walk away from this, not tonight, not with him. Something about being here, in this space, with him—it felt right. She had spent so much time running from feelings, from connections, but with Charles, everything felt like it was aligning in ways she couldn’t explain.

And then, as if drawn by an invisible thread, she leaned forward just a fraction, her eyes never leaving his. The space between them was so small now, so unbearably close. She could feel the warmth radiating off him, could smell the faint scent of his cologne mingling with the rich, earthy aroma of the coffee. Her pulse quickened, and she wondered if he could feel it too.

Charles, his heart racing in his chest, felt the air shift once more. He could barely hear the rain anymore; it was just the sound of their breath, the beating of their hearts that filled the silence. Everything else fell away, and for that one charged moment, it was just the two of them. He could see the vulnerability in Ahaana’s eyes, the way her lips parted ever so slightly, like she was holding her breath, waiting for something. He couldn’t help but lean in just a little more, his body betraying him as his mind tried to process what was happening.

“Charles,” Ahaana whispered, her voice soft and tentative, but there was a hint of something else in it now, something unspoken that made his chest tighten. She was so close now, too close, and yet she didn’t pull away.

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he took a slow breath, as if trying to steady himself. He was so close to her now, he could almost feel her heartbeat matching his. He could see the flicker of uncertainty in her eyes, the hesitation that still lingered. And yet, something told him that she wasn’t pulling away, that she was waiting for something, just like he was.

His hand moved almost without thinking, gently reaching out to brush a strand of hair away from her face, the simple gesture sending a rush of warmth through him. As his fingers grazed her skin, he felt an electric jolt shoot through him. He hadn’t meant to touch her like that—not in this moment—but it felt… natural.

Ahaana’s breath hitched at the touch, and her eyes fluttered closed for a second, the heat of the moment washing over her. When she opened her eyes again, they were locked on his, the distance between them barely a breath apart. She could feel the tension between them building, the charge in the air almost unbearable. She could feel her own pulse quickening, and for a split second, she thought about pulling back. But she couldn’t.

Without even realizing it, she leaned in just a little closer, her body moving toward his as if guided by some invisible force. The intensity in the air was palpable now, thick with unspoken words, unspoken desires.

And then, as if the universe itself had decided to intervene, the moment stretched just a fraction too long, and neither of them could hold back any longer. Charles’s gaze dropped to her lips, and he could feel his own lips part slightly, his breath coming faster. Ahaana mirrored his movements, her lips trembling ever so slightly, but she didn’t pull away. Instead, she closed the final bit of space between them.

Just as their lips were about to meet, the thunder cackled very very loudly outside, lightening up the room more.

Both of them froze. The tension snapped, and the moment was broken—shattered by the sudden power outage.

For a split second, they just stood there, their faces inches apart, both breathing heavily, both still caught in the aftershock of what had almost happened.

Ahaana was the first to pull away, her breath a little unsteady. She didn’t know whether to laugh or to apologize. "Well… that was… unexpected," she said softly, her voice breathless.

Charles let out a nervous chuckle, his hand still hovering in the space between them, his fingers twitching as if they were still reaching for her. "Yeah…."

Ahaana glanced around the room, now lit only by the flickering candlelight. The entire ambiance had changed—still charged, still full of possibility, but now laced with a touch of awkwardness that neither of them knew how to navigate.

"Well, um we should go to bed," Ahaana said, trying to lighten the mood, though her voice still held that slight tremor from what had almost happened. She couldn’t look at him directly; instead, she focused on the candle flame, the dancing light keeping her from meeting his eyes.

"Yeah," Charles replied, his voice low, his eyes still searching hers. "Get some sleep, yeah."

Ahaana nodded, though the words felt heavy in her mouth. "Yeah."

Neither of them moved immediately. The tension was still there, still crackling, but now it was tempered by the uncertainty of what had just happened. Neither of them was sure where to go from here, but both of them knew that whatever had almost happened, it hadn’t been the end. It was just the beginning.

And neither of them was ready to walk away from that, not yet.

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ᝰ.ᐟ fourth part! hope you guys like it!

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tags @seonghwaexile @bookishprophecy @justadesirebel @peterholland04 @bakingpiastries @ricciardosheart @mikefaistgf @sp1rl @charlesgirl16 @leila-030304 @uhcalli @blahblechblah @phobiccneel @blushmimi

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