#if she's in the game i'll be so ill. i need it

[stealingpotatoes]

POTES GETS TRAUMATISED BY KOTOR!

i was gonna part 2 of this when I got to the end but i got to That Bit™ this morning and i need to tell everyone ever (im aware im probably towards the end of the game now but still plz dont spoil i assume theres more insane shit to come!!)

without further ado, sessions 7-9:

seven rhymes w revan so they better show tf up now

this game is so pretty esp when you land the ship

CARTH HAD A WIFE AND SON?????? CHRIST POOR GUY SAUL SUCKS

omg they never found the son that feels potentially relevant

'they didnt send a master bc itd draw too much attention' bastila, malak is obsessed with u rn i think that mission has been failed

wow so the council sent juhani with me just bc my vibes are so great

i might sound completely batshit insane for this but with all these redemption themes/talks i keep thinking abt 1. the fact i was so certain u played as revan 2. that revan is never given pronouns like ur supposed to pick their pronouns and 3. i have amnesia and im good at being a jedi (+ they clearly know smthn i dont). im not gonna say it bc i will look incredibly stupid if im wrong but do u pick up my theory. do u pick up what im putting down

ok that feels like the biggest reach in history PLEASE IM CLEARLY GOING CRAZY JUST SHOW ME REVANNN PLEASEEEEEEEE

i don’t even know if i have amnesia tbh but nobody’s given me a chance to prove i don’t

they could just be trying to make revan extra mysterious w the pronouns. i think im talking to carth too much, him not trusting anyone is making me not trust the game now im worried the lack of pronouns is there to hide their identity for some betrayal LMAO

oop i thought bringing zaalbar would be a good idea but apparently hes an exile. great

is stopping slavery even the jedi way cause qui-gonn sure as shit didnt do that in tpm

ZAALBAR'S DAD IS CHIEF??

i should bring Mission on this meet-zaalbar's-dad thing but shes 14 and i dont want to bring her into active combat scenarios ok

ok zaalbar's dad WAS chief. odds on him being this 'mad-claw'

A JEDI?

a grouchy hermit jedi!!!

why am i allowed to use the computer what previous user would make it usable for ME?????? SUSPICIOUS

what if im a wattpad character and revan is my older sibling or cousin

this is star wars, The Family Drama Franchise, im not ruling out that theyre my dad. my woke nonbinary dad

I LOVE THIS BUILDERS MYSTERY WHO TF WERE THEY. THEY MADE KASHYYK A FOREST!!! THEYRE SO COOL!!! I LOVE AN ANCIENT PEOPLES MYSTERY

was the builders my evil dad is this like assassins creed (everyone else has parental issues i'll feel left out if i don't have any)

big fan of how creepy the forest mandos are

im fighting little beasties and a massive beastie. this is just like jfo

well we dealt with a planet of slavers and helped with Zaalbar's daddy issues, now it's time to go to a new planet of slavers and help with Bastila's mummy issues!!!

DARTH BANDON (ill call him brandon out of disrespect) SHOWED UP AND IMMEDIATELY THREW A RANDOM GUARD INTO A TERMINAL INJURING 2 OTHERS. AND HE LOOKS LIKE AN EVIL SIMS 2 TOWNIE bet hes lowkey mid

malak you will never replace your best friend revan with this brandon fucker. and revan is going to be MY best friend soon when i find them

massive fan of how imperial tatooine looks near the same as it did in kotor 4000 years ago. this planet is the true no.1 shithole ever

btw the 8th fast n furious was called f8 of the furious

im still so scared that revan's pronoun sitch means they're gonna be someone i know like what if revan is already my best friend CAN SOMEONE JUST TELL ME I DONT HAVE AMNESIA SO I CAN RELAX AND AT LEAST RULE OUT THE CRACK THEORY OF ME BETRAYING MYSELF

whatever let's think about the fact i'm on the sand shithole. fuck this star map bastila where's your mum i want some soap opera drama

WHY DOES EVERYWHERE CHARGE ME 100 CREDITS

tatooine used to be a lush green planet??? arrakis who?

omg this guy knows carth does everyone on tatooine know my friends

HIS SON IS W THE SITH??????

'he must be a man by now' how old are you carth i thought you were like 30 at most. carth were you a child bride

when are we gonna run into someone who knows ME so i can dispute the amnesia allegations

AH! BASTILA'S BITCH-MUM JUST ASKED ME IF I TALK TO MY MOTHER LIKE THAT AND I GOT OPTIONS!! IS THIS EVIDENCE AGAINST MY AMNESIA???? AM I A REAL CHARACTER??????? GET IN!!! I HAD A MOTHER

i love how bastila n her mum havent seen each other in presumably like 20 years and yet their reunion was so immediately hostile

or more than 20 years who knows how old any of my companions are carth apparently has an adult son!!!

the only person i can trust is mission who is for sure 14 and the old men who are old man aged

thank god there was a guy who immediately told me the nonlethal option for the tuskens i thought i was gonna have to search for it

just did baby's first savescum cause i accidentally picked a dark side option and my friends were sad LOL

THE WAY HK47 SAID "shall i kill something for you? (:" LMAO IM IN LOVE W IT ALREADY

LMAOO HK IS ALMOST ALL THE WAY INTO THE DARK SIDE METER

having bastila and hk at the same time feels like having an angel and a devil on my shoulder every time they chime in on dialogue

i love them

MEATBAGS

"would you rather be caught with contraband that is very illegal or just a little illegal" "whats the difference" "about 20 years, master" HE IS MY FAVOURITE

love getting the murderdroid to do peace negotiations

hilarious that we're negotiating in our underwear

tatooine really makes you realise that this game is a walking simulator

LETS GO FIGHT A DRAGON

but respectfully. bc im a jedi

fun fact if you walk straight into the cave without using the hunter guy's mines then you will die and have to reload your save. not saying i know this from experience bc i just did exactly that and died or anything it's just a random fact i know

dragon: exploded

DARTH BRANDON??!??!?!?!

NOW TELL ME WHERE REVAN IS YOU SHITBRICKED SON OF A BITCH ok hes dead he cant tell me anything

bastila is drawn to landmines like a moth to a flame she loves getting exploded by them

BASTILA'S MUMMY ISSUES: SOLVED

i should be an intergalactic family issues counsellor. my character could've solved vaderkin and luke's whole thing in less than one film

bastila just PAID ME A COMPLIMENT INSTEAD OF NAGGING ME! CALL THE UH-- i guess star wars doesnt have the vatican just uhhh idk tell yoda when he's born

i love this game bc you get a very distinct feeling that they pulled '4000 years' out of a hat and didnt think about how the buildings or technology would be different. in 4000 years all that's changed on tatooine is how many towns there are but i guess it's the law of diminishing returns or whatever

WE’RE BEING TRACTOR-YOINKED???

why are we in our underwear. saul you pervert

what history between us

WHAT HISTORY SAUL. WHAT HISTORY

WHAT HISTORY?!!!!!!?!!????

what does he MEAN my loyalties are switching WHAT FUCKING HISTORYY

LMAOOO you can say the academy was on alderaan instead of dantooine thats such a good anh reference

THE JEDI ON DANTOOINE HAVE BEEN KILLED?!!?!!!! WHAT IM NO LONGER LMAO-ING

WHAT THE HELL CAN I HAVE A SECOND TO PROCESS EVERYTHIN

sorry carth i got you soooo electrocuted it was for the republic tho

seriously WHAT THE DANTOOINE JEDI CANT BE DEAD LIKE ??????? what????? no??? master tortimer???

LMAOOO HALF NAKED JOLEE IS GONNA KILL A SHIP

NAKED OLD MAN RAMPAGE LETS GOO!!

this is good we should get out of here but also can we ask saul and malak what the fuck he meant by history

presumably?? i was a sith before?? my amnesiacs??? like that seems certain going off saul's comments

god if the crack theory was right im gonna cry i dont even want to think abt the implications of that

at least my amnesia has been semi-confirmed. or i have an evil twin

LMAO JOLEE HAS NO ARMOUR PROFICIENCY ALL HE CAN WEAR IS HIS UNDIES. NAKED OLD MAN RAMPAGE CONTINUES!

“i have an army” “we have a naked old man”

rip naked old man times i have my equipment back

bastila thinks we can't fight malak but i literally have grenades we'll be fine

also i want to talk to him what the fuck did saul mean we had history. is MALAK my evil dad??? (i dont want 2 think abt the alternative option)

IM IN SPACE!!!!! IN A SPACE SUIT

what the hell do they put in these star wars games man, kotor is reaching jfo/js levels of "basically coke for me"

i cant think of a session nine pun i just wanna play it

CONTINUING ON FROM BEING IN SPACE LETS GO PUNCH SAUL IN SPACE

the crack theory can't be right its just a crack theory i'm not. like im just a normal woman i cant be ya know. i dont even wanna say it

SAUL PLEASE TELL ME I DONT HAVE AMNESIAAA

omg YES WE GET TO KILL SAUL!! GAME OF THE YEAR!!

HES ALIVE WHAT THE FUCK DID HE TELL YOU CARTH. WHAT THE FUCK DID THE WHOLE JEDI COUNCIL KNOW

CAN YOU GUYS TELL ME

WHY IS THE ONLY DIALOGUE OPTION LET'S MOVE ON. I DONT WANT TO MOVE ON TELL ME WHAT THE FUCK YOU GUYS ARE TALKING ABOUT

ah! malak! you bitch!

REUNION? VENGEANCE?? OH GOD NO

NO

ITS SHOWING ME THE EVIDENCE

OH IT WAS CARTH WHO SAID ABT THE MEMORY WIPING IT WASNT A LOADING SCREEN TIP

NO

WHAT

NO??????????? NO

IT WAS SUPPOSED TO BE A CRACK THEORY IT WAS SUPPOSED TO BE A CRAZY REACH I WASN'T SUPPOSED TO BE RIGHT

OH MY GOD OH MY GOD

wow revan (my???) eyes are fucked up

AGH HE CALLED ME REVAN

OH MY GOD

I WAS ALWAYS PLAYING AS REVAN

THIS WHOLE TIME. I WAS NEVER PLAYING AS SOME RANDOM CLOWN WHO IVE GROWN TO LOVE AS A CHARACTER. I WAS ALWAYS PLAYING AS REVAN

WHY IS THERE NOT A DIALOGUE OPTION TO HAVE A PANIC ATTACK I NEED TO HAVE A PANIC ATTACK

FUCK MAN ILL HAVE ONE IN REAL LIFE AT THIS RATE THERES NO WAY

i dont feel like im abt to cry but i kind of want to cry anyway what the HELL MAN

IT GETS WORSE EVERY TIME HE CALLS ME REVAN IM IN MROE AND MORE SHOCK

LIKE IVE BEEN PHYSICALLY GASPING ON REPEAT N SAYING NO OUT LOUD. IF I WAS HOME ALONE I THINK ID BE SCREAMING

there has got to be a speneva (space geneva) convention against this this seems so illegal

i literally cannot work out if this is better or worse than death. tbh it is death like the body lives but they stole my fucking brain man what the hell BASTILA I THOUGHT WE WERE FUCKING FRIENDS

oh my god she said "to capture revan… to capture you" WHY DOES IT HURT MORE WHEN MY FRIEND BASTILA CALLS ME REVAN

STOP CALLING ME REVAN MY NAME IS LEALA MACHAI THATS THE NAME IVE HAD FOR THE LAST 16 HOURS THATS MY NAME SHUT UP SHUT UP

NO STOP CALLING ME REVAN BASTILA!!!!

malaks a fuckin pussy he keeps running away

WHAT NO BASTILA DONT SACRIFICE YOURSELF DONT DO THAT STOP BASTILA WE CAN TAKE HIM IVE BEEN BEATING HIM 1V1 HES FUCKING EASY TO FIGHT COME BACK

NO I DONT WANT TO LEAVE HER!!!!!!! THATS;. SHE LIED TO ME BUT SHES STILL MY FRIEND BASTILA NO CARTH I DONT WANT TO LEAVE HER I NEED TO TALK TO HER

jesus mary joseph and the little donkey im revan. what the hell. im revan

this whole time

JOLEE IS STILL NAKED LMAO

yes mission! yes i love you yes it just matters who i am now yes exactly

CARTH DONT CALL ME REVAN I WILL START CRYING

thank you mission and zaalbar youre real ones

THANK U CANDEROUS

jolee knew but im not pissed off he wanted me to find out on my own and it wasnt his place to say, candy-o respects my/revan’s defeating his ppl and is the first person to make revan not sound like a slur

HK WAS MY DROID THIS WHOLE TIME?? HE WAS MY ASSASSIN DROID???????? LMAO AMAZING ok i feel less bad i can be revan if it means hk was mine all along

omg yay that means i DID run into someone i knew on tatooine just like carth and bastila!

tatooine must be crazy to do as the last planet lmao like does hk immediately go WADDUP MASTER and you cant even solve bastila's mummy issues bc shes not there. good thing i already did it

LMAOO CANDEROUS BEING LIKE girl its the force anything can happen its not just convenient

am i the force's specialest girl

yay carth listened to everyone and UNDERSTOOD THAT WHATEVER SHOCK HES FEELING I AM FEELING IT MUCH MUCH WORSE GODDAMNIT

agh no what the hell i just have to go about my day now?? i just have to work now????? until i can play the rest later?? when that just happened???????? i need bereavement leave

ive closed the game but im just blankly staring at my computer screen. what the hell. what the hell man

i have never felt so violated and traumatised by a bunch of pixels

somehow it feels worse that i basically clocked it but then was immediately like nahhh thats an insane reach, anyway! like somehow that feels worse than if i'd just never thought it was a possibility

what the fuck man what the fuck

POTES SEMI-LIVEBLOGS KOTOR!

ive been writing my thoughts in the notes app but due to popular demand (one person asked for it) i'm posting my liveblogging DO NOT SAY/TAG/COMMENT SPOILERS PLEASE i read tags

warning im a yapper, im 10 hours in and theres a lot already (separated into sessions):

SESSION 1

whos this clown i thought i would be playing as revan

ive been too spoiled by dragon age origins this character creator sucks ass

only human???? ): fr?? ill just imagine her different in my brain or some shit

my life is being mansplained to me. is this bad writing or do i have amnesiacs

hes meta now??? hes talking abt the screen controls?????

omg a jedi and an evil jediii

omg their asses suckedddd they both died immediately

i <3 bringing a sword to a gun fight

WHY R THERE SO MANY SITH WHERE IS TJE RULE OF TWO

i clicked a workbench and it said lightsaber so either i get a lightsaber or i get a jedi friend whose lightsaber i can steal if im careful

I assume u play as revan in kotor2 so im gonna buy that now so i can play it when im done playing w this clown

i got light side points im getting a good grade in game morality which is something both normal to want and possible to achieve

everyone keeps saying revan is dead but thats my friend revan from tumblr hes clearly alive. or they???

my characters ass is distractingly present onscreen

huge fan of the way everyone collapsed drunk what the FUCK was in that wine

ok these sith ppl might be the bad guys but their armour is DRIPPY AS FUCK

ideologically i dont agree w the sith but they kinda went off w the fits

googling how to become a sith without being evil cause they have Drip

SESSION 2

i paid £1.19 to see revan he better show up in this game at some point

all these sith n i still cant find one revan….. stop faking ur death rn come out n talk to me babygirl this isnt like u….

why can i be light/dark side if im not a jedi. give me a laser sword

maybe this jedi gyal will know where revan is faking his death. or give me a fuckin lightsaber PLEASEEE

was just thinking 'does this game have romance' and then carth called me beautiful. i dont think im gonna romance anyone until i get this amnesia sorted

why is carth questioning me so much abt the crash im pretty sure i have amnesia

why tf did the jedi lady have me transferred to this ship are we in lesbians with each other???

carth's not wrong it is suspicious but i lowkey have amnesia so i coulda done that i coulda not

a lot of clone wars voice actors in this. was lucasfilm so broke in the 2000s that they could only afford the same 3 VAs for every project

mission is 14??????? we need to get my girl back in school

SESH 3

tale as old as time i fucking suck at racing games

ok i didnt realise you had to mash click i won

REVAN!!! REVAN!!!!!!!!!

why am i dreaming abt revan tho. real as hell but ?????

lmao cringe revan getting blown up. i thought the jedi beat rev-meister in a fight but no. accident

"such visions are often a sign of force sensitivity" COOL YAY GIVE ME A LIGHTSABER

BASTILLE LOST HER FUCKING LIGHTSABER??

CARTH IS RIGHT THATS LIKE DAY ONE JEDI SHIT. ok i still love her even tho shes a bit of a bitch and also doesnt have a saber

if we find a lightsaber im taking it first tho

whys carth getting weird abt me being weird that he doesnt trust me. i just wanna be friends mate

SESH IV: A NEW HOPE

'i mean no disrespect, but perhaps one of the male slaves could serve you better' i went in here to start a slave revolution and instead got called a lesbo

LMAO THERES A SPICE LAB???? WALTER WHITE WHERE ARE YOU

thats insaneee they blew up BILLIONS of people to get to one jedi?????? these sith arent fucking around theyre scary

UM THIS IS CRAZY GRAPHICS THE LIGHTING IS CLEARER/DARKER WHEN I COVER THE SUN W THE SHIP EDGE?? 2003 IS THE YEAR OF THE FUTURE

someone just called me padawan i kinda assumed i was in my late 20s do i just have baby vibes

all the jedi in the movies are so chill but every kotor jedi i've met so far has been a bit of a bitch

YO THEY HAVE A YODA!!! its not THE yoda but

cool so these guys are just the regional managers at best. your asses are not the council

why can everyone smell my force juju so strong

THATS STRAIGHT UP YODA'S CLONE WARS VA

why does fake yoda not blink both eyes at the same time. im calling him master tortimer he reminds me of the animal crossing mayor

bastila there was no need for such a fancy bow

malak is like evil aang

revan is so much shorter than malak omg

are me and bastila sharing dreams. are we both obsessed w revan

poor mission ):

WHAT WAS MASTER TORTIMER ABT TO SAY????????? EVER SINCE WHEN??? DID WE KNOW EACH OTHER BEFORE MY AMNESIACS????? DID BASTILA TELL U SMTHN MORE WHEN I WASNT IN THE ROOM???

im intrigued i like this whole hidden jedi shtick its very compelling. so is whatever theyre hiding from me

kinda surprising no jedi found me before tho given my force juju is so strong

IM A LEGIT JEDI NOW??? SICK!!!

does revan rlly not have pronouns i thought that was a tumblr thing but they straight up are a nonbinary icon ive never heard a single pronoun used. revan's pronouns are revan/revan's

damn revan seems so cool in these stories (charismatic war hero that convinced their troops to join them as conqueror?? julius caesar) and yet all we've seen them do onscreen is get blown up and die by accident

A YEAR AGO? the way they were talking i assumed revan died like. a week before the game started

master uh i forgot his name he has martin scorcese vibes said revan was a paragon of the jedi so what im getting is that all jedi gifted kids turn evil

even if i didnt know revan as a tumblr darling id KNOW revan has to be alive somewhere they way everyone talks abt them is too cool for a character who exploded and died. i think. i hope. I PAID £1.19 TO MEET REVAN

'only you and bastila can stop malak' seriously????? just us two?? ive been a jedi for like, 6 minutes and you guys keep calling bastila young???? do you guys not wanna help??

omg im getting carth to traumadump! <3

HE WAS ON REVAN'S ARMY>??

i totally knew the jedi code and did not have to google it whatsoever

they rlly said fuck going to illum heres a crystal from the bin

he told me id be a great sentinel and i was like i know but i want blue cause i dont wanna be matchies with bastila

OGH!!! I HAVE A LIGHTSABER!!!! THIS IS GAME OF THE YEAR!!!!

omg i made my lightsaber perfectlyyy which is rare <3 getting a good grade in jedi

maybe i was a travelling lightsaber salesman before my amnesia

seriously though WHO was i everyone's kinda stopped acting like i have amnesia since the first mission BUT IVE PLAYED DRAGON AGE THAT GIVES YOU OPPORTUNITIES TO RP UR PAST. THIS DOESNT. EITHER THIS GAME IS BAD (but i love it so its not) OR I HAVE RETROGRADE AMNESIA

also everyone keeps being like "Oh ur force juju is so strong" AND NOBODY FOUND ME TIL NOW??? suspicious. did getting a really bad concussion activate the force in me

im too confused and amnesiac'd to think abt anything except the fact i have a glowing stick now

FSESH FIVE:

big fan of using aliens to avoid having to get VAs to read every line

oh so carth's boyfriend saul betrayed him and became leader of the sith fleet so he has trust issues

well he needs to calm down. i can't betray him cause i dont know what the fuck is happening

yooo i love the design differences on the mandalorians

oh my god this lady wanted to fuck her droid cause it was her husband's. and then it killed itself. wtf. game of the year tho

wtf they jebaited this juhani person into going dark side but then i talked her out of it. that seems a bit mean of them

i hope she can join my party she looks too unique to be a random npc

ive been thinking and I might be going crazy but there was a loading screen tip ages ago that said jedis could wipe ppl's mind and all i thought at the time was 'fuck the shitshow acolyte didnt make that up'. but what if one of them wiped MY memory and i used to be a jedi or smthn ????????

cause they keep being like ur weirdly good at this??? did bastila steal my memories??????????

I KNOW I HAVE AMNESIA!! EVEN IF EVERYONE DOESN'T BRING IT UP BC THEYRE PROBABLY TRYING TO SAVE MY FEELINGS

if i dont have amnesia and im just deeping the fact the opening had my life being mansplained then im gonna look real stupid

anyway time 2 go to the fuckshit ruins cave where r-dog and malak went to

"it must be referring to revan. the dark lord and malak--" revan's pronouns are revan/thedarklord

bastila said theres no mention of the Builders in the archives. does she just know every text off by heart

THIS DROID IS 20K YEARS OLD ???

omg i can equip 2 lightsabers at once. game of the year

OK I TAKE BACK EVERYTHING I SAID ABOUT THE AMNESIA BASTILA IS ASKING ME QUESTIONS ABOUT MY BACKGROUND THAT I CAN ANSWER. I REPEAT I DO NOT HAVE AMNESIA

ok i didnt get choices and i didnt really uh… say anything that i didnt already get told im still not ruling out amnesia

also booo i didnt get to find out how old i was

master tortimer rlly looks like the ultimate ketamine yoda

LMAO THERE WAS A DIALOGUE OPTION 2 CALL JUHANI A CATGIRL

omg kashyyk from jedi fallen order!!!

I CAN UPGRADE MY LIGHTSABER THIS IS JUST LIKE JFO

omg this ship is fun i wish everyone had personalised bunk spaces like hfw… a game which came out 19 years after this i should probably just take what we have

im gonna start w manaan cause im p sure thats what B-dog said n its the same language the droid was speakin

omg hyperspace from star wars

THE GUY THE BUILDING FELL ON???

am i having dreams abt revan bc bastila killed revan and im connected to her this is so roundabout

maybe i'd sleep better if my ponytail wasnt clipping into the pillow

[kiwi accent] six

carth needs a xanax every time i think we're friends he stops trusting me

also lmao he actually pointed out how wild it was that a day one padawan is being sent on this uber important mission and HES RIGHT IT IS WEIRD!! i thought it was main character logic but he's calling it out

i really really like the sense of unease that's setting in like at first i thought it was just cause im not used to 2003 games but no this is on purpose bc carth my friend carth keeps calling it out

THERE IS A CHILD ON MY SHIP ??????????????????

lmao the representative for menaan is roland wann. its like poetry it rhymes

there are no cameras in the sith hangar <3 rookie error i can commit crimes now

bastila's favourite hobby is getting shot and walking into my grenades

this isnt a combat system this is a missing system

I GOT ARRESTED???? IM JUST A GIRL

nvm i had a datapad that said the sith were evil so theyve let me go free and we're besties

why do i feel like ive just walked into an underwater horror mission

this suit waddles at the speed of a penguin on fentanyl

i tamed the beastie this is like how to train your dragon

MALAK FIRED ON REVAN?????? WERENT THEY BEST FRIENDS???????

but maybe revan escaped when bastila wasnt looking THEYRE FINE THEYRE OUT THERE SOMEWHERE. I BELIEVE

so hopefully when we run into revan they'll be like agh i changed my ways cause of the being shot thing and they'll be my bestie

great news i successfully communicated w the ship child and gave her back to dantooine. my girl has shockingly good linguisitics skills

bastila is so dour "oh watch out for the dark side" GIRL I AM. I NEED TO GET THE BEST GRADE IN GAME MORALITY

ok OFF TO KASHYYK i hope cal kestis is there… thru the force i guess… bc he wont be born for another 4000 years but its whatever

omg you'll never guess what. another vision. wow its one of the thangs. cool this is a tomorrow me problem

[cygniavenue]

im going insane its so over we're so back. putting my bets on Penelope being in hades 2 rn. weaving being a thing?? the armor mechanic?? Odysseus being Mel's hero mentor? i see you supergiant games. i am looking right at it

[yoinkschief]

Hello Jay, I would like to hear your headcanons about Tom and his mom 👀👀👀 Go on, speak into the mic 🎤

AAA HI NEIL I'M SO GLAD YOU ASKED

Taps mic 🎤 ahem

Buckle in cause this got absurdly long I did not expect to get this long omll

So I guess I'll begin when he was younger,, when his mother and father first got married they were just going into their 30s, and while weren't actually trying for a kid they did end up having one: Tom

Barbara (Tom's mom) was ecstatic at having a kid whereas Peter (Tom's dad) was terrified, he knows he has anger issues and is very aware of how he's gotten easily frustrated with children in the past and doesn't want to get angry towards his soon to be son (though Barbs has been a dear with helping him and his anger, truly he'd be in jail by now if not for her)

Fast forward a bit, Tom's born and while Peter isn't magically cured of any anger issues, Tom is just the sweetest little guy and he, genuinely throughout his fatherhood, has not once gotten angry at his son. Gotten angry a good few things, but his son and wife weren't in that list

Tom is also born completely nonverbal (this is a little reference to how 2004 he's drawn without a mouth,,, I know that all the characters are at this time because mmm animation but in most fanart of 2004 only Tom is the one kept without a mouth because that and his one eye gives him creechur vibes I love it so I incorporated it like this) due to his autism, and he did get formally diagnosed early on due to this

It's a bit of a struggle trying to figure out what he's saying but he's a quick learner for how to read and write so if he can't get what he's trying to say through hand motions or actions he'll go and write it down (at least when he gets around 5yo, the years before were hard and they had to learn a weird, Tom version of sign language,, to clarify not actual sign language just learning what motions of his mean what)

One interaction I think about a lot with Tom and his mother is in Tom's youth when he's, maybe, 4? And he sees his mom shave her hair for the first time. Tom didn't like the sudden change as she looked like a different person and was having trouble understanding why it was gone

It took Barb a while to fully understand what he meant, why he was crying and whatnot, but finally able to sit him down in her lap he started making a lot of motions towards his own hair and then Barb's, and the interaction goes something like this:

"Are you talking about my hair?" Barbara quietly concerns, gesturing to her now bald head.

Tom made small grunts with wide eyes, rocking in his mother's lap incessantly.

"Okay, okay," She nodded holding her son's hand gently in her own- less so holding and more resting them in her own. "It's gone, baby."

Tom didn't seem to like that answer, shaking his head no with his hand reaching up to grab and tug at his his in distress. His eyes were screwed shut, why would his mom do that? But Barbara was quick to respond with carefully holding her son's hands again, their fingers interlaced as he squeezed on her hands instead in his temper.

"You don't like that it's gone?" She tilted her head to the side, bringing Tom's hands away from his face and towards her chest.

He shook his head no with an upset grunt, swinging his hands (and by proxy his mother's) side to side to drive the point further.

"Ohh,, pumpkin," Barbara gave Tom a sad smile, resting their hands in her lap as she gave him a small, reassuring squeeze.

"It’ll be alright-”

Tom hated that answer more, giving a frustrated noise as his eyes started welling with tears.

“Honey,” Barbara frowned at the tears coming out of her child’s eyes, it hurt to see him so upset, gently running her thumb along his cheeks to swipe them away. “I’m still mama, I’m still you mom.”

She led Tom’s hand over her heart, letting him feel the steady beating of it. The constant and steady pattern of thumping seemed to entrance him for a moment until his mild rocking and distressed noises slowly came to a halt.

“See? It’s still me, baby.” She cooed, running her thumb along the back of her son’s hand. “My hair is gone, but I’m here.”

“Sometimes, in life,” Barbara began, setting Tom’s hands down in his lap again now that he was calmer. “things change, and we can’t control it. Like my hair, you couldn’t control that, could you?”

Tom looked up from watching his hand feel the steady movement of her heart pumping, looking up at his mother’s face. He still looked displeased and upset, but less so, even going as far as to reach for where her hair used to be, trying to grab at the air around her head like it was still there. Fruitless.

She held his hand again, pressing it against her cheek with a broad smile, one she gave him often. He couldn’t keep his resentment for long, giving his own goofy smile back with a giggle. The way her gap tooth showed when she smiled that big was forever burned into his memory, only disappearing from her face so that she could kiss the palm of her son’s hand.

Tom shook his head, frowning at the thought but keeping a wide eyed expression to his mother as she continued her lesson. She smiled to him once again.

“Well, that happens a lot in life.” She sighed, cupping Tom’s cheek in her hand. “And no one likes it, you’re not alone for thinking that. But what you can control is how you deal with the change. Like how you showed me how upset you were, so now we’re talking about it. Do you feel better about it now?”

Tom took a moment, eyes casted down as he thought on it. He gave a small nod as he looked back up at her.

“Good.” She beamed. “And from now on, I’ll do my best to let you know beforehand when I make a change like that, alright?” She kissed Tom’s forehead, causing the child to give a small giggle. That was her favorite noise.

Now, Tom was always a Mama's Boy (not in a derogatory way, he just loved his mom a whole hell of a lot) but even moreso after his father died. They both were grieving and so it caused them to cling closer together because of it, to the point that had it not been for his friend (at the time only Matt, but later Edd too as this was before Tord was introduced to the friend group) he probably would've completely self isolated

They do a ton of things together as Tom gets over and they both eventually heal from Peter's death, baking, sewing, shopping, watch movies, anything they can do when they have the chance to hang out together

They were so close in fact that Barbara was genuinely the first person he came out to for being nonbinary (He/They pronoun user :) ) and of course she loved him unconditionally, but he didn't even tell Matt, Edd or Tord (now in Highschool and having been introduced to delinquent) that yet

However, later in his highschool years, around late Junior year (11th grade) or early Senior year (12th grade) of highschool his mother dies as well. Not from a freak bear with a gun attack though, instead from Pneumonia, which is something she tends to get a lot and always had in her youth, and while it usually isn't fatal and there is treatment and whatnot and she definitely took as much as help as she could, this time just hit different it seemed.

This really fucked with Tom during some of his most important years of his life and caused him to go into a BIG depressive episode for a long long time

Side note that I guess also kinda applies: Had it not been for Tord being just as stubborn of a jackass as Tom, he would've completely self isolated. Edd and Matt helped a lot in his youth but he also had his mom to encourage him, but now with his immediate family all gone he didn't see much of a reason to interact with people. And where Edd and Matt lack in persuasion, Tord more than makes up for in the lack of giving a fuck and would literally drag Tom outside even if he was kicking and screaming. This is mostly because Tord is second only to Tom himself in how durable he is, like a brick shithouse (built like one, too) and not afraid to make Tom hate him if it meant getting him better in the long run (a running theme I have for their relationship :) they're less so "GRR I HATE YOU I HOPE YOU DIE /GEN" and more of like have this weird understanding with eachother where like "I'll literally kill you if you touch me but I'd kill anyone you touched you" type beat, unafraid to get the other to hate them for the greater good because they have the understanding that they wouldn't do something so wildly stupid for no reason. Yes that plays into The End and the future events of WTFuture)

I love them so much oh my god you have zero idea

Anyway, TL;DR

Tom and his mom are extremely close and helped each other get through the worst of times while Tom continues to learn the lesson of "everything changes, it's out of your control, and you can only control how you proceed with it"

[faebriel]

hgs brainrot has returned due to tbosas .. speaking of hgs here’s an ask abt the hgs au: if things were totally different, and Wilbur were to be a 12 victor, what do you think a possible mentor-tribute dynamic would look like between him & Niki? I feel like it would be similar to Snow & Lucy in the way that he’s just going out of his way to cheat n help her

anon u have in fact struck jackpot because this is a concept i was spinning some thoughts abt before bee mentioned avoxes and we went OOOOH at that!!! so yes i have considered rainduo as a mentor-tribute dynamic and would love to talk about that concept too :]

so for this concept i think wilbur and niki would be close friends throughout childhood from 12, and then in their teens wilbur is reaped and, well, no one has particularly high hopes (he's a writer and a musician at heart, not a fighter) but through sheer trickery and dumb luck, he makes it to the end of the games. wilbur pulled some pretty fucked up tricks to win - when you can't use brute force, you have to use your brain - and partly due to the trauma of the games, partly due to his shame and survivor's guilt, he sinks into the capitol and relishes a new life there as a socialite. to him, the old wilbur died in the games and the new one has taken his place - to niki, and to his other friends in 12, whatever the games did to him made him into every vapid heartless capitol victor there is.

or. niki has her doubts. they all saw how horrible the games were, but surely there is some part of him left, some part that's hurting, even if it's buried deep?

anyway.

like og spin of the au, niki is reaped and this sucks - this time she does expect wilbur as her mentor on the train, and she expects some kind of warm welcome (maybe even an apology for leaving them so suddenly and silently? an explanation?) but she gets jack shit. wilbur is jaded and cruel and unrecognisable and niki entirely hates it. this is the part where i REALLY WISH we got some time of those two beefing with each other directly in canon (or at least interactions while niki was So Mad at him) but it's okay we fly blind. niki feels abandoned, lonely, thrown off of her kilter - she expected an ally in this place, but she doesn't recognise the person wilbur has become. she doesn't recognise his shallowness (...much), his ruthless advice for the arena, the way he doesn't seem to care for anything. she's scared and now she's lonely and it pisses her off - their mentorship is fraught. here are some thoughts from discord on that:

i tend to think of niki as a bit naïve before l'manberg or even doomsday - i think this is an au where this streak would come out real strong, and niki is stubborn that she can get through the games without losing herself. stubborn that she can stop things, that she can protect people. i don't think wilbur is cold enough (or, really, can bear to say aloud) to say that her odds in the arena are slim enough as it is, but he definitely tells her that she's making enemies and that her odds of survival dwindle with the more trouble she causes.

beyond that... hm. niki's trust in wilbur is almost unshakeable until nov 16, even when she outright says she doesn't recognise him anymore. i think she'd reluctantly listen re: don't burn down any buildings, but she would grow bolder each day she had to stay in the capitol. she gets more honest in front of the cameras. she makes more friends in training, and not the ones wilbur recommends. she throws barbs at him every time he makes one of those callous, cold-hearted comments about other tributes and rankings and odds. and besides, she's going in the arena this time, not him. she needs to practice her bravery.

it's like... she hasn't given up on him. she thinks the old wilbur is in there somewhere. (she is wrong. that is not how trauma works.) but she won't hold her tongue just because she

for extra angst points could definitely play up the whole 'feeling abandoned' angle between them as niki goes into the arena - probably due to how fraught their friendship gets leading up to the games. niki wants to focus on them and their friendship, wilbur has stringently cut off (almost) everything from 12 and refuses to let her in; he tells her to behave for the cameras, she tells him she never will. i think the last point in that screenshot would also make for a super tasty argument where niki feels wilbur has gone astray, that he's abandoned 12, and that he'll probably do nothing but sit on his ass and watch her die and he can't even bring himself to care about her anymore, can he? just more fodder for the arena. and honestly, i think wilbur would passively agree with most of that - he values niki's opinion, after all, even now, and if she says he's rapidly descending into a lost cause then she must be right. and it's niki, so she will be fine, and he goes to his bedroom that night and tries to pretend he is sleeping perfectly fine instead of feeling paralysed with fear.

okay now onto the games - YES HE SO WOULD. or at least i think he would go out of his way to help. as for cheating - he's a recent victor for 12 and i think he would value tommy (no doubt a link to him... i think they'd be in touch in this au also) too much to risk the punishment falling onto him as well. i get the vibes this is a games closer to 74th than 10th, so there are far fewer opportunities to cheat and the consequences of getting caught are higher. but schmoozing up sponsors? making stupid ass radio interviews or whatever to talk up niki's odds? sharing anecdotes from their childhood - some real, some entirely fabricated - across capitol airwaves to stoke their sympathy? 100%. with less to lose in this au, i think niki would be far less inclined to play nice for the cameras - i hope you starve, she spits at one of them, and wilbur appears on a talkshow two days later as she scrambles for survival in the arena to talk up how she always saved loaves from the bakery for the poorest mothers and children in 12. he borrows and begs and swindles to the point where it feels like cheating. but hey, this new wilbur is capitol-branded. he knows how to play the game.

if anything he probably sinks into the game a little too much. self-preservation is not his forte. probably wracks up a few heavy debts and favours to owe, but those are not priority until niki is out of the arena, alive. as long as she wins, and as long as the family he has isn't in danger, he will manage. wow it would suck if at some point those two goals became impossible to co-achieve. anyway

i kind of see niki's victory in the arena being similar to the one in the main au - if only because planning out an entire games is hard for meee >-< . she walks in bolder and braver for sure, and with a less strategic pick of allies, but they all get picked off and she spends a few weeks so terrified she can barely sleep and then she ruptures some fuel line and sets the arena alight with a fire that burns brighter and more ravenously than it should. but she wins, and she's airlifted out of a filthy, muddy creek she had resigned herself to die in, and wilbur barges his way through as many peacekeepers so that he can actually see her with her burnt skin and hair and unfocused eyes and trust that what was on the screens wasn't a fluke, and that they made it. and then it's just a matter of surviving the after.

i'm sure there are some other random quirks or tidbits i can think of re: this take on a c!rainduo hunger games au but these are my base thoughts!!

[phagodyke]

really horribly anxious this morning and can't seem to shake it off :-(

[soapsdish]

I made the horrendous mistake of opening my lobby to the public in bg3 and now my wizard is absolutely RUINED because a goddamn cheater decided that they just HAD to level up RIGHT THAT SECOND to get a spell they didn't have available as a lowly lvl 3 (my current lvl on this char). I'm devastated and ready to commit atrocities to sate my seething rage.

NEVER AGAIN! FRIEND'S ONLY FROM NOW ON.

[iamred-iamyellow]

⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚ Spice Up Your Life

♥ masterlist | request rules

♥ pairing: max verstappen x fem!beckham!model!reader

♥ synopsis: you’re the daughter of victoria and david beckham. ginger spice, aka geri halliwell and the wife of red bull principal was in a pop group with your mom, allowing you to visit the paddock frequently and meet the one and only max verstappen.

♥ smau - fc: isabelle mathers + girls on pinterest - as always none of the pictures are mine <3

♥ warnings: swearing !!!

♥ a/n: ft. a few familiar footballers and no horner

-August 2024-

liked by victoriabeckham, davidbeckham, maxverstappen1, and 584,603 more

ynbeckham home sweet home

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judebellingham i’ll let the united kit slide for now

ynbeckham 👩‍❤️‍💋‍👨

user7 i need more judeyn content

k.mbappe @/ynbeckham your dad played for madrid too you know

ynbeckham @/k.mbappe yea i know

vinijr damn 😐

ynbeckham i love you guys I swear 🫶

manchesterunited welcome back

ynbeckham let’s start the season strong 💪

user1 she is her

user6 let’s go man u girlies

user2 stop it why is @/maxverstappen in her likes?

user3 because he has good taste?

user5 i’ve seen yn at madrid games sitting next to carlos so maybe max has seen her 🤷��♀️

user7 @/user5 it’s that versainz influence

liked by maxverstappen1, realmadrid, davidbeckham, and 483,549 more

ynbeckham madrid

tagged; @/judebellingham

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erling awh she even wore your kit

judebellingham i know 😍

user1 bet max wishes she was wearing his number lol

carlossainz55 @/ynbeckham i knew you’d come around eventually

ynbeckham peer pressure

realmadrid @/ynbeckham you love us

ynbeckham @/realmadrid i do 😔

user2 i LOVED seeing david & victoria there with yn

user3 right! it was so sweet

user4 the way they were cheering on jude too 🥹

user5 idk anything about the judeyn lore…

user4 @/user5 i gotchu! with davud being who he is yn had immediate connections to the world of football. madrid and united are the two teams most people know him from so yn quickly made friends with a lot of the players like jude!

maxverstappen1 feels like everyone was there except me 😅

ynbeckham you didn’t miss out on too much but you should totally come down to the pitch one day 🙃

maxverstappen1 @/ynbeckham maybe i can just invite you over to the paddock this weekend?

ynbeckham @/maxverstappen1 ill check my schedule

user7 SMOOTH

user8 stop it did max just pick up yn in her comment section 😭

✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧

You pulled an already opened white envelope from your counter and spoke directly to your phone, which was recording you.

"I'm sure we've all seen the Max comments, everyone was raving about it. What I want to know is... who told her?" you pointed at the camera, sunlight reflecting off of the charms on your nails.

"I got this letter from Geri with a Red Bull paddock pass inside," you stated, pulling the lanyard out of the envelope. You flipped the pass ID over to show the camera up close, "Valid for: All Days."

You stepped back from the camera with a knowing look on your face, putting your hands on your hips.

You tilted your head, "I guess I'll see you in Monza."

✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧

yns insta story

liked by landonorris, davidbeckham, judebellingham, and 249,785 more

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user1 she wasn’t joking 😭 she’s actually in monza

user2 whatever max wants max gets

davidbeckham i’ll be in the mercedes garage if you need me x

ynbeckham ok 🙂↕️

redbullracing @/davidbeckham you won’t be joining us?

davidbeckham @/redbullracing maybe i’d join you if i had a valid pass like yn

redbullracing 😬

user3 THEY DIDNT EVEN GIVE HIM PASSES HAHAHAHDJDJD

user5 no fucking wonder he’s hanging out at mclaren and mercedes 😭

user7 gonna need someone out there to record her and max's meeting tbh

gerihalliwell glad to see you put the paddock pass to use! can't wait to see @/victoriabeckham in Vegas <3

♡ by ynbeckham and victoriabeckham

user9 you couldn't get david passes too?

gerihalliwell I got 2 to give away... my hands are tied

user12 double it and give it to the next disgruntled dad

user8 lets go spice girls vegas reunion

user10 if they're gonna make vegas a whole thing we might as well have geri and victoria sing like they did in '97 for the mclaren car launch

user14 the f1 spice girls lore runs so deep

✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧

-Post Race Interview-

”Max how did you feel about your race today?”

“Uhm,” he scratched his head. “Definitely could have done better, the car could’ve been better, but you know congrats to Charles.”

“I saw the Beckhams in the paddock today. How do you feel about Y/n cheering you on in your garage today?”

“It felt great you know? I’ve always wanted to meet her and her family. I’ve talked to two of the spice girls now so we’re getting close to crossing that off the bucket list.” he laughed. 

”Alright, thank you Max,” the interviewer said and he walked off.

✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧

liked by charlesleclerc, scuderiaferrari, maxverstappen1, and 974,635 more

ynbeckham adorando il mio tempo qui in Italia 🇮🇹 @/charlesleclerc congrats on the win, i know tifosi is proud !! @/maxverstappen1 it was truly great to meet you, i hope we run into each other again soon <3

translation: adoring my time here in italy

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redbullracing we were glad to have you in the paddock yn!

ynbeckham thank you so much for having me <3

judebellingham you better invite me next time

redbullracing @/judebellingham i’ll try my best to🫡

k.mbappe @/redbullracing if you invite him you have to invite the whole team otherwise it’s just unfair

redbullracing it’s just an inchident

user1 oh and you just know max is shaking right now

charles_leclerc he dropped his phone

maxverstappen1 @/charles_leclerc delete this

user2 seems like max won’t be following charles on insta any time soon

user3 i loved seeing her in the paddock today! i don’t think i’ve seen her at any events other than for modeling or footy

user5 hopefully she’ll keep coming back

scuderiaferrari tifosi is definitely proud of charles! i’m sure they’d be happy to see you one day in our garage @/ynbeckham 😉

ynbeckham admin 🤭

redbullracing @/scuderiaferrari stop trying to steal our new mascot you already have leo and now roscoe

liked by lewishamilton, bellahadid, gigihadid, and 1,230,583 more

ynbeckham getting ready for the versace runway

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bellahadid cant wait to see you walk ❤️

judebellingham still upset I wasnt invited but whatever

k.mbappe yeah get in line

user1 you are SO stunning

maxverstappen1 can't wait to see you

ynbeckham 🫶

user2 wait a damn minute max is gonna be there?

user3 or does he just mean see her again in general lmao 😭

user2 @/user3 why would he mean that?

user3 @/user2 I dunno he posts comments like they're private texts

user7 why are we not freaking out over the heart yn posted

user6 maxyn crumbs

✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧

✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧

liked by donatella_versace, judebellingham, landonorris, and 2,842,473 more

versace a collection unapologetically positive and authentically Very Versace…

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ynbeckham it was an absolute honor <3

francisca.cgomes you looked stunning 😘

ynbeckham thank you kika 💋

user8 the three of them ate the runway up

landonorris hire me next

ynbeckham I think max would make the perfect model 😍

landonorris ...

user2 shes whipped for him

user3 is she wrong tho

gigihadid great to see you again Lewis <3 its been a long time

♡ by lewishamilton

user7 hang on let them cook

user12 yns dress >>

user5 lewis is completing his side quests rn

judebellingham our girl walked a runway 🥹

vinjir shes all grown up

✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧

yns insta story

liked by gigihadid, judebellingham, k.mbappe, and 563,493 more

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ynbeckham GUESS WHO HAS A DATE

judebellingham it was about time

user1 whoever it is wife her up

carlossainz55 if i’m the date does that mean we get to go to a madrid game

ynbeckham @/carlossainz55 wow using me for clout much

maxverstappen @/ynbeckham @/carlossainz55 couldn’t be me

user2 MAX 😭

user3 max is putting in the WORK

user5 wait a minute does this mean her date is not max?

user7 wdym?

user5 he didn’t like the post and sure he commented but certainly he wouldn’t still be trying to put moves on her is they were already going out…

user6 @/user5 you better be lying 😭

user10 NO please I need maxyn

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maxverstappen1 a much needed vacation before vegas

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user1 max blink twice if you need help 😰

user2 i’m really starting to lose hope in maxyn

user3 why was he at versace then?

user4 i dunno having the seven time world champ and the two current champ contenders there is good for business maybe?

user5 yn is still going to vegas tho

user6 she could just be going there for her mom and geri

user7 guys..

user10 no please they were just flirting in comments like two days ago

✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧

✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧

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ynbeckham it’s race weekend! how are we feeling?

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manchesterunited feeling like you abandoned us :/

user10 i can’t believe she’s missing united vs city for this 😔

ynbeckham i have to support my man this comment has been deleted

user1 yn we need a vegas vlog 😩

user2 spice girls reunion go crazy in the chat

gigihadid i’ll see you again soon <3

ynbeckham <3

judebellingham wish i could be there

ynbeckham call me when your season is over

user3 judeyn…

user7 guys what if she’s dating jude

judebellingham @/user7 i can confidently say she’s not

user7 @/judebellingham but what if that’s a cover up 🫣

✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧

✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧

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f1 for the second time in a row max vestappen has won the vegas grand prix

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ynbeckham @/maxverstappen1 i’m so proud of you. love you so much ❤️

♡ by maxverstappen1

user3 MAXYN IS REAL

user7 i just dropped my phone

user10 i fell to the ground

user4 this is what we’ve been waiting for

user7 congratulations max 🫶

ynbeckham DU DU DU DU MAX VERSTAPPEN

✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧

✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧

max’s insta story

liked by ynbeckham, charles_leclerc, judebellingham, and 1,843,950 more

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francisca.cgomes you two are so cute together 🥹

user1 stop it they’re so adorable

user2 david is being awfully calm right now lol

alexandrasaintmleux we should double date

ynbeckham we’re so there!

ynbeckham love you so much

maxverstappen1 i love you more

liked by bellahadid, haileybieber, victoriabecham, and 2,953,290 more

voguemagazine yn beckham to be on the cover of british vogue

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bellahadid congrats on your first cover i’m so proud 🥹

ynbeckham thank you bella 🫶

user1 she is SO beautiful

rhode come model for us 😍

ynbeckham just say when

user2 your favorite nepo baby’s favorite nepo baby

maxverstappen1 buying every printed issue right now ❤️

ynbeckham stop im blushing 🤭

[kaira-diaries]

Backstabber:

Warning: (Smut)(Violence, death, blood)(sickness)

Word Count: 15k(i have nothing to say)

Pair:(Fem!xFrontman)

A/N: The length is a lot..idek. Anyway, this loosely follows season two and when I say loosely I mean LOOSELY.

I hope you all enjoy, happy reading!!

Summary: A young woman finds herself desperate when her family falls into crushing medical debt. Seeking a way out, she enters the deadly Squid Games. Unbeknownst to her, the enigmatic Frontman—her boyfriend of three years, disguising himself as Player 001 and in deep debt, enters the game to protect her, navigating the brutal competition while concealing his true identity from her.

Masterlist <-

________________

Aware of every breath and movement, you were pinned down as In-ho finally peeled away your warm sweater, a contrast to the frigid temperature in his bedroom, completely naked before him and he before you. However all you could feel was his soft lips against your chest, leaving you breathless as he pushed in and out of you with blinding pleasure and strength. His kisses were anything but gentle as you locked your legs around his muscled back, pulling him closer, and he groaned in delight at such a position, dragging his perfect teeth up your neck and eventually reconnecting with your mouth.

You'd been holding onto the weight of a conversation you needed to have with him, the one about your father's medical illness and the mounting medical debt that was dragging your parents under like a relentless tide. You've kept it from him for a while. Was it out of shame? You didn't quite know, but it didn't seem like the kind of conversation to strike up while his tongue worked between your legs, making a mess on the edge of the dining room table. He was on you the moment you got home and after the long day you had, you needed it.  

Freeing him from your grip, you pushed him onto his back and climbed on top of him, aching for control, something you've had to fight for with him the moment you began seeing each other. A look of disapproval shined in his eyes, but you pressed your palms against his warm chest, earning a scowl of impatience. You innocently smile, beginning to rock your hips. He held you, his grip like iron, as he watched you use him to reach your peak. With your head thrown back, his hands explored every inch of your chest; squeezing and grabbing at everything he possibly could. His grip on you was as tight as he could make it without hurting you, something he worries so much about. 

Mumbling sweet praises up at you, you whined, picking up the pace. 

"Fuck you're so beautiful riding my cock." He praised, almost making you shatter, and you would have right then and there until your phone began to buzz on the wooden nightstand next to his head. Your movements came to a sudden stop, making In-ho groan, "ignore it," he pleaded, but it was your mother's icon. 

With the weight of your father's illness in mind, you pulled off him. 

"It'll just take a second." You promised, answering the phone, trying to ignore the slow touch of In-ho's hand caressing your back and his lips sucking the skin of your neck. You slapped him. 

"Hi, everything okay? it's late."

Your mother's panicked voice crackled through the phone, her voice trembling with raw fear. "Y/n, you need to come to the hospital now. I-I don't-"

"Ma, I'll be there," you interrupted, your heart pounding in your chest.

"Just stay calm." You hung up without waiting for more, already throwing the blanket aside as you scrambled out of bed. 

"What going on? What's wrong?" In-ho's voice cut through the chaos, his concern evident as he sat up, his brows furrowed. 

Your mind raced, and the first excuse that came to you spilled out in a rush. "Something's wrong with the cat." You blurted, the lie feeling ridiculous even as you said it. Your shaky hands pulled on a sweater, jeans, and some boots, the urgency in your movements selling the story better than the words ever could. 

"What? the fucking cat? What happened?" In-ho looked confused but didn't question further as you fumbled to explain. "Their car's in the shop, and they can't get to the emergency vet. I have to go."

He swung his legs over the side of the bed, the sheets pooling around his waist. "I'll take you." 

"No!" you snapped, your voice sharper than you intended. The tension in the room palpable as his eyes searched your face for an explanation. 

One thing about In-ho: he never questioned you, and right now, you were grateful for that. "Okay." He said. "Just be careful." 

You nodded quickly, not trusting yourself to say more. Grabbing your keys and bag, you bolted for the door, your thoughts racing faster than your feet. The hallway felt suffocating as you sprinted to your car, your breath coming in shallow bursts. 

Sliding into the driver's seat, your hands trembled as you turned the key into the ignition. The engine roared to life but didn't drown out the panic in your mind. What could have happened? Was it worse than you feared? 

The rain from earlier had left the streets slick, and your headlights reflected off the wet pavement as you sped toward the hospital. You tried to steady your breathing, gripping the wheel so tightly your knuckles turned white. Every red light felt like a personal attack, each second dragging on like an eternity. 

Finally, you pulled into the hospital parking lot, barely bothering to park straight as you threw the car into park and leaped out. The fluorescent lights of the emergency entrance cast an unnatural glow over the scene, and the antiseptic smell hit you as soon as you stepped inside. 

Your eyes darted around the waiting room until they landed on your mother. She was sitting in one of the plastic chairs, her face pale, her hands squeezing a tissue. 

"Mom!" you called out, rushing to her. She looked up, her eyes red and puffy, and the sight of her broke something inside. 

"Y/n..." she began, her voice trembling as fresh tears spilled over. "Its your father. They-they said he's in critical condition. The doctors are with him now, but-" Her voice cracked, and she covered her mouth, unable to finish. 

You crouched down in front of her, taking in her hands in yours. : Ma, I'm here. I'm here, okay? We'll get through through this." Your voice was firm, but your stomach churned with dread. 

As you comforted her, a nurse approached, asking if you were your father's family. You stood up, your thudding in your chest. "Yes, I'm his daughter. What's going on?" The nurse hesitated, her expression grave. "The doctor would like to speak with you. Please follow me."

Your mother let out a soft sob as you squeezed her hand reassuringly. "I'll be right back, Ma," you whispered before following the nurse down the cold, sterile hallway. Each step felt heavier than the last as you approached the room where your father's fate would be revealed. 

The nurse led you to a small consultation room, where a doctor in scrubs was waiting, his face lined with exhaustion. He stood as you entered, his expression grim but composed.

"It's good to meet you, I'm Dr. Patel," he said, gesturing for you to sit. You barely registered the gesture, standing frozen as your pulse thundered in your ears.

"What's wrong with my father?" you demanded, your voice trembling despite your best efforts to keep steady.

Dr. Patel exhaled softly, his shoulders sagging under the weight of what he was about to say. "Your father's condition has taken a critical turn. His heart is failing rapidly, and the medications we've been using to manage his symptoms are no longer enough. He's in cardiogenic shock."

You blinked, the words slow to register. "What does that mean? Can you fix it?"

The doctor's lips pressed into a thin line. "The only long-term solution is a heart transplant. Without it, I'm afraid he doesn't have much time—maybe days, a week at most."

The air seemed to vanish from the room. You shook your head, trying to process. "A transplant? How... how soon could he get one?"

Dr. Patel hesitated, his gaze softening. "It's complicated. He'll need to be placed on the transplant list, and even then, matching him with a donor can take time. There's also the matter of cost. Even with insurance, the out-of-pocket expenses can be significant."

Your stomach twisted into knots. "How significant?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

"Typically, upwards of $150,000 for surgery, post-op care, and medications," he replied gently.

Your heart sank. You felt like the floor had dropped out from under you. "I can't… we can't afford that. Even with insurance, we're already drowning in medical debt. How am I supposed to…" Your voice cracked, and tears spilled over despite your effort to hold them back.

Dr. Patel leaned forward, his voice kind but firm. "I know it's overwhelming, but there are programs and organizations that can help. I can connect you with our financial counselor to explore options. Right now, focus on being here for your father."

You nodded numbly, standing on unsteady legs. "Can I see him?"

"Of course. He's sedated, but you can sit with him."

The walk to your father's room felt surreal, the hospital corridors stretching endlessly. When you stepped inside, the sight of him hit you like a punch to the chest. He lay still, pale and fragile, tubes and monitors surrounding him. The steady beeping of the machines was the only sound in the room.

You moved to his bedside, taking his hand in yours. His skin was cold, and the weight of his hand in yours felt too light, too fragile.

"Hey, Dad," you said softly, your voice breaking. "It's me."

Your thumb traced over the back of his hand as you blinked away fresh tears. "They said you need a new heart," you whispered, choking on the words. "And I know you probably don't want me worrying about it, but I'm going to fix this. I swear I'll find the money, no matter what. I'll get you what you need."

You leaned down, pressing a kiss to his temple. "You just hang on, okay? Just hang on."

The room was silent except for the rhythmic beeping of the monitors, but your resolve solidified with every passing second. No matter how impossible it seemed, you would find a way to save him. 

Whatever it took.

_______________________

Your hands were frigid, the cold from last night's visit at the hospital still clinging to you as you sat in the dimly lit coffee shop. The air smelled faintly of roasted coffee and winter rain, but none of it brought comfort. Across the small table, In-ho sat rigid, his shoulders drawn tight like a bowstring. His expression was a mask of unreadable calm, but his eyes—those lifeless, glassy eyes—made your stomach churn. There was no warmth in them, no spark of humanity like normal. Just emptiness. You swallowed hard, fighting the instinct to shiver under his gaze.

It happened every year around this time, right before his annual business trip. Yet somehow, it never got easier. That hollow, dead look in his eyes unsettled you more than you wanted to admit, leaving a weight on your chest like a stone sinking in water. He always returned, but the man who sat before you now was different—a stranger wearing the face of someone you loved.

Cupping your warm mug of coffee, you took a tentative sip, hoping the heat would chase away the chill that wasn't from the weather.

"How long will you be gone this time?" you asked, keeping your voice steady despite the unease bubbling under your skin.

"A week or so," he replied plainly, his tone deeper than usual and flat, devoid of emotion.

You nodded, forcing yourself not to press him further. He never shared much about these trips, and you'd learned to stop asking. But this—this lifeless version of him he always snaps into—terrified you in a way you could never quite explain.

He was scheduled to leave today after your coffee date, which explained the gel in his hair and the matching grey outfit he wore, fit for the cold weather. He looked good, but you adored his messy hair. You loved running your fingers through it during sex or washing it while in the shower. It was one of your favorite things about him, the second being his age. You were always into older guys. Despite being 25, men your age still had some maturing to do, so you decided never to dabble with them altogether. Time was precious. 

You traced the edge of your coffee cup with your finger, trying to fill the silence. It stretched thin between you, like a thread about to snap. 

"She's been calling me a lot lately." you said, attempting to steer the conversation toward something lighter. "Mina, I mean. She's gotten into some trouble again." 

In-ho's gaze shifted slightly, though his expression remained impassive. "Drinking?"

"And gambling, she's been asking for money," you added with a faint, humorless chuckle.

"Apparently, she lost a week's rent at that underground poker game she swore she'd never go back to."

His jaw tightened, just for a second quick. You almost missed it. "The one near the station, right? The one run by that man who drives the black sedan."

Your brow furrowed as you stared at him. "How did you know that?" In-ho's expression didn't waver. "You said she was into underground games," he replied, shrugging. "I've seen people like that around. They're dangerous."

The explanation was reasonable, and you opened your mouth to change the subject, but he checked his watch and stood. 

"I should get going," he said, his voice flat. 

You stood as well, the knot in your stomach tightening. "Be safe," you said softly. 

He nodded, leaning in to press a cool, detached kiss to your lips. It was brief, almost mechanical, and it left you feeling colder than before, but it was the same around this time every year. "I'll see you when I get back," he said, his hand briefly brushing your arm before he turned to leave. 

As you watched him walk out into the gray morning, your thoughts lingered on his odd familiarity with Mina's troubles. Something didn't add up, but the question lingered unspoken on your tongue, lost in the wake of his retreating figure.

The bitter dregs of your now-cold coffee lingered on your tongue as you forced down the last bites of a stale croissant, its once-flaky layers now reduced to a dense, chewy mass.

The contrast between this hurried breakfast and the elegant comfort of In-ho's apartment wasn't lost on you—each step toward the train platform felt like moving further from a dream back into your harsh reality.

The morning crowd jostled around you as you weaved between commuters, scanning for an empty seat while waiting. The number "150,000" pulsed in your mind like a neon sign, growing larger and more oppressive with each passing moment. It was a sum so vast it seemed almost abstract—like counting stars in the sky—yet the weight of its importance pressed down on your chest with very real pressure.

Finding an empty bench away from the crowd, you hugged yourself tightly, your fingers digging into the fabric of your jacket. The fluorescent station lights cast shallow shadows under your eyes, and you barely recognized the exhausted person staring back.

Your father's time was running out like sand in an hourglass, and here you sat, drowning in the knowledge that your family's existing debts were already a noose around your neck. Each potential solution you considered crumbled before it could fully form—loan sharks were out of the question, banks would laugh at your application, and friends... well, who among them could even spare a fraction of such an amount? Mina sure as hell couldn't.

It's then a well-groomed man sits beside you. His hair gelled back, similar to In-ho's. You felt his gaze on you, but you tried to ignore it until it became extremely uncomfortable.

Snapping your chin in his direction, you broke.

"What?"

"Hello ma'am, can I talk to you?"

You sighed as he continued.

"Listen, I want to let you in on a great opportunity." You stared down at your hands, not saying a word, when he opened a suitcase beside you.

Looking down at it, you find the game Ddakji next to three stacks of neatly piled money. You perked up a bit at that. The money wasn't enough to pay for the transplant, but it was a cushioned start.

"I'm sure you've played Ddakji before, right?" You nodded.

In-ho appreciated the game.

He held up the two squares, one red and one blue. "Play a few rounds with me. And each time you win, I'll pay you a 1,000. Each time I win you, you pay me the same amount." You bit your lip, feeling how stupid this was. In-ho would tell you to turn and walk away, and you wondered if this man was from that underground poker place Mina indulged in. But, stupid or not, you needed that money for your father.

Exhaling sharply, you agreed but warned the man.

"I don't have any money to spare." It wasn't a lie, but it wasn't true either. You had a decent income, but all of your money either went to paying off your parent's medical debt or to your father's treatments when you were able to pay out of pocket.

He held that same creepy grin, "How about you use your body to pay." You froze, your heart pounding in your chest as the words hit you like a slap. What did that entail? A chill ran down your spine, the blood draining from your face as you felt your breath catch in your throat. For a moment, you felt yourself sliding toward the edge of the bench, your limbs numb with terror.

The man, noticing your reaction, quickly shook his hands. "Not like that, no. I'll take 100 off per each slap to the face."

If a slap was the price to pay for losing, then you would endure it. For your father. You clenched your fists tightly, the memory of his quiet suffering and his desperate need for help fueling the burning determination inside you. You would do anything to protect him, even if it meant bearing humiliation, pain, or worse.

Anything.

You stood from the bench with a sense of purpose, adrenaline coursing through your veins. The salesman rose with you, his smile still wide, but there was a subtle shift in his demeanor—something darker, more guarded—as you reached for your red ddakji. Without hesitation, you slammed it down onto the floor, the force of your movement sending it crashing against his, the paper flipping with a satisfying snap. You didn't just win; you dominated, the sound echoing in the still air.

A small wad of cash landed in your palm, the crisp bills a reminder of the stakes, the desperation that had brought you here. Your pulse quickened, the fear dissipating with each flip of the ddakji, each round stacking your winnings higher. The salesman's smile faltered, but you didn't care. You were in control now. The game was simple, but the stakes—your father's fate were anything but.

Round after round, you flipped his every time, effortlessly outplaying him, earning more money than you'd ever imagined in such a short span. The cash piled up between you like a small mountain, but you didn't stop. You couldn't stop. Each win felt like a victory but also like a countdown to something darker, something you weren't sure you were ready for.

Finally, you sat back down, your breathing steady as you finished the game. The salesman handed you a card, its front emblazoned with three distinct shapes, each one sharp and clean, almost menacing. You flipped it over, the number on the back staring up at you—simple, unremarkable, but somehow heavy.

"There are other games like this," he said, his voice dropping slightly as if the offer itself was something that shouldn't be spoken too loudly. "Where you can earn even more."

His gaze held yours for a beat too long. The words lingered, tempting and ominous in their simplicity.

"We don't have many spots left." He added, a subtle edge creeping into his voice as he picked up his briefcase, the leather creaking under his grip. Without another word, he turned and walked away, leaving you alone with the card, the money, and the quiet hum of uncertainty settling in your chest.

________________

POV: In-Ho

You sat at your desk, the glass of imported whiskey sloshing as you threw back the fifth pour, barely noticing as the amber liquid burned down your throat. The decanter was nearing empty, but you couldn't bring yourself to care. The quiet hum of the room was the only sound, and it settled you in a way nothing else could. Leaving y/n had always been difficult, but that was part of the game, wasn't it? Every year, it was the same—her muted resistance to your sudden change in demeanor, but every year, you also found yourself relieved to return to control, to snap back into that power you craved at your fingertips, to something that mattered all the same. Here, you were just mechanical; any genuine feeling of devotion dwindled until you returned home to her.

You leaned back in your chair, the leather creaking under your weight. The time you spent with y/n—it was never enough. And the more you tried to balance it with the games, the more you realized how impossible it truly was.

It was easy to pawn off the useless responsibilities to an underling, to let someone else handle the messes or orders that were beneath you. You had never cared about choosing the players. It was a waste of time. They were all the same to you: pathetic, greedy souls who saw the world through a selfish lens of self-interest.

Getting a phone call, you grabbed the receiver.

"This is The FrontMan speaking. Yes, we are ready to begin."

You set the receiver back down, the soft click of the phone's cradle cutting through the heavy silence of the room. Without a second glance, you reached for the mask resting on the edge of the desk, its cool surface like a familiar presence. Your fingers brushed against the contours, feeling its weight and its unspoken authority. With deliberate ease, you secured it in place, the cold, smooth material pressing against your skin as your identity vanished beneath its form and lifted your hood.

You stood and moved toward the door, your footsteps controlled and purposeful. The air seemed to thicken around you as you passed through the threshold, a shift in atmosphere marking the change. The elevator was waiting—silent, steel, and patient. With a practiced motion, you pressed the central control room button, the elevator's quiet hum responding to your command. The walls around you seemed to close in as you descended. You were going to the heart of it all now, where the control pulse beat steady and unyielding. And there, you would resume your place.

The elevator doors slid open with a quiet, effortless motion, revealing the sterile, dimly lit expanse of the control room. Your men, standing at attention, parted like the Red Sea, clearing your path. They were all towering figures, silhouettes in the shadiness of the room, their presence unwavering and mute. As you stepped out onto the cold, polished floor, you felt the shift—the room realigning as though the game had officially begun.

You glanced at each man in turn, your eyes sharp, and you calculated behind the mask, assessing every one of them with practiced ease. They stood frozen, their posture rigid, hands at their sides, waiting for your next command. You could almost feel the anticipation in the air, stout and expectant.

"Let's start," you said, your voice cold, clipped and filtered. The words carved through the silence. Without hesitation, the men moved to their stations, their bodies sliding into their chairs with precise, mechanical ease. There was no wasted motion, no hesitation.

"Wake them up."

The room came alive, the screens flickering to life one by one. The quiet hum of machinery filled the air, a low, steady rhythm as the monitors illuminated, casting a cold glow on the walls. The lights in the player's quarters were activated, brightening the room as a spokesperson illustrated it was time to wake up.

You stalked closer to the screens, trying to get a sense of the new herd. Your gaze exhausts each face as they adjust, blinking groggily, some still lost in the fog of sleep. You monitored the strongest as they rose quicker, as the weakest fought off the remaining effects of the sedative.

Abruptly, it felt like the air had been punched out of your lungs, your heart plummeting into the pit of your stomach with a force that left you momentarily paralyzed. Your gaze locked onto the screen, catching something—someone—that sent a chill racing down your spine. At first, you thought it couldn't be real, that your mind was playing cruel tricks on you. But the unease clawed at you, refusing to be dismissed.

"Zoom in on player 150," you ordered sharply, your voice slicing through the tense silence in the room.

The screen obeyed, zooming in on the figure until every detail came into agonizing clarity. And then you saw her.

Your breath hitched. Her messy bedhead—the kind you used to tease her about—was unmistakable. She stretched her arms above her head, a familiar routine you'd witnessed countless mornings. Her flawless lips, her face, her eyes. Every inch of her was burned into your memory, and now, there she was.

Standing in the middle of your slaughterhouse.

The woman you've bared your soul to.

"Y/n," you whispered, your voice barely audible, strangled with disbelief and fear. Panic gnawed at your insides, twisting and tightening until it felt like your very core would shatter.

How had she ended up here?

What is she keeping from you?

Of all the people, of all the possibilities—why her?

___________________________

POV: Y/N

The first thing you noticed as you stirred was the faint hum of distant sounds. Your sense of hearing returned before anything else, pulling you from the haze of sleep. You groaned softly, rubbing your eyes as the world around you came into focus.

Fragments of memory surfaced, disjointed but vivid—the musty smell of the van, the creak of its rusted doors, the tattered upholstery that looked like it had seen far too many years. You had hesitated, your hand hovering over the handle, your instincts screaming at you to turn around and walk away. The vehicle was a wreck, the kind of thing you'd imagine a junkie—no offense—might live out of.

But then you thought of your father. His face, his struggle, the weight of it all. That single thought was enough to override your doubts. You had climbed into the van despite every instinct telling you to do otherwise.

Sitting up, you took in your unfamiliar surroundings, momentarily distracted by the nagging awareness of your terrible bedhead. In-ho always teased you about it, though deep down, you suspected he secretly liked it.

Swinging your legs over the edge of the cot, you paused as your fingers brushed against the fabric of what you were wearing. A pajama-like tracksuit, simple yet strange. Your gaze dropped to your chest, where a number—150—was neatly sewn over your left breast.

You frowned, your brows knitting together. "What the hell?" you whispered under your breath.

Looking around, the murmur of movement drew your attention. Other people—strangers—were stirring, dressed in identical tracksuits with different numbers stitched onto their chests. They began to gather hesitantly in the center of the vast room, their expressions mirroring your confusion and unease.

The room itself was massive, stark, and cold, resembling a warehouse stripped of purpose. Above you, suspended ominously from the ceiling, hung an enormous glass piggy bank—empty but somehow radiating a strange sense of suspicion.

Your muscles ached, a dull soreness settling into your body as you stretched your arms overhead, trying to shake off the lingering stiffness, and stood to join the pack of people. The air was heavy, thick with tension and the quiet rustle of fabric as the other players moved cautiously, their faces tight with uncertainty.

As you loosened up, your eyes flicked back to the piggy bank, unease pooling in your stomach. Whatever was happening here, it was far from ordinary—and the number stitched onto your chest felt like it was branding you into something you didn't yet understand.

“Y/n!”

The sound of your name rang out, cutting through the murmurs around you. Your head snapped up, scanning the sea of unfamiliar faces until your eyes locked onto someone you knew—a lifeline in the chaos.

"Oh my God, Y/n!"

It was Mina. Your Mina. Her face lit up with that unmistakable grin, even as the bold 067 stitched across her chest seemed wildly out of place. Relief flooded you, and without thinking, you bolted toward your best friend, your heart leaping in your chest.

"Mina!" you shouted, skidding to a stop just before throwing your arms around her neck. She caught you with a squeal, pulling you into a tight hug as you both burst into a flurry of half-laughs, half-cries.

"What the hell are you doing here, you bitch?" she blurted, pulling back just enough to hold your shoulders, her grin a mix of disbelief and sheer joy.

You laughed, shaking your head. "I could ask you the same thing!"

For a moment, the strangeness of the situation melted away. The towering walls, the eerie piggy bank above, the sea of strangers—all of it faded into the background. Because right now, in this surreal hell, you weren't alone.

Mina shrugged nonchalantly, her lips twitching into a crooked grin. "What can I say? It seems like my hobbies have gotten me into trouble again. Only this time..." She gestured vaguely to the massive, ominous piggy bank hanging above, her tone dripping with mock cheerfulness. "...the stakes are just a little higher."

Your brows furrowed, a sinking feeling settling in your chest. "Oh god, Mina. What did you do?"

She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, biting her lip in that telltale way that meant she was about to drop a bombshell. "Well," she started, drawing out the word like she was recounting a funny anecdote, "I kind of... might've signed my physical rights away."

Your stomach flipped. "Excuse me?"

"Yup." She nodded, her voice light, though her eyes betrayed a flicker of unease. "If I don't cough up what I owe by next month, I can kiss a kidney goodbye." She gave you a sly grin, trying to downplay the gravity of her words. "On the bright side, I've always wanted to know what it feels like to live with just one."

Your hand shot up to cover your mouth, your heart pounding in disbelief. "Mina...surely you're joking?"

She shook her head, the grin never entirely leaving her face. "Afraid not, babe. But hey, at least this mess has good storytelling potential, right?"

"Mina!" you exclaimed, punching her shoulder. She laughed, though it came out slightly strained. "What? It's not like I can do anything about it now. Besides, kidneys are overrated anyway."

You sighed, running a hand through your hair. "Mina, could you please stop giving me reasons to worry?"

She gave you a sheepish grin, her shoulder bumping yours playfully. "I'll try, but no promises." Then, her expression shifted, curiosity gleaming in her eyes. "What about you?" she asked, folding her arms. "Why are you here? And where's that delicious boyfriend of yours?"

Your cheeks warmed slightly, and before you could stop yourself, you swatted her arm, a soft snicker escaping. "He's on a business trip," you said, trying to sound casual. "Probably miles away from this place."

You turned your head toward her, but the knowing look in her eyes stopped you short. She tilted her chin, her gaze sharpening. "Uh-huh. But you didn't answer my other question."

Her words hung in the air, and for a moment, the humor between you flickered, replaced by something heavier. Her gaze stayed steady, probing, as if she could see right through you.

A sharp, jarring buzz suddenly filled the air, slashing through the low murmurs in the room. You flinched at the sound, your heart skipping a beat as all heads turned toward the massive double doors at the far end of the room.

With a mechanical hiss, the doors slid open in perfect synchronization, revealing a line of figures that marched in with unnerving precision. They wore identical uniforms—a stark, unnatural shade of pink that contrasted sharply against the cold gray of the warehouse walls.

Their faces were entirely hidden behind black, featureless masks adorned with bold, white shapes: circles, triangles, and squares, just like the strange card you'd been handed by that man.

The sight sent a shiver racing down your spine. The guards moved with eerie coordination, their presence suffocating and cold, as if they were more machine than human. The room seemed to shrink under their gaze—or what you assumed was their gaze, though the masks gave away nothing.

"I'd like to extend my warmest welcome to you all."

"Everyone here will participate in six different games over the next six days. Those who win all six games will recieve a handsome cash prize." One of the guards stepped forward, his voice sharp and authoritative as it rang out, though it was muffled slightly by the mask. You strained to make out the words, but before you could process them, a man standing near the front of the group raised his voice, cutting through the tension.

"Why the hell should we trust you?" he shouted, his tone laced with anger and desperation. His words hit a chord, murmurs of agreement rippling through the players around you. It wasn't an unreasonable question—after all, you'd been drugged and dragged here against your will.

Your chest tightened as you remembered the van, the haze, the disorientation of waking up in this strange, sterile place. Beside you, Mina suddenly grabbed your hand, her fingers lacing tightly with yours. Her grip was firm, almost crushing, and when you glanced at her, her wide eyes told you she was just as terrified as you were.

The guard's reply came swift and clinical, delivered without an ounce of emotion. He mentioned something about a consent form, the words rolling off his tongue with practiced ease as though this wasn't the first time he'd said them. His tone made it clear there was no room for negotiation.

Your stomach churned as the players began to shuffle forward hesitantly, forming a disjointed line. Each person who stepped up was handed a pen and a sheet of paper, the details too far away to make out. The tension in the room was noticeable, every movement slow and deliberate, as if everyone knew they were crossing a threshold they could never return from.

When your turn came, you stepped forward on shaky legs, Mina's hand slipping from yours as she stayed rooted in place. You barely noticed her whispered "Y/n…" as you reached for the pen.

The words on the page blurred before your eyes. You couldn't bring yourself to read the fine print—it didn't matter. You already knew why you were here.

Your hand trembled slightly as you signed your name, the black ink cutting starkly against the crisp white paper. Whatever this was, whatever it demanded of you, your mind was made up. You'd get that money no matter what it took.

As you turned away, clutching the pen tightly, your heart felt like a drum pounding in your chest. Behind you, Mina's gaze burned into your back, her silence louder than any words she could've spoken.

As the last of the players signed their names, the guards gestured for everyone to move, their silent presence ushering the group out of the dorms and into a large, clean hall. The air was cool and clinical, the kind of atmosphere that sent a shiver up your spine despite the lack of overt threat.

One by one, each player stood in front of a sleek screen where their photo was taken. Mina, of course, couldn't resist making a ridiculous face, puffing out her cheeks and crossing her eyes as the camera clicked.

You doubled over, a genuine belly laugh escaping your lips, the sound echoing faintly in the vast hall. For a fleeting moment, it felt like old times, like the world wasn't crumbling around you.

As the line moved, you and Mina ended up side by side, trailing behind the group as you ascended a winding staircase. The metal stairs clanged beneath your feet, the sound rhythmic and oddly calming despite the tension in the air.

"So," Mina drawled, nudging your shoulder with hers, her grin mischievous. "Fill me in. How's it been going with In-ho?"

A warmth spread through you at the mention of his name, and you couldn't help the soft smile that tugged at your lips. "He's been… nothing short of extraordinary," you admitted, your voice almost wistful.

Mina hummed knowingly, her grin widening. "I see. And the sex?" she asked, her tone teasing as her brows waggled suggestively.

You groaned, rolling your eyes. "Ugh, Mina, quit being gross. Let's focus on the game ahead."

She threw her hands up in mock surrender, snickering. "Alright, alright. I'll save it for later," she said, her tone light but her eyes scanning the room ahead, where more guards waited in eerie silence.

As the two of you continued up the staircase, her humor lingered like a comforting presence, a small anchor in the chaos. You couldn't help but feel grateful for her, even if she drove you nuts.

Turning the final corner, you stepped into a vast, open space that made you stop in your tracks. The ground beneath your feet was soft sand, its golden grains warm as they shifted with each step. Overhead, artificial sunlight bore down with an intensity that made you squint, the air thick with the illusion of a desert afternoon.

“Wow,” Mina muttered, her tone a mix of awe and unease. She kicked at the sand lightly, watching it scatter. “This is… interesting.”

You nodded, your eyes scanning the expanse of the room. It felt surreal—like stepping into another world completely removed from the cold, metallic dorms. The space stretched endlessly in all directions, its vastness unsettling.

As you wandered further in, something across the way caught your eye. Narrowing your gaze, you nudged Mina in the arm, breaking her attention away from the boy she had been half-flirting with beside her.

“What?” she asked, frowning slightly.

“What’s that?” you said, pointing toward a shape in the distance.

Her eyes followed your arm, squinting against the glaring light. When she finally spotted it, her expression twisted into a mixture of curiosity and discomfort. “It looks like…” she hesitated, leaning in slightly, “a creepy doll.”

Your stomach churned as you took in the eerie figure. Even from a distance, something about it felt wrong.

Before you could respond, a sharp, mechanical crackle echoed through the air, making you flinch. A smooth, automated female voice spoke over the intercom, its tone disturbingly cheerful.

“Welcome to the game room. For your first game, you will be playing Red Light, Green Light.”

Your brows furrowed in confusion. “Red Light, Green Light?” you muttered, glancing at Mina with an incredulous smile. “You’ve got to be kidding. A children’s game?”

Mina shrugged, her lips quirking into a half-smile. “What? Would you rather play chess?”

You snorted softly, shaking your head. “Definitely not.”

The voice on the intercom continued, reciting the rules with an unnerving precision that made the simplicity of the game feel sinister. “When the doll says, ‘Green Light,’ you may move forward. When the doll says, ‘Red Light,’ you must stop immediately. Any players caught moving during ‘Red Light’ will be eliminated.”

The word eliminated lingered in your mind, sending a cold chill down your spine.

When the announcement ended, a sudden, oppressive silence settled over the room. The guards lined the edges of the space, their presence a stark reminder that this was no ordinary game.

Mina reached for your hand, gripping it tightly. “We stick together, okay?”

“Okay,” you whispered, lacing your fingers with hers. Despite your nervousness, her touch grounded you, giving you a flicker of reassurance.

The two of you exchanged a nod, solidifying your pact, before turning your focus toward the looming doll in the distance. The game was about to begin, and there was no turning back now.

____________

POV: In-Ho

You could hardly bear to watch.

Your heart throbbed in your chest, a suffocating pressure building as your mind screamed with one agonizing question: What if she dies?

The thought hit you like a sucker punch, the weight of it crushing your ribs, stealing the air from your lungs. If she died—if she dies—you’d be left with nothing. Nothing but the hollow emptiness of a life that had lost its purpose, your balance between light and dark. There would be no going back. No reason to move forward. You'd be a shell, wandering through a world that suddenly felt unbearable.

The air in your quarters felt thick as if the very walls were closing in on you. You couldn’t stand still, couldn’t think clearly. You paced back and forth, each step fraying your nerves further. Your breath came in ragged gasps, shallow and fast, desperate for relief that never came.

You couldn’t do this. You couldn’t—

The glass in your hand was warm, the drink inside it burning your throat with its bitter sting. And without thinking, you hurled it across the room, the sharp crash of glass against the wall.

For a split second, you stood frozen, staring at the mess. But it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered.

Your chest tightened painfully, each breath harder to take than the last. You couldn’t control it anymore—the rage, the fear, the overwhelming helplessness. You wanted to roar and tear this facility to shreds, but it was all out of your hands now.

A player could only be removed from the game if they're eliminated.

The glass shards glittered on the floor like the pieces of your shattered resolve as you stared into it, and all you could do was stand there, trembling, fighting against the suffocating tide of emotions threatening to drown you.

"Green Light,"

Your eyes locked onto the screen, your gaze trained on her every move. You circled the couch, your steps restless, like you couldn’t stand still even if you wanted to. Every muscle in your body was tense beneath the grey jacket. Every fiber of your being was focused on her.

You could see Mina beside her, their hands tightly clasped together. It almost felt like an anchor, a momentary reassurance—but not enough.

Not nearly enough.

You silently begged Mina—pleaded with her—to hold it together. To not screw this up.

If Mina stuttered, if she moved a fraction too soon, if she hesitated for even a second—y/n would follow. And that thought made something tighten painfully in your chest.

You could feel your pulse roaring in your ears, a fierce rush of adrenaline as the seconds stretched on like hours. Your hand itched to pry her fingers away from Mina’s, to pull her closer, to shield her from the inescapable bloodbath.  

"Red Light."

You exhaled sharply, your body going rigid as you watched her, your heart skipping a beat. Her number hadn’t been called, but the terror that played across her face as she witnessed the eliminations around her carved a hollow, painful hole in your chest.

She stood there, frozen, her eyes wide with raw fear as bodies dropped one by one, their lives snuffed out in an instant.

The sound of each shot rang out like a death knell, each one making her flinch, the horror of it all consuming her.

The games were necessary, but you never wanted y/n within a mile of them, and she didn't deserve a spot. She didn't deserve this.

You couldn’t bear it as guilt flooded your head, asking yourself how you could let this happen. How you could be so oblivious. How you could be so careless.

Your arms crossed tightly over your chest as you rubbed your thumb over your lip, trying to steady your breath, but the panic was suffocating. She was scared, and you could see the paralyzing dread in her eyes as the remaining rounds went on.

Your torture had ended as she and Mina made it across safely, allowing your body to release tension.

Your mind raced, every thought swirling with desperation as you considered all the ways you could protect her. Every option seemed dangerous, every move a step closer to exposing yourself to her. Your fingers ran through your gelled hair, the tension in your shoulders mounting. You knew the truth—if she found out... It would destroy her.

And that was far worse than the lie you were living now.

Your gut clenched bitterly as the weight of the situation sank deeper into your chest. She’d never understand. She couldn’t. No matter how you tried to explain it, the truth would damage her. And you weren’t sure if either of you could survive the aftermath.

You sank into the loveseat, your eyes shifting to the mirror ahead of you. The reflection staring back was unrecognizable.

The image in the glass shattered every preconceived idea of who you were supposed to be in this place. The leader. The cold, calculating mastermind who pulled the strings from behind the scenes. The man who kept his emotions in check, who moved through the shadows without hesitation.

But now?

Now, you could feel the walls crumbling, the mask slipping off with each passing moment. The control you had so carefully cultivated was eroding, and it was because of her.

The realization hit you like a wrecking ball.

You were losing yourself to her—losing one of two things that had kept you alive this long. And the only reason you were willing to let it all slip was because of y/n. Because you didn’t want to watch her suffer, you didn’t want to see that terror in her eyes, knowing you're the cause.

A plan developed in your mind, sudden and dangerous. A twisted solution, but one that could save her.

You would have to enter the games.

For her.

And as the weight of that decision settled over you, you had an odd feeling that this was it. 

__________________

POV: Y/N

Your heart was in your throat, pounding so hard you thought it might burst.

Your legs gave out beneath you, trembling so violently that Mina had to grip your arm just to keep you upright. Her voice cracked as she shouted your name, her panic etching through the fog of your stunned silence. You couldn't move, couldn't breathe. You'd never seen someone die like that— so sudden, so violent. A clean shot, some might call it merciful. But there was nothing merciful about the way bodies crumpled to the ground, lifeless in an instant.

Now, back in the dorms, you leaned into Mina, your head heavy against her shoulder. Her breathing was ragged, her frame trembling beneath your touch, and for a moment, you felt like you were both about to shatter.

"So," Mina whispered, her voice raw and barely holding together. "If you lose the game..you die. The words hung in the air like a noose tightening around your neck. She tried to laugh, a sharp, bitter sound that made your stomach twist. "Quite the plot twist, huh?"

You jerked back, glaring at her through the blur of your tears. "Are you serious right now?"

"What else am I supposed to say?" She snapped, throwing up her hands. "We signed the damn contract, y/n. It's not like we didn't know there'd be consequences."

"Not like this," you muttered, your voice breaking as you clutched your knees.

Mina sighed, running a shaky hand through her hair. "What do you want me to say? Crying about it won't change anything. It won't bring those people back. It won't get us out of here."

Her words stung, sharp, and cruel, but you knew she was wrong. You bit down hard on your lip to keep from breaking apart completely. Crying wouldn't help. Begging wouldn't help. Whoever these people were, they weren't going to care about tears or fear. This wasn't just a game anymore—it was survival.

You sat silently next to Mina, absently picking at a loose thread on your shirt, your mind spinning in endless circles. The room felt suffocating with unspoken fear.

Then you hear it—a voice you hadn't heard in what felt like forever.

"Y/n?"

The whisper of your name cut through the haze. Your head snapped up, and your heart dropped into your stomach. Standing in front of you was In-ho.

For a moment, you thought your eyes were playing cruel tricks on you. He looked exactly as you remembered—same disheveled hair, same piercing eyes. But his expression...it was off. Shock, disbelief, maybe even a glint of betrayal flickered across his face.

Your body moved before you could think. You pulled away from Mina, stumbling to your feet. Your legs felt weak, your breaths shallow, and every nerve in your body screamed that this couldn't be real.

"In-ho?" you choked out, your voice trembling.

Without a word, he closed the distance between you and wrapped his arms around you. The hug was tight, almost desperate, as though he needed to hold you as much as you needed to be held. His scent hit you like a jolt—so familiar, so grounding. It shattered the doubts swirling in your mind.

You froze, your arms hanging limply at your sides as the weight of his embrace pressed into you. Was this real? Could it be him? Tears blurred your vision as you returned the hug, clutching him like he might disappear if you let go. A broken sob tore from your throat.

But even as relief coursed through you, a shadow of doubt lingered, clawing at the edges of your mind. What was he doing here? Why now? And why did it feel like something was wrong?

Pulling back, In-ho's hands gripped your face tightly, his fingers trembling with barely contained fury. His eyes burned into yours, raw and piercing.

"What the hell are you doing here, y/n?" he demanded, his voice low and rough.

Your lips parted, but no sound came out. The tears you thought had subsided returned in full force, choking you. He guided you to sit, his movements sharp and forceful, like he was holding himself back from shaking you for answers.

You gulped for air, your chest heaving as you forced the words out. "My father… he's sick."

The admission felt small, fragile, and yet it hit him like a hammer. He exhaled sharply, the sound heavy with disbelief and frustration. His gaze dropped to the floor, his jaw clenching so tightly you thought he might snap.

Behind you, Mina shifted uncomfortably, her presence a tense reminder of the world around you.

"Why didn't you tell me?" he finally said, his voice strained, the anger giving way to something else—hurt.

Before you could answer, he swiped a thumb across your cheek, wiping away the tears with surprising tenderness. The contrast was jarring, his touch soft against the intensity of his gaze.

"I didn't want you to worry," you muttered, your voice barely above a whisper.

In-ho scoffed, pulling back as he ran a hand through his hair in exasperation. "You didn't want me to worry?" he repeated bitterly. "Do you even realize—" He cut himself off, shaking his head.

But your own questions burned too hot to stay buried. You leaned forward, your voice trembling but steady enough to challenge him. "Why are you here, In-ho? Why did you lie to me?"

His head snapped up at your words, his expression hardening into something unreadable. For a moment, you thought he might not answer, that he'd leave you to drown in your doubts. The silence was deafening, the weight of everything unsaid threatening to crush you both.

"I'm here because I didn't have a choice, y/n," he said, his voice low and strained. "The company…I put everything into it. I thought I could make it work. I thought I could save it."

He swallowed hard, his eyes darting away from yours. "But the debt...it swallowed me whole."

Your stomach twisted, the air suddenly too heavy to breathe. "Debt?" you repeated, your voice shaking.

He nodded, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "It got bad—worse than I ever let on. Loans, investors, deadlines. I tried everything to fix it, but nothing worked."

Your eyes filled with sorrow as you reached for his hand, your fingers trembling slightly as they intertwined with his.

"I'm sorry," you whispered, your voice breaking under the weight of everything.

He huffed softly, his lips pressing into a thin line. "For what? I got myself into this."

You shook your head, gripping his hand a little tighter. "For everything. For keeping secrets, for the company. For getting ourselves into this mess."

In-ho's eyes softened, his resolve cracking just enough to let you see the pain behind it. He scooted, his free hand lifting to cup your cheek. His touch was warm, steadying you in a way words couldn't.

"I swear to you," he said, his voice low but filled with determination, "I'll keep you safe during the games."

You leaned into his touch, closing your eyes as a tear slipped free, wetting his palm. For a moment, the chaos and fear melted away, leaving only the connection between you.

"Everything I do," he continued, his voice softer now, almost reverent, "will be for you."

Your breath caught in your throat—until Mina's voice cut through the air.

"Okay, lovebirds, hate to interrupt your heartfelt moment," she said, leaning on her elbows, "but we're still stuck in a life-or-death situation. Maybe save the romantic monologues for after we survive?"

In-ho's eyes darted up to Mina, his expression instantly shifting from tender to thoroughly exasperated.

"Mina," he said flatly, his tone carrying the weight of someone barely holding onto their patience.

She flashed a wide, overly fake smile, tilting her head like she was posing for a sitcom. "Been a long time, hasn't it?"

In-ho's jaw tightened as he let out a sharp breath through his nose. "Not long enough," he muttered under his breath.

Mina, unfazed, grinned wider. "Oh, come on, don't act like you're not happy to see me. I bring joy wherever I go."

In-ho shot her a deadpan look. "Joy, or chaos?"

"Tomato, to-mah-to," she quipped, shrugging.

You tried to stifle a laugh, which only made In-ho shoot you a betrayed look. "You're laughing? Really?"

Mina threw her arm around your shoulder, grinning smugly.

"See? I'm a gift."

____________________________

Meal time passed in a blur as you scarfed down a hard-boiled egg and a small cup of water. It wasn't much, but enough to stave off the gnawing hunger. In-ho, without hesitation, handed you his share, sliding the egg and water toward you with a sweet look in his eyes.

"You need it more than I do," he said simply, ignoring your protests. Mina, never one to let a moment pass with commentary, let out an exaggerated scoff, teasing In-ho and making her remark.

You shot her a glare, "Mina," you said with a sharp edge in your tone.

"Relax," she retorted, smirking as she propped her chin on her hand. "I'm just saying it's cute. Like a scene from a bad rom-com."

You placed a hand on In-ho's arm, silently urging him to let it go. Mina was a professional instigator, and her relentless jabs were as much a part of her personality as her quick wit. He huffed but turned his focus back to you, muttering something under his breath about how she'd been insufferable since the moment he met her.

Later, you lay curled up under the thin blanket on your assigned bed, its scratchy fabric doing little to shield you from the cold. The tension in the room felt slightly less suffocating with In-ho nearby. He'd managed to switch beds, though "convince" wasn't exactly the right word. You'd watched in uneasy silence as he cornered another player—a scrawny man with wide, fearful eyes—and murmured something low and dangerous. Whatever he said had sent the man scurrying away without a second thought.

You weren't sure how to feel about it. Grateful, maybe. Uneasy, definitely. But with In-ho so close, his steady breathing just within reach, you felt a rare sense of safety in a place where none should exist.

The stifling silence of the dorm settled over you as you tried to relax, but sleep remained evasive. The thin mattress beneath you felt harder with every passing moment, and a nagging pressure in your bladder made it impossible to find peace.

You sighed, rubbing your sweaty palms over your face before throwing the blanket off and slipping out of bed as quietly as you could. The cold floor sent a shiver through you as you tiptoed toward the heavy steel door.

With a hesitant knock, you waited, and after a moment, the small window slid open, revealing a pair of eyes behind an ominous black mask.

"I need to use the restroom, please," you whispered, your voice cracking slightly.

The guard's voice was mechanical and unyielding. "No one is permitted to leave during this hour."

You let out a frustrated sigh, shifting uncomfortably. "Please, it's an emergency."

The guard remained silent, and you opened your mouth to plead again when a voice from behind you called out.

"Let her out."

The command was sharp, cold, and filled with an authority that made the hairs on your neck stand on end. You froze, turning slightly to see In-ho standing a few steps away, his posture rigid and his eyes dark and unreadable.

The tone of his voice was unlike anything you'd ever heard from him before—calculated, commanding, almost chilling. It was the kind of voice that left no room for argument, and even the guard seemed to hesitate, the weight of the demand hanging in the air like a threat.

Your breath caught as the guard finally relented, sliding the door open with a reluctant nod towards In-ho. You glanced at him, his face shadowed by the dim light, and felt a strange mix of gratitude and unease settle in your chest.

The guard stepped aside, motioning for you to follow as the heavy steel door groaned open. You glanced back at In-ho, expecting him to stay behind, but he was already moving to fall into step beside you, his expression unreadable.

The cold air of the corridor hit you like a wall, sending a chill through your already tense frame. The guard's imposing presence loomed ahead, his boots echoing ominously against the concrete floor. You hesitated, then turned to In-ho, your voice low.

"You don't have to come with me, you know. I can take care of myself," you murmured your tone a mix of gratitude and concern.

His eyes flicked to yours briefly before scanning the dim hallway around you. The shadows seemed to shift and stretch with every step, making the atmosphere feel even heavier.

"I stay with you," he muttered, his voice quiet but firm, as though the walls themselves might be listening.

You noticed the way his shoulders remained taut, his movements calculated as if expecting danger at every corner. His eyes darted to the guard ahead, then back to you, and for a moment, you caught a glimpse of something deeper in his gaze.

He stayed close, his presence a shield against the unsettling stillness of the corridor.

Reaching the bathroom, you pushed the door open, feeling the cool air inside as it contrasted against the heat building in your chest. You stepped forward, but before you could make it inside, In-ho followed, his movements swift and deliberate. With a forceful push, he slammed the door shut behind him, trapping you between him and the wood.

You gasped, caught off guard by the sudden intensity of the situation. "What are you doing?" you started, but the words died in your throat.

In-ho didn't answer. Instead, he moved closer, his breath warm against your skin as he cupped your face with his hands. Before you could protest or fully understand what was happening, his lips crashed against yours, silencing everything around you.

For a moment, everything went still—your heartbeat, the weight of your breath, the tension in the air. Then, slowly, you let yourself sink into him, your body responding to his touch with a deep, aching need you hadn't even realized was there. You kissed him back with all the desperation and longing that had been building since the moment he left that coffee shop, your hands reaching up to pull him closer, craving the connection, the heat.

His lips were soft yet urgent, and the kiss deepened, a powerful force that seemed to push away everything else—the fear, the uncertainty, the danger. All that mattered in that moment was him and the way he made you feel safe. You hear the lock click, then feel the touch of In-ho's hand on your waist. You pull back, In-ho's lips working against your neck.

You chuckled, "We can't fuck in the bathroom," You choked as he bit your neck. "Says who?" he uttered against your skin. You smiled with a gasp, "The people that run this place." He only pulls you closer, scooping you into his arms. You look down at him, legs wrapped around his back, "don't worry about them."

Laying you gently on the nearest sink, you pulled him closer as he slid his hands under your shirt, cupping your breasts while sucking at your neck. You whined at the sensation, yanking his jacket and shirt off. You needed him.

Now.

"This is wrong," you arched into his touch as he squeezed. The thought of fucking in a place of death, a place of violence, chilled your spine.  

"Tell me to stop, then." He orders.

You couldn't find the words, thoughts drowned out by need—by desire, and you felt him smirk against your skin.

Reaching for the edges of your shirt, he lifted the fabric over your head, laying it behind you on the cold granite.

You ran your fingers through his hair, tugging at the silken strands as he groaned at the ache. You smiled, tugging his head back, attaching your lips and dragging your tongue to his jaw, his neck, his chest—anything and everything you could reach.

With one quick motion, he pulled you off the sink, turning you around and pushing you face-first into the sink. His palm held your head to the cool granite, keeping you in place. Your breath hitched as he pulled your pants down, taking your underwear with. His hands squeezed and grabbed at your ass before administering a sharp slap. You cried out as he leaned into your ear.

"You want me to fuck you?" You whined, your eyes closed, taking in the moment with him. "Fuck you so the guard outside knows who you belong to you?"

He tugged at his pants, removed them completely, and aligned himself to you. He pushed into you with a force that knocked the air from your lungs.  

Your neck was pulled at such an angle that you could see yourself in the mirror—cheeks red, lips puffy, and mouth agape as In-ho was mercilessly fucking you. Your hips ached from the force of hitting the counter, making you shriek. He groaned, "I missed you," he leaned forward again, and you grabbed at his neck behind you, pulling him closer.

You whined, "I-I think—" he grabbed at your jaw, "cum for me," he demanded, forcing your climax to shatter through you. Biting at your shoulder, he fucked you through it, reaching his peak a moment later.

As he slowed, he kept himself right where he was, wrapping his arms around your front and offering a sweet kiss to your cheek.

"That was fun, but I really need to pee." You whispered.

Sitting up slowly, you watched as In-ho moved around the small bathroom, his movements almost automated as he dressed. The sound of fabric rustling filled the silence, but inside, you felt anything but calm. A wave of guilt, heavy and suffocating, crashed over you, the weight of it pressing down on your chest.

What had you just done?

You both had fucked like everything was fine, like you were on some sort of carefree vacation, lost in the moment. But this wasn't a vacation. This wasn't a time for pleasure or escape. People were dying here—people you didn't know, people you'd likely never see again. And yet, you had let yourself indulge in something as fleeting and intimate as this as if nothing mattered. As if you were safe.

The realization hit you with sharp clarity. You were not safe.

You stood quickly, your hands shaking as you hurriedly slipped your shirt and pants back on. The fabric felt tight and foreign against your skin, as if you were suddenly aware of the gravity of every movement, every breath.

You glanced over at In-ho, who had stopped midway through shrugging into his jacket, his eyes narrowing slightly as he caught the change in your demeanor. His gaze softened, but the concern in his eyes only made the guilt in your stomach churn harder.

_______________

The next game arrived faster than you had anticipated, and the tension in your chest only deepened as you prepared yourself for whatever twisted challenge awaited. You instinctively attached yourself to In-ho, walking shoulder to shoulder with him, Mina's hand securely in yours. The three of you were a united front, or at least you tried to be. In-ho, however, refused to acknowledge it, his disdain for Mina simmering just beneath the surface, his gaze sharp and focused as he kept a distance between them.

Entering the game room, your breath caught at the sight before you: a massive merry-go-round, the painted horses eerily still, surrounded by a strange sense of foreboding. You couldn't help but glance around, trying to make sense of it all.

"Any ideas yet?" you asked Mina, but before she could respond, In-ho cut in with an air of certainty.

"Mingle," he said simply.

You turned toward him, a flicker of surprise in your eyes. "How are you so sure?"

Mina's brow furrowed with suspicion, matching your confused look as she eyed him closely. In-ho gave you both a quick glance before answering with a confidence that made your skin crawl.

"The rooms, the platform. It's obvious."

Without another word, he walked ahead, leaving you and Mina in his wake. Mina leaned in closer, her voice low, filled with an edge of concern.

"Don't you think he's guessing a little...too well?"

You pushed her lightly, a knot forming in your stomach as you caught onto the insinuation.

"Don't be silly. We don't even know if he's right."

But Mina wasn't letting it go. She grabbed your shoulders firmly, her eyes crinkling with worry, her voice taking on a more urgent tone.

"I'm saying this as your bestest friend, y/n," she insisted, her gaze locking onto yours, "but something feels off." Her grip tightened, and you felt the weight of her words settle in your chest.

Her voice dropped to a whisper, barely audible, as she leaned closer.

"I've been watching him. I've caught this look in his eye—this calculated look—and it's just giving me this god-awful feeling. The way he threatened that older man, how quickly he figured things out... doesn't it make you wonder why he just randomly appeared after the first game?"

You could feel your heartbeat quicken, the creeping unease crawling up your spine. Mina wasn't the type to stir the pot without reason, and her concern was palpable, making your own doubts resurface. You hadn't noticed it before, but now—he was different. His reactions, his confidence—it all seemed a little too... precise. Too perfect. Not to mention the guard shrinking from his demand.

You swallowed hard, trying to push the rising fear down. "Mina... you're overthinking it."

But the doubt gnawed at you, and the unease in your gut only grew heavier.

"Maybe I am," Mina said, her voice filled with uncertainty but still holding a note of conviction.

She paused, then added, "Just listen for the announcement. If he's wrong, you can spend the rest of our lives rubbing it in."

She gave a slight, teasing snicker, her smile a little more strained now, as if trying to lighten the growing tension.

"Just don't die on me and ruin the moment," she added, the last part almost playful, but there was an underlying concern in her voice.

You couldn't help but laugh, the sound coming out a little too nervous to be genuine, but you couldn't help it. "Oh, don't worry," you said, forcing a grin as you nudged her shoulder. "I'm definitely going to outlive you."

Mina's arm swung around your shoulders, pulling you in tight for a brief, tight hug. Her grip was almost protective, and you could feel her warmth seep through your clothes, an odd comfort in a place like this.

"If you do outlive me," she muttered into your ear, "just promise me you'll still remember who had your back when no one else did."

Her words were light, but you knew she meant them as the two of you stepped on the platform next to In-ho.

The familiar woman's voice echoed, but it felt distant like you were hearing it through a thick fog, muffled and hollow.

"Players, welcome to the second game."

A chill ran down your spine.

"For your next game, you will be playing Mingle.”

Your heart stopped.

No, it couldn't be. Not this. The ground beneath you seemed to tilt, and for a moment, everything went still. Your body felt weightless, detached from the reality around you. The world felt like it was spinning, but you were anchored somewhere far away, watching yourself as if from a distance.

You glanced at Mina, your hand trembling in hers as your gaze locked onto hers, the panic written all over your face mirrored in hers. The sound of the woman's voice faded into static, her words becoming unintelligible as your hearing seemed to dull, the world slipping further from your grasp.

You squeezed Mina's hand with a strength you didn't know you had, but the pressure in your chest only tightened. Her expression softened into something akin to sorrow, the pity in her eyes somehow making everything worse. It was as if she could feel what you were experiencing—the crushing weight of the game's announcement.

Too afraid to look at In-ho, you kept your eyes fixed on Mina, clinging to her as if she could pull you back from the edge as if she could stop everything from falling apart. But the feeling—the sense of drowning in your own mind—was overwhelming, suffocating. The fear clawed at you, and you couldn't stop it, couldn't stop the sense of losing yourself in the chaos of it all.

It was like the world was rushing forward, and you were stuck, frozen in place, unable to breathe.

It was as if everything fell into place in that moment, the pieces of the puzzle clicking together with a sickening clarity. The rush of realization hit you all at once, and it was like a weight was crushing your chest.

You thought back to the things he'd said, the things he'd done—each one a thread leading you to this horrifying truth. The way he'd spoken to you at the coffee shop, so calm and calculated, the same cold detachment in his voice now. That look in his eyes—it wasn't just about the game, wasn't just about survival. It was something darker.

He knew exactly where Mina was losing her money. He knew, and he didn't care. And that violent threat he made to that man—it wasn't a slip of anger, wasn't a moment of desperation. It was deliberate. Purposeful. The guard, too, obeying him without question—it wasn't just chance.

"Don't worry about them," he had said in the bathroom. And now, the words echoed in your mind, twisted with new meaning, the lie hanging heavy between you.

You turned to him slowly in that instant, your heart hammering in your chest. The betrayal was like a sharp knife, cutting deeper with every passing second. His cold countenance met your gaze, and in that moment, it all became painfully clear. His indifference to everything, to everyone around him—it wasn't survival for him.

It wasn't coincidence. It wasn't a fluke. It was him.

You looked down and off in the distance.

The games — It was him.

Mina's grip tightened around your hand, pulling you forward off the platform in a blur. You hadn't even realized the game had started—your mind was still reeling, the weight of the revelation suffocating your thoughts. The number 2 echoed in the air, and the pressure of the game became all too real.

Before you could even process what was happening, a sudden force yanked you back, your arm jerking as a strong hand latched onto you. You were pulled against a hard, familiar chest, and you barely had time to breathe before you recognized the feeling—the cold, unyielding presence of In-ho.

A jolt of panic shot through you, but Mina wasn't letting you go that easily. She struggled to break free, her hand reaching for yours, fighting with everything she had to drag you away from him. But it was no use, as a passerby knocked her down with a strong force.

In-ho was swift, dragging you toward the nearest room without hesitation, his grip firm on your arm. The sound of footsteps echoed in the hall, but before you could even register the danger, a man appeared from the shadows, lunging forward and knocking you to the ground.

Twenty seconds

The urgency of the countdown pulsed in the air. In-ho reacted in an instant, grabbing the man by the shoulders and slamming him back.

"Get in! Go!" he barked, his voice cutting through the chaos.

You didn't need to be told twice. Fear surged through your body, and you bolted for the room, throwing yourself inside. But as the door slammed behind you, your heart sank—there was already someone in the room. The man's partner, standing tall, blocking the way.

In-ho was hot on your heels, entering just a moment later. His eyes immediately locked onto the intruder.

"Out," he commanded coldly, his voice carrying authority. But the man stood his ground, refusing to move.

Ten Seconds

In-ho didn't hesitate. He circled around the man with lightning speed, his movements precise and calculated. Before the man could react, In-ho had him in a chokehold, his grip unyielding.

The room felt smaller, the air thicker, as your pulse raced in your throat. Terrified, you backed against the wall, eyes wide with panic. You could feel the countdown in your chest, each second more suffocating than the last.

5...4...3...2...1

A sharp, sickening crack split the silence, and the man's body went limp in In-ho's arms, his life snuffed out in an instant. The room seemed to freeze, and for a moment, all you could hear was the ringing in your ears.

You slid down the wall in a daze, your breath shallow as you pressed your hand to your mouth, trying to stifle the shock and nausea threatening to overwhelm you. You couldn’t look away from the lifeless form, the reality of what had just happened sinking in, making your head spin.

Mina.

You jumped to your feet, looking out the small window of the room.

You couldn't find her.

That was a good thing, right?

Remaining in the room, that same woman's voice spoke over the loudspeaker.

"The following players have been eliminated."

"Player 022, 120, 207..."

You tried to block out the sound of the numbers, each one echoing in your mind like a drumbeat, relentless and deafening. But then, the one number you’d been desperately praying would never come—the one you feared more than any other—was announced.

"Player 067, eliminated."

The words felt like a physical blow, crashing into you with an intensity that took your breath away. A cold, sinking feeling spread through your chest as reality shattered. The world blurred around you, the weight of the announcement pressing down on your entire being, suffocating you.

You screamed, the sound raw and desperate, a cry that seemed to tear from your very soul. You screamed until your throat burned, until the pain in your chest was too much to bear, until everything in your vision distorted in the haze of shock and grief.

And then, cold hands gripped your shoulders—too cold, too steady. In-ho pulled you, almost as if he were dragging you into the abyss with them. You couldn’t move. You couldn��t think. All that remained was the sound of your own voice breaking, the empty, hollow realization that you’d lost someone you couldn’t afford to lose in this hellish place.

His hands guided you down to the floor, but your legs refused to hold you. You crumpled, your body trembling violently as the weight of the loss crushed you.

There was nothing but the scream in your throat and the terrible, empty silence that followed the words you could never unhear.

____________________________________

You didn’t remember slipping into unconsciousness, but in that moment, it felt like a mercy—an escape from the crushing weight of reality.

When you awoke, everything felt distant, foreign, like you had been transported to a place where nothing mattered anymore. The world around you was different, but you barely registered it, your mind too numb to care.

In-ho stood in front of you, his presence as suffocating as the silence that hung between you. His eyes bore into yours, but yours were hollow, glassy, stripped of the light they once had.

"Drink this," he murmured, extending an undersized glass of liquor. His voice was steady, yet cold, as if rehearsed. You took the glass with trembling hands but not to drink. With a sharp motion, you hurled it across the room. The glass shattered against the wall, fragments raining down like jagged tears.

"You're despicable," you spat, the words seething with venom. His face barely flinched, but his eyes betrayed a flicker of something-pain? Regret? It didn't matter.

"You were never meant to be involved, y/n. If you would have just come to me about your troubles this wouldn't have happened."

You scoffed, your lip curling in contempt. "Oh, and everything would have been perfect, wouldn't it? You jetting off on your little 'business trips,' murdering people, while I stayed home like some clueless fool, keeping your bed warm and smiling like an idiot. Is that how you imagined it?" 

Your voice wavered, thick with bitterness, as tears burned your cheeks.

"How..how could you do it?" He circled you, slow and deliberate, like a predator cornering prey. He sank into the loveseat behind you with an air of calculated calm, gesturing for you to sit. His hand barely moved, a silent command. You didn't budge.

He sighed, "I'm doing this for us, for you. Don't you see? The people chosen for the game are parasites—leeches consumed by greed and selfishness. They deserve to be eliminated from existence. Whether they're crushed in the process or crawl away with their filthy riches, it doesn't matter. Either way, they're removed from our world."

Your breath caught in your throat, the words slicing through you like a jagged blade. For a moment, you couldn't speak, couldn't even think. His voice, so calm, so calculating, made your skin crawl.

"For us?" you finally choked out, your voice trembling, caught between disbelief and anguish.

 "How can you even say that?"

He didn't flinch, didn't waver, his eyes cold and distant. But you? You were unraveling. Your chest heaved as if trying to contain the storm brewing inside you.

"People? Parasites? Is that what you think they are? Is that what you thought Mina was? Is that why you had her killed?

"Is that what you think I am?" The words came out sharp, but your voice cracked under the weight of your emotions.

That seemed to get to him. He rose from his seat with slow, deliberate movements, his eyes never leaving yours.

"You?" he said, his voice softer now but no less chilling. "You're not like them."

He began walking toward you, his steps measured, almost cautious, like he was approaching a cornered animal.

"You're not here for your own gain, not for greed or selfish desires. You're here for your father, fighting to save him. That’s why I-I” He started, but you scoffed cutting him off.

But as he drew closer, you instinctively stepped back, your feet moving before your mind could catch up. A cold rush of fear swept over you. You'd never been afraid of him before, but now? Now, you couldn't trust what he was capable of.

"In-ho... don't," you whispered, your voice shaking.

He froze mid-step, his hand half-raised toward you, his brows knitting together. "Don't do that," he said, his voice breaking slightly. "Don't back away from me. Please, don't... don't be afraid of me."

Your heart clenched, but his words didn't bring comfort. They only deepened the chasm between you.

How could this be the same man who once made you laugh until your sides hurt? Who wiped your tears with such tenderness that you thought your heart might burst from the love you felt for him? Memories surged through you—the quiet mornings, the stolen smiles, the promises whispered in the dark. You thought of every moment you had shared, the man you believed in, the man you loved with everything you had.

And now, here he was—a stranger standing before you, cloaked in the shadow of someone you used to know.

"How can I not be afraid?" You whispered, your voice barely audible. You felt the knife twist in your back. Your eyes dropped to the crimson spreading across your clothes, the sheer volume of people's blood making your stomach churn. You trembled uncontrollably, paralyzed by shock and disbelief. Through your haze of agony, you caught In-ho's gaze. His expression was a storm of guilt and regret, but it only deepened your devastation as you crumbled before him.

Finally, your voice cracked again. "I…I need space."

His expression faltered, pain flashing across his face. "Space?"

You nodded, wiping your tear-streaked face with trembling hands. "I can't… I need to think. Please."

He hesitated, then nodded slowly, though his posture screamed reluctance. "You can take the spare bedroom," he said softly. "Down the hall, second door on the left."

Without another word, you turned and walked away, your legs heavy and unsteady beneath you. When you reached the room, you stepped inside and slammed the door shut, locking it before leaning back against it. Your chest heaved as you tried to catch your breath, your mind racing.

After a moment, you crossed the room, grabbing fresh towels from the small cabinet. You needed to wash it all away—the day, the deaths, the violence. Everything.

The bathroom was dimly lit, the only sound the steady rush of warm water from the shower. You stepped inside, sinking down onto the cold tile floor as the water poured over you, mixing with your tears.

Your mind raced, flashing back to the chaos of the day—the screams, the blood, the merciless decisions. And at the center of it all, the one pulling the strings was him. In-ho.

But then, as much as you wanted to hate him, memories of the past three years flooded your mind. His laughter that lit up even your darkest days. The way he'd hold you, whispering that everything would be okay. The small, thoughtful gestures that made you feel so loved. The way he'd make love.

You buried your face in your hands, the water soaking through your hair and down your bare skin. You still loved him. Even after everything, your heart ached for him.

But how could you reconcile the man who once made your world brighter with the man you'd seen today? The man who was capable of orchestrating so much death and pain?

Your shoulders shook as sobs wracked your body. You didn't know what to do. You didn't know if you could forgive him or if you could ever look at him the same way again.

And yet, even in the depths of your confusion and heartbreak, one thing was painfully clear—you still loved him, but you're not even sure he existed anymore.

__________________

It had been two weeks, two long weeks of isolation. You barely left your room, only emerging when absolutely necessary —for food or the fleeting desire for a change in scenery. In-ho had tried, time and time again, to draw you out of your silence, but every time he spoke, every time his eyes met yours, you couldn't even bring yourself to acknowledge him. The pain was still too raw.

Now, standing in front of the mirror, brushing your damp hair, you let the motions soothe you for a moment. The simple act of taking care of yourself felt almost comforting. But then a knock at the door broke through the quiet.

You approached cautiously, heart beating faster as you turned the knob, only to find In-ho standing there. He said nothing at first, just looked at you, his expression unreadable.

"I want to show you something," he said, his voice low.

You hesitated, shaking your head, instinctively wanting to retreat back into the safety of your room. But his next words made you pause, the sincerity in his eyes pulling at something deep inside of you.

"Please."

It was a simple plea, but it held something genuine—something that made you want to trust him, just for a moment. You sighed, giving in, and followed him down the hall to his office.

The space was quiet and orderly as always. In-ho circled around his desk and sat down, and you stood, hugging your arms tightly to yourself, feeling the chill of the room. He beckoned you over, and you approached, curiosity and apprehension warring in your chest.

He opened a file on his computer, and as the video began to play, your eyes scanned the screen. You recognized the area instantly—it was right outside the city hospital, a place so familiar to you.

And then, you saw him. Your father, sitting in a wheelchair. Beside him, your mother. And the woman next to them…

Mina.

Your heart leaped in your chest, the tears welling up in your eyes as the weight of the moment crashed down on you.

You blinked, trying to steady yourself as you turned to In-ho, your voice shaky. "How..."

He looked back at you, his tone softer than you expected. "Mina was removed from the games. Her death was faked." He turned the screen toward you, showing more of the footage. "As for your father, I made sure the necessary funds were sent and lined him up with a donor."

A sense of relief flooded through you like a tidal wave. You didn't know whether to laugh or cry, but one thing was clear—everything was going to be okay.

For the first time in what felt like forever, you could breathe again. The people you cared about were safe. Your father was getting the help he needed, and Mina—Mina was alive.

Tears streamed down your face, but they were no longer tears of grief. They were tears of release, of a weight finally lifted.

In-ho's gaze met yours, his eyes unwavering as he reached out to take your hands gently in his. His touch was warm, grounding, as if he was trying to reassure you, to remind you that you were no longer alone in this.

"I swore to you," he said, his voice low and steady, "that everything I did, every decision, every action—it would be for you."

You slid into his lap, your knees trembling as you took his face in your hands, wiping away the stray tear that escaped down his cheek. His skin felt warm against your palms, a comfort you had clung to so many times before, but now it only reminded you of how much had changed—how far apart the two of you had drifted.

"All these years," you began, your voice breaking as tears welled in your eyes, "all I've known is what you've allowed me to know. Half of who you are. And I loved that half—I loved it with everything in me." Your voice faltered, but you forced yourself to continue, your fingers trembling as they traced the curve of his jaw. "But this," you said, gesturing to the cold, sterile facility surrounding you, "this is something I can't forgive. These people… they're not parasites or leeches. They're human beings, In-ho. Human beings who were dealt a bad hand. And you've turned their suffering into a game."

His brows furrowed, his eyes glistening with unshed tears, but he said nothing. You could see it—the war raging in his mind, the guilt and conflict he was too proud to admit. You leaned in closer, your forehead almost touching his as you whispered, your voice trembling, "I'm going to give you a choice."

His hands slid up your waist instinctively, as if trying to anchor himself to you, trying to hold on to the one thing he couldn't bear to lose. You felt his grip tighten, desperate, but you pressed on, your words cutting through the silence.

"Come home with me," you said, your voice cracking with emotion. "Leave this all behind and we can reset. Walk away from this nightmare, because if you don't…" Your breath caught as tears spilled freely down your cheeks. "If you don't, In-ho, you will never see me again."

His eyes widened, a flicker of pain flashing across his face as he processed your words. You saw the gears turning in his mind, the walls he had built around himself crumbling under the weight of your ultimatum. His grip on you faltered, his hands trembling as he clung to you like a lifeline.

"In-ho," you whispered, your voice barely audible, "please. I can't save you from this. You have to save yourself."

For a long, agonizing moment, he said nothing, his silence filling the room like a deafening roar. And as you stared into his eyes, searching for the man you had loved for so long, you realized this moment would either be the beginning of something new—or the end of everything.

[captain-huggy-bear]

Priorities

Pairing: Quinn Hughes x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Illness/comfort

Summary: When Quinn gets a text from you 2 hours before his game, he shows where his priorities lie when he drops it all for you.

Series: Teacher Reader series

Notes: I am not very well atm and I had to drive home dizzy from work the other day, the idea of Quinn being there to help has been stuck in my head so have some self indulgence from me.

A kind of sequel to In Sickness and in Health but you don't need to read that to read this.

Totally happy to take requests/ideas/prompts at the moment in my ask box :)

Writing Masterlist

He's already at the rink getting ready for the game in the locker room when his phone goes off. You don't actually ring him, clearly doing that thing you always do where you're trying to not bother him on a game day, instead you send a quick text message. He expects the usual:

'Good luck on the game today, baby!'

Instead, the text he gets has him picking his phone up and calling you back in an instant, worry clouding his judgement and making his hands shake slightly.

'Hey, so guess who's being sent home because she's dizzy and can't breathe? I had my head between my legs for 20 minutes, definitely can't stand and teach. Have a good game x'.

You drop the good luck at the end like he's not supposed to be worried, like you've just casually told him about the weather and not that you we're struggling to breathe.

It doesn't really matter that Tocc is giving him the look, the one he reserves for when he's annoyed at the boys, or that half the locker room have stopped their own pre-game, pre-warm up routines to watch their captain frantically call you. He's pacing back and forth, bouncing on the balls of his feet as he waits for you to pick up the phone.

"Quinn?" You sound so incredibly breathless its like listening to an asthmatic 80 year old who's smoked for half their life. Except you don't smoke and you're not asthmatic or 80 which makes the whole situation about 10 times worse because you shouldn't be struggling to breathe. You should be doing better today.

You've been ill, he knows this, a chest infection he forced you to get meds for on the weekend. Meds which should have started working by now, a heavy dose of antibiotics and steroids which were supposed to have helped. You'd felt well enough this morning to go in and give work another go, but he regrets letting you do that now. Clearly trying to stand up in front of teenagers and talk was not something you should have been doing, not when the school day had only started half an hour ago and you were already being sent home.

"Baby, are okay?" You're sitting on the front steps of the school with all your things when you answer the phone to Quinn's worried voice. You keep telling yourself you just need a minute, just a minute and then you won't feel so dizzy, won't feel so breathless. Just a minute and the tingles in your fingers will go and your hands will stop shaking so much. Just a minute and then you can drive home and get into bed.

"Y-yeah, I'm...I'm just breathless. I'll be okay...they're...they're covering my...my lessons and..." You stop for a minute, taking big deep breathes, you sound so laboured on the phone that Quinn can't help but clench his phone tighter in his hand, "and I'm going home now." Your breaths are wheezy, just like Saturday, in fact he's certain you sound worse.

"How are you getting home?" He knows the answer before you say it and he hates it before he even hears it. You're dizzy and breathless and there is no way you should be driving home at all, but he knows you. Self-reliant to a fault, a martyr, always pushing yourself past the point of no return because you think you're fine, because you convince yourself you're fine. Because you don't want to inconvenience anyone or cause more problems. You ask to little of people around you, expecting barely anything despite all you give.

"I'm...I'm going to...to drive."

"No. You're not. I'm going to come get you." You want to protest a lot more than you do if you're being honest. But, you're so tired and it's so hard to breathe and students wandering in late to school are staring at you like you're having a break down. So your protests are relatively lacklustre by your usual standard. That actually worries him more.

"It's...there's like 2 hours before the game...you've...you've got warm ups soon." You hate the idea of him missing warm ups or god forbid the game, all because you were too stupid to realise you shouldn't have gone into work in the first place.

"So, I'll get you, take you home and come back to the rink and play. I'll walk to the school tomorrow and collect your car so you don't have to worry about it. But, you aren't driving, baby. If you even try to get in that car I will being fucking pissed. I love you, you do not get in that car." You know he's serious in that moment, not just because he's very rarely angry at you or anyone but himself, outside of the rink, but because he's got that clipped tone he only uses when he's serious. This isn't a request, it's a direct order and you have no intention of disobeying it, not when you know he's right...not when it makes you feel warm and fuzzy inside that he's so insistent about your wellbeing.

"But, what...what if you miss warm ups?" He loves how much you support him and his hockey, he always will, but he hates that your first thought is that hockey should come first. His girlfriend can barely breathe right now and he quite honestly doesn't give a flying fuck if he misses warm ups. The team had to pull themselves together at some point and you came first. Always. If they couldn't manage warm ups without him then what was the point of paying them so much money?

"Warm ups aren't my priority, baby. You are. Do not get in the car. Do not drive. Do not move. I'm leaving right now, okay? Just sit on the steps of the school and take deep breaths." He's already grabbing his keys, not even bothering to change out of his gear other than putting some proper shoes on so that he can actually drive. He knows it'll spark some speculation and rumours, Captain of the Canucks storming out of the arena 2 hours before puck drop in full gear except his skates, but he doesn't fucking care about that right now.

"...Okay...thank you, Quinny. I love you." You say it because in that moment you have never felt so loved, to have someone drop everything, something so important, to come get you...Maybe its the meds, maybe its the breathlessness, the infection, but you feel like crying a little because of how sweet he is even when he's bossing you about.

"I'll see you soon, baby. I love you too."

He doesn't waste time once he hangs up, just turns straight to Tocc and tells him, "I'll be back."

The look he gets is a mixture of disbelief, frustration and confusion and he really can't blame Tocc for it. Not when Quinn is the captain, the player that seems to make a massive difference on the ice, and he's about to run out the doors 2 hours before the game? Yeah, he knows Tocc doesn't want to hear it.

"Quinn, where you going? We have a game in 2 hours?!" He knows he's going to be cutting it fine with Vancouver traffic and getting to your school, the apartment and back to the arena, but he's not letting you drive. He could live with missing a game, losing a game, but he couldn't live with himself if he let you drive home and something happened. His job was to look after you, if he failed at that? What was the fucking point?

"Tocc, I'll be back. I promise. But, right now my girlfriend is unable to breathe and dizzy and I'm not letting her drive home, okay? Sooner I leave, sooner I come back."

Maybe it's the insistence on Quinn's face, the reality that if he was forced to stay he wouldn't play well anyway. Maybe it's that you and Tocc get along and he can see a hint of concern in the other man's eyes or maybe Tocc just trusts him that much. But, he actually agrees to let him go. Not that Quinn could really be forced to stay. They'd have to tie him to the bench.

"Okay, I'm trusting you."

"Thanks."

Quinn ignores every single person he storms past, every employee, every fan outside, every person with a camera that starts asking him where he's going as he starts his car with one destination in mind. Maybe he seems rude, maybe he seems standoffish, but he doesn't really care because right now you are sat on the steps of a school struggling to breathe and he just wants to see you and get you home and into bed.

He doesn't even care that he knows Tocc is going to be questioned about his absence or that he can already hear his phone pinging with notifications from social media, most likely people asking where he was going and speculating.

'Just saw Quinn Hughes storm out of Rogers Arena in full gear, finally got fed up of his team?'

'Um, is anyone else panicking that Hughes just left the arena like 2 hours before puck drop?'

'Captain Lexapro has officially lost it with this team, just stormed out of the arena!!'

He tries his best not to break any traffic laws getting to you, despite the fact he has a lead foot that wants to press harder on the accelerator. But, he knows you'd hate it and you'd worry more about him getting a ticket, so he just grips the steering wheel tighter until he's turning into the school car park.

He doesn't try to park in a proper space, just pulls up as close to you as possible before hopping out. Your head is between your legs, shoulders rising and falling in laboured breaths and he feels like he's been punched in the stomach at how bad you sound.

"Oh, baby..." He's kneeling on the dirty ground within seconds and you try, through broken gasps to tell him he'll get his hockey socks dirty, but he doesn't listen to you, just reaches to pull you into a hug.

"Let's get you home, okay? Tomorrow we're going back to the doctors, okay?" You're leaning your head into his shoulder so heavily that he's worried you might actually pass out. It's like the moment his arms wrap around you, you just give up on holding yourself up. In truth, that's kind of what happens. You just want to lean into him, soak up the comfort of your boyfriend lighting petting your hair and whispering into your ear.

"Don't y-you have...practice?"

"I think I can fit the doctors in around practice, baby..." He doesn't tell you, but he'd forgo practice for you. He doesn't care about anything but how you're doing and you're not okay. Quinn can see that better than anyone.

"Alright, up you get..." He stands first, hands reaching for yours to help pull you to your feet. You sway before him like you're on a 16th century galleon in a thunderstorm, forehead plonking on his chest heavily, "Atta, girl. There we go." He just strokes your hair and back while you wait for the dizziness to pass, he knows each second will make him later to the arena but he's not going to rush you when you're struggling just to stand without fainting.

"Alright, let me get your stuff and then we'll take it one step at a time, baby, okay?"

"O..okay...one step...at a time." He tries his best not to let go of you completely as he bundles your work bag onto his shoulder. Quinn is as quick as he can be with it, before pulling you under his arm and helping you inch step by step towards the car.

It's slow going, every few steps you get a little dizzy and he waits for you to nod before he pushes you forward again. You're drained, dark circles under your eyes and skin losing some of its usual colour by the time you reach the car.

Quinn had purposefully pulled up the car with the passenger side facing you and you're thankful not to have to walk around the car as you brace yourself against the door for a moment. Quinn helps ease you into the seat, reaching over to put your seatbelt on for you and adjust the headrest so you can lean back. It eases some of the weight in your chest.

"Nearly home, okay, baby?"

You just nod, exhausted as his hands cup your cheeks tenderly, spreading a soft sort of affection through your already aching chest. He's so gentle as he looks down at you, fingers rubbing circles in your cheeks, but he looks so worried and you feel so guilty because he shouldn't have to be that worried.

"You've been so brave, baby, you're so brave...soon you'll be in bed and you can watch the game and sleep, okay?" He knows you'll want to watch the game if you're sat at home, mostly because you watch every game he plays even if its on catch up, but also because he knows it'll reassure you that he made it back in time.

You nod again, blinking up at him so tired that he can't help but frown.

"Atta, girl. My brave girl." The kiss Quinn presses to your forehead is short and sweet, not lingering but filling you with warmth and lightness even as he closes the door on you and gets into the driver's side.

You miss his comforting touch and as if he knows this, his hand reaches for your thigh at any given opportunity when it isn't in use to drive. The stability of it, the comfort of just having him there is so welcome and helps you to relax back into the seat as he drives.

It's just as hard work getting you into the apartment, thankful as ever that the elevator actually works, but once you're in, Quinn feels ten times lighter.

"Right, lets get you comfy, baby...you want one of my jerseys or a hoodie?"

"Jersey...the....the black one, please."

"Okay, sit down, there ya go, good girl.." He watches you the entire time from the corner of his eye, scared you'll lean too far forward from how you're hunched over on the edge of the bed. He tries to make the entire thing quick, reaching for his black jersey, the extra big one that he bought home because you liked how it dwarfed you and even dwarfed him.

"Arms up, baby..." He helps you out of your work blouse and your bra, slipping the jersey over the top quickly to avoid the shivers you start shaking with.

The worst part is getting you to your feet to get your bottoms off. Quinn helps you rise to your feet before kneeling in front of you, dragging your hands to his shoulders for support as he helps you inch out of the remainder of your work clothes. Your fingers grip his shoulders so tight that he's certain you might leave bruises but he doesn't really care, just happy to get you comfy and help you into bed.

You're bundled under as many blankets as he can find, plus the heated blanket you got at Christmas. A big jug of water beside the bed, snacks piled high because he is not having you try to go all the way to kitchen without supervision right now.

"You want the game set to go on?"

"Y...yes, please...wanna watch you play." He turns the television on, setting it to the NHL game set to go live in less than an hour now and he knows he's going to miss warm ups at this point. Tocc's probably blowing up his phone and he knows he's cutting it fine...but you look so small bundled up in bed and he actually hates the idea of leaving you alone. He hates not having his family near all the time as a general rule, but in that moment he hates it so much more. If his mum or dad had been near he could have asked Ellen or Jim to check in on you, instead you were going to be all alone and he hated it.

"I'll score for you, yeah? You can watch me score and maybe we'll win and then I'll come and make us dinner. That sound good, baby?"

"Perfect..." Quinn smooths your hair back from your face, tucking a strand behind your ear even as he uses it as an excuse to feel your temperature. Not unreasonably warm which reassures him a little that you're at least not feverish.

He just keeps sitting there next to you, stroking your hair and caressing your cheek to the point that as much as you're loathe to get him to stop and to leave, you have to remind him he can't stay here. He has a game he's already running late to.

"You...you have to go, Quinn...I'll be okay..."

"If you're not, you'll phone 911, right?" He smooths your hair back again, in truth he really doesn't want to leave you there like that. Even as you seem to be breathing a little better now you're lying down. He considers just not going, if they lose they lose...but he knows he can't. He's captain, he promised he'd be back...and you'd be unhappy with him. He might be your boyfriend but the Canucks were your team and you'd likely make him sleep on the couch for a week.

"I promise...just go win for me?"

"Okay, sweet girl." He presses a last lingering kiss to your forehead, before getting up to leave. But, he still lingers in the doorway for a moment until you push him to go.

Once he's out of the apartment he's rushing. Barely any time and honestly when he finally gets back to the arena and gets his skates on he's surprised he's just in time to go out on the ice for the anthem...cold, not warmed up in the slightest, not ready at all to play a game, but willing to.

Tocc stops him as he's passing the bench to get to the ice, "Cutting it fine, Hughes!" despite the gruff tone, Quinn can tell that Tocc is just relieved that Quinn's back in time. As are the guys who all look at him with varying shades of relief as if they'd been freaking out the entire time. Which they probably had.

"Told you I'd be back." Quinn says it with such confidence, even though inside he knows he nearly missed the entire game. To be honest if you hadn't forced him out the apartment then he'd probably have been late at best.

"How is she?" Tocc's voice is soft, concerned and Quinn appreciates it. He appreciates that as a coach Tocc doesn't just care about how much they cost or how well they play, he cares about them and their families too...and you're included in that, ring or not.

"Not good...but safe at home."

"You need practice off tomorrow?"

"Please, I need to get her to the doctors..."

"Done. Now go help us win the game." Tocc gives him a clap on the shoulder before pushing him out onto the ice and just like that Quinn slips into captain mode.

Locked in like he always is even if his legs don't feel as loose and his stick feels a little less familiar in his hands. Knowing you're home safe helps, he can put the thought of you to the back of his mind, knowing you're safe in the apartment, comfortable and surrounded by everything you need.

You find it hard to focus on the game, but force yourself to, determined to watch Quinn play and to see the goal he intends to score for you. Maybe it's silly, there's no guarantee he'll actually score, but you can tell from the moment he's on the ice that it's one of the few things on his mind. Shot after shot after shot, a determined series of attempts that remind you how important you are to him even as you lie wheezing in bed, eating as much chocolate as Quinn put out for you.

It's part way through the first period with one goal already to Vancouver thanks to Petey that the issue of Quinn's disappearance pre-game is raised.

"Quinn Hughes was nearly late to the game today, the captain missed warm ups but that's certainly not stopping him now!" Shortie's voice rings through the room, a familiar cadence that makes you feel comforted.

"No, it's not, Shortie, do we know why Hughes was late?" Dave responds and for a moment you can't quite comprehend that you've managed to cause this much of a ruckus.

"It hasn't been confirmed and you know I'm not much of a gossip..." You have a little giggle a Shortie even as you are the topic of conversation because it's not really much in the way of gossip and it's so silly.

"But?"

"Apparently he had a family emergency, his girlfriend is very unwell and he dropped everything to go get her."

"Well, that's just.."

"Romantic? Sweet?"

"I was going to say so unlike the Quinn Hughes we used to know, the one who only thought about hockey." You think back to Quinn when you first met, how everything had been hockey, hockey, hockey. You hadn't minded, your own love of the sport meant that you could handle it. But, it's true...Quinn had been rethinking his priorities ever since you started dating, where he might have prioritised hockey once, he'd started to prioritise you. You're not entirely sure at what point you became that important in his life, but it made you feel warm and fuzzy all over.

"I think it's a good thing, that's a sign of growth, just like Hughes' shot!" Shortie cuts himself off as you watch the camera pan to Quinn, following his agile movements across the ice as he skips past the other team's players as if it's as easy as breathing, "He's in past the defence, he lines up the shot and an unassisted goal for Quinn Hughes! Vancouver goal!"

You smile wide as you watch Quinn grin, celebrating with his team in a series of hugs before he finds a camera. There's a moment where you know he's grinning at you, for you, a cheeky little wink sent through the screen as if to say 'told you I'd score for you'.

"I suspect that one was for the girlfriend, Shortie."

You watch the entire game, trying not to nod off to sleep between periods. While you can't cheer and you certainly don't have the energy to celebrate too hard, every Canuck goal makes you feel lighter and brings a smile to your face.

The end result of a 5-2 win to the Canucks makes it easy for you to drift off as the game ends and the waiting for Quinn begins.

He's running off a high when the game ends, even more so when Boeser offers to take over press duties so Quinn can get back to you quickly.

The apartment is quiet when he comes in, "Baby?" not a sound comes back in response and he's careful to move quietly through the apartment to the bedroom doorway.

You're fast asleep, breathing heavy but nowhere near as bad as earlier in the day, you're surrounded by chocolate wrappers and he's quiet as he picks them all up and puts them in a bin, replacing them with the puck he scored with on your bedside table.

He tiptoes back to the kitchen quietly pottering around to make some dinner for you while you're still asleep, nothing fancy but protein, carbs and veg. The sort of thing that's definitely boring but also definitely what your body needs right now.

"Baby, time to wake up...I've made you dinner." He's gentle when he wakes you, soft fingers down your cheek as you stir awake, blinking up at him bleary eyed. Quinn helps you sit upright, the tray of food settling neatly in your lap.

"Where's...where's yours?"

"On the table, you want me to eat in here with you, sweetheart?"

He's moving before you finish nodding, grabbing another tray and his plate before joining you on the bed. He spends most of his dinner watching you eat, making sure you're not leaving large amounts and that you're okay.

He's happy about the win, happy about the score, but he's mostly just happy to be back with you and knowing that you're eating and you're okay, if not well.

Quinn's quick to tidy up your trays and even quicker to get back to you and get into a pair of boxers and a t-shirt, sliding under the covers with you and pulling you into his arms.

Your cheek rests against his chest, the steady thump of his heart a soothing sound that helps some of the anxiety about being off work ease off. Quinn's fingers caress circles and weird shapes across your arm and shoulder as he tucks you tight against him, legs twined together. Every so often he presses a kiss to your forehead, your cheek, the top of your hair, as if reassuring himself that you're okay and he's got you.

"You scored..." You mumble into his t-shirt, a small smile working it's way to your lips as his hand moves up to run through your hair, stopping at your scalp every now and then to scratch lightly until you feel like purring even if that purr is more of a wheezy rumble.

"Mmm, for you, baby." Quinn smiles down at you, another kiss pressed to your cheek.

"T...the wink?" His smile weakens slightly at your still stumbling breathlessness and the wheeze and crackle that accompany it.

"Just for you, sweet girl."

"I'm...I'm proud of you, y'know?" You smile up at him so sweetly that he can't help but feel certain in his choices today. Yeah, nearly missing a game was rough, and maybe the press are going to be dicks about it and maybe he would have felt guilty if he'd missed the game or they'd lost...but he knows he'd skip a million games if it meant you were being looked after, were safe.

"I know...and tomorrow you're going to show me how proud you are by letting me take you to the doctors again."

"Ugh..." You groan, hiding your face into his chest like that will stop him from dragging you to the doctors. Your stubbornness normally cute but in this moment less so.

Quinn cups the back of your head until your looking up at him, green eyes meeting yours with a pleading stare that makes your resolve tremble and shudder. "Please? I'm worried about you, baby...I was really scared when I got that text from you."

"Yeah?" You hate that you worried him...it's that worry that makes you concede that maybe you need to go back to the doctors and maybe as much as you hate it, you'll do it, for Quinn.

"Yeah. I can replace hockey, I can play another game if I miss one. But, I can't replace you. Let me take you to the doctors."

There's a beat of silence as he pleads with you, eyes soft, worried, gentle, thumb stroking soothingly across the base of your neck and you can't really deny him this. Not when you know you'd feel exactly the same if the roles were reversed, not when he nearly missed a game for you today and went in completely cold turkey to win it.

"Okay...as...as long as you keep cuddling me."

"I think I can do that, baby." You curl back into his arms like the spot was carved just for you and in that moment Quinn Hughes knows that you have fully hit the top of his priority list, no ands, ifs, buts or maybes. You could ask him to quit hockey tomorrow and he'd do it. He'd do anything for you and that should be terrifying, but it's not because he knows you'd never ask too much of him. If anything you ask too little.

[not-the-cheese]

one sentence summaries of every TMA episode

(1-60 i'll add more soon)

part 2 up!

world's most effective anti-smoking PSA

man DOES NOT open coffin. everyone claps.

woman is judgemental towards neighbor even though she has hobbies that are just as weird.

book makes multiple people fall off chair.

man finds bag of teeth and decides he absolutely needs to fuck around and find out.

worm sti.

there was a SCARY MAN in the WAR.

fuck this tree

well at least ted bundy was a great father :)

i'm like 55% sure vampires are real and i'm willing to take those odds

bitches be dying. you're next.

we kill this man because he made the soda too warm.

sorry ur husband's dead. maybe get some help.

Unbox with me ! (GONE WRONG)

hah i'm safe from this one because i have decided to Never Go Into a Cave Ever.

man is so annoying about this spider that even his cat can't be bothered

man's bully finds a book about a Bone Turner and subsequently begins turning people's bones.

this guy sucks at DIY home improvement

aw maybe this priest didn't do anything THAT bad!

oh fuck nevermind

THE SKY ATE MY SON.

the worms stole my identity. i haven't left the house in days.

man beats german children at game of bravery and wins a coin (he later loses this coin)

my ex boyfriend gets casted in the muppets and dies

sorry mom, i've abandoned jesus for a new religion : jesus in the dark.

tall squiggly and HANDsome

old man arm wrestles demon through door knob

the buzzfeed unsolved guys finally catch a ghost but it's their sound tech

immortality but at what cost

working at the big meat factory was so traumatizing it made me vegetarian

i go to america and get almost killed by a furry

well if you love that wasp nest so much why don't you MARRY it (and then she did)

antisocial boat crew bands together to exclude one guy from a midnight party. he dies from the rejection.

bone apple teeth

remember when that norwegian guy threw a tantrum about us not digging a hole? turns out we were right to not dig that hole.

babe come over my parents have taken ill and passed away

man fucks around and it costs him everything

HOMOPHOBIC CHINESE VASE

oh god oh fuck the worms are here

thank you for participating in worms! please rate your wormsperience from 1 to 10.

the wormsperience has left me deeply scarred. i'm going to get lost in a tunnel about it.

🎸music makes me loose control🎸

spooky stories to tell at the next police slumber party

child threatens to run away and join the circus one too many times, and now the circus has come to cash in.

these mosquitoes are mad sus

man frequents local barnes and noble and then dies(?) after liking a book too much.

realtor gets eaten by the backrooms twice. it's a terrible shame.

both me and this weird goth dude have an unsatisfying italy vacation

guy who turns people's bones gets a new job where he continues to turn people's bones.

man who should never be allowed to build prisons builds a prison.

Something Big Is In The Water.

what if u heard me about 15 feet behind you fumbling around and calling out ur name 😳 (and we were both prison guards)

i'm going to be honest i didn't retain anything from this episode except that this guy has the silliest old man voice ever

everybody hates the tax man, including these creepy taxidermy animals

hmmgh. ant house.

so turns out being only 55% sure that vampires are real in my career as a vampire hunter has had some consequences.

the only thing keeping you company in space is your abandonment issues

🎶 the snack that smiles back 🎶 (my husband!)

maybe the real treasure was the house siblings we encased in spider web along the way.

your dead brother wrote books about ancient myths and WHAT

Part 2

[jockwrites]

pillowtalk - p.b

warnings: smut, pet names, (baby, ma yk all that) idk what else tbh

a/n: i loved her in the dallas jersey i needed to make a fic abt it. also barely proof read lol

the dallas wings arena thrummed with the cheers of the crowd as your girlfriends final basket sank cleanly through the net, securing her team's victory. the blonde haired, blue eyed beauty grinned broadly as her teammates swarmed her, celebrating their hard fought win.

as the post-game pandemonium subsided, you navigated the bustling locker room, heart pounding with anticipation. paige, still in her sweat-soaked blue dallas wings jersey and shorts, was in finishing conversation with a reporter. seizing a window of opportunity, you approached, clearing your throat softly.

“paige, you did amazing,” you complimented, stepping up beside the blonde athlete as she wrapped up her interview. paige turned, blue eyes gleaming with unshed sweat and triumph, a wide, cocky grin spreading across her face. “glad you got to see it,”

paige excused herself from the lingering reporter and pulled you into a tight embrace, her strong arms wrapping around your waist. “i'm all sweaty, i'm so sorry,” she apologized while laughing, pulling back but keeping her hands on your hips. “that's okay, i don't mind,”

“i'll be right back,” she said, giving you a quick kiss before heading into the locker room to change out of her uniform.

as paige changed, she couldn't stop thinking about you. she quickly shed her uniform, her hands trembling slightly as she removed each piece of clothing. she tossed her gear into her locker and grabbed a change of clothes, her mind racing with thoughts of you waiting outside.

she couldn’t wait to get you home, or to the car?

paige emerged from the locker room, dressed in a blue-ish black tracksuit, her blond hair damp from the shower. she scrubbed a towel over her buzzed head, her broad shoulders relaxed. “sorry 'bout that,” she said, flashing you a grin.

paige tossed the towel aside and sauntered over to you, her movements slightly different. she stopped a foot away, looking you up and down appreciatively. “you're a sight for sore eyes,” she said, her voice low and husky.

you chuckled and playfully rubbed your eyes with the back of your hand. “what’s got you sore hmm?” you asked paige, smirking at the joke. paige laughed, her deep voice rumbling.

“nothing yet, but ima be sore in a minute if ion get you home,” paige said, her voice dropping an octave. her eyes flicked down to your lips, then back up to meet your gaze as you giggled. her biceps flexed slightly as she uncrossed her arms.

paige licked her lips, her eyes still locked with yours. “you ready?” she asked, her voice a low, suggestive purr. she reached out and gently grasped your wrist, her calloused thumb brushing over your pulse point. “my car right outside…”

you laughed as she tugged gently on your wrist, urging you to leave with her. “c’mon, let's get out of here before i lose my patience entirely.”

paige led you out of the gym, her hand resting possessively on the small of your back as you walked towards the parking lot. once at her car, she hit the remote unlock button and opened the passenger door for you. “thank you,” you grinned.

you climbed into the car and pulled the seatbelt across yourself, watching as paige leaned in to make sure it was secure. “why d’we gotta leave so soon anyway?” you asked, tilting your head up to look at her.

paige raised an eyebrow as she straightened up, closing the door behind you. she leaned against the open window, her arms crossed over the door. “why you askin like you got sumn’ in mind?” she asked, her tone curious.

but i think she knows exactly what you wanna do.

paige smirked, leaning closer to the open window, her eyes glinting with mischief, “if you’re thinking what i’m thinking, once we start i ain't sure ill wanna stop.”

you grinned, leaning forward. “get in the car p. ‘m sure you don’t wanna keep waiting yeah?” your eyes filled with challenge and flirtation as you jerked your thumb towards the driver's seat. “clock’s ticking.”

paige slid into the driver's seat, her hand immediately finding your thigh as she leaned over. “you can't just say stuff like that and expect me to hold back," she growled, capturing your mouth in a searing kiss.

paige growled against your lips, her hands gripping your hips and lifting you clean out of the passenger seat. she deposited you on her lap, so you were straddling her. “come on baby, tell me what you wanna do.”

paige's hands slid up your sides, her thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts through your shirt. her hips shifted beneath you, the hard press of her muscles against your backside. “i want you to fuck me in this car,” you whispered against her neck.

you placed your hands on her shoulders for support, biting your lip as you rocked your hips forward. paige's eyes darkened, her voice dropping to a husky growl. “like this?”

paige's hands slid around to grab your ass, squeezing and guiding your movements as you rocked against her. she captured your lips in another hungry kiss, biting at your bottom lip. “you feel so good,” you breathed. she panted against your mouth, her hips starting to roll up to meet yours.

you gasped as you felt the continuous heat building between the two of you, your bodies moving together with growing urgency. you tangled your fingers in her hair, tugging lightly. “fuck, p...” you dragged the nickname, voice thick with desire as you ground down harder against her.

“just like that,” she breathed, tilting her head back against the headrest. you moaned softly, burying your face in her neck as you continued to move against her. “god i’m gonna cum,” you whispered, your voice hitching as she slid one hand down between your thighs, pressing her palm against your core through your leggings, “paige...”

you whimpered, bucking against her touch. “paige please...” you breathed, your voice barely a whisper. she looked at you, her eyes filled with lust. “please, what, ma?” she murmured, slowly rubbing her hand against you. “do you want more?”

you panted, squirming under her touch. “more... please, paige. i need...” you broke off, moaning softly as she slipped her hand under your waistband, her cool fingers brushing against your bare skin. “you need what, baby?”

you trembled, your hips rocking against her hand. “i need your fingers... inside. please...” you whispered urgently, your heart racing in your chest. paige smiled, her thumb rubbing gently against your clit as she pushed two fingers inside you. “like this?”

you gasped, your body arching into her touch. without hesitation, you started to ride her fingers, your movements desperate and needy. “fuck, paige... yesjustlikethat” you panted, words stringing together as your hands grip her shoulders for support. you chased your pleasure.

you rode her fingers furiously, your inner walls clenching around them as you sought relief. paige watched you, her own arousal growing at the sight of you losing control. she curled her fingers inside you, rubbing against that sensitive spot within you. “fuck, you're so tight, and wet...”

you slowly lowered yourself up & down onto her fingers, feeling them stretch you open as you took them in inch by inch. paige looked up at you, her eyes locked onto yours as she slowly curled her fingers inside you, gently massaging that spot deep inside. “look at me.”

you met her gaze, holding it as you began to rock your hips, slowly sliding up and down her fingers. paige watched you, her thumb rubbing gentle circles against your clit as you moved.

you slowly guided yourself down onto her fingers, gasping softly at the fullness. she watched your face intently, adjusting her pace to match yours. her thumb was a constant tease against your sensitive clit, while her two fingers moved rhythmically inside you. “does that feel good ma?”

your reply was an exaggerated nod, your mouth falling open as you continued to rock your hips, slowly guiding yourself up and down her fingers. paige continued her gentle, rhythmic movements, her thumb still teasing your clit as she murmured, “you like that?”

paige paused her fingers inside you, making you whimper and try to shift your hips downwards. “answer me,” she commanded, her voice low and insistent. “say it.” she prompted, her thumb still rubbing slow circles.

you bit your lip, your cheeks flushing as you realized she wanted you to say it out loud. “fuck, i like it.” you stammered, your voice barely a whisper. paige chuckled, her fingers slowly curling inside you. “louder, baby.”

“i like it..” you whimpered louder, your body tensing around her fingers as she hit that spot deep inside again. “and what am i doing to you?” paige prompted, her fingers slowly pumping in and out of you. “speak up... am i fucking you right now?” she cooed.

her three fingers slowly pushed in and out of you, curling upwards to hit that spot deep inside that made you whimper and try to sit lower on her hand. Her thumb was a constant, soothing presence against your swollen clit. “am i?”

you let out a shuddering breath, your hips rocking down to take her fingers deeper. “fuck,” you whispered, your face buried in her neck. “you’re fucking me paige.” you added, your voice growing louder and more confident with each word.

her fingers slid in and out of you with deliberate slowness while her thumb maintained its steady pressure on your clit. She nipped at your neck, breathing heavily in your ear “that's right... tell me how it feels. my fingers... deep inside you?”

“fuck, paigeee,” you moaned her name as her fingers curled purposefully against your g-spot, pressing firmly while her thumb continued its measured pace on your clit. her other hand slid up to cup your breast, thumb rolling over your nipple through the fabric of your shirt “you're getting wetter... can you feel it?”

her fingers moved faster now, plunging in and out of your dripping pussy. “fuck yes, god,” you moaned as her thumb pressed down hard on your clit, rubbing it in quick circles. the hand on your breast slipped under your shirt to palm your bare breast, pinching and rolling your nipple between her fingers.

her fingers curled inside you, pressing hard against your g-spot as her thumb rubbed your clit in fast, tight circles. she leaned in close, her hot breath against your ear. “cum for me, baby.”

she continued her relentless pace, her fingers moving in and out of you with a quick, steady rhythm. her thumb rubbed your clit in fast circles, pushing you closer and closer to the edge. “cum on my fingers, now,” she commanded, her voice leaving no room for argument.

as soon as the words “god, paige i’m gonna fucking cum, please,” left your lips, she removed her thumb from your clit and curled her fingers deeper inside you, hitting your g-spot over and over as she allowed you to finally climax. your legs shook, your voice became hoarse as you begged.

your orgasm hit hard, your pussy clenching and unclenching around her fingers as you gushed all over them, cumming so hard your vision blurred. she held still, letting you ride out the waves of your pleasure as she watched your face, a satisfied smile on her lips.

then, she gestures to the backseat, eagerly pointing her thumb; this was gonna be fun.

a/n: i wanted to write scissoring but lost motivation and got writers block so ill save for another ok bye 😕

[paige05bby]

Fake it til you make it

☆ pairing: wnba!fuckgirl!Paige x Singer!reader

word  count: 1008

Summary: Whereas a first interaction means many things to famous singer, y/n y/l/n, especially those that involve a pretty well-known basketball player

"Lie to me and tell me you don't want me as much as I want you. Lie to me and tell me you don't want to press those pretty lips of yours to mine right now. Lie to me and tell me you hate me"

y/n

"Hey! I'm y/n y/l/n,, and this is the wired Autocomplete Interview!" I chuckle at a whiteboard with my name and multiple whited-out questions. "I'm scared!" I smile at the producer as I finish the first covered question: "When did y/n y/l/n get famous?" 

oh boy, 

"Straight for it, huh– loaded question!" I chuckle, looking into the camera, "Umm, I would say right after I left college— I started on YouTube and dabbled into some songwriting, then I somehow ended up here!" I smile, shrugging my shoulders before throwing the crumbled paper over my shoulder. "It seems like there are enough people like little ole me."

"Who are y/n y/l/n’s songs about?"

"That's for me to know and you to wonder." I wink at the camera. " Next?"

"Why are y/n y/l/n songs so sad"

"Because being a lesbian sucks.." I chuckle, shaking my head, “You know I didn't even notice that! I don't think I've ever written a love song before!”

"Is y/n y/l/n a basketball fan?"

"I practically grew up on it! But I never technically grew to, ya know... Play it! But yes, huge fan," I chuckle,

"What is y/n y/l/n next album about?"

"Hmmm..." I bite my lip softly before smiling at the camera, "My past, past and present?" I smirk, "Take that as it is."

I rip off the next one as a gasp, chuckling softly, "What is y/n y/l/n type?"

I roll my eyes and check the nonexistent watch on my arm, "So I think it's about time I go.." I smile, making the producers and their teams laugh behind the camera as I facepalm my forehead, softly panicking.

"well... you could never go wrong with a female athlete.. Cmon, you get the muscles and the damn uniforms– be for real," I suck my teeth, awkwardness flooding through me, "but you know what they say— I don't kiss and tell," I smirk before continuing to the next question, "and that's that on that..."

Paige

I rub my groggy eyes, which are still sore from an early morning practice. I walk through the streets of early LA morning, turning into a Starbucks.

“White mocha– shaken with brown sugar.” I nod sleepily towards the barista before slipping a ten-dollar bill and mumbling, “Keep the change.”

As I slump into a seat while my thoughts get lost in Instagram, scrolling through what model posted with what skims outfit today– Now listen, I know what you're thinking – im not what you think i am.. Im just women–

Who has needs. 

Don't take me for the relationship type of person.

My life is busy enough – let alone be able to remember a girl's name. 

I roll my eyes as my phone buzzes– “What, Alex– today isn't the day to piss me off-”

“Paige, your fucking late dude!”

“Im down the street– grabbing a coffee, gimme a break!”

“Well, your lucky she is late t-”

“Who she?”

“Paige, cmon now, get on the right, but here– your agents are setting you up with some girl to help your social standard because god knows you blew it with that stupid model you decided to sneak into your hotel during an away game…”

I groan, throwing my head back– “That was one time!”

“One time too many PB!” 

“A Venti shaken white mocha with brown sugar..” 

“Dude, fine– hope off my dick– ill be there!” I sigh before getting up to walk towards the counter, reaching out for my drink, but only before a hand grabs it before my own.

y/n

“A Venti shaken white mocha with brown sugar..”  

“Oop, that's mine! I'll meet you in the car, Carter!” I smile at my agent before walking up to the counter and grabbing my drink.

“Um, excuse me?” the voice chuckles, making me turn swiftly on my heels, “Thats mine–”

“Does it have your name on it?”

“Nothing needs my name when everyone knows it.”

I chuckled to myself. Of course, I knew who this hunk of a blonde was, and may I say she was even better looking in person than she was in her edits– but that doesn't forgive her attitude —she was practically all over the internet with the slogans “best WNBA record beater” or “who the favor of tonight with WNBA star Paige Bueckers. " She's practically the slogan child of what not to do in stardom.

I chuckle, tilting my head to the side, “Im sorry? Who are you exactly?” 

“Don't be a stupid kid—you know who I am.” She smirked, leaned against the counter, and looked down at me, her height daunting.

I shake my head, pursing my lips. " The only thing I know about you is that we have the same coffee order. Now I should be going because I have much more important things to do than talk to athletes.” I smirk before turning on my heels to walk out—only for the blonde to follow. 

“Oh, so she's a coffee thief and a liar–” She chuckles, making me stop.

“And you're officially a creep– and now coffeeless–” 

“You intolerable–”

“Sorry, I didn't know this was a competition between who's more annoying! In that case, you win... “ She huffs as both our phones ding, “saved by the bell..”

“Seems like it.” She tilts her head, smirking, “Enjoy my coffee..” 

“Oh, trust me, Bueckers– I will..”

—

“Y/N! You're here– im sorry. I know LA traffic can be terrible these days! I knew I should have gotten you another car!”

I laugh, shaking my head, “Alex, seriously, don't worry about it! I don't need an escort– I can take the regular road just like a normal person..”

“So my client– She’s a handful... Are you sure your management is okay with this?”

I nod, letting out a shaky breath as his hand reaches for the door, “If this works – then im sure they are more than okay..”

The door opens slowly before a familiar blue-eyed blonde looks up at me.

“Coffee Theif?”

“YOU?”

[zorosnavigator]

Timebomb fics rec

A lot of timebomb fics are hiding through a lot of CaitVi/JayVik tagged works on ao3 (while many are also CV orJV centric) so i made this rec post for everyone who dont want to spent 1 hour scrolling or missing some of them bc you're filtering other ships!! (sorry for the short summaries/ i didnt write my thoughts as thoughtfully as i would have liked because.yk.time and all. update chapter count/add of new fics every week)

AU/crossovers fics

Je t'aime (Je t'attends) 3 chapter, WIP.

Hunger games x Timebomb/Arcane, the way the system of the games from the og novels are mixed in the Arcane universe is really masterful, the writer dont lose too much time explaining it but you understand the dynamics of the 2 cities and the characters perfectly anyway.

Where would you be now ? by enaven 5/6 chapters, WIP.

family/modern AU, timebomb feels, Ekko and Jinx are Isha's parents, CaitVi are just silly aunts and i'll never stop recommending this fic

you're the best thing to ever happen to me (but also the worst thing to ever happen to me) by grey_toiletpaper ( @greytoiletpaper ) 3/8 chapters, WIP. Rated T.

Timebomb inspired by 10 things i hate about you.

We Moved Into a Real House (a Wild Field Behind it) by smokesatellite 3/10 chapters. WIP. Rated T.

Modern AU, Timebomb roommates/friends to lovers, Isha is a foster kid...you know where this is going .. (Ekko as a nurse is not something i expected but its surprisingly good. Also the in law feud between Jinx and Cait is very funny)

s1 fics

Silco is less of an asshole

The Heart of Zaun by 1ts_Br1tney_B1tch 8/ chapters. WIP.

or: Silco try to rally the Firelights to his cause (in this case, Zaun - he's much more involved in doing better for his city than in the show) but of course they're bound to have some..tension between them, since they hate him - and Shimmer. (it has the good parent Silco tag so i'd say that all in all, this Silco is a little less...Silco than in Arcane, but manage to keep some of the bite he has in canon...) i only read 2 chapters, and what i can say is that it does a good job with the general cast, the interactions between Silco/Ekko-Firelights are believable, i think the one thing that could have weird me out is the way Silco is said to be 'proud' of the Firelights in the summary (for me 'pride' is something he'd reserve for Jinx yk?? anyway i stop the rambling) . The Timebomb relationship has more or less the same push and pull as in the show, with Ekko thinking about the girl Jinx used to be/ Ekko being a link to the past before Jinx and all that entail...so yeah, i'm loving it!

Powder doesnt become Jinx

The Alpha Command by typewriter_in_galaxy 13 chapters. WIP. Rated E.

ABO/Reverse AU where Powder doesnt become Jinx and is raised by Viktor, Ekko is taken in by Silco. btw i dont read a lot of abo fic (im very nickpick) but this one does every characters justice, and actually dwelve in depth in the abo universe.. (everything by typewriter is good to be honest, but my favorite thing is how they write Powder, who even when she doesnt become Jinx, is still shaped by a very violent world/trauma and it shows through her mental health issues and very, very low self worth/need to prove herself. )

everything's better with a friend by typerwriter_in_galaxy 7chapters. Completed. Rated E.

Timebomb centric rewrite of Arcane, Jinx is Powder, she doesnt fall under Silco's hand (or in his arms precisely), Ekko is Ekko, and 1, i need to hug Powder, 2 she deserves the world and 3 the characterization of everyone, everyone is so brillantly written and the timebomb relationship (damn even the CaitVi one too) oh, the timebomb of it all... they feel so, so real and it hurts, Powder's insecurities, her mental illness, her guilt, her need to prove herself but in same time she doesnt feel herself worth of anything (or anyone) good... just.read it. read it, because i just did, after like 2 years of not doing that and. im like mad bc why didnt i??? but in same time so grateful to just discover it now, taking my sweet little time reading it; it rewinded my brain its amazing, (like this work in another fandom, the first time i read this rebelcaptain's fic A Love song by skitzofreak - did i just linked it for you to read even tho its a timebomb rec post??? yes. yes i did. thats how much i love, adore, worship this one guys - so everything's better made me think a lot of this TB fic, and also of RC (the abandonment issues, thinking that you have to leave first before everyone leave you, Jyn and Powder damn).

Shattered Web by Firewolf2132 1 chapter. WIP. Rated M.

you know how everyone make the comparaison between Ekko and Miles?? well, the author found a way for Ekko transform into a spiderman that feels right in the arcane verse (end of act1) and damn its so good. Ekko slowly morphing and gaining his powers while everyone still have some focus on them (mostly Powder), but it still manages to keep the suspense of the fate of other characters. fabulous. author note: [I have seen so many comparisons between Ekko and Miles and a lot of fanart. So it felt that I had to do this. I can't promise future chapters right now (busy), but I am eager to see if this inspires any stories with a similar premise.]

S2 fanfics

fics covering Timebomb moments between ep 8 Ekko saving her /they painted each other and ep9

Go Back For Her by A_Lily_In_The_Moonlight 3/3 chapters. Completed. Rated E.

Ekko's pov -i only read 1 chapter - we see his thought's process on his relationship with Powder AU/ Jinx, and how he came to the conclusion he must go back to her. the moment where he help Jinx with his Z-drive comes a little differently than in ep8 (well, the aftermath) aaand another fic where Jinx's grief over Isha's death shatters me, the pain and the self loathing/blaming from Jinx really devastating.

I dont believe in God, but i believe you're my savior by mquesterminds One shot. Rated T

[summary: every time Ekko has to rewind time to stop Jinx it cuts to a different moment from throughout their love story because I'm allergic to happiness the moments covering their shared past really make their present 10 times sadder.]

I'm sure we're taller in another dimension by hallwayheart One shot. Rated M. i have nothing to say because i'm still processing what i just read.ty.

Fires That Were Set by ilophilia ( @ilophilia on tumblr) 1 chapter. WIP.

the conversation after Ekko helped Jinx in episode 8. Loved the banter, the emotions (the grief is there and its important to feel it but damn i want to hug them so bad). They tell each other what happened when Ekko was gone, and you feel the distance/the closeness, near intimacy building again and its beautiful..

Hope is a winged beast by Grey_ Unicorn 4 chapters. WIP. Rated E.

prepare you tissues because i was myself not ready for chapter 3 and the emotional wreck of Jinx processing her grief. but here we are.

fics from AU Powder pov/exchange between Jinx and AU Powder

what we left behind by re_dragon_rising 3/3 chapters. Completed. Rated T.

Powder traverses to the og arcane universe 1 year after Ekko's visit. (the insight into her life after Ekko leaves is wholesome and also give the reader a glimpse of the Mylo/Claggor/Powder siblings dynamics + the impact of Vi's death on them. really great. a little sad too.)

The other Ekko by GrammarThyEnemy Oneshot. General audience.

Powder knows this Ekko is not her Ekko.

memento vivere by fuwaaa 1/2. WIP. General audience.

covering the AU episode, Powder knows something's up with Ekko.

See Ya On The Other Side by moth_dust 3/5 chapters, WIP. Rated T.

Powder also travel to the og universe.

these forgotten faces by whippindippin ( @whippindippin on tumblr too!) 6 chapters, WIP. Rated T.

Jinx and Powder body swap and its both the worst and best thing that could ever happen to either of them. great reading and their reaction on point.

Isha is alive

Astrantia by AelinCreativ ( @aelincreativ they're on tumblr too!) 5 chapters, WIP. Rated T.

canon divergence where Ekko saves Isha. a lot of angst. but also a lot of happiness. so we can cry while smiling along with them. great. ty author!!

Ankle-Biter by darkfire1220 8/9 chapters, WIP. Rated M.

Isha is Jinx's biological daughter, Silco is a not so bad (grand) father, and their mother/daughter bond is one a the greatest thing ever. (very slowburn timebomb). Also Vi. i love you Vi.

post s2

we made our peace with weariness (and let it be) by The_FlamingTiger 3/3 chapters. Completed. Rated M.

Ekko and Jinx reconnect in Bilgewater..(and Jinx goes to therapy. that too. its nice)

I don't believe in God (But I believe that you're my savior) by yeonatsu Oneshot, general audience.

Ekko is mourning.

this hunger for love won’t disappear by Amuria Oneshot, rated T.

Months after the battle for Piltover, Ekko begins to dream of Powder. He thinks it’s his grief playing tricks on him. She has different theory.

Francesca (Do You Think I'd Give Up?) by PoetProlific 2 chapters. WIP.

Ekko tries searching for Jinx...(with the help of Caitlyn, yep. and its well done, because I think Cait would help, for Vi. And i love how Ekko-Cait's dynamics might evolve because of this..)

So I met him there and told him I believe by ijustwanttoreadinpeace 3 chapters, WIP. Rated T.

Jinx begins a new life in Bilgewater but is forced to come back... (edit: be warned, this is now an orphan account so idk if there will be more chapters.)

all the 6 timebomb one shot by atabex (the other fics are not timebomb) they're all rated E and oh boy is it worth it. most of these oneshot are gut wrenching and do smut + characters so well... the most recent one is just Ekko and AU Powder ahem doing the boombayah on the rooftop, but yk, with bits of sad and tragedy here and there.

i'm a little ashamed i'm only adding it now but every TB os fics by @shroomystar is 🤌 nothing else to add because each one of them are good. so. (if you want the explicit one-shots it's here and if you prefer without, it's here )

[giveafike]

kinda obsessed with the prompt of ben x fem tennis reader being together for a lil while and being the cutest couple , breaking up bc the distance hit them too hard after two straight months of different tournaments/locations, then seeing each other for the first time at a 1000 tournament, going out to dinner with the same group of people and end up going back to bens hotel room to clear the air and obvs end up in bed together realising they’re gonna have to get thru the distance cos they can’t be without each other now 😭

TLDR: tennisplayerfem!reader and ben break up bc you can't handle being away and then surprise, you can't handle being not together. Losers.

Word count + info: 10k. Am I mentally ill? This is supposed to be a blurb.. Dialogue (angst, texts, calls, conversation).

Warnings + Content Ahead: SFW! Breakup and kinda mean stuff said (nothing physical description wise). Otherwise, it's all good! (i think)

Azzie Notes ✚: SHOOT ME IN THE HEAD. AM I OKAY??? 10K?? ON A BLURB?? idrk what angst is fr chat lmk if i did that one fr idk....im a LOVER girl ok IDK HOW TO DO THIS SAD SHIT - in saying that, was part of my dialogue in this lwky..loosely based off of my ex...........maybe...

I fear I loved this prompt so bad and like...I love to yap..so...

Socials + Updates: twitter ( @azziegivesafike) - feel free to follow and msg me about non requests there, I'll be posting life updates, story + req updates and spoilers/teasers alongside other things, so it'd be nice to have a community over there!

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Shattered - B.T.S.

In the beginning, being with Ben is the kind of whirlwind you've only seen in movies, a connection that feels so natural, yet thrillingly unexpected. Well, in hindsight, that might've been a lie. It wasn't exactly love at first sight, but instead, a slow, magnetic pull that drew you together, like the tension building in a long rally. You met on the circuit, both hungry, ambitious, and dedicated to your own success. But from the start, Ben had this way of getting past your disciplined, guarded exterior with that relentless charm of his.

He’s everywhere, it seems—posting highlights from your matches on his stories, sneaking your name into press conferences, tagging you in his silly “lazy Saturday” shots where your game is always playing in the background. He flirts shamelessly, flashing that grin across the court, his voice lifting over the crowd to make some cheeky comment that leaves you stifling laughter. Your friends see it before you do: Ben is crazy about you, and soon, so is everyone else.

He flirted shamelessly and relentlessly, everywhere and anywhere, often catching you off guard in ways that left you flustered despite your best efforts to stay cool and professional. With that, you started to look out for the way his eyes would find yours in a crowd while you sat in the stands during his matches or how he would nudge you at practice with that easy, casual touch like he’s done it a thousand times before; like you belong by his side.

Once, when he's asked in an interview if he’d dedicated his recent win to anyone, he grins and looks straight across the room, making everyone laugh. “There’s someone special right now, but no need to say names, she knows.”

It’s sweet, funny and more than a little bold. Later, when you called him out for it over one of your first late-night calls, he shrugged, entirely unapologetic, telling you with that stupid drawl of his, “What? Ain’t no point hidin’ it. The world knows who my lucky charm is.”

Soon, it was you reaching out for him, your hand slipping onto his arm, leaning against him during walkouts, letting your barriers fall. And every time he catches your eye, every time he manages to make you smile, he looks at you like he’s won the lottery. His heart stammers a little each time you shove him playfully or roll your eyes at his antics. Whether it was on the bench or during changeovers, Ben would rest his hand gently on your lower back, a touch that makes you feel, just for a moment, like you're the only two people in the world.

When the rare break in your schedules comes around, you steal hours together. You grab a coffee, turning a "quick run" into a day spent together and wander around a city you barely know, or stumble upon a hidden café with pastries too flowery for your tastes. He made everything feel easier, like no matter how intense life gets, you’ll always have that balance with him. Around Ben, you can be softer, and more vulnerable; he brings out a side of you that isn’t just about winning and competing but about laughing, sharing, and letting go.

People noticed the way you look at each other, the easy affection that passes between you, the more daring and intimate PDA, sharing kisses and lingering stares. Soon, fans were shipping you openly, posting photos of you courtside, or whispering to each other when you lean close and murmur something that makes him laugh. On tour, you’re one of those “it” couples, a little slice of joy in the relentless pace of your careers. And in those early days, you both believe that together, you can take on anything. In those early days, you believed you could take on anything together. You and Ben were partners, equals, and even in the midst of a gruelling season, there had always been time for him, always a reason to smile. It felt perfect, like a love story you had stumbled into but were both entirely committed to.

But that honeymoon phase comes crashing down real quick.

As seasons shift and tournaments stretch across continents, the cracks start to show. At first, it’s just a few hours difference, but then come the miles and oceans, and the texts dwindled, conversations cut short, replaced by more missed calls than made and vague apologies. You both had tried, in every way you knew how. But eventually, the memories weren’t enough to bridge the distance. You’d catch yourself staying up just to wait for his call after practice, only to fall asleep disappointed, staring at a dark screen. And every time you woke up to a hastily sent sorry, something came up text, it felt like another tiny fracture.

Ben wasn’t the only one caught up in the chaos of your schedules; you had your own demands, too. The strain went both ways. In an attempt to keep things alive, you’d push yourself to keep up with his time zone, adding another city to your Clock app, setting alarms accordingly to his lunch and dinner times, staying awake far too late, eyes heavy as you sat alone in your hotel room, scrolling through old photos just to feel closer to him. When the call finally did come, your voice was barely more than a whisper, tired and distant, and Ben couldn't bear the exhaustion in your tone, his heart aching as he hushed you to sleep, meaning neither of you would stay on long.

It all piled up slowly, almost imperceptibly, until the weight felt crushing. Conversations became one-sided, it’s like chasing the sun itself, moments of silence replacing the laughter that had once felt endless, and that spark, the one that made you feel unstoppable together, felt further away with every day that passed.

Then came the day of your match, a game that should have been easy, one you’d normally have breezed through. But you were dragging, exhaustion wrapping itself around your every heavy, drooping step, and somewhere in the depths of your mind, a bitter thought took root:

If only he cared.

You knew it wasn’t his fault, but still, the frustration boiled over. Would things have felt different if you weren’t so alone in this? If you didn’t have to wonder when, or if, he’d remember to call? If he scheduled calls to your time for once? If he could just postpone everything for 20, 20 measly minutes for you?

A ball zips right by you, snapping you back to reality.

Lying in your hotel room that night, you stared at the ceiling, replaying the best moments of your time together like an old movie reel. In those moments, it had felt perfect. You’d believed you could take on the world, side by side, partners in everything. But now, with miles and silence separating you, you wondered if those memories were all that was left of what you once had.

But even with that ache, even with the emptiness filling the room, one thing is clear as day: loving Ben, for all its messiness, for all the distance and loneliness, had never felt like a mistake but God, was it hard. You pondered on those same irritating thoughts that itched at you until your fingers found your phone and hit the FaceTime Call button. Part of you wanted him to not pick up, knowing that you had nothing kind or sweet to say, but a small part of you wanted to dish back what he deserved.

“Hey,” he greets, his voice tense, worn. His drawl feels distant like he’s talking to you from across an ocean.

“Hey.” You can feel the iciness in your voice, colder than you intended.

“Long day?” he asks, though his expression is already tense, wary.

“Yeah. Almost lost today,” you say flatly.

Ben’s gaze flicks down. “I saw the score,” he says, his voice cautious. “Guess it was a tough match, babe.”

“It shouldn’t have been,” you snap. “But maybe it’s hard to focus when I’m barely sleeping… or constantly waiting for a text that never comes.”

He blinks, his eyes narrowing. “So this is on me?” The familiar accent is a little rougher around the edges. “You’re losin’ matches ‘cause I’m not callin’ you enough? That’s what you’re sayin’?”

“Don’t play dumb, Ben. Don’t act like you don’t know what I’m talking about” You feel the bitterness twisting in your chest. ““You’re barely here, Ben. Half the time, I don’t even know if we’re still together or if we’re just two people sending pointless messages every few hours. Half the time, it feels like I’m talking to a ghost.”

He lets out a frustrated laugh, shaking his head. “You think it’s any easier for me? I’ve got my own stuff, my own schedule, darlin'. I’ve got my career to think about too, you know, this ain't just about you.”

Your jaw tightens. “Yeah, well, at least when I'm on the court, I don’t exactly have the luxury of tuning you out, Ben. I’m not the one who forgets to call after saying I would. I don’t have time for half-assed texts and waiting around for you to call when you feel like it.”

“Oh, don’t go there,” he mutters, rolling his eyes. “You know what it’s like. The fans, the interviews, the time spent on court-”

“Yeah, I get it, Ben. But last week, you bailed on a call to go sign autographs. Priorities, right?”

He takes a deep breath, visibly holding back. “C’mon, babe, you don’t mean that.”

But you press on, unable to stop yourself. “You’re too busy with whatever ‘big thing’ you have going on, right? Maybe if you cared enough to focus on your game instead of your ‘commitments,’ you wouldn’t have dropped that finals match. Just maybe.”

He flinches, his expression turning dark. “Oh, that's low from you, Y/N. You really wanna go there?”

“Yeah, I do,” you say, your voice unwavering.

He pauses, his face hardening. “If you were out here on the ATP tour, you’d understand how rough it really is. You wouldn't even get past a challenger. It ain’t the same league as the WTA.”

You laughed, a cold, bitter sound. “Oh, don’t even start with that. Rougher than the WTA? Is that supposed to make me feel better? Maybe come and join WTA then, you wouldn't manage it out here either, Ben.”

He snaps, his voice cutting like a whip. “You know how much I’m fightin’ to make a name for myself out here. Just ‘cause you got a few more shiny titles doesn’t mean you get to talk down to me like this.”

The sting of his words hits like a slap. Your face flushes, a mix of anger and hurt bubbling up. “So, that’s it? Just because I’ve actually earned my success, I’m some kind of… what? Nag?”

“I didn’t say that,” he shot back, voice tight, his eyes narrowing as he looked away. “But maybe you’re doin’ too much. Bein’ all… dramatic, blamin’ me for stuff I got no control over.”

“Right, okay, so I’m being dramatic,” you scoff, your voice edged with sarcasm. “I’m the one asking for too much because I want something real, something you clearly can’t give.”

He laughs, bitter and raw. “Maybe you just want too damn much.”

You feel the tears prickling behind your eyes, but you clench your jaw, holding yourself together by sheer force of will. Your voice trembles as you speak, the words thick with a pain you can’t contain. “I just want you to care, Ben, or at least pretend to care and make it believable. I want you to care enough to be here when it matters. But you’re so wrapped up in yourself, you don’t even see it.”

His face hardens, his jaw set, but his eyes hold a flicker of something unspoken. “You think I don’t care? I’m out here pushin’ myself every day, for us, for this future we’re supposed to be building 'n shit. But it’s like no matter what I do, it ain’t enough for you.”

A sharp knock sounds from his end, followed by muffled voices. He glances away, then back at you, irritation flaring in his eyes. “Look, I gotta go. Dad’s waitin’ on me; he already gave me an extra ten minutes to talk.”

You feel your heart twist, an ache of disappointment settling in. “Oh, of course,” you mutter, your voice dripping with bitterness. “Go ahead. I’m sure your training’s way more important than anything I have to say.”

He turns back, his eyes blazing with frustration. “Maybe it is right now,” he spits. “Talkin’ to you like this, all it’s doin’ is makin’ things worse. We're not getting anywhere like this-”

The words cut deeper than you expect, and you can barely hold back the surge of anger and heartbreak choking you. “Fine. Go, then. At least one of us can prioritise something.”

He scoffs, shaking his head as he looks away. “You’re bein’ unfair, 'n you know it.”

“Am I?” you whisper, your voice tight and choked. “Or am I just done waiting for you to show up?”

You stare at each other, an endless silence stretching between you, sharp and seething, words too heavy to be unsaid. Then, with a frustrated shake of his head, he mutters, “I can’t do this right now. I’ll talk to you later. When you’re not actin’ like this.”

Before you could respond, he hung up, his face disappearing from your screen, leaving you alone with nothing but the cold light of your phone. Your hands shook as you stared at the blank screen, tears finally spilling over.

With trembling fingers, you took a breath, letting a cold, steely calm settle over you. You typed out a simple, blunt message, leaving no room for second-guessing, no room for soft words or explanations. Just the truth, as raw as you felt.

“We’re done. I can’t do this anymore, Ben. I’m sorry.”

Your thumb lingered for a second before hitting “send,” and as soon as the message went through, you blocked him on every platform, cutting off any way for him to respond, to apologise, to convince you otherwise.

But as you tossed your phone aside, a crack appeared in the calm you’d forced on yourself. The tears came suddenly, your breath hitching as a tidal wave of heartbreak surged through you. You buried your face in your hands, pressing your palms against your eyes as if you could somehow contain the emotions clawing their way to the surface. You tried to stay quiet, muffling the sound in the dark, but the weight was too much, every sob raw, grieving and heavy, pouring out the frustration, the loneliness, and the love you’d tried so hard to salvage.

By the time your tears subsided, you felt utterly drained, hollowed out in a way that made everything around you feel distant and surreal. The city lights flickered outside your window, the glow indifferent to the storm that had torn through you. And in that quiet, broken moment, with only the shadows as company, you lay there, letting the exhaustion seep through your bones until sleep claimed you.

When sleep finally came, it was restless, fractured. You tossed and turned, flashes of memories from better days with Ben haunting you, the sound of his laugh, the way he’d smile, gummy and wide, his nose scrunching with that easy confidence. You woke up more exhausted than when you’d closed your eyes, feeling like you hadn’t rested at all. But you forced yourself out of bed, pushing yourself through your pre-game routine, your emotions locked away, frozen under layers of determination.

As you walked onto the court, the crowd buzzed with excitement, but you barely registered it. You were a storm, calm on the surface but seething underneath. Every shot you took was hard and brutal, the ball slicing through the air with an intensity that made your opponent flinch, the impact echoing through the stadium. You played as if your life depended on it, your body moving with sharp, lethal precision.

Your serves were relentless, your groundstrokes vicious, each one faster, sharper, as if each shot were a way to expel the anger and hurt still simmering in your chest. The crowd murmured, noticing the shift in your energy, the way you were pushing yourself, almost recklessly. A couple of times, your shots zipped past your opponent’s hand, barely missing, almost daring her to try and reach for it - "try me". You were untouchable, unstoppable, playing like you had something to prove.

But there was no smile, no hint of joy in your movements, solely mechanical. The usual lightness in your footwork was gone, replaced by a cold, ruthless efficiency. You’d already decided: this match was yours. You weren’t here to give an inch, weren’t here to let any lingering emotions cloud your focus. The crowd might have wanted excitement, but you were giving them precision, a display of control and fury that left no room for doubt.

You won, of course. Your opponent barely had a chance. But as you walked off the court, sweat trickling down your brow, fists clenched, you felt no thrill in the victory. Just the dull ache that lingered, a hollow space where your lightness, your smile, used to be. The heat of the court only made your head throb. The applause faded into background noise as you strode away, head high, shoulders tense. You’d won, but it felt like a hollow victory. You had no one to text after your game, anyone to call you baby - you had done it to yourself, were you really that desperate for a man to validate you? You were sick of feeling this way, sick of the exhaustion, the anger, the loneliness that clung to you even after everything you’d given today. At least, for now, you’d proven something, to yourself, to him, even if he’d never know, or care.

In the month that followed, you threw yourself harshly into your schedule, determined to erase any trace of him from your routine, your heart. Matches, training, travel, interviews, photoshoots, more matches, each day bled into the next, filled with an almost mechanical sense of purpose. If you weren’t on the court, you were working out, perfecting your strokes, spending hours on serves and footwork. Anything to exhaust yourself to stop the thoughts from lingering too long. Your routine was relentless, your focus razor-sharp.

But even in this frenzy, despite it all, reminders of him still slipped through. You’d scroll through social media, and every so often, an ATP post would pop up: Ben at a tournament, Ben celebrating a point, Ben grinning with that easy charm that used to make your heart ache. He looked different now. His curls were longer, spilling out from over his sweaty headband, and his frame had hardened, leaner, with muscle that seemed to outline his strength in sharper lines. His chubby cheeks had slimmed down into something harder, replaced by the quiet confidence of someone who’d grown, adapted, maybe even suffered a little.

And you could almost feel it, the quaking, gaping pain of missing him, but you’d swallow it back down, pull yourself together, and look away.

Your own press conferences became something else entirely. You were more composed, a bit sharper with your words, confident in a way you hadn’t been before. Where you used to smile shyly or laugh softly, now you leaned in with humour, a hint of flirtation, your charm more self-assured. You handled reporters’ questions deftly, especially the ones that tried to pry about Ben. The same questions came up over and over:

“So, do you still keep in touch with Ben?”

Each time, you’d respond with a practised, cool smile. “Right now, I’ve got all the support I need from my team and the people I have with me.” You’d turn the conversation to your work, your skill, and your grind on the court, dismissing the topic with subtle elegance, always steering it back to your goals, your game, and your people.

Yet, away from the cameras, the facade cracked, if only slightly. Sometimes, after a long match or a particularly brutal day of training, you’d find yourself scrolling through your old photos or feeling tears prickling your eyes, this messy situation taking a bigger toll than you would like to admit.

In his hotel room, Ben watched your interviews alone, a faint crease between his brows. There you were, in all your brilliance, flashing a confident smile at the camera, handling the press with a wit and boldness that felt both familiar and strange. He could see the way you’d grown, the way you’d steeled yourself, and it stirred something in him, a pang he couldn’t ignore. It was like watching someone he knew intimately and yet… not at all. The way you answered questions about him, and your subtle redirection to your career and team, it stung. Maybe it was petty, but he missed the way you used to talk about him with such pride, with that lovestruck glow. He loved seeing how shy you would get at the sheer mention of his name. Your hair was different, your skin glowing, you had more confidence, even if it came off a bit cocky but he still felt like you were his, just as much as he was yours. Ben didn’t know how to reach out, didn’t know what he’d even say. There was a distance now, both physical and emotional, that seemed impossible to bridge. He’d scroll through his own phone sometimes, finding old messages, ones before distance got the better of you both, photos of the two of you, half-written scripts in his Notes app he couldn’t bring himself to deliver. If he flew out tonight to you, what would he even do after? He’d think of calling you, of reaching out somehow, but the memory of your last fight, the bitterness in your voice, the way you’d shut him out… it held him back.

One evening, as you sat alone in the players' lounge, your forehead pressed against the back of the sofa, you felt that familiar ache pulse through you, the one that came every time you thought of him. It was then that Coco came by, her familiar, steady presence filling the room as she settled down across from you, cross-legged on the seat in front of you. Over the past year, it was Ben that introduced you but, you and Coco had grown even closer, bound not just by shared victories and losses but by the pressures only someone like her could truly understand.

Coco tilted her head, her gaze warm but unwavering. “Alright,” she said, cutting through the silence. “What’s really going on? Are you… over him?”

You exhaled slowly, running a hand through your hair as you tried to gather your thoughts. “I wish I could say yes,” you murmured. “I’ve tried. I’ve tried to move on, focus on the game, on everything else, but… he’s still everywhere. Even when I’m doing well, even when I’m focused, it’s like… something’s missing.” Your voice dropped to barely a whisper. “It’s like I can’t fully shake him.”

Coco nodded, her expression both sympathetic and knowing. “I get it. You two had something real, something intense. But maybe this time apart is what you both need. I mean, look at you. You’re stronger now, on and off the court. Maybe that’s part of this whole journey, you know?”

You managed a faint smile, though your heart still felt heavy. “Yeah. I guess you’re right. It just… doesn’t always feel like enough.”

She reached out, giving your hand a reassuring squeeze. “Trust me. If he’s the right guy, he’ll figure it out, too. Until then? Focus on your game. Focus on you.”

Her words stayed with you, offering a small but steady comfort in the days that followed. You have been throwing yourself into training, pouring everything into the sport, trying to find solace in each match and each moment of growth. Somewhere out there, he was doing the same, and maybe, just maybe, this was what was best.

But no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t completely smother the small spark of hope, that someday, somehow, your paths might cross again.

It was similar in the men’s locker room, Ben slumped forward on the bench, his elbows propped on his knees as he stared blankly at the floor, holding an uncapped bottle of water. Frances Tiafoe, who’d been eyeing him from across the room, exchanged a knowing glance with Taylor Fritz before making his way over.

“Alright, bro, spill it,” Frances said, tossing a towel over his shoulder as he leaned in. “You’ve been lookin’ like you’re living in some sad dog for weeks.”

Ben gave him a sidelong glance. “There’s nothin’ to talk about.”

Taylor rolled his eyes as he joined them, settling down on the other side of Ben. “Come on, man. We’re not blind. Ever since she blocked you, you’ve been… different.”

Ben scoffed, looking away, his voice low. “She didn’t just block me, man. She… she threw down, real hard. Said some things I thought she’d never say.”

Frances let out a low whistle. “Was that rough, huh?”

“Yeah,” Ben said, rubbing a hand over his face, his frustration mingling with regret. “It all just blew up. We were on a call, talkin’ like usual, and suddenly… it was like everything we hadn’t said just came out. She starts throwin’ things at me about how I’m not there, like… like I don’t care enough or not workin' hard enough. And it pissed me off, you know? I work just as hard, and it’s not like I’m sittin’ around, right?”

Taylor nodded, leaning back against the lockers. “So, what’d you do?”

Ben shrugged, his expression pained. “I pushed back, told her she couldn’t keep actin’ like she’s the only one workin’ for this. Told her ATP is just as tough, maybe even more competitive. Didn’t mean it that way, but she took it wrong. She thought I was tryin’ to downplay her game.”

Frances shook his head, giving Ben a sympathetic look. “Man, she must’ve felt hurt.”

“Yeah,” Ben muttered, a bitter laugh escaping him. “And next thing I know, I get this text. ‘This isn’t workin', we’re done.’ Blocked me on everything. Cold as ice, man. It’s like she flipped a switch, just… shut me out completely, as easy as shuttin' a door.”

Frances gave him a gentle nudge. “You still care about her?”

Ben’s gaze softened, a faint smile breaking through his frustration. “Yeah, man. She’s… she’s my girl. Even if she’s not my girl right now, you know?”

Taylor chuckled, nodding. “So, what’re you gonna do about it? Sit around here moping, or actually make a move?”

Ben sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “What am I supposed to do? She’s made it pretty clear she’s done with me.”

Frances grinned, crossing his arms. “Bro, just ‘cause she blocked you and sent a text after you called her game easy, doesn’t mean it’s over. She’s mad, yeah, but she’s probably missin’ you just as much. You just gotta show her you’re willin’ to do what it takes.”

Taylor nodded in agreement, a slight smile tugging at his lips. “And it doesn’t have to be some big romantic gesture, man. Sometimes, it’s the small things. Something to let her know you’re still thinkin’ of her, still care. You know where we're at next, right?”

Ben chuckled, shaking his head. “And do what? Just show up at her hotel room? She’s liable to call cops on my ass for that shit, bro.”

Frances laughed, shrugging. “So what? At least she’ll know you tried! Don't go doin' that though. Look, I’ve been with my girl for years now, and sometimes, you gotta be willing to look like a fool to show her you care.”

Ben leaned back, their words sinking in. He could still feel the sting of the things she’d said, the accusations she’d thrown at him like he didn’t care, didn’t work just as hard. But he couldn’t deny that he’d made mistakes, too. He’d let his pride get in the way, said things he regretted, and let the frustration of it all get the better of him.

Frances nudged him again, his grin widening. “Think about it, man. You got two choices: sit here, feeling sorry for yourself until she finds some other guy, or actually do something about it and get her back, even if that means standing in the rain with a fuckin' speaker.”

Ben finally cracked a smile, looking between his friends. “Y’all are ridiculous.”

“Hey, maybe,” Taylor said with a shrug. “But at least we got girlfriends. And you? You got a chance to get yours back. Just gotta decide if she’s worth it.”

Ben sat there, mulling over their words as a new determination started to burn within him. Maybe he didn’t have all the answers, and maybe there was a lot he’d have to figure out. But if there was even a chance to fix things, to bridge that gap that felt so wide, he wasn’t about to let his pride hold him back.

As he left the locker room that night, he felt a resolve solidify within him. He’d find a way to reach out, to let her know that no matter how far apart they were, she was still the one he wanted. Because when it came down to it, she was worth every bit of the fight.

A week went by before a 1000 game flew in, and both ATP and WTA were present if not, nearby for the games. You couldn't care less what was at stake, anything was a win if it kept you occupied. The courts were almost empty, shadows lengthening as the sun beamed high above. You bounced the ball steadily, the rhythm calm, your focus laser-sharp. The only sounds were the muted thud of your shoes on the court, and your breath falling into sync with the beat of your earbuds. Nothing but you, the court, and the quiet.

But then, that voice broke through.

"Aw, c'mon, man!" A laugh, deep and full of that unmistakable Southern drawl. Your grip faltered, the ball hovering mid-toss. That laugh, it was a sound you hadn’t let yourself think about for months, one that held too much of him.

Ben.

Your pulse jolted, the memories flooding back, warmth and bitterness tangled in the knots of your chest. You gritted your teeth, tossing the ball high before slamming it against the court, the crack of impact sharp in the quiet. It almost felt satisfying, like you could obliterate the tension he brought, shatter it with sheer force.

Almost.

You readied another serve, the ball bouncing harder than necessary as you forced yourself not to look. But you could feel his gaze, that familiar weight of his eyes lingering on you. The pull was magnetic, almost maddening, and despite every ounce of resolve you’d built up, your gaze betrayed you, slipping over to catch a glimpse of him.

Ben, laughing with Taylor, curls tousled longer than before, his hoodie slung carelessly over those familiar, ridiculous short shorts. The same hoodie you'd worn too many times to count, drowning in its warmth during late-night snack runs and lazy Sundays. The sight tugged painfully, a cruel reminder of the little things you’d pushed down, tried to forget.

He caught you looking, and his laughter faded, his gaze holding yours for just a second too long. You gripped the ball tighter, the ache settling heavy, and forced yourself to turn away, channelling the flurry of memories into another sharp serve, a fierce crack reverberating across the court. You didn’t look back again.

Hours later, your body was tired, your mind a bit clearer. You were scrolling through your phone in the lounge, zoning out, when Coco dropped down beside you with that familiar, mischievous grin.

"Hey, you!" She nudged you, hands on her hips.

You eyed her warily. "What’s up, Coco? Awfully perky for...5:30p.m."

“We’re having dinner tonight. Big group. Wanna come?” Her tone was casual, a little too casual.

Your guard went up immediately as you dropped your phone to your lap. “Who’s ‘we all’?”

Coco shrugged, twirling a loose curl around her finger. “Me, Frances, Arthur… maybe another WTA girl or two. Just a fun little dinner. Nothing formal.”

You narrowed your eyes, reading the glint of mischief in hers. "Coco, don’t mess with me. He's not gonna be there, right?"

She tilted her head, pretending to look innocent, but the sly smile gave her away. "Well… he might show up, but that's on his own accord. I didn't mention anything to Ben and it’s not like anyone’s setting anything up! It’s just dinner."

Your stomach twisted, a sigh slipping from your lips as you looked away. “I don’t think so. Not after… everything.” Your voice softened the weight of old arguments and unsaid things hanging between the words.

Coco’s face softened, her hand finding your shoulder. “Look, I’m not saying you have to sit next to him or anything. It’s a big table. You can stay on the opposite end and ignore him if that’s what you need. But everyone misses you, it’s been ages since we all got together. We all need to see your pretty face off the court too, ya know?”

You hesitated, rolling your eyes, the ache of missing them settling somewhere deep, the sense of family you hadn’t felt in months tugging at you. After a long pause, you finally nodded, rolling your shoulders back as if bracing for a match. “Fine. But I’m serious, Coco, no funny business. If he starts anything, I’m out.”

Coco grinned, throwing her arm around you. “Girl, trust me. If anything, you’ll be giving him the funny looks. Just friends, no drama. Now, let’s go get you out of those sweats.”

Meanwhile, in the locker room across the court, Ben was doing his best to act indifferent as Frances nudged him for the third time.

"C'mon, man!" Frances said, leaning against the lockers with a knowing grin. "So you are coming to this dinner tonight, right? Don't make me beg again, I'll start singing.”

Ben tried to play it cool, leaning back with his arms crossed. “I don’t know, man. You really think it’s a good idea?”

Frances rolled his eyes. “Look, you’ve been moping for months. She’s not gonna make a scene in public, and especially not with all of us, and who knows? Maybe she’ll talk to you, be all civil. It’s worth a shot.”

Ben let out a huff, rubbing the back of his neck. “Civil? You remember the last time we spoke, right? She has me blocked on everything.”

Taylor, stretching nearby, smirked and chimed in. “Man, you got nothin’ to lose. At the very least, you’ll see her. I saw how you were after you caught a glimpse of her training earlier. Besides, Frances and Coco will keep her from killin’ you.”

“Kay, thanks,” Ben muttered, though a flicker of hope sparked under the sarcasm. He didn’t want to admit it, but he couldn’t shake the longing to see her again, to maybe fix even a sliver of what had been broken.

Taylor nudged him, grinning. “Hey, listen, if I wasn’t taking Morgan out tonight, I’d be there just for moral support. But hey, maybe next time it’ll be a double date. Me, you, Morgan and your soon-to-be girlfriend, just like old times.”

Ben shook his head, the thought both terrifying and oddly thrilling. “You’re jokin’, right? She’d probably throw her drink at me before she’d sit through a double date.”

“Only if you act like an idiot,” Frances pointed out, laughing. “Just be yourself, man. You can handle the heat on the court, you can handle this. And maybe tonight’ll be the thing that finally breaks the ice.”

Ben sighed, running a hand over his face before finally surrendering. “Alright, alright. Fine. I’ll go. But Frances, don’t expect me to be all… chatty.”

Frances clapped him on the back, a glimmer of excitement in his eyes. “Yeah, you say that now. But I know how you get around her, man. Just don’t chicken out. Remember, we got your back.”

Ben couldn’t help but smile nervously, feeling a strange mix of dread and anticipation tighten in his chest. He wasn’t sure if this dinner would be a chance at redemption or just a painful reminder of how far they’d drifted, but one thing was clear, he was tired of hiding from whatever was left between them.

You walk into the restaurant and let Coco lead you to a long table, feeling an odd mix of nerves and determination fluttering in your stomach. Your outfit is cute but simple, just a sweater and leggings; just enough effort to feel put together without trying too hard. You take a seat between Coco and Arthur Fils, with Frances across from you. There’s an empty chair across from Arthur, and for some reason, that empty space makes your heart beat a little faster, feeling torn between wanting and avoiding Ben there.

As everyone settles in, you catch Coco’s eye and mutter, “Please tell me he’s not actually coming.” She just shrugs with an easy smile.

Moments later, as the group banters along, about to order drinks, Ben strolls in, catching you entirely off-guard. He’s slightly out of breath, apologising to the group with that familiar grin, explaining he’s late because he’d just finished showering after practice. You can’t help it, you nudge Coco under the table, whispering through gritted teeth, a frustrated, “Great.”

Coco just gives him a casual greeting, and you force yourself to turn back to the table, focusing your attention on ordering a glass of wine, pretending not to notice him as he takes that empty seat across from Arthur, just barely within your view, diagonally. But as he sits down, you feel his eyes on you, and for a brief moment, you glance up and catch him staring, his face almost dazed.

You’re caught off-guard by the look in his eyes. His breath seems to hitch, his big brown eyes wide and you can see a faint blush creeping up his neck as he stares at you, almost like he’s seeing you for the first time all over again. There’s a softness in his expression that you weren’t prepared for, a kind of awe that makes your stomach twist with memories and longing. But just as quickly, you look away, turning your attention to your wine as Frances elbows Ben with a teasing hiss, “Be normal, man.”

Throughout the night, you manage to keep to yourself, mostly talking to the other WTA players or Arthur whenever he cracks a joke. You keep Ben at the edge of your vision, resolute in ignoring the way his gaze keeps drifting back to you.

Every once in a while, Ben attempts to draw you into the conversation, maybe a lighthearted comment or a direct question, but each time, you meet his gaze with a steely look, making it clear with just one glance that you’re not interested. When he tries again, you let your eyes meet his for a moment, long enough to show him you’re serious before turning away, cutting off his effort entirely, almost to say "not interested". Across the table, Frances raises his brows, murmuring with a barely hidden smirk, “Damn, she is good at this,” as Ben slouches slightly, clearly trying not to look embarrassed.

As dinner winds down, the plates are cleared away, and you excuse yourself to the bathroom, needing a moment alone. Inside, you take a deep breath, facing yourself in the mirror. You’d been bracing yourself for tonight, but nothing quite prepared you for how it would feel to see him sitting right there, looking at you with those big sweet brown eyes and a pout, filled with that same soft pleading that used to make you melt.

But tonight, all it did was remind you of those late nights waiting by your phone, checking it over and over for messages that came slower and slower until they just…stopped. It reminds you of the countless hours wondering if you mattered as much as you thought you did, replaying his empty promises and half-hearted reassurances that seemed to fade with each passing day. He couldn't expect you to take him back with a pout and some half-assed joke. But damn, was it a good attempt, he knew how to make you crumble, even if it wasn't his sole intention.

You force yourself to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear as you look in the bathroom mirror examining yourself with a sigh, applying a bit of lip balm with fingers that tremble just slightly. Anything to distract yourself, to remind yourself that you’re strong enough to face this without breaking, reminding yourself to keep that mask on. You straighten your posture, determined to push all those memories back down where they belong, buried.

But just as you step out of the bathroom, Ben is standing right there, leaning against the wall as if he’d been waiting for you. His eyes soften the moment they meet yours, and he opens his mouth, his voice just a whisper. “Can we…talk? Just the two of us?”

The look he gives you, hopeful, no, desperate, stirs something deep inside you, and you clench your jaw, wanting to say no, wanting to walk away without a second thought. But as much as you’d like to ignore it, part of you still aches for some kind of closure, maybe even just one honest conversation.

With a reluctant sigh, you nod. “Fine. Outside.”

As you head out the restaurant’s door, you quickly fire off a text to Coco:

me n Ben talking outside. brb.

You stuff your phone back into your bag, clutching it tightly to your shoulder as you step into the cool night air. Wrapping your arms under your chest, you try to keep yourself shielded from more than just the chilling breeze.

Ben falls into step beside you, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his hoodie. There’s a moment of silence as you both find your footing, the quiet thick with everything that’s been left unsaid. You glance sideways, catching him opening his mouth like he’s about to say something, only to close it, his shoulders shifting awkwardly.

“So… how’s the tournament going for you?” he starts, his tone casual, a little too casual.

You blink, trying not to roll your eyes, feeling the irritation growing. Really? But you bite back and just sternly say, “Ben.”

He rubs the back of his neck, glancing up at the streetlights overhead. “Sorry, yeah, that was- uh, okay.” He lets out a breath and shuffles closer, his voice almost a murmur. “I just… I wanna make this right. Another chance- Just thought maybe… you know, talkin’ would be easier if…”

“Ben, stop.” You sigh, tightening your grip on your bag strap. “Stop being weird. Just… just say what you have to say, and let’s get this over with. Let's not make this longer than it needs to be, I've got shit to do tomorrow.”

He glances at you, brows knitting together. For a second, he looks almost frustrated, like he’s holding back something sharper, something rougher. But he lets it pass, letting out a long, resigned breath. “Fine. I’ll just ask one thing.”

You arch an eyebrow, scepticism thick in your voice. “One question. Shoot.”

His voice comes out softer, edged with a hesitant curiosity as if he knows it’s a stupid question but can’t help but ask. “What hotel you stayin’ at?”

You let out a dry chuckle, shaking your head. “The Merrion.”

His eyes widen slightly, a small, stupid smile breaking on his face. “No way… me too.”

You sigh, looking up at the night sky, feeling the inevitability of whatever this night is becoming. Of course, he’s at the same hotel. Only Ben could make the universe align like this. And only Ben would think of a stupid question like that. He shifts his weight, stepping closer, his gaze steady.

“Look,” he starts, “it’s just a short walk back, twenty minutes or so. Just… give me that time. Just enough to walk back. Let me talk. And then you can go to your room and go to bed. How 'bout it?”

There’s a hopeful edge in his voice that you can’t ignore, and for a moment, your resolve falters. It’s ridiculous, this is exactly the sort of thing he would come up with, some half-baked plan to get you to keep listening, to keep him around just a little longer. You want to roll your eyes, to brush him off, but something about the way he’s looking at you, those earnest, brown eyes so damn full of longing, makes you sigh.

“Fine,” you mutter. “But if you get weird again, I’m out. No small talk, you know how much I hate it.”

A small grin creeps onto his face, and he falls into step beside you, a little closer than necessary, his arm brushing against yours as you start down the quiet street. For a minute, he doesn’t say anything, just walks alongside you, letting the silence settle around you both. But then, in that familiar southern drawl, his voice comes softer.

“Y’know, I've been thinkin’ ‘bout us a lot… probably more than I should.”

You keep your eyes on the sidewalk ahead, willing yourself to stay unmoved. “And?”

He swallows, his gaze tracing your profile, softening with each word. “I messed up,” he admits. “I know I did. I shoulda… been there more, answered more, I dunno. Shoulda been better at handlin’ it.”

You nod slightly, keeping your face blank. “Mhm, you should've.”

There’s a flicker of frustration in his expression, but he doesn’t let it throw him off. “You think I didn’t feel it too? That whole time, it felt like- hell, like I was losin’ you, like somethin’ was slippin’ right outta my hands, and I couldn’t do nothin’ to stop it.”

You feel the tension in your shoulders loosen just a fraction, though you keep your arms folded as a kind of armour. His words settle into the silence, raw and rough, and you can feel him glancing over, waiting for some kind of response. But you keep your gaze forward, biting back the little stirrings of emotion that are beginning to creep in.

He keeps talking, voice low and steady, drawing you in without giving you a chance to look away. “I’m not tryin’ to make excuses, alright? I know I coulda tried harder. But it’s like… the more I tried, the harder it got. The distance, the time zones, the schedules… it all just made me feel like I couldn’t keep up. And I just didn't know how to juggle it and that's my fault.”

You shake your head slightly, finally glancing over at him, the faintest of smirks tugging at the corner of your mouth. “So this is your way of apologising?”

He laughs, a little sheepish. “Guess I’m not real good at it, huh?” He nudges you with his shoulder, a familiar, easy gesture that makes your arms slowly loosen. His hand brushes your arm, just for a second, and a warmth blooms where his fingers graze your skin as if your body’s memory of him can’t help but respond.

“Look,” he says, his voice dipping softer, “I just… I miss you so much. Like hell.”

The honesty in his tone hits you hard, unravelling the cold exterior you’ve worked so hard to keep up. He keeps his eyes on you, watching your face carefully as if gauging your reaction. You feel your resolve slipping even more, your arms slowly falling to your sides, your heart aching as you fight against the wave of warmth that’s threatening to break through.

“Ben…” you start, barely a whisper, but you don’t know what to say, feeling torn.

He moves a little closer, his eyes wide, pleading, like he’s trying to hold onto every inch of you he can. “I know I messed up, okay? But I don’t wanna lose you. Not for good. Please, Y/N. Give me one more chance, you won't regret it 'n if I fuck up bad, you can do whatever, however; I deserve it but please. Just one more chance.”

You press your lips tight together, feeling your heart tighten as his words sink in, as he stands there looking at you with that same vulnerability you’d once fallen in love with. For a second, you forget the hurt, the sleepless nights, and you’re left with just him, the version of him that’s open, sincere, the Ben you’d once held so close.

The walk to the hotel stretches out as he keeps talking, spilling out and laying his heart bare with that easy, boyish charm that only he can pull off, and little by little, you feel your icy exterior start to melt. He talks about his time away from you, how he admired you from videos, watched highlight reels, his endless hours at night going through photos and texts; the whole lot. He cracks a joke, and despite yourself, you smile, trying to hide it but failing. He nudges you again, grinning as he sees the hint of laughter breaking through your guard.

He apologises over and over, more earnestly each time, his voice steady and low, and you can hear the regret, the guilt, the need to make things right. By the time you reach the hotel entrance, you’re feeling something dangerously close to hope, your heart betraying you, making it harder and harder to keep up the facade.

You glance over at him, catching the way his eyes soften as he looks at you as if you’re the only thing he can see. He’s staring, the blush from earlier creeping back up his neck, and when his hand brushes yours one last time, you don’t pull away.

You stand just outside the hotel, a faint chill brushing past as the streetlights cast a warm glow around you. You shift on your feet, glancing up at him, your eyes soft but determined.

“Can I talk?” you ask, breaking the quiet, your voice barely above a whisper. The first thing you had actually said this entire time.

Ben raises an eyebrow, leaning in with a playful smirk. “Talk? What else have we been doin’ for the last twenty minutes, girl?”

You roll your eyes and reach out to smack his arm, earning a chuckle from him. “Fine then. Can we go up to your room?” you add, a small, daring smile tugging at your lips.

Ben’s eyebrow quirks higher. “My room, huh?” His gaze narrows, teasing you with that familiar glint. “What exactly ya got planned, sweetheart?”

You swat him again, harder this time, and he laughs, raising his hands in mock defence. But then you drop the smile, your voice softer. “I wanna talk about what I did, Ben. I messed up too.”

The teasing fades from his expression as he studies your face, searching. After a pause, he nods and gestures toward the lobby. “Alright, then. Let’s go talk.”

In the elevator, silence hangs thick in the air, tension as familiar as it is unspoken. You don't even notice, spending your time stilling your breath and running through everything you want to apologise for. When you reach his room, you head over to the small couch by the window and settle in, tucking your legs under you and giving him a steady look.

“Ya gettin’ comfortable already?” he jokes, leaning against the wall, his eyes dancing with that old spark that makes you ache.

You try not to smile, steeling yourself for your confessional. “Can you be serious for a minute?”

His smile fades as he walks over, sitting across from you, his gaze intense and focused. You take a deep breath, feeling the weight of everything you’ve held back.

“I shouldn’t have put so many expectations on you,” you begin, your voice wavering. “You’ve got your own life, your own competitions, your own dreams. All this constant travelling, the different time zones… it’s not fair to expect you to be there every time I needed you at the drop of a hat. You get burnt out too- God. I never even asked how you were before I'd launch into my own day.”

You bite your lip, blinking back tears as they start to blur your vision. “I should’ve known better. I should’ve been more understanding, given you more grace.” Your voice catches, barely a whisper now. “And what I said… on that call… it was cruel, Ben. I was mean and unfair, and you didn’t deserve that. You didn’t deserve any of it. At all. I wouldn't want myself back after all I had said and done.”

As a tear slips down your cheek, Ben’s face softens, and he reaches out without hesitation, his hands cupping your face as he brushes the tear away. His thumb lingers on your skin, his gaze is unwavering, and then he leans forward, pressing the gentlest kiss to your temple, another to your forehead, and a final one at the crown of your head, his hand resting tenderly against your hair.

You let out a shuddered breath, your hands covering his as you finally let everything pour out. “I miss you so much,” you whisper, your voice breaking. “I miss everything about you… the way you laugh, your ridiculous voice…” Another tear rolls down, and you don’t try to hold back. “I miss the way you’d talk about cars or food for ages, and you’d make everything feel so normal, even when my life was a mess. Without you, it’s like this haze I can’t shake. I just… I miss you. I barely recognise myself these days.”

Your body shakes with the sobs you’ve tried so hard to bury, and Ben doesn’t hesitate. He pulls you close, wrapping you in his arms like he could shield you from all the pain, all the regret. He holds you there, one hand smoothing over your hair, his lips pressing soft, tender kisses to your forehead and cheeks, murmuring gentle words against your skin.

“S’all right, darlin’,” he whispers, his voice thick with emotion. “I’m here. I’m right here with you.”

You cling to him, burying your face into the crook of his neck, as his hands trace soothing circles along your back. Your sobs gradually quiet, but your breaths are still shaky, each exhale unsteady.

“I’m so sorry, Ben,” you manage, voice barely audible.

He pulls back just enough to meet your gaze, his thumb brushing over your cheek. “Hey now,” he murmurs, his tone warm and grounding. “We both made mistakes. Ain’t just on you, alright? Takes two to mess up, but it takes two to fix it too. We can fix, can't we?”

You nod, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt, feeling a little of the weight lift, softened by his words.

Ben tilts your head to hold your gaze, his own eyes glassy. “Can’t tell ya how many times I thought about callin’ ya or flying to ya,” he admits, his voice low. “How many times I’d pull up your name, wonderin’ what you’d say if I told ya all the things I wished I’d said. But I was… hell, I was scared, darlin’. Thought maybe I’d screwed up too bad, and you’d moved on.”

You shake your head, a small, breathy laugh escaping. “I couldn’t...I could never.”

He strokes your hair gently, his lips brushing your forehead once more. “Guess we’re both a couple of fools then, huh?”

You laugh softly, the sound wet and trembling as he pulls you back into his arms. You lean into him, letting yourself feel the warmth of his embrace, the steady beat of his heart, grounding you. Wrapped in the quiet, tangled together, you both hold on a little tighter, feeling the rawness of your honesty and the comfort of finally, finally being close again. In the safety of his arms, you feel, for the first time in so long, a sense of peace, letting the unspoken words settle around you like a quiet promise.

Ben’s hand rests on your cheek, his thumb tracing small circles as he learns your face all over again, making your heart flutter. His fingers move slowly, grazing down to your jaw, then up again, threading into your hair. You let your eyes close for a moment, his gentle touch working its way through the tension of the night, and a small, contented sigh escapes you. For the first time in weeks, you feel relaxed and content.

“Gettin’ comfortable, huh?” he murmurs, his voice low and teasing, though there’s a warmth in his eyes that wasn’t there before. He leans in, giving one final push to a stray strand of your hair before tilting his head toward the bed across the room. “C’mon, darlin’. This couch is barely holdin’ us together.”

You hesitate, but Ben’s already moving, holding out his hand as he stands up. His grip is strong, guiding you as you follow him to the bed, and he lets out a soft chuckle as you settle beside him. His arm drapes around you, pulling you close as you lean into him, feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest against you. The warmth is so consuming, cocooning you immediately.

Ben smiles down at you, a playful glint in his eye, and as his fingers find your hair again, he starts twirling a strand between his fingers. “So,” he murmurs, resting his cheek on the top of your head, “ya still gonna keep me blocked, huh?”

You roll your eyes, smirking. “Fine,” you reply, unlocking your phone with a playful huff. You find his name, well, technically his new contact name since you’d deleted him in a fit of anger, and type a single white heart emoji, pressing send.

The vibration of his phone buzzes beside him, and he pulls it out with a grin, holding up the glowing screen. “There it is. Knew ya couldn’t resist me,” he says, laughing as he pulls you in close as he kisses your temple.

But just as you relax against him, you notice a missed notification. It’s a text from Coco, her reply to your earlier message asking where she’d disappeared to after dinner. You hesitate, then, instead of texting back, you tap the Facetime icon, feeling a strange urge to share this quiet moment, finding words couldn't suffice, nor were you in the mood to type out a lengthy paragraph.

The call connects, and Coco’s face appears, a gasp escaping her as she spots you two tangled up in Ben’s bed, nestled together with his arm around you.

“Oh my god! Yes!” she cheers, loud enough to make Ben chuckle. You hear laughter and cheers in the background too, and Coco turns the camera, revealing the whole dinner table watching with knowing smiles.

"Coco, this was a set-up plan, huh?" you giggle as you see the entire friend group on the other end.

"Somewhat, but blame Morgan and Taylor, not me. They did all that," she throws the blame as she points the camera over to them. Frances, Morgan and Taylor wave and Frances yells “Look at Ben! Already got her in bed, huh?”

Ben rolls his eyes, but a faint blush colours his cheeks. He pulls you closer, his hand resting protectively around your shoulders as he grins.

“Hey now,” he says, his voice low and sincere. “This one’s special. Ain’t like any other. My lucky charm.”

You feel your heart skip a beat at his words, and you’re so focused on him that you barely notice Coco and the others making gagging noises before Ben reaches out, ending the call on your phone with a smirk. Then he turns back to you, his eyes soft, filled with something that feels dangerously like forever.

He leans in, his lips finding yours in a kiss that’s slow and tender, each second lingering with quiet promises. And in the warmth of his arms, your heart finally feels at home, exactly where it belongs.

[eddie-van-munson]

The Princess Bride (Farmhand!Eddie Munson x Princess!Reader)

***********

***********

Warnings: Mentions of Blood (Nothing Graphic), Kissing, One Subtle Allusion to Smut, Childhood Best Friends to Lovers, Slow Burn...I think that's it?

Summary: You've been best friends with the stable boy since childhood, but when a suitor comes from across the sea to ask for your hand in marriage, you're forced to finally confront your feelings for him.

A/N: I hope y'all like this! I've had this in my drafts for literally over a year, but people seemed interested when I asked, so here it is! Please, Please, Please leave a comment! It will keep me writing!

Six Years Old

Your earliest memory of him was from the stream. 

His head was a mess of wild brown curls, so thick they nearly covered his eyes, and his pants had been rolled up past his knees. You'd been sitting in the gardens, ignoring your tutor's endless lesson on etiquette, when you spotted him through the clearing. He wobbled as he waded further, jumping forward suddenly as he tried to catch a fish with his hands. You had to hide your giggle with a polite cough, lest you be scolded.

The boy heard you, though. He stared at you as you obediently walked along the bank behind a man with a large nose. 

You made eye contact with him, and as soon as he noticed he'd won your attention, it became a game. Suddenly, he was pulling funny faces and splashing around the creek like a giant. He held your gaze all the while, flashing you a two-front-toothless grin when you finally fell into a fit of giggles. 

You'd had to recite forty lines that afternoon because of him, but it was well worth it to share a laugh as he mucked about in the water.

***********

Six Years Old

The next time you saw the boy, you'd fallen ill with fever. It'd been a few months since the stream, and you almost didn't recognize him as he plopped a bundle of healing herbs down on your bedside table. 

"You don't look like a Princess." He crossed his arms before him as he eyed you suspiciously. "You're awfully pale…And you're not even wearing a crown or a dress or anything." 

"I'm sick, you knob." You frowned, "No one wears a crown to bed." 

He hummed, sticking up his nose. "I thought Princesses had to be grown-ups." 

"I'll be queen when I'm a grown up." You announced, bossily. "And you'll have to do everything I say, or I'll send you to jail." 

He scoffed, "Not if I'm the King! The Queen has to do what the King says!" 

You rolled your eyes, "Well, you can't be King." 

"Yes, I can! Haven't you ever read King Arthur?" He pointed, brows raising. "I just have to find an enchanted sword and pull it out of a stone. Then I'll be the King, and I'll send you to jail." 

Your cheeks went pink as you argued, "King Arthur isn't even real!" 

"Yes, he is! And I'll be just like him! King Edward the First!" You giggled, and the boy flipped around from where he'd started strutting around the room, proudly. "What?"

"Edward is a funny name." 

As wildly offended as the boy was by this comment, he had to hide the smile that crept to his face at the sound of your hoarse laughter. "It is not!" 

"Yes, it is! Who's ever heard of a King called Ed? King Eddie!" You held your stomach, falling into another fit of giggles. 

He turned from you indignantly, "Fine! Stay here all alone with your smelly herbs, then! I don't need any silly ole' princess!" 

"No!" You croaked, sitting up in bed. "Don't go. It's so boring up here. I can hardly stand it." 

He sighed, putting a hand on his hip, and thought for a moment. "Only because you'll have me beheaded if I don't." 

***********

Ten Years Old 

"Oh goodness…You've gotten mud on your dress!" 

Your mother fussed over the little blue dress you were wearing, kneeling beside you to get a better look at the damage. Splotches of brown had been smeared over your front. Even your hair had a few streaks of dirt. 

"I got in a mud fight with Eddie." You informed her, as if the mess was perfectly justified by this. 

She chuckled, "I see. It looks like he may have won this time, hm?" She gave your cheek a gentle pinch, making your nose scrunch. 

"No, he didn't!" You turned, pointing at your friend. He dragged his feet behind you, looking defeated. 

Your mother burst into pretty laughter at the sight of him, resting a hand on her stomach. "Oh lamb…come here." 

The poor boy was absolutely caked in dirt. Not an inch of him was left unscathed. His wild curls were sopping with heavy mud, and you couldn't even see the embarrassed flush on his pouty face. He looked like he'd rolled around in the pig pen.  

The queen tutted affectionately, smirking. "Oh what am I going to do with you two?" 

***********

Thirteen Years Old

"Do you think he'll be alright?" Tears welled in your eyes as you sat in the windowsill in your room, watching Eddie as he walked quietly by himself in the distant fields, below. "I don't like seeing him cry." 

"He'll be alright, love." Your mother cooed, taking a seat beside you. "I know it's hard to see him in pain, but the poor dear's lost his mother. It might take some time for him to feel like himself again." 

You sniffled, holding your knees. The words trembled when you spoke again.  "He'll be sent away, won't he? He won't be allowed to stay at the palace anymore." 

The Queen frowned, stroking your hair. "Why do you say that?" 

"His mother worked in the laundry. That's why he's lived here so long. Without her, he-" You trailed off, voice cracking as you gave a soft sob. 

"Oh, silly girl." She chuckled softly as she dried your tears. "You think we'd throw Eddie out all on his own?" 

Your brow furrowed, confused. 

"Eddie's a strong boy, sweetheart. He works very hard in the stables and takes good care of the horses. He holds his own…and even if he didn't, he's family. We'd never send him away." 

Your whole demeanor relaxed, "You really mean it?" 

Your mother smiled, "Of course." 

Still, your eyes didn't leave him. You sighed, "He's so sad...He's sad and I don't know how to fix it. 

"I wish we could fix it for him, darling, but that's not how these things work. You can't take away that hurt. You just have to let him feel it." She straightened her dress as she stood, giving your hand a loving squeeze. "But that doesn't mean he couldn't use a friend." 

***********

Fourteen Years Old 

"I didn't know Princesses were allowed to climb trees." Eddie's grin was stained sweet and red, his legs crossed over a branch lazily as you plucked another strawberry from the bushel you'd collected that morning. 

Your etiquette teachers would be appalled if they could see you now, wearing little more than a chemise in the summer heat as you straddled a thick tree branch. Your feet were bare and dirty where they hung in the breeze. You smirked, "They are if nobody sees them." 

Eddie laughed, and it was such a clear sweet sound that you wished you could keep it tucked inside a locket. You sighed, longing to freeze time and keep things just the way they were forever.

You relaxed against a branch, "I've got my whole life to do what royalty is supposed to do. I've got to do fun things while I can still get away with it."

Eddie chuckled, "Maybe I'm a bad influence on you, after all.

You frowned, "Did someone say that to you?" 

He shrugged, unbothered. "The maids whisper it. They say a young lady shouldn't be left alone with a young man." He put on his best 'prim' voice, making you giggle. "I'm a threat to your innocence!" 

You held your stomach, laughing. "A threat to my innocence? That's horrible!" 

He grinned, "You're telling me!" 

The breeze rustled the leaves in the tree as you lounged, breathing in the sweet summer air. 

Eddie had strawberry juice on his lips. For the first time, the tiny, ant-sized thought of kissing it away crawled into your brain. You squished the ant. 

A bad influence, indeed. 

***********

Fifteen Years Old 

"Tag!" 

Eddie sprang up from the corner of the barn, sprinting after you as you ran off into the fields. 

You lost him quickly, cutting down and into the gardens. The morning dew was cool as the grass tickled your bare feet, and you nearly slipped as you ran over the stone path. A gloved hand grabbed your elbow to steady you. You turned to see a member of the palace guard; his brows furrowed. "There you are, Princess. Your Mother-" 

It all happened so quickly. Eddie ran through the bushes, a playful grin tugging his lips, and grabbed you from behind, "I've got you!" He yelled, drowning out your giggles. 

Before you realized what was happening, the guard ripped you from his hold, tossing you aside. Eddie was thrown onto the stone path, his temple hitting hard against the tile. Distantly, he heard you shriek. His vision was fuzzy and starry when he felt the weight of the guard pin him down, a drawn sword shoved against his throat. "You shall not touch her!”

"Stop! Stop it!' You grabbed the guard's arm, But he threw you back down. Eddie choked your name. 

"Stay back!" The guard barked at you, pressing harder against the blade. Eddie could feel blood trickling from his head. He was trembling, eyes closed tight. Still, the guard yelled in his face, “Who are you? Hands by your side!” 

"He's my friend!" You screamed hoarsely.

"Get off of him this instant!"

You'd never been so happy to hear your mother's voice in your life. The guard dropped his sword at the sight of her rushing towards him. Immediately, his face drained pale as a ghost. "Y-Your majesty!" 

"Get off of the boy, for god sakes, he's a child! Get off!" The man clambered off of Eddie as your mother knelt beside him, fussing over him dotingly, "Oh sweetheart, your head…You're shaking like a leaf…" 

He blinked hard, trying to clear his vision. The queen turned to the guard as you pitifully crawled over to your friend, pushing his curls back off of his forehead. "I'm sorry I'm sorry-" 

The guard searched for an explanation, "Your majesty, I thought the boy was-" 

"I know what you thought!" She snapped, sternly. She was well aware of the whispers surrounding yours and Eddie's friendship. Your mother's lips were pursed, cheeks red. You'd never seen her like that before in your life. "It gave you no right to hold a weapon to that child's throat!" 

"Your highness, I-" 

Your mother ignored the guard, turning back to you. "Help me get him inside." You nodded obediently as she squeezed Eddie's shaking hand, "I'll send for a doctor to check your head, darling."  

Eddie nodded, dizzily. 

You sat with him later that night when the doctor had gone and his head had cleared. The mark on his forehead would scar, no doubt, but it had been well tended, and any concussion he suffered was minor. This knowledge, of course, did nothing to soothe his nasty headache. 

"You're not a very good sport, you know." He groaned as you took his hand, smirking. "Siccing the palace guards on me just because I tagged you?" He tutted, "What a sore loser." 

***********

Sixteen Years Old 

"You have to tell!" You ran after Eddie as he hauled a sack of oats through the gardens to the stable. 

He ignored you, holding his nose high. "No, I don't. I don't have to tell you everything just because you're a princess."

You crossed your arms, "You have to tell me because I'm your best friend, you knob. Best friends don't keep secrets!" 

"Sure, they do. You mean to tell me you've never kept a secret from me?" 

You groaned, "That's different! You have to tell me if you fancy someone!" 

Eddie sighed, turning to face you, and dropped the sack of oats. "Why do you want to know so bad?" 

You blushed, stammering. "I…I want to help you confess your love!" 

Eddie laughed, "What a lie! You just want to tease me!" 

"Oh, Come on!" You pouted, putting your hands on his shoulders. If you tell me who it is, I'll tell you a secret, too."

"Tempting." He sighed, picking up the sack again and throwing it over his shoulder. "But no." 

***********

Eighteen Years Old

"You've got to keep it down…"

You scoffed, rolling your eyes as he guided you towards the stables. "Why?" 

He laughed, "If I told you why, then it wouldn't be a surprise." 

He smirked when you groaned, reaching for the latch on the barn door. “You know I don't like surpris-..." 

 You went silent as he led you inside slowly, revealing a soft colored mare, and below her, her newborn foal.

"Oh!" You gasped, a smile creeping to your face. You stepped forward, wanting to approach the baby, but Eddie took your arm, gently pulling you back.

"You've got to be careful...the mare's protective of her. I nearly got kicked in the teeth this morning." He chuckled, enjoying the amazement in your eyes as you watched the mother and baby interact. 

"She's beautiful." You mumbled, grinning. 

Eddie couldn't help but smile, "She's strong too..." He paused, breath fanning your neck as he spoke just loud enough for you to hear. "She'll make a good riding horse, one day." 

You met his brown eyed gaze, biting your lip shyly as he nudged your arm with his elbow. 

You could feel him admiring you. 

You liked it.

***********

Nineteen Years Old

"Oh, Eddie. He was horrible…You wouldn't have been able to stop laughing!" 

Eddie clutched his stomach, laying back against the grass as he toyed with a wildflower. "That's because it's funny!" 

Your fingers fumbled with the ends of your hair, untangling the intricate hairstyle it's been tied up in. "It's not so funny when it's you!" 

Eddie grinned, looking starry eyed, "It really just fell off of his head?" 

"During dinner!" You exclaimed. Eddie fell into another fit of laughter. "Right onto his plate in front of everyone!" 

Your friend sighed, wiping his happy tears as he sat up to gather a handful of clovers. "I can't believe he wore an honest to God wig. The poor lamb." 

You laughed at his faux sympathy, watching his hands as he wove together stems. 

He looked so different from the little boy you'd befriended as a child. His wild curls had grown just past his shoulders now, his bangs often covering the scar on his temple. His arms and back were beautiful, muscles sloping gently beneath his skin, and while he was a hint more bronze than he had been as a boy, his freckles remained. His nose and his dimples had never changed in the slightest, and those big brown eyes reassured you that no matter how much Eddie had grown up, he'd always be that silly little boy, deep down. He'd always be your Eddie. 

"But what's the verdict?" He chuckled, "You never said. Is he the one?" 

You groaned, "You're mocking my pain." 

"I am not!" He fought a smirk. "I didn't want to assume. Maybe he was a wonderful conversationalist." 

You giggled, yawning. "I wouldn't know. I didn't catch a word he said after his hair went into his soup. 

Eddie gave you a fond smile, laying on his elbow beside you, "Here you are, princess. A crown." 

Your heart felt oddly achey as he draped a handmade crown of wildflowers over your head. You smiled, affection in your eyes. 

Your throat was tight when you spoke, "You're better than any prince, Eddie Munson." 

His cheeks flushed faintly. "Well, I don't know about that…" He tapped your nose playfully. "Most princes don't smell like a barn." 

***********

Twenty Years Old 

"Eddie, darling!" Your mother had called to him as he cut through the gardens back to the stable. His brows raised when he turned to find the Queen accompanied by you and the King. A man Eddie had never seen before held your arm, an unreadable expression on your face. Eddie bristled. 

"Your Majesties." Eddie nodded his head politely as the group approached, his muscles stiff with wariness. 

Your father gave a proud smile, gesturing to the stranger on your arm. "Son, let us Introduce you to Prince Carver the Fourth: Heir to the Throne of Hawkins."  

"An honor to meet you, Your Highness." Again, Eddie bowed his head. He'd never seen someone that looked so stiff. The two of you would have fun joking about it, later. 

Prince Carver was older than you, and by the looks of him, he'd never been outside a day in his life. Every last one of his blonde hairs had been tediously placed, as if he'd been sculpted out of clay, and his boots were perfectly polished black leather. The blonde eyed Eddie with disdain, crinkling his nose at the sight of his work clothes. "Yes, I'm sure." 

Eddie fought an eye roll. Another suitor, he assumed. The Royals were only being polite by offering him a tour, seeing as he'd travelled so far only to be rejected.

The Queen stepped towards him, glancing at the prince. "Eddie has become a very dear friend to our daughter, Prince Carver. Perhaps he would make a nice addition to your staff. He's served us so well in our stables." 

Confusion was visible in Eddie's face. An addition to his staff? What was going on? He looked to you for help, but your eyes were cast down into the grass. 

Prince Carver cleared his throat, "Unfortunately, we aren't lacking any farmhands at the moment, but you need not worry about the princess, your highness. She'll find much companionship in Hawkins, once we are wed."

Eddie felt his blood go cold. Absolutely frigid. 

Once we are wed. Once we are wed. Once we are wed.

His mouth opened to say something, but he couldn't find a single word. He was desperate to look you in the eyes, but his gaze was only met by a small shimmer on your left hand. An engagement ring. 

"Please excuse me, Your Majesties." 

****

Eddie hadn't cried like this since his mother died. 

He hadn't felt the blow of such terrible loss since he'd been orphaned. 

He sat alone in the barn on a stool, tears rolling down his cheeks as he gently stroked his fingers through the mane of the foal he'd surprised you with two years ago.

It was a pretty horse…full grown now and patterned with soft brown spots across her back. You'd named her "Sweetheart" after hearing Eddie call her that. 

Come're, Sweetheart. 

Here you go, Sweetheart. 

Good job, Sweetheart…That's it. 

Pain shot through his chest at the realization that the horse would probably get to go with you to your new home. 

But not Eddie. Eddie would be left behind. 

He clenched his jaw, eyes burning as he buried his fists in his curls and tugged. He was angry. He couldn't help but feel angry. It wasn't fair. His whole heart was being shipped off to God knows where, and there wasn't a word he could say about it. 

It wasn't your fault. You were a princess. Your hand in marriage was a pawn in a game of political chess. It had been since the beginning. Both of you knew this. You always had. So why weren't the two of you happy that this inevitable union was one that would lead the country to thrive? 

Eddie took a deep breath, relaxing his hands from his hair and rubbing tears from his face. 

You'd daydreamed with Eddie before. Lots of times. It was always the same thing.

I wish we could just run off and live in the woods, Eds. Just you and me. We could build a little cottage beside a stream. That way, we could swim in the summertime. You could finally teach me to fish, too. 

Is that what he'd been expecting? Had he hoped, deep down, that he'd somehow end up in that cottage after all, spending summer days with you by a stream? 

Maybe. Or maybe he'd just wanted you. 

He'd dreamt up hundreds of different futures for himself. There were countless paths he'd wandered down curiously in his head, over the years. Some were outlandish and fantastic…some were more modest. As much as they varied from day to day, he was realizing now that his hopes for the future had always held something in common. 

He'd always had you. 

****

The next week seemed never ending. 

Eddie didn't see you once. You were avoiding him. That much was obvious. 

Before the proposal, you made a habit of visiting Sweetheart at least once every day. You liked to brush her as you talked with Eddie, twisting braids into her coarse hair. She was spoiled rotten, no doubt, but that didn't leave the horse feeling any less deprived of attention with the sudden loss of your quality time. She'd gotten fussy over the week, whinnying and pacing in her stall. She'd even started kicking again, when she was feeling particularly agitated. 

Still, you made no appearance at the stable. Eddie was surprised, however, to look over the gate one evening to find Prince Carver walking swiftly through the grass. 

"Your highness." Eddie nodded, spotting the green apple in the man's hand. "Have you come to feed the horses?" 

"Certainly not." Carver scoffed, "I've come on behalf of the Princess. I find it inappropriate for her, as a lady, to be spending time in the stables. 

 I've reassured her that I'll take it upon myself to fulfill any required visits with Sugarplum." 

Eddie frowned, " Forgive me Your Highness, but I think you might be thinking of Sweetheart." 

The man scoffed, slapping the apple down in Eddie's hand before storming off.

 "Whatever the damned thing's name is." 

Eddie swallowed hard, calling after him. "Would you like me to show you how to feed her, Prince Carver?" 

The man laughed cruelly, "Heavens no. That's your job, is it not?" 

**********

"What on earth are you-! Edward Munson!" You gasped, immediately dipping over the stone ledge of your window to reach for him. He laughed, flashing you a boyish grin as he took your hand, pulling himself up and over the sill. 

Christ, you'll crack your skull one day!" You muttered, the both of you giving way to the effort and falling to the floor with a thump. 

"For the present my skull remains intact." He reassured, giving a faux bow of his head. 

You snorted, plucking dead leaves and briars from his thick dark curls. "What on earth put it in your head to climb all the way-" 

Eddie caught your hand, his eyes landing on your engagement ring. His thumb brushed over its stone as your heart sank into your belly. 

"Oh." 

Eddie studied the ring for a moment, taking in its details. There was a long silence. Finally, you spoke. 

"It's a dreadfully heavy thing." You pulled it off, placing it on your bedside table. "It catches on my gown, anyways."

A knowing smile crept to Eddie's lips. He sat in the silence for a moment before reaching into his pocket. 

A small wooden ring was produced, painted delicately along the band with tiny white flowers. He slipped it onto your marriage finger. "How's that one?"

You were breathless. "It..it's..." 

It was perfect. It was the most beautiful ring you'd ever seen, though you couldn't find the words to say so. 

Eddie's thumb brushes over the flowers, "I carved that for you when we were sixteen."

Tears welled in your eyes.

"I had it in my mind to propose to you then. The gardener stopped me when he discovered my plan." He gave a sad chuckle. A comfortable silence hung between you. Eddie took your hand, humming. "Would you have said yes?" 

"Eddie..." A tear rolled down your cheek, only to be brushed away carefully by his ever-gentle hand. You gave a sad laugh, your thumb stroking over his wrist. "You're not being fair." 

"Maybe not." He whispered, "But any man should be damned if he saw you and didn't want to keep you."

"It's cruel." Your voice wavered with emotion. "You know I've loved you since we were children...nothing can be done about it, Eddie."

"Nothing can be done about it?" Eddie gave a humorless laugh, "You're going to be Queen. Everything can be done about it." 

"What would you have me do?" Your brow furrowed. "Tell my father to end our alliance with Hawkins?"

"Yes! Hawkins only seeks to use us for our resources. Forest Hills is better off without their partnership." 

You swallowed thickly. The cicadas sang their response from the Glenside below. Again, Eddie wiped your tears. 

"Love is not something to be kept only for common folk. Your father will understand that. So will your kingdom." 

Something in you crumbled under his gaze. You drew closer, letting him envelope you in his arms. He held you for a long time, stroking your back, sweetly. 

"I spoke to your mother." He cooed, pressing a soft kiss to your hair. Your head tilted back; eyes wide as you stared up at him. 

"Did you?" 

"Yes." His eyes were so warm and brown. You had admired them many times before this, but never quite so closely before. "I knew I was to ask for your hand...I couldn’t very well ask for your father's blessing, so I felt your mother's would be just as valuable. To us, at least."

You smiled, your forehead resting against his. "What did she say?" 

Eddie chuckled at the memory, "She pinched my cheek red. I wish you could've seen it. She cried and held my hand...told me she'd always known I would ask her one day." 

You gave a watery laugh, your fingers lacing tightly with his.

"She said she didn’t know if it was possible for me to make you mine, but that nothing would make her happier." 

There was a long silence. Eddie cradled your face, "Do you feel the same, little Princess?" Your pretty eyes fluttered at his whisper. "Do you love me the way I love you?" 

"How could you even ask?" 

Eddie chuckled, "Because I've done nothing but profess my feelings for you tonight, and now I'd like to hear you do the same." 

You chuckled, your smile fading with thought. 

"I knew...I knew I loved you about five summers ago." Eddie smiled fondly, his cheeks going pink. "We practically lived outside then...the world seemed so bright and warm and I didn't realize then that it was all because of you." You reached up, carding her fingers through his messy hair.  "The sun turned your curls golden on the edges-" 

Before you could finish your sentence, he was kissing you. He was soft and warm and strong, holding you close as you melted for one another. Eddie laughed, breathless, when you parted. "I'm afraid I win, then. I've loved you far longer than that." 

You laughed brightly as he kissed you again, working his way down your jaw to the column of your throat. "When?" You breathed, whimpering as he nipped at the crook of your neck. 

"It's hard to say." He moaned softly as you coaxed him back up to your lips, your hands lacing in his hair. "All I know is that I've never loved you more than I do right now." 

Another tear rolled down his love's cheek. He kissed it away. 

"But why these tears, now? Am I really that terrible?" 

You gave a watery laugh. "No. Not at all I...I just..." You gave a little sob. "I want to marry you. I want to be your bride and keep you always, but I can't-" 

"Marry me, then. Right now." 

You frowned, tucking a strand of his curls behind his ear. "What?" 

Eddie thumbed your ring as he caught your hand. "Do we not have a ring? A gown?" He swallows thickly, eyes darting between your night clothes and the mattress beside you.  "A marriage bed?" 

Slowly, You stood, guiding Eddie to stand before you. "We...we have to make a vow" 

"What kind of vow? I've never been to a wedding." 

You stared up at him, eyes brimming with love. "S-Something about.... For richer and for poorer. Through sickness and in health. From each sun to each moon." 

"May I write my own?" 

A tear rolled down your cheek as you nodded. 

He looked down at your hands, so soft and perfect in his rough ones. "I wish I could tell you that as my wife, you will want for nothing. I wish I could make you flowery promises about how you won't have a care in the world...but since I can't make you those promises, I'll make you the ones I can." 

He knelt before you, gazing up into your eyes. 

"I promise to you that no matter how hot the summer's day, I'll always climb to the highest branches to find you perfect, sun-spotted apples."

You giggled, a grin splitting your cheeks.

"I promise to let you spoil your horse as badly as you wish. Never again will I deprive her of a single sugar cube." 

Another giggle. Eddie kissed your knuckles.

"I promise to kiss you...often and abundantly...until you can't bear to kiss me even once more."

Eddie grinned at your blush. 

"I can't build you castles, but I promise you a home. I promise you food to eat and sturdy walls to keep you warm. I promise you children to nurse and adore." 

Eddie paused, heart fluttering.

"And I promise you love. The same love for you that I've held long since before I even knew what I was feeling." 

His voice wavers. 

"I promise that at the end of our lives, I will still feel it." 

Eddie clasped your hand with his, "So, Princess. If you'll have me...then with this ring, I thee wed." 

You repeated his words, falling to your knees to embrace him. Eddie caught you in his arms as he stood, peppering kisses to your nose, then your cheeks, and finally, your lips. 

His thumb brushed your new ring, gently. "I can't tell you how it feels to see you wearing it." He gave a watery laugh. "It's been sitting on my nightstand for four years now." 

"I wish I could wear it always..." 

"Why can't you?" He pulled back to meet your eyes.

Your expression sunk, "I'm afraid I'm still scheduled to be wed tomorrow morning." 

"Oh, don't be ridiculous." He hummed. "You think I'd allow another man to marry my wife?"

"Eddie..." He scooped you up, laying you gently upon your mattress before sitting beside you. "Promise me you won't do anything stupid tomorrow." 

He chuckled as you combed through his curls with your fingers. "When have I ever been known to do stupid things?" 

"I mean it. You remember what happened the last time someone thought you were a threat to my innocence. It would kill me to see you hurt." Your fingertips grazed the scar on his temple, stiffening at the memory of his head hitting stone. 

There was a long silence as Eddie gazed at the ring. He kissed each of your fingertips slowly. "Do you trust me?" 

"More than anything." 

Eddie smiled at this, holding your hand to his heart, "Then don't worry." 

You gave a hesitant smile. Eddie cradled your body against his, gently combing through your hair. 

"We must leave tonight." He whispered. "Disappear into the woods. If we rode as far as we could on Sweetheart, it would be nearly impossible for them to find us by the time morning came. It would be difficult, but we'd be free." 

Immediately, you tensed. "Eddie, no. He could have you killed if they found us." 

"Then you'd better hold me awfully tight for as long as you can, my love." 

**********

You woke to the sound of water rushing beside you. You laid upon a bed of moss; a thick blanket tucked around you. You felt shade cover you as a figure knelt as your side. A hand on your head, pushing your bangs back lovingly. You stretched and groaned in response, not wishing to leave behind the warmth of your blanket, and kept your eyes closed.

"What a shame." Eddie cooed with a smirk, seeing right through your fib. "My little wife is simply too weak and exhausted to carry on. I suppose I must leave her behind..."

Your eyes flew open, taking his bait. "Leave her behind!?"

Eddie laughed brightly, pulling you into a smiley kiss. You were beginning to think nothing in the world felt better than kissing him.

Eddie's nose nudged against yours as he hummed passively. "Did you know you talk in your sleep?"

Your jaw dropped, "I do not, Eddie Munson."

He giggled, "You most certainly do, Mrs. Munson. We had a whole conversation whilst you slept."

"What about, pray tell?"

Eddie laid on his back beside her, letting her rest against his chest as he tucked his arms behind his head. "How handsome I am."

You smirked, rolling your eyes as you kissed him. The sun was warm and the cool earth beneath you felt like silk beneath your skin.

"I feel like I could do anything I wanted out here. No one could stop me."

"You could." Eddie smirked with another peck. "But I'm afraid we must keep traveling, my love. We still have a long way to go."

"How far are we going?

He tucked hair behind your ear, "So far they'll never find you. So far that it will be impossible for them to take you from me."

You nodded, curling in against him.

"And once we have finally traveled far enough..." Eddie grinned down at you. "I shall build you our cottage by the stream." 

***********

@ali-r3n

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a man with a reputation | T.S

read the next part

or check out the series masterlist

summary ; you cannot talk your way out of this , for the first time in your life, you're given no choice.

warnings ; angst, cursing, mild violence i guess??? , arranged marriage trope.

a/n ; maybe i'll turn this into a series? who knows, let me know what you think <3. also the accent is a mess, but im trying.

_

"no!" your eyes are wide , glassy with anger filled tears "i will not be treated like some piece of land."

"would you listen? your father and i are thinking of your future." you mother is looking at you with a stern face, sitting beside your father as you stand in front of them

"what future do you think i'll 'ave with thomas fucking shelby?" you raise your voice

"do not speak to me like that , i am your mother."

"we're old, i'm sick with god knows how many illnesses." your father speaks, his cane in his hand as he leans against it, still on the sofa

"don't start with that talk" you shake your head with a chuckle, you sniffle and turn your head away

"i don't know if i'll live another day , i am too sick to work, too sick to care for the farm, there is nothing left for me to give you" he speaks slowly with a serious voice, and it makes your heart sink "this isn't a joke or some game, i've survived the war and lived long enough to see all of you grow , but i know that my time is near, i cannot risk dying and leaving you with nothing"

your father never spoke to you like that, he was always jovial , happy.

it seems like it hits you for the first time, how much your parents have aged, how much the illness took from your father, how his sicknesses have changed him.

"celest got to marry who she chose and so did oliver and so did abraham, but i don't get to do that? i dont get to choose my own husband?" your tears start falling, your voice cracks

"i need to know you'll be taken care of , that you'll be in good hands when im dead and gone."

"and you think his hands are the good hands you speak of?" you cant help the humorless smile that graces your face, hot tears stain your cheek "you can't be serious"

"he is the most feared man in birmingham," your mother chimes in

"you are willing to sell your daughter! to some gangster!" you raise your voice again

your mother stands and faces you

"i am not selling you off, i am securing you a future, with a wealthy man, who can give you everything you can possibly want. you'll live like royalty" her words come through gritted teeth "i am not giving you away to some old pig, you're marrying a respectable man, a man with a reputation."

"a reputation? don't you know what 'appened to his first wife ? you are securing me a grave" you come nose to nose with your mother, both of you almost vibrating in anger "you are killing me is what you're doing, you're selling me off to the highest bidder"

the next thing you hear is the sound of your mother's palm against your cheek, the sound of the slap echos throughout the empty house, your head is turned, your cheek stings

your parents never laid a hand on you, even as a rebellious teenager when they caught you sneaking out the window or smoking on the roof.

your head turns slowly, eyes wide as you look at your mother, she looks mortified at her own actions,

you turn and run off and up the stairs to your room, hearing your father yell at your mother for what shes done.

at some point during the night, you had fallen asleep, but not for long. you were awake when the sun rose, your back pressed against your bed frame, looking ahead at the painting on the wall, it was a family portrait, and you were sitting on your father's lap.

you knew your sister was here when you heard the sounds of her five children, running around the house.

she knocks softly but doesn't bother to wait for an answer when she opens the door after a few seconds, she walks slowly, and sees you on the bed.

your eyes stuck on the portrait , your face almost emotionless, your tears have dried and stained your cheeks, she wonders for how long you cried, your back against the wood of the bed frame, no pillow thrown in her direction for waking you up, no annoyed words saying "you couldn't fucking come in the afternoon?" . the curtains are parted, letting the light in, which is very unusual for you.

you hear the bed creek under her weight when she gets on it, laying next to you

"i heard about yesterday" she says softly, her head turned to look at you

you only glance at her , but your head doesn't turn, then you look back at the portrait

"they're doing this for you, they want whats best for you." she's not sure if it is you she's trying to reassure you or herself , this wasn't ever supposed to happen.

her little sister was supposed to marry a man she wanted, a simple man, a man capable of love

you hum, or you make a sound at least , acknowledging her.

"he isn't all that bad, you know."

a weak chuckle escapes you at her words "in what world is thomas shelby not a bad person?" your voice is hoarse , from screaming and crying all night long no doubt.

"he can give you a good life."

"ya 'ave a good life don't you? with the man you chose, the man you love." your gaze doesn't move, still staring at the painting "its not fair, you lot got to be happy, and i don't."

"ya don't know that." her voice is full of sympathy or maybe pity, you didn't want to know.

you finally turn to your sister, "do you honestly think that i can be happy with 'im ?"

your sister hesitates , she licks her lips "he's a powerful man."

you chuckle at that too "that tends to 'appen when you're a gangster."

"i tried with them, i really did." her voice is weak too, it cracks.

your eyes well with tears again, you didn't know you could even cry anymore "i know..." your voice is a whisper

you knew she'd be against it, she wouldn't agree, maybe oliver would tell you to consider it, abraham would too, just to please your father.

but celest wouldn't

"what are ya goin' to do?" she whispers back, her tears start rolling too

"what can i do?" you ask "i dont 'ave any other choice"

she looks at you as if she didn't expect that. you were always stubborn, always talking your way out of anything you didn't want, you always got your way with your parents, thats what she taught you.

but this time, you don't want to fight back.

"you're goin' through with it?"

"i cant live knowing i disobeyed my father's dying wish."

your father was sick, and getting worse everyday. you were a stubborn woman, but the little girl inside of you couldn't bear to disobey her father.

celest wraps an arm around your shoulder, holding you to her chest, her hands runs up and down your arm , like she did when abraham would bother you to tears, or when oliver wouldn't let you play with him.

"at least he's easy on the eyes, eh?" she tries desperately to lighten the mood, her lips pressed to your forehead

" hes old." you say with a weak laugh

"hes older, not old." she corrects, with a laugh too.