#in another 7 months perhaps | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

gyuswhore · 4 months

Text

Never Shall We Die (1)

«« Nothing is too outlandish when it’s a life of liberty on the line. »»

PAIRING: kwon soonyoung x reader

PLAYLIST: right here!

pirate lingo glossary (pls refer!)

SYNOPSIS: Deadliest pirate on the high seas or a damn fool? The stupid King and his men have snatched Hoshi's precious pirate ship with their too clean, too soft hands; grounds to question his own vices. Except, when he and his crew land in the quarters of a navy ship, revenge on their roster, they stumble across a princess in its gallows. Hoshi wonders if he's just struck gold, or if you'd become the final tread to his downfall.

GENRES: pirate!au, enemies to lovers, slowburn, angst, fluff, smut [minor dni], some pirates of the carribean vibes but ? idk

WORD COUNT [full fic]: 48.1k

Part 1: 17.07k | Part 2: 15.2k | Part 3 [final]: 15.8k

@highvern's out of context comment box: new fear unlocked: hoshi with explosives, victorian ankle moment, HATE HIM (need him carnally), hoshi covered in soapy water would distract me enough, strip for me pirate mingyu [hes litrally taking off his jacket], your honor hes a bitch, freaks!, mingyu crushes hoshi's head like a grape, WONWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO, massive dick, the way i literally gasped like an old scandalized woman

masterlist

WARNINGS: slowburn, plot heavy, happy ending bc no angsty endings in this household, being taken hostage, knives, bombs, and guns, mentions of blood, mentions of SA (does not happen and it is not explicitly mentioned), alcohol, mentions of death (patricide), hoshi is ✨selectively moral✨but kind of moral nonetheless, side character death, [pls lmk if im missing something its alot] smut tagin following parts

[AN]: thank you so much to @highvern for betaing for me and helping out with the plot so much, this fic would not exist if it weren't for her!!!! and thank you reader!!! for clicking on this and reading it, this one's been about 7 months in the works and I would love to hear what your thoughts are when you're done, plsplspls leave a rb or a reply with your brainrot lol <3 happy reading

HOSHI’S BOOT IS STUCK in the ground.

No, that’s a branch.

Or is it a plank?

He doesn’t try to find out as he yanks his foot out of whatever stopped him from moving. A tree root, he finds as he kicks the remnants of jungle rubbish from the surface of the shrouded root. He kicks it to satisfy himself.

His crew resides on the beach; where he can see them attempt to build a fire before sundown, the mound of discombobulated twigs making up most of the sad pile of wood. Hoshi trudges up to it and drops another handful of puny branches into the mix.

Exhaling loudly as Mingyu calls for him, he falls to his bottom and sits cross legged on the sand. Mingyu trudges up next to him to inspect his pile, sighing when he realised this was all he had to work with. He picks up two hefty looking stones and begins to strike them together, putting his faith in the primitive fire.

Hoshi stares into the horizon, watching the died down waves drift onto the shore, moving closer by the minute.

Hoshi thinks, which he can’t say is something that he does very often. Perhaps that’s why he was sat on this nature-overrun island as a shipless captain of his shipless crew. He chews on his tongue as he thinks of his Tigress, his beloved hunk of wood and metal; the beloved hunk of wood and metal that he could not see on the shoreline, because she was taken by the royal navy.

He wonders if Tigress would ever forgive him for letting that happen to her, for letting those clean, soft handed soldiers rip her away from his grasp.

Hoshi needs to start thinking more often.

Mingyu is frantic over the small flame that erupts in the middle of his leaves, dropping his rocks to blow into the fire, encouraging it to grow.

“Captain, it’s done! We can rustle up those fish we caught, have supper sorted.”

“Hm.”

The bustle of the entire crew lasts until night has fallen and they’ve gotten food in their stomachs. Hoshi hasn’t moved from his spot for hours, something the others noticed very quickly, but decided not to mention for fear of waking something dangerous. They understood he was suffering from a broken heart.

It isn’t until the first of the crew had begun to doze off that Hoshi speaks. Chan is propped up against a tree while Seungkwan laughs at the dangerously low coconut that hangs above his head. Mingyu readjusts his trousers after a full meal. Minghao stretches onto the sand, feet facing the water.

His voice isn’t loud, nor is it commanding, nor does it have his usual edge of jest—in fact, it sounds nothing like Hoshi at all.

Or does it?

“Who wants to steal a ship?”

YOU'RE AWOKEN BY THE sound of yelling. Which is never a good sign in any case, but especially not when it’s pitch black outside and you’re on a ship in the middle of the ocean.

The grogginess is quick to fade as you try to understand what’s going on outside your quarters. Your room isn’t a mess, all the trinkets and royal seals remaining in their places on the walls and shelves. Nor is the ship lurching or moving in odd angles to indicate an unexpected spat from the skies. A quick peek outside the window shows you clear, calm water amidst the mostly dark expanse of ocean.

There is only one other answer in your head that would cause this much commotion—especially on a boat where the admiral resides (and a princess).

Slipping out of the covers, your feet hit the cool hardwood floors of your quarters, a small shiver going through your spine from the cold, with nothing to cover you but your thin nightgown. You’re in the middle of tying your robe to see what the ruckus was about outside when a particularly loud thud hits outside of your door. You immediately freeze.

Staring at the doorknob, you attempt to move backwards in the space, heart beating faster as you watch the knob move slightly. The back of your knees hit the bedside table with a thud, the sound has you gasp out loud. Whoever it was outside your door jiggles the knob harder, the force exerted having you scan the room for something you could use as a weapon.

Spotting the letter opener on your desk, you lurch across the room to grab it, holding it in front of you as you back away from the door. The knob continues to bang against the wood as you refuse to take eyes off of it. There’s sounds of men outside, loud and rambunctious, momentarily halting the grievances.

Until the knob moves again, slower this time, a light click that could be heard as it unlocks itself, opening into the low light of your quarters.

You recognise the frazzled looking soldier at your door.

“Lieutenant,” you voice in recognition. “What’s going on?”

He eyes the letter opener that you hold defiantly in front of you from across the room, and it has you retracting your force slightly.

“Pirates, your Highness,” he breathes out. “We must get you to lower deck—”

“Where is the Admiral? The Captain?” you ask as you take a couple steps forward.

“They’re handling the situation, your High–”

An arm has come up behind the soldier that pulls him into a headlock, a swift pull to have him dragged away from your vision. You would’ve gasped if your voice hadn’t been caught in your throat, refusing to make itself known as fear brews in the pit of your stomach. Your hold on your makeshift weapon is tighter than ever before, yet you doubt how it’s going to help you as the culprit finally steps over something to appear in your doorframe.

His clothes are in a disarray; slashed, torn and covered in grime. There’s a deadly looking machete in one hand, the blood that coats it has you eyeing the trail that drips onto his hand and on the floor. His forearms are perched up on the doorframe as he inspects you, tongue to cheek as he stares.

Threatened as you feel, there was less hunger in his gaze as you had expected, more like he was trying to figure out who you were. He eyes your tiny letter opener you hold like a knife and lets out a little exhale you think might be a laugh. It has you gripping the handle impossibly tighter. The man moves his face into the hallway, to where you know the staircase to the main deck is.

“Hoshi!” he yells loudly. “How’s this for bait?”

Your back is pressed inexplicably against the wall, wanting to sink into the wooden boards as you attempt to gain your bearings amongst the nauseous bouts of mortification that surge through you. Your only exit is blocked.

No. You have one more option.

The sound of more men bounding down the hall has you praying there were more soldiers here, but the calm regard the man has for the approaching people has your heart sink to the depths of this very ocean itself.

More faces peer into the room, men with the same haphazard, grimey clothing complete with equally sinister weapons in their grasps. One of the men breaks out into the biggest grin as he lays his eyes on you. You nearly throw up.

For the first time in your life, you wish you’d listened to your father.

“Jun, you savvy motherfucker,” the grinning man explodes, slapping the man who found you on the back.

Another voice speaks from behind him, “Ships cleared, captain.”

“Perfect. Bring a spring upon ‘er. Get as far away from those cleans as you can, let them fend for themselves in a tiny boat for once.”

Captain. The grinning, stupid looking one is their captain.

He regards the rest of his crew as he finally steps through the threshold, waving them away as he enters your quarters.

It was taking everything out of you to not buckle your knees as you stood, every step he takes is turning your strength into dust. He keeps his eyes on you, eyes on your sorry excuse of a weapon. He registers the mix of fear and determination in your eyes.

He stops a few feet away from you, looking directly at you past the makeshift knife you hold.

He says nothing as he drops the knife in his own hand to the ground with a loud clang. He removes a pistol, a couple more knives, a grenade and a sword. Weapons drop to the floor one after the other, emerging from all over his body and clothes. All in a pile on the wooden floors. He puts his hands in the air.

“No weapons on me. I merely wish to talk.”

The look on his face is not ordinary, some strange combination of mock innocence and jest. You don’t answer him.

He continues, “You can keep your… scalpel… if you so wish.”

“What did you do to the soldiers?” you finally rasp out.

“They’re not dead, if that's what you’re asking.”

“Yet?” you ask with a slight tremble to your voice.

“They’ve been shoved into a boat with a map and a compass to fend for themselves. I’m not entirely ruthless,” he adds with raised brows and a hint of a smile. “Admiral, were they calling him? You must be his wife.”

“W-what?”

“Oh, guess not. Daughter? Captain’s wife, Captain’s daughter?”

Your previously stagnant brain is now running a derby with all the thoughts galloping across your mind. He doesn’t know who you are. Yet, anyway.

He’s scanning the room now, nodding at the trinkets and trophies scattered across the place. “Can’t imagine giving a lieutenant’s anybody quarters like this.” He circles back on you, eyes sharp. “Who are you, darling?”

You don’t think you have anything that should give you away, but the way he starts pacing the room has your anxiety going through the wooden roof.

He has his back turned to you. You’re not sure if he’s confident or careless considering you could drive your weapon into his back and make a run for it. But then what? By the looks of it there’s an entire crew of pirates pacing the deck. Perhaps the soldiers haven’t gotten that far; they know you’re still on board, they know it’s their heads on a pike if they leave you here.

He’s reached your desk during your thinking, inspecting your stationary, picking at the bejewelled quills and paper weights as he mutters nonsense to himself.

“Oh!” he announces, a little too enthusiastic. “What’s this?”

He brandishes the loose leaf of paper, and you recognise the print on the back immediately. It was a letter from your father, the King.

“How on Earth did you read this, the writing is illegible.” He flips the paper over, double taking when he sees the royal seal on the back. He looks into the letter closer now.

You wait with baited breath.

“The kingdom needs their princess…your father…ah.”

Should you plunge the knife into him anyway? You almost do it, but stop when he begins to turn around to face you again. His eyebrows are raised, a slight hint of exasperation on his face when he begins to laugh a loud, loud cackle.

It’s mortifying, especially when you don’t understand what on earth was so funny to elicit a reaction like that. The man is downright hysterical. He wipes a lone tear from the corner of his eye as he drops the letter back onto the desk.

“W-what’s so funny?” you try to sound brave.

“It seems, miss princess, that we’ve gotten more than we bargained for,” he says, looking straight at you as he sobers up. “You’re the King’s daughter, now, are you? What are the odds the first ship I hop onto with a royal seal slapped on it, held the crown jewel of the kingdom in its gallows.”

And then he starts walking, towards you, for that matter. Imperative because you know for sure that this is how it all ends.

You know you still have your one last option, the option that is now pressed against your back as you shimmy to it with miniscule movements. The window is cool on your hand that rests on the glass, you know the lamp will be enough to break it, enough for you to push through and fall into the abyss of the dark, dark sea. He knows who you are now, and you’d rather drown than die at the hands of a pirate—or go through whatever it was that’s curling the minds of all the men on this ship.

He takes another step forward, hands on his hips. “He’s not going to like this, is he? His dear daughter in the hands of the Kingdom’s favourite degenerate captain.”

What?

He then adds in a whisper to himself mostly, “Or least favourite with all the wanted posters off the churches and brothels.”

Hoshi. Hoshi. Hoshi.

The man who had found you had called him Hoshi. Hoshi the pirate. Hoshi the pirate that’s been giving the Kingdom and its court absolute hell for as long as you can remember.

The man that you are now trapped alone with on a ship is the most feared pirate the Kingdom has ever seen.

You don’t doubt your face has gone grey, feeling your breathing turn near erratic. “Oh God.”

He smiles wryly as the life is sucked out of your very soul.

This was bad. Very bad.

“Now, fear not, you will soon be returned to daddy dearest,” he places a mildly dramatic hand over his heart. “Pirate’s honour.”

He paces back to pluck the letter off the table, pocketing it. “All you need to do is relax and tell me a few things so we can part ways as soon—”

“No.” The word blurts out of your mouth before you can stop it, horrified at the thought of giving information to any pirate, let alone this one.

“No?” Hoshi looks genuinely shocked, his eyes wide, eyebrows raised. He laughs a little incredulously, “Oh, I see, can’t tell all the delicate details to a scary ol’ pirate.”

He smiles a little bit, “Worry not, miss princess, we shall only need a few minor details. Just enough to have your father sprinting to get you out of here. We all win.”

He stares at you almost expectantly, and you wonder if you look as confused as you feel.

“Well, I’ll be bidding you goodnight now, I’m sure we’ve interrupted your beauty sleep enough. Rest assured we won’t be bothering you for the rest of the morning.”

Hoshi begins to make his way to the door, picking up his pile of weapons off the floor before wrenching the door open. He’s calm as ever, but your mind is in a disarray.

A ransom, but whatever for? Gold could’ve been retrieved by raiding any ship, and it sounded like he’d chosen to hop on a ship belonging to the navy. Come to think of it, as much of a nuisance this man has proved himself, you don’t remember a case where he’s directly meddled with the Kingdom. All of this can’t just be for gold.

Steeling yourself, you bet your odds against your voice and asked him, “What do you want from my father?”

You watch as he halts in his tracks, halfway through the door as he finally looks over his shoulder. The look on his face has you wanting to break open the window immediately and let the water flood in, once and for all as you take these bastards down with you.

“Your father has something of mine. And I intend to take it back,” he says, before finally slamming the door shut. You hear a shuffle and a thud, and you do not doubt that he’s locked you in.

Your knees give out almost immediately, dropping to the ground as you breathe in quick, shallow breaths. Trying to look past the dizziness, you try not to think about the last thing he’d said before he left, moreso the look on his face as he did.

The first rays of morning sun are beginning to shine through the windows, casting the beginnings of a glow in your quarters. You think of the supposed assurance he had given you, that they wouldn’t hurt you, that they intended to return you.

The thought leads to a faraway memory, yet one that’s tucked itself into a front corner of your mind, you can almost hear your father's voice as he says it; never trust a pirate.

You remain on the floor, and you remain wide awake.

THE SUN IS HIGH in the sky by the time you put your limbs to work.

The first hours after the pirate locked you in your quarters were spent trying to reign yourself to earth. You can’t be entirely sure your soul has come back to your body, but whatever little of it that has landed is whispering some very dangerous things.

The lamp remains, the ornate jewels glinting almost enticingly in the afternoon light. The flame inside it has long died, but you itch to give it another purpose. You don’t note the trembling of your hand as you reach for it, pushing yourself to your feet as you get a feel for the heavy hunk of glass and metal in your hands.

If there was a level of regard before, it disappears when you set eyes on the bright window and the creases of crystal blue water. With all your strength, you don’t think twice when the lamp makes hard contact, a loud thud erupting as a result, but no damage when you pull away.

You go again, harder this time, and only vaguely register the glass of the lamp that shatters into your hands. Gripping the metal bit tighter, you swing for the third time, pulling back for the strongest blow yet.

A hand wraps around your elbow and you’re yanked backwards, landing on the floor. There’s a kick at your hand that’s flown into the air, the one that holds the bludgeoned lamp. It goes flying across the room as you retract your hand into yourself.

You don’t register a thing as you’re suddenly being pulled back up to your feet. Face to face with the pirate captain, your soul finally clicking back into place.

“Didn’t think I scared you this bad.” He’s made a joke, but all you can see is his face that’s a mask of rage.

The initial instinct is to move away, pulling your elbow out of his grasp in an attempt to flee. You fail as he tightens his grip to a painful degree, hauling you towards the ajar door of the quarters.

It’s only then that you realise that there’s more people in the room.You note another big, burly man next to the window you just assaulted, inspecting it with another shorter man. You don’t get to note more as you’re pulled into the narrow hallway, begging the saints he doesn’t take the turn towards the lower decks. Instead you find he leads you upstairs to where the main deck is.

Walk the plank? Did navy ships have planks to walk on? Not that you’d mind too much, you were trying to drown yourself and this ship in any case. But then there’s a settle of dread in the pit of your stomach, realising death may be the most merciful thing this man could give you.

The pirate captain pushes you against a mast, one of his other minions rushing in with coils of rope on his shoulder. The sun beats down on the deck, not a gust of reprieve from the wind.

“Keep the ropes tight, she’s got less wit than I’d thought,” the pirate captain says with a grunt, huffing as he lets go of you. He takes a few steps away, hands at his hips, the image of vexation.

The person who ties the cords around your hands whispers slowly, “Stop moving.”

But you can’t, not when the panic is near the lip, not when all the possibilities are flashing gore filled images into your vision. It's scary to blink.

“Why won’t you let me die?” you ask to the back that’s turned.

He turns around, not even bothering hiding the exasperation that paints his face, mouth opening furiously before closing again. “Why won’t—Because you were trying to take us all with you!”

“Kill me!” you all but scream. “They won’t know till you’ve gotten what you want, I’d rather be dead than let you try whatever’s brewing in all your sick heads!”

He’s silent for a moment, noting your defiant gaze, your pull against the ropes, the heaving of your chest. Taking a few steps forward, Hoshi seems to be attempting to bring the boil in his blood to a low simmer, “Listen, princess. We’re pirates alright, but me and my crew, we keep to ourselves. If your daddy the king hadn’t decided to meddle and steal my fucking ship, you would’ve been home in your pretty palace, asleep in your bed of gold by now.”

The pirate captain’s face is closer than you’d ever be comfortable with, seething in a way that has you pressing further into the mast. “We may be degenerates but we keep our own morals, as twisted as your people heed them to be.”

When he finally pulls away, you take a breath and thank the air that simply exists, eyes downcast as you attempt to look braver than you feel.

“I’m not pushing you overboard. I’ve duped your people once, they’ll be more prepared next time. We need you alive while you’re in our hands.”

“How are you going to summon a ransom? You sent away your only messengers,” you ask, a sad attempt at a mock, but also because you wanted to know what his plan was.

“Your useless Admiral’s taken up that job.”

“By lifeboat? You’ve left them all for dead, how do you expect this genius plan to work?”

“They could’ve swam to shore if it came to it, we were close enough.”

“How are you so sure?” you spit.

“Do I need to gag you too?” he gives you one last irritated look before stalking off towards the lower deck. You’re left alone in the cooling afternoon heat, the sound of the sea keeping your ears company along with your own slowing breaths.

Everything he said has a good enough chance to be a complete and utter lie. Never trust a pirate. No weapon to cut yourself out of your impossibly tight binds, nothing to protect you or give you reassurance besides a pirate’s word—the worst pirate’s word.

Your battered thinking leads you straight through the setting of the sun, the orange glow of the sky shrouding the ship in the dreamiest backdrop while you live what you can only sum as a nightmare. Perhaps not, for you doubt your mind could ever conjure up a terror like this.

This was life, the most terrifying nightmare of all.

Having managed to wiggle your tied hands downwards, you had seated yourself with your head against the wood of the mast, staring into the translucent skies. So much freedom that taunts you in its illusion of proximity, yet so far still.

There’s murmurs below deck, the only semblance of life you’ve heard in the past few hours after the stupid pirate captain stormed off. It seems to be on the stairs, a heated argument.

“Obviously this wasn’t part of the plan, the chances were supposed to be zero to absolutely none. We landed with that scumbag’s successor, that’s just our piss luck and nothing more.”

“You wanted a woman for bait, this should work the same.”

“Hao, I wanted a woman for bait to trigger a lukewarm reaction, this princess could either doom us all or make our job a fat punch easier, and I’m not betting on the latter.”

There’s a pause.

“If only she’d cut it with the random hysterics and creepy-staring-at-the-sky we could actually get something useful out of her.”

“Pray that window holds up or any chance of a miracle is gone to the wind.”

It’s like you’ve woken up with the way the stupid idea begins to form in your head. You think of your father, the kind of man he is, the kind of ruler he is. All the ‘if’s are guiding you to a conclusion. One that gives you a fighting chance, one that may go beyond this massive navy ship and clear into the rest of your life—if you make it that far anyway.

Your father and his men would come, give this unhinged pirate what he desires so dearly, you know that for sure. But you also know it wouldn’t be for you, but for the crown that’s destined to fall upon your cursed head.

If it’s his ship that he wants…

The next time you see one of the pirate captain’s goons on the deck, you ask for an audience.

“DID YOUR STUPID FATHER drop you on your head as a baby?”

Hoshi stands before you under the light of the midnight moon, an incredulous expression on his face. You try to keep the scowl off your own but it proves difficult when his voice pierces your skull.

You ignore him from your position on the floor, “I know my father, and I know he loathes you enough to finally want you and your incompetent crew gone for good.”

He scratches his chin, “Can’t be that incompetent if he hates us so much.”

“I can help you.”

“You were ready to die than to be on the same ship as us a few hours ago. What’s changed?”

“Perspective,” you shrug in an attempt to remain nonchalant.

“Are you gonna go back to wailing in the morning then?”

God, this was going to be the hardest thing you’ve ever had to do.

“You want your ship back and you were hoping for someone less important to exchange it for. But you’re stuck with me and you know it’s not going to end well for you. You need my help.”

“Why so merciful, miss princess? Are you not on your father’s side?”

You gulp as discreetly as possible.

“I want something in exchange.”

He raises his eyebrows, staring at you to continue.

“I want you to kill my father.”

If his eyebrows were raised before, they’ve broken for the skies now. He leans his head back, eyes closing for a moment before reopening, reigning back to you before asking very gracefully, “What?”

“I want you to kill my father.”

“No, I got that bit,” he snaps. “Your father as in, the King?”

“Yes, as you’ve pointed out far more times than anyone ever has.” You can’t help but roll your eyes despite the weight of the situation and the hammering in your chest.

He stares at you in an expression you can’t quite read, and it unsettles you deeply. For a moment, you wonder if you’ve gravely miscalculated, watching as he moves around the mast you’re tied to. Out of the corner of your eye you see the metal glint of a dagger, and you nearly short circuit.

Is he about to cut your hands off?

You feel a distinct tug at your wrists, the sound of slicing, and the voice in your head asking why it didn’t hurt.

Suddenly your hands are free, intact and free as you achingly bring them in front of you, wincing audibly at the pain of moving them after so long.

“You can jump into the water if you’d like, I won’t stop you.” He walks back over, sitting cross legged opposite you, at eye level.

“What?”

“You’ve clearly gone mad, I’ll find another way to get my ship back.”

“I’m being serious.”

“Of course, and I utterly enjoy having a kingdom’s worth of blood on my hands. Shall I take the entirety of the court down while we’re at it? Carry out a fucking waltz with Jack Ketch?”

“Why are you acting like you’re above murder? Another part of your strange moral code?”

“No, no, not above it at all. But I like my head and rather not have it guillotined. They might skim over the death of some too-nosy soldier but I doubt they’d leave me be after I put a bullet between the King’s eyes.”

“I’ll protect you.”

He looks at you for a moment, “Quite reassuring.”

You sit up straighter, licking your lips as you prepare yourself. “My father isn’t a good man.”

The pirate captain snorts, “Oh, I’m well aware.”

You try not to stare too hard at the still unsheathed dagger that he digs into the floorboards, knifing out splinters in disregard.

“My father doesn’t want me home, he wants the crown home. He wants me to be a carbon copy of himself, he wants to be in control long after he’s gone.” You try not to grind your teeth too hard but it’s difficult when your father’s face burns behind your eyelids. “I want control over the throne, full control.”

“And your conclusion is to eliminate him.”

“I don’t have another choice.”

“Then what? You’ll pardon me and my crew after we get our hands dirty for you?” he asks, eyes wide in mock hope.

“Yes. You can do whatever it is that you sail about doing and no one will be of bother. I might ask you for sparing favours. For a wage of course. But other than that, you can live as lawlessly as you wish.”

“You’re asking me to become your personal lackey?”

“Having a queen’s favour is no small feat I hope you’re aware. Besides, it's a leap better than the hoops you’ve been jumping through during my father’s reign.”

You realised his face had been shrouded by the dark between your negotiating and the clouds that had veiled the moon. Every moment that was supposed to strengthen your understanding of the man that sat across from you only brought you more confusion.

“You want your ship and freedom of land and sea,” you continue when it’s silent for a beat too long. “I only ask for a small favour in return.”

“I’d argue the miniscule nature of what you’re asking from me,” he scoffs.

“Nothing is too outlandish when it’s a life of liberty on the line.”

There crawls in the silence once again, the same one that seems to grab you by the throat for every moment that ticks past undisturbed.

“We’ll have to see to that,” he says, huffing as he gets back on his boot clad feet. You follow him with your eyes as he walks towards the creaky stairs that lead to the lower deck, utterly confused.

“Where are you going?” you ask, bewildered at his strange behaviour.

Turning around, just as he had a mere day ago in your quarters and you feel yourself suppressing a shudder. “I have a crew to consult.”

So he was considering it.

“But you’re the captain.”

“And?”

THE SKY IS A lighter sheen of blue, leaning towards the premature hours of the morning. He’d left you untied, and as you gaze into the duned waters in the minimal light, the urge to jump in and create a ripple that goes beyond just the water is less tempting than you’d thought. The prospect of having a dead father, and a dead king, was enough to snap you out of your hysteria despite it being a plot of your own devising.

You’ve been alone for a while, little indication that there was other life on this ship at all with the lack of human activity. There wasn’t much that you knew of sailing or ship handling, but leaving the deck unmanned for this long gave you the vague impression that you were on a vessel with poor practising pirates. If they’d thought you’d be equipped to handle any hiccups, they’d either find out the hard way, or whenever it was that you could find the wit to bring it up to the pirate captain and his strangely attached crew.

Something that sounds distinctly like boots are thudding gradually up to the main deck, the unmistakable blond of the pirate captain himself coming into view. You aren’t quite sure what it is, but the low thuds are sending your heart racing, panic overcoming your senses for a brief moment before you recalibrate. It’s only then that you realise it’s been more than 24 hours since the ship was hijacked. Somehow, you could have believed it was a lifetime.

He’s disturbingly nonchalant, hand at the sheathed hilt of the dagger at his hip, a casual glance around at the empty abyss of ocean and sky. When he reaches the far end of the deck, right above the prow, he stops.

“Are you going to push me off the rails?” you ask, half genuine, half trying to fill the silence as you face one another.

“No.” He said it plainly, the single word reply leaving you even more uncomfortable.

“Have you thought about what I said…with your crew?” you ask, hand coming up to grab the railing for support.

“I did.”

“Do I sense an objection?” you ask, swallowing the lump in your throat

“Not exactly,” he says. “We want to hear your master plan for this heist before we agree to anything.”

He’s asking for a plan, a plan that you do not have.

You aren’t sure how he figured it out, perhaps it was the slight darting of your eyes as you thought of a response, but he seemed to read you like a book. He snorts loudly, “You don’t have a clue, do you?”

“You’ve done this before, you’d know better.”

“And if I led you astray?”

You look at him, this time right into his dark eyes, “Then you lead me astray.”

“Your contentment with death is wildly unsettling.” There’s a ghost of a sneer at his lip.

“I’d rather be lounging in the bottom of the ocean than live with a prospective future with my father.”

“So I’ve heard.”

There’s a huff that leaves you as you steel your voice. “I’m not trying to set you up if that’s what you’re afraid of.”

“I doubt you’d have that capability,” he says as he leans his forearms over the railing. You briefly consider pushing him over but think better of it.

As much as you wanted to be a sneaky link, you simply didn’t have that trait. You blame all the dependency your father’s fostered into you, ensuring that you couldn’t rule without his influence.

“Are you willing to brew a plan or not? I need to time my dip in the ocean accordingly,” you say, sounding almost disgruntled.

He lets out a big sigh, “Follow me.”

He’s made himself familiar with the ship, you soon realise, as he leads you right downstairs to the lower deck towards the war room. When he opens the door, the room is lit with lamps, casting a golden glow on the reddish interior, warmer than the rest of the ship.

“Stay here, and don’t do anything stupid,” he tells you as he shuts the door behind him, leaving you alone in the cabin.

You only exhale in response as you turn away from the door, towards the large table in the centre. It’s slightly cluttered, studying the scrawled notes as you realise they’re all from the Admiral, his directions and plans of course littered across the table. Turning towards the map on the walls, you lift a finger to trace the lifted ridges of snow capped mountains, trailing towards the dipped shallows of the blue water.

It was an exact replica of the tactile map in the war room back home, and you’re suddenly hit with a pang of nostalgia. Not that you’d been away from home for too long, but the end result of what you're about to do, regardless of the outcome, would change your life forever.

You feel yourself breathing in the lingering scent of mildew, a strange comfort in the warm quarters.

There’s a creak at the door, and you quickly retract to find the pirate captain back at the door, walking in with a trail of men behind him. You recognise them by their faces, watching as they all take their places in the edges of the room. They look relaxed. You note the pirate captain taking his place behind the main drawing table.

“Your throne, miss princess.” He gestures exaggeratedly towards the lone cushioned chair across from him. You’re hyper aware of all the eyes that are trailed on you, and you feel almost embarrassed to take the only seat.

It only lasts for a moment. You walk up to the chair with what you hope exuded confidence and take your place across from the pirate captain. His men circle the edge of the room, and you count five other men.

He sighs, “I think introductions are in order.”

“Mingyu, Minghao,” he points to the two men that had inspected your window right after you tried breaking it open.

“Jun,” he gestures to the one who had found you in your quarters the night it all went wrong.

“Seungkwan and Chan,” you recognize the latter as the one who’d tied you to the mast at his captain’s command.

“They’ll be helping kill your dear father.”

It’s silent for a moment as you attempt to moisten your mouth. You’re reminded you haven’t eaten or drank for hours, not since one of them had come up with a tray of whatever they could find for you from the reserves.

“I know I may not be the most admissible person to trust, or vice versa—” You hear someone snort but choose to ignore it. “But I’m willing to make myself useful to you if it means you would help me too.”

“Would it not be easier to lock him up instead?” someone asks, and you turn to find Seungkwan asking the question from next to the tactile map.

“He has too many people indebted to him, too many that are too loyal for their own good. I cannot truly rule for as long as he’s alive and well.”

“And how do you expect his loyal court mongers to let you bid favour to the people who killed their king?” the pirate captain asks with a raised brow.

“Which is why it needs to look like an accident.”

“How do you reckon we go about that?”

“What message have you given the Admiral?”

“You don’t answer a question with another question—”

“We need to be transparent with each other if either of us wants to make it out relatively unscathed.”

He doesn’t look too happy but he answers anyway, “My ship and five hundred thousand for all our trouble. Two months from now at the Green Islands up north.”

The Green Islands were anything but green, the glaciers being near uninhabitable owed to the ruthless weather. It was smart enough, it’d be near impossible to bring as much violent power that far north, no matter how influential anyone is.

“Is five hundred thousand all I’m worth?” you feel the beginnings of a sneer rise up your mouth. You aren’t sure what prompted it but you don’t want to fight it either.

“Didn’t know I was bartering for a fucking princess’ case, did I?” he snaps. “Now tell us how you want us to commit the undetected homicide of a King.”

“We need to blow up his ship.” To your surprise (and maybe even a little horror), the pirate captain breaks into a slight grin. Neither do you miss other bits of his crew releasing a bit of a snicker.

There’s a flare of defiance within you, “Do you have any better ideas then?”

“No, no. Go on,” he says with his head hung. You’re surprised he has the character to shield his smile.

“He doesn’t frequent the seas but I’m almost sure he’d be present at the exchange.”

“Almost?” he questions.

You hesitate. The combined chance of needing the crown home and seeing to the downfall of his enemies would be enough warmth to send him to the greenlands himself. You were confident, but your father could also be unpredictable.

“He’ll be there. I’m sure of it.”

The pirate captain lifts his head, locking eyes with you. You try not to look as weak as you felt, as unsure as you felt, pooling all the remaining confidence into your face.

He swallows before looking away, addressing one of the crew members. “How big are we talking?”

Jun looks up like he’s only just begun to pay attention, fumbling over the revolver in his hands as it thuds to the ground like a theatrical mistake, “What?”

His captain sighs before replying, “Explosion. How big does it need to be to blow up a naval ship with a King on it?”

The man brings a hand up to the back of his head, scratching his nape. “If it’s anything like this one, we’re gonna need a lot of ammo.”

“Just enough to sink it,” you speak before you could decide not to. “Even better if they don’t realise it’s happening.”

He thinks for a moment. “We could plant it in the bilge somehow.”

“But how do we get on that ship? When they’re giving us a tour of the lower decks?” The man you recall as Seungkwan scoffs.

“Throw a grenade on board somehow?” you hear one of them suggest.

“Real subtle, Chan,” you hear another mock.

The war room is in shambles before you know it, loud voices talking over threats to slit throats and to shove people overboard. The room is humid and it feels as though the light from the oil lamps are fading. You close your eyes amidst the utter chaos, rubbing the heel of your palm on your temple in an attempt to soothe the throbbing vein.

“Enough!” The pirate captain has spoken and you have the urge to ask what took him so long.

Tranquility once again and you almost thank the man. Before anyone can say another word, nausea begins to build in your stomach.

It takes you a minute to realise the room was spinning and that you weren’t completely losing your mind. The ship begins to rock harder as the seconds tick by, everybody in the room seemingly still as they perceive the change.

“Batten down the hatches,” the pirate captain says to no one in particular.

Chan is the only one who moves to the door to leave before he’s interrupted.

“All of you. Those clouds weren’t looking too nice up there, we’ve got a storm on our hands.”

By everyone he surely did not mean you, because as the room rushes out and you hear the thuds of boots clamouring up to the main deck, you’re left alone with the captain. Yet again.

It’s becoming increasingly difficult to keep steady, and you wonder how he’s able to remain balanced while on his feet. It isn’t long before your chair begins to slide as well, the legs croning as they slip on the hardwood. You spring up on instinct, hands coming to the bolted down drawing table to stabilise yourself.

The pirate captain seems unphased, moving the curtains on the far end to try to get a glimpse at where the water breaks. He steps like he knows exactly where the evermoving floor would be, barely glancing below to gauge his footing.

“Shouldn’t you be up there?” There’s effort in your voice, your grip on the table as hard as ever as the ship banks to a hard left. He barely grabs the wall in support.

“Huh? They can figure it out themselves, they’re big boys,” he grunts.

“Your big boys were at each other’s throats a moment ago,” you grunt back, stumbling at a particularly forceful lurch.

“If you weren’t so ill prepared they wouldn’t need to use their brains, that’s always dangerous,” he shoots back. He’s on the other end of the room, pushing the unbolted cabinet back in its place

“I gave you a job and it's up to you to see it done, I’m not—ah— I’m not supposed to be planning at all!”

“Are you?” He’s turned to look at you know, mouth hitched in a snarl as his forehead reflects a light sheen. “Because trying to murder a—”

“Trying to murder a King isn’t a normal task,” you finish for him in a hiss. “Yes, as you’ve reiterated a million times.”

“Great, so you know!” Sarcasm is a deadly look on him, you realise as he walks over from the cabinet to where you were in the middle of the room. The waves have given in, the rocking becoming significantly slower. “Now do you mind telling us about a plan that actually has better odds?”

Your white knuckles have relented, the hands that gripped the table coming loose as you stare back at the pirate in defiance. “I should just hand you over.”

“It’s sweet you think you’re in charge here,” the grit in his voice is evident. “This isn’t your turf anymore, miss princess.”

“You don’t trust me, and you don’t give me reason to trust you—ugh.”

The waves seemed to have decided she hadn’t had enough just yet, this particular lurch sending you hurtling backwards into the wall, back hitting the hardwood as the stable pirate himself loses his footing. You could almost believe you’d landed sideways with the gravity that’s lost its way beneath your feet.

The chair you were once sitting on is hurtling towards you with a vengeance, gaining momentum as you simply watch it approach like a wooden bullet. A boot clad foot kicks it to the other end and you realise the pirate captain’s gotten hold of his bearings before you have.

“What happened to being transparent with one another?” he huffs, breathless and wide eyed as he attempts to pull himself to his feet.

There’s another lurch that sends you both skidding towards the table, just short of grabbing on before you’re hurtled into the cabinet that had moved again, and now slams back into the wall with the weight of the sea and two humans with a bang!

“Fine. You give me your ammo to blow up the bilge, let me on the ship with my dear father and one of you scoops in and saves me before I drown with him,” you yell over the sounds of clanging and banging of everything on this cursed ship, and the whooshing and thunders of the skies, winds and water. “And if I riddled the chances of you letting me drown with my father? Where does that leave me?”

“On the bottom of the seabed,” he deadpans. “But that also leaves me without my freedom.”

You find the opportunity to look at him for a moment, and he’s looking at you too. He looks away towards the door, already making moves to walk out and join his crew above deck. The conversation was over, and it was evident in your lack of reply.

Mother nature, however, sends another one in as a surprise and you're both sent flying to the other end of the ship, yet again.

There’s a cushion to your blow this time as you find yourself landing right into the pirate captain’s chest, hand above his heart in your instinct to save yourself any more bruises. Between your bickering and the staggering of the ship, his shirt had flown open nearly down to his navel.

Your eyes barely register the nasty scar across his left pec, instead moving upwards to lock eyes with him. It’s insanity, how you instinctively dart your eyes towards his half open mouth.

“If you wanted me that bad, miss princess, you could’ve just asked.”

Whatever airborne drug that’d been willy nillying in your noggin seems to spin into a rage as his words register a moment too late. Clenched jaw and a vice grip on his shirt, you spit back.

“I don’t ask for things. They come to me.”

There’s a crash above you and you realise the oil lamp that was suspended above has shattered, raining glass over your forms.

Expect you don’t feel it, because he’s ducked over you and suspended his arms in the air to catch the crystalline.

Before you can decide whether it was instinct or not, you hear a yell at the door.

“Captain! One of the—oh.”

A barely balancing Mingyu, is staring into the now dimly lit war room, his captain and their supposed prisoner pressed against one another in a dark corner of the room.

Your instinct forces you to take a slow step backwards.

“Get back up,” he snarls, already pushing past you to stalk towards the door. He actually makes it this time, shoving Mingyu into the hall towards the stairs.

Not as much as a glance back before he slams the door shut, leaving you in the tattered war room alone, shards of glass at your feet.

THE STORM SEEMS TO have done its damage as it calmed itself for the rest of the morning and well into the day.

One of them had come down and escorted you to your quarters, Chan telling you that you could keep it while the rest of them adjusted in the other cots and quarters aboard. Changing out of your ragged, days old clothes felt luxurious, the familiar scent of your quarters putting your tense shoulders at ease; or at least a semblance of such.

Neither you nor the captain have attempted to speak to each other after the incident in the war room. Having berated yourself for letting your guard down enough, you chalked it up to the lack of food and sleep and put the matter to rest in some deeply buried chest in your head.

For now you board up the door of your cabin (because you haven’t completely lost it), and burrow under the covers for some much needed shut eye.

You aren’t sure how long the universe lets you rest, because unless you’ve slept all the way to the Green Islands the banging on the door seems incessant enough to warrant an arrest of its own. The sleep is slow to leave, and it’s hard enough to push an entire drawer against a door, the bleariness paired with whoever the fuck was outside the door isn’t making it easier to push it away from the entrance either.

By the time you’ve wrenched the door open, you’re thoroughly annoyed, and met with a very alarmed Seungkwan.

“Oh thank goodness, I was about to try opening it,” he says, looking genuinely relieved. “I thought you might’ve….anyway.”

“You weren’t trying to break in before?” you ask.

He only thrusts a tray of rations and water towards you, “Captain said to give this to you.”

Accepting the tray, you try to balance it in one hand with furrowed brows, “Oh.”

“Um. That’s it, sorry for waking you up.” He makes a move like he’s about to turn around and leave but falters. “If…if you need anything a bunch of us are on the main deck.”

And then he’s gone.

You take it as your cue to shut the door, kicking one of the heftier pieces of furniture against it before moving back inside.

When you peer up your tiny window, it’s late afternoon and the beginnings of orange on the surface tell you the sun is beginning to set. You decide it was a good enough amount of sleep. Setting the tray down on the smaller than usual desk, you find that these pirates do not have a knack for subtlety. Many of your letters and papers are haphazardly stacked and shoved into one corner of the table, very obviously sifted through.

Not that you care too much, there was nothing awfully important that you wouldn't have told them yourself. Ripping off a piece of bread from the tray, you take pleasure in chewing as loudly and as open mouthed as you wished, plucking the parchment at the top of the pile to study.

It’s another one signed by your father, not a question of your wellbeing in sight as he scrawls ink on paper all the incorrect things you did in the Southerner’s banquet last month. If anything, you were glad the stupid Admiral was away from your presence, his incessant habit of reporting your every breath and turn to your father was becoming too much to handle.

This was one of his tamer letters, less insults attached to his criticisms but a pain to read anyway. You don’t brush away the crumbs that fall onto the parchment.

There is not a diplomatic bone in your body. Perhaps move on from drinks and dessert and into more important territories besides the Duke’s son. Our kingdom needs a ruler that’s strong, not one that forgets where she is after a sip of brandy!

If you squint hard enough, it almost reads as a parent scolding a child for a spill, like regardless of what you did, he might just love you the same.

You wonder how good of a mood he was in when he wrote this.

Sifting through the rest of the papers you take a mental note of every reason he’s given you to believe that you’d be a hopeless ruler, a few years ago you even questioned why he kept you around before realising his contradicting intentions. As you read, letter by letter, you think of reasons you know are going to make you a better ruler, better than him and better than his stupid court of old men.

These pirates are a blessing, you think, and you aren’t about to let this chance from the universe drown in these waters.

HOSHI ISN'T IN TROUBLE. No, he isn’t. On his butt on the sleek floorboards of the ship, his own golden dagger glinting in the sunlight as it's held in a threatening hold, except it isn’t in his hands.

It’s pointed right into his jugular vein, held by some grimy sailor who considers himself something akin to a pirate. Perhaps the stench this sorry excuse of a crew carries around may be their idea of a criteria, but as Hoshi remains inches away from death, all he can think about is the atrocious fingers around his dagger, and all the scrubbing he’s going to be doing after this is all over.

Mingyu had warned him, told him to take down the flag of the navy from the mast, the royal seal in the smack middle of the ginormous thing. He brushed it off. He wasn’t quite sure if he was tipsy, hungry or just plain exhausted when he made that decision, because he’d forgotten just how stupid some of these simpleton sailors could get.

They were taken by surprise, their only weapons mops and buckets of soapy water as they were ambushed by some overlooked wherry that had suddenly thrown hooks over their railing and climbed up like uninvited sewer rats.

In the initial confusion, interrupted mid-chorus of some pretty siren and her pirate prince, the first few intruders had simply crumpled over onto the slippery deck, a few slipping overboard completely from the suds and water on the wood. His crew, and Hoshi himself, could only stand and watch as the newcomers sabotaged themselves for a few incredulous moments before they gained their bearings.

Chan and Seungkwan swang their mops right into the necks of a couple, sending them into the ocean without waiting for a splash.

Hoshi slips out his dagger with practised ease, swinging the butt of the hilt over the head of another ambushing intruder, right on the head as he crumpled to the floor with a loud thud. He kicks him over for an indication of where he came from. No ink that shows an alliance, no brooch or jewels with a crest.

New guys, ones that were clearly still learning the ropes.

Hoshi’s crew had better senses than required for him to yell out orders, and it only took a few more disgruntled minutes to disable the remaining extra men aboard.

“Where the fuck did these guys come from?” he asks no one in particular, mostly just annoyed that they were disturbed.

Minghao, who’s peeking over the railing replies, “It’s a tiny thing. They either lost their actual boat or didn’t have one at all.”

He vaguely registers him making a jerking arm movement over the exterior before he hears a wail and a splash. “Disgusting.” Minghao holds his hands away from his body like he didn’t want it anymore.

Hoshi’s mistake was keeping his guard down, because before anyone could warn him, the dagger that he held loosely against his hip had slipped out his palm. The next thing he knows, his neck is in some grimy sleeve’s grip, and the point of his dagger is lodged into his own throat. He holds his breath, afraid he might pass out completely from the stench alone.

“Not a move.” He sounds like a boy more than anything, but his grip indicates a harsher life. “Everybody into that fishing boat. I’ll throw this one in when you’re done.”

He sounds unstable, but that only makes him more dangerous. Hoshi can’t try to wiggle his way out of this one, one wrong move and it’s the end. His crew can’t do anything as they stand with broken mops and empty buckets as their weapons.

It was stupid of him to even allow himself to be cornered like this, not when he’s weaselled his way out of more dangerous situations with more ease than this.

His crew looks at him, and he can only close his eyes in encouragement. He watches as Jun steps over one of the defeated bodies to reach the hooks that’ve lodged into the railing. His movements are slow, and he can tell he notices the unhinged nature of this boy that he doubts is barely over 17.

Chan follows, then Seungkwan as Jun double checks the integrity of the ropes. He’s stalling.

“Hurry!” It was supposed to come out as a threat, but it sounded more like a plea from the boy.

And then Jun stops completely, his eyes trained on Hoshi. His eyes are wide, his grip on the rope so tight he can see the whites of his knuckles from the other side of the ship.

No, he wasn’t looking at him, he was looking behind him. Before he can register, there’s a loud bang of a gunshot, and Hoshi feels the body of his captor slump against his back, his dagger dropping to the ground with an ominous clang. He falls with him, turning over to push the dead weight of the body off of him.

There’s smoke in the air when Hoshi looks back and it takes him a moment to realise who just basically saved his life.

You stand in your nightgown, shawl over your shoulders, and a revolver, Jun’s revolver, clenched tightly in both hands. It remains frozen in the air, hovering as he takes in your face. Eyes wide, mouth open slightly, the colour drained from your face.

Hoshi scrambles to get up as the rest of the crew swarm both him and you. He grabs his dagger before anything else, looking back to see a bullet lodged in the back of his captor’s skull, blood pooling the deck.

He looks back at you shoving the revolver back into Jun’s hands eagerly, like you didn’t want to feel the warmth of the metal any more than you wanted to make that shot.

He looks back at the cooling body, and then back at you, an undeniable warmth overcoming his chest.

You just saved his life.

“Are you alright?” he hears Chan ask you. You nod slowly, and then quickly.

“Where did you find this?” Jun asks.

“Uh, in one of the quarters. Downstairs. I went down because I thought it’d be safer, you were handling it and I didn’t want to get in the way. But then…all your weapons were there.”

Your voice sounds airy, like you were in a daze. Hoshi comes to the stark realisation that this may have been your first time with a weapon, and then even more horrifying, your first kill.

“I’m sorry, I just thought it was getting out of hand and—”

“It’s alright,” Seungkwan says. He watches as you let him lead you back down the stairs below decks.

It was like the shock turned you into a different person, complacent, less defiant. Seungkwan clearly had more of an emotional range, because it certainly took Hoshi too long to realise you might be on the edge of panic.

Hoshi doesn’t say a word as you disappear, the smell of gunpowder from the singular shot wafting through the deck. He doesn’t realise he’s staring into space until Mingyu interrupts.

“Should we—”

“Throw them overboard,” Hoshi says, voice flat.

“But, this one seems like he’ll come around. We could question him and drop him off wherever next—”

“He’s a shit seaman, if even a pirate, he’s got what came for him. Throw. Him. Overboard.” Hoshi is out of breath, yet grits the words out through clenched teeth. “All of them.”

Hoshi slips his dagger back into its sheath at his hip. All he can think about is your blown pupils and you in your nightgown. All he can think about is how they were almost bested by a child. All he can think about is how you had to make that final shot to save his ass, that he couldn’t do it himself.

Mingyu senses his mood and asks no more questions, simply pushing the remaining bodies out into the water. He vaguely registers Minghao sending the men a prayer into the sea. Mingyu’s already trying to get the stupid naval flag off the mast, stripping off his jacket and disposing of it at the base to start climbing.

Chan pushes a clean rag into his chest, and he looks down to receive it and notes a tinge of blood at his collar. Right, he was bleeding.

They go back to cleaning, except it’s a lot more silent.

Jun walks back up to help, but this time he has both of his clean, black revolvers strapped at his hip.

THERE WERE FEWER PEOPLE in the war room this time around, the captain sits beside Mingyu, Jun and Minghao as they attempt to sketch out a crude rendition of your discussion. The pirate captain does nothing but use his dagger to pick under his nails, barely speaking as he listens in on the conversation.

Not that you cared, you and the rest of his crew seemed to get along better than you did with the captain anyway. Saving the man’s life seemed to hold no weight to him, not that you expected it but a ‘thank you’ would have sufficed.

“Keep the grenade til the last minute if it makes you feel better, so you’ll know I’m not trying to sink the wrong ship,” you sigh as you clarify. Minghao doesn’t reply as he scribbles the details. Jun rolls his eyes at his meticulous nature.

“We need to port in the next couple days if I’m gonna finish this grenade in time,” he says, looking at his captain pointedly.

“We can stop at Port Ash,” Hoshi says.

Port Ash was no man’s land, which also meant it was every man’s land.

Being mostly occupied by pirates and other thieves and criminals it was considered dangerous territory for anyone who didn’t speak in lies, deceit and fists. This crew would fit right in, but you worry for yourself.

“That’s not gonna be till a week and a half,” Mingyu interjects.

Jun frowns as he looks at Mingyu and then back at his captain, “I can’t wait that long.”

“We’ll pick up what we can at Hasry when we stop for rations,” Hoshi replies.

“But—”

“Deal with it. There’s nothing we can do about it.”

Jun looks like he wants to say something, and Mingyu has the good sense to interject again to ask more questions about the plan.

“How much manpower do you think the king’ll have?” he asks.

You sigh, crossing your arms as you lean back in your chair. “I have no idea. Could be five, could be fifty.”

“Not even an inkling?”

“Considering how he wants the lot of you gone, it’s probably on the larger side. But…” you pause.

“But?”

“He’s smart. Always seemingly one step ahead. I wouldn’t be surprised if he catches us blind.”

“I know enough about that,” Hoshi snorts. There’s a glint in his eye that suggests something, but you don’t press.

“I was wondering…we should probably change course even if it takes us longer. My father might intercept—”

“Did that. Didn’t take the obvious alternative route either,” Mingyu replies, and you note that he looks proud of himself. “We can take our time too, the ransom note suggested we took the way past Scarsfield.”

“We should be careful of other boats anyway,” you say, gulping down a lump in your throat before continuing. “Those other sailors could’ve been my father’s men too, for all we know.”

“They were on a smaller boat too,” Hoshi adds, he looks like he’s making connections in his brain. “What’re the odds they were dropped farther back into a smaller boat?”

There’s a pause as you absorb what he’s implying. “Are you saying they’re on our tail?”

“I wouldn’t doubt it,” he says, exhaling heavily through his nose. “He’s done it before. It was a sorry attempt then and it was a sorry attempt now.”

“How did you shake him off last time?”

The panic in your chest is barely there, but as you register the possibility, you find yourself breathing increasingly heavy.

“Circling farther out before going the opposite way so we wouldn’t cross paths.” He shakes his head. “But we can’t do that now, not when we can’t afford detouring. The port stops are as late as I’m willing to go.”

“What if we skip Hasry? It’s our more obvious stop, we’ll just stop at Ash later,” Minghao suggests.

“We’ll starve, we’ve got no food,” Hoshi gruffs.

“Portwater?”

“Too far.”

It’s silent yet again as everyone racks their brains. You feel very useless all of a sudden, you didn’t know the names of harbours or ports this far out.

“We’ll just port at Hasry and be extra careful, there’s nothing we can do.” Hoshi sighs at his own ultimatum.

He gets up and walks around the table to the door, “I’ll update the others.”

You glance as he walks past you, his figure leaving a gust of wind in your face. He smelled nice, which was saying something considering the state some pirates are known to be in. As he brushes past, your gaze is met with the other side of the war room, an empty oil lamp bracket on the wall.

The memory of the storm floods your mind, and suddenly your cheeks are burning. Snapping your head back, you're thankful they’re all absorbed in the papers and plans on the table, oblivious to the memory that’s flashed before your eyes. Mingyu was the one who saw you in your compromising position, and you didn’t know him well enough to decide whether he’d do something as dumb as dish out his captain’s ‘affairs’.

You file out the room with them. They don’t escort you to your rooms, make sure you stay in one place, restrict your wandering anymore. Perhaps they’d realised you weren’t actively attempting to sink the ship anymore, or that if you jumped off the edge it didn’t matter to them that much, but you appreciated the space anyway.

Briefly catching Seungkwan filling Mingyu in on the past couple hours they’d been below deck, you turn over to catch his eye. He waves, and you wave back. You don’t realise what you did till it already happened, noting the smile on his face as he did it. You choose to move past it and find the captain.

There was something you wanted from him.

There’s no trace of him on the main deck, eyes scanning the area to no avail. A movement from above catches your peripheral attention, eyes squinting as you crane your neck up to look. Hoshi has leaned his back against the railing of the crow’s nest, arms crossed, visible hand occupied with a brass telescope that glints in the sunlight.

He isn’t using it though, merely gazing at the horizon with furrowed brows. As though he could see better without the device in his hand. In the few minutes that you’re looking at him, you notice the muraled, multicoloured shirt that blows with the wind, a kaleidoscope of beiges, greens and reds. The crop of his blonde hair blends in with the clear blue-white sky.

Briefly wondering how he’s managing the impossible heat, a hand coming over your own eyes as a visor, you simply look back down. Seungkwan is next to you. You aren’t quite sure how he got there, but he stands next to you, hands on his hips, a pleasant expression on his face.

“Is there anything you want when we dock? We’re trying to make a list,” he says. Somehow, the prospect of pirates making lists boggled you a little. It was a little jarring, not quite sure why he asked a captive anyway.

But then again, were you a captive anymore?

“I don’t think so, no,” you reply and then juggle whether you should push it with another measly formality. “Thank you for asking.”

“That was your first kill, wasn’t it?”

“What?” You knew what he was talking about, but you weren’t expecting him to bring it up in the moment when he’s asking you about restocking supplies. And especially not with a smile on his face.

“That day, when you used Jun’s revolver to shoot the lad.”

A kid. He was a child.

“I…yeah I’d never done it before.”

“What made you do it?” he asks, remaining as nonchalant as ever.

“I—I don’t know, it looked like there wasn’t another option,” you say, not quite sure of yourself either.

Why did you shoot him? You’d never laid hands on a gun before, your father forced you into the category of archery and crossbows, not that you were very good at them either but it was also because you simply wanted to spite your father by being plain bad. It worked, because it only took a year and a half and an arrow straight into his study window to retire from the sport entirely.

Even then, your targets had been apples, barrels and tree trunks. Never a person.

You’d heard of what people tended to do in pressuring situations, and with the way the aftermath unfolded, it didn’t seem like you made the wrong decision to pick up that revolver anyway.

But the feeling lingers, the same one that you saw as you gazed into the back of the boy that held the captain of this ship hostage. It felt wrong. Like watching the pirate captain cornered was a picture you couldn’t quite make sense of in your head.

So you pulled the trigger.

“In any case, we’re glad you made that decision. We all owe you for it.”

You don’t know what to say to that, so you gulp, inhale and press your lips in a line. “That’s a lot for a pirate to say.”

“I know.”

BY THE TIME YOU manage to corner Hoshi it’s already the next day, and you’re only a couple hours away from docking at Hasry.

It’s an anxious ordeal, the crow’s nest constantly occupied by someone trying to catch sight of a possible tail. There was no sign, yet anyway.

“I want to learn to use a knife.”

He was piling coiled ropes when you’d said it, pushing the heap to the side, sweating through his clothes. There was a flash of confusion on his face as he registered you.

“Why? So you can slit all our throats in our sleep?” he grumbles as he pushes a barrel against the railing. He’s too aggressive, and the force has the splashback soaking his clothes in freshwater, tsk-ing audibly.

You ignore the way his previously loose shirt now sticks to him, ignore the way the droplets land on your boots when he shakes his sleeve.

“We’ve discussed what we might be up against, I don’t want to be useless when the time comes.”

“Seemed pretty alright with that revolver.”

“Anyone can shoot a gun,” you say, getting the sudden urge to fidget with the front of your shirt. You try to make your voice sound as declarative as possible. “I want to learn to fight. With a knife, with a sword, with my hands if I have to.”

He doesn’t say anything as you look down, fiddling with the tassels on your shirt. Your excuse was the sun and the way it was beating down on the deck this afternoon, getting tired of squinting to simply look straight. When the silence prolongs you look up to push further, juggling with bringing up the fact that you saved his life and that, as Seungkwan very graciously told you, he owes you.

The sound your throat makes is unhuman, because when you look up the captain's soaked shirt is now off his back.

The skin is near white from the glare of the sun, remnants of glazed water that’s somehow made its way to his back as well. The dip in his shoulder blade reflected a dark marking, one that you couldn’t make out.

He wrings it as you can only watch, mouth gaping like a fish. Hanging it over one of the suspended ropes to dry, he mutters as he walks to the lower decks.

“Fine,” he says nonchalantly. “We’ll get you a knife at Hasry.”

Hasry. Right.

The port is quiet, at least as quiet as a port can be. There’s not much to see but fishermen both returning and leaving for another week's worth of fish supply. Minghao manages to pay and convince the harbourmaster that they were merchants on their way back to the Kingdom, stopping for supplies. The naval make of the ship helped, and then the crew pulled lines and ropes secured from masts in ways you couldn’t quite decipher.

You assumed you would stay on board, yet when Chan knocked and brought you some roughspun clothes from the town, you were informed you’d be joining them.

Hoshi deemed it safer, keeping the rest of the crew on board while he, along with you and Seungkwan, ventured into the village to get what was needed and leave before the sun fully set. If they really were being followed, the ship was going to be the first thing they seized.

Pulling the grey shawl further up your head, you attempt to look as blended as you could, Chan pressing down your shoulders to force you into a slouch.

“Stop walking like you're important,” he had said.

“I’m a princess,” you snapped back, but he wasn’t listening, only jabbing at you to keep the haughtiness out of your tone before it caught somebody’s attention.

The town was a quaint little place, something out of what you were read from storybooks, reminiscent of the paintings that you’d run past on the walls of the palace. The streets cleaner than you’d expected, the faint scent of baked goods in the air mixed with, onion soup, was it? In any case you were glad you were past the fish market, the yelling and the stench nearly sending you to the pavement, gagging.

When Hoshi returns, you and Chan are looking at a jewellery stall that’s selling necklaces, bracelets and anklets that look like rosaries; colours of deep ocean blue and sunset pinks, beautifully vibrant against their grey canvas backdrop.

You can only observe from afar, instructed to not interact with anyone while he was gone. Hoshi was gone to get food supplies, but returned empty handed. Systems were in place, that the crates would be on their way to the “big naval ship” at the docks for the rest of the crew to receive.

“They said there was a blacksmith up this alley” Hoshi says, eyes also trained on the uncharacteristically colourful jewellery stall, but he does nothing to move towards it. “We can get your knife there.”

“Knife?” Chan asks, confused.

“Miss princess wants to learn to fight—”

“Don’t!” Chan hisses, eyeing the men in black uniform that patrol the market from the shadows.

“It’s fine, they’re too far,” Hoshi says. “Let’s get this over with.”

You do find a blacksmith, an older man with a greying beard and bloodshot eyes that presents Hoshi and Chan with an array of knives and daggers. Either they were able to give an excuse, or he gave no mind to the third woman that trailed behind, the blacksmith continued to deal with the two men as they haggle over prices.

There’s another seller a ways away, and she’s laid out her goods on the floor on what looks like old drapes. It’s a woman, not much older than you were, unravelling a long string of leather cord. She cuts it, strings a charm through and seals the frayed end with a candle flame that burns at her side.

The curtain she’s laid her accessories on is patterned with bright colours, and you realise you can’t make out any of it from where you stand.

Glancing behind you, the men are still occupied with their bartering, seemingly forgetting of your presence. Taking a step back, you pretend to skim through the neighbouring stalls, glancing breezily at woven baskets, layers of folded fabric and towers of painted ceramic cups.

You stop before the laid out array of more necklaces and earrings, scanning the ground. The vendor looks up and gives you a big, crooked toothed smile, urging you to come forward, to take a look at what she has to offer.

Something does catch your eye, and you immediately crouch down to see it better. Picking up the necklace from the charm, you let the gold and red rest on your fingers as you study the make.

“That one’s new,” the woman says. “Practical too.”

The small brass letter opener that’s looped through the cord looks like it could do its job just fine despite its miniscule size.

“It’s quite popular among the busy merchants,” the vendor speaks in a rough tone, almost like she had a perpetual sore throat. “Easier to use this instead of looking for those bulky ones in their neverending drawers and—and in their cabinets.”

She lets out a laugh, “Quite pretty too.”

You stare at it for a moment, “How much?”

“Ten coin.”

You sigh, setting the necklace back down onto the cloth. Standing straight, you turn to walk away before she yells again.

“I’ll do seven!”

You consider whether you should speak, but you also doubt you’d be recognized just by the sound of your voice.

"I don’t have coin,” you rasp.

“How about that pretty thing on your finger then?” she asks.

The ring on your middle finger is a simple band of silver, a coming of age present from your father’s court a few years ago. You stare at the band, worth boatloads more than what this woman in an alley was offering you.

But you find yourself moments later, middle finger empty, and pocket lined with the long leather necklace with the miniature letter opener charm.

By the time you return to the blacksmith’s shop front, Chan is handing the man his coin as Hoshi holds an object sheathed in fabric. They turn around just soon enough to make it seem like you never left.

“Why are you standing so far away?” Chan asks. “Come closer.”

You listen, moving closer to the both of them as they get ready to make the trek back to the docks where the ship waits.

“The crates have probably been loaded too,” Hoshi says, his hands suddenly empty. You assume he’s pocketed the knife somewhere. “Let’s hurry and leave before—”

“Princess?”

It was your mistake that you turned around to acknowledge the title, something you realise as soon as you register the man that spoke to you.

Henley was a stout man, dressed even now in the finest suit of a berry colour, hair white as a ghost. There was no reason for a merchant so rich he had ties with the royal family to be wandering in a harbour market, but he also had every reason to be here.

If it was the recognition in your eyes, or the fact that they were just being smart, you feel one of the pirates wrap their fingers around your upper arm and pull you to walk away from the alley.

“Princess!” Henley yells and you cringe at his volume. People are looking now, and you briefly wonder why you aren’t running yet.

Your heart is pounding against your chest so hard it’s deafening any other sound in your ears, you still don’t know which one has a hold of you, but you let them guide you into a speed walk as you exit the narrow alleys of the main market.

The shawl above your head is pushed further down, shielding your face in a shadow. There’s nothing in your mind other than Clarence Henley and his rich suit, his gold pocket watch, his trimmed, white hair. His face that you only ever saw within palace walls, always accompanied by your father.

There’s a good chance you’re shaking, because you can feel your body rejecting it with the pain in your palms that you can only consider to be your own nails pressing into your hand.

The stench of the fish market helps, bringing you back from your daze as you finally register the ground beneath your feet. It’s only a few more minutes till you reach the docks and you’re suddenly being pushed up the ramp that leads to the main deck of the ship.

It’s immediate comfort, the familiar brown of the floorboards, the scent of saltwater and warping sounds of the sails. You’re led to your quarters, where you finally let the makeshift hood and cape fall.

“Are you alright?”

Snapping your head up, you’re met with Seungkwan and his concerned gaze.

“Oh, erm.” Your voice sounds…not like your own.

“It’s okay, breathe.” It helps, because it really did feel like you’d forgotten to breathe.

“We’re leaving in just a few, everything’s been loaded. Nobody followed you on board, don’t worry.”

Right. You were on the ship, you were in your quarters with some of the most feared pirates on the seas.

The way Seungkwan is easing you through your gulps of water suggests legends in the mix, but you appreciate it regardless.

When you’ve come round, feeling more like yourself, the ship has already left Hasry Harbour, sailing into the deeper waters of the ocean.

“Captain said they couldn’t run because it just would’ve been more suspicious,” Seungkwan informs you as you nod. “Did you…did you recognise him? The man at the market.”

The thoughts come flooding back, the colour of his suit, the jarring nature of a man of such wealth standing in a rundown port market.

“He’s a merchant, one of the wealthiest. A friend of my father’s. If he even has any friends.”

You pause as you think about the near blackout you’d had, the way the panic more than boiled over, taking over your senses and your rationality.

“I think…” you trail off. “I think I just felt like it was the end. I finally had an opportunity to get rid of that tyrant and seeing something that was from home, felt…it felt like I was going to end up right back where I started.”

Seungkwan doesn’t say a word as you digest your own words, accepting your own fear that had rendered you useless in the time it probably mattered most.

“Do you feel better now?”

“A little,” you answer.

“Maybe a weapon can help.”

At the door stands Hoshi, a stern expression on his face as he looks directly at you on the bed. In his hands, the same fabric covered knife he acquired at the market.

You know that you asked for this, but the jolt in your stomach still makes itself known.

“He’s right,” Seungkwan says, lifting from his chair. “Blades have a way of calming you in any case.”

You note the glinting hilt of Seungkwan’s sword sheathed at his hip, remember Hoshi’s own daggers that he seems to be emotionally attached to.

Lifting your head back to Hoshi, you ask, “Can we start now?”

He smirks.

ALL NIGHT, THE STUPID pirate captain had you taking swings at the air.

“Your opponent’s baked a fruit cake by the time you were done with that swing,” he comments, continuously unhelpful. “Swing faster.”

It’s nighttime, nothing but a few oil lamps on the floor of the deck keeping you and Hoshi in the light. Your shoulder burns, your forearms are liquid, and your non-existent opponent remains forever stronger than you.

“I’m done,” you huff, thoroughly spent. Crumbling to the floor, you bring your non-dominant hand up to your aching shoulder in an attempt to massage it.

It’s been a while, the moon high up in the sky when you finally decide to quit it for the night. He lets you go without a fight, and you doubt you’d have the energy to if he decided to do it anyway.

The following day, he’s tweaked his regiment a little, and you find that you’re finally swinging at something tangible; him.

He leaves himself open, an invitation to strike wherever you want. You feign for his shoulder, but he sees you coming from a mile away, already deflecting your flattened blade that comes for his thigh.

“Don’t look where you want to strike, you’re giving yourself away.”

Furrowing your brows, you dislodge your knife from his own and back away again. He’s immediately cocking a brow, telling you to come at him again. You go for his middle, slashing your knife in an arc as he simply deflects.

“Come on, find a pace,” he grunts.

Coming down with your knife again, he blocks you but this time with his forearm, pushing you back by the wrists. It was a battle of strength, as he forces your wrists down. He was stronger than you, and there was no way you could push away, so you dispel your own force. He stumbles from the sudden forward force, and you pull away to take a swing from above.

He recovers faster than you thought he would, already coming up when you’re ready to swing. He raises a hand to deflect, half a moment too late as your blade slashes across the heel of his hand.

There’s a brief splash of red against the blue backdrop of the sky, and you gasp on instinct, immediately moving away.

There’s an apology ready on your lips, mouth gaping as you watch him inspect the wound. You don’t get to say anything because he beats you to it.

“Deep enough,” he comments, like he was inspecting a painting. “Keep this up and you might actually be good by the end of the week.”

Oh.

“Alright,” he says again, moving back into position.

“Are you gonna wrap that?” you ask, referring to the bloody hand.

“It’s fine, I’ve fought with worse,” he says.

You blink as you reluctantly get back into position, bracing yourself as you continue to look at his hand dripping blood onto the deck.

“You’re getting the hang of pacing, but you need to start considering your blade as an extension of yourself—JESUS!”

You’ve swung at him faster than you ever have, putting everything into that single tug of your knife. He wasn’t expecting it, still talking over your glances at his palm. He had his guard down, and you took the chance. He ducks on instinct, but it could’ve been another scar for him to remember if you’d made it.

You stumble as he circles you to the other end, flattening his blade on your back.

“Nice try,” he says. “Really nice try. But you never turn your back to your opponent.”

“I lost my footing,” you defend, but even you knew that wasn’t an excuse.

“And I just stabbed you in the back. And now I’ll have to present your corpse to your father and hope he’ll accept it and give me my ship. We all lose.”

The pressure of the blade leaves your back and you're suddenly left looking stupid despite doing something somewhat right.

“You’d just swindle another poor sailor off his boat and move on,” you say. “You’re a slippery thing.”

He has a smile on his face that borders a smirk yet is innocently mischievous enough. It’s a strange sight, bloody hand, relaxed face. There’s a clean-ish rag on a nearby closed barrel that he uses to wipe the excess blood off his hands.

“I keep going because I live without regret.”

You can only roll your eyes as a scoff leaves your mouth before you can stop it. You simply turn around, settling to the floor, going back to massaging your still aching shoulder. That last blow only made it worse.

“I don’t regret things, miss princess. Ask me why.”

You remain silent.

“Come on,” he urges, that silly smile remaining on his face. He’s washing the wound now with freshwater from the barrel.

Sighing, you ask him, “Why?”

“Because I don’t ever do things I’d regret.”

“That insinuates you think before you act.”

“Right-O,” he declares, wrapping another torn cloth on his cleaned wound.

“Funny,” you answer. “Because I dont think I’ve ever seen any hint of light behind your eyes.”

He turns around to you, sheathing his dagger at his hip, a dangerous look in his eye.

“You’ve looked into my eyes?”

The clench in your jaw must have been visible, or the look of disgust on your face might’ve been apparent just the same, because the pirate captain simply laughs out loud before retreating towards the stairs to go below deck.

“I’ll send Jun up, practise with him.”

You wanted to send your knife, point first, hurtling into his retreating form.

Never turn your back to your opponent, my ass.

But you don’t, mostly because he’d probably manage to deflect that too. So you resort to sitting cross legged on the deck, staring at your dagger while waiting for Jun to meet you upstairs.

Hoshi said he picked the knife based on a number of things you’d already forgotten, something about carbon steel and having a good grip. It’s quite pretty, you’ll have to admit. It’s plain silver, but the reflection it makes in the sun makes it difficult to look away. You’d gotten used to the handle and how it fit in your palm, Hoshi assured you that the more you used it, the more the hilt would mould into your grip.

Jun stomps onto the deck, revolver-less and instead equipped with an array of knives that he deposits on the deck.

“Should’ve picked a plain old gun,” he grumbles as he holds one of the longer blades in his hand. “Job’s done and you don’t need to get within ten feet.”

“Don’t have to reload a knife, do I?” you comment, taking the first swing.

Jun may have an affinity for guns and explosives, but his handling with a knife was still nothing below an expert level. He pushes your arm off before spending you into a ballroom spin, flatting his blade at your collarbone.

That could’ve been your throat.

“No, but by now I could’ve shot you, thrown you overboard, and been on my way to a nap,” he says in your ear, before releasing you as you get back into position again.

That could’ve been your throat.

THE FOLLOWING WEEK PASSES with your days and nights muddled into a strange mixture of swinging knives and taking breaks slumped against the deck of the ship, unmoving.

It’s a particularly hot day, the giant glowing orb beating down on the deck with no mercy. Not that it stops you, because the sun remains unwavering, high in the sky, and you remain unwavering in your wide legged stances as you lunge for Chan again.

Chan’s entire being glistens in the afternoon light, the beads of sweat that he wipes off his forehead only seem to reappear every couple minutes. His clothes cling to him like a second skin, taking long breaths through his teeth amidst the difficult, humid air.

You don’t doubt you look the same, one hand in your hair suggesting you just took a bath in your own sweat. But Chan seems accustomed to the heat, and while you weren’t, you couldn’t deny your growing comfortability with it all.

It’d been a while since your meal, hence your sluggish movements were slowly turning increasingly sharp, having cornered Chan multiple times in the duration. You’re determined to not be the one to call for a time out, so you find yourself pushing beyond what you’ve been doing for the past week or so.

There’s a particular punch of heat at your sides, and you can feel yourself slowing.

One deep breath, a slow exhale.

It’s all clangs and reflections of knives, tiny droplets of blood as evidence of both of your tiny, unintentional nicks and cuts. You’re succeeding, pushing the man further and further back.

“You’re getting sloppy, aim for the blade not my tendons,” Chan seethes through his teeth.

“I’m trying,” you grunt through the effort.

You’re set back for a couple minutes before you go back to pushing. Your lungs burn, your entire side is numb from exertion, but you give more than your body is made for, and you succeed—kind of.

Chan back is against the railing of the deck before he realises it, and perhaps it was momentum, or sheer exhaustion, because one minute you’ve got eyes on Chan’s hands and his blade, and the next he’s gone. There’s a loud splash, and you suddenly realise what you’ve done.

You just pushed Chan overboard.

You scream before you can help it, dropping your knife with a loud, resonating clang. Pushing against the rails, you peer down to find a giant ripple on the surface of the ocean, whipping your head around to the stairs leading below deck to find Mingyu and Hoshi bounding upstairs.

“What? Where’s Chan, he was supposed to be with you,” Hoshi asks, whipping his head around the deck.

Your wide eyed, horrified response from near the edge tells them all they need to know.

By the time Chan’s pulled himself on board, soaked and dripping like a wet poodle, you’ve sat yourself the furthest away from the railing to prevent any more trouble. He drops onto the floor, creating a human sized puddle.

With the way the two men had merely sighed and threw the ladder over the exterior of the ship, you concluded that this must happen enough for them to be beyond the point of concern. It only adds to it when you see Mingyu nudge Chan’s unmoving but heaving body with the toe of his boot, giggling at his expense.

You make your way over, crouching beside Chan sheepishly.

“Sorry about that, got carried away.”

He’s sitting up now, quickly pulling himself back to his feet and you spring back from your crouched position.

“It’s fine, happens.” He has a small smile on his face as he says it and you conclude that he may find the situation laughable as well.

“Now, Chan,” Hoshi says, not letting Chan move into the deck any further from the railing. “What’s the first thing you learn about brawling on a ship?”

Chan looks slightly embarrassed as he answers, “Be aware of your surrounding—ARGH.”

Hoshi pushed him into the water.

You jump as you run back to the rails, watching as Chan’s head re-emerges at the surface after his second dip in the ocean.

Just as you’re about to say something to Hoshi, he’s stuck his head over the railings as well, yelling at Chan in some singsong voice.

“One time was a mistake, twice is a problem!”

To your left, only adding to your horror, is Mingyu doubled over in his fit of laughter, heaving as he giggled uncontrollably. He’s also holding onto the railings for dear life, but clearly, for reasons completely different from yours.

The situation resolves itself as both you and Chan learn a few lessons of practicality. Deciding you’ve done enough damage to your body, you announce that you’d be retiring for the day.

“Thank goodness, I was about to confiscate that stupid knife, I’ve been hearing clanging in my sleep,” Mingyu mumbles as he pulls the rope ladder back up to the deck.

In any case, you have the urge to take a dip in the ocean yourself, feeling increasingly uncomfortable in your drying sweat.

Grabbing a clean washcloth, you fill a bucket of freshwater from one of the barrels on deck and lug it into your quarters. The soaked washcloth does wonders for your overheated body, feeling enormously better after a change of clothes.

Your scalp, however, remains itchy and burning, so you decide to go back up to the main deck, hoping to manoeuvre a hair wash situation without needing to mop the floors of your quarters.

Refilling the bucket of freshwater, you set it down before scanning the empty deck for another spare bucket. You try not to scoff at the unwavering determination of the pirate crew to keep the deck unoccupied for such long increments, that last altercation teaching them absolutely nothing. You wonder how they’ve managed to survive for so long like this.

Shaking the thought, you use the spare bucket as a way to deposit your waste water as you pour cups of clean water over your aching scalp. The feeling does wonders for you, letting the water wash away weeks worth of grime, sweat and stress.

You’re almost back home in your quarters when the whiff of your hair salts hits your nose, the ones you’d packed for yourself, closing your eyes for a moment as you rub them into your scalp. You don't expect the clench that seizes your chest, but you falter when it happens anyway.

It’s nostalgic, and you hate it.

It smells like the palace, like the incense your ladies in waiting always burned, the stench of citrus having made its way into your bones from the years of exposure to the scent. It’s too much as you blink back tears, owing them to the suds that have made their way into your eyes.

The sting helps bring you back, opening your eyes to an orange glow and the waft of seasalt hitting your nose. You’re more aggressive when you dunk your cup into the bucket this time, too aggressive as you feel the half full bucket tip over and spill water all over the deck as you cause yet another accident.

Cursing loudly, you try to blink away the suds from your eyes, soap still in your hair as you try to figure out how to get another bucket of water without ruining your fresh change of clothes, mentally kicking yourself at not thinking this through.

“You realise we have to make do with that freshwater till we make it to Ash?”

Wet hair still in your hands, you attempt to peer up at the voice, only to find Hoshi standing above you, arms crossed over his chest with a funny expression on his face. Huffing, you grumble out in response, “Can you just get me a fresh bucket?”

“Hm, I don’t know, can I?” He removes his gaze and begins to pretend looking over at the horizon and the setting sun.

Chiding yourself for even bothering to ask, you reach for the tipped bucket yourself, deciding you’d figure it out yourself if this dumb pirate was choosing to be of no help. But before you could latch your fingers on the handle, the bucket’s snatched away.

At first you think he’s being funny, taking the bucket away to watch you struggle even further. “You—”

Except you watch him as he dunks the bucket back into the barrel of freshwater, lugging it back to where you could reach. “Try not to paint the deck with it this time, I’ve already mopped twice.”

The thank you freezes on your tongue, and for some reason you can’t say it to him. So you make a scene of splashing into the bucket with vigour, sending spills over the rim and taking mild satisfaction in hearing him sigh at the sight of more mopping.

He’s already gotten hold of the worn mop by the time you’re done as you remerge with clean hair, wringing your own mop of hair to deposit the excess water. Straightening out your back, you take hold of the spare cloth you brought along with you, patting your hair with it.

The sun remains in its mission to cast its golden glow, but only illuminates Hoshi’s grumbling form as he mops up all the water you’ve spilled.

“You know, I should really be making you—” He halts as he makes eye contact with you, your hands still occupied with patting your hair dry, flicking the wet strands. You have a rebuttal already prepared, waiting for him to finish his jab.

“Make me what? you grind.

You can’t make out the look on his face, somewhere between constipated and on the edge of a yelp, he keeps staring at you. You note a slight trickle of water making its way down your neck and chest, bleeding into your shirt as yet another water stain.

“Nothing,” he says, to your surprise.

And with that uneventful climax, you trudge back down to your quarters, a strange brewing in your chest.

[AN]: congrats you made it to the end of part 1!!!!! reblog ur thots and opinions or send me an ask, id love to hear the turmoil in ur minds lol

693 notes · View notes

thesilmarillionblog · 4 months

Text

𓏲 𓂃 L o s i n g Y o u

Part: 7

Click here to read the first part.

Summary: Everything was good as a member of Payback and Soldier Boy's secret girlfriend until the team and your relationship with him began to fall apart due to a new member and her developing relationship with Ben right in front of your eyes.

Pairing: Soldier Boy / Reader

Warnings: heavy angst, hurt, language, PTSD, soft Soldier Boy, Soldier Boy gets hurt, anxious reader, mention of torture

Word Count: 3373

A/N: English is not my first language.

* This story is inspired by the song "Losing You" by Dream Evil.

Your senses began to awaken when a hand removed the mask covering your face. Your body felt numb and lightheaded, making it difficult for you to see anything, even if you were able to free your hands from the tight handcuffs. Your legs felt like jelly, and it felt like all of your strength had been stolen away. From a distance, you heard someone calling your name, but you had no idea who it was. Everything was terribly cloudy, complex, and hazy.

The voice attempting to communicate with you was most likely that of another evil scientist who had come to torture you and grab more samples from you. You thought, Oh, my god. How did things turn out for you? How much time have you spent here? Months, weeks, or a year? You struggled to remember every memory; your head hurt so much that you grimaced.

Ben snarled at Butcher, “Give me your fucking coat,” trying to quickly cover your body with his own as he saw you were only wearing a very short, thin, filthy dress that smelt terrible.

Ben said, “You still look beautiful, you know, but you definitely need a good and long shower, baby,” as he saw you straining to completely awaken. He kept observing your facial expressions, fascinated and concerned at the same time, since you appeared so innocent and confused in the metal box. You may have gotten the same upgrades as him, given his newfound abilities, and if he wasn't careful with you, you could do a lot of damage. If it were the same for you, though, he could manage the energy in your chest with ease.

You smelled blood everywhere and felt panicked the moment the smoke burned your eyes and made it difficult for you to see properly. Your body shook from anxiety and terror. All around you, you heard faint whimpers and shallow breathing that sounded like they were ready to pass away. The smell of death and pain filled that place. You knew you had to leave this torture house as soon as you could, while you were still able to. You used all of your strength to push the body in front of you against the wall and across the room harshly while that stranger forced you to put on a coat.

Ben groaned, “Oh, fuck, sweetheart,” as he realized he was through the wall. With a raised eyebrow, he grinned to himself. It wouldn't be that simple, he realized. After all, you were his equal.

Butcher realized that this wouldn't go away as he had hoped and that he perhaps could have made a small mistake, and he took a step back in terror. He didn't dare get involved because he wasn't on Temp-V.

You coughed in between clouds of smoke, and the heavy blood all over the area made your face drop. Indeed, you were once more in danger, and those creatures undoubtedly had new plans for you. You halted briefly as hot blood beneath your boots stopped you from continuing your frantic search for the exit. There were corpses all throughout the place, and they undoubtedly belonged to those people who had tormented you and forced you to sleep for who knows how long.

“At this point, what will you do? Will she explode similarly to you or worse?” Ben stood up from the location he was thrown into, as Butcher asked.

Ben shook his head, scrubbing away the dusk and stones from his hair and clothes. “Stop whining like a bitch,” he shouted loudly. “I can handle this. She's just confused.”

You started to move out the door, but powerful hands quickly grabbed your waist and held your arms, restricting your movements just like the day you were tricked. You cried out, “Let me go,” as your heart raced in anticipation of being confinted or, worse, subjected to more agony.

You tried everything to pull yourself out of the desperate situation, feeling terrified and perplexed, but his grasp held you tightly, and it was strangely stronger than yours.

A voice called out to your ear from behind you, “Calm down.” Once you found out, you knew it belonged to the man who once acted like he cared about you, then tossed you aside and tricked you with his new lover. That was when you truly realized what was going on. If your supe hearing sense wasn't playing tricks on you, it belonged to Ben.

“I want to get you out of here, sweetheart. I know how you are feeling, but stop resisting. Trust me.”

Ben spoke to you like he was whispering, yet you didn't feel at all at ease. Your body stiffened at the hurtful memories of him casting you aside, teaming up with Countess, and betraying you. He was the one who, along with Crimson Countess, imprisoned you in that icy, cruel location and made you endure unending suffering. His soothing murmurs sounded poisonous to the ears.

You fought to break free from his embrace as fury overtook the entirety of your being, but he applied even more force to you. Your gaze was fixed on the door when he settled his ruthless hold around your back, pressing his chest against your back to calm you. You felt so far away, yet so near to freedom.

“It seems she's not very happy to see you, huh?” With a sly smile, Butcher smirked to Ben. “We must immediately leave this place. Any suggestions?”

Ben used the mask he had removed from your face moments before to cover your face once more, exposing you to the same smoke, while he managed to get a hold of both of your arms. You started to cry because you were horrified and felt betrayed, and your heart began to race since you had no idea what he would do to you. How come he was even abusing you in this way?

You were still in his grasp as Ben leaned his head against yours, made you smell the smoke flowing from the mask, and whispered, “Sorry for this, baby. I wouldn't hurt you; I don't mean to. Just stay calm.”

Despite how much you tried to resist it, you have never felt more helpless against him. Tears were streaming down your face, and your eyes began to close. You wanted to talk to him right then and there and attempt to figure out what was bothering him so much about you. Though you planned to speak to him, the faint sound of his name vanished beneath the mask as a deep sleep overtook your already exhausted body.

“Thought you wanted to free her?” Butcher replied in a mocking voice as he observed Ben tightly holding the mask to your face while observing the painful look on your face. With an serious tone, Butcher continued, “We need to get the fuck out of here.”

When Butcher saw you two like that, he was surprised. All he knew was that everyone who knew them acknowledged Soldier Boy and Countess's romantic relationship. At the time, they were the most well-known couple. He was unaware of your relationship with Soldier Boy. As long as Ben followed through on his commitment to kill Homelander, he could care less about the possibility that it was an affair, something between you, or something else. He'd take care of other stuff later.

Ben yelled, “Fuck off,” in a harsh tone. “Without this mask, we can't take her out like that. Until we get home, I'll keep her asleep.”

“And how on earth will you do that, Mr. Loverman?”

Ben snapped, “Take that fucking tube,” and softened his hands immediately after applying the mask to your face a little too forcefully. While you were still a supe and wouldn't be easily wounded, he felt a little bad for unleashing his strength on you. You're being a supe did not, however, mean that using force against you was acceptable. “You will carry it while I keep that mask on her face till we get to the car.”

Butcher followed Ben's instructions and grabbed the tube Ben mentioned. As he strained to hold the tube steady on his shoulders, Butcher muttered a groan and said, “This shit is a bit too heavy.”

Even though he was stronger than the majority of other humans even in his human form, Butcher found it difficult to carry the tube. His jaw clenched and his muscles tautened as he bore it.

Ben was furious and was trying to find a method to carry you as he made sure the mask stayed on your face and forced you to stay asleep. “Be a fucking real man for a second,” he cursed. Ben lifted you in his arms and carried you in bridal carry while the other hand remained still on the mask.

“I should have used Temp-V,” Butcher complained once again as he followed Ben, who was making his way out of the room in quick steps, while you slept peacefully in his arms.

“Maybe you should just grow your dick,” Ben remarked as he headed for the car after getting a deep breath of fresh air. Sitting in the rear now, Hughie was staring at them, mouth agape with worry, seeing you in Soldier Boy's arms, blissfully asleep.

Hughie tried to ask questions, but Ben shot him an angry glare and said, “Why the fuck are you waiting there? Fucking move.”

Hughie took a step forward and turned around without uttering a word. He watched, worried, as Butcher set down a big tupe on the seat next to Ben, who had come into the car, put you on his lap, and covered your face with a mask.

“Let’s fucking get the fuck out of there,” Butcher murmered after he gave a look to Ben and you.

Ben tenderly laid your body on his bed, and Butcher and Hughie followed him inside his room, their eyes wide with curiosity.

“What happened to her?” Hughie asked Butcher and Ben, but neither of them responded.

In the hopes that you would be more at ease, Ben removed the mask from your face and waited for you to wake up once more. He saw you gently open your eyes, and his heart raced. Uncertain of your response, Butcher and Hughie put some distance between them.

You opened your eyes and let out a painful moan. When everything became clear to your sight at last, it was then that you realized you were lying in a bed that was comfy.

Ben slowly sat down next to you, placing his large hands on yours and muttering in a dry voice, “Everything's good; you're good.”

Was it truly good, though?

With a feeble voice, you asked, “Ben?” while keeping your gaze on his green ones. He didn't look quite the same as when you last saw him. His beard gave him a more serious, grown-up appearance. “What's going on over here?”

The two strangers who were observing you intently caught your attention, and they inhaled deeply. Ben was about to grab your hand, but you quickly moved to put some distance between you and avoid his touch. You smelled a lot worse than you looked, and you were wearing a long, black coat. You checked your body, and your face wrinkled with loathing. Oh god.. For how long has it been?

You grimaced, gave Ben a fierce gaze, and asked, “How could you have done this to me?” before he could say anything more.

Ben was briefly taken aback, but he wasn't shocked that you believed he was the one who had fooled and deceived you, placing you in such a horrible situation for decades—even though it had all been Vought's evil shit all along.

"Course it wasn't me." Ben immediately defended himself, gazing over your body. “I didn't even know,” he said.

You raised your hand to interrupt him before he could say any more lies, saying, “I just need a shower right now.”

You were careful not to touch Ben while he nodded and apologized in a low voice as he attempted to assist you in standing up. The two guys across the room were simply silently waiting and observing you when Ben sent them an angry glare, and they quickly left the room. Though you were ignorant of the dynamics amongst the three of them, you knew you needed to use caution if they were Ben's new fellow soldiers. In the end, you had no understanding of what was going on, and you received no change from anyone.

There was an unsettling silence the two of you had while you were alone in the room, but he soon showed you the bathroom.

You murmured, gently keeping the coat against your body, “I need new clothes.” After everything that happened to you, you shouldn't have been concerned about how you looked, but you were unable to stop it. It was a natural inclination, after all, to feel clean.

Ben smiled warmly at your hesitant attitude as he went to the wardrob with pride and showed you the t-shirt, underwear and all he had previously purchased for you with Butcher's money. He wanted you to see how interested and ready he was to start things again with you, as he had already given it much thought. Not only did he take your suit from Legend, but he promised to display it to you later. Your suit wasn't a priority, considering that the chaos all around you had already overwhelmed you.

“I'll be waiting downstairs, so we can talk about what happened properly,” Ben stated after clearing his throat. Then, you took the clothes from his hands and entered the bathroom, locking the door as though someone would dare to interrupt.

You took the longest shower of your life, showered head to toe, put on the clothes Ben bought you, and headed downstairs. Ben and two strangers were watching the news on TV, which seemed a little unusual because it was so modern.

Ben did not make a scene, even though his face fell when he saw you sitting on the couch, distant from him. As you began to watch the news, you glanced at the gadget that Hughie was holding and clicked on it while wearing a serious expression. Then you turned to face Ben and requested, “Tell me slowly, what year we are in?” in a low voice.

With rush, Butcher responded, “It's 2022.”

“Oh my god,” you muttered, placing your hand over your forehead, while continuing to stare at the TV and gawking at all the strange things you had never seen before. Ben had stole your years.

Ben instantly spoke up and stated once more in a firm voice, “I didn't do this to you. Vought deceived both of us. Also, it has been about four days since those fuckfaces rescued me in Russia.”

“You’re welcome,” Butcher said, sipping his whiskey.

You questioned Ben once more in a suspicious tone, “How did you even find out what happened to me?” You had plenty time to ask all the thousand questions you had, but you still had priorities.

Ben's gaze strayed as he thought about sitting next to you and making a physical connection to ensure you listened him properly without you passing judgment on him, but he remained where he was. He never considered discussing Crimson again, but it seems that it was inescapable.

Ben only said, “I learned it from Crimson Countess,” trying not to show how insecure he was. He and the Countess had already done you an immense amount of pain.

With a sad smile, you nodded meaningfully and said, “Of course she'd be the first to pay a visit.”

She remained his main concern even after all this time and your efforts on his behalf. But now it means absolutely nothing. While you were sleeping, so many years had gone by, and nothing seemed to matter anymore. You felt like you had undergone a complete change from the person you knew in the past.

“It’s not what you think,” Ben said seeing your disappointed face.

“I really don’t care, Ben,” you simply said with all sincerity. You weren’t lying.

Although it was difficult to accept their relationship and everything that had happened in the past, you now felt a little foolish for not just letting go. In addition, you spent years in a metal box and were tortured because of your naive attitude. You felt lost, and you had nothing now. You were left without even a place to go.

“Do you have something to eat?” you shyly asked Hughie, who had a humble and kind expression on his face. You have questions, for sure, but you needed to eat something first.

Hughie quickly said, “Sure, we can order something.” And you thanked him with a smile on your face.

Ben took a deep breath and decided not to press the issue because he thought you were a little too sensitive and hungry. His whole body was itching to sit next to you, and his eyes never left you. He was never fully aware of how much his body yearned for your attention and touch. Perhaps since so many years had passed between you, this need and yearning had always existed. But you were not the woman he had known before, and your gentle but determined attempts to keep him at a distance disturbed him.

You leaned back as you ignored Ben’s gaze on you and tried to focused on the TV to see how much the world has changed.

“I visited her to ask what happened to you,” Ben suddenly said with a rough voice.

Without getting into an argument, you just nodded and carried on watching TV, saying, “Okay.”

There was a headline that said, ‘Soldier Boy's terror killed at least 50 people in a week,’ when the information first came on television.

Ben cursed loudly, and you murmered, “What?”

You were all fixated on the reporter commenting on the extent of Ben's damage to Ohio and New York while Butcher turned up the voice of the TV. You gasped as you watched an entirely wrecked street in New York and heard injured people telling the TV reporter how far Ben's explosion was heard from and how badly he damaged the lives of everyone inside, killing 19 people, including children.

Ben's face was unreadable as he stared at the television, lost in thoughts and feeling a weight of guilt in his chest. He had no intention of blowing up in the first place. He was aware that the Russian song was the reason behind his unexpected outburst in the middle of the street. He had no feelings of hostility toward people.

When they also displayed the doctor's picture on the screen—who was heavily involved in your torture—your lips parted in disbelief. The reporter was telling the public that Soldier Boy had blown up his house and him as well.

“What have you done?” you murmered to Ben whose lethal green eyes were fixed on yours.

Next Chapter

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿

A/N: Comments and reblogs are very appreciated!

And Happy Pride Month to my dearest readers and everyone! -`♡´-

Taglist: @mostlymarvelgirl @xmariakx @spnfamily-j2 @suspicious-stain-in-spain @atomicsoulcollecto @yvonneeeee @starryperson @mfnqueen1 @chaand-sitara @boywivlove @stilinskisthings @brynanna @delaynew @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @yoyoanaria @n-o-p-e-never @ghostslillady @certifiedhaters @deans-spinster-witch @demodemo909

Let me know if you want to be tagged for this series. -`♡´-

403 notes · View notes

bradshawsbaby · 1 year

Text

Love in the Air

Pairing: Rooster x Female Reader

Summary: You weren't expecting anything interesting or exciting to happen on your flight from Virginia to San Diego. But what happens when you decide to shoot your shot with the handsome stranger sitting in front of you on the plane?

Word Count: 12.5k

Author’s Note: Thank you so much to my dear friend, @ryebecca for giving me the idea for this one! I've been mulling it over in my brain for a while now, and the super adorable Netflix movie Love at First Sight gave me some much-needed inspiration to finally see it through to completion. This story exists outside of the Mr. & Mrs. Bradshaw Universe, which is sort of a first for me, so I hope you all enjoy!

Warnings: Travel anxiety, some very mild angst, discussions of parental death, brief language, lots of fluff.

If you had to rank your preferred modes of transportation, flying would probably be at the bottom of the list, beat only perhaps by public bus or bicycle. It seemed that no matter how hard you tried to make it as smooth and easy a journey as possible, your experiences at the airport always turned into one catastrophe after another.

Your flight this morning was supposed to take off at 9:30am, which meant that you had scheduled the start of your day to ensure that you would be at the airport no later than 7:15, accounting for traffic and long lines at check-in and security. That, of course, meant that you had to leave your best friend, Katie’s house in Fredericksburg at 5:45 on the dot in order to make the sixty-one mile trip to Charlottesville-Albemarle Airport, and that was being generous. If the two of you stopped for coffee—which Katie insisted was a must—that alone had the potential to derail your plans, which had you nervously fiddling with the bracelet you never took off, the one your dad had given you as a gift for your high school graduation.

“Relax,” Katie laughed, taking her eyes off the road for only a moment to reach out and squeeze your hands reassuringly, halting your anxious movements. “You’re going to get there with plenty of time to spare. There’s literally no one on earth who’s a more responsible flier than you. Have you ever even come close to missing a flight?”

“No,” you admitted sheepishly, taking a small sip of your hazelnut iced coffee. It did little to calm your nerves, but it was one of the best iced coffees you’d ever tasted.

“Of course you haven’t,” Katie smiled, her eyes back in front of her as she signaled to merge into another lane. “So just take a deep breath and enjoy all this gorgeous fall foliage. I’m going to get you there without incident, I promise.”

Katie knew better than pretty much anyone how much flying tended to stress you out. The two of you had been attached at the hip since the first day of kindergarten. Your friendship had survived all the ups and down of adolescence, boy drama, the separation of going to colleges hundreds of miles apart, heartache, loss, and so much more. She was truly the sister you never had, and you couldn’t be more grateful to have her in your life. Even now that you were living in San Diego, and Katie and her husband had moved to Fredericksburg, Virginia for Josh’s job, nothing could keep the two of you apart.

Using a little bit of the vacation time you’d accumulated at work, you’d taken a long weekend to fly out and surprise Katie for her and Josh’s housewarming party. It had been months since you had seen your best friend in person, and the two of you had spent the past few days acting like a couple of high schoolers, staying up all night eating junk food and keeping poor Josh awake with your loud and hysterical fits of laughter.

You hadn’t realized just how lonely you’d been, all by yourself in San Diego, until you’d witnessed up close how cozy and happy Katie’s life in Virginia was.

It wasn’t that you were jealous of Katie, not by any means. She and Josh had met in college, and you were thrilled that your best friend in the whole world had found her person, the one who was going to be there to hold her hand through life and love her through every up and every down. You had even shed a few happy tears when Katie had confided in you this past weekend that she and Josh were finally trying for a baby.

You weren’t jealous, but you desperately longed for what she had. While Katie and Josh had been happily in love since sophomore year, your love life had been decidedly marked by one failed relationship after another. The most painful of which had been your last boyfriend, Andrew. That breakup had been what had propelled you to accept the job offer that had taken you to San Diego almost a year ago.

“Screw Andrew!” Katie had told you as she’d helped you pack up your entire life into a few suitcases and boxes. “You’re headed to the Hottie Capital of America!”

“I must have missed that moniker on the travel brochures,” you responded dryly, although it was the first time you’d felt the urge to laugh in weeks.

“Um, hello, missy. It’s literally called ‘Fightertown USA,’” Katie said, stopping what she was doing to turn and face you, hands on her hips. “You’re going to end up with some sexy fighter pilot, and I am literally going to wither away with envy,” she giggled, winking at you.

“Yeah, right,” you smiled despite yourself, nudging her playfully.

“It’s true,” Katie sighed, feigning dramatics as she draped a hand across her forehead and swooned onto your bed. “I can see it now. You’re going to make the cutest little Marine or Navy wife.”

And yet, for all of Katie’s confidence, there you were, a whole year later, just as single as you had been when you’d first arrived in Fightertown.

It wasn’t to say you were completely on your own. You’d made some really good friends at work, and you got along with all of your neighbors. You’d even gone on a few dates with some guys from North Island. But none that ever went anywhere.

Spending the weekend with Katie and Josh, being reminded of just how in love the two of them were, made you wonder if it was ever going to be your turn.

“You okay?” Katie asked, breaking your silent reverie as she took the exit leading towards the airport in Charlottesville. It wasn’t necessarily the closest airport, but it was the only one for today that offered the flight you needed to get back home. “You seem so quiet.”

“Hm? Oh, yeah,” you nodded distractedly, smiling as you took another sip of your iced coffee. “Just a little tired, I guess.”

How could you possibly tell your best friend that seeing her happiness caused an ache inside your chest that hurt like nothing else you’d ever known? You couldn’t. It made you feel guilty enough just to admit it to yourself.

“Feeling a little nervous about your flight?” she pressed, reaching for her own iced coffee as the car came to a halt at a red light. “I know it’s long, and you hate connecting flights, but I stuck some Benadryl packets in your bag, if that helps at all. It sucks that you have such a hard time sleeping on planes.”

Smiling, you leaned over and pressed an affectionate kiss to her cheek. What had you ever done to deserve such a good friend? And there you were, lamenting about all the things she had that you didn’t.

“You’re the best,” you told her sincerely, giving her shoulder a small squeeze. “I’m so glad I was able to get down here this weekend.”

Katie beamed brightly, reaching up to squeeze your hand before placing hers back on the steering wheel. “You’re telling me. It was the best surprise ever. I’m just sad I can’t keep you here longer.”

“I’ll be back soon,” you promised, trying to mentally calculate when you might be able to get time off from work again.

“Maybe you can come down for Christmas this year?” Katie suggested hopefully, glancing over at you with her big green eyes.

“Maybe,” you nodded, twisting your bracelet once more as you saw the signs for the airport approaching. “Or maybe I can fly you and Josh out to San Diego.”

“Oh, yes! Christmas on the beach? Sounds perfect,” Katie grinned, looking out for the sign for departing flights.

All too soon, Katie was pulling up in front of the Delta terminal where your flight would be taking off in just a few hours.

“See? Only 7:11! I got you here ahead of your insane schedule, even with the stop for coffee,” your best friend teased, a twinkle in her eye as she indicated the time on the dashboard.

“Yeah, yeah,” you waved her off, laughing out loud as she swatted your hand jokingly.

The two of you climbed out of the car to grab your luggage from the trunk. You’d done your best to pack lightly, which was never an easy task for you, even just for a weekend trip. But somehow, you’d managed to squeeze everything you needed into a carry-on bag. Well, that and a giant duffel that you were claiming was a purse.

“Ugh, goodbyes make me crazy,” Katie shook her head, clearly trying to hide the tears that were brimming in her eyes, which caused tears to spring to your eyes as the two of you reached for each other.

“I love you so much,” you told her, squeezing her tightly as she rocked you back and forth in her arms. “I’ll call you when I land.”

“Text me when you get to your gate,” she said, pulling back and taking your hands in hers. “And let me know if there are any cuties on your flight,” she added with a grin, waggling her eyebrows suggestively.

“I doubt I’m going to bag any cuties looking like this,” you countered sarcastically, indicating the yoga pants and oversized sweatshirt you’d donned that morning, as well as the messy bun you’d thrown your hair into.

“Shut up, you’re gorgeous no matter what,” Katie scolded you, swatting you on the butt. “Now get going. We wouldn’t want you being late or anything like that,” she joked.

You laughed as well, though your heart ached a bit as you grabbed the handle of your suitcase and began turning towards the doors of the terminal.

“Love you! Talk to you soon!” Katie called out, waving and blowing kisses.

You threw one more wave your best friend’s way, then disappeared inside the terminal, which was already fairly crowded despite the early hour.

As expected, despite the fact that you’d taken pains to get there early and make sure you were on top of everything, the unlucky cloud that seemed to follow you whenever you flew made its appearance once again.

You of course ended up on the slowest moving line at security, only to be heavily questioned by the TSA agent who seemed to be under the impression that you looked nothing like the photo on your driver’s license. Then, when you finally got to the security scanners, you set off the metal detector and had to be publicly groped by another sour-faced TSA agent. As if that wasn’t bad enough, your suitcase was “randomly selected” for extra testing and security checks.

Katie may have loved to tease you about it, but this was precisely the reason why you always left as early as you did to get to the airport.

By the time you were finally rolling your suitcase towards your gate, you were feeling more frazzled than ever. Naturally, the gate had changed since your boarding pass had been printed, and now you had to trek halfway across the airport to find the new one.

You wondered what it felt like to be one of those lucky travelers whose gate was right at the center of the terminal, right near all the restaurants and shops. It had never been you. Without fail, no matter where or when you were flying, your gate always ended up being at the farthest corner of the terminal.

When you finally arrived, triple checking that the gate number matched your flight information, you let out a heavy sigh as you grabbed an open seat at the end of the row. To your surprise, you found that you were seated right next to an open outlet. You never got that lucky.

Turns out, you really did never get that lucky. When you plugged your phone in, you found that it wasn’t charging. Evidently, the outlet was open because it didn’t actually work.

Muttering under your breath, you unplugged your charger and threw it back into your duffel bag. At least your phone was still on 74%. You’d much prefer to have it fully charged, but this would do until you could charge it on the plane.

Glancing down, you realized that you had missed a text from Katie.

At the gate yet???

Rolling your shoulders back and getting more comfortable in your seat, you opened up the message so that you could send a quick response.

Just got here. You’d think I was on the No Fly List with how long it took me to get here.

Katie must have made good time getting home, because it wasn’t long before your phone was buzzing with another text.

😂😂😂 Get yourself a drink!

Katie, it’s not even 9am…

So? A mimosa then!

You laughed, shaking your head. A mimosa didn’t actually sound like such a bad idea right now. Neither did a large iced coffee. But now that you’d finally made it to your gate, you didn’t feel like dragging all your stuff with you across the terminal once again. And you didn’t feel comfortable leaving your things behind, unattended or even in the care of a stranger. Maybe you’d just order one on the plane.

When your phone buzzed again in your lap, you looked down and saw that it was another text from Katie.

Any cuties to share that mimosa with???

You were about to text her back that right now, the only cuties you could see were an adorable four-year-old and an elderly couple who must have been in their eighties when suddenly, the most gorgeous man you had ever seen in your life appeared, as if out of thin air. You were suddenly glad you didn’t have a mimosa or an iced coffee in hand, for you were certain that you would have spit it out in shock upon seeing this guy.

Jaw hanging open and eyes widening, your brain was too fuzzy from lack of sleep to remind you that it was wholly inappropriate and rude to stare.

He truly had to be the hottest man you had ever seen up close in real life. Tall, with broad, thick shoulders and a muscular build. His hair was a golden brown that looked like it was touched frequently by the sun—as did his skin, which was an amusing combination of both tan and pink, as though he should have applied just a pinch more sunscreen than he had. Most surprising of all was the mustache that made your stomach do a strange little flip. You usually weren’t all that attracted to facial hair of any sort, and most guys couldn’t pull off the mustaches they tried to sport, but this particular mustache was the sexiest thing you had ever seen. And somehow, despite not knowing this man from a hole in the wall, you couldn’t imagine him without it. It was like it was a part of his DNA.

Thankfully, he was still staring down at his boarding pass, so he hadn’t noticed your intense scrutiny. Coming to your senses, you closed your mouth and quickly averted your gaze, your cheeks growing hot with embarrassment. How mortifying. Imagine if he had looked over and caught you staring at him, gaping like a fish out of water?

Still, despite your self-consciousness at the thought of getting caught, you couldn’t help but steal another glance in his direction, this time out of the corner of your eye. He looked even taller this time around. It probably had something to do with the way he carried himself, an easy confidence pouring off him. This man knew he was hot stuff, of that you were sure. But there was also something unassuming about him, something quiet and almost humble. He was dressed in a pair of dark sweatpants and an old UVA T-shirt, nothing fancy or flashy. Somehow, however, he managed to pull it off even better than a three-piece suit.

You were startled out of your observations when your phone buzzed again. It was Katie, emphasizing her last message impatiently.

Do you have some kind of magic powers that I was unaware of to make hotties appear out of nowhere? Right when you texted me, the hottest guy I’ve ever seen walked up to my gate.

‼️‼️ GO TALK TO HIM!!! ‼️‼️

At the mere suggestion of going to talk to that guy, your stomach erupted into butterflies. Looking up once again, you saw that he had evidently confirmed he was at the right gate, and had settled down in a seat a couple rows over, facing away from you. God, even the back of his head was handsome.

Are you crazy? This guy is seriously the most gorgeous man I’ve ever seen. I look like a homeless lady that wandered in off the street. I am NOT talking to him!

Your phone buzzed angrily a moment later.

Will you shut up before I drive back there to hit you upside the head?! YOU are gorgeous!!! Who cares if you have no make-up on and your hair’s in a messy bun? It’s called airplane chic! You’re still completely stunning. He would be LUCKY to have a girl as hot as you want to talk to him!

Chewing your bottom lip, you looked up again, trying not to be obvious as your eyes slowly wandered over the people at your gate, until they landed on him once more. He was on the phone this time, having an animated conversation with whoever was on the other end of the line. Occasionally, he would turn slightly in your direction and you could catch a glimpse of his side profile.

Damn, this man was seriously perfect from every angle.

“Alright, Mav, I’ll see you when I land,” you heard him say—not that you were trying to eavesdrop—before he hung up the phone and dropped it back onto his lap.

It was then that you noticed his phone was plugged into the outlet next to his seat.

Maybe this could be your opportunity? You could casually walk over and see if there were any other open outlets near his. Perhaps you could even make a joke about how it was just your luck that the outlet near your seat wasn’t working. Maybe he’d laugh and tell you some horror story from his travel experiences and the two of you would end up talking until you exchanged numbers. Maybe there was some tiny, infinitesimal chance that this stunning man would actually be charmed by you and possibly even the teensiest bit interested.

Or maybe you would just remain rooted to your seat, terrified to move as you stared at the back of his head.

You were already anticipating the text from Katie when your phone buzzed once again.

The reason you’re not answering me better be because you’re in the middle of a conversation with Mr. Hottie from your gate!!!

Biting down on your lip, you turned your phone over, not knowing how to tell your best friend that you were too much of a chicken to get out of your seat and approach this guy.

At that moment, however, you were suddenly saved, at least somewhat, when a member of the flight crew announced that they were about to begin boarding. Forgetting about Katie’s texts and the hot guy sitting several feet away from you for a moment, you began gathering together all your belongings, making sure you hadn’t forgotten anything.

When your boarding group was called, you did one final sweep around your seat, securing the strap of your duffel bag up on your shoulder and wrapping one hand around the handle of your carry-on before making your way to the line extending from the counter.

As you stepped up behind the elderly couple you’d noticed earlier, your boarding pass slipped out of your hand, floating through the air despite your best attempt to reach for it, and landing somewhere behind you.

Turning to find it, you nearly collided with the tall wall of man behind you, who was bending at the same time to grab it off the floor.

“Oh!” you gasped, startled to find that Mr. Hottie, as Katie had dubbed him, was not only standing behind you in line, but was also holding your boarding pass in his hand, glancing down at it.

“San Diego with a layover in Atlanta, huh?” he grinned, glancing from the boarding pass up to your face. Unsurprisingly, he had a beautiful set of whiskey-colored eyes that made your stomach do the same strange little flip that his mustache had induced. Oh, and up close, the mustache was even sexier.

“Oh, um, yeah,” you nodded dumbly, your tongue suddenly feeling like it weighed a thousand pounds as your brain short-circuited and couldn’t come up with a single worthwhile thing to say.

“Glad to know I’m not the only one,” Mr. Hottie went on, holding your boarding pass out to you. “Looks like we’ve got a long day of flying ahead of us.”

Mouth hanging open, you slowly reached out and took the boarding pass from him, trying frantically to think of something—anything—to say. He was flying to San Diego, too? You were on the same exact flight? Including the same layover?

“I—I—”

“Hey, the line's moving!” someone from the back called out, sounding annoyed.

Turning back over your shoulder, you were mortified to see that the elderly couple in front of you had disappeared and you were, in fact, holding up the line.

“Oh, um, I’m sorry,” you mumbled, ducking your head as you clutched your boarding pass and reached out for your carry-on. “Thanks again for grabbing this for me,” you told Mr. Hottie, waving your boarding pass slightly before turning and practically running towards the counter.

With his long stride, he caught up to you in no time, his smile friendly and warm as the two of you joined the line of people waiting to board the airplane.

“You weren’t holding anyone up,” he whispered down to you, as if it was some special secret the two of you were sharing. “I don’t know what that guy was in such a rush for. To move from that line to this one? We’re all getting out of here at the same time.”

You smiled at his words, feeling comforted by his reassurance. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. Some people are just always in a hurry.”

The two of you were quiet after that, and you wondered if that would be the end of the conversation. You were casting around for anything else you could talk about when he suddenly asked you, “So are you leaving home or heading home?”

Your heart fluttered at his question. If he didn’t want to keep talking, he wouldn’t have asked that, right?

“Heading home,” you told him, fiddling shyly with your bracelet. You laughed softly. “It’s still kind of weird saying that. I’ve only been in San Diego for about eleven months.”

He raised his eyebrow, one corner of his mouth turning up in a smile. “Yeah? Well, I know I’m a little late, but welcome to Fightertown. I hope it’s been treating you well.”

“Oh, it has been,” you nodded, making sure to pay attention to when the people in front of you began moving forward. “I take it you’re heading home then, too?”

“I am,” he grinned, shouldering the backpack he was carrying with him. “Well, actually, I’m kind of leaving home and heading home,” he amended. At your curious look, he explained, “I’m from Virginia originally, but I live in San Diego now. I guess you could say I’m a transplant, just like you,” he added with a chuckle. “Are you from Virginia, too?”

“New York, actually,” you told him, as the two of you followed the flow of people towards the plane. “But my best friend and her husband moved to Fredericksburg recently, so I was spending the weekend with them.”

“Ah, that’s a nice area,” he nodded, rubbing the back of his neck as he glanced down at you with a smile. At your unspoken question, he said, “I was actually down for a reunion weekend at my school. I went to UVA.”

“I gathered,” you replied teasingly, indicating his T-shirt.

Glancing downward, he shook his head and laughed. “Almost forgot I threw this on when I woke up. Trying to get to the airport on time is a real pain, isn’t it?”

“Absolutely,” you agreed with a laugh, adjusting your hold on your duffel bag. “Flying is definitely one of my least favorite modes of transportation.”

“Hmm, I don’t know if I’d say that,” he said in reply, an amused look on his face.

Before you could ask him what was so funny, however, you were being welcomed aboard the plane by the stewardesses, who were all smiling and indicating that they expected you to keep moving down the aisle.

Your heart dropped slightly at the abrupt end to your conversation. Now the two of you were going to go to your separate seats, and he’d probably forget all about you. It was one thing to make idle conversation with a stranger while on line, but you doubted he had any real interest in continuing the conversation beyond that.

Sighing softly, you rolled your suitcase down the aisle, pausing every now and then as the people in front of you put their bags in the overhead bins and got themselves sorted. When you finally reached Row 22, you stopped and looked back at Mr. Hottie with an apologetic smile.

“Sorry, this is me. I’ll just be a minute,” you told him, pushing down the handle of your carry-on.

“No worries, this is me,” he grinned, indicating Row 21. “I even snagged the window seat,” he added with a wink.

Your mouth went dry. He had the window seat of Row 21. You had the window seat of Row 22. He was sitting directly in front of you.

“Here, let me help you with that,” he said, reaching for your carry-on bag and easily hefting it above his head, sliding it into the overhead bin for you. “Do you need me to put this one up there, too?” he asked, pointing towards your duffel bag.

“Oh, no, it’s okay,” you shook your head, holding onto the strap of your bag. “I’m going to keep this one with me. Thanks a lot,” you smiled, not even noticing the line of disgruntled people that was beginning to form behind the two of you.

“No problem,” he smiled, starting to slide into his row with his backpack still on his back. “Have a great flight.”

“You, too,” you replied, a little sadly, as you crawled into your row, doing your best to ignore the annoyed looks some people were throwing your way.

Needless to say, it was just your luck that the impatient man from the boarding line ended up sitting right beside you. You tried to smile at him, but he just grunted and put his headphones on, completely ignoring you.

Fine by you. Pulling your phone out, you found that you had a whole new series of texts from Katie, demanding to know exactly what was happening.

On the plane now. We should be taking off soon. I talked a little bit to Mr. Hottie. Are you happy?

It didn’t take long at all for her to respond. You could imagine that she had been sitting by her phone, waiting eagerly for your message.

Eeeee, yes, very! What did you guys talk about? Are you sitting near each other on the plane? Did you exchange numbers??? Send me a picture!!!

You laughed softly to yourself as you tried your best to answer all the questions your excited friend had asked you.

Just small talk. He’s actually flying home to San Diego, too. He went to UVA and was there for a reunion weekend. We did not exchange numbers and I’m not going to be a creepy stalker and take a picture of him, but he actually is sitting in the seat right in front of me.

OMG, IT’S FATE!!! So he has the same layover and everything??? And he’s FROM San Diego?! Babe, this is the guy for you!!! You’ve got to keep talking to him!

How would you suggest I do that? Just tap him on the shoulder and whisper into his ear the whole time?

It’s only a couple hours to Atlanta, and then you’ll have the layover, and then another four and half hours to San Diego. You could practically be engaged by the time you land! Just slip him a little note or something. Give him your number!

Your stomach was doing somersaults at the mere thought. Between the two of you, Katie had always been the more outgoing one. She would have no problem slipping a note with her phone number on it to a complete stranger, putting herself out there for the possibility of rejection and utter humiliation. You, on the other hand, preferred to play it safe. It was much more comfortable that way. And sure, maybe you’d never met your Josh the way Katie had, but at least you’d never been hurt too badly, right?

Unbidden, you thought of Andrew and felt bile rise in your throat.

Luckily, you were saved from having to answer Katie right away when the cabin crew made the announcement that it was time to shut down all electronics. Switching your phone onto airplane mode, you slipped it into the front pocket of your duffel bag and took a deep breath, buckling your seatbelt and closing your eyes.

Takeoff was your least favorite part of any flight. When you were a little girl, your parents used to make funny faces and sing silly songs to distract you from your terror. Even now as an adult who was flying all on her own, you still tried to remember the sound of their voices as the plane began its ascent.

It didn’t take too long before you were finally cruising at 18,000 feet and the captain turned off the seatbelt sign. Since you were a Delta SkyMiles member, you got free Wi-Fi on all your flights, so you immediately reached to turn your phone back on to let Katie know you had taken off safely.

As soon as your phone connected with the Wi-Fi, it was instantly flooded with a slew of text messages. A couple were from some of your friends back in San Diego, wishing you a safe and easy flight, but most were from your crazy best friend.

Don’t think you can use being on a plane as an excuse not to answer my texts!

I know you’re a SkyMiles member and you can see these messages!

You better answer me!!!

Shaking your head, you quickly tapped out a quick message in response.

Took off safely. Thinking of watching a movie before we land in Atlanta. You’re crazy and I am not slipping him a note.

Your phone was blessedly quiet for the next several minutes, and part of you hoped that Katie had given up this ridiculous notion. Knowing her as long as you had, however, you should have figured that wouldn’t be the case.

What’s the worst that could happen? He doesn’t answer you? The two of you never talk again? You’ve never seen this guy before in your life, and the chances are good that you’ll never see him again after this. So if you put yourself out there and it doesn’t work out, who cares? At least you tried. And sure, it might be a little embarrassing at first, but like I said, you’ll never have to see him again. But what if you thought about it the other way around? What if it DOES work out? What if this could be the start of something great? Would you really just want to walk away, wondering what could have been and regretting that you didn’t take a chance? You deserve to be loved so, so, SO much! And I know that you have so much love to give! This guy would be lucky if you chose him. Just give it a try, will you? For me? Please! You can’t see it, but I’m giving my best puppy dog face right now. And sending you all the best vibes! You can do this! I love you! ♥️

You groaned at your best friend’s heartfelt message. How could you possibly say no to that? You knew Katie just wanted the best for you, and she wanted you to be happy. You wanted to be happy, too. What if she was right? What if this was your chance? Would you be a fool to just walk away from it without even trying? Like Katie said, at least if you tried, you could say you’d done all you could. And if it didn’t work, then Mr. Hottie just wasn’t the one for you. No harm, no foul.

You were starting to feel like you might need to make use of the vomit bag tucked securely in the seat pocket in front of you when the stewardess stopped at your row to offer you all snacks and beverages. You gratefully accepted a can of ginger ale and a packet of pretzels, nibbling on them slowly in an attempt to settle your roiling stomach.

You were being an idiot. There was no reason to be so dramatic about all this. You could write a quick note and pass it up to him, then pretend it had never happened. Seriously, what was the worst that was going to happen? He was going to get up and make an announcement over the loudspeaker that the girl sitting in 22A was a pathetic, lonely loser? You doubted that very much.

Before you could lose your nerve, you reached into the front pocket of your duffel bag and pulled out the pen you always kept there. Turns out, it really did come in handy. Mercifully, the grumpy man beside you was already snoring, so you could write your note in peace without being worried about him seeing what you were doing.

Hand shaking slightly, you penned a quick letter to the handsome, charming man in 21A.

Hi there. I realized in all our talking that I never caught your name. But it might be good to know, seeing how we’re layover buddies and all. Hope you’re enjoying the flight so far.

You signed your name at the bottom, and then took a deep breath, reading over what you had written on the back of your Delta napkin. It sounded impossibly stupid, but you’d come this far and you weren’t going to turn back now. What was it that people on the internet were always saying? Something about shooting your shot?

Breathing through your nose to avoid getting sick, you reached out a trembling finger and lightly tapped the broad shoulder that you saw peeking out from the seat in front of you. You suddenly realized that he may have been asleep and panicked at the thought of waking him up, but he shifted immediately at your touch and you could tell that he was turning towards you.

Not wanting to meet his eye, you immediately thrust your napkin into the small open space between your seats and the windows, silently praying that he would take it from you instead of laughing in your face.

A second later, you felt his large fingers brush against yours as he took your little note, shifting in his seat once more so that he was facing front again.

What had you just done? Oh, God, there was still another hour left to go on this flight, then a layover, and another four and half hours to San Diego. True, you would never have to see him again after you landed in California, but that was still a lot of time left to have to be in proximity to him if all of this blew up in your face.

You were just about ready to launch yourself out of one of the emergency exits when you suddenly looked up and realized that there was a small white napkin hovering above your head.

Mr. Hottie in 21A was reaching back with your note in hand. Your stomach plummeted and your face and neck grew warm with shame at the thought of him returning the letter you’d written him, until you noticed the red ink on the back of it.

You’d written your note in black ink.

Slowly reaching out, you took the napkin from his hand, your fingers brushing against each other once more. His were large and warm and calloused and made goosebumps rise on your arm.

Pulse beating rapidly, you turned over the napkin to see the response he had written on the back. His handwriting was a bit messy, more of a scrawl than anything, but it made you smile to look at it.

What was I thinking, not properly introducing myself to my layover buddy? Hope you can forgive me. My name is Bradley. I don’t suppose there’s any chance you’ve got some Wi-Fi on this flight, do you? If you do, feel free to text me. We seem to be dangerously low on napkins.

At the bottom, he’d written his cell phone number.

Pressing a hand over your mouth, it took everything in you to swallow back the squeal of delight that rose up your throat. It worked! Katie’s silly plan had actually worked! Oh, she was going to gloat about this forever when you told her.

Beaming brightly, you pulled out your cell phone. As much as you loved her, Katie could wait right now. You had an extremely gorgeous layover buddy to get in touch with.

Typing his number into your cell phone, you opened up a new message and contemplated what to say for a moment.

Layover buddies who both just so happen to have some inflight Wi-Fi? Clearly it’s meant to be.

You hoped the message came across as cute and flirty instead of desperate and weird as you hit send, anxiously waiting to see if he would reply.

It took only a moment before your phone buzzed, Bradley’s name lighting up your screen.

Layover buddies who both just so happen have some inflight Wi-Fi AND spring for the window seats? Obviously it’s meant to be!

You smiled and were about to think up a reply when another message suddenly came though.

Oh, and to answer your note—I’m enjoying the flight a lot more now.

The butterflies went crazy in your stomach as you wrote back to him.

Me, too. And that’s saying a lot, considering the four-year-old behind me hasn’t stopped kicking my seat since we boarded.

Bradley only took seconds to reply.

Oof, that’s rough. If I could switch seats with you, I would. But I have to admit that I’m very happy that you’re not kicking my seat.

Wouldn’t be too sure about that, you sent back teasingly before lightly nudging his seat with your foot.

Hey! I thought we were friends!

We’ll see 😉

You and Bradley went back and forth like that for the entire remainder of your flight to Atlanta, the banter light and easy as you teased and joked with each other. You even ended up playing a game of 20 Questions, in which you learned, among other things, that Bradley’s favorite color was red, he once broke his arm when he was seven years old, and he absolutely despised peas.

As the captain announced that you would soon begin preparing for your final descent, you shot off a quick message to Katie, who you had woefully neglected during your conversation with Bradley.

I owe you one. The pep talk and the plan actually worked—I’m texting Mr. Hottie as we speak! Update you soon. We’re about to land in Atlanta.

Just as you sent the message off to your friend, another text from Bradley arrived.

Looks like we’re going to have to turn off our phones, layover buddy. I’ll see you when we land. Food? I’m starving.

Grinning, you had to pinch yourself to check that this wasn’t some sort of elaborate dream.

Same. I’ll race you for some french fries.

You’re on.

When the plane finally landed and the captain turned off the seatbelt sign, everyone practically jumped out of their seats in a mad dash to see who could be the first to get their belongings out of the overhead bins. Since you and Bradley were in the window seats, you took your time, knowing you weren’t getting off the plane anytime soon.

You were surprised, however, when he suddenly popped his head over the back of his seat, grinning down at you. “Good thing our next flight doesn’t leave for a couple hours yet,” he said, indicating the crowd with a good-natured grin that made your heart melt.

You had almost been starting to think you’d exaggerated just how good-looking he was, but nope. He really was that hot.

“Plenty of time to grab those fries,” you laughed, smiling up at him.

When you and Bradley were finally able to step out into the aisle, he opened the bin above your head and reached for your suitcase.

“Let me take care of this for you,” he said, lowering it to the ground and lifting the handle so that he could wheel it up the aisle.

“Oh, you don’t have to,” you insisted, not wanting him to think that you expected him to carry your things for you.

“Hey, what are layover buddies for?” he winked, leading the way off the plane.

Once the two of you were standing face to face in the middle of the airport terminal, you began to feel a little shy and self-conscious again. It had been easy to talk to Bradley via text, but now that you were gazing up at his handsome face again, you suddenly found yourself getting just as tongue-tied as before.

Bradley seemed to sense your nerves because he smiled warmly at you, his demeanor just as open and friendly as it had been the entire time you’d known him.

“How about we hunt down those fries?” he suggested, waiting until you smiled and nodded before turning and guiding you towards the main concourse.

The two of you ended up finding a quick and easy little fast food counter, where you ordered a couple burgers, a large order of fries, and some vanilla milkshakes with whipped cream and cherries. As soon as it became clear that Bradley was going to pay for both your meals, you tried to argue and insist on paying your share, but he wouldn’t hear it.

“My mom raised a gentleman, and she would kill me if she thought I was even thinking of letting my layover buddy pay for her lunch,” he told you, winking playfully as he handed his credit card to the employee behind the counter.

You took your suitcase from Bradley as he balanced the tray with your food in his hands, leading you to an empty table towards the end of the concourse.

“Your mom must be very proud of you, I’m sure,” you grinned, reaching eagerly for a fry and popping it into your mouth. “Did you get to see her while you were in Virginia?”

Bradley smiled, though his eyes suddenly looked a little sad. “Yeah. Yeah, you could say that.”

Deciding not to press the matter, you instead turned the attention to his college reunion. That led to the two of you happily swapping stories about your time in college, which landed you on the subject of what you do now.

“A naval aviator? Really? And a TOPGUN graduate? That’s very impressive,” you gushed, mentally picturing him in a flight suit. You’d gone on a couple dates with some naval aviators from North Island, but none as handsome or as charming as Bradley. You suddenly groaned and covered your face with your hand when you remembered what you’d said to him right before boarding the plane. “So that’s what you meant when I was saying that flying isn’t my favorite mode of transportation,” you murmured, feeling a little embarrassed.

Bradley threw his head back and laughed at that, looking genuinely amused. “Hey, I get it. Flying isn’t for everybody. Trust me, some days I wish I had just opted for a desk job,” he grinned, his muscles flexing as he stretched in his seat. “But there’s nothing quite like it, when you’re the one doing the flying. Maybe one day I can take you up in the air and change your mind.”

He looked across the table at you and held your gaze, and you felt sure in that moment that you would have promised him anything he asked.

“So what’s your call sign then?” you asked with a smile, resting your cheek in your hand as you looked into his eyes.

“Oh, you know about that, huh?” he chuckled, the tips of his ears turning pink. “Well, uh, they call me Rooster.”

You had a feeling he expected you to laugh—maybe other girls in the past had—but you just grinned brightly in response. “I like it,” you said simply. “It suits you.”

He let out a small breath and smiled in return. “Thank you. My dad’s call sign was Goose. So I guess it runs in the family.”

“Your dad is in the Navy, too?” you asked curiously, lifting your milkshake and taking a sip.

Bradley cleared his throat slightly, looking down at his lap. “He was. He died in a training accident at TOPGUN when I was two.”

You sucked in a breath at your own carelessness and looked across at Bradley with empathy glowing in your eyes. “Oh, Bradley,” you murmured softly, reaching out and resting a hand over his. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” he replied gently, a small smile on his face as he placed his other hand over yours. “But thank you.” He was quiet for a moment before he went on. “It was just me and my mom for a while, back home in Virginia. But she got sick when I was in high school, and she passed away my senior year.”

“Bradley,” you breathed out sadly, your heart breaking for him. You winced when you thought of what he’d said before, about seeing his mom while he was in Virginia.

“She and my dad are buried in my hometown, where I grew up. I go to see them at the cemetery whenever I’m back in town,” he explained, as if reading your thoughts.

“I’m sure that means a lot to them, and that they’re smiling down on you always,” you told him sincerely, squeezing his hand lightly.

He smiled up at you, the sadness in his expression lifting slightly. “I like to think so. I think they’d like you a lot,” he added, then looked away. He suddenly seemed embarrassed.

The two of you sat back, disentangling your hands as you sat in mildly awkward silence for a moment or two.

“What about your parents?” Bradley asked, clearly looking for a way to change the subject. “Do they still live in New York?”

It was your turn to look sad now. “Well, we actually have a lot in common, Bradley. Only I guess my story is sort of in reverse. My mom passed away when I was six years old. She got in a car accident on her way home from work. And my dad passed when I was a freshman in college. Lung cancer.”

“Shit,” Bradley muttered, shaking his head and running a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—”

“It’s okay,” you cut him off, placing a reassuring hand on his arm. “You couldn’t have known. And it feels kind of nice talking about it with someone who I know understands. You know what I mean?”

“Yeah,” Bradley nodded, his expression serious as his dark eyes rested on your face. “Yeah, I do.”

You and Bradley sat in companionable silence as you finished your meals, then checked to see how much time you had before your connecting flight.

“I guess we should start making our way over to the gate,” you suggested, glancing at the time on your phone. You had about ten text messages from Katie, but you were too embarrassed to open them anywhere near Bradley.

Bradley nodded in agreement, wordlessly taking the handle of your suitcase and leading you back across the concourse.

“Hey, we got so distracted talking about my job that I never even asked what you do,” he suddenly realized once the two of you were seated at your gate, both your phones charging in a nearby outlet.

“Oh, yeah,” you smiled, brushing a loose strand of hair that had escaped your bun behind your ear. “Funny enough, I actually work for the Midway Museum,” you told him, glancing up at him, only to find that he was already gazing down at you.

“No way! Guess we’re both stuck aboard aircraft carriers for work then,” he chuckled. “What do you do?”

“Well, my official title is digital content specialist,” you said, biting down on your lower lip. You felt like it always sounded a bit pretentious. “Basically, I help run the museum’s digital accounts—social media, their website, email blasts, things like that. My degree is in marketing and communications, so that’s basically what I do.”

“That’s amazing,” Bradley said, and you could tell that he genuinely meant it. Some guys just pretended to be interested in your job as a pretense for trying to get into your pants, but you could tell that Bradley actually cared about what you had to say. He was actually listening. “Is that what brought you out to San Diego?”

“It is, actually. I had been applying to a few different places, and when I got word from the Midway that they were interested in hiring me, I thought that maybe it was the fresh start I needed,” you confessed.

“Has it been?” Bradley asked quietly.

“I think so,” you nodded slowly, absent-mindedly twisting your bracelet around your wrist. “It’s hard sometimes, being so far away from my best friend, Katie—the one I was visiting. She’s pretty much the only family I’ve got left. But I like the life that I’m building in San Diego.”

“That’s good. I’m glad to hear it,” Bradley smiled, his hand lightly brushing against yours as he shifted in his seat. He looked like he was about to say more when the flight crew called your boarding group.

“Looks like we’re going to be sitting near each other again, 21A,” you teased, glancing down at his boarding pass as the two of you rose and grabbed your phones.

“Glad to hear it, 22A,” he joked in return, holding up his phone and waving it back and forth. “And now my phone is fully charged for our trip back to San Diego, so let the texting commence.”

Giggling, you nodded as the two of you walked down the rampway side by side and made your way onto the plane and to your seats without incident. When you got there, however, you saw that there had been some confusion with a young family that looked to have four children under the age of eight. It seemed as though their tickets had gotten split up so that they weren’t all sitting next to each other, and the mother was frantic.

“Excuse me, ma’am?” Bradley asked, quickly taking stock of the situation. When the woman looked up at him, clearly stressed out and worried he was going to yell at her, he smiled comfortingly. “I was just going to say that, if you’d like, you can have my seat. I’d be happy to take yours since it looks like it’s next to my friend here anyway. That way, we can all be comfortable and sit with the people we want to sit with.”

“Oh, thank you!” the young mother exclaimed, looking ready to hug Bradley. “Thank you!”

She and her husband quickly got their children settled, thanking Bradley a few more times for good measure, while he took your carry-on and set it in the overhead bin.

Once you had settled in your window seat, Bradley took the seat beside you, grinning impishly.

“Look at that. Now we don’t even need to waste the Wi-Fi,” he murmured, nudging you playfully.

“Things just have a way of working out for us today, don’t they?” you laughed, settling your duffel bag at your feet. “I’m just going to send a quick message to Katie, to let her know I made it onto my connecting flight,” you told him, reaching for your phone and quickly opening Katie’s messages so that Bradley wouldn’t see them.

“Good idea, I should text Mav,” Bradley said, grabbing his phone out of his pocket. At your confused look, he explained, “My godfather. He’s also in the Navy, and he also just so happens to be stationed out in San Diego. He’s going to pick me up at the airport.”

Nodding, you sent a brief text to your best friend, promising you would call her as soon as you got home, then settled in for the flight and tried to get as comfortable as possible.

As soon as you felt the plane jolt to life and begin taxing towards the runway, your chest grew tight and your grip on yours and Bradley’s shared armrest started to turn your knuckles white.

“Hey,” Bradley said softly, genuine concern in his voice as he glanced over and noticed how on edge you suddenly appeared. “You alright?”

“I’m fine,” you lied, keeping your gaze fixed straight ahead on the screen in front of you, which was currently playing some Delta commercial that your brain could scarcely register.

“I think your death grip on our armrest would suggest otherwise,” he pressed gently, his tone remaining light and good-humored. “You trying to take that thing with you?”

Startled, your nervous trance was broken and you glanced down to see what Bradley was talking about. Sure enough, your nails were digging into the armrest so intensely that you wouldn’t have been surprised if they left little crescent-shaped marks in their wake.

Letting out a shaky laugh, you looked up at the man beside you ruefully. “Okay, truth be told, I get a little anxious during takeoff,” you confessed, biting your lip in embarrassment. He would probably think that was silly. He was a fighter pilot, after all. His day job involved flying multi-million dollar aircrafts for the military. And here you were, acting like a scaredy cat over a commercial Delta flight.

Bradley’s eyes crinkled in a way that you found devastatingly charming as he smiled over at you. The look on his face was kind, without a single trace of mocking humor.

“Want to know a secret?” he whispered, leaning in closer to you so that his nose was nearly pressed against your cheek and you could feel his breath on your skin. “So do I.”

“You’re kidding,” you scoffed, shooting him a skeptical look. He was probably just trying to be nice. “But you’re a naval aviator!”

“Yeah, but I’m not the one flying this plane, am I?” he retorted with a lopsided grin. “It’s hard to put the reins in someone else’s hands. So I understand being nervous. Hell, I still get a little nervous sometimes when I’m flying an F-18. Just don’t tell anyone I said that,” he added, lowering his voice conspiratorially.

“Oh, of course not,” you giggled, smiling over at him. Glancing out the window, you realized that his conversation had distracted you so much, you hadn’t even noticed that the plane had finished its approach towards the runway and was officially waiting for takeoff.

Some of your nerves returned, and you gripped the armrest once more, but this time, you felt Bradley’s large, yet gentle fingers close over yours. Surprised, you turned your head sharply and instantly met his gaze. It was direct and disconcertingly open as he looked deeply into your eyes.

“It’s okay,” he assured you in a low voice, squeezing your fingers comfortingly. “We’re going to be okay.”

“My parents used to sing to me during takeoff,” you found yourself blurting out suddenly, your cheeks growing warm at the admission. “I can remember my mom doing it when I was a little girl, and my dad used to do it for me even when I was in high school,” you explained shyly, lowering your eyes to your lap.

At that moment, your stomach dropped as the plane suddenly began hurtling forward, seeking enough momentum to become airborne.

You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to recall the sound of your parents’ voices in order to calm your racing heart. But a new voice suddenly entered the mix as you felt your newfound flying buddy lean across the armrest, his warm body pressing against your side as he sang quietly in your ear.

“You shake my nerves and you rattle my brain…”

Wait a second. You knew that song. Where did you know that song from?

“Too much love drives a man insane. You broke my will, but what a thrill…”

Yes, you definitely knew that song. It was on one of the records your parents used to play when you were a little girl. Was it Jerry Lee Lewis?

Gasping in recognition, you whisper-sang the next lyric in harmony with Bradley—“Goodness gracious, great balls of fire!”

He laughed in delight when you began singing along, squeezing your hand with an affectionate grin. “And would you look at that,” he said, nodding towards the window. “We’re airborne. Wasn’t so bad, was it?”

Shocked, you followed his line of vision and were taken aback to see that you were already ascending into the clouds, leaving the city of Atlanta far behind. That had been one of the smoothest takeoff experiences you’d had in—well, you couldn’t even remember how long.

“I barely even noticed!” you exclaimed, focusing your attention back on Bradley. You smiled gratefully, your heart melting at the adorable puppy dog look on his face. “Thank you, Bradley.”

You noticed at that moment that he still hadn’t let go of your hand, and your pulse began to quicken, but this time for entirely different reasons.

“You’re welcome,” he murmured in response, his voice low and suddenly husky. It did something to you, that deep, raspy voice of his. “Happy to do it.” He squeezed your hand gently once more, then slowly—almost hesitantly—let it go.

“I haven’t heard that song in the longest time,” you told him, resting back against your seat. “My parents used to listen to it.”

Bradley smiled slightly. “It’s the one song I can actually remember my dad singing. He loved to sing and play the piano. My mom had tons of home videos of him doing it. But that song—that song I can actually remember hearing him sing, you know? I was so young when he—well—I can remember that one. And that’s why it’s my favorite to sing and play.”

“You play the piano, too?” you asked, impressed. “Wow, a man of many talents.” You nudged him playfully, a big smile on your face.

“I’ll have to show you what I can do,” Bradley replied, winking.

Your stomach fluttered at the implication that he might actually want to see you again after today.

“I’d like that,” you admitted, ducking your head shyly. You suddenly felt much more aware of everything around you, particularly every inch of your muscular seatmate. Goodness, he really was huge, wasn’t he? Chewing nervously on your bottom lip, you began fidgeting with your bracelet, tugging at it absent-mindedly.

“That’s a pretty bracelet,” Bradley commented, pointing at it as he watched you twist it back and forth around your wrist. “A gift?” he asked lightly, his tone almost a little too casual.

“Mhm,” you nodded, smiling fondly as you gazed down at it. You could still remember the day you opened it. “My dad bought it for me as a present when I graduated high school. I never take it off.”

“Ah,” Bradley nodded, appearing surprisingly relieved. He was quiet for a moment or two, looking like he was mulling over something. Then he turned towards you and asked, “So, um, is there anybody waiting for you in San Diego? Anyone, uh, special, I mean?” he asked, his cheeks and his ears turning red as he rubbed the back of his neck.

You felt your own skin grow warm in response. Was Bradley asking if you had a boyfriend? And was he embarrassed about it? Just when you thought this man couldn’t possibly charm you any more than he already had.

“Not unless you count my neighbor, Mrs. Flores. She really appreciates it when I walk her dog on the weekends,” you told him, your lips twitching as you tried to maintain a straight face.

Caught off guard by your response, Bradley let out a loud laugh, covering his mouth with one hand as he glanced down at you, eyes twinkling.

“I’m sure Mrs. Flores will be very happy to see you back again,” he nodded, tapping his fingers on his tray table.

The two of you sat in silence for a couple minutes until you finally glanced up and said, “I had actually just gotten out of a long-term relationship right before I moved to San Diego. It was kind of the catalyst for why I decided to take the job at the Midway Museum.”

“Oh, really?” Bradley asked, eyebrows shooting up. Then he cleared his throat, shaking his head. “I mean, I’m sorry to hear that. If it’s too personal, we don’t have to talk about it.”

“No, it’s okay,” you sighed, twirling your bracelet a few times as you thought back on your last failed relationship. Surprisingly, it didn’t hurt as much as it normally did. Maybe time really did heal all wounds. You took a deep breath before you elaborated. “Andrew and I were together for four years. For a long time, I really thought he was the one. Katie was convinced that he was going to propose on our trip to Greece. It was a dream vacation for me. I had the whole thing planned out for months and months. And I really started to let myself believe that it was going to happen.”

Bradley sat quietly, watching you carefully as he attentively took in every word you uttered.

“We were in Athens, and I had the whole day planned—all these tours and museums. But Andrew insisted that he was too tired since we had just traveled from Rhodes, and he begged me to let him stay behind at the hotel. Being the idiot that I am, I thought that maybe he wanted to put the finishing touches on his big proposal. So I went on the tours by myself. But the last tour ended early, so I came back to our hotel room a little sooner than expected.”

Your throat began to tighten as the story continued, the pain of what had happened next eclipsed only by your embarrassment that Bradley would soon know how pitifully your last relationship had ended. Why had you brought all this up?

“I’ll spare you all the details, but suffice it to say, I found Andrew in bed with one of the cocktail waitresses from the hotel bar. And to no one’s surprise, there was no ring and he never had any intention of proposing. So I flew home from Greece minus a boyfriend and with very little remaining of my dignity. Leaving everything behind and starting fresh in San Diego seemed like a really good idea, so when the Midway contacted me, I jumped at the offer. And here I am,” you finished with a self-conscious laugh, shrugging your shoulders awkwardly.

Bradley didn’t say anything at first, just continued to stare at you in a way that had you feeling distinctly exposed. Your fingers immediately went to your bracelet once again, nervously fidgeting and waiting for him to say something.

Reaching out, he placed his hand over yours and stilled your movements gently. “First of all,” he began slowly, looking directly into your eyes. It seemed as though he was peering directly into your soul. “Andrew is a complete and total loser. If he didn’t know what he had in you, then he never deserved you to begin with. It’s his loss, and trust me, he’ll be regretting it for the rest of his life if he has even an ounce of sense.” His thumb brushed lightly against your knuckles, making your legs suddenly feel like Jell-O. “Second of all, I’m so sorry. You didn’t deserve that, and I hope you know that the way that idiot treated you in no way says anything about you. I’ve only known you for a few hours, but I can see that that guy never deserved you to begin with.”

Feeling bashful, you lowered your head, trying to escape the intensity of Bradley’s dark eyes. It didn’t matter though—you could still feel his gaze.

“You don’t have to say that,” you murmured, not wanting him to think you had just unloaded all of this on him for sympathy points.

“I’m not just saying it,” he insisted, his voice serious. “You’re a special girl, and you deserve to be with someone who treats you that way.”

Someone like you?

The thought sprang unbidden to your mind, causing you to grow flustered. “Th–thank you,” you stammered, worried for half a second that Bradley could actually read your mind.

You were saved from having to make any further comment in that moment when the stewardess suddenly appeared with the food cart, asking you if you wanted any snacks or beverages.

You opted for a Diet Coke and popcorn, while Bradley took a Sprite and a bag of potato chips.

“What do you say? A little toast to my new flight buddy?” Bradley suggested teasingly, holding his can of soda out towards you.

You couldn’t help but smile, lightly tapping your can against his. “Cheers to us,” you laughed, taking a small sip.

“To us,” Bradley grinned. “You know,” he went on, after taking a gulp of his Sprite, “if you ever want to think about getting your pilot’s license, I’d be happy to have you as my wingman—er, woman.”

You laughed aloud at the notion, shaking your head. “Um, did you already forget about how well I handled takeoff? I’m not so sure anyone would trust me behind the controls of a plane.”

“I could teach you,” he shot back, waggling his eyebrows until you laughed again. “Or at the very least, take you up for a little joyride. I’d make sure to keep you safe.”

Your heart warmed at his words, and you found yourself wondering what it would be like to walk through life with this man, to have him be the one you came home to every day.

To have him be the one to make you feel like the most special girl in the world.

“I would like that,” you confessed, pushing your self-consciousness to the side as you looked into his eyes. “I would like that a lot.”

“So would I,” Bradley replied, his expression earnest.

For the next hour or two, you and Bradley shared some of the snacks you’d packed in your duffel bag and talked about everything and nothing at the same time. You had never felt so instantly at ease with someone who had been a complete and total stranger just a few hours earlier. The fact that he had been in San Diego all this time, right under your nose, and that it had taken a flight home all the way from Virginia for you two to actually meet felt like more than just a coincidence. It felt like this was exactly where you were supposed to be.

At some point, you must have finally succumbed to your exhaustion and fallen asleep because when the captain announced that you were making your final descent into San Diego International Airport, you were lifting your head off Bradley’s shoulder and blinking in confusion.

“Hello there, sleepyhead,” Bradley grinned, wiping a hand down his face and rubbing the sleep out of his own eyes.

“How long was I asleep?” you asked, stretching your arms over your head. “I never sleep on planes.”

“Well you definitely slept on this one. I’d say you were probably out for at least an hour and a half,” he told you, running a hand through his hair, which made his sunkissed curls stand on end. “I nodded out, too. Guess we both needed it, huh?”

“Yeah, guess so,” you nodded, smiling at him.

By the time you finally deplaned—after Bradley, of course, had insisted on taking down your carry-on suitcase from the overhead bin and rolling it through the airport for you—you were growing both eager and anxious with anticipation of what the end of your journey would look like.

You and Bradley technically already had each other’s phone numbers, so should you say something about getting together? Would that seem too brazen? Should you just text him tomorrow and hope that whatever spark had been ignited during your travels today wouldn’t be extinguished by the time you both got home?

All of those thoughts and more were running through your head as you and Bradley took the escalator down to baggage claim and the terminal exit.

“Do you, um, do you have somebody picking you up?” Bradley asked as the two of you stepped off the escalator. He stepped to the side to avoid the flow of the crowd, and you stepped with him. “Mrs. Flores perhaps?” he added with a teasing spark in his eye.

“No,” you giggled, shaking your head. “I was just planning to call an Uber.”

“No need,” he said, his chest puffing out ever so slightly. “Mav and I will give you a ride home. He should actually be here already,” he mumbled, almost to himself, as he pulled his phone out of his pocket and scrolled through his messages.

“Oh, you guys don’t have to do that. I wouldn’t want you going out of your way,” you hurried to tell him, noticing that Bradley still had his hand on the handle of your suitcase.

“Who says it would be going out of our way?” Bradley retorted with that impossibly charming smile of his. “Unless, of course, you’re more comfortable taking an Uber. I don’t want to make you feel like—”

“No, no, you’re not,” you interrupted, wanting to make it clear to him that you appreciated the offer.

Seemingly at an impasse, the two of you just looked at each other and started laughing.

“I would love a ride, thank you. If it’s not too much trouble,” you told him.

“Never,” Bradley insisted. “Besides, you put up with me all day. I owe you.”

“I could say the same thing,” you grinned, reaching into the front pocket of your duffel bag and pulling out your cell phone. “In the meantime, I should text Katie and let her know I landed safely and that you haven’t abducted me or anything,” you teased jokingly.

Too late, you realized your mistake.

“Ah, so you told Katie about me, huh?” Bradley smirked, looking just a tad too pleased with himself. “What did you say?”

“Oh, um, nothing, just that I made a friend while traveling,” you stammered in humiliation, your cheeks feeling like they were on fire. “I’m just, um, I’m going to step over there while you get your bag.”

“Sure, sure,” he laughed, winking at you as he hurried over to the baggage carousel to search for his suitcase.

“Oh my God, how stupid are you?” you muttered to yourself, mentally kicking yourself for your careless words as you sent off a quick message to your best friend to let her know you were alive.

A moment later, she texted you back.

YOU BETTER CALL ME THE MINUTE YOU GET HOME!!! I WANT EVERY. SINGLE. DETAIL!!!

Smiling, you dropped your phone back into your bag and looked up to see Bradley walking towards you, his suitcase in hand.

“Ready to head out?” he asked with a smile, watching as you grabbed the handle of your carry-on and did one quick scan to make sure you hadn’t dropped anything.

“Ready,” you nodded, following him outside to where a slew of Ubers and other cars were waiting to pick up their passengers.

“There’s Mav,” Bradley told you, pointing with his free hand towards the end of the pick-up line, where a handsome older man with dark hair and an easy smile was waving at you.

“Your godfather drives a Porsche?” you asked, your eyes nearly bugging out of your head at the sight of the vintage car. It was in pristine condition and you were certain it must have cost a small fortune.

“Technically, it’s his fiancée, Penny’s car, but she lets him drive it when he’s been good,” Bradley joked, resting a gentle hand on your back as he guided you through the crowd.

Bradley was quick to embrace his godfather when the two of you finally reached the Porsche, slapping him on the back before stepping back and holding out a hand to you. “Mav, I’d like you to meet my new travel buddy,” he grinned, introducing you by name.

Mav, as Bradley kept calling him, offered you one of those easy smiles as he held out his hand, which you took with a smile of your own.

“Ah, so this is the girl from the plane I’ve been hearing so much about,” Mav smirked, shooting a pointed look in his godson’s direction.

“Mav!” Bradley hissed through gritted teeth, his complexion instantly turning pink, even in the shade.

“Ah,” you smirked, feeling vindicated from your earlier blunder. “So you told Mav about me, huh?” you asked, nudging his side. “What did you say?” you teased, tossing back his question from before.

“Oh, he said plenty,” Mav jumped in, clearly enjoying watching Bradley squirm as he opened the passenger side door for you.

“Don’t listen to him. He’s crazy. All those Gs he’s always pulling have finally gone to his head,” Bradley protested, although he was smiling as he said it.

“Oh, I think I’m going to enjoy this car ride very much,” you giggled, winking at Bradley as you slid into your seat.

“Promise you’ll still like me by the time we get home?” Bradley whispered, leaning in close as he climbed in beside you.

You grinned up at him, thinking about how, for the first time in a long time, you didn’t feel so alone. San Diego suddenly felt much more like home than it ever had.

“Promise.”

#bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw #rooster bradshaw #rooster x reader #bradley bradsaw x reader #x reader #x female reader #top gun #top gun: maverick #miles teller

1K notes · View notes

imaginesbymonika · 1 month

Text

LOML- loss of my life | Prologue

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader

Plot: You knew him at a time when he didn't, and now he is looking for you...

Warnings: depiction of violence, angst, mentions of (perhaps) death, angst, fluff at the end (maybe), takes place after TFATWS

Bucky didn't like to think back to the years when he was working for Hydra. No matter how many times people named him a victim, an instrument - it didn't change the fact that he was operating for them. Going on those missions- slaughtering hundreds of people. Innocent fucking civilians. He couldn't possibly look past that. His therapist informed him that this kind of mindset is what's keeping him from fully recovering.

Maybe she was right about that.

Perhaps that was the root of his never-ending nightmares. The ones where he can still smell the blood whenever he wakes up in a cold sweat. Where he stares down at his hands, and for a split second he can catch a glimpse of their blood. Or maybe it is his blood. He lost track of that a long time ago.

A couple of months ago he had read a psychology book where someone argued that memories are primarily silent. And he couldn’t have thrown that book any faster against the closest wall. Because fuck whoever wrote that piece of crap. He’d be happy if for once he couldn’t hear the screaming of his victims, their begging and crying…followed by his metal arm making this eerie sound whenever it crushed someone’s spine into little pieces.

Bucky takes a deep breath. God, how he yearned and wished for silence. But then again, God has abandoned him a while ago.

His dreams only consist of flashbacks. Please, I have children waiting for me at home! Stop, stop, that hurts! Your work is fundamental for mankind! Oh my god, please stop! Make this stop, please! My oldest is 7! Please, don’t forget that you’re still human underneath it all. Bucky’s eyes open and when he sits up he can not stop gasping for air. Please, don’t forget you’re still human underneath it all.

He inspects his worn out features in the mirror. When had he started to dream of her? When did she manage to tiptoe her way into this hellfire of memories? What was her name again?

You slightly flinched when Pierce's hand made contact with The Winter Soldier’s cheek. The sound echoed through the empty corridors of the facility. And her gaze quickly drops to her clipboard. Everybody around her was silent, staring at either the long-haired man or the one in the suit. Pierce looked beyond furious before his eyes fell on you and he cleared his throat:” What are you writing down.”

Fuck. You took a deep breath, and quickly improved your posture:” I am just documenting the bruising, Sir.” The older man hummed and furrowed his eyebrows:” Let me see.” Out of nowhere, he snatched the clipboard out of your hands. You slightly groan at the burning sensation the plastic left on your skin. The entire time, you were able to feel The Winter Soldier's eyes on you. How you loathed this job. But you needed to remind yourself that you didn’t have much of a choice, whether or not you wanted to be there. For almost three years, you were one of the top physicians at NYC’s best hospital. Then one evening, while you were walking back to your car, you got kidnapped. You-

“Bucky?”, Sam’s voice brings him back into the present: “Are you still with me?” There is a playfulness to his voice. One that quickly disappears, once Sam notices the look on his friend’s face. And for a few seconds, the two men just look at one another, before Bucky shakes his head:” Yeah no. I’m fine.”

“You’re gone a lot these days.”

Bucky tilts his head and blinks in perplexity:” What’s that supposed to mean? We have been working on this case together since last week, we-.”

“Mentally, Bucky.”, Sam cuts him off and brings his cup of coffee up to his lips. And he can detect an emotion in Bucky’s eyes that tells him he struck a nerve. There is a heavy silence filling the kitchen before Sam speaks up again, his voice gentle and understanding:” Where are you going?”

#bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x reader #bucky #bucky x reader #bucky barnes #the winter solider x reader #the winter soldier #the winter solider imagine #marvel x reader #marvel #sebastian stan

228 notes · View notes

teabutmakeitazure · 8 months

Text

Pinprick in the Backdrop

The background is something you should always pay attention to.

>Yan! Chrollo x Fem! Reader

>Warnings: not specified to avoid spoilers. please proceed with caution.

>Word count: ~15k (slow burn)

>a/n: proofread to the best of my capabilities. if there's any spelling error, pls ignore

There are always some people you see everyday without fail on the train. Some you find on your way to the station and in the train, some on the train, and some when you step out of it. Most of you have never talked to each other, but you recognise them. Even if the middle aged lady who always sits near the door of car 7 changed her hair colour completely.

You can still recognise them. Seeing their face isn’t a requirement. It’s their existence that matters. It’s especially funny when you call the teenagers by name on Halloween despite the costumes they’re wearing.

Perhaps you missed a great opportunity to go into criminology or become a detective. Maybe even a spy. However, what’s done is done. You can’t say you hate your job, so you suppose it’ll do as long as you’re able to live a comfortable life and send some money back home to your parents.

Speaking of money, your boss - or should you say the man who also overlooks the finance department - has been absent from work for two weeks. It’s the main reason why your salary this month hasn’t come in yet. Why they decided to not pay you all is a mystery, but why your boss has disappeared is a bigger mystery. The money you have left in your account isn’t enough for the entire month, so they better pay you all soon.

The penitence of innocents always baffles you. There was nothing you could have done, nothing you could have changed, so why? Why does the human conscience produce these feelings of guilt? Maybe it’s because you unconsciously recall times when you were cruel or times when you had ignored to cherish the moments.

At the end of the day, it’s puzzling feelings like these that make you human. Black jacket hugged closer to your body, you head back to your desk, shaking the mouse as you try to wake up the monitor. Your boss is dead. The reason why it took so long to confirm was because he died in a different country and his cell phone was destroyed.

Another mystery is why he flew to a different country on a weekend, and that too for just four days. He didn’t even have any family there. They all live here, so imagine their surprise when they find out his ‘business trip’ was actually a personal one. You don’t question why they didn’t bother to contact his workplace when he didn’t return.

Quite a lot has happened within the span of a few days. First there was the news of your boss being pronounced dead. That was followed by the memorial they had in the office, and lastly, your salaries finally came in. You can refresh your savings now.

Still, the radical change in circumstances you cannot get over. Your boss, the half bald guy whose biggest transgression was making jokes in poor taste, dead? The information you all were given is vague. He left for a different country, somewhere in the Mimbo Republic to be specific, from Yorbia, where you are. It’s not your job to dig into people’s business, but this seems too fishy because his family also refuses to utter a word.

Thus, like all women trying to find information on a man they are interested in, you turn to the internet. Scrounging through news articles of accidents and injury and deaths, you finally find a few noteworthy ones from the day he supposedly passed away.

The darkness in your bedroom adds to the suspense, light solely coming from your backlit keyboard and the open window. It doesn’t help that it’s past two in the morning, almost three, but you’re determined as you scan through descriptions of a ‘buy and sell’ gone wrong.

Two hundred people. That is how many died at that event.

To be fair, the entire administration and security also kicked the bucket, and the attendees were around one hundred according to the article. None of this still makes sense. Was your boss among those people? If yes, why would he be at such an event?

Scratch that, his family definitely knows something.

After spending a little less than an hour snooping around, you finally shut down your laptop and go under the covers. It’s understandable when sleep doesn’t come easily.

The commute to work was the same as usual. The only difference was that one of the girls in your neighbourhood was nowhere to be seen on the train. Maybe she skipped school today. Despite the ordinary day, you are in no mood to entertain when familiar footsteps grow closer and closer to your desk.

“Hi, [Name]!”

You wish you left the building for lunchtime after all.

“You’re not going out for lunch?”

With the most uninterested face you can make, you shrug, eyes not leaving the monitor. If he gets the hint, he leaves. If he doesn’t… you’ll just excuse yourself and leave.

“So you’re not eating?” He’s behind you now, eyes fixed onto your monitor as he tries to make sense of the gibberish. “Your work requires a lot of thinking. You should eat something.”

“Not right now,” you sigh. “I have a whole hour left. I’ll eat when I feel like it.”

You know what this guy is doing. His engagement recently went wrong when he found out his ex-fiance was cheating on him, and now he’s seeking out someone to fill the hole. Quite literally in his case, but whatever. Perhaps you would have given him the time of day if he wasn’t so obvious and desperate… or if you ever bothered to remember his name.

It’s worse when you remember that you didn’t recognise him after the break-up. Chills. That’s what you felt. It’s best to keep your distance. He isn’t the same guy who gushed about the love of his life 24/7. There’s something unstable around him.

“Well, whenever you feel like it, just shoot me a text.” His hands grab the edge of your backrest, just millimetres away from touching your back. “I want to treat you to lunch.”

Closing the tab and opening another one, you voice your response. “Sorry, but I brought food from home. I’ll be eating that.”

“Oh.” he sounds disappointed. “No worries. I’ll treat you some other time then.”

Note to self. Bring lunch from home everyday from now on. If that’ll help keeping him off your back then so be it.

It has now been two weeks since your boss’ memorial was held. His replacement has already been hired, but you can’t bring yourself to bother too much. Some of your coworkers have started cozying up to him and buttering him up which is intimidating the poor man. Workplace politics is something you could never have prepared yourself for.

Another thing you couldn’t have prepared yourself for is adulthood. Why is it so hard to choose what to eat? You can’t live off of takeout because it’s not healthy, and whenever you fail to finish eating the fruits you got before they go bad makes you feel like more of a failure. Thus, with great determination, you end up buying half a dozen apples.

If you eat one daily, you’ll finish them all in under a week. More items are added to your trolley and when you finally exit the self-service checkout, you roll your shoulders, readjust your backpack, manoeuvre the plastic bags into a more comfortable position, and begin the walk home.

It’s nighttime, just one hour away from the shops closing. You know you’re safe because almost all of the people you are familiar with. There are only some here and there who you haven’t seen before, but they’re all normal. It’s evident from the way ‘it’ is stable around them. ‘It’ is light and calm.

After a fifteen minute walk, you’re at your apartment building. Unfortunately, you wasted too much time walking around after you got off work and now you’ll have to eat dinner late. Well, it’s not like your sleep schedule is fixed anyway. Another day of sleeping late shouldn’t hurt. It’s the weekend now anyway.

It is on this wonderful Saturday afternoon that you realise you don’t have friends. Clarification. You don’t have friends where you live.

After graduating, all of your friends either stayed in the same city or moved away somewhere else entirely. None of them came here, or anywhere in Yorbia for that matter. It’s realisations like these that force you to ponder over your future. What are you going to do? What’s your aim?

Before, it was to graduate and get a decent job. Now that you have that, what now?

With the lack of ice cream in your freezer, maybe you should start with procuring dessert. What about takeout as well? You could go for an evening walk, watch the sunset and get food for dinner altogether. That sounds nice.

Laptop turned on, you type in the address of a shady website and start browsing through the movie catalogue. Today, you will relax. Having hours of screen time isn’t a good idea, but it’s the weekend. Mistakes don’t count.

Maybe I should get mama and papa to move in with me after papa retires. That’s your thought when you head to the supermarket to get ice cream with takeout in hand. Getting food before ice cream wasn’t the best idea since it’ll be cold by the time you get home, but what’s done is done.

Life is lonely here. Sitting at home, alone, eating takeout and ice cream out of the tub while shows you’ve rewatched more than five times play on the TV. Maybe you should make some friends, but where?

Your workplace doesn’t have anyone, let alone any girl, your age. You also haven’t met anyone you wanted to be friends with. They’re all blended into the familiar background.

Paying with your card, you leave the self-service checkout counter and ready yourself for the walk back home. It’s more fun when you’re leaving the house for a walk, not the other way around.

Still, you take in the people around you like you do all the time. Most people you know, you recognise. You’ve been seeing them for so long. There are always a few who are a little odd as ‘it’ is a little unruly around them, like your notorious coworker. However, ‘it’ is still light and faint but most importantly familiar. That’s the most comforting thing about it. The familiarity is what’s important.

So imagine the surprise and utter shock you feel when ‘it’ is as dark as the night sky around a stranger you have never seen before.

The darkest you have ever seen is something similar to how dark yellow is compared to pure white. So seeing something as contrasting as jet black to white, you can’t help it when the bags fall from your hand and onto the ground.

You’re frozen on the spot, mouth hung open as you stare wide eyed at the stranger who stands just a few metres ahead of you. He doesn’t notice at first, too busy speaking over the phone to pay attention, but when his eyes fall onto you, they’re slow and knowing, like he’s been aware of your gaze since you saw him among the others around you.

A few deep, trembling breaths, and you grab the bags off the ground and dash by him as fast as you can without it seeming too obvious you saw something. This time you do not pause to soak in the familiarity of the surroundings. Your only goal is to get home.

Bringing lunch from home is starting to get tiring. You have to wake up earlier and pack leftovers as well as make sure you have leftovers or cook something the night before in case you don’t. All because some weirdo who’s hung up on his ex can’t take a hint. To be fair you don’t have the guts to outright say no as well.

Maybe you should work on that.

Today, you decided to take a walk on the pier near your apartment building. It’s also a fifteen minute walk away since it’s close to the supermarket. Nevertheless, you sit down on a bench and just watch the water.

It’s soothing, being idle like this. God, you really need a break.

Families and couples who you usually see around walk about the area. There’s something so special about this. This comfortable bubble you’ve created. Sure, you’re lonely with most of your social interaction being the neighbourhood kids or the teenagers on the train, but it’s all so comfortable.

It’s warm. Maybe you should ask your parents to visit. They’d like it here. The accessible sea and half middle aged or above population would be something they’d like.

The sun has gone down now, and the moon has started to become visible. So, with reluctance to let go of the passing time, you get up, backpack once again on your shoulders, and start the walk back home. Maybe you should also get an actual bag instead of using the one you did in university. You know, something that’s more feminine.

Regardless, as long as this one works, you’ll use it. No need to get a replacement if the thing isn’t destroyed yet. Wait, scratch that. Should you get more ice cream? Brownies maybe? The supermarket is right here and they have a section for freshly baked items. The brownies were amazing when you last got them.

You abruptly turn on your heel, completely determined to get what you are now suddenly craving. One step forward and you collide with something, getting pushed back a few steps from the force of whatever kind of brick it was. Barely are you able to regain your balance. Had you fallen, your laptop would not have survived.

You raise your head to look at what it was you walked into, ready to curse while there are no children around, but are completely frozen when you see him again. ‘It’ is large, so much more prominent and stronger than what you have seen in all the years you’ve lived. It’s like it’s protecting him, gently swirling around him like a protective layer.

It’s menacing, to say the least. You have no strength to utter a single word when the stranger steps closer to you, tilting his head as he inspects you for any injuries.

Or at least that’s what you think he’s doing.

You’re absolutely horrified at how ‘it’ seems to dissipate as he steps closer, the presence of it almost completely gone. It’s now as noticeable as it is for everyone, but you can still see the darkness of ‘it’. No way does it help that you can now also feel the mancing aura it has.

“Are you alright?”

Blinking at him, you come back to the present situation, the background noises coming back to invade your senses. Your tongue feels like lead in your mouth, and your chest feels extremely heavy. Why is it so hard to breathe?

“Ah, it seems like the collision stunned you. It’s okay. I apologise for bumping into you.” The stranger smiles, and it causes bile to rise up your throat. You don’t like how he’s still looking at you like that. Like he’s looking for something.

“Hello? Are you alright, miss? Really, you look like you’ve seen a ghost,” he chuckles. You, on the other hand, fail to see what’s so humorous.

It takes a few more seconds to compose yourself, but your heart still beats loudly, spelling out the letters R-U-N in bold capital letters. However, social etiquette forces you to take a deep breath, bow, and voice your apology.

The stranger fails to get another word in before you awkwardly fast walk away with the nagging memory of the bandage covering his forehead and dark bangs messily falling over them.

Today, you walk home from the train station as fast as you can. The encounter yesterday has shook you to the core, and until you don’t see this stranger for a month straight, you will not cease the hurried travel back home.

Whoever this man is, you do not want to be within even a 10 metre radius of him. Something is definitely off about him, and in your experience the darker ‘it’ is, the worse person they are. You just don’t know what ‘it’ as dark as his means.

Nevertheless, fate likes to throw a pie on your face and laugh at you because he’s standing right outside your apartment building.

Fuck. That’s your only thought. Maybe you’ll hang around the neighbourhood or walk on the pier until he leaves. Yeah. better make yourself scarce. Unfortunately, fate throws another pie because when you turn your back and start quietly walking away, he notices you and calls out.

The bastard calls out to you.

Oh fuck me, you think. So much for not wanting to see him again. What does he even want? Does he want to know why you look at him like you’ve seen the man murder people countless times before?

“Ah, I’m sorry for disturbing your evening,” he says as he jogs up to you. How he noticed you while you were literally a building away you do not know. “I saw you leave this building in the morning, so I figured you live here. I’m sorry for intruding like this.”

‘It’ is still barely there like yesterday. That doesn’t mean you can’t feel the suffocating aura he has. Awkwardly, you sputter out a greeting. “Oh uh, h-hi.” The bandages aren’t there today, but those Godforsaken earrings are still there and his forehead is still covered by a hat. Does he have a receding hairline he doesn’t want to show?

He’s smiling at you, and you’re now noticing how wide and innocent looking his eyes are.

“My name is Chrollo,” he says. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. Again, I’m sorry about the collision yesterday.”

You look at him for a few more seconds, heart beating erratically in your chest. “[Name]. And it’s okay. It was an accident on my part as well.”

Chrollo tilts his head slightly, eyes fixed on you and giving you his full attention. “Ah, that’s a lovely name. A lovely name for a lovely lady.”

You have never cringed this hard in years. Still, you force yourself to awkwardly laugh just to be polite and attempt to cut the conversation short. There’s no reason you should stick around. It’s utterly pointless and risky considering how his mere presence makes you feel.

“Excuse my forwardness,” Chrollo says, “but I was wondering if there are any good restaurants here I can try. I’m staying here at a hotel nearby until I find a proper accommodation, so I was hoping you could give me some recommendations.”

You open your mouth to say something just to stop short of any sound exiting your mouth. What comes next is an apology. Be useless to him. Don’t give him any reason to seek you out again. “I’m sorry, but I haven’t lived here long enough to know.” Wait, that makes it sound like I just moved here which makes me an easy target if he’s a serial killer. “No- what I mean is that I’ve lived here for a while but I usually cook, so I’m afraid I haven’t explored the food here. I only get takeout from the restaurant behind the supermarket nearby.”

Grey eyes blink at you, the gaze attentive. The corners of his lips are still turned upwards, and his lips slowly part to allow him to speak. Everything seems more detailed. You can’t wait to shrug him off.

“If I may, I’d love to explore the food here with you.”

Fuck. Did I just get asked out? No no. Be realistic. He just needs someone to cling to in this new environment or he’s a serial killer trying to make you lower your guard. You sigh. Whichever it is, you refuse his offer regardless. “I’m sorry, Chrollo.” The fall of his smile is instant. It’s almost creepy. “I don’t plan on eating out too much. I enjoy cooking, so I’d like to stick to cooking as much as I can.” Seriously. What is it with men and taking you out to eat? “Thank you for the offer though. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’d love to get ho-”

“I don’t mind cooking together as well.”

“...” What? There’s no way he just said that to you.

“If you prefer cooking, I have no issues with cooking together.” He’s still looking at you, expectantly this time, and you feel like the ground beneath your feet is crumbling away. Why can’t men take a hint?

“Ah, I really should get home soon. Isasmo must be waiting for me. I promised him I’d be home early.”

“Isasmo?”

“Mhm.” You’re shaking your head now. The presence of a man awaiting your return or curious about your whereabouts always works. “He gets very worried if I don’t get home on time. I don’t want him to worry, so if you’ll excuse me…”

Chrollo chuckles. Closing his eyes, he gently shakes his head. The loss of his gaze is short lived, but when it’s back, it cuts through your being. “Sorry for keeping you. I didn’t know you had someone waiting for you at home.”

Like earlier, your heart starts beating in your ears. How he’s keeping you on edge you have no idea. It’s maddening. “Alright. I’ll be heading home now.”

He smiles. “No ‘see you later’?”

Because I don’t want to see you later! “Goodbye!” With that, you dash past him and quickly enter the comfort of your apartment building without looking back. Honestly, you should start coming home at different times. Just to throw him off in case he swings by again.

Today, you discovered that your other coworkers are ‘talking’. Due to your sad lack of friends, you have no way of getting in on what’s going on, so you’ve resorted to hanging around corners whenever you hear someone talking or walking around with headphones on so that people think you can’t hear them.

Oh you can definitely hear them.

After a few days of gathering information you have learnt that the coworker who has still not given up on his pursuit of taking you out for lunch is acting a bit weird. Honestly, you called it way back. The day his engagement broke, he started acting differently.

You know because you can see with your own eyes at a glance instead of having to rely on long term observation. It also doesn’t help that ‘it’ has become slightly darker. It’s no way as dark as Chrollo’s, but it is noticeable enough to be discernible.

Speaking of Chrollo, why is he at the pier? No, scratch that. Why is he looking at you?

Quickly, as to not make it seem suspicious, you grab your phone from your pocket, press it to your ear, and start acting like you just accepted a call. With that legendary tactic that got you out of countless social interactions in university, you turn on your heel and start walking in the opposite direction.

When confirmed that he isn’t following after you and is nowhere to be seen, you pocket the device and continue on your merry way. The wind is chilly, the moon is hiding bashfully behind a cloud, and a tub of ice cream has been picked up.

Goods in hand, you arrive at your apartment. It doesn’t surprise you that midnight comes quickly. It is only after the clock shows 12: 30 am that you release the unhealthy snack for the night from the freezer and sit in the extremely poorly lit bedroom and stare at your laptop screen.

This time, however, you aren’t gaming, only browsing through more than eleven opened tabs (you lost count after eleven) and growing more puzzled by the minute. The incident that may have led to your boss’ death is gaining attention, especially on the conspiracy theory websites. Some say that the entire thing was a result of the mafia’s activities, while some claim that a notorious band of thieves did that to steal everything.

You have no evidence or trails that your boss died while participating in that ‘buy and sell’, whatever that means, but it sure does make you suspicious because you recently found out one thing. His body wasn’t recovered.

The more you think about it the worse it gets. Despite not wanting to, you’ve doom scrolled for so long that you’ve ended up on a five year old conspiracy theory post claiming that a group called ‘The Phantom Troupe’ goes around the world stealing stuff. The comments are mostly people confirming it, some even claiming to be hunters and saying that it’s true and common knowledge among hunters.

If they’re that dangerous and destructive, why doesn’t the Hunter’s Association take action? It’s all just a bluff or an exaggeration.

Lights all off, you get up to place your laptop onto your desk, but catch sight of something moving in the corner of your eye. It was barely there, something black or dark, but knowing that you left your living room window open, you simply sigh.

It’s completely quiet. So quiet, in fact, that you can hear your own breathing. Setting aside the fact that the awareness forces you to have to manually breathe, you slam the window shut but rest your forehead against the cool glass. Eyes stare down at the empty neighbourhood, and you start wondering how you got here.

It sometimes feels like a dream. Highschool feels like just a few weeks ago, and yet here you are. It’s surreal.

Five minutes of reminiscence are all you allow yourself, hands promptly grabbing the deep green curtains and drawing them just to freeze when you catch sight of something shining right behind you for just one moment. Turning your head around at an unholy speed only gives you neck pain because there’s nothing there.

Curse you conspiracy theorists. You will be extremely mad if you have a nightmare or lose sleep.

Your coworker didn't show up today. It almost makes you feel sad because you can get lunch from outside without having to deal with him. Ah, but the food you brought…

Nevermind. You'll eat it at home. Shoving the lunchbox back into your bag, you grab your wallet and head to the elevator. Headphones are on like usual in hopes of catching any stray gossip from around you.

Oh and do you catch a big one. Your coworker isn't replying to any texts or calls. He's ignoring everyone. The guy from accounting said in the elevator that he might be hungover since he has a drinking habit. Honestly, you should try and advance your relationships with these people from simple greetings. They’re better information sources than the news.

Nevertheless, you breathe a sigh of relief, merrily heading outside the building to head to the little hole in the wall restaurant you've been eyeing for a while.

The streets are busy as usual, almost everyone's lunch hours overlapping at this particular moment, so it isn't a surprise that you bump into a few people while trying to make your way. Although… it is a surprise when you bump straight into Chrollo.

Headphones are promptly pulled down to hang around your neck, and you brace yourself to visually deal with the pressing feeling that’s constricting your chest. ‘It’ is there but the comfort of the crowd allows you to deal with it with less effort.

You still don’t know why he’s like that. You don’t know why ‘it’ is like that around him.

“I’m sorry,” he apologises, “we should really stop bumping into each other.”

It’s the middle of the day and he’s dressed like he’s going to a funeral. Long black coat, black hat extending over his forehead, black button down, black dress pants, black-

What the actual hell are those shoes? Is that big yellow thing a nail that was screwed in? What the fu-

“Is something the matter?” Head tilted to meet your downward gaze, Chrollo’s expectantly looking into your eyes. There’s a moment of silence between you both, but you fill it with action as you move to the side to not take up space on the street.

With a very noticeable deep breath, you sigh. “Nothing’s wrong.” Something is wrong. His thing around him is creeping you out and making you uncomfortable. “I’m just a little tired.” Make yourself seem uninterested. You don’t particularly like this guy, remember?

He nods. “I see.” A pause and the dreaded question is voiced. “Do you work somewhere around here?”

“Yes,” you reply simply.

“Is it your lunch break?”

“Yes…” you hesitate.

“Perfect.” Like how your luck with the male human specimen has always been, Chrollo proceeds to utter the most undesirable string of words. “If you haven’t eaten, I would love for you to join me for lunch. I found a restaurant and was heading there just now.”

Despite knowing it’s hard to get out of this, you still try. “Ah, actually, I only came for a walk. I brought food with myself.”

“It won’t go bad,” he negotiates. “Please. Just this once at least. I promise you’ll have fun.”

Chrollo’s voice is light, cheerful when he says that. You are tempted, but still want to go where you were originally heading. Maybe you could sneak to the restaurant you wanted after shaking him off somehow. But before that, just to confirm what he has in mind, you ask him where.

And being the joke that your luck is, it decides to practise its humour right now because he took the name of the restaurant you were heading to. It also doesn’t help that your eyes widened and Chrollo commented on it, saying that he ‘caught you’. Screw luck. Screw having your way. Life is just a horrible comedy show with dad jokes and shitty puns coming one after another.

A while later, you are seated across from a man who has broken the record of most uncomfortable you have ever been. This time, however, ‘it’ isn’t what’s making you uncomfortable. It’s the way he looks at you like he knows something or is trying to know something.

You hate to admit it but after spending more than five minutes in his presence, you’ve gotten used to the suffocating feeling.

Even if you would rather not be desensitised to it.

It’s quiet between you both, Chrollo choosing to observe you shamelessly while you try your utmost best to avoid looking at him or showing that you’ve noticed his blatant gaze. It’s not busy in here, so that doesn’t help either. Phone in your hand, you scroll through social media apps, tapping away countless stories of people out and about.

The silence got comfortable, but he opened his mouth.

“I forgot to ask,” he says, voice low, “what do you work as?”

Your eyes briefly flit up to meet his but return to the screen immediately. “Data analyst.”

“Data analyst? You must be quite intelligent,” he chuckles.

“If crying through eight semesters of school is smart, then I suppose so.”

There’s a smile in his voice when he speaks. “You got through it though. I count that as smart.”

Is he trying to flatter me? “Is that so?” You close the app and open a different one, indifference dripping from your tone. “What about you then? You didn’t say anything about yourself. For all I know, you could be a serial killer.” Fuck. Did I really just say that?

To your surprise, he laughs. The bastard laughs. “I’m afraid I'm going to have to disappoint you. I’m not a serial killer. I am, however, a fan of the arts.”

You remove your eyes from your phone screen, looking up at him even with your head tilted downwards. “You don’t look the part.”

“I could say the same about you.”

“Those in STEM are all weirdos,” you state. Eyes move back to your phone, and you’re briefly reminded of the awkward lunches and dinners you went through during freshman year when you didn’t have friends. “The arts ones are pretentious. You look sophisticated, more like a theatre kid.”

Forearms now resting on the table, Chrollo leans towards you, an action you do not notice. “I’m quite sure that sophisticated and pretentious are synonyms, and even if they aren’t, they’re similar enough to be.”

You sigh. “‘A pretentious person works at the appearance of things. They want the appearance of substance, while either not understanding or not caring about actual substance. Sophistication, on the other hand, implies an authentic accumulation of knowledge and/or experience, and the ability to apply those things in advanced ways.’”

“...”

“That’s what an internet search says.” You look up, eyes slowly rising to meet his, but are startled when you see him considerably closer than earlier. He’s leaning forward, and out of instinct, you lean backwards. “So,” you continue, albeit nervously, “you’re wrong.”

Unfazed, he chuckles. “That means you think I have ‘authentically accumulated knowledge’. Why, I’m flattered.”

Again, you physically cringe with a crinkled nose at his smile and tone. “I’m only stating my observation. There are no intentions behind it.”

“Still,” Chrollo smiles, “you did think positively of me-”

“Food’s here!” He stops speaking immediately at your interruption, only shaking his head a little when you start eating. There’s not much time left for your break, so you’d rather get done with it and get back as fast as you can.

Not having the luxury of savouring the food to your desire is sad, but you don’t think about it. ‘Next time for sure,’ you tell yourself. The fact that Chrollo didn’t let you pay for your portion just makes you want to get takeout next time. At least you won’t stare at him in horror again.

Even if slowly being desensitised to ‘it’ isn’t a preferable outcome.

Good news is that you haven’t seen Chrollo for a little more than a week. Bad news is that you haven’t seen your coworker for a little more than a week.

If you had a jenny for whenever a superior at work disappeared for more than one week, you’d have two jennys. That isn’t a lot but it’s weird that it happened twice. There’s got to be some kind of haunting going on. First your boss, then him? Another coworker? Another superior?

Sure, it’s been more peaceful without him here, but you don’t want another person to end up missing just to be pronounced dead. Neither is it good for the company’s reputation, nor is it good for the work environment. There’s already been word spreading around that they’ve started looking for his replacement.

Maybe that’s smart. Maybe… because not even the police have found any leads on his whereabouts yet. His entire apartment is just as it was, dirty laundry in the laundry basket, his phone and wallet still on his nightstand, bed not made, food left to cool still on the kitchen counter…

It’s a little eerie if you think about it.

Scratch that, it’s downright creepy. Where could he have gone? They even found half drunk bottles of different alcoholic drinks on his dining table. Did he get drunk and run off somewhere? Where could he have gone? Did he… get killed?

You have no idea of what’s going on. That is why you, being the detective that you are, have your laptop open in front of you at 1 a.m. as you scrounge the internet for any missing persons cases from this town. So far nothing noteworthy is coming up, the most being missing girls but nothing about a grown man disappearing to never be heard back from or seen again.

An hour or two of more searching bears no fruit and an additional hour of trying to sleep is rewardless. With great annoyance, you get up and throw on the biggest coat you own, something dark grey that almost reaches your ankles. Grabbing your keys and phone, you make the most foolish decision to take a walk at what you think is probably four in the morning.

The pier is silent. The only person you saw was a police officer on his bike drinking a hot cup of coffee.

It’s empty too, and cold. Is the nighttime really so serene? Hands are shoved into your pockets and your feet bring you to your destination on their own. It feels like walking on cotton, yet it doesn’t feel bad. It somehow feels soothing.

The empty pier’s cool wind blows through your hair. Enjoying this kind of loneliness is somewhat of a liberating experience. Did your missing coworker seek out something like this before he went missing? Did he want to feel the kiss of the cool late night wind on his cheeks? You lean over to look at the waves below, hair cascading around your face. You are met with the reflection of the starry night sky, and it isn’t long before you pull back.

Fifteen minutes of waddling around are all you allow yourself before pulling yourself back home. The keychains jingle when you turn the key in the keyhole, breathing a sigh of relief when you are finally back inside. Your feet immediately take you to your bedroom, hands grabbing the coat and throwing it to the nearest surface, and you immediately jump under the covers.

Face meeting something pink and smiling, you sigh again. “Goodnight Isasmo.” The pink axolotl’s smile remains and you cuddle the plushie before snuggling into the bed’s warmth. You hope sleep comes easy.

Three weeks. It has now been three weeks since your coworker has been missing. He has now been promoted to ‘missing person’ and his face, along with his cinnamon(?) hair, is now on every other newspaper or screen. It has also been three weeks since you last saw Chrollo, but you aren’t bothered by that. It’s actually a good sign. Never seeing him again is a favourable outcome.

Regardless, your coworker’s name is now permanently etched into your memory. Raaz Olen. That's his name. He has no direct family left, parents having passed away around a decade ago, and the only sibling alive is an older sister who wants nothing to do with him. It's a sad background if you think about it.

You sigh, turning off the computer screen before rubbing your eyes. Life has been uneventful these days. The most exciting thing you recently did was video chat with your old friends. Your best friend, the one who is about to replace your position in her life, suggested downloading a dating app because according to her you need some ‘action’. Were the eight semesters of action not enough? What’s so wrong with peace?

Yet in a moment of weakness, you caved into the idea and committed the act. A cropped group photo to show your arm awkwardly cropped out was uploaded and now there have been quite a few messages and matches. This unfortunate experience has only further proved why you say you have bad luck with the male human specimen. Their first move is to ask about your past relationships, and being salty over their shamelessness, you recount in detail just how agonising it was to be in love with what only hurt you back, to pine after what only reduced you to tears.

You deliberately left out the part that the object of your desire was your degree. At the very least, their uninterested replies were entertaining. Ah, such laughable insecurity. The app will go when you’ve had your fun. Until then, you suppose you’ll use it as a last ditch resort for entertainment.

If you do end up scoring a free dinner… well, no. You would rather not risk a date with a serial killer or worse, someone who wants a second date. The chances are slim, but never zero.

Another notification from the app dings, and you briefly check your phone to see a notification from someone who matched with you. There’s a “Hey! You’re very pretty,” as his message, and you almost scoff at the repetition. The amount of times you have been called ‘pretty’ by strangers on this app is laughable. Did they fall short of words? Maybe that’s just the standard compliment in the world of men.

You end up placing your phone face down, ignoring any following dings, and get back to work. There is only one hour left until you get to go home, and you would prefer not to leave this task for tomorrow to complete.

An old lady you see everyday on the train on your way back passed away. Despite having only exchanged greetings with her a few times and carried her bags for her at least a dozen times, you felt oddly sad when you heard of her death. Yes, you only knew her name and that her kids, her three sons, never called after moving away, but you felt like something had been taken when you heard.

Not something big but something small. Something you would not be bothered with by being gone but something you would definitely notice and feel the absence of. You took a day off to attend her funeral since it was hosted by the old age home she was living in, yet you ended up taking a day off after that as well.

Three boys, three men, lost a mother that day and none bothered to show up.

“Okay mama. I’ll pick you guys up from the airport. No, I don’t own a car. We’ll get a cab- it’s perfectly safe here! You’re not going to get mugged on the way from the airport, relax!”

More fretting comes from the other side, and you simply continue stirring the soup. The worries aren’t what annoys you. It’s the panic.

After around ten more minutes of reassurance, the call is disconnected and your soup is ready. It’s been a month since Raaz went missing, yet you cannot say you have moved on. It bothers you that a man like him can just vanish. Also, seeing his replacement walk around the office simply makes it worse. You prefer a person who would make you uncomfortable with interactions because of how ‘it’ seems to be rather than a person whose eyes wander where they aren’t supposed to.

Alas, on this fine Friday evening, soup has been cooked and a plan for your parents to visit you at the end of the year has been made. Your father agreed to use his annual leave to come visit you, and the only thing left is for the tickets to be purchased. If they like it here, you could convince them to move here! Maybe even look into your father working at the same place as you.

All is going according to plan! Now what to do about the guy who keeps pestering you to meet up…

You switch apps on your phone to see that he’s sent another few messages, mainly asking if you’re free this weekend. If you consider the sleep you need to catch up on and the show you want to binge, then you have no free time. Besides that, you really don’t feel like going out on a date. Should you just uninstall the app? Messing with the people you matched with has gotten tiresome. Perhaps you should.

Thus, with a few taps to your screen, your account on the application is deleted and the application itself is uninstalled. Honestly, you consider that a job well done. That calls for a reward; the reward being a coupon that can be redeemed anytime which grants you permission to do one stupid thing.

You know you would do the stupid thing regardless, but having a sort of system like that makes you feel less guilty when facing the consequences.

Being pulled into an alleyway with a hand firmly planted onto your mouth is not what you ever could have expected to happen to you on this Monday afternoon. Maybe your condemnation for toying with all those men on the dating app has caught up or maybe it’s one of those men here to force you to accept his advances.

Either way, you did not expect to start crying first thing when in a situation like this.

A hand strokes your arm, attempting to soothe you, as the other remains over your mouth. You can feel your assailant’s body heat and his breath over your ear when he leans in to whisper in your ear. “Be quiet and it’ll be painless for both of us,” he says.

You furiously nod, sensing the threat, and he immediately lets go. Legs promptly spring to run, but the hand grabbing your arm renders your efforts futile. It is when your struggling ends in you falling onto the ground and him twisting your arm behind your back painfully that you relax, repeatedly tapping the dirty ground with your palm to show that you give up.

There are no faces that come to mind when you think of who you could've angered to this point, so the surprise that floods your blood vessels when you see Raaz’s face under the black hoodie makes you almost dizzy. His hair is dirty and unkempt, facial hair clearly not maintained as he was always clean shaved, and there’s a wildness to his eyes. You try your best to not pay attention to how ‘it’ is darker than before. You liken the difference to how dark brown is compared to beige, but you realise that ‘it’ is more menacing than it ever was.

Raaz is clearly unstable, yet you yourself can’t stop shaking from the lingering adrenaline.

“Stay quiet and listen to me,” he orders. “I need a place to hide. [Name], you have to help me. You will help me.”

Hide? What does he need to hide from? You dust off your clothes as you stand, a groan leaving your throat when the soreness in your arm makes itself known. He immediately grabs it again, afraid you’d run, but let’s go when you angrily shrug it off. “What happened to you?” you ask. “Everyone thinks you’re dead.”

“I will be if you don’t help me.”

Taken aback, you try to think over the situation. Raaz, someone who you always thought was or had the potential to be unstable, is here, clearly frazzled and on the run from something or someone, and wants you to help him hide. What does he want? To stay at your apartment? Risk your life for him?

“I-if it’s that bad,” you start, voice already shaking, “I can’t help you.” The betrayal on his face makes ‘it’ stronger, and you freeze, barely able to get your words out. “If you’re not able to hide in such a big city, I-I don’t- I don’t think you’ll be safe anywhere I can keep you.”

Raaz grits his teeth, his hoodie now pulled down to reveal dirty cinnamon hair, and takes a step forward. Out of fear, and to maintain distance, you take one back but panic when you’re unable to lift your feet. One glance down and you see something shiny protruding from the ground wrapped around your ankles. It broke pavement to crawl around your feet and now they’re stuck to the ground.

You gasp when two arms settle on your shoulders firmly. With a shaky breath, you gather the courage to look up into Raaz’s crazed eyes, all colour draining from your face when his hands grab your face instead. Nails dig into your cheeks, harshly tugging it closer to his. When you retaliate by clawing at his wrists, he simply grabs your hair instead.

Tugging the strands, your head is pulled back, neck exposed. You can see him breathing heavily, ‘it’ growing more erratic and frightening. Like all rabbits stuck in a trap, you thrash, attempting to free yourself from his grip, to miraculously free your feet and be able to run into the safety of the public street.

“You-” he pauses, eyes widening. Your hair is immediately let go of, and he whips his head at record speed, looking over his shoulder. The panic is oozing from his countenance, hands shaking and lips trembling. You think you’re looking at a man running away from death just to be caught up with at every corner and turn.

Curses spill from his mouth, and he turns completely. You feel the grip on your feet loosening, and taking the opportunity, you pry your feet out of the grip. Raaz has still turned his back to you, head moving as he searches for something. When he does not react to your escape from your restraints, you run.

A hand barely grabs your hair again, but you are out of the alleyway before his pursuit is successful. Feet hastily take you back to the office building, and the first thing you do is run to the nearest bathroom. No one is inside, and you take the opportunity to catch your breath, letting all tears escape from your eyes before you wash your face and fix your appearance. The adrenaline is still in your system, and you’re left not knowing what to do.

How the hell is Raaz still alive? And what is he running from? Why does he have a target on his back?

You do not know him beyond a coworker who was not over his relationship ending. Who knows? Maybe his ex-fiance did what she did because she found something out and didn’t want to risk staying with him.

Either way, you can’t get the look he had on his face out of your mind.

Embarrassment is all you can feel when you exit the police station with a ‘call emergency services if you see him again’. Why don’t they understand that you might not be alive to call emergency services if you see him again? Bitterness is in your mouth as you hop on the train to get home. It’s dark now, and you would be lying if you said you weren’t scared.

You honestly don’t know what you did wrong to have gotten caught up in all that. Regardless, you’re looking over your shoulder as you walk home from the station, adrenaline coursing through you as you make your way through. It’s when you’re home and have checked all the rooms and windows that you breathe a sigh of relief.

Whatever the hell happened, happened. You’ll keep emergency services on speed dial and try your best to dial them if anything happens again.

If only sleep comes easy after all this.

It’s been a week since your encounter with Raaz. Today is Tuesday, the previous week’s Monday being the fateful day. You’ve since been bringing lunch from home like before and find it a little funny how Raaz is the one who’s making you bring leftovers again.

Anyway, to the matter at hand. Someone’s been inside your apartment.

You can tell because you left a pencil lead in the gap between the door and door frame of your closed bedroom door. It was still closed when you got home, but the pencil lead was broken and on the floor which is something that could not have happened unless someone opened the door with the lead still in the gap.

You had been doing that ever since the incident with Raaz and today is the day your paranoia proved to have grounds. Now what are you supposed to do? Live with the information that someone has been inside your home?

Isasmo stares at you from under the covers, his dopy black eyes peeking out. You’ve checked the rest of your apartment and other than Isasmo and you, there is no one. Or at least no one you are aware of. Maybe you should look into moving.

Should you inform the police? Maybe you should, but what would you say? “I was paranoid so I put pencil lead in the gap between my door like a psychopath and guess what? It was broken when I got home! I’m being stalked!” They might laugh at you or place you under observation, the latter of which is preferable.

You end up sucking up the courage and going to file a report, a picture of the broken pencil lead on the ground being your only piece of evidence. It’s an uneventful walk, one where you are completely alert and looking over your shoulder as you get to the nearest station. After being ridiculed for being ‘delusional’ and ‘overthinking’, they agree to file a report and ‘look into it’ when threatened to find your dead body in your apartment one day. Seriously, what does a girl have to do to be believed? Die?

You shake your head on the way home as you think over your conversation at the police station. The older officers ridiculed you but thankfully a younger one got them to at least file a report. Though you’ve been told you’ll be contacted if their investigation yields results, you doubt there will be one to begin with. Well, at least the pencil lead was intact when you got home. That is a relief.

It’s been a little more than a week since you filed a report at the police station and none of your pencil leads have been broken again. You would have thought the first one to break might’ve been done by something else had you not noticed that you’re almost out of pencil lead. You had counted 7 in the package just this morning and now there are 4…

Who’s messing with you? Do they think it’s funny? What if you’re paranoid? Are you sure you counted properly?

A sigh leaves your lips as you drop backwards onto the bed. Is this really what you have been reduced to? Curse whoever is doing this. The police have not contacted you again, so you went there yourself today and they said they didn’t find anything. As if they actually searched.

It makes you mad, yet you can’t do anything. Since there hasn’t been anything besides the pencil leads in the closed doors’ gaps, you chalk it up to suspicion. Whether you are delusional or the authorities, only time can tell.

Work has been slow lately, and you are reminded every single day of how boring your life has become. There has been no new gossip circulating and your attempts at making any new friends have not bore fruit. Your old friends have also started contacting you less as they’re busy in their own lives. Sure, you hardly have time yourself with how your job takes up two thirds of your day but you also don’t have a social life. That’s why you basically have nothing to do besides work and binge watch stuff.

Goodness, are you turning into your father? The temptation to download the dating app again whispers into your ear sometimes, but you fight it. You will only do so when you are seriously looking for someone, not when you are looking for fun.

Bag on your shoulders, you pocket your phone and head to the elevator. Despite the fact that there isn’t much work, it’s dark when you’re done. Maybe you’ve gotten slow, not work.

The elevator doors open and you promptly leave, heading straight for the train station. It's an uneventful journey, and you choose to fill the silence by plugging in your earbuds. You step out of the train station, adjust your bag again, and head for the supermarket. The grocery list on your phone is pulled out, music flowing into your ears as you go about getting groceries.

Now with two plastic bags in hand, you make your way home. If you had restocked milk earlier - and not gotten lazy - you wouldn't have to haul two heavy plastic bags back home. Delivery is an option, but you won't be at home during the day to receive them. If only they offered delivery during the weekend.

Your phone rings, but you don't check who's calling. It's probably your mother, and it would be inconvenient to stop and drop the bags to pull your phone out. With a sigh, you continue walking. However, your trek is cut short when a hand grabs your wrist in a crushing grip, and pulls you closer. The music is still blasting in your ears, and you start sucking in a breath to scream only to stop when the grip turns almost bone breaking.

One look and you see Raaz's face under the black hood. He narrows his eyes at you and pulls you with him, bags still in hand and earbuds still in. When at his desired destination - a random alley like last time - you are pushed in front of him and you almost fall face first. You brace yourself and end up staggering but the bags fall and slide in opposite directions.

“Bad news, [Name].”

You barely hear him, hands reaching to pull out the earbuds and pocket them. Turning on your heel, you face him. He doesn't look any better than last time, only worse. ‘It’ is quieter, but you can sense how erratic it is. It feels like he's hiding how unstable he is only to do a poor job.

“You're going to go down with me,” he smiles. “Since you refused to help me hide, you now have a target on your back too.”

Disbelief contorts your expression into one of disgust. He's bluffing. He has to be. “Stop lying, Raaz. I'm not stupid and I'm not going to help you.”

He laughs, loud and sad. “That's what your mistake was. You never said yes to lunch and then I… then I ended up drinking again because another woman I love didn't want me.” A hand runs through his dirty hair before it slides down his hood. “I drank so much I bumped into the devil I was running from. And then… ah, fuck. I ended up telling him who I was thinking it was just another guy at the bar.”

Raaz looks you in the eye, and you take a step back from the sheer intensity only to find your feet restrained to your ground like during the previous encounter. It baffles you, but before you could question it or let alone panic, he's talking again.

“Now you're going to go down with me unless you help me. I'll let you go. I-I’ll get over you and Liza if you help me. You won't be harmed… probably.” He shrugs at the last part, and you find yourself not believing him at all.

Still, you prod further in hopes of making a false promise and being able to get away. There's no need to reason with him to go to the authorities. If it could've been helped, he would've gone there himself. “And just what,” you ask, “are you asking of me?”

“Money,” he replies instantly. “I burned all my savings trying to run. I need money so I can get a ticket and get the hell out of here.”

“I don't even know what you're talking about. How do you expect me to trust you?”

Your question makes ‘it’ flare up for a second before calming down, and Raaz doesn't miss the way your eyes widened for a minute. “I suspect you can see things. I'm right, aren't I?”

“Answer the questi-”

“Your legs,” he deadpans. A finger raises to point at your feet, and he continues. “I restrained them. Do you know how?”

You gulp, but humour him anyway. “How?”

He smiles. “I can manipulate metal.” A beat of silence passes before he talks. “That's why I'm like this. Someone wants me dead for this and I know he can do better but he's too busy fucking with me to make it quick.” Raaz inhales sharply, running a hand through his hair again. “I don't even know what he wants by dragging it out, but I'm going to make sure he regrets it.”

“You aren't even sure I'll be okay if I help you,” you state.

However, he just smiles at your complaint. “When someone's too busy chasing the big fish, they ignore the little ones.”

“Fine,” you concede. If it’ll get this psycho off your back, you'll give him money. “How much do you need?”

“Half a million jenny,” he says, clarifying when your jaw hangs open, “and I'm being generous. I'm going to have to fly illegally and it's going to take money.”

“I… I don't have much.”

“You're a data analyst, [Name]. You'll get your bonus after two months. Do something, anything.”

You suck in a breath. Maybe you could take some out of your credit card and some as a loan. You really don't want to pay interest, but you'll have to if you want this problem solved. “Okay.” The deal is sealed and you are sent on your merry way with an address typed into your notes app.

You can't believe you just agreed to that.

It's dark and quiet. The taxi dropped you off a few blocks away, leaving you to walk to the warehouses that once used to be rented by people for storage. The people running the business sold it off to someone who never bothered to continue it. Now you're here, cold and scared as you stand outside the dilapidated structure.

The garage door opens on its own, Raaz's face peeking from the darkness inside. His eyes light up at the sight of you. “You're here.”

You're ushered inside despite your protests. All you wanted to do was throw the bag of money to his feet and be back on your merry way but you just had to be pulled inside by a freaking metal pole of all things. Now you're here, standing with your feet restrained to the ground as Raaz counts to make sure you brought as much as he asked.

The only problem is, he's now talking on the phone and he just mentioned how he's got ‘both the girl and the cash’. Oh, and now there's something that's restraining your hands and despite how much you wiggle and pry your hands apart, it doesn't budge.

When Raaz glances your way from staring at all the money inside the bag, he just smiles. “I'm sorry for dragging you into this, [Name], but a man's gotta do what he's gotta do.”

Anger is the first thing that makes itself known because you took out a loan with interest for this dunce and he goes ahead to stab you in the back. Maybe you should've told the police about him. Shit. You shouldn't have been so stupid. But it is also the police's fault for never taking you seriously. If they had, you would've actually sought them out a third time.

“What are you doing?” Your voice grows louder, angrier and more desperate. “Let me go! You said you wanted money and you got it so let me go!”

Raaz clicks his tongue, and what he says next makes things clearer. “Don't get me wrong, someone has been after me but if I do as the boss says, he'll get me out of Yorbia safely.” Something fades in his eyes as he continues. “It's not like it's my first time. If I didn't have this side gig, I wouldn't be alive right now. There are too many people after you when you're like this.”

Something hard and solid slithers up your body and covers your mouth, cutting short any words from your mouth. Raaz stands, the light behind him hitting his back to make him look more menacing. “You'll be taken soon. I asked them not to hurt you and sell you immediately. Though cruel, it's a small price to pay for my own protection.”

You can hear an engine rumble outside, and a buzz in his pocket is all he needs to start stepping towards the garage door behind you. He moves while looking at you, hand awkwardly reaching behind him to pull up the garage door as his eyes remain fixed on your body. “Tie her up quickly. It'll wear off if I look away so make it-”

Thump.

Something heavy drops onto the ground and immediately the metal grip on you loosens a little. You can hear footsteps and a kick before the sound of the door closing. It's agonising, being forced to be still and helpless while something happens behind your back that is definitely not in your favour.

More footsteps and a figure in black stalks towards the bag of money only to ignore it entirely and head for the door in the back. You take the opportunity to fight against the restraints, wiggling and trying to move your arms but it's metal and you only end up exhausting yourself. You hear a sigh from the other room and freeze.

When the person is back, you are more confused and helpless when you see Chrollo's face. This time, there is nothing covering his forehead and you see something black covered by his bangs. It's when he steps closer that you make it out to be a tattoo of some kind.

“Your involvement was a surprise, but a welcome one,” he says. ‘It’ is calm and his voice is even calmer. He steps even closer, now standing just two steps away. “I had thought you were working with him, so imagine my surprise when it turns out he was using you. Or trying to, at least.”

You make a face but the metal wrapped around your mouth stops you from being able to convey it properly. Chrollo smiles at the display, the corners of his lips curling upwards out of amusement. “Do you need help?” His question only makes you grimace. “I'll free you if you tell me about your ability.”

You have no idea what the hell he's talking about, but you nod anyway, desperate to have the rigid metal wrapped around you gone. Chrollo steps forward and you expect him to reveal a chainsaw or some other tool, so it's perfectly reasonable when you shriek as his hand grabs the metal and literally rips it away from your body. As he pries away the last of it, you end up gaping at him, mouth wide open as you stare at him in disbelief.

Hands hanging by your sides, your features contort into one of fear as soon as he stands. Chrollo is now looking you in the eye expectantly and you have no idea what to answer him. Thus, you take a deep breath, confidence coming from the fact that ‘it’ is still calm and not threatening at all. Your lips part to speak and you briefly catch a hint of satisfaction is his grey eyes. “Do you… come here often?”

Chrollo blinks, once then twice. He raises a brow. “Pardon me?”

“You know… do you hang out here frequently?”

Confusion grows on his face, but he quickly recovers. “No. I don't.” A few moments of silence pass and he speaks up with a sigh. “You're completely clueless about the circumstances, aren't you?”

Embarrassment heats up your cheeks and you look down at your shoes as you nod. Nervousness makes you bite your lip. You were about to be who-knows-what by Raaz before Chrollo strolled in casually. Speaking of, where's Raaz? You turn around, eyes falling onto Raaz lying on the floor and a hat discarded next to him. A realisation hits you, a hand on your shoulder disturbing your thoughts.

“What do you make of this situation, [Name]? What do you think is going on?”

You carefully eye him. Not sensing a threat, you voice your thoughts. “Raaz… was involved in illegal activities. It's why he disappeared. He was running from someone too and the people he worked for promised that he'd be safe as long as he did what they asked.”

Chrollo hums. “And what did they ask of him?”

“A woman to sell off…?”

“You sound unsure,” he smiles. The hand on your shoulder slips down to your wrist, thumb massaging the skin. “He was involved in human trafficking,” Chrollo reveals. “His fiancé didn't cheat on him. She was trafficked.”

Your eyes widen in surprise, more pieces of the puzzle coming out of nowhere. Nevertheless, the most surprising thing is how Chrollo is here. The hand circled around your wrist is wiggled out of, and the question on your mind is voiced. “How are you here?”

Chrollo tilts his head at you. “I could ask you the same.” When you raise a brow at him, he chuckles. “I'm here for your coworker over there. He told you about someone who was after him. That would be me. However, I'm not after his life.”

You raise your brow higher, prompting Chrollo to continue. “You’re a Nen user, right?” When you ask him what he's talking about, he grows more confused. “You're a Nen user without the awareness of being one? Interesting.”

A hand finds its way to his chin, but Chrollo is lost in thought for only a few moments. “What do you suppose I should do with your coworker? He used to ask you out, correct?”

“Yes? Does that matter?”

“Perhaps,” he smiles.

You gulp, sensing a kind of game he's playing with you. “Don't hurt him. Hand him over to the police. They'll… they'll know what to do with him.” Your request is heard, but Chrollo does not seem to care for it because he clicks his tongue and pushes his hands into the pockets of his black trenchcoat.

Crouching down in front of Raaz, he grabs his hand and you look away. A moment later, you look again and Raaz's palm is flat against the cover of a book in Chrollo's hand. Where the hell that book came from, you have no idea.

“Now that that's done,” he says, now moving to stand, “what to do with you…”

Your blood runs cold at the question. If this situation is anything to go by, Chrollo is not any better than Raaz. In fact, he may be infinitely worse. Regardless, you still do not feel any kind of threat from him, ‘it’ being considerably less suffocating than it was the last time you had met him. Perhaps it is the lingering adrenaline that makes it seem so, but you are not afraid of him at the moment. Thus, being the person that you are, you try at making him spare you.

“Maybe,” you start, “you could, you know, let me go home. I'm not going to say or do anything. I couldn't be bothered about this. I'll take the jenny I was scammed out of and go home. Or you could keep the money if you want! As long as I get to go back home.”

Your negotiation attempt makes Chrollo think. He spends a few moments pondering over the situation, eyes still focused on you. When he parts his lips to speak, you have already prepared yourself to not be let go. “I'll let you go if you agree to meet me tomorrow evening. I suppose I can think over what to do with you in the meantime,” Chrollo says.

The offer makes you take a step back. “Really? You won't scam me like Raaz did?”

“I can make a promise if it eases your mind.”

You bite the inside of your cheek. He's smiling at you teasingly and you in no way are feeling any sense of danger from him. Begrudgingly, you agree. “Fine. Where should I meet you?”

“Give me your number. I'll send you the location.”

You make a face at the request, but surrender when he pesters you with promises of no ill will. An hour later, you are at your apartment, the bag of jenny still with you as you start planning to immediately pay off the loan you took out.

It is 7 pm. You stand somewhere to the side where Chrollo had asked you to come, the man in question nowhere to be seen. He asked you to come around 7 pm and you ended up getting here at 6:36 pm. It’s been 24 minutes since you’ve been standing here in wait.

Though you’ve been waiting alone with your thoughts for so long, the dread starts settling in now. It does not help that you can feel a familiar suffocating aura before you turn to look at its source casually strolling up to you on the busy street. It also does not help that your alarm had been explicitly painted on your face as soon as he was within a 6 feet radius.

“I was expecting you to not come,” he says. “This is certainly a surprise.” Chrollo smiles at you again, the curve of his lips somehow more menacing than the darkness around him. There’s a hat covering his forehead like before, you note. It seems that he certainly wants to hide the tattoo in public.

“I suppose my life is on the line. I would rather not walk around with another target on my back. You don’t seem like someone I would want after me, if Raaz’s condition was anything to go by.”

“An excellent deduction. I’m not someone you would want coming after you, at least not for your life or ability.” You gulp his clarification, proceeding to ask what he concluded for the course of action he must take. Chrollo chooses to let a few moments of silence pass, listening to the bustle on the busy street before replying, “I’ll tell you in due time. First…”

That is how almost half an hour later you are sitting at a restaurant, Chrollo across you, and a menu in front of you. What the hell is going on, you have no idea. You came here to find out if you’re going to be kidnapped or killed. Not to be taken out for dinner. When asked what you’d like to have, you insist that you aren’t hungry, something that Chrollo makes it a point to ignore as he ends up ordering for you. It is even more disorienting when it ends up being something you’ve had multiple times for lunch during the workdays.

“So,” you start, nervousness seemingly dripping from your countenance, “I suppose the final verdict will be given for dessert?” When Chrollogives no answer, you continue. “At least give me a hint. Death or imprisonment?”

He blinks at you. “It’s a surprise.” With that simple statement, he is back to observing you, one hand on the table and tracing the rim of the glass tumblr in front of him. “I hope Isasmo isn’t worried about your circumstances.”

Ah shit, he remembers. “Nope. He doesn’t know.”

“You hid everything? I suppose that’s reasonable. An axolotl wouldn’t be able to help in any way.”

Your eyes widen, heartbeat picking up. “You… how do you know?”

Chrollo’s response is simple, but it isn’t any less chilling. “You talk to him everyday.” He’s still watching you, eyes crinkling at the corners from his amused smile. It’s maddening having to be on the receiving end of this. When you do not grace him with a response, Chrollo does not say anything further as well.

The silence is excruciatingly painful. Chrollo's gaze, however, is more uncomfortable than being called out in class for an answer and not knowing it. Thus, a bright idea pops into your mind, a legendary question that easily makes any conversation better. “So,” you start, bracing yourself, “you like jazz?”

The only reaction you get is speechlessness before Chrollo clears his throat. “Not particularly. You?”

You shake your head. “Not my style.”

Resting your face in your palm, you look away, eyes anywhere but him. The surroundings seem more interesting, the two couples and a few lone people in the background having more to tell than the person you thought was going to end up hurting you. Well, it’s not your fault you got caught in the crossfire of whatever was going on.

“What,” Chrollo says, perking you up, “was your relationship with Raaz?” He’s tracing the rim of the glass again, something that bothers you because of the discrepancy between the action and his expression. Regardless, you answer truthfully. There is no guarantee he already knows and is simply testing your truthfulness.

“He was my coworker. He used to ask me out for lunch numerous times. That’s all.”

“And did you go to lunch with him?”

You shake your head. “No.”

Chrollo simply makes a thinking face before he’s back to normal again, hands sliding underneath the table. Silence once again hangs in the air, the tension thick enough to be cut through with a knife. You are completely unaware of Chrollo’s aims and motives, yet he knows you more than you could have ever thought.

Which reminds you…

“Chrollo.” He perks up at the call of his name instantly. You continue. “Someone was most definitely coming into my apartment during my absence. Was that you?”

The smile he gave you told you everything. A groan comes from your throat, the annoyance over being paranoid and doubting yourself while being sure that something was amiss catching up. “And just why were you breaking and entering?”

He clicks his tongue. “I thought you were working with Raaz.”

“Yet when you didn’t find anything the first time, you still persisted.”

“New evidence can pop up anytime,” he shrugs.

How someone can be so nonchalant over something like this, you have no idea. Sure, you were worried at first but annoyed later on, but still!

“So have you decided what to do with me?”

After a moment of contemplation, you are given a smile and a promise to be informed of your inevitable outcome after dinner. Yet after dinner you are taken to a nearby pier with no sign of the final verdict being given anytime soon. Now settled on a bench next to Chrollo, the little distance between you both resulting from your death glares whenever he slid close to you, you decide to enjoy the cool breeze before asking him again.

And you do. You ask him again what he’s decided to do with you, and all you are given before the knowledge of your inevitable end is a smile and a tilted head. This is when you notice how long Chrollo’s hair is.

“I was considering an… ‘arrangement’,” he says. The words cause your heart to start beating faster. “I wouldn’t harm a hair on your head or your family if you agree.”

He pauses, gauging your reaction, and you start praying he does not turn you into some kind of personal slave. “If,” he continues, making you start fidgeting with your hands out of nervousness, “you agree, you’ll live comfortably without a care in the world.” Another pause and the anticipation grows. The sound of chatter in the background is completely mute and the wind has already stopped blowing.

“What I’m proposing is… well, you allow me to court you. I will take the necessary steps, and you simply have to accept.”

The minute Chrollo utters those words, you freeze. A reply is on the tip of your tongue, and you know it is not a wise idea yet you open your mouth anyway. “If you wanted to ask me out so badly, you could’ve just walked up to me and asked instead of threatening to kill me or my family.”

All you receive in response is a shrug before he formulates a reply. “Would you have said yes if I asked under normal circumstances?”

“No.”

“Then my point has been proven.”

You bite the inside of your cheek. Maybe you should test the waters. “And what if I said no? What then?”

Chrollo leans back on the backrest, now more comfortable before he continues his negotiation with you. “Was Raaz’s predicament not enough of an example?” The wind blows again, and he leans forward, eyes on the water. “Not that I would prefer that, but you understand what I’m referring to.”

And you do understand what he’s referring to. You understand because you saw what became of Raaz. Nevertheless, you need more information to negotiate. Perhaps you might be able to find a way out during his ‘courting’. “Are you a homeowner,” you ask. “And do you live in the house you own?”

Chrollo looks at you from the periphery of his vision, suspicion making him more alert. “No, but I can purchase a home anytime.”

“Alright,” you nod. “And do you have a stable income?”

“As long as the world has treasure and resources, I will.”

“I see.” You pause, thinking of more questions to ask. “What about family? How much family do you have? Any siblings?”

“None,” he replies, “Any other questions?” He’s looking at you directly now. “Or would you like to leave some things to be discovered later on?”

You purse your lips at the comment. So he has money and no family. Sounds mighty suspicious or concerning. Depends how you look at it. You’re looking at it both ways. Silence settles once again as you think over what to say next. Chrollo seems content to leave you with your thoughts, as he doesn’t make any move to break the silence.

But when the silence is broken, it is broken by your capitulation. Chrollo is pleased as expected, yet there is no sign of relief or contentment on your end. Perhaps you could purposely make the relationship fail, and then he might let you go. At the very least, this arrangement is better than having your parents and yourself hunted down by a criminal.

It has been 3 entire weeks since you accepted Chrollo’s conditions. Your job is going fine, boring as usual, and seeing Raaz’s replacement still reminds you of the feeling of cold metal restraining you and keeping you in place.

It’s maddening, having to relive that feeling everyday. However, what’s worse is seeing Chrollo inside your apartment numerous times a week, mostly when you come home from work. He hasn’t made a move to stay the night yet, always excusing himself to ‘work’ or saying something along the lines of you not being ready for that step. It’s not that you’re ungrateful for it, but you don’t like being indirectly told that he pulls the strings and holds the power.

That’s why you’re here. Everything in the past several weeks has led to this and the tension and stress of those weeks has boiled down to reveal someone very tired and just a little spiteful. You knew he was someone to stay away from, and you did stay away from him. Or tried to at least.

“You said you wanted to speak to me about something?”

The devil has voiced your intentions, and you are now obliged to jump straight to the point. Having just got off work, you’re tired and a bit annoyed due to the lack of proper sleep. Despite that, you suck in a breath, continue strolling with him in the park, and give your response.

“We should break up,” you say, a sense of finality in your words that conveys your message that you shan’t be swayed in your decision. “Or stop this, considering this isn’t a normal relationship.” You had refused to hold his hand today, saying you want to keep them shoved into your pockets since they’re cold. They are currently sweating. “I don’t love you, and I don’t feel any bit comfortable. Continuing this would just make the both of us miserable.”

The break up dialogue sounded better in the TV shows you’ve watched, but you let it slide and continue. “Let’s just… see other people, okay? You’re probably just lonely. You said you have no family, and I can’t be the replacement. I don’t feel it working. I don’t feel loved and I sure as hell can’t love back.”

There is silence before Chrollo stops in front of you. He turns, facing you, and you are suddenly reminded of the children playing nearby and your bag being on his shoulders. “Is it because you remember the circumstances? If that’s the case, I can make you forget them.”

“What? No, that’s not what I meant.” You flex your sweating palms inside your pockets, nervousness skyrocketing. “I just… it’s not working Chrollo.” There is desperation in your voice now. “You may find this arrangement fulfilling, but it’s not the case for me. I don’t even know what you do for a living! I don’t know your last name and-” You cut yourself off. You’ve gone off-topic.

“What I’m saying is,” you continue, “I’m certain this isn’t working out. We should go our separate ways.”

Silence once again settles, but it is soon broken by the sound of footsteps. With your head down, you see Chrollo’s shoes when he walks up to you. A hand on your chin raises your head to meet his eyes, and you gulp out of nervousness when his lips part to speak. “The condition was that I would court you and you would accept. There was no room for rejection to begin with.”

He pauses, looking for any reaction on your face. When he fails, he continues. “If you don’t feel loved, you should communicate instead of breaking up. A relationship thrives when both parties communicate, right?”

You brush off his hold, lips twisting in slight disgust. “You aren’t getting my point-”

“Explain it to me then.”

“I just did.”

“Your argument lacks claim and reason. It isn’t even an argument to begin with.”

A frustrated groan and you bring your hands out of your pockets. With a few slaps to your cheeks, you try again. “I don’t like you and I can’t stand you. If this wasn’t something that came as a result of what happened to Raaz and I met you as a stranger and ‘it’ wasn’t as creepy as it was, I might’ve given you the time of day but none of it happened!” Chrollo looks at you like you’ve grown two heads during your outburst, but you do not care. “Chrollo, you creep me out and I don’t like you. I can’t accept you and fall in love with you. What more do you not understand?”

He blinks, once then twice, before grabbing your shoulders. The action makes you freeze, the suffocating feeling from ‘it’ growing and becoming more visible and menacing now prevailing. “Elaborate on ‘it’.” The grip on your shoulders slides down to your arms but you do not feel any less threatened. Maybe that’s why he never stayed the night. You’re too frightened at times.

“There’s… something around you.” Revealing this feels wrong, but you know you have no choice now. “It’s dark, the darkest I’ve seen yet on any person. It’s scary and overwhelming and I don’t like it. Sometimes it’s calm and tolerable and sometimes it’s huge. It doesn’t have anything to do with emotions, or that’s what I think.”

Chrollo hums, letting you go. ‘It’ does not simmer down until a few more minutes pass, and he only speaks after it does. “It’s your Nen ability. You cannot see Nen, but your ability is an exception.”

“What do you mean?”

Chrollo glances around before stepping closer. He points to his right palm with his eyes and in a moment, a book suddenly just appears in his hold. Any questions on your end are silenced with the excuse of being in a public space. The only answer you get that evening is that the book is Chrollo’s ability.

Any further probing is told off immediately. Chrollo does not wish to say anything further, changing the topic promptly and continuing to converse like you did not just attempt to break up with him. The lingering fear from his threats slowly starts seeping in, and you once again grow bewildered over how your circumstances have changed.

You're in the kitchen when Chrollo says you need to pack your bags. He had gotten up from the living room sofa and strolled into the kitchen when he broke the news. Now, as he stands in front of you, your back to the counter, and recounts the essentials you need to pack, you blankly nod. Everything is a blur. You cannot control your actions, only watch them like a third party.

He turns his back to you now, sighing at your silence, but before he can take a step forward, you plunge a knife into his back. The silence is deafening, but when you pull out the blade to see your handiwork, you are greeted with only a handle.

The blade sits in Chrollo's palm, and he's looking directly at you.

All your muscles are frozen, and you cannot discern whether the ringing in your ears is from the adrenaline or from being stared down. Minutes pass this way, and it is only when you throw the handle somewhere to the side that it subsides.

“Pack the essentials,” Chrollo says, his voice cutting through the silence. You’re now noticing the TV is turned off. “We’ll leave tomorrow.”

You just noticed Chrollo’s palm is unscathed. How odd.

#yandere chrollo lucilfer #yandere chrollo x reader #yandere chrollo #chrollo x reader #chrollo lucifer x reader #yandere hunter x hunter

613 notes · View notes

ja3yun · 6 months

Text

Melting Point | P.SH | CH.7

brother's rival!sunghoon x fem!reader warnings: smut (mdni), unprotected sex, oral (f. rec), fingering, spitting, dirty talk, praise kink, petnames (good girl, baby), anything else lmk. ch. 7 synopsis: minhee comes to you with the missing pieces of information you need, leading you to find the courage to speak to sunghoon, hoping you can reconcile. wc: 14.9k previous | masterlist | next a/n: hi! this chapter is filled with plot and answers to questions so i am hoping it all makes sense. again, thank you for the love on the last chapter! next week is the penultimate chapter so everything is starting to tie up so please enjoy <3

Scanning the next customer's shop, your shoulders are heavy with sadness. It’s not ideal to be working the day after you just lost the love of your life but reality doesn’t stop for your problems. If you weren’t in desperate need of the money, you would have just neglected to show up.

You haven’t slept, your eyes are a darker shade than before, and the smile you couldn’t stop plastering over your face the past couple of months is non-existent.

Last night, you went home just like Coach Lee had instructed but you don’t know if it was the best idea. The journey home with your mum was filled with her yapping about how true love never existed and how she knew his plan was this all along. There was no sympathy from her, not a surprise considering her face yesterday looked like she just won the lottery.

Minhee, on the other hand, sat silent, fizzing from head to toe. Honestly, you expected him to be fuming since Sunghoon was the factor in your current drift from one another, however, you did expect an undertone similar to your mothers gloating; he should be telling you ‘I told you so’ but instead he seems less boastful and more resentful.

"Your total comes to £54.35," you murmur in a monotone, extending your hand for the payment from the elderly woman. As she counts out each pound coin, you find yourself retreating into your thoughts once more, replaying the events over and over again.

Sunghoon looked so sincere when he told you it wasn’t him on the recorded phone call. The biggest question that twirled in your mind was how your mum got the audio in the first place. Sunghoon's assertion that he was only friends with Jay and Jake, who wouldn't betray him, seemed plausible, he hadn’t ever mentioned anyone but them in all the times you have spoken. So, who could have provided it to her?

That’s what you should have questioned when you had the chance, instead of letting your mind loop in on itself and confuse you to the point you didn’t even hear Sunghoon out.

You want to reach out and ask him to meet you but it wasn’t just you that got hurt yesterday.

If there’s one image that’s sticking in the forefront of your brain right now, it’s Sunghoon’s face when he found out you lied to him. Perhaps you should have questioned everything then, considering how shattered he appeared. Someone who set out to betray you wouldn’t look so devastated that you hurt them, would they?

You're also gripped with anxiety that getting in touch with Sunghoon would make things worse and he'll reveal Minhee's actions to the National Board. It scares you to think of your brother losing his chance to skate and being disqualified from competition.

Space might be just what you all need.

But finding that space is proving to be a challenge when your mind is consumed by these thoughts incessantly. You feel utterly overwhelmed, your mental state crumbling, leaving you feeling helpless.

The old lady hands over the money, and you mechanically carry on with your shift.

Once it's over, you contemplate your options for where to go next. Normally, the rink would be your refuge, but it feels too loaded with memories right now. Rina's occupied with her anniversary date with Allen, leaving you with no one else to turn to. The library, despite being open 24 hours, holds no appeal; the idea of sitting in silence, trying to study, feels like torture.

With a tired yawn, you realise there's only one place left to go: home.

______

Kicking off your shoes at the door, you trudge up the stairs, each step feeling like an effort as exhaustion weighs heavily on your limbs. The lure of your bed grows stronger with each passing moment as if it's calling out to you louder with every step.

You notice that your mum's bedroom light is off, signalling that she's already asleep, while Minhee's room emits the usual blue glow of his computer screen. If it weren't for the ache in your heart, this could easily pass for a typical Wednesday night.

Entering your room, you're greeted by an unexpected sight. It's not as you left it; the bed is neatly made, your stuffed toys lined up by the pillows, your desk reorganised the way you like it, and all your clothes tidily put away. Someone has cleaned for you, a rare occurrence unless you're sick.

The one prominent feature of your newly organised room is the gleaming glass trophy on your windowsill. It stands proudly, displaying your achievement to everyone as they enter the room.

This had to be Minhee’s doing, your mum would never go to these lengths.

Unfortunately, the award just serves as a memory to Sunghoon rather than yourself. It was the night you became officially his, the night you threw all guilt and caution to the wind so you could claim him as yours.

Taking the trophy, you toss it in your top drawer and shut it roughly, not caring about the damage you could cause it.

With no energy to shower, you change into pyjamas. It’s a bad idea to slip into one of Sunghoon’s hoodies but as it envelopes you in warmth on the cold night, you don’t think about it twice. The smell of him still lingering as you put up the hood punches you in the chest. You miss him, it’s as simple as that.

As you sink into the welcoming embrace of your bed, the weight of the day gradually begins to lift from your shoulders, only to be replaced by a hollow ache that settles in the pit of your stomach. Closing your eyes, you attempt to banish the tumultuous thoughts swirling in your mind and drift into sleep.

You toss and turn, trying to find a comfortable position, but your mind refuses to quiet down. Images of Sunghoon's smile and the warmth of his hugs dance behind your eyelids, taunting you. Every time you close your eyes, it's like you're transported back to happier times.

For what seems like hours, your heart and brain fight with one another, much like the night before. Your heart aches to be with Sunghoon, to trust him completely while your head rationalises the evidence presented to you by your mother.

Just as you begin to resign yourself to another sleepless night, a soft knock at your door interrupts your thoughts. Minhee's concerned voice cuts through the silence, drawing your attention, "Y/N? Are you still awake?"

With a frustrated huff, you turn your back to Minhee, a silent declaration of your anger and hurt. Acting this way may seem childish, but this is how you’ve always acted towards him when conflicts arise between you, like you regress back to being kids.

Minhee sighs, walking to the edge of your bed before helping himself to a seat beside you, “You don’t have to speak to me but you can listen.” He looks down at his hands, wondering how to broach the situation, the words aren’t coming so easily, “I…I know I did something really shitty, okay? I shouldn’t have fucked with his skate like that, Mum just…”

When he pauses, your intrigue is piqued and you twist your head to look at him. You can see his internal battle whether to tell you something or keep it to himself. The rooted anger towards your brother grows a little, “This is the only opportunity I’m giving you to explain yourself,” you warn him with a hidden urge for him to continue.

He breathes out slowly, his voice carrying the weight of a burden, "Mum just put so much pressure on me to win, like all she’s spoken about was how I need to place first,” his words quiver slightly, a reflection of the self-doubt flooding his body.

It's astonishing how one woman can make both her children feel so worthless.

As you turn to face Minhee, his expression mirrors the familiar blend of anguish and self-doubt that you've seen on Sunghoon's face countless times. It's a painful reminder of the weight their mothers' expectations have placed upon them.

"Mini, you could easily beat Sunghoon at Nationals. You didn't have to listen to Mum," you offer, your voice laced with both empathy and frustration.

The issue has never been Sunghoon or Minhee; it's always been their mums.

Minhee takes a deep breath, steeling himself to reveal the truth that he's been carrying with him all this time, "Listen to me," he begins, his voice tinged with bitterness, "Mum needs me to win."

Your confusion deepens, leaving lines of bewilderment etched on your face as you struggle to comprehend his words, "What?" you ask, all tiredness suddenly leaving your body.

"The odds of me winning aren’t in my favour, so she put on a bet. She'll get shit tons of money if I win. She put basically all her savings into it, all my money too," his jaw clenches as he recalls the conversation they had.

Your confusion escalates further as Minhee's revelations continue to unfold before you. "Since when was Mum into gambling?" you ask, the disbelief evident in your voice.

Minhee sighs heavily, his frustration palpable as he struggles to find the right words, "There's so much you don't know about her, Bubs," he admits, his tone tinged with regret, "The gambling isn't even above board. It's all underground-type shit with high rates. I swear I didn't know anything about any of it until she guilt-tripped me into going along with her scheme."

There was no denying your Mum was a little secretive, especially after your dad left, but this is not anything like you could have imagined. You had always wondered where your Mum got the money to support Minhee’s skating but his brand deals were good enough to keep you all afloat, so you just presumed it was that.

Minhee sees you calculating in your head and decides to continue, “Once she told me, I started practising like crazy, I trained almost every day just to be in with a chance but she wasn’t confident enough so she told me-”

"To break Hoon’s skate," you finish his sentence for him, the pieces of the puzzle snapping into place with a chilling clarity.

You knew something was off that morning - the way your Mum was extra harsh on him, telling him to make sure he ‘gets it done’. It was such unusual phrasing that you should have clocked on to it sooner.

This is exactly why you didn’t want to tell Sunghoon about it. You wanted to get to the bottom of it all because you were filled with suspicion from the get-go. The thought of your own mother putting Minhee in a position like this fills you with a mixture of anger and disbelief.

“Why did you go along with it? If she doesn’t get the money, that’s her problem, no?” you query, trying to tie every string of this situation together for your own peace of mind.

Minhee sucks his teeth and looks away from you, “You know how much effort and time she put into my career, she sacrificed everything for it, her old job, money, even the breakdown of her marriage was because of me. I owe her this.” He’s withholding some information, using this as the sole his sole reason for helping, but there is more to it, you can tell that much.

Your chest fills with hurt as you speak, “The divorce wasn’t your fault, Mini. Mrs. Park started that rumour and it drove Dad to leave. That has zero to do with you. Plus, she pushed you to go professional when you were a child, you didn’t exactly beg her to let you compete. You owe her nothing.”

You know for a fact it’s her words that have made him believe he is the route of all her problems. If only you paid closer attention to what was going on, maybe you could have counteracted her venom with something, anything, to help him believe he wasn’t tied to her like this.

Taking one of his hands, you scoot closer to him, the warmth of his presence a balm to your troubled soul. Resting your head on his shoulder, you feel the weight of the world pressing down on both of you. "You should have told me, Minhee. I could have helped you."

He shakes his head before encircling an arm around your back, pulling you closer to him as if seeking solace in your embrace, "I wanted to protect you. She would have dragged you into it as well if she could," he confesses, his voice tinged with regret, "I regret it. I wish I just didn’t let her manipulate me into doing that to Sunghoon. I can’t tell you how relieved I was when I saw him at the rink that day we were doing the peer reviews."

It shocks you to hear him say that, considering he’s usually cursing the boy's name every time he was forced within 10 feet of him.

There was one thing that didn’t add up though, “Wait, if mum put the bet on, wouldn’t the bet be just to beat him? Why did she try and knock him out altogether with the skate? Surely that would cancel out the bet and she wouldn’t win the money?” you query, hoping your brother has the answers.

He shakes his head, “She never wanted him out of competition, just to injure him enough that he wouldn’t be able to compete to his usual standard, y’know? I would be in with a chance of beating him then,” he tells you, stroking your side, “It was touch and go for a minute, I don’t know what she would have done if he couldn’t compete.”

Underneath your head, you feel his shoulders tense up again, causing you to lift your face to look at him, concern etched into your features. "Is there more?" you ask, dreading the answer but knowing you can't avoid it. He knows more than he is letting on, you can tell.

“Look, I’m going to say something that sounds so batshit crazy, okay, but you gotta believe me,” he says, his tone urgent, “And you know I’m not Sunghoon’s number one supporter, so you know I wouldn’t lie to make him look good.”

"Oh my god, Mini, just tell me, please," you plead, unable to bear the suspense any longer.

"The phone call was fake," he confesses, gingerly meeting your eyes as you give him a look of astonishment

Your mind reels at his revelation, struggling to comprehend the implications of what he's just said, "Fake? How? Don’t tell me you were a part of this too?"

“Fuck no, I was as shocked as you were,” Minhee protests, taking a deep breath before divulging what he knows, “I went searching after it all didn’t add up. Like, who the fuck records conversations like that in the first place, never mind sending them to Mum?”

You have to agree with him, the question also did come to your mind once you calmed down.

As he takes out his phone, Minhee's expression darkens with seriousness, his fingers tapping across the screen to reveal a series of emails. He shows you the correspondence between your mum and someone named Soohyun, highlighting the transactions and agreements outlined within.

"She paid him money to use some sort of AI to make it sound like Sunghoon was saying all that stuff about you and your relationship," Minhee explains, his voice laced with disbelief and anger, "It was one last attempt to fuck with him before the competition. She really needs that money, Bubs."

Shock courses through you, a tidal wave of disbelief crashing against the shores of your consciousness. The realisation sinks in slowly, each email adding another layer to the intricate web of deceit woven by your mother, "I-I can't believe this," you stutter, struggling to process the enormity of what he's just revealed.

Minhee gently takes the phone from your hand, returning it to his hoodie pocket with a sigh, "I know. It's like something out of a bad TV show, but it's true," he admits, his tone heavy with resignation. As his hand finds yours, a sense of solidarity washes over you, his touch offering a small measure of comfort amidst the chaos.

"To be honest, I had kinda knew it was fake," Minhee continues, his words slow and measured, "Don't get me wrong, I was livid at the idea of anyone using you that way. But on the drive home, I realized, this is Park Sunghoon we're talking about. He wouldn't dare to do that to you."

Confusion clouds your features as you furrow your brow, struggling to make sense of his words. "Huh? What are you talking about?" you ask, your voice tinged with uncertainty.

Minhee's expression softens as he meets your gaze, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "He liked you for so long, like for years. You were just so oblivious to it," he explains, his tone gentle yet matter-of-fact. "If he has the chance to date you, he's not going to take it for granted, and certainly not use you just to mess with my head."

As Minhee's words sink in, a flicker of realisation dawns upon you. Memories of Sunghoon's lingering glances and subtle gestures flood your mind, painting a picture of unspoken feelings that had gone unnoticed for far too long, "Do you know he asked me for permission to date you when we were like 15 maybe? I can't really remember exactly…but anyway, I told him to get lost," Minhee adds with a wry grin, his words punctuated by a hint of nostalgia.

Now this was new information. All you knew was that Sunghoon had knocked you back when you asked him out about that age.

“I had my reasons.”

His voice echoes in your brain as you recall what he said at the ice rink on your first date as an official couple. All this time, you had believed Sunghoon's rejection was solely his decision, unaware of Minhee's influence behind the scenes, “You told him to say no to me? Did you know I was going to confess?” Anger rises within you, not real anger but the one that siblings have for each other when one steals the remote control or eats the leftover food they were saving.

"Whoa, yeah, okay, but you have to understand I was protecting you. I don’t even know what Mum would have done back then if you started dating him, especially because it was so close after Dad left," Minhee's voice is laced with remorse as he hangs his head. "I know I had no right to tell him to leave you alone, but…"

The anger in you subsides as you see him slump a little.

"You're the most important person in my life, Y/N. You're my little sister, my best friend," he continues, his voice trembling with emotion, "He took championships and brand deals from me, fine, but if he took you away from me, particularly back then, I think I would have died." He avoids your gaze, his admission laden with shame at his insecurities.

His words weigh heavily on your heart, the depth of his love and fear for you leaving you speechless, “I’m your sister, Mini. He could never tak-”

“Hasn’t he?” His interjection silences you, “You stopped coming to my practices, we don’t hang out anymore, it’s like I barely see you,”

His words strike a chord, piercing through the haze of your own emotions. Suddenly, the gravity of his words sinks in, and you realise the toll that recent events have taken on your relationship with Minhee. You were so caught up in yourself that you hadn’t factored in how the distance would affect him.

Being caught up in your newfound relationship, you inadvertently left behind the one person who had always been there for you, the one who needed you the most. Guilt washes over you as you realize the depth of Minhee's loneliness and isolation in your absence. You and Minhee had been each other's rock for so long, but now, it feels like you're drifting apart, and you can't help but feel responsible.

A heavy silence envelops the room, thick with unspoken regrets and untold truths. You feel the weight of Minhee's gaze upon you, his eyes pleading for understanding.

"I... I didn't realise," you murmur, the words catching in your throat, "I didn't mean to drift away from you, Mini. I just... I got caught up in my own guilt, and it was easier to avoid you altogether."

Minhee listens quietly, his understanding washing over you like a soothing tide. His empathy is palpable in the gentleness of his gaze. "I'm sorry for putting you in that position. I guess I hadn't realised that trying to keep you from him was actually doing the opposite of what I thought it would," he admits, his voice filled with remorse. Bringing you closer to his side, he rubs your waist in a gesture of comfort. "I pushed you away and blamed it all on Sunghoon."

"You'll always be my number one, Mini. You don't have to worry about that," you assure him, offering a heartfelt smile in return.

If there were such a thing as twin flames, you and Minhee would surely be just that. In every universe, you both burn together, facing every trial and tribulation that comes your way. You're deeply thankful to have him as your brother.

“Did he actually like me this whole time?" You can't help but beam at the thought of the Ice Prince harbouring feelings for you all these years.

With a groan, Minhee pushes you away playfully, "Ugh, yes. He would NOT let it go either. Even asked me if he could take you to prom," he recalls with a mixture of exasperation and amusement.

“PROM? He wanted to take me to my prom?” You squeal at the thought, imagining Sunghoon awkwardly mustering up the courage to ask Minhee for permission to take you to prom. It's a surreal image, but one that fills you with a strange sense of warmth, “I had no idea he was that into me back then,” you idly play with your hair, trying to stop yourself from reverting back to your 14-year-old self as you imagine Sunghoon crushing on you too.

Minhee shrugs, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Probably just desperate, to be honest," he teases, earning an annoyed gasp and a few playful slaps to his shoulder. "Ow! Look, just because I’m not against you dating him anymore doesn’t mean I want to hear you gushing over him, okay?"

Your eyes widen in surprise at his revelation. "You... you aren’t against it?" The words feel fake as if you've stepped into an alternate reality where Minhee's acceptance of your relationship with Sunghoon is not only possible but welcomed.

Minhee sighs, raking his fingers through his hair, “I’m still not happy that you lied to me about it, and I am not his biggest fan,” he starts, eyes pointed at you with annoyance, “But he makes you happy and that picture you accidentally sent me was…well he clearly loves you,” It burns him to say it, you can see it in how his mouth cringes, “And after everything that’s happened, maybe I should let go of some of the grudges.”

You might have to clean out your ears to make sure you’ve heard correctly.

In one swoop, you hug him tightly, “Thank you, Mini,” You hadn’t realised the weight that you had been carrying all over your body regarding this whole secret boyfriend situation, but it’s finally gone.

“Don’t thank me just yet, you need to make up with him first,” Minhee says, “That should be easy though.”

Ah, there was that little hiccup, “It’s a little more complicated than that,” you say sheepishly as you scratch the back of your hand. Your brother stares with questioning eyes, “When we argued at Belmore I might have accidentally told him you broke his skate and that I knew,” your shoulders rise as you speak, face spreading with awkwardness and guilt.

“You’re so fucking stupid, Y/N. Why would you tell him that?!” He is exasperated by you, his hands rubbing up and down his face to exhibit his frustration with you.

“It slipped out! Come on, I could have told him well before yesterday. Give me some credit,” you argue back.

Both of you stare at each other, and the room’s silence quickly fills with your outburst of laughter. The tension dissipates as laughter bubbles between you, the weight of the conversation lifting momentarily. Despite the gravity of the situation, there's something strangely comforting about being able to find humour in the midst of it all.

"Okay, okay, fair point," Minhee concedes, a grin tugging at the corners of his lips, "But seriously, you need to sort things out with him, if he tells the board I’ll never be able to skate again,” you look at him incredulously to which he just laughs, “Yeah, I am aware of the irony, okay? Just please sort it out. If not for me, for yourself.”

Nodding, you cross your fingers, “I will.”

“I love you, Bubs,” Minhee stands and kisses the crown of your head, smiling in relief that he has his best friend back, “Tell him if he hurts you for real, I’ll break his legs next time.” Your mouth hangs open as he walks away shrugging.

The weight of the situation settles over you once more, but this time, you feel a renewed sense of purpose. You just hope you can fix this.

______

You find yourself standing at Sunghoon's doorstep, your hand poised to knock, yet inexplicably frozen in place. Why has the simple act of chapping on his door suddenly become so daunting?

A nagging voice echoes in your mind, whispering doubts about whether he'll even care, convinced that the damage has already been done. The weight of the colossal secret you've kept from him bears down heavily, compounded by the regret of not believing him when he insisted the audio wasn’t him.

Yesterday, confusion clouded your judgment, leaving you unable to think clearly, grasping onto every detail at face value. But amidst the chaos, you failed to afford the same trust and belief in his earnest pleas and declarations of love.

Now, the fear grips you tight: What if he doesn’t want to mend things? What if, because of some senseless scheme concocted by your own mother, you've lost the love of your life?

But you’re a big girl, you have to face this no matter the outcome.

With that mindset, you finally chap the door, breathing out slowly as you do so. The nerves sit in your throat as it dries out, the idea of losing him was just inconceivable.

The door swings open to reveal Jay, clearly just awake. His hair is sticking to one side and he hasn’t bothered to put on clothes, boxers being the only thing keeping his dignity. You suppose turning up to the flat at 6am on a Thursday would grant some disturbance.

“Y/N? What are you doing here?” Jay asks, one eye still closed.

“I need to speak to Sunghoon,” you try to convey the urgency in your voice but it comes out breathlessly. You hadn’t realised you were holding in the air until you spoke.

Jay's sigh echoes in the room, his gaze drifting upwards as he considers your request. "I don’t think it’s a good idea, Y/N, he's kinda pissed," he cautions, his tone tinged with concern.

You understand Jay's apprehension, but you can't let the rift between you and Sunghoon deepen any further. The longer you both remain trapped in this mess, the harder it will be to mend your relationship. Time might heal some wounds but it won’t fix them.

“Can I just talk to him? I need to explain,” you plead, tapping your fingers together, you avoid his judgmental gaze.

Jay's response is swift, his conviction clear as he defends Sunghoon's character. "You didn’t actually believe your mum, right? Like anyone with a clue can see how much he loves you. He wouldn’t do something like that," he states, offering a comforting gesture by rubbing his shoulder slightly. It's evident that Jay is trying to rebuild Sunghoon's image in your eyes, a testament to the unwavering bond between him and his best friend.

As you stand there, you can’t explain your thoughts during your fight with your boyfriend because you still can’t make sense of them yourself; however he was right, you should have seen his love past the lies of your mother.

Nodding with a hint of shame, you admit, “It was all just too much to process, and I handled it poorly. But I have to fix it.” Despite the weight of your guilt, a steely determination underlines your words.

Jay sees it, he understands you didn’t want to hurt Sunghoon the way you did. Maybe he’s a bit more understanding of your own grief because his best friend neglected to mention that you lied to him about Minhee and his skate.

When Sunghoon arrived home, Jake and Jay greeted him eagerly, anticipating news from his check-up. However, their excitement quickly turned to concern as Sunghoon stormed in, slamming the door behind him with such force that it caused shelves to rattle.

Concern etched across their faces, his friends inquired about the situation with genuine worry as Sunghoon recounted the events involving your mother and the recording. However, he purposefully omitted any mention of the skate. He didn't want to tarnish your image in the eyes of his friends with his own anger-induced bias. He understood all too well that they might harbour animosity toward you for your deception, and the mere thought of it was unbearable to him.

So he didn’t bother to spill it, still protecting you even amidst his fury.

"I heard him leave this morning. I think he went to the rink, like he usually does to clear his head," Jay offered, unsure if he should disclose this information but feeling a strong intuition that both you and Sunghoon needed it.

Your expression softens with gratitude as you look up, "Thanks, Jay," you say, appreciation evident in your voice.

As you begin to turn, preparing to make your journey back to your side of town and into Belmore, Jay's voice suddenly pierces the quiet morning air, halting your movements, "Wait there, I'll give you a lift," he calls out, his offer catching you off guard.

Before you can even muster a response to decline his kind gesture, Jay is already striding purposefully back to his room to get dressed.

Left standing alone in the tranquillity of the early morning, the absence of Jay's presence allows your mind to wander freely. You had prepared yourself to talk to Sunghoon at this very moment but now you have a whole 40-minute drive to contemplate his reaction all over again. It’s scary, the idea of this being the end of you both.

When Jay finally emerges, dressed and ready to go, he motions for you to follow him as you both make your way to his car. You don’t know why he’s doing this but you’re thankful for the saved time, the time to get here was already long enough, never mind making the same painstaking journey back.

The drive begins in silence, the gentle hum of the engine merging with the rhythm of your own racing heart. Jay's quietness feels unfamiliar, a subtle shift in the energy between you since your last encounter, though not entirely unexpected.

With some courage, you figure talking to Jay might help you later on when speaking to Sunghoon, “I think deep down I knew he didn’t say it.”

It’s a simple confession but one you had to say out loud.

Jay spares you a quick glance before keeping his attention on the road, “He’s doted on you, like literally obsessed with you. Do you not see that, or?” There's a hint of irritation as he speaks. He can’t fathom why you would ever believe one shitty phone call rather than your boyfriend who would drop the world at your feet if you asked.

He hasn't witnessed every facet of your relationship, but from what he has seen, he can't help but envy it. He longs to experience the kind of connection Sunghoon has found with you, hoping to find someone who reciprocates his feelings in the same way. What frustrates him about the situation is the apparent disregard you show for his best friend's love. It's as if you fail to grasp the profound depth of Sunghoon's affection, while there are others out there yearning for even a fraction of such devotion.

You angle your body to face him before speaking, “I know. There was just a lot going on and…you should have heard it, Jay. It sounded so fucking real,” you almost plead with him to see your side.

Even Sunghoon had mentioned how authentic the audio sounded, so Jay knew what you were talking about. He simply nods to acknowledge you, his expression showing understanding, “What was it then? How did she do it?”

"Some AI guy. She hired him to grab snippets from Hoon's interviews and make the audio," you tell Jay, omitting any mention of the gambling or other family drama

Jay's eyes widen in surprise. "Damn, seriously? She stooped that low?" he says, his astonishment visible in his tone. All you can do is nod, aware of how absurd and unsettling the situation is, "AI is so fucking scary, man," Jay says, shaking his head in dismay.

You agree wholeheartedly, a shiver running down your spine at the thought of the lengths people would go to manipulate technology for their own agendas, "It’s so bizarre," you murmur, still trying to wrap your head around the whole ordeal.

The silence that settles between you both now feels different, no longer heavy with tension but rather mutually comforting. Each of you understands the gravity of the situation and the complexities it entails.

In this shared moment of understanding, surrounded by the quiet of the morning and Jay's silent support, you feel a sense of calm wash over you, in stark contrast to the turbulence that has plagued you since Tuesday. If Jay understands your side of the story, perhaps Sunghoon would as well.

Pulling up to Belmore, Jay stops the car at the entrance, “Y/N,” he pauses, collecting his thoughts, “You’re good for one another, and Jake and I like having you around, so fix this, yeah?”

You nod, determined and empowered by his words, “I will.”

_____

As you step onto the rink, your eyes lock onto Sunghoon, gliding with so much velocity that it sends a shiver down your spine. You can't help but feel a pang of worry, knowing he's pushing himself to the limit, risking injury once more. As you approach, beads of sweat glisten on his face, his hair clinging to his skin, a visual confirmation of your concerns.

He propels himself into a jump, the sharp sound of his skate slicing through the air, reverberating across the arena. However, his landing isn't smooth; his ankle bends awkwardly, causing him to fall onto the ice.

"Sunghoon, be careful!" you call out, running to be by his side. Ignoring the impracticality of your footwear, you shuffle onto the ice and kneel beside him, "Are you out of your mind?"

Much to your dismay, Sunghoon’s ankle is thumping, a superficial heartbeat pulsing through it. He might be able to go back on the ice but he’s over-exerting himself. He doesn’t look at you, focusing on his ankle, but he also doesn’t push you away, letting you undo the bandage to assess the damage.

Seemingly, his ankle is okay, nothing torn or hurt beyond what was already there, the bruise from a few weeks ago dying into a faded yellow, a promising sign but it still pains you to see.

Standing up, you offer him your hands for support but he shrugs you off, opting to stand on his own and skate over to the exit of the rink, “What are you doing here? Come to mess up my other skate?” His tone is sharp and accusatory, indicating that he’s still angry.

“It wasn’t me and you know that,” you defend yourself, slowly walking behind him trying not to slip.

You both successfully make it off the ice, Sunghoon plonking himself onto the bench outside. Going back to his ankle, you kneel and start the process of re-wrapping the bandage tightly, again with no protest from him. Hopefully, that’s a better sign of forgiveness compared to what his voice is suggesting.

Carefully, you discard his skate to the side and gather the bandage, your cold hand sparks a jolt in Sunghoon as you hold the start of the wrap to the back of his ankle. You take your time to eliminate any cause of discomfort which for the most part you succeed in.

“You kept it a secret, Y/N. Lied to my face,” he says through gritted teeth which you don’t know if it’s from anger or pain, possibly a mixture of both, “Everything wrong in my life seems to be because of your family.” The words sting because you know it’s true. As much as you would love to be excluded from the accusation, you know he’s right.

“I know,” You say lowly, putting all your attention on his ankle.

Looking at you, Sunghoon sighs, his body heavy with mixed feelings. Just looking at you now he wants to wrap you in his arms and tell you everything is okay, that he forgives you, but he can’t do that without some sort of explanation.

“Why didn’t you just tell me?” he asks softly, staring at you as if trying to reach into your brain and pull the answers out himself.

Adjusting the bandage with a gentle twist, you offer your explanation, “Honestly, I thought I was protecting you. You had so much going on; not knowing if you would make nationals, the argument with your mum, there was just never a right time.”

Sucking his teeth, he nods, “Feels like you were protecting your brother.”

“I was, in some ways. There was something so strange going on I wanted to try and figure it out before I told you. I wanted an excuse so you wouldn’t blame him for it,” you explain your thought process to him but he won’t get it, not unless he was you in that situation.

Yet, to your surprise, Sunghoon grasps the sentiment perfectly. Protecting your brother is second nature, ingrained within you, even on the first day when everyone discovered they would be combining the rinks, you tried to protect him from doing something stupid.

The only thing he doesn’t understand is why Minhee did it.

“Did you ever find an excuse for him? Or can I blame him for this?” he points to his ankle with his other foot so you see it. You haven’t looked at him once since you started to tend to his injury.

“You can blame him for it,” you start, pausing your actions as you wonder whether you should tell him what transpired, why Minhee did it, “Minhee…My mum put him up to it, to get you injured for Nationals so Minhee had a better chance of winning.”

“Shit, okay.”

Knowing Sunghoon, he’s trying to piece it all together to save you the explanation, but this is far too complicated for him to work out on his own, “This is going to sound so crazy, but I need you to listen. My mum is struggling to make ends meet and she got into some gambling scene. She put loads of money for Minhee to win, specifically to beat you and if she wins, it’s like thousands of pounds, enough to get her out of the debt she’s in. I don’t know how it works but it’s shady. She didn’t trust Minhee to get the job done on his own so…” You trail off, hoping he’ll put the puzzle together now.

Taking the safety pin, you secure the wrap and pull down his trouser leg, yet, you still don’t look at him, scared of his reaction. If you were in his shoes, you would not believe anything about what was just said.

But unlike you, Sunghoon knows what crazy sports mums are willing to do for their kids to succeed, his mum being a prime example, “Y/N, seriously, you should have told me.”

“I didn’t find out about the whole gambling thing until last night when Mini told me. Sunghoon, please believe me when I say he didn’t want to do it, he just…he thinks he owes our mum like he’s the one that put us in debt for chasing this dream, that he’s the reason for a lot of things outwith his control.”

“Sweets,” Sunghoon breathes out, grabbing your chin, forcing you to finally look at him, “I get it, I mean, I’m not particularly chill with it since my career could have ended but the way Minhee is feeling, I do understand.”

His eyes hold yours like they’re hugging you, trying to pull you from your worries and somehow it works. You feel a little lighter, his hand now etching its way to your cheek to cradle it. Instinctively, you lean into his touch, seeking his comfort.

“I’m sorry, Hoonie,” you state solemnly, angry and hurt that he was just a pawn in your mother's game, the relationship between you both strained because of her and yet you were the one apologising on her behalf.

You’re sorry for your own mistakes, but nothing was as bad as her tricks.

Sunghoon offers you a small smile, ushering you to sit next to him on the bench so he isn’t looking down on you. The symbolism of you feeling lesser is evident to him and he can’t stand it.

He turns to face you as you take a seat next to him, his hand resting comfortingly on your leg. “That phone call, I didn't say all that. That wasn't me, you have to believe me" he begs you to trust him.

"Yeah, I know," you respond with a bitter scoff, recalling the manipulative tactics of your mother. The skater's expression shifts to confusion as you continue, "My mum did that too, another thing that’s going to sound even crazier than breaking your skate."

You recount the incident with the AI recording, detailing your mother's desperate attempts to win her bet and her willingness to destroy your relationship in the process. With each sentence, his bewilderment deepens, his eyes widening and narrowing, and his mouth opening and closing in disbelief.

"Wait, seriously? It was AI?" he interjects once you've recounted every bizarre detail.

As he grapples with the revelation, you seize the opportunity to provide some comfort, gently wiping the sweat from his brow and pushing his dishevelled hair back from his face. The tension seems to ease from his features.

You pout at him, the weight of guilt settling heavily in your chest. "I'm really sorry for not believing you when all of this came out," you admit, your voice tinged with remorse.

He reaches out to take your hand in his, his thumb brushing lightly against your skin, "No, no, Sweets, it's okay," he reassures you, his tone soft and understanding, "She even gaslighted me for a second,” he suddenly starts to chuckle, “I thought my biggest worry was people making those ‘If Sunghoon sang Chase Atlantic’ AI TikToks.”

You laugh with him, knowing what he’s talking about. One day he came to you and showed you a video of him singing Slow Down which creeped you out and impressed you all at once.

The moment of laughter dies down, the break in tension creating much-needed relief for both of you. This whole scenario is so fucked up it’s hard to believe, you’re just thankful Sunghoon is so understanding.

“What about Minhee?” he asks suddenly, passing the confusion to you, “Like, how is he in all of this?”

Sunghoon’s concern for your brother, whether big or small, makes your love for him pound in your chest. Even after everything, he was still asking about Minhee which meant he might not hold a grudge, and more importantly, not go to the board.

Is it selfish to think that right now? To still be concerned about Minhee’s career?

Your boyfriend sees your eyes twitch, his telltale sign that your mind is racing, “Sweets?”

He breaks your thoughts, “Oh, he’s uh, he’s just stressed I think. I need to properly speak to him at some point and figure out what he wants to do,” you shake off the idea that Minhee won’t get to achieve his dream, scared that you might manifest it by accident.

Sunghoon nods, sighing deeply as he sheds any of the weight that was held over him. He wishes you would have trusted him when you heard the audio, but he does understand. Sometimes, he can be too understanding and he knows this, but it’s so easy to forgive or find reasoning for your actions.

Which will help you with your next request.

"Please don't go to the board," you finally confess, your voice barely above a whisper. It takes every ounce of courage you possess to voice the plea, but you know you have to ensure your mother hasn't irreparably damaged Minhee's chance at the Olympics. You need to see him succeed - he deserves it more than anyone.

Pressing his forehead against yours, he smiles, the warmth of his breath mingling with yours, "I won't, I promise. For you though, only for you."

The weight that's been pressing down on your shoulders suddenly lifts, replaced by an overwhelming sense of relief. You almost cry at how patient and understanding Sunghoon is, you wonder if you’ve ever met anyone like him before.

There’s a comfortable calmness in the air, his nose nuzzles against yours as he smiles contently, happy to have you back beside him. The past two days felt like weeks. It made him realise just how important you are to his life. He can’t live without you and never wants to be apart.

“So is Minhee…cool with us?” he asks gingerly.

Your face lights up as you lean back, “Actually, he’s completely fine with it, well, he said he still doesn’t like you but you make me happy. That’s all he wants.”

Minhee and you will forever prioritise each other's happiness above all else. These recent events have underscored that sentiment, even if it took some time to fully grasp. Ultimately, you both want nothing but the best for each other.

Sunghoon appears genuinely surprised by your declaration, his eyebrows shooting up, "Really? No resentment or anything?"

"Really," you confirm, observing his reaction closely. "He... he actually told me about forbidding you from seeing me all those years ago," you add, realising his astonishment at the news about your brother being on board with your relationship likely stems from the years of Minhee pushing him away from you.

Flushed, Sunghoon shuts his eyes, “No, he didn’t,” he winces at the idea of you finding out about his long-term crush on you.

“He did. Told me how you begged him to let you take me to prom too,” you gloat, a massive triumphant smile on your face, “You loooved me all those years ago, you have to admit it now,” you joke and his face turns even redder.

Typically, Sunghoon is being chased, so to have this hanging over his head in your relationship, he knows you’ll never shut up about it. He will admit though, that the look of delight on your face is almost worth the embarrassment.

“Okay, yeah. But blame Minhee for making us miss so many years together, okay? He was shit scary back then. I thought he was going to skin me alive,” Sunghoon recollects asking him if he could ask you out to the cinema, an innocent tiny date and Minhee, the scariest 14-year-old there was to ever live at that point, well to Sunghoon anyway, practically ripped his head off.

Prom was a mistake, he was simply asking if you had a date to prom. Yes, he was going to ask you if Minhee said no, regardless of what your brother would say, but the fire in Minhee’s eyes wasn’t one to be messed with and by this point, he was a gym-attending 19-year-old with an extra protective layer over you. Enough said.

You giggle and take his hand, offering him a sympathetic smile, “He was scared to lose me.”

"Who wouldn't be," he responds without hesitation, his tone serious and sincere.

His immediate reply catches you off guard and you do a double take, surprised by the sudden intensity in his voice.

Sunghoon wasn’t just saying it; he was petrified at the thought of losing you, especially after your mother's deceitful phone call. The look of betrayal on your face had cut him to the core, a pain he never wanted to inflict upon you. He loved you too much for that.

As you process his words, you realise there's a deep emotion behind them that you hadn't fully grasped before. Sunghoon's admission hangs heavy in the air, revealing a vulnerability. Your heart clenches with empathy, knowing that his dread of losing you is deep. You softly squeeze his hand, silently expressing your empathy.

You felt the exact same way about him - terrified of losing one of the people who means everything to you.

"I'm sorry," you say quietly, your voice full of regret, "I never want you to feel like you're going to lose me."

Sunghoon's gaze softens as he meets your eyes, a flicker of emotion dancing in the depths of his own. He brings your hand to his lips, pressing a tender kiss against your knuckles, "I know, Y/N," he murmurs, his voice filled with reassurance, “I’m not letting you go anyway, you’re stuck with me now.”

You laugh, shaking your head. There's a silent vow between you both to cherish and reassure each other whenever you have to, “Can we start again?”

“Yeah, of course, Sweets.” He plasters a genuine grin on his face, elated with the idea of putting all the negativity and lies behind the relationship and starting fresh.

You stretch out your hand, teeth showing as you smile, “Hi, I’m Y/N Kang. I’m your biggest fan.”

Sunghoon’s heart pounds loudly, you are his fan but to him, you’re more like an extractor fan. If you don’t have one of those, things go rotten and that’s exactly what it felt like without you. He needed you to such the poison and pain from his bones, he selfishly needed your love to make him feel alive.

He wants to provide you with that same feeling.

Taking your hand he smiles widely, mirroring your enthusiasm, “I’m Park Sunghoon. I am your biggest fan.”

________

The bleacher seats are your makeshift study space, textbooks and notes scattered haphazardly around you as you bury yourself in preparation for the looming winter exams. The chill of the air contrasts with the warmth of your determination; you had an award to uphold after all.

Meanwhile, your boyfriend is focused on a different kind of preparation. With just four days until nationals, he's dedicated himself to ensuring his ankle is in peak condition. Despite having twisted it just a few weeks ago, he's pushing himself hard, determined to perform at his best on the ice. When he pushes himself a little too much, you’re there to pull him back, or rather nag him to be careful

You steal glances at him whenever you can. Despite the injury, he moves with a fluid grace, his dedication evident in every precise movement. If you didn't know better, you wouldn't even guess that his ankle had been injured at all.

As you bury your nose in your books, a sense of admiration washes over you. His resilience and commitment inspire you to push through your own challenges. Granted, yours is a little less intimidating, the exams you’ll take will be confined to a week inside a study hall whereas Sunghoon is skating in front of thousands and being broadcast on TV.

Lost in your studies, you're suddenly jolted back to reality by a soft tap on your paper. Glancing up, you're met with a warm smile from your boyfriend, his eyes twinkling with affection, “You’re so serious when you’re focused,” He laughs, leaning over the barrier of the ice rink.

“Are you done?” You ask enthusiastically, hoping to get out of here and get the dinner he promised you 3 hours ago; your stomach wasn’t prepared to be denied food for so long that it started to speak to you about an hour ago.

"Just about, baby. You wanna go for Italian?" Sunghoon suggests, his eyes twinkling with mischief. His suggestion makes you smile; you've been raving about gnocchi for the past two days, and he's clearly been paying attention.

As you agree, his grin widens, and he leans in close, "Great, I'll go get changed and be right out," he declares, excitement bubbling in his voice.

Leaning over the barrier, Sunghoon puckers his lips in anticipation of a kiss to which you gladly oblige, pressing your lips to his in a sweet, lingering kiss. The brief moment of affection leaves you both with a warm, fluttering feeling in your chests. With a final smile and a promise to meet you outside, he disappears to change, leaving you to gather your books and laptop.

Packing the last of your highlighters into your bag, you hear the entrance door open. Peeking over the seats, you see a familiar face walking down with his gym bag slung over his shoulder and earphones in.

"Minhee?" you question, hoisting your bag onto your shoulder before walking over to him. "Mini?" you call out louder, ensuring he hears you.

Your brother jumps a little, clearly not expecting to see you at the rink. "What are you doing here?" he asks, a hint of surprise in his voice.

"Sunghoon's taking me for dinner. I was just studying while he trained," you explain, hoping to alleviate any concerns he might have.

Your reasoning earns a thoughtful hum from Minhee. It's still strange to talk about Sunghoon so casually with him, especially after keeping your relationship a secret for all those months.

"Is he here?" Minhee glances around, searching for any sign of Sunghoon.

"He's getting changed," you reply, nervously biting your lip. Despite Minhee giving you the green light for dating, there's still a lingering apprehension about them being in the same room together, especially after "skate gate," as Sunghoon dubbed it in an attempt to lighten the situation.

There is still some part of you that dreads them in the same room together, apprehensive to what they’ll do. Minhee is overprotective of you and Sunghoon is, well, he’s got a wrap on his ankle thanks to your brother.

Suddenly, the door to the dressing room swings open, and Sunghoon emerges, looking refreshed and ready for your dinner date. His expression is bright, his tunnel vision for you renders Minhee nonexistent to him. It’s not until he gets closer that he notices your older brother.

Once his eyes shift to Minhee, Sunghoon’s smile falters ever so slightly. He also doesn’t know how things will pan out but he knows he doesn’t want to make you uncomfortable.

“Minhee,” Sunghoon nods towards him which Minhee returns, “Are you training tonight?” You appreciate the civilness your boyfriend is trying to engage in, you know he’s doing it for you but hopefully, later on, he’ll do it because he and Minhee are actually getting along.

You can only dream of the day.

“Yeah,” he says sharply but there’s a wave of something in his eyes, something that happens when he’s thinking, “Actually, since you’re here can I talk to you? Privately,” Minhee glances at you as he says privately, indicating that he no longer wants you in the conversation.

Sunghoon looks to you for approval which you grant him obviously, hoping he’ll tell you what Minhee wants during dinner, “Sure. Coaches office is free,” he suggests, pointing with his head.

Your two boys stride over to the office and lock the door behind them.

Now, you could eavesdrop, and make sure no one throws a punch, but you’re trying to be optimistic about their relationship, so you leave them be.

Taking a deep breath, you remind yourself to trust in their ability to handle the situation maturely. After all, both Sunghoon and Minhee care deeply for you, they wouldn’t want to make this any more uncomfortable for you.

Fighting the urge to pace, you take a deep breath and try to distract yourself with thoughts of the upcoming dinner. Maybe you’ll have a glass of wine with dinner tonight, and try something new. You could get dessert if you convince Sunghoon to cheat on his meal plan for a night.

Who are you kidding? All you can think about is what is going on in that office, no attempt at distraction will help you now.

It’s increasingly difficult for you to resist chapping the door and pestering them to let you in on the gossip. What could be so important they couldn’t talk about it in front of you?

15 minutes pass but it feels like an eternity as you anxiously await their return. If one of them comes out with a black eye, you’re ditching them both, leaving them high and dry. You really hope it doesn’t come to that.

Finally, the door to the coach’s office swings open, all limbs and eye sockets intact, which is a good sign at least; however, their expressions are unreadable as they walk towards you. There's a subtle shift in the air, something lingering between them, though they try to maintain a facade of normalcy.

"Ready to go?" Sunghoon asks, his tone gentle as he kisses the top of your head lightly.

You nod and look between both of them, “What did you guys talk about?” There’s no grace of subtlety when it comes to you and your curiosity; you know it has something to do with you, you just wanted to know what.

Minhee and Sunghoon exchange a knowing glance before your brother answers, “Just giving him some brotherly warnings…right?” he says it so casually but his tone is cryptic. You know there is more to it than that.

Linking your fingers with his, Sunghoon grips your hand tighter, offering you some reassurance amidst the swirling thoughts in your mind. He knows you're probably considering every possible conversation they could have had.

"Nothing to worry about, Sweets. Minhee was just swinging his big brother ego around," Sunghoon says, his voice gentle but firm. There's a playful twinkle in his eyes that eases your nerves, if only slightly.

Rolling his eyes, Minhee sighs, "Whatever, Park. Remember what I said, yeah?" he tries to pass it off as banter, but there's a serious current weaving through his voice, catching you off guard.

Sunghoon nods in acknowledgement, a silent knowing between them, "I got it," he replies, his gaze locked on Minhee with a sense of respect and understanding. This newfound dynamic between Sunghoon and Minhee is unfamiliar, and you can't quite decipher whether it's a positive or negative development.

"Enjoy your dinner, Bubs. Make sure he pays," Minhee points to Sunghoon before waving you both off and heading to the changing room.

As Sunghoon pulls at your hand, leading you out of the arena, the silence hangs heavy between you. He doesn't offer an explanation so easily, much to your dismay.

"Your brother is a shark, can I say that in the most respectful way?" Sunghoon finally speaks up, breaking the silence with a hint of amusement in his voice.

You chuckle softly, nodding in agreement. "Yeah, he's super protective," you acknowledge with a touch of pride in your voice.

"He really is. He’d do anything for you…" Sunghoon trails off, his expression thoughtful. You want to ask what he means but you resist the urge to pry further.

"Are you guys okay? You didn’t fight or anything?" you venture tentatively.

Sunghoon offers you a reassuring smile, his eyes warm with sincerity, "I think we're besties now," he quips, trying to lighten the mood. You can't help but smile at his attempt to ease your worries, "C'mon, let's go eat, I'm starving," he suggests, kissing you quickly as you reach his car.

You are grateful they managed to have one discussion without throttling one another, even going as far as to make lighthearted jokes and playful jabs.

Baby steps, you suppose.

_____

Emerging from the restaurant and making your way to Sunghoon's car, your face radiates with laughter, tears glistening in your eyes.

"Did you genuinely believe she was asking for your autograph?" you tease, barely able to contain your amusement.

Sunghoon rolls his eyes, “Baby, it isn’t that funny. She literally ASKED me to sign it.”

“Yeah, the bill because you used your card,” as you say the words, another heaved laugh comes out, “You were so confident to think she was your fan.”

Crossing his arms, Sunghoon huffs playfully, feigning annoyance, but he can’t stop the smile from creeping on his face as he looks at you. With your face so bright and that beautiful song of your giggles, Sunghoon can’t stop looking at you, admiring you in this moment.

As your laughter subsides, you catch him staring at you intently. "What is it?" you inquire, noting the uncharacteristically serious expression on his face, devoid of its usual sarcastic pout in situations like these.

"I just love you so much..." he trails off, halting by the passenger door of his car, his voice tinged with vulnerability, "The thought of losing you was terrifying."

Sunghoon understands that you've both overcome the misunderstandings and manipulations caused by your mother, and you're in a better place now. Yet, the prospect of almost losing you because of it still haunts him.

You pout at his words, bringing your hands up to stroke the apple of his cheeks gently, “I hated it too. You’re so important to me, Hoonie,” you whisper, eyes softening at his words.

The months you’ve spent with him have been the best of your life, you could never deny that. Your relationship with him hasn’t been easy, interference from too many outside parties threatened to ruin it all, to rip you from your soulmate, but you will never let it happen again.

You place a timis kiss on his nose, “I promise that nothing will ever take me away from you again, okay?” you look at him with sincere eyes, hoping he truly listens to your promise.

He nods, closing his eyes with a serene smile, his graceful hands enveloping yours, imparting a comforting warmth. Foreheads touching, he savours the moment, soaking in the palpable connection between you both. He just wants to feel your love.

Never in Sunghoon’s life did he ever imagine finding love like this. Although he always knew he loved you, he didn’t know how intense his feelings were until suddenly you weren’t there anymore.

He smiles, eventually opening his eyes to look at you, your gaze holding nothing but love, “Will you come back to mine?” he asks as though this is the first date and he’s testing the waters to see if you’re interested.

“Actually,” you smile, pulling away from him slightly, your hands trailing down to fix the collar of his coat, “Minhee went out with Jungmo and my mum’s recently been going out at night so…”

Sunghoon's heart skips a beat at your implication, "Are you inviting me over?" he asks, his ears buzzing with anticipation.

You nod, a hint of nerves sneaking through as you bite your lip. "Yes, if you want to."

Considering the offer, he weighs the options carefully.

On the downside: it's a risk with your mum potentially returning home soon, the early morning departure could be awkward if he encounters your brother, and there's the potential for discomfort in the morning.

On the upside: it's a shorter drive to your place, he's curious about seeing your room, and it's the only location where he hasn't fucked you yet.

"Alright, let's go for it," he grins, the allure of the last pro eclipsing the rest.

Sunghoon opens the door for you and you settle into your seat and fasten your seatbelt while he slides into the driver's seat, starting the car.

As the car glides down the dimly lit streets, Sunghoon steals glances at you, a mixture of excitement and nervousness flickering in his eyes. The anticipation within him builds with every passing moment, the silence between you thick with unspoken desire.

With a playful smile, you break the tension, "Why do you look nervous?"

Sunghoon chuckles, his fingers drumming lightly on the steering wheel, "Not nervous, excited,” he corrects you.

You eye him up and down, “Okay then, why are you excited?”

Sunghoon lounges back as you hit a red light, taking the chance to look at you, “It’s like I’m entering enemy territory, like on those video games Jake plays all the time. I’m entering the red area, risking my life while I got on stealth mode,” he explains, getting even more giddy as he speaks about it.

“Hoonie, no one else will be home, I’m hardly sneaking you in.”

“Shhh, it’s no fun if you put it that way,” he chuckles, placing a hand on your thigh, “When I forward roll into your entrance, leave me be,” he plays.

Luckily for you, when you both arrive, Sunghoon refrains from spy rolling into your house like he’s an elite operative. Instead, he is waiting to be invited in like Stefan Salvatore.

“Baby, come on in, nothing gonna bite you,” you giggle as you take off your shoes.

Following your orders, he walks in and takes a look around the familiar entranceway. Nothing has changed since he was last here, just before your ceremony; aka, he’s noticed not one of your award pictures has taken pride of place next to your brothers.

You hadn't shown your mother the pictures, nor did she inquire about how it went. Her indifference was something you had learned to accept, albeit reluctantly. It wasn't the ideal situation, but like Sunghoon, you had found solace and love in other places where your mother left a void

Coming to that acceptance was cathartic.

You lead him up to your room, a bright smile on your face. It was surreal to have this opportunity to have him amongst your creature comforts, like finally all the pieces of your life have come together.

Sunghoon stops you as you go to reach for the handle, “Wait!” he rushes out. Inhaling deeply as he jitters around like a boxer about to walk into the ring, each little jump and hand tremor making you laugh. You would mistake it for nervousness again if he wasn’t beaming at the door like an idiot

“Will you calm down, this isn’t anything spectacular, It’s just my room,” you shake your head, looking at him as he continues his jumps of glee. Nothing you could say to him would stop him from acting like a child on Christmas morning, “You’re such a dork,” you snort, placing your hand on the handle.

Before opening the door, you mentally hope you tidied up before meeting him today. To your relief, the room is cleaner than you recall, albeit with a stray sock and some shoes strewn where your wardrobe is. You signal for Sunghoon to come, and he enthusiastically skips inside, looking about with inquiring eyes.

His attention moves across the shelves filled with books and trinkets, the cosy bed with its assortment of plushies, and the desk cluttered with papers and pens. Sharing this space with him creates a sense of intimacy and vulnerability, as well as elation among you both. Having him here feels like you can finally call this your home.

Sunghoon's smile widens as he takes it all in, his eyes sparkling with delight, "This is nice," he remarks, his voice soft with appreciation.

You nod, feeling a surge of happiness at his reaction, "I'm glad you think so," you reply, watching as he moves further into the room, exploring every nook and cranny as if it holds some secret treasure.

Just looking around your room is giving him further insight into your life. As your boyfriend, he knows a lot more than most, yet, seeing your soul laid bare in these four walls is opening him up to understand you deeper.

From the 2 minutes he has spent in your room, he has just found out that you collect far too many earrings, your favourite highlighter to use is pastel pink, you had an emo phase that you neglected to tell him, and you’ve been to 4 fan signs for TO1. It’s tiny, insignificant details, but Sunghoon wants to know it all.

His eyes happen to fall on a picture of you and Minhee when you were kids, “I remember this!” he exclaims, fangs showing as he twists the picture to show you as if you don’t see it literally every morning, “This was the Youth of Skating competition when we were 13,” he reminisces.

"Wasn't I just adorable?" you remark, playfully cupping your cheeks and flashing a wide grin as you try to mimic your younger self captured in the photo.

With a laugh, Sunghoon gently sets the frame back on your desk, nodding in agreement, “The prettiest one in the crowd by far,” he murmurs in a soft tone, mirroring your joy. It's as if your face radiates sunlight, and he basks in your vibrant glow.

Closing the distance between you, he replaces your hands with his own, leaning in to kiss you. His lips are tender as they meld with yours, his touch gentle as he affectionately squishes your cheeks, “You’re still the most beautiful person I have ever seen.”

Your heart quickens as he whispers sweet nothings into your mouth, his words mingling with the gentle exploration of his tongue, "I don't buy it," you tease, playfully pushing his hands away from your red cheeks, "You'll have to prove it to me," you challenge with a mischievous glint in your eyes.

A playful smirk dances across Sunghoon's lips as he accepts your challenge, his eyes sparkling with determination. With a soft chuckle, he gently captures your hands in his, intertwining your fingers as he pulls you closer.

"Oh, I intend to," he murmurs, his voice husky with desire. Leaning in, he presses another lingering kiss to your lips, his touch sending shivers down your spine. Slowly, he trails his lips along your jawline, leaving a trail of feather-light kisses in his wake.

He takes off his jacket, tossing it on your desk chair all the while he’s nipping at your neck. As his hands swiftly remove his t-shirt, revealing his sculpted bare chest, your eyes are drawn to the faded hickeys scattered across his skin. You had really done a number on him a couple of weeks ago, the purple still tinting his pecks.

Before you can fully appreciate the sight, he bends down, effortlessly scooping you up, his lips showering kisses all over your face. Your breath catches at the warmth of his touch sending a flush to your cheeks, "Sunghoon," you gasp, feeling his urgency mirrored in your own desire.

Laying you gently on the bed, his chest pressed against yours, he trails his hands up and down your body, igniting flames of longing with each touch, "I know, Sweets," he murmurs, his voice laced with possessiveness, "You want me to fuck you, yeah? Prove to you that you’re the most gorgeous girl?"

“Yes,” you huff out desperately.

“Then be a good girl. You can do that for me, baby, can’t you?” he whispers into your neck, licking a stripe up your vein.

His words dance down to your pussy, arousal pooling between your legs as you eagerly nod in agreement. His confidence mixed with his praises only fuels your desire, the promise of being his good girl setting your pulse racing.

In a flurry of movement, his trousers and boxers are discarded, and he wastes no time in removing your jeans and underwear, leaving you bare and exposed to his hungry gaze. As he kisses up the tender skin of your inner thigh, his proximity to your centre sends waves of anticipation coursing through you.

“My beautiful girl, you’re all mine,” Sunghoon’s voice is low and smooth like butter.

The vibrations from his words send a jolt of need straight to your core, the ache for his touch almost unbearable. As he teasingly presses a delicate kiss to your clit, you whimper in longing, your body yearning for the fulfilment only he can provide.

His hands slide up to the top of your thighs, holding them down and apart as he nibbles gently at the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. A shiver of anticipation courses through you as your hips instinctively push up, yearning for the touch of his mouth where you need it most.

Sunghoon responds with soft, warm kisses across your core, each one sending waves of pleasure rippling through your body. Then, with deliberate slowness, he traces his tongue upwards, sending a shudder of delight through you as he explores every inch of your pussy.

Kneading your hands through his hair, you grip tight as you beg for more and Sunghoon has no problem granting your wishes, kitten-licking your slit as he laps up your wetness.

When he is going down on you, he is like a man possessed but now it’s much worse. He hasn’t tasted your essence properly since the breakup/makeup. Your boyfriend doesn’t like to go too long without your taste on his tongue, so here he is making up for lost time as he lays his tastebuds flat against your cunt, savouring every drop of you.

You pull his head back by his hair, eliciting a moan from him as you do so, the sensation of each strand being in your command causes his dick to jump in, “Fuck, Sweets,” he hisses, licking his lips clean as he looks up at you through hooded eyes, “Tell me what you want.”

But he already knows what you want, because, without your answer, he’s gathering saliva in his mouth before spitting it on your throbbing pussy, his fingers lathering you in it, “Go on, tell me,” he mutters onto your clit, digging his teeth onto it just enough for you to buck your hips onto his face.

“Fingers, Hoonie, I want your fingers. Please,” you plead, holding your hips up to his mouth in a desperate attempt to get some release of your friction.

“Not only are you gorgeous,” Sunghoon’s fingers find their way to your entrance, circling it teasingly, “You’re my obedient, perfect girl.”

Sunghoon smoothly slides his fingers inside you, opening you up and filling you with a sweet sensation. His attention never leaves your face as he looks for your reactions, making every movement pleasurable for you.

He sees your lips falling wide and your head cocking back in ecstasy as an indication to continue. His fingers hook into you, gliding back and forth in a smooth and luring pace that matches the rhythm of your desire, and caressing you just the way you like it. Each stroke sends waves of pleasure through your body, creating a fire of passion that becomes hotter with each enticing movement.

You're a moaning mess as Sunghoon expertly finds your sweet spot, thrusting his fingers harshly as he works it with precision, "Let it all out, baby," he encourages, his voice sending your head into a tizzy, "Show me how I'm making you feel."

His words alone could send you tipping over the edge, but it's the sensation of his tongue flicking your clit and the gentle suction that has you screaming his name loud enough for the whole neighbourhood to hear. Sunghoon doesn't stop you, revelling in the melodic sound of his name falling from your lips like a symphony of desire.

"That's it, angel, you're doing so good for me," he praises, his words only spurring you on further. The two fingers inside you continue their relentless rhythm, driving you to the brink of ecstasy with each delicious stroke.

Your hands instinctively push him further into your cunt as you ride his face, Sunghoon's skilled ministrations bring you closer and closer to your climax, and his tongue and fingers dance in perfect rhythm, driving you to contentment with each delicious motion. The overwhelming sensation clouds your thoughts, leaving you lost in a haze of pleasure that makes your mouth water with anticipation.

With a final, electrifying thrust of his fingers and a gentle nibble at your clit, you hit the edge of release, your chest and tummy tightening. And then, with a guttural moan that bounces throughout the room, you finally succumb to the overwhelming wave of pleasure that crashes over you, leaving you trembling and breathless in its wake.

Sunghoon continues to worship you with his mouth and fingers, guiding you through the aftershocks of your orgasm with tender care and devotion. Each touch, each kiss, each whispered word of praise only serves to deepen the connection between you.

He sucks and swallows your juices, smiling as he does so. Your walls have trapped his two digits inside you as you squeeze him tight, “Baby, relax for me,” he kisses up your stomach in an attempt to get your body to yield but your orgasm is too intense, “Shh, Y/N, breathe out for me beautiful,” he whispers as his face meets yours.

Opening your eyes, you see his gentle smile and etch a blissful one onto yours, his adoring gaze instantly rippling through your bones, helping your muscles to unknot themselves. The power he has over you is crazy.

"Told you I would prove it," Sunghoon chuckles softly, pressing a peck on the tip of your nose as he finally frees his hand from you. Shaking your head with a satisfied smile, you exhale deeply, prompting him to tilt his head inquisitively.

"Oh? Have I not done enough?" he questions, his expression filled with amusement.

"Nope," you reply smugly, popping the 'p' for emphasis, "You could do more to prove it."

Sunghoon feigns contemplation, his lips quirking to the side in mock thought, "I see, hmm…" he muses, his gaze scanning you from head to toe before he suddenly sits you up and onto his lap, taking your useless top off.

His favourite playthings are now sitting directly at eye level and Sunghoon feels spoilt for choice of what one to show attention to first. Left has always been his favourite, there wasn’t a particular reason as to why, he just instinctively went for it every time.

Before he can delve his mouth to attach to your perky nipple, you surprise him by gripping his shoulders with one hand while the other strokes his cock between your bodies. In reaction, his shoulders and back hunch over, his head now buried between your mounds.

Your slicked hand pumps him at a vicious pace, yet the gentleness of your hand causes no discomfort. After all these months together, you know how he likes it, fast and rough with extra attention to his tip; so that’s what you do, after every fourth stroke you swipe your palm over his head, the soft skin now tinted red with need.

“Sweets,” he murmurs between your breasts, his tongue licking the valley like a helpless dog, “Let me be inside you, fuck I need it so bad,” he almost whimpers as you squeeze him.

Part of you wants to keep going and tease him but your heat is leaking for him, crying out to be stuffed by his cock.

You lift your hips and guide him to your entrance, slowly sinking onto him, “Jesus,” you hiss out, his cock stretching you much wider than his previous fingers.

The pace you set is deliberate and unhurried as you savour the feeling of his thick shaft piercing into you, battering your cervix each time you slam down onto him. Sunghoon groans at the way your channel is enveloping him, moulding around him like a perfect fit.

With each withdrawal, the tip of his cock catches on your entrance, teasingly, before he plunges back in, eliciting desperate pleas for more from your lips, "Hoonie, please, faster," you beg, your desire driving you wild.

It’s time for Sunghoon to take charge, his hands clasp around your back as he pulls you further into his chest, gripping onto your skin as he goes at you relentlessly. He delves so deeply inside you that the sensation becomes overwhelming, a heady mix of pleasure and need. Sunghoon's hand moves from your back to brush against your overstimulated clit, sending jolts of electricity coursing through your body, causing you to writhe on his lap, "Sunghoon, please," you whimper, your voice laced with desperation.

"What is it, baby?" Sunghoon's voice, soft-spoken and tender, stands in stark contrast to the force of his thrusts, each one pounding relentlessly against your core.

"Close," you gasp out, the intensity of your impending climax threatening to overwhelm you once again. If it were any other time, you might feel embarrassed by how quickly you're reaching the peak of ecstasy, but you know Sunghoon would understand. And he does because he feels the same way.

Both of you have tangled in sheets for long enough that you both know one another’s body like the back of your hands. That, added in with the withdrawals, of course you were both cumming quickly. Neither of you particularly minded since it wasn’t exactly a hindrance but rather served as just another notch to add to the endless list of climaxes you could potentially have.

The day that one orgasm halts your sexcapades for the night, is the day Ghostface will stop being hot. Never.

Sunghoon spits on your folds, his movements primitive but intentional. His fingers rubbed saliva into your delicate skin, focusing their attention on your swollen clit, pushing you to the verge of your high. These sensations are almost too intense to take, with his rough touch on your bud and the power of his cock ramming into your walls battering you in the most delicious way possible.

The other hand on your back trails its way to your left hand, clasping it in his as he intertwines your fingers, kissing your knuckles as he stares at you, love shining through, “I love you so fucking much,” he whispers out, his hips faltering slightly as he declares his adoration for you.

Nodding, you bite your lip, prying your eyes open to look into his, “I love you too, Hoonie,” you confess back to him, hips also losing their rhythm as you struggle to focus on anything other than the coil in your stomach.

You bring your lips to his hand, mimicking his earlier actions, “Cum with me, Sunghoon,” you whisper into the back of his hand, your lips parted as you suck in a deep breath, ready for release.

Your body convulses with pleasure as waves of ecstasy wash over you, leaving you trembling and breathless in their wake. Sunghoon holds you close, his touch gentle yet possessive as he guides you through the aftershocks of your climax with tender care.

Sunghoon kisses you hungrily, his lips engulfing yours in a passionate embrace as your words push him over the edge. With feral zeal, he releases his seed in you, the white strands of his desire flying straight into your depths and blending with your own release.

Your bodies melt together in the heat of passion and you both cry one other's names along with a stream of curses, lost in the throes of pleasure and need. Sunghoon punctuates each passionate proclamation with two simple utterings of "I love you," ensuring that his words are conveyed sincerely

As you come down from the euphoric high, you find yourself enveloped in Sunghoon's embrace, his love and adoration surrounding you like a warm blanket on a cold night. In this moment, with him by your side, you feel truly complete, knowing that you are loved and cherished beyond measure.

Laying you down, Sunghoon, slides out of you gently, making sure he doesn’t hurt you, “Sweets, where is your bathroom?” he asks but you’re still too fucked out to comprehend his question, leaving him to figure it out on his own, “Stay here, baby, I’ll be back,” he instructs, putting on his boxers and tucking his semi-hard cock into them.

Leaning an ear to the door, Sunghoon assesses if anyone magically came home while you two were going at it like animals. The silence he hears elicits relief into his body as he opens the door, confident no other member of the Kang family will see his practically naked figure.

Opening a few doors through trial and error, he stumbles into Minhee’s room. The curiosity within him leads him to look around, hand searching for the light. Once he switches it on, he sees exactly what he was expecting, a clutter of mess placed in every corner. It’s similar to his room, decor-wise, but there’s one thing that he notices, standing prominent on Minhee’s nightstand.

Sunghoon reaches for the picture of you at 3 years old, sleeping next to your older brother, hugging one another tightly. You’re wearing matching pyjamas and smiles with no cares in the world. He knows your bond with Minhee is strong, stronger than most siblings; he thinks perhaps that’s why it was so easy to forgive you for lying to him. Seeing this picture now only punctuates his thoughts.

And after his conversation with Minhee today, he knows you would both do anything to protect one another.

“What are you doing in here?” you ask, hugging him from behind. Your eyes stare at the picture in the frame and you laugh, “Oh my days, Minhee and I were so young back then,” you fondly pout.

Sunghoon wraps an arm around your shoulder, “I was looking for the bathroom to get you cleaned up but I came across his room,” he admits sheepishly, rubbing your shoulder.

“Hmm,” you acknowledge, taking the frame and placing it back on the desk. You pause your motions as you look around his desk. It had been a long time since you had been in your brother's room, possibly 2 years, but you don’t remember all of the clutter on his worktop.

Picking up the paper fortune teller, you can't help but laugh at the whimsical relic of your childhood, "I didn't know he kept all this stuff," you say wistfully, your fingers tracing the faded creases of the paper. Memories flood your mind as you recall the countless hours spent crafting these simple yet cherished treasures with your brother.

Your gaze then falls upon the painting, a colourful masterpiece that holds a special place in your heart despite its simplistic charm. "And look at this," you remark, your voice tinged with nostalgia. "I remember making this in nursery. It was supposed to be a house, but I’m clearly no Picasso," you chuckle, the memory bringing warmth to your heart.

Putting it back, you see the picture you sent him from your award ceremony, sitting proudly next to his mouse, “He printed this out?” you ask no one, “I thought this would be the last picture he would want to see every day.”

The picture didn’t just represent your achievement, it represented the lies you sat in for months without Minhee knowing. This picture was amongst the bunch that had you and Sunghoon sitting happily in love, an accidental click that exposed your deceit.

Sunghoon kisses your temple, “He’s proud of you, baby,” he says, trying to ease your tense shoulders, “That night, sure, the aftermath was a shitshow. But you still achieved something amazing, and he’s proud.”

His words lighten you a little, a smile creeping on your face as you put it back. Shaking your emotions away, you look up at your boyfriend, “Let’s get out of here, I’ll show you where the bathroom is.” You push him out of Minhee’s bedroom, closing the door behind you.

“While you’re up,” Sunghoon follows you, hand in yours, “Why don’t we just take a shower?” he suggests, wiggling his eyebrows mischievously.

You roll your eyes and open up the bathroom door, “Fine, but only quickly, last time I started to shrivel up like a prune with how long you kept me in there,” you joke, turning the light on.

Sunghoon smirks, “I promise, I’ll be quick,” he leans down to your ear, “I’ll just make sure I go at you rough and hard, hmm?”

taglist (closed!!): @heelee-01 @zerasari @beomgyusonlywife @iwaplant @monstanctiny21 @chiiiiiiiiis @minniejenseo @run2gyuz @jngwnlvs @haelahoops @capri-cuntz @nctislifue @jaehoonii @weyukinluv @skzenhalove @enhypenlovre @cherriruto @bambangan @who-tf-soddhi @nxzz-skz @nshmrarki @hotsforikeu @enhastolemyheart @erehkinnie30 @judeduartewannabe @neosexual @fakeuwus @positivelyinlovewithjungwon @tobiosbbyghorl @kimsunoops

#enhypen smut #enha smut #enhypen x reader #enha x reader #sunghoon smut #sunghoon x reader #aj writes #melting point #enhypen angst

536 notes · View notes

nahoney22 · 6 months

Text

Poisonous Thoughts***

The Bad Batch PROMPT EVENT

Crosshair X F!Reader

word count: 1.6k

prompts:

Person A: go fuck yourself

Person B: fuck me yourself, you coward.

With your relationship already on the rocks, Crosshair’s jealousy about your friendship with Howzer only adds fuel to the fire.

warnings: NSFW, 18+. sexual themes and explicit language. Jealous Crosshair, name calling, angsty, slight spoilers for episodes 6&7, implied blowjobs, mutual pining, first kiss, enemies to friends to friends to enemies to enemies to lovers. This was pretty bad and messy and all over the place. Order 66 mention.

authors note: part of the TBB PROMPT EVENT by @arctrooper69, @dumfanting & @freesia-writes. Thanks for the tag 🤍 and seeing as most people wanted me to write for Crosshair in my last poll it seems only fitting to do this!

Your relationship with Crosshair was chaotic, to say the least.

From initial animosity to a begrudging tolerance, and finally to friendship within a span of a few months, you found yourself developing a deep emotional connection with the Marksman. A very deep one. He was the kind of person who you would search for in a crowded room, wanting him to get you away from it all.

Your feelings for him left you in a state of confusion for quite some time, thoughts almost poisoned and fueled by a hope that perhaps he felt the same. There were signs—his genuine smiles reserved only for you, his seeking of your advice in moments of need, and the subtle shifts in his demeanor around you.

Then came Order 66.

When it began, you lost him. The moment it was issued, you felt his absence keenly not physically but mentally. He suddenly turned cold. And then he was gone.

And despite the anger that filled your heart for months, you almost found solace in considering his actions to be his inhibitor chip. There was a glimmer of hope but when Kamino fell, his unwavering loyalty to the new Empire blinded him.

The memory of that night alone in your bunk, crying until your throat burned, never faded. You even entertained the desperate idea of pleading with Hunter to turn back and bring him onboard, but deep down, you knew it was futile. Your love for him was over before it truly began.

Months later, as things spiraled from bad to worse, you found yourselves reunited. In that moment, your mind was a blank slate. You didn't know how to react or what to feel. Your emotions oscillated between love and hatred, a cycle that seemed endless. But there was a bitterness in you.

Each day brought another round of tiptoeing around Crosshair. While the others seemed to have moved past his past transgressions, eager to bury the hatchet, for you, it felt like starting over from square one.

He exuded the same coldness and distance that characterized your initial encounters, his silence speaking volumes. That is until Howzer spoke to you.

As you engaged in small talk with Howzer, Crosshair couldn't resist interjecting with his unwelcome remarks. You understood Howzer's animosity towards Crosshair, but what puzzled you was Crosshair's hostility towards him. You shot him bitter glares whenever he spoke out of turn, only for him to leave before any response could be made.

What was his problem?

This scenario repeated itself several times. From the corner of the room, you could feel the weight of that familiar glare from times past, and as your eyes met, Crosshair's stare remained unyielding.

One evening, yourself and Crosshair found yourselves aboard the Remora with Echo. "You and Howzer seem... close," his drawling voice came from behind you, causing you to momentarily freeze, shooting Echo an annoyed glance as he awaited your response.

"I speak to him the same amount as I speak to everyone else," you retorted, rolling your eyes after mustering your voice, refusing to turn around to face Crosshair.

"Funny," he began, "I don't recall you speaking to me that much."

Gazing out of the window, a slow realisation dawned upon you. He was jealous. The absurdity of it all almost made you smirk. Despite the flutter in your stomach wondering why he could be jealous, you relished in the opportunity to make him squirm first. "Perhaps he has more riveting conversational qualities."

Echo audibly inhaled a deep breath, seemingly perpetually caught in the crossfire of arguments involving Crosshair and someone else. Meeting Crosshair's gaze this time, a small scowl etched onto his face, you continued, "I have my doubts."

"No need to," you added, meeting his gaze squarely. "I don't see him wanting to talk to you anyway. And the same goes for me."

"Thought you grew up from being a brat?" His words ignited a fiery rage within you, prompting you to rise to your feet. "And I thought you had some more respect for yourself. But you're just a jealous little man," you shot back, your words laced with venom.

Echo swiftly intervened, positioning himself between the two of you. "Can you guys do this elsewhere? All this bickering is giving me a headache."

Crosshair's gaze shifted away from yours, his demeanor faltering. "Gladly," he muttered before stalking off, leaving you to follow in his wake.

Once out of earshot, you wasted no time in confronting him. "Got nothing else to say, huh?" you challenged. "Are you going to try and deny that you're jealous?"

"I have nothing to be jealous about," he snarled, plucking the toothpick from his lips and slamming it to the ground. "You're not mine."

You couldn't help but laugh, a bitter edge to your tone. "You're right about that. You had your chance, and you blew it."

For a moment, you watched as he froze, his expression betraying a hint of confusion. "What do you mean I 'blew it'?" he demanded, his voice tinged with incredulity.

Suddenly, the weight of your words hit you, and you found yourself looking down, shaking your head. "Nothing. I didn't mean to say that," you murmured, hoping to retract your statement.

"I don't believe you," he countered, stepping closer, his presence enveloping you entirely. "You never liked me."

A sudden pang of realisation struck your heart. With your stomach tied in knots, you met his intense gaze. "Is that what you always thought?"

He continued to stare you down, searching for any hint of deception, but to his surprise, he found none. Yet, his stubbornness refused to accept it. "You're lying," he insisted, his voice firm.

"No," you muttered, your voice trembling with emotion, "but I wish I was."

He scoffed dismissively, turning his back on you with a bitter twist to his expression. "I don't get you. If you had these feelings, why did you never tell me?" His voice cracked with frustration, his shoulders tense with unresolved tension.

"I could say the same," you shot back, your bravery tinged with desperation, clinging to the hope that maybe, just maybe, he felt the same way you did. But as his gaze met yours, a storm of conflicting emotions raged within you.

His frustrated glare softened briefly, revealing a glimpse of vulnerability before he turned away again, his back a wall of defense.

Memories flooded your mind—quiet moments shared between you, moments where unspoken words hung heavy in the air, suffocating in their silence. You remembered the times when he seemed on the verge of opening up, only to retreat into himself.

In that moment, a surge of resentment bubbled within him, fueled by months of unanswered questions and unspoken truths. "Go fuck yourself," he spat, his words dripping with anger and self-loathing. Yet beneath the anger and hurt, there lingered a flicker of longing, a desperate yearning for connection buried deep within both of you, waiting to be acknowledged.

“Go fuck me yourself, you coward.” The words tumbled from your lips before you could even process them, but in that heated moment, consequences be damned.

He whirled around, his gaze piercing into yours as he strode towards you with purpose, until you were backed up against the wall, his breath hot against your face. "Say. That. Again," he demanded, his voice laced with urgency, his eyes searching yours for any sign of sincerity.

It wasn't a threat; it was a plea, a desperate plea for honesty amidst the chaos of emotions swirling between the both of you. Did you mean it? Of course. Of course you fucking did.

Your breath hitched in your throat as tears threatened to spill from your eyes, your heart pounding in your chest.

"Crosshair, I..." you began, your voice faltering as you struggled to find the right words to express the tumult of feelings coursing through you.

"I know," he murmured softly, his gaze softening as he understood, as if everything that needed to be said had already been said.

Leaning down, he pressed his lips against yours in a swift yet tender kiss, his hands cradling your face gently, overwhelming you with a rush of warmth and longing that eclipsed both of your poisonous thoughts.

“Come with me,” he rasps against your lips, a gentle tug on your hand that had you willingly coming with him and far, far away from Echo’s ears.

He guides you through the ship until you both come to the refresher, both of you tumbling inside as your kisses become fervent, desperate and needy.

He pulls back for a moment, gazing down at you as if to see you were real and not a figment of his imagination before his lips latch onto your neck, sucking and bruising your skin. You whine in pleasure, keeling into his body as your hands move down to his crotch.

Softly, you palm against his erection, gasping as you feel the outline of his hardening cock. “I want you Cross,” you gasp as his teeth graze along your flesh.

He growls low and guttural, but understands, “I know kitten,” his hands travel up the underside of your shirt, fingers stroking against your breasts as his hips involuntarily jerk into the touch of your hand, “as soon as we get back to Pabu… fuck, I can’t even begin to tell you what I’m going to do to you.”

You grin, a sultry laugh parting your lips. “Perhaps you should show me.”

“Refresher isn’t big enough.” He grunts, “but I could give you a taster?”

His tone is suggestive and your core pangs with arousal at the possibilities. “How so?”

He gazes down at you, one hand now cupping your jaw with his thumb dancing over your lower lip. There’s a longing, a love in his eyes but unmistakably there’s one of pure lust too. “Get on your knees and find out.”

More Crosshair Works

Masterlist

Tags: @thiswitchloves9904 @lulalovez @photogirl894 @whore4rex @imperialclaw801 @temple-elder @mysticalgalaxysalad @imalovernotahater @tech-aficionado @grizabellasolo @therealnekomari @tech-depression-inventory @brynhildrmimi @greaser-wolf @tinyreadersmur @kaminocasey @marvel-starwars-nerd @ladytano420 @ladyzirkonia @thesith @raevulsix @mssbridgerton @cw80831 @knightprincess @crosshairlovebot @littlefeatherr @kaitou2417 @eyecandyeoz x @jesseeka @theroguesully @ladykatakuri i @jambolska-grozdova @arctrooper69 @padawancat97 @staycalmandhugaclone @ko-neko-san @echos-girlfriend @fiveshelmet @dangraccoon @plushymiku-blog @chrissywakingup @pb-jellybeans s @nunanuggets @sleepycreativewriter @erellenora @ezras-left-thumb @the-rain-on-kamino @the-bad-batch-baroness

#crosshair x reader #tbbpromptevent #the bad batch #spoilers for eps 6&7 but only minor #nahoney22 writes #the bad batch crosshair x reader #tbb #bad batch

373 notes · View notes

herejusttosufferalong · 11 days

Note

I have a theory regarding the Spain trip. As a preface, I'll say I believe for various reasons L and A are done since at least after the Italy trip.

So, a photo of L and A from the GQ event, the day she was wearing a tight long black dress and he a black silky shirt, appeared on my ig fyp today. I noticed that their haircuts there match their haircuts in Spain. Hers hasn't changed significantly during the whole summer but his hair grew quite a lot. In Spain it appears longer than after the WT but shorter than in Italy. After looking a bit, I found another photo of L from GQ (https://www.instagram.com/p/C9FoNwaxm7j/?igsh=aXNybjRmcTNuNmZy - pic 4) where a few strands of his hair fall on his forehead the same way they do in the cake selfie. As he probably grows his hair for s4, I don't think he'd cut it again after Italy. This made me think they went to Spain in close proximity to GQ, perhaps right after.

One of the TT creators shared she spoke with someone who works in PR, who said this kind of deals with hotels can be flexible but usually the celeb will have to post within the same quarter, so it means L could have been there anytime since the beginning of July. The GQ event was 3-5 of July, L posted the photos from Spain on September 7.

Why post now and not closer to the actual trip in the high of the vacation season? And if L and A are done how did she know to post her story a day before him? His last post before Spain was on July 6 and then he disappeared due to all the hate. I think this is when he went to Spain, exactly 2 months before he posted the photos from the vacation, which makes sense as a deadline deal-wise. As he wouldn't have wanted to receive hateful comments on a promo post, it also makes sense that he waited the longest he could before posting it, so the hate would die down. The last few weeks we witnessed L slowly coming back to sm - the bloopers stories, MD's posts, N's post - and he indeed started to get nicer comment, so safer time for him to finally post it. A must have known the deadline so she posted a day before him to let us know she was there with him. However, as I believe they are no longer together, he made sure to choose photos that make it look like he was there alone or at the very least not on a romantic vacation.

I’m intrigued!!!

161 notes · View notes

milktei · 1 year

Text

Hold me Tight

Kamisato Ayato x fem!wife!Reader

Genre: Arranged Marriage au, idk if it can be called a slow burn but that’s what I’m calling it, fluff, smidge of angst.

Warnings: unconventional relationship, Reader is described to have long hair that is brushed through. not edited

Requests: Open

a/n: another one out! :o Had to indulge myself a little bit before getting back to requests. arranged marriage au’s are my guilty pleasure and i just felt like writing for genshin again. Hair brushing and physical affection is also just such a big thing for me I had to write it. So if it isn’t obvious i wrote this mostly for selfish reasons and that is the reason why it may be sort of all over the place lol. I hope it’s enjoyable either way!

A hug is all you longed for really. For someone to wrap warm arms around you and let you completely melt into them.

Being married it should be an easy ask

How unfortunate it is for you that your husband wants nothing to do with you.

Although the more you thought about it, perhaps that wasn’t entirely true. He did agree to the marriage hadn’t he?

He was the head of his clan, the Yashiro commissioner. Throughout the entirety of the process of arranging your marriage, Kamisato Ayato had every right, and more than enough chances to stop it from going through.

He had nothing to lose if he decided he wasn’t ready for marriage, which was an excuse many citizens of Inazuma had heard over the years.

He really had nothing to gain from it either.

It confused you from the day the elders of your clan elatedly told you that by some insane amount of luck, the Kamisato Ayato had accepted “your” marriage proposal that had been sent in as almost an obligation.

There was no harm in trying and you were now living proof of that.

Why you? out of all the suitors he definitely had, he had chosen you. While your clan was one of the head producers of tea leaves in the country, you still couldn’t wrap your mind around his acceptance, it was not like the Kamisato’s needed the tea, they could have afforded it anyways.

There was no political gain for him either as he was already a tri-commissioner, you weren’t even in line to become heir! Your uncle was the head of the clan and your cousins would follow in his footsteps.

The gossip about you flew all over inazuma like a storm cloud, and you heard it all, people weren’t always subtle in their curiosity or distaste in you after all.

Some of the talk was harsh and negative, and yet you couldn’t help but partially agree with what some people were saying about you.

You were a nobody as far as nobility went. The only reason you could think of as to why Ayato chose you, was likely to reduce the amount of mail that he got, as the marriage proposals had virtually stopped after your wedding. Aside from some particularly desperate people.

Perhaps you really were the best candidate for him. You weren’t a prominent figure in the public eye, you weren’t after the Kamisato’s fame and fortune, and you weren’t the type of person to fawn over your husband 24/7 and demand he shower you in riches and attention.

Although you almost wish that you were. Maybe then you wouldn’t be longing for a hug as badly as you currently were.

While it was true that being married to Ayato meant that you had nearly everything you could ask for at your fingertips, and that it was rare for you to be denied anything—not like you asked for much anyways—the one thing you could not ask for, was your husband’s affection. How ironic. the one person you spewed rehearsed vows to about being his rock and what not, was the one person you could not get an ounce of love or affection from.

Of course you had never really had the chance to try at this point, as despite being married for 6 months already, you can count the amount of times you had a full conversation with the man on one hand.

“I hope that you can find it in you to excuse my lord. He is a very busy man.” Thoma had told you the day you had moved in and your husband was no where to be seen. The look he gave you the mixture of empathy and a wince.

That was the day reality set in. He looked at you kindly on the day you got married. Soft smiles graced both of your features during the ceremony, and you two spoke amicably during the extravagant reception. But this was an arranged marriage, a contract more than a relationship, and you both had duties to fulfill.

A smile that had been drilled into you since your etiquette classes from your youth crossed your face “There’s no need to worry about me Thoma, I understand.”

So you had to learn to get used to being alone in an estate bustling with people. You opened your wedding gifts alone, sorted them accordingly and even sent out an astonishing amount of individual thank you cards to all the guests you had at your wedding.

You often ate alone, save for the times Ayaka and Thoma had time to accompany you. Aside from being reached out to for second opinions or approval you weren’t given a formal job on the estate. Instead you were given an allowance, and were free to spend your days doing whatever you wanted, so long as the Kamisato name was protected.

Yes that was another thing you had to get used to, “Kamisato y/n”, “My lady Kamisato.” Hearing the latter was especially hard, that title felt as if it was reserved only for your sister-in-law, she definitely represented it with more grace than you thought you were ever capable of.

The name and all the responsibilities it came with weighed down on your shoulders unlike anything you had every experienced prior, and here you pushed against it alone. Forced to go through the transition into married life without the other half of the partnership to support you.

That led you to your predicament now. You were coming to the realization that you were horribly touch starved.

It was even worse on cold windy days, or when it rained. All it did was remind you about how your late parents would use those days to curl up with you, a warm blanket, and a book to laze the day away and wish for nicer weather the next so that you could go out on a picnic.

you longed for those days of warmth and love again. Your family had been quite affectionate with one another. While Ayaka would come and spend time with you, treating you like an older sibling. Nothing could reach the craving deep within you.

You sighed to yourself as you walked through the streets of Inazuma, ignoring the whispers of people who passed and recognized who you were.

Or rather who you were married to.

“My lady Kamisato!” greeted the Yae publishing house worker. “You’ve come at a great time, the new volume of your favourite series has just released.”

The worker handed you the book in question and you couldn’t help the excitement that rose within you as you quickly flipped through “I was hoping that I’d be able to pick something up today. I’ve been needing more things to do when the weather doesn’t permit me to go outside. Any other recommendations?”

The worker smiled at you sweetly and handed you another book “Surely Lord Ayato, is able to keep you from getting too bored at the estate my lady?”

Your smile faltered ever so slightly, you couldn’t let it drop in front of the worker, the last thing you wanted was for anymore rumours to spread. You pretended to read the synopsis of the book that was handed to you. “Yes of course, but there are still times where he is not available. My husband is a very busy man.”

My husband, you didn’t think you would ever get used to referring to him as that. He felt like nothing more than a stranger who’s house you happened to live in, who you shared a family name with, who would grace you with a soft smile and a nod as you passed each other at the estate each making your ways to your separate rooms.

A gust of wind blew through the streets and both you and the worker shivered. You looked at the sky and frowned at the dark clouds rolling in, you flinched as a singular rain drop landed on your cheek.

The worker also looked up “it really is rainy season isn’t it?” they looked to you “I would recommend you head home soon my lady, looks like it’s gonna come down any minute now and you’ve got a long walk back to the Kamisato estate”

You sighed, “what a shame, I was hoping to run a couple more errands today.” you payed for both books and placed them into your bag with a smile “thank you for the advice I’ll head out now.”

You walked away from the shop in the direction of the estate, waving behind you as the worker told you to stay safe.

———

Perhaps you should have stayed in town.

You come to this realization as you’re halfway to the estate. Komore tea house would have been much nicer than the weather you were experiencing currently.

The singular raindrop you had felt earlier had slowly progressed into a little more than a drizzle and you groaned to yourself as your clothing grew heavier as it absorbed more and more water.

You should have grabbed your umbrella

It was practically pouring by the time you had gotten to the estate, the trees of Chinju forest providing surprisingly little shelter against the rain.

Quickly, you rushed under the cover of the roof of the estate and sighed in relief once you weren’t being pelted by water. You looked down at you clothes and cringed at the water dripping from the fabric and your hair onto the dark wood

Wringing out what you could beforehand, you opened the front doors of the estate as quietly as you could, albeit in vain as Thoma and your husband were having a discussion right at the entrance.

Both men turned to look at you as the door closed and you could only stare back awkwardly as the sound of water dripping from you clothes and hair, along with your shivering filled the room.

Thoma was the first to break the silence and began fussing over you not unlike a mother hen.

“My lady you’re soaking wet! You’re going to get sick! I’ll have the maids draw a bath for you. Please allow me to grab your belongings. I’ll have tea ready for you once you’re done.

Before you knew it, you were standing in your bathroom with a steaming tub waiting for you. Still bewildered at what had transpired moments before.

Still, Thoma and his efforts were never unwelcome as the bath was exactly what you needed.

You took your time in the bath, taking in the scent of the flowers and oils put in by the maids, appreciating how well the water warmed your once cold body.

Once finished, you were quick to dry off and get dressed, still towel drying your hair as you entered your room.

As promised, Thoma had left a tea set on the table in your room with a container holding tea leaves, knowing you liked to brew it yourself.

The only thing out of place was an extra tea cup.

As if on cue, the door to your room was gently slid open and your jaw nearly dropped at the sight of pale blue hair.

“My lord!” you greeted, the words leaving you mouth before you could even try to stop them.

Ayato paused as the two of you made eye contact, it was almost as if he was surprised himself that you were in your own room.

Ayato was the first to regain his composure after clearing his throat. “Majority of my plans for today have been cancelled due to the weather, I was hoping you could allow me to join you for a bit.”

Your head was spinning, not able to wrap itself around the fact that your husband was in your room and actively trying to spend time with you.

“Of course if that’s how you wish to spend your free time my lord.” you stammered, part of you still believing that this was some sort of dream.

A small shiver ran down your spine and you were reminded of the damp hair that ran down your back. You looked to the vanity in your room and then back at your husband.

“I hope you don’t mind, but I would like to fix my hair situation beforehand.”

“Of course y/n there’s no need to worry, it’s just me.”

That was precisely why you were panicking on the inside at that moment. It was only the man who was so busy, that his presence in the house on a daily basis resembled that of a gust of wind.

You sat down at you vanity and picked up one of your combs, beginning the task of untangling the mess you had created both in the rain and bath.

You nearly groaned out loud to yourself, you had kept your hair long to be able to use the multitude of flamboyant hair accessories you had acquired, but brushing it had always been your least favourite part of the entire process.

A awkward cough caused you to look at the man in your room.

“if you are comfortable with it…I could help you brush your hair.”

You stared in shock at the man in front of you. His face was genuine but you could tell by the reddening of his ears that he was flustered, the most you had ever seen from him.

The combination of being a witness to such a rare site and the fact that you were still in shock that he was there in the first place, had you speaking without much thought.

“That would be very helpful my lord, thank you.”

The surprise on his face was visible You could only hope that your whirlwind of emotions wasn’t as obvious.

Still, not one to go back on his word, Ayato gently took the comb from your outstretched hand and began to work. His powerful presence behind you almost causing you to curl in on yourself.

He was gentle, his hands warm as they followed your comb, a warm feeling spread throughout you chest as he so carefully detangled your hair, taking his time.

You hoped that he wouldn’t be able notice through your reflection just how flustered you were at this moment. Your face was hot, your breathing was slightly rapid and you couldn’t find it in yourself to look up at the mirror in fear that your eyes would connect.

Yet this moment felt so intimate, so tender and domestic. You could almost believe that you two were much closer than you really were.

A soft chuckle broke you from your thoughts.

“This brings me back.” Ayato sighed wistfully, “when we were younger, Ayaka would let me do this for her. Though she seemed less than impressed when I would try different styles on her. I wonder if she would trust me with her hair again after all this time.”

You smiled down at your fidgeting hands “I’m sure she would if you promised no more experiments my lord.”

Ayato hummed in contemplation “I suppose you may be right, but at the same time maybe I won’t need to ask her if I already have yours within reach.” He leaned closer to your ear, “After all, am I wrong to assume that you are enjoying this my dear wife?”

Your face felt like it was on fire, you had never heard him call you that to your face before. You could feel the smug smile that was currently gracing his features as he leaned back and continued his actions.

“Well?” He urged after a moment

“No you are not wrong to assume that my lord.” You managed to stammer out. Your hands clenched into fists in your lap as you forced yourself to say the truth, knowing well that he would be able to see through any lie.

He sighed. “Please y/n I think we’re at a point where we can drop the formalities.”

Your eyes widened at his words and you spoke the first thing that came to mind.

“Are we really?”

His hand that was holding the brush froze mid stroke, the room was suddenly filled with a chilled silence and you cringed at the amount of malice an anger that you managed to fit into one simple question.

This was no way to talk to the man you were married to.

“Forgive me my… Ayato. I did not mean to sound so harsh I just-“

“No no there’s no need to apologize.” ayato assured. He raked a hand through your hair and chuckled bitterly, “I supposed it is my fault that you feel this way about our…situation

You opened your mouth to protest but nothing came out. What he said wasn’t a lie to make you feel better for snapping at him. It was entirely the truth and you were grateful that he understood where you were coming from.

“Finished.” He stated softly before placing the comb back on your vanity. “I hope that I haven’t worn out my welcome.”

You paused for a moment, thinking about the situation you found yourself in, while wanting to get yourself out of the awkward moment, you knew that a chance to spend time with him again would be rare.

“You haven’t, don’t worry,” you stated as you slowly rose from your seat. Still refusing to look up at him you gestured to the low table where the tea set sat, “Please have a seat, I’ll brew the tea for us.”

It was quiet as you worked, the only sounds in the room being the clink of tea set, and the crinkle of tatami mats. You thanked Thoma in your mind when you saw that he had prepared leaves that were better steeped in lower temperatures, as the water had cooled down since he first boiled it.

“We’ll have to wait a couple minutes.” You said as you closed the lid of the teapot. Ayato nodded and an awkward silence filled the room.

“I don’t want to use me being busy as an excuse.” Ayato suddenly blurted out.

You finally look up at him in surprise “Pardon?”

Ayato cleared his throat “My apologies. It’s just that I know that everyone has been using me being busy to excuse me for being absent in this relationship. While I know that lin its simplest terms, what we have between us is a contract, part of me still hoped that I would be able to get to know you well and we could be much more than strangers. There are many times where I could have put my work aside and spent more time with you, but I for some reason I never found myself taking those opportunities.”

He looked almost guilty as he continued. “Now here I am, months later knowing next to nothing about you, and on top of that I expected you to be comfortable with speaking casually around me when we have barely even spoken before.

You pondered to yourself as you poured tea into his cup “Well if it makes you feel any better,” you poured more into your own “I also know next to nothing about you.”

“Unfortunately that only seems to add salt to the wounds my dear.” Ayato grumbled.

Your eyes widened at the pet name and you quickly lifted your teacup to your face to hide your embarrassment.

Ayato followed suit and hummed in satisfaction as he drank. “Well I do know one thing now. My wife is excellent at brewing tea. It must run in your family’s genes.”

You waved him off “it’s just something that comes with experience, my uncle is the true master.”

“I also now know that my wife finds it hard to accept compliments.”

“Hey!”

Ayato smiled at you teasingly as you glared at him, though there was no anger behind it.

“Well now that’s unfair,” you stated “I should get to learn something about you now.”

Your husband raised an eyebrow, “well what would you like to know?”

You faltered for a moment, not expecting him to relent so easily, “well…” you stuttered, “what type of tea would you consider your favourite?”

“Really digging deep are we y/n?”

“I couldn’t think of something straight away!”

Despite the teasing, the questions continued, it was as if you were on a first date.

Except you were already living together and married.

One question was asked after the other. Ranging from you asking him about the daily life of a tri-commissioner, to him asking about the books you had bought earlier in the day.

It was only after Thoma had brought dinner to your room, that you had finally asked.

“So why me?”

Ayato’s chopsticks paused mid air “Why what?”

You narrowed your eyes at him, he was playing dumb.

“Why did Inazuma’s most desired bachelor, Yashiro commissioner, leader of the famed Shuumatsuban, and the man who brought the Kamisato Clan back to its former glory, the Kamisato Ayato. Decide that a nobody from a tea producing clan was the one you would want to spend the rest of you life with.”

Ayato looked at you in exasperation “You aren’t a nobody y/n there’s so much more to you.”

“We don’t need to get down to the specifics, don’t avoid the question!” You exclaimed, ignoring the pleased smile on his face as he took in your flustered state.

Ayato put a hand to his chin and hummed as if contemplating something grand. He took a moment to respond. “Would you believe me if I said that I found you to be a very interesting person y/n?”

You stared at him blankly.

“Don’t lie to me we didn’t even meet until the wedding.”

The smile that he sent you sent a chill down your spine “Well I suppose that’s true in a sense, but we have been in each other’s presence on multiple occasions.”

You couldn’t mask the your surprise, “we have?”

Ayato looked at you incredulously. “Surely you know how often the Yashiro commission requests supplies from your clan for the multiple events we host.”

You fiddled with your teacup “Well sure but that doesn’t mean that it was a guarantee that we bump into each other. I’m sure I would have remembered being in the presence of you of all people.”

Ayato shrugged, “Being in the public eye is much more my sisters domain. I tend to stick to the shadows during bigger festivals that I’m interested in. During one of these times… you caught my eye.”

Your eyes widened “I did?”

He looked bashful as he continued his story, you were sure that you were the first person to ever see him in this state.

“I always knew of you, as I often meet with your uncle for business. I don’t know if you know this but he often worries about you and tends to talk about you during these meetings.” Ayato hummed in contemplation. “Perhaps it was a tactic to make me say yes to the upcoming proposal”

You groaned in horror at the realization that the two men had been talking about you “I apologize for my uncles actions.”

Ayato waved dismissively “Thats not the point. At a festival is where I first saw you and was able to put a name to a face. What I didn’t expect was the fact that everything about you had fascinated me. The way you danced and had that kind of sparkle in you eyes as you wandered around in wonder. The way you kindly greeted everyone you met. I found myself looking for you at following festivals to see if that was always how you looked…it was.”

“So it was only my looks” you teased

he sighed exasperated “Of course not”

You laughed “I’m kidding. Keep going.”

“Then at one point I was due for a meeting at your estate with your uncle and I might have listened in on a deal you were striking with a business man. The confidence in your voice was obvious and the way you negotiated with grace and kindness, yet still with firmness, had me intrigued within the first couple seconds of me hearing it. My interest only grew when your meeting had concluded and I saw you step out. with an accomplished smile on your face”

You gaped at him, you very rarely took part in your family’s business deals, only helping with what your cousins or uncle were too busy to handle. For him to be there at that time on that day was truly a great coincidence.

“You really piqued my interest that day. Although it was not my first choice in ways to get closer to you, when I saw the proposal sent by your clan, everything seemed to fall into place.” Ayato laughed but his tone soon turned solemn.

“Unfortunately not everything worked out for me, because look at how things are going. I left you to fend for yourself against the public, we rarely see each other, and this is the longest we have ever spoken despite being married for months. I think I was just afraid of crossing any boundaries, after all this marriage is arranged and I had no idea as to how you felt about me.”

Without thinking you reached over the table and grabbed one of his hands in both of yours, touched by how vulnerable he was being with you, “I wouldn’t have agreed to the marriage so easily if I thought ill of you in any way, while I may not have known you, you also piqued my interest. I won’t lie I was- still am extremely shocked, but I saw nothing bad coming out of this marriage really. It started off slow but we’re talking now, and well, don’t you think we’ve made some great progress?”

He smiled endearingly at you, “yes, I am grateful for this opportunity and hope that we can continue on this path.”

You laughed, “now you’re making it sound like a business deal.”

After that, you and Ayato finished your dinner making pleasant conversation. The sun had long gone down when he made the call for the both of you to retire for the night.

He once again stood in the doorway of your room, only this time you were standing right in front of him.

“I’ll have a heavier workload tomorrow but I think I’ll be able to join you for dinner again.”

You smiled up at him “I would like that, please let me know if there’s anything I can help you with, I’m part of this clan too you know.”

“I’ll keep that in mind, thank you y/n.”

There was a pause and Ayato reluctantly continued. “Well I should take my leave for the night.”

As he turned, something seemed to overcome you, and you grabbed at his wrist,

“Ayato.”

He froze and turned to look at you curiously. you shyly looked away, “before you go. May I have a hug?”

He gave you a teasing smile, “this is all happening so fast, what will everyone think?”

“Oh please we’re already married.”

He laughed and his smile softened.

Without anymore words, Ayato opened his arms.

You couldn’t hold back the giddy smile that crossed your face and without hesitation you allowed yourself to melt into his embrace for the first time in what would become many.

A scent that was uniquely his filled your nose, and as you pressed against his chest you could feel and hear his heart pounding just as hard as yours. You nearly sighed in satisfaction as you wrapped your arms around his waist. A need you had been suppressing for months had finally been fulfilled. His hold was strong and comforting, his hold making you feel like you again.

Ayato chuckled to himself as his grip tightened, “well now I’ve found myself in a predicament.”

Still holding onto him, you turned your head to look up at him. “What is it?”

“I don’t want to let go.”

#genshin impact #kamisato ayato #kamisato ayato x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact imagines #genshin x you #genshin x reader #ayato x reader #genshin ayato

2K notes · View notes